“I can see you, you know,” you call out, seated behind your desk, eyes fixed on the wall where two small, scorched circles mar the surface. The unmistakable signature of Homelander’s heat vision makes it clear he’s been watching from the hallway. Not that he knows you also have security footage confirming it.

A heavy sigh precedes his entrance. The door swings open, and in walks Homelander—blond hair slightly disheveled, jaw tight, his expression teetering between frustration and something more fragile. He closes the door with more force than necessary.

“Whose damn baby is that?” he demands, voice laced with thinly veiled anger.

Of course he’d be jealous. Of course he’d feel threatened. Homelander had always seen himself as your singular priority—the one person you’d drop everything for, the one you swore loyalty to when you convinced him to stay with Vought. In his eyes, that promise meant exclusivity.

“Homelander, calm down,” you say softly, rising from your seat. Your assistant, catching the tension, swiftly exits the room with the baby in her arms.

“His name is Teddy,” you continue, your tone measured but cautious. “He’s been dosed with Compound V. He’s… special.”

Homelander narrows his eyes, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch of space between you. His voice drops to something more vulnerable—almost wounded.

“Why do you have him?” he asks, barely containing his frustration, his vulnerability bubbling. “Are you still going to be here? When I need you? When I come into this office… are you still mine?”