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[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 08

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains themes of and references to deep, personal losses, which may be distressing to some readers. Please take care while reading.

Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Chapter.

The Oklahoma sky sagged under the weight of storm clouds, the muted grays like a shroud, as if the world itself mourned with her. The air, thick with humidity and unshed tears, clung to Morgan's skin as rows of cars lined the narrow road leading to the church—a procession of quiet grief.

Her father had planned every detail down to the letter, leaving little for her family to arrange in the three days since his passing. But already, it felt like a lifetime without him.

Outside the church, Morgan lingered, unwilling to step through the doors and face the casket. She greeted family and friends, enduring hugs that squeezed her still-tender ribs, grounding her in the pain. It was all she could feel now—pain, and the dull weight of exhaustion. At the very least, it helped her stay grounded.

Having her siblings close helped too. Sammy had been an absolute angel, taking charge of all the preparations. There wasn’t a single detail missed, and it allowed their mother time to grieve in the ways she needed.

Lucas and his family arrived a day after she had, and they had also been instrumental in pulling things together. Her big brother, an army vet himself, had made sure all the necessary arrangements were made for their father to receive a proper military sendoff. Her sister-in-law Celeste, and her niece Elise even found ways to stay busy.

In contrast, Morgan felt like she had been in the way of everything. She still wasn’t fully recovered from the building collapse in Harlem, and nobody would let her lift a finger. All she was really good for was sitting with her mother and consoling her.

Hell, even Charlie had heard the news and made his way to Pawhuska to help out. At that moment, he was inside the chapel, ushering people into seats. As much as she wanted to be angry at him for choosing now of all times to act like they were family, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything more than numb.

Before long, the chapel was just about full. Fewer and fewer people were walking up to greet Morgan, and it was almost time for the service to begin. For just the briefest moment, Morgan considered just walking down the road as far as her legs would carry her. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye for good.

As the thought crossed her mind,the air shifted. She felt it before she saw him. That familiar intensity. 

Morgan’s breath hitched in her chest as Homelander descended from the overcast sky, his silhouette slicing through the gray. His eyes scanned the sparse church lawn, briefly pausing on each cluster of mourners before locking onto hers. She felt the weight of his presence, a familiar intensity that both unsettled and anchored her. 

He looked out of place, garishly wrapped in red, white, and blue amid the sea of black and army dress blues, a living reminder that her life was anything but ordinary. Morgan’s instincts screamed to shield her mind, to fortify against his unspoken scrutiny, but the fatigue dulled her defenses. Even now, at her father’s funeral, she could feel his gaze trying to unearth something hidden, something she wasn’t ready to share.

“What are you doing here?” Morgan’s voice wavered between suspicion and exhaustion, her gaze flickering between him and the open church doors. She braced herself for his reply, the part of him that always had an angle. 

“Well, there’s not much going on back at the tower, and I figured you could use the support.” He shrugged, the casualness of the gesture masking the curiosity bubbling just beneath. 

Morgan clenched her jaw, swallowing a retort. She knew he was here to prod, searching for a way in, as if he could decode her grief like a puzzle. She longed to push him away, to sever the connection before he peeled back yet another layer of her guarded life. But instead, she just nodded, the silence between them filled with all the words she refused to say.

“Thanks…” she murmured, swallowing her frustration. “We should probably head inside then. I think the service is about to begin.” 

Homelander nodded, his gaze lingering on her as a question sat on the tip of his tongue. Morgan didn’t even wait for the thought in his mind to finish forming before heaving a soft sigh. Even at her father’s funeral, everything had to be about putting on a show. 

“We’ll make room on the front pew.” she muttered, gently taking him by the crook of his elbow. She hadn’t expected the casual contact to make him flinch the way he did, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

 It was impossible to ignore the shocked looks from family, people who had known her since she was a child, staring in disbelief at the larger-than-life figure by her side. The weight of Homelander’s presence pressed against her as they made their way to the front pew, and Morgan could feel the eyes on them, every whisper like a needle prick on her skin. All she could do was count the steps to the front of the chapel and ignore the murmurs– both mental and verbal.

Her mother barely spared Homelander a glance as they settled in, her grip on Morgan’s hand tightening, a lifeline in the relentless tide of grief. As the pastor’s voice droned on about life, loss, and legacy, Morgan’s mind wandered, pulled back to a summer evening long ago. She could still see her father at the grill, laughing as he flipped burgers, smoke curling into the twilight. 

‘You’re the strongest of us all, you know that?’ he’d said, ruffling her hair in that way she’d pretended to hate. ‘I’m proud of you kiddo.’

Now, those words felt like a cruel joke. Her father, the man who’d seemed invincible, was reduced to a polished casket and a few fleeting memories that felt too fragile to hold onto. It was enough to make her feel like she was going to fall apart. Morgan squeezed her mother’s hand, trying to anchor herself to the present, but every breath felt heavier, weighed down by the impossible finality of goodbye.

The dreary afternoon pressed on as the church service concluded and the congregation moved along to the cemetery. Naturally a few of the other attendees asked for selfies or handshakes between venues, but for the most part, it remained a solemn affair. Somewhat surprised, but absolutely relieved, Morgan couldn’t help but notice that Homelander was on his absolute best behavior– save a pointed glance or two at Charlie on occasion.

Everything moved along as planned, and everyone played their roles perfectly.

It wasn’t until the graveside service ended, and the small crowd began to disperse, that Morgan felt the real pressure again. The dull ache in her ribs had returned, matched only by the pounding behind her eyes. It was time for life to carry on from here.

"We’re still planning on you for dinner, right?" Sammy asked softly, squeezing Morgan’s arm. "Work doesn’t need you right away, do they?"

Morgan opened her mouth to answer, but before she could get out a single word, Homelander’s voice cut through.

"I wouldn’t worry about things over at Vought. They’ve got things covered.” he said with a dismissive wave. “Nobody’s going to miss us for another evening.”

His choice of the word ‘us’ hadn’t slipped past anyone’s notice. 

Before Morgan could stop it, her mother’s southern hospitality came out in full force. 

“If that’s the case, you’ll have to join us for supper.” she said, her voice still full of warmth and welcome, despite how worn she was from grieving. 

“Oh, well, I don’t want to impose.” Homelander said smoothly, with an affectation of deference. 

“Nonsense, there’s always room for friends at our table.” her mother insisted.

She glanced at Homelander, who was playing his part to perfection, nodding graciously with that polished charm. It was strange to watch him here, in this simple, rural setting, amidst people who would never understand the gravity of his presence. But it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him don the mask. Even now, she could sense the undercurrent of his thoughts—discomfort, curiosity, a tinge of superiority—and that slight need for control.

“Well then,” Sammy said, her voice bright despite the somberness of the day. “It’s settled. Momma’s got a roast in the oven, and I’m sure we can whip up a few extra sides.”

Morgan smiled weakly, though her mind was already racing ahead to dinner. The idea of sitting around the table, sharing a meal in the wake of her father’s death, with Homelander of all people, seemed like a waking nightmare. There were bound to be questions—subtle ones from her family, not-so-subtle ones from him.

As they made their way back toward the cars, Morgan noticed Charlie lingering near the entrance of the cemetery. His eyes caught hers for a moment. She thought about the pointed looks Homelander had given him during the service, and a knot tightened in her chest. This dinner had the potential to unravel more than just her nerves.

“You sure about this?” she asked quietly, leaning toward Homelander as they neared her rental car. “Dinner with my family?”

He smirked, tilting his head just slightly as he regarded her. “The ‘Todds?’ I hadn’t realized until now that you kept Charlie’s last name. I wonder if they’ll have any insight into that.”

Inhaling deeply, she held a retort in her chest until she could feel it burn behind her sternum. There it was. His investigation was off to a great start.

Morgan didn’t answer him. Instead, she turned her attention to the rental car, her hand lingering on the door handle as she steeled herself for the evening ahead. The ride to her mother’s house was mercifully short but felt like it stretched on forever. 

He had opted to follow her from the skies, rather than sit in the car with her, which was a welcome decision on her part. She had time to listen quietly to the questions stewing in his head overhead, giving her a chance to prepare responses. Of course, she also had to anticipate her family and their usual candor about things. 

It had been a long time since she had even dared think about compelling anyone she knew with her powers. The idea was awfully tempting.

As she pulled into the long gravel driveway of her childhood home, Morgan's stomach knotted. The old farmhouse sat comfortably on the land, surrounded by fields that stretched out to meet the horizon, an enduring reminder of simpler times. But there was nothing simple about tonight.

She could already see Sammy through the kitchen window, setting the table, and her mother fussing over something on the stove. The warmth and normalcy of it all felt worlds away from the life she’d been living. Yet here she was, dragging Homelander into the heart of it, knowing full well the disruption he was bound to cause.

“Here we are,” she muttered, more to herself than him, as she shut the car door and he landed just beside her.

“Charming,” he said, his voice neutral but the undertone unmistakable.

Inside, the house was a flurry of soft voices and clinking dishes. Her mother, ever the gracious hostess, greeted them at the door, giving Homelander a warm smile despite the grief etched into her features. 

Inside, the house buzzed with soft voices and the familiar clink of dishes, a muted symphony of everyday life carrying on despite the gaping absence. Her mother greeted them at the door, her smile strained but genuine, the lines of grief etched deeply into her face. 

“We’ve just about got everything ready,” she said, the warmth of her hospitality not yet dimmed by sorrow. “Y’all make yourselves at home.” 

Homelander stepped inside, eyes roaming over the framed family photos on the walls—Morgan’s graduation picture, her father in his dress blues, a collage of the life she’d once known. She could feel his judgment seeping into every corner of the room, his disdain masked by polite interest. For a split second, she caught the flicker of something raw beneath his cool exterior, a flash of envy that quickly vanished. Morgan wondered if he saw what she did: a simpler life, untouched by the toxic complexities of power and control. 

“Aunt Morgan, c’mere!” Elise called, waving Morgan over from the dining table, where she sat hunched over her phone. “I need you to settle something between me and Tucker.”

It was a welcome distraction. Morgan knew all too well that Elise had been glued to her phone whenever she wasn’t helping with the funeral preparations, lost in a world of teenage crushes and trivial debates. 

“You tell him I’m not fielding any more questions about ‘who would beat who in a fight,’” Morgan called back, her voice light as she forced a crooked grin.

“No, this is a good one, I swear!” Tucker’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker. “Starlight versus Stormfront! They both have electricity-based powers, right? So who would win?”

“Starlight, obviously,” Elise snorted, rolling her eyes. “Stormfront is basically a walking powerbank for her abilities.”

Morgan chuckled at their playful argument, but unease simmered beneath the laughter as she approached the table. The debate might have been innocent fun for them, but for Morgan, it was an uncomfortable reminder of the twisted reality she lived in. Her eyes flicked to Homelander, hovering near the kitchen doorway, his expression carefully neutral. She could feel his attention, not on the kids but on her—always watching, always calculating. 

“As I keep saying, The Seven are a united front,” Morgan said, leveling a look at Homelander that dared him to challenge her. “There’s no reason for any of us to fight each other. Our job is to help people, not engage in gladiatorial combat.”

Elise giggled, but Tucker’s disappointed groan buzzed faintly from the phone. Homelander, however, didn’t miss his cue.

“Oh, come on now, that’s not the answer they’re looking for, Psyren,” he chimed in, his tone playful but edged with something sharper. “And that’s not entirely true, either. Your aunt, young lady, is notorious for causing trouble at Seven Tower.”

Elise’s eyes widened with interest, drawn to Homelander’s charisma like a moth to flame. Even Morgan’s sharpest glares couldn’t break the spell he cast over a room. 

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?” Tucker’s voice crackled with disbelief.

“Yeah,” Elise said, puffing up with pride. “I forgot to tell you—we’re having Homelander over for dinner.” She basked in the moment before adding, “Anyway, Nana’s gonna get on my case if I don’t wash up. I’ll call you later!”

Morgan watched Elise disappear down the hallway, leaving a silence that felt like a drawn breath, waiting to be released. The dining room seemed to shrink around them, every unspoken thought amplifying the tension between Morgan and Homelander. He thrived in moments like these—teetering on the edge of confrontation, prodding at Morgan’s composure just to see how far he could push.

“Now, what’s this I hear about Morgan causing trouble all the way out there in New York?” Her mother’s voice cut through, a mix of curiosity and maternal concern as she shuffled into the room, balancing a roasting pan.

Morgan sprang up, her pulse quickening. “Mom, let me help with that,” she said quickly, desperate to redirect the conversation away from Homelander’s bait.

“Oh, sit back down.” She waved her off with a weary smile, setting the pan down on the table. “I’ve got it.”

Morgan sank back into her chair, feeling the heat of Homelander’s stare, his grin widening as he watched her squirm. She clenched her hands under the table, her nails digging into her palms—a futile attempt to ground herself.

“See? Exactly what I’m talking about, Mrs. Todd—” Homelander started, his tone smug.

“Honey, call me Janelle,” her mother interrupted, with the practiced ease of a southern hostess, despite the grief still etched into her features.

Morgan felt her jaw tighten, resisting the urge to snap back at him. He was enjoying this too much—turning her own family’s warmth into a platform for his petty games.

“Janelle,” Homelander continued smoothly, leaning back with an air of false humility, “your daughter just doesn’t know when to quit. She throws herself into her work like she’s trying to make the rest of us look bad. I mean, really, you should see it.”

Morgan’s cheeks flushed, anger and embarrassment mixing into a familiar, suffocating heat. “Just trying to do my job.”

“Oh, come on now,” he teased, the challenge unmistakable in his voice. “You’re being modest. You’ve always been an overachiever, haven’t you?”

Morgan’s mind flashed back to her father’s words, the constant push to excel, to be more than ordinary. It was a mantra she’d lived by, but here, in Homelander’s mouth, it felt twisted, weaponized against her. She shot him a sharp look, but the intensity of his gaze held her captive. Every word felt like a test, and Morgan could sense the satisfaction he took in keeping her on edge.

“Overachiever doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Lucas’s voice broke the tension, his chuckle warm as he entered with a bowl of mashed potatoes. “You should see her old room upstairs. It’s a shrine to every academic achievement she’s ever made.”

Morgan forced a tight smile, but her heart pounded. The past that Lucas so fondly recalled felt distant and hollow now, overshadowed by the relentless expectations that had followed her into adulthood. And Homelander, seated comfortably in her family’s home, was a constant reminder of the cost of those achievements.

“You know, that just makes me think about how lucky we are to have her in The Seven.” Homelander said, his voice smooth, leaning back as if he had been seated comfortably at this table dozens of times before. “I mean, imagine if you’d stayed locked up in R&D all this time. What a waste that would’ve been, right?”

Morgan tensed, recognizing the calculated glint in his eyes. He was baiting her, nudging the conversation toward uncomfortable truths. 

“It’s not exactly a waste when you’re doing work that matters,” Morgan replied, trying to keep her tone even. “Not everything is about being in the spotlight.”

Homelander’s smile widened, almost predatory in its subtlety. “Oh, I know you were doing important work, but let’s be real. You don’t belong in a lab coat—you belong out there, making a difference where everyone can see it. People need heroes they can look up to, not just scientists behind the scenes.”

Morgan felt the familiar prickle of resentment crawling up her spine. She knew what he was implying, even if her family didn’t. To Homelander, supes were meant to be deified. To him, anybody with powers was in a class above the rest, meant to be put on display. Anybody he considered less-than, was meant to worship them.

“Now you know how I feel about folks behind the scenes, Morgan,” Sammy chimed in, her voice light but carrying that familiar, theatrical lilt. She strode into the dining room with a pitcher of ice water, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, I love what I do now, but let’s be honest—no one ever remembers the stagehands or directors. They’re the backbone of every production, but it’s the actors who get the standing ovations. It’s the faces in front of the crowd that make the real impact.”

Sammy’s words stung more than Morgan wanted to admit. Her sister’s world was so different, but the parallels were painfully clear. Morgan had spent years in the lab, behind the scenes, crafting the kind of safety nets that supes rarely acknowledged. Yet here was Sammy, echoing Homelander’s sentiment without even realizing it, as if it were the most natural truth in the world.

“It’s not always about the spotlight, Sam,” Morgan said, her voice tight as she tried to keep her irritation in check. “Some of us are just trying to do our part without making it a performance.”

Sammy shrugged, her expression softening. “I’m just saying, you’ve got the kind of talent that deserves to be seen. It’s a shame to hide it away.”

Homelander seized the moment, his gaze flickering toward Morgan. “You know, the thing about your baby sister,” he said, addressing Sammy and the rest of the table, “is that she’s a bit of a rarity. Most of us had to be molded and shaped into what we are. But Morgan? She’s something else entirely.”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. She could sense where this was going and braced herself for the inevitable. He was hinting at her origins, teasing the truth that had been unearthed—her powers didn’t seem to stem from Compound V, and that made her different. A liability, an unknown.

“Well, I can definitely say she’s special in my book,” her mother said warmly, giving Morgan’s knee an affectionate pat. “But it’s not just about what she can do. It’s the way she’s always carried herself—with determination and a good heart. I’d say that’s the real superpower that Noah and I were able to help nurture into something truly great.”

Homelander’s expression tightened momentarily, the faintest crack in his polished demeanor. For a brief second, Morgan caught the flicker of something darker—resentment, perhaps, or the sting of a truth he could never fully grasp. He recovered quickly, masking his irritation with a tight-lipped smile.

