#someones borderline obsessed with you

[kittyloops]

.

[elialys]

"I'm fascinated with people's comments about Helen, too. Everyone talks about, 'Oh, she's dramatic, she's a mess, she's this,' and I'm like, 'Naaah'. There's a little bit more going on, but it's the 80s, so no one's gonna talk about that either. No one's gonna help, no one's gonna protect, no one's gonna save." Anna Torv [x]

THE NEWSREADER | 1.02 "Once in a Lifetime"

[asachuu]

Rising from my grave to inform you all that I legitimately do not understand this “Arthur is forcefully, obsessively in love with Paul” claim/trope I’ve seen a couple of times over the years and I quite frankly don’t know where exactly it originated, but it’s just…a bit confusing, at the very least.

I don’t dispute that Arthur may have very well been in love with Paul and quite deeply so, far from, but some people speak of him as if he were this yandere stereotype in canon (AUs are AUs and those I am not talking about here), and I’m not certain of the context behind it? I can only perhaps think of the line in Stormbringer in which he swears to bring Paul back home no matter what, but that’s a stand-alone line he says on a mission during which his most trusted partner betrays him, and all other implied interactions between the two lead me to believe that Arthur is really just this shy, lonely 15-19 year old— see Arthur’s whole memoir claiming he wasn’t allowed to have any personal relationships, his supposed canonical age at the time, Paul’s recollection in the epilogue of Arthur “shyly” handing him over his gift, and speaking of said gift; Arthur’s uncertainty of whether giving it was the right thing to do, plus his worry about it over a decade later in his final moments— not this forceful, deranged maniac so far blinded by love to a point of thinking himself to have some kind of ownership over his partner. I suppose you could point to Arthur’s second death being only for Paul’s sake and nothing else, a self-sacrificial act that doubtlessly paints him as someone who most definitely cares about his partner far more than he should, but get this— he himself claims he’s already dead, and Paul was the only person he’d been allowed to care for, to look after, to stay beside and so on, not to mention he doesn’t see himself as anything of importance anyway— claiming no one will remember him after his death and he’ll only get an unmarked tombstone doesn’t invoke anything else, really— so I don’t think he’d take it as something of the same exact magnitude that it must have had in Paul’s eyes, and besides, he’s never seen it as something for Paul to constantly remember him for after his death to haunt him, for instance; it was only an act of saving his life to make up for a birthday gift he didn’t like, or so Arthur himself claims.

I certainly don’t doubt Arthur’s adoration and evident self-deprecation being horribly unhealthy, it definitely is and I haven’t written an essay on it just to claim otherwise, but there’s nothing pointing to him being anyhow forceful, possessive, completely dismissive of personal boundaries, rather the opposite— the man quite literally, canonically worries whether giving Paul a gift was the right thing to do, considering he wasn’t anyhow appreciated for it, and in not a single sentence is it implied he thinks of himself as having some kind of ownership over Paul beyond having raised him and given him a life— which, might I also add, he says as Paul points a gun at him with the intention of killing him, something which he doesn’t even hold against him a single time. In very simple terms, if I am to summarize it, I’d say Arthur is more of an extreme doormat personality, someone who doubtlessly puts his partner on a pedestal while thinking of himself as nowhere near, and although that’s nowhere close to behavior which should be rooted for, he’s certainly not some lovesick madman who is entirely oblivious to how much he’s overstepping— while it is true that Paul doesn’t appreciate his care for him or his attempts at comforting him whatsoever, that’s just…not a display of obsessive love on Arthur’s part? I’m not entirely certain on how to explain it to get the point across, but there’s a huge difference between wanting to comfort the dearest person to you, even if they despise it like Paul did, and showering them with unwanted affection, being possessive over them and whatnot.

