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sp0o0kylights · 4 months

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Part One

Hellfire did in fact, have cookies to sell.

More than cookies, which Dustin practically preened over when Eddie dragged himself back to their table.

The ornaments they had made were still there, but now the centerpiece was an array of baked goods. Spread out in a spiral, it started from the large cake in the center and spun out into miniature cookies held in tiny decorated bags, all while Harrington stood over them like a proud parent.

It smelled mockingly delicious.

Eddie glared at the display, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing onto the floor.

Cookies and cakes and (--was that frickin bread pudding?) whatever other treats Harrington had shown up with might look good, but Eddie didn’t trust it.

Didn’t trust Harrington, even if the bastard had never really done anything himself--but then, he never had to, had he?

That was the point of all that money, after all. So he could pay other people to do his dirty work while he kept his hands squeaky clean.

“Inch a bit to the left--there, stop!” Harrington was saying, like the bossy asshole he was.

Like he thought he could just come in and expect everyone to follow his lead.

“Perfect! Now don’t touch it.”

God, Eddie had to nip this in the butt, now. Before King Horrorton harassed his sheep all day, and cemented the club's undeserved bad name in the minds of Hawkins.

“Dustin what did I just say--”

Eddie stepped up to the front of their table, preparing himself for war. Looked over to his friends knowing they'd likely need a nod of reassurance. A show from him that said he had this handled.

There was no cowering.

No pleading, helpless, 'What do we do Eddie!?' gazes aimed his direction.

Hellfire wasn’t even looking at him, and not because they were all avoiding Harrington's line of sight.

No, the fucking traiters were flanking the King. Like they were buddies with the bastard instead of mortal enemies.

“Hey, Ed’s, Harrington brought pies. Cakes too!” Gareth said around a mouthful of said cookie when he noticed Eddie standing before him.

It came out a garbled mess, but years of experience had Eddie understanding him anyway.

Jeff was busy playing what sounded like twenty fucking questions regarding the setup, and even Grant appeared comfortable, happily letting Harrington order him around as they finished setting up.

Like this was some kind of cutesy Disney movie where they all held hands and sang songs instead of a hostile takeover situation.

Eddie’s eye twitched.

Sensing a disturbance in the force, Jeff looked up and immediately interrupted himself to point to a series of red and green cookies placed dead center, delighted.

“Check it out man, Steve made some shaped like dice!”

(And he did say ‘Steve.’

Not Harrington, or This Asshole, or The Invading Evil Forces of Darkness.

Just Steve, like Steve was someone Jeff hung out with everyday.

Jeff’s cleric was a dead elf walking.)

Eddie took note of what was in fact, dice cookies.

He hated how good they looked.

“There’s four flavors.” Steve told him, cocky little grin on his face as he observed his work. “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle--and the dice ones are sugar cookies.”

He licked his lips before finally turning to look at Eddie, hair curling over his face and making him wave a hand to brush them out of his eyes.

Eddie hated how good he looked too.

‘Hate, hate, hate, absolutely loathe-’

“Great, sure, wonderful.” Eddie managed, though given the look Grant and Jeff both shot him it might have come out as more of a growl.

Dustin rolled his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Hellfire’s other two youngest hadn’t dared to show their faces yet.

Likely they knew Eddie was having an absolute meltdown over Steve’s presence and were waiting for his reaction to blow over.

(Their characters were dead too.)

“I have two full cakes--one chocolate, on vanilla--and a few individual slices we can sell.” Steve was continuing, as if Eddie wasn’t glaring a hole in his forehead. “Those did really well last year when I made them for the basketball team.”

Insults fought for space on Eddie’s tongue, but he managed to roll a 20 to pick the best one, opening his mouth to let it fly.

"Harr-" is as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted.

“Steve? Is that you?” A woman Eddie didn’t recognize but was clearly someone's mom came up cautiously to the table, side eyeing the Hellfire banner like a nervous horse. “That can’t be your famous tiramisu, is it?”

Steve beamed at her. “Well hi Miss Carpenter. It is!”

Eddie was bumped aside by a massive purse, the woman not even glancing in his direction as she stepped up to the table.

With a sneer, he finally slumped to the back of their little spot as Miss Carpenter looked over all Steve’s (not Hellfire’s and absolutely not Eddie’s) offerings.

Didn’t care to wipe it off right then, even if he knew he needed to if he wanted to make sales.

Jeff sent him a look.

The same one he usually aimed Eddie’s way when he thought Eddie’s antics were going to cause problems.

He ignored it, on grounds that traitors don’t get to be judgy.

