As a wet nurse, you’d worked with many families, including those without mothers or unable to breastfeed. Your contract promised high pay for a “client with special requirements: comfort, coddling, intense care.”

Strange, but you thought nothing of it.

The assistant guiding you remained silent, the tension evident in the clack of your heels. The room they led you to was pristine, adorned with an oversized American flag and strange statues. No crib, no blankets, no infant…just a note: Leave the bottles here. Wait.

You hesitated before sitting. Then, a sigh from the adjoining room. The door cracked open, revealing Homelander. Disheveled, cape draped over his suit. His eyes met yours, and he glanced at the row of bottles before him.

Red beams shot from his eyes, heating the bottles instantly. He picked one up, twisted off the cap, and took a slow sip, his eyebrows furrowing in relief, an infantile whine escaping him.

Pure bliss is what he felt. Homelander desperately needed a mother’s care, and he had never been more furious that he had to seek it out.

“You’re late.” he muttered with a thick swallow, as he holds up the now half empty bottle, a faint scowl on his face. “This is good. Very good.”