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merrinla · 2 months ago

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Prison of Regret cut content

According to the devnotes in the text file, the prison was originally different from what we see in the game. Rook first wandered in the darkness, then along a bloody path among fallen comrades. In the end, the path was supposed to lead to the Demon of Regret who could change its appearance and voice to put pressure on Rook. There was a choice to confront it or give in.

Alone in the Dark Rook awakes in darkness, alone. Chains appear to have attached themselves to Rook. Attempting to gain a bearing, Rook starts to hear a voice. The voice sounds like Solas, but different. A path appears before them. Rook attempts to get answers from the voice while following the trail. Blood Leading the Blind The path resembles blood dripping over the edge of a cliff. The trail disappears after rook moves forward. The Voice returns to inform Rock they have swapped places with Solas. Rook Demands answers, but is taunted in return. A small light appears at the end of the path. Reaching the Light fills the screen with white. A still image of Solas appears when the white fades. He is striding out of a opening in the fade. This scene is identical to the one where Rock was moments ago. Approaching Solas triggers a banter about Solas with the voice. Approaching the Portal triggers a banter about the prison. Reminded of the Lost The set pieces fade away into the darkness, the path continues beyond. Escaped, but the battle has just begun. Figures come into view as Rook travels down the path. They are the fallen followers from the Ghilan'nain's battle, Frozen in their death throes. The scene is frozen in time capturing the moments Rooks followers died along with a scene of Ghilan'nain. Taunted by the Lost The followers that died taunt rook. Banter will play as players fumble around the space and while they progress down the path. Banter line about the First Fallen Follower Banter line about the Second Fallen Follower Another flash of white fills the screen. The mighty have Fallen Rook finds themselves on the walls of Weisshaupt. Similar to earlier, the scene is frozen in time. Rook walks the ramparts with the still battle around them. The voice speaks of moments from the battle. Banter line about Ghilan'nain. Manipulation Manifest The voice asks why Rook is here. Rook responds by mentioning Varric. The scene fades away. Rook finds themselves on another trail, however this time there is a doorway at the end outlined in the darkness. Passing through the doorway leaves Rook inside Varrics room. Suddenly the furniture and the walls will fall away, revealing a pile of rocks. Approaching the rocks triggers the Varric Reveal scene. First/second/third/fourth banter of characters. Get the Characters speaking about Varric. Challenge the Demon of Regret by walking towards it. Regret Changes its appearance and voice to imitate characters Rook has interacted with in an attempt to stop Rook in their tracks. Changes again to another character. Changes to one last character. Within the Conversation there are non-standard game overs depending on which response is chosen. Give-in to Regret Confront Regret Approaching the Demon, Rook overcomes their regret. Triggering the outro cine. Rook emerges from the Prison, where all their followers await them. After the hugs and jubilation, the group sets off to stop Solas and Elgar'nan will new found determination.

The text also contains some lines from the dialogue with the demon.

----------

What is this! Is someone there! Hello! Rook. Solas? Solas, you...! It's like... walking against a wall. Follow the line, I guess. Where does this lead?

What... what am I seeing? It's what you chose. The tipping point. What are you? What's the point of this? This is the truth of your actions. Your tipping point.

The moment of freedom. A god walks free, because another took his place. Someone who played the role. Solas built a cage that could hold the gods. You trapped him, but were also his way out. You're not Solas. What are you? Another god? I am the lock on this prison.

Keep going, Rook. It's a long way back. Back? To what...? I'm not moving without answers! I deserve answers. You will get what you deserve.

You're more like Solas than you know. It's the blood on your hands. What blood? Show me!

Neve/Bellara? No. You're fake, like Solas.

(Neve banter) I fought for you, Rook. You led me to this. She'd call me Trouble, make some joke to hide how she feels. She wasn't fighting for me. She wouldn't say that.

(Bellara banter) Was this what I fought for, Rook? Was it worth it? She'd never say that. Every moment was worth it. She knew why she was fighting. Didn't need me to tell her.

You're not her. Not real. Live long enough, the only thing that's real is what you've lost.

(Harding banter) I did everything for you, Rook. And then you left me. Lace would blame herself. That would hurt more. Her voice, but she'd never try to hurt someone like that. You don't know her. Not like I did.

(Davrin banter) I saved you, Rook. What was the point? That's not how he'd challenge me. How he'd tease me about it. He'd have saved anyone. Done it for the challenge alone. You don't know him. Not like I did.

If the pain is great enough, appearances can be all that matter.

You're stealing these voices. If this is the Fade, are you a demon? I am Regret. The Regret of a god. And you are a speck that I will consume forever. You feed me regardless.

Wardens, hold the wall! This is our house! Hold that wall, Wardens! Push them back!

A face in the sky. Like no Blight before. The Mother of Monsters. Like no Blight before.

That's Weishaupt. I saved the Wardens. You saved some of the Wardens. And they're dead, aren't they.

I came to warn them. Their plan wasn't going to work. I tried to warn them. The gods changed everything. They didn't know about the gods. Why were you here? I told you, to warn them. That's what you came to do, not why you were here.

But why you, Rook? Because I trapped Solas. Because Varric—

Why show me this? To make me give up?

Ascend. What? Rise to match the gods. Rise above those who died. See why you lead.

You won't keep me here! Said it yourself, this cage is for gods! I'm not like them! Not like Solas! "A cage built for gods." Or mortals with delusions.

I'll get out, you know. I get out of things. Solas got out. Stubborn. Another thing you and Solas share. Another? What's the first? The regret. The blood on your hands.

You want to know how he swapped places with you? How your regret could match his? Every choice you've made, you owe to this. This is the moment that put lives in your hands. Welcome to your cage. The moment why you lead.

When Varric showed you the cost of leadership. And the god of lies regretfully killed him. He was always...? Always.

The first fight against Solas? Varric is still... Right where you left him. This... is the moment Varric died. But this regret isn't mine.

The god of lies abhors blood magic, but made an exception for you. He had to do it. You made him do it. Varric died at that ritual. You didn't want to face it. And with a little blood magic, you didn't have to. The moment Solas used. When the blood on your hands clouded your mind. Solas was trapped in his own cage, but if your regret grew, he could escape. Only by trading you. Shaping you. Until your regret matched his. So Varric lived on, in your mind, until it could hit you all at once. This is the end. When he traded his regret for yours. This is the very real loss that let Solas swap his regret... for yours.

Regret is the price we pay for acting when no one else will. That's what leaders say. When they get people killed for the greater good. When they toy with lives.

It was lies. The whole time... I was toyed with. Lied to.

This mistake. This failure. And it can never be undone.

Do you see? How everyone says one thing, but you hear another? (Laughs.) Poor "injured" Varric.

(demon shows Rook memories of the companions?) [TEMP] Mementos - Lucanis [TEMP] Mementos - Bellara [TEMP] Mementos - Harding [TEMP] Mementos - Davrin [TEMP] Mementos - Taash [TEMP] Mementos - Neve [TEMP] Mementos – Emmrich

It's just you. Alone. Always alone.

Give up. Lucanis has only spite for you. Give up. Emmrich could never love you. Give up. Die. Taash doesn't care. Give up. Harding deserved better. Give up. Neve deserved better than you. Give up. Bellara needed better than you. Give up. Davrin deserved more than you.

Give up. Your fortune is wasted. End it. Give up. Die. No one will mourn you. Give up. Die behind the Veil. Give up. End this contract. You failed. Give up. You failed your calling. Die. Give up. Fade like the failed shadow you are.

Give up. You're a poor example of your kind. Give up. You failed what's left of the elves. Give up. Your time in the sun is over.

Give up. You can't fight your way out of failure. Give up. Your magical powers can't help you. Give up. There's no evading this death.

Give up. You're alone in the dark, like you deserve. Give up. You could never match those who came before you. Give up. Death is the only role you deserve. Give up. There's no point in even trying. Give up. Die. Like Solas knew you would. Give up. This is what your failure deserves. Give up. No one believed in you. End it.

You're right. I can't go on. I can't deal with the loss. Lies win in the end. Regret is too much to bear. It's too much... There's nothing...

I give up. I failed Harding/Neve/Bellara/Lucanis/Davrin/Taash/Emmrich.

I give up. I'm no Shadow Dragon/Warden/ Veil Jumper/Mourn Watcher/ Lord of Fortune. I give up. I failed the Crows.

I yield. I failed as a human/elf/qunari/dwarf.

I'm a failure as a mage/warrior/rogue.

I give up. I have no one. I failed the heroes before me.

Delicious.

I'll face regret. Keep going.

Things always seem impossible. Just fight one battle at a time. You're not in this alone. Go on, Rook. It was always you. You got this. You know bullshit when you smell it, and that demon is full of it.

Varric?

