𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄

WARNING: As I mentioned at the very beginning, the chapter features rape. I have tried my best to make it less graphic as possible but also be realistic about the impact of such a horrific thing to have ever happened to anyone. I will not be repeatedly featuring such scenes in this work but it is an overarching element of this story and I did not think it would be honest to gloss over it. This chapter will also contain religious trauma and psychosis, because even though it is a "The Boys" fanfiction, it is also a "Carrie" fanfiction as religion plays a massive role in Carrie White's life. Reader discretion is advised.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the familiar, sleek corridors leading to Homelander's office. I stepped out, my heart pounding with each step I took toward the ominous doors. Everything in Vought Tower screamed power, control—just like him.

As I approached his office, my mind raced. I had to be careful. Homelander wasn't just dangerous; he was unpredictable, prone to sudden bursts of anger hidden beneath that carefully manufactured charm. The smallest misstep could set him off, and after tonight, I wasn't sure how close I was to crossing that line.

I reached the door, my hand hovering over the polished handle for a moment before I pushed it open.

Inside, Homelander was standing by the massive windows that overlooked the city, his back to me. The city lights glittered far below, but the room itself was dim, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor. He didn't turn when I entered. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the city below and the soft click of the door closing behind me.

"Do you know what I hate most about these galas?" His voice cut through the silence, low and almost conversational. "They're so... fake. People pretending to care, to love us. It's all just for show. And you know that, don't you?"

I hesitated. "Yeah, I know."

He turned then, his eyes locking onto mine with that unnerving intensity. There was no smile this time, no mask of politeness. Just raw, focused power. "But sometimes, people forget who's really in charge. They start to think they have... options."

He took a step closer, his gaze never wavering. "You're not getting... ideas, are you? Trying to make alliances that don't involve me?"

My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to stay calm. "No, Homelander. Of course not."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until he was right in front of me. His presence was suffocating. "Because I saw you tonight. You were... distracted. Talking to a lot of people. Laughing. And Black Noir... he doesn't usually reach out to people, does he?"

There it was. He knew something. Maybe not the whole story, but enough to be suspicious. I needed to play this carefully.

"I was just doing what we always do at these events," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Mingling, building relationships for Vought. That's what you wanted, right?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing my words. "Yeah. That's what you're supposed to do. But there's a difference between playing the part and forgetting your place."

The tension in the room thickened. Homelander wasn't just looking for reassurance; he was making sure I understood the hierarchy—his hierarchy.

"Have I ever told you how Black Noir and I became friends?" Homelander asked, seemingly changing the topic slightly.

I shook my head. "I don't believe you have."

Homelander chuckled softly, but it was devoid of any warmth. "Oh, it's quite the story," he said, turning his back to the city again, his silhouette framed by the cold, distant lights of New York. "You see, Black Noir and I—we go way back. Back when things were simpler. Just us, the early days of Vought... when the world was ours for the taking."