“Absolutely,” he said, leaning back in his chair as if conceding a minor point. “It’s a rare combination—nature and nurture coming together like that. Makes her one-of-a-kind.” His voice softened, but Morgan didn’t miss the way his words lingered, a quiet acknowledgment of a uniqueness that eluded him.

Morgan forced a smile, nodding along as if the conversation hadn’t just brushed dangerously close to exposing everything she wasn’t ready to face. Her mother’s reassurance was like a lifeline, pulling her back from the precarious edge Homelander had pushed her toward.

“It’s always been about more than just powers,” Morgan added, trying to steer the conversation away from the unsettling territory. “Dad always said it’s what you do with what you’re given that counts.”

Her mother nodded, her gaze softening with pride. “And you’ve done so much, Morgan. You’ve made us proud just by being yourself, whether it’s in a lab, on the front lines, or at the dinner table. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Homelander, sensing the subtle shift in the room, finally backed off, his expression cooling. “Well, I think we can all agree on that,” he said, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To Morgan—making a difference, no matter where she is.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, though Morgan could still feel the residual sting of his earlier comments. She raised her own glass, more out of habit than celebration, meeting Homelander’s gaze with a silent promise: she wouldn’t let him dictate who she was, no matter how hard he tried.

“To family,” Morgan echoed, her voice steadying as the words settled in the air. She clinked her glass gently against her mother’s and then Homelander’s, anchoring herself in the simple, irrefutable truth of who she was—beyond the powers, the expectations, and the relentless scrutiny. For tonight, at least, that would have to be enough.

Song: Not About Angels by Birdy

Author’s notes:

Hey everyone, thanks for reading this chapter! I really enjoyed writing this scene. Morgan’s family plays a critical role in grounding her and it was important to have a scene where Homelander gets to see that up close and personal. This chapter is a turning point for Morgan as she continues to grapple with her identity and her place in The Seven. 

Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support! Your feedback means the world, and I’m looking forward to hearing what you think of this chapter. Stay tuned! There’s a lot more to come!

[out-with-the-boys]

After seeing some of the scenes with Mirror!Homelander, it made me think of this piece.

I need some young Homelander reaching out to him.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 07

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains themes of and references to deep, personal losses, which may be distressing to some readers. Please take care while reading.

Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

To say that Morgan was a difficult and stubborn patient was an understatement. With the extent of the injuries she sustained when a Harlem apartment building collapsed on her, she was ordered to be on strict bed rest for a few weeks at least. Keeping her down was easier said than done, however.

Bed rest literally means bed rest, Ms. Daly. Lounging in your chair in the conference room doesn’t count.

Dr. Foster had personally ordered her back to bed herself too many times already. If it wasn’t for her Hippocratic oath, Morgan was certain the woman would have strangled her by now. As punishment, she was stuck in bed for one more week before she could get back to work on less taxing duties.

At the very least, she had her script for Dawn of the Seven , to rehearse.

“And you’re sure they won’t throw a fit over you breaking your NDA?” her sister asked, her wide grin practically audible over the phone. 

“Sammy, you’re my big sister.” Morgan said with a soft snort. “We’re basically extensions of each other. Besides, I know how you are about spoilers. You’d sooner invoke the curse of MacBeth than give away the story.”

“Shh! Don’t say that name!” Sammy hissed. “You’ll jinx the movie!”

“Relax, the curse only works for stage productions.” Morgan laughed softly, wincing slightly as a sharp pain shot through her ribs.

“Hey, all the world's a stage.”

“Smartass.”

Morgan wished she could have seen the wry grin her sister was likely wearing. One day she would have to convince her to upgrade her phone to something that actually had video call capabilities. The flip phone Sammy insisted on using was sure to break eventually.

Still, even without seeing her, Morgan could sense the shift in tone before Sammy could say what she was thinking.

”Sorry to change gears here, but have you found out anything else about the Compound V situation?” Sammy asked, her voice low.

Drawing in as deep a breath as she could manage, Morgan pressed her lips into a thin line.

”I don’t have any solid leads yet.” She murmured back.

Ever since the origins of supes came to light, Morgan’s family had been scratching their heads. Neither of her parents had struck any sort of deal with Vought to juice her with their super drug. If they had, Morgan would have known about it a long, long time ago.

Another worrisome piece to the puzzle was Dr. Foster’s silent panic with a recent panel of bloodwork she had done. Morgan’s already fragile trust with Vought and its other employees had been dwindling. After what happened with Stormfront in Harlem, Morgan felt less and less inclined to keep from reading minds without permission.

This can’t be right.

Foster’s voice still echoed in her mind even weeks after the fact. She had gleaned a few things from a quick mental scan, but it was still only a fraction of the bigger picture.

Edgar had ordered a test to be run on Morgan, all without her knowledge or consent. Dr. Foster was to see if she had any markers in her system that would indicate she had ever been touched with Compound V. Much to her surprise, and consequently Morgan’s, the tests came back with negative results.

Not minimal, not inconclusive– negative .

“What do you think that means?” 

Sammy’s question echoed in her ear just as a soft knock interrupted the moment. Morgan’s gaze flicked toward the door. Her telepathy warned her before she even saw him, and her chest tightened.

“Hey, I’ll call you back,” Morgan quickly said, her voice quieter now. 

“Everything okay?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah, just... something came up,” Morgan replied, eyes still on the door as she disconnected the call and set her phone aside.

The door opened with the unmistakable quiet confidence that only one person possessed. Homelander stepped into the room, the air seeming to shift with him. His presence was magnetic, almost suffocating in the small space. He was dressed in his usual immaculate suit, the red and white cape trailing behind him with an air of regality.

“Psyren,” he greeted, his tone somewhere between a question and an observation.

“Homelander.” She didn’t bother to hide the weariness in her voice. She shifted slightly under the covers, painfully aware of how feeble she must look to someone like him—someone who never seemed to show physical weakness.

He stood at the foot of her bed, his steely blue eyes scanning her as if taking inventory of whatever scratches, cuts and bruises still remained. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching out uncomfortably.

“Am I interrupting something?” he finally asked, his tone deceptively casual, but there was always that edge to it—like he was testing her.

“Just a call with my sister,” Morgan said. “Nothing important.”

They both knew the other knew better than that though. She was already in his head, and he had been listening in with his acute hearing. The most worrisome part about that though, was he seemed to already know what Sammy was referring to. Morgan couldn’t fathom why Edgar would have disclosed the results of her secret Compound V panel to Homelander, but he had. 

Homelander nodded, though his gaze lingered on her phone for a beat longer before returning to her. “How are you feeling?” The question sounded almost... polite. Uncharacteristically so.

“Like I got buried under a building,” she said dryly, unable to help herself. “But I’m fine. You really don’t need to worry about me.”

Homelander’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “Oh, but I do. I'm the leader of The Seven, and you’re a valued member of the team. I’m fully invested in your recovery.”

“I’m just saying you don’t need to keep checking up on me like this,” Morgan replied, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “I’ll be back on my feet soon.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, that small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth a little more. He took another step toward her bed, close enough now that she could feel the subtle shift in the air between them. Something about the way he was staring at her, trying to discern what he could about her from a simple look, made her feel like a bug under a microscope.

Conversely, she hadn’t ever taken her eyes off of his, and now his thoughts were a storm of unanswered questions. He had no way of knowing when she was in his head, and that unnerved him. Even more than that, the origins of her abilities had come into question, and he wasn’t even remotely sure of how to deal with that. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I can hear those gears in your head turning.”

There was a brief flash of surprise that passed over his face before his expression quickly darkened. He was already worried she was in his head, but now he knew she was teasing him about it.

“Oh, I don’t know.” he huffed, his lips pulling into a tight smile. “Why don’t you tell me? Go ahead, tell me what you find.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, her eyes never leaving his. “You sure you want me to do that?”

It was a challenge, and they both knew it. His smile faltered, just for a second, before it returned, this time sharper—dangerous.

“Go ahead,” he said, leaning in just enough to make the air between them feel heavy. “Take a peek. Maybe you’ll learn something useful.”

She could hear the anger creeping into his voice, the way it thinned, despite the control he was desperately clinging to. It was always like this with him. A balancing act. One wrong move and the mask would slip. One wrong word and she’d see just how close to the edge he was.

But Morgan wasn’t afraid of him. 

“I don’t need to read your mind to know you’re feeling threatened,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, her tone turning more serious. 

His jaw tightened, the facade of calm crumbling just a little. “Threatened? By you?” He laughed, forcing a smile. “You’re cute, you know that? Do you really think that? Or is that the pain-killers talking? I’m sure Doc Foster has you all hooked up with the best stuff.”

“Oh, I’ve been off the pain-killers for a while now.” Morgan said, cracking a wry grin. “Gotta keep this mind sharp. I’ve already let you see me impaired a few too many times.”

Homelander’s smile faltered, but only for a second. He adjusted his posture, arms crossing over his chest, the tension still simmering behind his eyes. “Then I guess you’re just naturally delusional.”

"Maybe I am delusional," she said with a shrug, but her voice lacked its usual bite. "Or maybe—"

Her phone buzzed in her lap, interrupting her mid-sentence. Morgan glanced down, seeing Sammy's name flash across the screen. She sighed, sending the call to voicemail and focusing back on Homelander, though something in her expression had shifted.

“Or maybe you're just not used to anyone calling you out on–" she was cut off once more as her phone began to buzz again. 

Homelander raised an eyebrow, noticing the change in her demeanor. "You gonna get that?" 

"It’s just my sister." Morgan waved it off, her voice tight as she ignored the call with a tap of her thumb. "I’ll call her back."

But no sooner had the words left her mouth than the phone buzzed again, Sammy’s name flashing across the screen. This time, Morgan hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone. Sammy never called more than twice in a row unless it was urgent. Something twisted in her gut—a sinking feeling she couldn't quite shake.

Homelander watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. "Maybe you should answer."

Morgan didn’t respond right away. Slowly, she picked up the phone, a strange, cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach. She slid her finger across the screen and held the phone to her ear.

"Sammy?" Her voice was a little too calm, as if she was bracing herself for bad news but still hoping it wasn’t what she feared.

There was a pause on the other end. She could hear her sister breathing, and that alone was enough to send her pulse racing.

"Morgan..." Sammy’s voice broke, shaky and thin. "It's Dad. He's... he's gone."

The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the air out of her lungs. For a moment, everything around her faded—her lavish bedroom, Homelander’s presence, the soft hum of the city beyond the tower. It was just her and Sammy’s voice, raw and filled with grief, and the heavy, final truth that her father was gone.

Morgan blinked, her mind racing to catch up with the weight of the words. She swallowed hard, her throat tight, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. All she could do was sit there, frozen, as the reality sank in.

“I—” Morgan started, her voice cracking before she could even form a coherent thought. Her chest tightened, an overwhelming ache swelling beneath her ribs. “I... okay. I’ll—I’ll make my way home. Do I need to call Lucas?”

For a solid minute or two, Morgan shifted into autopilot. On one level, she was aware of the things Sammy was telling her, and she was responding appropriately. On another level, all she seemed to be conscious of was her heart thundering painfully hard in her ribcage. 

Her father had been battling with stage four pancreatic cancer for some time already, and she knew that this was an eventuality. Even so, she thought she would have had more time. He had sounded well enough on their last phone call, but now she was wrestling with the fact that he was gone.

At some point she had said her goodbyes, and she was vaguely aware of her name being called.

“...Psyren? Psyren?” Homelander’s voice pierced through the haze in her mind, tinged with irritation but laced with something else, something uncharacteristically soft. “Morgan, are you in there?”

“Yeah…” she responded automatically, her brow furrowing as she sat up straighter in her bed. The room felt too small, too cold. “Yeah, I just need to... I have to go.”

Her pulse rushed in her ears, drowning out everything but the thundering ache in her chest. Her hands trembled slightly as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She moved on autopilot, ignoring the sharp pain still lingering from her injury as her body adjusted. A wave of numbness washed over her, a protective shield against the weight of her father’s absence.

“Go?” Homelander echoed, the concern etched into his brow deepening. “You’re on bed rest, doctor’s orders. You can’t go.”

Robotically, she brushed past him, her eyes distant as she made her way to the dresser. Her fingers fumbled with the drawers, yanking out clothes without much thought.

“Dr. Foster can kiss my ass,” Morgan murmured, her voice hollow. The grief that threatened to engulf her pressed against her ribcage, tighter with each breath. “My dad just died. I’m going home.”

She didn’t care about the dull throb in her side, or the way her vision blurred as tears welled up. She couldn’t afford to break down. Not yet. Not in front of him. Not again. Her family needed her. Everything else could wait.

Homelander stood frozen, his usual air of control slipping as he watched her. He opened his mouth to say something, but for once, the words didn’t come. Instead, he just watched her pack with that same intense, unreadable gaze, the silence between them thick with unspoken things.

Finally, he spoke, quieter than before. “Do you need anything? I can... help.”

Morgan stopped, hovering in the entry of her walk-in closet. For the briefest moment, she let herself meet his eyes, surprised by the offer. But she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “No. I just need to get home.”

Leaning her head against the open archway into her closet, she drew in a painfully deep breath. 

“I’ll reach out to Ashley then.” He said decisively. “She can help arrange everything you need. It’s not like you’ll be out in the field in the next few days anyway. You might as well spend the rest of your recovery with your family.” 

If Morgan had been paying closer attention, she might have registered the undercurrent of bitterness in his voice, tinted with the slightest degree of curiosity. That was a detail she would have to file away for a later time. For the moment, she was desperately trying to keep herself grounded and focus on the things she needs.

”Thank you.” She murmured with a gentle nod, before retreating into the closet to find her luggage.

Morgan stayed in the closet longer than necessary, her fingers tracing the edges of her suitcase. She could hear Homelander’s low voice outside the room, speaking to Ashley, but the words blurred into static. 

Just breathe. Just get through this.

It was a simple mantra that she played through her mind on repeat until the moment she was on a private jet bound for the Pawhuska Municipal Airport. The hum of the engines filled the quiet space as Morgan sat beside the window, staring out at the clouds but barely registering the view. She was exhausted, emotionally drained, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her thoughts drifted back to her father. 

She should have been there. God , she should have been there for him. For all the highs and lows he had been there for her, she should have been home and holding his hand in his final moments. Instead, she had been halfway across the country, playing at being a hero and acting as a glorified babysitter for a company that didn’t give a damn about her as a person.

Her father had always been her rock, the one who believed in her ability to change the world. She could hear his voice in her head, telling her that true strength wasn’t in power, but in the courage to stand for what was right. Before her abilities even manifested, he had taught her to be a force for good.

It was because of him that she decided to accept Edgar’s invitation into The Seven in the first place. Despite his distaste for the posturing and pageantry that surrounded Vought and its superheroes, he believed she could make a difference. But now? Now, she felt like a fraud. 

Try as she might to fight against it, she still found herself neck deep in endorsement deals, social media campaigns and all the other superfluous bullshit Vought threw at her. True, she had saved some lives along the way, but she could be doing more. She needed to be better.

The thing that probably hurt the most, was knowing that no matter what, he would have still been proud of her. She just wouldn’t ever get to hear him say it again when she needed it most.

Song: Losing My Religion by BELLSAINT Author’s notes: Thank you all so much for reading this chapter! It’s a bit shorter than the others, but for me it was emotionally heavy. In the next chapter, we’ll see Morgan return home and confront some long-buried emotions as she navigates her family’s grief, all while the pressure from Vought—and Homelander—continues to mount. As always, your feedback means the world to me, and I appreciate all the support you’ve given this story so far!

Next Chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 06

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

“No, I believe you, Mom. You know you and Dad could never keep secrets from me, even before my powers manifested.”

“I just needed you to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, Morgan,” her mother replied, her voice tinged with frustration. “Your father and I are only just learning about this whole Compound V nonsense. We would have never let some corporate whack jobs experiment on our baby.”

Her parents might have been a thousand miles away, but Morgan could practically feel her mother’s righteous fury radiating through the phone. It was a familiar heat, protective and fierce, but this time, it only deepened the knot of unease in Morgan’s chest.

Pacing around her apartment, she’d been on the phone with them for over an hour, venting about the chaos of the last few weeks. So much had happened since she moved into the tower, and the pace of it all was becoming impossible to manage. Every day brought new complications, and it felt like the ground beneath her feet was constantly shifting.

Life really seemed to take a turn after the charity ball. A-Train had returned to work, but that came with all manner of drama. Ashley’s “Girls Get It Done” initiative launched soon after, alongside pre-production for a new Vought Studios movie, and both seemed to consume her every waking moment. Even worse, Stan had been slipping through her fingers, always too busy or too elusive for a real conversation, and that was enough to drive her insane.

But the most unsettling piece of all? Homelander’s sudden disappearance.

He’d been gone for days now. No one seemed to have any solid answers about where he could be, just a series of excuses that never quite fit. The Seven had been swamped with work, but Homelander’s absence hung over everything like a dark cloud.

The one thing that oddly brought any sense of comfort to her was that Charlie hadn’t gone missing alongside him.

And then, like a nuclear explosion, Vought’s biggest secret hit the world. The revelation that the company had been manufacturing superheroes for decades—quietly spinning the narrative around them—had saturated every media outlet that afternoon. At the epicenter of it all, seeing the chaos unfold at the tower, Morgan couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Except now these same corporate whack jobs have her on their payroll.” Her father’s gruff voice broke the silence on the other end. “I don’t feel safe with you there, Morgan.”

