"she's m-mine; my babygirl." or harry has a strange case of ocd and allie-rose is the first thing he allows himself to get attached to.

Marcel. Marcel the nerd. Marcel the weirdo. Marcel my boyfriend.

Things get kinky in the work place.

[complete] When Kade discovers that her incredibly annoying classmate, Marcel Styles, is living under a double personality, her attention for him is immediately piqued. Little does she know that by attempting to discover things that are better off kept away, she'll be thrown down a spiral where she'll come to find that everything in her life has been a secret, and everyone she loves has been pretending.

I am only fifteen...how could this happen to me? I am nerdy-straight 4.0 GPA, never smoked, never done drugs, never had a boyfriend, never had sex, never tasted alcohol, so why did he have to kidnap me? And how does One Direction fit into this mess?

DISCLAIMER: This story was written in late 2012. I wrote Strings Attached as an adolescent with no idea how a healthy, adult relationship should function. This story is dark and twisted in a way that my teen mind couldn't comprehend at the time. There are more than a few scenes in this book with sensitive content. I--in no way--support rape culture and I do not condone my character's actions. However, as I said, this story was written in an ignorant state of mind. I will not remove this story from Wattpad. It is part of my past and though I am disappointed with the content, it shows how far I've come not just as an author but as a free-thinking adult. Thank you for reading. **Excerpt** "Say... it," She gasped, throwing her head back, cupping my face in her hands so that I was forced to meet her gaze. "You're mine." She held my gaze for a second more, before crushing her lips against my own, arms wrapping tight around my neck, pulling me down to her level. Arms sliding easily around her, she wrapped her legs around me as I lifted her up, lips traveling over her chest and collarbone. She moaned as my hands dug into her tender flesh, pulling on it, their violence a stark contrast to the gentle kisses teasing their way up her neck. Bright lines marked the paths that my nails had etched into her skin, marking her, beautiful red tattoos, spreading out over her entire body. Her small hands knotted in my hair, pulling harder and harder as she fought the urge to cry out...

***WARNING: OF VIOLENT AND SEXUAL NATURE*** ***THIS BOOK IS UNDER EDITING. PLEASE CONSIDER THIS WHILE READING, THANK YOU** ❝I think violence in a cinematic context can be, if handled in a certain way, very..seductive.❞ I was innocent, way too innocent in a way that allowed people to screw me over. Including the flithy rich pricks that I called my parents. I didn't have any edge or charisma to my walk, and that's something I was told a lot. Then there was the troubled boy, Harry Styles, who stared into your soul, just because he could. Him, he had charisma, and the edge, and everything that I wanted. And I wanted him to teach me. Give me intensive, heated lessons. Sex lessons. o r i g i n a l ↬ Watch TRAILER before READING ↫ Credits for trailer: SOCKMONKEY7707 ©Floz__

Living with your best friend is awesome, until you have her come around with her boyfriend everyday and remind you not only you don't have a boyfriend, but you're a virgin. I don't think before I speak, so my lack of details when I told Alexa I want to lose my virginity got me a date with Marcel Styles. Wish me luck!

She's always been the shy girl that no one notices, but once she catches Harry's attention will things ever be the same again?

Fifteen years. The number of normal every-day life. One day. The number of time when my life suddenly took a 180. 8000. The number of miles I was taken away from my home. Two. The number of parents I will never see again, Two weeks. The number of weeks I lived with kidnappers, rapists, and murderers. Three times. The number of times I lost my innocence to three different men. Four months. The number of months I lived a semi-normal but hectic life with practically strangers. Two. The number of children I carried Two. The number of times I was kidnapped. One week. The number of weeks I was held hostage. Thirty. The number of times I probably passed out or fainted. One hundred plus. The number of times I cried and felt sorry for myself. Six months. The number of months I waited until I got to see my children. Thirty seconds. The number of seconds it took before my life fully crumbled before my very eyes. A moment. How long it took for it all to start over again. Save Them, Please? *Sequel to 'Help Me, Please?*