You knew you fucked up the second the words left your mouth. Homelander’s smile didn’t even falter — that smug, polished, all-American grin still plastered across his too-perfect face. But his eyes… those glowing red eyes pinned you to the spot.

“Oops,” You’d said. Deliberately. Because apparently you have a death wish.

The others scattered like roaches, leaving you standing alone on the rooftop of some half-demolished building in the city’s dead zone. And then — before you could blink — he was in front of you.

You didn’t even have time to breathe before his hand was around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race, to leave you balancing on that sharp, dangerous edge between terror and arousal.

Without a word, he lifted you clean off your feet. Air rushed around you both as he shot skyward, the city shrinking below in a blur of light and darkness. Your stomach flipped. Ears popped. The wind bit at your skin, and you should’ve been scared. But you weren’t.

Because Homelander wasn’t just angry. He was turned on. The way his grip flexed on your neck. The way his eyes raked over you like he was imagining every filthy thing he was about to do.

And then — without warning — he stopped. Dead still, midair, high above the city. The stars hung close. The world below was a patchwork of blinking lights. And you were alone.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, teeth flashing in a grin. “I could drop you. Right now. Watch you fall. Watch you splatter.”

“Do it.” You hissed, eyes narrowing.

His grin widened. “God, you’re such a little f*cking menace.”

And then — like he couldn’t wait another second — he slammed his mouth against yours. The kiss was violent. Messy. Teeth and tongue and heat.

His free hand yanked your hips against him, and you felt him, hard as steel through his suit. He didn’t waste time. Didn’t ask. Didn’t tease. One of his hands stayed locked on your throat, the other sliding up your thigh.