She exhaled slowly, trying to keep the tension from bleeding into her words. “I know, Dad. But it’s not as simple as just leaving.”

“I’m not asking you to walk out the door tonight,” her father replied, softer this time, but still firm. “But you can’t trust them. If they could do this to you—lie to your face, rewrite your life—what else are they hiding? You’ve got to be careful.”

Morgan pressed her free hand to her temple, the headache from earlier making a slow return. “I know. Believe me, I’m being careful.”

Before her father could respond, Morgan heard a knock at the door. The sound was sharp and impatient, making her stomach sink. Whoever was at her door had no intention of waiting. 

“Mom, Dad, I have to go,” she said quickly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll call you later, okay? And tell Sammy I said hi.”

“Alright, pumpkin,” her mom said, sounding reluctant. “We love you.”

Morgan hung up just as the door swung open.

Stormfront stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a smirk that set Morgan’s teeth on edge. If she knew it wouldn’t cause more problems than it would fix, she would have loved to give that stupid smirk a solid right hook. One of the biggest things holding her back was simply the fact she’d wind up hurting herself more than Stormfront in the process. Telekinesis was always an option, but the idea of hitting her seemed so much more satisfying.

“Hey Boo, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she asked with a bat of her eyelashes and a false smile.

“Oh, no, I was just wrapping up a call with my folks.” she said, mirroring Stormfront’s energy with a syrupy smile of her own. “Did you need something?”

“Nah, I was just swinging by to let you know Homelander’s back and Mr. Head Honcho himself just called a meeting.” she said far too casually. 

Morgan blinked. Homelander was back? A chill swept over her, but she quickly pushed it aside. Stormfront’s gaze lingered, a little too long, as if she were waiting for a reaction. Morgan kept her expression carefully neutral.

Deciding not to wait any longer for a response, she gave her a quick up and down glance. “You know, I’ll go ahead to the meeting while you transform and roll out. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes on what you miss.”

Morgan should have known better than to take off her armor in the middle of the day. At the very least she still had her Kevlar bodysuit on. 

“Yeah, don’t let everyone wait on my account,” Morgan replied with a tight smile. The door swung shut with a mental push before Stormfront could respond. Morgan didn’t care if she got out of the way in time.

Homelander’s return stirred a swirl of contradictory emotions. On one hand, relief—he was back within range. Given the duty Edgar had saddled her with, she couldn’t afford him running off like that. But on the other hand, unease—because now she was within his range too. Considering the day’s events, she could feel Vought’s proverbial noose tightening around her neck.

She pulled her armor into place, the familiar weight of it grounding her. Her presence here was important. Stan Edgar’s words came back to her, clipped and clinical: Your job is to keep him under control. I don’t care how you do it, but if you don’t, people will die .

That first meeting played back in her mind far too often, his implication chilling. 

Mind control, isn’t that what you do?  

She had refused. Using her telepathy to play puppeteer to someone like Homelander wasn’t a solution—it was a ticking time bomb. And if it went off, she would be caught in the blast.

No, her approach was subtler, more delicate. It had to be. She wasn’t going to rewrite his mind, wasn’t going to rob him of his free will—no matter how much Edgar might push her to. Instead, she walked the knife’s edge, nudging him in certain directions, steering him when she could. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than triggering his already unstable ego.

She adjusted her gloves with trembling fingers, staring into her faint reflection in the massive window of her living room. The armor kept her grounded, but the real weight pressing down on her wasn’t the titanium alloy. It was the tension of living in constant uncertainty—every interaction with Homelander a gamble.

Why had he disappeared like that? Did he need space after the charity ball? Had she triggered something when she’d opened up? The image of Madelyn Stillwell—unintentionally conjured in his mind—still haunted her.

His reaction to it—so visceral, so raw—had startled her in ways she hadn't anticipated. It wasn’t just the flicker of pain behind his eyes, but the sudden vulnerability he’d let slip for only a heartbeat before it was swallowed by the usual bravado. That moment had given her more insight into him than anything she’d picked up in passing thoughts.

Morgan inhaled deeply, brushing off her unease. This was no time to dwell. She didn’t have the luxury of second-guessing herself. Not now. Lifting her chin, she mentally steeled herself for whatever awaited her in that conference room.

However, as she made her way from her apartment with long, purposeful strides, Homelander was already leading The Seven out—his usual swagger laced with something sharper, more volatile. Inside the conference room, Stan Edgar stood calmly by the large table, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracking Homelander’s departure with cold intensity.

Morgan barely had to look at him to pick up the threads of what she’d missed. She let her mind graze his, and the scene unfolded in an instant.

First came the mission: an intercept on the coast, a boat carrying a supe-terrorist. Edgar’s plan was clear—use this as part of his new narrative around Compound V. The blame was to fall on Madelyn Stillwell, a convenient scapegoat to cleanse Vought’s hands of the mess.

That led to Homelander, simmering with frustration, who barely kept his temper in check. His resentment toward Vought was palpable, seething beneath the surface. You are my real family. This guy… He doesn’t care about us— the phrase rang out in his thoughts. Edgar, however, remained cold and unaffected, letting the tantrum play out.

It took only a moment for Morgan to absorb all of this, her telepathy cutting through Edgar's composed exterior like it was nothing. But he knew it too.

“Remember your job, Ms. Daly,” Edgar said, his voice low and controlled. His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. Keep him under control.

Trying to keep Homelander under control without a heavy-handed approach was already easier said than done. Whether he meant to or not, Edgar had thrown a variable into the mix that made it even harder. Stormfront was there to stir the pot in any way she could, and that was enough to keep Morgan on edge all the way to a grisly scene where their perpetrator had last been spotted.

The Seven had found The Deep, an absolute wreck, over the body of a whale that had a speedboat run through it. Their target had most likely escaped into a nearby storm drain, and from what The Deep had seen, they weren’t alone. Morgan saw the glimpse of William Butcher, the alleged murderer of Stillwell, flash through his mind and immediately she tensed.

Stormfront was already hellbent on finding their target first with every intent to snatch victory from Homelander. At that, she had no intention of sparing the man either. If she were to alert the rest of the team to Butcher’s presence, she might as well be throwing a match into an oil refinery. 

The trolley was careening down the tracks and Morgan had to pick which direction it was going to go. 

Ultimately, Morgan made the decision to quietly tail Stormfront through the winding passageways that wove beneath the city. Something in her gut told her it was the right choice.

The air in the tunnels was unnervingly still, the only sound the distant, uneven footsteps of Stormfront ahead of her. Morgan reached out with her telepathy, cautiously extending her awareness through the surrounding walls. Her mind brushed lightly against each of her teammates', just to ensure they were all still alright.

Then, a sharp, violent tremor shattered the eerie silence, sending loose debris tumbling from the tunnel ceiling. Morgan flinched, her senses momentarily overwhelmed. The force of a telekinetic push from someone else buzzed in her brain.

Their target.

It didn’t take long for her to realize what had happened: the target had struck, using his powers to collapse part of the tunnel. Homelander was buried under tons of concrete, but Morgan wasn’t worried. He’d be out of the rubble soon enough.

Her mental tether snapped back to Stormfront just in time to sense her quickening pace, as if spurred on by the chaos. Morgan hesitated for only a heartbeat before breaking into a run. Stormfront was getting close to the surface, and whatever she was planning wasn’t good.

By the time Morgan reached topside, Stormfront was already marching through a massive hole in the side of an apartment building. The cries of terror rang through the air, but Morgan could also hear the panicked thoughts of civilians mingling with those of the target. Cutting through it all was Stormfront’s bloodlust—and not just for the man they were supposed to be tracking. No one in that building was safe.

Morgan felt her pulse spike. She had to stop this.

Stormfront’s electricity crackled in the air, her hands raised, ready to send a deadly blast toward one of the unwitting civilians they were supposed to be protecting.

“Stormfront!” Morgan shouted, sprinting toward her. “Stop!”

A silent curse flared in Stormfront’s mind as she lowered her hands, sparing the man she was about to execute—simply for the color of his skin. A half-baked plan surfaced in Stormfront’s mind as her eyes darted between Morgan, the terrified family between them, and the hallway where the target had disappeared. Too much chaos was unfolding around her for Morgan to stop what came next.

Arcs of lightning sliced through the air as Stormfront shot through the ceiling, careening toward the roof. With each floor she crashed through, the building’s integrity weakened more and more. That whole section of the apartment was set to collapse on everyone inside.

Morgan’s telekinesis had never been her strongest suit, but instinctively, she reached out to the floors above to steady them.

Everyone, please, you need to evacuate the building in a calm and orderly manner!

Her mental plea was as calm and measured as Morgan could manage as she touched the minds of the remaining residents. The family in the ruined living room looked stunned, but they quickly shook it off, making a hasty exit through the hole Stormfront had blasted into their home. All Morgan had to do was keep the building stable long enough for everyone to escape.

Maintaining her focus on the crumbling apartment, she tried to keep tabs on the minds of those trapped on the upper floors. With every ounce of her mental strength, she fought to keep the structure from collapsing entirely. Her ears began to ring as a trickle of blood trailed from her nose.

She was nearing her limit.

Her body trembled under the strain, and any thoughts of Stormfront or the rest of the team had all but vanished. She could feel her grip slipping as she counted the minds that had made it outside, but the number still wasn’t high enough. Not everyone had escaped.

“Psyren!”

It was impossible to tell whose voice it was—Starlight? Maybe Queen Maeve? Either way, the shout shattered her concentration.

Her mental reach violently snapped back, and the building collapsed. In a last-ditch effort, Morgan made one more push upward, softening the descent of a large chunk of the ceiling just before everything went dark. 

It was hard to say how much time passed by the time her senses slowly flickered back to life. The first thing she registered was the weight pressing down on her chest—layers of debris pinning her in place. Dust filled her lungs, and she could barely make out the distant voices cutting through the haze. 

“Psyren! Can you hear me?”

Maeve’s voice—urgent, panicked. It wasn’t a tone Morgan was used to hearing from her. 

A soft thud sounded nearby, the scraping of rubble shifting. Then, a new sensation—the pressure lightening, piece by piece, as someone began to dig her out. A shadow passed over her face, and for a brief moment, she caught sight of Black Noir’s unflinching form pulling aside a slab of concrete with ease.

More voices broke through—civilians, their thoughts a mixture of panic and resolve. Some of them were joining the efforts, moving debris with bare hands. Her mind, still sluggish from the strain, latched onto their thoughts briefly. They weren’t just saving her—they were pulling others from the wreckage as well.

Come on. Get up!

She urged herself to move as Noir reached out a hand. Wrestling through her pain and exhaustion with sheer stubbornness and willpower, she clapped her hand around his wrist and held on with what little strength she had as he pulled her upward. As she got her feet beneath her, she stood unsteadily atop the pile of debris, swaying. 

For a moment, everyone that wasn’t still digging through the rubble looked up at her, a stillness falling over them. Closing her eyes, she sifted through their thoughts. They were scared. Psyren, a symbol of indomitable force and hope, had almost fallen. She needed to show them she was alright.

Eyes snapping back open, she thrust a fist in the air, signaling their triumph.

A murmur spread through the gathered crowd, some of them shouting in relief, others just staring in awe. A faint smile tugged at her lips—she could hear the gratitude and hope in their minds, mixing with the pain and fear. Despite how much she hurt, and despite how much her body protested, she stood proud beside Maeve and Noir.

“Easy, Psyren,” Maeve murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently steady her.

Maeve’s hand was the only thing keeping Morgan grounded as the world tilted precariously around her. Every breath sent a sharp pain through her chest. Despite the armor, she could feel the dull ache of cracked ribs beneath it. Her head pounded, vision wavering in and out of focus, but she refused to let herself fall. Not yet.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, voice strained as she tried to wave Maeve off. “Just need a second—”

As she fought to even put words together, the rest of The Seven converged on the wreckage. Starlight and A-Train arrived first, Starlight’s face pale as she scanned the damage. A-Train’s usual bravado was missing, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, catching sight of Morgan. “You’re lucky to still be standing after that.”

Morgan forced a tired smile, but didn’t have the energy to respond. The strain of her telekinesis, combined with the injuries she was trying to ignore, had taken a far greater toll than she was willing to admit.

Then came Homelander, descending from above, landing with a force that sent dust swirling around him. His eyes flicked between Morgan and the surrounding wreckage, sharp and calculating. The fury still simmering from his earlier clash with Stormfront only intensified when he noticed Morgan’s condition.

“Psyren,” he said, voice low and controlled, “what the hell happened here?”

“I—” Morgan started, her breath catching as the pain flared again. “I kept the building from collapsing completely… Everyone’s safe… I think.”

But as the words left her lips, Homelander’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed as he looked her over, and she felt the sudden shift in the atmosphere—a mixture of concern and anger that caught her off guard. The way he was intently scanning her didn’t help either.

“You’re not fine,” he growled, stepping closer, his voice almost a whisper. “You’ve got two cracked ribs, and you’re bleeding internally.”

Morgan’s brow furrowed. She could feel the ache in her chest but hadn’t realized it was that bad. Even so, she squared her shoulders, unwilling to show weakness. “I can manage—”

“No,” Homelander cut her off, his tone final. “You’re done here.”

With dizzying speed, he scooped her up, cradling her with an unexpected gentleness. For a split second, Morgan considered protesting, but the throbbing pain and overwhelming exhaustion kept her silent.

Maeve shot Homelander a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. Morgan blinked, trying to focus. Behind him, Stormfront lingered, a smug look still plastered on her face. She glanced at Morgan briefly before shifting her attention elsewhere.

“I’m taking her back to the tower,” Homelander declared, ignoring the looks from the others. His grip tightened ever so slightly.

Morgan could barely keep her head upright, the fight quickly draining out of her. She hated to admit it, but Homelander was right. She wasn’t going to make it much further on her own.

“Just… don’t drop me,” she murmured, a weak attempt at humor, her voice barely audible.

A rare, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He lifted off the ground, and the wreckage of the building fell away beneath them. Morgan let her head fall against his chest, closing her eyes. She caught the tail end of his thoughts—anger still simmering over Stormfront. She had stolen his thunder. But at least now, he still looked like their competent, compassionate leader in the end.

Song: Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie Author’s notes: While I definitely had a few story beats from season 2 I wanted to include, there were definitely a few I wanted changed. I’ve really enjoyed pitting Morgan against Stormfront in this way. Not only is it a little cathartic, but I think this adds a certain layer to the dynamic that Morgan and Homelander are developing. I’m so excited to explore it further. Thanks again for reading! Let me know what you thought!

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 05

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains themes of and references to deep, personal losses, which may be distressing to some readers. Please take care while reading.

Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter

Vought’s annual spring charity ball was an event that demanded every ounce of pomp and circumstance the company could afford to put into it. Not only was it an opportunity for them to rub elbows with the wealthy elite, but it wound up being a substantial tax write-off for the year. The more glitz and glam they poured into it, the more exclusive they made it, the more people wanted to attend.

The 80th floor, usually dormant for most of the year, was now brimming with life—soft laughter and conversation mingling with the clink of champagne glasses, while the flash of cameras punctuated the air. Music drifted from the far corner, underscoring the hum of voices as guests glided across the polished floor. Morgan wasn’t the sort to arrive ‘fashionably late,’ but she had spent a good portion of her day locked in a battle with Ashley and the wardrobe department over her decision to attend the ball out of uniform. The Seven were expected to mingle with guests in their costumes, but aside from Black Noir, the rest of them didn’t have to wear heavy tactical armor.

Ultimately, Morgan had won the fight to wear something more approachable than her standard gear. Unfortunately, the trade-off was a slim-fitting green evening gown that left very little to the imagination. Between the ridiculously high gold stilettos, an obscene amount of jewelry, and the preposterous amount of fashion tape keeping everything in place, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being punished for daring to break Vought's carefully curated image. 

She was morbidly curious to see what sort of action would be taken against her when she gave Stan a piece of her mind for hiring Stormfront.

Accepting a champagne flute from a young, bright-eyed server as she scanned the crowd, her mind reached out to find the familiar touch of Edgar’s. Weeding his brain out of the sea of thoughts around her was quicker than trying to get a visual on him. He didn’t exactly share the same chaotic whirlwind of anxiety that dominated Ashley’s mind, but there was always a quiet turmoil bubbling under the surface. It wasn’t easy being at the top.

We need to talk. Where are you?

Her mind whispered to his when she found him, and before he could consciously answer her back, she saw a flash of where he stood—near one of the far corners, by a large window that overlooked the terrace. He was surrounded by a few high-profile guests but momentarily unengaged.

Ashley did mention you wanted to speak to me the other day. She also mentioned you were being very obstinate this afternoon. Is something bothering you?

Morgan narrowed her eyes, sipping from the flute as her gaze swept over the crowd toward him. She felt her jaw clench at Edgar's calm reply. He had a way of making her feel like a petulant child, even when she had every right to be angry. But tonight wasn’t about giving in to that frustration. She weaved through the crowd, making polite nods to the occasional passerby, all while focusing on keeping her expression neutral.

I hardly think standing my ground about whether or not I wear my supersuit to a formal event is something to fuss over Hiring a fucking nazi seems like the more egregious sin between the two of us. Her thoughts pushed through with a razor sharp edge, cutting past his attempt to soften the conversation.

She could sense his reaction before she saw it—a slow, deliberate turn of his head as she approached, his eyes already calculating. "Ms. Daly," Edgar greeted, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the crowd as she closed the distance. He had an infuriating ability to sound both welcoming and dismissive at the same time. 

