You ask if we can still be friends I explain how a honeybee does not dream of kissing the mouth of a flower and then settle for its leaves

*this is a 70s!rockstar!Harry Styles au fanfic... i mean... he just radiates 70s!rockstar* The 70s. A time of free love and music. And that's exactly what reader gets into when meeting the newly famous rockstar Harry Styles: love and music. Along with many mishaps... ^^^ i hate writing descriptions okay ):

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!

In order to be taken seriously, Lexi has had to become something she hates; emotionless, ruthless and a little bit brutal. But despite the tough exterior, she has one weakness, a green-eyed man with a smile that makes her stomach flip and ego so big she wants to slap it right out of him.

A collection of chapters written from Harry's POV including never before seen chapters that were not included in Cherry.. This story will not be a carbon copy to the original. You will hear and see and read new things. You will fall in love, feel heartbreak, happiness, love, loss. You'll relive it and live it over again for the first time. Enjoy. Xx Emma. (Happy 10 million cherry babies!)

All Harry wanted to do was get over his ex-girlfriend, so he got under Ophelia. *This story contains mature and explicit content*

Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*

"Who's that over there?" The man looked at me like I was from outer space, or perhaps like I lived under a rock, maybe a mixture of both. "Him? They call him Full Throttle," he chuckled with a hint of nervousness in his voice. I scrunched my nose up in confusion. "Why?" The man threw his head back and laughed before answering me. "Because he doesn't hold back. He does everything at full speed... racing, girls, and-" the man cut himself off, seeking as though he was catching himself spilling a secret. "And what?" "Don't worry about it." THIS BOOK IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION! The characters in it are in NO way a representation of the people chosen to play them. It is merely a story, and they fit the physical description best for their characters. The characters I have created are completely fictional, and in no way relate to my thoughts and or feelings about the people I have chosen to play said characters! || THIS BOOK CONTAINS MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK || HIGHEST RANKINGS: -#1 in hs -#1 in fiction -#1 in racing -#1in dragracing -#2 in harrystyles -#4 in youngadult -#5 in onedirection -#19 in cars -#31 in gangs -#57 in fighting -#64 in harry -#111 in drama -#461 in love

"tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe." well, this is it. the sun and the moon. complete opposites. one formed from the collapse of its own being. one formed from a collison of two planets that weren't meant to be. live by the sun, love by the moon. tw: mature content, anxiety attacks, depression, (mentions of) suicide, self harm, ed.

We're all mad here, it's Wonderland. ~ Harry latches onto my passionate on-beat arms as he keeps me from moving forward. "Are you fuckin' mad?" He grits through his teeth. "I'm in Wonderland, Pretty Boy," I throw my free arm in the air, motioning to the surrounding world. "Of course, I've gone a little mad." He flips me around as the level of infuriation rises throughout his clenched jaw, trying to remain composed. "Don't try and be something you're not, Presley." I rip away from his hold, furrowing my brows from the curt statement, the honest revelation that should've just stayed within his mind. "We'll never be the heroes, and you know that," he says, colder than the Arctic's towering waves. "We'll never win." We'll never find Purple. Purple, the color of the Star-Crossed Lovers.