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BEYOND THE STARS

CONNER KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — After years of being a hero with Conner Kent, your life changes when cosmic nightmares start haunting you. You seek help from Batman and Martian Manhunter, learning that a mysterious force claims you belong to something greater. Though while trying to help you Batman finds something shocking. This news stuns you and Conner, making you consider your future. Before you can process it, a powerful armored enemy attacks you in Happy Harbor.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence. Male Pregnancy.

WORDS! 9.4k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Back with some Conner content and this is going to be a mini-series because I miss writing those. Don’t worry, I have plenty in the works, I’m just long winded. I hope you all enjoy!

A low breathless moan slipped from your lips as Conner's mouth trailed along the curve of your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin. His lips alternated between gentle kisses and heated, open-mouthed sucks, each one leaving behind the faintest hint of a bruise. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching into his touch instinctively.

You were straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips as you both lay tangled in the bed, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. Conner's back was pressed against the headboard, his broad chest rising and falling beneath you. His hands, strong and possessive, gripped your ass, fingers sinking into your flesh as he guided you down onto him.

A sharp gasp caught in your throat as you felt his length buried deep inside you, stretching you in a way that left your mind hazy with pleasure. The heat of him, the way he fit so perfectly, sent a pulse of pleasure through your core. His grip tightened, and his deep, gravelly voice rumbled against your ear.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured, his hands squeezing just a little harder as if grounding himself in the moment.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle before threading into his dark hair. You tugged gently, and he groaned, his hips shifting slightly beneath you. The movement sent another jolt of pleasure through you, and you bit your lip, trying to stifle the sound threatening to spill from your mouth.

But Conner wasn't having that.

"Don't hold back," he said, voice husky, his hands guiding you to move—slow at first, deep, deliberate movements that had your breath hitching. His gaze was locked onto yours, darkened with lust and something deeper, something that made your heart race just as much as the way he filled you.

Every touch, every press of his lips, every whispered word in your ear—it all felt electric, setting every nerve in your body alight. And as you moved together, lost in each other, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in heat, desire, and something that went far beyond just the physical.

Your head tilted back as a pleasure-filled moan tore from your lips, Conner's name spilling from your throat like a prayer. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, his grip on your hips tightening as if he were trying to ground himself—to hold back—but your reaction only spurred him on.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and before you could catch your breath, he thrust deeper into you, filling you completely. The sudden intensity had your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body arching into him as a gasp escaped you, eyes fluttering shut.

"God," you breathed, nails dragging lightly down his back, the heat of him, the sheer fullness making your mind spin.

Conner leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice husky and filled with need. "Say it again," he murmured, the demand laced with something almost desperate.

He pulled back slightly before snapping his hips forward once more, the movement sending another wave of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch. The pressure, the stretch, the way he filled you so perfectly—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

"Conner," you moaned again, softer this time, but no less pleading.

Conner's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he moved within you, each deep thrust making your breath hitch. Your moans filled the room, his name tumbling from your lips in broken, pleasure-filled gasps. Every time you cried out for him, his control wavered, his movements becoming more desperate, more demanding.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, his voice thick with lust and something darker—something possessive.

"If you keep saying my name like that," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "I'm gonna put a baby in you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly at the sheer intensity behind them. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your body arching into him as your breath caught in your throat.

"You like that idea, don't you?" he teased, his voice a husky whisper, his hips rolling into yours with slow, deliberate force, making you feel every inch of him. "You want me to fill you up, make sure everyone knows you're mine?"

A whimper escaped your lips, your body tightening around him in response, and Conner groaned, his pace faltering for just a second before he recovered, thrusting even deeper. His grip on you became almost bruising, his control hanging by a thread.

"God," he gritted out, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes locked onto you, dark and intense. "I swear, I won't stop until I do."

The raw need in his voice sent another wave of pleasure through you, and as he pushed deeper, claiming you in every possible way.

A sudden gasp escaped your lips as Conner’s strong hands gripped your hips, his strength effortlessly flipping you onto your back. The world tilted for a brief second before you found yourself beneath him, your legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist. His body pressed firmly against yours, his heat, his weight, and his sheer presence overwhelming your senses.

He didn’t falter—not even for a second. His pace remained relentless, deep, and commanding, his hips rolling into yours with intoxicating precision. The friction sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making your body arch up into him, your fingers grasping at his broad shoulders, desperate to hold onto something as he claimed you over and over again.

His face hovered inches from yours, darkened blue eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His lips parted slightly, his breath ragged, and then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant; it was desperate, consuming, as if he needed to taste you, to remind you that you were his just as much as he was yours. His tongue swept over yours, deepening the kiss, swallowing every moan that slipped from your lips. He pulled away just enough to let you breathe, but his lips never strayed far, brushing against yours as he spoke.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he murmured, his voice husky, thick with lust and promise. “Gonna make sure you take all of me—make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. Your grip on him tightened, nails digging into his skin as another whimper escaped you.

“You want that, don’t you?” he teased, rolling his hips deeper, making you feel every inch of him. “Want me to fill you up—claim you completely?”

The sheer possessiveness in his tone, the way his body moved against yours, the promise laced in every word—it was too much, and yet not enough. You moaned his name again, breathless, lost in the way he took you, the way he worshipped you, the way he made you his in every possible way.

Every thrust, every movement sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your breath hitched, your nails digging into Conner's strong shoulders as your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Conner wasn't far behind. You could feel it—the way his movements became more erratic, more desperate, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased that final peak. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he buried himself deeper, filling you completely.

"God," he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure, his forehead pressing against yours as he panted. "I can feel you—you're so close."

His words sent a new wave of arousal crashing through you, making your body clench around him. That was all it took.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as pleasure exploded through you, your back arching, your body tensing as your release washed over you in waves. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in deeper as you trembled beneath him, lost in the overwhelming sensation of him.

The moment you tightened around him, Conner's control finally shattered. A deep, guttural moan escaped him, his hips snapping forward one final time as he reached his peak. His body tensed, his grip on you unrelenting as he spilled inside you, his warmth flooding you completely. His breath was heavy, his lips brushing against your temple as he groaned your name, his body still trembling from the force of it.

For a moment, the two of you simply lay there, tangled in each other, your bodies still pulsing from the aftershocks. Conner's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he pressed lazy, lingering kisses against your shoulder, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your spine.

"You're incredible," he murmured, voice low and satisfied, as he held you against him, refusing to let go just yet.

Your breath slowly evened out and the warmth of the afterglow settled over you like a soft blanket as you shifted slightly against Conner's chest. His fingers traced lazy, absentminded patterns along your spine. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear was soothing, grounding, but your mind was still spinning—not from what just happened, but from something he had said in the heat of the moment.

You bit your lip, debating whether to bring it up. It wasn't the first time the topic had come up between you two, but hearing him say it like that, so raw and possessive, stirred something deep inside you.

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, you shifted just enough to prop yourself up on your elbow, gazing down at him. Conner's blue eyes, still dark with the remnants of pleasure, flickered open to meet yours. A soft, lazy smile played on his lips, his fingers still caressing your bare skin.

"You meant what you said, didn't you?" you asked softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart.

His brows lifted slightly in curiosity before realization flickered across his face. His hand stilled on your back, and a slow, knowing smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"The baby comment?" he asked, voice low and smooth, as if he already knew the answer.

You nodded, searching his gaze for any hint of hesitation.

Conner sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before resting it behind his head. He studied you for a long moment before nodding, his expression serious but warm. "Yeah," he admitted. "I meant it."

A shiver ran through you at the certainty in his voice. You had talked about it before—what it would be like to have kids someday, to have something that was undeniably yours, something created out of the love and connection you shared. It had always been a conversation wrapped in possibilities and "maybe one day" scenarios, never something either of you had explicitly committed to. But now, hearing him say it in such a raw, unfiltered way had your heart racing.

"You've been thinking about it more, haven't you?" you murmured, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over his toned chest.

Conner's lips pressed into a thin line for a second before he exhaled, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "I have," he admitted. "I think about what it would be like. Having a family with you. Having something more than just this life of missions and danger." His voice was soft, but there was an underlying weight to it—a longing he wasn't sure how to fully put into words.

You swallowed hard, your heart twisting at the sincerity in his voice. "We've talked about it before," you whispered. "But I never knew if it was something you really wanted or if it was just...a passing thought."

His gaze hardened with determination, his grip on you firm but gentle. "It's not just a thought," he said, voice unwavering. "It's something real. Something I want—with you."

The intensity of his words sent warmth flooding through your chest, and you inhaled shakily, processing the weight of them. You had always loved the idea of a future with Conner, of growing together, of building something beyond just the life you had now. But hearing him say it so plainly, so confidently, made it feel real in a way it never had before.

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, pressing a lingering kiss against his palm. "You really see that for us?" you murmured, eyes searching his.

His expression softened, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "Yeah," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. "I do."

Your heart swelled at his words, and as you lay there wrapped in his embrace, the reality of it all settled deep in your bones. The future wasn't some distant dream anymore. It was a possibility—one that you both were ready to explore, together.

The night was calm as the warmth of Conner's body enveloped you, his strong arms holding you close as the two of you lay tangled beneath the sheets, breathing in sync. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm was grounding, comforting. For the first time in a long while, you felt truly at peace.

But then, the darkness came.

It started as a whisper—a low, eerie hum that slithered through the quiet abyss of your dream. At first, it was distant, barely noticeable, but then it grew louder, sharper, reverberating through your bones like a cosmic tremor. A weight pressed down on your chest, suffocating, heavy, pulling you into an endless void of swirling stars and shifting shadows.

A deep, unnatural voice echoed all around you, a presence so vast and ancient that it sent a chill down your spine.

"You cannot hide from what you are."

The stars around you pulsed violently, warping and bending, shifting into haunting figures—shadows with glowing eyes that bore into your soul. Their forms were constantly changing, flickering between monstrous and godlike, like they were struggling to settle on a single shape.

"You were created to be more than this."

The force behind the voice was overwhelming, pressing into your very essence, tugging at something deep within you. You felt it—something waking inside you, something vast and unfamiliar, like an ocean trapped within a fragile vessel.

Then, the darkness surged forward.

