Hi guys! I just posted SASTAOA on Ao3! If anyone would like to reread it there, please do!
Souls Aren’t Supposed to Attract on Accident (2602 words) by makethemhoesmad
Chapters: 7/7
Fandom: Women's Basketball RPF
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Paige Bueckers/Azzi Fudd, Paige Bueckers/Original Character(s)
Characters: Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, Sonia Citron, Kamorea "KK" Arnold
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, idk how to tag, Loose ending, fluff kinda
Summary:
What happened to ‘Pazzi’?
Azzi Fudd used Paige Bueckers for money?
Was she not good enough?
We all mourn for Paige, she’s too good for this.
#WeStandForPaige
Azzi Fudd, star basketball player for the Golden State Valkyries, has agreed to interview and break her silence about her long-speculated relationship and breakup with star basketball player for the Los Angeles Sparks, Paige Bueckers.
“I was never the villain. You just chose to believe your hero.” -Azzi Fudd
Read Azzi Fudd’s Long Awaited Interview here:
Interviewer(I): So, Azzi, as I’ve heard, this is quite the long story. Any specific place you’d like to start?
Azzi(A): I’d like to start at the beginning of the end. 2025-2026 college season
I: Alright, let’s start there.
A: Well, obviously I wanna clarify the rumors first. Yes, Paige and I dated from 2021 all the way up until April of 2026. That’s right, ladies. Your heartbroken star dumped me right after I’d won a second championship, and right before my rookie season.
~
“Aren’t you so proud of me, baby?” Azzi asks, gleefully dancing around in championship confetti.
“Yeah, babe, mhm. Listen, Az, can we talk?” Paige asks, placing her hands on Azzi’s shoulders to still her.
“What’s up?” Azzi questions. She knows what’s coming, obviously. She just really doesn’t want it to happen the same night she’s just won her second natty in a row.
“I just don’t think it’s gonna work between us, y’know? Especially when we’re in the W and playing against each other so much. Right?” Azzi hates the way she words it like she’s fucking stupid, like she’s slow in the head.
“Let’s just talk about this later, Paige. I want to enjoy this.”
~
I: Do you believe that breakup impacted your rookie season play at all?
A: If it did, it was only for the better.
~
“Do you really fucking hate yourself that much?” Azzi nearly shouts. Paige backs away, hands up as if she’s calming an animal, as though she hasn’t just rationalized a breakup being because of competition. They’ve been competing for years now. Is Paige just afraid Azzi will win?
“Are you really so mad I won that you’re going to end what we have? You’re never getting something like this again, Paige!” Still, Paige stands, stoic. Azzi grunts, frustrated, turning on her heel to leave.
“Your loss, Bueckers,” she calls over her shoulder.
As she leaves the hotel she now knows why Paige insisted on booking, she vows that no matter what Paige does, she will always, always have to be second to Azzi.
~
A: Back to my last season of college. Obviously, Paige and I had just started the whole ‘long distance’ thing. It wasn’t too awful, because her season ended right when mine started, so we had time for each other. Sort of, at least. We fought quite a bit during that last season for me.
I: What changed when you went to the W, considering that the Valkyries and Sparks are much closer?
A: Part of it, I think, was Paige’s ego. She’s supposed to be this huge UCONN star, and in her five years there, she only won the natty once. When I did it twice, it pissed her off.
I: So you don’t believe distance played a part in it?
A: No. I think we could have easily made it through the physical separation, if Paige weren’t so damn jealous.
~
“Good game tonight, Paige.” Azzi says respectfully in the handshake line, nodding at her former teammate and love. Paige only grunts in response, refusing to meet her eyes.
~
I: So, 2026, your first meeting with the Sparks, and your team wins. In the post-game press conference, reporters ask Paige how she feels about your success as a rookie, and she declines to comment. Was this significant to you?
A: No. She didn’t want to say that I was having a good season, because my rookie season was going better than hers did. It would have been like telling herself I was better, and that would have torn her apart.
I: Right, because Paige didn’t win Rookie of the Year in 2025. Sonia Citron of the Indiana Fever did, because they were the WNBA champions that year.
A: Exactly. I was already on course for Rookie of the Year at that point, but the previous year, all eyes had been turned to Olivia and Sonia.
I: And then, of course, we can’t talk about your first WNBA game against Paige without bringing up what fans dubbed the “repost war” started by current Washington Mystic KK Arnold and Ice Brady of the Seattle Storm.
A: Yeah, my old teammates reposting about being children of divorce. To be honest, I wasn’t all that fazed by it. I know Paige went off on KK for it once, but I genuinely didn’t give a fuck.
~
“Azzi, I wish you could still call Paige off like a dog,” KK laments, flashing her phone screen at Azzi.
“Damn, all that for a repost about being a child of divorce?” Azzi says, squinting to read the string of profanity Paige had texted her former teammate.
“Yeah, she’s gone off the deep end. Someone’s gotta help her.”
“Well, it’s never gonna be me.”
~
I: And then nothing really happened at all, right? Not until 2028?
A: I mean, not to the public.
I: What do you mean by that? Anything to do with the 2027 news article titled “Paige Bueckers Spotted Outside of Valkyries Hotel”?
~
“Azzi, you don’t know what you’re doing to me!” Paige screams, backing Azzi into the wall of her own hotel room.
“What the fuck do you mean by that, Paige? I don’t know that my rookie season was about a million times better than yours, and you’re too fucking weak minded to let me be happy about it?” Paige recoils at the defiance in her voice. She expected Azzi to balk at her fury, maybe try and lick her wounds. She never expected Azzi to fight her on it.
“That’s a lie and you know it. You know how the media spins things, Az. I just really fucking miss you. I’m going crazy without you, really.” Azzi scoffs when Paige kneels down in front of her, groveling like it would change her mind.
“Get up, Paige. And make sure you close the door when you leave.”
~
A: No, nothing about that. One of my teammates said they saw her in the lobby, but I never saw her.
I: Then the next year, you were both selected for the 2028 Olympic team.
A: The funny thing about that was, it didn’t even cross my mind that she was also on the team until we had the first meeting all together. I was just so over the moon about getting chosen.
I: Was there tension at said meetings?
A: Maybe some, but when we got onto the court it fizzled out because even after all that happened we still worked together really, really well.
I: Yes, and of course the infamous “Is Pazzi Back?” article.
A: I didn’t even read it. Sonia, who’s now my teammate, showed it to me, and I waved it off. Wasn’t too concerned.
~
“So,” Paige says, wiggling her eyebrows at Azzi as she thunks down onto the cardboard bed they’re given to prevent intercourse between athletes. “Is Pazzi really back?”
Azzi snorts at the absurd suggestion, even if some small part of her heart is screaming for her to say yes and throw herself on top of Paige. “Yeah right. I mean, seriously? They create a rivalry between us since I get drafted and the second we’re back on the court they think we’re fucking again?” Her voice shakes ever so slightly when she says again, unnoticeable to anyone except for someone who knows her well, body and mind. Like Paige used to.
“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to teammates this time,” Azzi scoffs, pointing Paige out the door.
“Aw, baby, you want me to beg? I can beg, you know I’m good at it.” Paige kneels down in front of her, remembering the way she was in this position in front of Azzi in a hotel room, about a year ago. Azzi must be remembering too, because she kicks Paige in the side and strides out of her own room.
~
I: Some critics said that Olympic team was one of the best ever, but when they look to credit players, they mention the Citron-Fudd connection almost more than the Bueckers-Fudd connection.
A: Well, yeah, Soni and I play well together. We’ve proven that over and over on the Valkyries.
~
“I’m getting a call from a blocked number, what the fuck.” Azzi gripes, showing Sonia her phone.
“Answer it, you only live once.”
Azzi slides the call to answer, then hits the speaker button.
“Azzi, I swear to God if you’re fuckin’ that straight bitch Citron you better just own up to it now,” a slurred, familiar voices crackles. Azzi’s eyebrows raise, but she’s spent some time around Paige Bueckers and alcohol, enough to know exactly what she sounds like when she’s drunk and jealous. Sonia looks insulted, but before she can say anything, Paige speaks again.
“She don’t even make as much money as you, Az, so I don’t know why you’re even goin’ for her. I bet she don’t make your pussy feel the way I made it feel, huh?”
“Paige, you’re drunk. Fucking go to bed and call again in the morning if you still care.” Azzi ends the call, immediately beginning to apologize to the very insulted Sonia on her couch.
“I’m so sorry she said that shit, bro, sometimes she just calls and says that stuff.”
“And you let her? Girl, I don’t know how you don’t slap the shit out of her when we play.”
“Maybe next time I will, you know, ‘cause we’re buddies again.”
~
I: Then, July 2029 when Paige went onto a podcast for an interview, she told the camera “yeah, never date your teammate”
A: I watched that, and nodded along. She was right, it wasn’t really going to do much for our careers, though I guess neither of us realized that until later.
~
‘Never date your teammate’ huh? Is what Azzi types into Paige’s Instagram DMs at midnight after watching that podcast episode.
“No way she doesn’t even fucking open it,” Azzi curses to herself. She’s mad, obviously because Paige mentioned her a frustrating amount of times in that interview, considering she has a girlfriend to go home to now. Yep, cute little LA up-and-coming actress. She’s 5’2 on a good day, and the sweetest little bitch you’ll ever meet. One time, she had the audacity to comment ‘you’re so gorgeous’ on Azzi’s Instagram post. But Azzi obviously doesn’t care
~
I: Basically radio silence from you for quite a bit after that season, no one saw you doing anything until you commented on a fellow Valkyrie’s post.
A: I took a long break from social media, because I felt like the toxicity of it was hurting more than it was helping anything. When I finally did come back, it was because I couldn’t resist supporting my long-time friend Kate Martin and her firstborn!
I: It was right into this past season then, right?
A: Absolutely, I’ve always had a very championship-based mindset. I want to be the best, and I want to do it well. Nothing really messes with my head during the season, I just get so driven.
~
Paige messages back three months later, with a snide comment about Azzi being easily distracted. Azzi doesn’t justify it with a response. Really, she looks down on three-months-ago Azzi. She’s matured a lot since then. She’s deleted every media outlet from her phone, gone ‘off the grid’, buried herself in workouts. She tells herself it’s because her team didn’t make it to the finals this year, and that she needs to. It helps her sleep at night. Sometimes.
~
I: And now here we are, where we can finally talk about this year’s riveting WNBA finals. Neck-and-neck until the end, with you putting up some of your best performances.
A: I love to win. Anyone who’s close to me knows that. It’s my number one source of dopamine.
I: So I bet a win like that, over a team like that, must’ve felt really, really good, right?
A: Oh, it felt like I was riding the world’s best high.
~
The handshake line of the seventh game is an emotional roller coaster every year, opposing players hugging each other, cheering, sobbing, confetti. Everything is going both 100 miles per hour and seems to stop at the same time.
But when Azzi catches that brief glimpse of Paige, leaning down so, so low to hug her girlfriend, she knows the celebration won’t be what she remembers most. For just a moment, she lets a long-suppressed memory play, of the 2025 National Championship. When they were teammates, when they ran to each other, instead of barely grazing hands and inclining heads in the handshake line, as if they had never met.
~
I: And that brings us to right here, right now. What are your future plans?
A: As everyone knows, the WNBA free agency trading period always gets intense. This year, my team is rebuilding and recreating, moving people around. While I will always love the Valkyries, I’m making a change. You’re looking at a member of the Los Angeles Sparks!
~
Azzi scrolls through DMs in the hours following her interview release. Some congratulatory, some spiteful, some simply conspiratorial. One name catches her eye, nearly lost in a sea of words.
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This is a rewriting of my fic “i like it here when it’s just us two” Not proofreading, and I hope you like it!
————————————————————————
“Please, baby, all I wanna do is watch you.” Paige whines, nearly tearing up looking up at me from the floor, through the crack in the bathroom door.
“Paige, sweetie, I have to actually shower at some point. Whenever you’re in there with me, I never end up actually getting clean and just have to get up early anyways. Go to bed and I’ll be there in a bit.”
I think I hear her stand and plod away, so I make light of the situation and attempt to complete my shower routine efficiently. As I’m lathering in my shampoo, I swear I hear the door creak open.
“Paige? Is that you?” I call, mostly to myself but also to my debilitating fear of a murderer catching me in the shower with my eyes closed.
“Uh, yeah, it is,” she answers. At least it’s not a murderer. Just my girlfriend, who must be having an episode because she is being annoyingly clingy at present time.
“And what, exactly, are you doing?” Somehow, I know she’s not just innocently passing through.
“Nothing.” I hear her, and see her silhouette through the glass sliding shower door, moving to kneel, yet again, and presumably nag me for something. “Since I’m doing nothing so well, can I come in? Please? Please? Please?”
“No.”
“Can I open the door?”
“No.”
“Just a crack?”
“No.” At this exact moment, I drop my bottle of body wash onto the ground, making a dramatically loud crash. Paige reaches up, while remaining on her knees, to open the door.
“Are you okay, baby? You didn’t fall, right? You’re fine?” She asks, inquiring purely as a performance, because she can literally see me through the frosted glass anyways.
“Yes. I fell, horribly,” I deadpan, glancing down at her, unamused.
“How about I come in there and make you feel better,” she asks, because she’s incorrigible.
“How about you shut the shower door and get yourself off, since you’re so eager?” I snap back, hoping she’ll give up and wait for me in bed. What I don’t expect her to do is slide the glass door shut, spread her legs, and start rubbing herself through her boxers.
“I really wish this was you, instead,” she pouts, tugging her waistband out and slipping her hand inside.
“I’m almost done in here, sweetie, so you’d better hurry up, because if you don’t get off before I get out, you won’t get off, period.” I tut, lathering soap onto my body. She gasps a bit, and quickens the pace of her hand, letting out intermittent whimpers as she tries to hurry her orgasm along. I rinse myself and turn off the shower, just as she’s about to reach her peak. “Baby.”
“Oh, no, no, no! I’m done, I’m done, I’m doing it now,” she tries to plead, as I reach down and pull her hand up. I bring it to my own lips, suckling on each individual digit.
“Stand up, Paigey. You can get me off now, if you want.” She stands, leaning on me and burrowing into my neck, lapping at the juncture of my collarbone. I hear her whimper, as if she’s touching herself instead of wrapping a hand lightly around my waist. She shuffles behind me as I move us towards my bed, removing her fingers from my mouth. I sit down at the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle off, and push her to the ground. “Now, tell me why you should get to eat me?” I chide.
“Please, because I wanna make you feel good, please,” she begs, resting a hand on my thigh and kissing at my kneecap. I take her face in my hand, pushing a thumb into her mouth.
“You beg so nice, for someone who doesn’t listen, baby. You’re gonna need to try harder.” I pull my hand away. She pulls away from me, crossing her arms behind her back, looking the absolute portrait of submission.
“I’ll be so good for you, make you feel so good, I’ll go to bed aching just to make sure that you feel good, all I wanna do is be good, please please please let me be good,” she pleads, grinding slightly against herself, and the floor as she watches my reaction.
“Go on, baby. But don’t use your hands. I like how you look with them behind your back.” I let my head roll back as she licks at my cunt, lapping at it like she’s been starved. I rake my fingers through her hair, and she groans, causing a vibration through my clit. I cry out slightly, as a warning, and cum all over her face. She sits back, grinning in sheer bliss.
“I love doing that,” she breathes, standing up to clean herself, and bringing back a warm, damp cloth for me. I look at her nude form, and notice the stickiness between her legs.
“Oh sweetie, if you come over here, I can take care of you, too,” I coo, coaxing her into my arms.
“Uh, that’s fine, I kinda, already came? While I was eating you out? You’re just so hot when you cum and please don’t be mad at me because you said I couldn’t but I just couldn’t help it and-“ I cut her off, pressing my lips to hers and slipping my tongue into her mouth. I watch her eyes glaze over and droop as I maneuver us to the head of the bed, and lean against the pillows. Paige tugs the blankets up to her chin, and curls into my chest, nearly asleep already. “Love you,” I whisper, kissing her hair.
can u or anyone else remind me which of ur fics involves Paige telling oc to “come sit on this c*ck then” in a hotel room? Maybe after an event where she was wearing a tie? Bc I need that and I can’t find it but I KNOW it was in one of ur fics
“come on, please, i won’t even touch you baby!” that’s what paige told you, after asking for the seventh time if she could shower with you. each time you maintained no, she couldn’t, you actually had things you had to get done in there.
“fine, no touching. just standing and watching. right baby?” you say, glancing her naked body up and down, because she stripped in anticipation. she jumps around excitedly, pulling you into the shower and standing behind the spray, watching as you start to shampoo your hair. she gets that grin on her face, the one she gets on nights out that leave you crippled the next morning. she kneels in front of you, holding her hands behind her when you give her a warning look as she nudges between your legs
“i’m not even touching you baby!” paige protested. you ignored her and continued rinsing out your hair. your knees wobble when she pushes her tongue inside of you, using her top lip to tease your clit. she keeps her hands pressed behind her back, following your request to not touch her. she ignores the soap falling onto her, only focusing on making your legs shake even more. you cry out, climaxing on her tongue and falling back against the wall. paige stands up and pulls you against her, hard. “i’m not done yet baby, it’s my turn.” she holds your hips to hers, so that your clits are close enough to create considerable friction when she locks eyes with you and rolls her hips. you whimper, letting your face fall against her neck. “such a good girl for me, you make the most perfect sounds for me,” paige says breathlessly, increasing the pace of her hips. she comes soon after, with you directly following. you stand in the shower for a moment, dazed, not knowing if you’ll be able to finish washing yourself.
“can i touch you now,” paige asks you, smirking, “i’ll finish your hair for you!” you nod, leaning against her as she runs her hands through your hair, then scrubs you down with her own shower gel, because she knows how much you like the smell. “i’ll be right back give me a sec,” she says to you. she hops out of the shower, coming back a second later and flinging open the curtain, reaching over to turn off the shower. you start to complain about the sudden cold air, but get cut off by paige wrapping you in a towel with a hug. she picks you up, swinging you over her shoulder then tossing you onto the bed.
“you were so tired you couldn’t even wash your own hair, so how about you be the good girl i know you can be and cuddle up next to me?”
you nearly moan aloud at her words, throwing the towel onto the floor then tugging paige down into the bed on top of you. she pulls the blankets over the two of you, then presses your foreheads together. “i just love you so so so much pretty, i can believe that your mine and i get to fall asleep with you like this”
you can’t even respond to that. to be honest you’re so red faced by it you can barely do anything other than tuck your hot face into her neck and inhale the smell of her shower gel, the one she used on you.
“aw, is my baby a little flustered? it’s okay, i know how much you love me.”
she tightens her grip around you, and that’s how you fall asleep.
you wake up to sunlight blinding you through a sheet of blonde hair, and a hand running itself up your arm. you move to try and sit up, but paige pushes you back down, nuzzling onto your chest and mumbling “stay here, i have no practice today, so we can spend all day in bed. go back to sleep with me baby” and it’s hard to say no when she’s looking at you like that, with her eyes big and sleepy, and her hands coming up to massage your face. “okay love, i like it here when it’s just us two”
must be love on the brain (it keeps cursin’ my name)
synopsis: love island au. paige (and azzi) pretending to be straight to hypothetically win 100k. except they're in bikini's all day every day. together. it goes about as well as you would expect.
chapter 1: week 3 part 1
warnings: none except for painful fluff and stupidity
a/n: hi hello Yeah whatever it's been a While. i know. #sorry. umm. obviously these are made up characters, based on real life people. please don't take any of this seriously <3 ok. also just. this is utter nonsense. more than usual and ik that's saying a lot. so just. brace yourself Please <3 oh and ill fix the formatting tmr. and like. actually edit. promise. also all of this is @lloeysol's fault <3 oh wait also. the tweets are meant to separate between episodes. but not everything that we see is seen by the public-- feel free to ask me questions if you're confused :)
really, like most bad ideas in paige’s life, this whole thing is kk’s fault.
they’d been sitting in the teacher’s lounge during lunch one day, the frigid december air discouraging them from taking their breaks outside like they normally would, and kk had been scrolling on tiktok, making commentary here and there to a distracted paige about various unfunny trends.
paige had been trying to choke down the remainder of her rather meager lunch– a premade salad bowl of all things she’d had to purchase last-minute containing lettuce that was at least a day past its prime– when kk had suddenly hopped up from her chair and shrieked, thrusting her phone erratically underneath paige’s nose.
the fact that she’d had to buy a salad bowl in the first place, because there’d been no more pizza, had already put her in a shitty mood, and kk’s shrill voice was going to give her a headache.
“sarah and taylor broke up– oh my god guys– they broke up,” she cried, and though paige was used to kk’s lack of volume control, by her urgent tone, paige inferred that sarah and taylor had to have been people of importance.
“who’s that?” she asked, looking up from her depressing excuse for a meal. kk’s phone was already gone from eye sight, however, flipped to show nika the screen, and paige frowned when neither answered her question immediately.
nika was too busy gasping in shock, looking up from her own (much more enticing looking) lunch, and seemingly extraordinarily scandalized. “no fuckin way, they were so cute.”
“guys,” she cut in, more insistently, “who are we talking about.” her tone was absolutely closer to a whine than was probably warranted, but she was impatient at the prospect of knowing intrusive details about the downfall of someone else’s relationship, as any normal person would be.
she only knew one taylor, and she’d been pretty sure she was straight, but that could mean even more drama if she indeed turned out to be the correct girl.
kk lowered the phone, levelling paige with a disappointed look. “sarah and taylor? the love island winners?”
“oh,” she deflated a little, disappointed. straight people. much less interesting than she’d originally thought.
“everyone thought they’d be together forever,” nika added, “but i guess they only lasted like six months.”
paige wrinkled her nose. “you know i don’t pay attention to that shit.” she’d bet a decent amount of money that taylor had cheated. everything she’d ever heard about the relationships that came from that show somehow ended similarly.
she received two matching eye rolls in response.
“no you don’t get it,” argued kk, “they seemed so in love but then she unfollowed him this morning– and then–” she paused for dramatic effect, as if paige was hanging on every word, which she decidedly was not– “people are saying he was out at a club or somethin’ last night and got caught with a different girl.”
wow. he cheated. paige is shocked.
she stabbed at a limp piece of arugula. “riveting stuff, kamorea.”
“bruh,” nika dragged out, in response to paige’s disinterest, “swear next summer we’re gonna getchu to watch. you hatin’ now, but you won’t be when you're losing sleep so you can stay up for it.”
paige laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “why would i want to spend an hour of my day every summer watching a bunch of straight people with botox try not to make a fool of themselves in fiji?”
kk turned back to her phone, clearly unimpressed. “m’forcing you to watch next season– ion care.”
“i’ll only watch with you if they get a gay person on there,” she declared, pleased with the low probability.
instead of pushing it further, however, kk smirked back. “if you want a gay person on the show so bad why don’t you apply yourself.”
before paige could veto the ridiculous suggestion, nika laughed. “paige wouldn’t last a day on that fuckin’ show.”
which was, objectively, a very true statement. it was phrased as a challenge, however, which meant that paige was morally obligated to disagree. “nuh-uh. could win that shit if i wanted.”
her two friends burst into laughter.
through gasps, kk choked out “be so fuckin forreal, bruh. your gay ass would get kicked off in the first hour.”
paige frowned. this should have been a compliment– was a compliment– but somehow kk had managed to phrase it as an insult anyway. “could last longer than you at least.”
kk raised an eyebrow. “yeah, okay. apply right now, then, if you’re so sure.”
paige tilted her head indignantly. “fine. signing you up too though. dumbass.”
“fine.”
and, well, that was that.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
or. that should’ve been that.
kk, to no one’s surprise, hadn’t even gotten an email back that they’d received the application.
to everyone’s surprise however, paige had.
she’d gotten a first email back– they’d practically peed themselves laughing at the genuine interest– and then she’d gotten a second. and then an interview.
and then suddenly they were flying her out to la to shoot an intro, and were asking her about her dating style– casual (true)– and what her type was– tall dark and handsome (sort of true)– and whether she would be comfortable kissing boys on camera– yes (definitely not true).
she didn’t know if someone in the casting department had a terrible sense of humor, or if throwing on a dress had actually been enough to cancel out the whole masc lesbian thing, but regardless, every time she’d gotten past a new stage of recruitment, kk had been in her ear, goading her into continuing and telling her she had to do it for the bit or else she was a coward.
and paige bueckers was a lot of things– homosexual came to mind first and foremost– but a coward was not one of them.
so now, here she is, standing in a goddamn minidress of all things, with sixty bajillion cameras within eyesight, listening to ariana maddox hammer on about how paige and her fellow male bombshell are supposed to be picking one of the gorgeous gentlemen and lovely ladies in front of them to go on a double date with tomorrow.
and ride off into the sunset and feed each other cake and tell each other i love you after twenty four hours. or whatever people on this show do– paige doesn’t know.
this whole situation feels sort of like a fever dream. she knows how she ended up here– stubbornness– but she hasn’t actually processed the reality that she’s standing on an island in fiji, about to spend however long she lasts here back in the closet, televised for everyone to see.
and it’s not like she has substantially better ways to spend her summer; her original plan– working at the same basketball camp she’d worked at for the prior three summers– was more fun, yes, and certainly more true to paige’s character, but it hadn’t been a good enough excuse to needle out of kk’s running joke.
at least there’s a chance she’ll win money. even if that chance is microscopic.
and besides, paige does think this entire thing is funny. she’s always been someone who appreciates a good bit. it’s just that the reality of that bit is starting to dawn on her, horribly, for three main reasons.
the first: the god awful dress she’s wearing. it’s midnight blue, and has sequins on it– which itch– and it's short, and she sort of feels like she’s in high school again, trying to fit into a mold that will never work. she tries not to think about the fact that tomorrow night it will be swapped out for another just as hideous dress, and she wonders what shade of red the costume designer’s face would turn if she saw the jorts and button ups that paige has hidden in her luggage. at least she’ll be in a bikini during the day– that she can do.
the second issue is the fact that she is actually going to have to pick a guy to try and look interested in. and, somehow, get at least one guy interested enough in her so she can stay on the show.
she surveys the six boys in front of her with resigned interest. the concept of just picking one– one who she’s yet to actually interact with– seems strange, but she supposes it’s designed to be done off of simple attraction. too bad all of them look horribly unappealing.
she racks her brain and tries to remember the bullshit she’d spouted in the entrance interviews about what her type was. something about confidence, maybe? nice guys but not nice guys? she can’t remember.
she scans their faces, and immediately eliminates two– the ones who have facial hair. she desperately hopes no kissing is going to be necessary, but if the situation becomes dire she’d rather be prepared.
eliminating the men with beards from being her involuntary beard. she suppresses her giggle at the thought.
the four remaining– one is named john, but she can’t remember which one it is or what the others’ names are– all look relatively normal. paige tries to imagine which one she’d want if she were straight. and then immediately has to put effort into keeping the grimace off her face.
not the one with tattoos, because he seems too cocky. stupidly, paige kind of wants to pick the one shorter than her. he’s the one on the end, and seems the most harmless– a little scrawny maybe, but that was fine. maybe he’s the john. that would probably work.
paige could deal with sitting next to him; could maybe stomach like. a hand on her shoulder.
she hopes he likes sports, so that when she does choose him, and then inevitably has to suffer through a date, they have something to talk about.
satisfied with her mental decision, paige turns and risks a glance at the third and arguably biggest reason she’s slowly been realizing the gravity of her mistake.
said reason– azzi, as she’s just introduced herself as– looks away as soon as paige glances over, and she feels her cheeks heat up at the realization that azzi had been looking too. she’s standing at the end of the line of girls, and paige had noticed her immediately upon walking up to the firepit, because she’d been the only one to smile reassuringly at her when she’d stumbled clumsily over her own heel-clad feet during her introduction.
they’d made eye contact, paige already desperately trying to make her stuttering seem charming and not stupid, and azzi had grinned kindly, as if to say happens to the best of us.
and paige had thought fuck.
she takes a moment now to observe azzi, who’s busy chatting with the girl next to her while the producers mess with the lighting for the thirteenth time. her hair is swept back, braids falling halfway down her back, and she’s pulled the top up into a bun, highlighting the smooth lines of her face and the angle of her jawline.
paige isn’t close enough to catalogue every detail like she wants to, but azzi's talking animatedly with her neighbor, and when she flashes a smile at something the girl says, paige sees the crater of a dimple that’s been revealed.
lord, she feels like a creep.
she drags her eyes down, and– nope, that makes her feel even more like a perv.
paige has been so mesmerized by her face that it takes her until the third and current glance over to realize that she’s wearing a lavender mini dress, just long enough to remain classy but short enough to make paige’s pulse spike.
it’s not like she’d forgotten that the women they choose for love island tend to be beautiful. but she’d expected lip filler and wannabe influencers and bbls. she had not expected any of her fellow female contestants to be her type.
which means, naturally, that azzi is stunningly beautiful and checks off like all of the boxes for traits in women that paige is usually into, and also appears to be very plastic surgery free. (jury is yet to be out on the bbl, but paige will investigate. in a respectful manner.)
which is fine. maybe her personality is awful and she does have a bbl and paige will be able to successfully pretend to be in love with a scrawny boy.
she took an improv class her freshman year of college. she’s got this in the bag.
she doesn’t know how long she’s been spaced out, and she tunes back into ariana’s voice before she misses anything else.
“-and then we’ll get you guys all settled in!” she turns to face chris– paige’s fellow bombshell– and smiles her slightly off putting, camera ready smile. paige cringes a little.
“chris! how about you start.”
ariana gestures to the line of girls standing in front of them, and paige is reminded for the nth time how stupid and mildly problematic this whole show is in the first place. ariana lists off the girls’ names one last time– thank god, this meant she’d do the same with the boys and paige wouldn’t have to blindly say john and hope it was the one she’d decided on– and production makes a whole show of filming the fake anticipation of the moment.
paige glances at azzi, idly, unconsciously, and azzi’s already looking. they make eye contact and the brunette looks away like she’s been caught, but paige can tell she’s trying not to smile.
well, shit.
stupidly, irrationally, she hopes chris picks azzi, so that paige has an excuse to– well. get to know her. while they’re on a date with other people. yeah.
paige could use a friend.
she doesn’t even know why she’s already stuck so strangely onto azzi– a little eye contact and a smile doesn’t usually make her feel this useless. for all of kk and nika’s teasing, they’d probably been right. paige wasn’t going to last 30 minutes on this show.
chris does in fact pick azzi. because of course he does.
paige bites her lip to keep her smile internal when her eyes flit over during the drawn out process of him choosing and azzi’s looking. again.
do other gay girls go on love island? probably not. whatever.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
after the initial ridiculousness that is paige and chris choosing their dates, the girls are instructed by producers to stay around the fire pit and get to know her a little more, and though she’s exceedingly relieved when the men get up and leave to go have their own entirely organic chat with chris, she’s a little terrified for the scrutiny she knows she will have to endure.
the six girls staring back at her seem nice enough though– if some a little less… intelligent than paige was expecting– and she sits gingerly on the orange cushions, fighting her instincts to slouch against the backrest and spread her legs.
she really should’ve watched the episodes available to her when she had the chance, because being introduced to 13 people rapid fire and being expected to remember their names was proving rather difficult. the only two she’s confident in are azzi– who is sitting directly on paige’s right, illegal purple dress and all– and carly, one of the two other blondes, who paige suspects has at least six milliliters of filler in her lips.
“paige– give everyone a little introduction– name, age, where you’re from, etcetera– and you can all get to know each other a little more,” says the wiry, older producer off to the side. paige already dislikes her just based off of the pinch in her eyebrows and the way that she glares at the group of women seated in front of her. she'd introduced herself with a k name-- probably karen.
paige smiles shakily and wipes her palms down her thighs, and then immediately regrets this. the stupid sequins don’t take any of the moisture off, and only make her legs itch more. useless piece of clothing.
“um, i’m paige, i’m 25, and i grew up in minnesota but i live in dc now, and um, i don’t know what else.”
jesus christ. she’s usually good in large groups, can charm and ham it up and generally is pretty adept at getting people to like her, but the dress and heels she’s wearing, and the seventy two camera in front of her, and the catastrophically beautiful woman beside her is all making her uncharacteristically awkward.
beside her, azzi smiles brightly despite her bumbling introduction. “i’m actually gonna be living in dc starting in the fall– i’m gonna be a pediatrics nurse at georgetown hospital, if you know the area?”
oh god. she works with children. and they live in the same city. this has to be some sort of cosmic joke.
“oh no way,” paige nods, instead of the you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me that’s on the tip of her tongue. “dc’s great– i’ve been living there for about two years now. i’m actually only, like, 20 minutes from georgetown.”
“oh that’s so fun! i um, grew up in northern va, and i’ve always wanted to move into the city.” azzi genuinely looks pleased at this coincidence, and paige relaxes a little bit as the brunette turns her whole body towards her. “what do you do for work?”
“m’actually a gym teacher for a middle school, and i coach youth basketball on the side.”
another devastating grin stretches across azzi’s face. “so you work with kids too– gotta love ‘em even though they’re awful.”
paige is sure there are probably, like, stars in her eyes as she looks at azzi. “yeah, you get it–”
she’s cut off by one of the girls coughing, hard, and paige realizes that she and azzi have been chatting just the two of them for a socially unacceptable amount of time.
a flush begins to crawl up the back of her neck, and shifts a little on the cushions, still fighting the urge to manspread. stupid fucking minidress. “um. sorry.” her ears feel hot.
one of the others– paige has no idea what her name is– smiles kindly. “don’t worry about it.”
paige stupidly thinks this means she’s off the hook, and then regrets that thought immediately.
“so paige, says brunette-girl-number-two,” who’s sitting a couple girls to paige’s left. “what’s your type?”
paige is really struggling to remember her name. brenda maybe? she isn’t sure. what a memorable way to open a casual conversation, though. jesus. she can’t even focus on the fact that she’s already forgotten the poor girl’s name because she’s instead trying not to panic at the question.
it should be extremely easy to answer. paige has a script for this. she prepared.
except her brain is mush right now, she can see no less than five cameras without turning her head, she’s sitting with some extremely beautiful women, and she cannot remember for the life of her what she’d planned on saying.
she glances at azzi instinctively, stupidly, as if she could somehow help paige answer what should be objectively a very easy question, but instead of assistance, paige is met with the curve of her bicep muscle, and the peak of what looks like a sinfully defined back, and. her mind goes a little bit stupid. she makes the mistake of flitting her eyes down instead of away, and a smooth, defined quad comes into view below the hem of azzi’s outrageously short dress, and jesus fuck. paige jerks her eyes away and up, meeting brenda’s imploring gaze.
“um,” she mumbles. her face is hot. she clears her throat and then blurts “typically i like, like, muscles? but um, i don’t know. i don’t really have a type, i’m more of a personality person, you know?”
it sounds vague and stupid even to her own ears, but she smiles a little and hopes she comes off more charming than anything else.
the other brunette girl who’s sitting on the end laughs, but not in a mean way, and paige relaxes a little bit. “i’m definitely a personality person too– i get it.” paige thinks her name is jamie but she’s not totally sure.
she smiles at her in thanks as the conversation begins to pick up around them, the seven girls debating the importance of being hot versus having a good personality, and paige pats herself on the back for her mostly normal contributions.
she can do this– she’s social. some people might even go so far as to describe her as overly social.
usually she’s much more comfortable in her skin, sure, but she can lock in. this is fine. everything is fine.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
because god wants to punish her, paige can’t even actually get settled in when they’re done with the stupid fire pit chat, because she has to go to what they call confessionals.
which basically means they lock her in an empty room and force her to answer questions to a camera, with a creepy robotic voice giving her prompts.
she exhausted by the time they’re satisfied with her rambling answers, but when she’s finally free to leave the torture chamber, azzi is waiting outside, leaned up against a tree and looking about half as casual as she probably intends to.