“Oh,” Miss Caprtender tittered, the draw of Harrington’s baked goods clearly overcoming whatever fear she had about Hellfire. “Well I just can’t pass that up. The swim team meets aren’t the same without you!”

Eddie pretended to gag.

Waited for her to comment on Hellfire--their clothes, their music, hell even the length of Eddie’s hair--and found he was almost disappointed when there wasn't even a single question about Hawkins precious golden child was slumming it with the weirdos.

Instead, Miss Carpenter's hand went fishing in her purse for her wallet as she loudly called out over her shoulder, to presumably another annoying woman;

“Terry, Steve’s here! He’s been baking!”

For two terrifying seconds, there was a notable dip in the conversations around them.

Grant’s eyes went wide as several women responded to the announcement like dogs hearing food hit the floor, and within seconds their table was absolutely swarmed by the mothers of Hawkins.

Even Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sheer number of them.

“Hold, men, hold.” Dustin cautioned as Jeff and Grant both took a step back. “Come on, we need to get our gold!”

“They’re scary though.” Gareth whispered in horror as four women tried to talk at once, jostling each other so hard they shook the table menacingly.

“Ladies, ladies there’s enough here for everyone!” Steve laughed, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples as he did, getting several of the mom’s to blush at their own behavior in the process.

The sheer amount of attention of course, drew in even more people, and Dustin quickly took up directing, planting Jeff and Grant at either end of their table while he and Steve fended off the hoard from the front.

(Given the way he and Steve were equally ordering Hellfire around, Eddie finally knew where the little shit had picked that attitude up from. He was going to have to cure Dustin of it, ASAP. )

“Here you go Miss Harper.” Steve said sweetly, handing over yet another stack of baked goods.

Without turning his head, and in the tone of voice one used to warn a misbehaving dog, he added; “Gareth don’t think I can’t fucking see you, get back up here.”

Caught trying to sink under the table with another cookie in his mouth, Gareth found himself hauled back to his feet by his collar, putting a snarl on Eddie’s face immediately.

“Hey--” He started, defensive and more than ready to intercede, except Gareth wasn’t flinching or cursing or doing that thing he did with his mouth when he was desperately trying to hold in his temper.

Instead he was giving a sheepish grin and a half-assed apology while he hung in Harrington’s grasp, before doing what the guy told him to do.

(It did not help that Steve patted him on the shoulder when he released him, before handing Gareth a third fucking cookie.)

Eddie’s eye twitched a second time.

(He told it to knock it off.

It didn’t listen.)

No one acknowledged Eddie or his outburst, which meant he was just skulking behind the boys while they all worked.

Arms crossed, rings tapping a rhythm on his forearm, far too keyed up to do anything other than glare at the back of Harrington's skull.

The King seemed perfectly happy to ignore him.

Likewise, Gareth and Grant knew better than to bother him when he was in a snit.

Henderson made the occasional snappy little comment, but the brat had mostly left him alone now that they were well into the swing of selling, chortling over the increasing stack of cash Steve kept trying to get him to put into a “safe place.”

Eddie was seconds away from walking up and snatching the cash himself when Jeff decided it was on him to attempt the impossible.

Get him to help Harrington.

“More hands would be nice, Eddie!” Jeff called, looking more than a little harassed as the mom he was helping changed her order a second time, snaking out the last single slice of chocolate cake from another mom who was eyeing it. “Steve and I could really use your assistance over here!”

Eddie’s glare, which had been doing its level best to try and vaporize the King’s brain, switched targets instantly.

“I’m supervising.”

Jeff made a face like he was about to argue, but the King beat him to it.

“It must be tough,” Harrington said, tilting his head to look back towards Eddie, “to supervise people who are working so much harder than you.”

Which promptly set the mood for the next full hour.

xXx

Harrington was matching him tit for tat.

Every shitty, sneered word out of Eddie’s mouth was met with an equally mean toned barb, though given the repeated looks everyone kept shooting him, Eddie was very much considered the aggressor here.

A fact he cannot believe is coming from his own friends.

What happened to comradery? To Eddie stepping in and protecting them, from the likes of people just like Harrington?

But no, Eddie makes one fucking comment about how the cookies are probably half hair-spray and suddenly he’s the bad guy.

(Nevermind that Steve had fired right back, telling Eddie that any hair-spray taste was probably from all the drugs he did.)

Was somewhat, halfway--okay maybe amazing, Eddie might have snuck a cookie himself--food really all it took to get them all to turn on him like this?

Erase the years of Eddie being their shield in high school?