A sharp, searing pain exploded through you as a clawed hand, made of nothing but writhing cosmic energy, shot out from the abyss and grabbed your wrist. The moment it touched you, a rush of images flooded your mind—visions of planets crumbling, stars being snuffed out, and an endless hunger stretching across the galaxy. It wanted you. It needed you.

"You belong to the stars... and I will have you."

A scream tore from your throat as the cosmic force yanked you forward, its energy flooding through your veins, burning, consuming—

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, your body trembling, drenched in sweat. Your breath came in ragged, uneven pants as your eyes darted around the dimly lit room, trying to ground yourself back in reality. The warmth of Conner's arms was still around you, but now they were tense, his body stirring from the sudden jolt of your movement.

"Hey, hey—" His deep, sleep-roughened voice was laced with concern as his grip tightened around you. "What happened?"

You swallowed hard, pressing a shaking hand against your forehead as you tried to steady your breathing. The weight of the dream still clung to you, suffocating, as if the cosmic force was still lingering in the corners of your mind, watching, waiting.

"I—" You swallowed again, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was a nightmare... but it felt real."

Conner shifted, pushing himself up slightly so he could look at you properly. His brows were furrowed, eyes scanning your face with deep concern. He reached out, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

"Tell me," he urged, his tone gentle but firm.

You hesitated, your heart still hammering in your chest, but the weight of the dream was too heavy to ignore. Taking a shaky breath, you met his gaze.

"It wasn't just a dream," you admitted, voice trembling. "Something... something is looking for me. And I don't think it's going to stop until it finds me."

From that night onward, the dreams never left you.

At first, you convinced yourself it was just lingering fear—a nightmare that had shaken you so deeply that it left an imprint on your mind. But as the nights passed, and the same vision replayed over and over, you realized it was something more.

Each time you closed your eyes, you were pulled back into that endless abyss of swirling stars and shifting darkness. The voice—ancient, commanding, hungry—always found you, its presence pressing against your very soul like an inevitability you couldn't escape.

"You are one of us. You cannot deny your purpose."

The words haunted you, sinking into your bones, growing louder with every dream. The presence never remained the same; sometimes, it was a figure wreathed in cosmic energy, its form too vast and ever-changing to comprehend. Other times, it was simply an overwhelming force, a pressure so intense it felt like your own body was being pulled apart molecule by molecule.

And always, always, there was the pain.

A searing, electric force that coursed through you the moment it touched you. It was as if something inside you was trying to awaken, something buried deep within your very existence—something it wanted.

Every time, you woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, your hands trembling as you clutched the sheets. Conner was always there, his presence grounding, his voice thick with concern as he held you close.

"You're safe," he would murmur against your temple, his strong arms wrapped around you. "I've got you."

But no matter how tightly he held you, no matter how safe you felt in his arms, the dreams never stopped.

And deep down, you knew it wasn't just a dream.

Something was coming. It was only a matter of time.

You weren't sure how the celestial being's words had anything to do with you. It spoke as though your existence had always been predetermined, as if you were part of something vast, something beyond your comprehension. But that didn't make sense. Your powers weren't some divine gift or ancient inheritance—they were the result of experimentation. CADMUS had built you in a lab, manipulated your DNA, and shaped you into what you were through science, not fate.

And yet... the dreams wouldn't stop.

Every night, the same voice whispered to you from the depths of an endless void, promising, demanding, calling. Each time, it felt closer, more insistent, as though something beyond the fabric of reality was pressing against the edges of your existence, waiting for you to give in. You tried to dismiss it, to push the dreams away as nothing more than the byproduct of stress, but your instincts wouldn't let you.

Something wasn't right.

You needed answers.

There were only two people you trusted enough to seek help from—Batman and Martian Manhunter.

Batman had always been more than just a leader to you. He had been the one to bring you to Mount Justice after you left home, the one who gave you a place on the team, the one who watched over you in ways that went beyond simple strategy. Your mentor. He had seen something in you before you had even seen it in yourself, and if anyone could help you make sense of this, it was him.

The Watchtower was quiet when you arrived, its cold, sterile halls buzzing with the faint hum of alien and human technology alike. Batman was already there, standing before a massive console, analyzing data from a recent mission. Even with his back to you, he knew you had entered.

"You're not sleeping," he said.

His voice was steady, calm, but not dismissive. He wasn't questioning you—he already knew something was wrong. That was Batman. Always knowing, always watching.

You exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "It's... worse than that," you admitted.

Finally, he turned to face you. The glow from the console illuminated the lower half of his cowl, but it was his eyes—sharp, calculating, piercing—that held you still. He was studying you, searching for answers before you could even give them.

"Tell me everything."

So, you did.

You told him about the dreams, about the voice that called to you, about the way it spoke as though you belonged to something beyond this world. You described the feeling of being watched, even in your waking hours, and the way something inside you—something you didn't understand—seemed to respond to the presence in your nightmares.

Batman listened in silence, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. But you knew him well enough to recognize the signs—he was processing, calculating possibilities, weighing every angle.

When you finished, he was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke.

"Your powers came from CADMUS experiments," he said, voice measured, controlled. "But that doesn't mean the source of those powers was entirely man-made."

A cold chill ran through you.

The idea had always been in the back of your mind, an unsettling possibility you never dared explore too deeply. But hearing Batman say it—confirm it as a viable theory—made it feel real in a way you weren't ready for.

"I need to run tests," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "A full genetic analysis, energy readings—if there's anything in your DNA that suggests an origin beyond CADMUS's experiments, we need to know."

Your mouth felt dry, but you forced yourself to nod. "And if there is something?"

Batman didn't blink. "Then we need to find out what's coming for you before it finds you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest. But even as the gravity of the situation sank in, you knew you weren't done searching for answers. Batman could analyze the science of your existence, but there was someone else who could help you uncover the psychic connection you seemed to have to this entity—Martian Manhunter.

You found J'onn J'onzz in one of the quiet chambers of the Watchtower, the glow of the Earth visible through the large observation window. He stood in peaceful stillness, his hands clasped behind his back, his red eyes gazing out at the stars as if he were listening to something no one else could hear. When you entered, he turned to you, his expression calm but perceptive.

"You have questions," he said simply.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer. "I think something is trying to reach me," you admitted. "It's not just a nightmare. It feels... real."

J'onn nodded slowly. "You believe there is a presence beyond your own mind."

"Yes." You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. "And I don't think it's going to stop until it gets what it wants."

J'onn studied you carefully, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. "If this presence is reaching for you, I may be able to sense it through your thoughts," he said. "Would you allow me to enter your mind?"

The request sent a ripple of unease through you—not because you didn't trust him, but because you weren't sure you were ready for what he might find.

Still, you nodded. "Do it."

J'onn stepped forward, lifting his hand to your temple. The moment his fingers made contact, a wave of psychic energy washed over you, and suddenly—

You weren't in the Watchtower anymore.

The darkness swallowed you whole. The same endless abyss from your nightmares stretched out around you, stars swirling and shifting in unnatural patterns. But this time, you weren't alone.

J'onn was here.

His presence was steady, an anchor in the chaos. But the moment he stepped into the dreamscape, something changed.

The presence reacted.

The void shuddered. The stars flickered violently, the shadows twisting, writhing, shifting as though they had noticed something new. Then, from the depths of the abyss, a voice—deep, ancient, and filled with something you couldn't name—spoke.

"YOU CANNOT HIDE HIM FROM ME."

A tremor ran through the void, and suddenly, the darkness rushed forward.

A searing pain exploded in your skull as an unseen force slammed into you. J'onn tensed beside you, his psychic defenses straining under the pressure of whatever was attacking. The weight of the entity pressed against you, raw and overwhelming, as if it were trying to pull something out of you—something buried deep inside.

And then—

You snapped back to reality.

Your eyes flew open as you gasped, your body trembling, heart racing. The room spun for a moment before you steadied yourself, breathing heavily. Across from you, J'onn remained unnervingly still, his usually composed expression shaken.

"That..." You swallowed hard. "That wasn't just a dream, was it?"

J'onn's red eyes met yours, and for the first time since you had known him, his expression was clouded with something close to alarm.

"No," he said gravely. "It was a message."

A cold knot formed in your stomach. "What does it mean?"

J'onn was silent for a long moment before answering, his voice unusually heavy.

"It means," he said carefully, "that whatever is looking for you... knows that we are looking back."

The Watchtower's medical bay was silent except for the faint hum of machinery and the rhythmic beep of the monitors. The sterile, white lights above cast a cool glow over the room, reflecting off the sleek metal counters filled with various vials and medical equipment. You sat on the exam table, arms crossed, waiting for Batman to return with your results.

The bloodwork had been routine—or at least, as routine as anything could be when Batman was involved. After your nightmares had escalated and the presence in them had become more tangible, he insisted on running a full genetic scan. Not just to confirm if anything cosmic had been tampered with in your DNA, but also to check if your powers had changed in any way. You had agreed, trusting his judgment.

What you hadn't expected was the gnawing pit of unease growing in your stomach as you sat there, waiting. Something felt... off.

When Batman finally returned, his heavy boots making almost no sound against the floor, he was carrying a datapad. His expression was unreadable as always, but something in his posture—his stillness—set you on edge.

You frowned. "That bad, huh?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stopped in front of you, staring at the screen, his analytical mind clearly running through the results over and over again. Then, finally, he looked up.

"There's something you need to see," he said. His voice was calm, measured, but there was something beneath it—something rare. Hesitation.

He turned the datapad toward you, and your eyes scanned the screen. A list of results, different markers, genetic readings, energy fluctuations—all of it looked normal at first. Then, at the very bottom, a singular result highlighted in red.

Your heart skipped a beat.

HCG Levels: Positive

Your brain stalled for a moment, struggling to process what you were looking at. The letters blurred together as your breathing grew shallow, and it took a full five seconds before the realization hit you.

"No..." The word escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible. Your hands clenched the edge of the table, knuckles white.

Batman remained silent, watching you carefully. He was giving you space to process, but you could tell he had expected your reaction. He had already pieced together what this meant before he even walked in.

Your gaze snapped back to the screen. "That's... that's impossible," you muttered, shaking your head. "I mean, it's not impossible, but—" You swallowed hard. "Not now. Not this soon."

