#obsessive behavior

Not for danger.

For you.

“Did you see it?” he asks, voice carefully controlled, almost hopeful. “I stopped the plane from crashing. Not a single casualty.”

You hesitate. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe the words don’t come quickly enough. Maybe you simply don’t react the way he expects.

And the change in him is immediate.

The air grows heavy, charged with something unspoken. His smile falters, just for a second, before slipping away entirely. The city lights flicker across his face as disappointment settles in, fragile and terrifying in equal measure.

Imagine the most powerful man in the world stepping closer, uncertainty creeping into his posture.

Then, slowly, he kneels.

Not out of humility.

Out of reverence.

His gloved hands hover near you, as if afraid to touch without permission. When he finally looks up, his expression is raw—eyes shining with unshed tears, desperation barely contained beneath the surface.

“Tell me I’m good,” he whispers, voice trembling with need. “Please.”

The plea hangs in the air, fragile and suffocating.

Because you know he doesn’t just want praise—he needs it. Your approval is the axis on which his entire world spins. Without it, the adoration of millions means nothing.

Imagine him resting his forehead lightly against your hand, seeking comfort like something lost and wounded, despite the unimaginable power he holds.

“I’ll do anything to deserve it,” he murmurs. “Anything you want. Just… don’t look at me like I’ve failed.”

And in that moment, it becomes terrifyingly clear:

The world may belong to Homelander.

But Homelander belongs to you.

He starts off slowly, moving his hand up and down his length. Eyes occasionally flickering from your face to your tits, though mainly staying focused on your face. You're so beautiful, he could cum a million times over again just by looking at your face. He speeds up his pace a little. "Fuck." He groans when he sees you smile at something on your screen. He loves your smile so much. He moans your name, imagining it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own scarred one. His pace has turned rough and fast now, the same pace you use when fuck yourself with your fingers, or the toys you own. He has watched you touch yourself a million times. He has hours upon hours of recordings of it saved and backed up on hard drives that he frequently uses, but there's something about watching the live footage from your cam that he hacked into. Watching you in this very moment, having no clue he's squeezing his cock to you just going about your day. Maybe he feels a little guilty about it, but he indulges in the knowledge that he's the only one who gets to see you like this.  

you start muting him, blocking him, ignoring everything. and still, it keeps coming. it’s not even always emotional. sometimes it’s just updates about his day, random thoughts, things he knows you’d recognize as “for you.” he’s refusing to accept that there’s a version of your life where he’s not constantly talking into it.

you try to confront him once it gets too much. you tell him to stop. properly, clearly. he listens… but only long enough to respond like you’re exaggerating the situation. he laughs a little and says something like you always do this, you get overwhelmed and shut people out and then you’ll come back when you’re done being like this.

even after that, nothing really changes. it just shifts platforms again. new accounts, new numbers, new ways in. blocking boothill doesn’t remove him from your life, and he’ll keep reminding you of it.

mydeimos doesn’t react to the breakup like it’s something that changed his access to you. it’s more like he just stops acknowledging that “after him” is supposed to mean anything. you notice it in the absence of people first. guys you were talking to, even casually, just… stop showing up. they don’t tell you what happened. they don’t argue with you. they just go quiet, or vanish from your orbit completely.

at first you think it’s coincidence. bad timing. people being flaky. then it keeps happening in a pattern you can’t ignore, but also can’t prove. anyone who gets close to you after him either backs off suddenly or acts like they don’t want to be involved in your life at all. and it’s never explained.

you only start understanding something is wrong when you realize it’s not just dating or flirting or anything obvious. it’s anyone. coworkers acting uncomfortable. mutuals avoiding you. people you don’t even remember mentioning him to suddenly treating you differently.

when it finally clicks and you confront him, he just looks at you like you’re slow to catch up. like this was always going to be the outcome and you’re only now noticing the structure of it. when you ask him directly if he’s involved, he doesn’t say yes immediately. he just asks why it matters if it’s already working.

he tells you, very calmly, that you keep putting yourself in situations where people get close enough to “be a problem.” it’s not about him interfering, it’s about you creating conditions that require interference. it doesn’t sound like anger. it sounds like correction. he’s explaining something you should’ve already understood about how things work now.