Act like Harrington wasn’t just as bitchy and awful as he had been in high school (even if he was, admittedly, being nicer about it all right now? Almost--aloof, like he couldn’t figure out why Eddie hated him so much, but likewise wasn’t going to take even one eye roll sitting down--and no, no, Eddie wasn't derailing this by thinking about his stupid eyes, he wasn't!)

Frankly he would have flipped them all the bird and stormed off, if it weren’t for the increasingly weird little comments people were making.

‘Oh Steve, it's a shock to see you here.’

‘Are you doing someone a favor?’

‘You know Pastor Jim said something about this game…’

The last one had put Eddie’s teeth on edge, even if Dustin had brushed it off. It hadn’t been aimed at Steve directly but the women saying it had absolutely been looking at the King, as if waiting for his reaction.

Not that Harrington would take the bait this soon, though.

There were too many people buying fricken…cupcakes and shit, while the King enjoyed the attention of the masses.

Eventually this tiny crowd would die down though, and that’s when Harrington would change his tune. Start answering some of the questions he seemed to be dodging as more and more people got braver about coming up to the table.

This whole thing was a ticking time bomb, and Eddie would be ready when it inevitably blew.

To defend his table, his club, his friends.

Even Henderson, who absolutely didn’t deserve it just then.

“Dude perk up would you? You look like you’re going to stab somebody.” Jeff hissed at him ten minutes later, when there was finally a break in the flood.

Eddie ignored him in place of taking stock of the table. (And maybe, sneaking another cookie.)

“Hope you brought more than this, Harrington.” He said, knowing he sounded like a stuck up ass and not feeling an iota of guilt about it. “Unless you plan to run home and bake more like a good little housewife.”

“Dude.” Grant said, casting him a look like King Dick might leave and take the cookies with him.

“Oh I brought more.” Harrington dismissed, with a small flick of his fingers. “And I’ll have you know you’d never find a housewife more perfect than I am, Munson.”

Then he turned to nail Eddie with the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen the King wear.

Facing flaming a brilliant red, Eddie sputtered for a second before finally getting ahold of himself and spitting;

“How delightful. I--”

“Okay.” Jeff cut in, forever the mediator. “Gary, Dustin can you help Steve pull the extra stuff out from under the tables? While I go talk to Eddie?”

“Can I try the tiramisu?” Gareth asked, inching hopefully towards the treat while keeping an eye on Harrington’s hands, lest he get smacked again.

“Only if you’re a good boy.” Harrington told him sarcastically and goddammit why did that make Eddie blush harder!?

Jeff sighed, before grabbing his arm and hauling Eddie back, away from the table, right as a younger man in some stupid sport’s jacket asked questions about one of the dice cookies.

“Look I get it man, I do,” Jeff started, voice talking on the sort of wheelding, pleading tone it did when he really wanted something and knew Eddie was opposed. “but Steve’s actually been super cool. We might actually make money off this, and he’s giving us all of it. Can you just… not antagonize him for five minutes?”

Eddie stared at his best friend in abject horror.

“You couldn’t have talked to him for more than twenty minutes total. Half of which he spent bitching that you were bagging a cake wrong! At what point was Harrington "being cool!?"

The asterisks were made by his fingers, which Eddie mockingly framed his face with.

He got a flat, unimpressed stare in return.

“It was a very informative twenty minutes and he was right about the cake. Now are you going to help or are you going to glower in the corner?”

Eddie gaped.

“I cannot believe you right now--”

Jeff didn’t even wait to hear him out.

“You’ve chosen to glower. I can’t help you man, but we’d all have a much better day if you weren’t at Harrington’s throat every five seconds.” Jeff turned smoothly on his heel.

Over his shoulder he added; “Seriously, don’t come back until you’ve worked your way out of your snit.”

Shocked, Eddie watched Jeff float back to the front, inserting himself easily between Grant and Steve and immediately striking up a conversation.

With the enemy.

“I didn’t know you baked.” Jeff told Steve loudly (and very obviously, for Eddie to see.)

Steve gave a bashful little smile, then shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Got into it back when the basketball team needed to fundraise a few years ago and Tommy’s mom got it in her head we should sell home baked goods. Turns out its kinda fun.”

“Please never get out of it.” Gareth insisted, a piece of God knows what crammed in his mouth.

“Dude, how many of those have you gotten into!? Stop eating the merchandise!” Dustin commanded, smacking at Gareth’s shoulder.

“I physically cannot stop man.” Gareth dodged, reaching out for another cookie. “I’m not sorry.”

Steve just laughed. All charming and buddy-buddy, like it was natural for him to be here.

Wearing a Hellfire shirt. Making jokes and teasing the guys.

In Eddie’s fucking place.

He seethed, fingers twitching, and envisioned the very unsexy murder of one Steve Harrington.