Batman studied you, his eyes sharp beneath the cowl. "Have you experienced any symptoms? Fatigue? Nausea?"

You blinked, your mind racing through the past few weeks. The exhaustion, the strange appetite shifts, the way your emotions had been a little off-balance—you had chalked it up to stress, to the nightmares draining you. But now, looking at the evidence in front of you, the signs had been there.

Your stomach turned.

"This... wasn't what we were looking for," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Batman finally set the datapad down, his tone remaining steady. "No. But it's something we need to account for."

You exhaled sharply, running a shaky hand through your hair. "Does Conner—" You stopped yourself, your pulse hammering in your ears.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

You bit your lip, your mind spiraling through a thousand thoughts at once. This was supposed to be something for the future—something you and Conner had talked about in vague, distant possibilities, but never now. Not when you were dealing with visions of celestial beings hunting you down.

Your eyes lifted to Batman's. "Are you sure?"

He didn't hesitate. "The results are conclusive."

A slow breath escaped you, your fingers tightening against your thighs as the weight of the revelation settled over you. You weren't just dealing with an unknown force trying to reach you. You weren't just navigating the complexities of your powers.

There was something else. Someone else. Growing inside of you.

And you had no idea what that meant.

The zeta-tube flared to life as you stepped through the portal, the familiar computerized voice announcing your arrival at Mount Justice. The moment your boots hit the sleek metal floor, a wave of exhaustion settled over you—not from the trip itself, but from the sheer weight of everything you had just learned.

You took a deep breath, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering tension. The Watchtower's cold, sterile atmosphere still clung to you, but this—this was home. Mount Justice had been your sanctuary, the place where you had built a life beyond CADMUS, beyond experimentation and control. It was where you found freedom.

It was also where he was waiting for you.

As you stepped into the main living area, your eyes immediately locked onto Conner. He was sitting on the couch, flipping through an old magazine—probably one of Wally's leftover relics—his broad shoulders tense even in relaxation. The second he saw you, his expression shifted, concern flickering across his face.

"You were gone longer than I expected." His voice was calm, but you could hear the underlying tension. "What happened?"

You exhaled and ran a hand through your hair, suddenly unsure of where to start. There was so much—too much—to say. You had gone to Batman and Martian Manhunter looking for answers, and instead, you had walked away with an entirely different life-changing revelation.

Conner was patient, but his eyes never left yours, studying you the way he always did when he knew something was wrong.

"I talked to J'onn," you began, stepping closer. "I let him into my mind—to see what's been happening in my dreams."

Conner immediately sat up straighter, his full attention locked on you. "And?"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "It's real, Conner. Whatever's been calling to me, it's not just some lingering trauma or my subconscious playing tricks on me. It's...something else."

Conner frowned, his brows knitting together. "Something else?"

You nodded, crossing your arms. "J'onn and I entered the dream together, but the moment we did... it reacted. It wasn't just a dream anymore. It was like—like the thing that's been reaching out to me knew J'onn was there, and it didn't like it. It fought back."

His jaw tightened. "Fought back how?"

Your fingers unconsciously curled into fists. "It attacked. It sent a wave of energy so strong that J'onn—Martian Manhunter, Conner—could barely hold his ground." You swallowed. "And before it threw us out, it spoke."

Conner's eyes darkened, his entire body going still. "...What did it say?"

You met his gaze, your voice low, almost unwilling to repeat it aloud. "It said, 'You cannot hide him from us.'"

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken thoughts. You could see the gears turning in Conner's mind, the way he was trying to process the weight of that single sentence.

After a moment, he shook his head, standing. "We're telling the League. If something's coming for you, we need—"

"There's more," you interrupted, your voice cutting through his determination.

Conner paused, his brows furrowing. "What else?"

You hesitated. Of all the things you had to tell him, this next part... this was the hardest.

"I also talked to Batman," you said carefully.

Conner's expression shifted slightly, a flash of wariness crossing his face. He knew your relationship with Batman—knew that the Dark Knight had been the one to bring you to Mount Justice, the one who had given you a place on the team. He also knew that if you went to him for answers, it was because something serious was going on.

"What did he say?"

You took another breath, bracing yourself. "He ran some tests on me. Bloodwork, genetic scans—he wanted to make sure there wasn't something in me that was causing these visions."

Conner's eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded. "And?"

You swallowed, your hands clenching at your sides before you forced yourself to say it.

"The tests showed something else."

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—

"...What do you mean?"

You licked your lips, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "Batman found something in my bloodwork that neither of us were expecting. At least... not for a while."

Conner's expression shifted into something uncertain, the edges of his usual controlled demeanor cracking. "What is it?"

Your chest tightened, and then—quietly, almost uncertainly—you said the words that would change everything.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Conner just stared at you, completely still, as if his mind had momentarily short-circuited. His usual sharp instincts, his ability to process things at lightning speed, had completely failed him.

"...What?" The word barely left his lips, almost as if he hadn't meant to say it.

You swallowed hard. "I—I didn't even think it was possible," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Batman double-checked. The results are real."

Conner blinked, his gaze flickering down to your stomach before snapping back up to meet yours. "You're... we're... having a baby?"

The way he said it—so raw, so unbelieving—sent a strange mix of emotions surging through you. Part of you was terrified, unsure of what this meant for both of you, but another part of you—a bigger part—wanted to hold onto the way he was looking at you.

Like this was everything.

Slowly, he took a step closer. Then another. Until he was standing right in front of you, his hands hesitating before gently resting against your sides. His fingers gripped you—not tightly, not possessively, but as if he needed something real to ground himself.

"This... this is real?" His voice was quieter now, uncertain, but hopeful.

You nodded. "Yeah."

For a long moment, he just stood there, searching your face, searching for something solid in the storm of emotions that was undoubtedly running through his mind. And then, without warning, he let out a breathless, shaky laugh—one that sounded incredibly close to relief.

"You're serious," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, stronger, surer, he looked into your eyes. "We're gonna be dads."

Something inside you eased at those words, the tension that had been knotting in your chest slowly unraveling. You exhaled, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"Yeah," you murmured back. "We are."

Conner's arms wrapped around you then, pulling you in tight, holding you closer than ever. Whatever fear had been lingering in him, whatever uncertainty had been twisting inside you—it didn't matter.

The streets of Happy Harbor were quiet in the way only a small town could be, the afternoon sun casting a warm, golden glow over the sidewalks as a light breeze carried the scent of the ocean from the nearby harbor. It was the kind of day that felt untouched by the chaos of missions, villains, and the ever-present weight of the League's expectations. For once, there was no fighting, no strategizing—just you and Conner, walking side by side, taking in the simplicity of normalcy.

The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, shifting between awe, anxiety, and anticipation after discovering your pregnancy. It still felt surreal, like something that only existed in theory rather than reality. But moments like this—where you could just be together, uninterrupted—made it easier to breathe, to process everything without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders.

Conner walked beside you, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, his usual quiet nature making him seem more relaxed than usual. Every so often, his gaze flickered to you, as if checking to make sure you were still here—not lost in thought, not drifting into worry, but present.

"You're staring," you pointed out with a smirk, not even needing to turn your head.

He huffed, his expression unchanging but the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "Just making sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." You bumped your shoulder against his. "Not fragile, you know."

Conner didn't respond right away, but his hand ghosted over your lower back before dropping away, a barely-there touch that sent warmth through you. He wasn't the type to openly fuss, but his actions spoke for him—small gestures, little reassurances.

As the two of you wandered, you found yourselves passing by an old but well-kept building with large windows and a classic wooden sign hanging above the entrance:

Happy Harbor Public Library.

You slowed your steps instinctively, drawn to the quiet presence of the place. Libraries had always been a strange kind of sanctuary—filled with stories, history, knowledge. A place where time felt slower, where things weren't constantly shifting at an overwhelming pace.

Conner followed your gaze, then turned to you. "Want to go in?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Haven't been to a library in forever."

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open, the scent of aged paper, polished wood, and ink immediately wrapping around you. The space was calm, the only sounds being the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional whisper between visitors. Sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting warm streaks of gold across the bookshelves.

It was peaceful. Safe.

You wandered through the aisles, your fingers trailing lightly along the spines of the books as you skimmed the titles. Conner walked beside you, his presence solid and familiar, though he didn't seem as interested in the books themselves. Instead, he watched you—his attention focused entirely on the way you moved through the quiet space, how your fingers idly flipped through the pages of random books, how your eyes scanned the covers with interest.

Eventually, you settled into a quiet corner where a few old armchairs were tucked between the shelves. You picked up a book—something about myths and legends—and sat down, flipping through the pages. Conner remained standing for a moment before stepping closer and nodding toward the book in your hands.

"Read it to me."

You blinked, looking up at him. "You can read, Conner."

"I know." His lips twitched slightly, almost teasing, but there was something genuine in his expression. "I just like hearing you do it."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, shaking your head. "That's the worst excuse for being lazy I've ever heard."

He smirked, unbothered. "So?"

Rolling your eyes, you sighed and turned back to the book, flipping to a random passage. "Fine. But don't blame me if you get bored."

Conner sat down beside you, his arm resting along the back of the chair, his presence warm and solid. You could feel the subtle shift in the air as he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel his breath against your shoulder as you began to read aloud.

The words flowed easily from your lips, weaving tales of ancient beings and celestial warriors, of battles fought across the stars. Conner didn't interrupt, didn't shift impatiently—he just listened, his focus entirely on your voice.

After a while, you paused, glancing at him. "Still awake?"

Conner hummed, the sound low and content. "Yeah. Keep going."

A soft chuckle escaped you, shaking your head slightly before turning the page. And for a while, that was all that mattered—the two of you, lost in the pages of a story, in the quiet sanctuary of the library, with no battles to fight and no enemies to face.

Just you, him, and the steady rhythm of your voice filling the space between you.

A sudden explosion shattered the peaceful silence, sending a tremor through the ground and rattling the windows of the library. The shockwave vibrated through the air, making books shift slightly on the shelves as startled murmurs filled the quiet space. Your head snapped toward the sound instinctively, muscles tensing, instincts kicking into overdrive.