Besides, Arthur has not once expected a thing in return for his actions throughout both novels— he’s never claimed he wants Paul’s gratitude, appreciation, love, anything, or that he’d feel anyhow entitled to it, perhaps even that he’d wind up getting his way someday if he continued, or any other such thing that this trope very often comes with. All of Arthur’s actions have never been to gain anything from Paul, and that’s clear from his memoir alone— if there’s one thing he actually wanted, it was to have someone to care for, someone to matter to, but that wasn’t something he was forcing Paul to show in any way, that was what he’d already felt he achieved from the start, most likely because he couldn’t have had any other frame of reference. There was nothing he ever wanted to force Paul to do, and if anything, what he saw Paul as was a human being of his own, not something which ultimately belonged to him in any way, shape or form, or someone who was indebted to him for all Arthur had done for him.

All that to say, this is just a short post against blatant mischaracterization, not against AUs, as I said. I admit the AU concept itself is very much not my thing either, but my personal opinion is obviously not the opinion of everyone else, and if that’s what you enjoy creating content for, feel free to go for it— just please don’t claim it’s actually canon. That’s all.

[glitchneedles]

What if we kissed tenderly, my little grape? What if I took your hands and plant tender kisses all over them, slowly going up your arms, till I finally reach your supple neck.

[wolfisland]

honestly one of my least favourite things about online spaces centered around cluster b personality disorders is that they almost treat the disorders as an in joke. like its never quite anti recovery rhetoric but a lot of the times it feels like it becomes this thing where something harmful gets spurred on as a personality trait to nurture rather than a symptom to keep an eye on. freaks me the fuck out.

it could be because growing up i was pretty familiar with cluster b spaces and i lost a couple of friendships due to it becoming this whole "i have this disorder now i have to knowingly indulge the more harmful and dangerous symptoms im supposed to be treating to really prove i have this disorder!" thing.

like babes i still believe youre borderline, you dont need to go full tilt maintaining a numbered and ranked list of the people most important to you and assigning a fp role to someone who frankly is not responsible for your stability.

[152glasslippers]

tag game: shuffle your “on repeat” playlist from spotify and post the first 10 tracks

tagged by: the loves of my life @agentmmayy @myletternevercame @lizzybennets ❤️

I don’t actually have an “on repeat” playlist, so here’s 10 songs I’ve had on repeat lately

Long Day - Matchbox Twenty

Accidental Babies - Damien Rice

Borderline - Tove Lo

My Kink is Karma - Chappell Roan

Nostalgic for the Moment - Kathryn Gallagher

Monster - Hotel Fiction

Backwards Directions - Abby Sage

Bleachers - bluffs.

Way I Go - Gordi

Renaissance Man - Sidney Bird

tagging: @carry-the-sky @onebatch2batch @ballerinikelsea @majicmarker

[milksnake-tea]

genuinely wondering if it's wrong to call someone creepy when they keep looking at your blog after you've told them 5 times not to and have blocked them already

[spellsparkler]

saw a poll today about how peoples' characters regard the dream visitor in its initial guise... I truly don't think row gives a rat's ass about it up until the reveal. if they really take any of its bait it's not until after the tentacles come out

[bombusbombus]

Mom can you come pick me up. I just went in the tags and people are fetishising redheads again

[rancidarling]

thinking about my last crush and while I'm not a delusional person, that may have been the most deluded period of time I've ever had

[unpopularly-opinionated]

Holy shit does How To Get Away With Murder end so badly. Total waste of time, right up the end. After season one it was like sitting in a car on neutral with no brakes on a growing decline.

The characters just started getting worse and worse, up until season five where the characters just up and pivoted drastically, so much so that they might as well have been all new characters, only for them to be given almost no substantial end. From season one it’s made obvious that Annaliese is the main character, but what you understandably don’t realize until the end is that, despite at least 50% (being extremely generous since it’s likely more) of the show being centered around them, almost none of the other ‘main’ characters are actually anything more than side characters for Annaliese to bounce off of. None of them are given arcs or reasonable endings.

The series ends with Annaliese being found not-guilty for all of the bullshit throughout the series, Conner going to prison and attempting to divorce Oliver out of love, Michaela walking away scot free after rightfully losing the last few people who were close to her, Laurel fucking off to who knows where to raise her clearly genetically-modified clone of Wes, named Christopher, and Frank and Bonnie dying...

