*Completed* "I just want to know why." I say as I turn over, trying to find his figure through the dark of my room. "Why what?" He asks. "Why you're being so nice to me." I say quietly, vulnerability seeping into my words. "How we even became friends." He sighs, "I want to know how." I scrunch my brow. "How what?" His response is soft, the opposite of his sarcastic personality. "How you don't see it." ******* Reagan Holt was about as average as a high school student could be. She didn't play any sports, didn't participate in the popular activities, and wasn't the girl all the boys chased after. All except one boy. He wrote her a letter every week. Each letter described something new for him to love about her. Whether it was how beautiful her laugh was or how his heart swelled with every smile she gave, he never failed to write how he felt. So the two should be together, right? That's the way Reagan wants it, but there's just one problem. He signs his letters "Love, Anonymous." Now add an obnoxious, conceited, sex god into the equation and you get a teenage girl confused on who really loves her. The sweet, tender written anonymous lover, or the cocky, ignorant asshole? -REVIEWS- "You create such wonderful characters and I can't wait to see what happens next!" VampireSa5m41993 "Thank you for wonderful dogs and little brothers and eccentrically hormonal best friends!" -Nat-Attack "I am totally hooked on this book!" nbazinet "I love the way the story flows and that you have really roundabout characters. It's as if they're real while I'm reading!" life_is_beautiful115 "Your work is literally art." lemonsun123 "Every time I read this book it just makes me smile." Nicooole97 Cover by: -winterr

After encountering the guy who saved her the night she called a suicide hotline, Echo Johnson's life has taken a different path with Brandon Ashbourne entering it. [𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙤 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚 & 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣]

"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN