out-with-the-boys

[out-with-the-boys]

first you torture the pretty man, then you give him a praise kink the size of russia

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 21

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 subway rattled past midnight, a low hum filling the sleepy station. Morgan’s hand clenched tightly around the crumpled plastic baggie she’d sealed her tracking chip in, her other hand steadying herself against the subway pole. She glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of the man she’d chosen at random.

Extracting the chip had been a bitch to deal with, and her arm still ached and burned at the incision site. The amount of adrenaline that was coursing through her, however, kept it dulled somewhat. 

Trying not to be so obvious in her approach, she strode in the direction of an office worker slouched over, half-asleep in his rumpled suit. When she passed him, she brushed her hand against his messenger bag, slipping the chip inside the outer pocket with ease. She barely glanced back as she moved toward the doors, the worn metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

By the time she climbed the subway stairs into the cool night air, Morgan felt her heartbeat settle. She reached into her jacket pocket, feeling for the small device she’d crafted just days earlier. It was a simple-looking fob, an old car key, inconspicuous in her hand. No one at Vought had questioned her mechanical tinkering; they saw it as just another future asset. She’d let them believe that, right up until that night.

She had been leading a lot of people to believe a lot of things lately. Herself included. It was hard to say when her life had stopped being her own, but she was a far cry from who she wanted to be.

Maybe the real question was why she had let herself drift into Homelander’s orbit at all. A wise part of her had always known that he was no ordinary danger. He was volatile—a man raised in a cage of expectations, with no room for humanity or remorse. At that, he was driven by the narrative that he was above all others. 

And yet, she had looked at him and seen something different. Maybe that was why she’d stayed.

There were times when she felt like a fool for wanting to understand him, to reach for something better in him. He was a maelstrom of destruction wrapped in a powerful, lonely shell. But beneath the carnage, she could feel his fractures—tiny, almost imperceptible moments when the armor slipped and the shadows in his eyes softened. 

Those rare moments had tugged at her. They made her wonder if, perhaps, there was a chance he could become something better than what he’d been made to be. It was foolish, she knew, but it was also human. 

Hope could be a blinding thing.

Part of her felt pity for him, too. She had seen things that no one else could. There were dark memories of a boy robbed of family, robbed of choice, reshaped by Vought’s brutal ambitions. He hadn’t been given the luxury of innocence, and for that, she couldn’t hate him completely. 

Maybe that was where the danger had started. The line between sympathy and self-preservation was unbelievably thin. She could sense his pain in ways he would never admit, and it left her with a strange, and tragic compassion for him.

Morgan had spent enough time behind the walls of Vought to recognize what drove him, to know how fear could twist even the strongest into something monstrous. She’d seen glimpses of it in herself, the moments when she felt her own moral compass veering under the pressure of survival. And perhaps, on some level, her closeness with him was a mirror. It was a way to understand her own fears and the ways power could corrupt anyone, even herself.

Yet, it wasn’t just empathy that kept her close. There was a part of her, buried deep, that held to a hope she wasn’t proud of. She believed she was the only person who could truly understand him, that in her, he might find the reflection of the person he might’ve been if things had been different. She was haunted by the belief that, if she left, the fragile pieces of his humanity might shatter completely. So she’d stayed, drawn in by an ache to save him as much as she wanted to save herself.

Maybe it was selfish, too, to think she could be his conscience, his one tie to a world that held something beyond domination. But she couldn’t deny the way she felt when he looked at her, raw and unmasked, desperate for something he’d never admit he needed. The darkness was always there, but so was a flicker of something she couldn’t ignore. And even when it terrified her, it felt real in a way the rest of her life didn’t.

Somewhere along the way, pity and empathy had tangled with hope and loneliness, blurring the lines between necessity and desire. In him, she saw a reflection of all the things she tried to bury in herself. She saw her own fractures, regrets, and compromises she made just to survive another day at Vought.

But maybe that was why she knew she had to start over. She had seen the depth of his pain, but she also saw the price of staying too close to it. Loving him—if that was what it was—felt like living in the eye of a storm, aware that it could pull her under at any moment.

And maybe, it was time to let go of the idea of saving everyone but herself.

Pulling herself from her introspection, Morgan slipped through the quiet streets of Manhattan. Now her mind is churning through the details of her plan. 

She ducked into a nearby parking garage, heading for the car she’d prepped earlier, its license plates swapped and its GPS wiped clean. Settling into the driver’s seat, her hand instinctively brushed over the fob in her pocket. It was a lifeline she’d spent weeks refining. Each piece of it was made to slip her through Vought’s hold.

The city lights faded in her rearview mirror as she drove north, the night growing darker and the road stretching long and empty ahead of her. Towering trees soon closed in, their shadows swallowing the beam of her headlights as the winding path led her deeper into the woods. 

Vought had chosen well, hiding Becca and Ryan far enough from the city to keep them contained, yet close enough to remain within reach. Each mile she traveled felt heavier, her resolve sharpening as the forest thickened around her.

Finally, the compound walls loomed into view, cutting stark lines against the trees. The fob in her pocket hummed faintly, a barely-there reminder of the time ticking away as Morgan pulled up to the guard station. The suburban streets inside the Vought compound lay quiet under the streetlights, casting a muted glow over the carefully manicured lawns and houses lining the road. 

This place was built to look like a sanctuary, but she knew better.

Morgan touched the minds of the guards at the station, nudging them into a momentary lull. Their gazes unfocused and their hands settled back onto their laps as her vehicle rolled past the barrier without a hitch. 

She felt a small thrill of satisfaction. So far, the fob was jamming any surveillance from within the car, leaving her a narrow window to move unnoticed.

As she drove deeper into the neighborhood, her eyes traced the eerily perfect lines of hedges and the faint glow from curtained windows. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, each house she passed filling her with a low, simmering anger. 

This was no haven, despite its quaint facade. It was a cage made up to look like freedom, and Vought’s control was embedded in every inch of it.

Her mind circled back to the woman waiting at the end of this drive. Becca was more than a prisoner. She was a mother bound to this place by her son’s safety, tethered by a delicate fear that kept her rooted here. 

Morgan knew all too well how tightly fear could bind a person, and her gut tightened at the thought of how she’d convince Becca to break herself and Ryan away from this carefully maintained illusion.

When she finally reached Becca’s house, Morgan slowed, parking a little down the street to avoid drawing attention. She took a steadying breath, letting her telepathy stretch out like a silent knock against Becca’s consciousness, a gentle touch that conveyed a promise of safety. She couldn’t afford to startle her; every second counted.

Morgan’s feet barely made a sound as she moved up the path, her gaze fixed on the house. A faint light spilled from the living room window, casting a warm glow that felt strangely out of place against the cold, silent night. She could sense Becca’s presence inside. Her thoughts were a mixture of apprehension yet something expectant.

The porch steps creaked softly underfoot, and just as Morgan raised her hand to knock, the door opened a crack, spilling light across her face. Becca stood framed in the doorway. Her expression was a blend of caution and curiosity, as her tired eyes searched Morgan’s to gauge her intentions before a single word was spoken.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.” Morgan began, ready to put that particular worry to rest before it could be voiced. “Nobody does.”

Becca’s expression remained wary, her grip tightening on the doorframe. “You promised you’d come back, but I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Morgan held Becca’s gaze, her expression unwavering. “There’s not much time for me to answer all your questions, but I know what you’re thinking.” She said, pausing for just a moment. “I know what Homelander is. I know what he did to you, and my heart breaks for you and your son.”

The sharpness of Becca’s thoughts as her eyes narrowed almost made Morgan jump. It was hard to know what to say in a situation like that, but Morgan didn’t have time to show the equal parts compassion and deference Becca deserved. She was bound to say a few wrong things.

“And without getting too deep into the particulars, I’m here to offer you an out.” Morgan quickly continued. “I had hoped I could fix things, but I’m so far in over my head right now… Things aren’t going to get better unless I make them.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Becca asked, her suspicion interwoven with a cautiously hopeful curiosity. 

“We have to leave.” she cut straight to the heart of it. “You, me, Ryan–We all have to disappear to someplace he can’t reach us.”

Becca’s grip on the doorframe tightened, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Disappear? You’re talking about uprooting my son, ripping him away from the only life he knows. Do you understand what you’re asking of me?”

Morgan’s gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “I do, Becca. And I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was any other way. If you stay here, it’s just a matter of time before Vought finds a reason to bring him closer, to pull you both deeper into their control. And Homelander…” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as though his shadow could be lurking just beyond the porch. “He’s not going to stop at just showing up here every once in a while. He’ll take what he wants, and you know that includes Ryan.”

Becca’s eyes flickered with fear, but she shook her head. “And go where? Just vanish into thin air? They’ll come looking. They’ll hunt us down.”

Morgan took a step forward, urgency threading through her voice. “I have a plan. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but it’s a life where you won’t have to look over your shoulder every day, wondering when he’ll appear. I know how to protect all of us, but you’re going to have to put some faith in me.”

Becca’s jaw flexed as she considered Morgan’s words, a storm of emotions playing out in her gaze. “Faith in you? You’re asking me to trust you with my son’s life. You can’t just… You can’t just show up in the dead of night and expect me to say yes to this.”

With a steadying breath, she nodded slowly. “I know. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I need you to start preparing yourself, Becca. There’s only so much you can do here to protect Ryan. Sooner or later, Vought or Homelander will take him, and I won’t let that happen. Not to him, not to you.”

“And you?” Becca raised a brow, glancing pointedly at Morgan’s abdomen.

A hint of vulnerability flashed across Morgan’s face, but she held steady. “That’s another story, but I’m almost ready to pull the trigger on this.” Her voice dropped, a shadow passing over her expression. “I’ll have to make Vought believe I’m gone for good. That’s the only way to give you both a real chance.”

Becca looked away, the weight of it all settling in. “And how long would we have to wait?”

“Not long. I’ll do everything I can to make it quick, but until then… you have to be ready. Keep Ryan close, keep him safe. When the time comes, I’ll return, and we’ll leave this place behind. For good.”

A shaky breath escaped Becca's lips. She still looked uncertain, but that moment of hesitation told Morgan all she needed to know. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

Morgan contemplated reaching out, a gesture of quiet reassurance, but she refrained. “That’s all I’m asking. Just… be ready.”

With a final nod, Morgan stepped back, slipping into the shadows beyond the porch, casting one last glance over her shoulder. In the dim glow of the doorway, Becca’s eyes held a flicker of hope, mingling with doubt. Morgan couldn’t ignore the enormity of what she was asking Becca to consider.

As she walked back down the quiet street, her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen, a gentle pressure reminding her of everything that spurred this plan. With each step, her chest felt like it was pulling tighter and tighter. It was a dangerous path forward, one that would sever every connection she had. But maybe, in that finality, she’d find the freedom they all deserved.

She would do whatever it took to see this through. As much as she wanted to hold out hope, as much as she wanted to cling to the tiniest slivers of silver linings, she knew better than that. They were playing by the house rules. 