Conner was already moving. He shot up from his seat, his senses sharp, his body immediately falling into a defensive stance. You exchanged a brief glance, both silently reaching the same conclusion: whatever just happened wasn't normal.

Without wasting another second, the two of you rushed toward the exit, pushing through the heavy library doors and stepping into the open air. The sky, once bright and clear, was now clouded with rising smoke from the explosion. People on the street had either frozen in fear or were scrambling for cover, pointing toward something descending from above.

Your eyes locked onto the figure emerging from the swirling distortion of a glowing portal. He was tall, imposing, draped in sleek, futuristic black armor that gleamed under the sunlight. A large, blood-red cape billowed behind him, his presence almost regal in its intensity. But what stood out the most was the symbol emblazoned on his chest—a purple crystal emblem, pulsating with a faint but unmistakable cosmic energy.

And then, there were his eyes.

Dark, infinite pools of energy swirled within them, glowing with an eerie, malevolent shimmer—something unnatural, something otherworldly.

He stepped forward, the portal snapping shut behind him with a violent ripple in space, as though reality itself was trying to correct the disturbance. The sheer weight of his presence sent a chill down your spine. Even before he spoke, you knew.

He was here for you.

His gaze swept across the street, scanning the area until it landed directly on you and Conner. The moment your eyes met his, a strange sensation pulsed through your veins—an unsettling familiarity, as if you had felt his energy before. Somewhere deep within you, something stirred, a whisper of recognition that made your skin prickle.

"You," his voice boomed, deep and commanding, carrying an unnatural echo as though it resonated through the fabric of existence itself. He lifted a gauntleted hand, dark energy crackling at his fingertips.

"You will come with me."

There was no introduction, no warning—just a command.

Conner immediately moved in front of you, his stance shifting into a protective position, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. His fists clenched at his sides, eyes narrowing as he took a solid step forward.

"Yeah?" Conner shot back, his voice cold and unwavering. "Not gonna happen."

The armored figure didn't even blink. Without hesitation, he raised his arm and fired.

A bolt of blazing dark energy shot toward you at blinding speed. Instinct took over and with a sharp inhale, you reached inside yourself, drawing on the vast energy coursing through your veins, the power that had both terrified and defined you for so long. You thrust your hands forward, channeling your own cosmic force outward in a brilliant surge of energy, sending a glowing stream of pure light colliding against his.

The clash was instantaneous.

A violent shockwave erupted from the point of impact, rattling the ground beneath you and sending cracks through the pavement. The sheer force of it created a blinding pulse of light, illuminating the street in flickering hues of gold and violet. The opposing forces crackled against one another, swirling like a storm caught between two unmovable objects.

But as the seconds passed, you felt it—his power was stronger.

The weight of his energy pushed against yours with an overwhelming force, threatening to swallow your resistance whole. It bore down on you like an immense gravitational pull, the sheer pressure nearly making your knees buckle. It felt ancient, vast, as if you were standing against the raw might of the universe itself.

Yet, you didn't back down.

Gritting your teeth, you planted your feet firmly against the ground and pushed harder, drawing every ounce of strength from within you. The strain was immediate, your muscles tensing, your vision blurring at the edges as sweat formed along your brow. The sheer effort of holding the line against his power sent searing pain through your body, but you refused to let it overpower you.

Conner saw the struggle unfolding and moved.

With a burst of speed, he lunged forward, fists clenched, his body a blur of motion as he closed the distance between himself and the armored figure. His intent was clear—he wasn't going to sit back and let this guy tear through you.

But before he could even land a blow, the air behind the intruder rippled.

The space he had emerged from—a swirling mass of cosmic distortion—flared open once more.

From its depths, something massive began to emerge.

At first, it was just shifting shadows, an eerie glow radiating from within the portal, but then—stone.

Large, hulking figures stepped through one by one, each of them towering over the battlefield, their bodies composed of dark, weathered rock. Glowing purple and white runes were etched deep into their massive stone limbs, pulsating with an otherworldly energy, ancient symbols that seemed to hum with raw, magical power. Their movements were slow but deliberate, the weight of their existence sending tremors through the ground with each step.

They looked like golems—but unlike anything you had ever seen before.

The first one slammed its massive fists into the pavement, sending shockwaves rippling outward, shattering the asphalt and forcing Conner to skid back to avoid being hit. Another let out a low, guttural roar, the sound vibrating through your bones as it locked onto both of you with glowing violet eyes, its massive form looming like a walking monolith of destruction.

Conner barely spared them a second glance before gritting his teeth and setting his sights back on the one responsible for summoning them.

"Oh, come on," he muttered under his breath before launching himself forward again, this time forced to weave between the golems as they moved to intercept him.

The man in the black armor remained unmoved. He simply stood there, watching—analyzing—almost as if he were waiting.

You could still feel the overwhelming force of his energy pressing against yours, pushing harder, but now it wasn't just about raw power. Now, there were monsters in play, and Conner was throwing himself straight into the middle of them.

The balance had shifted.

The clash of cosmic energy and brute force sent ripples of destruction through the streets of Happy Harbor. Your muscles ached from the relentless strain of holding back the intruder's attack, and Conner was already dodging and weaving between the colossal golems that had been summoned, each of them moving with terrifying weight and precision.

And then, without warning, another portal ripped through the sky.

The air crackled with a new, yet strangely familiar energy. It wasn't like the dark, oppressive force radiating from the armored man—this energy was different, refined yet equally vast. It carried a sense of controlled chaos, a power that wasn't just raw strength but something deeper, more intricate.

From the swirling rift, a figure emerged.

He floated just above the battlefield, his presence alone causing a temporary shift in the air. He was clad in a black bodysuit, sleek and form-fitting, with a light blue cloak flowing behind him, its material weightless against the cosmic winds that followed in his wake. His hood was drawn low, obscuring his face in shadows, but you didn't need to see it.

You felt him.

His energy pulsed in the air, wrapping around you like an echo of your own—familiar, yet different, as if you had known this presence long before this moment. It was like looking at a reflection of something buried deep inside yourself, something that had been waiting for you to notice.

The newcomer hovered in the air for only a moment, his head tilting slightly as he took in the battlefield. His glowing hands flexed as he analyzed the situation—the armored man still standing strong, the golems moving in sync, Conner preparing to launch himself at them once more.

Then, without hesitation, he moved.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, a concentrated blast of pure cosmic energy erupted from his palm, streaking across the battlefield in a blinding arc. The force of it struck the armored figure dead-on, causing a shockwave of light and distortion that momentarily disrupted the fight.

The armored man staggered, his own energy faltering as the impact sent him skidding backward. The air around him rippled, his red cape snapping from the sheer force of the blast.

For the first time since his arrival, the intruder reacted. His head snapped toward the cloaked figure, his expression twisting in something that wasn't just anger—recognition.

"You—"

But before he could finish, the newcomer extended his hand toward you and Conner, and another portal opened beneath you.

The ground beneath your feet shifted as you felt a sudden pull, your body weightlessly yanked into the swirling distortion of energy. The last thing you saw before vanishing into the void was the armored man's fury as he lunged toward the portal—too late.

The last thing you heard was his voice, filled with rage and frustration, reverberating through the battlefield.

"He belongs to me!"

And then—everything vanished.

The portal's energy twisted and rippled around you, pulling you and Conner through what felt like a maelstrom of time itself. Your body felt weightless, suspended in an infinite void of shifting colors and streaks of cosmic light. And then, as quickly as it started, the sensation stopped.

You landed on solid ground, your feet planting onto sleek, smooth flooring. The air around you was different—sharper, cleaner, filled with the quiet hum of advanced technology. As your vision cleared from the disorienting transition, you took in your surroundings.

It was Mount Justice—but not the one you knew.

The architecture had changed, sleek metallic panels and futuristic holo-screens embedded seamlessly into the walls. The lighting was softer, glowing from hidden strips along the ceiling rather than the bright overhead lights you were used to. Familiar structures were still present—the training area, the central briefing room—but everything looked more advanced, as if the entire base had been rebuilt from the ground up with decades of technological improvements.

Then, you noticed the others.

A group of heroes stood around the room, watching you and Conner carefully. Sidekicks. Young heroes clad in advanced suits bearing familiar emblems. Their outfits were modernized, enhanced, but the symbols they wore—Robin's red and yellow R, Kid Flash's lightning bolt, even a reimagined Aqualad insignia—were unmistakable.

A sense of unease settled over you as you turned to Conner, only to realize that he wasn't looking at them.

He was staring at the man who had brought you here.

Following his gaze, you finally took in the details you had missed before. The figure stood calmly in front of you, his hands at his sides, the light blue cloak that had concealed him now draping casually behind him. But now, with the portal no longer in motion, something else stood out.

On the back of his cloak, a dark blue 'S' was emblazoned—Superman's emblem.

Your breath hitched slightly, your mind struggling to catch up with what you were seeing. Conner's stance immediately shifted, his body language tense as he took a step forward, his voice sharp with demand.

"Where the hell did you take us?" he growled, his eyes narrowing. "And who are you?"

The man before you let out a quiet chuckle at Conner's tone, the sound light, almost nostalgic. There was something in his posture that wasn't hostile, something that felt...familiar.

"I missed that gruffness," he said with a smirk, shaking his head. "Guess some things really don't change."

His hand lifted, fingers grasping the edges of his hood before he pulled it down.

The moment his face was revealed, your heart stopped.

He looked young, early twenties at most, his jawline sharp, his features strong and familiar in a way that sent shockwaves through your chest. His hair was jet black, tousled like he had barely cared to fix it, and his skin was slightly tanned—not as pale as Conner's, not as dark as yours, but a perfect blend.

And then... his eyes.

They were yours.

The same shape, the same depth, the same cosmic glow you had seen in the mirror more times than you could count.

A sharp gasp escaped you before you could stop it, your stomach twisting in something between awe and disbelief.

The man—this stranger, this familiar presence, this impossible existence—smiled softly before speaking again.

"Hey, Dad." His voice was warm now, filled with something deeper than just amusement. He turned slightly, nodding toward Conner.

"Hey, Pa."

Conner froze. Absolutely froze.

The entire room went silent.