“you come to rescue me?” she asks, exhaustion evaporating into giddiness at the thought of azzi waiting for her.
the brunette cocks her head, dimple appearing as she smiles. “someone’s gotta show you around– can’t have you falling in the pool accidentally.”
“i’m gonna shove you in the pool accidentally.”
azzi gives her a look. “do you want the tour or not?”
and paige immediately raises her hands in surrender like a fucking simp. “i take it back, i take it back. lead the way, mrs fiji expert.”
and off they go.
she discovers right away that azzi also hates heels, and they both rip off the uncomfortable wedges before they even begin their wandering tour of the house. paige is unreasonably endeared by the way azzi dangles the straps in her hand, swinging the shoes back and forth as they walk, and it makes her want to find out what it feels like to swing their hands together as they walk.
it’s this thought that informs paige that she’s truly lost it because she’s never even liked handholding, and she’s known this girl for a fucking hour. she shoved the pestering image down and tries to focus on the actual contents of the tour, to partial success.
azzi takes her around the villa, stopping here and there to give her necessary information like the jamies– that’s what i call them cause they’re both names jamie which is weird– fucked here but they won’t admit to it, and laila– she got dumped a couple days ago– smacked callum across the face right here.
it’s a little overwhelming, all the information being thrown at paige at once, but azzi somehow makes it wildly entertaining, and by the time they make it to the bedroom and dressing rooms, paige has learned several things about both the other contestants and azzi.
according to azzi, carly’s a little crazy, and has a pension for cussing people out for unwarranted reasons, and paige gets the distinct impression that azzi thinks she’s an idiot. jamie and jamie are apparently cute, but also slightly weird, and bailey is– azzi puts it quite bluntly– a bot, and probably going to let herself get fucked over by ryan, who– though she doesn’t explicitly say it– azzi suspects is a trump supporter.
she also learns that alanna is chill, if a little naive about john and his intentions, and azzi doesn’t say anything at all about marissa, but when prompted, makes a face and says “you can come to your own conclusions.”
paige concludes that she sucks. she also concludes that callum sucks, though azzi doesn’t say why beyond a “you know how some guys are.”
when paige asks about jordan, the boy azzi is currently coupled up with, she says “he’s nice,” and, despite several attempts to weasel more info out of her, paige learns virtually nothing about him.
which is annoying, solely for intel reasons. it is curious, however, that azzi doesn’t gush about him. she files that piece of information away for later.
azzi calls bryce sweet, and giggles through a sentence about how paige and him will get along. she doesn’t make it sound like a compliment, but paige is too delighted by another appearance of her dimple to really think about it too hard.
besides, she’s much more interested in what she learns about azzi.
she learns that azzi has two brothers, that she’s extremely close with her family, and, despite obvious evidence to the contrary, azzi claims that she’s a little introverted, and that it apparently took a bunch of friends several tries to convince her to go on the show.
she learns that azzi eats healthy, and that she’s scandalized by paige’s assertion that she doesn’t eat vegetables.
but the biggest thing she gleans is that azzi’s personality is, in fact, wonderful, and that they have the same humor, and worst of all, that azzi is just as stubborn as paige.
paige can’t remember the last time she’s been this enamored with someone, and she resolves herself to the first stage of grief: denial.
she and azzi get along swimmingly as friends. and paige is looking forward to their double date tomorrow because she’s excited about their friendship. and paige keeps getting flustered because sometimes her friends make her nervous.
when azzi finalizes the tour and leaves paige in the bedroom to go shower, paige, in a horrible attempt at being chill and cool, raises two fingers to her forehead and salutes her.
she fucking salutes her. she wants to punch herself in the face.
but azzi just smiles brightly at her, radiant and a little bit life-ruining, and then turns to disappear into the bathroom.
and paige is left standing there, minorly embarrassed and majorly entranced– no doubt a stupid expression on her face– watching her back profile as she walks away.
it’s definitely not a bbl. paige is going to die.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
she sleeps like shit.
for one, because there's boys within eyesight. she hasn’t slept near a boy since her dad made her sleep next to her brother on a family vacation when she was 12. and it’s not like any of them are actually close to her– she at least has her own bed– but still. their presence is enough to make paige restless.
the other, more pressing reason, is that paige is forced to sleep a mere 5 feet from azzi. who is actively in bed with a boy. and who’s sleeping face is very peaceful and also very pretty and very close to paige, and just generally distracting enough to keep her awake.
when the lights go on at an undetermined time of the morning, and producers begin to force them awake, paige estimates that she gets roughly 5 hours of sleep.
which is fine. but it doesn’t exactly have her in a chipper mood to start her first full day in the villa.
except then, when she’s getting out of bed, azzi smiles at her, just a soft little acknowledgement, dimple just barely peeking through, and suddenly paige is having the very best day ever.
it’s a little bit scary, actually, how quickly her subconscious has latched on to the other girl. the last time she’d been so immediately enamored with someone had been high school, and she’d been the first girl that paige had ever allowed herself to admit to liking. azzi’s making her feel like she’s sixteen. it’s ridiculous.
she’s sluggish while she gets ready, blinking blearing at herself in the mirror while trying to curl her lashes, but everyone else is also feeling exhausted and paige bonds with the girls by complaining about how early it is and how much she misses the mattress in the hotel she’d been cooped up in before.
the guys bring them all breakfast, which is nice enough, and paige can’t say she doesn’t enjoy her avocado toast and omelette that bryce has so graciously decided to cook for her.
she chokes on her eggs, however, when azzi come out of the dressing rooms in her bikini for the day, and plops down next to paige to begin her makeup. she has a fucking belly button piercing. the little piece of metal glints at her, like a taunt, surrounded by miles of toned muscle, and paige physically has to pinch herself.
the bikini itself should be burned, a little fuchsia number that is classy, sure, but gives paige an unlimited view of azzi’s stomach, and the definition of her quads, and her collarbone, and. azzi hasn’t even turned around yet and paige is already contemplating killing herself.
forget love island– this is suicide island. homophobia island, actually, because paige is getting ready to go on a date with a man instead of the woman next to her. and azzi will be there beside her, on a date with her own guy, who will probably be looking at her stupid belly button piercing too, and paige honestly just wants to die.
she doesn’t die, though– despite her desperate prayers for a lightning bolt to miraculously strike her out of the sky– and she finishes her breakfast and makeup and while refusing to look in azzi’s general direction for fear of her sanity.
that effort goes to hell, however, when the’re taken out of the villa to get to the date.
they have to take a boat, which is kind of fun, and the four of them pile onto it, azzi and paige in the back and bryce and chris separated from them in the front, thank god.
it’s so windy on the boat ride there that they can’t really speak above yelling over the rush of air in their ears, but they sprawl back against the lounge seats in the back and let the wind whip at their hair.
paige tilts her head back against the seat from her spot at the back of the boat and closes her eyes. she might as well get some sun while she’s on a tropical island. she does not put on her sunglasses so she can ogle azzi for the entirety of their 45 minute journey without repercussions. that would be unprofessional.
when they get to their destination, a little island off the coast of where they’re staying, everything has been set up for them: the heart in the sand, the fake champagne, the rose petals, and paige realizes for the nth time in the last 24 hours that everything is orchestrated.
and then paige is given the worst news ever: that it is in fact not a double date, but a date simply in the same vicinity as azzi, who is perched just across the beach, just close enough to be distracting but far enough that paige can’t hear anything she or chris are saying to one another.
she wants to sue someone for false advertising. this is catastrophic. not only does she not have an ally throughout her date, but she’s forced to watch azzi laugh in the distance without knowing what’s being said, and if chris is actually that funny.
as if a full on date in bathing suits with bryce isn’t torturous enough as is. he’s nice enough, if exceedingly awkward, and though it’s not a shocker in any way to paige, she discovers about forty five seconds into their conversation that they have absolutely zero romantic or physical chemistry.
bryce, it seems, does not make this elementary level observation. he seems to somehow like paige’s slightly forced jokes and the fact that all they really do is talk about sports. which is good– paige needs to figure out a way to stay on the island and a boy is unfortunately the easiest way to do that– but it’s also awful because bryce’s voice is kinda of annoying and he’s a little bit condescending and he works in finance.
it’s a long, long two hours.
they’re not given lunch until after they’ve wrapped filming the date, the boys relegated to the dock onshore while azzi and paige get the boat, so that– according to producers– nothing noteworthy happens while their mics are off to eat.
azzi informs her that all meals are like this, either silent or separated into boys and girls– or both– and paige thanks the gods that she won’t have to hear bryce’s mansplaining while she’s trying to enjoy her food.
this also means she has azzi all to herself, the producers too busy running around charging their microphones and yelling at each other about bad camera angles.
azzi sprawls out on the cushions at the back of the boat, painted toes dangling off the side to catch the salty spray as they move through the water, and paige is giddy at the fact that she gets upwards of 45 minutes of uninterrupted azzi time. and they’re told that under no circumstances can they talk about the boys or the date that just occurred while they’re off camera, which is delightful.
instead, they discuss how much they miss their family and friends already, and what their perfect sunday looks like, and how stupid it is to clap on airplanes at the end of a flight. paige learns that azzi normally wears her hair down and curly, but she thought that box braids would be easier for the summer, and that azzi hates dressing up and doing makeup, that she’s somehow excited to have to wear scrubs at work and not have to think about her outfit.
in return, paige divulges a smattering of funny stories about the kids that she works with, and how she usually teaches in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants because her head of school doesn’t really care what she wears.
they’re small, minute details about each other's lives, but paige finds herself wanting to know all of it, with a terrifying intensity. she wants to know every little detail that azzi’s willing to share, and she catalogues each new piece of information to save for later, to come back to. their conversation is easy, laughter flowing freely back and forth, and it's exhilarating, really, how fast they’ve clicked.
when they’re done with their surprisingly good sandwiches, azzi bemoans the rule that they’d been given about not jumping in the water or getting wet.
“we’re not even wearing our microphones right now,” she sighs, in the tone paige has already come to recognize as her annoyed at the producers voice. “i’ve literally been in the ocean like twice, bro, and and we’re in fiji.”
paige agrees, its a stupid rule, and she glances around the boat to see if there are any producers who she can needle. she smirks when she spots sue, who she’s beginning to think considers this entire show stupid, and who seems to like paige and her pestering questions more than most of the other more annoying producers.
“bet i can get sue to let us,” she promises.
azzi rolls her eyes. “yeah okay. prove it.”
“no i can,” paige gloats. “just watch the magic”
she’s not a hundred percent sure sue will let them, but she kind of wants to show off for azzi, so she hops up from her seat on the boat and climbs up onto the dock, most angelic smile firmly in place.
“hey my most favorite producer,” she sings as she approaches sue, who’s bent over some camera part with a crease between her brows.
she barely spares paige a glance. “what do you want.”
skipping the pleasantries, then.
paige concentrates on putting on her most pitiful, distraught look. “i just– azzi and i were talking, and–”
“great,” interrupts sue. “this’ll be good.”
paige ignores her. “we were talking, and she mentioned how we’re not supposed to go in the water unless it's an off day, but i just think that’s so unfair, because i haven’t been in the water yet, and y’know, we’re in fiji, and…” she trails off, expecting sue to get the gist.
she apparently does not. “and?”
paige huffs a sigh. “canazziandijumpofftheboat?” it's not her most coherent sentence ever, but it does the job.
sue looks simultaneously endeared and exasperated. things are looking up.
“you want me to let you and azzi jump off the boat just because you’ve yet to go in the water.”
paige nods vigorously. “and azzi wants to, too.” that seems like an important detail.
sue eyes her, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and then she sighs, long sufferingly, before turning back to messing around with her monitor. “as long as you don’t drown.”
paige bounces on the balls of her feet like a little kid. “really? you’re sure?”
sue glances at her over her shoulder with a barely concealed smile. “don’t make me change my mind.”
paige nods, a little over eager maybe, and turns to run back over to azzi, who’s surely been watching this entire exchange. “yes ma’am.”
she knew sue had a soft spot for her. azzi’s going to be ecstatic.
azzi is not ecstatic.
in fact, convincing azzi to actually jump off the boat turns out to be more work than she anticipated.
“c’mon, bruh, you were the one complaining about not being able to go in.” she’s already climbed up on the railing, wobbling a bit with her arms spread wide to keep her balance, and azzi’s stubbornness is throwing her off.
“i don’t know paige, are you sure it’s safe?”
“azzi, it's not like there’s sharks,” she groans. this may or may not be true information, paige has no idea. “i know you wanna jump. c’mon, bruh, it’ll be fun.”
“but we’ll ruin our makeup,” azzi argues.
paige just looks at her. “you were just complaining about how annoying makeup is. besides, we’re done filming until way later.”
she’s got a point and she knows it, and azzi huffs out a sigh like admitting that would be the worst thing in the world. “it’ll be a pain in the ass to dry my hair,” she continues to argue, in a halfhearted attempt to convince paige that she doesn’t want to.
paige is pretty sure she knows better. “i’ll help you dry it and condition it, swear. now come here and just jump already.”
azzi makes a big show of sighing when she gets up, but paige can see her mouth starting to twitch into a smile.
she steps up onto the railing next to paige, and fights to keep her balance on the thin metal rod, spreading her arms wide for balance, and then, when that only partially works, reaches out without asking and grips paige's hand tightly.
paige’s heart is beating a mile a minute, and she just kinda stares stupidly. azzi’s palm is warm, and she’s gripping onto paige’s hand. and this is all a bit too much.
when she realizes paige isn’t going to do anything but stare dopily, azzi smiles. “whatcha waiting for?” she taunts, “thought you wanted to jump?”
and well. now she has to jump. she hums, raises an eyebrow, and then leaps off the railing, pulling azzi alongside her with a whoop of joy.
when she resurfaces, rubbing the droplets from her eyes, azzi is beaming back at her, the top of her tanline exaggerated by the water's reflection and looking happy and radiant.
paige never ever wants to leave the moment.
they jump off the railing of the boat at least ten times before they have to return to shore, and it is absolutely worth ruining their makeup for. it’s fun, jumping with azzi. more than fun. paige is kind of addicted to it. she refuses to contemplate the metaphorical implications of that.
she makes good on her promise, too, and she drags out the process of helping azzi condition and dry her braids so she can touch her longer. in a totally platonic, non creepy way.
she has minimal azzi time in the evening and before bed, because she’s dragged off to confessionals for what feels like hours, and then azzi is dragged off for what feels like even longer, but paige marks her first day as a total success.
bryce and his awkwardness and all.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
@/lesbianloser69: does anyone else think paige is kinda…
↪@/reesespieces1: glad i’m not the only one cause…
↪@/lesbianloser69: no like… ain’t no way that girl is into men
↪@/annoyingpersonontwitter: ya’ll need to leave that girl aloneeee why would she go on love island if she was gay
↪@/jordanisthebest: so you saw her checking out azzi too 😭
↪@/lesbianloser69: “i like guys with… uhhhhh… muscles uhh” she ain’t fooling ME
↪@/jordanisthebest: bro after she picked the scrawniest guy like it’s too perfect
@/delusionftw: paige got more chemistry with her water bottle than she does bryce im ctfu
↪@/mangotrees: azzi and chris too like 😭 free them from these men
@/ilovepoop: paige and azzi already the best duo on the show and they only gave us like two clips give us moreeeee
↪@/ilovecheetos: fr they seem like best friends already
↪@/imcool78970: anyone else notice they came back from the date wet and the boys were dry… i think they took a lil swim tg that’s so cute
↪@/ilovepoop: omg i just went back and watched ur so right ugh why didn’t they show us that 💔
@/princess35: [photo of azzi and jordan talking] please she does not care about this man at alllll 😭😭
↪@/loveislandhoe: she just wants that bag and yk what i respect it
☼☼☼☼☼☼
paige’s second day dawns bright and early.
or, well, she thinks it's early. she’s already entirely lost her sense of time, which she supposes is exactly what the producers want. what’s worse than her general disorientation, however, is the fact that there's a challenge this morning.
she’s not entirely sure what challenges entail– had only gotten a summarized account from kk before she left and then a whispered it’ll be fine from her favorite producer, sue– but she’s certain it can’t be good when it begins with brightly colored ugly ass matching sets for the girls to wear.
she already has a wedgie and it's been 10 minutes of having the horrible micro spandex shorts on her body.
she curses the stupid game and the stupid producer that designed the ugly outfits, and stupid kk for everything else under the sun– and then promptly takes all of it back when she sees azzi’s back profile in the god awful orange and pink matching set.
the shorts cut across the small of her back perfectly, emphasizing her waist, and the length of them is decidedly not long enough to cover ass, leaving more than a sliver for paige to salivate over, and.
paige cannot think about it for any longer, actually. she needs to die. right now.
she forces herself to stay next to or in front azzi the entire time they're all being corralled by producers to where the challenge is set up so she’s not tempted to sneak any glances.
and, despite the fact that paige feels horrifically awkward trying to exude femininity in the way that she’s being forced to, the fact that azzi keeps sneaking glances at her stomach settles her.
gives her a bit of an ego, actually.
enough to stretch her arms over head and contract her abs, just to watch azzi’s cheeks flush when she looks away. it’s heady, the reassurance that she doesn’t look fucking ridiculous in the outfit, and even though she still feels a little stupid, standing in between a group of women who seem much more comfortable in the regalia, she goes into the challenge in a good mood.
she does not come out of the challenge in a good mood.
it’s not awful. or, it could have gone worse, probably. but whoever came up with idea of forcing contestants to pick a name out of a hat and either make out with that person or get paint throw at them is fucking evil. and stupid. and definitely a man.
they divide the names up into two hats, too, sorted by gender, so paige doesn’t even have the chance to pick azzi’s name.
by the time the challenge is over and all the names have been picked, paige is covered head to toe in paint. obviously.
only one guy, bryce, is brave enough to kiss her, and it’s kind of like kissing a fish. if a fish was extraordinarily awkward and given legs and hands but had not been taught how to use them. paige keeps it as short as possible and then burns the memory out of her brain as soon as its over and hopes that she never has to relive it.
azzi makes out with both jordan and chris, and paige gets so extraordinarily and stupidly jealous when jordan gets to put his hand on azzi’s ass that she has to look up at the sky so she doesn’t make a fool of herself and throw something.
so tuesday isn’t her favorite day. sue her.
but she and azzi walk back to the villa side by side, and paige’s ugly thoughts get replaced by trying not to focus on the smear of green paint on azzi’s nose, and the blue all over her collarbone, and the orange splayed out across her shoulder and down her chest and– she looks good like this, is all.
covered in paint and little else. paige really wants to like. wipe all the paint off of her. with both hands. very thoroughly. she’s probably gonna have to settle for killing herself, though.
