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missandrogyny · 7 years

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WRITE THE ONE DIRECTION RAISES A KID TOGETHER AU PLEASE OR AT LEAST A DRABBLE i love this idea too much i apologize for the shouting love you byyyyeeeee xx

“Alright,” Liam sighs, already tired. “I’m going to ask one more time. Which one of you did this?”

Harry raises an eyebrow from where he’s lounging on the couch, looking like this is the worst place on earth to even be. “Definitely not me,” he says, his voice bored. “How many times do I have to tell you, Liam. I was in the kitchen the entire time.”

Liam’s eyes slide over to where Niall is beside Harry, sitting on the tiny space not occupied by Harry. “Don’t look at me, either,” he says, raising his hands innocently. “There’s absolutely no way in hell I’d touch your underwear.”

“Language,” Zayn scolds mildly from the armchair, his eyes lidded like he’s halfway to falling asleep. Liam chances a glance at him, but before he can ask, Zayn’s eyes are hardening, the unspoken don’t you even dare ask me, shining through, clear as day.

Liam sighs again, before turning to Rose, who’s staring pouting angrily on the floor. “Rose,” he says, as sternly as he can. Rose doesn’t look up, just crosses her arms and pouts even harder. “Rose, please. Tell me which one of them did it.”

“I didn’t do it,” she says childishly, her little brows furrowed. She looks to be the spitting image of Harry, when he was much younger, and Liam would think they’re somehow blood related, if he didn’t know any better.

But he does, and he knows that Harry doesn’t have a single drop of his blood in Rose. Neither does Louis, or Niall, or Zayn. Or even him, for that matter. They’re as related to her as Liam is to the bloody queen, and yet here they are, raising her together, like a family. Like some strange, dysfunctional yet nuclear family.

How Liam got to the point where he’s now platonically raising a daughter with the four boys he used to have to take care of when they were in a band together, he’ll never know.

Liam crouches down, places his hands on her shoulders. She’s so small, but she’s growing bigger everyday–he still remembers when she was about three months old, perfectly fitting into the crook of his arm. He’d taken her from Niall, who looked like he was about to drop her, and he’d stared at those tiny features for only ten seconds before he found himself head over heels in love.

“Bud,” he says, using his nickname for her–they’ve all got their own little nicknames for her, and it was all a bit confusing when it started but now, after four years, he thinks they’ve got it down to pat. “I know you did it.”

Rose’s lower lip trembles dangerously. “No,” she says, still refusing to meet Liam’s eye. “I didn’t.”

Liam uses one hand to lift her chin up. “You know I don’t like lying,” he says, as calm as he can. “My underwear drawer is filled with pink glitter and glue–and you’re the only one who has pink glitter.” Liam knows, because he was the one who bought her the pink glitter and the glue. He wanted her to use it to make art. Not, this.

“That’s not true,” she denies vehemently. “Papa has pink glitter.”

From the couch, Harry sits up. “It wasn’t me,” he says. “I don’t have pink glitter, only pink glitter suits.” He pauses, thinks about it. “And pink glitter boots.”

“Defensive much,” Zayn mutters, and Liam only has to wait five seconds to hear the resounding thwack of a throw pillow smacking Zayn on the face.

“It wasn’t me,” Harry repeats. “I swear. Can I go now? I’m not done making dinner, and Rose is gonna get hungry in like, thirty minutes. If she starts throwing a tantrum and there’s no food on the table, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Liam rolls his eyes, waves a hand. “Fine,” he says. “Whatever.”

Harry jumps off the couch suddenly, startling Niall, who flails to the floor. “I’m making spaghetti,” he says, and Rose lets out a cheer at that. It turns into a groan, however, when Harry adds, “and Brussel Sprouts.”

“But I hate that,” Rose complains, before Liam can also complain. Fucking Brussel Sprouts, honestly. Liam has no idea why Harry loves them.

Harry shrugs, looking unbothered. “You still have to eat it.” He pins Liam with a look. “And before any of you even think of complaining, just remember that if you do, you’re going to have to end up eating Niall’s bland chicken.”

“Hey,” Niall pipes up, sounding affronted. “My chicken was not that bad.”

