Liam: You adjusted your grip on your year and a half year old son, making sure to circle your arms protectively around his small and sleeping figure. Liam smiled reassuringly, his arm moving around your waist. At the first click of a camera, the bright flash bursting into view, your young son was awake and alert. Then, when more and more began to pop into his face, he broke out into a fit of terrified cries. You bit down on your lip, drawing blood as you tried to force him away from them but they were relentless, never stopping. Liam then stepped in, using his body as a human shield as he politely yet sternly waved off all of the media, getting your son to quiet down in the process.
Zayn: “Daddy, are they your fans? They aren’t girls..” Your seven year old son observed, his chubby finger pointing in the direction of the fast approaching swarm of media reporters. Zayn chuckled dryly, taking your son from you to get a stronger grip as his free hand found yours. “No buddy, they aren’t my fans at all.” Within seconds, they pounced like a stealth cat stalking a mouse, their camera’s and microphones coming from all directions. Your son was suddenly terrified, compared to his previous curious state. His face buried in Zayn’s neck, his small hands clutching onto his dad’s shirt. “Zayn is your son all right?” His dark gaze glared upon the small female reporter. “No, not at all, because of assholes like you. Leave us alone, thanks.”
Louis: Your tiny four year old daughter toddled along on her long legs, a small smile playing on her lips, her dark pigtails swishing with each step. Her tiny hand was wrapped around Louis’ thumb, her other hand clutching two of your fingers. The house was in sight after a full day at the park. But also in sight was the swarm of camera’s, bulbs flashing madly upon catching you three. They were approaching quickly, the previous smile quickly fading from your daughter’s face. In a small voice, she looked up at both of you, before innocently asking, “Daddy? Can you carry me?” He didn’t waste a second in pulling her into his arms, protectively squeezing her to him as the paps got close enough to hear. “Louis! Louis can you-” He cut them all off with a harsh tone, “I will not be answering questions right now, because if you can’t tell you are scaring my daughter.”
Niall: “Here, hop on my back,” Niall offered quickly, his eyes locking on the thick swarm of media currently being battled by security at the entrance of the hotel. Your nine year old daughter climbed on skillfully, her legs wrapping as far as they could around his torso, her arms squeezing his neck tightly. One hand went to hold her up and the other went to intertwine your fingers, pulling you into his side protectively. Camera’s flashed, popping light bulbs could be heard, paired with the harsh yells of the relentless reporters. Your daughter let out a short cry of fear, her face burying into Niall’s neck as her grip tightened even tighter, slightly choking your husband. But he didn’t pay attention to that, as he shoved his way through, keeping a protective hand on both of his girls. “Please let us through. Yep, thank you. Let us through, my daughter is terrified.”
Harry: “Daddy!” Your five year old daughter squeaked in apparent fear, her grip suddenly tightening on his shirt. “Hey, what is it?” Harry questioned in a soothing tone, trying to pry her face from his shirt but to no avail. He shot you a questioning look, and you answered by jerking your head toward the fast group of approaching media photographers, coming from behind. Harry’s gaze hardened as he cradled your daughter into him protectively. He turned to face them, reaching out to push you behind his back as he took a protective stance. They came like a swarm of bees just disturbed by a hungry bear, yelling, screaming, even having the audacity to tug on your daughter’s sleeve, earning a shrill scream from her. “I highly suggest you don’t touch her, or my wife,” Harry growled at the offending pap, “unless you would like that expensive little camera shoved down your throat.”