“you look like a rainbow threw up on you,” says azzi as they amble back to the villa, mouth downturned as she fights a smirk. she doesn’t even know why that sentence is as funny as it is.
paige pouts, fighting a hysterical giggle. “rude. you look like a rainbow shit on you.”
azzi gasps in mock offense and stops them, right by the edge of the pool, before turning to face her fully. “how dare you. i look great.”
she does look great. radiant, even, but paige isn’t going to tell her that. “you have green in your eyebrow,” she declares instead.
azzi scoffs through a grin. “like you’re any better- you have purple-” she lifts a hand up, hovers it over paige's cheekbone- “right here.”
paige swallows. she hadn’t realized how close they were standing until azzi drew attention to it with the length of her arm.
“do i?” she asks. her voice is a lot less teasing than it had been five seconds ago. damnit.
“uh-uh. want me to get it.”
paige swallows again. nods. tries not to drown in the sudden intensity of their eye contact. she can be normal about azzi lightly touching her face for god’s sake.
azzi smiles at the jerk of her head and brings her hand closer, thumbing lightly across paige’s cheekbone, and pure amusement on her face.
there's blue in her eyelashes, paige realizes, and it only makes her eyes seem more cavernous, more beautiful. she smiles at paige like she knows something paige doesn’t, mischievous and bright, and.
she’s too beautiful. paige is going to light herself on fire.
perhaps azzi reads her mind, thinks a little preemptive antidote to the flames would be useful, because all of a sudden she’s grinning even more, dimples inches from paige’s face, and then paige is being shoved into the fucking pool. of course.
she makes a horrifically awkward squawking sound when she realizes– a beat too late– what’s just happened, flailing her arms, before she hits the surface with a splash and is submerged.
stupid. is the first thing that comes to mind.
she so should've seen that coming. to an embarrassing degree. she resurfaces, coughing a little, and immediately the first thing she hears is azzi doubled over in laughter.
“azzi, bro, i’m gonna fucking kill you,” she wheezes. it only serves to make azzi laugh harder.
“m’sorry, i just– it was too easy. i had too.” she doesn’t sound very fucking sorry at all.
paige is absolutely besotted with her.
the only appropriate reaction to that thought is to swing her arm back and attempt to splash azzi with as much water as she can, but the droplets barely hit her, because she absolutely sees it coming and is already backing away. it only serves to make her laugh harder.
huffing, paige swims clumsily over to the side of the pool. pouting is extremely hard to do while rubbing paint out of your eyes, as it turns out, but paige makes a valiant effort anyways. “azzi s’not funny– help me out.”
she reaches her arms out towards the other girl, making grabby hands, and azzi backs even further away laughing. damnit.
“absolutely not. i know your tricks,” she refuses, putting her hands on her hips. paige is still below her, in the pool, azzi’s body towering over her blocking the sun, and this angle is doing wonderful, terrible things to her silhouette. and paige’s pulse.
she files the image away for later, before tilting her head back and pouting harder. “azziiiii, s’the least you could do. promise i won’t pull you in.”
it’s a lie, obviously, and not a very good one at that. azzi clearly agrees. “you’re a big fat liar,” she says, airily.
groaning, paige switches gears. “don’t call me fat,” she gripes, indignant, as she reaches the wall of the pool and presses her hands to the concrete. mentally praying that she looks hot and strong and not like the shitty beginning of a poolboy porno, paige uses her arms to pull herself up and out.
if she makes an effort to go a little slower than is strictly necessary, nobody has to know.
she keeps eye contact with azzi as she does it– or. she tries to keep eye contact, except azzi’s flick away from her face almost immediately and land somewhere below, and paige mentally fist pumps as she climbs out and stands.
she swears she can see azzi’s cheeks flush. even though three quarters of their surface area is covered in paint. delightful. she uses the split second azzi’s looking at her shoulders to lunge, grasping at azzi waist and pulling her towards her.
the brunette shrieks, surprised, and paige prays to god and everything holy when she drags azzi back into her chest and their entire bodies touch as she walks them backwards towards the pool.
“paige no- don’t you fucking dare-”
she’s writhing, giggles trickling out between her words, and paige could die here, probably, azzi’s curls tickling her neck and her fucking ass pressed against paige’s front.
a happy, wriggling azzi fudd laughing against her chest. maybe today is looking up after all.
paige laughs with her, but her “should’ve thought it before you pushed me in, huh,” is overlapped with the sudden yelling in the distance.
paige can never have nice things for long.
“do not jump in that pool paige bueckers–” yells the emerging producer, kathy, who’s careening towards them. in the two days that paige has been here, she’s quickly shown herself to be the worst one, always yelling at everyone and just generally being unhelpful and annoying.
paige sighs. “no can do, kathy,” she answers lightly. “blame azzi– she started it.”
azzi wrigles harder in protest. “she’s lying– i didn’t do anything.” her voice raises as paige walks them back closer to the pool, and goddamnit she’s actually really strong. paige’s brain shuts down a little bit more as she fights to keep her arms locked around azzi.
why does she have to have so many fucking muscles. it’s ridiculous.
she looks back at kathy before she thinks about the flex of azzi’s shoulders too long accidentally does something stupid like lick them. “azzi’s the one lying– m’sure the camera’s caught it.”
they’ve reached the edge of the pool now, and all paige has to do is lean them backwards to knock them off balance. kathy definitely knows this is her plan, and she makes one last attempt to stop them.
“you’re going to ruin another microphone,” she shrieks, voice sort of wavering. paige resists the urge to make a snide comment about how love island can definitely afford a replacement. “i’m serious, paige– do not jump in the water–”
she’s flailing her arms all around as she speed walks towards them, and paige wants to laugh at how agitated she looks.
azzi echo’s kathy’s thoughts, “paige i swear to god,” though it's hard to take her truly serious when paige can hear the smile on her face. she’s still squirming, but it’s mostly for show now, and the realization that azzi wants to be pulled in the water is heady.
she glances between the approaching producer and azzi’s side profile. she’s warm, bare skin pressed right up against paige’s, laughter infectious and wonderful and perfect, and the choice is made for her.
she’s helpless against the next series of events, really.
she tightens one arm around azzi’s waist, ignoring the surge of want that accompanies it, uses the other hand to swiftly tug azzi’s microphone up and off from around her neck, throws the wretched device in kathy’s general direction, and tips them backward off the ledge and into the pool.
azzi’s laughter drowns out the sounds of producers shouting, and then paige can't hear anything at all because she’s underwater, the brunette still clutched tightly in her arms.
azzi finds her hand and squeezes it while they’re submerged, and that high, plus the searing memory of azzi’s damp skin pressed against her own, lasts paige all the way through the verbal lashing they get about getting paint in the pool.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
“what’s one of the things you miss the most about the real world,” asks paige, lazily, that evening when they’re sprawled out on the couch.
azzi’s feet are splayed over paige’s lap (casually.), and the distant sound of marissa and callum arguing acts as a backtrack to their wandering conversation. they’ve been left alone for the majority of the afternoon, a product of paige’s painful yet almost enthusiastic conversation with bryce after the pool fiasco this morning, and she’s extraordinarily thankful that two of the couples are on the verge of ending things right now because it means that no one is really paying attention to them.
azzi hums in consideration, and wiggles her calves to get paige to go back to massaging them. “aside from all the obvious stuff like my family? i dunno, reading probably. and listening to music.”
“that’s a good one. i miss drake.”
azzi giggles. “of all the artists you could’ve said– that’s who you pick?”
paige digs a thumb into azzi’s calf in affront. and she does not file away the feeling of azzi’s muscle flexing for later. definitely not. “um, excuse me, what’s wrong with drake.”
“nothing, nothing! just surprised is all. didn’t peg you as a drake guy.”
paige grins lazily. “okay. so what did you peg me for, azzi?”
the brunette glares at her with thinly veiled amusement. “shut up. you know what i meant.”
paige hums, and considers dragging it out, before deciding that stopping the usage of the word peg while talking to azzi is probably in the best interests of her sanity. “so if you’re not a drake guy, which artist do you miss the most.”
“you’re gonna laugh”
“no m’not.”
“yes you are.”
“bruh, swear i won’t.”
“fine.” she huffs. “nothing tops rihanna.”
paige grins, and takes back her earlier decision. “didn’t peg you as a rihanna fan.”
azzi kicks her, and giggles at the squawk of offense that paige lets out.
“stop talking about pegging.”
“you started it.”
azzi rolls her eyes. paige is unreasonably fond of that particular reaction; prides herself in her ability to get azzi to do it multiple times a conversation.
“whatever,” azzi concedes. “don’t hate on rihanna.”
“m’not hating,” paige argues. “i love rihanna. i sing her for the kids during dodgeball all the time.”
azzi laughs again and paige feels drunk. and high. just overall sick in the head.
“oh i bet they love that,” she teases.
“hey,” paige frowns, exaggerated. “they do love my singing. they call me pihanna.”
this is a lie. no child has ever called paige pihanna. not one. they usually make fun of her for her music taste, and complain when she tries to sing.
“oh really?”
“uh-huh,” paige nods, and then flips her hair dramatically over one shoulder.
azzi tries and fails to hold back her giggles. “pihanna, riiiight– and do they nickname you pipi?”
paige’s mouth drops in offense, just as azzi goes from giggling behind her hand to full on laughter. “y’know? because, like, rihanna is riri, so–”
“i get the joke, azzi,” paige huffs.
but azzi only continues, mocking, “coach pee pee! i dropped my balls! i need help– ow,” she gets cut off by the throw pillow paige chucks hitting her square in the face.
“shut up bro. s’not funny.”
objectively it’s actually extremely funny, but paige doesn’t need azzi to know she agrees.
when the brunette just continues, hysterical, paige employs a new tactic to get azzi to stop laughing at her expense: pouting. “azziiii, stop,” she whines, cheeks pink.
“okay, okay,” she relents. giggling, she widens her horrifically beautiful brown eyes. in an evil, manipulative way. “you gotta give me the show. i wanna hear it. if it’s so good.”
paige flushes more, somehow, and though she should scoff and say no, the urge to make azzi laugh wins out.
“kay.” she gently pushes azzi’s legs off her lap and stands, grabbing the brunette's water bottle to hold as a microphone. “you ready for this?”
“mmhm,” azzi nods, fake serious. “can’t wait for you to wow me.”
paige gins and taps the top of the water bottle, clearing her throat. “testing, testing, one two three.”
azzi lets out a delighted laugh, still sprawled out lazily on the couch, dimples showing (and belly button piercing glinting, but paige can’t focus on that or she’ll go immediately hot all over), and it spurs paige on.
this must be what exotic birds feel like when they do their little dances to find a girl. paige understands wholeheartedly; nothing is too embarrassing if it’ll make azzi laugh, if it’ll give paige a hundred percent of her attention.
“work work work work work,” she croons, dipping her head back. she throws a hip shimmy in for good measure, continuing, “something something, work work work work wo- azziiii stop laughing.” she drags out azzi’s name in annoyance, halting her grammy-worthy performance because the brunette is doubled over in laughter on the couch.
it’s a heady drug, azzi’s amusement directed solely on her, even if the side effect is a little bit of embarrassment.
“i’m sorry, m’sorry– please continue, peepee.” she says through giggles. “you’re doing great.”
paige pouts, indignant. “my talent is wasted on you.”
she twirls away, intending to stalk off for a maximum of fifteen seconds in the hopes that azzi will retrieve her, but she doesn’t even get that far, the brunette’s hand reaching out to grab at the back of her leg.
“paige,” she whines. “m’sorry you’re doing great– come back.”
paige ignores the goosebumps that azzi’s fingers on the skin above the back of her knees cause. or– she tries to ignore the goosebumps. and the fact that azzi’s hand is grabbing at the inside of her leg. her cheeks heat, pleased with the combination of touchiness and the fact that azzi’s let her get approximately a foot away before dragging her back.
“not coming back over there unless you stop laughing.”
“i stopped, i stopped– paige–”
satisfied, paige turns back to the couch and takes in the other girl’s appearance; crinkled eyes, limbs splayed lazily on the couch, still in that stupid life ruining bikini. paige blushes on instinct.
“kay, fine.” her voice is a little soft, a little stupid. whatever. “you gotta pay me back, though.”
azzi’s perfect, stupid eyebrow raises in a challenge. “pay you back how?”
this is definitely flirting, it has to be. paige feels her head surge. “you gotta give me your rendition, since you’re such a rihanna fan.”
azzi starts to protest, but paige shushes her. “it’s only fair– come on.” she picks up her own water bottle and holds it in front of azzi’s mouth to mime another microphone.
“fine,” azzi relents. her lips twitch. “i’ll do work too– but you have to do the drake parts.”
paige doesn’t have the backbone to refuse. “deal.”
azzi’s smirking again, and paige braces herself when she opens her mouth. “is your rapper name lil’ pee pee?”
“azzi,” paige complains.
“that’s azziana to you,” she corrects, grin sweeping across her face, “now rap your verse.”
paige raps her verse. of course she does.
they spend the rest of the afternoon trying unsuccessfully to harmonize. paige can’t remember the last time she’s laughed as hard, and later, the producers have to separate them at dinner because azzi keeps calling paige peepee under her breath and making them both dissolve into hysteria.
the fact that it goes at the top of the growing list of inside jokes between just the two of them lasts paige through the torture of watching jordan kiss azzi that night.
when azzi returns to paige’s side after her confessionals, she wrinkles her nose and whispers “his peepee got a little too excited. i like this one much more.” she pairs the words this one with a poke to paige’s thigh, and the blonde can’t do anything but preen.
she is, in fact, physically incapable of offering up anything of substance– not when azzi is saying she likes paige’s company more. never mind the fact that it's disguised as a ridiculous joke about penises and in reference to her literally kissing someone else.
paige’s sanity has left her entirely. she’s only really ever been smooth when she’s not trying to be– but this is a level of patheticness that she’s never really stooped to before.of course it’s being televised. she only prays that production has been kind as to what's being shown
☼☼☼☼☼☼
@/librainrot2: no man deserves azzi istg
↪@/arianasmad: that’s what im saying fr.
↪@/botcity45: but paige might #talksoon #bookmarkit
↪@librainrot2: what the hell sure i love delusion
@/alwaysright1234: serious question @loveislandusa why did yall let a lesbian on this show 😭
↪@/idkmanwhat: and as a bombshell too like mannnn can they not see
↪@/loserfreak49: omfg yall are so annoying some girls are just more masculine
↪@/pookiedearest: nah trust usually i’d be the last person to pull a sue sylvester but. there’s only one person who can tell her what she is and its me. and she is a Lesbian
@/bluefishgreenfish: need a collab from lil peepee and azziana when they out the villa
↪@/ilovepoop: bye that scene was so cute
↪@/mrsfudd: oh they’ll be collabbing all right,,,,
↪@/imcool787970: better than rihanna fr
↪@/bluefishgreenfish: now ion know bout all dat… lil peepee got some work to do
@/azziismyclient: im starting a rumor [photo of what appears to be paige staring at azzi’s ass as they walk by the pool]
↪@/lesbianloser69: BYEEEE YOU PEEPED THAT TOO
↪@/alwaysright1234: not even a rumor atp like 😭
↪@/azziismyclient: nah cause i was joking at first but now…
↪@/paigeswaterbottle: [photo of azzi’s hand grabbing paige’s leg from behind] like they are not slick
☼☼☼☼☼☼
by the third full day, paige has started to get a little bit concerned with her apparent lack of bodily autonomy. because, to her own mild embarrassment, her legs seem to carry her after azzi, trailing after her like a lost puppy at every single opportunity possible, no matter where they are or what they’re doing. or more importantly, what the producers around them are telling them to do.
if kk were here she’d laugh so hard at paige’s behavior that she’d probably cry, and she makes a significant effort to ignore the fact that her inability to go more than ten minutes without azzi is being televised for the world to see and laugh at.
it's hard to be truly humiliated, however, because azzi doesn’t seem to mind at all.
in fact, the brunette, (who has chosen a bright blue flowery bikini today) (it’s strapless and emphasizes her growing tan lines) (paige can’t look at her without getting lightheaded) has been doing a rather poor job of pretending she’s not utterly charmed by paige’s general annoyingness.
on the rare occasion in which paige is not a step and a stupid joke behind her, she seeks out paige’s presence immediately. which is wonderful, ideal even, except for the fact that it means that paige is all the more aware of when azzi is off in confessionals, or flirting with chris, or jordan, or any of the other men that are enamored with her.
which, again, she’s allowed to be doing, in fact is supposed to be doing, considering this is a dating show. for straight people. and azzi, as far as paige is aware of, is straight.
but, well. there are so many reasons why paige is skeptical of this.
first and foremost: paige has never been more than surface level attracted to a straight woman before. the denial stage of being into azzi has kind of dwindled into nothingness, and paige has been left to admit to herself that she definitely has a nauseatingly large crush on azzi. which is juvenile, and stupid, and altogether makes her want to drown herself a little bit, but it’s also the first thing on her growing list of reasons she’s pretty sure azzi is at least bi. call it a sixth sense, a magical gay inkling, whatever. but paige knows azzi is at least a little bit into women because paige is into her.
the second, very convincing piece of evidence, is that paige occasionally catches azzi staring at her hands. or her jawline. or, like this morning, while they were working out together, azzi had been so transfixed on paige’s arms while she was doing bicep curls that she’d tripped over her own water bottle. at least paige is pretty sure she’d been staring at her biceps.
she’d smirked when she’d finished her rep, letting a lofty “like what you see, princess,” roll off her tongue, and though azzi had rolled her eyes and denied it, her cheeks had been flushed. paige had been giddy for the rest of the morning.
numbers three and four on her list are the fact that azzi had mentioned watching the wnba, which was decidedly gay from whatever angle you looked at it, and that she’s steered clear of both discussing jordan or chris with paige, and also in general just doesn’t seem that enamored with either of them.
which brings her to her fifth point, that she’s only just learned:
paige is sulking in the kitchen with alanna and jamie. well she’s trying not to sulk, but bryce pulled azzi for a chat at least thirty minutes ago, and azzi has yet to come bounding back and attach herself to paige’s side, which means that they’re either in a fight (doubtful) or azzi is cuddled up to his side flirting.
which she’s allowed to do. that’s the point of the whole fucking show. it just also happens to drive paige a little bit insane. in an irrational, ridiculously jealous sort of way.
but she’s coping.