His smile widened, his cosmic-blue eyes flickering in the dim light.

"I'm Casey Kent," he confirmed. "Your son."

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mailmango · 2 days ago

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mailmango · 3 days ago

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ehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe

For some reason all your asks glitched and don’t have an answer button but-

How to Date a (Sort Of) Zombie

Craig Hsaio x m!MC

For @mailmango

#mango’s farm’s friends

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mailmango · 3 days ago

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For some reason all your asks glitched and don’t have an answer button but-

How to Date a (Sort Of) Zombie

Craig Hsaio x m!MC

For @mailmango

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mailmango · 4 days ago

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When Will I see you again?

Summary: After the second task, Cedric can’t keep his feelings for his best friend a secret. Things don’t go as plan after the third task, though. Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Male!Reader Wc: 5.3k tags/warnings: ravenclaw reader, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, coma, draco is a dick, HP slander a/n: obligatory I would curb stomp jkr if given the chance

The Great Hall’s entrance was filled with students, all of whom were waiting for the clock to strike eight and the doors would open. Partners from separate houses were finding each other on the edges of the crowd; thankfully you hadn’t been one of those. Ever the gentleman Cedric had waited at the top of Ravenclaw’s staircase for you. Even if he hadn’t asked you in a romantic sense and said you were going as mates. Cho had declined his offer and you weren’t all that interested in the girls at school.

No other reason.

Soon after getting to the crowd Professor McGonagall had called the champions to the front of it. You’d seen Krum and Hermione and took a second for yourself, surely the eighteen-year-old Quidditch star hadn't asked out the barely fifteen-year-old Hermione?

You didn’t feel strange in the line of pairs, standing behind Hermione but in front of Parvati. It felt right to be considered Cedric’s partner for the Yule Ball.

Cedric carefully wrapped his hand around your elbow as the rest of the students entered the Great Hall. His grip was loose until McGonagall told the champions to follow after her where his fingers tightened around your satin blazer. You felt him take a deep breath with each step, the applause from all sides felt deafening but at least most of the attention was on Harry and not the two guys walking together.

But it wasn’t as though you weren’t known together. While Cedric was known as the human embodiment of the Hufflepuff values, you were his Ravenclaw best friend. Friends since your first year after he’d helped you get the courage to get on a broom during lessons. Such good friends that other Ravenclaws stopped being surprised when you cheered for Cedric during Hufflepuff Vs. Ravenclaw games.

It’s just now you’re older and slowly growing out of the hormonal phase that awakened certain things in you. And Cedric. Although smart as you were, you were convinced he was thoroughly set on dating Cho Chang. And she's lovely, if you were into the girls at school you’d probably go for her, too.

Your eyes catch her on the dance floor, dancing with some random Gryffindor guy with a tight smile and barely hidden boredom whenever they would talk between dancing. The guy looked fine, though. Content even.

You admittedly hadn’t danced much that night, at least not nearly as much as other people did. On Cedric’s own account, he would’ve had a heart attack if he held you so close again without being able to hold you closer. He couldn’t bear staring at your face as he held you without his face turning red. How his hands would get so sweaty he’d need a second to wipe them on his shirt without you taking notice because you’d been trying to do the same thing.

So, sitting and eating was the next best thing. Laughing and talking about whatever you wanted until it was time to leave. He’d found Harry and told him about some of the tournament business while you waited at the bottom of the staircase, messing with the yellow corsage he’d gifted you at the beginning of the night.

That night he walked you back to the top of the tower and lingered behind, feeling as if he ended the night on such an open note it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

—

Anyone who’s friends with Cedric knows he wakes up an hour before breakfast. He spends thirty minutes getting dressed and then spends the rest of the time wandering about the grounds before it’s time to eat. Everyone also knows that at some point during the wandering, you appear at his side.

His routine was a little different today considering today was the second task and he was a bit anxious. This time he waited near Ravenclaw Tower for you, he’d seen most of your housemates walking past him and then one of your roommates. Cedric catches him before he can walk too far away and asks about you. Your roommate shrugs, they haven’t seen you since last night.

Now, Cedric doesn’t panic. You’ve probably fallen asleep in the library again and you’re waiting in the Great Hall. That happens about once a month. So, he goes to the hall and looks around for you. He sees the blue robes from your house but he doesn’t see you.

Now he’s a little worried. His leg bounces as he eats his breakfast, eyes focused on the hall doors before McGonagall once again gathers the champions and he’s off to the lake with Fleur and Krum. He notes that Harry isn’t there yet but that wasn’t where his focus was.

He stares into the lake, wondering where you are as his fingers dance across the yarn of your friendship bracelet made with the grace of a twelve-year-old boy.

He doesn’t catch when Harry arrives right before the task starts, his head snapping over to Bagman when his voice booms through his ears.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…three!” A whistle echoes through the cold air, quickly drowned out by the sound of cheering from the stands.

Cedric quickly uses a bubble charm before he dives into the icy water. He fights the urge to swim back up as his body shivers, fighting against the water as he swims aimlessly in the deep gray-lit water. Fish dart past him as he swims and he panics at the sight of an arm in his peripheral when he gets closer to the bottom of the lake. There’s no one else around him, though. He double-checks and then triple-checks. He can’t see anyone— no, he squints through his bubble and sees Harry. He’s spotting whatever they’re chasing and he swims in the same direction.

He fights through the wildlife and creatures that try to attack him, namely the grindylows emerging from the weeds. But his focus is more on what he’s approaching. There’s a statue of a merperson and attached to its tail are four bound people. Fleur’s sister, Ron, Hermione, and you. All of whom look to be sleeping, heads lax on your shoulders, and bubbles rising from your mouth with each breath.

He panics— blinking wildly at the sight because he’d been so worried something happened to you and this… this was crazy. What if he hadn’t known the charm? What would’ve happened if the merpeople had turned on you? What if he didn’t make it down within the hour time frame?

(We've taken what you’ll sorely miss— that’s what the clue had said. But past an hour, the prospects black. Too late, it’s gone. It won’t come back.)

You won’t come back to him if he’s late. You’re what he’ll sorely miss and he knows they’re right. He knows deep in his heart that taking you was like taking his oxygen, taking you would destroy him in ways he couldn’t— doesn’t want to— imagine.

Somehow Harry’s already there, arguing with merpeople who stop him from freeing everyone. He tells Harry to hurry, he knows Fleur and Krum are close behind him and as much as he wants to win he also doesn’t want Harry to get anything less than second place.

He pulls out a knife from his pocket and cuts through the ropes of weed. Once his knife drags all the way through, he grabs you by the waist and swims up. He doesn’t waste his time checking on Harry or the others. He only cares that he gets you up to the surface. That you wake up.

His head breaks through the surface of the water and the cold air stings his face as the bubble pops. Immediately his eyes check on you, the voices from the sounds nothing but noise until your eyes open and you cough up some of the lake water.

“Thank Merlin,” Cedric pants and drags himself to the edge, pushing you up before he pulls himself up to the bank as well.

“You won?” You chitter, the cold hitting you all at once. Someone hands the two of you thick blankets as Madam Pimfrey shoves a hot potion down your throats that wakes the two of you up a little bit.

“I thought you were dead,” He admits, opening his blanket to let you inside. You shake your head as you sit on a bench, head resting on his shoulder because despite having slept for hours, you’re quite tired still.

“Dumbledore bewitched us to sleep, last night McGonagall asked to see me. Thought she found out about me sneaking books out of the library,” You joke to try and lighten his clearly down mood. He hasn’t looked away from you since the moment he resurfaced, his heart hasn’t stopped hammering.

He never wants to experience worry like this ever again— even if in hindsight there was never any real danger. He blinks, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek as you stare at him, worried because he hasn’t said anything aside from that. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? How he feels about you— about this? Surely that isn’t it.

Cedric is Hufflepuff’s golden boy. Truly he is Hogwarts' golden boy; he’s the kindest, most honest person to grace the infamous halls. He always has a smile on his face and he stands up for what he knows is right. But he’s afraid he hasn’t been entirely honest with you. His best friend.

He doesn’t know how to flat-out say he’s in love with you, that he has been since your fourth year.

“Cedric,” You whisper, wiping a tear from him. He’s been thinking so much that everyone has come back and he hasn’t noticed. Missed that Fleur didn’t finish the task and Harry had brought her sister up instead. “I wasn’t in danger, I’m alright.”

“I…” He blinks, holding your wrist. “I’m in love with you.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision!” Bagmen announces and you flinch but don’t look away from Cedric. Your eyes are wide and your heart thumping behind your ribcage. He doesn’t look away either, looking between your eyes.

“I have been for a while but I was… terrified seeing you down there,” He continues and you tune out Bagman until you hear Cedric’s name.

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the crowd cheer. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

“One minute off,” You whine, rolling your eyes. Cedric laughs, his forehead pressed against yours as the judges list off the remaining scores. Krum had gotten forty and Harry had gotten forty-five, putting Cedric in first place for the task and tied with Harry for first overall.

You smile at him as you tell him your findings. He just nods, his nose knocking into yours before you’re herded into the castle by Madam Pomfrey to get dry clothes. He holds your hand the whole way there, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

The two of you are put in separate rooms to change, as are the other champions and the hostages and it gives the two of you entirely too much silence and time to overthink.

Being in love with your best friend is difficult, especially if you’re queer. There’s the added layer of are they also queer? Because you know for a fact Cedric had real feelings for Cho, so he’s not gay. But there’s a plethora of things he could be… into you wasn’t one you really thought about, though. Even if you joke kissed that one time at a post-game party after a dare.

Being in love with your best friend and admitting it is crazy. Cedric spends the whole time getting changed worrying that he’s ruined everything. He’s sure he’s going to leave the room and you’re going to ignore him. That things are going to be different for all the wrong reasons but he couldn’t keep it a secret for another second. He just couldn’t. And he’s not sorry about that.

