#trust ts happened | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 3 months ago

Text

"Real Man"

Older Au Chapter 3.

THIS IS A MATURE STORY. IT HAS SOME SEXUAL SENCES, IF YOU DONT LIKE DON'T READ. Ok yall ik i said i was gonna post this last night but i hated it so i rewrote it! if it sucks don't say anything pls. sorry if it's repetitive, lmk whose team ur on!!! And what you want to happen next. comments, reblogs, likes and kind asks are always appreciated. If this one random anon keeps sending theses crazy things, i'll have to remove anon asks, which I dont want to do. I love my anons, so pls be nice. Send in asks, I miss yall, I've been sooooo busy with school lately and I havent had time to get on here. THIS IS MY 1ST TIME WRITNG ANYTHING LIKE THIS SO LMK HOW IT ISSSSS

WHY AM I GETTING THE FEWLINF EVERYONE HATES THIS??? IM ABT TO DELEYEB TS NGL 😭

Six months had passed since that night—the night you let Slade’s words sink into your skin like venom and made the choice that changed everything. For better and worse.

You hadn't accepted his offer easily. Not after what happened with Two-Face. That betrayal still sat in your chest like a dull ache, a constant reminder of how easily people could take what they wanted and leave you with nothing. You had sworn not to trust so easily again, not to let yourself fall into another cycle of being used and discarded. So when Slade made his offer, you hesitated.

"You're smarter than this," you had told yourself that night. "You know what happens when you trust the wrong person. You know what men like him want."

And yet, here you were. Living in his world.

Not as a prisoner, not as a puppet, but as something more. The lines were blurred, shifting with every glance, every order he gave that you didn’t question, every moment that stretched too long in the dim glow of your shared space. Because that’s what it was now, shared.

The apartment Slade had set up was far from a safe house. It was huge and spacious, Slade wasn't a cheap man. It felt lived in. Your things mingled with his, your scent lingering in the air. You bought vases and filled them with flowers, you organized the kitchen and bought him real groceries, not just canned food. You hung pictures you developed of you and him. Ones he didn't know you took. You roped him into painting your room a baby blue, a color he swore he hated, yet he still slept in your room every night. It was comical to see such a large man laying in a pastel colored room on your floral bedsheets, the last man you let into your bed was equally large. But we don't talk about him.

Slade cared for you deeply, or at least tolerated you. At first you were always at each others throats, each person throwing a more cutting remark than the other. When your arguements got so bad that you began to ignore him, he brought home women, made sure he heard them moaning through the walls till you snapped and began screaming.

You hated Slade Wilson

But after the first month things began to change, Slade never said anything about it, but you caught the way his eyes would darken when he returned from a mission, his gaze sweeping over you like he needed to confirm you were still here. Like he expected you to disappear.

You leaned against the counter, watching him from the corner of your eye as he cleaned his weapons. The rhythmic motion of his hands, the way he handled each blade with the kind of care most reserved for something fragile, it was almost mesmerizing. Everything he does is.

“You’re staring,” he said, not looking up. God, he's so smug.

You scoffed. "No, you are. I don't stare at creepy old men. In fact, it's usually the opposite."

His lips curled into that knowing smirk, the one that made something tighten in your chest. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

The nickname used to irritate you. Now, you weren’t sure what it did. All you knew was that it made your heart race the way only one person had before. He used to call you sweetheart too.

Slade’s presence in your life was suffocating, an unshakable force that wrapped itself around you, squeezing tighter with every passing day. He was cruel in the way he trained you, brutal in his expectations. If you failed, he had no patience for it. Slade trained you for greatness and he wouldn't tolerate anything less.

“You call that a punch?” he sneered one evening in your early days of training, after you had barely managed to land a hit on him. “Pathetic. I’ve seen senior citizens put up more of a fight,"

Gritting your teeth, you launched at him again, only for him to sidestep effortlessly. A sharp pain bloomed across your ribs as he shoved you down, hard. The thing that you loved and hated most about Slade was that he treated you like an equal. He didn't see you as his younger, fragile, kind-of girlfriend; he saw you as an equal opponent.

“You hesitated,” he said, standing over you. “That hesitation will get you killed.”

You spat blood onto the mat and glared up at him. “Or maybe I just don’t care if I live or die. Nothing is ever really this serious.”

Something flickered in his eye, dark and unreadable, before he crouched beside you. His fingers dug into your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He didn't understand your humor sometimes, considering he's old enough to be your father.

“Oh, but you do, you want to survive. To be great, ” he murmured, voice dangerously soft. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

He let go of you with a sharp shove and stood. “Get up. We’re not done.”

The tension between you both had only grown over the months. Slade had a way of pressing in, invading your space without ever needing to touch you. Sure you guys fucked almost twice, sometimes three times a week, but there was that small sliver of confusion and hesitation.

Sure, he slept in your bed ever night now, called it "our room," and sure you stayed up waiting when his missions would take too long. Yeah, you would run and jump into his open arms, feeling nothing but content as he kissed your forehead and took you to the bed, it's normal that ya'll didn't even have sex some nights, that you just cuddled.

Sometimes, you swore he was waiting, waiting for you to be the one to close that final inch between you. But you never did. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you fell into a rhythm. Training. Fighting. Learning with him and laughing with him. He pushed you harder than anyone ever had, demanding perfection, never letting you slip back into old habits. He didn’t coddle you like they did. He didn’t pretend you were something delicate. He made you strong.

Most nights, after an exhausting day of training, you would sit on the brown leather couch cuddled up to him with your head on his chest and his arms around you, the dim glow of the television flickering between you. Slade wasn’t much for small talk, you talked enough for the both of you, but the silence between you felt... comfortable, almost warm

“Why did you take me in?” you had asked once, voice barely above a whisper.

He had taken a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. “Because I saw something in you,” he finally answered. “Potential. Something you’re too afraid to admit to yourself.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you wondered if there was truth in his words. You liked that he believed in you, no one had done that before.

Then there were the other moments. The ones that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge. The way he stood too close when showing you how to hold a blade properly, his breath warm against your skin. The way his hands lingered too long when correcting your stance. The way his gaze dropped to your lips before he forced himself to look away.

Neither of you ever acknowledged it. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. It's completely normal for your teacher/mentor/enemy to sleep in the same bed as you every night. It'd be weird if you didn't make breakfast and dinner for the two of you. It'd be weird if you didn't know his favorite foods and if he didn't know how to braid your hair. It'd be even weirder if he didn't make you coffee exactly how you like it and help you put away the dishes.

