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.

Time is a strange thing when you're running from it at three hundred kilometers per hour. It stretches. It blurs. It pretends to heal things it only teaches you how to live around. And I think, somewhere along the way, I stopped being afraid of crashing. And started being afraid of what would happen if I didn't. Because the truth is - You can outrun a lot of things. But not the person who changed the way your heart learned to exist.

She stirred her tea slowly. "I'm not your babysitter, you know." "Says the girl hired to keep me from combusting." "I was told 'companion with boundaries.'" Harry narrowed his eyes, then grinned like the cat that found a string to pull. "That's adorable." "Don't flirt with me before I've had caffeine." "Wasn't flirting." He stepped closer, walking past her toward the fridge, close enough that his arm brushed hers - possibly by accident, possibly not. "If I flirted, you'd know." She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt her forehead. "What are we even doing here?" Harry paused, hand on the fridge handle, then looked over his shoulder with that look - the one she couldn't read yet. "Trying not to kill each other, apparently." © 2025 . All rights reserved.

Harry appears to be a nice boy. He comes from a good, wealthy family. He's been with his childhood sweetheart forever. He owns a flower shop. Arabella appears to be a bad girl. She throws loud and obnoxious parties. She screams the lyrics to angry songs at three in the morning. She owns a sex shop. When her sex shop moves in next-door to his flower shop, Harry is shocked to realize his new neighbor is a ghost from his past. Their unexpected feelings about their one-time encounter leave them both confused and drawn together, despite claiming to absolutely hate one another. To the naked eye, they seem to be locked in a hate-filled feud... but things are not always as they seem.

Bloodletter. Everyone knows the name, but few know the man behind it. He's the most ruthless fighter in a local underground fight club, nicknamed for how often he makes his opponents bleed. When Zara Clark, an ambitious writer for her college newspaper, gets assigned the fighter as her next featured piece-nothing will stop her from getting her story. Especially not the cold, arrogant, closed-off man himself. The unexpected connection she feels to him when they finally meet throws her for a loop and she embarks on the wildest ride of her life, as she begins to uncover and unravel the man beneath the legend-Harry Styles. **This story contains strong sexual content and mature themes throughout. Reader's discretion is advised.** Started: March 2020 Finished: July 2021

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.

A night shift. It brings darkness, a sense of uncertainty and unknown, you never really know what's coming through those doors until it hits you square in the face and it's all hands on deck. You never really know who's coming through those doors until their lips are on yours and you're down deep for a woman you don't even know. You never know what could happen on a night shift.

Harry thought it was just one weekend. Near Barcelona. A stolen shirt. A girl he couldn't quiet forget. Months later, he walks into lunch with his girlfriend Romi-only to find her new assistant is Alice. The same girl. What follows is a slow unraveling of boundaries, secrets, and everything they tried to leave behind. Because when the past shows up holding your coffee and a schedule for your day, pretending nothing happened... What do you do?

It was just a contract. A few months in Italy. A kitchen to myself. A moody client who was never around. Except he was. Barefoot, distant, too polite. And I was-unfortunately-already starting to care. He didn't ask for company. I didn't ask for complications. But somewhere between shared breakfasts and late-night apologies, something shifted. And now I'm trying not to feel everything all at once-for a man who won't even call me his, not out loud. They said don't fall for your boss. They didn't warn me what to do when he starts falling back.

"Round two, baby!" The gang is back and better than ever. The story filled with heart, friendship, and sun continues because summer never ends around here... ..but even summers can feel cold. ⋆ ☀︎ ⋆ 'The story seems simple. Girl meets boy. Girl falls for boy. Boy falls harder. They spent an entire summer together and their lives are forever changed. And then they lived happily ever after. Love stories are always that simple, right? Except in this particular story, it wasn't that simple. I don't actually know many love stories that are.' ⋆ ☀︎ ⋆ THIS IS A CONTINUATION/SEQUEL OF 'THAT SUMMER FEELING' *COMPLETED DISCLAIMER: mature content, drug and alcohol use, strong language, and some violence. read at your discretion! This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.