when you push back, when you actually get upset and tell mydei to stop, that’s when the tone changes. only slightly. he tells you not to make him repeat himself. a warning that he’s getting tired of explaining rules you keep ignoring.

phainon doesn’t take the breakup like a clean ending. it turns into something he keeps trying to reopen. at first it’s messages you don’t answer, then calls you ignore, then showing up near places you go like he’s trying to catch you in a moment where you’ll “finally be normal about it.” when you don’t respond, he escalates in a way that feels less aggressive and more… emotionally exhausting. he can’t accept silence as an answer, so he fills it with himself.

he shows up at your door eventually. he’s been waiting for the moment you’d eventually have to open it. when you do, he’s already emotional in a way that makes the whole situation harder to deal with than it should be. he’s not yelling. he’s upset, visibly. he’s been holding it in for too long and decided your doorstep is where it finally comes out. he talks like you’re the one who left without explaining anything, even if you did.

when you don’t let him in, he doesn’t force it. he just stays there long enough that it becomes uncomfortable. like time is supposed to make you change your mind. if he stands there long enough, the situation will eventually correct itself.

he starts involving other people. your friends. people around you start getting messages from him, long ones, emotional ones, half apology and half confusion. he’s trying to recruit witnesses for a version of the breakup where he isn’t the one being cut off. he talks to them like they’re supposed to understand him, like they have access to a missing piece of you that he needs translated.

you find out phainon has been showing up at your building even when you’re not home. not breaking in, not doing anything obvious, just sitting outside or lingering nearby like he’s trying to “be there when you’re ready.” and sometimes he leaves things. small, harmless-looking things that are always timed in a way that feels too intentional to be random. little reminders that he can find your space even when you’re not offering it.

you confront him, and he just looks tired. he’s been waiting for you to catch up to a version of events he already fully believes in. when you tell him it needs to stop, he doesn’t argue loudly. he just says something like he doesn’t know how to disappear from your life when you’re still in his head all the time.

anaxa doesn’t react to the breakup emotionally. it turns into something more controlled than that. at first it’s just small disruptions you try to ignore. things not saving properly, accounts getting locked at the worst times, files corrupting right when you need them. nothing you can directly trace, nothing obvious enough to prove anything, just enough to make your day slightly harder every time you try to move on without him.

you start noticing it’s not random though. it follows your attempts to distance yourself. every time you try to cut contact fully, something important suddenly stops working in your life. then he reappears like nothing happened, calm as ever, acting like a normal conversation is still possible between you two. the outside chaos has nothing to do with him at all.

you finally confront him and anaxa just listens first, like he’s waiting for you to finish saying something he already accounted for. then he starts reframing it. he talks about how unstable things have been for you lately, how stressful your environment is, how easy it is for people to misinterpret patterns when they’re overwhelmed. he never says he did anything, he just makes it sound like your life is already fragile enough that things like this would naturally happen.

after that conversation, the problems don’t stop, but feel more intentional in timing. right after arguments. right after you try to assert distance again. your reactions themselves are being folded into the pattern.

you try blocking him, cutting him off completely, changing everything you can think of. nothing really holds for long. access gets restored somewhere, something resets, something important goes wrong at the exact moment you feel like you’ve finally gained a bit of control back.

anaxagoras never seems surprised by your resistance. everything you try to do to escape him is already something he expected you to try.

blade doesn’t really “stay in your life” after the breakup in a normal sense. it feels more like he never fully leaves the edges of it. you start noticing him in places that don’t make sense at first. far enough away that you can’t prove it’s him, close enough that you start doubting your own memory of what you saw. a figure across the street. someone standing where no one was a second ago. a presence that disappears when you look directly at it.

there are no messages, no calls, nothing you can block or report… just the feeling that you’re being observed in moments that are usually private. walking home, waiting alone, standing in quiet spaces where there shouldn’t be anyone paying attention to you at all. every time you turn your head too quickly, there’s nothing there. you’re always a second too late.