“Stan,” she replied, setting down her empty champagne glass on a passing server’s tray. She might have drained the drink a little too quickly. “I was hoping we could have a quick word—about our newest recruit.”

The only warning Morgan got before she felt a gloved hand at the small of her back was a slight raise of Stan’s eyebrows.

“Wow, Rebel Rebel!” Stormfront’s voice came from behind. “Look at you, Miss Thang! You’re putting the rest of us to shame in that sleek, sexy getup.”

Morgan’s shoulders tightened, the only sign of her irritation as she pivoted to face Stormfront. Her professional mask slipped effortlessly into place. Even now, Morgan had to maintain a congenial air. Stormfront wasn’t certain what exactly she knew, but the second she suspected Morgan might speak out, she jumped on the chance to sabotage her 

“Oh, you like it?” Morgan replied, forcing an affectedly serene smile. “Erin from wardrobe picked it for me. She wanted something in the same palette as my armor but really embraced my femininity.”

The older gentleman beside Stormfront let out a low, impressed whistle, his gaze crawling over Morgan’s figure in a way that almost made her wish she’d stuck with her armor.

“You should tell Erin she did a stellar job,” he said, flashing her a pearly-white Hollywood smile. “Of course, I’m sure you could still knock everyone’s socks off if you were wearing an old potato sack.”

“Yes, Psyren is a valuable asset to our team, both on and off the field,” Stan said smoothly, his tone measured and authoritative. “Erin has outdone herself, as always. But let’s not forget that it’s what’s beneath the surface that truly makes her exceptional.”

He gave a small nod to Morgan, a calculated gesture to remind her of her role within Vought without saying it outright.

“Oh my god, right? Beauty, brains and power?” Stormfront remarked, giving Morgan’s shoulder a gentle push with the back of her hand. “Save some for the rest of us, girl! Which reminds me, Senator Brandt here was just telling me that he’s an MIT alum. You went there too, didn’t you Psyren?”

Immediately, Morgan knew she didn’t want to be forced down the path Stormfront was nudging her toward. Her eyes flicked between the faces around her, trying to gauge if anyone else picked up on the trap being laid. But before she could even formulate the words for a polite rejection, Brandt’s hand was already pressing against the small of her back, urging her toward the dance floor. 

It was clear he wasn’t the kind of man who accepted ‘no’ easily, and the momentary glance she shot at Edgar told her he wouldn’t intervene. Not for something as trivial as this.

“Why don’t I steal you away for a spell, and you can tell me all about your time at the old alma mater?” Brandt asked, but it wasn’t really a request. If anything it was a courtesy for Mr. Edgar.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Homelander standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. She could sense the slightest touch of perverse amusement lurking underneath, however. There was that, and something else that Morgan wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

“You know,” Brandt began as he guided her into a slow turn, pulling her closer than necessary to sway to the jazzy music that filled the ballroom. “I’ve become a fast fan of yours. Obviously, you and I being MIT alumni earned you a few points in my book, but my god… There is nothing sexier than a powerful, intelligent redhead.” He grinned down at her, a salacious look gleaming in his eyes under the ballroom lights.

Morgan forced a polite smile, her jaw tensing ever so slightly. It took every ounce of self-control she could muster not to telekinetically fling him across the room. “Well if that’s what you’re after, Queen Maeve is around here somewhere.” Her voice was smooth, but there was an edge beneath the surface.

He chuckled, clearly not catching—or caring about—the bite in her words. “Goddamn, and she’s got a sharp wit too. Lord have mercy, you’re gonna make a sinner out of me.”

The senator’s hand slipped slightly lower on her back as they danced, hovering right at the edge of her backless gown. Morgan’s stomach twisted, the nauseating combination of his touch and the weight of Homelander’s gaze threatening to crack her composure. She cast another quick glance at him, but Homelander hadn’t moved. His lips curled ever so slightly, letting her know he was savoring every moment of her discomfort. The intensity of his eyes felt like a silent dare, pushing her to see how far she could go before breaking. 

Every fiber of her being wished she could cut loose and send Senator Brandt sailing across the room. The mental image of him crashing into one of the ornate tables, spilling champagne all over his designer tux was tempting her to a different kind of sin. Everybody was testing her patience and a show of wrath seemed so justifiable.

Banishing her dark desire to the depths of her mind, she had to remind herself that she couldn’t stoop to their level. If she lashed out now, that would only serve to undermine everything she had said to Homelander just days ago. Her powers were meant to be a tool to guide her through adversity, not as a blunt weapon to subjugate people with when she saw fit.

Tried as it was, she would have to maintain patience for a while longer. Burning out hot and fast wouldn’t do her any good. The long game was where she would eventually find victory.

“Well I would hate to be the cause of your eternal downfall.” she sighed, putting on a coy grin for him. The band brought the song they had been playing to a slow finish, allowing her to pull back just enough to signal the natural conclusion of their dance. “Perhaps we can exchange MIT stories a little later tonight. I still have a few other people vying for my attention that I don’t want to keep waiting too long.”

As he opened his mouth to protest, she tapped into his head with a feather light touch. It was a gentle compulsion, but he found himself reluctantly taking a step back. 

“O-Of course,” he stumbled over his unexpected acceptance. “We don’t want to disappoint your other adoring fans, do we?” His eyes flickered with brief confusion, as though something hadn’t quite added up, but the thought dissipated before he could fully grasp it. Morgan gave him a gracious smile before turning to retreat, the subtle touch of her power already slipping away.

The weight of Homelander’s gaze intensified, and she felt a chill crawl up her spine. She straightened instinctively, fighting back the shiver. She could practically feel him dissecting the interaction in his head, analyzing every minute shift in her expression, searching for cracks in her armor. There was suspicion in his eyes—he knew she had done something to the senator—but he couldn’t prove it. 

The room buzzed around her, the hum of voices and laughter pressing in, bit by bit. Patience , she reminded herself, trying to settle the anxious knot forming in her chest. Homelander can watch all he wants. This isn’t his game to win. Not by a long shot.

At the edge of the dance floor, she found another server carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Snatching one, she drained it even faster than the last. The champagne was too sweet and did little to soothe the strain threatening to crack her facade. She needed something with more kick. 

Moving swiftly through the ballroom, she barely remembered to smile and nod politely at the other attendees who caught her eye. Reaching the bar, she felt a wave of relief as the bartender’s eyes met hers. He gave her his full attention, sensing that she was a woman on a mission.

“What can I get you?”

“Whiskey sour, no egg white,” she said quickly, then added a sheepish, “please.”

The bartender raised his brows at her no-nonsense order, but kept his opinions to himself as he moved to prepare her drink. The clatter of ice in the shaker momentarily drowned out the noise of the ballroom behind her and she let out a slow, controlled exhale. 

After a short moment, the bartender slid her finished drink across the counter. She took a big swallow, feeling the burn of the liquor soothe her nerves. The knot in her chest loosened slightly, but the moment of calm was brief.

“Hey, stranger.” 

Charlie’s voice broke through the din of the ballroom, prompting Morgan to slowly turn from the bar. His tone was light, but there was a touch of hesitation as his eyes scanned her up and down, taking in the elegant gown that draped her form. “You look… incredible . I mean, you always look amazing but… Wow .”

The regret that rang in the forefront of his mind was unmistakable. Initially, there was a smug feeling of triumph that welled up in her, but it didn’t last. Yes, he recognized that he had royally fumbled things with her at least. When it came down to it though, the root of his regret had nothing to do with how shamefully he had treated her.

Lips pressed into a thin, tight smile, she swallowed her resentment and building aggravation. 

“Yeah, it’s amazing what a few grand from wardrobe and makeup can do for a girl.” she said, her voice more strained than she’d meant it to be. She took another hearty swig of her drink, hoping the whiskey would help her get through whatever awkwardness was about to unfold.

“Noted..” he said with a wry grin and a thoughtful wag of his finger. “Maybe I’ll have to rethink our budget for next quarter in that department.”

Morgan felt the knot in her chest tighten again as she fought to keep her tone even. “Charlie… let’s not–”

Before Morgan could finish her thought, she sensed another presence approach—uncomfortably close and suffocating.

“Wow, it really is a small world here, isn’t it?” Homelander’s voice cut through the conversation like a knife, his tone tinged with amusement. Once again, from yet another person she didn’t particularly care for, Morgan felt a hand at the small of her back in a manner that was far too familiar for her liking.

Just as Charlie had started to slip into the confident swagger she had known him to have, there was a flash of apprehension behind his eyes. “Homelander, sir, it’s uh– It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure is all mine.” Homelander replied with a wide grin, absolutely devoid of any warmth. “It really lifts my spirits to see two of my favorite people here, together, having a nice little heart-to-heart.”

Desperate to put a swift end to the interaction, Morgan turned to see if she could find Mr. Edgar again. All she wanted to do at that point was have her talk with him, make a tactical retreat back to her apartment and save what little sanity she had left to fight another day. Unfortunately, Stormfront was still glued to his side on the other end of the ballroom.

With a slight scrunch of her nose, Morgan set her glass down with a less-than-delicate ‘clack’ on the bartop.

“Actually, I was just leaving.” Morgan said brusquely, the unintended sharpness of her words amplified by the alcohol settling into her system. It wasn’t enough to fully inhibit her, but the edges of her mind had grown slightly fuzzy. As she angled herself to try and slip away between the two men, Homelander’s hand lingered, pressing into her back a little more adamantly.

“Leaving? So soon?” he asked, his voice oozing false charm. His grin widened, the sharpness in his eyes betraying the casual tone he maintained. “He’s not bothering you, is he?” He shot a glance at Charlie, his words were dripping with contempt.

Morgan forced a smile, but it wavered, it was getting harder to keep her mask securely in place. “It’s not that. I just—” She fumbled for a moment, trying to regain her composure. “I need some air.”

Charlie, who had been standing awkwardly beside them, looked as though he wanted to shrink into the floor. He shot her a pleading look, but she ignored it, focusing instead on an escape route. The longer she lingered, the more likely she would say something she would definitely come to regret.

Maneuvering herself away, she slipped through the crowd and stalked toward the large double doors that led to the terrace. Her heart pounded an urgent rhythm in her chest, the need to escape building with every step toward the terrace. As soon as she reached the doors, opened them with a forceful telekinetic push and a rush of cold air hit her squarely in the face.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and wind gusted around her, instantly making her skin prickle with goosebumps. It was no wonder nobody else was out there. In spite of the cold and the approaching rain, Morgan haphazardly kicked off her heels, letting them clatter across the stone floor as she made her way to the railing at the edge of the terrace.

The city lights twinkled beneath her from an absolutely dizzying height, a glittering landscape that stretched endlessly in every direction. The Gordian knot in her chest felt impossible to unwind. Too much. Too fast. Her brain wouldn’t stop spinning long enough to focus, even with the cold air biting at her skin. God , why was she tearing up?

“Come on, keep it together, Morgan.” she breathed, delicately swiping at her eyes, trying not to smudge her makeup. 

Before she could gather up her composure again, there was a blast of music and hundreds of conversations all at once that filled the open air. Just when she thought she had a moment of reprieve, Homelander had followed her outside.

As the doors softly closed, muffling the noise from the ball inside, she gripped the railing tighter. Her head felt like it was spinning as the drinks she’d had took hold, blurring the edges of the night. Everything felt a little too loud, a little too close, and she swayed just a bit as the cold air slammed against her.

“You know, I’m pretty sure that Cinderella is only supposed to lose one shoe when she runs away from the ball.” came his voice, smooth and predatory. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time, matching the relentless pounding in her chest.

“Last I checked, I wasn’t living in a fairytale.” The bitterness came out sharper than she meant, but it was too late to take it back. “And I’m beyond waiting for my Prince Charming.”

Homelander's laugh was soft, but it carried an edge that made her stomach twist. "Don’t give up on him yet. Just going off of Mr. Daly back there, you’ve wasted your time kissing frogs." He took a step closer, just enough to intrude on her space but not enough for her to push back. 

Morgan could feel her carefully constructed veneer slipping, the alcohol muddling her thoughts, making everything feel heavier. The storm brewing in the sky echoed the one stirring in her gut, and her grip on the railing tightened as she fought to hold herself together. She didn’t even notice how hard her jaw was clenched until she tried to open her mouth for a witty retort.

“You know… He really did seem like my ‘happily ever after’ a long time ago.” the regretful words slipped out effortlessly, surprising the both of them. “God, we were so young and dumb, convinced we were going to take the world by storm together.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them, interrupted only by the rumble of the approaching thunder. Homelander didn’t say anything, but his curiosity was building behind the stoic expression he had traded his smirk for. As he took up the space beside her at the terrace railing, he rested a hand beside hers, the proximity of it alarmingly electrifying.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, mentally cursing herself. She hadn’t meant to peel back a piece of herself, but the alcohol was loosening her tongue. Her fingers pressed into the cold metal of the railing as she fought to rein herself back in.

"What exactly happened between you two? Must’ve been something pretty messy for you to get all worked up like this.” Homelander pressed, his voice lowering. 

He couldn’t seem to fathom how Charlie could ruffle her feathers so effectively and he couldn’t. Even more than that, Morgan could sense his persistence in finding out the real story. She wouldn’t know a moment’s peace until he extracted all the details from wherever he could find them.

“Charlie…” she relented, ultimately deciding the answers were better coming from her. “He was really good at fooling everyone into thinking he was a good guy, himself included. People flocked to him naturally. He always knew the right things to say, but when push came to shove, he was lousy with the follow-through.”

Her chest tightened as memories began to claw their way to the surface, each one more painful than the last.

“So he was bad at keeping promises. So what?” Homelander scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s how the average marriage functions. What really happened that’s made you all mopey and pathetic like this?”

“I got pregnant.”

There was a long pause of stunned silence as he tried to fit the puzzle piece she had given him into the bigger picture.

“God, I was so excited.” she said, straining to keep the raw emotion out of her voice. “I was only about a month away from the anatomy scan. I’d endured sixteen weeks of the worst morning sickness only to lose the baby.”

The knot in her chest tightened again, a sharp, persistent ache. It had been years since she had allowed herself to talk about what she had been through. There weren’t many people that even knew about what really happened, but now it was all spilling out with Homelander’s unwavering gaze on her, whether she liked it or not.

“I drove myself to the hospital,” she continued, her voice hollow. “He refused to leave work. Had a big presentation or some bullshit. I went through the whole thing alone.” Her hands trembled slightly on the railing. “Then, two days later, I overheard him on the phone… complaining about the blood stains in my car.”

At some point, the tears that had welled up in her eyes finally spilled over, and it took her too long to fully register it. She quickly wiped her face, but it was too late. Homelander was watching her closely, taking it all in.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression something cold and hard to read. His eyes were sharp, but there was a flicker of something deeper—something understanding. For a brief moment, the image of Vought’s former VP, Madelyn Stillwell, flashed through his mind. His jaw clenched, but Morgan was too wrapped up in her own grief to notice.

“Can you believe that? Having to pay for the detailing job on our Hyundai Sonata was his biggest worry. Not me. Not losing the son we were meant to have. The fucking car.” She let out a bitter laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears.

To her surprise, and also her relief, Homelander didn’t have a snide comment ready. His hand shifted slightly on the railing, and for a split second, it seemed like he might reach out.

"You were never really part of his plans, were you?” he finally said, his voice low and calculated. There was no mockery this time—just a harsh, cold truth. “All that mattered to him was his career.”

Morgan flinched at the words, the rawness of it hitting her harder than she expected. The knot in her chest tightened again. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Homelander turned to face her more fully, his blue eyes locking onto hers with a fierceness that made her stomach lurch. "You gave him everything," he continued, "and he couldn't even be bothered to give you a second thought."

It was in that moment, as she stared into his piercing gaze, that Morgan realized he wasn’t really talking about her and Charlie anymore. A chill ran through her as something shifted in the air between them. His voice had lost its edge, and for a brief moment, she saw something in him she hadn’t expected—vulnerability.

She watched him, sensing a deep well of something dark and repressed beneath the surface. For just a heartbeat, she saw him not as the larger-than-life figure he was to the world, but as someone who’d been abandoned. Someone who’d been used and left behind.

But just as quickly as the moment appeared, it was gone. Homelander’s expression hardened again, the flicker of emotion in his eyes disappearing behind a familiar mask of control. He straightened up, stepping back slightly, and the tension between them shifted once more.

"People like that—they’re weak,” he said, his voice returning to its smooth, superior tone. “They cling to their little lives and think they’re important. But people like us?" The corners of his lips ticked slightly upward. “We’re better than that. We don’t need anyone else. A lowly creature like that never deserved you, Morgan.”

Morgan’s breath caught in her chest. The storm was finally upon them and the first cold droplets of rain pattered against her skin. Before she could fully grasp the weight of what had just transpired between them, Homelander pivoted to head back inside.

"Look, you’ve had your moment," he said, voice sharp but no longer cold. "But you’ve got a job to do, remember?" His words cut through the haze in her mind like a blade. "They’re all inside waiting for you to prove your worth."

His cape billowed in the cold breeze as he quietly contemplated the brief flicker of compassion he had gifted her. 

“Pull yourself together, Morgan,” he added, tone firm. "Get back in there and knock ‘em dead."

Song: Smile by Nat King Cole Author’s notes: Thank you for making it through this chapter with me. It got away from me a little bit as far as length goes, so I appreciate your time and attention. The themes of loss and vulnerability explored here are deeply personal, and I wanted to approach them with care. I’d love to hear your thoughts on how the story is unfolding, and as always, thank you for reading!

