this is in no shape or form my work, I'm just simply putting it onto wattpad for you to read. all credit goes to; Hannah/ han-rawr disclaimer, this contains sexual scenes, and some swearing cover is by myself

Harry Edward Styles. Room 402 at Eastwood Mental Asylum. Known for turning his victims psychotic. To be handled with extreme precaution.

Rose does not like Harry. And Harry does not like Rose. But perhaps the threat of a ruthless brain and a shady corporate conspiracy could change for them. or, at least, could make a stash of Snickers. He was like the moon-- a part of him was always hidden

Odd... Some people write love letters on paper... Not skin.

My heart was beating and adrenaline was running through my body at a thousand miles per second. My hand wrapped around the door knob, but then I was pulled back painfully by my arm. I was whipped around and was face to face with a pissed off Louis. "Where do you think you're going, love?" He asked, and I gulped at how dark his voice sounded. The sane part of me was absolutley terrified of it, and I didn't like it, but the part of me that thought Louis was incredible was so turned on by his dark side. "Answer the question." He said as he squeezed my wrist tighter, and I winced a bit, but I didn't answer the question. "Were you trying to leave? Were you trying to run away from me?" He asked, and I felt his nails digging into my skin. I gave a small yelp of pain and then he was dragging me harshly by my arm down the hall again. He passed the room that I was staying in before and opened another door that was three doors down. He pushed me inside, and I couldn't see a thing. The room was completely dark. I began to breath faster because I've never been a big fan of the dark. I hated it. I didn't like what I couldn't see. I jumped as I felt a hand on my waist and my breath caught as I felt a surge of electricity run through me. I felt him pull me closer to him until my back was against his chest. His lips rubbed against my ear and he slowly whispered out "You can't leave, Harry. You're never gonna get away. I'm not gonna let you."

Book Song: Bad Blood by Sleeping At Last His eyes glowed. The emerald rimmed orbs dilating as he stares at me in the dark. The sense of intensity the eyes of the boy hold make me weak, losing all sense in knowing what to do. He moves closer, hands reaching out, encasing my own hand in his. He brings it to his lips and presses a cold kiss to the back. I stand frozen, unable to move, watching as the nameless boy presses his chest to mine, leaving no space between us. The coolness of his hand presses to the nape of my neck, my eyes closing as he keeps me close. The wind stings my body as I stand in the middle of the alley, the mysterious boy looking deep into my eyes after I open them once again. His eyes softly looking at me as he holds my hand tight, holding it at if he was afraid I would push him away as the other lay limp at my side. His thumb brushes over my jaw and my eyes look at the ground. His head moves to the side, feeling his breath on my ear. “You’re mine,” he whispers, breathing heavily into my ear. He lets me go and I watch as his dark figure walks away, leaving me speechless. I can’t move, his enticing personality making me want him, letting me stand here in my thoughts. The only thing I have is his eyes; I don’t even have a name.

What would you do if one day somebody kidnapped you? Run! But what if you couldn't. Mus, has been kidnapped by Harry Styles, the known gangster and murderer. She keeps trying to escape him, but he is too good for her. Will she live the rest of her life as his captive?

Stock·holm syn·drome noun feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.