when you try to confront it, there’s nothing to actually confront. you ask people if they’ve seen anyone around you, and they haven’t. you check cameras, routes, timing, anything you can think of. it never lines up cleanly enough to confirm. it starts making you feel ridiculous for even thinking about it, which only makes you notice it more.

there are the moments that don’t feel like coincidence anymore. places you definitely didn’t tell anyone about, but feel wrong the moment you arrive because something about it already feels “seen.” things slightly out of place when you get home. small evidence that someone was there and left before you could catch up to them.

if you ever do finally see blade clearly, it’s brief. never a full conversation. never a proper encounter. just enough for your stomach to drop before he’s gone again, like he only exists in passing moments that are too short to react to properly.

it just keeps happening until you start adjusting your own life around the idea that you might never actually be alone in it again.

there wasn't a single rushed movement. he enjoyed the process, not because he cared about baking itself, but because perfection mattered. if he was going to give you something, it had to be flawless.

one egg cracked cleanly against the rim of the bowl before slipping into the mixture, then another. he poured in a careful splash of vanilla, and the warm, comforting scent immediately filled the kitchen, wrapping itself around him like an old memory.

he sifted the flour into a separate bowl, adding baking soda and a small pinch of salt before whisking the dry ingredients together until they were light and even. slowly, he folded them into the butter mixture, stirring in steady circles until the dough came together into a soft, velvety consistency without a single lump.

finally, he reached for the chocolate chips, letting them tumble into the bowl with a pleasant rattle before gently folding them throughout the dough. every scoop looked perfect, every chip evenly distributed.

he tilted his head slightly as he admired the mixture, humming under his breath. it looked exactly like any ordinary cookie dough. just warm, sweet, innocent, just as he intended.

his eyes drifted toward the doorway, lingering there for several quiet seconds.

no footsteps, no voices, satisfied that he was alone, he reached into the inside pocket of the coat hanging over the back of a nearby chair and withdrew a tiny glass vial, barely larger than his thumb. the liquid inside was crystal clear, so transparent it almost disappeared against the sunlight pouring through the window.

it looked like water, looked harmless, and ordinary. a slow smile curved across his lips as he uncorked it with practiced ease, holding it carefully above the bowl. three tiny drops slipped into the dough.

they vanished the instant they touched it, leaving no shimmer, no scent, no discoloration—nothing that would ever make someone question what they were eating. without missing a beat, he picked up the spoon again and stirred.

he did it slowly, thoroughly, methodically. he folded the dough over itself again and again until every trace of the potion had become inseparable from the butter, sugar, and vanilla. only after he was certain there wasn't the slightest remnant left did he set the spoon down.

"perfect."

the word came out as little more than a murmur, almost swallowed by the quiet of the kitchen. he slipped the now-empty vial back into his pocket as though it had never existed.

he lined a baking tray with fresh parchment paper before scooping rounded portions of dough into neat rows, carefully leaving enough space for each cookie to spread while baking.

they were almost identical in size, each one gently shaped with the back of the spoon before he pressed a few extra chocolate chips into the tops. it was a small detail, but it made them look homemade in the best possible way.

the tray disappeared into the oven, and within minutes the apartment began to fill with the rich scent of butter melting into sugar, warm vanilla curling through the air, and chocolate slowly softening beneath the heat. tamsy rested one elbow against the counter while he waited, his expression unreadable as the timer counted down.

when the soft ring finally echoed through the kitchen, he opened the oven and was greeted by a wave of comforting warmth. the cookies had turned a beautiful golden brown around the edges while the centers remained soft, the chocolate still glossy enough to glisten in the light.

he transferred each one onto a cooling rack with surprising care, allowing them to rest until they were just cool enough to handle but still warm enough to feel freshly baked.

once they had cooled, he arranged them neatly inside a cream-colored pastry box lined with delicate parchment paper, stacking them carefully so not a single cookie would break. he tied the lid shut with a pale ribbon before slipping a small folded note beneath it in tidy handwriting.

