"Hey, Sierra" he said, wetting his cherry lips with his tongue while staring at me, a somewhat amused look in his green irises. And in that moment, I realised that I was screwed. [BOOK TWO - read Artwork first] 2/11/19 #86 in fanfiction

"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 •

how'd you feel about a rendezvous? 🤍friends with benefits au🤍

Twenty something corporate analyst, Rhona, struggles to feel love beyond an intimacy level. When she meets her new bosses stepson, Harry, they engage in a secret relationship with one rule - no feelings, just sex. But will Rhona's past and Harry's persistence jeopardise their simple arrangement. Copyright 01/01/2023

Yield. The word haunted me long before I even understood why. It wasn't about surrender, exactly. Not the kind that made you weak. It was more like... permission. Permission to feel, permission to let someone else in without detonating everything around you. But what happens when you yield, and the person you let in disappoints you? Betrays you? When yielding turns into exposure, and every vulnerability you offered becomes a weapon pointed back at you? Let me tell you: that's when yield stops feeling like permission and starts feeling like punishment.

Harry's chicken is in her garden again. For the third time this week. "Styles!" she shout over the fence. "Your demon bird is attacking my sunflowers again!" He appears, slow and unbothered, leaning against the fencepost like he's got all the time in the world. "She's not attacking. She's exploring." "She's murdering." He grins. "Guess she's got taste." She crosses her arms. "I'll make stew." "Touch her," he says, "and I'll plow your garden flat." "Threats from a man who can't even keep a chicken home?" He looks at her, amused. "Wouldn't call her the only one sneaking over lately." And just like that, she's the one blushing redder than her poor, dying sunflowers.

Harry X Reader (mini-fic AU) In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

[Completed] [MATURE CONTENT / 18+] In which an escort agrees to be the third in a marriage that's hanging by a thread. You know our love would be tragic So you don't pay it, don't pay it no mind. We live with no lies, you're my favourite kind of night.

He wanted her scared. He wanted her desperate. He wanted her begging. Her on the floor, knees spread, dress pushed up, legs trembling while he loomed over her. Tears in her eyes as she whimpered his name. His hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to stay still while he... Those delicate legs? Made to be opened by him. His hands. His mouth. His torment. His bliss. He'd keep her in silk gowns and lock every door. He'd feed her, bathe her, cradle her... And then bend her over and breed her again.-her beneath him, crying out his name as he forced her open, spilling himself so deep inside her that her body would never forget. Watching his seed drip from her thighs only for him to push it back in, growling that it belonged to him. He imagined her swollen with his child, belly soft and round, marked by his hands, his teeth, his scent. Everyone would know and see it. She is his muse, his heaven and he is her cage. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Primrose was meant to bloom. Instead, she was plucked-young, unripe, and fed to a world that devours girls whole. In a time where men held every law, every title, and every key, sixteen-year-old Primrose Everdell becomes the price of her father's illness. A devoted servant to the powerful family, he is now bedridden, helpless. And when the patriarch offers a "solution"-marriage to their eldest son-Primrose is given no voice. Only silence. Only duty. Her girlhood ends in the bedchambers of Styles Manor, where screams echo down stone halls and no one dares interfere. Her days blur into the quiet horror of submission. Her nights into the claws of a husband she cannot understand - and who does not understand her. . Perhaps she was never meant to be understood, only possessed. Why her? Why must she suffer for the sins of power? Trapped in a world where innocence is currency and silence is survival, Primrose must find meaning in a life written for her by others - or risk losing herself entirely.

When Alys Driscoll met Harry Styles in the hallowed silence of an Oxford library, she didn't see a superstar-she saw a statistical anomaly who didn't know how to follow the rules of a queue. He didn't see a doctor of genetics; he saw a girl in a vintage mustard dress who was "written in the stars." Four years later, the stars have misaligned. Between the crushing weight of Harry's global fame and Alys's clinical need for order, the "beautiful agony" of their marriage has reached a breaking point. While Harry believes their love is destiny, Alys has run the data and concluded that the most rational expression of love is to let him go. With a band falling apart and a divorce on the table, they have four therapy sessions to bridge the gap between his heart and her logic. But can you fix a relationship when one person speaks in lyrics and the other speaks in facts?