That one where Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.
• Dit is een vertaling van de Engelse en gelijknamige fanfictie, Young & Beautiful.
• Deze story is 16+.
Niet doordat de seks gedetailleerd is, maar door het vele drugs en alcoholgebruik.
• De originele schrijfster is Velvetoscar op AO3.
• Soundtrack.
• Dit is mijn fav fic ever. Seriously.
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It’s just as they’ve all taken one collective gulp of wine, when the door suddenly opens once more.
And it’s another beautiful boy.
Louis really shouldn’t be surprised at this rate since this school is seemingly (miraculously) inhabited only by those whom the gods love.
The boys fall into a surprised silence, every pair of eyes fixing on the newcomer, including Zayn’s, as the entire room lights up. Everyone immediately pays attention to the boy, apparently delighted to see him.
And Louis can tell that this boy’s aware of it, can see it in the slow blink of his eyes and the focused calm of his movements, but he barely acknowledges the room. Without even a glance in their direction, the stranger begins unfurling the creamy satin scarf from around his neck, bejeweled fingers slowly picking at the intricate weave.
Eyes set on the task at hand, the boy says in a long, musically monotonous drawl:
“Hello, my little blossoms.”
His tone is smug and smirking, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing and what he’s saying. These boys are his—they’re beautiful, and they’re his collection.
And Louis is immediately rubbed the wrong way.
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Danmarks Dynamite.