Slade had become an inescapable presence, his control over you extending far beyond training. He knew where you were at all times, had a way of appearing when you least expected it, his eyes always sharp, always knowing. Some nights, when you tried to slip out for air, you’d find him already outside, leaning against a wall as if he’d been waiting for you. He let you do what you wanted, think you were free, but he was always watching you.

If you were singing at a bar, you could count on him to be in the crowd. If you met with Selina at a restaurant you could count on him to drive you home. Slade was always there. Selina thought it was strange, you took comfort in it.

“You really think you can go anywhere without me knowing?” he had mused once, a shadow of amusement in his voice.

It should have bothered you. Maybe it did. But part of you had started to crave it, the way he made you feel like you belonged to him, even if neither of you would ever admit it.

Slade had been… watchful lately. More than usual. He came back late from missions, missions he didn't let you come to, sometimes with a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. He was hesitant to let you go and preform at bars, sometimes convincing you to just play the songs on your guitar in the living room and run your fingers through his hair as you both laid on the couch.

There were the calls—brief, coded. You were offended, Slade told you almost everything these days but somehow no amount of sweet talk and bedroom eyes could get him to budge this time. And then there were the other things. The subtle shifts in the city’s underworld. More movement in Gotham than usual. The quiet whispers of old ghosts stirring, names you hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Bruce.

You saw it in the way certain streets had too many eyes. As if waiting. As if listening.

And then there was the whisper of something else. Something darker, something clawing at the edge of your awareness. A name that had once sent a thrill through you, now only bringing unease and resentment.

Harvey Dent.

A name you hadn’t spoken in months, yet it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake. A man you couldn't bare to even think of. A drink left for you at a bar you hadn't performed at in weeks, a coat draped over the back of a chair that looked too familiar.

Slade noticed before you did. “You’ve got a ghost,” he murmured one evening, the flicker of a knife between his fingers. “One that doesn’t know how to stay buried.”

You didn’t ask him what he meant. You didn’t have to. You already knew. You just didn't know why. Had he finally seen through Tiffany, now that it was too late?

At first, you didn’t question it. Slade had always been territorial—watchful, overbearing when he wanted to be. He had a way of controlling things without seeming like he was. That was how he worked.

So when you first noticed the shifts, you didn’t react. Your schedule changed, but not because you changed it.

You used to go out when you wanted. Walk the streets when they were quiet, feel the Gotham night press against your skin, the air cold and sharp. Not anymore.

Things began to change this week. Now, every time you thought about leaving, something stopped you.

The fridge was always stocked, eliminating any reason to step outside. Your favorite food. Your favorite drinks. Little things appeared when you needed them; new clothes, supplies, anything that might have made you leave for even a moment. Things you mentioned only in passing, like the new lipstick you wanted or a pair of vintage heels or a new bag.

If you reached for your coat, Slade would speak before you even touched the door. Asking where you were going, trying to be casual.

It was never a command. Never outright control. But the implication was there. And every time you hesitated, he won. If you needed to leave or just wanted to go out, he would come with; a silent yet protective figure always in the shadows.

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that should have been peaceful but wasn’t. The apartment smelled like old wood and gun oil, the faintest trace of smoke lingering from Slade’s cigar earlier. You had just stepped out of the shower, skin still warm from the heat, hair damp as you walked barefoot across the floor in your towel.

Your hand brushed against the pretty golden door knob absentmindedly.

And then you froze. Something was different.

Your fingers curled around the lock, tracing over the new ridges, the reinforced structure. The weight of it felt wrong.

It wasn’t your lock. Not the cute one you insisted on buying at the antique shop that Slade hated. It didn't match the walls.

Your stomach twisted. You turned slowly, your damp hair clinging to your skin as your mind raced. This wasn’t an accident. You hadn’t imagined it. Slade had changed the locks. The thought sent something icy down your spine. Alarm bells blared in your mind.

You tried to shake it off, tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was security. Maybe he just wanted better protection.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t it. Because he didn’t tell you. Because Slade never did anything without a purpose. Because Slade Wilson didn't need a lock to keep people out. And because you hadn’t noticed until now. You took a slow, steady breath and turned toward the living room.

Slade was there, like always, seated in his usual chair by the window, sharpening a knife. The sound of steel against whetstone was rhythmic, deliberate. His posture was relaxed, but you weren’t fooled. His fingers were too steady, his shoulders just a little too still.

He was waiting. Watching. Like he had already predicted this moment, like he was ready for an argeument. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, heart pounding too fast, not caring if you were in a towel.

"Planning on keeping me in a cage?" you muttered.

Slade didn’t pause. Didn’t even look up. “Planning on keeping you alive.” The words were so smooth, so easy, that your stomach turned.

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t hiding it. He wasn't denying it. Not anymore. This wasn’t a mistake. This was intentional.

You forced a laugh, though it felt hollow in your throat. “Right. Because I’m just so incapable of keeping myself safe. Even after all the training we've done. Even with my literal super-human abilities.”

Slade finally looked up. His eye locked onto yours.

There was no humor in his gaze. No smirk, like he usually had on while teasing. Just that slow, assessing stare that made your pulse stutter.

"If I thought you were capable of that," he murmured, voice quiet, too quiet, "we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Your chest tightened. Because the way he said it sent something sinking into the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t just about protecting you. This was about making sure you never left.

Two days later, you decided to test it. Just to see what would happen. Slade had stepped out—or so he wanted you to believe. The moment you heard the door shut behind him, you moved.

Your fingers curled around the knob.

Turned it— but a large, scared hand beat you two it

"Going somewhere?"

Your entire body locked up. You gulped and licked your suddenly dry lips, he had you cornered with one hand on the knob and the other caging you in as he towered over you. His voice was smooth, calm—too calm. You turned slowly, pulse thrumming in your throat. Slade stood right behind you.

The door was still closed.

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard him come back. Hadn’t even realized he was there. So much for super hearing. Nothing worked on Slade Wilson. You kept your expression neutral. Didn’t let him see the panic creeping up your throat.

"Didn’t realize I had a curfew," you muttered with an uneasy grin, trying to start your usual banter. Slade didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched you.

“You don’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. But he didn’t move. Didn’t step aside. Didn’t let you leave. The silence stretched too long.

Finally, you forced a smile, tilting your head. “Then I’ll be back in an hour.” Nothing changed in his expression. But you could feel the weight of his stare. Then he tilted his head, eye dark and calculating.

“It's not safe out there anymore. Not for you.”

You blinked. Something in his tone shifted.Not amusement. Not control. Something else. Something darker. Like he was waiting for you to figure it out.

Your stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even move.

Just let the question hang in the air, stretching the silence tight between you. And that’s when it hit you.

