Winter Storan ||z.m
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MatureOngoing5h 4m
Last published Mon, Feb 9, 2026
[completed] A Zayn Malik Fanfic.
Winter Styles-Horan is the name. I'm 17. My dads, Harry and Niall, are founders of Storan Ale. People only tend to like me because I can get free beer and my parents are rich. I have two best friends, the first is Louis Tomlinson. We've been friends since preschool, I can always count on him to make me laugh or be my partner in crime, and boy was there crime. He's the sassiest person I ever met, but I would not want him another way. My other best friend is Liam Payne, the sweetest, shyest, most charming boy you'll ever meet. I'm pretty protective of him. He used to get bullied all the time but ever since I barged my way into his life no one messes with him because they know I'll mess up their faces. My life is pretty wild, at home and with my boys I'm sweet and caring, but at school and out on the street I'm kind of a bad girl. Not a slag, geez, I just mean nobody messes with us. Everyone avoids us. My appearance isn't exactly the most welcoming, a few piercings, tattoos, tight jeans and leather jackets, you know .. the works. I'm a bit scary actually. There is however one boy who I find tearing down my walls since he moved here. Zayn Malik.
All the love. x
*side narry & lilo
All Rights Reserved
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Broken Promises β
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β π©π¦πͺπ’π―π’π«π π’ /Λπ©ΙͺπͺΙπ―Ιπ«π°/ ππ‘π§π’π π±π¦π³π’: π π£π’π³π’π―π’π‘ π°π±ππ±π’ π¬π£ πͺπ¦π«π‘ ππ¬π―π« π¬π£ π―π¬πͺππ«π±π¦π π£π¦π΅ππ±π¦π¬π«; πͺππ―π¨π’π‘ ππΆ π¬ππ°π’π°π°π¦π³π’ π±π₯π¬π²π€π₯π±π°, π©π¬π«π€π¦π«π€ π£π¬π― π’πͺπ¬π±π¦π¬π«ππ© π―π’π π¦ππ―π¬π π¦π±πΆ, ππ«π‘ ππ« ππ π₯π¦π«π€ π‘π’ππ’π«π‘π’π«π πΆ; β΄ π‘π’π³π¬π±π¦π¬π« π‘π―π’π°π°π’π‘ π¦π« π‘π’π©π²π°π¦π¬π« β "Then tell me," I rasp. "Tell me and I'll deal with it. I'll handle it. Just-don't shut me out." "I can't," she says again, voice breaking. "I can't tell you. I can't be with you. And I can't stand here and watch you break and know that I'm the reason." She swallows hard, her throat moving. "Please don't make me explain it. Please just... stop." I take a step toward her anyway, rain dripping from my eyelashes, my chest hollow. "I don't care if it kills me," I say, and it's not bravado; it's a man with nothing left to barter. "If that's the price, fine. At least then I get to be with you before it ends." She makes a small sound, half sob, half laugh, and it's the most human thing I've ever heard from her. "Don't say that," she whispers, almost fierce. "Don't ever say that." She holds my eyes for one last beat, lips parted like she might say something else - something that could undo all of this, something that could make the rain stop mattering. But she doesn't. Instead, she exhales, low and unsteady, and shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she says again, softer now, like a confession. Then she turns. And that's it.
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