"thought you'd like these. figured i'd try baking for once." — t

there was no confession, no flirting, nothing that would raise suspicion.

it looked like a simple gift from someone who'd spent an afternoon trying something new. he smiled quietly to himself as he admired the finished box, brushing an invisible speck of flour from the ribbon before making his way to your door.

he left it there without knocking, setting it down gently so it wouldn't tip over, then walked away as though he'd simply completed another errand. there was no need to see your reaction.

because he already knew how the story would unfold.

later that afternoon, you returned home tired from the day, nearly walking past the small box waiting outside your apartment until the cream-colored ribbon caught your eye. you bent down with quiet curiosity, recognizing tamsy's handwriting almost immediately.

"...he baked?" you mutter.

the question left your lips with a small laugh as you carried the box inside before placing it carefully on the kitchen table.

the moment you untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, the smell of warm vanilla and rich chocolate drifted into the room, making your stomach rumble despite having eaten earlier.

the cookies looked almost too pretty to touch, each one perfectly golden with melted chocolate peeking through the surface. smiling to yourself, you picked one up while it was still faintly warm and took a bite. the edges gave way with a gentle crunch before the center melted against your tongue, soft and buttery with just the right amount of sweetness.

"wow.." you blinked in surprise before taking another bite. "these are amazing."

one cookie became two. two became four. before the evening was over, the box sat empty beside you, reduced to little more than scattered crumbs and the neatly folded note resting underneath.

the following morning, something felt different. not wrong, just unfamiliar.

before you'd even gotten out of bed, your thoughts drifted toward tamsy for no reason at all. you wondered if he'd always enjoyed baking. if he'd been proud of the cookies. whether he was awake already or still asleep somewhere, completely unaware that you'd eaten every last one.

the thoughts lingered longer than they should have, returning throughout the day no matter how many times you tried to focus on something else. when someone happened to mention his name in passing, you found yourself listening a little more carefully than usual.

by the time you spotted him across the room later that afternoon, your heartbeat stumbled so suddenly that you instinctively looked away, confused by the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

you laughed it off as embarrassment, convincing yourself you'd simply been caught staring.

the days that followed only deepened the feeling until it became impossible to ignore.

his smile seemed brighter than anyone else's. his voice lingered in your thoughts long after conversations ended. every small act of kindness replayed itself over and over in your mind, each memory becoming sweeter than the last.

without realizing it, you started searching for him whenever you entered a room, hoping he'd be there. if he brushed your shoulder while walking past, your heart fluttered.

if he complimented you, you carried those words with you for the rest of the day. it felt so natural that you never questioned it. you simply convinced yourself that somewhere along the way, you'd fallen hopelessly in love with him. meanwhile, tamsy noticed every little change with quiet satisfaction.

the way your eyes softened whenever they met his. the way you smiled before he even spoke. the way you trusted him more with every passing day. it wasn't the potion that made him powerful—it was what the potion allowed him to become.

the center of your attention, the person whose words mattered most.

nearly two weeks after you'd finished the cookies, tamsy found you sitting alone beneath the shade of a tree, absentmindedly looking at the nature. he approached with the same easy smile he always wore, hands tucked comfortably into his pockets as though this were any ordinary conversation.

"mind if i join you?"

you looked up, your face brightening the instant you saw him, and without thinking you shifted over to make room.

"of course."

the two of you sat together for a while, talking about nothing in particular until the conversation settled into a comfortable silence. finally, he turned his head toward you, his expression almost impossibly gentle.

"i've been wondering about something," he said softly. you stopped zoning out, giving him your full attention. "about what?" he smiled. "would you like to go out with me?"

your answer escaped your lips before doubt could even form. "i'd love to."

there wasn't even a second of hesitation.

tamsy's smile widened ever so slightly as he reached over and intertwined his fingers with yours. you saw it as the beginning of a relationship. he saw it as the final piece clicking perfectly into place.

from that day forward, every suggestion he made felt reasonable. every explanation sounded believable. every reassurance wrapped around your heart like a comforting blanket. when others questioned him, you defended him without thinking.

when he asked something of you, saying yes felt effortless. he never had to raise his voice or force your hand. the potion had done exactly what he wanted—it hadn't stolen your mind, it had made your love for him feel so genuine that every choice you made seemed like your own.

and that was exactly how tamsy preferred it.