“paige if you tap your water bottle on the counter one more time, i’m going to throw it in the ocean.”
paige glares at alanna, pausing her hands where they’d been about to drop the bottle for the umpteenth time, before deciding to be a nuisance and doing it anyways, letting it fall with a thunk.
if she has to be annoyed at the world right now, she might as well piss off everyone else. spreading positivity and joy or whatnot.
jamie reaches over and plucks the waterbottle from paige’s hands before she can do it again, and mimes hitting her over the head with it. “what are you sulking about anyways– didn’t you and bryce have a good chat this morning.”
paige likes jamie– really, she does– but she’s rather dense if she thinks that a mediocre conversation with a 5’10 man about the pros and cons of the mlb’s new pitch clock and the possibility of robot umpires would be a mood uplifter.
they have negative chemistry. he seems to be a little enamored with her anyways, somehow, and paige has a running theory that it’s because he thinks paige is one of those annoying girls that pretends to enjoy things just for approval from a guy.
he’s just boring enough to be tolerable though, and hasn’t shaken his attention from paige, which means that she can probably last through at least one dumping before he gets fed up with paige’s inability to go anywhere near him.
“i’m not sulking,” she deflects, trying to grab her water back from jamie’s outstretched hands.
jamie just moves to the other side of the counter to escape and raises an eyebrow. “do i need to go get azzi and have her shove you into the pool again.”
paige flushes, even though jamie probably has no idea how effective that measure would actually be. “be my guest.” the fun thing about being surrounded by clueless straight girls is that they would never assume paige has a crush– would never assume that teasing paige about azzi is much more than just a surface level jab. it makes paige’s life a lot easier.
alanna rolls her eyes. “she’s off with chris i think but she’ll probably come running to find you in a bit.”
it’s actually funny, if paige doesn’t think about it for too long, how far she could probably get with the best friends bit before people put two and two together and realize that paige doesn’t just want to sit next to her all the time, but in fact also climb into her skin. in a chill way though.
“who’s gonna come find you in a bit,” comes a voice from behind paige. she has to fight the smile that automatically erupts just from hearing azzi’s voice.
“speak of the devil,” crows alanna.
“talkin’ bout me?” azzi clicks her tongue against her teeth. “should’ve known.” she plops down on the stool next to paige and kicks her ankle in greeting and paige has to fight not to get giddy.
she reminds herself where azzi has just been, and that sobers her enough to turn her head and say, “all bad things.”
azzi scoffs. “yeah okay.”
“we were talking about you and chris,” alanna cuts in. “i wanna hear about your chat.”
paige hates and loves how nosy alanna is in equal measures. she schools her face into indifference and stays planted on her stool, feigning disinterest. so what if she wants to hear how their talk went.
azzi rolls her eyes. she glances at paige, and then, “we were just talking, bro.”
which doesn’t concern paige. in the slightest. she could not care less about whatever azzi and chris get up to during their chats.
“so you didn’t kiss,” alanna pesters, in what is the worst attempts at whispering paige has ever seen
“guys.” azzi groans instead of answering.
a yes, then. paige tries extremely hard to keep her face neutral.
“azzi and chris, sitting in a tree, k-i-” jamie sing songs, but gets cut off by azzi’s swat.
“stop,” she whines. “after how awkward that kiss was probably never again.”
paige momentarily forgets that she's supposed to be acting nonchalant and tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. “he that bad of a kisser?”
alanna snickers to her right, and, at azzi’s blush, tacks on: “c’mon, az. what’d he do– he’s not one of those slobbery guys is he?”
paige chokes on her laugh and waits in anticipation for azzi’s response.
the brunette’s face is entirely crimson now, and she ducks her head in embarrassment. “not even– guys stop. it was lowkey my fault.”
that peaks paige’s interest, and she’s grateful that alanna and jamie are as nosy as they are because it means she doesn’t have to be the one to press for more details.
“nah, you don’t get just to say that and not elaborate,” teases jamie.
“if you tell me that you’re a bad kisser i won’t believe you,” chimes in alanna.
paige wholeheartedly agrees. valiantly, she manages to stay quiet and not volunteer to confirm that particular hypothesis.
“no- i just.” azzi huffs in embarrassment. “he kissed me and i was like, okay, this is chill or whatever, and then we were like making out, ‘n it was good, and i dunno-” she cuts herself off and the girls groan.
paige digs her fingernails into her thigh under the countertop as alanna presses for more. “okay and then,” she prompts, impatient.
paige doesn’t really want to hear the and then, but she also doesn’t really want to remove herself from the conversation.
azzi glares at alanna. “i’m getting there– be patient. so we were making out or whatever, and he like kinda pulled me on top of him–” paige contemplates repeatedly stabbing herself in the gut with the kitchen knife that’s within reach– “and then, um. i accidentally kneed him in the- y’know.”
she squeaks the last part out as a question and the group erupts into interrogation.
“you kneed him in the dick?” shrieks jamie, while paige– against better judgement– tries to envision this sequence of events.
“shhhh,” hisses azzi, before dropping her face into her hands. through her fingers, she muffles out “i didn’t mean to.”
“so– what, you just thought he’d be into that? didn’t know you were a masochist, az.”
paige chokes at alanna’s comment, and tries really hard not to let her brain go down that particular rabbit hole.
“no-” claims azzi, indignant. “i just- i don’t know, okay? i didn’t like shove my knee up there! i just pressed– it was a miscalculation. i wasn’t thinking.”
she’s flustered, unusually so, and the realization of what occurred begins to dawn on paige as alanna continues her questioning: azzi had been making out, and had flipped on top, and done something paige considered instinctual by now–
azzi had done the knee thing. on chris.
paige starts giggling at the idea before she can stop herself. azzi glares at her, and when that only serves to make paige laugh harder, she swats.
“paige, it’s not funny.”
paige shakes her head in agreement, despite the fact that she’s near hysterical. “you’re so right azzi. not funny at all.”
“it’s not what you’re thinking–” azzi argues, ignoring the questions from the other girls in favor of turning her whole body towards paige in offense.
paige is delighted. it’s absolutely what she’s thinking. she can just tell– from azzi flushed face and the way her eyes keep shifting over paige like she’s trying to confirm if paige understands the sequence of events.
“paige– what is that funny?” nudges jamie, who’s figured out that paige is laughing at something other than what azzi’s told them.
azzi muffles a hand over paige’s mouth before she can even open it. “nothing. nothing is that funny. i’m done talking about this,” she huffs, pushing off of the counter and turning to stalk off.
paige frowns, laughter slowing, and turns to follow just as azzi tosses out “come find me when you have something else to discuss” over her shoulder.
paige waits a full 30 seconds before getting up and trailing after her, and pats herself on the back for her patience. and the fact that she only brings up the chris incident three more times that evening. so anyways, paige is– suspicious. of azzi’s straightness. if it takes her a little longer than usual to fall asleep that night because she can’t stop thinking about it– about azzi perhaps doing the knee think on her instead– that's her business and nobody else’s.
☼☼☼☼☼☼
@/paigeluverrr4: not them literally giving us nothing but CRUMBS of paige and azzi interacting 😭😭😭😭 we scared them with the gay rumors
↪@/bluewingos: bro fr and it just makes me MORE sus likeeeee
↪@/idkmanwhat: dude literally they were in the back of four fucking frames just yapping away the two of them and yet we got none of that…
@/azzis: azzi literally doing the knee thing on chris like you can’t make this up
↪@/mrsfudd: pure cinema
↪@/husky69: paige tryna keep a straight face when she realized what happened 😭
↪@/azzis: she knows what’s in store for her in the future
@/paigeswaterbottle: really appreciating the loser lesbian representation in the media right now [insert photo of paige looking at azzi like she's the sun]
↪@/azzifudder: they producers mixed up june and july but i ain’t mad about it #pride
@/azzilover420: paige down bad this, paige is a loser that. do yall SEE they way my client is acting whenever she’s around paige??????
↪@/punkin777: she’s so real tho like paige is overly fine
⤷@/loserlesbian69: she’s horrifically down bad i can’t lie
⤷@/baddabingbaddaboom: they’re both testing my second hand embarrassment tolerance
☼☼☼☼☼☼
paige stirs, blinking her eyes open at the sensation of someone shaking her shoulder. there’s absolutely no way it’s been more than three or four hours since she closed her eyes, and annoyance takes hold of her entire body as she rolls over to give the producer that’s torturing her a piece of her mind.
the words die in her throat, however, when azzi’s face comes into view, one finger pressed vertically over her mouth, signaling that they have to be quiet.
paige blinks, sleepily, and doesn’t move.
this has to be a dream– a figment of azzi that her subconscious has cooked up just to torment her. there is no way azzi is actually standing before her, in only her t-shirt and her tiny sleep shorts, gesturing expectantly for paige to get out of bed and follow her.
which. paige, of course, does indeed get out of bed and follow her; she’s helpless to do anything but trail after azzi even when she’s fully lucid. she climbs out of bed– a little awkward, under the intensity of azzi’s stare– and follows the other girl as they creep across the room and towards the bathroom.
they both freeze when someone flips over in bed when they walk past– carly, paige thinks, by the horrifically obvious blonde extensions that she can see splayed across the pillow– but after a second, when no one sits up and accuses them of– something; paige isn’t even sure herself what they’re doing– they keep moving, paige padding after azzi in bewilderment and trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.
when they get to the bathroom, azzi turns to face her and pauses, eyes glancing back at the door separating them from everyone sleeping before wedging them further into the small space. it's hardly romantic– they’re standing next to a toilet for god's sake– but paige feels her heartbeat start to speed up at the close proximity anyway.
“they can’t air things if there’s nudity,” azzi whispers as an intro, extremely casually.
paige is extraordinarily fearful of where this is going.
“um,” is what she comes up with as a response.
she feels awkward in her own body all of a sudden, neck flushed and hands twitching at her sides. this is the closest they’ve ever been to truly alone, and azzi sought her out, and. paige is trying really hard not to think about what that could theoretically mean.
azzi looks at her, for a second, quiet amusement on her face visible even in the dim light, and then she suddenly turns around to face away from paige and just. yanks her fucking pajama top off.
and. while paige has envisioned azzi taking her shirt off a deeply concerning amount of times considering they’ve known each other for roughly 72 hours, and has also had to live with the torment of azzi in almost nothing for most of that time period, she is still woefully unprepared for the sudden reveal of azzi’s back profile with nothing covering it.
and then it gets immediately worse because azzi turns back to face her, and paige is suddenly face to face with azzi’s breasts. or, she supposes, the phrase face to face isn’t quite right. face to nipple perhaps. her mouth waters, just a tiny bit. whatever.
“i know we’re not wearing mics, but i just wanna be sure…” says azzi, and paige yanks her eyes up to azzi’s face.
“um,” is, again, the only thing she can come up with.
she needs to get a grip. azzi’s face is too beautiful to look at right now, a faint smile present and only a foot between them, and she can see the bare expanse of skin below in her peripheral. she jerks her gaze to the ceiling instead. much safer.
and then. she’s only human. and her resolve has been tested incessantly since the second she stepped on this island, and looks back down, involuntarily, just for a peek.
this must be some form of ancient torture– death by temptation.
“i know you’re gay, paige,” are the words that come out of azzi’s mouth, when it’s clear paige has nothing of intelligence to contribute.
which– yes. paige is gay. like, super duper gay. really nice of azzi to point that out while paige is grappling with the unlimited expanse of her chest that is suddenly in front of her.
it takes a second for paige to actually process the words, because, again, her attention is focused on more important things like azzi’s bare fucking nipples, but then–
“i’m- what?” she splutters, ripping her gaze away and up to azzi’s eyes that are looking at her with thinly veiled amusement. “why would you– what. no- i’m-”
azzi’s giggles cut off her panicked ramble.
“relax,” she drags out, “it’s okay i’m not like- gonna tattle on you.”
paige stares at her. it's not like she thought she was being subtle; it's not surprising that azzi figured it out. it just means that azzi probably has also figured out her super embarrassing and massive crush. which is almost as exhilarating as it is humiliating.
she’s not quite sure if she should deny it further and then run out of the villa and straight into the ocean to drown herself, or if she should admit it, and test the waters of how azzi caught on; figure out if paige’s own suspicions have been correct.
azzi makes the choice for her.
“don’t even bother denying it, p,” she says, still seemingly amused (thank god) at what is presumably a look of stupidity on paige’s face. “takes one to know one.”
and. oh. okay. that was. okay.
paige lets out a breath, and feels a smile crawl across her face. “knew it.”
azzi’s mouth drops open in delighted surprise, and she laughs again. “what.”
paige feels her own amusement bubbling up inside of her, spilling out of her mouth. “i can always tell.”
“i was being subtle,” azzi argues, indignant.
“you were not being subtle,” paige pushes, ignoring the other girl’s gasp of offense. “me on the other hand– how’d you figure it out?”
azzi simply raises an eyebrow. “how hasn’t anyone else is really what you should be asking,” she snarks.
paige glares. there’s absolutely zero heat behind it. “could say the same for you.”
if azzi’s eyebrow could raise higher, paige is absolutely sure that it would. “i’ve been doing better than you, at least. you’re wearing woxers right now. and a minnesota lynx t-shirt.”
paige looks down at herself and blushes. azzi’s not lying– the combo is a little incriminating. “okay well– you did the knee thing on chris.”
it's azzi’s turn to blush. “okay. that was– yeah. in my defense i haven’t hooked up with a man since like freshman year of college, so.” she winces at that last part.
paige cocks her head. “so how the fuck did you end up on this show?”
“how the fuck did you end up on this show,” she counters.
“bro i asked first,” paige frowns.
azzi simply looks back at her, a little pout forming, and paige’s stubbornness crumbles pathetically. this may or may not have something to do with the fact that paige can still see azzi’s bare fucking chest in the edges of her vision.
she sighs. “really it’s kk– my best friend’s fault. she was yappin’ about the couple who won last year and i said it was a stupid show, an’ then we argued about that, and i dunno. she said i wouldn’t last a day on this show, and i said she was a liar and that i could, and…” she trails off.
“here you are,” finishes azzi.
paige huffs out a laugh. “here i am. every time i tried to back out she told me i was a coward.”
azzi smirks knowingly. “so she knows exactly how to provoke you into doing things. smart woman.”
they would like each other a lot, kk and azzi. paige is a little terrified by the thought of them meeting, knowing she’d be the target of any and all antagonization. the idea makes her more giddy than she has any right to be.
“she is, yeah, though i’d never tell her. i’ll uh. introduce you guys, um– after,” she waves her arm vaguely, embarrassed at the insinuation that azzi will want to see her after they get off the island like paige is desperately hoping she will.
azzi nods, lips curling upwards at what is probably the stupidly awkward expression on paige’s face. “i look forward to it.”
“good.” paige smiles in return, and then scrambles for something else to say. “um. your turn– how’d you end up here.”
azzi smiles, sheepish. “kinda similar to you– my friends bullied me into it.”
paige raises an eyebrow, signaling for her to continue.
“i’m bi– like technically, but, um, i’m not sure if that’s actually all that true.”
paige snorts. “canon event.”
azzi glares at her with no heat. paige herself has always been strictly into women, but she has enough friends to know that particular path.
“both my exes are girls, and they’re both, like, so fuckin’ evil,” paige hums in sympathy. “and when my last relationship ended, i told all my friends that i was done with girls because clearly it wasn’t working out for me and men are definitely less trouble, and they took it upon themselves to sign me up for love island. ‘cause surely here i can find the love of my life and not get cheated on by an evil masc.”
azzi rolls her eyes at the last bit, and paige smiles as she tries to contain her giddiness.
azzi’s into mascs. it’s not like azzi necessarily knows how paige presents, but. she’s certainly seen the jorts buried in paige’s bag, and has watched paige cringe repeatedly while being forced into frilly dresses, and, y’know. paige is an elementary school gym teacher.
