He's Inevitable

*Winner of best One Direction Fanfiction for 2014 BMA's* "I know that perhaps he could never love me in the way I have realized that I love him, I am not delusional. I walked into love with him, with eyes wide open. Knowing full well the consequences of the feelings I had so blatantly accepted. But even that was not a choice. He's less of a choice and more like fate. He's inevitable." | Emma Grace Styles has had the life any teenage girl would be envious of. Being the daughter of Harry Styles and surrounded by the men of the once world famous One Direction, has assured that Emma would lead anything but a boring life. But there was one thing missing in Emma's seemingly perfect life, and he had left eight years ago. As he comes back into her life, in the most peculiar of ways she realizes that he's inevitable. And that perhaps inevitability was only the beginning of their twisted love story. *Cover is Illustrated by Coconut Wishes* Book III of the She Taught Me How To Love


32. Completely Complete


Completely Complete


"Okay, but really..." Niall asks as he drive down the familiar road to pick up some take out, "How can you still not know what the fuck you want to do in uni?"

The movie had let out, and we made the decision to get Nando's, again.  As we drive down the very familiar road, we can't help but be caught up in this conversation once more.

"You didn't even go to uni." I reply.

"I didn't even finish high school." He says with a laugh.

"Oh, we can all tell."

His hand quickly darts away from the steering wheel and pokes me in the side, making me jolt from my seat.

"Wanker." I mutter as he chuckles.

He sighs though, and quickly his tone turns a tad serious, "I do wish I had though. Fucking crazy the shit we went through. Never got back to studying." He shakes his head, one large hand on the steering wheel the other on the shift.

I place my hand over his and smile, "But you lived such an amazing life."

"Lived? Are you saying my life is over now?" He asks in a faux incredulous tone.

"Well...I don't know. Do you think it is?"

He stays quiet for a second, reflecting. "A part of it is, a part that I thought would define my life. But, I think a new one is beginning." He doesn't look at me, he doesn't display any particular type of emotion, he simply nods.

"Maybe we're getting a little too deep."

Niall laughs, "We're past deep. We're drowning."

"That is quite possibly true."

We stay quiet for a few beats, the car humming as it navigated the road.

"But really Ems, what do you want to do with your life?"

The sad thing was, I really wasn't sure.

"I love to write...But, I don't know if I'm cut out to be a writer."

"If you're anything like Harry..." He doesn't finish, he doesn't have to. My father is a bloody genius, a master of words. He had not gone back to his schooling either, but he didn't have to. It was something that came from deep within him, something I had always found magical.

"I don't think so..."

"Don't say that, princess. You'll find your way."

"Yeah, but when? It's already been two bloody years since I started uni." I say, frustration already showing in my voice, "Maybe...I'm just not really cut out for anything..." It had been a thought that had been rolling around my head for a while. Sure, I was smart enough. I have always been smart, I have always been told that I am bloody brilliant. But what good does it do me if I can't even decide what I wanted to do with my life?

"Don't look at it that way, Ems. Maybe you just haven't found your passion yet."

"When did you know you found yours?"

He smiles, "When I picked up a guitar."

"A hundred years ago?"

He reaches out to poke me again, but I slap his hand away roughly.

"Am I really that old?" He asks, almost insecurely. He says it in a playful tone, but I knew that perhaps I hit a nerve. I could hear it in his voice, he was going to whine about my little jab.

"Oh, shut up." I say in an exasperated voice.

He laughs, "Okay, fine. No more talk about age."

"Or school."

"Or school." He repeats.

"But must we have Nando's again?"

"Do you have something else in mind?"

I smile, "Do you only have home cooked meals when you come over?"

He shifts a bit in his seat, "Well, yeah."

"Well, why don't I cook for you?"

"You? You know how to cook?"

"Better than you. You couldn't even make bloody pancakes." I laugh, remembering when mum and dad had gone on their honeymoon and Niall had attemptedand I use the word looselyto make pancakes.

"Hey, we both know Harry is a pancake wizard."

"Well, I make an amazing pasta."

He smiles, "Pasta sounds fucking great."


The thing about Niall was that he had always been my best friend. More than that really. He's my person, my fucking person. He is the sole person I need. And it's so dangerous to put all that power in the hands of one person, to let them be your everything, but he is. He has been.

It was so easy with him. So bloody easy. But at the same time, it was hard. It was a balance of the two. He always kept me on my toes, but caught me if I fell. He let me be myself, but helped me stay focused on the important things. He let me run, but was always a few steps behind.

"I'll stir the sauce." He says tying a frilly apron around my waist, brushing my hair back, and planting a kiss on my shoulder.

"I'll finish the salad then while the pot boils."

I smile to myself, watching as he happily stirs the sauce in the pan. His relatively small kitchen, cozy and perfect for the two of us.

"It smells amazing. You made this from scratch?"

"Mum's recipe."

"You could always sell pasta sauce." He says in a mockful tone.


"If you don't know what you want to do with your life, your backup plan could be selling this pasta sauce, it's fucking amazing."

I roll my eyes, "Oh, please."

"Do you want another backup plan?"

"Do you want me to sell the pasta as well or maybe open a restaurant?"

"No." He says, turning off the stove and stepping towards me. He hugs me from behind, resting his chin upon my shoulder, his warm breath upon my neck, "Couldn't I be your backup plan?"

"What do you mean?"

"If all else fails, you could do what you've always done best."

"And what's that?"

He hugs me even tighter, "Make my life complete."

My heart flutters, and I could feel his flush against my skin, "You're so full of fucking cliches aren't you?"

"I know," He says with a chuckle, "I embarrass myself most of the time. Making an arse out of myself aren't I?"

"Isn't that what love basically is?" I say with a smirk.

"Making an arse out of yourself—"

"Because you're so in love with the person, you can't help but say—"

He turns me around mid-sentence, pressing me against the counter, leaning in towards me, "You make my life complete."

My breath catches and he smirks, "We're even finishing each other's sentences now. Look at that."

He leans in, lips pressing against warm lips, when I hear a vicious bubbling. We both turn to look at the pot of pasta boiling over onto the stove.

"Fuck." We mutter simultaneously, running to turn the pot off.

"Maybe not the restaurant or pasta idea." He says with a smirk. "Stick to the sauce."

I laugh loudly, grateful the pasta was okay, but even more so that I had him to do these silly things with.

Completely complete. He makes my life, completely complete.

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