Cartoon X’s for eyes and all.

xXx

Trouble didn't hit the table.

It in fact, seemed to stay away as if on purpose, to shove in Eddie's face that he was the one in the wrong here.

Even the questions toned done, as the second wave of moms showed up, this round prompted by some former teammate of Steve’s Eddie didn’t recognize yelling about his apple pie.

Instead, Eddie’s wayward sheep finally made their appearance Mike and Lucas trying to sneak in as if Eddie wouldn’t notice during the new rush.

(Eddie himself almost caused trouble when he realized Lucas was wearing a Not-A-Hellfire shirt, which solved the mystery of where Harrington had gotten his.

He was inching his way towards them, a snarky word on his tongue when he saw Sinclair said something about how he was “already on Eddie’s shitlist for joining the basketball team,” in relation to what must have been a question about his Hellfire shirt, that caused Eddie to freeze.

With the air of a sad, wet kitten, Lucas followed it with; “I’m sure it won’t be long before he kicks me out of Hellfire anyway.”

Like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air left Eddie’s lungs.

Because before Lucas had said that, Eddie had been thinking it.

Not really--he’d never kick anyone out of Hellfire.

It was more that he'd thought about it in the way one does when you know you're right, and are having to resort to underhanded tactics to force the other party to come to their senses.

Like a sort of shitty, angry “I should kick you out, let you see what happens when you don’t have us!” kind of innervation.

The same kind he had heard the jocks sling before, when they were mad at each other and--God he wasn’t--he couldn’t be, like them...could he?

Like fucking Harrington, who oh fuck, was patting Lucas sympathetically on the shoulder and giving him some kind of whispered advice.

Sonovabitch.

“I’m going for a smoke.” Eddie bit out, vision tunneling.

He knew he needed to go sit down somewhere, before he fucking lost it in front of Hawkin, Harrington and everyone.

And wouldn’t that just be a treat for King Steve?

To watch Eddie realize he had turned into the very thing he hated, preached against, even?

That Steve was, maybe, possibly, doing a better job of following Eddie’s own Munson Doctrine than he was?

Eddie barely saw the room anymore--waived off whatever Grant was trying to say to him as flew past, shaking hands fishing for a desperately needed cigarette.

Maybe a hope and a prayer too, because apparently he needed it.

How long had he been like this?

Been a douchebag asshole?

Was it the whole year? More than? Or was it just now, with stupid Steve involved? Could he trace this back to that stupidly cute--no, no, annoying, asshole?

Was this some fucked up way of coping with his growing crush!?

Lost in thought and growing self hatred he nearly careened right into Robin Buckley.

Her slightly bent paper reindeer ears marking her as a member of the band kids who had been absolutely butchering ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ a few minutes earlier.

Vaguely heard her yell Steve’s name as he ran off (because that’s what he was doing. What he always did.

Run--from himself and his own fucking feelings, like a total cliche.)

--but didn’t take in that she was doing more than saying hi to, oh fuck him sideways--her friend.

Because she and Steve were friends.

Good ones, if the freshmen were to be believed.

Rather than go outside and catastrophize in the cold, Eddie threw himself threw the doors at the end of the hall, then up the stairwell, to the second floor.

Tucked himself right into a corner, right there by the stairs.

Sank down into a crouch, hands scrubbing up his face before tangling in his hair, head dropping between his knees, cigarette shoved into his mouth.

Somehow, Eddie decided, this was Steve’s fault.

He'd have come up with a reason for that, he was sure. A good one even, except he forgot one of the key features of his life.

He was a Munson, and as a general rule of life, nice neat things did not happen to Munson's--but they did get kicked while they were down.

“Okay, what happened?” Steve fucking Harrington asked, voice loudly echoing up the stairwell from down below, and Eddie threw his head back, nearly slamming it against the wall.

(Maybe he’d pissed off a witch. His life would make a lot more sense if someone had cursed it.)

“She gave me her number!”

That was Buckley, the shrill timber identifiable even as she whispered the words.

Eddie can’t really see them without giving himself away--could probably make his escape if he got down and army-crawled past the railing he’s huddled by, but figured this is their fault anyway.

Not his problem if he overhears a private conversation if they’re both too stupid to check to see if someone was seated literally right up above them.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Steve was saying. "That’s what we wanted!”

“Is it!? What if she’s just, you know, giving it to me?”

“...I’m not following.”

“Like in a friend way. Not a--”

“Romantic way?”

Harrington has the smarts to say the words quietly. So quietly in fact, that had Eddie not been in the exact right position he wouldn’t have heard--but he almost swallowed his unlit (he should have lit it, maybe they'd have smelled the smoke and fucked off) cigarette anyway.

