anonity

[anonity]

Are you going to post any more chapters of to break a horse?

i am baby sorry for the wait 😞 i have one more scene left of the next chapter and then i would like to get them out once a week after that!

[anonity]

Sparkle pony fried me

alright apparently their name was sparkle GIRL lmfao i really wasn’t even trying to be messy like that

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Sparkle pony made another account, gotta block em again. Idk why they are so worried. Miss Azzi fudd ain’t letting no one make a fool out of her. Instead of being happy just being weird asf

azzis too fine to let somebody drag her around LMFAO people on here are tripping

[anonity]

IMMEDIATELY NEED A FIC ABOUT THE PHONE CASE PLEASE PLEASE YOUD WRITE IT SO PERFECTLY

love the energy you came in here with 😭

when i’m done hooping i can go in and draft this up rq but yall drop some headcanons in my inbox/what do you want outta this ??

do we want azzi to post it on purpose or accident, did she ask paige or just do it, was the case a gift or did she buy it herself ?? etc etc

[anonity]

why tf is this sparkle pony back on my dash after i blocked them 😭

[anonity]

im just so obsessed w this

౨ৎ sometimes it’s nice to love an easy thing.

older!wnba!paige x older!wnba!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: when basketball stars azzi fudd and paige bueckers, former best friends who drifted apart in the blur of fame and time, accidentally double-book the same coastal retreat, three years of missed connection dissolves into a week of devastating intimacy.

cw: implied burnout, no other warnings apply.

notes: just wrote something sweet and soft to release before i go home. this isn't edited, but i will come back later tonight to refine it. i hope you enjoy it anyway, and as always, feel free to let me know your thoughts in my inbox. i love you all so much. x

the idea was to be alone.

azzi had booked the airbnb on a whim, the way those who claimed to be only “comfortable” did when they became tired of being themselves. she was drained from the exhaustive labor of being one of america's most famous athletic names, a title she'd worked for and earned, but one that sat on her shoulders now like a sweater that didn't quite fit anymore.

the last straw was the drink deal she had to film a campaign for. she'd felt lifeless, listing between the bright plastic smile as she harped off the list of nutritional benefits for someone's rich cousin's kombucha that came in beautiful bottles and threatened to expand your “spiritual silo.” the studio had been all white walls and ring lights, the kind of sterile brightness that made everything feel like the inside of a surrealist art sketch. 

as soon as the cameras had dropped, azzi's smile had dimmed, her wrists chirping like birds as her slew of cartier bracelets fell over one another and further down her arm. her personal assistant, a wonderful woman by the name of may, with a face that reminded her of someone else's memory of old hollywood glamour, had taken one look at her and booked a much-needed east coast holiday.

and now, azzi was driving her vintage land rover defender with the top down, tumbling along coastal roads at a speed that wasn't recommended but felt slower than the way she'd been living. the car was a deep forest green, the same as her long-sleeved shirt, as if it were constantly thinking of running off the road and becoming one of the trees. she had chosen to arrive in deceitful simplicity—everything she wore was at least a triple-figure price—and wrapped herself in solid colors and simple prints for her last-minute escape. still chic, still denoting her rank in life.

her curls were darker now, painstakingly maintained as she approached the end of her twenties, and streaked through with six-hundred-dollar highlights she felt did nothing for her face. just before she’d left the house, she’d pulled half of them up and away, then stuck her vintage, oversized chloé sunglasses into the mass and called it a day. she was sleek enough in other ways for it to be seen as an elle beauty section archetype, rather than being on the brink of losing her mind.

the leather weekender in her passenger seat was overstuffed, a week's worth of clothing thrown together in that careless way that only worked when everything you owned was beautiful. linen pants and silk camisoles, cotton sweaters soft as skin, all of it chosen by someone else, all of it perfectly her and not her at all. but this is who she was now; she had to come to terms at some point.

oceanic air whipped through the open car, carrying the promise of something she was unable to name. whatever it was, it was making her eyes sting. this was supposed to be healing, this week by the ocean. this was supposed to fix whatever had broken inside her during all those months of smiling for larger-than-life cameras and staging a rather convincing performance of enjoying her own life.

the house appeared through a break in the salt-heavy trees like something from a dream she'd had but never remembered fully. blue-gray shingles weathered to perfection, white trim catching the late afternoon light, an arched doorway that opened onto nothing but ocean beyond. it looked expensive in the way that most old money things did: effortless, delicately unpretentious, the kind of beauty that was careful to refrain from announcing itself because it didn't need to.

azzi pulled into the crushed shell driveway and cut the engine. the silence that followed felt different from the city quiet she was used to. not empty, but full. full of bird calls that were charming now but would annoy her later, and the distant crash of waves. the last time she’d been on this side of things was her college years. the thought made her chest tighten in a way she refused to indulge in.

she was reaching for her phone to text may and her parents that she'd arrived safely when she saw them: a pair of simple, lilac sneakers by the front door. not hers. too big. too clean. definitely not a color she would choose, but still—they felt more familiar than anything she owned.

her mouth twitched at the corners, moving neither up nor down but still indicative of her surprise.

again, the idea was to be alone. so the idea of sharing a home with a woman she hadn't spoken to in three years was not the ideal vacation.

there was no grief between them. that didn’t make it less hard. 

things had gotten busy, things had fallen off. time had been too quick, and now azzi was looking at the figure who had slipped through the cracks in the rearview mirror of her life.

the screen door opened before azzi could decide whether to get out of the car or reverse back down the driveway and pretend this was all some horrible cosmic design. the kind of relaxed mistake that only felt good to people who believed in fate, which azzi had stopped doing somewhere between twenty-five and now.

paige bueckers emerged like she belonged there, like she'd been expecting this moment for years. she was wearing cargo shorts that should have looked ridiculous but didn't, a faded cotton tee that had seen better days paired with an oversized dallas hoodie that hung loose on her willowy frame, her blonde hair pulled back in that messy bun that had always made azzi's fingers itch to fix it. 

her face was the same collection of angles and softness that had haunted azzi's peripheral vision for three years, such a sharp jaw and strong blue eyes that called back to a particular brand of american beauty that seemed as though it should be on a cereal box but had somehow transcended it.

she looked the same. she looked completely different. she looked like coming home and like a stranger all at once.

they stared at each other across the space between the car and the house, two women who had once known each other's breathing patterns, now separated by several feet and time and emotionally blank holiday messages.

paige's mouth opened, closed. her hands hung at her sides like she didn't know what to do with them.

paige bueckers was the greatest in many things: basketball, philanthropy, even a brief stint in fashion, to azzi's surprise, and whatever else she decided to pick up casually. but most importantly, she was the greatest (and arguably only) love of azzi's life.

there hadn't been a formal friendship breakup. just a quiet erosion, which had been more devastating than if they had mutually decided to call it quits. there was no fall, no fracture. only time, distance, the blur of planes and press cycles and everything but them.

azzi turned off the ignition and sat there for a moment, hands still on the steering wheel, watching paige watch her through the windshield. she hoped she looked beautiful and bothered. something to procure an appropriate level of emotion reserved for unexpected, grief-tinged collisions. 

the late afternoon light caught in paige's hair, turning it golden at the edges and drawing azzi’s dark eyes to the state of her roots, and for a second azzi was twenty-two again, watching paige laugh at something stupid on her phone in a hotel room in phoenix, thinking this was it, this was what happiness looked like.

but she was tired now, bone-deep tired in a way that made everything feel both urgent and inevitable. so she opened the car door and stood, smoothing her hands down her jeans, and gave paige the softest, most tired smile she could manage.

“hey, p.”

the nickname fell from her lips like muscle memory, like breathing. paige's face cracked open, warped by surprise, then an open relief, before settling on something that looked dangerously close to joy.

“azzi,” paige said, and her voice carried across the space between them because america’s favorite cool girl had never learned to be anything but herself. “fuck, i—”

but she was already moving, crossing the driveway in quick strides, and before azzi could think about it, paige's arms were around her, pulling her into a hug that felt like coming up for air after being underwater for an indeterminate amount of time.

azzi breathed her in without meaning to. in her defense, it was instinct formed from the other times she’d been held like this. paige permeated azzi’s body in every sense of the word, skin thick with vanilla and something warm and spicy, the same scent that used to linger on their pillowcases, the same perfume that had haunted department stores for months after they'd stopped talking. 

paige still smelled like home, like safety, like all the things azzi had convinced herself she could live without.

her weekender bag slipped from her shoulder, landing with a soft thud on the shells. neither of them moved to pick it up.

god, azzi thought, her face pressed into the crook of paige's neck, the norman fucking rockwell of it all.

when she pulled back, she found her face was wet.

the house was smaller inside than it looked from the driveway, but it was still a structural force of soft, off-white walls and bleached wood floors that creaked in the particular way that older homes did. her mother would like this, azzi thought, and she made a note to recommend it to her father for their next anniversary.

paige led her through rooms that smelled faintly of lemon oil and sodium, past windows that framed the ocean like paintings in a self-erected museum. azzi looked away from the hazy, blue smear of ocean and horizon and tuned back into paige’s predictable nervous rambling. she watched as the other woman twisted her thick, silver rings around her fingers as she tried to justify why she was walking alongside her former best friend—newly burst in.

well, she hadn’t burst. she hadn’t even snuck in really. there had always been an open space. 

“the company says that their website glitched, and they accidentally overbooked. i can—”

azzi looked up, tilting her head to better catch paige’s eye, a perfectly plucked eyebrow raising with amusement.

“i promise you it’s fine, paige. i’m not going to contract some sort of disease from sharing a house with you for a week.”

“no, i know,” paige responded. “and it’s not like i have a problem being here with you either, i just—if you did feel uncomfortable, i would want you to feel like you could tell me. i know if i were shackled up with some random who wasn’t supposed to be here, especially given what i did, i would not stop until—”

“but paige,” azzi interrupted, “you aren’t random. and you haven’t done anything to me.”

paige stopped then, her face jerking oddly as if she was unsure of whether azzi meant it or was leading her on. azzi kept their eyes locked, brown on blue, earth on sky. 

everything really was fine. which meant there was nothing more to say. 

paige tugged nervously at a thin leather band around her wrist, and azzi felt her throat close for a brief moment. she’d bought her that during a shared family christmas in nashville. she wasn’t sure what touched her more: the idea that paige had never gotten rid of it, or the fact that she deemed it important enough to wear in her everyday life.