...and then it jumpcuts immediately to years later at Annaliese’s funeral where an old Laurel is there with her now-adult son, Christopher, who again is a fucking clone of Wes, and an old Conner and Oliver, still together, and Michaela somehow becomes I guess a Supreme Court Justice because of course the racist homophobic strong powerful black woman has to win.

And I can’t describe to you how jarring this jumpcut is either, like we go from basically everyone’s worst day imaginable and immediately cut to this somber, yet still nice and comforting day. God forbid if I was supposed to cry when Conner was trying to divorce Oliver so he wouldn’t be alone while he went to prison because seconds later it would’ve just jumped to when everything was all nice and happy between them again which is just so wild.

Honestly, the biggest sin is Michaela. I’ll hand it to Shonda for having the balls to at least not put her at the funeral, further emphasizing the fact that in the end she pushed away the last few people who gave a shit about her after she thoroughly stabbed them in the back. But that’s the only thing I’ll hand to her because quite frankly, none of the side characters got character arcs which is a shame altogether, but Michaela’s arc was so obvious from season one.

They literally called her out as being the “shooting star”, which meant she was the one who would rise hot and fast only to crash and burn in the end. Throughout the series she went on and on about how she wanted to be Annaliese, up until I believe either seasons five or six where she vindictively states that she no longer wants to be Annaliese, she wants to be herself, and in that moment it’s clear that she genuinely believes she’s somehow better than Annaliese. She showed clear signs of having all of Annaliese’s worst traits, amplified, and almost none of her good ones--aside from the law. So I think a more fitting end for her, genuinely (and not just because I hate her character so fucking much), would’ve been for her to crash and burn like she was always meant to. She should’ve died from alcohol poisoning or something early on in her career. Fizzled out. Been disbarred. Something. She should not have been anywhere close to becoming a SCJ or whatever it was she ended up being.

I could go on, but I’ve said enough. The show was just abysmal. It almost makes me want to know how Scandal ended, just to see if it was anywhere near as bad, but whatever. I’m not wasting my time again.

[pears-trinkets]

.

[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.

[lias36912]

DP x DC prompt

Danny the new (unintentional) Gotham Rogue

Because of college, university or maybe a job offer, Danny is moving to Gotham. What he hadn't thought of at the time, is the high levels of air pollution and smog that block the view of the sky at all hours of the day. But he needs to see the night sky to satisfy his space obsession and he doesn't always have time to leave the city and with all the bats and birds around, he can't just fly above the smog blanket, without risking being discovered.

So he goes to Sam. She knows a thing or two about activism and can give him tips.

And Danny begins small.

But nothing changes.

So he goes a little bigger. Not much. Just a little to get noticed.

But this is Gotham. Who cares about a little smog? It's been like this for as long as they remember and they really have bigger problems don't they?

And so Danny goes bigger and bigger and at some point he crosses the thin line between normal activism and what is considered a Rogue in the eyes of the Gothamites.

For Danny this is normal activism still. Amity Park is a little weird, a little extreme for outsiders. Being liminal or half ghost screws with your sense of normal and hey, Danny just wants to bring attention to the smog problem.

At some point he meets Pamela Isley. Someone who is all for less smog in Gotham. Especially since some plants really need more sunlight and she just wants to make the world a little greener, you know?

So yeah. Danny has no idea that what he sees as normal is borderline Rogue behaviour in Gotham, even though he would just like to see the stars on a regular basis. Please and thank you.

[swiftdove]

collateral damage

pairing: rio vidal x agatha harkness x fem!reader

summary: after being stranded by your ex-lovers, you've found a new life, hoping to finally move on. unfortunately, fate just doesn't seem to be on your side.

content: angst, allusions to smut, sapphic yearning

a/n: i'm obsessed to say the least

You should've known.

From the moment Agatha stepped foot into your pitiful excuse of a store, you should've slammed the door shut. For years, you'd been reeling from the wounds inflicted by your so-called lover. If you could even call her that. Never, did she once, refer to you as anything other than her 'pet'.

You supposed the name was fitting. You were practically a dog, groveling at the ground she walked on. Hoping, begging, praying, dying that she wouldn't leave. 

Then, without a trace, she vanished from your life, set on her next twisted mission. You had simply been a means to an end, a brief footnote in her life. 