He wasn’t stopping you because he was afraid you’d leave.

He was stopping you because something else was waiting outside.

Something he wasn’t telling you about.

Your mouth went dry. Slade finally let out a slow, amused breath, pushing off the wall.

And then—

He stepped aside. A challenge. Daring you to open the door. You hesitated. And that was all it took.

The moment you hesitated, you lost. Slade smirked, shaking his head like he had already predicted every move you would make. "Let's get to bed." He rasped out, looking at you with dark, seductive eyes.

And then he turned, walking past you like the conversation was over. Because it was. Because he knew you wouldn’t leave now.

The next morning, the locks changed again. The windows were reinforced. Your pretty pink curtains replaced with black shutters. Your phone stopped working. You couldn't call Selina. Every excuse to leave was removed before you could even think about it. You tried not to panic. Tried not to question it.

But Slade was closing the walls in. And you weren’t sure if it was to keep someone out—

Or to keep you in.

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence.

You had slipped into a bar down the street, needing to breathe, needing something normal.

The moment you stepped in, your stomach turned. Something familiar. Cologne. Not just any cologne. Expensive. Sharply tailored. The scent of whiskey and authority.

You froze.

Your mind screamed at you. It’s just someone else wearing it. It’s just your imagination. And then you saw it. A glass at the bar. Untouched. Neat. No ice. A double pour. your breath hitched.

Harvey’s drink.

It wasn’t until you came home that you truly realized. Because that’s when you saw the rose.

A single red rose on the kitchen counter.

Waiting for you. Your entire body went cold. It wasn’t from Slade. It couldn’t be from Slade. Slade would never bring you roses, he wasn't a gentleman. And he knew you liked hydrangeas and peonies now.

You turned slowly and nearly threw up.

Slade was already standing there. Watching. Waiting. His jaw was tight. His fingers twitched at his side. He didn’t say anything. And that’s when you knew,

He had seen this coming.

“Where did that come from?” you asked, voice thin. Why was he doing this? Was shattering your heart not enough? Did he want to ruin things with you and Slade?

Slade didn’t answer. Instead, he walked forward, plucked the rose from the counter, and rolled it between his fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. Then, he crushed it.

Your stomach dropped. The petals crumbled to the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. "You tell me, sweetheart."

For the rest of the night, he didn’t let you out of his sight. Not directly holding you hostage, but you felt it. The way he lingered in doorways. The way his hand ghosted too close when you passed him.

Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to ask. Waiting for you to figure it out. Waiting for Harvey to stop playing games and make a real move.

You weren’t sure when it had happened; when you had stopped keeping track of time, stopped caring about the difference between one night and the next. Slade made sure you had no reason to count the days. He made sure you had no reason to want anything. You woke up every morning in his arms and went to bed satisfied and well loved. It wasn’t a prison but it wasn’t freedom either. It was something in between. A limbo of his design. A small slice of heaven in hell.

You were happy. But something was off, Slade was being more paranoid and he got less subtle about it each day.

You weren’t trapped, not physically. Slade let you leave the apartment. You weren’t chained to the walls, weren’t locked in a room. He took you out on missions, let you get your hands dirty alongside him, let you breathe in the crisp Gotham air under the cover of night. In some ways, those nights were the only times you felt alive, other than when you were with Slade. The weight of a blade in your hand, the burn in your muscles from the chase, the sharp adrenaline rush of the fight, of using your powers on someone they affected; it reminded you that you still existed outside of this quiet game he played with you. Because that’s what it was. A game.

Slade never said it outright, never told you he was keeping you on a leash, but you could feel it tightening with every passing week. At first, it was small things. The way he subtly redirected missions away from Gotham’s city center, keeping you to the outskirts, where the shadows were deeper and the chances of running into familiar faces were slimmer. The way he always made sure you stayed close during a job, always just within arm’s reach. It wasn’t just protection. You knew better than that. It was control. He was testing you, waiting to see if you would try to slip away, if you would give him a reason to remind you just how easily he could pull you back.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the real test wasn’t in the field. It was what happened after.

After the job was done, after the adrenaline had settled into exhaustion, after the long, banter filled walk back to wherever Slade had decided to keep you that night. It was in the way he never let you wander too far. The way his hand would hover at the small of your back without quite touching, guiding you down the streets like he was the one who decided where you went. It was in the way he never left you alone for too long.

At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Slade was always working, always had something that needed his attention. But then you started to notice the patterns. You ate together, you slept together, trained together, hell; you even showered together. You were never alone for more than a few hours. If he had business elsewhere, you were given something to occupy your time—training, surveillance, a task that kept you exactly where he wanted you.

You tested it once again, just to see what would happen. After he had left for what you thought was a routine meeting, you had grabbed your coat and made your way to the door. You weren’t even thinking about leaving him, not really. You just wanted to see if you could. If there was still a part of you that could step outside without feeling the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Your fingers had just curled around the doorknob when you heard his voice. Low. Even. Inevitable.

“Going somewhere?”

You were getting de ja vu. This happened last time too. You had swallowed hard, pulse spiking in your throat as you turned. He was standing right behind you.

You hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t heard his footsteps. He was just there, watching, waiting. The worst part was that he wasn’t even angry. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you, wasn’t raising his voice or blocking your way. He didn’t have to.

Slade had simply leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eye scanning you with that sharp, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. “Didn’t realize I needed permission,” you had said, forcing your voice to stay steady. You wouldn't let him control everything, not another man would be in charge of your life.

“You don’t.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he had already solved. “Just wondering if you really think it’s safe out there.”

Not this odd shit again.

That made you pause. The way he said it. Not like a threat. Not like he was trying to scare you into staying. He said it the same way as last time. Like he already knew something you didn’t.

Your grip on the doorknob tightened. “What are you talking about? You said this last time.”

Slade didn’t answer right away. He just let the silence stretch, let you feel the weight of your own hesitation. Then, slowly, he took a step back. Another challenge.

“If you want to go,” he said, gesturing toward the door, “go.”

Your breath caught. You should have. You should have walked out.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew that if you did, if you stepped outside now, you wouldn’t just be walking into Gotham. You would be walking into something else. Something waiting.

Slade knew it. And now, so did you.

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the door. Slade huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like you had just proven his point. Then, without another word, he walked past you and disappeared into the other room. That was the moment you knew, whatever was waiting for you out there was worse than what was waiting inside. You just didn’t know what it was yet.

You found out a week later. A part of it, at least.