How dare you make me lose him twice! Using Varric was a mistake. If you really knew what Varric meant, you wouldn't have used him. You didn't take his voice. You couldn't, could you? Because it's always been a comfort! "Things always seem impossible. Just fight one battle at a time." "I know I can handle this." "It's not a personal failing to be scared!" "I'm not in this alone." What are you doing? Varric knew the risks. Knew what it might cost. I didn't lose him. Solas killed him! Solas did this, and he'll pay! You think you can break me with what I've lost? What Solas took? I don't regret this. But gods be damned, Solas will! He built this prison, not me! Solas lied, made me lie to myself! I won't be caged by what he did! I can see through the regret. I see through you! I can regret, but keep going! That loss might have ended me! But not now! You think you can hold me? That you're the first regret to try? I have friends to fight for! And no regret will keep me from them! I get beat up. Get sad. That's what life does. It hurts, and then I get back up! All I can do is keep going! All I can do is keep trying! Varric chose me. Saw something worthwhile! You're damned right he's why I'm here! I can't regret what he did for me! More time with him was a gift! All you've done is remind me why I try. The value of the friends I have left! Shown me how much I need them! I know they're waiting for me! You think you can keep me from them! You think you can keep me here? Keep me from what matters? All of this hurts, but you're wrong about me! I'm not alone! Not in my heart! I found love! That's my light in the dark! Nothing can keep us apart! Not gods! Not you! I regret nothing about the time we had. Nothing! (Growl!)

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dav #da datamine #prison of regret #solas #rook #varric tethras #varric #neve gallus #bellara lutare #lace harding #davrin #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis #taash #emmrich volkarin

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numerology-astrology · 1 month ago

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wolvietxt · 4 months ago

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𝓑UTTERFLIES.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : light angst, shouting, reader stands up for bucky, kinda open-ended summary : bucky feels weird things in his stomach whenever he thinks about you, he’s convinced he’s getting sick wc : 1.7k a/n : part two here

the avengers tower was a hive of activity. agents scurried in and out, stark’s gadgets beeped incessantly, and the hum of conversations filled the hallways. amidst the chaos, you’d carved out your own little routine - something steady to hold onto in a world that rarely stopped moving. and then there was bucky barnes. he was the quiet one, always on the edges of the action, as though he wasn’t sure where he fit in. you’d noticed him almost immediately when you moved in, not because he tried to stand out, but because he did the opposite.

every morning, he’d shuffle into the kitchen, head down, hair slightly messy from sleep. you’d offer him a soft “good morning,” trying not to sound too eager, and he’d nod or mumble something before retreating to the solitude of the gym or his room. his shyness only made you want to know him more. there was a depth to him, layers you were dying to peel back, but he seemed content - or maybe resigned - to keeping everyone at arm’s length.

still, you didn’t give up. you tried in small ways: leaving him a cup of coffee when you knew he’d be up early, asking if he’d want to join for movie nights, even offering him a quiet corner during team meetings when things got too loud. his answers were always polite but distant. it wasn’t rejection, not really, but it still left you wondering if you’d ever get through to him.

then came the day you overheard something that made your blood boil.

it happened in the common room. you’d been looking for a misplaced file when you caught snippets of a conversation between two junior agents. at first, you thought nothing of it - just the usual chatter that filled the tower. but then you heard bucky’s name, and your attention snapped to them like a rubber band.

“he’s just so… weird,” one of them said, his tone dripping with disdain. “i mean, come on, we’re supposed to trust him? after everything he’s done?”

“seriously,” the other agreed. “it’s like walking on eggshells around him. guy barely talks, and when he does, it’s just… creepy. i don’t know why they keep him around.”

rage bubbled up in your chest, hot and immediate. before you could stop yourself, you stepped into the room, your voice cutting through their laughter like a knife. “who do you think you are?”

the agents froze, their faces draining of color as they realized you’d been listening. one of them tried to stammer an excuse, but you weren’t having it.

“no, i want to know,” you said, your voice steady but sharp. “what gives you the right to talk about him like that? do you have any idea what he’s been through? what he’s overcome? or do you just like tearing people down because it makes you feel better about yourselves?”

they exchanged nervous glances, clearly searching for an exit, but you weren’t finished.

“bucky barnes has more strength in his pinky finger than you’ll ever have in your entire life. and if i hear either of you - either of you - say one more word about him, you’ll be reassigned so fast you won’t have time to pack your desks. understood?”

they mumbled something that sounded like agreement before bolting from the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding from the adrenaline.

unbeknownst to you, bucky had been standing just around the corner.

he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he’d been on his way to the common room to grab a bottle of water when he heard your voice. at first, he’d thought you were just talking to someone, but as the words sank in, he realized you were defending him. you were angry - no, furious - on his behalf, and it left him rooted to the spot, unable to move.

no one had ever done that for him before.

days later, the memory still lingered. he couldn’t shake the image of you standing there, fire in your eyes, your voice unwavering. it was as though you’d burned yourself into his mind, and every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. it wasn’t just what you’d said; it was the way you’d said it, with so much conviction it made him feel… something he couldn’t quite name.

that night, he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. his heart raced, his palms were clammy, and his stomach churned in a way that felt almost… pleasant? but also deeply unsettling. was he getting sick? that seemed impossible - the serum made sure of that. yet the symptoms were undeniable. every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, heard your voice, and felt that strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

by the next morning, he was convinced something was seriously wrong.

bucky had never been one to dwell on his feelings. survival, duty, and regret had occupied most of his thoughts for as long as he could remember. but now, as he sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor, he couldn’t ignore the storm swirling inside him. he felt… strange. his chest was tight, his thoughts were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment he overheard you in the common room.

he should’ve stepped in, said something to those agents himself, but instead, he’d stood there like a coward while you defended him. the memory of your voice, sharp with anger, made his palms sweat. no one had ever spoken up for him like that. people either feared him or avoided him altogether. but you - you’d stood there, unwavering, because you believed he was worth it. the thought made his heart race in a way that felt entirely too unfamiliar.

it had to be some kind of illness, right? he couldn’t be sick - the serum wouldn’t allow it - but what else could explain the way his stomach flipped whenever you were around? or the way his hands fidgeted nervously whenever you said his name? bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. this was ridiculous. he needed answers.

and so, he turned to the only person he trusted to give him the truth.

“steve, something’s wrong with me,” bucky blurted out later that day. they were in the gym, steve halfway through a set of push-ups when bucky’s words made him pause mid-rep.

“wrong?” steve asked, pushing himself to his feet. “what do you mean?”

bucky hesitated, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s… i don’t know. i’ve been feeling weird lately. my heart’s racing, i can’t think straight, and every time i see - ” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “never mind. forget it.”

steve’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

bucky’s jaw tightened. “what? no. that’s not… that’s not it.”

“sure, buck,” steve said, his tone teasing. “you’re probably just coming down with something.”

bucky narrowed his eyes. “serum, remember? i don’t get sick.”

steve’s smile widened. “exactly.”

bucky scowled, realizing too late that steve wasn’t going to be any help. he mumbled a quick excuse and left, his frustration mounting. if steve wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d just have to figure this out himself.

next on his list was sam. surely sam would have a straight answer for him.

“ you’re not dying, man,” sam said after bucky cornered him in the kitchen. “although, judging by the way you’re acting, you’d think the world was ending.”

bucky frowned. “i’m not acting any way.”

sam raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. look, maybe you just need to… i don’t know, talk to someone about it. someone who isn’t me.”

bucky groaned. “you’re no help.”

“at least i’m honest,” sam shot back, smirking as he left bucky alone with his thoughts.

it wasn’t until later that night, during a rare moment of quiet, that bucky found himself seeking out natasha. if anyone could give him a straight answer, it was her. she was sitting in the lounge, flipping through a book, when he approached.