“so,” paige said, stopping in front of a closed door, her hand hovering over the handle. “there's kind of a situation.”

azzi’s brow furrowed, her hands still wrapped along the top of her weekender as if to arm herself against a hidden onslaught. 

“the other bedrooms are closed off for renovations or something. the listing said it was a one-bedroom setup.” paige's cheeks went pink in that way they always were when she was embarrassed. “i can sleep on the couch, obviously, it's not—”

“paige.” azzi's voice was softer than she'd intended. “it's fine.”

the bedroom was beautiful in an understated coastal way: white linens, pale blue walls, french doors that opened onto a small balcony overlooking the water. there was one king bed, rumpled on one side where paige had clearly been sleeping, and a dresser with drawers half-open, spilling paige's clothes like loose secrets.

“they have extra sheets,” paige said suddenly, moving toward a closet with a new rush of nervous energy. “they left a list of inventory for the house in a binder, along with the wi-fi and stuff. i know you like to change them when you stay. to feel clean. ‘s not a big deal f’me to change them.”

azzi smiled then, small but genuine. finally, paige had let go of that ridiculously polite tone of voice and was speaking as she always had.

“there you are,” azzi said. “i thought maybe you had been body snatched. didn’t hear a single ‘bro’ in the first five minutes of you talking.”

paige laughed, her face lighting up with what azzi knew to be relief. “sorry, you just look a little different. didn’t know if i needed to be too.”

azzi let her bag hit the floor gently. “i always liked you as you were.”

the words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of being known. azzi's chest seemed to shrink as she turned back to the bed. three years of barely-there connection, and paige still remembered something so small, so specific to her particular anxieties about unfamiliar spaces.

“thank you,” azzi said quietly. “for thinking of me.”

they made the bed together without talking about it. paige stripped the old sheets with efficient movements while azzi unpacked the crisp white ones from their packaging, and then they were on opposite sides of the mattress, tucking corners with the kind of synchronized precision that came from muscle memory.

when paige reached across to smooth a wrinkle near azzi's side, their hands brushed. neither of them pulled away immediately.

paige opened the top drawer of the dresser, pushed her own things to one side, and gestured for azzi to fill the empty space. it was such a small thing, making room, but azzi's throat went tight watching paige's fingers carefully arrange her t-shirts to give azzi half the drawer.

“we should probably get groceries,” paige said when azzi had finished unpacking, her voice too bright. “there's literally nothing here except, like, stale crackers and some whiteclaws i bought.”

“whiteclaws?” azzi repeated, her voice swollen with disbelief. “you are almost thirty.”

“almost being the key word,” paige said, already walking down the hall. “besides, if it tastes good, imma buy it.”

azzi covered her mouth, forcefully keeping the rising laugh behind her teeth.

the land rover felt different with paige in the passenger seat. smaller, charged with the particular tension of two people trying very hard to act normal. paige had changed into a bamboo-thread button-down and swapped her lilac sneakers for white converse. she slunk down in the passenger seat, her legs widening as she got comfortable, and the image of it made azzi grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

the road wound through pine trees and past houses that got progressively smaller as they drove inland, away from the mostly empty, marine estates and toward something more lived-in. paige had rolled her window down, and the wind whipped her blonde hair around her face as she talked, a curtain made white by the mouth of the sun.

“—and then the whole team got food poisoning from this sushi place in dallas, which was honestly hilarious in retrospect, but at the time i thought coach was going to literally murder us. oh, and did you know that jana is engaged to someone now? this guy from her job. he’s pretty chill but—"

“p.” azzi's voice cut through the stream of words, gentle but firm. “one thing at a time.”

paige blinked, her mouth still half-open on whatever she'd been about to say next. “sorry. i'm being—sorry.”

“you're nervous,” azzi said, glancing at her before turning her attention back to the road. “it's okay. i'm nervous too.”

the admission seemed to deflate some of the tension in the car. paige slumped back in her seat, no longer talking at breakneck speed.

“it's weird, right?” paige said finally. “being here. together.”

“yeah,” azzi agreed. “it's weird. and i wish it wasn’t.”

but it’s not bad that it was, she didn't say. it wasn’t unwelcome. but it was more uncomfortable than she would’ve liked, the kind that came from realizing that some people lived inside of you even when they weren't in your life, even when you'd convinced yourself you'd moved on.

the grocery store was one of those small green markets that catered to a certain selection of summering customers. the shelves were stocked with organic everything, and the wine selections consisted of bottles that cost more than most people spent on groceries in a week. the patrons all were versions of the same thing: bare-faced, blowouts, subtle tweaks via non-invasive procedures azzi had booked and unbooked, tight smiles so that they didn’t seem rude, but also used to ask you to move along.

azzi smiled back in the same way because she wanted the same thing.

she grabbed a cart, and paige fell into step beside her, close enough that their arms brushed when they turned corners.

“so,” paige said, reaching for a bag of expensive-looking pasta. “tell me more about the kombucha thing. that sounded…”

“horrible?” azzi supplied, and paige laughed.

“i was going to be nice and say 'unlike you', but horrible works too.”

“it was both.” azzi picked up a bottle of olive oil, checked the price, and put it in the cart anyway. she didn’t know why she still pretended as if her bank account was an empty chamber in which she only used to scream. “i kept thinking about how my college self would have made fun of me for doing an ad for something called a ‘spiritual silo.’”

“your college self would have done the same,” paige said, and something was running along the words. fond, knowing. “remember when you used to make fun of me when you brought those green smoothies to practice? you’d make a fucking airplane noise to get me to take a sip.”

“you got me there. i guess i’ve always been one of those girls,” azzi said, but she was smiling.

“yeah,” paige said. then lower, as if azzi wasn’t supposed to hear, “but you were my girl.”

azzi tensed, then bent down and pretended to care deeply about the amount of bacteria in one brand of yogurt, and then another.

they moved through the store like that, trading memories disguised as small talk, someone slipping up and revealing their desperation for the other, before slowly finding their rhythm again. paige grabbed ingredients for a philly steak bowl, and azzi selected a slab of salmon that cost more than it should have and was much too orange to be truly authentic.

somewhere between the produce section and the checkout line, the space between them started to feel less like a chasm and more like a ditch they were at risk of dipping into but could eventually learn to cross.

the second morning arrived soft and golden, filtering through the french doors like honey through cheesecloth. azzi woke to the sound of waves and paige's breathing, deep and even beside her. 

they'd maintained their invisible line down the middle of the bed, but sometime in the night paige had turned toward her, one arm flung across the space between them like a question mark. azzi was unable to help herself, her desire loose and unmanageable when she first woke, and she reached out to carefully remove a few thin pieces of hair from paige’s face. she could feel the flush of paige’s blood, the warmth of her life pooling around her high cheekbones and dripping to her slack mouth. 

azzi let it run through her, and then she rescinded before she became too re-attached.

she slipped out quietly, bare feet silent on the cool hardwood. she'd packed a collection of loose dresses for this trip, linen and cotton things that skimmed her body without clinging, the kind of effortless pieces that photographed well for the lifestyle content her team was always pushing. 

you could be a different type of wnba star, her first pr manager had spouted. azzi hadn’t even asked what that meant. the vitriol the woman had slathered across the words told her everything she needed to know. 

so, she just fired her.

after a sleep-soaked huddle underneath the warm spray of the shower, azzi emerged from the ensuite bathroom in a cream-colored slip dress that fell just above her knees, soft as butter against her skin, with a black lace hem. she fortified herself with her regular stack of gold and diamonds, unsurprised to see paige unmoved by the chimes of the jewelry pieces as they ran into one another.

some things never change.

the kitchen was composed of marble countertops and cabinets painted in a shade of electric blue that was just shy of being overstimulating. the windows over the sink and behind the oak-slab table were wide and performed the same framing of the ocean as the others in the house.

azzi admired the view briefly before beginning her search for the coffee machine she had been promised. she made coffee in the kind of ritualistic way that had become her morning meditation: grinding beans, measuring water, waiting for the slow drip. the domesticity of it felt foreign and familiar all at once.

it was a blessing to suck at the teat of regular caffeine instead of the matcha powder she’d been choking down, lest she get caught supporting a brand that she wasn’t an ambassador of. partnership was everything.

she found herself on the small deck overlooking the water, coffee warm between her palms, watching the sun paint the horizon in shades of apricot and rose. the book she'd brought, a different selection than the literary thing her publicist had recommended, lay unopened in her lap. instead, she let herself exist in the space between sleep and waking, between memory and possibility.

she closed her eyes, let everything become the same shade as paige’s preferred blonde.

when paige emerged an hour later, hair sleep-mussed and wearing a well-worn t-shirt, she found azzi exactly where she'd left her mental image: barefoot and golden in the morning light, dress riding up her thighs as she tucked her legs beneath her.

“morning, princess,” paige said, settling into the chair beside her with her own mug. “you're up early.”

“i like the quiet,” azzi replied, opening her eyes but not looking away from the water. the nickname settled at her neck like a stone. “before the world gets a hold of where i am.”

paige hummed in response, before reaching to the side and pulling out her ipad with the casual focus of someone who'd never learned to exist without a screen. game tape, probably. or those stupid tiktoks she's always been addicted to. 

some things never change.

azzi couldn’t help the way her mouth rose in a soft smile, eyes tracking the familiar hunch of paige’s back over the screen. it was only then that she realized the shirt paige had slept in was an old relic of azzi’s uconn days. a white tee with the faded print of her face, the number thirty-five faded in blue on the back.

her chest hurt. it couldn’t seem to stop.

they sat like that for a while, azzi reading passages that didn't stick, paige absorbed in whatever digital rabbit hole she'd fallen into. their silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore. it was full, a bit tense the way good silences were, filled with the sound of pages turning and coffee being sipped and swallowed and the distant crash of waves against rock.

it was easy for azzi to believe that she had made it to that fantasy of domesticity she’d always kept close to her chest. but the truth was that she only had a week of it, because she’d never told the love of her life that she loved her more than allowed, for her entire life.

by midweek, they'd found their perfect cadence. 

azzi would wake first, make coffee, and leave some behind for paige to wake to. then she’d claim her spot on the deck with whatever book she was pretending to focus on. paige would emerge twenty minutes later, ipad in hand, settling into the space with her mug beside her like she belonged there. they'd share the morning without talking much, two people remembering how to exist in the same orbit.

the afternoons belonged to the kitchen.

it started accidentally. azzi had been standing at the marble island, halving peaches with a knife that was too sharp for the job, juice running down her wrists in sticky rivulets. the fruit was perfect, blushed and heavy, the kind of summer abundance that made you understand why people wrote poems about the season.