It didn't help that the only other person you cared about, Rio, had followed in Agatha's absence. They'd left you alone, desperately trying to piece together the shattered remains of what you once had. 

Sometimes, you wondered. You wondered if they ever felt guilty about what they did, and if they ever thought of you from time to time. Then, you scolded yourself for even daring to believe that the Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal would have the time of day to care about you. You had drowned in that pit of self-deprecation for years, slowly re-learning how to live without them. 

And just as you thought you were finally free, the wretched witch came back, pulling you back under her spell. If it were anyone else, you would have said 'no'. But it wasn't just 'anyone else'. It was Agatha. You weren't sure where this sick, borderline-obsessive love for her came from. You had left it to depreciate in the back of your mind, where you would have preferred for it to have stayed.

Unfortunately, Agatha had had other plans.

It was stupid. You hated yourself for it.  You hated that tiny spark that you felt when she said your name, that familiar warmth in your chest when she came close. You would've given anything to stop the feeling.

If only Agatha knew. Throughout her long, melodramatic speech about the rewards of The Road, all you could do was stare at her in disbelief. The promise of being with her, even if it were for a short while, was enough to have convinced you. If you had known, back then, that Rio would have been joining you, you would have eagerly accepted the offer without hesitating.

But then again, time had cast a golden glow over your past relationships. You hadn't remembered how unwanted you had felt in their presence, how much they hadn't cared about you.

Sat around the warmth heat of the fireplace, your gaze lay wistfully on the two women. Situated across from them, you felt more distant to them than you had when you were alone.

"I have a scar," Rio suddenly spoke, glancing over at the coven.

"No, you don't," Agatha shot back, almost instantly. 

Your ears perked, waiting for Rio's next words.

"Yes, I do," Rio replied, glancing over at Agatha, her solemn gaze worth a thousand unspoken words. It was their dynamic, their silent conversations, that left you feeling like a second-choice. The feeling settled into the pit of your stomach, which you desperately tried to keep from coming back up.

"A long time ago, I loved someone." Rio shot another pointed look at Agatha. "And I had to do something that I did not wanna do, even though it was my job. And it hurt them. She is my scar."

If you had the choice to go deaf right there and then, you would have chosen it immediately. Although, you knew it wouldn't stop the sharp pain you felt in your heart. Seeing them together was enough. 

"I have to go stretch my legs," Agatha said, walking away.

Just like she used to walk away from every problem in her life. Like she did with you.

You couldn't bear it. One more second in their presence, and you were sure you would have thrown up.

"Same," you replied quietly, walking in the opposition direction to your past lover. 

It was only until the warmth of the fire was long gone, that you felt the tears sliding down your cheeks. 

Breaking down into sobs, you brought your knees to your chest, burying your head inside. You shouldn't have come. You should have said no. 

It seemed as though fate was constantly punishing you, tugging at your heartstrings until they threatened to break. You hated that a part of you wanted to hurt them. Just enough, so that you too would have left a scar. But you knew you couldn't do it. You wouldn't. Not after they shared, so intimately, their past with you, letting you devour every fiber of their being.

You knew why they were the way that they were. That's why it hurt so much to watch them, again and again, fall victim to their pasts. That's why you could never leave, knowing how much pain they had endured, knowing that their wounds ran too deep to ever heal.

Sympathy was a knife, stabbed straight into your back when they left you to dry.

"You good?"

You'd been so deep in your emotions, you hadn't noticed the dark shadow looming over you. Swiveling around, you were met with a pair of manic brown eyes.

"Rio," you exhaled, quickly wiping away your tears. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Rio shook her head softly, pushing her tongue against her right cheek. Her fingers trailed up your leg, sending shivers down your spine. 

"Come on, now," she lulled. "You never were much of a good liar."

"Maybe I've changed," you replied sharply, pulling away from her touch.

Rio's grip tightened, her fingernails digging into your thigh. "Maybe you have," she replied dismissively. "Is that why you never called?"

You scoffed, turning away from her piercing stare. "No. We're not doing this - this wasn't my fault. You and Agatha left without saying a word to me. Call me crazy for assuming you were done with me."