“can i ask you something?” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable. “always.”

bucky shifted awkwardly, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “if… hypothetically… someone couldn’t stop thinking about another person, and it made them feel all… weird inside, what would you call that?”

natasha’s lips twitched, and for a moment, bucky thought she might laugh. but instead, she closed her book and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “weird how?”

bucky struggled to find the words. “just… weird. like, heart-racing, can’t-think-straight, stomach-doing-flips kind of weird.”

natasha studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp and assessing. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

bucky blinked. “got what?”

she smirked. “you’ll figure it out.”

and just like that, she returned to her book, leaving bucky more confused than ever.

over the next few days, bucky’s “symptoms” only seemed to worsen. he found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. the way you smiled, the sound of your laugh, even the little things you did - like leaving a cup of coffee on the counter for him - made his chest ache in the best possible way. it was maddening.

finally, in a last-ditch effort to make sense of what was happening, he sought out wanda. if anyone could give him clarity, it was her.

wanda listened patiently as bucky explained his predicament, her expression calm and composed. when he finished, she tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“bucky,” she said gently, “you’re not sick.”

he frowned. “but - ”

“you’ve got a crush,” she said simply.

bucky’s heart stopped. “a crush?”

wanda nodded. “yes. and from the sound of it, it’s about time you did something about it.”

bucky stared at her, his mind racing. the idea felt foreign, almost impossible. but as he thought about you - the way you’d stood up for him, the way you’d always looked and spoken to him with so much warmth and understanding - he realized wanda was right.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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uttarakhand-hub · 2 years ago

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pukefactory · 12 days ago

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•☽────✧˖°˖ MY LOVE, MY SECRET ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader Where You Tell Her Something Vulnerable About Yourself

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

★ Requested By: Anon

☆ You tell her in a quiet moment. There’s no music playing in the Casino, no megaphones shrieking about profit margins or destiny or bloodied mannequins. You admit it—whatever it is—your past, your shame, your sore, raw nerve of a truth. And ENA… stills. Her eyes (triangles, uncertain) blink out of sync. Her voice glitches. “…Thank you for your investment.” Her Salesperson smile doesn’t fade. But her Meanie side? It twitches. Her clawed fingers tap her thigh—calculating. You just handed her leverage. But instead of using it, she stores it somewhere deep in her cubist heart. A cursed treasure in a collapsing briefcase.

☆ Later, she talks to herself. You catch fragments of it when you pass her in a hallway. “Must I report it? It’s information, not intel.” “SHUT UP, THEY TOLD ME BECAUSE I’M SPECIAL, NOT A SNITCH!!” “Right. Of course. Business is built on trust.” “Trust isn’t a deductible, you DUNCE!” You pause. You don’t say anything. You pretend you didn’t hear the conversation between her two halves debating what you’re worth.

☆ She starts offering you things. Deals. “Hey hey—confess a little more and I’ll throw in a lifetime subscription to my undivided attention.” It’s teasing. Mostly. You start to notice her red side is brighter when she talks to you. Like you gave her something forbidden to touch, and she can’t stop hovering near it. A secret. A power. A weapon. She holds it like a flower made of nails.

☆ When you’re sad, when you start spiraling because you regret telling her, ENA panics. She rushes in, yelling with her Meanie voice, “HEY! You think I’m gonna backstab you?! You think I’m just gonna BLAB and run a commercial on your TEARS?!?!” She’s waving her arms like a broken marionette, but her face is sincere. The claws don’t touch you. Instead, her mitten-hand pats your head. Once. Lightly. “…I’m glad you told me,” she mutters. “I don’t know why, but it feels like my heart got a new business license.”

☆ She keeps your vulnerability stored somewhere only she can access: A literal safe. Somewhere inside the glitchy neon apartment between two layers of dream code. She has it labeled “EMOTIONAL ASSETS – DO NOT TOUCH.” Sometimes she stares at it. Sometimes she fights herself not to open it. She’s learning what it means to have power and not use it. It makes her brain sizzle. It makes her stomach hurt. But she does it. For you.

☆ You joke about it one day. “Oh no, what if you blackmail me?” She goes still. Her triangle eyes widen. Her smile fades into something small and aching. “…I would never,” she says. Not Salesperson ENA. Not Meanie ENA. Something quieter. Sadder. You touched a nerve. One made of wire and worry. The kind of worry that can’t be monetized.

☆ When someone else figures out part of your secret—some third-party gelatinous oracle or drunk frog banker—ENA defends you instantly. “WRONG. You don’t know the CONTEXT, so STAY OUT OF THEIR FILES.” She causes a scene. She gets banned from the Casino. She tells you it was “an unfortunate networking malfunction.” But her clenched red hand? Yeah. That’s a bruise she got for you.

☆ There’s a point where her meanie side does try to weaponize it. Just once. You hurt her first—maybe you lied, maybe you pushed her away. And she shouts it. The thing you trusted her with. You freeze. Her own voice catches. “…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I MEANT IT, but I DIDN’T MEAN TO MEAN IT—” She stammers so badly the code splits. The world bleeds colour. She doesn’t stop apologizing for three whole hours.And then she builds you a room made of glass, so you can see her coming next time.

☆ She uses metaphors to talk about you now. “Investors trust me with soft data. I am now the holder of precious emotional stock.” Her Salesperson side says it like a joke. Her Meanie side snarls, “And if ANYONE TOUCHES IT I’LL KILL THEM WITH A PENCIL SHARPENER.” You’ve never felt safer. In the chaos. In the sales pitch. You’re her emotional portfolio. And she guards it with claws and megaphones.

☆ You wonder if she ever resents you. You ask, one night. When the stars are fake and the air smells like spilled milk and melted coins. “…Does it bother you? That I gave you something heavy?” She pauses. Then: “I’ve always wanted something heavy. Something real. Something I couldn’t sell.” Her eyes gleam like dying TVs. “I don’t want to use your pain,” she says. “I want to understand it.” And she smiles like a crooked contract. Sharp-toothed. Trustworthy. Maybe even holy.

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mariasont · 1 year ago

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can you do aaron x wife reader who also works in the bau with him & on a case a police officer openly flirts with aaron in front of the team and reader so she stakes her claim on her husband && the team ( mostly derek & pen ) are teasing the two of them for it ??

Marked Territory - A.H

A/N: AHHHHH thinking ab claiming aaron hotchner as ur man has me giggling & kicking me feet

THANK you sooooo much for requesting angel <3 hope you like it!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

wk: 1.2k

pairings: aaron hotchner x wife!bau!fem!reader

warnings: heavy makeout, jealously

You stood a few feet away with a watchful gaze, arms locked across your chest. The consultant was laying it on thick, her eyelashes sweeping up and down in a practiced rhythm aimed at Aaron. It made you want to throw up. You couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff. The consultant's laughter pierced the quiet, an exaggerated display that felt out of place. Her hand rested on Aaron's arm a moment too long. Your glare could have set the room on fire, you were sure of it, and it only seemed to intensify when Aaron offered a polite, yet distant smile in return.

"Careful there, sugar," Derek joked, sliding into place beside you as he nudged your side. "You're about two seconds from turning this into a crime scene."

You offered a half-glance towards him, "I suppose I can't fault her taste," you said with a forced lightness, even as a twinge of jealously coiled tightly within you, your attention fixed on the hand that dared to claim familiarity with Aaron. "But good taste doesn't come with good sense, apparently."

Penelope swept in with a gasp that could rival a Greek chorus, her eyes wide with a feigned shock. "Wow, I could practically taste your fury from down the hall! Mrs. Hotchner, are we in strategy mode, or should I grab some popcorn?"

You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave. "You two are ridiculous. What do you expect me to do? Drag her by her hair? Please, I trust Aaron," you stated firmly, because, well, you did. This, however, didn't stop the tiny spark of irritation that flickered within, unbidden and unwelcome, but you squashed it with a laugh. "Besides, if I started a catfight every time someone flirted with him, I'd need my own filing cabinet for all the assault charges."

A glance was all it took for Garcia and Morgan to share their amusement. "Sure, sure," Garcia drawled, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Morgan's eyebrow arched in silent agreement as he smiled knowingly. "Of course, you're calm. But we both know if that bubble of anger pops, it's going to be one hell of a show."

You tried to ignore it; you really did. You buried your nose in your work, determined to keep your mind off that infuriating woman. You shuffled papers, dove into your case files, and tapped away at your computer with a vigor that doesn't go unnoticed by the team. Every time you caught a glimpse of Aaron, there she was--the consultant--hovering like a shadow. It's almost comical how she mirrored his every move, but you were not laughing.

You found reasons to be anywhere but where Aaron was, taking your coffee break when he's in the break room, opting for the stairs when he took the elevator. It's a dance of avoidance that has you mentally exhausted, but you're trying to channel your inner zen, and being around that woman is doing you no favors.

The office air is thick with tension, a tangible presence that envelops your desk, your focus splintering with every laugh and hushed conversation that drifts over from Aaron's direction. You're the very image of concentration until you see it--the consultant, her proximity invasive, her hand lingering on his shoulder with a familiarity that sears through your veneer of calm. It's the tripping point, the moment your restraint fractures.

You stand, a fluid motion that betrays her anger that charged the room with an energy that has the whole team's attention snapping to you. They recognize the signs--the firm line of your jaw, the fire in your eyes--a rare display that signals an unstoppable force is about to be set in motion.

"Hotch," the name is a clear, firm declaration across the room, a tone you usually reserved for the field. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

The room falls still, a collective breath held by the team as Aaron excuses himself and follows you into his office. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving just the two of you. His gaze meets yours, a furrow of worry creasing his brow as he takes in the tempest swirling in your stance.

"Honey, are you alright?" he asks, the professional facade giving way to a soft undertone of worry, as he takes a deliberate step towards you, his eyes searching yours for signs of distress.

