"Sierra, you go with Harry Styles." I raised up my head at the words, giving my teacher an incredulous glance. "Do I really have to?" Was the only thing I managed to say. The teacher gave me an annoyed look. "Did you not understand? You go with Harry Styles." I turned my head to look at him. At the mention of his name he glanced up, and if his green eyes hadn't frozen me in place already, the unimpressed look he gave me would've done it right away. [BOOK ONE] [BOOK TWO - AQUARELLE] Started: Feb 2018 Completed: April 2019 18/01/19 #1 in fanfiction 28/09/18 #1 in harrystyles 06/10/18 #1 in harry • THE FICTION AWARDS WINNER 2019 - BEST FANFICTION •

18+ / Very Mature "Please, this is like cliche-central. With a kinky twist." ††† I step under the hot stream of water, soaking my hair, and take a deep breathe. I try and clear my mind, focusing on the way the water feels hitting my body. I turn around, opening my eyes, only to shout out a curse and stumble back. Emma is directly in front of me, taking off her tank top, eyes glued to my body. I hadn't shut the curtains, thinking no one would be in here, and I didn't know if I was happy or mad I did that. I stood there speechless as her small hands grasped the bottom of her sports bra. I inhaled sharply when she pulled it up and over her head, exposing her breasts. They jiggled slightly as she tossed her clothes to the side, and I found my heart rate quickening at an alarming rate. "W-what are you doing?" I breathe out as she pulls her leggings down her body, leaving her in just a thong. "Showering." Emma tells me as if it's obvious.

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.*

"Smoking is bad, you know." The placid voice speaks up from the distant dark corner, nothing to see but a tall silhouette and an orange glow of a cigarette cherry. "It's the least of my problems," I murmur with my own between my lips, proceeding to feel the stagnant debris valley my throat when I suck delicately. He exhales a chuckle of cynical amusement, his footsteps getting every step clearer to my eardrums until I eventually sense body heat burning my back. "And why is that?" He whispers over my shoulder, hands inviting themselves to grip the railing in front of me so I become a prisoner between his inked arms. I swallow. "Because you'll be the one to kill me first." // Aven Brooks is hired to take pictures for the world-renown punk rock band known today as Duplicity; hoping the experience gets her into her most elite-dreamed university. However, when her lenses accidentally capture more than just cheeky sound checks and performances, she comes to a horrifying discovery that Duplicity is anything but a band. Appalled and frightened, she's trapped. *HIGHEST RANKINGS* #1 IN HARRYSTYLES #1 IN ONEDIRECTION ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO @happydays1d NOT ALLOWING TRANSLATIONS! CONTAINS VULGAR LANGUAGE / DRUG ABUSE / SEXUAL CONTENT / DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE / MENTAL HEALTH READ AT OWN RISK!

"I got my hopes up" I whisper, softly closing my eyes. "About what?" Harry mumbles keeping his distance from me. "About you actually loving me back." A single tears runs down my cheek. I pick up my broken heart, and leave behind the only man I have ever loved. *Sexual warning.*

A shy boy who sees beauty in everything he lays eyes on, and a confident girl who doesn't believe in love, finding common ground in the world of art. tw.

COMPLETED!!! "We got the Confidentiality Agreememt in the mail a week before they moved in, Cora and I both signed of course, we crossed the T's, dotted the I's, the whole deal. It's our second time getting one of those bad boys in the mail since moving here to L.A. The neighborhood, not too shabby, I love it here, but there's never any big stars, last time the agreement was for Ashley Tisdale, though my childhood self would have died to know I would be living next door to THE Sharpay Evans, adult me didn't give two fucks. So I signed it, not really caring, knowing it will be the same as last time, just another star, wanting to live their life as normal as they can, if that's even possible, and I'm being forced into signing this agreement so they can live in a pretend world of nice neighbors and make believe for however long they decide to stay. I was wrong about this one though, upon signing this, I didn't know it would be him, Harry Styles moving in, just next door to me, the girl who hasn't stopped posting about One Direction since she started making YouTube videos." WARNING: there will be language and sexual content(:

Crack. It's fucking crack

So here we are, me and Harry Styles, kissing in a broom cupboard. He says he likes me. He says he wants to get to know me better. But he thinks we should keep this thing between us secret right now, to spare me the stress of being thrust into the limelight. I think Harry's right - secrecy is a good idea. However, keeping a romance under wraps is a lot easier said than done when the guy you're seeing is one of the most famous pop stars in the world... FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT TO EMMA AND HARRY IN RIGHT NOW - THE SEQUEL TO RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME.

There's three things you should know about Harry: 1. When we were in ninth grade his biggest aspiration in life was to start a punk ukulele band. 2. Once I made him a bracelet with plastic beads that didn't have a pattern in the slightest, and he wore it for years until the pink string holding it together couldn't take any more wear and tear. 3. He's been my neighbor for more than half my life, and that hasn't changed now that we're in college. There's three things you should know about me: 1. I'm banned from the putt putt golf course in my hometown... but that's actually Harry's fault. 2. I'm not a fan of math, but I'm good at it, which has turned into a constant battle in my head. 3. I'm not about to fall in love with my best friend. I'm not.