But, he’s pleasantly surprised when you’re waiting in front of the room he was changing in. Your back pressed to the wall with your hands behind you, staring at the floor until you heard the door opening. Standing up straight, you smile at Cedric and fix your jumper over your pants out of nervous habit.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” He carefully closes the door behind him while you look up and down the corridor. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm… I just…” Staring at him, you shrug. “Do you want to go on a date next weekend? Madam Puddifoot’s Tea shop, maybe?” He smiles brightly and nods all the while you try and contain your own reaction. “Cool… well… they’re also having a celebration for you winning first place after dinner. Ravenclaw’s hosting, I’m supposed to bring you,”

“So we have three hours to plan our date?” He holds his hand out for you.

“I doubt we’ll need that much time,” You laugh, taking his hand. He just shrugs and guides you to where the two of you normally hang out. “Besides, I’m taking you. You don’t get to plan anything!”

“Fine,” He dramatically sighs.

—

By the third task, you’re still not an official couple. There’s no rush on putting a label just yet, you both agreed to it when a friend mentioned that for two people going on weekly dates, you two don’t seem any closer to dating.

Besides, there’s a tournament to win.

You settled in the stands of the Quidditch field which looked completely different with the twenty-foot tall hedges that ran all the way around the edge. You spot Cedric amongst the champions as he fiddles with his wand. He spots you, too, waving as you sit next to his father and mother. You’re unsure of why you’re allowed to sit in the family stands, but it’s all the same to Cedric— easier to spot the three most important people in his life, too.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Trizward Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each— Mr. Cedric Diggory, both of Hogwarts School!” You cheer along with the rest of Hogwarts, loud enough that the birds in the forest fly away from the harsh noise.

Harry and Cedric go in first and once they disappear, you can’t see them. There’s no magical broadcast and so, you’re left in the dark of what’s happening inside of the maze. So, you talk with his parents and then Ron’s family to pass the time.

You’re unsure of how much time passed before you see Harry slam into the ground with Cedric. Everyone cheers but you squint. Surely you’re seeing it wrong, right? That’s not what you’re seeing.

“Mr. Diggory…?”

“I see it, too,” He whispers and the two of you break into a sprint down the stands. By that point, Harry and Cedric are crowded by Fudge, Mad-Eye Moody, and Dumbledore as screams echo throughout the stands.

You make it there long before Mr. Diggory does, sliding on the grass once you're close enough to reach him. He’s laid there, eyes closed and body unmoving. He looks as though he’s in pain yet still as if that’s how he…

You cup his face, sobs bubbling through your chest and out your mouth, as he lies there. Your head shakes as you examine him and Harry keeps muttering something. An explanation, apologies— you don’t know. You can’t hear anything over your sobs and the shouts from Mr. Diggory. Cupping his face again, lay your head on his chest before you feel it.

…thump….thump thump….

You gasp and sit up, checking his neck before you cry out.

“He’s alive!” You choke, pulling him into your chest and rocking him back and forth. “He’s alive!” You declare as Mr. Diggory approaches, carefully, you set him back down so he can see for himself. He checks for himself as Dumbledore calls over Madam Pomfrey and he cheers, kissing Cedric’s head and holding his limp hand tightly in his.

—

The killing curse. That’s what Harry said. Voldemort or someone had used the killing curse on Cedric after they both grabbed the portkey. He was dead. Cedric was dead for over five minutes. They don’t know what happened but he was dead one second and alive the next. You didn’t care for answers, how could you when all you could hear was the fact that he was alive?

Sitting at his bedside, you stroke his hairline as he sleeps. A coma, alive but in a coma. It was better than dead, you keep reminding yourself when you find yourself frowning at his sleeping figure. Mr. Diggory allowed for him to remain at Hogwarts, he and his wife agreed that when Cedric wakes up, he should be somewhere he’s familiar with. He’ll want to see you as soon as possible.

It’s only been a week but they’ve visited him on the weekends. You think they’re staying in a nearby inn for the time being. He looks about the same, though. He doesn’t look ill or dead. Just asleep. The magic Madam Pomfrey and medical professionals use on him keeps him alive and thriving according to them. You try to learn about it when you can but your brain is mush half of the time. The other half is replaying how he looked when he was dead.

“Would you like to comb his hair?” A nurse asks and you nod, thanking her as you grab the comb and start gently working through his hair. You tell him about your day, about classes. About how he and Harry were declared the winners of the tournament. Harry declined the trophy altogether, insisting that it goes to Cedric instead.

You glance at it on his bedside table. You’re unsure of who brought it, probably Dumbledore or something. You describe it to him, how shiny it is. How it looks like a giant goblet and you’ll definitely pour some good booze in there as soon as you can. Celebrate with him.

A part of you waits for him to talk, to fill in the caps of silence but it doesn’t come. But you still talk. You talk about how there’s some new drama in your house. About how Cho keeps asking you if he’s okay. She wants to visit but she doesn’t know if she should. She doesn’t want to impose. You laugh and ask him if there’s someone you need to worry about.

He still doesn’t answer.

Setting the comb down, you stare at him for a while before checking the time. It’s nearly dinner time but you’re not hungry. You haven’t been for a week but you still eat. You guess skipping one dinner wouldn’t be so bad so you climb into the bed next to him and lay your head on his chest.

His heart is a steady rhythm under your ear, there’s a warmth to his body that makes you want to fall asleep faster and you do.

Sometime later, when visiting hours officially end, Madam Pomfrey goes to tell you it’s time but finds you fast asleep. She sighs and debates waking you up before she decides against it. She’s not cruel.

—

“And then Snape had the audacity to assign a mountain of homework,” You grumble as you angrily eat your lunch next to Cedric. It’s been two weeks of the coma, fourteen days of spending all of your free time in the infirmary, three hundred and thirty-six hours of not knowing if Cedric is going to wake up again. You know he is. He has to. You don’t just survive the killing curse only to die in a coma. He wouldn’t do that. You know it.

Rather frustratingly Hogwarts is currently split in two on the topic. There are those who think he won’t wake up and those who know he will. No one talks about it around you, though. They’re not that insensitive, you guess. You still hear it, of course, whispers travel far, and first years aren’t all that good at whispering.

You don’t care about either side. This isn’t some weird little bet like it was with Harry and Cedric. It was weird and you’ve been slowly dealing with it. Nothing harmful, not in a way they could prove, at least. It’s hard to trace back the sudden appearance of zits forming the words Prat on someone’s forehead.

“Our professors are still giving me those sad looks,” You admit, pushing the food around with the back of your fork. “It’s like I walk into a room and suddenly all they can think about is how I’m… here? I don’t know. But they keep asking me if I'm okay and that I should sleep more.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “They’re the ones giving us crazy amounts of homework. I don’t envy the work you’re gonna do when you wake up. But I’ll be here to help you study, of course.”

The doors open and you peek behind you, seeing his parents walking inside. They look how you feel but they smile as you look at each other. You wave as you stand up to give them space with their son.

“Ah, your folks are here. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.” Squeezing his hand, you collect your stuff and leave for your dorm where you sleep until you’re woken up from your nightmare. From there, you sneak down to the infirmary and sit on the floor next to his bed.

It’s incredibly quiet inside of there. Only one other student is there for breaking a bone. She’ll be out in the morning. You find yourself hating her for that and have to stop yourself from getting angry at a thirteen-year-old for being able to walk around.

Madam Pomfrey catches you during her rounds and crosses her arms as you sheepishly smile at her. She sighs and motions you to lie down. You thank her as you lay next to Cedric but she doesn’t acknowledge it as she walks away.

—

The infirmary is cold, colder than you would’ve expected but it is starting to snow so you guess it’s to be expected. Thankfully, you’re wearing Cedric’s Hufflepuff sweater to keep you warm. It still smells like him, you don’t know why you expected it not to, but when you put it on you’re ashamed to admit you cried for nearly an hour.

“If this is payback for the second task,” You start, your voice wavering as you stare down at Cedric’s unmoving body. “It’s gone on entirely too long. Wake up, Cedric. Please,” Your voice cracks as you fall into the chair. Covering your mouth, you stare at him as he remains unmoving. You just want something, anything to prove that he’s not a husk of a person. Something other than his breathing. Maybe a cough. You’ll even take a wheeze. A sneeze. Anything.

“Merlin,” Looking away, you inhale and look back at him. “I’ll do anything you ask, promise! I’ll eat those nasty snacks you like that taste like puke. I’ll drink cold tea for a year! I’ll… it doesn’t matter what you ask as long as you wake up!” But he doesn’t move. He hasn’t moved since they set him on that fucking cot. He doesn’t stir, he doesn’t snore. He just lays there and you’re expected to be happy that he is. That the only sign he’s alive is his shallow breathing and his chest rising.

A nurse walks in for his daily medication and you don’t watch as she makes him drink it. You just hold his hand, playing with his growing nails before quietly asking for a nail clipper. He doesn’t like them long, they poke him. It also gets caught on his clothes, so he keeps them pretty low.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna paint your nails if you don’t wake up,” You decide as you’re clipping his nails. “Yup. Neon pink and green. So, you better wake up soon.” Dusting his nails off, you look at him for a sign that he’s listening. Any sign, really. But there’s none and you quietly sigh before climbing into bed next to him.

Looking up at him, you kiss his shoulder before tucking your head into his chest. It’s not dinner yet, it’s barely even lunch but you don’t want to be awake right now. You’re tired of the reminders, tired of looking at him in the white bed under the white blanket. You miss his smile and laugh that you can only see in your dreams now.

—

“I got detention for a week,” You angrily admit as you toss yourself onto the chair next to him. It’s been four weeks of him being in a coma. His hair has grown a bit, you didn’t notice until recently. “They were going to give me longer but said because of my situation it’ll only be a week.” You use air quotes as you say ‘situation’, angrily looking around as though someone was going to agree with you.

“Bloody Malfoy running his fucking mouth about you. Laughing with his little mates who have their tongues down his throat, his little lap dogs without a fucking brain! Talkin’ about you being a lost cause and a…” You stop as you find yourself getting angry again. “I knocked him out. He’s awake now, I wasn’t allowed in here until he left.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You need to calm down. Talk to him about something happier. Talk about the positives of your day.

“My parents wrote, they wish you well. They invited you and your folks over during break and said they can’t wait to see you again. Can’t wait for you to meet Tate’s little puppies. They’re the cutest and maybe your dad would let you guys keep one,” You smile at the nurse as she brings over a comb and brush. Quietly, you thank her before moving your chair closer to the bed.

