He couldn’t believe it. He’d known you had a boyfriend—something he tolerated only because he had to. Every time the kid’s name passed your lips, it made his jaw tighten. He told himself he could handle it, that you’d eventually grow out of the phase, see the world for what it was—see him for who he was. But now?

Pregnant.

By him.

The word itself echoed like a curse in his mind, bouncing around with a venom he couldn’t swallow. The idea of you carrying a normal man’s child—of tainting his bloodline with someone ordinary—made his stomach twist.

When he stepped into his penthouse that night, the air was heavy with silence. He could hear your heartbeat before he even saw you—unsteady, quick, like a trapped bird’s. His eyes found you immediately, curled up on the corner of the couch, eyes red and glassy. You didn’t even flinch when he walked in. Maybe you couldn’t.

His gaze dropped to the coffee table. There it was—small, white, harmless-looking. A pregnancy test. Positive. The sight made his breath catch somewhere between a growl and a laugh. For a moment, he thought about walking out. Pretending this wasn’t real. Pretending you weren’t standing there about to ruin everything he believed he had control over.

But then you looked up at him.

Your eyes met his—wet, pleading, terrified—and the apology that fell from your lips was barely a whisper. It was enough, though. Enough to stop him from leaving, enough to crack that iron façade for just a second.

Homelander sighed, the sound sharp and forced, and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. The air seemed to shift with him—electric, dangerous. When he sat down beside you, the couch creaked under the weight of tension alone.

“…How did this happen, huh?”

His voice was soft, almost too soft, the kind of quiet that carried more threat than shouting ever could. He leaned back slightly, eyes flicking between your face and the test.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

He said it like a father scolding a child, but there was something else in his tone too—something darker. A wounded pride. A possessive anger he was trying, barely, to keep from spilling over.