The envelope was waiting for you when you returned from a job with Slade, slipped under the apartment door like a whisper of something you had tried to forget. You had bent down, fingers hesitating just for a second before picking it up. The paper was thick, expensive. No return address. No markings. But you didn’t have to open it to know who it was from. The sharp smell of cologne gave it away.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in the back of your throat as you tore it open, your hands gripping the edges a little too tightly. The letter inside was simple. Only four words.

You won't forget me.

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled. Because the worst part was, he was right. No matter how much Slade consumed you, or your occasional fantasy about Clark; he also stayed on your mind

You barely had time to process it before you heard the apartment door shut behind you. Your fingers snapped the letter closed, chest tightening, but it was too late.

Slade had already seen.

His expression didn’t change, but you could feel it. The shift in the air. The way his shoulders set just a little too still, the way his single eye flickered from your face to the envelope with something dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, not rushing, just closing the distance between you with the kind of inevitability that made your breath come short.

You turned, but before you could move, his hand shot out. Not rough, not gentle like usual, just firm. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you in place.

“Let go,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for the letter.

You pulled back.

Slade’s grip tightened. “Let me see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. He wasn't used to you denying him these days, not when you loved him.

Your stomach clenched. You didn’t let go, but it didn’t matter. Because Slade never asked twice.

With one sharp tug, he tore the letter from your grasp, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. You watched as his eye scanned the words, his jaw tensing, his fingers tightening around the paper just slightly.

Then, finally, a quiet chuckle. A dark, amused sound. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Your breath hitched. Slade looked at you now. Expression unreadable.

“Do you miss him?” Your heart stopped. You denied it, but you could see in Slade's eyes that he didn't believe you. In the way he turned away from you that night. You didn't blame him, you didn't even believe yourself.

Harvey always knew how to play the long game.

Small things began to shift in your life and you knew who was behind it. The song on the radio. A scarf. A photo photo. They were never coincidences, he didn’t believe in coincidence. The man was calculated, meticulous in his pursuits. When he wanted something, he played patient, steady, unyielding, watching from the shadows, striking when you least expected it.

Slade was the same way, but Slade never needed patience. Slade took what he wanted. Harvey waited for it to come back to him.

The jazz playing in the bar was nothing, just white noise in the background while you sat beside Slade, nursing your drink, your head still fogged from the last mission. You weren’t thinking of anything other than how good it felt to finally sit still.

Then, days later, the scarf appeared. Neatly folded on the couch, like a gift wrapped in silence, waiting for you to pick it up. You hadn’t touched it at first, just stood there, staring at it, fingers twitching at your sides. It was a trick of the mind, an old memory manifesting in a way that didn’t make sense.

Except it wasn’t.

He had been here. Or close enough to touch. You should have told Slade. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And then, the photo. A photo Selina took of you and him dancing at the Pink Pony Club. It smelled like him too.

That was what shattered the illusion of security, the idea that you had control over this. The moment you saw it, you knew.

Harvey had always been a sentimentalist, clinging to memories long past, treasuring things most people would discard.

You, once upon a time, had been one of those things. And now? You weren’t sure. You weren't sure what he wanted, especially since he had Tiffany. You had placed the photo down carefully, afraid to crumple it, afraid to acknowledge what it meant.

You had kept your movements neutral, your breath steady, but Slade had been watching. His presence in the other room was a solid weight pressing into your chest. The shuffle of files, the slow deliberate sound of metal being set down, he was waiting.

He had noticed. Of course, he had. Slade noticed everything. And yet, he didn’t say a word.

You lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, feeling Slade’s presence next to you like a silent storm waiting to break. He wasn’t asking. He was waiting for you to give yourself away. To tell him the truth, to trust him like he trusted you.

Slade had been watching you too closely, keeping his invisible leash tight without ever pulling. That was the way he worked, he let you think you had freedom while keeping you within his reach. If you had tried to leave through the door, he would have known.

So, you didn’t.

You waited, feigned sleep, forced your breathing into something slow, even, something convincing. You heard him move in the other room, heard the creak of his chair, the slow inhale of a cigar.

You moved the moment he shifted. Window, not the door. Silent steps. A fire escape that groaned beneath your weight. By the time Slade glanced back toward the couch, you were already gone.

Harvey knew you would come.

You knew that from the moment you stepped onto the rooftop, the Gotham skyline stretched out behind him like a kingdom.

He turned before you could say anything, a slow, easy movement, his face shadowed beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. And then, he smiled. Not a smirk. Not the sharp, dangerous grin you had been expecting. It was something softer. Something more desperate. Like a man in the desert coming across a well.

“Took you long enough, didn't think you got my message. I started thinking that maybe the note didn't reach you.” he murmured. The message he left in the women's bathroom at a bar you and Slade frequented.

Your throat felt tight. You felt hurt all over again. Like someone reopened the wound of his betrayal. Like the same broken girl Slade took in six months ago. You came here for closure. So that it wouldn't hurt when you said his name or sang the songs you wrote for him. “How did you find me?”

What did he want? To torture you? Rub salt in your wounds?

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I never lost you.”

Only Slade called you that now. The words made your stomach twist, a cold knot settling in your chest. You should have walked away then. But you didn’t. Because you had to know.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you haunting me? Not letting me move on?” Your voice shook as you said it. This conversation was long overdue.

Harvey’s fingers gripped the railing, his knuckles white. “Because I need you to listen to me. Just once. Just this once. Hear me out.”

Your heart hammered. Hear him out? He could've started with an apology.

“You think I’ll forgive you?” you spat. You would, because when you looked at him, you still felt the same warmth you did all those months ago; only this time it was mixed with resentment and longing.

He flinched. And for the first time, you saw it—the raw, desperate emotion that he had always hidden behind sharp words and confident grins. The mask cracked, just for a second.

His voice turned rough, unsteady. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know that. But I need you to hear me out.”

You shook your head, stepping back, but he reached out—not touching, not yet, but close.

“You don’t know what’s happening,” he continued, his voice dropping into something urgent, pleading. “Your family—Tim, Dick, all of them—they’re figuring it out. They’re finding out the truth about Tiffany. They'll realize what she's doing, like I did.They'll know soon, maybe not today or tomorrow; but soon. They'll realize she's been using her powers on them like she did to me.”

Your breath came too short. No. This was not happening. Not when you were finally happy again. Not when you think you've fallen in love with Slade.

“No,” you whispered.

Your vision blurred. It was happening. Everything you had tried to scream about for years, everything they had ignored, it was going to come to light. Harvey’s fingers brushed your wrist.

Soft. Careful. Like he was trying not to scare you away.

“And when they realize what they did to you,” he murmured, “they’re going to come running. Crawling back like I am.”

Your stomach twisted.