“It was,” Zayn and Rose answer, simultaneously, shaking their heads the exact same way. And that, apparently, is what Rose gets from him.

“It really was,” Harry tacks on. And because he’s Harry, he offers up an apologetic grin, charming enough to snuff out a fire–or in this case, appease Niall. “Sorry, mate.” His grin, however, morphs into something more mischievous, when he swoops down and presses a sloppy kiss onto Rose’s cheek, making her squeal. “And good luck, pumpkin.”

He hums as he walks back into the kitchen, his head bobbing to a song only he can hear. Liam lets him go, because, well. He doesn’t think Harry did it –Harry’s always been a bit shit with the practical jokes, setting up pranks that tend to fall flat during execution. And this prank was executed perfectly.

In fact, if he’s being honest, the only person capable of pulling a prank like that would have to be Louis. Except, impossible, because Louis isn’t here. Louis had left early this morning to train for his upcoming charity match, and Liam’s room had been fine at around ten, right before he left for the studio.

Louis could have gone home when Liam was out, but. Snapchat stories, man. They update in real time, and Louis had been in a bunch of them, smiling and laughing and kicking a football around.

So, Louis wasn’t here the entire day, which means there’s no way he could’ve gone to Liam’s room, unfold each piece of underwear, cover it in glitter and glue, wait for it to dry, fold it back perfectly, and put it back in the drawer the exact way Liam had left it, except with one of Rose’s sparkly tiaras on top.

“Bud,” Liam starts again. “If you tell me who helped you with this, I promise you won’t get in trouble.”

Rose’s expressions shifts into another pout. “I didn’t do anything,” she insists. “I really didn’t, promise, daddy.”

And before Liam can call her out on her lie again, grill her even more, there’s the sound of a key in the lock, then the door turning.

“Hello,” comes Louis’ voice, floating into the living room from the foyer. “I’m home.”

Rose gasps, her eyes lit up. “Dada!” She shouts, wriggling in Liam’s grip. Liam doesn’t let go, because she’s going to go running, and there’s no running allowed in the house. And besides, Louis’ going to end up coming into the living room anyway.

Sure enough, Louis comes rounding the corner about five seconds later; Liam lets go of his grip, watches Rose run the ten steps that separate them and throw her arms around Louis’ leg. “Dada! I missed you!”

Louis laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I missed you too, darling,” he trills, picking her up. He blows a raspberry on the side of her neck, and Rose giggles, throwing her hands around Louis.

Liam waits patiently until their reunion is finally over, waits until Louis sets her down on the floor and places his hands on his hips. “What’s going on here?” He wonders.

Liam answers, “Family meeting,” the exact same time Harry shouts, “Someone bedazzled Liam’s underpants!” from the kitchen.

Fucking Harry.

Louis raises an eyebrow at Liam. “What?”

“Someone covered all of Liam’s pants in pink glitter,” it’s Niall who explains this time, sitting up straight on the couch. “Like, covered each one in glue, pink glitter, then folded it back and put it back the exact same way Liam left it.”

Louis’ eyebrow climbs higher on his forehead. “Impressive,” he whistles.

Liam resists the urge to sigh again. “No, it isn’t.”

“Was it you?” Zayn asks, point-blank.

Louis looks at Zayn like he’s dumb. “Of course not,” he says. “I was gone the entire day.”

“Tada,” Zayn says monotonously. “It’s not me, it’s not Louis, it’s not Niall, it’s not Harry, it’s not Rose.” Liam tries to interject and say that it was Rose, but he gets ignored. “Which just means that it was a ghost who bedazzled your pants.”

“Yeah,” Rose nods furiously, her hair flopping into her eyes. “A ghost.”

“I mean I’ve always suspected that we’ve got a ghost problem,” Niall adds, unbothered. “I’m Irish, and I can sense all the supernatural shit better than you lot.”

“Language,” Zayn and Liam reprimand, simultaneously. Rose stares up at Liam, her brown eyes wide.

“Daddy,” she says, and Liam can see the mischievous twinkle in her eye, the same one Louis gets when he’s up to something, “what does ‘shit’ mean?”

