Zayn Malik was always different compared to the other children as he grew up. He was never understood, and in turn never understood the others, so he lived in his dream world of doodles, colours and drawings. He finally reaches out to the tall, curly haired Harry Styles, but how will the popular Harry react to the quiet boy who everyone thought was mute? Zayn has so many more problems then Harry could ever understand, but how can Harry try to help the brown-eyed boy, when he barely speaks a word? [A Zarry Stylik Fanfiction that contains triggers of abuse and bullying.]

Going into a new school Harry is determined to hide the fact that he was born blind as long as he can in fear of being judged. When he meets Louis, the schools football star, he's skeptical to tell him his secret, regardless of Harry's growing feelings for him Credits to 123AJE on quotev

One text to the wrong number is all it took for Anna to begin a friendship (and maybe more *wink wink*) with One Direction's Louis Tomlinson. / Highest Ranking: #1 in Fanfiction ~ 8/28/16 Completed on January 25th, 2016. + cover by @jealouis

Zayn had everything under control. He doesn’t get distracted by customers, and he definitely doesn't let it effect his studies. Work is work. Until a mysterious business owner comes into the club demanding his attention.

When Harry moves to a new town to escape the bad in his life, he just wants to keep his head down and finish his senior year. His plans change drastically when he runs into Zayn Malik, and his rival Jackson Thompson. With new friends, old rivalries, and hidden pasts, Harry's senior year is destined to be filled with drama

AU where Zayn’s a journalist who finds rock star, Harry Styles, passed out outside his motel room. (Smut with a capital S, so if you're used to my usual stuff, proceed with caution.)

It's the summer before Zayn's final year at uni and he's got it all sussed. Or so he thinks until he meets 17-year old Harry and realises that he doesn't know a thing.

Believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see. That’s what his father always tells him with that smile of his, the one that says, I’ll tell you that much, but the rest will cost you. Harry never knew what he meant, but he gets it now that he’s sitting in the dim bar of another hotel he won’t sleep in, the ice melting in his £18 gin and tonic. He doesn’t even like gin and tonic, but it’s all part of the game. And it is a game. It has to be, because if it isn’t that means he doesn’t enjoy it and he does.