“They’re going to act like they care,” he continued, voice soft, insidious. “Like they’re sorry. But they’re not. Not like I am. You know that, don’t you?”

Your lips parted. You hated how much sense it made. Hated how deep the doubt had already burrowed into your skin. Hated how genuine and honest he was being, you could sense it. Harvey tilted his head.

And then, voice lower, almost fragile he said, “You don’t have to go back to them.”

Your stomach dropped. You stepped back. “I’m not going back,” you said, voice shaking. Never.

Harvey swallowed hard. And for a moment, you thought he might break, that the weight of what he had done, what he had lost, might finally crush him. But then, he looked at you.

And you saw it, the shift. The danger. Not Two-Face. Not the cold, calculated criminal.

Just Harvey Dent. The man who never let go. “You think you’re free?” he murmured.

The words sent a chill down your spine. Harvey smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “You think he just let you leave?”

Your chest tightened. You tried not to show the flicker of doubt, the small crack in your resolve. But Harvey saw it.

And then, voice so soft, so dangerous—“He’s not going to let you go either. He'll keep you locked up. I won't.”

You should have never gone to him.

You had known it was a mistake the second you saw him standing there, leaning against the rooftop railing, the glow of Gotham’s skyline making him look almost human.

But you had gone anyway. Because Harvey had always been a mistake you kept making.

You clenched your fists, how dare he talk about Slade? What right did he have to tell you who to trust. "Yeah and I'm gonna take advice from you. That's rich."

He softened immediately, his regret and remorse so obvious; yet he refused to apologize. You wanted to hit him, hurt him like he hurt you; yet when he stood in front of you in the moonlight, your treacherous heart still beat for him. Your heart didn't want to hurt the man who showed you what love is. The man who picked up the shattered pieces your family and Clark left and rearranged them beautifully. It didn't care that he broke them again; he could fix it.

“I made a mistake. I paid for it, I know the truth now.” He said steadily stepping closer, sensing your reluctance.

Your pulse pounded. “What do you want from me?” You were here for answers, not to rekindle an old flame. Not when you were starting one.

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing from you. ”

The words hit you too hard. You understood what he was implying, what he wanted. You knew he would come crawling back someday, you just didn't expect it so soon

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Why?”

His smile faltered. His hands curled around the railing, gripping it like he needed something solid to hold on to.

"You know why. But that's not what i called you for. I called you to warn you about your family and Tiffany,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. More desperate. “I can throw them off for a little while, lead them off track and make sure they don't know the truth. If that's what you want. But once they know the truth, they won't leave you alone. Certainly not with him.”

You hated the way your chest tightened with affection at his consideration. You hated that you were here. You hated that he still had a hold on you. You hated how he talked about Slade. You hated hearing him say Tiffany's name, it brought back so much hurt and hatred.

“I don't care about them Keep them away for as long as you want. You know I'm not here to hear about them or your whore.” you said viciously, your eyes shining and your teeth sharpening.

Slade would be proud.

Harvey didn't react to your fangs, he wasn't afraid of you. He came closer and grasped your hand, his eyes so heartbroken that it gave you satisfaction, only for a minute.

His voice cracked slightly. “Nothing I do or say can make up for what I did.” His jaw tightened. “I know that.”

You should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because Harvey’s voice dropped lower, his words curling around you like a trap you should have seen coming. “But I need you to know something,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, watching your reaction. “She wanted to be you, she tried so hard.”

Your breath hitched. You knew this. But hearing Harvey say it made you feel so much better.

Harvey’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “But she never could.”

Your stomach dropped. Why did this have to happen now? Why now when you finally forgot about him?

“She dressed like you,” he continued. “Talked like you. Watched the way you moved. The way you laughed.” His voice hardened. “The way you loved.”

You shook your head, backing away. You couldn't take this anymore. You wanted to run back into Slade's arms, where nothing could touch you. “Shut up.”

Harvey didn’t.

“She wanted to take everything from you.” His expression twisted. “And maybe, if I had been a different man, I would have let her.”

Your skin crawled at the thought. Harvey let out a breathless laugh, bitter and sharp. “But I couldn’t. I had to go digging, looking for clues.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Because she wasn’t you. No matter how hard she tried to be. No matter how much she played with my mind, she could never replace you.”

You hated him.

You hated that you believed him.

You hated how you still loved him.

Harvey exhaled sharply, tilting his head, watching you with something frighteningly raw. “Every time she touched me, every time she tried to take something that wasn’t hers—” his voice dropped into something dangerous, low and dark and broken— “I was thinking of you.”

Your breathing came too fast.

Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her,” he whispered, “I wanted it to be you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop. I don't care.” Lies.

“She wasn’t you,” he repeated, voice almost pleading. “She never could be.”

Your throat closed. Your eyes watered and your teeth burned with unshed venom just thinking of his betrayal. Why was this happening.

Harvey’s fingers ghosted over your wrist. Not touching, not quite.

“I never wanted her, not really” he murmured. “Not once.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. This was all you wanted to hear, all you wished for for so long. So why did you feel trapped. Harvey’s voice dropped even lower. He moved even closer

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

You forced yourself to look at him.

“If you don’t care,” he whispered, eyes burning, “why are you still here? Why do you want answers so bad? Why do you still look at me like that?”

You shouldn’t have come.

But you hadn’t been able to help yourself.

Because Harvey always knew what to say, how to linger in your mind like an open wound that refused to heal.

And now here you were, standing under the dim glow of the rooftop’s city lights, your eyes watering, the weight of his gaze pressing into you, sinking into your bones like something familiar, something dangerous.

You forced yourself to keep your stance steady, your pulse even. “You don’t get to ask me those questions.”

Harvey let out a breath, almost a chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His hands curled around the railing as he moved away from you again, gripping the cold metal like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for you.

“Do you know how many times I told myself you were gone? That I lost you, ” His voice was steady now, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous. “How many times I tried to let you go, to let you move on?”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something else, something more dangerous. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me. I didn't want you to regret your choice. I didn't want anything but happiness for you. No matter how much you hurt me.”

Harvey’s fingers twitched.

“No.” His lips pressed together in a thin line, he knew the truth, that you always wished the best for him. “No, you didn’t.”

The wind curled between you, cold and sharp, carrying the weight of everything unsaid. You should have turned away. Should have walked back the way you came.

But then Harvey laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

“She used her little snake charm but somehow,” he continued, “after a week I was thinking of you. I never loved her. Couldn't even bring myself to like her, honestly.”

Your stomach dropped. It was a gut punch, sharp and unforgiving. He saw it—the flicker of emotion in your face, the tightening of your jaw, the way your breathing caught for just a second too long.