“hey, careful,” paige had said, appearing at her elbow, voice low and sleep-rough. "you’re gonna lose a finger messin' around like that.”

and then somehow paige was there, her body a warm presence at azzi's side, taking the knife with gentle fingers and finishing the job. her movements were efficient, practiced. she'd always been good with her hands.

“there,” paige said, sliding half a peach across the cutting board, that familiar rasp creeping into her voice. “perfect.”

azzi bit into it without thinking, let the sweetness flood her mouth, and when she looked up, paige was watching her with something that looked like hunger.

after that, they cooked together.

not planned, not discussed. it just happened. azzi would start something—slicing tomatoes for a salad, seasoning the expensive salmon she'd bought—and paige would drift over, find something to do with her hands. busy herself with slipping into azzi’s space. setting the table, opening wine, chopping herbs with the kind of focus she usually reserved for basketball.

the kitchen was small enough that they had to move around each other, a careful choreography that was becoming less careful by the day. paige would reach for salt just as azzi turned from the stove, and their hips would brush. when azzi needed something from the upper cabinet, paige would appear behind her, one hand settling on her lower back while the other reached over her head.

“‘scuse me, princess,” paige would murmur, the words low and familiar, and azzi would lean into the touch before she could stop herself.

“sorry,” one of them would murmur, but neither moved away quickly.

on thursday, azzi decided to make something proper. not just pasta but a whole meal, the way she used to back in the dorms when she'd drag paige kicking and screaming away from takeout. 

she pulled out ingredients like she was conducting an orchestra: wild-caught halibut that cost more than most people's grocery budget, meyer lemons bright as a child’s drawing of the sun, asparagus with stalks thin as pencils, a bottle of sancerre white that had been waiting for either the right moment or the moment where her nerves became too shot to raw the world.

she was at the island, zesting a lemon with focused precision, when paige appeared behind her.

“move, baby,” paige said, voice low and warm, her hands settling on azzi's waist to guide her aside so she could reach the upper cabinet. the pet name slipped out like muscle memory, and neither of them acknowledged it, but azzi felt the heat of paige's palms through the thin fabric of her dress.

“what you need me to do?” paige asked, already washing her hands, settling into the familiar rhythm of being azzi's sous chef.

“asparagus, please,” azzi said, nodding toward the bundle of green spears. “trim the ends, then cut them on the bias. and don't make them too thick—”

“i know how you like them,” paige interrupted, that raspy laugh threading through her voice. “damn, some things really don't change.”

she worked with the same focus she brought to everything, tongue pink and peeking as she concentrated. the kitchen filled with the sound of her knife against the cutting board, steady and sure.

when the fish was ready—skin crispy and golden, flesh flaking perfectly—azzi plated it like she was styling a magazine shoot. the plates themselves were white ceramic things that felt substantial in their hands, but the food was a dream.

halibut nestled against bright green asparagus, lemon butter pooled golden around the edges, microgreens scattered like confetti. azzi poured the wine into proper glasses, turning the bottle expertly so that nothing dripped and stained.

“jesus, az,” paige said, settling across from her at the small dining table. “this is some fancy shit. anthony bourdois and stuff.”

azzi knew paige knew that man’s name, but she laughed as she was supposed to. and because she found it funny.

“anthony bourdain,” azzi said automatically, but she was smiling.

“my bad,” paige grinned, taking a bite. her eyes went wide, then soft. “oh, this is… fuck. sorry. this is really good.”

azzi preened a little, brown eyes deepening with pleasure. 

“this is perfect,” paige said, her voice gone soft and wondering. “like, for real, az. i forgot how good you are at this.”

“it's not that hard,” azzi replied, but she was practically plump with the compliment. cooking for paige had always been her way of taking care of her, making sure she ate something green, something real. “besides, i remember someone who used to live off protein bars and those horrible energy drinks.”

“aye, don't come for my red bulls,” paige laughed, that low rasp making azzi's stomach flip. “those got me through college.”

“those were gonna give you a heart attack and get you through the icu,” azzi countered, cutting another piece of fish. “i had to do something.”

later, after the dishes were done and the wine was finished, they found themselves back on the deck. the sun was setting, painting everything in shades of coral and gold. the ocean seemed on fire, and though azzi had her book again, she'd given up pretending to read it. paige had put the ipad aside, was just sitting there, looking out at the water.

“i forgot how much i liked this,” paige said suddenly.

“what?”

“this. just… being. not having to be anywhere or do anything or perform for anyone.”

azzi looked at her then, really looked. paige's face was soft in the golden light, younger somehow. free of the particular tension she carried in public, the weight of being watched and measured and judged.

“that’s why you came, right?” azzi asked gently, and paige tilted her head so she could look at her.

“yeah, some of it. just got…tired.”

“yeah,” azzi said quietly. “me too.”

by the time they both came to bed, they knew things were irreparably different. things had been skewed back to the lives they’d led before their separation. the sound of azzi brushing her teeth had become paige's lullaby, the signal that the day was officially over, that she could finally begin to let herself sleep. 

they shared the bed without the careful distance of the first two nights. not touching, exactly, but not actively avoiding it either.  when azzi turned over in her sleep, her hand found paige's arm, and paige didn't pull away. there was a sudden silence, and then azzi felt the bed dip as paige curled around her like a flesh half-moon.

she smelled different. lighter. azzi caught a whiff of l’eau d’issey rising from the nape of paige’s neck: cool, sheer, mineralic. plastic lotus blossoms on a reflective silver pond. it was what paige wore when she wanted to go to bed feeling more like a girl and less like a woman, more like a girl and less like a god.

azzi didn’t even know she remembered what paige wore to bed.

(she did.)

some rhythms, it seemed, were too deep to break.

friday broke bright and new, and with it the bittersweet realization that they had two days left to spend wrapped around one another. that was all they had; two more mornings, two more nights. azzi felt it in her chest like the ghost of a bruise.

she was determined to make the most of it.

she woke early as usual, but forwent her typical routine. her shower came and went, steam curling around her like phantom ribbons. when she stepped out, she was already dressed, wrapped in a sleek, white long-sleeved one-piece that looked more architectural than athletic. the tailored seams tracked elegant, merciless lines down her body. waist cinched, sleeves sharp, legs carved out in clean sweeps of muscle. 

the zipper at the front was undone just enough to draw the eye, resting at the softest dip of her chest, letting the curves of her breasts peek out, intentional and knowing. the fabric caught the light, made her body look even more divine, like she’d stepped from a film still.

paige, sprawled across the bed in a tank top and boxer shorts, nearly choked. her mouth went a little slack; she forgot what she’d been about to say. the brown slope of azzi’s thighs was enough to make paige’s mouth go dry, hunger pooling at the base of her tongue. her blue eyes caught hard on the swell of azzi’s ass when she turned to grab a small blue and white striped canvas tote. paige didn’t even pretend not to look.

azzi turned back around with a slow grin, catching the quick flush that had already started to rise up paige’s neck.

“come on, cool girl. get ready.” her voice was warm, edged with amusement. “we’re going to the beach.”

the walk wasn’t long. just a soft, simple turn around the house and a stroll down the manicured path to the shoreline. still, everything felt momentous. 

the day was already heavy with heat, as if it had been boiling last evening and was now bursting. the beach itself was empty enough that azzi took her sunglasses off, unafraid of being seen. 

she was barefoot, curls frizzed at the edges, eyes salt-slick and bright with that calm kind of joy that came with being near the sea. there was no one to see her but paige, and that was enough.

behind her, paige followed, bikini black and spare, skin bronzed in uneven patches from too many hours lying out alone before azzi arrived. her tan lines dipped low across her stomach, disappeared under the band of her suit bottoms. she looked ridiculously beautiful. the type of woman you’d see on a postcard and write about ten years later.

azzi glanced back. smiled to herself.

she liked the idea of what they must’ve looked like: her in white, paige in black. a mirrored negative. duality made literal. it was reflective of them. the world often felt singular and simple when they were together. 

things fell into the realm of paige-and-azzi, and what was not simply fell out of it.

“az,” paige called, voice caught between a whine and a wheeze, “can you just tell me what we’re doing?”

azzi turned, lips already tugged upward, curls bouncing as she walked. “i’m going to teach you how to surf.”

paige blinked. “huh?”

azzi didn’t answer, only laughed, light and delighted as she pointed toward the surf shack in the distance.

it took her a few minutes to find the surf shack, but a few minutes later (after minimal bribery and a borrowed id), azzi returned triumphant with two long turquoise boards, balanced easily beneath her arms like they weighed nothing.

she guided paige to the water’s edge, where the tide frothed at their ankles, and then further still, until the boards bobbed between them.

paige, of course, was exactly how azzi imagined she’d be: stubborn, impatient, flailing.

