The devastating and heart wrenching story of Yellow, takes you through the journey and relationship of an addict, and a woman who views the world through rose colored glasses. Throughout the story of Yellow, you will see how the struggles, the disappointments, and the heartbreak, that branch from the illness, weigh on relationships and mental health. You'll see how heavily addiction affects not only the addict, but those they surround themselves with, too. Through undying love and understanding the seriousness of addiction and mental health, Harry and Clover fight against their own minds, all while trying to be what the other needs. But sometimes, life gets to be too much. - "He loved the stars so I told them all about him. I told them everything there was to love about Harry Styles. I just wish he would have seen it too." - *disclaimer* This story talks and goes through very heavy and triggering subjects, please read trigger warnings before deciding to read. Thank you. - All images used are found on Pinterest and belong to their rightful owners. They are not mine. **Please do not translate**

"Don't you think it was fate that we met?" I say as i run my hands through Cora's hair softly. Our eyes on the golden light as it twinkles back at us in the sunlight. Cora laughs a little under her breath before she turns her head to face me, her face doing the same as we lock eyes. "What do you mean?" She murmurs with a cheesy smile already knowing what i meant but just wanting me to say it out loud. I let out a deep breath as a smile appears on his lips, she knows what shes doing, but that doesn't stop me. "After everything we have been through, I think that was just our way of getting to eachother" i smiles as i lean in kissing Cora's forehead. "We are the art of fate, baby" A story of two people, who couldn't fight the fate. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO @WATAMELONSUGAHI 1# HARRYSTYLESFANFIC 2# in Harrystyles 1# in softharry 2&3# in softharrystyles

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.*

(Sequel to Paris In The Rain) "I'm Harry Styles. The ex-boyfriend." ~~ Two years have come and gone. Things for the Flower and the Capolavoro have changed. Drastically changed. They left each other in Paris and haven't seen or spoken to each other since. But what happens when they're reunited at a wedding? Did they wait for each other? Or did they move on? Maybe she's no longer his Flower, and maybe he's no longer her Capolavoro. ~~ (Book 2)

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. "Y-you want to kill me?" "No, I want to ruin you." Death Hood. A cloaked serial killer that leaves behind blood trails, corpses with the same cause of death and nightmares that makes everyone forget what dreams are like. Everyone has thoughts and theories but not even the professionals could figure out Death Hood's motives or identity. However, all it took was for one girl, an assistant at Malik Creations, to have one glass too many of wine and a tempting case file to discover that the face under the skull mask is Harry Styles, the owner of a Halloween Store, when no one else could've. *this story contains mature and explicit themes* Started: June 28th, 2022. Finished: November 9th, 2023.

*this story contains mature and explicit content.* [on going] rules, secrets, and lies all get uncovered eventually. and then what remains is the broken pieces of something that once was everything, but now is nothing. // "And what am I?" Then he smirks, and it's nothing but bitter. I know his next words are gonna be everything he's been wanting to say from the moment he met me. "Nothing," his are eyes on mine. "you're nothing." he means it. I smile because he least expects it. I lean forward like he did, matching his movements. I take a good look at him, his scars, his bruises. And I know the only difference between his and mine is that mine are invisible. "And what are you, any better?" His smirk remains, his eyes cold, his words uncaring. "I'm glad you're finally starting to catch on." he reminds me we're the same. // ** Set in the 90's.