And Harvey, Two-Face, the man who never let go, moved forward, voice soft, eyes burning.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I never stopped loving you”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Shut up.”

He ignored you. Again.

“I love you so much,” he said, voice low. “You love me too or you wouldn't be here.”

“I said shut up.” He was right, he always is.

Harvey smirked, but there was nothing victorious in it. It was almost self-loathing.

“I never loved her,” he whispered again. He was making sure you knew.

“She wanted me to,” he continued. “She wanted to take everything from you.” His jaw tightened. “And maybe, if you had been a different woman, I would have let her.”

The thought of it made your skin crawl.

Harvey, Tiffany. Together. The ultimate betrayal.

“But I couldn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “Because she wasn’t you.”

He kept repeating it, trying to speak his remorse into your heart directly. You hated how much it affected you. Hated how your chest ached, how your mind burned with the thought of what could have been. You shouldn’t care. But you did. And Harvey knew it.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, forcing steel into your voice. “You used her, just like she used you. You wanted to spy on Bruce and I wouldn't do it.”

Harvey let out a sharp breath. “Yeah.” His eyes met yours. Unflinching. “I did.”

There was no shame in his voice. Just cold, simple truth. No regret anymore. He didn't regret using her, he regretted hurting you.

“But it wasn’t revenge, sweetheart,” he murmured, his Gotham accent slipping in the angrier he got. “It was survival. She had me under her little spell at first; when that stopped working, her little dream team made sure I never stepped outta line. Never came crawling back to you, never told anyone the truth. But I'm done with them now.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her, every time I played along, I was thinking of you.” His voice dipped, lower, darker. More desperate. “Every time I called her by her name, I wanted to say yours.”

Your breathing came too fast. This wasn’t fair. Harvey was not supposed to be able to do this to you. Not anymore. He was supposed to be dead to you. He had killed himself in your mind the day he let himself be used, the day he betrayed you.

And yet—

Yet.

You couldn’t move.

Because deep down, a part of you knew—you had thought of him, too. When you weren't with Slade, Harvey consumed your thoughts.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped closer again. “You’re smart, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You always were. Choose carefully.”

You swallowed hard. This wasn't about your family anymore. This was about him and Slade.

“You don’t have to go back to them.” He repeated himself again trying to convince you. His words settled in your bones, heavy, unshakable.

You clenched your jaw again. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Harvey’s eyes flickered, something dark and pleased curling at the edges. And then, voice low, almost dangerous, “Then why are you still with him?”

Your breath hitched. Slade. Your body went rigid.

Harvey took another step closer. Your noses almost touched and you nearly threw yourself into his arms.

“You think he's better than me?”

Your chest tightened. Doubt crept in. You had been so careful. So quiet. Hadn’t you? Harvey saw it. And he smiled.

A slow, knowing smirk. “He’s not going to let you go, he won't give you a choice. I don't blame the man, if I hadn't fucked everything up; I wouldn't let you go either.”

Your stomach dropped. The realization hit you all at once, suffocating, crushing. You hadn’t been careful. You had been playing into Slade’s hands all along.

Because Slade always knew. And if he hadn’t stopped you?

That meant he was letting you dig your own grave. A shiver ran through you.

The moment Harvey’s voice dipped, the second his fingers ghosted over your wrist like a lover’s touch—you should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because part of you needed to hear him say it. Needed to hear him tell you what you already knew.

That he still wanted you. That he never stopped. That you were never meant to be replaced. And it felt amazing to hear the regret in his voice and see the pure longing in his eyes.

The wind curled between you, cold and biting, but Harvey’s presence was stiflingly warm. He was watching you the way he always had; like you belonged to him, like the months between you hadn’t changed a thing. And for the first time all night, you let yourself look at him.

Really look at him.

The scars on the left side of his face had deepened, his two-toned gaze more piercing than before. The weight he carried in his shoulders was heavier, more defined. He was still Harvey, but he wasn’t just Harvey anymore. He had become something darker, something rough around the edges, something broken in a way that made you feel like a piece of you had broken along with him.

You swallowed. “I have to go.” Before you did something you couldn't take back.

Harvey exhaled, slow and deliberate. He nodded, but he didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. But he wasn’t letting you go, either.

“You’re going back to him.” It wasn’t a question. A statement, like he knew it was coming

Your pulse stuttered. “It’s not like that and you know it.” You still felt the need to defend yourself, even though you knew you didn't owe him an explanation.

You still loved him, that much was clear.

Harvey let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Sure it isn’t.”

You took a step back. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say anything to stop you, but his presence curled around you like a shadow, wrapping itself around your spine, keeping you anchored in place. And then his voice dropped. Low. Certain.

“I’m letting you walk away. But I'm not letting you go. Not when we still love each other.”

Your throat tightened. He wasn’t chasing you. Not yet. But you felt it. The promise in his voice. The inevitability. You didn’t respond.

You didn't deny that you still loved him, it was like a child insisting they didn't eat cookies when they have crumbs all over them.

You just turned and forced yourself to walk away.

The apartment was silent when you returned. Slade was waiting, seated in his chair, drink in hand, legs spread, glaring at the walls. He didn’t turn when you entered. Didn’t move when you stepped further inside, carefully shutting the door behind you. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You slipped off your shoes, moving slowly, watching him, waiting. Nothing. No reaction. Just that unshakable stillness. The kind that had always been more dangerous than his anger.

You took a steadying breath. If you didn't speak first, he wouldn't speak at all. “Slade—”

“I knew you’d come back.”

His voice cut through the room, sharp and even. Your fingers curled at your sides. “Of course I came back.”

Now, he looked at you. Finally. And when he did, it felt like a blow. That single eye, cold and assessing, swept over you, taking in every detail, every movement, every breath you tried to keep steady. Then, his lips curved. Slow. Controlled.

“Did he tell you what you wanted to hear? Make you want to run into his loving arms again?”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t let it show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Slade exhaled through his nose, the faintest huff of amusement. “Don’t insult me.”

Your jaw tightened. Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. You weren’t sure if you were waiting for him to snap, or if he was waiting for you to confess. Then, finally—Slade leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, voice lowering into something dangerous.

“Tell me something,” he said lowly.

You didn’t move. “What?”

Slade tilted his head, watching you like he was already playing out the end of this game. “Did you hesitate?”

The words hit harder than they should have. You swallowed. You could lie. You could tell him what he wanted to hear. But it wouldn’t matter. Slade always knew. And that was the worst part.

Slade was quiet for too long. Then—he sighed. Tired. Expectant. And that was worse than anger. You hated when he treated you like this, so indifferent. You liked his anger better, at least then you could get a reaction out of him.