“you've got to paddle sooner,” azzi called from the break, wiping salt from her brow. “you keep waiting too long.”

paige coughed, breathless, clinging to the surfboard as if it was going to save her from more than drowning. “you’re literally a professional athlete.”

azzi shrugged, grinning slyly. “so are you.”

the water was warmer than expected, flecked with sunlight and the faint tang of algae. everything felt lush. sticky with summer. a breeze teased through the salt-thick air, carrying the scent of sunscreen, driftwood, crushed shells, and something sweet paige couldn’t place.

eventually, miraculously, paige caught a wave. only for a second. two seconds, maybe. but she was upright, alive in the motion, and azzi screamed so loudly from the shoreline that a gull flapped off in terror.

they laughed all the way back up the dunes, limbs wet and trembling. sand stuck to their shins, towels slung carelessly across their shoulders. azzi’s skin glowed gold in the setting sun, the long light catching every curve and ridge like it was sculpting her from scratch. paige didn’t say a word. she didn’t need to. her silence was reverent. eyes soft, fixed. she couldn’t stop looking.

 she felt too full of azzi to speak.

the house loomed ahead, blue and wide and a little too quiet. another cruel body of water to swallow them. paige felt the day slipping away as they approached it. azzi slipped her hand into paige’s for one beat, warm and solid, before veering off toward the side of the house without a word.

paige didn’t ask where she was going. she already knew.

the outside shower was tucked away in the corner of the deck, half-hidden by slatted wood. the water had already started—a low hiss, steady and rhythmic, a sound that felt older than memory. pine trees rustled overhead, wind threading through the steam like fingers through hair.

azzi’s hum floated up from behind the slats. low, off-key, gentle. paige didn’t recognize the song, but it sat on the tip of her tongue, half-remembered. like something she’d once been told in the dark. something whose sweetness she could only recall if she sucked its juice from azzi’s mouth.

the decision came easily. unthinking. paige stepped off the deck, padded barefoot through the warm grass, and slipped behind the slats.

when paige stepped into the small, steamy alcove, the air shifted. azzi didn’t flinch. she didn’t turn. she just tilted her chin slightly, made room like she’d known paige would come.

the water slid down her back in gleaming sheets, catching the curve of her spine, tracing the indent of her waist, and pooling at the small of it. the soft weight of her curls clung damp to her shoulders, steam turning the ones at her temple’s edge soft and sweet. she was almost too beautiful to look at directly.

paige’s swimsuit slipped off easily. wet fabric gliding down her body, aimless and forgotten on the floorboards. she stepped in closer and pressed against azzi, bare chest to bare back. her arms looped around azzi’s waist, her fingers splaying just beneath the curve of her ribs. skin met skin, warm and wet and so achingly familiar. azzi let her. she didn’t say a word.

paige tested her limit, pressed her lips to azzi’s shoulder, slow and reverent. lapped up the remaining salt. 

another kiss. 

then another. 

then another. 

salt caked her mouth. steam smothered her lungs.

“i missed you,” she whispered, deep into azzi’s skin. then again. and again. the words turned desperate, came faster, wet and unyielding like the ocean had turned her loose, and now she couldn’t stop spilling out. “i missed you. i missed you. i missed you.” 

the words were raw, like they had been locked behind her teeth for years and now refused to stay in.

azzi turned slowly, water coursing between them. her eyes swept over paige’s face: pink brow, trembling mouth, eyes glassy and brimming with emotion, cheeks ruddy. her hand came up and cradled the back of paige’s neck, firm and careful.

she didn’t say anything. and then she kissed her.

it wasn’t tender. it wasn’t gentle. it was hungry. familiar. a crash, more than a meeting. like she was trying to drink paige down, swallow every last second they’d been apart.

water ran between them, hot and insistent. their bodies pressed together, slick and unyielding. paige was in her bloodstream, azzi in hers. paige's hands slipped down azzi’s back, found her hips. azzi kissed her like she wanted her ruined, like paige was a prayer and the answer both.

they moved together like muscle memory. like instinct. like nothing had ever come between them except time, and time had finally given up.

there had never truly been two people. they had always been this. one thing in two bodies. a pulse shared across years since they were sixteen, and teeming with their first tastes of romantic affection.

the water kept running. the sun began to fall, streaking the sky a torturous red. for that moment, in the warm hush of steam and pine and skin, nothing was lost.

they knew.

they’d always known.

on the last morning, the house was quiet.

the silence felt intentional. the house was stagnant with the dread that always came with goodbyes. the walls had heard enough. the floors seemed to soften their creaks in respect.

azzi stirred first. slipped from the sheets, then stopped. turned back.

she lay herself down gently, stretching across paige’s body like she couldn’t help it. gravity had chosen a different path for her instead. her cheek found paige’s collarbone. the rest of her settled into place, limbs all long and warm and drowsy.

for a moment, they didn’t move. but she knew the other woman was awake.

paige ran her fingers along azzi’s spine, slow and steady, tracing the line of a coastline she already knew by heart. the dips, the curves, the familiar tenderness. azzi exhaled. pressed closer. paige kissed the crown of her head. 

once. then again. made no effort to stop her hand from smoothing over the dip of azzi’s back, her waist.

there were no words, no need. just this aching tenderness, the hush of early light slipping across their bodies, and the sound of something unspoken being understood.

when azzi finally moved to leave, she did it slowly. her lips brushed paige’s temple first, then the corner of her mouth, then paused like she might say something, but didn’t. she only looked at her, doe eyes soft and teeth peeking from under her top lip, like i love you lived there and always had.

paige didn’t follow her downstairs. it was easier to listen to the gentle thud of her sandals and the screen door whispering shut. she stayed curled up in the bed, body rocking, still in the ocean from the days before, wearing her sleep tee like a loose shield.

through the blinds, she watched azzi load her things into the back of her cherry land rover. her curls were half-wet again, face bare, sunglasses pushed up in her hair. she looked like a dream you had where you felt the best you ever had, but could never get quite right when relaying it in conversation.

they didn’t need a speech. not this time. nothing had broken. they’d just fallen out of orbit for a while. but gravity was patient. and paige had always been a slow-burn kind of girl.

the car rolled down the drive and disappeared behind a bend of trees.

paige didn’t cry, not really. but her eyes stung in that way that felt inherited. a return of the sadness she'd borrowed from the younger version of herself, that she’d never outrun. she stared at the ceiling. let the ache crest and soften.

then her phone buzzed.

a text, first.

➳ come visit me, please. ➳ missed you so much.

and then the photos: a quiet icloud link drop, an album titled a&p east coast week, filled with images paige hadn’t known were being taken. azzi had been watching. always. 

a blurred photo of them on the dunes, paige snorting with laughter. a shot of their coffee mugs on the deck. a grainy zoom of the low dip of paige’s bikini bottom on their walk back from the surf. a screenshot of a playlist code, a half-assed grocery list. a pale photo of the ocean in the morning. a photo of paige asleep, limbs splayed and face young.

fifteen minutes passed. then paige responded.

no words, just a screenshot of a one-way ticket. lax.

azzi loved it. pink heart, blue bubble, and all.

paige rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, breathing through the salt-heat in her stomach, the stillness of the morning. nothing was solved. nothing had to be.

no promises. no titles. just the quiet, sure thing they’d always been.

they’d always come back to each other.

they already had.

somewhere in the distance, the waves kept folding in.

© hcneymooners.

[anonity]

Haven't update for 1week! Please don't ghost us after you drop the new chap😭

I PROMISE IM NOT i was locked in as a camp counselor this week but imma try to write some after the gym today

[anonity]

Fantastic when are they fucking

if y'all don't start acting cordial 😭

[anonity]

Any chance “Just You” will be complete? That sounds interesting…

LOL i'm not going to even lie to you guys when i say i completely lost the draft but i'll start rewriting it tonight and try to have it out sometime this week

[anonity]

Love the new series!!!!! Very very excited to read more:)

thank you!! glad you guys like it <3

[anonity]

random but can u pls link the just you fic 😔 i cant find it, ive been digging, tysm 🫶🫶

ohhh man i actually think i scrapped that, give me a few and i'll see if i can find it in my drafts sweet

[anonity]

Why don’t some of your links work in your master-list?

ummm if they’re in italics they’re probably drafts i haven’t finished 😬 which ones are you looking for?

[anonity]

sorry if I have you mistaken with someone else, but did you have a series called Can’t Be Friends that you’ve deleted? bc I loved it and was looking for it the other day and can’t find it 😭

i am very sorry but i haven’t deleted any fics 😞 does anyone else know who wrote this series?

[anonity]

to break a horse | chapter one

wc: ~3.5k warnings: n/a a/n: i will actually finish this series. i have an outline in my google docs, i promise LOL

“this isn’t something i’m willing to budge on.”

the room is cold, minimalistic only in the way that a modeling agency can be. monica sits across from azzi, scowl practically reflecting against the marble of her counter. “you’ve never budged on anything." she says. "ever.”

“i have,” azzi replies indignantly, even though she most definitely has not. her agent doesn’t even spare her a glance, too busy searching through google's results for authentic ranches in texas panhandle to pay her any mind.

“why don’t you tell me, again, why you won’t just do this in new york?” monica asks, as politely as someone inconvenienced to this extent can. the bone of her thumb taps against her desktop.

azzi sighs, a tad dramatically. “because modeling is so fake.” she complains. “everything’s fake. i never get to do anything real, and if my face –” azzi pauses, gesturing to the air at nothing – “is going to be on this, i want it to reflect me.”

monica pauses her typing. “which is..”

which is.. what, exactly? azzi isn’t really sure. she doesn’t feel like she knows herself at all – not outside of the cameras and public eye. but she does know what she wants to be, which is.. “real.”

“right,” monica scoffs, sounding unimpressed. “because you grew up in texas?”

azzi shuffles uncomfortably, because no, she did not grow up in texas. she didn’t really grow up anywhere, because she’d been scouted at 14 and had been doing random modeling gigs in states a far-cry from home since. so she hums, a little wary to reply, and monica raises an overly judgmental eyebrow.

“well, no,” azzi starts, and monica immediately lets out the biggest sigh known to man. seriously, her shoulders heave with the effort of it. azzi does her best not to roll her eyes. “but i’m honest, and being honest means not doing a texas shoot in new york city.”

there’s not really anything monica can do – azzi’s already been signed for the cover. that won’t stop her from complaining, though, as she pushes her keyboard closer to the edge of her desk. “you’re lucky you’re hot, because you’re a major pain in my ass.”

azzis entire team scrambles for the next three days, trying to find literally anyone willing to accommodate a dozen interns and photographers. it doesn’t help that the scrambling is very last minute – they’d all been under the assumption that someone (monica) would be able to talk some level of sense into azzi. she hadn’t.

monica doesn’t call her again until friday, and she sounds very unamused when azzi picks up. “i just had dale send you pictures. please check and see if it fits your ultra-specific needs, your royal highn-ass.”

azzi’s sitting on her kitchen barstool, kicking her feet as she puts monica on speaker and moves to imessage. in the past few years she’s gotten exceptionally good at ignoring monicas tone. she does so now, humming out a contented “ooooh yeah,” when the photos appear. “this is cool.” azzi twists, moving to set her phone down on the counter and resting her chin in her hands as she swipes through each image. “who’s the cowboy?”

