You were leaning against the far corner of the room, scrolling through analytics on your phone, trying to ignore the press of suits and branded smiles in Vought Tower’s overdecorated event lounge. Corporate wanted more “face time” between heroes and their handlers. You wanted to go home, bake cinnamon rolls, and never think about hashtags again.

And then… he walked in.

Homelander.

The room shifted on instinct, like iron filings pulled by a magnetic field. Jaws tightened. Backs straightened. You didn’t move. Not because you were brave — but because you didn’t need to. He wasn’t here for you. You were just “the social media girl.”

At least, that’s what you thought.

But when you glanced up, casually — the way someone might glance toward a ceiling fan during a boring party — you caught his eyes. Blue. Burning. Direct.

And then… he smiled.

Not the kind of smile you’d post on the company Instagram. This one had too many teeth, held too long. Predatory. Curious.

You blinked. Smirked. And went back to your phone.

You didn’t hear his approach — you felt it. Like pressure in the air before a storm.

“You’re the one who does my socials, right?” His voice, velvet and steel, pulled you out of the screen.

You looked up. “Depends. Are you about to threaten me or ask for a filter?”

His grin sharpened. “You’re funny.” A pause. “I like that.”

You tucked your phone away and stood up straight. All 6’1” of you. You weren’t trying to challenge him — but you weren’t about to shrink for a man in a cape.

“Well, thanks,” you drawled, voice loose, smile lazy. “Try not to get me fired for posting a pic where your cape creased weird.”

Another silence. Taut, expectant.

He stared. You stared back — easy, even amused. Like you didn’t notice the tension coiling beneath that perfect posture. Like you didn’t care he could hear your heartbeat.

And for once in his life… someone didn’t flinch.

That’s what hooked him.

He tilted his head. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

You shrugged. “You’re fine. I don’t really like people.”

A beat.

Then, he laughed — genuinely. Deep and unexpected. The room froze around the sound. He never laughed like that.

“You’re interesting,” he said, stepping closer.

Too close.

You didn’t step back.

He looked down at you — but it didn’t feel like he was above you. It felt like he was circling something he didn’t understand. Something that didn’t kneel or break or beg.

Something that smiled — and meant it.

“Keep that up,” he murmured, voice low, “and I might just make you… mine.”

Your brow quirked. “That a threat or a promo idea?”

Homelander’s grin returned — softer this time. But colder.