With a swift assurance of privacy, your eyes lock on the drawn blinds, and you waste no time diminishing the space between you, hands clasping up to his neck with an urgency that pulls him down to you. Your lips found his in a fervent collision, coaxing a surprised murmur from him. He softly pulled back, his chuckle deep and knowing, as his hands encircled your waist.

"Honey--I, we're in the office."

His words may have carried a hint of reprimand, but the gentle exploration of his hands across your back drawing you nearer seemed to contradict him. An innocent smile graced your lips as your fingers wove through his hair, eliciting his head tilting back in contentment. "Just missed you is all."

An eyebrow lifted in amused acknowledgement. "Mm, is that so?"

Gently tugging his head closer, your lips crashed against his with a desperate intensity, your hands gripping him as if he were a lifeline.

With deliberate strokes, you raked your fingers through his hair, creating artful disarray. Your hands glided to his tie, tugging it just enough to break the perfect line, then across his jacket, crumpling the fabric with feigned carelessness. Each touch a strategic step in enhancing his unkempt image.

A gentle exhale escaped you as he pressed you back against the desk's edge, his hands forming a cage around you, both protective and possessive. Your lips curved into a smirk, your teeth capturing his bottom lip and tugging with a teasing pressure, probably a little harder than you should have, causing him to pull back. "Christ, sweetheart."

Instinctively, your hand rose to trace his bottom lip, smoothing over the swollenness your teeth had caused. A soft smile graced your features as you took in the delightful disarray of his appearance. With a satisfied nod, you left a featherlight kiss on his cheek and glided towards the door. "I love you, Mr. Hotchner."

His eyebrows knit together in loving exasperation as he observed your retreat, his hand absentmindedly caressing his lip. God, you kept life interesting. "I love you more, Mrs. Hotchner."

Emerging from Hotch's office, your hair perfectly disordered, a small smirk etched on your lips. You watch as the consultant's eyes stretch wide, a flush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. With a sly wink tossed her way, you glide towards Penelope and Morgan.

"Well, well, well," Morgan drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold, arms folded confidently over his chest. "I had a feeling those claws were just waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's our girl! Showing the world whose boss without breaking a sweat." Penelope chirped. "Well, I mean, maybe a little sweat. I'm seriously striving not to speculate about what you two were doing in there."

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you peer over your shoulder at Hotch's door. "Just wait for it," you tease, fingers poised for the dramatic reveal as you count down. "3, 2, 1.."

Right on cue, Hotch steps out, looking every bit as ruffled as you'd intended. His tie hangs crooked, his suit crumpled, and you didn't miss the dark red tint around his bottom lip. The sound of Morgan and Penelope's laughter filled the air as you offered a nonchalant shrug.

"It's all in the day's work, besties. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x your #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic

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bucketbueckers · 2 months ago

Text

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: language, slight cheating (deserved? 🌚), messy, toxicity, gaslighting, angst (w a happy ending bc angst without a happy ending makes me want to jump)

wc: 9.2k

synopsis: The unspoken truth between you and Azzi was that the two of you weren’t just friends. There was always something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface, something that was so glaringly obvious to your mutual friends yet something neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge. You thought that it was safer this way – keeping your relationship with Azzi strictly platonic, saving the both of you from an eventual heartbreak. Unfortunately, it seems that a toxic girlfriend you weren’t quite committed to was actually all it took for the two of you to give up on trying to stay away from each other.

notes: this was supposed to be a lighter read but 💛 anon said i should make a really angsty fic and well. who am i to deny the people. this was not originally going to have as much plot as it did but my fics never stay on track 🌚 also this is a little all over the place so im sorry!!! as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

For as long as you’ve known her, Azzi Fudd wasn’t just your friend. There was always something more between you. Gazes that lingered a little too long, a hand on a waist that burned in the most pleasant way possible, softer smiles that seemed to be reserved only for each other.

You met her during your freshman year – she was a freshman, too, a little wide-eyed and definitely out of her element at the crowded frat party. You were only there for “team bonding” and you quickly realized that “team bonding” meant your teammates were going to get plastered and you’d have to be the babysitter. You’d spotted Azzi from the corner of your eye while you were rummaging through the refrigerator for a water bottle, and, in a rare moment of smoothness where you didn’t stumble over your words because Azzi was drop dead fucking gorgeous, like stunningly beautiful, you’d asked if she wanted a water, too. She told you yes. For good measure, you stole a bowl of hummus and some pita chips from the pantry, asked if she wanted to get some air, and that was that. She told you her name under the glow of the porchlight and you told her yours through a coughing fit (which she’d been endlessly amused by) because the hummus was spicy for whatever reason – either way, you and Azzi had an instant connection, one that went a little deeper than hummus and chips at midnight and an easy conversation you’d never expected to have with a stranger, and frankly, you were a little too scared to give up what you had with her to ever think about acting on your growing feelings.

So, you never did. You never let anything slip – never gave any sort of indication that occasionally, you jolt awake late at night, your skin burning with what feels like the phantom press of Azzi’s lips against your skin. You don’t tell anyone how you’ve spent years organizing that little compartment in the corner of your brain that’s dedicated purely to Azzi – the meticulous system of filing cabinet-esque thoughts and facts about her; you know that you store her favorite color right next to her coffee order, only three rows down from vivid images of her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, the slight pout of her lips.

If anyone asked, Azzi Fudd was just your best friend, and you were hers. It seemed as though Azzi was none the wiser – or perhaps she was too polite to say anything otherwise, or maybe she’d felt the same way, too, and was just as afraid of ruining your friendship as you were – no way that was actually the truth, though. Despite your best efforts, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. Paige was convinced that you and Azzi were meant to be. Caroline always glanced at you meaningfully when you and Azzi walked into the room at the same time or when she caught you staring at her from afar. It was as though you and Azzi were just one big inside joke that everyone was in on but the two of you.

It’s a late night at Ted’s when you find yourself nursing a drink at your usual table. Paige had stolen Aubrey and Ayanna away to play some pool, KK, Jana, and Ice were dancing, and Azzi and Caroline went to the bathroom to freshen up. In times like these, you wish you were just a little better at saying no to Azzi – there’s something in the air that’s bringing your mood down and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s like a heaviness weighing down on you, a sort of dread that fills your veins. You’re sure the liquor isn’t helping either. Granted, you’re only a few sips in, not one to ever progress past tipsy, but you’re not really feeling the night out. Azzi had gazed at you with her big doe eyes, lips drawing into a pout. You figure you’d have a better chance at fighting off a bear than living with yourself after denying Azzi something.

“Hey–”

You can’t help the way you startle, lost in your thoughts. Azzi’s tinkling laughter reverberates in this small bubble of space you’ve created in the back corner of the bar; despite yourself, your lips curl into an amused smile, Azzi’s presence alone enough to lift your mood. “How’s the brooding, Batman?”

Huffing out something akin to laughter, you roll your eyes a little, sliding over in the booth to let Azzi in. She sits, eliminating the space between your bodies completely; you swallow, trying to not fixate on the way her shorts ride up on her thighs as her skin presses against yours, and Azzi? She’s the perfect picture of nonchalance, taking a sip from her drink like she’s completely unaware of how she’s turned your brain into mush. “Not brooding,” you argue. You don’t comment on how weak your voice sounds. Blessedly, Azzi doesn’t either, but she sets her drink down on the table to gaze at you.

Her brows draw together when she asks, “You okay?” Her fingers brush across your cheek and up your temple, which makes all of the blood rush to your head. “You’re feeling a little hot. You sure you’re not catching whatever bug Kayla and Jana had?”

You try for a chuckle, but even that comes out unconvincing. “Might be the alcohol,” you deflect, knowing full well that the two and a half sips you’ve had weren’t even enough to get you buzzed. The truth of the matter is that after a while, this just gets exhausting – pretending that you weren’t completely head over heels for Azzi. She’s your best friend. It’s easy to hide your feelings during the day when you’re both occupied – Azzi with basketball, you with softball – but things change at night. You’re looser, less-restrained, and all of the walls you keep up during the day to keep your feelings at bay come crashing down. Everything just feels so much more stronger and part of you starts to wonder if it’s worth it anymore – harboring your feelings. Maybe saying them out loud would be enough for you to start working through them and finally get over Azzi. Maybe you could finally be just friends again and you could spend time with her without hyperfocusing on how each and every one of your nerve-endings light up with activity at the slightest brush of her skin against yours.

Then, Azzi’s smiling at you, something soft and warm and mischievous all at the same time, like she’s got a trick up her sleeve and she knows that you’ll spend hours trying to figure out what it is. Her next words surprise you, moreso when her hand circles around your wrist, intertwining your fingers. “Come dance with me,” she requests.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, glancing at her hesitantly. “What?” you say smartly.

Azzi rolls her eyes, standing and pulling you to her feet. “I said–” She plants her hands on your shoulders and all you can really do is let yours fall to her waist, your fingers catching on her belt loops, “–come dance with me. You’ve been sitting too long. No wonder that half a shot of alcohol is kicking your ass.”