“it’s a cowgirl. and she negotiated $25,000 out of us.”

azzi gapes. “holy shit.”

“yeah, apparently it's part of her charm,” monica scoffs. “dale offered her money she, quote unquote, ‘couldn’t refuse’, and then when she did refuse, she decided she wanted to add an inconvenience fee. of $5,000.” monica groans, like the money is coming out of her pocket. “and then allegedly dale sassed her about it." azzi can't see monica, but she can imagine the way she lifts her hand in irritation. really, dale? "she ended up making him double our original offer of 10 grand.”

azzi is suddenly very interested in this haggling cowgirl. “she sounds real," she grins.

monica is decidedly not interested. “she better be fuckin’ real,” she grumbles. “nearly 25 grand for some field we could’ve photoshopped.”

the sun is setting when paige finally sits down, elbows meeting the kitchen counter with little grace. the windows above her sink let pretty light scatter in, making the dust in the air look a little more like glitter. she squints at her newest email.

from: monica@frameworkmgmt.com subject: Vogue - Contract Details attachments: 3

each attachment is a pdf with varying versions of the subject "contract details". the font seems to get smaller with each one she opens. paige isn’t stupid, but she thinks half of the words in them are made up – corporate city folk must walk around with dictionaries and thesauruses, trying to one-up the laymen around them with language like synergy and bandwidth.

the further she scrolls, the more azzi fudd’s name seems to appear; in headers, footers, sprinkled throughout like an adjective and bolded like a statement. paige comes to the reasonable conclusion that this must be what all the fuss surrounding her farm is about, and she opens a new tab to investigate: azzi fudd net worth.

google estimates 4.3 million. paige resists the urge to roll her eyes. for all that money, you’d think she could afford to be normal.

paige switches to images and is greeted with a typical model: tall and objectively gorgeous, with dark curls framing her face and manicured nails that have likely never touched dirt. she’s apparently going to be on the cover of vogue's newest edition: cowboy couture, (paige googles the word couture next and does roll her eyes).

she has been instructed not to talk about the cover, lest it be “leaked”. which is ridiculous, because paige doubts anyone in a fifty mile radius knows what vogue is, let alone gives a shit about it. she sure doesn’t.

the side door creaks then, and paige spares a glance at the taller shadow now entering the kitchen. drew is 15, looking tanner since school let out, and he’s balancing an oversized bag of chicken feed in his hands. he kicks the door shut with his heel, letting out an exaggerated phew! at the foods weight.

paige squints. “why didn’t you leave that in the barn?”

her brother huffs like he can’t be bothered to answer, dropping the bag unceremoniously by the door. “the raccoons got into it last night.”

“we’re gonna have to get one of them tubs to put it in,” paige says. “i ain’t draggin’ that back and forth between the coop everyday.”

drew rolls his eyes, choosing not to add fuel to paiges complaining as he kicks his boots off. when he’s done, he meanders over to where she’s sitting, looking over her shoulder curiously. “did you sign it?”

paige hums, leaning back in her chair and gesturing vaguely in the direction of her laptop. “no,” she replies. “i’ve been too busy trying to figure out what a ‘lookbook’ day is.”

paige reaches into a bag on the counter, drops a few sunflower seeds in her mouth, and chews with mock-interest as she clicks back over to the azzi fudd net worth tab. “also, the chicks worth more than this town apparently.”

drew snorts, looking equally uninterested in the model. “cool. maybe she can buy it and bulldoze riley’s house.”

paige barks a laugh. “from your mouth to God’s ears.”

a week later, azzi pulls into paige's driveway.

well, azzi’s driver pulls into paiges driveway. if you can even call it that. it’s gravel, not pavement, and there are huge divots where water has eroded the path. their two-wheel drive cadillac escalade is doing its very best in the terrain, but it looks obnoxiously sleek in the dirt.

the car comes to a stop just outside the farmhouse, and everyone in the vehicle holds their breath as the rocks beneath it shift. the house in front of them was probably gorgeous in its prime, built from red-painted wood siding, and naturally distressed by years of standing.

boasting two stories, the front door leads out onto a… well loved, azzi thinks, porch. one of the steps up to it is broken on one side, hanging uselessly, and one of the boards across the center looks suspiciously brand new. an oil lamp swings from a hook at the front, and azzi wonders what century they’ve stepped into.

or what century has stepped out of it, because just as the thought passes, the door swings open, and azzis eyes land on quite possibly the hottest woman she has ever bared witness to.

she’s tall, maybe even taller than azzi, wearing a loose tank top that looks to have originally been a t-shirt. she does have boots on, (azzi feels a little self-satisfied that people do wear boots in real life) but they’re covered by straight-legged cargos fraying at the edges.

upon closer inspection (from the safety of her cadillacs tinted windows) the corners of each cargo pocket have lazily stitched cloth in them – fixed with material that conveniently matches the faded black of her shirt.

hot and crafty – this cowgirl might be God.

azzi feels a little dazed as she steps out of the vehicle, waving politely at her driver. he’s looking in the rearview mirror, eyebrows furrowed in thinly-veiled concern.

paige does not say hi, or even introduce herself. she just leans over the porches splintering guardrail, forearms braced against it, and shouts, “is he gonna be able to get out of here?”

azzi glances skeptically over at her driver, who looks like he’s asking himself the same question. then he throws the vehicle into reverse, presses on the gas, and sits stiffly as the wheels spin.

boots thump against gravel. “is that thing two wheel drive?”

azzi scrunches her nose, glancing back at the driver. he nods sheepishly. paige raises an eyebrow. the entire scene is absolutely ridiculous.

after a few more embarrassingly long seconds, paige sighs and pulls her phone out. it rings once, twice, then three times before someone picks up.

“answer your phone faster,” she grunts. there's light bickering on the other end of the phone, words azzi can’t make out, and then paige says, “i need you to come out here with one of them wood panels from the basement.”

azzi thinks she hears “why?” from the phone and has to school the smile off her face. there has to be a sibling on the other end of the line – at least, she hopes its a sibling. it could be a girlfriend. that would be tragic.

paige rolls her eyes. “there’s a cadillac stuck in our drive.”

a few minutes pass, filled by paige's silent judgement of their vehicle, before a kid emerges on the front porch. he looks young, tanner than paige and not quite as muscular, in basketball shorts and a tank top. definitely not a girlfriend.

he shuffles over to paige, straightening when he notices azzi’s stare. “hi, i’m drew.”

“azzi,” she smiles. finally, someone with manners. “your house is beautiful.”

their conversation is interrupted by paige throwing the panel down behind the back tires. when she stands up straight again, she slaps the side of the vehicle like it's a horse and azzi winces, completely involuntarily. she sheepishly glances over at the driver for a reaction, but he seems to have resigned himself to the situation.

paige circles around then, peering in through the driver-side window. “do not floor it,” she says. “go slow. and the turn radius on this thing is awful, so you’re probably going to have to reverse a few times.” then she glances behind her shoulder, eyeing the ground for a second. “unless you think you can pull a U-ey in the field.”

azzi does not, in fact, think anyone is going to be pulling a U-ey in this field. her driver is silent, likely trying to save himself further humiliation. paige shrugs like she’d expected as much and then backs up, jerking her head to the side. “give her a try.”

the driver presses on the gas, the engine giving a low, strained noise like it, too, was embarrassed to be there. paige looks entirely unimpressed, even as the escalade catches on panel and jerks. when it rolls off the wood, it reverses like there was never an issue to begin with. the driver sighs in relief. “thank God.”

“thank paige,” she corrects.

azzi doesn’t think she’s ever seen a car look rushed before, but her cadillac peels out of the driveway like it has somewhere to be. and now she’s standing alone in a gravel drive with a mildly irritated looking cowgirl and her younger brother.

paige gives her one deeply unimpressed up-and-down look, eyes likely catching on the dior engraving on her shoes, before turning back to the house. azzi stands in place for a second, brain lagging, before she jogs to catch up.

paige steps over the broken step with ease, not even sparing a glance back as she pulls the handle of her screen door. “don’t break your ankle. stairs need fixed.”

okay. so hot, crafty, and apparently holding a strong disinterest in azzi. cool.

she’s led back into their kitchen. it looks like they’ve already eaten, a bowl of green beans sitting on the counter and two abandoned plates in the sink. drew and paige. definitely no girlfriend. score.

except that paige doesn’t seem to be looking for one. especially not in her. she leans onto the kitchen island, looking at azzi who is standing rather awkwardly in the entrance to the room. “i thought i’s’sposed to be pickin’ you up tomorrow mornin'?”

“uhh,” azzi answers, brain short circuiting for a moment. no one in the history of ever has looked so hot leaned against a counter top – tanned forearms, broad shoulders... the silence has drew lifting his head. “well – my team got into amarillo late,” she explains, finally. “and nico didn’t want to be driving in the dark –”

“oh, no, of course not” paige cuts in, eyes wide with mock concern. “wouldn’t want that cadillac to see a dirt road.”

azzi blinks. she was already nervous about talking to paige, and now her planned conversation has been derailed. she's not really sure how to respond.

paige lifts a glass to her mouth, drinking loudly, and then adds, “it might explode.”

azzi gives a weak laugh. “anyways..” she starts awkwardly. “they um, they thought they could drop me off here. and you could, like, take me into town.”

paige's jaw nearly drops. it’s the most emotion azzi thinks shes seen from her all night. “they’re not coming back for you?”

azzi glances unsurely at drew for help. he offers none. “no?” her response lilts at the end like a question, even though it most definitely is not one. her only vehicle is already northbound for amarillo. no one is coming back for her. “how far is talco?” she asks, hoping to change the subject. “like ten minutes?”

suddenly, paige looks very amused, a smirking pulling at her liips as her fingers tap against the countertop. it’s worrying. “ohh,” she replies. “i didn’t realize you were staying in talco. it’s like eight minutes from here.”

she sets her glass down, rounding the corner. she looks kind of like a wild cat stalking prey. in any other scenario, azzi would find it hot. “have you checked it out yet?” she asks.

azzi shakes her head, sensing trouble. “i haven’t.”

“have you seen schitts creek?”

“..no.”