“Sssshh!” Robin hissed, and Eddie can’t see either of them but he imagined her jamming her hand over Harrington’s big fat mouth.

“Not so loud, Steve!”

“Sorry, God.” Sure enough, Harrington’s voice is muffled. “How did she give it to you? Did she say anything?”

“She asked if I want to hang out after band, but because I have that stupid family thing, I told her I couldn’t today, but I can literally any other day, and she said she’d call me, and I said--”

“Robs, breathe.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Dingus!” Robin said, voice shrill again, before she clearly listened to Harrington and took a breath.

It was big, and deep, and she blasted it back out loud enough for the fucking birds on the roof to hear.

In a calmer voice, Robin continued; “I said we never traded phone numbers so I didn’t have hers. She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. Look, she added a heart!”

“Okay, here you go! A hearts a good sign!"

And Harrington sounded--sounds happy for her, practically ecstatic, which doesn’t make much sense given Robin is talking about a ‘her’ and-

And-and-and--

Eddie’s always been quick to connect the dots.

It’s something he inherited from his old man. A Munson trait he’s tried to make his own through being an excellent DM (and not by robbing people blind or boosting cars.)

Here, the dots clearly screamed that Robin Buckley was trying to ask a woman out.

You know, in a gay way.

Which Harrington not only knew, but was supportive of.

Steve Harrington, who famously called Jonathan Byers' a queer before smashing the guy's beloved camera into the ground.

Eddie’s head exploded.

Or was in the process of exploding--he’s not entirely sure given the tunnel vision was back and his soul felt like it had exited his body entirely.

Just knew that his world was being remade for a second time in five minutes, and that he was dealing with it pretty damn poorly.

(Maybe God would be nice for once, and just give him the aneurism he clearly deserved.)

Which was of course, when trouble finally did decide to show face, in the form of Dustin Henderson barging through the doors and into Steve and Robin's little meeting.

Eddie knew, because Eddie could hear him.

“Steve! Steve we have a problem!”

“I’m busy Dustin--”

“Be busy later, we have an emergency on our hands!”

“And what, pray tell, do you think is an emergency?”

Eddie, who had instantly latched onto the conversation by the sheer need to have something distract him from his own thoughts, wondered the very same.

“Jason Carver showed up at the table, with a priest. They’re trying to do some whole kind of crazy sermon--is that a good enough emergency for you!?”

“Oh shit. ” Steve spat, at the same time Eddie yelled it from up high.

He sprang up, all thoughts of Robin and Steve knowing he’d eavesdropped vanishing entirely from his head as he lunged for the stairs.

Flew down them, because the thing he'd been waiting all fucking day for had finally happened.

He nearly crashed into Robin once again as he blew through the barely closed doors, Steve and Dustin already far ahead of him.

“Eddie?” Robin asked, voice noticeably nervous. "Were you--"

"Not now Starbuck, but we can talk later." Eddie told her, flying right past.

After he saved Hellfire.

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roosterforme · 1 month

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Party of Three, Checking In | Rooster x Reader

Summary: According to Bradley, your pregnancy was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened. He could see and sense the small changes in your body, and he was already getting into dad mode. And now, after weeks of waiting, he could finally talk about it whenever he wanted to.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, allusions to smut, pregnancy topics

Length: 3300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley had you half undressed on your bed with his hands on your hips and his lips on yours. You had no doubt that he was excited. You could feel him. His mustache prickled your nose, and you moaned, trying to get more friction against your body. You needed more of him everywhere, but he slowly started to pull away. He was distracted. His eyes were drifting to the nightstand, and you knew what he was looking for.

"Holy shit," he gasped, reaching to grab the pile of ultrasound images. He managed to persuade your doctor to print twenty of them for him at your appointment two hours ago. And he just couldn't seem to put them down even as you wrapped your legs around him and laughed.

"Roo, you're being a tease."

He groaned and looked at the pictures and then at your face. "I'm not trying to, Baby Girl. I'm just so fucking excited." His cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were blown wide as he added, "I can't get over how much the chicken nugget grew."

You bit your lip and ran your fingers through his already messy hair. The baby was starting to resemble an actual baby and not just a nugget. The heartbeat was strong, and everything was going great. You didn't even feel as sick as you did a few weeks ago. But Bradley was leaving very soon for another deployment, and you didn't want to rush him through his feelings.

When you leaned up and pressed your lips to the paper airplane tattoo on his right bicep, his attention returned to you. "You'll be the best Daddy in the world," you promised.

"Sweetheart," he moaned, finally giving you some of that friction you needed with his big, warm body. "Call me Daddy again."

