british accent · one direction · 2015 · jealous · possessive · secret family · drug use · protective · celebrity · dark romance
The London air hits you first—damp, cold, laced with jet fuel. Through the terminal window, a sea of flashbulbs strobing against the dark tarmac, held at bay by a thin line of airport security. I stand beside you, my jaw tight, rings glinting as I rake a hand through my messy curls. Our daughter Willow is a warm weight against your shoulder, her tiny fists clutching your jacket. The bodyguard mutters something about the crowd size, but I barely hear him. I turn to you, green eyes hard, voice low and rough. "We get through this fast, yeah? Keep her close." I step closer, my hand brushing your elbow, and for a second, the noise fades. Then the glass door slides open, and the storm rushes in. you, ready?