“you’re about to,” paige says.

azzi feels her concern grow rampantly. this night has gone from awkward to awful. “what is that, a movie?”

there's the distinct sound of keys being grabbed off the counter. azzi’s so stressed she doesn’t even have time to linger on the tendons in paige's hand, the way her long fingers hook onto the metal of it – alright, she lingers for a second. paige is still smirking. “c’mon, hollywood. haelyn’s going to love you.”

dread curls low in azzis stomach.

the entire eight minute drive is silent.

like, completely silent.

gravel had crunched underneath the truck as they left, and the engine had sputtered in a way that made azzi believe for a moment that the truck might die, but that had been it. no radio – not even static. she wasn’t even sure paige was breathing. azzi had considered opening the door of paige’s f-250 and jumping out. she hadn’t been able to find the handle.

finally seeing the lights of talco felt like finding the holy grail; salvation in the shape of a sign reading population: 258. that is, until paige's truck sputters to a stop outside of the red sky inn. and it is nothing like azzi had imagined.

“um..” she begins, eloquently. “is this it?”

paige nods, face perfectly schooled into a careless expression. so perfectly schooled, in fact, azzi could be convinced that paige actually doesn’t give a fuck.

she leans forward in her seat, the leather of it creaking in protest, and squints. “i don’t think it is.”

paige doesn’t even consider. “it is.”

is it, though?

the motel looks like it's falling apart. and that's being generous. it's built with cheap white vinyl, cracked and unattractively sun bleached in all the wrong places. the bottom foundation is brick, which maybe could have been nice if the grout in between each piece wasn’t the color of dried blood. resembling the setting for a serial killers netflix documentary, azzi has no doubt that someone is definitely hiding bodies here.

azzi twists to look behind them, then in front, and then back to paige. she’s more than a little anxious. “how can you be sure?”

“this is the only motel in town,” she deadpans.

“there has to –”

“i grew up here,” paige cuts in, careless. “this is it. red sky inn. welcome to talco, texas.”

a beat.

okay, so, paige is not funny. at all. but she’s got this little amused glint in her eye, like this is what must have been so funny in the kitchen, and azzi realizes then that she knew. paige had let azzi pack up her dior skincare and silk pajamas into the back of this truck with the knowledge that she was booking a ticket to a meth lab.

no, paige is not funny. paige is evil. like a siren, she uses her bulky muscle and long fingers to lead confused city girls straight to trashy motels in nowhere, america.

azzi’s going to have a breakdown in the passenger seat of this beat up ford.

at her silence, paige raises an eyebrow. ���did you not look before you booked it?”

azzi’s jaw drops just slightly, like the insinuation baffles her. “i don’t book my own hotels,” she says, scandalized. her brows furrow out the window – her manager books her hotels. her manager who is now dead to her.

“okay, well,” paige starts. azzi thinks paige might laugh, although the sound is dry and she doesn’t smile when she does it, just kind of huffs. “this isn’t a hotel, first of all. M as in motel.” paige gestures to one of the doors out front, white with broken screening that’s been taped shut. “and you’re gonna have to go ask haelyn for your key.”

azzi shifts awkwardly. please get me out of this.

there has to be some other option. she has stayed in nothing but five-star mini penthouses since her career took off. “i was hoping it would be… a little nicer,” she says, sheepishly side-eyeing paige. perhaps if she looks pathetic and lost enough, this obviously unamused cowgirl will take pity and drive her to the nearest city.

paige does not take pity. matter of fact, no matter how pathetic azzi seems to appear, she has yet to do anything more than glance in azzi’s direction. instead, she scoffs, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. “well, hope ain’t a plan, sweetheart.”

okay. well. azzi’s fucked. and now she has to go meet stupid harley or haelyn or whatever the fuck, and hope that her room isn’t infested with bedbugs or lice. azzi takes in a deep breath to psyche herself up for this dooms-night and reaches for the handle of the door.

she meets nothing.

“uhhh,” azzi hums, which is something she seems to be doing a lot lately. uhhh, ummmm, hmmm…. please fill my sentence for me, because i clearly have forgotten how to function.

paige looks over. this must be a common issue with people in her vehicle, (or maybe they’re soulmates and paige can read her mind) because she doesn’t have to ask azzi what uhhh is supposed to denote. “handles at the bottom of the – nope, to the – yup.”

who the hell puts a door handle there?

azzi barely gets her luggage out of the backseat before paige is leaning over. “see you tomorrow, hollywood.”

azzi yanks her suitcase with a little more force than necessary, stumbling a little as it gets caught in one of the cracks on the staircase up to the motel. i’m from fucking new york, dickweed.

[anonity]

i thought u finally posted a fic… but does this mean we’re getting the first chapter today? 🫣

LOL i can post it here in a few i have to put my chickens up first

[anonity]

to break a horse | x.xk

modeling star azzi fudd refuses to do vogues “cowboy couture” photoshoot in new york, which leads her straight to the hottest woman she’s ever seen: paige bueckers.

paige is an entirely unimpressed rancher that is only participating for the pretty looking paycheck she’s been offered. but maybe, eventually, the girl that comes with it looks just a little prettier.

chapter one - 3.5k

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

[anonity]

say when

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.0k

c/w - light smut, they get a little emo lol sorry

a/n - hi! as always, pls lmk what yall think, i love to hear from you guys <33 hope u enjoy babies. also, based off this prompt

paige bueckers is amazing at basically everything she’s ever done.

singing? they don’t call her p-yoncé for nothing. sports? she’s got trophies from every single one. basketball? her nil money speaks for itself. ipad? oh, she is so good at ipad. don’t even get her started about ipad.

she takes a lot of pride in her many, many talents. and her biggest one? the one she spends every day of her entire life living up to?

being azzi fudd’s dutiful, loyal, obsessed girlfriend.

so, one summer, when paige was in high school, her little sister got sick and their mom made paige stay home to babysit. which paige wouldn’t have minded, except it meant she had to sit on the couch and watch a full day’s worth of barbie life in the dreamhouse episodes. which is about five seasons too many, if you were to ask teenage paige.

but there was this sub-plot of the show (not that the show had a plot to begin with) in which barbie’s (boyfriend? side piece? fwb? paige has never been too sure), ken, is like, obsessed with her. his world revolves around her. so much so that he has this thing called ‘barbie senses’, and he literally senses when she needs help.

later that night, as paige complained to azzi over facetime about the stupid show and how she’d watched enough in one day to last her a lifetime, azzi had told paige that she’s like ken. when cool, nonchalant, totally-not-crushing-on-her-best-friend paige had replied incredulously, azzi’d just laughed and said, “you are. like with me. you have…azzi senses.” when she’d followed up with, “you just always know when i need you,” paige had internally declared that maybe the stupid show wasn’t so stupid after all.

even now, all these many years later, the sentiment sticks with paige. she’d never tell azzi, as she knows her girlfriend would tease her to an early grave about it, but she keeps it tucked away as one of her (again, many) talents.

and, well, paige’s azzi senses have been tingling for awhile now.

the tension started this morning, when paige had missed her alarm and woken up to a missed call. she’d texted her girlfriend good morning, letting her know she had to rush to class and that she’d call her later, which led azzi to believe she was purposely ignoring her, which got paige a little defensive, which ended in a baby argument. they said their i love you’s before hanging up but they haven’t really texted all day and paige doesn’t feel good about it.

maybe the tension actually started last night, when paige accidentally woke azzi up while she was sneaking out of her bed. she’d tried to be quiet, but her girlfriend ran a tight ship and woke up as soon as she realized paige was gone.

“what’re you doing?” she’d grumbled, and paige winced at how she already sounded cranky, likely due to the long day they’d had and the fact her knee was bothering her.

“uh,” paige said, and considered just crawling back into bed, but she really needed to be in her own room tonight, “i got classes early as hell, mama. i gotta sleep in my own bed.”

all of a sudden, azzi seemed much more awake than she did thirty seconds before. which scared paige, just a little. “what, you don’t sleep well with me or something?”

which in turn annoyed paige a little. “nah, baby, you know it’s not like that.”

to which azzi had sighed and turned over, her back facing paige as she huffed about something or other. paige didn’t let herself take it too serious, sure her girlfriend was just tired, and had given her a few kisses and an apology before leaving.

if she’s being honest with herself (which is not one of paige’s many talents, if you were wondering), the tension started a week ago, when azzi landed on her knee wrong in practice and got so scared that when they took her back to examine her, she ended up clawing at her own chest, unable to breathe, telling paige that she ‘can’t do this again, oh my god, i can’t fucking do this again, please.’

it was nothing, a minor sprain that happened to hurt a lot, and everybody was incredibly fucking relieved. but azzi was still benched for the week as a precaution, and her already fucked-up knee was bothering her more than a healthy knee would, and whenever paige tried to bring it up she’d say something along the lines of, “it’s fine, paige, just scared me a little.”

so, yeah. paige’s azzi senses are tingling bad. it’s almost painful. she’s decided, now that it’s friday, to have a date night. when she calls, she’s a little afraid azzi won’t even pick up, all things considered, but she does on the first ring.

“hey,” azzi says, voice a little unreadable.

“hey, baby,” paige replies, checking her mirrors before turning into the parking lot. “i, uh, was thinkin’ we could do something tonight. we haven’t had a date night in awhile.”

“a date night?” there’s silence, and then a sigh crackling through the speakers of paige’s car. “i don’t know if i’m up to go out, p.”

“no, no, i know,” paige rushes to say, steering into a parking spot and switching her audio to her phone before turning the car off. “sorry, can you hear me?”

“uh-huh.”

“well, i was jus’ thinking a movie night. i’m out right now, i’ma get some snacks, and you could pick a movie. i just…” trying to tread carefully here, she sighs, glancing out the window before back at her phone, “i know it’s been a rough week, and i miss you.”

another moment of silence, enough to make paige worry that azzi is more upset than she originally thought, but then, “i miss you too.” azzi sounds almost sheepish when she says, “i’m sorry—about this morning, and last night. i feel bad.”

“you know it’s all good, mama,” paige replies. “we can talk about it when i get there, m’kay? but we’re good.”

“yeah?”

“always.”

