Story cover for My Saint by marinegirl3
My Saint
  • WpView
    Reads 666
  • WpVote
    Votes 16
  • WpPart
    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time 8m
  • WpView
    Reads 666
  • WpVote
    Votes 16
  • WpPart
    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time 8m
Ongoing, First published May 20, 2013
Many believe that saints are some being sent down from Heaven to save our souls...  Let me tell you why that's some bullshit! A saint can be an ordinary man that has had enough of the corruption and evil in the world.   Everyone has heard of the Saints. Connor and Murphy MacManus. The two brothers who had rid the world of many evil and corrupt men.    But the public only knew of them because of what they did. I knew both of them... from their childhood.   This, this is my reason why they are saints
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𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 by -alinax
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"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
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑠 by addi_gurl
51 parts Complete Mature
There are two types of people in the world, The Sinners and the Saints. The 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠 The sinners, corrupted by the harsh reality of the universe. Their job is to protect themselves, fulfill their desires, feed their need. They are the darkness of the world, delivering the harsh blows they feel karma has slacked on. Shrouded by lust, greed, financial gain. They're easy to spot. The sinners do not care who the hell they have to knock down to get to the top. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟, 𝐽𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐵𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠. 𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒. On the contrary, there are 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑠. The saints radiate sunshine, uncorrupted by the cruel reality of the world they live in. Their job is to be kind, provide undivided love and attention to those in need, put themselves last. They are the light in the world, providing hope for those who need it, helping people that karma has knocked down. Enveloped by sunshine, warmth, love. They're easy to spot. The saints are the hope that keeps the world going, no matter how much they neglect themselves. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡, 𝐴𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑎 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑠. 𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑦. When James spots the ray of sunshine serving his family in a diner on the outskirts of New York City, he's infatuated, and he will stop at nothing to get her. *Story is recommended for 18+ as it will contain sexual content and dark themes please read with caution* *Not affiliated with the MCU, this is purely fanfiction* *Bucky does not have a metal arm in this story*
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𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

48 parts Complete Mature

"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