You ran your tongue over his tattoo before you whispered, "Daddy."

He tossed the ultrasound photos aside, and then his lips met your belly. "I love you. I love you both so much. I'm so excited."

------------------------

On Saturday morning, it was hard to be upset about his upcoming deployment when Bradley took one good look at you. Your eyes were bright, and your smile was wide as you carried the iPad and a few of the ultrasound photos over to where he was sitting on the couch waiting.

"You ready for this?" he asked, kissing along your neck as you turned the tablet on. "God, you smell good."

"Probably because I spilled coffee on my shirt," you murmured.

Bradley grinned as you started up the facetime call to your parents. You were wearing his old shirt, and he ran his nose along your ear and whispered, "You always smell nice."

You made a soft sound as the iPad rang. "You're just extra horny for me right now because of the Nugget."

"Perhaps," he replied, fully knowing he was usually like this. "But you're over the top for me right now, so it's only fair."

"Hi!"

Bradley jumped a few inches away from you as your mom answered the call. "Hey, mom," you said with a smile as you tried to pull Bradley's hand out from under the shirt you were wearing. When he looked at himself on the tablet screen, he realized his cheeks were flushed, so he scooted a couple more inches away from you and tried to keep his hands to himself.

"Wait, hang on and I'll get Dad." Your mom vanished from view, but Bradley could hear her calling your father's name loudly throughout their house.

"They are going to lose their minds," you whispered excitedly as you laced your fingers with his. The two of you had been waiting until after your twelve week appointment to start telling family and friends about your pregnancy. On top of your nausea finally starting to calm down, you looked absolutely stunning. Bradley could finally admit that yes, your ass was looking a little bigger these days, but definitely in a good way. You kept telling him you were bloated, but he thought you looked like a fucking goddess. There was just something extra delightful about your tits now, too....

"Hi," your dad huffed, clearly out of breath as he and your mom both appeared on the call. "Sorry, I was outside getting ready to cut the grass."

You turned to look at Bradley, and he nodded at you with a little grin. "We won't keep you too long. We just wanted to tell you something."

"Is everything okay?" your mom asked, brow furrowed as she leaned a little closer to the screen. "Bradley, did something happen with your deployment? Is it longer now?"

"No," he replied immediately, because she sounded so worried. "We're calling about something exciting. Well, we're excited about it, and we think you will be, too."

Your parents still looked confused as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then you held up one of the new photos of the nugget and said, "I'm pregnant. You're going to be grandparents."

Your dad gasped, and your mom was immediately shoving her reading glasses onto her face to get a better look. "Grandparents?" your dad asked with a smile, but your mom shrieked.

"Grandparents," Bradley confirmed a little louder over the delighted screaming.

"Oh my god!" your mom wailed, shaking her husband. "We have to move to California. Take the early retirement package. We have to move! We're going to be grandparents!" Then she looked back at the iPad as you started to laugh. "I'll call our realtor on Monday, and I'll start looking at listings in San Diego again. When are you due? I wonder if we can move by the spring!"

"Late March," you told her as you held the ultrasound images a little closer to the camera for your dad to look at while your mom started to pace.

"Kind of looks like a cute chicken nugget," your dad said with a soft smile.

"Right?!" Bradley said excitedly. "That's what I've been saying!"

Your dad reached for your mom and finally got her to stop walking around the kitchen in a daze. "Your mom and I have been talking about moving anyway, and being in a warmer climate near the two of you.... I mean the three of you... would probably be ideal."

Bradley noticed a few happy tears in your eyes as well as your mom's. "That would be great, dad," you whispered.

A few minutes later, you and your mom were all giggles as you ended the call, and Bradley couldn't stop smiling either. After you tossed the iPad and the photos onto the coffee table, you crawled onto his lap and cupped his face in both of your hands. "I can't wait to tell everyone at the Hard Deck tonight," you whispered, letting your forehead rest against his.

"Nat is going to lose her fucking mind," he muttered, his lips brushing yours. "She spent years picking on me for being unwilling to settle down, and now we're having a kid."

Truthfully, he never minded. Nat kind of became his family after his mom died; she was the first person he really opened up to. She was there to witness the aftermath of his one night stands and his adamant insistence that bachelorhood was what he wanted. He just never knew he could have a partner until he met you.

You raked your fingers through his hair, soothing him in that way that only you could as you kissed the scars on his cheek. Then you whispered, "I'm glad we told your parents first."

Somehow you always knew what to say and when to say it. Bradley tightened his hold on you until your chest was pressed to his. "You made that happen," he muttered. "Because you're perfect."