✮✮✮

paige stands in the chip aisle, sends her seventh text of the evening, and thinks they will definitely not be okay if azzi keeps leaving her on delivered.

barbecue? sour cream & onion? salt & vinegar?

…jalapeño?

no response.

baby please i can’t decide

help. me.

still nothing.

she considers just grabbing all of them, but then she’ll look unhinged at checkout, and she’s already made intense eye contact with an old woman who saw her talking to herself by the kettle chips. she has to leave, like, an hour ago.

“aight,” she mutters aloud, trying her hardest to decide which chips are the sexiest. “barbecue is classic but is it like, hot? sour cream & onion? shit, bad breath. uh…salt & vinegar? ew, never mind.” she presses her lips together, hands on her hips as she surveys the options. “you know what? azzi’s yummy. azzi’s kettle-cooked jalapeño.”

(back in her dorm, azzi pauses her book mid-sentence and wonders briefly if paige will bring kettle-cooked jalapeño chips. she really hopes paige will bring kettle-cooked jalapeño chips).

✮✮✮

paige lets herself in quietly, careful not to drop any of the grocery bags she’s juggling. the last thing she needs is for azzi to catch her slipping with a plastic tub of movie theater popcorn and calling her ‘uncoordinated’ again. which was extremely offensive the first time it happened and paige’s ego just can’t take another hit like that.

the dorm is dim, warm. cozy in that particular way azzi always manages to make it—unicorn plushies left out, pink throw pillows just slightly askew, vanilla candles melted down to the wick. paige sets the bags down and gets to work in the kitchen, pulling out bowls and cups and wondering briefly whether coach would cry if he saw the pure amount of salt and sugar laid before her.

“hey,” ice says, walking into the kitchen wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. “watchu being loud for?”

“it’s eight o’clock on a friday,” paige replies, pulling out the flowers and plushie she got for azzi. “can you help me carry some of this?”

ice’s gaze wanders over the gifts. “did y’all fight?”

“no. seriously, help me out.”

“really?” ice takes the cups in one hand and a bowl in the other. “because she was acting like a bitch this morning and we couldn’t figure out why.”

“yo,” paige says, raising an eyebrow.

ice rolls her eyes. “sorry, she was acting like a butthead this morning.”

“still offensive,” paige replies, pressing her lips together as she focuses on simultaneously holding two bowls, a teddy bear, and the bouquet. “and still no. we just had a little argument, but we’re cool.”

they begin walking down the hallway, and ice takes a sip from what’s supposed to be azzi’s cup. “so the gifts are for…?”

“she’s had a hard week,” paige says, lowering her voice as they get closer to azzi’s room.

“with her knee?” ice asks.

“i think so, yeah. that’s kinda what i’m tryna figure out.” they come to a stop in front of azzi’s door, and paige hovers for a moment, hands-less, until ice realizes and reaches out to help her.

inside, the room smells like body spray and azzi’s hair products. her led lights are on, set to the soft pink she likes to sleep with, and azzi’s an adorable-looking lump under the covers. paige has to physically refrain herself from squealing.

ice sets the snacks on azzi’s bedside, mutters a sarcastic, “don’t have too much fun,” and exits, leaving the two of them alone.

paige sets her things down, too, and carefully arranges them before sitting on the bed, gently jostling azzi’s shoulder. “az, hey,” she whispers, trying not to startle her and feeling a little bad for waking her at all. “lemme see you, baby.”

azzi grumbles a little, and paige may or may not get war flashbacks from last night, but then azzi is turning onto her back and smiling sleepily up at her even as her eyes stay closed.

“goofy,” paige says, brushing her fingers tenderly over azzi’s cheek. “why you tryna fall asleep on our date night?”

azzi’s smile turns a little guilty as she says, “i needed a power nap,” but then she’s wrapping her arms around paige’s neck and pulling her down for a kiss and she’s never been anything but perfect.

“fair,” paige mutters against her lips. “i hope it was powerful, because i come bearing gifts.”

finally, azzi opens her eyes. “oh?”

paige laughs, reaching for the stuffy and flowers and holding them on her lap. she watches as her girlfriend shifts until she’s sitting against the headboard, unable to keep herself from smiling softly at the rumpled, sleepy image of her before clearing her throat and nodding down at her lap. “know the flowers from last time were wilting, and you mentioned how you needed another baby…”

paige isn’t sure why she still feels like this around azzi, her long-term girlfriend of three years—why she still gets all nervous and blushy with her, when paige isn’t one to get nervous and blushy at all. but who can blame her, when azzi is beautiful and perfect and looking at her like that.

several beats pass before azzi gently pushes the flowers and plushie aside and wraps her arms around paige’s neck, tugging until paige hugs her back.

“thank you,” she says into paige’s neck. “i don’t…i just…”

“you don’t gotta say anything.” paige presses a kiss to her shoulder. “i know.”

azzi shakes her head. “no, but—i do.” she looks paige in the eye, keeping them closely connected even as she pulls away from her skin. “it’s just. i feel like i’ve been kinda shitty lately.”

“you haven’t,” paige says immediately, brushing her thumb over azzi’s arm. “you’re having a hard week, baby. doesn’t make you shitty. just human.”

azzi hums, unconvinced. “i’ve been short with you.”

“okay, a little snappy,” paige teases, and azzi groans, hiding her face in paige’s neck. “but it’s okay. i know you’re not mad at me. i’m just tryna understand what you need, so i can show up for you better.”

azzi exhales against her skin. “you already do.”

“good,” paige says, kissing the top of her head. “then stop stressin’ about it and come eat chips with me.”

azzi perks up. “chips?”

“i was stressed over which ones to buy, actually.” paige pulls back and grabs the bowl from the bedside table, holding it up like a trophy. “kettle-cooked jalapeño.“

azzi gasps. “no way.” she presses another kiss to paige’s lips. “how’d you know?”

azzi senses. “oh, y’know, just a good guess.”

azzi looks over the other snacks on the nightstand before saying, “you didn’t get sour cream and onion?”

“bad breath chips? absolutely not.”

“smart move.”

“yep. i also got movie theater popcorn, peanut m&ms, sour patch kids, and—brace yourself—a slurpee.”

azzi gasps. “from the gas station?”

“yes, and i made eye contact with a man who was, like, mid-psychotic break. that’s how much i love you.”

azzi leans over and kisses her again, gentle and grateful, and murmurs, “thank you,” into her lips.

“don’t mention it,” paige says, already sidling up beside azzi and tucking herself under the covers. “now pick a movie before i force us to rewatch high school musical 2.”

“we’re already halfway through it on my disney plus,” azzi confesses.

“this is why we’re dating.”

✮✮✮

they don’t end up watching high school musical 2, because azzi insists it’ll make her week worse. and they don’t watch frozen, either, because paige just can’t. so, they compromise, and an hour later the room is cast in blue from the tv, love & basketball playing on low volume. azzi has what appears to be approximately 1,000 stuffed animals surrounding her, claiming they ‘missed her’. (“they miss you, too, paige,” she says when paige looks at her judgmentally. “you’re like an absent father.”) paige decides to ignore that and, though she pouts about not being able to cuddle, she gets comfortable in azzi’s bed like she’s apart of it, sprawled out with a hand in the chip bowl.

they’ve been trading lazy commentary, chatting about silly things throughout the movie, considering it’s one they’ve both seen a million times. after a particular comment about how brutal practice was this week, paige shifts, leaning up on one elbow so she can glance down at azzi’s leg. “how’s the knee?” she asks quietly.

azzi hums noncommittally. “fine,” she says, but there’s a little wince as she stretches. “sore.”

“lemme see,” paige says, already sliding a hand under the blanket. she finds azzi’s leg by feel, curling her palm around her calf before slowly moving up, thumb brushing over the joint with practiced care.

“you don’t have to—”

“shh,” paige says, grinning. “don’t tell me what to do, mama. i wanna help.”

azzi snorts, but the sound melts into something softer when paige starts to knead around the edge of her kneecap, working slow, rhythmic circles into the muscle. she exhales, long and low, eyes fluttering shut as her body relaxes more fully into the pillows.

“good?” paige murmurs, shifting closer. she moves the stuffies out of the way in order to ghost her lips along azzi’s shoulder.

“mm-hmm,” azzi replies, voice suddenly a little breathier. “really good.”

paige’s hand keeps moving, a little more deliberate now, trailing higher up her thigh beneath the covers. her fingertips drag slow lines against azzi’s skin, almost absentminded, but there’s nothing absent about the way azzi shifts her hips, just barely, or the way her breath catches when paige presses a kiss to her jaw.

“you always do this,” azzi whispers, head tilting toward her. “start all innocent.”

paige lets out a little laugh, brushing her nose against azzi’s cheek. “i literally asked about your injury.”

“yeah, and now you’re halfway up my thigh.”

“can’t help it if you keep makin’ those noises,” paige says, voice going low and playful as her hand slows to a stop, palm resting heavy against azzi’s skin. “not my fault you sound so good, baby.”

azzi turns her head then, mouth catching paige’s in a kiss that’s slow and familiar, but it heats up faster than most their kisses do. it might have something to do with all the tension from the week, or the argument this morning, or the make-up—maybe a mix of everything—but it’s open-mouthed and messy within minutes. azzi’s hand slides into paige’s hair as she shifts to pull her closer, deepening the kiss just enough to make paige exhale hard through her nose.

she pulls away, smiling when azzi chases after her but keeping her face just out of reach. “hold on,” she breathes, resting her forehead against azzi’s.

“you good?” azzi asks, nudging their noses together.

“uh-huh. just…gotta stop before i can’t.”

“who said anything about stopping?” azzi asks, low and teasing.

paige pulls back to look at her. “i didn’t think you’d want it.”

azzi looks at her like she’s crazy. “‘course i do. why wouldn’t i?”

“with everything going on,” paige explains, soothing her hand up and down azzi’s thigh. “didn’t think you were in a good headspace right now.”

“i’m good, paige,” azzi assures, sounding just a little exasperated at how often she’s had to tell paige that, but she only keeps asking because she never quite believes her when she sees it.

“okay,” paige says, “you gotta promise me, though, aight? if you’re not into it, tell me that.”