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 04

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

“Jesus, you’re really milking that bank thing for all it’s worth, aren’t you.” Homelander snorted, his thinly veiled annoyance tinted with amusement. “It’s been what, a week and you’re doing another interview for some podunk news station out in ass-fuck nowhere?”

“I can’t help that people are still talking about it.” Morgan said with a slight shrug and the most unabashed of grins. “Besides, I’m not about to tell the folks back home in Osage County no when they ask to do a remote interview. I’ve got to rub my success in Kathy Miller’s face. She was relentlessly mean to me from the time we were in middle school.”

“Oh, so ‘Saint Psyren’ isn’t above petty grudges then?” he scoffed, leaning against the elevator wall, folding his arms over his chest. “And here I thought you were better than the rest of us.”

Morgan’s lips bowed into a tight, impish grin as she fluttered her lashes at him.

“To err is human.” she sang as the elevator chimed, the doors opening up to the 99th floor. The crinkle of his nose told her everything she needed to know about how he felt about that sentiment. Backing out of the elevator to give him a clear view of her cheeky expression, she bumped lightly into a passing figure and let out a slight yelp.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” she gasped whirling around to make sure she hadn’t knocked anybody over. “I should have–”

Freezing, she felt as if the proverbial rug beneath her feet had been viciously yanked out from beneath her.

“Oh my god, Morgan?” 

She knew those big, brown puppy dog eyes. He had a few lines on his face that hadn’t been there the last she saw him. Standing there, holding a file in one hand and looking just as startled as she was, was Charlie. 

Her Charlie.

“Ch-Charlie, what the hell are you doing here?” she stammered, her voice breaking slightly.

Charlie’s brows raised, white-knuckling the file in his hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him down. His eyes darted toward Homelander before settling back on Morgan, his expression a confusing tangle of surprise and something else...something more vulnerable.

“You two know each other?” Homelander asked, a wolfish grin curling like smoke at the edges of his lips as he watched Morgan squirm.

“Ah we–”

“We were married.” Charlie interrupted.

“Briefly.” Morgan added sharply as she stiffened.

Homelander glanced between Morgan and Charlie, his eyes shimmering with a disquieting glee. His toothy grin evoked an image of a great white smelling blood in the water in Morgan’s mind. She had fought to build herself up as his equal. She wasn’t going to allow him to get under her skin–except… Except now he was just given an uncomfortably close view of the soft spot in her otherwise impregnable armor.

Morgan’s heart pounded against her ribcage as the silence seemed to stretch on impossibly long between them. She could feel Homelander’s eyes boring into her, waiting, savoring her discomfort. As her chest pulled tight she fought to find words that would defuse a potentially explosive situation. 

The last time she’d seen Charlie, they hadn’t parted on even remotely good terms. She had walked away from that life, I didn’t even think twice about looking back. Charlie’s gaze—familiar yet so distant was enough to raise her hackles.

“Never thought I’d run into you again.” Morgan said with a forced geniality that was laced with an undercurrent of resentment. 

“Ah, yeah,” Charlie agreed with a breath of forced laughter. “Well, I’m in finance here at the tower. When I heard you’d joined The Seven, I had to wonder how long it would take for us to run into each other.”

“Oh, I thought you looked familiar!” Homelander said, laying on a thick layer of insincere enthusiasm. “You gave that riveting presentation on budget cuts last quarter.”

Charlie’s brow crinkled slightly, unsure if he should take the compliment at face-value or not. There was a dark corner in Morgan’s heart that found a perverse sense of satisfaction in seeing him try to stomach being talked down to. Not many people could have outmatched Charlie’s ego back then.

“I am frankly shocked that you remember.” Charlie laughed apprehensively. “Those meetings are like chloroform disguised as Powerpoint slides.”

Barking a laugh that was far too mirthful for what Morgan thought Charlie’s attempt at humor deserved, Homelander clapped a hand on his shoulder. It was hard to tell if the force of the gesture had jostled him, or if Charlie had flinched. Either way the interaction was growing increasingly awkward, and Morgan felt the slightest twinge of pity for him.

“Well, Charlie,” she cut in sharply, “don’t let us keep you from saving the Tower with those budget cuts. The Big Guy and I have places to be right now anyway.”

“She’s right, Champ .” Homelander sighed, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “I hate to cut this sweet, little reunion short, but we do need to be in the Conference Room in a couple minutes here. Somebody has to keep the revenue rolling in so you don’t have to work so hard on cutting spending.”

“Right, you guys have the real important jobs.” Charlie said, nodding, his gaze drifting back toward Morgan. “We couldn’t do ours without you.”

“And don’t you forget it!” Homelander said, leaving Charlie unsure if it was simply friendly banter, or some sort of threat. 

Shifting slightly toward the elevator, Charlie swallowed hard and nodded. Even without looking into Charlie’s mind, Morgan could tell just how badly he wanted to escape. Though, he paused again, his eyes lingering on hers.

“It’s good to see you moved onto bigger and better things.” Charlie said, his voice soft and more sincere than Morgan would have expected from him. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

Morgan blinked, dipping into his thoughts just enough to hear his regrets bubbling just under the surface. Some part of her was touched that he still thought of her fondly, lamenting how she was ‘the one that got away.’ In the very same breath, however, there wasn’t a shred of accountability from him. 

Lips pressing into a thin line, her posture deflated to a small degree. In his mind, the worst day of her life had been reframed into ‘a blessing in disguise.’

As the doors to the elevator slid open, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. “Always a pleasure to see you, Homelander.” he added quickly with a half-smile.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine.Try not to let those budget cuts keep you up at night, Champ." He winked, the grin on his face a stark contrast to the cold schadenfreude gleaming behind his eyes.

 Charlie swallowed hard, trying to keep his expression neutral, but Morgan could see a shadow of discomfort cross over his face just before the elevator doors shut behind them. Jaw tensing, Morgan tried not to look over at Homelander as he hovered a little closer to her side. For just a split second, she couldn’t help but cast him a sidelong glance.

His Cheshire grin made him look every bit like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“I don’t want to hear it.” she grumbled, brows knitting together. “Don’t say it, don’t think it, just… don’t .”

Pivoting sharply on her heels, she stalked down the hallway toward the conference room. Even if she cared enough to try and outpace him, she knew she couldn’t. Within a few strides he was already at her side again, grinning that stupid, self-satisfied grin at her.

“You didn’t mention you were a divorcée.” He murmured in a conspiratorial tone. “What happened there? Did he break your heart? Was it another woman? Or was it one of those ‘hashtag-girlboss’ moments where you realized that you’re ‘a strong independent woman that doesn’t need to be collared and leashed by an impotent, whiny douchebag’ like that?”

“No, I just got bored.” Morgan lied flatly. “Men with superiority complexes and a tendency to overcompensate for certain… shortcomings are a real turnoff.” 

“Ah, so what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been a frigid bitch that refuses to come down from her high-horse.” he quipped.

Morgan halted in the wide doorway to the conference room, a scathing glare poised and ready for him as a prelude to him receiving a piece of her mind. 

“There they are,” an unfamiliar voice drawled. “Five bucks says they were fucking in the bathroom and almost forgot about us.”

Dead silence fell over the conference room as the gathered heroes of The Seven glanced between Homelander, Morgan and a woman dressed in a dark-colored supersuit. In a single blink, Morgan forgot about the verbal lashing she wanted to give Homelander and turned her ire elsewhere.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Morgan asked tersely.

“Ah, who am I kidding?” the newcomer scoffed with a dismissive wave. “I’m sure busting open that tin can is more trouble than it’s worth. Jesus, how long does it take you to get assembled in the morning there, Voltron?”

Maeve and Starlight exchanged glances with one another, but kept their general lack of amusement to themselves.

“Hold on there,” Homelander said, his eyes narrowing. “A member of The Seven asked you a question. I suggest you answer her.”

The dark-haired woman raised a brow, looking at Homelander with a certain appreciation that was not lost on Morgan. In any other situation that wouldn’t have bothered her. However, there was a distinct thought that accompanied the woman’s intense admiration for Homelander that turned Morgan’s stomach.

It was no secret that Vought would do anything to push their agendas, but this woman’s presence signaled a new level of depravity Morgan wasn’t ready to swallow.

“Can’t she just read–?”

“Stormfront.” Morgan cut her off, leveling her with a harsh, scrutinizing stare. “Mr. Edgar dragged her all the way from the Pacific Northwest to pad our numbers. Definitely an unequivocal departure from The Deep.”

Sitting forward in her seat, Stormfront gave a cloyingly demure smile and softly applauded Morgan.

“Wow, that must be a hit at parties!” she gasped with a melodrama that would have put her theater-teacher sister into an early grave. “Okay, I’m thinking a number between one and a hundred now. I’ll bet you already know what it is.”

Morgan held her gaze, saying nothing. Stormfront’s grin only widened as the silence stretched between them, her eyes flashing with a challenge.

“It sounds like Edgar’s been busy,” Homelander cut in, his voice taut. He took a step closer to Stormfront, his presence casting a long shadow over her. “Seems like I missed the memo again.”

Stormfront didn’t flinch. “Yeah, seems like. But hey, you’ll catch up in no time. You’re not gonna let Red here show you up, now are ya?”

Morgan recognized a bright, shiny lure when she saw one. There was no chance in hell Stormfront could entice her to take the bait though. Homelander, on the other hand, would fall hook, line and sinker for it given the right circumstances.

For the moment, however, he seemed to be taking a cue from her and didn’t dignify her subtle dig with a response. Staring down the slope of his nose at her, Homelander approached the seat at the head of the table beside her and took a seat. For him, taking his literal place in the center of the room was a powerful enough message.

Morgan grabbed the nearest chair and settled in next to Black Noir. She dreaded the energy Stormfront was set to introduce. It wasn’t that she was hard to get along with, or even a straight up nuisance, no–Stormfront was downright dangerous. 

As Stormfront opened her mouth–likely to make another smart remark– the clacking sound of high heels frantically approaching echoed in from the open doorway. Barreling through the hallway and into the conference room, Ashley looked like she was about five seconds away from having a manic meltdown. Just in the short time Morgan had been working alongside her, it surprised her that the woman hadn’t prematurely keeled over from a heart attack.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry I’m late!” she exclaimed, nearly colliding into the table as she juggled her tablet and folios full of various data sheets and talking points for each of them. “I just got out of a very exciting meeting with our writers and marketing department.”

As she passed out folios to each of the gathered heroes, all eyes were on Ashley with varying degrees of curiosity.

“I see you’ve all met our newest member, Stormfront.” she continued, nodding toward her with a wide grin. “She’s taking Deep’s seat, so when A-Train comes back we’ll officially have a full team of seven again. Which, don’t get me wrong, is very exciting news, but we realized something totally mind blowing this morning.”

Pausing for a short moment, Ashley looked at them all expectantly. When she was met with raised brows and silence, Morgan bit back a beleaguered sigh. Someone had to take pity on the poor woman and ask.

“What was your meeting about, Ashley?” Morgan asked with a convincing amount of eager curiosity. That was enough to bring a spark of actual warmth to her feverish smile. 

“Queen Maeve, Starlight, Psyren, Stormfront…” she addressed each of them with a nod, her excitement barely reigned in. “This is the first time in history that The Seven has had this many women on the team at a single time. You guys, right now the team is primarily women and we already have our slogan for the next quarter.”

There was a beat of silence as Ashley tapped away at her tablet to cast an image onto one of the many television screens that lined the room.

“ Girls get it done .” Homelander read the bold text aloud, a tight smile on his face. “Wow, that sure is something.”

“Aww, that’s darling!” Stormfront cooed, her mocking sarcasm about as subtle as the ostentatious costumes they all wore. “Oh, tell me you’ve already signed endorsement deals with tampax. That shit is gonna really make toxic shock syndrome look appealing.”

Morgan caught Maeve’s eyes from across the table before she gave them an enormous roll. Even Starlight’s polite smile looked like it was about to crumble. Morgan could understand their lack of enthusiasm for the performative and pandering campaign, but that was really the least of her concerns.

Her stomach gave a twist as her gaze fell back to Stormfront. Edgar, for some godforsaken reason Morgan had yet to understand, had drafted her to help lead this narrative. As much as Morgan wanted to believe that he didn’t know what skeletons lay in her new teammate’s closet, she couldn’t give him that benefit of doubt. That man never went into anything blind like that.

It was bad enough the Vought CEO had saddled her with being a glorified babysitter to one of the most dangerous people in the world. Throwing Stormfront into the mix really pinned her between a rock and a hard place now. Even weighing her options just briefly, she knew that, for now, she would have to play nice.

Simmering in her quiet outrage, Morgan couldn’t pay attention to anything else that was brought up after that. Morgan’s head bobbed automatically, when appropriate, as Ashley droned on, but her mind was far from the room. There had to be a way to put a stop to the inevitable madness before it could start.

The very second the meeting wrapped up, Morgan shot out of her chair and stalked toward Ashley. Poor Ashley didn’t even have time to look shocked by the time Morgan reached her. Gently, she took her by the elbow and directed her toward the side of the room.

“I need to speak to Mr. Edgar, immediately .” she informed her in a low, harsh murmur.

Ashley’s frazzled smile nearly cracked as she blinked at Morgan. Unconsciously, her shoulders tensed and she held her tablet tighter to her chest. 

“Oh, erm– Listen, Psyren, Stan is pretty busy right now.” Ashley laughed nervously. “He’s been dealing with some pretty high-priority stuff recently, but you’re more than welcome to bring up any concerns you have with me.”

Lips pressing into a thin line, Morgan quietly searched for any inkling in Ashley’s mind that she would know about Stormfront’s very storied history. Unsurprisingly, it seemed that Edgar had kept her in the dark on this one. A smart move on his part.

“No, this is about something he and I had discussed privately already.” Morgan said, her voice edged with exasperation. “I appreciate you offering to help, but I’ll just have to see if I can find a good moment to catch him later, I guess.”

“Maybe you could talk to him at the spring charity ball next week?” she offered, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy her. 

Before she could answer, Stormfront was calling for her from the doorway. “Hey Red! Don’t you have that zoom interview in a few minutes? Tell the folks back home in Ohio I say hi!”

Drawing in a deep breath, Morgan felt her temper surge beneath the placid surface of her cool exterior. Her job was going to be far more difficult than she initially anticipated.

Song: Shot Me Down by David Guetta, Featuring Skylar Grey Author’s notes: So, as far as the storyline goes, I decided to incorporate some of the story beats I liked from Season 2. As a disclaimer, I absolutely cannot stand Stormfront and everything she represents. However, I think she serves as the perfect rival for Morgan and that’s another dynamic I’m excited to play with. She’ll eventually get what’s coming to her, and I’m still speeding down these tracks, so hopefully we’ll get there in a timely manner. Thank you again for reading!

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 03

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Chapter

The lavish lounge that the Seven shared was still and quiet. Morgan had taken a moment to peruse the selection the minibar had to offer before settling on the cheapest bottle of whiskey she could find– which was probably still more expensive than most people could afford. Just thinking about the collective cost of the drinks offered was enough to make her wrinkle her nose with distaste.

Earlier that day she had to face off with a man who was so desperate to pay his daughter’s medical bills, he was willing to throw his whole life away to get the money he needed. It seemed wrong to enjoy the luxuries this proverbial ivory tower had to offer. Still, she at least needed something to take the edge off.

With her whiskey poured generously neat, she strolled to the large floor-to-ceiling window to look out over the sea of glittering city lights. Closing her eyes, she let out a soft, steady breath and let her mind reach out over the tower for a moment. Despite the late hour, there were still people present, all of their minds abuzz with details of her save at the bank earlier. She had definitely made an impression.

Lost in the murmur of the thoughts present in the tower, Morgan hadn’t heard the soft whoosh of the door to the lounge.

“Ah, there she is,” Maeve greeted as she approached the minibar. “I hear you’re the hero of the day.”

Jumping slightly, Morgan retracted her mind from the thoughts she had been leisurely exploring and turned her focus to Maeve as she faced her. 

“That’s me,” Morgan said with a half-smile. “The hero of the day, here to bring you the letter of the day.”

“Don’t let them hear you joking like that.” Maeve warned. “The second they think you’re open to the idea of a Sesame Street appearance, they’ll jump on it.”

“I won’t lie, that sounds like a blast.” Morgan chuckled over the rim of her glass. “I’d much rather work with those muppets than the one that nearly got me blown to kingdom come today.”

Maeve grimaced as she poured her own generous drink. 

“Yeah… I heard.”

Morgan took a long sip, feeling the burn warm her through from her chest and into her head. "Can’t say it was my ideal first mission," she murmured, eyes drifting back to the city lights. "Of course, when has life ever been ideal or fair?"

Maeve settled onto the plush couch nearby, her own glass in hand. “Damn, I can drink to that.” She sighed, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. 

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet settling over the lounge. Maeve took a longer sip, studying Morgan for a beat before speaking again. "Homelander's been… unusually tight-lipped about what happened at the bank today."

Morgan’s grip on her glass tightened unconsciously. “Yeah, he didn’t seem thrilled about how I handled things. It kind of undermined his showboating.”

Maeve’s expression darkened, her gaze sharp. "Kind of? You made him look unnecessary. That’s the last thing he’ll tolerate. Trust me, Morgan, I’ve been putting up with his overinflated ego for years. He’s watching you now, and not in a good way. It’s never a good way."