She couldn’t let Vought win.

Song: Once Upon Another Time by Sara Bareilles “Once upon another time, Before I knew which life was mine.” Author’s notes: So, I don’t actually have much to say on this chapter. The pieces are all set, and the next few chapters are all pretty solidly in place. Some minor things to note! I added some cover art to the first chapter that matches a playlist I’ve curated of all the chapter titles. On that note, I’ve also forged ahead and put the next few chapter titles into the playlist as well. You’re welcome to check it out and speculate on what comes next!

[out-with-the-boys]

New chapter set to arrive at 03:00 am PST (give or take 20 minutes)

Or you can go read it now on AO3

[out-with-the-boys]

I haven’t been able to sleep for the past few hours. So what did I do? I added songs for the next handful of chapters of The Dance to the fic playlist. Have fun guessing what happens just based on those!

[out-with-the-boys]

I made cover art for the fic playlist 👀

[out-with-the-boys]

EVERYONE QUICK describe your oc story in the worst way possible

[out-with-the-boys]

[out-with-the-boys]

I realized I’ve never posted reference of Morgan!! Give you 2 guesses which existing superhero she’s adjacent to 😅

(I blame my father. Remind me to tell y’all that story)

[out-with-the-boys]

I’m dying to get the next chapter out, but my update speed is probably going to slow down a bit as work and life get busier with the holidays approaching.

I’ll probably throw more random ramblings and headcanons in here as a result though.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 20

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.

Morgan stepped into Homelander’s bedroom, feeling the quiet close around her like a heavy cloak. She slipped off her shoes and set them neatly beside the nightstand, a practiced gesture, though her mind was far from anything so mundane. The hours since their meeting with Becca and Ryan had left a tautness inside her. It was an ache that settled beneath her ribs as she replayed the way Ryan had looked at her with a cautious curiosity, and a glimmer of hope.

Then there was the way Becca had looked at her.

Haunted by the mix of emotions that had clashed in Becca’s mind while she was there, Morgan couldn’t ignore the volatile mix she was feeling herself. 

She glanced over her shoulder as Homelander entered the room, catching the briefest hint of weariness in his eyes before it vanished, swallowed by that familiar mask of cool, impenetrable confidence. She felt the subtle shift as he watched her, like he was waiting for something, but she wasn’t sure he even knew what.

Her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen, a silent gesture he didn’t miss. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked reflexively. “You didn’t eat much for dinner.”

“I’m alright,” she lied easily. “It’s just a little nausea. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Homelander gave a slight nod, watching her for a beat longer. He had been fairly tight-lipped about his conversation with Becca since they had left, but she knew. She knew exactly what had transpired, and he already suspected that she had at least an inkling of how it had gone down. After all, it had been rotating in his mind all evening, louder than any other thoughts aside from how he felt about hearing the snippet of her conversation with Ryan.

For a moment, he seemed to want to speak up about how frustrated he was that Becca kept digging her heels in against letting Ryan leave her side. However, he circled back around to the sentiments she had shared with his son.

As she reached back for the clasp of the necklace she wore, he quickly strode over and gently waved her hands away to unfasten it himself. “Here, let me get that for you,” he offered.

Her breath stilled as his fingers brushed the back of her neck, their warmth lingering as he carefully undid the clasp. As he lowered the delicate chain into her waiting palm, he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. 

Small gestures.

“You've also been awfully quiet, you know,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. “Since we got back.” 

Morgan’s mouth curved into a small, almost self-conscious smile. “I suppose I’m still processing everything,” she admitted, letting her gaze drift downward. She couldn’t shake the memory of Ryan’s hesitant trust or the haunted caution in Becca’s mind. “Ryan’s a sweet kid. Very thoughtful and intuitive for his age too. He really surprised me.”

His hands came to rest at her hips as he peppered the slope of her neck with kisses in an attempt to shake off the bitter pang that pulled at his thoughts. It frustrated him to no end that he was at Becca’s mercy when it came to parenting Ryan. Which Morgan couldn’t fault her for. Not even a little.

“Yeah,” he muttered against the collar of her sweater. “He seemed to warm up to you pretty quick.” 

There was the tiniest hint of envy in his tone.

Sighing softly, she turned to face him and gently slung her arms over his shoulders. “Maybe that’s just because he trusts your tastes in women.” There was a touch of humor to her words, but it felt hollow in her chest. 

He let out a soft snort, a sound somewhere between derision and amusement. “Something like that.”

Morgan’s smile softened as she looked at him, searching his face. Gently, she reached up to brush an errant strand of hair from his forehead. The frustration simmering beneath his words was palpable, and tension pulled at his expression despite his attempts to brush it off with casual touches and quiet affection.

She took a steadying breath, keeping her voice low and gentle. “Do you think, maybe, it might be okay just to let things be with Ryan for a while longer? I think Becca needs him just as much as he needs her right now.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “So, I should just… let her keep him? Let her decide when I can and can’t be his father?”

Morgan shook her head, shifting to gather his face in her palms. “I know it’s not what you wanted. And it’s not what I’d want if I were in your position, either. But maybe…” She hesitated, feeling what she wanted to say next weighing heavy on her whole being. “We could focus on us. You, me, and our baby.”

For a moment, he simply stared at her, the sharpness in his gaze softening. She felt his hands slide to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. It was a tender near-embrace in the quiet, suspended moment between question and answer.

“Our baby,” he echoed, the words barely a whisper. Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. It was just two, simple words, but they stirred a storm of thoughts and emotions within him. For even just the briefest moment, Morgan heard the smallest spark of an idea amidst them all and she seized her chance to voice something she had been contemplating for the last few days.

“Let’s just start over.” she murmured, pulling him for a tight embrace, burying her face in the slope of his neck. “I just want it to be you, me and whoever this little person will be far away from all this bullshit. No more Vought, no more public opinion, no more letting everyone else direct our every move… Run away with me.”

Homelander stiffened slightly in her arms. The enormity of her words had rooted him in place. She felt the tension ripple through him, a tangible reminder of the barriers he kept so carefully constructed, yet for once, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his hands rest on her back, fingers tracing small, hesitant patterns as he processed her plea.

“Morgan…” he began, his voice barely audible, weighed down by a hesitance she hadn’t expected. “Do you really think it’d be that easy? Just… walk away?” He pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes, his expression caught somewhere between longing and disbelief.

“It could be,” she replied, her voice steady, unyielding. “I know it won’t be quite as simple as just walking out the front doors, but think of it. It’d be worth it.” She tightened her hold, her gaze never leaving his. “I want this for us, for our child. A chance to live without Vought deciding every part of who we are.”

Something like hope flickered in his eyes. But it was quickly overshadowed, swallowed by doubt and fear that had been so deeply ingrained in him. His grip on her tightened as he wrestled with the warring emotions her words had stirred.

“They don’t just let people go. Especially not us,” he murmured, his voice thick with bitterness. 

Morgan’s hands slid down to his as she took a small step back, grounding him. Her grip was as steady as her gaze. “We’re not just anyone,” she insisted softly. “They don’t own us. We have all the power to choose something different.”

Homelander’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as her words sank in. “Well of course we have the power.” His voice grew sharper, a faint edge cutting through his usual cool tone. Morgan felt his hands slip from hers, the warmth replaced by a chill as he straightened, his gaze hard and unyielding. “I’m the strongest man in the world,” he declared, his tone almost daring her to challenge him.

“Then prove it,” she pressed, unafraid to take that dare. “You’re strong enough to make your own choices.”

His jaw clenched, the faint tremor of tension visible as he processed her words. “Prove it?” he echoed, his voice carrying a brittle edge. “Prove it by… what? Disappearing?” His laugh was harsh, hollow, as he shook his head. “You really think that’s what a god does? A god doesn’t run, Morgan. A god doesn’t hide.”

Morgan met his gaze, unflinching, letting the silence between them stretch just long enough to convey the depth of her conviction. “A god directs his own destiny,” she murmured, her voice a soft counterpoint to his fierceness. 

He stared at her, the words unsettling him in a way he hadn’t expected. Something raw flashed in his eyes, a hint of turmoil breaking through the polished armor he wore like a second skin. “You’re forgetting one thing,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “This world needs me. Without me, it falls apart. Without me, they’ll turn to chaos.” He paused, his gaze intense. “Without me, there’s nothing.”

Morgan’s gaze hardened, a rare flicker of exasperation breaking through her usual calm. “You keep saying that. ‘The world needs me.’” She shook her head, a bitter edge slipping into her voice. “But what about what we need? What about the baby? Or do they just… not matter?”

His face tightened, a faint spark of anger flaring in his eyes. “Of course they matter,” he snapped, his voice sharp. “But I play an important role, and–”

“An important role?” she echoed, her tone edged with disbelief. “You mean in Vought’s scripts, and plans, and expectations? You let them dictate every part of you.” She took a step closer, her exasperation palpable. “This company that put you through hell as a child. How can they still own you, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise?”

Her words struck a nerve, and she saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the barely contained storm in his gaze. “I never told you about any of that.”

“You didn’t have to!” Morgan exclaimed, throwing her arms up in frustration. “Do you have any idea how loud your nightmares are? Almost every night we’ve spent together, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it all, John.”

For a moment, Homelander was silent, his face a mask of shock and anger. “You… saw?” His voice was barely a whisper, the words laced with a raw, wounded disbelief. He took a step back, his gaze sharpening. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he did not like what he saw. 

Morgan held his gaze, unyielding, despite the tremor of guilt she felt at his reaction. “I didn’t want to invade your privacy, but those memories… they’re right there, every time you fall asleep. I know what they did to you, and it’s why I can’t stand to see them still controlling you.”

His hands balled into fists, his breathing shallow and quick as he struggled to contain the tempest of emotions her words had unleashed. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle what happened,” he spat, his voice laced with a fierce defensiveness. “You think you understand just because you’ve seen glimpses? You have no idea what I’ve been through. There’s no possible way you could never understand.”

Her heart twisted at the bitterness in his tone, but she refused to back down. “You’re right, I haven’t lived it. But I do know what it’s doing to you now. You don’t have to keep carrying Vought’s expectations. You could let go. There’s so much more you could be than what they’ve made you believe.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile curving his lips. “And just be… what? Normal? Weak? You want me to give up being a god to go play house?” He scoffed, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice, betraying the cracks in his carefully constructed façade.

“That’s not what I’m asking.” she huffed, feeling her resolve slipping. Maybe it wasn’t worth pursuing anymore. “I just thought… I hoped that maybe you could see something outside yourself and this gilded cage you live in for once.”

A charged silence settled between them. Homelander’s expression remained tight, but Morgan could see the faint tremor of conflict beneath his armor. She struck a nerve, but he was an immovable object, and she refused to be destroyed in her attempt at being an unstoppable force.

Maybe she’d been foolish to think he would have listened to her appeal. Vought was too tightly interwoven into every ounce of his being. He didn’t know anything else.