“and, uh, how’s that working out for you?” she asks, equal parts kidding and also ridiculously hopeful.
“how’s what,” azzi says, coy.
if paige were bolder, and a little more stupid, she’d say finding the love of your life.
she settles on “being done with girls,” and curses herself for how shy she sounds, how transparent her feelings must be.
azzi swallows, and the air shifts between them minutely. “not so hot,” she murmurs, voice low.
and that. that’s the first verbal acknowledgement that there’s something between them, even if it isn’t explicit, and paige feels her head start to spin. the combination of their close proximity, and the fact that azzi’s still fucking topless, and that they’re alone for the first time ever (maybe the only time ever) and.
paige feels like she’s on the edge of something that’s going to change the trajectory of her life, as dramatic as it seems.
the silence between them is heavy, and paige so desperately wants to close the gap between them. she glances at azzi’s mouth, just for a split second, and when she looks up, the other girl’s gaze is on her own lips.
and her resolve strengthens. she takes a step– closing the measly space between them that was already only a foot or so– and breathes out “azzi.”
azzi whispers “yeah” in response, but just as paige’s fingers brush the side of azzi’s face so she can lean down and press their mouths together like she’s been wanting to do since the hour they met, all of a sudden there’s heavy footsteps and the sound of the most annoying voice in the world shrieking at them from around the corner.
“paige and azzi so help me god if you intentionally made it so we couldn’t air this–”
she jerks back from azzi and only just barely manages to hold in a scream of frustration, closing her eyes tightly instead.
and kathy, in all her headache-inducing glory, rounds the corner, three more producers in tow, all with matching pictures of rage painted across their facial features.
paige immediately darts in front of azzi, shielding her from the disastrous, unpleasant, and wholly unwelcome presence now with them.
even though she knows azzi had knowingly taken her shirt off in a room with cameras, and all of the producers on shift right now had likely seen more than enough through on the monitors, it still makes her irrationally irate– that they’d barged into the room with no regard for the fact that azzi was topless.
in addition to the fact that she’s pretty sure they’d just interrupted her before she could kiss the love of her life. which was really fucking rude.
paige grits her teeth. “we um- we just needed a moment of privacy- sorry.”
she’s not sorry. not even a little bit. she’s pretty sure everyone in the room knows this.
steam begins to pour out of kathy’s ears. “privacy? you wanted some privacy? paige do you not understand the entire point of this show?” her voice is getting more and more shrill by the minute, and paige has to put in significant effort not to wince visibly.
kathy continues, pitch climbing, “i mean honestly, it’s just disrespectful at this point–” and paige begins to tune her out.
behind her, she can hear azzi throwing her shirt back on, and she must finish while kathy is yelling at them because she places a hand on paige side and steps next to her. it’s pathetic really, how goosebumps radiate across paige’s ribs even though azzi’s touching her over her shirt.
“we are sorry, kathy,” azzi says sheepishly, when it seems the scolding is momentarily paused. paige glances sideways and sees an apologetic expression. thank god one of them can act. “we were talking about our upbringing, and my parents’ divorce…” she trails off with wide eyes and nervously bites at her bottom lip. paige is pretty confident azzi’s parents are not divorced, but she nods vigorously alongside azzi, who continues, “you can understand why we might not want a vulnerable conversation like that on camera.”
she’s so into azzi that her ability to lie on command is turning her on. more than she already was. spectacular.
none of the four producers in front of them look like they’re buying this at all. kathy pinches the bridge of her nose. “you woke paige up in the middle of the night and dragged her off to the bathroom to discuss your parents’ divorce,” she deadpans.
well. when you put it like that.
“yeah i, um- my parents are divorced too, so i– uh– understand,” paige tacks on awkwardly.
kathy’s face is starting to turn an uncomfortable shade of purple. “and it was so urgent that you had to talk about it with no microphones and no possible way for us to air this.”
paige bristles at the tone of voice and the insinuation that they have absolutely zero right to privacy, opening her mouth to respond, but azzi digs her fingers into paige’s side to stop her and says, placatingly, “we’re very sorry– it won’t happen again.”
paige really fucking hopes that’s another lie. she nods again though, in agreement, and prays that the dark of the room makes her pained grimace look more like a smile.
“it better not,” kathy hisses. damn. paige thought they were done with the scolding. “you do realize that you both signed legal contracts-”
and off she goes again. paige only barely contains her groan.
they’re punished with another ten minutes of nagging before they’re escorted back to their beds, and paige is too embarrassed to bid azzi goodnight beyond a stilted wave and shy smile.
so now, she’s lying on her back (trying ridiculously hard not to turn on her side and watch azzi sleep), running through the events of the last hour: azzi, waking her up in the middle of the night to steal a second alone; azzi, taking her shirt off just to have a private conversation with paige, as if that was normal; azzi, informing her that she knew paige was gay but that it was okay because she was too; azzi, saying she’s not doing a good job at staying away from girls; azzi, looking like she wanted paige to kiss her; azzi’s and her bare fucking chest–.
paige presses her face into her pillow and grins.
it’s not like any of that necessarily means azzi is into her, she reminds herself. she knows as well as the next person that just because two girls are gay does not mean that they’re, like, gonna fall in love and get married and have ten babies and live happily ever after.
not that she’s thinking about doing that with azzi.
but whatever. azzi being gay doesn’t mean she’s into paige. except, well. it could be an indicator. as could the fact that paige is, like, at least 87% sure that azzi would’ve kissed her had the producers not interrupted them. and the fact that she sort of looked like she was enjoying how flustered paige was. and also– well.
paige knows what a girl seems like when she’s into her, and azzi– she fits the picture, is all.
when paige finally drifts off that night, restless, azzi is in her dream. because of course.(they’re tandem biking through the streets of washington wearing straw hats) (this is somehow objectively more embarrassing than even a sex dream would be) (she wakes up feeling extraordinarily ashamed)
a/n: alright guys. uh. hope you enjoyed. obviously this was minimally edited. or well i hope its not obvious but it definitely is. feeling more insecure abt this than i usually do abt my writing so i'd love any and all feedback but pls be kind <3 and now that i've gotten this first chapter out hopefully the real fun can begin <3 ok bye <3
Oh my F’ING GOD!! I just read Golden Hour for the first time, and I am not okay!! I binged it straight- took me 6 hours, and I can’t wait to read it again. What a haunting, vivid, soft, sweet, realistic story you wrote! I want to live in that magical world you created. I loved every bit of it, and honestly, if I was reading it in real time, I don’t know if I could have handled the wait in between the chapters. It’s just flawlessly done, and you should feel so proud.
And, I can’t believe you wrote this over a year ago and now we know so much more about them as a couple. And it all seems so in line with what you created. Like, they really are that disgustingly in love. Oh, my heart. Almost can’t handle it!
I think we need a golden hour epilogue- set years in the future- where we see the beautiful life they’ve built.
Awww you're so sweet, thank you so much! It's insane to me that people binge read my silly little fics but I appreciate it so much <3
And omg it's actually insane to me to, to think that I wrote it a year ago like where did the time go???
Another name goes up in lights, you wonder if (we'll) make it out alive
(In which an apprehensive writer embarks on a journey of trying to handle sensitive topics with care and hopes you'll trust her with them)
Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd
Themes: Heavy Angst, Pining
Words: 8.5K
TW: Swearing, Alcohol, Drugs, Sexual Harassment, Abuse of Power
A/N: Hello my loves <3 Normally my ramble here is pretty unimportant but please read this before you continue. This fic is going to be different from my other series in the sense that it's going to deal with some fairly heavy topics so please, please, please if anything in the trigger warnings for the chapter or in the masterlist bother you, please don't read it. I have a general outline of how things are going to go and I have all intention of treating these topics with the care they deserve but it won't happen in this chapter, so I hope y'all will bear with me and the uncomfortableness for just a little while. Now coming to updates, this is definitely not going to be an every week thing but I will try my best to attempt at some semblance of frequency. Shoutout to my wonderful friend who edited this for me so y'all will not be getting unedited Nivi slop! Book club is back open and your live reactions are always appreciated. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see in the future! Have a great rest of your week my loves <3
Azzi hates Hollywood parties. She thinks they’re a lot like the house parties she used to diligently avoid back in high school. Yes, the clothes are designer, the alcohol is imported from some foreign country and the lines of cocaine being done in the secret dark rooms are definitely more expensive than the ounces of weed that the stoners used to sell in the corners of the basements of suburbia, but really, it’s all the same trashy fake bullshit.
The difference is that Azzi can’t say no this time.
Not to the tight skirts that have barely enough material to cover her ass.
Not to the shots being pushed in front of her by the Oscar-nominated actors who throw these parties.
And definitely not to the wide assortment of intoxicants that are offered to her by the critically-acclaimed directors who have the key to changing her career, for good, or for bad.
Azzi can’t say no to any of it.
Still, these parties used to be tolerable despite that, despite the fact that she’d have rather been curled in bed with a book and lo-fi music playing in the background. She could still enjoy herself, let herself be spun around the dance floor with a fellow actress -not a friend, never a friend but someone who understood- until both of them were too dizzy to remember that this was part of the job, that the act stayed on far longer than the cameras did. It wasn’t the glamorous fantasy she’d built in her head when she was six and naive. Instead she’d realized that even when dreams came true in the daylight, a nightmare lurked in the shadows. And Azzi had learned to live with that. Perhaps, in a sick, twisted way -a sign that she’d finally succumbed to being one of them- she’d even learned to love that.
But, all of that had changed in the last six months.
Azzi had known it was coming.
It started as a hum online. The release of a sample that had the internet buzzing and the tabloids took notice immediately, capitalizing on it in the form of sensationalized headlines with the quickness of a seasoned predator. And once the tabloids were talking? The industry wasn’t far behind.
Azzi had been on set when the chatter had first buzzed in her own ears, one of the supporting actresses gushing over the fact that an album release date had been announced. She hadn’t paid it much attention at first, too busy re-reading her lines and practicing the perfect nuances for how she’d say them when they reconvene for the next take. But then she’d heard the name of a song -her fingers had twitched- and then the name of the album -her hands shook- and then finally, like the closing sounds of the double bass in an orchestra, the name of the artist.
And Azzi doesn’t remember what had dropped faster, the script she was holding -the pages depicting a gut wrenching breakup scene scattering everywhere- or her heart. It wasn’t a sudden drop -not like the ones at the amusement parks- but something more subtle, expected, like the final moments of a flight landing, when the plane lurches right before the wheels find its footing on the runway.
Azzi had known it was coming, has known it since she was fourteen years old.
She’s been waiting for it since the first time she’d heard the opening chords of the song -escape-, since the first time she’d seen the title scribbled in that patented messy handwriting -five three five- since the first time she’d met her.
Paige Bueckers.
They met at a hotel lobby in New York -nothing fancy but still more expensive than anything either of them were used to- two wandering souls amidst a sea of dreamers, certain they were different from the rest of them. Azzi had been auditioning for a cereal ad, that she’d ultimately not been selected for, and Paige had been a contestant on a singing show whose pilot never got picked up.
It was meant to be a day of crashing defeat; their parents’ disappointed faces definitely said so.
But instead, call it fate, they’d found each other.
They hadn’t meant to -Azzi had been looking for a bathroom and Paige had been looking for the vending machine- but they had.
Azzi remembers every detail of that day, remembers guarded blue eyes locking with wary brown eyes and both of them hesitating before making a snap decision, remembers names being haphazardly exchanged before the two of them -adrenaline coursing through their veins- had decided they needed to get away. Away from the hotel that lingered with the stench of failure, away from their overbearing parents, just away from it all.
At 5 o’clock, on a random March 5th, (five-three-five) the two of them had escaped.
Not forever, not even for a particularly long time.
But for a little while, they’d been free.
They’d traipsed around the big city, with its towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, aimlessly with no other intention, than to just walk. The talking didn’t start immediately; the silence between them -filled with the chatter of the people, the beeping of horns and the music floating out of the shops - had been comforting.
Paige had spoken first, a simple “So what happened to you?” and Azzi had hesitated, paused for a contemplative second before something inside her had broken (or maybe it had clicked into place, she’s not sure anymore) and suddenly they were sitting across from each other in a coffee shop, and she had told this stranger -who felt more familiar than anything else ever had- her entire life story. In return, Paige had entrusted her with hers too.
That’s how it started.
A chance meeting that had spiralled into something else.
Eventually, they’d gone back to the hotel -walking a little closer together, each other’s numbers securely entered into their respective phones- and the morning after, Azzi had driven back to DC and Paige had flown back to Minnesota.
But the conversation never stopped.
They built an empire over facetime, shattering each other’s walls though the screen that separated them. And at the time, it had felt unshakeable, a foundation built on trust and understanding and the solace that came from finding a twin flame who just got it. In the day time, they were struggling talents trying to climb a ladder with steps that kept cracking the second they found their footing.
But in the night -in two different states, in two different beds, as two girls lying on their sides staring at each other through a phone- they were free from it all. They were just them, two people who’d had the audacity to fall in love with their art and dream about making it their world.
Azzi just wanted to act.
Paige just wanted to sing.
And in the night -when it was just the two of them, no auditions, no spotlight- they did.
They still do.
Azzi acts in front of a camera now. She has been for nearly three years and the theatres that had initially been filled with one or two curious stragglers are now full houses, packed with fans who track her every move and journalists leaving rave reviews in the hopes she’ll do one of their interviews.
Paige sings on a stage now. She has been for the last six months, and what used to be covers on youtube that would garner maybe tens of thousands of views is now an album that has gone platinum worldwide, and a tour just waiting to be sold out as soon as the tour dates are finalized.
They’ve climbed the wretched ladder, managed to step over the creaky rungs without slipping and falling flat on their faces. Azzi knows they have, because here they are, at this godforsaken Hollywood party that feels like an oxymoron itself with the smell of expensively cheap perfume and greasy gourmet food and neither of them seem out of place. They seem like they belong.
They’ve made it to the top, fulfilled their dreams, just like they’d sworn to each other they would one day.
And they’d left each other behind to get there.
Azzi’s throat burns as she throws back another shot of tequila, ignoring the voice in her head -the one that sounds suspiciously like her personal assistant turned best friend, Caroline- that’s warning her of the inevitable hangover the alcohol would cause. She has an early shoot tomorrow, an action scene for a commercial movie that required less acting prowess and more CGI, and it would be grueling on her body. In theory Azzi knows she probably should slow down on the liquor for that reason, to preserve some shred of stamina for the rough morning ahead.
But Paige is across the room.
Somehow glowing in the dim LED lights in a navy blue LV shirt that’s unbuttoned to show her white tank top and her sculpted abs right underneath. She looks like a sin practically begging to be committed, her blonde hair tucked into a messy bun, a long gold chain hanging on her neck, head thrown back as she laughs at a joke that’s definitely not that funny but is being told by someone important, someone she needs to impress. One of her hands is cupped around a can of vintage beer, the other wrapped gently around someone else, a woman that’s all too familiar.
Azzi sways on her feet as she stops the server passing by her, yanking another shot off of his tray and downing it before he’s even taken a step away.
It’s been six months since Paige has started to come to these parties, the Hollywood sorority embracing her with open arms. The first time, there had been a flicker of nerves across her face, so brief that the only person who could catch it was someone who’d once studied her like a dedicated art student learning every brushstroke of the Mona Lisa. But it hadn’t taken long, for her charisma to win out, for her to commandeer the room like she owned it. Now, Paige glides through these parties like it’s her own stage, like she’s the shining star and all these tenured celebrities are just another crowd of fans, hanging onto her every word, charmed by her every smile.
It shouldn’t make Azzi bitter -after all, her prayers had never been just for her, always for the two of them- but it does.
It burns stronger than the alcohol going down her throat because, in six months of sharing this space -of being in each other’s orbit in a way they haven’t been for two years- Paige makes it a point to never look at her. Not even by mistake.
And Azzi wonders if maybe it was all in her head, that perhaps she’d imagined the little Los Angeles apartment they’d moved into when they were eighteen, that might not have always had electricity or hot water, and the paint had been chipping away but it had, had a sealed-up fireplace with a mantle that they’d decorated with photographs of themselves -candids and posed ones, but always smiling ones- and that had felt like enough.
Until it wasn’t.
“Didn’t take you for a shots kind of girl,” a gravelly voice says from behind her. Azzi startles at the feeling of someone spinning her around, their hands hot against her waist in a way that makes her shrink away from their touch immediately.
“Oh hey relax,” comes the smooth drawl as Azzi takes a step back, trying to keep her balance as she takes in the figure in front of her, “you scare easy, Fudd.”
It’s said in a way that’s meant to be teasing, but instead an uncomfortable shiver races up Azzi’s spine. Her instincts are screaming fight or flight but instead, she schools her features into a polite smile as recognition dawns on her.
Because this is someone important and in this world, you don’t run away from important people. Especially not people like Caleb McGuire, son of Adam McGuire, who just so happens to be the director and producer of the next movie Azzi’s agent is vying for.
Don’t fuck this up, she can hear said agent’s voice sharp voice in her ears, stinging with that everpresent undertone of quiet disappointment like she was always just waiting for Azzi to do exactly that.
“Hey,” Azzi says sweetly, batting her eyelashes demurely in a way that makes her internally gag at her own self, “I was bored,” she shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel, shoulders lifting just enough to push her breasts together and Caleb’s eyes drift down just as she’d intended them too, “but you’re here now.”
And God, Azzi fucking hates herself. Hates the saccharine smirk on her face, hates the sugary falsetto in her voice, hates the ditzy, naive expression that comes almost naturally to her now. But more than anything, she hates that little thrill of triumph that carves itself into her bones at the fact that she knows she’s doing exactly what she needs to do, has this man exactly where she wants him. Sometimes Azzi looks in the mirror and wonders if she even knows her reflection, wonders how the fierce woman that looks back at her and the innocent girl still trapped inside of her can possibly share the same soul, wonders if maybe the two of them are just a little bit ashamed of each other.
