It's six minutes to my birthday and...I'm typing this. Insomnia sucks, but it's awesome at the same time, because I get to write for you lovely people!
That said, I've been chewing over this for a really long time :) This is only my second Glee one-shot but your guys' lovely reviews prompted me to write more :D so thanks.
That said, enjoy!
-S.G.R.
His palms felt sweaty.
His breathing came in short, barely there gasps. His eyesight becae tunneled, foucused on that one, incriminating item that stared at him with this sick kind of innocence.
There was a long, shocked silence.
And then there was a snicker. It was muffled, as if one of the guys had picked up a pillow and attempted to stuffed it in his mouth. Definetely that weasel, Patrick. Nobody really liked him.
Puck turned and sent one of his famous glares toward him and Pat shut up. 'Cause Puck was a BAMF. Period.
Which as why he turned and gave the delivery punk one, long, look. "Am I being punked?"
The kid swallowed. Paled. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Puck privately enjoyed the I'm-about-to-piss-myself look. Yeah, that's right prick. I'm married and I've still got it.
"No-no sir. This specifically says Noah Puckerman."
There was another snigger. This time it wasn't muffled.
Puck's scowl became deeper. The delivery boy shook.
"Listen, kid, there is no way in hell that I ordered fucking pink and blue ballons and teddy bears. So I suggest that you turn your skippy little ass around and take those back wherever they came from before I lose my temper."
"S-sir, I have to deliver these. It's my job to-"
Puck gave him another look.
He dropped the ballons and the full box of teddy bears and hauled ass down the fire station driveway. Puck had half a mind to tackle his ass, but he let it go.
Instead, he glared at the objects on the ground. A huge, blue and pink striped box with no top, exposing frilled blue and pink teddy bears. There were bright blue and pink and had, get this, gold stars all over them.
He was starting to see whose handiwork this was.
Sighing, Puck picked them up (because knowing his batshit wife, she'd be in the bushes nearby making sure he that did) and went back into the fire house.
The guys were all wearing these smug looking smirks on their faces. Only Sam, Puck's childhood best friend, had the balls to speak up first. "So, Puck..."
There was a snigger. And then the entire was holding their stomachs, slapping the floor, tears pouring down their faces.
Puck ignored them. Because he couldn't kill them all. No, they were his boys. Putting a cap in all of their asses with his '47 wouldn't be kosher.
Luckily, the alarm began blaring.
Saved by the bell...
They sobered and began getting ready, but not without a few smirks thrown Puck's way and giggles.
Puck was ready for a fire. Normally he'd dread the play-by-play that Rach requested at the end of each day, but he was roaring from a good distraction from those damned teddy bears. What had Berry been thinking? Directly threatening his reign of badassery? Sure, it would take a lot for him to fall from his throne, but Puck felt a little betrayed. They'd been married for three years. Babe knew how needed to be on top.
"Address?" he grunted, slamming his door a little harder than necessary.
"2270 Halridge Road..." Rick trailed off. "Hey, isn't that your place?"
Something cold and fierce gripped Puck's heart. As soon as Sam was placed on the back, he threw the truck into drive.
He didn't notice the huge billboard or the occasional pink and blue ribbons. Nor did he notice the small, almost invisible smile on Rick's face.
He nearly mowed down a smart car and tailgated a semi, but damn them,. Damn everything. His Berry could possibly be in danger and-
He slammed on breaks, cursing as an old woman stood in his path. The fire truck came to a screeching halt.
He rolled down his window. "LADY! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!"
She only smiled.
Senior citizen or not, this chick was about to be run the hell over. Puck gripped the steering wheel so tightly that it almost hurt.
She stood there, still smiling that maniacal smile, then pulled something out of her pocket. A gun?
The. Hell.
And just as Puck was about to duck down, she raised it and shot it clear in the air. The flare rocketed toward the sky and burst, barely heard over the sirens of the truck.
And then there were people steaming out of the quiet, suburban neighboorhood, all dressed in red. Rick reached over and turned off the sirens.
Still almost sick with worry, Puck jumped out of the car.
What appeared to be a mob/marching band grew. But no parade was today. Berry would have chewed his ear off about it. She was all into that sort of community shit.
They were playing some kind of unfamiliar tune with trumpets and drums and crap. There had to be about a hundred of them, marching around and then going into this weird parting line to reveal...
Puck blinked. Blinked again. Tried to close his jaw unsucessfully and couldn't.
Brittany, Santana, Kurt, and Blaine. Wearing pregnancy tests. Giant, apparently positive pregnancy tests.
Santana didn't look too thrilled, but Britntany was gyrating with the hugest smile on her face, and of course Kurt, the fairy, had to decortate his positive sign with glitter. Blaine looked happy.
And then Mike, Matt, Finn, and Artie, dressed in diapers, starting to hum something into-were those microphone headsets?
Tina, Quinn, and Mercedes marched up in these pink one suit looking things with ribbons in their hair and pacifiers around their necks and damn if Berry didn't come dancing with them and singing in that loud, insanely hot voice:
"We're having a BABY Noah! We're having a baby, or two! Congratulations, Noah! CONGRATULATONS to you!"