“It was like two shots,” you shoot back, but you let Azzi drag you across the room. You catch Paige’s eye as she leans over the pool table, lining up her shot, and she gives you a knowing look that just makes your cheeks heat up all over again. If you never got the chance to tell Azzi how you’d felt, you were sure that Paige Bueckers and that big ass mouth of hers would find a way to slip up and tell Azzi herself. “And you know that bartender uses that strong tequila.”

“I think you’re just a lightweight, babe,” Azzi states, pulling you into her space as she leads you to the beat of the music. You try to not focus too much on her words, but babe has begun to circulate through your mind on repeat, bumping into things haphazardly. Before you know it, one of your last remaining brain cells has caught the word in a jar like a butterfly and has stored it in that compartment in your brain next to everything you know about Azzi. The jar is tucked onto a shelf, only a few rows down from your filing cabinet system; one day you’ll worry about just how much space in your brain is dedicated to Azzi Fudd, but as her hands burn marks into your skin, guiding your body against hers, you find that you don’t really care.

Neither of you say anything as you dance along to the song. You can feel the bass in the ground, reverberating through your body as it races up your spine. You feel Azzi’s hand splayed across your waist, her grip firm, like there’s some sort of unspoken promise that she’d lose it if you weren’t in her personal space at all times – she spins you around, your back to her front, and the drag of her fingertips against your skin makes your head dizzy. Her breath tickles the back of your neck, her voice sweet as she hums in tune with the singer through the crackling speakers.

It’s in times like these that everything fades away – your hesitation, your insecurities, the worries that Azzi may never truly reciprocate what you feel for her. All you can truly focus on is the gradually lessening space between the two of you, the cloud of her perfume in the air, each and every one of her whispered lyrics and the smile she presses against your temple. You’re not sure if there’s a chance in hell that you’d be able to get over her. But for now, that’s the least of your worries, far too lost in the warmth of her palm against your bare skin where your shirt has ridden up – until you’re dragged back into the real world.

Azzi’s grip has tightened on you, but you barely register it as you open your eyes to see who has interrupted you. It’s a girl, probably around your age, hair dyed a red so dark that it’s nearly brown. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress, and sure, she’s conventionally attractive, but Azzi has had your attention for nearly four years; you can’t think or look at anyone that’s not her. When the redhead asks Azzi to dance, a hopeful smile on her face, you feel your stomach churn immediately. It’s enough to sober you up fully – drunk not because of the alcohol, but because you’d allowed yourself to fall into Azzi as if the two of you were actually together. You’re reminded of the fact she’s just your best friend. The way she’s holding you means nothing. You feel Azzi’s gaze on you, but before she can say anything, you extract yourself from her hold, smiling unconvincingly at her, and you’re too unfocused to notice the way her face falls.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you say, nodding meaningfully to the redhead as bile pools in your throat. “You have fun, okay?”

You’re gone before Azzi can say anything else, unwilling to look back. You push your way through the crowd to the bar, swallowing back the humiliation and the fact that despite everything, a part of you still yearns for Azzi, and you motion to the bartender, requesting another drink. You dig through your wallet for your card, fingers trembling, cursing under your breath when it refuses to slide out of the little pocket it’s nestled in.

“I got it,” someone else says. You glance up to see an unfamiliar woman offering her card out for the bartender to swipe. She flashes you a charismatic smile and in return, all you can do is raise your brow.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say, but you slide your wallet back into your pocket, anyway.

“Seemed like you needed a pick me up,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “Saw you dancing with that girl over there – I was hoping she wasn’t your girlfriend, because I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink all night.”

You take a cautious sip, glancing back into the crowd of people, your eyes finding Azzi immediately. She’s dancing half-heartedly with the redhead, a generous amount of space between the two of them, and she seems to feel your eyes on her because she turns her head, locking eyes with you. You stare for a beat, then avert your gaze, making eye contact with the woman before you. She’s blonde, easy on the eyes, and she seems nice enough. Why not? “We aren’t together,” you state – although you wish you were – and her smile seems to grow.

She tells you her name – Alex – and the two of you dance for about fifteen minutes until Jana, with the grace of a bull in a China shop, interrupts to complain about a tummy ache and that everyone needs to go home. You weren’t sure where she got the logic on that one, but Jana had seemed desperate, and you weren’t going to tell her off in front of Alex.

You and Alex exchanged numbers. Still, she was nice enough, but she wasn’t Azzi. Maybe she was what you needed to get over Azzi, though. Conversation flowed nicely between the two of you and you had some things in common. Maybe you could grow to like her. Maybe you just needed to find someone the opposite of Azzi – blonde, boisterous, and short – to get over the crush you had on her (though you weren’t stupid enough to actually think it was a crush).

Azzi drives you home after Ted’s that night. You’re both silent for the first few minutes until she speaks up. “Did you have fun?” she asks cautiously. You don’t need to ask her to clarify – you know what she means.

You also know that you can’t lie to Azzi. You’ve never been any good at it. She glances at you from the corner of her eye and you feel yourself sink a little further into her passenger seat. “Would’ve had more fun with you,” you confess, watching as some of the tension melts from her shoulders.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You shrug a little, picking at your cuticles. You know exactly why you pushed her away. You just weren’t strong enough to admit it to her. “The redhead seemed to like you,” you say softly. “You don’t have to spend all your time with me. You can like…see other people. Do shit. Have fun. I don’t wanna be your clingy best friend.”

Azzi’s jaw ticks as she signals left, coming to a stop in the turn lane as she waits for the light to change. “What if I want to?” she murmurs. “Spend time with you, I mean. It’s not clingy. It’s just us.” That’s kind of the issue. You don’t voice that thought out loud, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of your heart, too. She speaks again before you can, her voice coming out in an almost petulant huff. “I don’t even remember her name.”

At that, you choke on a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at her. “Whose?” you ask. “The redhead?”

“Yeah,” Azzi confirms, pressing on the gas once the light turns green. “She wasn’t you.”

You swallow thickly. “Alex’s not you, either,” you whisper.

Azzi makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Alex,” she repeats, like she’s in disbelief. “Do you like her?”

You shrug again, noncommittal. “She’s…nice,” you say. “And she bought me a seven dollar drink, so…” Azzi doesn’t find that as humorous as you did, her lips drawing into a pout, one you would have teased her for had the situation been less tense. “Az, what’s the issue? I was with her for like, twenty-five minutes. I’m not getting married to her.”

That makes Azzi fall silent again, contemplating her next words. “No issue,” she says, clearing her throat, as if sobering back up. “I’m sorry. I think the alcohol made me moody.”

You don’t comment on how she barely made it through her first drink before switching to water, but she didn’t comment on your lies and deflections, either. “It’s okay,” you say, summoning the courage to nudge her gently. She glances at you once more, a soft look on her face as you say, “Who’s brooding now, Batman?”

That makes her roll her eyes, giggling under her breath before she refocuses on the road. The tension in the car dissolves as she turns on your shared playlist, continuing to drive. For a moment, it feels like nothing is wrong. Tonight was just weird. There’s nothing going on between you and Azzi. Then, your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a text notification from an unknown number. It’s Alex – letting you know that she enjoyed getting to meet you and that she’d like to see you again. You feel the unmistakable feeling of dread wrap its iron fist around your heart. Too caught up in your own reaction to the message, you don’t notice how Azzi’s knuckles turn white as they grip the wheel.

Against your better judgement, you do see Alex again. You stared at her message for a few hours, trying to come up with one good reason why you couldn’t give her a chance, but your mind came up blank every time. She was nice, attentive, had a good sense of humor, and she was wholly focused on you when you’d spend time together. Still, no matter what, you couldn’t shake the image of warm brown eyes from the forefront of your mind. You tell yourself that it’s not supposed to be an overnight change. You don’t love someone for four years and expect it to go away. So, you give Alex that chance (even though it feels so wrong), and she treats you to a few dates over the course of three weeks.

You get to know her. At the very least, she’s a good friend and a charismatic date. She tips well, makes you laugh, and she has an adorable little weiner dog named Bruiser (“Legally Blonde style,” she’d said jokingly, which did make you laugh, mostly because Bruiser, despite his name, was dressed in a cute pair of pink pajamas). By the third date, you start to feel a little hopeful that you’re finally making progress. Alex doesn’t push you – she seems to understand that you want to take it slow, which is something that you’re grateful for. She hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet, either, which is also something you’re grateful for. Becoming her girlfriend this early feels too real, like the idea of you and Azzi is something that you’re fully leaving in the past. Keeping up the facade around Azzi does weigh on you, but it’s become something that feels like a core part of you and being without it feels wrong.