Morgan shifted her weight, Maeve’s words hanging heavy in the air. The silence that followed was thick, more warnings churning, unspoken in her mind. Morgan took the last of her drink, feeling the burn. Swallowing the defiant remark that had been steeping at the tip of her tongue, she shook her head.

"I’ll survive," she said, her voice calm despite the tightness in her chest. "I’ve only been here a week, but I’ve already seen for myself that this place isn’t what it seems."

Maeve raised her glass in a small toast. "Yeah, well… You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’re already a step ahead of most of us." She knocked back the last of her drink. "Now, go get some rest. You’ve got an interview in the morning, right?"

Morgan forced a smile, knowing tomorrow would be another performance. "Yeah, ‘Rise and Shine with Vought!’ That’s where the real danger is. I hear that Charlotte Clemens is a ruthless interrogator."

Maeve stood up, giving Morgan a contemplative look before she headed for the door. "Yeah she can be a real bitch sometimes.” She snorted wryly. Though, the crooked grin didn’t linger long. “Just be careful, Morgan. You’ve got more eyes on you than you fully realize."

As the door hissed slowly shut behind Maeve, Morgan stared at her empty glass. With a sigh, she turned back to the window, letting the glow of the city blur in her vision. The next day would bring new challenges, but for that night, she just needed to gather her strength.

That was easier said than done. 

After spending the night tossing and turning, trying to block out not only her own thoughts, but the thoughts of whatever grave shift employees lingered at the tower, she wasn’t ready to face the day. Regardless, she donned her armor and braved the hair and makeup chair. Her eyes stung from the lack of sleep, and the espresso hadn’t even begun to take the edge off. Everyone else seemed bright-eyed and excited, but to her, the day felt like it was moving in slow motion.

Morgan finally stood just off-stage, after someone painstakingly concealed the dark circles under her eyes, watching Charlotte Clemens as she wrapped up the previous segment. Charlotte’s picture perfect smile and cheery demeanor dropped the moment they cut to commercial. Immediately, Morgan was ushered to an armchair that was positioned across from Charlotte, who was snapping orders at some poor assistant that was trying to powder a shiny spot on her nose.

”Ow, not so rough!” Charlotte griped. “I swear to god Valerie, you’re the reason I had to get this second nose job and if I have to get a third—“ As Valerie gave one more gentle dab with the makeup brush, Charlotte’s eyes darted over to Morgan and she gave her a brief, appraising look. Her smile swiftly returned, polished and perfect once more, as though the previous irritation had never existed.

Jesus Christ, how much concealer did they cake on her? There’s no hiding those bags.

Fighting the instinctual urge to bring her hands to her face, Morgan felt a brief tug of insecurity. She couldn’t allow Charlotte’s cutting mental remark to get to her.

”Alright, Miss Psyren, let’s see that smile!” Charlotte breathed through a toothy grin as she straightened up in her seat. “We’re about to go live.”

Without any hesitation or argument, Morgan sat at the edge of her seat, posture impeccably straight and her hands folded delicately in her lap. The folks back at home were likely going to be watching her, and she wasn’t going to give them any reason to worry. Just as much as she had to picture perfect for Vought, she had to maintain an illusion of poise for her family to see from afar too.

As the camera operator counted them in, Morgan felt her pulse quicken slightly. However, her face remained composed. She could already feel the weight of the scrutiny—not just from the viewers, but from Homelander, from Vought, from her family. One wrong move, and it would all unravel.

“Welcome back to ‘Rise and Shine with Vought!’ I’m here today with the newest addition to The Seven, Psyren, for an exclusive interview about yesterday’s downtown bank robbery.” Charlotte said with far more gusto than Morgan could imagine mustering up for herself.

Charlotte continued on, setting up the tone of the interview as she took cues from the teleprompter. “Yesterday’s events were nothing short of a nail-biter for those watching from home. You stepped into an incredibly dangerous situation with armed suspects and hostages wired with explosives.” Charlotte leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Can you walk us through what was going through your head when you first arrived on the scene?”

Morgan let out the rest of the long, silent exhale she had been breathing though, trying to keep her expression cool. “Oh, let me tell you Charlotte, tensions were running high when I got there, palpably so. With the hostages’ lives at stake, there was no room for error. My top priority was to assess the situation and keep things under control.”

Charlotte nodded, her eyes gleaming with interest. “That’s remarkable. You managed to maintain complete control—no escalation, no injuries. How did you keep everyone so calm in such a tense situation?”

Morgan smiled slightly. “Having a unique ability to gain an inside perspective on what everyone was feeling helped, of course, but the real challenge was knowing the right things to say. Understanding is one thing; acting on it is another.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it,” Charlotte replied, tilting her head. “Your telepathic abilities, right? It must be quite the advantage, being able to understand what people are thinking. But doesn’t it ever get overwhelming, hearing all those thoughts at once?”

“It can be, sure. But I’ve had over twenty years to practice. It’s like having a conversation in a crowded room. You can pick out the important details and tune the rest into background noise,” Morgan explained calmly.

Charlotte’s smile widened. “That must require incredible focus. Some of the hostages mentioned feeling an immediate sense of calm when you arrived. Almost like they instinctively knew what to do. Did your powers play a role in that?”

Morgan shrugged lightly. “That sounds more like something an empath would do. My powers only work for communication and gathering facts. If they felt calmer around me, I’d like to think it was because they had faith in me.”

“Well, it certainly worked.” Charlotte leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling. “One wrong move with those explosives, and it could’ve been catastrophic. How did you manage to stay so calm?”

Morgan’s tone remained even. “It was all about staying grounded in the moment. I had to keep the perpetrators calm too, and focused on the things that they themselves could control. That’s probably not the most exciting answer, but it’s not always about flash and fanfare. This job is all about saving lives.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, her smile sharpening. “Not boring at all, in fact, it’s what sets you apart. No spectacle, no collateral. It’s quite different from what we’re used to seeing from The Seven. Do you think your approach will stand out?”

Morgan’s smile grew slightly crooked. “Isn’t that the point of a team? If Vought wanted someone to smash through every conflict with dramatic flair, they wouldn’t need The Seven. They’d just send Homelander.” She paused. “Each teammate brings something unique to the table. Our differences are our strength.”

Charlotte chuckled lightly, though her eyes remained focused. “A good point. But with your more... calculated approach, do you ever worry people will see you as too restrained? Or that your style might clash with others who prefer a more direct method?”

Morgan’s response was quick, cool. “Clashes are bound to happen in any workplace. The key is communication—figuring out how to work through those differences.”

That was an unfortunate reminder for her to ruminate on in the back of her mind as the interview continued. Homelander’s parting words from the scene echoed in the back of her mind: ‘We’ll need to have a chat about how things went.’ Between the flashes of what she’d seen in his head and the skittishness of her teammates, it wasn’t hard to imagine the conversation wouldn’t be friendly

Eventually the cameras would cut, the lights would dim and she would have to face him sooner or later. It might have been prudent for her to seek him out and get it over with– like ripping off a bandaid. Her body felt heavier with every passing moment, drained from keeping up appearances, though. Rest and relaxation first. Homelander could wait.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her that Seven tower had a handful of massage therapists on call. The moment she mentioned she was feeling a bit tense and run-down to Ashley, her assistant was on the phone to get someone up to her apartment right away. Between how the bank crisis had gone, and how she handled her interview, the company VP was more than happy to keep her content.

It was nearly noon by the time Morgan had pulled off her armor, had a bite to eat and made her way back to her apartment. When she stepped inside, there was atmospheric music playing, and a young woman had set up a massage table in the living area. Already, she felt some of the tension in her shoulders lift.

“Oh, Psyren, it is such an honor to meet you!” the young therapist chirped, scurrying over to offer her hand. “My name is Michelle and I’ll be working on you today.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Michelle.” Morgan said with a weary smile, shaking Michelle’s hand. 

“I’ll go ahead and step out of the room for a moment and let you get dressed down to your comfort level. Just let me know as soon as you’re under the drape.” Michelle instructed cheerfully. Morgan offered a grateful nod as Michelle left the room. Alone, she let out a long breath as she peeled off her bodysuit.

Before long, she was dressed down and laid comfortably on the table, and Michelle had returned to adjust the drape down around her hips so she could knead out the tension in her back. With every gliding stroke over her skin, she was able to let her thoughts drift inward, rather than exploring the thoughts of the people in the tower around her.  

For the first time in days, she allowed her guard to lower and allowed herself to just be content. The slow, soft melody of the music drifted in the air, and a comfortable hush fell over the room.

Then, the door clicked open.

Morgan’s eyes snapped open. For a brief moment, her mind reached out instinctively, catching the sharp presence of someone familiar—unfortunately familiar.

Michelle’s hands froze, her cheerful expression faltering as she looked up. “Oh, um… I’m sorry, sir, but this is a private—”

The voice that followed cut through the air, cold and authoritative. “Don’t worry, she’s been expecting to meet with me. I don’t believe I need an appointment.”

Morgan didn’t have to look to know who had entered the room. Homelander’s presence filled the space, a suffocating weight that pressed down on both of them. She turned her head slightly and scowled, catching his reflection in the nearby window. He stood there, hands behind his back, smiling with all the warmth of an arctic storm.

“Give us the room.” he said with counterfeit sweetness. His tone was patronizing and had an undercurrent of agitation that Michelle didn’t miss. She glanced at Morgan, her uncertainty clear, but one more look at Homelander’s cold smile prompted her to hustle out of the room without further question.

The gentle spa music still played softly through the room, filling the moment of silence that fell between them.

“This couldn’t have waited?” Morgan finally said tersely, propping her chin up on the back of her hands. It was difficult to get a good look at his face, but she was laying half-naked on the massage table. An attempt to maintain a crumb of modesty had to be made.

“I wasn’t sure what you had on your itinerary for the day after this.” he said with an affectively innocent shrug. “We didn’t get a chance to debrief last night, so I figured I’d catch you when I could.”

Catch. That certainly was a pointed word choice. He took a slow step closer, his presence towering over the table. Morgan shifted slightly, painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, but refusing to let it show.

“If you want details about the save, you could always go down to crime analytics.” she huffed. “I filled out all the necessary reports with them and the police.” She paused, watching his smile tighten. “Unless… there’s something else on your mind.”

Homelander’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened. “You’re the mind reader. Why don’t you tell me if there’s something else on my mind?”

“Gee, I don’t know.” Morgan sighed with a slight tilt of her head. “I don’t really make a habit of peeping into people’s brains without their knowledge. It would be a bit like using x-ray vision to see what’s hiding under a person’s armor without permission.”

“Oh I’m not usually worried about what’s under the armor.” Homelander sighed, slowly circling the table like a bird of prey, waiting for the right moment to swoop. There was a rush of cold fury that ran through her veins as she felt the fingertips of a leather glove brush along her ribs. “Most of the time it doesn’t live up to the imagination, and it’s all the same soft, weak flesh underneath.”

“If you’re trying to scare me into submission, you’re wasting your time.” she said flatly, the indignation in her voice thinly veiled. 

“Scare you?” he scoffed, feigning disbelief. “No, I’m just here to remind you who’s really in control around here.”

Propping herself up on her elbows, far less concerned about exposing herself now, she gave him an incredulous look.

“You think that keeping people obedient through fear is control?” she nearly laughed. “That’s just begging for pent up resentment that will just fester and churn in people until they eventually snap.”

Homelander’s eyes narrowed, his faux charm melting away. “You think people will follow you because they like you?” His voice dropped, ice-cold. “Fear is the one thing that matters, Psyren. And if you don’t understand that, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

Morgan moved to sit up fully now, everything on display for him to see and absolutely at his mercy– not that she was confident her armor could have stopped him from harming her in any case. Regardless, she refused to back down and skulk off with her tail between her legs. Her resolve was set against him, and he needed to know it.

“Using fear as a means of control is a weak man’s game.” she said coldly. “It takes real strength to develop trust and command loyalty.”

Homelander’s face twisted into a scowl. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Psyren. I’d like to see how much of that bravado you can maintain when I’m crushing that skull of yours in my hands.”

Morgan’s lips curved into a daring smirk, her voice steady but sharpened with a defiant edge. “Then do it. Crush me, right here and now. Prove to everyone that all you are is a blunt instrument, too fragile to handle a little challenge.”

For a moment, the air was electric. Homelander stood frozen, his rage barely contained. Morgan stared him down, unwavering.

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. “But you won’t, will you? Because deep down, you know you can’t afford to.”

Neither of them moved, the atmospheric spa music still playing in stark contrast to the tense moment that had built between them. Homelander’s eyes burned with fury, his leather gloves creaking slightly as he clenched his fists. 

Then, biting back a retort, Homelander took a step back. His expression remained stony, but the rage simmered just beneath the surface. “Watch yourself, Psyren. Vought’s trust only goes so far. Step out of line, and I’ll be there to make sure you know your place.”

Morgan watched as he turned and strode toward the door, defiance still burning in her eyes. The tension lingered even after he disappeared through the doorway, the soft click of the door shutting behind him doing little to ease the weight in the room. She let out a slow, controlled breath, her posture finally relaxing as the last traces of Homelander’s presence faded. 

With a quiet groan, she lay back down on the massage table, her mind already turning toward what came next. Keeping Homelander in check was going to be exhausting and far more dangerous than she cared to admit. But she hadn’t come this far to play it safe. He wouldn’t forget her challenge, and neither would she.

Song: Take a Bow by Muse Author’s notes: Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this so far. I get so excited to see those kudos and bookmark notifications come in. I’ve really enjoyed exploring this world through Morgan’s eyes, and I really am getting excited to keep this forward momentum going. Tensions are rising and they’re only going to keep escalating from here. I’m so excited to share what comes next!

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 02

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

Beads of sweat slid down Morgan’s freckled shoulders, catching the light from the harsh fluorescents above. Her lips vaguely shaped the words of a Florence and the Machine song, steady breaths punctuating every stride she took. The pulsing music in her headphones, the beat of her heart, and the persistent hum of the treadmill beneath her feet kept her grounded. For a moment, she could almost pretend she wasn’t in Vought’s state-of-the-art gym for The Seven.

Until a few minutes ago, she had been the only one occupying the space, but that much hadn’t come as a surprise. From what she understood, she was the only member of The Seven without any sort of invulnerability or augmented strength. The medical team had driven that point home on her first day, as if her very existence was an anomaly—something that didn’t quite fit into their model of power. A part of her almost liked it. Being the outlier had its advantages.

She hadn’t really expected anyone else to join her at this hour, but it made sense that Starlight was there, quietly going through her own routine. Occasionally, Morgan’s gaze drifted toward the blonde moving in her periphery. Sometimes, though, the movement she caught was just her own fiery ponytail swishing behind her as she jogged. Either way, neither of them had gone out of their way to break routine to acknowledge the other beyond a curt nod. 

Just say something. The thought echoed in her mind—Starlight’s voice, though Morgan hadn’t meant to catch it.

It was never her intention to pry into people’s thoughts, but it just happened—effortless, unbidden more often than not. Starlight had been circling around the same unspoken question for a while now, and Morgan had caught glimpses of it. Still, she wasn’t about to give herself away. The more people believed she wasn’t already in their head, the better.

The thought was there again, hanging in the back of her mind, waiting to be voiced. Morgan braced herself for it, as she always did when the stray echoes of someone’s mind slipped through.

“So…” Starlight finally broke the silence, prompting Morgan to pull out one of her earbuds. “You found the gym alright, I see.”

Breathing a soft chuckle, Morgan couldn’t help the wry grin that pulled at the corners of her lips. 

“Yeah, this place isn’t as labyrinthine as I thought.” Morgan replied, her breaths still steady as she slowed her pace. She was cutting her cardio a few minutes short, but taking a moment to talk to her teammate wouldn’t kill her. Hopefully.

“Sounds like you’re settling in pretty well already.” Starlight remarked, though something unspoken flickered behind her eyes. “I feel like it took me forever to find my footing here.”

Morgan gave her a sympathetic look. “Trust me, I don’t think I’ve found mine either. If I learned anything from the high school plays my sister talked me into doing, it’s that you’ve got to fake it ‘til you make it, and ‘yes and–’ goes a long way.”

“Oh, so you were a science geek and a theater kid?” Starlight said, her brows raising playfully. “Well that explains a lot.”

“Woah, hey, that’s a hefty accusation to be throwing around.” Morgan joked. “My sister was the theater kid. I just needed some arts credits and it seemed like an easy A. I was a moderately okay Leisel in The Sound of Music, but I took State at the science fair every year from the time I was eight years old.”

With an exaggerated look of skepticism, Starlight nodded her head slowly.

“Right…” she drawled, her expression cracking into a smile as she leaned against the treadmill. “I’ll take your word for it. But seriously, if you need anything, I’m here to help. This job comes with a lot of unexpected bullshit, and it pays to have somebody in your corner.”

Morgan caught another glimpse of the same memory Starlight had recalled the day before. Maeve was far from warm when she found her in the bathroom, mascara and eyeliner smudged around her eyes. Starlight hadn’t even made it a full day as a member of the Seven before the facade was pulled away from her.

“You’re very sweet.” Morgan sighed softly, toweling off the back of her neck. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, but I should probably head out for now. I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”

Starlight gave her a slight wave. “Yeah, same here. See you around.”

Morgan slung her towel over her shoulder, her mind already turning to what came next as she made her way out of the gym. She would be surprised to find a quiet moment in Vought Tower—especially as the newest member of The Seven. The following couple of days was evidence of that as she was thrown into a whirl of meetings, training drills, and carefully curated PR appearances.

