Harry Styles Mirror Picture Novels & Stories

You said she… Megan- Nah, I just assumed and he hasn’t corrected me soo… Harry- Of course the bartender is a woman. I’m not researching creative cocktails to get attention from a man! Ryann- Alright, alright. Just checking. Is she cute? Harry- IMG.1 He sends a selfie. He’s winking at the camera and once again I’m struck with how easily he could be mistaken for an actor or something. He really is gorgeous. Dark hair, blue eyes. It occurs to me that I should really ask what he actually does for a living. I search the photo and I can see a woman in the background of the photo. It’s blurry, all I can really make out is that she has wavy blonde hair and that she seems pretty short. At least I thi

He could be right. Dandridge wants my camera, along with a piece of my skull, and who can blame him? I followed Harry into the garage and took pictures while a prostitute gave him a blow job in the backseat of his white Lincoln. I would have escaped without incident if I hadn’t decided a close-up dick shot was called for—all in the name of cheating douchebags, of course. Harry was well occupied when a speeding car squealed its tires and Harry opened his eyes. I took a picture at that exact moment, and believe me, it’s a moneymaker. Harry dislodged the prostitute from his dick, tossed her to the cement, and charged from the car with a shiny aluminum bat in hand. For a guy with a pot belly and

I huffed and sat on a little bench in the center of the large room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length, three-sided mirror at the end of the room and sighed deeper. I looked like a stripper. Pushed up cleavage, tiny panty, and that damn purple stripe in my damp hair. I even had a stripper name; Twilight Princess. All I needed was a pole. I searched the room thoughtfully but there were no vertical poles to be found, all of them were horizontal.

he speaks looking at me through the mirror after shaking his hands and washing them. "It's obvious I won't forget you," I bite my lower lip. I fix my hair and finish smoothing out my dress, I approach the mirror and can see that my makeup has smudged, but I didn't bring my purse! As I try to fix my horrible face, Harry tells me that I don't need makeup to look beautiful. Is that a compliment, or is he making fun of me? Before leaving these four walls, I suddenly approach Harry and give him a kiss on the lips, telling him that I loved the moment of passion. I separate from him and without waiting for him to scold me or say something I don't expect, I rush out of there.

Harlyn “Wow,” I whispered to myself when I saw my reflection in the mirror for the first time since the stylists started doing their magic on me. I wasn’t allowed to look in the mirror and now I know why. They did a really good job with my face, my hair, and my outfit.

When the rhyme vanished, a small window appeared next to the oven. There were five tabs above it. The first tab had a hair icon, the second a face, the third a torso, the fourth a sun wearing shades and the fifth a shirt. Kate clicked the Hair tab and she was presented with a whole gamut of men’s hairstyles: undercut, curly, layered, wave, Harajuku matted style, asymmetrical emo, mohawk, crew cut, man bun, spiky, flat top, dreads, Elvis…

Her turns of phrase were so old. "... We have hardly tried the bathroom. It would be a great pity if we were to omit a room from the charge Bianca has given us." Harry burst out laughing and lifted her again to carry her to the adjoining bathroom. When he closed the door behind him, he froze in place when he found himself facing a mirror. He accelerated his step and contemplated himself, fascinated, in the mirror. His eyes swept first the body with the perfect skin of his Mate. Then they stopped on the mark that she had placed on him.

Falling - Harry Styles  ~ Alia stared at her reflection in the mirror, small pants leaving her lips while steam coated the surface as she did so. She had brushed her hair to perfection, her porcelain skin glowing under the light of her room and though it was late at night, she still had light make-up on. She felt... More beautiful than she had ever looked before, even though she was dressed in such drabby clothes, this clothes being her pyjama pants, but Alex... Alex used to like them.

I looked at my image in the mirror for one last time before I stepped out of the cabin. I set my classic bangs with my fingers. Classic because they are classic and the other reason I call them classic is, it's been my hairstyle for a long time. I have a scar on my forehead, a little one. Not as big as Harry Potter and obviously not given by "the one who must not be named".

An oversized gray sweater, exposing an equally lethally sharp collarbone. My stomach churned, and I skittered back. The picture I’d used for my icon at Henley and Stevenson came to mind. I’d taken it right before I started the graphic design job about a year ago. Bright, full red hair in a loose bun, casual makeup, a glowing grin in a soft face. The person in the mirror looked like her corpse. I backed up until I slammed into the wall across from the mirror, and tears filled my eyes. Maybe Dad and I both died that day.