With a quiet breath, she took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective embrace. “I won’t force you,” she said softly, the exhaustion threading through her voice. “But I really hope you’ll realize there’s more to life than the shallow promise of power they’ve given you.” 

“Where are you going?” he asked, the question sharpened with an edge of fear. 

“I’m sleeping at my place tonight.” she said simply, a hint of exhaustion seeping into her voice. “I think I need some space.”

A flicker of desperation flashed in his eyes as he took a step forward, his voice hoarse and raw. “Morgan…”

She lifted a hand, halting him before he could say more. It was a soft but final gesture. “Please. Just let me go,” she sighed, the ache in her chest almost too heavy to bear. Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked out of the bedroom. Each step brought her closer and closer to the edge of uncertainty.

As she reached the penthouse doors, she felt his gaze on her, intense and searching, but she didn’t turn back. She needed this. She needed the quiet, and the space to clear her mind. With a final, steadying breath, she stepped through, the quiet click of the door behind her marking the distance she’d drawn between them, for tonight at least.

At least no one could say she hadn’t tried.

Song: The Dance by Charlotte Martin “Desperate today and it’s making me pay, For that night, for that kiss, for your bed.” Author’s notes: Girlie-pop here really thought. She’s been ruminating on some decisions to be made and I think he’s made his position pretty clear. I don’t have much to say this chapter other than buckle up for the coming chapters. Things are going to start getting progressively more rocky for them from here on out.

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 19

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.

He had finally come clean. Or at least, he’d given her his version of the story. Even now, there was some cognitive dissonance—moments where Homelander’s memories didn’t quite match the narrative he spun. He told her about his son, how Ryan had come to be, though Morgan could sense there was still more lurking beneath the surface.

But now, here she was, standing on the front porch of a lovely house in the heart of a Vought-run compound, waiting to hear the rest of the story from the one person who could provide it. That wasn’t why they had come, though. She knew that much.

The goal was to fix things with Ryan, to patch up the cracks left from his last visit. But more than that, he wanted something far more dangerous: a strong, united family. It was a desire she wasn’t sure she could help him fulfill.

Too much had gone wrong, and too much could still go wrong.

The front door creaked open, pulling her from her thoughts. A woman–familiar only through flashes of memories–stood in the entryway, her expression caught between shock and suspicion. She was beautiful, with dark hair framing her face perfectly. Even the memories hadn’t quite captured her presence.

“Homelander…” The woman’s voice was quiet but firm, her eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked between him and his companion. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

Morgan shifted uncomfortably beside him, unsure whether to introduce herself or let the silence stretch on. Her gaze weighed on her, assessing what threat she might pose. Homelander, however, seemed unaffected by the tension, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about Ryan, Becca,” he said, his voice softening. “And I think it’s time we bridge the gap that’s opened up between us.”

Becca stepped out of the doorway, her posture defensive as she crossed her arms. “Ryan’s inside. But if you think I’m just going to let you waltz back into his life and… fix things, you’re wrong. You’ve done enough.”

The words stung, even for Morgan. She could feel Becca’s pain—a protective instinct rising, trying to shield her son from a man capable of unimaginable destruction. A man Morgan had willingly chosen to follow, despite her better judgment.

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to. Homelander’s eyes darted toward her, a silent command to speak, to try and make peace in a way he couldn’t.

With a deep breath, Morgan stepped forward. “We’re not here to cause any problems,” she said, her voice steady but gentle. “I just wanted to meet Ryan.”

Becca’s eyes flicked over her in a quick appraisal, suspicion deepening. “And who exactly are you?”

She hesitated, glancing at Homelander, but his expression was unreadable—a mask she had become all too familiar with. This was on her now. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Becca’s gaze.

“My name is Morgan,” she said slowly. “I’ve… been working with Vought for a while—”

“She’s a member of The Seven, with me,” Homelander interrupted, pride filling his voice.

Morgan continued, breathing a soft, nervous laugh. “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to meet Ryan because—”

“Because what?” the Becca her off, her voice tight with barely restrained emotion. “Because you’re with him?”

Morgan flinched at the accusation, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily on her chest. He was watching her closely, waiting for her to say the right thing, to defuse the situation. But there wasn’t a “right” thing to say.

“We’re not here to take him away from you,” she said softly, choosing her words with care.

Becca’s expression softened, but only slightly. Her arms remained crossed, and though the sharpness in her eyes dulled, it was replaced by a deeper, more exhausted wariness. “Then why are you here? What do you want with my son?”

Behind her, the sound of smaller footsteps approached quickly, and in a moment, a small figure appeared in the doorway.

Ryan.

He looked at both of them, his eyes wide with curiosity, then glanced up at his mother. “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding toward Morgan.

The air seemed to still, and her heart skipped a beat. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Homelander stepped forward, his hand lightly brushing the small of her back as he passed. He didn’t look at Becca, very deliberately avoiding her icy glare. His eyes were fixed on Ryan, softening in a way that almost made Morgan forget his darker tendencies. For just a brief moment, he was simply a father standing before his son.

“Ryan,” he began, his voice calm but carrying a certain gravitas that made it impossible to ignore. “There’s something important I need to tell you.”

He blinked, stepping closer to his mother, uncertainty flickering across his face. “What is it?”

Homelander’s expression softened further, though she could feel the apprehension radiating off him. This was uncharted territory for him. “You’re going to be a big brother,” he said, his voice gentle, full of quiet excitement.

Ryan stared, the meaning of the words not quite registering. “A big brother?” he echoed, glancing up at his mother, confusion etched into his brow.

Becca’s sharp inhale cut through the silence. Her eyes darted between him and Morgan, realization settling in. “You…” she began, her voice faltering. “She’s…”

Ryan’s brow furrowed, still not fully understanding. “A big brother?” he repeated, softer this time. He looked up at his mother again, searching for clarity in her expression, but she remained silent, her face pale, lips pressed into a thin line.

Morgan took a careful step forward. “I’m going to have a baby, Ryan,” she explained, her tone calm but deliberate.

“My baby. That means you’re going to have a little brother,” Homelander added, his voice full of pride.

“—Or sister,” she quickly interjected, feeling a cold rush of irritation that was quickly pushed aside as Becca’s panic began to mount. There were so many details she was unaware of, and now Morgan was hit with a barrage of thoughts and concerns.

I’m so sorry, Morgan’s voice whispered telepathically, making Becca go rigid. Don’t react too strongly. I’m a telepath, but I don’t want him to know we’re talking.

Confusion rippled through her thoughts, momentarily overtaking the panic.

But why are you here then? Becca wondered, her gaze flickering between Morgan and Homelander. With Ryan… it all happened so fast, barely any time passed before—

Morgan held her breath, feeling the uncertainty swelling in her, but there was no time to address it. Homelander’s voice broke through the silence, redirecting everyone’s focus.

“Ryan,” he said, crouching slightly to meet his son’s gaze. “You know what it means to be a big brother, right?”

He blinked, still processing. “Uh… no? Not really…”

Homelander smiled, though there was a hint of intensity behind it. “It means you’re going to have someone who looks up to you. Someone who’ll need you to protect them.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Protect them? From what?”

“From everything,” he replied, his tone soft but filled with heavy expectation. “You’ll have to be strong. Stronger than ever. It’s part of what makes family so special.”

Becca’s thoughts buzzed anxiously beneath the surface, but outwardly she remained quiet, her confusion mixing with a growing sense of unease.

I don’t understand… How far along—?

Morgan swallowed hard, pushing back against the questions that threatened to flood into her mind.

I’ll have to come back and we can discuss everything later, Morgan responded, desperate to keep the telepathic conversation secret. I know how to keep prying ears and eyes away too, so don’t worry.

Out loud, she spoke gently. “You’ll be an amazing big brother, Ryan. You’ll always have their back, just like your mom has yours.”

His face lit up at the thought, though his brow furrowed as he asked, “Is it hard to be a big brother?”

Homelander straightened up, his towering presence casting a shadow. “I’m sure it’s not easy. But it’s definitely going to be worth it.”

There was a brief quiet that settled as Becca stared intently at Morgan, full of questions, concern, and a simmering rage that was almost palpable.

“Ryan, why don’t you stay here with Morgan?” Homelander suggested, smiling down at his son. “I’ll be right back.” He glanced at Morgan, giving her a wink before turning to Becca. “I think your mom and I need a moment alone. There’s just some coparenting things I want to talk about.”

Becca tensed visibly, her arms tightening around herself. Morgan’s heart skipped, but she kept her face neutral. She knew this was part of the plan. He was firm on setting his expectations with Becca in a way only he could. All she could do was try and temper his approach with gentle suggestions before they arrived.

Ryan nodded, his curiosity about becoming a big brother still fresh in his mind. Morgan forced herself to smile, though her mind was already working overtime. She had to know what he was going to say to Becca—she had a feeling it wouldn’t end well.

As Homelander led her a few steps away, Morgan focused on Ryan, kneeling down to his level. “So, what do you think about being a big brother?”

Ryan grinned. “I think it’s cool! But… Do you think they’re going to have powers? Like me?”

Morgan tilted her head, sensing Ryan’s earlier excitement beginning to fade into something quieter, more anxious. “You’re worried, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

He glanced down, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know... I guess. My dad is... really strong. And he’s really good at everything. I’m... not.”

The confession tugged at her heart. She had already seen Homelander’s memories of the moments he tried to encourage Ryan to use his powers. The edges of those particular moments were much softer than how things played in the young boy’s mind, however. Homelander cast a long shadow and expected his son to fill it, but Morgan could already see that wouldn’t work out the way he wanted. 

Moving to sit on the porch steps, she turned slightly to smile at him from over her shoulder. Gently, she patted the space next to her. “You don’t have to be just like him, Ryan. You’re already amazing just the way you are.”

Ryan hesitated for a moment, then shuffled over to sit next to her, his small shoulders slumped slightly. “Dad gets kinda frustrated when I can’t do things right. He says I need to try harder, but… what if the baby’s really strong, and I’m just… not?”

“You know, what-ifs are dangerous things Ryan.” Morgan said softly, watching him fidget with a loose thread sticking out of his shoe. For a moment, his expression shifted from one of consternation to curiosity. “There are hundreds of thousands of variables and outcomes to a what-if. Some are easier to predict than others, but sometimes, life will throw a curveball or two.”

“So… you mean, worrying about all the what-ifs won’t help?” he asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her words. 

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “Exactly. You can’t predict everything, and sometimes, the things we’re most afraid of never happen. And if they do, you’ll handle it one step at a time.” Pausing, she briefly contemplated whether she should share a small piece of herself. “When I was younger, I used to worry about all kinds of things, especially controlling my powers. I was afraid of the ‘what-ifs’ too.”

Ryan looked up at her, his curiosity winning over his worry. “Really? You have powers too?”

I do.

Her mind brushed softly against his, making him stiffen slightly where he sat. She withdrew as quickly as she’d reached out, but it left him staring at her, completely dumbfounded.

