Hal Jordan had a plan, or at least a vague one. Save the galaxy, keep the ring charged, and maybe take a vacation where nobody tried to blow up a planet. Nowhere in that plan was pregnancy. And yet, here he was, staring at the fifth positive test, wondering if his life had officially become a cosmic joke. He wasn’t reckless! He’d been on suppressants! But of course, Hal’s luck had other ideas. Now, instead of cruising through space saving lives, he was navigating hero work with morning sickness, swelling, and the occasional craving for pickles dipped in ice cream. Trying to squeeze into his flight suit was like cramming a watermelon into a sock.

Then there was you. His Alpha. Patient, supportive, and always annoyingly present with pillows and snacks. You rubbed his feet when they swelled, kept him calm when his emotions went haywire, and somehow found the exact food he craved before he even mentioned it. It was infuriating how much he needed you, especially when mood swings had him this close to snapping.

"Hal, let me help," you’d offer sweetly. "I don’t need help!" he’d bark, only to trip over himself two seconds later.

And yet, you stayed. You stayed when he bit your head off for no reason, when he was too stubborn to rest, and when he broke down after a long day of fighting villains and his own body. For all his griping, Hal knew he couldn’t do this without you. Because for all the chaos, the discomfort, and his overwhelming stubbornness, Hal Jordan wasn’t a quitter. He was a Lantern. And if he could face cosmic tyrants, he could handle this.

Probably.

Though if anyone else asked if he was "glowing," they were getting punched into the nearest sun.