“I’m not sure if you noticed but they upgraded your cot. It’s roughly the size of your dorm bed; I think they did that ‘cause I keep sleeping here.” It’s been nearly every night that you spend down in the infirmary. Students who come and go with their own injuries have mentioned it to their peers. Apparently, you cry in your sleep and it keeps them up. Although no one is blaming you for that, they’re mostly just pitying you at this point.

Combing through his hair with the brown wine tooth comb, you give Cedric his usual hairstyle and smile down at him.

“I reckon this length looks good on you, hopefully, you don’t cut it. I quite like it,” Gently brushing his hair away from his face, your lip wobbles and you force yourself to look away. “I have class but I’ll be back, I promise.”

—

Six weeks. A month and two weeks. More days than you care to admit.

He’s doing better, according to the doctor who visits on Mondays. She said he should wake up soon but she didn’t give an estimate. Soon could be a year, apparently.

Unfortunately, today has been exceptionally rough. Snake’s been a larger prick, you tanked your history quiz, you overslept and missed your whole first period, and worst of all, you waited a whole thirty minutes at your usual spot waiting for Cedric before you remembered.

Wiping your eyes with your hands, you pull your legs up to the frame of his bed and lay your head on your thighs.

“I’ve been looking for spells to get in your head,” You admit through quiet sobs. “Maybe then we could talk. I miss your voice. I miss you so much. It’s getting harder and I’m not blaming you. I know this is a good outcome, I know I should be grateful you weren’t left in that cemetery to rot. I know I should be jumping for joy because you’re alive but it doesn’t feel like it. I feel like I’m losing you.” Blinking down to the floor, you chew on your bottom lip.

“Break is coming soon. They’re going to transfer you during it, so you’re not alone. I don’t know if they’ll let me sleep over still. You’ll be so far from me, too. Five hours by car, I checked. I’m sorry if I sound selfish, I keep talking about me. But I don’t know… how to talk to you right now.” Looking at him, you reach over and grab his hand.

“If you want to… go… you can. I don’t know if you’re in pain or something. I just want you to feel better, even if it means you’ll be gone.” Blinking rapidly, you tuck your head back between your legs and cry. You don’t know how long you’ve sat there like that but you get startled at the feeling of his limp hang gripping yours.

It’s not tight but you know it’s there as you look at him. His eyes are open, just barely but they’re open. You shudder at the sight, nearly falling from your chair.

“Cedric,” You whisper and he cracks a smile. “Oh Godric,” Smiling, you squeeze his hand before hugging him. Smiling into his neck, you feel him start to hug you back.

“That’s my name,” He mutters, voice dry and hoarse but it’s his. Madam Pomfrey walks over for her rounds and gasps at the sight of the two of you before rushing to send for his doctors. Slowly, you pull away and look at him. “Is there water?” Nodding, you reach over and grab your bottle from the table before giving it to him.

He struggles to sit up, giving you a pleading look and you prop him up without question. You help him drink, too, trying not to cry because he’s sitting up. He’s not laying down anymore and his eyes are open.

He’s awake and alive.

“What did I miss?” He asks.

“I spent six weeks giving you updates and you didn’t hear a single word?” You snort. “Of course,”

“Six weeks?” He echos and you slowly nod. “What happened?”

“Short story; you died and came back but you were in a coma. The long story is for later. When you’re back to normal. But you won the tournament! Uh, your parents have the trophy but I don’t doubt they’ll be here soon. They’ve come every Saturday and Sunday,”

“They do?”

“Mhmm, I left the three of you alone so I don’t know what you guys talked about.” Silence falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other.

“Were you crying?” He softly asks and you shake your head.

“Allergies, I decided playing with a cat was better than being able to breathe properly,” You lie and he doesn’t believe you but lets it slide and pats the bed. Sitting back down, he pulls you down and strokes the top of your head. Sighing with content, you look up at him and smile. ,

“I love you,” He kisses the top of your head before he speaks.

“I love you, too.” He waits for a second. “Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Yes, dork, it does,” You snort and he frowns, complaining that you’re being mean to him after he just woke up.

“Wait,” He shifts a little and you hum. “Why are my nails pink and green?”

226 notes · View notes

mailmango · 4 days ago

Text

JUST WAIT UNTIL I GRT MY HANDS ON CRAIG AND TOM ITS SO JOEVER FOR YOUUU

Gel-ousy

Pairing: Lucas Ron Thomas x Sanctum Alexander Arroyo (ITLITW OC)

Genre: Fluff

Notes: Jealousy; childhood crushes; misunderstanding trope

Length: 2.8k words, Fic

Synopsis: Lucas always takes forever to do his hair, and Sanctum often takes the opportunity to ogle his handsome boyfriend. Today, though, he'll get to learn why the man picked up hair gel in the first place.

A/N: This is a repost of one of my Choices fics from last year GAHHAHAHA I LOOOVE Lucas and I want the boyo to be happy so I wrote this oekmd vcjbvvjcv ALSO I apologize for the switch up to everyone here because of One-on-One, I'll post more smut soon

Credits: @/aquazero for the divider and @/whatisreggieshortfor for encouraging me to do Choices stuff <3

I picked this one just for you! I hope it's the sweetest of the bunch...

“You know, with today, you’ve brought the average time you spend doing your hair in the morning to seventeen minutes.”

Sanctum was on his and Lucas’s shared bed, typing away at his sticker-covered laptop. With confusion and a bit of concern, Lucas stopped tying his blue tie. The fabric still undone in hand, he looked to his boyfriend.

“What? How do you know that?”

“Data and observations.”

“You’ve been recording my hair routine time?”

Lucas felt self-conscious, all of a sudden. When Sanctum looked at him, he could see that pang of uncertainty in Lucas’s eyes. He knew it well; it had painted Lucas’s face nearly every day of middle school when he sat down for lunch, having just been teased and ridiculed for whatever reason cruel kids would tease and ridicule him for.

“Yeah… it’s rather difficult to keep my eyes off you, so I figured I may as well be ‘productive.’ I can stop, if you’d like.”

Sanctum spun his laptop around to reveal a spreadsheet. Lucas pulled on his glasses, noting that his boyfriend had been cataloguing nearly every day since they moved in together a half year ago. A sinking doubt started to weigh in his stomach.

His words came in a mutter, almost indistinguishable and inaudible.

“I‘m surprised you’d want to watch me in the mornings that much.”

Sanctum was taken aback. He closed and set aside his laptop, motioning Lucas to take a seat by him on the bed as he sat up. He held Lucas’s shaking hands, and his thumbs brushed over the man’s knuckles.

Did Lucas really think Sanctum wouldn’t want to look at him?

“What do you mean by that?”

With a deep breath, Lucas took his seat by Sanctum’s side. Sanctum’s hands never let go of his, and his eyes never let go of a concerned expression.

“Well, I figured that without the gel and the clothes you…”

His voice trailed off as he remembered the day that cemented his daily usage of that drugstore hair gel.

“You can tell me.”

Sanctum’s hands found Lucas’s just as their eyes did. With a soft smile, he urged his boyfriend on.

“It- It started back in high school…”

“Oh, you’re here. Morning Lucas.”

It was freshman year. Although the friend group of Sanctum, Ava, Lucas, and the others who had met Reddield didn’t communicate much, these three did from time to time. At least, they did back then.

Lucas remembered that Ava was on the steps of one of the less busy entrances to their school. Having just fully realised her true alternative style, her clothing was a mish-mash of dark leathers, spiked boots, stripped leathers, and a skirt. She had this awkward haircut, with straightened and dyed hair accompanied by some horrendously large bangs. It was so strange, too, because her makeup had yet to, well, exist. She would get her personal style well and cohesive eventually, he thought.

But Lucas couldn’t really judge. He was in an awkward phase in terms of style as well. Blazers and v-necks were being replaced by cotton sweaters and button-ups. His pants, however, lagged behind, with ripped jeans rarely being swapped out for what he would come to wear more often, dress pants.

The biggest change ongoing, however, was his hair. He had been tired of sideswept hair, envious of seniors with their pushed back and immaculate hair. The cause for all of that jealousy?

“Hi Lucas!”

Sanctum Alexander Arroyo.

Sanctum and Lucas had remained the closest amongst the group, save for the former and Ava. Sanctum, in that time, also remained as a permanent and prominent part of Lucas’s heart.

Sanctum’s awkward phase had just finished by then. Once, he wore plain clothing. Sneakers, baggy pants, and plain shirts he left untucked were all slowly but surely replaced throughout middle school.

Sanctum’s style was very close to both Lucas and Ava’s, at least, what they would become. Some days, he would wear black mesh and turtlenecks, well-fitted leather pants or studded jeans, and he always had a perfect boot to match. These would often be accompanied by clip-on earring studs, chokers and bracelets with chunky spikes, and necklaces of all sorts. He often claimed that version of him to be the fault of his older sister, who would give him “advice” as to what to wear, which is to say would dress him each morning without his input. He liked it though, and never had many complaints.

Lucas found that version of Sanctum’s dress attractive. Mesh shirts that showed a bit too much skin, especially for their age, and the specifcially devious smile he would wear left a hormonal, confused Lucas’s head spinning. But what really drew Lucas in was the clothing Sanctum claimed as his ultimate favorite, his truest style.

Sanctum’s style was characterised by curly hair being done in what was essentially a fluffy poof. He wore sweaters that were just smack dab in between something loose and perfectly fitted. His pants were khakis a size or so too big for him, which he kept cuffed and held closed by a leather belt with his initials on the buckle. His socks often matched his sweaters, going stripped and stripped, dots and dots, or any manner of patterning, and his shoes were either his favorite brown boots, one of his hundreds of pairs of colored sneakers, or even dress shoes.

That day, Sanctum had opted for a deep green sweater and his boots, which Lucas had to admit he loved the most. But Lucas’s eyes never got the chance to flick down to his footwear.

“You want to have lunch later?”

He was far too focused on the way the hazel of Sanctum’s eyes became hypnotizingly vibrant and the way his voice sounded like a long-perfected orchestra.

“Yeah!”

Little Lucas shouted a bit—okay, a lot—too eager with a blush to his cheeks.

Ava snorted.

“You were really cute back then.”