“I watched Reverence the other day,” Caleb takes a step towards her, his unwelcome hand already finding it’s way to her hip, thumb brushing the exposed skin right above her sparkly black skirt, “you were so sexy in it.”
Azzi smirks, performing the coy seductress act like a seasoned pianist playing fur elise as she leans into his touch, letting her own manicured fingers rake up and down his arm, “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”
It means nothing. In fact it feels a lot more like an insult pelting at her newfound self-worth as someone who could be seen on-screen as more than just another piece of beautiful eye-candy. Reverence had been her breakout role, a calculated transition from heroine to actress that she’d been trying to make since she’d bagged her first movie. Azzi had wanted to be taken seriously, to make headlines in the papers for putting on the performance of a lifetime, not just have another gossip column in US weekly ranking all the outfits she’d worn in the movie. Reverence had done just that, gotten her the critical acclaim and coveted praise by people who matter, had gotten her the kind of accolades that she’d dreamed of since she’d played Annie in the third grade.
So it hurts, stings at an insecurity of you’ll never be quite good enough beneath her exterior that’s plagued Azzi for far too long, to hear Caleb reduce her presence in the movie to just being sexy.
But Azzi doesn't -can’t- let any of that show, not if she wants Caleb’s help in getting that new most sought-after role in his father’s upcoming movie, a role she knows every actress who wants to be nominated for an Oscar next season, is vying for. So she accepts the compliment, bats her eyelashes and lets Caleb’s hands roam lower and lower, lets them make her skin crawl and her mouth burn with that acidic taste of self-disgust.
Integrity, god Azzi remembers when she had some, remembers when she and Paige had promised themselves and each other that if they could make it here, that this world of deception and manipulation disguised in its faux glitz and glam wouldn’t take that away from them. They’d sworn they’d protect each other from losing it. And now Azzi’s not quite sure if it was showbiz that had stolen it from her, or if it was something she’d given away willingly.
“So Fudd,” Caleb says, brazenly pulling Azzi closer to him like a man who knows he has all the power, “you gonna give me a dance?”
Not a demand but not a request, something more dangerous right in the middle that makes Azzi hesitate, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks up at him. Because what he’s asking for isn’t just one dance, isn’t asking for her to accompany him to just the dancefloor. A full-body shiver rattles throughout her as she swallows, her mask of confidence suddenly paper-thin under the heaviness of Caleb’s expectant gaze.
“It’s late,” she whispers, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.
Caleb’s smile doesn’t drop, his hands stay pressed against the dip of Azzi’s waist, but there’s a subtle flicker in his eyes, like a predator who knows his prey’s weaknesses too well, who’s baiting his time just waiting to strike.
The party is cacophonous, the music providing the bass while everyone’s chatter thrums around her loudly like the chorus. But Azzi swears she can make out every quiet beat of her heart, can hear it pulsating unrhythmically against her ribcage where it’s just as trapped as the body that holds it.
“It is pretty late,” Caleb says finally, his tone silky smooth in a way that makes Azzi’s stomach lurch, “and I have an early morning tomorrow starting with breakfast with my dad,” he pauses to make sure she catches that last word, his smirk deepening into something more sinister, like a venus fly trap shrouding itself in nectar in search of its next victim, “he wants to talk about his new movie. You might have heard about it?”
Azzi’s jaw twitches as she nods, “of course. It’s all the news.”
Caleb hums cavalierly, “yeah. Life-changing I think they’re calling it. My dad wants me to be more involved seeing as I’m going to own the production house soon. He wants me to help out more, with all of it but especially-” he tilts his head slightly, the dim glow of the overhead lights camouflaging half of his face, “he especially seems to think I can help with the casting.”
When Azzi was a little girl, long before her mother’s fascination with vicariously living out her befallen acting dreams through her daughter had started, her grandfather used to take her out fishing. The same lake, the same spot every time and he’d never left it with an empty hook. He’d scatter the bait on the surface, luring the fish upwards with the promise of food until there were tens of them gathered right where he wanted them, their outlines visible through the clear water. And each time he’d shake his head at their foolishness, laughing at them for falling for the same trick he’d used multiple times before he plunged his rod in and the most foolish of them all fell for the final prize, before the rest of them scattered. Only to come back the next time. Like clockwork. Azzi had laughed along with him back then, thought them just as foolish as he did.
But she gets it now.
The appeal of bait.
It’s why she finds herself sucking in a sharp breath, heartbeat erratic but voice steady as she purses her lips up at Caleb.
“One dance couldn’t hurt,” Azzi says slowly, each syllable like a thorn clawing at her throat as it fights its way out of her mouth, “it’s not that late yet.”
Caleb’s smirk is gradual, like a man who knew he had the power to make the walls caves. It stretches across his face sickeningly slowly, almost in tandem with the already present pit in Azzi’s stomach that’s getting larger and larger with each passing second. But she doesn’t let her discomfort show, doesn’t let the scream stuck in her vocal chords free, as she allows Caleb’s hands to curl around her waist, slender fingers digging into her hip like he already owns her.
A hush of barely concealed whispers follow the two of them as Caleb leads Azzi to the dance floor. There are no secrets in Hollywood; at least not amongst each other. Everyone knows about the movie, knows that it has the power to catapult careers, knows which stars are already on the shortlist. But more than that, they know how the industry runs. It’s a game of give and take where the actors -the show puppets- give and give and give all that they have, and the directors behind the camera, the production houses behind the money take and take and take even more than they’re willingly given.
And Azzi can feel them all -the actors and the directors and the producers that all share this toxic ecosystem- staring at her now, but their gazes don’t hold. Instead they ricochet off her body like bullets of judgement crashing into a ballistic vest crafted from threads of their own hypocrisy and if you were in my place, you would do it too.
Once upon a time Azzi had thought herself above it all too, had thought she could reach the stars before the guillotine came down on her innocence. But she knows better now.
Because this is just how this world works.
You either accept it or turn away from it, and Azzi had never been taught to let go of her dreams.
Caleb spins her as soon as they make it onto the dance floor, tugging on her hand to pull her back in so his hands can rest low on her waist. It’s not possessive; it’s ownership in the worst way. Azzi hates everything about it. His fingers press into her hips too tightly, his breath fans too heavily against her face and that smug expression on his face -like he’s won because he has- makes Azzi wish she could slip through the cracks in the checkerboard tiled floor and disappear into an underworld that could really, only be a little worse than this chosen hell she’s already in.
“You smell good,” Caleb whispers, and maybe he means it, but it comes off flimsy; nothing but another excuse to invade Azzi’s space a little more, leaning in just enough so his nose can nuzzle at her jaw, tainting the skin there with his presence.
Azzi’s about to reply, something flirty and cute that tastes too sugary on the tip of her tongue. But it melts like cotton candy when she feels it.
Piercing blue eyes finally looking at her.
And this one? This gaze sticks. A familiar stare fixated on the back of Azzi’s silhouette that seems to ask both when did you become like this and how did this happen to you at the same time. It’s not judgemental, not accusing; it’s something entirely different. Something that almost seems like it’s filled with concern.
And that might be worse.
Because it’s not fair.
Azzi had waited -openly two years ago and secretly deep down for the last six months since the reappearance of her past in her present- for that look of concern. For anything. She’d waited, in spite of her best instinct, for that promise of i’ll pick you up every time you break made at the very beginning to still be fulfilled long after they had ended, because once upon a time those oaths had felt like the foundation for forever.
But it had never come. She had never come, never looked. Not until now.
And it feels six months -if not two years- too late. Like the drought had already dried up the essence of who Azzi had once been and the rain hadn’t come soon enough to wash away her sins.
Caleb is still speaking, undeterred by Azzi’s lack of response. His words bleed into the background, drowned by her eardrums pulsating with the thoughts rushing through her brain. Caleb is everywhere, hands wandering, lips grazing her skin with permission they hadn’t earned but had gotten anyways, and still, all Azzi can feel is those damn blue eyes.
They haven’t left her once since they’d landed on her. They follow every movement that Caleb maneuvers out of her, like it’s their god given right to have her in their line of vision all the time. And maybe once upon a time it was.
Azzi had loved those eyes once. They used to be her north star, her anchor when everything felt like it was slipping out of control. And god Azzi still remembers the days before all of this, the hard ones when karaoke gigs and kids’ party princess performances hadn’t even been enough to keep the lights on. And she still remembers how underneath the flicker of the candles they’d lit, the way the cerulean blue of those eyes had still held enough brightness to make the darkness seem a little lighter.
But now they’re a distant memory. Because, the last thing Azzi remembers seeing the morning before the storm that had imploded them, are those calm blue eyes, staring at her, just like they are tonight.
“You’re so sexy,” Caleb breathes as he spins her again so that her back is pressed against his chest.
Azzi gasps, lips parting in surprise -not at Caleb; he’s not nearly important enough to elicit any reaction from her- but because she can see those blue eyes now.
She can see Paige now.
The blonde is standing near the bar, the beer in her hand replaced with her favorite dirty shirley, her date no longer firmly tucked into her side but still within arms reach. There’s a crowd of people around her, eager to be given even a morsel of her attention but all of Paige’s focus is for Azzi.
Their gazes lock across the wide expanse of the room and for a second, everything almost seems like it used to be. The pages seem to flip backwards, memories and unspoken words filling the space between them as they stare at each other, almost as if they’re daring the other to look away first.
But neither of them do.
Paige’s expression is calm, a picture of nonchalance whose brushstrokes won’t be questioned by any of the other partygoers. But Azzi knows her better than them, knows her better than anyone. She sees the stiffness in Paige’s shoulders, the way her fingers are clutched just a little too tightly around the drink in her hands, the way the fire of forbidden possessiveness flickers in her irises when Caleb’s thumbs dip into the waistband of Azzi’s skirt, his palms flattening against her thighs.
And that seems to turn the magma settled in Azzi’s bones, into the kind of liquid lava that travels through her veins, scorching her nerves until it erupts her heart into flames.
Because fuck her.
She didn’t get to do this, didn’t get to ignore Azzi for six months, didn’t get to flaunt her success with that untouchable air of indifference as she’d orbited in Azzi’s gravity without sparing a glance in her direction.
And then do this, look at her like that.
Like Azzi was still hers.
And Paige was still Azzi’s.
“You still with me?” Caleb murmurs gravelly in her ear, the stench of his alcohol infused breath making her stomach lurch with a bout of nausea.
She’d almost forgotten he existed -even if he was pressed right against her back-, almost forgotten her entire purpose for entertaining his advances altogether. Her brain had been fogged up by repeated iterations of the same name over and over again as if it was the only word left in her lexicon.
That’s just how the world has always worked for Azzi.
When Paige is around, everything else fades to the background in a lacklustre shade of monochrome and she’s the only one at the forefront of it all, shining in bright, vibrant colors that used to make it impossible for Azzi to tear her gaze away from her.
But it’s been two years.
And Azzi knows how to look away now, at least with her eyes if not her soul.
“Azzi,” Caleb says again and his tone isn’t harsh and it doesn’t hurt when he squeezes her hips but there’s an underlying current of remember who I am, reverberating from his being that doesn’t need to be verbalized. Not when Azzi can feel it thickening in the air around them.
“I’m here,” she replies finally, the notes in her voice somehow still able to come out smooth and steady despite having to cross over the sizable lump in her throat that refuses to go away no matter how much she tries to swallow it down.
This isn’t how Azzi had planned for this night to go. Sure she’d only ever attended these parties to network, but not like this; not this close, not with this man who’s embraced head to toe in power he hadn’t earned himself but still held in the palm of his hands. Power he yielded like a sword, ready to slash against everything Azzi had built brick by brick if she gave him reason to.
And when she’d put herself in that path of danger, she hadn’t expected it to earn Paige's sudden acknowledgement and she definitely hadn’t expected it to unravel her more than the blonde’s previous insouciance. If she’d known, she would’ve tightened the strings of her sanity just that little bit more, would’ve left the party before Paige could even see her without her armor on.
But instead she’d walked into a gilded cage with a manipulative asshole who had far too much control of her career on one side, and her ex who still hadn’t extinguished control of her traitorous heart on the other.
Fuck her life.
Azzi lets her eyelids flutter shut -using the darkness behind them like a shield from the daggers life seems hellbent on throwing at her- trying to remind herself that she’d allowed herself to be led onto the dancefloor with a purpose. She throws her head back against Caleb’s shoulder -trying to not to flinch at the way he seems to take that as an invitation to pull her closer- and lets the music guide her hips.
For a moment, the alcohol coursing through her veins is enough of an intoxicant to make her forget. For a moment, Azzi’s just a girl on the dancefloor, swaying to the beat of an overplayed song.
She’s always loved playing pretend a little too much but her parents had always told her that pretenses don’t last. And Azzi’s beginning to learn that neither does a fleeting moment of peace.
“I think it’s time for us to leave,” Caleb’s voice is smooth, like viscous honey.
Azzi squeezes her eyes closed tighter, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip sharply enough to leave little crescent marks that would likely ruin the allure of her glossy maroon lip combo.
“Now?” she whispers, fighting to keep the tremble out of her voice.
Her eyes fly open, an almost imperceptible gasp escaping her mouth, when she feels herself being turned around to face the man behind her. It’s not particularly forceful, just the right amount of vigor to have her body twisting towards him, but Azzi can feel the implied strength, the kind that didn’t come from Caleb’s muscles but his status in this ruthless world.
His smile is charming as he looks down at her, the perfect façade, an act put on for the room full of people that still seem captivated by the two of them even if they’re doing their best not to show it, “yes, Azzi. Now.”
An air of finality, one that seems to hold no room for disagreement, clouds that one syllable as Azzi nods her head. And it’s not as if she hadn’t known where this was leading when Caleb had come up to her, when she’d willingly let him linger far beyond just two people exchanging pleasantries. Because powerful men like Caleb don’t extend a conversation beyond hi’s and hello’s just to end them with a simple goodbye in the same night and ambitious women like Azzi who’ve watched this game play out at these same parties far too many times, know that.
“Okay,” Azzi says finally, “okay,” she repeats, firmer this time like there isn’t something inside her that feels like it’s on the brink of shattering, “I just um- I need to um- I need to grab something and then we uh- we can go.”
It’s a lie. And by the way Caleb’s gaze flitters towards the sparkly purple purse glittering by her side -the one that contains every thing she’d brought with her- Azzi knows he’s perceptive enough to know it too. She almost expects him to say no but instead he lets go of her, stepping back to give her space with a slight tilt of his head.
“Okay,” he crosses his hands over his chest, “go get what you need. I’ll be waiting by the door.”
For a moment Azzi wonders if he’s giving her an out, a chance to exit the stage before the curtain rises and the show begins. But then she sees that assessing look in his eyes, the way his lips are upturned like their fighting the beginnings of a knowing smirk.
It’s a test.
One he knows she’ll pass. Because he knows she’ll come back.
Red hot humiliation pools at the pit of Azzi’s stomach because she knows it too. It’s too big of a risk and it’s too big of an opportunity and whether for survival or success, she can’t walk away from him. Not now. Not when she’s already thrown herself in the path of immolation. She’s just not sure if it’s her soul or her career that she’ll offer up at the pyre of sacrifice.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispers as confirmation anyway, mustering up something that will pass for a smile to anyone who doesn’t really know her before turning away from him, maneuvering past dancing bodies trying to get somewhere -anywhere- so she can take a moment to just breathe.
Every step feels heavy, the kind of dizziness that only comes from being crossfaded with the effects of alcohol and shame together. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her, can hear the faint echo of them whispering about her and it almost makes her want to shrink into herself. But Azzi is a performer. And so she walks with her head held high, putting on just enough of an act to turn their disparaging gazes into ones full of envy. She commands the room like she’s won something, like she’s inconspicuously trying to tell them that the role in Caleb’s father’s movie is already hers. She moves like she’s proud and the Hollywood fraternity that’s watching her, eats it up with little doubt.
And she thinks, nobody needs to know that with every step, Azzi feels like she’s losing pieces of herself, that it feels like her own sense of self is floating away and she’s helpless to stop it.
Her hands tremble as she opens the sliding screen door to the balcony, the cool California breeze immediately embracing her like it can sense her grief. Azzi stumbles over her own feet as she reaches out for the railing, letting the charade of this is all fine, finally slip away from her as her fingers clasp the marble parapet like a lifeline. Her breathing comes out in short, staggered, spurts that feel like a chore to even get out. Azzi stubbornly blinks her eyes, eyelids fluttering open and shut at record speed to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. She won’t let them out, can’t let them out.
Because it’s been two years, two years since that wretched night, two years since she’d last cried. She’d cried and cried and cried until every last drop had dried up and then sworn to herself she’d never cry again, because what if next time, what if this time, she couldn’t stop.
“Azzi.”
For two years, in the secret of quiet nights that she’d pretend never happened in the morning after, Azzi has wondered what her name would sound like in that voice again. She’s let herself imagine hundreds and thousands of scenarios. Like an unexpected phone call where she’d have to repeat hello over and over again till the echo of her name would fill the silence on the other side or perhaps at one of Hollywood’s many studios where she’d be in a rush to get on set when suddenly she’d hear the call of her name and every cell in her body would freeze or like in her most illustrious daydreams where she’d fantasized about herself in the audience at an award show, forgetting how to breathe after getting that song, their song, dedicated to her just like the singer had once promised in a whisper she would, back when neither of their dreams had been realized yet.
But Azzi had let go of her lucrative imagination in the last six months, when the object of said imaginations had walked back into her life, and barely spared a glance her way.
Until now.
“No,” Azzi whispers into the wind, the word coming out so soft, she’s unsure if it’ll even be heard.
“Az-”
“No,” Azzi says louder, shaking her head as her entire body trembles, “not now.”