Speaking of Azzi, you don’t tell her too much about the Alex situation. She doesn’t ask much about her, either, a barely concealed look of irritation clouding her features whenever her name is mentioned. She hasn’t told you that she doesn’t like Alex, but at this point, you think her telling you is more of a formality than anything else. It’s clear as day that she hates Alex’s guts, although you don’t suppose Azzi will ever tell you why.

Maybe you’ll be better off this way – having one part of your life that doesn’t revolve around Azzi – well, doesn’t revolve completely around Azzi. Hopefully this little bit of independence will be good for you. This feels more like blind reassurance than actual confidence, but you’ll take what you can get at this point.

As you and Alex spend more time together, something changes with Azzi. At first, it’s nothing serious and you hardly even notice it. Azzi’s texts come a little more frequent, your FaceTimes a little longer. It’s miniscule especially because you and Azzi already text frequently and you spend hours on FaceTime together, but it’s more like a concerted effort to keep you with her and talking to her for longer periods of time. You’re not exactly sure why, although you’re not complaining; you’ve always enjoyed your late night phone conversations where Azzi loses her filter and rambles on and on for hours about the funny things that happen at practice or the latest picture of Stewie that her mom had sent her. You do have to admit this change in behavior makes it a little more difficult to get over Azzi – the constant proximity and speaking isn’t doing you any favors – but you can’t just abandon Azzi because you’re talking to Alex now. Your goal is to go back to a complete, platonic friendship with her, not ice her out completely.

Azzi’s behavior does progress, though. Still, it’s subtle – she’ll come over to your apartment more often or invite you over to hers more frequently. You’ll spend the night watching movies, giggling over the shitty acting or singing along to the Disney movies that Azzi ropes you into watching with her (as if you’d ever say no to her). It ends with her convincing you to stay over or her coming up with a slick excuse how she should just stay the night since her apartment is so far away (that you see right through – Azzi Fudd is a lot of things but a good liar is not one). Sometimes she’ll leave behind a shirt or a hair tie at your apartment; when you ask if she wants you to bring it over, her response is always the same: “Nah, keep it. I don’t have enough space in my closet for that shirt,” or “I noticed you were running out of hair ties anyways – you should just keep it.”

(When Alex comes over, she’ll notice each and every new addition, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Azzi left her sweatpants this time?” she asks, gingerly moving them from the foot of your bed to your desk chair. You don’t notice the bothered look on her face as you hum.

“Yeah,” you say, not thinking much of it. “She said she has too many.”

“Right,” Alex hums, not quite convinced. “You don’t want any of mine?”

Confused, you glance at Alex, busy folding your own laundry. “Your what?”

Alex huffs quietly. “...Forget about it.”)

Then, the behavior ramps up. Azzi is touchier, borderline clingy, which is different because you’re usually the clingy one between you and Azzi. It’s not that obvious when the two of you are watching movies at night – she’ll just lean against you, her head on your shoulder and a leg slung over yours, but in public? She’s almost possessive, always needing to be in contact one way or the other, a firm arm wrapped around your waist at all times. When tipsy randoms approach you to ask to dance, she doesn’t even let them finish their sentences before she’s tightening her arm around you, shaking her head with faux sympathy, and saying, “Sorry, she’s spoken for.”

In public is one thing. But in public when Alex is around is when Azzi really shines. You and Alex aren’t official yet, which is something that Azzi seems to take advantage of. Azzi buys all your drinks, glancing at Alex when she smiles that honey-sweet smile and says, “C’mon, you know I got you, right?” She always whisks you away to dance before Alex can get the chance to, and to be honest, you let her. Deep down, you know that you’d rather be doing this anyway – dancing with Azzi, letting her pull you close like she’s trying to stake a claim or prove something to someone, letting her whisper the lyrics in your ear and the both of you laughing when she starts making up her own words because the actual ones don’t make any sense.

You don’t think much of Azzi’s behavior until Alex calls you that night when Azzi’s in the shower. Alex offered to drive you home, but Azzi stepped in to let her know that you’d be staying over with Azzi to watch a new movie that had recently come out – you weren’t aware those were the plans, but you didn’t mind, either. You’re doing your skincare at Azzi’s vanity when your phone rings. Part of you is tempted to let it go to voicemail, but Alex had seemed bothered, and while the two of you weren’t official yet, you didn’t want to be an asshole.

“Hello?” you greet, pressing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you rub in your moisturizer.

“Hey,” Alex says. You hear her exhale sharply. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t really know how to, like, explain this, but I feel like you keep blowing me off for Azzi,” Alex states, which makes you pause in your movements. “I feel like Azzi is jealous – of me – and she keeps trying to, fuck, I don’t know, worm her way in between us to keep you away from me? And you just let her do that shit.” You’re silent, letting her words echo in your brain, but she keeps speaking before you get the chance to. “I know she’s your friend. But ‘friends’ don’t behave like that. She’s one day away from pissing on you like a dog to mark her territory and I just need to know – do you even like me? Is this going anywhere? Because I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I’m trying to be nice about it but at this point I can’t tell what you want from me.”

You open your mouth, then close it, looking vaguely fish-like in the mirror. You can hear Alex’s breathing from the other end of the line as you try to gather your thoughts. Finally, you settle, and gently you say, “Azzi is my best friend.” You can almost visualize Alex’s eye roll, the soft huff that she thinks the microphone doesn’t pick up on. “She’s not jealous. Just…protective, I guess. She’s not trying to get in between us – we’re just always close like that.”

“Then tell her to chill,” Alex says frustratedly. “It’s making me feel like I’m the other woman – like I’m just something you’re stringing along in case Azzi gets bored. Did she ever act like this before I started taking you out? Why is she suddenly so obsessed with being all over you now that she doesn’t have all of your attention?”

“Alex,” you say calmly, surprising yourself. “I am not your girlfriend.”

She laughs bitterly from the other line. “Oh, it’s like that? What, I take you on a few dates and it didn’t mean shit to you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you hiss. “You don’t have a claim over me. You’re acting like a dog trying to mark its territory. You are not the other woman. There isn’t even a woman. Ask me to be your girlfriend – or don’t – but leave Azzi out of this.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a few beats until she scoffs. “Okay. Whatever. Have a good fucking night – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without a second word. You roll your eyes, huffing, dropping your phone face down on the surface of Azzi’s vanity as you continue your skincare routine.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Azzi’s voice startles you, which causes you to groan and Azzi to giggle. She murmurs an apology as she comes up behind you, resting her palms over your shoulders, her thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades pleasantly. “Everything okay?”

You shrug, sighing again as her fingers work out the knots in your back. “Alex is just being weird,” you say, grunting when her fingers dig in harder than intended at the mention of her name. Azzi whispers another apology, softening her motions.

“What’d she say?” Azzi coaxes.

You meet her eyes through the mirror, seeing nothing but concern and a willingness to help on her features. “She just…I don’t know. She said you’re ‘one day away from pissing on me like a dog trying to mark its territory.’”

Azzi’s jaw drops, pausing in disbelief for a moment until peals of giggles fall from her lips. Her amusement makes you feel a little bit better about the situation. “Gross,” she says.

“I know,” you agree. “She thinks you’re trying to get between me and her. I told her there wasn’t even a ‘me and her.’ She hasn’t asked me to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi snorts. “How’d she take that one?”

“She told me to have a good fucking night and that she’d see me tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” Azzi says.

You hum again. “Yeah. I’m not really bothered, though. Don’t really wanna deal with it right now. She thinks you’re obsessed with being all over me and that you’re possessive. I said we’re just best friends, like we’ve always been like this?” It’s then that you catch onto Azzi’s sudden silence. Concerned, you turn in your chair to look at Azzi directly. “Az? You good?”

“You know you could do better than her, right?” Azzi’s words surprise you. Your jaw falls slightly, brows drawing together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Azzi emphasizes, “what’s so good about Alex?” She spits her name like it’s poison. “She danced with you one night at a bar and thinks that makes you exclusive. She’s jealous, possessive, and she doesn’t even try to be cordial to me, Paige, Jana, or anyone. You could do so much better than her. You know you don’t have to settle.”

“I’m not settling,” you argue, even though you know you 100% are settling because you can’t have Azzi.

Azzi gives you a knowing look, one that softens when she sees the confusion in your features, the angst, the insecurity that no matter what, the decision you’re making isn’t a good one. “I just feel like I’m losing you to her,” she admits in a whisper. “That you’re gonna choose her over me.”

“Az,” you breathe out, your heart aching. “I’d never do that. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I feel like I already have,” Azzi says. She swallows, her eyes searching yours, and she takes a deep breath like this conversation is physically destroying her. She shifts, staring at the wall instead of you, and the way her next breath comes out in a shudder makes you feel like she’s realized something damning. “I don’t… I like being us. Before there was an Alex. And I know I don’t have a claim over you – but it feels like things are changing faster than we realize. That we’re changing and I can’t even figure out why or what’s different because you’re with Alex.”