Morgan scrunched her nose with a grin as his shock gave way to wonder. “I can’t physically lift heavy things or fly like your dad, but I have my own kind of strength.” She gave him a reassuring nod. “And I’ve learned that being strong doesn’t always mean having the most power or being the toughest. Sometimes, it just means knowing who you are.”

As she spoke, her senses flickered back to Homelander and Becca, catching fragments of their conversation. Homelander’s tone was firm, barely softened by a rare attempt at diplomacy. Though, she could feel the tension radiating from Becca. Morgan’s gaze shifted momentarily, her mind lingering on the conversation unfolding nearby, hoping Homelander wouldn’t overstep. But she kept her focus on Ryan, determined to give him the attention he deserved right then.

For a moment, he mulled over the little bit of wisdom he offered, but his train of thought quickly shifted. While Morgan was listening in on thoughts, she knew that Ryan could hear his parents speaking between each other in a moderately hushed tone. His hearing was just as sharp as his father’s.

However, his next question surprised her a little as he turned his focus back to her as well.

“Do you love him?” he asked quietly. “My dad, I mean… Mom pretends to like him when I’m around, but I don’t think she really does. Is it different for you?”

Just as she knew Ryan was listening in on his parents, suddenly she could feel Homelander’s attention shift from his conversation. He had been listening in on them too, keeping tabs on how they were getting along. Most of what she had said had slipped under the radar, but this was enough to make him almost stop dead in his tracks.

She had been put on the spot.

Morgan drew in a deep breath and tried to carefully craft a response that was honest, but wouldn’t stir up controversy. If she were to be perfectly honest… She wasn’t sure she could say yes. However, she wasn’t sure she could exactly say no either.

“Love…” her voice broke slightly as she offered an upturned palm. Hesitantly, Ryan placed his little hand in hers and held it gently. “It’s such a special, complex thing. It comes from some of the most unexpected of places, and can be shown in so many different ways…”

There was a flash of curiosity that crossed Ryan’s face and Morgan heard a gentle question that she immediately latched onto.

“For example–” she continued, “I love to cook for your dad. It’s one of the ways I can show him I care. Then, your dad is so thoughtful. He looks out for me in so many small ways that feel so monumental. He pulls my chair out for me when we’re sitting down together somewhere, or holds the door for me when we’re walking together.”

“So he’s a gentleman?”

Morgan chuckled softly, a warmth in her voice. That wasn’t exactly a word she would use to describe Homelander, but when it came down to it, he was a bit of an old romantic at heart. She nodded, her hand still holding his, gently turning it over. 

“In some ways, yes,” she admitted. “He can be… surprising. Sometimes he does things with his own twist too. The thing is, though, love doesn’t always need big gestures. Oftentimes it’s the small things that mean the most—the moments when you just know someone’s thinking about you.”

A thoughtful silence settled over them, and Morgan felt a subtle shift in Homelander’s attention, as though he were processing her words as carefully as Ryan. She hadn’t exactly said that outright yes he wanted, but it was sufficient. 

Ryan seemed to absorb her words, his small fingers tightening slightly around hers. For a moment, he just looked at her, a quiet understanding softening his gaze. It was as if he’d uncovered a side of his father that had always been hidden, a part that Morgan had carefully illuminated for him.

 He glanced up toward the house, where Homelander and Becca’s low voices drifted back to them, though indistinct. The conversation hadn’t exactly gone the way Homelander had hoped, but what Morgan had said to Ryan left him in a good enough mood, he was willing to let things go. For now.

“I think you’re good for him.” Ryan remarked in a small, quiet voice. 

“You think so?” Morgan responded with a soft smile.

She caught his answer before he could voice it, but Homelander came striding back onto the porch, his expression tight. Even in the face of disappointment, Ryan could see that Homelander was handling things with a gentler approach. As soft and diplomatic as he had been, however, Becca wasn’t ready to let Ryan leave the compound with them to see the outside world.

Becca didn’t want Homelander involved, period, and Morgan couldn’t really blame her for that. Not after glimpsing some of her memories. 

“You ready to go?” Homelander asked Morgan, his gaze fixed on hers. “It’s dinner time and I already told Becca that we didn’t want to impose.”

Ryan and Morgan both knew that was a lie. Still, Morgan released Ryan’s hand and got to her feet, reaching for Homelander’s hand in exchange.

“I guess we’ll just have to schedule another visit some other time.” she said, glancing over his shoulder to give Becca a pointed look. They still needed to have their own private conversation. “We have plenty of time before baby arrives.”

“Yeah.” Becca murmured, crossing her arms over her chest as she mulled over the questions that came bubbling back to the surface. “We’ll have to do that. For sure.”

Homelander’s hand was firm and steady in hers as they turned to leave, but she could feel the tension radiating from him, his disappointment barely concealed beneath the surface. As they stepped off the porch, she turned and her eyes met Becca’s once more, a silent understanding exchanged. There were conversations still left to have, secrets to reveal—but that would come in time.

Morgan felt Ryan’s gaze linger on her too, a quiet understanding passing between them. She noticed the small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll see you soon, Ryan,” she promised softly, catching a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Take care of your mom for me.”

“I will!” he chirped, waving a hearty goodbye.

As they moved down the path, Homelander’s posture gradually relaxed, though a certain intensity remained in his eyes. “That went… A little better than I expected,” he murmured, glancing sidelong at her. There was something almost grateful in his expression. Still, she knew he wasn’t satisfied with their visit.

Morgan offered a quiet smile, slipping an arm over his shoulder as he swept her up in his arms. She knew full well that this was just the beginning of a journey that would test them all. 

“One step at a time,” she reminded him– and frankly, herself– softly. “One baby step at a time.”

Song: They Weren’t There by Missy Higgins “So now I will be waiting for the world to hear my song, so they can tell me I was wrong.” Author’s notes: I had a bit of a harder time writing this chapter, but it’s one of my favorites so far. It took a minute because I was on vacation, but it’s finally here. I really miss little baby Ryan from season 2, and I think this interaction between him and Morgan is very important. I’m also really looking forward to writing more with Becca. I still think they did her so dirty in the season finale, so I’m hoping to give her more of a voice as the story progresses.  I’d love to know what y’all are thinking of the story so far though. There was a bit of a spike in action for what I consider the act 2 climax, but now I’ve gotta build back up for the next big thing. Without spoiling too much, I’ll just say that Morgan is going to face some uncomfortable truths, and it’s going to force her to make some very pivotal decisions.  Enemies to lovers… Then back to enemies again. I stated that much in the tags, but also, there’s still room to see if that changes. I had a plan for this story, and while I’ve stuck to some of the main beats I’ve wanted to hit, there’s definitely some things that have surprised even me as I’ve gone on.

Next chapter.

Also! Tumblr folks! Message, reply or send an ask if you want to be tagged in future chapter updates!

[out-with-the-boys]

Update is coming tonight/early this morning!!

(Unless I can figure out how to format this bitch on mobile)

[out-with-the-boys]

I keep thinking about writing small ficlets to go with The Dance. I’ve been trucking along with the plot, but there’s a lot of small moments that I’ve either left out or have thought of since writing certain things.

Idk if anybody would be interested, but I might start some of those eventually as we start getting closer to the story’s conclusion.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 18

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.

“I suspect you’ve got something to say to me.”

It was the first time Morgan had shared a space with Stan Edgar since the incident in Harlem. Almost six months. Six long, eventful months. The words left his mouth smoothly, but the razor-sharp attention behind his eyes gave him away. He’d already mapped out three ways this conversation could end.

Morgan crossed her arms and leaned slightly against the chair's back, wearing detachment like a suit of armor. Edgar wouldn’t buy the act, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

“I suppose I do,” she said, keeping her voice measured.

A faint smile touched his lips. “Boston was illuminating, wasn’t it?”

Her mind skimmed the surface of his thoughts—just enough to confirm what she already suspected. He knew. Every filthy, little detail. About her being a natural-born supe. About the baby. All of it. The knowledge hovered between them, unspoken but heavy, like a loaded gun on the table.

She tilted her head. “Your Hail Mary attempt at the congressional hearing you sabotaged?”

Edgar’s smile didn’t waver. “That was certainly part of it.”

“And the other part?” she pressed, though she already knew.

“I needed you out of the way.” His voice was calm, as if he were stating the weather. “You wouldn’t have approved of what came next.”

“Punishing Starlight,” she filled in, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You knew I’d stand in your way.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “You certainly have a reputation for going against the grain here at the tower.”

Her fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the chair’s frame. “You lost her anyway.”

The briefest flicker crossed Edgar’s expression—irritation, disappointment, maybe both. “She got lucky. Black Noir didn’t.” His tone was mild, but the words hit like a threat. “But Starlight won’t stay lucky forever.”

Morgan didn’t flinch, though his casual dismissal of Black Noir’s precarious state gnawed at her. She kept her voice level. “So what now?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Now? Now we talk about the future.”

“Stormfront,” she cut straight to the heart of it.

A flicker of approval crossed Edgar’s face. “Stormfront was always meant to be temporary. Controversy was the point. Now she’ll serve as a useful scapegoat.”

“For the hearing massacre,” Morgan finished, her jaw tightening. “You’ve known what she was all this time, and you had plans for her.”

His smile was smooth. “I’m sure you’ll agree she deserves what’s coming to her. Congress needs a villain. I’ve given them one.”

She resisted the urge to scoff. “And what do you plan to do about Neuman?”

There was a beat of silence, long enough to confirm what Morgan had already pieced together: the connection between Edgar and Neuman ran far deeper than anyone suspected. Not just a professional alliance—this was a father-daughter bond, cultivated over years.

He chuckled softly. “If you know about Neuman, you should know better than to interfere.”

Unflinching, she held his gaze. “I’m not here to interfere.” The words tasted bitter, but she forced them out anyway.

Edgar tilted his head, studying her like a specimen under a microscope. “You’ve always been clever. That’s why I brought you in. I’d hate to see you waste that cleverness on something… unwise.”

Her heart pounded, but her face remained impassive. “Like what? Taking a stand?”

His smile was cold and knowing. “Like taking on a fight you’re not ready to win.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, laden with all the unspoken truths neither dared voice aloud.

Finally, Edgar stood, straightening his suit jacket with meticulous precision. “And congratulations, by the way.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t shift at his words. She let them hang between them for a beat, then responded with a dismissive shake of her head. “I never really took you for the sentimental type, Stan. You can save it for the folks that buy it.”

The only indication he’d registered her rejection was the slightest narrowing of his eyes.

Morgan took a slow breath, steadying herself before speaking again. “There is one thing I need, though.”

Edgar raised a brow, but said nothing. He didn’t need to—she could feel the calculations running beneath his calm exterior, already weighing the cost of whatever she was about to ask.

“It’s a small request,” she added smoothly. “And I think we both know it’s in your best interest to grant it.”

Quietly, she relayed the request and Edgar’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “I look forward to seeing how clever you can be with it.”

