When an anonymous threat attacks two rival spy organizations, Nicole Calvitto agrees to become the center of a faux alliance in order to combat the looming peril. Her job was simple: marry her organization's opposing heir, work together to solve the mysterious string of deaths, and in the meantime uncover any secrets her not-so-beloved new husband, Harry Styles, and his intellectual arrogance kept hidden. Unveiled is a fanfiction about spies, secrets, and a man who thinks he knows everything.

Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no room for error. Harry never misses a step, until the night he unknowingly hooks up with the assassin he's been ordered to catch. Winter is a master manipulator, a ruthless assassin with a chilling elegance and icy eyes that seem to pierce through the soul. She kills with precision, vanishes without a trace, and never lets anyone close. What begins as a mission becomes a deadly obsession. Because in this game, they're both hunter and prey. In a world of secrets, betrayal, and bloodshed, Harry finds himself completely captivated by the danger he seeks to eliminate. The cat and mouse game begins, blurring the lines between duty and desire. // "Because we're still doing this the easy way." Harry muttered, his hand flexed on the back of my neck. I gasped when he used my throat to pull me towards him. He spun me around, shoving me back forcefully so my back hit the wall. "I don't want to have to do it the hard way." His chest was against mine to keep me further restrained, my wrists were pinned against the wall above my head. "I don't wanna have to be the bad guy." "What are you going to do?" I asked him, swallowing, feeling his palm wrapped tightly around my throat, but not enough that I was choking, just enough that I could feel the pressure. "Are you trying to choke me, Harry?" I cocked my head to the side, grinning through my blood stained lips. "C'mon... you know I like it."

"That lipstick doesn't suit you. Red's not your color," he throws out casually before heading for the door. "I didn't ask for your opinion," I snap, turning toward him. "Good luck, Noel," he pauses for half a second, flicking the last cigarette away. That smug expression lingers in his green eyes. I scowl, hating how he stands there like nothing happened, casually toying with his cigarette. Faintly, I hear fans roar as he steps forward and blows a smoke stream right in my face. • Rock Me is a legendary rock band that has earned the title of the most popular band in the world thanks to their powerhouse hits, insane on-stage energy, and unique style. But Noel and Harry, the band's lead singers- can't stand each other. Noel is too weak and helpless to stand up to the arrogant, cocky Harry, who radiates nothing but darkness. ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! SEX / DRUGS / ROCK 'N' ROLL / VIOLENCE / DEPRESSION / EXPLICIT LANGUAGE / ALCOHOLISM / PUNK BAND • DARK HARRY • I DON'T NEED A TRANSLATION!

"You shouldn't be here," he says. His voice is flat, devoid of the warmth I keep looking for. I don't look away. I can't afford to. "And yet... here I am." Harry doesn't smile. He just exhales, the scent of expensive whiskey and cold air hitting my face as his eyes track the way my pulse jumps in my throat. "Lucky for you... I'm in the mood to let it slide." // Ariella was supposed to be a star. She survived a past that should have killed her, and she was ready to leave the wreckage behind for a microphone and a stage. But a gig at The Sterling-a high-end hotel owned by Harry Styles didn't buy her a way out. Hired to be a voice for the elite, Ella quickly realizes she's just a shield. A beautiful, tragic distraction for Harry to use while he moves weapons through the city's shadows. But Harry isn't the only one with a motive. Blackmailed by a detective to spy on the city's most dangerous family, Ella is forced to play a double game to save her sister's life. She's trapped between a law that doesn't care if she breathes and a mafia leader who is starting to own her. She's hearing secrets she can't unhear. She's seeing murders she can't forget. And the more she plays the role of a lifetime, the more she realizes the biggest threat isn't the men in suits or the guns in their hands. It's the fact that she's starting to find a home in the one place that will surely destroy her. In this game, the first one to feel... loses. ONGOING | MATURE CONTENT (18+) Highest Rankings : #1 in hsfanfic (5/5/26) #1 in Darkrry (5/28/26)

I didn't plan on falling in love with Harry Styles. I planned on surviving. Behind a bar, my life makes sense. Drinks in, drinks out. Keep moving. Don't get too close to anyone who might leave. Harry ruins that system the moment he walks in. He's patient in a way that's dangerous. Gentle in a way that makes it hard to keep my distance. He doesn't try to fix me, doesn't ask me to explain the parts of my life I'd rather keep buried. He just... stays. What starts as late-night conversations and quiet companionship slowly becomes something neither of us expected. Something steady. Something terrifying. Something that might actually be love. And when you've spent your entire life learning how to do everything alone, letting someone stay might be the hardest thing of all.

𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨. A story about the blur between good intentions and bad timing - about everything you said you'd quit, and the people you only meet because you were too hungover to call in sick. It's Billie's mess, mostly. She just didn't mean for him to walk into it. ⧉ 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙣, 𝙈𝙮 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨. ⏣ 𝙇𝙖𝙯𝙞𝙡𝙮, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙡𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝘼𝙄 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧.

They weren't supposed to be anything. Just two grown-ups, a little chemistry, and a lot of mutual understanding: keep it casual. No strings, no drama. But when a surprise pregnancy turns their perfectly easy arrangement into something impossibly complicated, Nina and Harry are forced to figure out what it means to raise a baby together - without losing their sanity... or their hearts. It's not a love story. At least, it wasn't meant to be. ---- I've completed the story but I will publish 2 chapters a day only :)

When freelance painter Mickayla is introduced to music producer Harry via a mutual friend, most would assume that the meet-up is a blind date for the singletons. But they'd be wrong. Their encounter is purely business: baby business. Harry dreams of nothing more than becoming a Dad, but he has no time or interest in starting a relationship to get him to that goal. Mickayla is more than happy to help him out, especially after a generous sum of money is offered by Harry as payment for her to be the surrogate of his child. It's an amount that'll change her life, just like what she's going to do for Harry will change his. The two strangers end up bonded by not only Harry's baby in Mickayla's belly, but a love for one another that neither of them expected to experience soon existing in both of their hearts. Mature content | for an 18+ audience only.

Harry didn't plan for it to become a recurring motif. It was never intended, from his perspective, to anchor him, and it certainly wasn't there to define him. At the time, he'd thought it was a one-time thing, like waxing his chest, or trying hot yoga, or letting someone gaslight him into believing that olives don't just taste like someone preserved despair in brine. At best, he'd figured it would be a strange, mildly entertaining story to pull out after drinks with a select, close-knit group of attendees. It'd fall in line somewhere between the one about the dentist with the singular nipple piercing and the time he'd mistakenly crashed a wake because the GPS rerouted him through a church parking lot. And then she called him Sir. One minute he was perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed he'd snagged off of facebook marketplace (suspiciously low price tag- maybe haunted), wondering if tilting her too far would result in blunt force trauma via nightstand, and the next, she was twisting her chin to look at him over her shoulder, voice low and syrupy-sweet, eyes half-lidded as she was saying it- Sir- with this kind of reverence that made him feel like someone with gravity. Purpose. Like he was something more than a financially unstable, sleep-deprived undergrad sporting a semi; like something cracked open in her ribs every time she used it, and he was the only one who could crawl inside. Retrospectively, that was the beginning of the end. - OR The one in which there's an interesting blog focused on a niche genre of soft-core pornography, two next-door neighbors in an apartment complex with paper-thin walls, a simple case of misinterpretation, a man that runs from intimacy like there's an award waiting at the invisible finish line, and a pet bunny called Snuggles. - (reader-insert/ Y/N - early access patreon fic)

*[EDITING]* When Harry was twenty two, if a dangerously overconfident, time-hopping doppelgänger had pulled up in a freaky, rubber balaclava ('listen, mate' - hand on the shoulder and everything, like the reenactment of a cliché, time-honored rite of passage), and told him that in the very near future, his Friday nights would be indefinitely spent wearing a Greek moniker in the form of a fetishized allusion, that he'd be garbed by a latex mask to protect the sacred, fragile veil of secrecy- Well. He'd probably get a head start for padded walls and a straight jacket. Consider he was doing himself a favor with that one. But if he were told the same thing at twenty three, he'd probably choose to overlook the minor detail of reality imploding and sit back in his armchair, swirling his whiskey with excitement. Twenty three was an eventful year. He'd started casually enjoying whiskey after a long workday (honestly, a palate milestone in and of itself) and became enlightened on the fine art of tactically-applied suffering (and with it, gained a whole new appreciation for high-quality restraints). Because sometimes, a well-placed bruise and bliss just happened to go hand-in-hand. - OR the one in which there's a sex club, Greek stage names, an exploration of boundaries, an open house, a pair of dress shoes, and two evident sides to the same coin.