"Don't blame me for the monster you became. You were just waiting for someone to give you permission..." ~ Olivia never meant to become a weapon-or to fall so hard for the man who made her one. But from the moment she bailed Harry out of jail, she had already surrendered. Together, they leave a trail of blood and chaos, bound by devotion so toxic it bruises more than it could ever heal. With the boys joining them and with new threats closing in, Olivia begins to see the tether for what it truly is-and if she breaks it, he may not survive what's left of himself. * * * TW ‼️ This book contains scenes of: Graphic violence/ murder, torture, blood/gore Psychological, physical, and emotional abuse SEX (includes blood play), toxic/obsessive relationship A bit of an emotional rollercoaster with the character development (forgive me in advance for Harry yikes) Reader discretion is strongly advised ‼️

Sophie Lennon is an art curator who lands the job of a lifetime at New York's most prestigious gallery - The Pink Velvet Theatre. More than just a gallery, it is a place of carefully crafted illusion. Harry Styles, the elusive owner, is already a legend in the industry. He's brilliant and accomplished, but rarely seen. When Sophie stumbles upon something she was never meant to see, everything changes. Keeping her at a distance is no longer possible and neither is letting her go.

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)

[Completed] [MATURE CONTENT] ** Reader's discretion advised (18+) Smut chapters are indicated with an (*) - Excerpt chapter 3 - I had been dreaming about her all week, and now she was for sure not going to leave my brain. I had been fucking my fist every night to get rid of the image of her on her knees in front of me after I saw her biting down on that pencil at the bar on Monday. So flirty and dirty, yet so innocent. While the thought excited me, to be with someone without experience, I'd never act upon it. I was definitely rough in bed, and I had a lot of kinks and didn't know how to be soft. I'd completely ruin her. But then again, maybe she'd let me. Maybe she'd like it. ** Started: October 2021 ** Finished: December 2021

When ambitious journalism student, Aurora Denver, starts a new job dancing at an unknown club hidden in the city, she thinks she's just trading her late night study sessions for quick cash and stage lights. But, the clubs emotionally unavailable, downright confusing owner, Harry Styles, is more than what meets the eye. A man with secrets buried in the shadows of the busy city. Drawn to his dangerous, charismatic charm, she finds herself torn between her dreams of education - the story that could launch her career - or fighting against her morals to protect a dangerous criminal. As the lines blur between love and betrayal, she finds the most dangerous stories happen to be the ones you become apart of. Deceit - where nothing is as it seems. Every truth masks a lie. Can you unravel the truth before anyone else? - "Are you gonna keep those lips shut for me, Princess? Or am I gonna have to make you?" He whispered tauntingly, leaning in closer to breathe cynically and I could practically hear amusement in his tone. I say nothing. Attempting to control my breathing and not break into deeper panic as my lips stayed sealed with his touch on them, slowly dragging the sensation down over my chin where he continued to smear the crimson blood. "C'mon, I know you're itching to talk back... or have I finally silenced you, hm?" He chuckled through his taunting. "Tell me Princess... are we gonna have a problem?" Slowly, I shook my head from side to side. It caused him to squeeze my chin, all of his fingertips now on me staining the imprint of his touch onto my face. He shifted his touch south, cupping the side of my neck and I squirmed against the wall at the feeling of his handprint on a sensitive area, his head moved away from my opposing ear to look down at me once again. "This is our little secret, yeah? I wouldn't want you to be the next one tied to that chair with your blood splattered on the floor." - Started: April 2024 Finished:

SEQUEL TO DUPLICITY. Complicity- to be involved with others in illegal activity or wrongdoing. After sacrificing herself for Harry's freedom, Aven Brooks is no longer the innocent photographer with big dreams and a bigger heart. Now under the notorious control of Malikai, she becomes brainwashed into being the perfect asset for his organized crime. Harry, a fugitive, spends his days trying to find his angel and reap her out the path he once walked. When that stroke of luck comes his way, he smacks into the harsh reality to what she's actually become. Needless to say, she's no longer an angel. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO @HAPPYDAYS1D ALLOWING NO TRANSLATIONS. CONTAINS MATURE LANGUAGE, SEXUAL CONTENT, DRUG USE, VIOLENCE, AND MENTAL HEALTH. READ AT OWN RISK!

SEQUEL TO DEVIL'S DUE. In this sequel, our main duo are off to a bit of a rocky start. River is recovering from a gunshot wound, trying to overcome a bout of PTSD, all the while attempting to remain in the loop of her boyfriend's antics. Harry on the other hand, is hell-bent on getting revenge over the people who threatened the well-being of the one good thing in his life. He is determined to overthrow Damien and now Derek, destroy their shady and destructive business, and terminate the organization that stole from him his childhood, among other things, once and for all. Let's hope these efforts prove fruitful, otherwise, the characters you've come to love and cherish are only in for more ruination. But like Harry says - we're done giving the devil his fucking due. What comes next is inevitable, right?

Red lights bleed through the air thick with narcotics, while cigarette smoke consumes my lungs like a death wish. He leans in, his voice a dark whisper against my lips. "Do you like the taste of something so dark?" My throat goes dry like bones, as I summon the courage to speak along the lines of something so vile. "Guess I do." He chuckles, tilting my chin up with the tip of his finger. "Oh yeah?" he murmurs, his lips a breath away from mine. "Wanna be a little devil tonight?" // Harry Styles is a trained killer working for one of the most dangerous gangs in the country. His work is flawless, precise, silent, and merciless. He leaves no evidence, no hesitation, and absolutely no room for error. He's dedicated, disciplined, and untouchable - until he meets her. Ruby is the very essence of innocence. A girl with a heart that flutters and a soul that shines like summer daisies. Sweet as a dove, delicate as light. But innocence doesn't mean ignorance, and curiosity can be a fatal thing. Especially when it draws her into the arms of a man who moves like sin and smiles like salvation. They met in the woods, but it was under flickering neon lights and the hum of danger that they truly collided. Ruby doesn't know what Harry is. Not at first. Not when his hands are on her skin, not when her lips are tangled with his, not when her body is learning his like a secret language. She falls into him recklessly, blind to the blood on his hands. But when she uncovers the truth, and the blood he leaves behind, it's already too late. She's seen too much. She knows too much. And in their world, that kind of knowledge comes with only two options: join them or disappear. Forever. The world isn't just dark. It's vile. /// *Story Contains Mature and Explicit Content, read at your own discretion*

*[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.