Now, on the morning of day four, Morgan made her way toward the armory, her thoughts geared toward the mission ahead. It would be her first solo save since joining The Seven, and the weight of it settled heavy on her shoulders. Starlight’s words lingered in the back of Morgan’s mind—about how this job came with a lot of unexpected bullshit. She wasn’t wrong.

Stepping into the armory, the scent of oil and metal filled her senses. There was a certain nostalgic quality to it as she thought back on her father and brother working on the old, red Chevy in the garage. Even more recently, it made her think of the workshop she spent her days in fabricating machinery for school. 

The room was cold and quiet, and Black Noir was already there, sharpening his blades in the back corner. He didn’t so much as pause the methodical scraping of a knife on a whetstone when she entered, but she was hardly surprised. From the outside, the man didn’t express much of anything at all.

Something about how quiet he was, even from an internal perspective, was mildly unsettling. It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything going on in his head at all, but he didn’t seem to think like everyone else did. The few glimpses she caught into his head were brief– and strange to say the least. 

“Ready to seize the day?” she asked, breaking the silence with a half-smile as she opened her locker. He didn’t respond of course. Though, Morgan could have sworn she saw a cartoonish figure in the peripheral of his mind offering a thumbs up. It was only a brief glimpse, but she could have sworn he was seeing Buster Beaver.

As she put her green and gold armor on over her black kevlar bodysuit with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of steel on stone ceased. Glancing back at him, she half-expected nothing but that unnerving, blank stare. Much to her surprise, Black Noir had noiselessly approached her from behind. 

In his gloved hand, he held something—a small, black cloth patch, stitched with gold thread. It was simple, but the embroidery resembled a nearly childlike emblem of a sword. He held it out wordlessly, and her eyes fixed on his expressionless mask.

Blinking, she glanced at the patch and then at Noir, unsure what to make of it.

“Is this… for me?” she asked, her voice unsure, almost enchanted. There was no response. He simply pressed it into her palm before turning back to gather his weapons.

It was such a small gesture, but somehow it felt monumental. There was some sort of acknowledgement that they were teammates now. Closing her fingers around the patch, she smiled gently.

“Thanks,” she murmured, not expecting any sort of reply. Noir’s back was already to her, but the moment lingered. Tucking the patch inside her bodysuit, Morgan smiled to herself and finished suiting up, feeling a strange, unspoken connection settle between them.

As much as she would have loved to ruminate on the oddly sweet interaction, the weight of her mission settled on her shoulders as heavily as her armor did. Mr. Edgar had passed down the order to send her on her first mission today– a solo save. As far as she was aware, no one since the more senior members of the Seven had been given such a weighty responsibility. 

It might have been a compliment from the big man himself– a sign of trust in her abilities. Then again, it could have been a test too. He had tentatively placed a heavy burden on her when he welcomed her onto the team. Sending her out like this could have been a subtle way for him to apply more pressure to see if she’d thrive, or if she’d crack under it. 

Regardless of his intentions, she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

The briefing from Crime Analytics had been quick—just the basics. A bank robbery, a handful of hostages, and rising tensions inside. She took mental stock of the details as Vought security whisked her through the city. The drive felt too short to settle her nerves, and by the time they pulled up to the scene, it was already chaos.

Crowds of morbidly curious onlookers pressed in toward the barricades, phones raised, eager for a glimpse of the action. Reporters swarmed even closer, like buzzards, as they set up the perfect shot for her projected triumph. No pressure, she mused quietly to herself.

Weaving her way through the frenzy, she kept her focus on the trial ahead. When she reached the front line, she could practically feel the sense of relief that washed over the officer in charge as she approached him. 

“Good, you made it.” he said, ushering her to the back of an armored van that was parked at the barricade. “I trust you’re up to speed on the situation?”

Morgan nodded curtly, “Five armed robbers, four hostages and they’ve got them wired with explosives for if their demands aren’t met. Am I missing anything?”

“That’s the general picture.” the officer said, swiping his sleeve over the perspiration on his forehead. “They’ve been radio silent for about fifteen minutes now. As far as demands go, it’s the usual: a ride out, clean getaway, immunity… All the things we don’t want to give them if we can avoid it.” 

Nodding, she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. There were a few ways she could go about diffusing the situation. There was the easy way, but knowing how The Seven typically operated, that wasn’t flashy enough. Edgar hadn’t stated it, but the people would want a bit of a show. There had to be a way to stir up enough interest without there being any collateral though.

“Okay…” she said, still piecing together the last tidbits of an idea, “Okay, I think I know what I’m going to do.”

The officer looked at her, a curious expression crossing his face. “What’s your move?”

“I need you to keep the perimeter secure.” she said, squinting against the reflection of the setting sun glaring off the glass exterior of the building. Even beyond the barricaded doors, she could already feel the minds of the people inside. There was a loose thread among them she could pull on. “You supplied them with a radio for contact, yes? I’m going to need that.”

“We’ve already tried–”

“--Not everything.” Morgan cut him off as another officer handed her the radio she had requested. “That’s why I got called in, right?” She flashed him a confident grin, but the officer looked unsure. As much as he wanted to protest, Morgan could sense he wasn’t about to waste her time with questions. He knew what was at stake.

Holding the radio up to her chin, she paused for a moment as she sifted through a variety of thoughts. Every single one of them was riddled with anxiety, but she found the head of the person that it weighed heaviest on. It didn’t take much for her to find glimpses of what drove the individual in charge. Everything had bubbled to the surface as he fought to maintain control of his feelings over the situation.

“Norman, this is Psyren of The Seven.” she began, putting herself through to the leader of the crew. “I’m not here to fight. I’d like to talk for a moment and see how I can help you. I know you’re wanting to make it out of this alive, and so is everybody else. Let’s work together to make that happen.”

The handful of officers gathered around her were absolutely silent as they all waited to hear the response. Their anxiety buzzed persistently in the back of her mind despite her focus on the minds inside the bank. Nobody was certain of what she was capable of yet, and right then she was testing their faith.

Another moment of radio silence passed before a gruff voice acknowledged her from the other end.

“Psyren, huh? I saw you on the news the other day.” he said, his voice a low growl. “You’re the mindfreak. That’s how you know my name right? ”

“So you do have an idea of what I can do. Good.” Morgan said softly. “Listen, I have a bit of an idea of what you’re facing right now. You’re worried sick about your daughter, I know.”

It was quiet again, just long enough for people to start feeling more nervous about how things would unfold.

“Chelsea isn’t getting any better without treatment, and nobody cares,” came his strangled reply finally. “Insurance won’t cover it, I can’t get a loan and I’ve been breaking my back trying to just keep us afloat. If I can’t get the money for the treatments, she’ll die.”

Morgan’s expression softened as she heard the heartbreak in his voice. A few of the officers exchanged glances, shifting uncomfortably. This brought up a number of complicated feelings for them. This was that loose thread she needed though. It was the key to unraveling the tangled mess they were in.

“I’m sure it feels like the whole world is against you right now.” she said, her voice laden with sympathy. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, Norman, but there are people that care and that can help. The most important thing to think about right now is being there for her though. You can’t do that if you allow things to go south from here. Let me inside and we can talk through this, face to face.”

In his silence, she could feel his resolve shifting. He was processing what she had said, teetering on the edge of suspicion. It was hard for him to back down given how far he had gone. Still, he didn’t want to do this. This whole thing was an act of desperation that was starting to look like it might blow up in his face. 

“If I let you in, you’ve gotta swear to me there won’t be any funny business.” he finally said, a slight crack in his voice. “One wrong move, then I blow all of us to hell.”

Morgan’s pulse quickened, but she remained calm. 

“I believe you.” she said, her voice level. “I swear to you, all I want to do right now is talk. Let me help you reach a solution. I imagine the last thing you want is to leave Chelsea without her father.”

There was another beat of silence before Norman spoke again, his voice thick with exhaustion and fear. “Fine. Come in. But no tricks, Psyren. If I even think you’re playing me…”

“I understand,” she said, nodding resolutely to one of the officers. “You have my word.”

“Come to the door on the north side. I’ll have one of my guys let you in.” he sighed before the radio fell silent once more. She handed the radio back to one of the officers beside her, who was now looking at her in a mix of disbelief and hope. Already she’d done more than any of their best negotiators had managed.

“I’m going in,” she stated calmly, addressing the officer that had been directing things. “It may take a few minutes, but I need you all to stay in position here until I give you the go ahead. You’ll be hearing from me when it's time.”

Before she could field any questions that hung heavy in the minds of the police officers, she made her way to the side door. The sun had dipped low enough behind the city skyline now that she could see a broad-shouldered man through the glass, waiting to let her in. He was older, gruff-looking and carrying a gun that would definitely put her armor to the test at the range she was at.

His brow was heavy with a stern look as he pushed the door open for her. A part of him thought that letting her in was a bad idea, she could tell. Though, another secret part of him was surprisingly relieved that she was there. Looking her up and down, not sure what to make of her yet, he gestured for her to move further into the building where the rest of the crew and the hostages were.

Exiting a short hallway into the main lobby of the bank, the tension in the air was palpable–suffocating even. Huddled in a small circle on the floor, back to back, the four hostages were cinched tight together with wires and zipties. Terror rolled off of them in waves, but there was a flicker of hope that surged in each of them as she entered the room.

Three other armed men stood near the hostages, all of them watching her warily. Their eyes flitted nervously between her and the last of the robbers standing near the massive safe door. Gripped tightly in his hand was a small detonator, and there was a look of uncertainty that furrowed his brow. 

“Norman, thank you for agreeing to this.” Morgan said softly, raising her hands slowly in a show of surrender. “This probably wasn’t an easy decision to come to, but you’re doing the right thing.”

Norman swallowed hard, his hand tensing slightly around the detonator. There was a flash in his mind of a young girl, presumably his Chelsea. That was exactly the mindset she needed him in to make this work without resorting to a more heavy-handed approach.

He regarded her with a stiff nod, "I just want to fix this. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, but I can’t lose my baby girl."

Morgan could feel the raw, aching desperation radiating from him. "I know," she replied, her voice gentle."You love her, and you felt backed into a corner by everything that’s happened. You’re in a tailspin though. Your crew, Norman, they’re scared. They’re losing faith and the hostages… they’re praying you don’t make the wrong choice.”

Her words hung in the air, a gentle but powerful tug against his wavering resolve. 

“Think about her,” Morgan whispered. “She needs you alive. She needs her dad.”

His grip on the detonator slackened. She could feel him relenting. The image of the little girl’s smiling face flickered in his mind again, and this time Morgan helped him hang onto it. His perception of her was already beautiful, but she gave him the slightest push to see her with so much vibrancy and hope.

As she took a step forward, the detonator within her reach, there was a sudden sharp crunch of pavement outside that shook the ground and rattled the windows. 

Goddammit, not now.

The robbers and hostages all let out startled cries and Norman’s hold on the detonator tightened again as he quickly withdrew his hand. Looking out the window, they all caught sight of a red and white cape billowing in the wind. Homelander came strutting toward the bank, a tense smile on his face as he wound up to punch out one of the windows.

Before any of them could react, there was a spray of shattered glass and Morgan could only do so much with her telekinesis to keep the shards and splinters from hitting everyone inside. Morgan’s mental phalanx pushed back just in time, protecting the hostages and robbers from the worst of it. But the ripple of panic that followed hit harder than any of the stray shards.

Instinctively, the robbers trained their weapons on Homelander as he stepped through the windowpane. Norman looked back at her, his face contorted with rage as he assumed her betrayal. As far as he was concerned, she had been stalling for time for the leader of The Seven to arrive.

“Sorry to intrude on your big save.” Homelander said, notably unapologetic as he smirked at her. “You were taking quite a while and people were starting to get nervous. I had to step in and make sure you were okay.”

“You promised.” Norman hissed, his thumb moving to press down on the detonator.

“STOP!” her voice rang out through the bank but more than that, her mind delved deep into the minds of the robbers and seized hold of them. Her influence clawed into them all with a vise-like grip, making them all jerk to a sudden stop.

An eerie stillness settled over them, and the hostages watched on in shock. Eyes glazed over, weapons lowered, the four other robbers straightened stiffly and stood at attention like toy soldiers at her whim. Norman took a step toward her again, his face slack and expressionless as he placed the detonator into her waiting palm.

Awestruck and incredulous, the hostages looked at her with wide eyes. For a split second it looked like they were doomed, but they were still here in one piece. The thing that finally broke the momentary silence was the barely restrained sob of a young woman that was grateful she would live to see another day.

Even Homelander, with all his brash bravado, was paused mid-step and staring at her. His grin faltered, replaced by something more hesitant. He looked around at the robbers, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, then back at Morgan. “Well,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, “that’s… something.”

Morgan stood still, her mind still fully entwined with all of theirs, holding them in place. She could feel their thoughts, their fears, their desperation—all of it now a writhing tangle of distress under her thumb. Their bodies were hers to direct as they fell into line in front of her. For a brief, unsettling moment, even Homelander seemed unsure of what he was witnessing.

“Didn’t know you had that in you, Psyren,” he said, his smirk returning, though his tone lacked its usual confidence. “You had them tangled in your web from the beginning then, huh?”

Morgan remained silent, jaw tensing slightly as her grip on their minds gradually began to relax while she glanced at Homelander. His cocky smirk was back, but she could see the flicker of hesitation behind those baby blues of his. He wasn’t sure what to make of her and this unexpected peek into her true power.

It might have been easier to make them march out of there under her command, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. This was already more than she was comfortable with. Still pulling back from their minds, she was sure to do it gently, making sure they returned to themselves without breaking. One by one, the robbers blinked, their bodies trembling as they realized they had been completely at her mercy.

“It’s over. Let’s get the hostages out.” She said, her voice low and measured.

Norman nodded weakly, his face pallid from exhaustion and fear. The rest of his crew did the same, too rattled to speak or move with Morgan’s mental touch still lingering in the back of their heads. It was subtle, but she retained them just enough to keep them docile while she signaled for assistance.

The police rushed in to take control of the scene, but Morgan stayed where she was, staring at Homelander with frigid intensity. The hostages were quickly ushered out, their sobs of relief echoing throughout the bank until they stepped into the open air. Morgan’s heart was pounding in her chest, but she maintained an air of composure.

Homelander watched for a moment but his gaze ultimately returned to her, a touch of something like unease crossing his face briefly. His smile turned into something more curious than cocky.

“Guess you didn’t need me after all,” he said with a forced chuckle. “That’s a neat little trick you had hiding up your sleeve.”

“We’re done here, Homelander.” She said, reigning in the urge to toss him across the room with her telekinesis.

His brows raised momentarily, then he nodded slowly. Homelander’s typical swagger returned as he strolled back toward the empty windowpane. 

“Sure, of course. I’ll let you clean up here.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a gleam in his eye. “Why don’t we have a chat about this later, though.”

With that, he took off, disappearing into the sky with a sonic boom.

As the echo of Homelander’s sonic boom faded, Morgan stood still for a moment, watching the sky where he had vanished. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on her, not because of the power she’d used—she had long since come to terms with that—but because of what it represented.

This is what Edgar wants me to manage.

The hostages were safe, the perpetrators were being loaded into the back of patrol cars, but Homelander had just proven that keeping him in check was going to be as exhausting as it was dangerous. His arrogance, his need to dominate every situation, would be a constant battle.

It was only the beginning. Her jaw tightened as she settled on that thought.

Motherfucker.

Song: Control by Halsey Author’s notes: I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a fun one to write to further set the stage between Morgan and Homelander. Just as important, I had fun with the earlier scenes to help set the tone with some of the other members of the Seven too. I’m so excited to continue Morgan’s story and show you what I have in store for her. We’re just getting started folks!

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Fic for 'The Boys' Master Post

Ongoing fic. Appx words to date (September 27th, 2024): 29k. 18+

Homelander x Supe OC

Canon divergent around the beginning of season 2. Enemies to lovers, then back to enemies again. Specific content warnings for each chapter will be applied in notes prior to the text to help avoid spoilers.

Summary:

Hand-picked by Stan Edgar, Morgan Daly's new role as the latest member of The Seven is anything but glamorous. Behind the scenes, she’s been tasked with a dangerous mission: keep the world’s most powerful superhero, Homelander, in line. Her telepathic abilities make her a valuable asset, but navigating the ruthless game within Vought’s elite team could cost her more than she bargained for. As tensions rise and the line between ally and enemy blurs, Morgan must decide whether she’ll play by Vought’s rules—or risk everything to outmaneuver a man who could destroy her without a second thought.

AO3 Link | Fic Playlist | Ship Playlist

Tumblr Chapter Directory

Chapter 01- Tightrope Chapter 02- Control Chapter 03- Take a Bow Chapter 04- Shot Me Down Chapter 05- Smile Chapter 06- Under Pressure Chapter 07- Losing My Religion Chapter 08- Not About Angels Chapter 09- Everybody Knows (WIP)

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 01

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Summary: Hand-picked by Stan Edgar, Morgan Daly's new role as the latest member of The Seven is anything but glamorous. Behind the scenes, she’s been tasked with a dangerous mission: keep the world’s most powerful superhero, Homelander, in line. Her telepathic abilities make her a valuable asset, but navigating the ruthless game within Vought’s elite team could cost her more than she bargained for. As tensions rise and the line between ally and enemy blurs, Morgan must decide whether she’ll play by Vought’s rules—or risk everything to outmaneuver a man who could destroy her without a second thought.