"Now there's the Y/N I know," Rio bit back. "Always jumping to conclusions."

You rolled your eyes at her. "What does it matter anyways? You seem perfectly fine without me. I didn't seem to have left a scar."

"Is that what this is about?" Rio questioned, a taunting grin tugging at her lips.

You refused to dignify her question with an answer.

"Aww, was our little baby feeling left out?"

A mocking, cruel voice rang out in the air, one that you knew all too well.

"Fuck off, Agatha," you snapped. You were hardly in the mood to deal with her heartless jests tonight.

"Someone's forgotten their manners," Agatha remarked, her voice laced with venom. 

Rio chuckled, her grip still deathly tight on your thighs. You could feel the blood seeping out of your skin, onto her fingers.

"I wish I could have forgotten you instead," you retorted, unsure where this newfound attitude was coming from. 

"Now, now. Don't get too cocky," Rio warned, although the grin on her face said something entirely different.

You bit back a scoff. "What's this, anyways? Last time I checked, you both hated each other."

The Green Witch shrugged. "We both share a common interest."

Refusing to take anymore of this, you made a move away from them, eager to escape Rio's death grip. Unfortunately, the two witches were unwilling to let you get away so easily.

"Don't," Agatha cautioned, her voice alone enough to stop you in your tracks.

"What do you want?" you snapped, finally turning towards her.

Your eyes narrowed as Agatha's smile turned into something sinister.

"You," she replied definitively. 

You laughed sarcastically, barely believing what was happening right now. "Are you fucking kidding me? You left me. You can't - I - don't you think we're too far gone now? I mean, you left me wondering where the hell you -"

"We didn't want to leave," Rio interjected.

"Then why did you?" 

"We cared too much about you to stay," Rio explained, gently interlocking your fingers with hers. "It would've only have hurt you."

"Well, you hurt me either way," you replied bitterly, flinching at the coldness of the witch's fingers.

Rio sighed. "I know. I know we did."

Exasperated, Agatha tilted your head up with her fingers, forcing you to look her in the eyes. "Pet, we're sorry."

"Well, sorry doesn't cut it anymore. Not in my books," you snapped, wrenching yourself out of their grasps. "And don't call me that. I'm not your pet."

Without looking back, you walked back towards the fireplace. Unbeknownst to you, the two witches you left behind were hardly satisfied with your answer.

"She's forgotten who she belongs to," Rio murmured, staring into the back of your head.

Agatha tightened her jaw, shaking her head. Her eyes met Rio's, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. 

"It looks like we'll have to teach her a lesson then, hm?"

[teamatsumu]

compression. (sakusa kiyoomi x reader)

summary: atsumu is the perfect person to feed your obsession with kiyoomi’s arms.

word count: 1172

warnings: swearing, very mildly suggestive (if you squint), detailed descriptions of kiyoomi’s arms in compression sleeves so it’s not for the faint hearted

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

When you studied Marketing and Communications in university, you didn’t exactly anticipate that your future would include you managing a V League Division 1 sports team. But every day when you went into work, you thanked the gods above that this is where your career path had led you, because that meant you could ogle Sakusa Kiyoomi and his infamous compression sleeves all day.

Oftentimes you were certain Kiyoomi didn’t mean anything by them. For him, they were practical. They kept his arms taut and ready for the ball. They made his movements sharper. He received the ball better. He didn’t have to feel his bare skin on the dirty court. These were all reasons you had heard straight out of his mouth. When you heard him mention them so nonchalantly, it almost made you feel bad for the absolutely sinful- borderline deranged- thoughts you had in your head about the way those sleeves made his arms look.

You were well aware of the kind of thoughts Kiyoomi’s choice of athletic wear caused among his fans. To put it simply and bluntly, they went feral over it. There were whole Twitter accounts dedicated to just his arms, or his chest. And as someone who often managed social media profiles for some of the members, you got to see the most unhinged of these comments with your own two eyes. And you would be the first to (secretly) admit that you agreed with 90% of what was being said, because holy shit did those sleeves do something to you.