You soften, standing to face her fully, and you cup her cheeks, pulling her attention back to you. “We aren’t changing,” you promise. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Alex won’t change that.”

“Do you even like her?” You falter, not expecting Azzi to ask you that, and your silence is all the answer she needs. “Why are you with someone you don’t even like?”

“I’m not with her,” you say weakly, but Azzi is shaking her head, pressing on.

“You don’t have to settle,” she reminds you again. “She is not your only option.”

You can’t tell if Azzi is trying to convince you or herself of that. You don’t have the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the real reason you’ve spent so long trying to make yourself believe that you truly liked Alex. So you don’t. Instead, you whisper, “Do we have to talk about this tonight?”

Azzi’s face falls slightly, but you hardly notice it, too caught up in the way your heart nearly pounds out of your chest. She nods, stepping back, and she clears her throat. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

You can recognize the look in Azzi’s face from a mile away. Softening again, you reach out, wrapping her in a tight hug, one that she immediately melts into. “Thank you,” you murmur into her neck, her skin still a little warm to the touch from her shower. She doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead tightening her arms around your waist, and exhaling deeply.

Alex asks you to be her girlfriend the night after your conversation with Azzi. She’d showed up to your apartment unprompted, bouquet in hand and an apologetic expression on her face. “I was out of line,” she’d said, sincerity in her features. “It wasn’t right of me to get upset or accuse you and Azzi of what I accused you of.” Your heart was pounding out of your chest while she explained herself, apologizing and making it right all in one, but the way your heart raced wasn’t out of anticipation. It wasn’t because you’d spent so long wishing that Alex would ask. Your pulse thrummed because of pure dread and adrenaline coursing through your veins. This wasn’t what you wanted. Not at all. You wanted Azzi – you’ve wanted nobody else but her for close to four years.

But Alex wanted you. Azzi didn’t. You needed to get over her. So, feeling as though you’re making a terrible decision you may never be able to come back from, you say, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

For a while, things are okay. Azzi clearly isn’t happy with you and Alex now being official, but your friendship stays the same. You try to split your time between the two of them, not wanting to feel as though you have to make a choice between your best friend and your girlfriend, and for the first month that you and Alex are together, it works well enough.

At least it does until Alex decides that it’s not enough.

It’s a Friday night, and you’re supposed to go over to Paige’s dorm to hang out with her and the rest of the team. They’d had a nailbiter game on Thursday and between practices and exams, you all just wanted to take the time to spend together and relax. KK was supposed to be bringing her Switch and you were looking forward to beating Paige’s smug ass at Mario Kart.

“You’re seriously going out?” Alex says from her bed, where she’s been watching you touch up your make-up in the mirror.

You resist an eye roll, not really wanting to argue, so calmly, you explain, “I’m just going to Paige’s to hang out with the team.”

“Feels like you never want to make time with me anymore,” Alex complains. You don’t respond to that, focusing on your mascara, until she speaks up again. “Is Azzi gonna be there?”

Your hand falters, smudging against your cheekbone, and you sigh in frustration as you dig through your clutch for a makeup wipe. “She’s on the team, so yes, Azzi will be there.”

“You do know you’re not with her, right?” That makes you stop moving completely, sliding the wand into the applicator. You turn to meet Alex’s gaze, who seems proud at having elicited a reaction.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not with Azzi,” Alex repeats, as if you needed a reminder. That’s the reason why you’re in this fucked up mess anyways, trying to make yourself like someone who’s not actually the woman you love. “So why do you keep running back to her at the end of the day? You’ve been friends for, what, four years now? If she wanted you, don’t you think she would have done something about it by now?” Despite the anger bubbling in your chest, embarrassment also blooms on your cheeks. “I want you. She doesn’t. Stop chasing her and running away from me – it’s not going to change anything.”

For that, you have no true response, your heart racing. You just feel trapped now. This isn’t what you wanted at all, but you feel like you’re too far in to quit now. “Stay in with me,” Alex states. It’s not a plea, not a request. It’s a demand – and for a moment, you think maybe she’s right. You’re still her girlfriend. You have to spend time with her.

You text Paige, letting her know that you can’t make it tonight. Her response is swift, an over dramatic series of crying emojis followed up by a message that makes your heart constrict – “Az was lookin forward to this all week, she’s gonna crash out lol.” You don’t really know what else to say, so you just send Paige another apology before powering your phone off, knowing that as soon as Azzi finds out, you’re going to be the first person she calls.

You and Alex curl up on her couch, browsing through Hulu for a show to watch. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders feels wrong. It’s too stifling, too possessive. It’s nothing like the way Azzi would wrap her arm around you – making you feel safe and grounded all at once. Alex is nothing like Azzi and in the beginning, you thought that was just what you needed to let go of Azzi. Now, it feels like giving up Azzi feels like giving up a part of yourself.

Another month passes by in a blur of daily disappearances, shitty excuses, and daydreams of soft brown eyes and a dimpled smile. Anytime you’d try to make plans with Azzi or her teammates, Alex would remind you of all the reasons why you shouldn’t. You’re with me – not them. Why did you pursue me if you were just going to discard me? And at a certain point in time, the edges start getting blurry. You can’t even remember if you’d truly made those promises to Alex in the first place.

Azzi tried to reach out a few times, but Alex’s watchful eye had creeped into every facet of your life. She was there to pick you up from your practices. There wasn’t a single plan you’d made that she hadn’t carefully looked over and approved – most of them she invited herself along for, just to make sure you wouldn’t stray too far away. Weeks passed and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a life to yourself that wasn’t corrupted by every inch of the woman you’d danced with at the bar.

Escaping feels too difficult. Lately, it feels as though Alex knows more about you than you know about yourself. She strings you along just to yank the chain, leaving you unmoored and choking around a collar you were sure you’d fastened yourself. She’s devoted and loving one moment, cold and apathetic the next when she feels as though you hadn’t done enough to earn her affection. She’s attached at your hip for one week, then leaves you drowning the next when she suddenly ghosts, leaving you wondering if you’d truly had a girlfriend at all.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Alex had accused you of stringing her along for the ride to get over Azzi, and now here she is. You don’t think she’s trying to use you to get over someone, but perhaps she’s punishing you for the way you’d chosen Azzi at every opportunity at the beginning of your relationship. You’re doing the time now, you suppose, although every morning you wonder if and when your sentence would end; you hope that Alex would grow tired of you one day and finally dispose of you. You weren’t sure if you had the confidence to drag yourself out of this mess despite how easily you threw yourself into it.

“You know Azzi’s like, in love with you, right?” Alex asks you one day. You’re sitting at the table, poking at your chicken and spinach mindlessly. Your girlfriend sits across from you, arms crossed and plate clean. Her words make you falter, your fork stilling, and you don’t glance up, not wanting to confront the expression on her face. “I recognized it the first night at the bar. She was all over you while you were dancing, holding you like she owned you. When she went to dance with someone else, it was a complete shift – she didn’t even want that other girl. Just you.”

At that, you glance up finally, searching Alex’s eyes. They’re cold, nothing like the Azzi’s warm brown that you’d spent years memorizing the exact hue of. “What are you trying to say?” you ask, because you truly don’t understand her point. Doesn’t she understand that she’s won? That she’s broken you down, separated you from your friends, that she’s interwoven herself into the very fabric of your life? What else could you have for her to take?

Alex shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, but you see the tension in her shoulders anyways. “I just want you to know why I’m doing this,” she says, which makes a cold feeling course through your veins. “I don’t want to be the bad guy. You know that, right? I just want to protect you, from someone who wants to take you from me. Azzi couldn’t take care of you like I could. She always had this agenda from the very first night we met. Do you understand that?”

Your fingers are trembling around your fork. “Alex,” you whisper, drawing her attention to you. Her head cocks like you’re a wounded animal on the side of the road and she’s studying you to determine if she should leave you – or at the very least, move you out of harm’s way. You know her, though. She’s the type of person to keep on driving. “I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?”

Her lips curl into a smug, self-satisfied smile, because she knows. She knows she’s elicited a reaction, even if it’s not as obvious. She knows that she’s won this round. She stands, leaving her plate behind, and she looms behind you as her hand trails across your shoulders. Then, she leans in, planting the barest of kisses to your temple that makes your body tighten with barely concealed fear and dread. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she whispers, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “One day you’ll understand what I’ve done for you.”

She leaves and it’s only then that you allow your body to relax. Exhaling deeply, you bury your head in your hands, feeling tears of anguish and frustration building at your waterline. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t need to look at it to know who it is. Azzi has been trying to reach you for a while. She hasn’t given up, but you haven’t had the energy to text her back, to tell her about what’s going on. Now, you think you might have to take that chance.

