"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!

*Story Contains Mature and Explicit Content* [COMPLETED] "Strangers in the dark can change your life in the light." "As I reach the front door I can't help the same question swimming around in my mind, what could possibly be on all of those tapes?" ----- Preview: "You wanna try and be my medicine Abby?" he asks with a deep testing tone, keeping his voice quiet. "I can try" I breathe out as I gulp when his grip tightens "Try me" His hand slides up my throat, his long fingers wrapping tight around my jaw "That's what you really want?" I nod, as I sigh out a shallow yes, and I see every muscle in his body tense, as he wets his lips; hoarsely murmuring his next sentence like its his last try at making me change my mind. "I'm dangerous Abby, this is your last chance, tried to warn you" My stomach twists and knots, as I use every ounce of bravery I have. "Prove it then" ----- Book Started : DEC 2018 - COMPLETED MAY 2019

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.*

*CONTAINS MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT* Have you ever met someone that made falling feel like flying? ~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~ Preview: "Do you think, if you jumped from this roof - it'd feel like falling or flying?" I ask, keeping up with our theme of asking random useless questions that we've been going back and forth with for the past half hour. I stare at my feet swinging back and forth, looking down at the alleyway behind the building; pondering the question over in my head that I often wonder too much about. I glance over to Harry when he doesn't answer straight away and he's watching me with a look I can't read. "Unless you were a bird or could fly, it would just feel like falling. Because you'd know you were going to hit the ground" he decides to answer, staring at me like he's somewhat bothered that I asked him that. I look back down at the ground, and shrug my shoulders, "I think if you didn't care about hitting the ground it could feel like flying for a few seconds." ~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~ STARTED 11TH MARCH 2019 - ONGOING

"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 •

Marigold Styar has been best friends with Harry Styles since before she can remember. That doesn't mean she doesn't see him as more. As they embark on the new journey of college, and sharing an apartment together in the big city will he finally give in? Will he finally come to terms with what he has with his best friend? Or will he continue to live in his fear of losing their friendship, and his fear of being heart broken by the flirtatious, life of the party Marigold? Their relationship has always been black and white in Harry's eyes because he's positive she doesn't want anything more. For Marigold... Well, it's complicated. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! "Confessing your feelings is the biggest gamble ever played. You'll either get everything you wanted, or lose everything you never wanted to lose." - Rishabh Raj *Story contains mature and explicit content* TW: There is assault, and harassment in this story!

Eileen Mae Montgomery, better known as El has been working for the Gucci special designs team for two years now. It's her dream job, but theres one thing she hates about it. The rude, narcissist celebrities. When she is assigned to work with Harry Styles to brainstorm and create his tour suits for his second world tour as a solo artists she was going to treat it as she would any other job assignment. That is until he asked her and some members of her team to join him on tour. El's was going to treat him the same as any other celebrity, but Harry had other ideas. She styled his clothes, but he didn't care about the clothes she put on him, he was more interested in what would come after the show, when the sequins and fun colors turned into a pile on the floor. EXCERPT: "I like you El." "Stop saying that. Stop saying you like me." He drops his hands, looking to me in confusion. "So you want me to lie?" He asks, smirking at my annoyance. "No I'd rather you keep it to yourself." I take my phone out , my annoyance rising, his smirk growing. "You've got three minutes before I leave, so talk." I tell him. "You're timing our conversations now?" He laughs a bit. "Two and a half minutes." "Okay fine. You don't show any interest in me unless we're..." His voice trails off, and I roll my eyes. "Unless we're sleeping together... yes, and your point?" COMPLETED!

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(:

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.