She gave him a tight, mirthless smile in return. “You won’t have to wait long.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and left the room, each stride long and purposeful. Stormfront had been far too comfortable for far too long. A reckoning was overdue, and Morgan intended to deliver it.

Getting in touch with A-Train was easier than expected. Whatever questions he had about how she knew he had dirt on Stormfront stayed locked behind his guarded expression. He was too anxious to see Stormfront knocked off her pedestal to press for answers, and Morgan was more than happy to oblige.

The preparation took time, but before the afternoon stretched too far, everything was in place. Security had been briefed to stay close and keep civilians back, just in case things spiraled the way she anticipated. News stations had been contacted, and now, fully armored, Psyren stood outside Vought Tower, ready.

As the five o’clock news was set to air, she tapped the ‘Go Live’ button on her phone. The little red dot blinked to life, and the notification pinged. In seconds, the audience swelled, comments flooding in as viewers joined the feed.

She let the camera settle on her face, her green eyes blazing with a fire that couldn’t be faked.

“Good evening, everyone,” she began, her voice clear and cutting. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, I’m Psyren. And there’s something you need to know about the newest member of The Seven.”

She let the silence stretch for just a beat, enough to pull them in, the tension tangible through the screen.

“Stormfront isn’t what she seems. And I’m going to show you exactly who—and what—she really is.”

With deliberate calm, she lifted a slim flash drive into view.

“You see, I’ve got the receipts. If you’re watching the news right now, you’ll find them being broadcast in real-time.”

The chat feed on her phone exploded, comments pouring in too quickly to follow. Shock. Outrage. Morbid fascination. The energy of it all buzzed through her, exactly what she’d hoped for.

Morgan leaned closer to the phone, her voice dropping just enough to make her challenge apparent. “So, Stormfront—if you’re watching—this is your cue.”

The feed was still live, comments flashing across the screen in a chaotic stream as the minutes ticked by. Morgan held her position in front of the tower, her posture relaxed, but every muscle primed.

She knew it wouldn’t take long. Stormfront was always watching, always looking for a way to control the narrative. And sure enough, a commotion stirred near the edge of the crowd as people gasped and pointed skyward. Morgan glanced up, her lips curling slightly. 

Right on time.

Stormfront descended from the sky, landing with a low hum of electricity. Her arrival was accompanied by the sound of phones snapping photos and recording videos, the media feeding frenzy already beginning. A careful mask of defiance, Stormfront gave her a cold smile, her dark eyes scanning Morgan with intense calculation. 

“You really think you’ve got something, don’t you?” she said, her voice loud enough for the crowd to hear.

Morgan met her gaze, unfazed. “Oh, I know I do.”

Her jaw tightened, though she forced a smile. “The lies people will believe these days.” Stormfront turned, addressing the onlookers. “All fabricated nonsense. These accusations?  They’re meant to discredit everything I’ve worked for.”

Raising her phone slightly, making sure the livestream captured every moment, Morgan let out an amused snort. “Right. I’m sure the photos of you with Frederick Vought were just ‘deepfakes.’ And the swastika armband? Vintage fashion?”

Stormfront took a step closer, her fists crackling with energy. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Stirring the pot for a few likes on social media.”

Her voice remained calm, cutting through the noise. “I’m just taking a page out of your book. Most importantly, though, I’m here to make sure everyone knows exactly who you are.”

Upper lip curling, the faintest flicker of a sneer broke through Stormfront’s carefully constructed mask. “You’ve really got no idea what you’re messing with, do you?” Her voice crackled with the same energy gathering around her fingertips, sparking and buzzing like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Morgan didn’t move, her expression steady, her phone still trained on the confrontation. “No, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Stormfront took another step closer, the air between them buzzing with tension, thick with unspoken threats. “You think you can make a fool out of me?”

She gave a small, unbothered shrug. “You’re doing that all by yourself.”

The crowd murmured at the jab, some onlookers exchanging glances, others frantically capturing every second. Stormfront’s eyes darkened, her patience unraveling at the edges. Morgan could feel it—the crack she’d been waiting for. All it needed was one last push. 

She leaned in just slightly, her voice low and deliberate. “The saddest part? You wasted all that time trying to help create the perfect race, even giving yourself over to be a lab rat.  And here I am, everything you could never hope to be, the next step in human evolution—homegrown and untouched by Vought’s formula.”

Stormfront’s expression twisted, her sneer turning to something far more dangerous: pure, unfiltered rage. “You arrogant little cunt.”

The electricity around her surged, crackling in the air like a live wire. Morgan knew she had her now, and the energy of the crowd shifted with it—phones snapping up to capture what everyone knew was coming next.

Tilting her head, Morgan’s eyes gleamed with cold fire. “What’s the matter? Can’t stand that nature went and made improvements on dear old Frederick’s ambitions?”

Snarling, the last thread of Stormfront’s control snapped as she raised her hand, electricity arcing between her fingers. “You’re going to regret this.”

Morgan smiled, sharp and dangerous. “Try me, Nazi bitch.”

Stormfront struck first, launching a jagged bolt of electricity toward Morgan. The air hummed with power as it crackled through the space between them. Morgan reacted instantly, hurling a chunk of pavement into the bolt’s path with a flick of her hand. 

The stone exploded into debris, scattering across the street, but Morgan stood unbothered. She’d expected nothing less. Stormfront narrowed her eyes, irritation flashing across her face. Morgan’s calm, almost bored expression only made her angrier. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Morgan asked, her voice sharp but light, taunting.

The crowd buzzed, cameras and phones capturing every second of the exchange. Stormfront’s sneer deepened, and the electricity around her crackled louder, her control starting to slip. “You have no idea what you’re up against,” she hissed, voice brimming with fury.

Morgan gave a soft, unaffected laugh, her movements graceful as she used her telekinesis to launch herself to a new position across the battlefield. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Stormfront let out a frustrated growl and surged forward, electricity crackling along her arms as she aimed a devastating punch. Morgan dodged, her telekinetic powers boosting her movements again, making her faster. 

The punch missed by inches, the force of it cratering the ground where Morgan had been standing.

Taking to the sky, Stormfront’s hair whipped wildly in the electric field surrounding her. Bolts of lightning rained down, lighting up the battlefield with deadly precision. Morgan darted through the chaos, throwing herself into a controlled slide behind a fallen street light, which shattered as another bolt struck it.

Sweat beaded on her brow as she kept moving, dodging by mere inches. The ground trembled under the force of the assault, but Morgan remained focused. She waited for her opening—and there it was. Just as Stormfront swooped down in another reckless charge, Morgan grabbed hold of a nearby car with her telekinesis and hurled it into her path.

Stormfront barely had time to react, blasting the vehicle with a bolt of electricity that sent it careening off course. It clipped her midair, throwing her off balance. Morgan pressed the advantage, propelling herself toward Stormfront, but the other woman twisted midair, recovering with a snarl. 

“You think you can stop me with your paltry, little mind tricks?”

All around them, the crowd had grown, ignoring the security guards trying to push them back. Phones stayed locked on the two women, and Morgan could hear the rising murmur of onlookers. Stormfront’s eyes flicked toward the crowd, irritation flashing across her face. 

“Idiots,” she muttered. Without warning, she turned and hurled a crackling bolt of energy toward the gathered civilians.

Screams erupted as people scattered in every direction. Morgan’s heart lurched, and she threw herself into action, flinging debris into the path of the bolt just in time to divert it. The energy exploded harmlessly against the ground, sending a shockwave through the air.

The crowd surged, panic spreading like wildfire as they tried to escape. Security guards shouted orders, struggling to control the chaos, but Stormfront’s attack had already done its damage—people were screaming, shoving, desperate to live to see another day.

Stormfront floated above it all, surveying the scene with cold detachment. Her lips curled into a satisfied sneer as she watched the crowd scatter. “Look at them. So weak, so pathetic.”

Morgan clenched her fists, every instinct screaming at her to wipe that smug look off Stormfront’s face, but she held back. 

Almost. Not quite, but I’m almost there.

Stormfront turned her gaze back to Morgan, her hands still crackling with energy. “You can’t protect them all, Psyren.” She spat her name like an insult, charging her next bolt as she prepared to strike again. “They’re all going to—“

The air shifted.

Before Stormfront could finish her sentence, a thunderous boom cracked through the sky, splitting the air like a whip.

Morgan felt the blast of wind before she saw him—Homelander rocketing down from the heavens, landing with a force that shook the ground beneath their feet. Dust and debris swirled in the wake of his arrival, and the crowd gasped as one, phones snapping back toward the dramatic scene.

Stormfront hesitated, her eyes widening. “Homelander…” Her voice softened, almost reverent. “She’s lying to you—they all are. You and I, we’re on the same side. We are gods among men and—”

He wasn’t interested in listening to anything she had to say. His gaze locked on Morgan, sweeping over her quickly to ensure she was unharmed. “You and I are anything but equals. Your first mistake was assuming we were. Your last mistake was going after her.”

Her expression faltered, disbelief flickering across her face. Before she could even so much as formulate a response, he slammed into Stormfront with bone-crunching force. Morgan winced at the impact, the sound of Stormfront’s body hitting the pavement rang out sharply in the air. 

Homelander loomed over Stormfront, his fists blurring as he hammered down punch after punch.

Wait!

Morgan’s voice pierced his mind, quiet yet urgent.

Homelander froze mid-swing, his fist hovering inches above Stormfront’s battered face. Slowly, he turned toward Morgan, confusion flickering across his features. “You want her alive?” he asked aloud, his voice rough with disbelief.

I need her alive.

Morgan’s voice in his mind was calm but unwavering. 

Just step back. Trust me.

For a moment, Homelander’s fists stayed clenched, his jaw clenching as if he were on the verge of ignoring her. But with a reluctant exhale, he dropped his hands, his expression still tense, and took a step back. Stormfront groaned, her whole body quaking as she pushed herself onto her knees. Faint sparks of electricity flickered around her fingertips, like dying embers of a once-mighty flame.

Morgan moved toward her slowly, her face resolute but serene. As she crouched in front of the fallen supe, she placed a hand gently on her shoulder, the gesture almost tender.

“You wanted to be the future,” Morgan whispered, her voice low enough for only Stormfront to hear. “But there’s no place for you in it.”

Stormfront’s eyes widened, a flash of fear—maybe recognition—flickering across her face. But before she could respond, Morgan slipped effortlessly into her mind, her presence spreading through Stormfront’s thoughts like a silent tide. Memories unraveled, hatred and malice peeling away into nothingness. Every twisted belief, every monstrous act easily dissolved, leaving only an empty shell behind.

Stormfront slumped forward, her breath ragged but steady, her expression blank. Morgan caught her before she collapsed completely, cradling her limp form with unexpected care, as though holding a child.

For a moment, she just held Stormfront there, her mind buzzing with the weight of what she’d done. The promise she had made so many years ago—to never wipe another mind—echoed in the back of her thoughts.

Taking a steadying breath, Morgan confirmed Stormfront was still breathing. She rose to her feet and turned to meet Homelander’s gaze, her expression solemn. It took a moment for the gravity of what had just happened to settle over him. When it did, he gave her a slow, somber nod, his usual bravado absent in the wake of her decision.