Morgan’s nerves frayed as the crowd's roar escalated, each increase in decibel pulling at her composure. The stage was quite literally set for her to step out into the spotlight. Hundreds of people gathered outside the tower, as they eagerly awaited Vought’s introduction of the newest hero to join the ranks of The Seven. The bright lights illuminated the platform, casting sharp shadows that only heightened her sense of exposure.

Excited thoughts buzzed all around her, each one circling back to a single burning question: What can she do? Their anticipation rolled over her like a tidal wave, threatening to send her teetering off of her feet. Yet a distinct voice cut through—the potent dissatisfaction of one individual.  

Mr. Edgar had warned her that Homelander would be unhappy that he hadn’t been involved in her recruitment. Edgar had also warned that he would be even less pleased to find out about her powers. It was a strategic move, keeping her abilities a secret until now to keep the king of The Seven in check.

“Alright everyone, are you ready to meet the newest member of The Seven?” Homelander’s voice boomed, his toothsome smile almost genuine. Yet beneath it, a storm brewed.

I wonder if these insipid morons would cheer if I punched a hole through her head. They’d probably scatter like the cockroaches they are.

The audience roared, oblivious to their hero's dark musings. Morgan couldn’t help but wonder how much chaos would ensue if she were to broadcast his thoughts for everyone else to hear like she could. The temptation was strong, the image of the crowd scattering in terror vivid as could be. The potential consequences were too high, however, even if she was certain she could outmaneuver him.

His steely, azure eyes bored into her green ones with such intensity that she half-wondered if his heat vision might activate. Smile tightening, posture straightening, she took a deep breath and let her gauntleted fingers brush against the gleaming metal of her armor. It was time.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to the lovely Psyren!” he announced.

Who the fuck came up with this ridiculous name?

A snort escaped her as she stepped forward, assuming the facade required of her.  That was a point she could agree with him on. Homelander wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of superhero naming conventions either, but hers was worse by far. At least Psyren was flashier and more marketable than her government name.

She let the thumping bass of the intro music set her pace as she strutted out onto the stage. The crowd erupted as she played to their cheers, each wave and smile meticulously crafted. It was every bit a circus, and she was walking a veritable tightrope without a safety net to speak of. 

“It’s a pleasure to be here sir.” Morgan said brightly, fighting the urge to glance at the cameras fixed on her every move. The tiny, hidden mic at her hairline took her back to her high school theater days. “I am so honored to stand here today with you and the other incredible heroes that make up this amazing team.”

She grasped Homelander’s hand, his grip tightening just enough to convey a silent threat. His stare never wavered, forcing her to maintain composure under his intense scrutiny. There was the tiniest twitch of his upper lip, a warning, or perhaps a dare. Fighting back a wince, she glanced out over the audience as they quieted somewhat, the sea of faces blurring into one collective entity hungry for a show.

At least she’s not bad to look at. She just better not be as insufferable as fucking Starlight.

“Oh believe me, the honor is all ours,” Homelander declared, his voice resonating with feigned sincerity. “Why don’t you tell these good people about yourself?”

Feigning humility, Morgan played along. “Oh, I’m just a girl from a small town in Oklahoma.”

Fantastic. Another country bumpkin. 

“Don’t be so modest,” he prodded, waving dismissively. “Show them what you can do.”

As the crowd’s anticipation built again, Morgan faced a tempting thought—using her powers to send Homelander sprawling across the stage. Better yet, she could compel him to do something positively humiliating.Tempting, she thought, her pulse quickening with the idea. But she was only there to give the bear a gentle poke, not drop a bomb on him.

“You want me to show off in front of all these people?” she asked, her voice tinged with feigned surprise.

“It sounds like that’s what the people want,” Homelander responded, barely masking his irritation.

“Well then, I guess I can’t disappoint all these wonderful people that came out to see us.” She conceded, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of her lips. “But first, I need a volunteer.”

The instant the word volunteer left her mouth, the audience erupted into a frenzy. People shouted, jumped and waved their arms for a chance to help her demonstrate. Immediately, her eyes went to a young girl in the middle of the crowd, happily perched on a man’s shoulders. Singling them out with a simple point of her finger, she watched the girl’s face light up.

“You, in the Queen Maeve tiara.” she said with a broad smile. Stunned, the little girl hesitantly pointed to herself in response. “Is that Dad carrying you? Are you okay if I borrow her for a minute, Dad?” Equally stunned and delighted, the man nodded

Purely for show, Morgan smiled as she brought two fingers to her temple and stretched out her hand toward them. Then, some unseen force lifted the girl from her father’s shoulders and brought her drifting toward the stage. Startled, the girl froze as she sailed effortlessly over the crowd. An awed hush fell over the audience as they all watched, their breaths collectively held.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen sweetheart,” Morgan began as she took a knee and gently placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m going to ask some questions, but don’t give me the answers out loud. I want you to think your answers as hard as you can.”

Her volunteer gave a bashful smile, fidgeting where she stood, waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Alright, sweetness, what’s your name?” Morgan asked, her voice soft and gentle.

There was a beat of absolute silence. 

“Alejandra? Oh that’s a pretty name.” Morgan said as the girl conveyed the answer silently to her. “What’s your favorite thing about school?”

There were quiet murmurs throughout the crowd and the little girl’s eyes widened in shock. 

“You like PE the best?” Morgan asked as the answer flashed through Alejandra’s mind. “Oh that’s a good one. Exercise is important for a kid like you, especially if you’re going to win that softball tournament you have next week. I bet you’ve got a good swing.”

As Alejandra gave a slow nod, there was a smattering of applause. People were a bit stunned and maybe even a bit skeptical, but Morgan could hardly blame them. Telepathy wasn’t exactly an easy power to show off, but she’d gain their confidence over time. 

“So Psyren is a bit of a psychic.” Homelander observed, a sly grin curving his lips, but a dangerous look gleamed in his sky-blue eyes. “Why don’t you tell the people what I’m thinking right now?”

If you go digging around in my head, I will crush your head like a grape. It’ll be easy.

Morgan’s pleasant look didn’t falter as she stood to level him with a gaze that only those who were truly paying attention would catch. It was a warning, and a dare, wrapped in a saccharine smile.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you!” She gushed, placing her hands on Alejandra’s shoulders, subtly angling her away from Homelander. “Folks, you should know how much this great American hero cares about you. Right now, he wants me to convey that he wants you all to drive home safely and have the most blessed day.”

That was enough to get the crowd going again. Whoops and hollers of approval rang through the air as people stomped and applauded. Her answer seemed to unsettle Homelander though. Watching him question the truthfulness of her ability to read minds, she couldn’t help but feel a little smug about it. 

As the crowd continued to cheer, Ashley, the newly appointed VP of Vought, took center stage. Morgan couldn’t have cared less about how the event would wrap up from that point. She simply smiled and posed with Alejandra for several dozen photos before she was escorted back to her father by security. 

With the event winding down, Morgan took a moment to realize that her frayed nerves seemed to have settled somewhat. The stage lights no longer felt so blinding, and the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming. Somehow being on stage and showing off was a bit less painful than she had anticipated. A part of her had expected Homelander to snap then and there, but he had opted to ignore all the dark fantasies about killing her that danced through his brain. Edgar was right; the man really was a slave to Vought and his public image.

Once the crowd began to disperse and the press was allowed backstage for questions and photos, Morgan was ushered into a line with the other members of The Seven. Everyone was buzzing with questions both unspoken and murmured amongst peers. The various reporters waited anxiously for their chance to ask them as photographers snapped photos of the super team all posed together.

“Hey, you did good out there.” Starlight murmured to her through a smile. “It’s nice to have another girl on the team.”

“Thanks,” Morgan replied as her smile turned less posed and a bit more genuine. “I’m happy to help even things out.”

There was a question that flashed briefly through Starlight’s mind that intrigued Morgan as much as it surprised her. While she had a pretty good idea already about how Volatile Homelander was, she was beginning to see a broader picture. America’s sweetheart, Miss Starlight herself, wondered if Morgan would be on board to kill him.

Now that was an interesting tidbit she could save for a later conversation. Whether or not she told Edgar about the scheme was up in the air though. Killing Homelander might have been a quick fix in the minds of some. Morgan, however, wanted to see what the long game might have in store.

Once the photographers were satisfied with their shots, the reporters finally had their turn to ask questions. As hands shot up eagerly, Morgan shook off her previous train of thought and refocused on the matter at hand. She could save her strategizing for later.

“Psyren, how good is your mind-reading?” a reporter blurted out before anyone could be called on.

“Woah there, let’s take turns and wait until we’re called,” Homelander chided, his tone patronizing like a teacher addressing a classroom. “How about we start with this lovely lady here in the red?”

The blonde reporter in a striking red power suit looked momentarily star-struck before she found her composure.

“Psyren, is it true that you originally applied to Vought as an engineer for the R&D department? There are rumors that you have a brilliant mind for engineering in addition to your super abilities.”

“That’s right.” Morgan answered with a polite nod. “I actually studied mechanical engineering, and brain and cognitive sciences at MIT. I never did quite get around to a doctorate degree, but it seems that Vought found my skills valuable regardless.”

Another hand shot up and Morgan nodded, already anticipating how to answer.

“That armor you’re wearing— did you design it yourself?” 

“I did, actually.” She said, puffing up slightly. “With Vought’s help, I designed and fabricated the suit myself. I don’t exactly have super strength or invulnerability to keep me safe in the field. That led me to put together something that allows me to work alongside these amazing heroes while minimizing potential risks.”

Morgan could feel the relief that washed over Homelander as she openly shared her weakness. The idea that she was as vulnerable as any other human almost had him giddy. The poor bastard would be in for a nasty surprise if he tried anything though.

“Homelander, what do you think about the newest addition to the Vought family? What do you feel like she brings to the table?” 

This time, Homelander didn’t seem to mind a question out of turn so much. Straightening up slightly, he wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders and pulled her to his side. His grip was firm enough that she could almost hear a slight groan of protest from her armor. 

“I think she’s just—“ he paused, trying to find the right words. “She’s a real marvel. Having yet another smart, independent woman on the team is just so exciting. I bet she’s going to be an inspiration to little girls all over this great country of ours.”

Morgan didn’t have to read his mind to know what his intent was behind his words. To him, she was just another strategic move on Vought’s part to endear themselves to the public. As long as that was all he thought she was, that was something she could live with.

“Alright, as much as we’d love to answer all your questions, The Seven do have important things to attend to.” Ashley announced as she came bustling backstage. “If you want to schedule interviews with Psyren or the rest of The Seven, you’re welcome to reach out to my people.” 

Morgan couldn’t help but be a little relieved. The sooner she could get inside the tower and out of the public eye, the better. She hadn’t floundered in the spotlight like she initially feared, but she definitely wasn’t thriving in it.

The moment Ashley could get to Homelander, she immediately ushered him toward the front entrance of the tower, speaking in a hushed tone. Morgan couldn’t catch anything audibly, but Ashley might as well have been screaming her internal panic straight into her brain. Something had happened overseas and the star-spangled hero was needed urgently to neutralize it. It truly was a shame that Ashley didn’t realize just how much less mess Morgan would cause if she were to send her instead. 

While the crowd and the press were still dispersing, the remaining members of The Seven all made their way into the tower. It felt odd calling themselves The Seven at the moment, however. With The Deep still in Sandusky and A-Train allegedly out because of an injury sustained on a mission, it was really only the five of them, and now they were sans Homelander for the next little while.

Black Noir made a beeline for the elevator before anybody else could get there. The moment Morgan tried sneaking a peek into that particular head, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Whatever traumas that man had dealt with, they’d left some pretty nasty scars on his psyche that even she hadn’t encountered before.

“You doing okay?” Starlight asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re looking a little shell-shocked. The first day can be a little overwhelming.”

Morgan blinked, pulling herself back into the moment at hand. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Morgan said, her lips curving into a lopsided grin. “It’s just a lot to take in at once.”

Her words hung in the air, the same way the sigh she let out did, heavy and lingering. She pressed the button to summon the next elevator and glanced at Starlight, trying to push away the lingering tension from the evening.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Starlight replied, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I still remember how overwhelming my first day was here.”

“It was just yesterday, it seems,” Maeve added with a dry smile, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I can still hear the echoes of you throwing up in the bathroom on the 99th floor when reality came crashing down on you.”

Starlight shot Maeve a mildly disgruntled look, but the memory seemed to temper her frustration. The elevator doors slid open, and the moment hit both women hard enough that Morgan felt it. She caught a flash of the memory from each of them simultaneously—the sharp jolt of humiliation for Starlight, the dry resignation from Maeve. It was a strangely significant moment for both of them.

“Well, from some of the thoughts I plucked today, I can see how this job might be a little nauseating.” Morgan’s tone was light, but her eyes flicked toward Maeve as she stepped inside the elevator.

The air thickened again, and the tension that had started to dissipate quickly returned. Maeve and Starlight exchanged a brief glance before following her in, the elevator doors closing them in for the ride up to the 99th floor.

“It sounds like all the illusions and mystique of the job are already lost on you,” Maeve remarked, her gaze lingering on Morgan with quiet scrutiny.

Leaning back against the wall, Morgan folded her arms, her posture casual, but her eyes held a quiet sharpness. “I knew what I was walking into the moment I set foot in Stan Edgar’s office last month,” she said, shrugging slightly. “You can prepare for some things, but once you’re in it… it’s a different beast, though.”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed, studying her as if weighing the truth behind those words. There was something about Morgan’s candor that Maeve respected, but a flicker of doubt passed across her face. Morgan might understand the darkness that came with the job, but did she truly grasp the full scope?

The hum of the elevator filled the silence between them, and Starlight, nervously chewing her bottom lip, nodded as if trying to convince herself more than Morgan.

“You know, if it ever feels like too much, you’ve got people you can turn to,” Starlight said, her voice hesitant, her smile faltering at the edges.

Morgan noticed the slight tension in Starlight’s shoulders, the way she averted her gaze as if she wasn’t entirely sure about her own offer. Maeve rolled her eyes softly but didn’t say anything at first. Her fingers brushed through her hair, a half-hearted gesture of detachment.

“That’s kind of you, Annie,” Morgan said, using Starlight’s real name in a deliberate attempt to show trust. “I think I’ve got a decent handle on things, but it’s good to know someone has my back.”

Maeve scoffed lightly. “Speak for yourself. I’ve already stuck my neck out plenty.”

A soft ding signaled their arrival, and the elevator slowed to a stop. As the doors slid open, Morgan stepped out first but turned to watch the others. Maeve and Starlight followed, though Maeve quickly veered toward her apartment.

“I might need to lean on both of you for a minute to figure this place out, though,” Morgan added with a crooked smile. “This place is a maze, and I’m absolutely terrible with directions.”

That broke the tension just a little. Starlight let out a soft laugh, her posture easing, while Maeve snorted—a barely-there sound, but enough to signal some amusement. Even so, the shift was subtle, and it only made Morgan more certain that this would be life at the tower—everyone treading thin ice, always.

As she watched Maeve walk away, Morgan’s thoughts lingered on what she’d glimpsed earlier. Homelander’s dark thoughts still haunted her, and the fear that paralyzed everyone at the tower was unmistakable. She knew Starlight had at least considered killing him. They all had. In truth, everyone here was far more alike than they wanted to admit.

“Hey,” Maeve called over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall, “as long as you can find the bathroom, the lounge, and your apartment, you’re set.”

Morgan watched Maeve disappear down the hallway, her heels clicking smartly against the marble floor. Starlight lingered for a moment beside her, uncertain whether to say more or let the silence speak for itself.

“Looks like it’s time to clock out,” Morgan said with a faint smile, trying to shake the sense of dread that still clung to her. “If I don’t wind up getting lost on the way to my apartment, I’ll call it a win.”

Starlight chuckled softly, but her eyes flickered with a mix of sympathy and something darker. “You’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice quiet. “Just… watch your back.”

With a quick nod, she turned and headed toward her own apartment, leaving Morgan standing alone in the dim hallway. For a moment, the quiet felt almost suffocating. It was like counting the seconds between a lightning strike and a roll of thunder. She glanced around, feeling the cold gleam of Vought’s pristine luxury pressing in on all sides.

Thin ice. The thought echoed in her mind again, but this time it felt more like a challenge than a warning.

Morgan drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and started toward her own apartment. The board was set. Where the pieces would lay tomorrow, time would only tell.

Song: Tightrope by Janelle Monae Author’s notes: Thanks so much for making it this far! I told myself that I’d never watch The Boys, but here we are now��� I’m writing a whole fic that’s been rotating endlessly in my brain like a convenience store hotdog under a heat lamp. This is probably the most work I’ve put into a story that wasn’t an original piece I’ve wanted to publish, and boy howdy, has it been fun. I was hesitant to watch The Boys at first, but the characters and their twisted dynamics hooked me in. Now I can’t stop thinking about what makes them tick, and this story is my way of exploring that. Writing Morgan’s first public introduction to The Seven was such a fun challenge, especially balancing the tension with Homelander. I’m hoping to keep this story going strong, but we’ll see. I haven’t ever finished a full fic, but I also haven’t ever made a dedicated playlist or a full outline for one either. I have a good feeling about it. Kudos and comments are always appreciated!

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

Homelander turning into a Griffin in Mortal Kombat 1. This is part of a new Animality DLC update. All the playable characters have one.

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Wait I think I might cook(in a bad way) with this one

[out-with-the-boys]

[out-with-the-boys]

Trained animal

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