Vivian Matine, an aspiring fashion designer, met new bestfriends when they moved in across the hall from her New York apartment. Harry Styles, the co-founder of Pleasing and an aspiring musician, can't seem to find another muse than his next door neighbor and best friend. Uncertainty, change, that hallway. Liminal. - *this is a friends with benefits plot.* ONGOING and MATURE content. 18+.

[MATURE/EXPLICIT CONTENT] I'm fucked. Like genuinely, properly, jaw-clenchingly fucked. She's in my head. Way too deep. Like I've just been rewired or some shit and now every time I blink I see her eyes: one lighter than the other, both shining like she's already figured out the ending to the story and is just waiting for me to catch up. It's like she was made for me. Like someone carved her out of fire and velvet and chaos and said: Here. This one. She's yours. It's fucking overwhelming. But she's mine. And God help whoever fucking forgets that. __ "Mine," I mutter. "Every inch of you." My hand slides up her throat, thumb brushing her jaw. "That mouth? Mine. That body? Mine. That attitude? Mine." I lean in, lips to her ear. "Say it, Carmen." She shivers. "I'm yours." "Damn right you are." (18+ preferred)

Sometimes, when I'm off tour, I get this itch. Not literal. Metaphorical. Tour ends, the lights shut off, and suddenly I'm just... still. No crew, no call times, no adrenaline. My body rests, but my brain? My brain starts looking for motion. Sometimes, that motion looks like gym sessions, long walks, locking myself in a studio with nothing but an acoustic and my ego. And sometimes? It looks like sex. Not tabloid shit. No god-complex orgies. Just something familiar. Women I trust. People who text back with a wink and nothing more. Like Sasha. Like Lou. Not like Lena. I thought it'd be casual. Banter, late-night texts, sex with no strings. But Lena doesn't do casual. And I'm starting to think I don't either - not with her.

(complete) Charlotte has always known exactly who she is: composed, precise, untouchable. Until one moment, one choice, shifts everything. Harry doesn't do complications. And yet, he can't seem to walk away from her. What starts as work tension becomes something harder to define. Something neither of them planned for. Because control is easy. Until you meet the one person who makes you want to let go.

Luna lives a quiet, forgettable life. Late shifts, small apartments, dreams that never quite reach beyond survival, and things she never thought to question. Harry Styles doesn't belong in it. He tells her someone is after her. He doesn't explain who. Or why. Only that she's no longer safe and that the only way to survive is to stay hidden, locked inside a safehouse with him watching her every move. He calls it protection. He calls it necessary. As time passes, the more the cracks show. The threats don't feel random. The danger doesn't feel external. And Harry seems to know more than he's saying out loud. She doesn't know what she's involved in. She doesn't know what her family has done. And she doesn't know that Harry was never the one keeping her safe. He was the reason she needed saving. *** Start date: December 28th, 2025. End date: *** #1 Punk #1 Safehouse #2 Gangs #3 Hitman #5 harryedwardstyles #19 HarryStyles

but some things... can't be copied.

TREASURE SERIES (1/3) Brinna Harper; a twenty-three year old publicist's assistant with too much fear and not enough self control. After working her way out of an abusive household, Brinna struggles to cope with her need for harmless fun. But even a few harmless thrills add up. When she happens to stumble into a new Las Vegas night club, all morals and responsibilities crumble to the ground. There, she finds a new harmless thrill, one who goes by the name of Harry. *** "But you never crave a drug? Or alcohol? You don't run from your obligations to get a fix, right?" He softens his brows. "That doesn't mean I'm not addicted to it, I keep going back." He sighs, eyes flicking between my own. "I hate to break it to you, but that's called being in your twenties, Brinna." I pout at his roundabout way of calling my worries ridiculous. "That's how addiction starts, I like it so much that I keep coming back for more until eventually I get hooked." "Not everyone gets addicted. Your parents went through something horrible and found comfort in something they shouldn't have. You smoke a little weed and make out with your friend. There's a big difference," he says bluntly. ***

"Why do you care?" he asks. But it's not soft. It's sharp, defensive, like he's already bracing for the answer. I want to tell him the truth. Because you saved me. Because you're the only one who makes me feel real. Because if you fall apart, I don't know what happens to the rest of us. Instead, I just say, "Maybe I want to understand." He scoffs, no humor in it. "You don't. Trust me." Silence stretches between us. Then he steps forward, close enough that I can see the way his hands won't stop shaking. "You already know too much," he says, voice low. "More than you ever should've." I don't look away. "Then tell me the rest." He shakes his head. "It's not your place. You don't get to ask." "But I am asking." He exhales sharply. "Jesus, Lily. This isn't a story with a clean ending. I'm not a mystery. I'm a goddamn warning sign. I'm dangerous." I flinch, but I don't move. And that pisses him off more. He takes a step back like he's going to leave, then pauses. His eyes flick to my jacket. In one quick motion, he reaches in and pulls out the burner phone. "I think this belongs to me," he says, tone sharp but quiet. No accusation. Just fact. I don't respond. Just watch as he slips it into his pocket, like closing a door I wasn't supposed to open. He looks at me for one long second, jaw clenched. "Go home," he says again, this time like a warning. And this time, I believe him. He crushes the cigarette under his boot, turns his back, and walks down the alley, leaving me standing in the dark. - Lily didn't ask to be assigned to him. Harry Styles is a name whispered like a warning, famous for his ink, infamous for everything else. Brooding. Untouchable. But Lily has a habit of looking too closely. And when she finds something she shouldn't, the line between curiosity and consequence begins to blur. He told her to stay away. She should've listened. - TW: emotional abuse, manipulation, drugs, sex, violence, trauma.

She stirred her tea slowly. "I'm not your babysitter, you know." "Says the girl hired to keep me from combusting." "I was told 'companion with boundaries.'" Harry narrowed his eyes, then grinned like the cat that found a string to pull. "That's adorable." "Don't flirt with me before I've had caffeine." "Wasn't flirting." He stepped closer, walking past her toward the fridge, close enough that his arm brushed hers - possibly by accident, possibly not. "If I flirted, you'd know." She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt her forehead. "What are we even doing here?" Harry paused, hand on the fridge handle, then looked over his shoulder with that look - the one she couldn't read yet. "Trying not to kill each other, apparently." © 2025 . All rights reserved.

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.