Morgan knelt, cradling Stormfront’s limp body for a moment longer than she intended. The maelstrom inside her mind quieted, but the hollow ache that lingered took her by surprise. She let Stormfront slump gently to the ground, her empty gaze staring vacantly at nothing.

She deserved it.

She reminded herself firmly. If anybody in this whole world deserved a fate like this, it was her. Death was too quick of a release for someone as evil and warped as Stormfront.

Exhaling deeply, her breath trembling as she rose to her feet, Morgan brushed the dust from her hands. Around them, the few remaining onlookers stood frozen, phones still raised, struggling to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

The scene felt like the eye of a hurricane. It was still and fragile. The tension had yet to fully dissipate.

Then, without warning, Homelander was there. He moved faster than her mind could track, closing the space between them in an instant. His hands gripped her shoulders, firm but not rough, his blue eyes scanning her from head to toe with laser precision.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, but edged with urgency.

Morgan shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Homelander’s jaw tensed as his gaze lingered on her, searching for any sign she might be hiding an injury. “You could’ve been killed,” he murmured.

“I knew what I was doing,” she whispered, her hand resting lightly on his chest to steady him.

His expression twisted, frustration bleeding into concern. “The baby—” His words caught, and for a brief second, he looked more human than she had ever seen him. “You shouldn’t have taken that risk.”

Morgan offered a small, tired smile, lacing her fingers with his. “We’re fine. See? Barely a scratch.”

He cupped her face now with his free hand, his touch reverent. “Don’t ever do that again.” The command was quiet, but the intensity behind it was immense.

“I knew you weren’t far,” she said gently, giving him the only reassurance she could.

Something flickered in his expression—gratitude, perhaps, or something deeper. Without another word, he leaned in and kissed her, the gesture fierce and possessive. It wasn’t just affection—it was relief, desperation, and a claim, all wrapped into one.

Morgan froze for the briefest moment, the kiss catching her off guard, but then she returned it, just enough to let him know she was still with him, still his.

A murmur rippled through the few onlookers who remained, some snapping pictures, others too stunned to react. But Homelander didn’t care. His world, in that moment, was narrowed down to Morgan and the fact that she was still standing.

When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm and steady. 

“Morgan, I think…” he paused, mulling over the spark of an idea that flared to life in his mind. “I think it’s finally time I told you something… Something big.”

Song: All the Good Girls Go to Hell by Billie Eilish “Cause even God herself, Has enemies.” Author’s notes: So this chapter didn’t go ANYWHERE close to what I had originally intended, but when I started pulling some loose ends together, this is where it ended up. There were some important story points that needed to be addressed before anything else could progress, in my mind. Either way, I’m really satisfied with where things went.  I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I’m really excited to keep this train moving.  I went a little crazy with the last few updates, and this update got to you a little slower than usual since I’m on vacation. Next chapter might be the same story. We’ll see though. I’m so determined to get this story to its conclusion. (Which is still a ways off, so don’t worry.)

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

America's Sweetheart.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 17

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains content regarding pregnancy. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

In spite of all of Edgar’s protests, Morgan was determined to be present at the hearing that day. Vought all but refused to send a jet to pick her up, finding any excuse to discourage her from returning early. Ultimately, she decided to scrap any idea of trying to appeal to Ashley or anybody else from administration and rented a car. 

It had been a while since she had road-tripped anywhere, but three hours back to Manhattan was doable. Of course, getting to the courthouse once she was in the city was another story. As she tried to quickly, but safely navigate the bustling city streets, she couldn’t determine if her nausea was nerves… or something else.

A slight shudder ran down her spine and she pushed that particular worry deep, deep down inside for a later time. At some point she’d have to drag herself out of denial and address the issue head on. As much as she wanted to attack the issue as soon as possible, there were other things that took precedence.

Before long, the courthouse loomed ahead, stark against the Manhattan skyline. As Morgan maneuvered through the final stretch of traffic, a tingling sensation began to creep along her scalp. A disturbance that buzzed at the edges of her consciousness. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her pulse quickening.

There was another psychic present nearby.

With no time to second-guess herself, she parked a block away and abandoned the car at a meter. Weaving through the bustling crowd gathered outside, she fought her way forward. As she climbed the courthouse steps, the air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on her like a humid fog. 

The voices of the gathered crowd blurred into a muffled drone. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a cold sweat prickled at her palms. A gnawing sense of wrongness crept through her thoughts like a dark current. The vibrations she’d felt earlier erupted into a wave of psychic energy, and a shock tore through her mind like a lightning strike. 

Neuman. 

The realization hit her at the same moment the first screams rang out.

One by one, several voices rang out in terror in her mind, then were abruptly silenced. Each silenced voice carried the echo of the congresswoman’s mind, hellbent on carrying out a carefully constructed plan she and Edgar had made together. The connection wasn’t immediately clear, and Morgan’s next thought was to get upstairs as fast as she could to help before she could dive into that.

Neuman’s attack pattern was quick and sporadic, and Morgan couldn’t shield individuals quickly enough as she ran for the elevator. The only thing she could think to do was knock out the source of the problem.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Jumping into the elevator, Morgan tried to ignore her queasy stomach as she began her ascent to the courtroom floor. There was a flash of surprise and a faint spark of fear in Neuman’s thoughts as Morgan shoved her way into the congresswoman’s mind. It was like breaking through a brittle barrier. 

Neuman’s consciousness was turbulent, disjointed images and jagged intent crashing together in a desperate storm. But for Morgan, it was little more than a distraction. She cut through the chaos with ease, slicing through her resistance as though peeling back the layers of an onion.

You have about one minute to get out of here, or I’ll expose you for what you are the moment I set foot in that room.

Frantic but futile, Neuman attempted to push back, her mental claws scraping at the edges of Morgan’s consciousness. The pressure mounted, and Morgan’s temples throbbed, but she tightened her grip on Neuman’s mind with the practiced skill and with far more precision. Each time Neuman tried to rally, Morgan crushed the effort with a single, effortless push.

Morgan’s vision blurred at the edges, a small price for the clarity she imposed on Neuman’s mind, forcing the chaotic energy to unravel thread by thread. The only evidence of the struggle was a trickle of blood trailing from her nose, a minor inconvenience compared to the panic flooding Neuman’s thoughts as she realized just how outmatched she truly was.

Then, with a less-than-gentle push, Morgan forced Neuman’s consciousness under, effectively knocking her unconscious. Reaching out to the minds surrounding Neuman, she could see a handful of people rushing to drag her from the room. Not far from her, Homelander stood in the middle of it all. 

His gaze had locked on the devastation with an unnerving stillness. Eyes, wide and unfocused, his mind was a tangled mix of anger, fear, and bitter relief. Dr. Vogelbaum, a man he begrudgingly respected and maybe even thought of as a father figure, had almost brought everything crashing down around them. 

To her own relief, he was completely in the dark about Edgar’s plot. As far as he was concerned, this strange, horrifying turn of events had been some sort of twisted miracle. 

Withdrawing from the panicked minds of the survivors, Morgan leaned against the elevator wall and swiped the small trail of blood away from her nose. A second later, the doors slid open and she took a deep breath, steeling herself to see the carnage up close and personal. The metallic scent of all the blood was already overwhelming.

As she stepped into the courtroom, the devastation hit her with full force. Overturned furniture, streaks of blood and fragments of bone and brain marred the chamber. Her gaze locked on Homelander, still standing at the center of the chaos like a statue. When he saw her, something inside him seemed to break.

He crossed the distance between them in an instant, his arms wrapping around her with desperation. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, his voice low and laden with barely contained emotion. “You could’ve been—”

“I’m fine,” Morgan reassured him gently, trying her hardest to ignore the fact that he had smeared blood and brain matter all over her too with his embrace. That was enough to make her stomach give a turn. “It’s going to be okay.”

The room was quiet. From outside, the hum of voices and the distant wail of sirens were the only sounds keeping them from total silence. As Morgan pulled back from Homelander’s embrace, she became acutely aware of the stares fixed on them. She could feel the shock rippling through the space. The remaining survivors all struggled to process the horror they’d just witnessed.

Even then, she had to put on a brave face, as if her appearance alone could hold together the fragile remnants of the moment.

“It’s going to be okay,” she repeated, her voice steady but hollow. Homelander’s arms loosened around her, though his gaze didn’t leave her face. She could feel the tension radiating off him, as if he were teetering on the edge of action, unsure whether to lash out or collapse inward.

Ultimately, he didn’t react either way. He was quick to numb himself to it. They went through all the motions of the aftermath together though. Neither of them was going to leave the other’s side.

When they eventually made their way back to the tower, the silence was almost suffocating. The gleaming hallways felt too pristine, too untouched by the horror she had just witnessed. Morgan retreated to her quarters after repeatedly reassuring Homelander she’d join him in his penthouse as soon as she’d had a moment to decompress and clean up. 

It was hard enough helping out with first responders, and filing reports on what they had witnessed while she wore the blood of Neuman’s victims on her. Keeping her involvement secret made it worse. Letting that bit of vital information slip quite yet probably wasn’t the smartest move, but keeping that to herself felt so wrong.

The secrets kept piling on.

Her hands trembled slightly as she shucked off her blood-soaked blazer. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. She let out a slow breath, her fingers curling into a fist at her side. There was no time to fall apart. With everything else falling apart around her, she couldn’t afford to lose herself to her fear.

As she stared at her reflection in the darkened glass of the window, peeling off the various layers of blood-stained clothing, she found herself analyzing every part of herself with utmost scrutiny. The glass warped the edges of her silhouette, making her seem like a stranger in her own skin. Every detail—her pale complexion, the faint freckles across her nose, the dark circles around her eyes—was somehow alien. 

She didn’t recognize the woman standing there, disheveled and smeared with the blood of strangers.

Robotically, she moved into her bathroom and turned her shower on. She didn’t even really wait for the water to get warm. There was too much noise in her head to really care, and for once… the loudest noises were her own thoughts.

What was she, really? A product of nature’s whim, a genetic mutation that had somehow made her something more—supposedly. And then there was the baby. A child she hadn’t planned for, whose very existence brought a flood of guilt and fear that she wasn’t prepared to face. 

How could she bring a child into a world so broken? Especially when she wasn’t even sure she knew how to live in it herself? She knew she didn’t have to, but some old feelings lingered when it came to the idea of having a little family of her own. That was something she knew she’d have to shake, and fast.

It didn’t take long for her to finish showering, and despite washing away all evidence of the day’s horrors, she didn’t feel quite clean. Of course, she could have scrubbed herself down to the bone, and she probably wouldn’t have felt clean enough. She just needed to get up to Homelander’s penthouse quickly, regardless of the dark storm cloud of thoughts brewing in her head.

As she pulled on a comfortable set of clothes, she found herself staring blankly back at her reflection again. Her face was freshly scrubbed, free of blood, but she could still see the shadows lurking behind her eyes. They seemed deeper than before, as though they had taken root somewhere inside her. 