“Azzi-”
“NO,” it comes out as a yell this time as Azzi whips her body around, her balance wavering a little at just how fast she’s turned.
And there she is.
Paige Bueckers.
Just as beautiful and gorgeous and ethereal and perfect as she’s always been.
Arms crossed, wisps of blonde hair slowly falling out of her messy bun, lips parted like she’d just been about to say something but they’d been stolen away from her, cerulean blue eyes locked on Azzi as if they can still see right through her hard-built walls.
For a moment, time seems to stand still as the two of them stare at each other. They’ve been orbiting the same spaces for six months now, but it feels like this is the first time they’ve truly seen each other.
And Azzi swears she can hear the chorus of escape playing in the distance between them. Not the studio version that had been released for everyone else to hear. No, the version that had been just for her. The version Paige had sung to Azzi years ago on their apartment rooftop with nothing but an acoustic guitar and that soft, shy grin that had always only ever been for the younger girl.
I don’t need to run away cause now I run to you
You hold me close and it feels like I’ve been rescued
Cause baby I met you and you became my faith
You saved me love and you became my escape
And Azzi remembers staring at the blonde in awe as she’d sung her heart out, captivated by the lyrics and the melody and just all things Paige. Her heart had swelled with pride and she’d known, long before it had shot up to #1 on the charts, that it would be a romantic ballad for the ages, the kind that played at proposals and weddings and anniversaries. She had known there would be a version of it that would be for the world, that would become a feature in other people’s love stories. But back then, Azzi had believed that the original -the one sung underneath the twinkling stars by a girl who still looked at Azzi like she was brighter than the whole night sky- would still always belong to her. Because back then, Azzi had believed that Paige would always belong to her too.
“Go back inside,” she says finally, her tone exhausted as she wraps her arms around herself, unsure if the chill creeping down her spine is from the cold draft of a Los Angeles evening or from the opening of a treasure chest of memories from the past that Azzi had kept tightly locked away.
Paige doesn’t move an inch, continuing to study Azzi with an indecipherable look on her face.
“I’m serious,” Azzi presses her back against the railing, like it’ll help her stay upright while her legs threaten to give out, “go back inside.”
Nothing. Paige stays completely stagnant and Azzi feels that unruly flame of anger -the one only the blonde had ever really been able to provoke in her otherwise cool calm and collected nature- flare up in the pit of her stomach.
Her next words are laced in bitterness, “you should go back inside. I’m sure your girlfriend is waiting for you.”
Paige doesn’t even flinch.
It only makes Azzi more furious, as she haphazardly blows a loose curl out of her face. That had been Paige’s go-to as the implosion of their relationship had inched closer and closer, a wall of seeming indifference that had been impermeable to everything Azzi tried to break through it with. Her Paige had never been like that. No, Azzi’s Paige was the most chalant person she’d known. Someone who wore her emotions on her face like revered jewels on a crown that were meant to be seen.
“Paige,” Azzi bites out through gritted teeth, “I’m asking you, please, please, just go back inside.”
The girl in question stays unperturbed, eyes still trained on the brunette in front of her.
“Fine,” Azzi throws her hands in the air, pushing herself off the balustrade, “I’ll go.”
Heart thudding dangerously fast in her chest, she moves towards the party. She’s not quite ready to face what awaits her inside yet -not quite ready to finally embrace the reality she’d chosen for herself the minute she’d let that man into her little bubble tonight- but she thinks anything’s better than being out here at this very moment.
It only takes about three steps for a strong hand to curl around her bicep, pulling her in just enough so that their shoulders brush against each other, sending that clichéd jolt of electricity running up her spine and Azzi lets out an involuntary gasp as that familiar scent of Valentino perfume engulfs her sense.
“What are you doing?” Paige’s voice is hoarse and gravelly, like getting every syllable out is a chore she hadn’t intended to do today.
Azzi gulps, keeping her eyes trained on the sliding door she’d almost made it too, suddenly overtly conscious of just how close their bodies are, considering she can feel the older girl’s breath fanning across her cheek.
“Let. Me. Go.” she tries to jostle herself out of Paige’s grip but it only causes the other girl’s hold to tighten.
“Are you going home with him?’ Paige asks, tone still even-keeled.
“How is that any of your fucking buisiness?” Azzi spits out.
Paige ignores her, “are you going home with him Azzi?”
“How is that any of your fucking buisiness Paige,” her name burns on Azzi’s tongue, in the worst way, in the best way.
“Just answer the fucking question-”
“No-”
“Azzi-”
“For fucks sake Paige-oh,” Azzi whips her head towards the blonde, the words catching in her throat as she realizes their face are inches apart.
And she sees the illusion Paige had spent six months curating -that ice queen demeanour that has haunted Azzi at every party they’ve attended together- shatter.
Because the way that girl in front of her is looking at her, isn’t the way that Paige Bueckers, Hollywood’s newest singing sensation, had looked at Azzi Fudd, the up and coming star of the silver screen, when she’d been dancing with Caleb.
No, this is completely different.
This is how Paige, the goofy charming girl filled with unblemished hope had looked at Azzi, the quiet shy girl with an untarnished dream.
And Azzi thinks perhaps it was easier to bear, when it felt like Paige was looking right through her.
“Paige,” she whispers, her free hand twitching at her side as she fights the urge to brush her thumb against the blonde’s cheek like she used to do before.
Paige swallows, her voice coming out heartbreakingly soft as she regurgitates her earlier question, “what are you doing Azzi?”
“Why-” Azzi pauses, staring at the girl in front of her who feels like a part of the known and an unsolved mystery all at the same time, “why do you care what I’m doing Paige?”
“Because- because this- this-” Paige stutters, her fingers flexing around Azzi’s arm in a way that should hurt but instead feels like healing, “this isn’t you.”
Azzi stares at her, eyes narrowing dangerously, “excuse me?”
“This isn't you Azzi,” Paige repeats, firmer this time, “I know you. I know you better than anyone and I know you don’t- you don’t do things like this.”
“Things like what?” Azzi asks, voice hardening as if the older woman hadn’t just cracked open the wounds of her barely stitched heart with her words.
Paige gives her an exasperated look, “you know what.”
“No, no I don’t Paige. So why don’t you spell it out for me,” tension vibrates in Azzi’s tone as the two women keep their gazes locked on each other.
“Dammit Azzi-”
“Say it Paige,” Azzi hisses, “say it.”
Paige shakes her head, closing her eyes as if the darkness behind them might shield her from the rage flashing in Azzi’s eyes, “Azzi please-”
“Say what you mean Paige,” Azzi jeers, “tell me what you think I don’t do. Because you’re wrong. I do. And I am going to go home with him-” Paige flinches, finally, and Azzi finds herself revelling in having provoked a reaction out of her, “I am going to go home with him and I am going to fu-”
“Jesus Christ,” Paige bursts out, “stop it Azzi.”
“No you stop Paige,” Azzi yells, finally wrangling herself free from Paige’s hold and she misses the warmth of it immediately, “you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come out here and tell me that this isn’t me. Because it is. This-,” she points to herself maniacally, “this is me. This is who I am now. And you don’t get to come out here and judge me for who I am now. Not when you weren’t here to see how I became this.”
“And whose fault is that?” Paige says bitterly.
Azzi freezes.
“Fuck you,” she sneers at the older woman before marching past her, telling herself that the reason she purposesly brushes her shoulder against Paige’s, isn’t so she can feel the heat of her against her skin one last time.
“Azzi,” Paige’s voice echoes in her ears before she can slide the doors open and Azzi stops in her tracks, because of course she does.
Her eyelids flutter shut as she listens to the sound of Paige’s quiet footsteps inching towards her, until she can feel the blonde’s shadow on her skin.
“Do you remember when I went to meet that producer,” Paige says slowly, “and you found me in the shower, scrubbing my arms so hard that they started bleeding.”
Azzi whimpers at the memory, hands fisting by her sides as the vivid scene plays in her head. She’d come home smiling bigger than she had in a while because the check from one of her advertisement gigs had just been processed. They’d been struggling for money that month, barely surviving off of dollar-store snacks in place of actual groceries. And she’d been so excited to tell Paige that they could finally eat a proper meal that night, maybe even splurge on a bottle of cheap wine but instead she’d walked into their bathroom to find the blonde rubbing her loofah so hard against her wrist, that little red splotches were starting to form on her skin.
Azzi remembers calling out Paige’s name but it was like the older girl wasn’t even there. Panic had coiled itself around Azzi as she’d stepped into the shower herself, trying to shake Paige out of where she’d lost herself in her own mind, not caring about the cold water raining down on clothes that she definitely couldn’t afford to ruin. It had taken Azzi practically screaming herself hoarse to finally break Paige out of her trance.
And then the dam had broken.
Paige had sobbed in her arms, incomprehensible words slurred between hiccups as she’d tried to tell her the whole story. About the ultimatums. The coercive tone.
The not-so-inconspicuous touching.
And sitting curled on their shower basin with the strongest women she’d ever known cradled against her chest, Azzi had never felt more helpless.
“We promised Azzi,” Paige’s voice snaps her back to the present and Azzi shudders, “we swore to each other that we wouldn’t build our careers like that. That we wouldn’t lose ourselves in this world. Not like everybody else. Not like this.”
“It’s too late,” Azzi says wistfully, turning her face just enough to give Paige a sad smile. She lets herself stare at the other woman, trying to memorize every detail like it might be the last time she gets to be this close to her again, “I’ve already lost myself Paige.”
“Azzi please,” Paige rasps, “please don’t go home with him.”
Azzi doesn’t say anything, giving herself one more second to take in Paige, before turning on her heel and letting herself back inside, before she can change her mind, before she can give into the naive fantasies of escaping that can only be found in the melodies of Paige’s songs or the happy endings of her movies but never in real life.
The lights are fuzzy, the world blurry as she traipses towards the front door where Caleb is waiting for her, suave as ever. A coy smile breaks out across his features as he holds out a hand towards her.
“You’re back,” he remarks, as if he’d ever doubted it.
“I’m back,” Azzi says hollowly, placing her palm in his.
“Good,” Caleb nods at the butlers stationed at the door and they dutifully obey his command, immediately pulling the mahogany doors open as Azzi feels herself being led outside.
And Azzi realizes just how naive she is because she had thought this would be a quiet affair. That Caleb would whisk her away and the only people who’d know were the people inside, the ones who regarded her with equal amounts of disdain and envy.
She should’ve known better.
Because as soon as Azzi steps into the dead of the night, she finds herself being rattled by a crowd of photographers and reporters, vultures eager to get the latest scoop on her and the man who’s holding her hand, the man who’d likely planned this whole thing.
And amidst it all Azzi finds herself staring up at the balcony where Paige still stands, looking at her like she wishes she could save her. From Caleb, from this world, from herself.
hello everyone, i need to vent bc this has been sitting in my head for a while.
i started writing here about 3 months ago. honestly, i was enjoying myself. i put a lot of energy into it, especially writing for paige, and i really thought i was doing something good. but i’ve deleted it all now—not because i hated it or bc i wasn’t grateful, but bc this fandom is… something else.
let’s just say it: some of the “big” authors on here are lowkey rude. like, they act like they’re on another level compared to everyone else. they’ll post and collect all the hype, but if you comment or send an ask hyping them up? complete silence. it’s almost funny at this point. i’ll drop something simple like “new favorite” or “the way you have with words” and get ignored so hard, you’d think i said something offensive. not even a like. nothing.
and it makes you wonder—do they actually enjoy ignoring people? or do they just think they’re too good to respond? because that’s the vibe: “we’re up here, you’re down there.” like, sorry i’m not a 20k-follower writer, but i didn’t know basic manners were follower-locked.
and the worst part? they’ll happily soak in compliments, reblogs, hype—all of it—but god forbid they ever give that energy back. you can support them until your fingers fall off, and in return you’ll get… crickets. maybe a half-hearted reblog if the stars align. but a follow back? actual interaction? oh no, that’s reserved for people on their level. 🙄
and here’s the thing: i wasn’t just posting my little series and dipping. i was actually supporting others. i reblogged my mutuals, tagged them, shouted them out, even when it wasn’t my exact genre. i put in effort to build some kind of community. meanwhile, the “too good for us” authors just float above everyone, acting like royalty while ignoring the people who literally keep their notes section alive.
now, of course, not everyone is like this. there are nice creators who followed back, interacted, and didn’t carry that fake “above you” energy. but i’ll be real—after getting ignored so many times, i don’t even bother trying to dm them bc this app overall feels very “pick-me hierarchy.”
so yeah. some authors here really do act like they’re celebrities, and some are actually cool. i’ll tag the good ones later bc they deserve it. but as for the rest? the “i’m too important to even acknowledge you” crew? y’all are not as untouchable as you think.
the gems (actually interact, so sweet, love y’all):
✧ @prettygirl-gabi
✧ @hcneymooners
✧ @thaatdigitaldiary
✧ @teamfueckers
✧ @kehlaniscript
✧ @bueckersworld
🚫 the ghosts (don’t interact back / give “above it all” energy):
✦ @lupinqs (her whole friendgroup lowkey :(. )
✦ @bueckersbitch
✦ @vamptizm i had a whole conversation once with her and never a follow back 😭😭
✧ @azzibuckets
AND WAY MORE , i’m just rambling now but trust i will tag more people on both sides. once again this is not bullying or harassing, im simply just making sure this doesn’t happen to the next because you guys ARE very unwelcoming and i know it’s not your job. but if you enjoy writing why ruin it for the next even if it’s not your responsibility. thank you again, i guess.
People like you are WHY creators don’t want to answer people. Tumblr, which is supposed to be a platform for communities interacting with each other, has become another website where someone finds self worth, as well as worth in others, based solely on how much their posts are liked and shared.
People have lives outside of this community, and yet they still choose to share their work for others to enjoy. Just because they didn’t respond to your comment, or give you a follow back, doesn’t mean that they’re horrible people, or deserve to be targeted for not interacting with each and every one of their “20k followers,” as you state they have.
people like me is crazy , i’m probably the first person to do this otherwise you guys wouldn’t have been “shocked” or anything else. saying “our lives do not revolve around tumblr” i promise you, i wasn’t talking about you, no one IS talking about you because you’re irrelevant. hence why i didn’t @ you. dickriding those guys will NOT make them follow you because we know they’re greedy with that 😂
hello everyone, i need to vent bc this has been sitting in my head for a while.
i started writing here about 3 months ago. honestly, i was enjoying myself. i put a lot of energy into it, especially writing for paige, and i really thought i was doing something good. but i’ve deleted it all now—not because i hated it or bc i wasn’t grateful, but bc this fandom is… something else.
let’s just say it: some of the “big” authors on here are lowkey rude. like, they act like they’re on another level compared to everyone else. they’ll post and collect all the hype, but if you comment or send an ask hyping them up? complete silence. it’s almost funny at this point. i’ll drop something simple like “new favorite” or “the way you have with words” and get ignored so hard, you’d think i said something offensive. not even a like. nothing.
and it makes you wonder—do they actually enjoy ignoring people? or do they just think they’re too good to respond? because that’s the vibe: “we’re up here, you’re down there.” like, sorry i’m not a 20k-follower writer, but i didn’t know basic manners were follower-locked.
and the worst part? they’ll happily soak in compliments, reblogs, hype—all of it—but god forbid they ever give that energy back. you can support them until your fingers fall off, and in return you’ll get… crickets. maybe a half-hearted reblog if the stars align. but a follow back? actual interaction? oh no, that’s reserved for people on their level. 🙄
and here’s the thing: i wasn’t just posting my little series and dipping. i was actually supporting others. i reblogged my mutuals, tagged them, shouted them out, even when it wasn’t my exact genre. i put in effort to build some kind of community. meanwhile, the “too good for us” authors just float above everyone, acting like royalty while ignoring the people who literally keep their notes section alive.
now, of course, not everyone is like this. there are nice creators who followed back, interacted, and didn’t carry that fake “above you” energy. but i’ll be real—after getting ignored so many times, i don’t even bother trying to dm them bc this app overall feels very “pick-me hierarchy.”
so yeah. some authors here really do act like they’re celebrities, and some are actually cool. i’ll tag the good ones later bc they deserve it. but as for the rest? the “i’m too important to even acknowledge you” crew? y’all are not as untouchable as you think.
the gems (actually interact, so sweet, love y’all):
✧ @prettygirl-gabi
✧ @hcneymooners
✧ @thaatdigitaldiary
✧ @teamfueckers
✧ @kehlaniscript
✧ @bueckersworld
🚫 the ghosts (don’t interact back / give “above it all” energy):
✦ @lupinqs (her whole friendgroup lowkey :(. )
✦ @bueckersbitch
✦ @vamptizm i had a whole conversation once with her and never a follow back 😭😭
✧ @azzibuckets
AND WAY MORE , i’m just rambling now but trust i will tag more people on both sides. once again this is not bullying or harassing, im simply just making sure this doesn’t happen to the next because you guys ARE very unwelcoming and i know it’s not your job. but if you enjoy writing why ruin it for the next even if it’s not your responsibility. thank you again, i guess.
People like you are WHY creators don’t want to answer people. Tumblr, which is supposed to be a platform for communities interacting with each other, has become another website where someone finds self worth, as well as worth in others, based solely on how much their posts are liked and shared.
People have lives outside of this community, and yet they still choose to share their work for others to enjoy. Just because they didn’t respond to your comment, or give you a follow back, doesn’t mean that they’re horrible people, or deserve to be targeted for not interacting with each and every one of their “20k followers,” as you state they have.
people like me is crazy , i’m probably the first person to do this otherwise you guys wouldn’t have been “shocked” or anything else. saying “our lives do not revolve around tumblr” i promise you, i wasn’t talking about you, no one IS talking about you because you’re irrelevant. hence why i didn’t @ you. dickriding those guys will NOT make them follow you because we know they’re greedy with that 😂
