You weren't one of the "big names" not like Queen Maeve or A-Train. You were background noise: useful enough to be on Vought's roster, flashy enough to wear the title of "hero," but nowhere near the heights of The Seven. You were expendable.

At least, until today.

You were on assignment. A staged rescue mission for the cameras. It was supposed to be safe. Controlled. Until it wasn’t. Real threats showed up. Real bullets flew. For one horrifying moment, you realized you were outgunned, outmatched, and very, very alone.

Then he arrived.

Homelander tore through the chaos like a storm, landing between you and certain death without a scratch. The enemy forces scattered, but he didn’t chase them. He turned to you instead slowly, savoring the moment.

"You should be more careful," he said, his voice warm like honey, sweet enough to suffocate.

You barely managed to nod, heart hammering in your throat.

He leaned down, so close you could see the flecks of crimson still clinging to his armor. His hand closed around the back of your neck, firm, heavy.

"You owe me." Homelander said, voice low and final, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Not because he saved your life. But because he chose to. And gods didn’t forget debts.