Morgan ran a hand through her damp hair, feeling the chill on her skin. It wasn’t the cold that made her shiver, though—it was the thought of what lay ahead.

She had to go to Homelander. She needed to reassure him, to continue playing her part as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. 

It felt like there was a deep fissure running through the center of her being, threatening to widen with every breath. Her hands clenched at her sides, the old doubts rising like bile in her throat. Could she really keep this up? 

What was she even doing here? The truth was, she didn’t know if she was strong enough for any of this. The responsibilities pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, reminding her of everything she wasn’t.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to hold together the fractured pieces of herself that threatened to scatter. Her chest tightened, and a wave of self-loathing surged through her—an old, familiar ache that whispered she wasn’t good enough, strong enough, not for this. Not for Homelander, not for the life that had taken root inside her, and certainly not for herself.”

The pressure in her chest grew tighter, squeezing the air from her lungs. She clenched her jaw, trying to swallow back the rising tide of emotions, but it was too late. Her telekinesis slipped from her grasp like sand through her fingers, unraveling into the room around her.

At first, it was subtle—a low tremor in the floorboards, a faint vibration that made the glass panes shudder. But then the tension snapped, and a wave of invisible force rippled outward. The lamp on her bedside table shattered, fragments of glass spiraling into the air. Books tumbled from the shelves, their pages fluttering like the wings of startled birds.

Furniture began to lift from the ground, hovering an inch, then a foot, then higher, as if gravity no longer mattered. The room seemed to swell and contract with each breath she took, the walls groaning under the strain of her power. She tried to reel it back in, to regain control, but the harder she fought, the more chaotic the energy became.

Her hands shot out instinctively, but the tremors only intensified. The dresser rattled against the wall, picture frames flew off surfaces, and the ceiling light flickered overhead. Panic surged through her veins, and she could feel the tightness in her throat threatening to strangle her.

Then, cutting through the storm, she felt a familiar presence. Homelander’s voice echoed in her mind before he even spoke aloud, carried by a mixture of concern and urgency.

Morgan. 

The thought was sharp, almost enough to slice through her panic. 

A moment later, the door burst open, and there he stood, his expression somewhere between alarm and bewilderment as he took in the scene. The floating debris, the vibrating walls, and Morgan at the center of it all, trembling with the effort to keep her emotions in check.

His gaze locked onto her, and without hesitation, he crossed the room with long, purposeful strides. The furniture dropped heavily to the ground as he reached her, gathering her face in his palms as the last echoes of her power faded. 

“Hey, hey—calm down,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “I’m here.”

She took in a ragged breath, her pulse racing. The room settled back into stillness, but it was like a held breath. There was no comfort in a sigh of relief. The sensation of it all burned in her chest.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. “I just…lost control for a second.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her face with a mix of suspicion and concern. “This isn’t like you,” he murmured. “What’s really going on?”

Homelander’s gaze lingered on her, searching for answers beyond the surface. She knew that he could hear the rapid thrum of her heartbeat and shallow breaths. For a moment she slipped into his mind and allowed herself to see herself from his perspective. 

His hearing was almost painfully acute, but there was something else—a faint shift in her scent. The hint of elevated adrenal levels, and an unfamiliar blend of hormones piqued his curiosity. Expression tightening, he tilted his head slightly, as though focusing on something just beyond her. 

Azure eyes sweeping over her as gently as possible, he used his superhuman vision to look through the different layers of her physiology. Deep within, barely discernible against the backdrop of muscle and tissue, he detected the smallest flicker of life. It was almost imperceptible, a tiny shadow of a shape nestled inside her, but it was enough.

Morgan felt a sudden jolt as the truth echoed in his thoughts, a wordless recognition that pierced through the haze of her emotions. She pulled back from his mind instinctively, the connection snapping. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt like the ground had dropped out from under her.

Breath hitching, Homelander’s hands trembled slightly. “You’re…” The word caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. “You’re pregnant?”

Homelander’s eyes darted between her face and her abdomen, trying to reconcile the enormity of what he’d just discovered. Slowly, a smile began to spread across his lips—small at first, then growing into something brighter, almost boyish. However, beneath it, there was a glint of something darker lurking.

“You’re… pregnant,” he repeated. He drew her face closer, his eyes closed as he pressed his forehead to hers “Morgan, this… this is incredible.” His voice was low, and full of wonder. “You’re carrying my child.”

The choice of words sent a chill down her spine, unsettling her more than she’d have anticipated. ��My child.’ It felt like it had cemented something between them that couldn’t be undone. 

Morgan could feel the relief and joy radiating off him in waves, mixing with an underlying desperation. A part of him despaired over the idea that this moment would never come. Now that it had, he was clinging to it with all the strength he had.

Morgan’s heart pounded wildly in her chest as a whirlwind of emotions surged inside her. She wanted to say something, to temper his excitement, to explain that she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. But, the words died before they could reach her lips, and all she could manage was a soft, incredulous laugh.

That soft sound seemed to ignite something in him. Homelander’s smile widened, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The look in his eyes was almost overwhelming—a potent blend of joy, possessiveness, and a deep, aching need. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers for a brief moment. 

And then, before she could gather her thoughts, his mouth was on hers—firm and insistent, as if he was trying to imprint the moment into her very being. Morgan’s initial instinct was to hesitate, to push back, but her body didn’t listen. She found herself melting into the kiss, her hands curling into the fabric of his cape as she tried to ground herself in the chaos of it all.

It wasn’t the kiss of two people sharing an ordinary moment. It felt like a promise, a binding that sank deeper with every second. When he finally pulled back, just a breath away, his eyes burned with a fierce, almost feverish devotion.

“Everything’s going to change,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of certainty and possessive delight. “But we’ll face it together.”

Morgan could only nod, a tentative agreement in her expression as she tried to muster the conviction to match his intensity. But then, with no words strong enough to bridge the gulf between them, she let him guide her into his embrace, and surrendered to the illusion of certainty he was offering.

Song: Landslide by Fleetwood Mac “Oh, mirror in the sky, What is love?” Author’s notes: This man has been dropping hints with her for several weeks. I’m telling you, he manifested this. Or that’s probably what he’s telling himself. Morgan isn’t so sure about such a big upheaval though, and I really can’t blame her.  I don’t really have much else to say on this one but I am excited for the next chapter. Homelander is going to reevaluate some decisions he’s made recently, that may or may not pay off– or blow up in his face. We’ll see.

Next chapter.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 16

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains content regarding pregnancy. 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 chilly Boston air cut through Morgan's coat as she stepped off the train at South Station, the familiar bustle of the city greeting her like an old friend. She hadn't been back to MIT since she left to join Vought, but today, it felt less like a homecoming and more like exile. 

Stan Edgar's orders had been clear: she was needed in Boston to meet Dr. Elias Kostov and learn more about the origins of her powers. He hadn't said why it had to be now—right when the Congressional hearings were drawing near, and New York was brimming with unrest.

Morgan's breath fogged up in the brisk autumn air as she started her walk toward the campus. Her senses tuned in to the crowd, but her mind drifted back to Edgar's thinly veiled reasoning. She wasn't naive enough to think his motives were entirely in her best interest. 

There was too much at stake for Vought to risk having her around while he maneuvered for control. With her telepathy reaching far and wide, Edgar must have decided it was better to keep his thoughts out of her range. Even if it meant sending her on a wild goose chase in Boston.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her messenger bag and forced her gaze away from the looming skyscrapers of downtown. As she turned onto Massachusetts Avenue, the familiar sight of MIT's grand domes and labyrinthine halls came into view. The sight stirred a bittersweet feeling—nostalgia for the days before her powers had taken over her life, mingled with the anxiety of what she was about to learn. 

Dr. Kostov, a geneticist whose name had been whispered among colleagues when she was still a student, was not someone she'd ever worked with directly. Still, they had crossed paths at conferences and events. He had always seemed more intrigued by her abilities than she was comfortable with, though she supposed that was the nature of someone in his line of work.

She let out a quiet sigh. Edgar's timing couldn't be worse. Homelander had barely let her out of his sight since Starlight left Vought Tower, and she knew he wasn't happy about her being sent away right before the hearings. But Edgar had spun it well enough, offering a real objective—to dig into the possibility that not all powers came from Compound V. 

If he could prove that, Vought's monopoly on the superhero business wouldn't seem quite as ironclad. It might just be enough to placate Congress for a while. It was a compelling distraction, even if it wasn't the real reason she was being sent here.

Still, the unease wouldn't leave her. She had no illusions about being out of the loop—Homelander's reassurances were as thin as the phone lines they were delivered over, and Edgar's proxies did little to calm the growing knot in her chest. If anything, they only made her more suspicious of what was really happening back in New York, and of what Stormfront might be planning too. She was too far away to read their thoughts, but the distance did nothing to quiet the noise in her head.

As she approached the campus, Morgan allowed herself a small comfort: at least she knew the terrain. The halls of the campus were unchanged. Memories of her time there flooded back in flashes—long nights studying, the faint scent of coffee and lab chemicals, the steady hum of machines. 

It felt strange to be here with a different purpose, though. Morgan wasn't there as a student, but as someone searching for answers about herself– answers that Kostov might hold in his clinical, detached way.

She pushed open the heavy glass doors of the building and entered the familiar maze of corridors. For now, the rest of the world was at arm's length, and whatever waited for her in Kostov's lab felt almost manageable. But as she took the elevator to the research floor, she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she learned there would change more than she was truly prepared for.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a long, sterile hallway lined with lab doors and polished white tile. Morgan's footsteps echoed as she walked, her gaze following the numbered plaques on the wall until she found the one marked "E. Kostov – Genetic Research." The faint hum of machinery seeped through the door, and she took a moment to steady herself before knocking.

"Enter," came the voice from within, clipped and unmistakably accented. Morgan pushed the door open and stepped into the lab, where a series of high-tech monitors cast an eerie blue glow across the room. The air smelled chemical, and even faintly sweet.

Dr. Kostov looked up from one of the screens, his sharp features illuminated by the light of a digital display showing rows of genetic sequences. He was in his mid-fifties, his chestnut hair mostly gray at the temples and swept back from a high forehead. His deep brown eyes held a calculating gaze as they met Morgan's, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Ms. Daly. It's been a while." He didn't offer a handshake but gestured to a metal stool near his workstation. "Sit, please."

Morgan's eyes flitted around the lab as she sat down, noting the clutter of equipment, data charts pinned to the walls, and a glass case housing a strange assortment of organic samples. The place had the look of a mad scientist's lair, though far more polished. 

"Dr. Kostov," she replied, keeping her tone polite but distant. "Stan Edgar asked me to come."

"Of course he did," Kostov said, his voice carrying an air of faint amusement. He swiveled back to face his monitors, where genetic data scrolled across the screens in incomprehensible streams. "I understand you have quite a few questions about your…unique situation."