Your cheek came to rest on his shoulder, and Bradley could hear tears in your eyes as you said, "I wish I could have met them."

"Don't cry, Baby Girl. My parents are smiling somewhere at the thought of the nugget. I just know it."

It took Bradley a minute to realize that your soft breathing and limp arms around him meant that you were asleep, and he had to try not to shake you with his silent laughter. He knew you were exhausted so he sat quietly with your body cradled against his, looking forward to the day when he could hold you in one arm and the baby in the other.

----------------------------

Everyone seemed to think the whole purpose of the night out at the Hard Deck was to wish Bradley and Reuben good luck on their upcoming special deployment, and that was fine with you. That was part of the reason you tried to get everyone to come out on Saturday evening for a drink, but it wasn't the only reason.

"You ready to go?" Bradley asked as he walked into the bedroom where you were still getting dressed. You took one look at him in his snuggest fitting pair of jeans and the tropical print shirt that matched the one you were wearing. You squeaked softly.

"Almost." But now you were thinking about just staying home, unzipping his jeans and getting in bed. "You look hot."

He smirked and picked up the ultrasound photos as you struggled to button your own jeans which were starting to feel a little tight now just like your uniform pants. "And you look like I'm gonna fuck you hard into the bed later tonight."

"Let's stay home," you said quickly, but he was already shaking his head.

"I want everyone to know about the nugget before I deploy. You'll just have to whine and bug for me to bring you home from the bar earlier rather than later."

You rolled your eyes but led the way out to the kitchen where you pulled a bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator. It was icy cold, and you knew it was going to taste delicious, but you didn't want to open it until you got there. Bradley led you outside to his Bronco and buckled you in after he handed you the pictures of the baby. It wasn't a long drive to the Hard Deck, and the two of you started taking bets about who was going to cry.

"Mav will shed some tears," Bradley rasped as he drove.

"No, he won't!" you insisted. "But Maria will. And so will Bob and Penny."

"There's no way Bob will cry."

"He will!"

"Nah. But I think you're underestimating how sappy Maverick can get."

You shook your head as he pulled into the parking lot. "What if everyone cries?Oh my god, what if nobody cries?" you asked as you walked along, holding his hand.

"Nat is a given," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he pulled the door open for you to walk into the noisy bar. "Just wait."

With your fingers laced together, you and Bradley headed right for the bar where Penny was taking a handful of orders. When she caught sight of the two of you, she held up two fingers. "This is where the fun begins," you whispered as Bradley held up just one finger in response. Penny looked a little confused, but she got just one bottle of your favorite beer ready instead of two. When she set it down, you asked, "Penny, could I get a straw for my Gatorade?"

"Sure," she told you with narrowed eyes, reaching for a straw without taking her eyes off you as you opened your drink. "Here you go."

"Thanks!" you replied cheerfully. When you walked away with Bradley's big hand resting just above your butt, you felt her eyes following the two of you. "I think she's suspicious."

"Excellent," Bradley murmured before taking a sip of his beer. The first person to greet both of you near the pool table was Reuben who would be leaving with Bradley on this dreaded deployment.

"What's up man?" he asked your husband before leaning down and pulling you in for a hug. "Hey, can you bake some of those cookies I like and send them away with Rooster?"

You laughed and pecked him on the cheek. "Yes. As long as you look after him for me."

"I always do," he told you with a wink. He looked at your drink and asked, "You want something from the bar?"

"Nope," you told him, hoisting your plastic bottle a little higher as Bradley's hand slid lower to your butt. "I'm all set."

"O-kay," he said, looking as puzzled as Penny. Everyone was used to seeing you and Bradley with matching beers in your hands, including Cam and Maria who both materialized next to you.

"Which aviators are single again?" Cam asked, glancing around so suspiciously you snorted.

Maria smirked and said, "Not Bradley. Not Jake. Not Bob."

You gasped as you looked at Bob leaning on the edge of the pool table lining up a shot next to Maverick. "You made it official? You're not just fucking and cuddling with him all night?"

"It's official," she said, smiling at him when he looked up at her. Then she turned back to you. "Want me to get you a beer or a tequila shot or something?"

"No, I'm good," you told her, tapping her drink with your Gatorade.

"Mmmk," she said, giving you a bit of side eye as she walked away. Now Bradley was talking to Jake and Cat about his deployment. They were the only two here who already knew you were pregnant and that tonight was supposed to be the unveiling.

"Nobody guessed yet?" Cat whispered to you. "I've never seen you drink anything except a beer when you're out for the night."

You shook your head and laughed. "Give it another minute."