Most of the time during practice, you could feel your eyes drift back over to the man in question, wearing a black sports tee and those godforsaken sleeves, working up quite the set as they played set after set to prepare for their next game. As the hours passed, Kiyoomi would get more and more disheveled, curls becoming unruly enough that he would grab a towel, biceps flexing as he ran it over the nape of his neck and dipped into the collar of his shirt. Christ almighty.

You should’ve known that you would eventually get caught. But if it was anyone who would notice, you had expected it to be Meian or maybe Coach Foster. But the person who did bring it up to you happened to be the biggest nightmare in this scenario; Miya Atsumu.

“Ya should be a little less obvious ‘bout it.” He commented when he trudged over to the bench where you sat, grabbing a water bottle and beginning to chug. You tore your eyes from Kiyoomi who now had his back to you, the muscles under his shirt flexing with every movement. You raised an eyebrow at the blond, not yet correlating his words with your hidden obsession. He placed the bottle down and placed a hand on his hip, giving you a knowing smirk.

“A blind grandma could notice the way yer lookin’ at him.”

Your eyes widened and cheeks flamed when he nudged his head in Kiyoomi’s direction, and you knew you had been caught. You clenched your jaw hard.

“You say a single word-”

He threw his hands up as if in surrender, effectively silencing your threat in its tracks.

“I won’t, promise! But there is one thing…..”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. Of course, of fucking course he would blackmail you with this.

“What do you want?” You deadpanned, glaring at him and preparing for the worst.

Atsumu looked a bit affronted, as if the mere insinuation that he might want something was preposterous to him. You gave him another tired look, until he sighed and gave up, plopping down heavily on the bench next to you.

“A phone number. Ya know that cute girl who comes by once a month? From the Volleyball Association?”

“No.”

Atsumu’s mouth dropped like a child who just got slapped. “Hey c’mon! Ya didn’t even hear me out!”

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a characteristic frontal headache begin to build, courtesy of Miya Atsumu. “I’m tired of setting you up with people, Tsumu! It won’t end well, as always-”

“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with his compression sleeves.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I can get hundreds of those off the internet.”

“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with just his compression sleeves.”

That made you halt in your tracks. You searched Atsumu’s face for any form of mockery or lie, and you found none. Your eyebrows shot up when you realized he was being serious.

“In the locker room. I can get it for ya today.”

Oh my god. Instinctively, your eyes darted over to the man in question, who was talking to Hinata about something. It looked like volleyball tips since he had his arms before him in a receiving position, and Hinata was rapidly nodding to what he was saying.

“No.” You shook your head. “No, that’s wrong.”

“I’ll take a selfie with him, yeah? He will know there’s a photo. And I can send it in the groupchat.”

You look back at Atsumu, seriously contemplating his offer. He kept yapping, as per usual, thinking that the more he talked, the likelier it would be to convince you. And the bastard was right, it was working.

“No one else will bat an eye. We see each other in the lockers all the time. No big deal.”

You bit your lip in thought. The possibility of seeing Kiyoomi shirtless and only in compression sleeves had your pulse rising.

“And you just want her number in return?”

Atsumu nodded eagerly. You gave him a narrow-eyed glare.

“Send the picture. Then I will give you the number.”

His triumphant grin made it feel like he had already won. “Deal.”

That evening, when your phone pinged with a text notification, you nearly flew across the bed to grab it, opening the picture Atsumu sent in the groupchat with eager fingers and freezing as soon as you laid eyes on it.

Atsumu had held up his end of the bargain spectacularly.

He had taken the picture with Kiyoomi a little further in the background, so he could get the man’s full torso in it. He was facing slightly away from the camera, but his face was turned towards it, capturing the scowl between his eyebrows and the little pout of his mouth. He was gloriously shirtless, still a bit sweaty from practice, and he held his shirt in his hand, one arm flexed as he held it while the other was held carelessly by his side, compression sleeves hugging the cords of toned muscles just right.

There was another ping, pulling you out of your trance and making you realize just how dry your mouth had gotten. Atsumu had messaged you privately.

“My payment? ;)”

You rolled your eyes and sent him the number, immediately going back to the picture and starring it for future reference, a tiny smile quirking up the corner of your lip as you did so.