Punk One Direction One Shots

Mick Jagger, Punk Bands, and Breathing

Louis Tomlinson had always been a feminine guy, he didn’t choose to be that way, but he just was with his small hands, thick thighs, and an ass that rivaled various female celebrities. His sassy personality didn’t help the situation any. This collective mix named him the “woman” of the relationship if you’re into labels. Louis just had a motherly personality- it wasn’t his fault he had eight younger siblings to help to take care, he knew how to make a home.

So on his shoulders was the weight of his world: Liam and Harry. Liam, his loving husband, was a very masculine person. The yang to Louis’s yin, if you will. He made sure Liam was pleasured in all aspects of his life, because Louis was a dutiful housewife, which is alright. It was after love making that a very drowsy Louis heard what was wrong with Harry.

Harry was their son. At the nice age of seventeen, it was quite clear of two things, one, he looked like Mick Jagger, and Mick could be his dad, and two, he liked boys more than society thought he should. He was the same with girls, though, it really just amounts to he just loved people and was very vocal on human rights.  Since they had adopted the little angel when he was five, they knew he was a snorer. Whenever Louis would get up in the middle of the night to check on him, because Liam slept like a fucking rock, he could hear Harry’s breathe catching on air.

But the snores were little and cute coming from his innocent pouty lips. Tonight, at about midnight, it sounded like a bear was sleeping in their house...downstairs...in the basement.  Liam let out a growl, kicking the covers off the bed. “Where are you going?” Louis asked staring at the ceiling willing himself to get up and go downstairs.

“Gonna go Google a damn doctor that we can call.” Liam tripped over the threshold, muttering a “fucking teenager”.

Louis tried a sweeter approach, but still supporting Liam in going to the doctors. He tip toed down into the basement. It wasn’t the typical, dirty teenager’s room, it was clean, nothing was living in the corner, and it smelled halfway decent. Harry had strung Christmas lights from the ceiling and over his bedpost, framing his canvas paining of Mick Jagger that hung above his bed. One painting of each Rolling Stones member covered his walls, along with posters for bands Louis didn’t like because they were punks and he couldn’t understand what they were saying. (They were called something about Veils and Piercings, and then Sex with Sirens, maybe? He didn’t really know)

He slipped into bed, stroking the curls of hair on Harry’s head, until the loud noise stopped. But as the snoring stopped, so did breathing all together. Louis cried out in panic for Liam to call an ambulance.

A ride in an ambulance, four breathing treatments, and a bottle of pills later, Harry was diagnosed with sleep apnea. Harry couldn’t really comprehend what was happening due to his drowsy state of mind, so he just agreed to everything knowing his dads would take care of him.

And they did take care of him, they gave him his breathing treatments and set up a baby monitor in his room so that they could prevent future moments of panic.  Harry didn’t protest the babying, well the monitor was a bit embarrassing when he had friends over, and Louis just about throughout his son’s record player due to the constant screaming of those bands, but his music did sometimes set the mood for sexy time, so really, everyone was happy.