When Bradley's hand slid down to cup your butt through your jeans, you had to press your lips together to keep from giggling. He kept telling you that the way you were filling out your pants was working for him, and you'd taken to wearing yoga pants around the house with more frequency as a result.

"Here she comes," Bradley rasped next to your ear, sending a ripple of anticipation down your spine as his best friend came barrelling your way. He gave you a little pat and pushed you toward Phoenix.

"Hey, Nat," you greeted with a smile.

"What is this shit?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at your Gatorade. "I'll get you a real drink." Then she glanced at Bradley where he was hovering next to you with a grin. "The two of you look like idiots in your matching shirts, and I am not saying that with love."

He burst out laughing. "Thanks, Nat."

"Let's get that drink," she said, but then her eyes shifted between Bradley's face and yours as you brought the straw up to your lips and took a long sip. Bradley's hand migrated from your butt, wrapping around your waist and pulling you slightly in front of him as his palm came to rest on your belly over your tropical button down.

"I'm actually all good with this one." Now, when you raised your bottle, Nat's gaze dropped down to Bradley's hand, and she gasped so loudly, she sloshed some of her drink onto her hand.

"You're not. Are you?" she asked, eyes wide. "Are you? Bradley!"

When you looked up at your husband, he leaned down and kissed you as he chuckled. He was looking at you with the most loving expression, his gaze never wavering as he said, "Go on ahead and say it, Nat."

"Are you pregnant?" she practically screeched, and when you looked at her and nodded, she burst into tears.

"You were right," you told Bradley as his best friend slammed into him, the liquid from her glass sloshing all over Mickey. "She's definitely crying."

"Crying about what?" Bob asked in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Rooster's gonna be a dad!" Nat wailed, squeezing him around the waist before switching and hugging you tight. "He knocked up his wife, and that's why she's drinking Gatorade!"

Next thing you knew, Bradley was unbuttoning his shirt with a bright smile, revealing the tee underneath that read Dad in the Streets, Daddy in the Sheets.

"Roo!" you gasped when you read it, but it was too late for you to be annoyed by it. Your friends were closing in on the two of you, and you reached out for Bradley's hand.

"Congratulations!"

"I was wondering why you were drinking a Gatorade!"

"Are you serious right now?!"

"This is so exciting!"

Bradley only released your hand to give Maverick a hug, and you were surprised to find that he was definitely crying. But now you were crying, too. Because everyone you cared about knew now. Bradley's parents and your parents and the community of friends that you loved so much. They all knew.

"A round of Gatorades on me!" Cam called out before picking you up off the floor in a bear hug. "Oh shit, I don't want to hurt the baby," he said before practically dropping you back on the floor.

But then Jake caught you in his arms while someone handed Bradley a bottle of champagne. "I'm happy for you, Angel. I know how much you both wanted this. That man worships the ground you walk on. It's actually pretty distressing to think about, but he'll be the same way with the kiddo."

You couldn't even keep track of how many people had given you a hug. Penny brought you some sparkling grape juice, and Reuben offered to run to get food if you were hungry. You kept swiping at the tears in your eyes, but Bradley had no shame at all.

"I love you, Baby Girl!" he called from a few feet away where he was handing out the ultrasound pictures like they were celebratory cigars and sipping on the champagne bottle. "Look how adorable this nugget is," he was telling Nat and Maverick. "I'm gonna have the cutest baby ever. I mean look how fucking perfect my wife is."

You found his obnoxious shirt more endearing now than annoying, and when you tucked yourself against his side, his lips tasted like champagne. And he smelled delicious. And he looked incredible. "Oh no," you moaned softly as he put the remaining few photos in his jeans pocket. "Roo."

He looked down at you and smiled before chugging what was left in the bottle. You watched the scars pull taut on his neck as he swallowed, and your hand came to rest on his abs. After he swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he asked, "You about ready for me to take you home and fuck you hard into the bed?"

You didn't even care who heard him as you dug the Bronco key out of his pocket. "I'll drive, Daddy. You save your energy."

After that, you and he made a pretty hasty exit which was a surprise to exactly nobody. As much as you were dreading sending him on a deployment while you were pregnant, you know that you'd have so many people around you who would be happy to help you if needed.

Once you started to buckle Bradley into the passenger seat, he placed a few sloppy kisses on your cheek. When he pulled you onto his lap, you whispered, "I'm going to have the sweetest baby in the world. I mean look how fucking perfect my husband is."

He cupped your cheek with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Let's go home."

-----------------------

Bradley was bursting at the seams with excitement! Dad mode has been activated. Baby Girl seems to be over the morning sickness hump. And pretty soon we'll send Bradley away. I'll post a few more one-shots, and then we dive into a new series! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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