But before Liam can come up with an answer, Harry is emerging from the kitchen, wiping his hands on the inappropriate apron he’s wearing. “That’s not a nice word,” he scolds, despite the humour and fondness in his eyes. “Pops is going to say sorry now, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry,” Niall parrots, even without prompting. “It’s just the Irish in me.”

Rose walks over to Niall, pats him on the face. “It’s okay,” she says self-importantly. “You didn’t know any better.”

Zayn does a bad job of repressing a snort. Liam doesn’t think he tried at all, actually.

“Anyway, dinner’s ready,” Harry says, once the apologies are over. “Spaghetti’s waiting.”

Louis bounds over to the kitchen quickly, obviously ravenous from his day of training, followed by Niall, who’s just always hungry. Zayn is next, unfolding himself from the armchair and walking into the kitchen without even a backward glance to Liam.

Liam pushes himself off the kneeling position he’d been in, wipes his hands on his trousers. But before he can make his way to the kitchen, there’s a small hand slipping into his, tugging him down.

“Daddy,” Rose whispers in his ear, “I’m sorry about the ghost. I’ll give you all my Brussel Sprouts to make up for it. But you have to promise not to tell Papa.”

Liam laughs, rolling his eyes fondly. “Alright, bud,” he says, patting her on the back. She pulls away, her eyes shining with happiness, offers her pinky to Liam.

“Pinky promise,” she says, and Liam really shouldn’t, he’s been spoiling her too much–he’s the one who got her the pink glitter after all–but he’s always been so weak for her, ever since she was first placed into his arms.

“Pinky promise,” Liam repeats, locking his pinky around hers, before standing up and leading her to the kitchen.

—

“Rosie, darling,” Louis says, pulling the blankets so they’re resting on Rose’s chest. Tucking Rose into bed is a job they alternate between the five of them, and it’s Louis’ turn tonight. “Tell me everything.”

Rose folds her hands on her lap, cocking her head as she thinks. “He was shocked at first,” she says primly. “Then I think he was sad, then he got a bit mad and called for a family meeting? But I did what you told me to do and didn’t say anything.”

“That’s my girl,” Louis says proudly, ruffling her hair. “Becoming a real prankster like your dada, huh?”

“Papa helped too, remember?” Rose reminds him. “He helped me fold all the clothes and put it back.”

“Papa’s a bad prankster, though,” Louis replies. “Always has been and always will be. You’re shaping up to be brilliant, though.”

Rose beams at him, her eyes glittering in the low light of the room. “I am brilliant,” she says confidently, but then she stops all of a sudden, frowning. “Dada, I feel bad.”

“Why’s that, love?”

“What if Daddy’s mad at me?”

Louis places a hand on top of hers, squeezes it gently. “Darling, Daddy could never be mad at you,” he says. “He loves you. And he knows it’s just a bit of fun.”

Rose sighs. “Are you sure?” She asks. “I love Daddy too, I don’t want him to be sad.”

Louis feels as though his heart could burst with how much he loves her. He’d had his doubts of course–raising a daughter with four of his best mates, four of his ex-bandmates, but looking at Rose now, at the girl she’s growing up to become, Louis thinks they’ve done a pretty bang up job. “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll tell him that it was our fault tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rose says quietly, reaching out to cuddle the little stuffed elephant. Zayn had gotten it for her, a few years ago, and now she can never sleep without it. “Good night, Dada.”

“Good night, love,” Louis says, smiling at her. He kisses her on the forehead once, gives her a hug, before making his way out the bedroom. He stops right before he opens the door, though, looks back to give Rose a mischievous grin. “Oh, and Rosie?”

“Yes, Dada?”

“Did you at least take a video of Liam’s reaction, like I told you?”

He hears her giggle, the sound muffled as though she’s hiding it in her elephant. “I got it on the iPad.”

Louis chuckles. “Good girl.”

#OH MY GOD #this is a #drabble of #zayn harry liam louis and niall #all platonically raising a child together #i'm serious #bro-parents to a little girl named Rose #THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE IVE NEVER FELT MORE ENERGIZED TO WRITE IN MY /LIFE/#Anonymous #asks #my writing

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