That night, while Alex snores unknowingly next to you, you collect your bag and all of the clothes stored in her drawers. With quiet footsteps, you exit her apartment, already reaching for your phone with trembling fingers as you dial the one number you know will pick up at any time. It barely rings once before the line clicks through.

Azzi’s greeting is a murmur of your name, both in disbelief and ever present relief. “Azzi,” you say back, your voice barely reaching her. “Please come pick me up.”

“Do you want water? Juice?”

Azzi’s voice cuts through the haze in your brain. When she picked you up, neither of you had said anything, but you’d hugged her tight enough that she groaned a little, which made you smile for what feels like the first time in forever. She let you into her apartment wordlessly, took your bag to her room, and sat you down on the couch.

“I’m okay,” you say. All you really wanted was to feel comfortable in your own skin again, but being in Azzi’s presence is doing wonders for you. You can’t help but feel a bit of residual guilt – all of this could have been avoided had you been braver, if you’d denied Alex from the start or if you could just muster the courage to tell Azzi that you’ve been in love with her for four years. “Can we just…can we go to bed?”

Azzi nods quickly, murmuring an affirmative, and she links her hand with yours as she leads you down the familiar hallways. It shouldn’t bring you as much peace as it does, but holding Azzi’s hand makes you feel like you’re a sailor coming home after a long voyage and finally spotting the lighthouse in the distance. Azzi’s bed is a welcome comfort and you fall into place next to her, feeling the tension melt out of your shoulders.

You can feel her next to you, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume in the air, and you feel your heart ache all over again. This was where you were supposed to be. Not with Alex. Even if you and Azzi remained friends forever and you kept your feelings for her close to your chest, it would still be better than going through these past few weeks with Alex on repeat.

“I missed you,” Azzi admits, her voice cutting through the darkness in the room. She shifts. You can feel her eyes on you, so you shift, too, coming face to face with her.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, watching as a soft smile spreads across her face. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You swallow thickly. “For everything. For Alex. For leaving you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Azzi promises. Hearing those words is like coming up for air after being submerged for so long. You don’t know if she knows just how healing it was to hear her say that. Her hand finds yours, squeezing you gently. “I’m sorry for not doing more to help you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shoot back, a coy smile on your face, which makes Azzi giggle.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Azzi murmurs.

You think that you should – that you owe it to yourself and to Azzi to be honest about the last few months. So you do. Azzi listens to you as you start from the beginning, outlining the course of your and Alex’s relationship and where it derailed. When you finish, Azzi’s face is full of concern, sadness, and a slight determination. She’d apologized again. You told her it was okay, mostly because it was okay. You would be okay.

“Do you love her?” Azzi asks a few beats later, perhaps a bit selfishly.

“No,” you confess, feeling Azzi relax against you. “I never did.” She nods, and you both fall silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Az?” She hums, her fingers brushing against your skin. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth? Alex said something earlier and I’m…I’m just tired of feeling like I’m crazy.”

“Anything,” she promises.

“Do you love me?” The words come out less composed than you’d been trying for, your voice cracking at the end, but you don’t really care. You need answers. You’d spent so many years loving Azzi from afar, but for Alex to say she’s confident in Azzi loving you back? This could change everything.

“Of course I do,” Azzi says, her words a little jilted. “You’re my best friend.”

You feel your heart drop, but you press forward. “Not in that way, Az.”

You can hear her breath hitch. At first, you’re not sure if you’re going to get a response, but she tightens her grip on your waist, and admits, “Yeah. I love you.”

Silence encompasses the both of you. Azzi doesn’t push – she never does, and that might be one of the things you love most about her. She lets you process that revelation on your own. At first, a part of you wonders if it was truly that easy in the first place, if all you ever needed to do was ask Azzi. The fear of her saying anything but yes outweighed the hope. Now that you’ve heard it, you can’t deny how much lighter your chest feels, the hope that swells in your chest. “Say it again,” you request.

“I love you,” Azzi swears, her voice a little firmer this time, her hands holding onto you like she’s afraid you’re going to disappear completely. “I love you. I have for years. Seeing you with Alex almost destroyed me.”

Feeling a little braver, you sit up, moving your legs to straddle her waist. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it, but the sheer closeness makes you feel a little more grounded, especially when her hands steady you by the hips. “I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

“Don’t be,” Azzi murmurs, her thumb brushing against your hip bone.

“I was only with her because I thought I could get over you,” you confess, which makes her jaw relax, her face soften. “God, Az, I’ve been in love with you forever. I didn’t think I could have you.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, Azzi’s lips quirk into a fond, relieved smile. Her hands leave your hips, fingers brushing your arms as she trails them up. She hooks a finger into the collar of your shirt, pulling you down to her as she whispers, “You have me. Completely.”

You’re not thinking about the consequences as you finally kiss Azzi Fudd – you’re not concerned about the fact that technically, you have a girlfriend that you’re technically cheating on, nor are you concerned about what this means for you and Azzi. The logistics are a problem for you tomorrow. Azzi sighs against you, her lips insistent, fingers tangling in your shirt – and to be honest, it’s a pleasant paradox. Alex is a taker in every definition of the word, but Azzi swallows each little sound you make against her lips, pressing firmer against you to take everything you’ll give her, but there’s a bit of mutualism in the way you and Azzi simultaneously take and give.

One of her hands releases your shirt to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin as it rapidly heats. You’re both passionate, a little desperate, but despite it all, the love between the two of you is palpable – you can feel it in your heart and the way it swells; it courses through your veins, leading you home, reminding you that this is a love you’ve spent years harboring and cultivating.

People always say your first kiss with someone you love is a little earth-shattering, that it’s like fireworks or coming home. To you, this kiss with Azzi feels something like freedom. It feels like you don’t have to keep any more secrets from her or yourself.

Azzi breaks away, her chest heaving and her breath warm against your lips. “I love you,” she whispers again, holding you tighter, insistent. “Leave her. Please.”

You’re nodding before Azzi has even finished her plea. “I will,” you swear, kissing her again. You grin when Azzi chases you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before a soft smile spreads across her features. “I love you.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything in response to that – she doesn’t have to. She presses a kiss to your temple and you stretch out across her body, her arms wrapping around you once more. You fall asleep next to her feeling free and at peace – you’re not quite out of the woods yet, but you’re almost there, and you have more moments like these to look forward to with Azzi.

She has an early practice that next morning, so she’s gone before you’re awake, but you know what you need to do. You walk the short distance to your apartment, make yourself a coffee to mentally prepare, and you send a quick text to Alex – ignoring the fifteen unread messages she’s sent between the hours of 2am to 7am – telling her to come to your apartment so you can talk. You don’t wait around for a response. You get a trash bag and start collecting all of the shit she’s left at your apartment during the time you were together – clothes, toiletries, a lone coffee mug (that you’re sure shatters once you drop it into the bag, but you don’t really care).

All of Alex’s belongings are secured in the trash bag when there’s a knock at your door. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, dragging the bag behind you as you step up to your door. You open it halfway, raising a hand and making an annoyed noise when Alex tries to walk in. “No,” you say firmly, “stay outside.”

A look of annoyance flashes across her face, but she does as you’ve commanded, crossing her arms. You reach for the bag, throwing it haphazardly behind her. “So, here’s what’s happening,” you begin. “We’re breaking up.” She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off with a raised hand again. “I don’t really care what you have to say. We’re done. This is all you’re getting from me. Lose my number and get fucked.”

Unceremoniously, you slam the door in her face, locking it immediately. You bury your head in your hands as your pulse pounds against your ribcage, but as you listen to the sound of her footsteps fading away, that familiar feeling of freedom returns tenfold. You could cry with relief, although you don’t, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You’re free now, and you know who your first call will be to.

Azzi picks up on the first ring, sounding a little out of breath as she greets you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond, feeling the smile creep up onto your lips – you’re sure she can hear the excitement and the relief in your voice.

And she does. She laughs a little, sounding relieved, too. “I’m on my way,” is all she says, bidding you one last goodbye before she hangs up.

You can’t get rid of your smile, and thankfully, she only keeps you waiting for about fifteen minutes. She opens your door with her key and walks in like she’s been here hundreds of times before – which she has, because there’s no part of your life that is complete without Azzi in it. She spots you immediately. You stand up from the couch, dropping your phone on the cushion, and you meet her in the middle.

Azzi is a little sweaty, disheveled from practice, but you don’t care as her arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush into her with pure relief in her laughter. You wrap yours around her neck, standing on the tips of your toes to reach her. You kiss her, something softer than the first one you’d shared the night prior. You feel her smile against your lips, which only makes you smile, too, your noses brushing against each other as you both share a breathless little laugh. She tightens her grip around you and you can’t find it in yourself to mind – you know that Azzi is always going to be there to protect you, and finally being hers after all these years is something you know that you’re not going to screw up – you did your time.

#azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb #wbb x reader #azzi x reader

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