Contrary to popular thought - meaning these lovely thoughts I keep sharing for some reason - I am not out to domesticate all the feral and dangerous men of the world. It just seems to fucking happen to me by accident.

Which is why, even if I felt like I might have been put into some kind of fucked up VR simulation, I chose not to dwell on the severely fucking weird domestic scene that HOMELANDER of all fucking people was taking part in within the hallowed walls of my own fucking house.

It helped that he was always wearing his costume - because at least with the spangles and stars and stripes coating him I could pretend that he was mostly a hallucination brought on by over indulging to the point of brain damage.

The first afternoon and evening was spent with Ryan. I sat on the family room sofa and listened as he explained what he was doing to recreate the film that was playing - one he and his mom had watched before (and while he looked sad at the memory, there was a soft smile there too which I counted as progress) - and before long I was sitting on the floor beside him, letting him guide me as I helped him building his vision.

We took breaks for food - and while I was more than willing to eat outside the kitchen and dining room - I insisted that dinner had to be taken in the kitchen so we could take a true break. I didn't cook, or didn't have to depending on the perspective, but I was appeased by the offerings - rather than something that I thought my houseguest might have requested to impress me, the fare was more suited for a family night. Pizza, boneless wings, breadsticks, and other kid friendly - and let's be honest, Veronica friendly - food was arrayed on the island with a stack of plates and not a single hint of alcohol was to be seen.

"I thought you might want to take a break from -" his breath was warm against my ear and I nearly reminded him that Ryan could hear as well as his huge irritating ass, but I couldn't really argue the point he was making. Clearly getting buzzed and beyond was a recipe for delusions, so I'd stay sober as the grave.

A slight nod was all I was willing to give him, and once we had our plates full, and were taking our seats at the table in the breakfast nook I realized I had an opening to give as good as I got. Taking note of the plain water Homelander had beside his plate - a plate that he actually managed to fill all by himself - my head tilted and I glanced up to see him watching me.

"Water?" He nodded, reaching for the glass. "Are you sure you don't want some milk?" He'd started to sip and I was rewarded with a pause - sad that he managed to control himself enough to not snort it, spit it, or worse - shatter the glass with his hand - his eyes didn't leave mine, and he didn't bite back the way I wanted him to.

"I prefer fresh milk," and I was extremely glad I hadn't picked up a slice or taken a drink from my own glass and I knew he knew it. "After all, why settle for something -" and then he did something worse, he let his eyes take a lingering tour of me from head to toe, the table wasn't nearly a barrier for his eyes. "Purified or sterilized." Wait, what?

"Sterilized?" Ryan was looking between the two of us and I turned from his sperm donor to reassure him that - well I had no idea what the fuck I was going to reassure him because I barely opened my mouth when the leader of the Seven answered.

"It means to cleanse," he offered, and I could feel his eyes still on me. "To clean and purify, and -"

"To not be able to have children," it slipped out, but if he was saying he preferred things (and since he'd been staring a hole through me, without actually putting a hole through me when he'd said it - people) that hadn't been - so did that mean -

"Yes," he agreed, his voice as soft as velvet and more terrifying than if he'd been screaming and foaming at the mouth. "It means being barren or sterile." I knew he wanted me to engage, but not here, not in front of -

"So tell me," I was still engaging - or trying to - with Ryan, fuck whatever Homelander was implying right fucking now. "What comes next with your movie prep?"

That's all it took to take Ryan's mind off of the topic that my fucking mouth started up. With all the passion a pre-teen could have, Ryan told me what he wanted to do next, and how I could help.

"If you want to," he tacked on at the end, and if he'd been in the presence of his father for longer - or the man whose name he shared - I would have thought he was using those puppy dog eyes for maximum effect, rather than just a child who was desperate for connection.

"Of course," the answer was as easy to give as breathing. A throat clearing broke the moment, because of fucking course that throat would fucking break something sweet - well not the throat but the entirety of the throat owner - you fucking know what I mean.

Shooting a look at the source of the interruption, I nearly groaned when I saw the smug smirk growing on his face. Fucker. "While I'm certain Veronica would love to help you with your -" he considered his words with a brief pause and I hoped like fuck that he wasn't about to make me toss something at his head. "Project. However," he started before I could chime in and assure Ryan he was right about that. "You should know that she needs to rest -" and he went on even as my mouth opened to protest, I was hungover not fucking dying. "So after dinner, you can go back and start working again, or play some video games that I noticed she so thoughtfully bought in advance of you coming to stay -" dear God he really had been watching everything and had more than enough time to search my house while I was passed out - maybe he was right about the drinking, asshole. "We need to have a private chat," this was addressed to me, without consulting me about what I wanted, but after his tiny nugget about sterilization I knew he was right about this too, fucking bastard.

Dinner went on like a normal family dinner - if two of the family members were superpowered types and one was a fragile human psychologist/CIA agent who was trying desperately not to diagnose at least one of the other people at the table during its entirety. At the end of it, as I noticed the Vought help come creeping in to clean up after us, I realized that the caped dickhead and I had more to talk about than he realized.