“Take off your coat,” he said. You hesitated. Slade’s expression didn’t shift. “Now.”

Slowly, carefully, you did as he asked, slipping the fabric from your shoulders, letting it drop onto the chair beside you. Slade’s eye flickered toward it. Then, back to you.

You weren’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was looking for something Harvey left behind. Something you didn’t even realize you had carried home with you.

Then, after a long pause—Slade smirked. And it wasn’t kind like the ones you've grown accustomed to.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You stiffened. “Realize what?”

Slade leaned back again, completely relaxed. Like he had already won. “You'll know soon.”

Your breath caught. Where was he going with this? You hated when he spoke like some ancient being and he knew that. He was gonna be insufferable these next few days; he always is when you do something he doesn't like.

“Doesn’t matter where you go,” he continued, his voice so damn certain. His smirk widened, mocking. “You’ll always come back to me.”

Your chest tightened. You hated him. Because he was right. He knew you hated it, too.

You lay awake that night. Not because you couldn’t sleep. Not because Slade was in the other room, making you sleep alone for the first time in months, still awake, waiting, watching, knowing.

But because you couldn’t shake the way Harvey had looked at you before you left. Not angry. Not resentful. Just patient and remorseful. Like he already knew something you didn't.

Slade never brought it up again. Not directly. You weren’t sure if that was worse. You weren't sure if you wanted him to scream at you and demand you never see Harvey Dent again. You would rather anger than the silent treatment.

He didn’t demand answers. He didn’t press the issue. He simply carried on as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t watched you walk through the door smelling like another man’s presence.

That should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. Because Slade didn’t let things go. He let them fester.

It was in the way he touched you now, more deliberate, more possessive. The way his hands lingered a little too long on your waist when he passed you in the kitchen, the way his fingers grazed your wrist, as if reminding you that you were still there, still his.

It was in the way he watched you. He had always been observant, but now it was different. Sharper. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was reading you.

Every twitch of your fingers. Every slight shift in your breathing. Every time you looked over your shoulder without realizing it. You had brought something back from that rooftop, and Slade knew it.

And still, he said nothing. Instead, he tightened his hold.

It was late. The apartment was quiet, but neither of you were asleep. Your back pressed into the cool sheets, heartbeat steady but too aware of the man beside you. It'd been three days since Harvey and Slade was finally sleeping next to you again, but you knew he wasn't truly letting things go.

Slade’s fingers traced slow circles against your wrist, his grip loose but present. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he murmured.

You exhaled, shifting slightly beneath his hold. “And you have?”

A quiet chuckle. “I sleep when I need to.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light of the bedroom. “And when do you need to?” You missed teasing him.

Slade’s smirk was lazy, knowing. “Whenever you’re not around to keep me entertained.”

You rolled your eyes, but he didn’t let you pull away. His grip tightened, just enough to remind you he was there.

“You think too much,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Keeps you restless.”

“Maybe I like thinking,” you shot back booping his nose. You lived to annoy him, to push his buttons in a way only you could get away with.

Slade hummed, shifting to prop himself up on his elbow, still watching you. His fingers trailed down your arm, you would've though he was trying to start something if his movements weren't so slow and calculated.

“What are you thinking about now?” He said reeling you into his trap, his eyes hard. You hated when he tried to trap you. Your pulse skipped. Nothing you said would be the right answer.

Slade’s lips quirked up slightly, but there was something in his expression—something darker, something expectant.

“You can say it,” he mused. “Say his name.”

You were tempted to do it, moan Harvey's name just to piss him off, but that was a line even you knew not to cross. You rolled your eyes, "God, just let it go Slade. It wasn't important."

Why couldn't he just let this go? Slade smirked, mocking. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t break his gaze. Didn’t look away. Because he knew. He always knew. Nothing goes over Slade Wilson's head.

The next morning, you woke up to a message. Not a text. Not a voicemail. A gift.

The small wooden box sat on the kitchen counter, neat, precise. Like it had been waiting for you. Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t heard anyone come in. You hadn’t even felt him. But Harvey had been here. You swallowed, fingers brushing over the lid before carefully lifting it open.

Inside was a single playing card.

The Two of Hearts.

And beneath it—folded carefully, as if it was meant to be unwrapped like some kind of sentimental treasure—was the same scarf he had left before.

Except this time, there was something else. Perfume. Your perfume. It smelled like you and him. Like Harvey had held onto it. Like he had kept it close. Your stomach twisted.

Harvey had been here. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the box, breath coming a little too sharp, too shallow. The walls of the apartment felt smaller. You didn’t hear Slade approach, but you felt him before he spoke.

His voice was smooth, dangerous. “Something I should know about?”

You forced yourself to breathe. “No.”

Slade leaned against the counter, eyeing the box like he already knew exactly who it was from. And then—he laughed. A quiet, amused sound, as if this was a game he had already won. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he said, in the same tone some used when regretting not buying a book before it sold out.

Your stomach dropped. Slade tilted his head, eye still locked on you. “But you wouldn’t have liked that, would you?”

You said nothing.

Slade smirked, shaking his head. “Soft spot for old flames.” He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist. “That’s your problem.”

You clenched your jaw, jerking your arm away. “And what’s yours?”

Slade’s gaze darkened. “I don’t have problems.”

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. Always with the tough guy persona, honestly it must be tiring always acting untouchable. “Right. Sorry, I forgot. Because you don’t feel anything.”

Slade didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, unreadable. His hand reached for your jaw, firm, demanding. His thumb traced your cheek, slow, deliberate. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“I feel plenty.” You swallowed. Slade smirked. “You just don’t like what I feel.”

You stepped back before you could do something stupid. Something that would make you forget about the box on the counter, the scent of Harvey still lingering in the air. Something that would make you forget that you weren’t sure who you were more afraid of losing.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Harvey was right. They were going to find out the full truth soon. And when they did, they would come for you.

Now, a week after your meeting with him, your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Message after message, call after call, each one from Tim Drake-Wayne. All asking you questions about Tiffany, about yourself. About where you were.

Your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled through the texts, hands shaking, stomach twisting itself into knots so tight you thought you might be sick. Of course Tim was the first to figure out something was wrong. He was about five years too late though.

Tim: We need to talk. Please answer. I have questions. About Tiffany..

You could barely breathe. He wanted to investigate, to look deep into Tiffany. Now?

Now, after years of pushing you aside, after ignoring every cry for help, now he wanted to take your warnings seriously.

Your eyes burned, fingers tightening around the phone, your mind screaming at you to respond, to finally say all the things you’d held in your chest for too long.