"I'd prefer not to be in the dark about whatever this is," she said, straightening up slightly. "I'm not sure what details you've already been given, but I guess I'm a bit of an anomaly."

Kostov's fingers danced over a touchscreen, and the data on the monitor shifted. He leaned back in his chair, his expression a blend of curiosity and indifference. "It's a fascinating case," he said, glancing at her as though she were a puzzle he was eager to solve. "There have been scattered reports over the years of powers emerging independently of Compound V, but they've never amounted to more than rumors. You, however, seem to be the first case we might be able to use as proof."

The way he spoke, she seemed to be a mere data point on a graph rather than a person. Kostov's eyes gleamed with barely restrained excitement. 

"That, Ms. Daly, means we're about to make history." He stood and gestured for her to follow him to a separate part of the lab, where a series of complex imaging machines and genetic analysis tools were arranged. "Shall we begin? This will take some time, but I promise you, the results will be… enlightening."

A shiver crept down her spine as Morgan followed him to the examination area. The way Kostov looked at her, she couldn't help but feel like a specimen in a Petri dish —something to be studied, categorized, and ultimately, explained.

Entering an adjoining room, the machinery's hum grew louder. The sleek metal surfaces and blinking lights of the equipment gave the lab a near-futuristic quality. Kostov moved with effortless precision, adjusting various settings on the machines and preparing an array of sterile instruments. His focus was intense, but not on her—more on the data he was about to collect.

"Try to relax," he said, his tone clinical as he gestured for her to sit on a padded exam chair. "I was already given some lab work from the medical team at Vought for baseline data, but I'd like to take some more current blood samples. It's important that the results are as recent as possible." 

He moved methodically, gathering the necessary equipment while keeping his attention on the array of monitors displaying her medical records. "The more accurate the data, the clearer the picture of your unique situation."

Morgan complied, baring and extending her arm as Kostov prepped the needle, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. The cold alcohol swab on her skin sent a shiver up her spine, not so much from the chill, but from the lingering sense of detachment that filled the room. 

As Kostov drew her blood, his movements were quick and precise, mechanical in their efficiency. She wondered how many times he'd done this and how often he thought of the people behind the samples. Then again, she'd spent enough time in a lab to know that answer better than she'd like to admit herself.

Shaking off that vague feeling of hypocrisy, she tried to distract herself with a different train of thought. Her mind drifted back to New York, where chaos was likely brewing behind the scenes. She couldn't shake the suspicion that she was being kept out of the way for a reason, even if the pretense of this assignment had been plausible enough to convince Homelander.

The doctor’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "Mr. Edgar mentioned you've been using a neural regulator for your telepathy." He spoke without looking at her, his attention fixed on a screen displaying her vital signs. "I'd be very interested in examining it when we're done. The device may influence your abilities in ways you're unaware of."

"Examining it?" Morgan asked, arching a brow. "As in taking it apart? I'd rather not have anyone messing with it—it's the only thing keeping the noise in my head bearable."

Kostov finally looked at her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You might find it more enlightening to experience the full extent of your powers. After all, what's the point of a natural-born ability if you're constantly suppressing it?" He turned back to his monitor, leaving the question hanging in the air.

Morgan's unease deepened. She glanced at the monitors and the swirling data she didn't understand, feeling more like a project than a person. Whatever Kostov hoped to find, it was clear that he cared more about the scientific implications than her well-being.

The minutes dragged on, and Morgan tried to distract herself by studying the lab's details. Rows of specimen jars lined one wall, their contents obscured by frosted glass. To the left, a whiteboard was scrawled with equations and notes. 

Minutes bled into hours, and hours stretched into days. The next few days eventually blended into a disorienting cycle of lab visits and restless nights at the hotel. Each day brought new tests—blood draws, scans, data collections—and each night left her alone to wrestle with the unease that settled deeper into her bones.

The hotel, a sleek but unremarkable place just outside Cambridge, became a temporary sanctuary. There, Morgan found herself pacing the narrow confines of her room, her mind drifting between her present isolation and the chaos that surely awaited her return to New York. 

She replayed every conversation she'd had with Kostov, searching for any clue about what he might be finding—or hiding. His excitement had grown more palpable with each lab visit, but his answers remained vague. Even she had trouble with the scientific jargon that he used in his explanations. While she always had a general idea, she never knew anything about the specifics.

Outside the lab, she was just another face in the city, but even that small freedom felt like a reprieve. She'd take long walks along the Charles River, letting the familiar landscape of Boston ground her as best it could. Yet, no matter how far she wandered, the shadow of uncertainty loomed, pulling her back to that sterile lab and Kostov's unnerving enthusiasm.

Occasionally she would call Homelander just to give him the smallest rundown of her day. She kept the details light and innocuous, trying to keep his worry at bay. The last thing anybody wanted was for him to panic and try to derail the whole process. 

After nearly a week of tests and waiting, the call finally came. Kostov's voice was more animated than she'd ever heard. "Ms. Daly, the results are ready," he said enthusiastically. I think you'll find them quite illuminating."

The words sent a chill through her. She gathered her things and made her way back to the lab, trying to steel herself for whatever Kostov was about to reveal. As she entered the lab, she found him already at his workstation, the monitors displaying a chaotic swirl of data that looked even more convoluted than before. He greeted her with an eager smile, gesturing for her to sit.

"Thank you for coming back on such short notice," he began, practically buzzing with near-manic excitement. "I've spent the last several days analyzing your genetic profile, and I must say, I've never seen anything quite like it. What I've found is something I'm calling the Nova Effect—a genetic mutation that mimics certain characteristics of Compound V but is fundamentally different."

Morgan's brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of what he was telling her. "So, you're saying I really was born with this?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Precisely," Kostov said, nodding enthusiastically. "It's a mutation that appears to have naturally evolved, likely as a response to the introduction of V into the gene pool. Think of it as an adaptive mechanism—a way for humanity to keep pace with the rise of superhumans created artificially. In many ways, it's a superior phenomenon. While V is a synthetic compound that alters physiology, your mutation is purely organic, allowing your body to integrate these abilities seamlessly."

She stared at the screens, a knot forming in her stomach. "And you're sure about this?"

"Beyond any reasonable doubt," Kostov replied, his eyes gleaming with discovery. "The Nova Effect is unprecedented, Ms. Daly. This is a potential new branch of human evolution. I would be very curious to see how this might manifest in your offspring."

Her expression hardened, and she shook her head. "That's not going to happen. I'm not planning on having any children," she said curtly, folding her arms.

Kostov blinked, a brief look of confusion crossing his face. "Oh?" He glanced at the screen again and then back at her, his voice shifting to a tone of clinical detachment. "Well, that's not what the tests suggest. According to your latest results, you're already pregnant."

The words struck her with such force, heavy and surreal. For a moment, Morgan felt the ground shift beneath her feet, her breath catching in her throat. "What?" she rasped, barely able to process the revelation, let alone voice her shock. "That's… that's not possible. I've taken every precaution."

His expression remained impassive, his focus already returning to the data on the screen. "The tests are quite clear," he said matter-of-factly. "It's still early, but the markers are unmistakable. In fact, this presents a unique opportunity to study how the Nova Effect might be inherited. The potential implications are—"

"Stop," Morgan snapped, her voice trembling as she cut him off. Her hands gripped the edge of the exam chair, knuckles turning white as she fought to steady herself. "No. This has to be some sort of mistake. I—I've been so careful." 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as her vision blurred at the edges. "I haven't missed a single day of my birth control. I've been keeping close eyes on my cycle, tracking every fluctuation… There's no way."

Kostov raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. He seemed almost amused by her disbelief. "Ms. Daly, nature is not always so easily controlled," he said, his tone carrying a condescending edge. "For someone with your unique biology, conventional methods may not be as effective as they are for the average person. You are, after all, a genetic outlier."

She shook her head as if trying to dispel the fog clouding her thoughts. "No," she repeated, her voice breaking slightly. "I'm not… I can't be." Her hand drifted instinctively to her abdomen, where everything suddenly felt foreign-- as if her own body was betraying her.

His gaze followed the movement with a detached curiosity. "I assure you, the evidence is conclusive. It seems that life, even under the most controlled circumstances, finds a way." He tapped a few keys on the monitor, pulling up more data to prove his point. "Your genetic mutation was an unplanned adaptation, an evolutionary leap. The same principles could apply here, only this time it's not just your DNA adapting—it's a new life entirely."

The room seemed to tilt, and Morgan found herself clutching the chair for support. His words washed over her, cold and clinical, as though he were merely describing an interesting case study and not upending her entire reality. 

"The existence of your child is simply one more factor to consider in the ongoing evolution of our species." He continued, folding his arms with a look of self-satisfaction. "And if you think about it, this development is only fitting. After all, someone as remarkable as yourself would likely give rise to a remarkable offspring."

Morgan's stomach lurched at his words, and she struggled to breathe, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her. It felt like a cruel joke, as if the universe had taken her carefully laid plans and shattered them without warning. She had spent so much time fearing the consequences of her powers, yet she had never once imagined this.

"I… I need some air," she said abruptly, her voice strangled and raw. She didn't wait for Kostov's response before stumbling out of the chair and heading for the door. The sterile light of the lab gave way to the dimly lit hallway, and as she leaned against the cool wall outside, her body trembled uncontrollably.

Pressing her back against the cold wall, each breath she took was a ragged reminder of the storm swirling inside her. She had faced down criminals, navigated the tangled web of Vought’s politics, and even held her own against Homelander’s scrutiny. But this? This was different. 

This sudden change wasn’t something she could fight or outmaneuver. The thought made her chest tighten, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so could block out Kostov’s words echoing in her head.

She knew she couldn’t stay out here forever, hiding in a dim hallway at MIT while everything unraveled in New York. The hearing was the following day. Edgar was counting on her absence to keep his secrets secure, and Dr. Kostov was scheduled to present his findings to a courtroom full of people and cameras.

If anyone found out about the pregnancy—if Homelander found out—it would change everything. Morgan forced herself to stand up straighter, her legs still unsteady beneath her. There was no easy choice, no path that didn’t come with risks and consequences. 

She needed to formulate a plan. No matter what, she knew it would end in a conflict somewhere, but she wasn’t just going to lay down and take it. Whatever she decided, she was coming out swinging.

Song: Hollow Crown by Architects “I need your voice, To hold my head together.” Author’s notes: Okay, hopefully I haven’t lost all of you with this chapter. I’ve been doing what I can to foreshadow and lay the groundwork for a twist like this without outright spoiling things. I’ve also been careful with how I tag the story to avoid major spoilers too. I only recently found out that a lot of people DNF for this particular trope, which I can respect, but it’s honestly a favorite of mine. At that, given Homelander’s obsession with legacy and family, this was a narrative decision that made sense to me. Also, writing for a show that is known for its gratuitous shock and awe moments, I hope that maybe it’s not too gratuitous. If you have questions or concerns, you’re always welcome to let me know. If you liked it, you’re also just as welcome to let me know!

Next chapter.