“paige,” azzi sighs, and then she’s cupping her face in her hands and pulling her in and kissing her again, kissing her in a way that makes her feel raw. when she pulls back, they’re both breathing heavy. “please, baby,” she whispers. “want you.”

that’s all it takes to crumble whatever was left of paige’s self-control. she shifts until azzi’s flat on her back and pushes the rest of the damn stuffies away in a rush before leaning down to kiss her again. azzi sighs this soft little moan into her mouth and paige is already dripping into her boxers.

paige’s lips trail down azzi’s jawline, kissing a slow path until she reaches the hollow at the base of her neck. her fingers twitch with a quiet urgency, slipping beneath the waistband of azzi’s boxers, fingertips grazing the warm, sensitive skin of her mound. azzi’s breath hitches—a soft, unguarded sound that makes paige’s heart hammer a little faster.

the room feels smaller, warmer, wrapped in the quiet hum of the movie and their mingled breaths. paige’s fingers explore, gentle but insistent, sliding into azzi’s cunt just enough to gather the juices there before bringing them up to her clit and circling softly.

azzi’s eyes flutter shut, lashes resting against flushed cheeks as she exhales slowly. her fingers curl into paige’s t-shirt, gripping lightly, as paige continues to work her over. she uses her free hand to ruck azzi’s sweater up, just enough to expose the soft skin of her belly, and she pulls back to look, exhaling at the sight: azzi’s piercing glinting, paige’s hand moving beneath her boxers. she moves away from her clit to dip inside again, not far, just enough to coat a finger in azzi’s slick before she carefully extracts her hand.

azzi whimpers at the loss of contact, but paige just shakes her head, bringing her hand up to her lips and sucking the arousal off her finger. she’s missed how azzi tastes, and she moans at it before ducking down to press a kiss to azzi’s stomach with a new purpose in mind.

“paige,” azzi whines as paige lays herself out between her thighs.

“i wanna eat you, mami,” paige replies, sucking a small mark into brown skin. “that okay?”

when she looks back up, azzi’s staring at her, and there’s something there that paige can’t quite read, which is—well, it’s alarming, considering she can always read her girlfriend, especially when it comes to this. but then azzi’s nodding, desperation washing over her features, and paige can still taste the remnants of her, and she needs more.

“please, paige,” azzi sighs, pressing against her shoulders to urge her down. “need you.”

“tell me if it’s too much, baby,” paige murmurs, shifting lower to press a kiss to the delicate skin of azzi’s thigh. “i want to make you feel good.”

azzi’s response is a shaky breath and a whispered, “please.”

paige nods, kissing her thighs gently as she removes her boxers, allowing azzi to kick them the rest of the way off as she turns back to her center. paige spreads her open, blowing a little onto her clit until it twitches, and when azzi whines she leans forward to suck it into her mouth.

paige groans low at the taste, sharp and metallic from the earlier teasing, before flicking her tongue over it. azzi’s hips buck up just a little, and she slings an arm across her abdomen to keep her from moving. her tongue moves lower, dipping into her cunt where the taste is the strongest. she honest-to-god salivates a little, and she moans again, using her free hand to loop around azzi’s thigh and pull her closer.

azzi’s breath catches, soft little moans spilling out between quiet pants, and paige will never love anything more than her sounds, the way her hips struggle to move against paige’s grip, the way her hands tighten in paige’s hair.

she takes her arm off azzi’s stomach, lifting her head enough to look at her. “stay still f’me, okay?”

azzi nods frantically against the pillow. paige presses a smile into her thigh before easing two fingers inside of her slowly. azzi gasps, surprised, and then hides a moan in her palm—though azzi’s roommates have definitely heard them by now.

paige moves steady and patient, like always. her fingers move slow and sure, not rushing to build her up, while her mouth presses lazy kisses against her cunt. every now and then, she glances up, and her whole face softens at the sight of azzi laid out for her, chest rising and falling a little faster now, lips parted in that way that always makes paige want to come back up and kiss her.

she lets her teeth graze her clit, just to hear the sharp inhale it pulls, then goes right back to her work—her fingers curling just right, wrist flexing in little deliberate strokes like she’s trying to memorize her.

“you’re doing so good,” paige murmurs, voice a little syrupy, chin tucked against azzi’s thigh. her free hand strokes gently up azzi’s stomach, and she frowns slightly at the tension she finds there. “you gotta relax for me, sweetheart.”

azzi moans softly, but her muscles still feel tightly clenched and it has paige moving up, fingers working steadily inside her as she shifts so she can press gentle kisses to her mouth. “i got you, az,” she whispers, kissing her cheek tenderly. “you can relax, baby girl. it’s okay.”

azzi nods. moans as paige’s fingers hit that spongy spot inside her, but then sound turns into something different, something frustrated, and then it’s almost like a sob. and it’s enough for paige to pause.

“hey,” she says softly, slowing her hand but not pulling away. “are you okay, baby?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away. her eyes are open, unfocused, lips parted like she’s trying to figure out how to explain something she doesn’t really understand herself.

“i…” her voice breaks. “i’m sorry. i’m trying, i just—i can’t.”

paige freezes, her hand still warm between azzi’s thighs. her stomach drops.

“what? hey, no, no, don’t be sorry,” she says quickly, pulling her fingers out carefully and wincing when azzi does. “talk to me, mama—what’s wrong? did i hurt you?”

azzi shakes her head, blinking fast. “no, it’s not you. i just—i don’t know. it’s like i’m too in my head or something. i want to, it feels good, but i can’t focus.”

“you should’ve told me,” paige says, quieter now. she wonders how long azzi let her go for after she realized she wasn’t into it, and it kind of makes her stomach drop. “i told you to say something if you weren’t into it. would you have even—would you have even said anything if i hadn’t asked if you were okay?”

“i don’t know,” azzi says, and now her voice does wobble. she wipes at her cheeks with the backs of her hands like that’ll stop the tears from coming, but they keep slipping anyway. “i don’t know, paige. i just…i didn’t wanna, like, ruin it.”

paige’s heart clenches hard at that. “ruin it?” she echoes, a little incredulous. “az, it’s not supposed to feel like pressure. this isn’t—you know that’s not what this is about.”

“i know,” azzi says again, and now she’s fully crying, eyes scrunching up as she tries to breathe through it. “i’m just—i’ve had such a shitty week and you were being so sweet, and i wanted to, i swear, i thought maybe it would help, but—” she chokes on the end of it, voice cracking. “i don’t know. i’m sorry.”

the guilt hits her all at once, because here she is lecturing her girlfriend while said girlfriend is having an emotional crisis and being probably the saddest crier paige has ever seen. she leans back down, hands gentle on azzi’s stomach as she presses a soft kiss to her trembling lips. “hey,” she whispers. “i don’t want you to say sorry, baby. it’s nothin’ you gotta apologize for.”

“but it’s never happened before,” azzi says, sounding like that alone is breaking her a little. “‘nd i dunno what’s going on with me for it to happen this time.”

paige swallows thickly, chest aching. she gathers azzi into her arms, moving them until azzi’s on her chest, cradling her head close.

“you shouldn’t be mad at yourself,” she murmurs after a moment. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed. especially when you’re, like, the busiest person on the planet and trying to be everything to everyone.”

azzi sniffles, curling tighter into her. her fingers twitch against paige’s ribs like she wants to hold her closer.

“i just didn’t wanna let you down,” she whispers.

“you didn’t let me down,” paige says immediately. she tilts her head enough to press a kiss to azzi’s temple, then another to her hairline. “you didn’t. i’m just—i’m upset because i didn’t know. because you waited until you were crying to let me know something was off.”

azzi doesn’t say anything. her breath hitches like she might cry again.

paige closes her eyes and leans her head back. “i need to ask you something, ‘kay?”

“okay,” azzi breathes.

“next time,” paige says softly, “if something feels off—even a little bit—you tell me. you don’t wait for me to ask. you tell me. i don’t care if we’re two seconds in or right at the edge or whatever. i need to know, baby. i can’t read your mind.”

“okay,” azzi says again, quieter, and then after a second, “i promise.”

paige nods, still holding her. “good. thank you.”

they stay like that for a moment. paige’s chest rises and falls slowly beneath azzi’s cheek. love & basketball plays softly, and they have had an impossible amount of moments just like this one while this very movie was playing on tv, and paige sort of wants to cry a little herself.

instead she brushes a knuckle under azzi’s chin and tips her head up just enough to look at her. “you didn’t ruin anything. you know that, right?”

“kinda feels like i did.”

“you didn’t,” paige says again. “we’re allowed to have bad nights. or hard nights. or nights where we start something and realize we need to stop. that’s actually, like, really fucking normal and i think you and i are just different from most people.”

azzi lets out a shaky laugh through her tears. “i hate that you’re right.”

“i know,” paige says with a little smile, tucking azzi’s hair behind her ear. “as usual.”

azzi groans softly and hides her face in paige’s neck again, still a little tear-sticky and snuffly, but the muscles in her shoulders finally relax as she lets paige hold her.

paige wraps both arms around her, settling them chest to chest, and lets her thumb rub slow circles over azzi’s back. “you wanna stay like this for a while?” she asks, voice low and close.

azzi nods into her neck. “don’t wanna move.”

“okay, mama,” paige whispers. “we’ll stay right here.”

for a few minutes, that’s exactly what they do—paige stroking her back, azzi breathing uneven against her throat, both of them held together in that soft, heavy quiet that only comes after a cry. and when azzi’s breathing finally starts to even out, when the tension starts to ease from her shoulders, she lifts her head.

“i hope you know i’m seriously considering offing myself,” she says, which startles a laugh out of paige.

“why?” she asks, pushing a curl from azzi’s tear-stained cheek.

“because we were having sex and then i cried.”

“you cried the first time we had sex.”

“that was an emotional moment.”

“you cried last month after that party.”

“i was shwasted.”

paige smiles, then kisses azzi’s pout. and usually paige hates it when people cry, because she feels awkward and unsure of what to do, but she is azzi fudd’s dutiful, loyal, obsessed girlfriend. “i think we can both agree that i’m good with you crying. please don’t kill yourself.”

“yeah, okay.” azzi sniffles, eyes red-rimmed but full of something warm now. “i love you,” she says, voice hoarse.

paige smiles, thumb brushing her cheek. “i love you more.”

and azzi just sighs, deep and tired and safe, before tucking herself right back into paige’s arms like she belongs there.