Sanctum tried to lighten the mood as he and his boyfriend stared down at a picture the three had taken that day. The three were smiling—well, Ava was sort of smiling—at their usual lunch spot.

“Cute, sure…”

Lucas took another deep breath.

“But do you remember what happened that day?”

The three were hanging out in one of the back corners of the cafeteria, one with the perfect balance of enough light and little noise. They had been sitting in that spot for the two months of freshman year that they had managed to survive.

Lucas and Ava were trying to stomach the school lunch: a strangely texture pizza and some indescribable diet coke. Sanctum took pity on them and shared some of his quesadillas, although he fully hogged his bacon and rice. He even gloated a bit.

“Mm- So, Mr. Packed Lunch, how were tryouts?”

“Tryouts?”

Lucas swallowed the piece of quesadilla in his mouth. He looked between his two lunchmates, trying to gleam what they were talking about.

“I, uh, tried out for the cheerleading squad.”

“Really? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah… it’s just that I-”

All of a sudden, a large hand clapped down onto Sanctum’s shoulder.

“Did amazing?”

There, with a hand on Sanctum’s shoulder, was Jason, the student body president and vice captain of the football team. He flashed his pearly whites, taking his seat right beside Sanctum.

Lucas had to admit, the senior was really, really handsome. He was obviously well-built, dressed in nicely styled but simple clothing, had beautiful emerald green eyes, and had an amazingly styled head of sweptback brown hair.

“You guys have a little prodigy over here! Little ‘Tum did amazing!”

He smiled and chuckled, an arm coming to hug Sanctum across his shoulders. The boy was speechless, mouth agape and cheeks dusted rosy pink.

Lucas could feel the jealousy flood his system. He couldn’t bear to watch it, to be frank. Sanctum was being held so close—was it too close? And the way that this handsome, older guy made Sanctum blush without even trying… the way called him “‘Tum”? It was starting to grate on him.

“That’s… great to hear.”

His words were steady, but his hands were gripping his knees like they were a lifeline.

“Hell yeah! ‘Tum here showed up with some of the best freshman gymnastics Kate or I have seen.”

“Jason, you’re being too kind-”

“I’m just telling the truth!”

God, Lucas hated the Sanctum blushed when Jason ruffled his hair. He wanted Sanctum to blush for him, not Jason.

“Best dressed, too. We’ve gotta go shopping sometime, I admire your style.”

“Th-thank you, Jason! I… think your hair looks really nice!”

Lucas could feel a spark of anger and an explosion of jealousy inside him. He watched as Jason laughed some more, wishing with every second he had been the one making Sanctum blush that cutely.

Gah, Sanctum was cute.

“Babe, you were jealous of Jason?”

Sanctum and Lucas were closer now, resting their backs on the headboard. Their hands were intertwined, and Sanctum’s head was rested on Lucas’s shoulder.

“…yeah.”

“I see… do you want to continue? We can talk more now, if you’d rather not.”

“I… I’ll finish the story.”

Sanctum waved goodbye to Jason, who had give his own polite niceties to Ava and Lucas. But Lucas didn’t mind that, no, he simply let Jason’s words to Sanctum resonate through him.

“I’ll see you at practice, ‘Tum.”

Abruptly, Lucas shot up. As he stood, he knocked his tray, the food swishing to the other side. He couldn’t take it.

“I’ve got to go to my locker. I’ll see you guys later.”

He rushed out, his mind a mess. He focused on one step, then the next, and the next again. He was making good progress. Excellent, even.

Until he realised he forgot to give Sanctum a goodbye hug.

He was mad, sure. He was brimming with jealousy, sure. But the last person he was upset with was Sanctum, and he didn’t want him to think he was mad at him. It would be the furthest thing from the truth, in fact. He turned on his heel, steps thrice as fast as they were when he was leaving.

He could see their table. Ava and Sanctum were still side-by-side and faced away from him, Ava using her elbow to nudge Sanctum as he laid his head down.

Lucas was not pleased to hear what Sanctum was whing out.

“Why?! Ava, tell me, why is Prez so handsome?!”

Prez? Who’s Prez? Prez… president…

“I dunno. Why is he so handsome, Sanctum?”

Jason?

Sanctum groaned loudly.

“Because he looks so good in that shirt! And his smile? It was so pretty! And and and his hair- gosh, his hair! I just-”

Lucas was running again, now trying to hold it together as he ran back into the hallway. It was empty, he noticed, and boy was he glad.

He slowed down, trying to steady his breathing, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

And then he walked into a wall, falling back in recoil. Except it wasn’t a wall.

“Woah, Lucas, you okay, little guy?”

Jason. Lucas pushed himself up, fumbling with his glasses for a moment before slipping them on. Jason was holding out a hand with an apologetic, perfect smile on his immaculate face.

Lucas wanted to cry, just a bit.

Instead, he took the offer, using the leverage to pull himself up.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”

“Hm. You sure? There’s something going on, I can see it on your face.”

Jason leaned in, a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m telling you, Jason, I’m alright. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh come on! You don’t gotta tell me what’s wrong, but you could at least let me help cheer you up. Is there anything at all that I can do?”

Lucas’s mouth fell open. For a second, he wanted to tell Jason to stop being so close with Sanctum. But it felt wrong. It was wrong. Instead…

“How do you get your hair to look like that?”

“What? Really? That’s… that’s what you need?”

“Yeah.”

He was stone faced. Inside, on the other hand, he was waiting with bated breath.

“Gel. I buy it from Marv’s in town. Are you sure that’s all?”

Lucas was already setting off, eager to get his phone. He had to tell his mom he was going to get something from the store. He needed to do this.

“Yeah! Thank you!”

“That’s where you got the idea?”

Sanctum laughed a bit, and Lucas did as well. He wanted to begin reassuring his boyfriend, but he could see it in the way Lucas’s face returned to a bleak expression.

“You can keep going, Lucas. I’m here, and I’ll listen.”

The next day, Lucas was running late. Late for Lucas Ron Thomas, at least.

With an absent Ava, who had gone on a trip with her dad, Sanctum was alone on those steps. When it had reached twenty-two minutes prior to class starting, he sort of lost hope. Lucas was ten minutes later than normal, and he figured he probably had something going on and had forgotten to text Sanctum about it.

Sanctum, crestfallen, stood up. He dusted his pants off, pulled his backpack straps taut, and began to turn on his heel. Lucas, emerging from his car, noticed and began to run with an accompanying cry.

“Sanctum! Wait!”

“Lucas?”

Sanctum turn around mid-step, seeking a slightly-out-of-breath Lucas. Something was different today, something had to have changed.

“Your hair…”

His dad had helped him brush and style his hair that morning. Lucas’s hair was brushed back, swishing to the side as it got further and further from the base. It was so, so very new, and as Sanctum noted, it all held in place even as Lucas moved his head.

“I, ahem, tried gel. For my hair. What do you think?”

The next few moments were tense for Lucas.

Lucas’s left hand fiddled with his right hand pointer finger as he gazed at Sanctum with uncertainty. Sanctum had his arms crossed by then while his face was scrunched in a look of scrutiny. His eyes seemed to track the flow of his hair, his weight even shifting in an effort to get another view.

Lucas’s chest let out the tension when he got finally a beaming smile back.

“You look very handsome, Lucas!”

“I was never handsome to you before that.”

Sanctum tried. He really, really tried. His darnest, in fact. But he couldn’t hold back his laugh.

“Lucas, I love you!”

“What?”

Lucas looked up as his hands stopped their nervous fidgeting. Sanctum’s smile was so wide Lucas was almost offended.

“Lucas, do you know who ‘Prez’ is?”

Lucas winced at the mention of Jason. He could feel his chest tighten with jealousy.

“Jason Rousseau.”

More laughter.

“Lucas, my stupid, lovely, handsome genius, you’re ‘Prez’. Have been ever since you were student body president in middle school.”

It was like a chord being plugged in and a circuit starting. Lucas’s breathing began to steady once more, only for him to break into a chuckle as well.

“What?”

“Babe, Ava and I were talking about you that day—we did most days. I was obsessing over how handsome you were in your cute new blue polo.”

Lucas saw it then: Sanctum’s eyes, wiped clean of laughter tears, were filled with nothing but affection.

“I remember it, in fact. I was talking about how if you ever came home in a polo like that, I probably wouldn’t be able to stand. Just drop to my knees out of pure joy; your pretty face would be the culprit.”

“‘Come home’? You were thinking about us moving in by then?”

“Moving in? No, not just that. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I was imagining our life together, idiot. Do you know how long I’ve liked you?”

Lucas let out a chuckle of disbelief and relief. His body felt lighter, his heart less sunken, and his cheeks starting to ache from the abrupt and overwhelming amount of smiling he was doing.

“I bet no longer than me. I’ve been imagining it since fourth grade. Well, I was imagining us holding hands at that age.”

“...I suppose you’re right. But we’re tied! And I was imagining us dancing by then! So really, I win.”

He couldn’t help himself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to Sanctum’s cheek. Sanctum huffed and pouted before pulling Lucas in for a proper one. Then another, and another, and another.

When he finally stopped, he felt obligated to explain something.

“Lucas, you look handsome with the gel. But you’ve always been handsome to me. Always have been, always will be.”

His hand rested on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Always?”

“Always. Even when you had those chunky Simon glasses.”

Lucas laughed properly now, letting any tenseness fully melt away. He pecked his boyfriend on the lips yet again.

“So, if I stop wearing gel tomorrow, I won’t get any less kisses?”

“Less? Babe, you won’t be able to keep me off you.”

His smile was wide and his ears were red.

“I’m throwing my gel away. Immediately.”

Laughter and kisses kept them occupied that day. So did Sanctum running his hair through his boyfriend’s soft, luscious hair.

THANK YOU to any and all Choices enthusiasts. We are TOO many, but we're here!

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mailmango · 4 days ago

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Lucas Ron Thomas Masterlist

Lucas and Sanctum

Gel-ousy (Fic, Fluff, Male OC)

this crop is still growing...

#mango's farm #mango's harvest #lucas choices #lucas choices x male reader

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mailmango · 4 days ago

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guys this is the original form my gay shit took GAHAHHAHAHA