But you didn’t. Instead, you turned the phone off. You shoved it under the pillow, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to push away the tears, trying to ignore the way your chest ached with something ugly and desperate.

The moment you walked out of the bedroom, you knew he had seen.

Slade was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, gaze heavy with something unreadable. The phone was still buzzing beneath the pillow in the other room, and somehow, you knew he had heard it.

He had been waiting for this. You swallowed, standing stiffly near the doorway, trying to pretend like everything was fine. Slade didn’t say anything at first. He just watched.

“Took him long enough,” he mused, his voice casual, controlled.

You rolled your eyes. He's been bitchy ever since the whole Harvey thing.

Slade’s eye flickered to your hands, still clenched at your sides. “And let me guess—you ignored him.”

You hated how easily he could see through you. You glared at him, jaw tight. “None of your business.”

Slade chuckled, shaking his head, pushing off the counter and closing the distance between you in slow, measured steps.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was lower now, smoother, curling around your spine like a threat disguised as affection. “Everything about you is my business.”

You tensed. Slade reached up, tracing a gloved finger along your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“He’ll keep calling,” he murmured. “He’ll keep begging. He'll figure it out and tell the rest of the little squad and they'll all come running back. Just like your dear old Dent. ” His lips curled into something mocking. “That’s what they do, isn’t it? Make mistakes because they know you'll forgive them?"

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Not to hurt you, just enough to remind you who was in control.

His thumb brushed over your lips, slow, deliberate. “What are you gonna do?”

Your breath hitched. Slade leaned in slightly, voice dropping even lower. Dangerous. “Do you want Tim to tell the others? Want your family back? Want him back? Even after he fucked your sister while you were lying sick in your bed?”

Your throat tightened. He was toying with you. Mocking you, trying to hurt you. Making you say it. And you didn’t want to say it. Because you didn’t know. Your family had been your world.For so long, all you wanted was to be seen.

To be loved.

To be something more than just a ghost standing in the background, watching them fawn over someone who had stolen everything from you. And Harvey gave that to you, before he betrayed you.

And now, he was sorry. Soon, they would all know the truth and be sorry.

The emotions clawed at your throat.

You wanted to scream at Tim. Tell him it was too late. Tell them that he could never fix this. No amount of investigating and apologies could make up for years of neglect.

But another part of you, the part that still ached for their love, the part that still wanted them to prove you wrong,

That part whispered, “What if?” What if when they found out the truth, they would love you? What if this time, they actually stayed?

What if this was your chance to finally have the family you always wanted?

The war inside your head made you dizzy. And Slade knew it. He was still holding you, still keeping you rooted to him, while your world spun out of control. After a long, suffocating silence, Slade finally sighed. “You’re a mess.”

You glared at him, pushing away from his grip. “Fuck you.”

Slade chuckled, unfazed. “You do it almost every night.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "You're a child, you know that?"

You turned away, grabbing a glass from the counter, hands still shaking slightly as you filled it with water. You weren’t thirsty, but you needed something—anything—to keep yourself grounded.

Slade leaned against the counter again, watching you with amusement, but something deeper lurked beneath it. Then, in a voice so casual it almost didn’t register, “I’ll make him stop. I'll make them both stop.”

The glass almost slipped from your fingers. You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What?”

Slade shrugged, like it was nothing. “You don’t want to deal with them. You don’t want to make a decision. So I’ll make it for you.”

Your breath caught. Slade never dealt with things peacefully, he got rid of problems permanately. “You can’t just—”

“I can.” His smirk deepened. “And I will.”

Your stomach twisted. Because the worst part was; you weren’t sure if you were relieved or horrified. Because Slade was right. You didn’t want to make a choice. You wanted someone to do it for you.

And Slade was more than happy to take that burden.

The first thing you noticed the next morning was the silence. No more buzzing. No more messages lighting up your screen. Slade had done it.

He hadn’t waited for you to argue. Hadn’t given you the choice. By the time you checked your phone, every number had been blocked. Every contact erased like they had never existed at all.

And maybe that’s what Slade wanted.

For them to be nothing but ghosts in your past. A clean break. A fresh start. So why did it feel like your chest was splitting open?

You had spent years craving their attention. Years begging for even a scrap of love. And now? Now you had the chance to get it. And you ignored it. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need them. That you had spent too long chasing something that was never meant to be yours.

And yet, as you stood in the quiet of the apartment, phone gripped too tight in your hands, you ached. Because you had wanted them to fight for you.

Slade had left that morning, his usual teasing smirk in place, but there had been something off.

Maybe it was the fact that his mission was dragging out longer than expected.

Maybe it was the way his fingers had lingered under your chin before he left, thumb brushing over your jaw like he was making sure you were still his.

Or maybe it was the way he had muttered, “Be good while I’m gone, sweetheart.” as you kissed him goodbye.

Like he already knew you wouldn’t be. Like he already knew something was coming. The apartment felt too big without him. His absence wasn’t something you should have noticed.

But you did.

It was in the empty space beside you when you sat on the couch. The extra portion of dinner you made out of habit. The lack of footsteps behind you. The missing weight of his presence pressing against your world, keeping you safe.

It was the first time in months you had been truly alone. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You took a nice, long, hot, shower, trying to dull the ache below your hips. You and Slade had sex last night, but somehow you were already wanting more. It was like your body could sense his absense.

You stood under the hot water, letting the steam curl around your skin, letting the heat scald away the thoughts clawing at your mind.

Maybe Slade was right. Maybe it was easier to just let go.

There was a sound. Soft. Distant. A creak where there shouldn’t be one. You wouldn't have heard it, wouldn't have sensed the body heat if you didn't have your powers. Your heart stopped. You turned off the water immediately, listening.

Nothing.

Maybe it was just—

Another creak. Closer this time. You swallowed, pulse hammering, every nerve in your body screaming at you that something was wrong. Slade was gone.

No one should be here. But you weren’t alone.

The second you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your damp skin, fangs reader and a knife in your hand, you felt him.

The shift in the air. The weight of someone watching. And then, his voice.

“Gotta admit,” Harvey mused, voice smooth, mocking, as if he had any right to be angry “didn’t think you’d be the type to shack up with a guy like him.”

Your stomach dropped. You turned sharply, eyes darting across the room, breath catching in your throat when you saw him.

Sitting on your bed. On Slade’s bed.

Harvey was leaning back against the headboard, one leg crossed over the other, looking far too comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t the intruder in this equation.

Harvey sat there like he hadn’t broken in, hadn’t shattered what little peace you had left. The moment you stepped out of the shower, still dripping, wrapped only in a towel, you knew, he was waiting for you.

Your fingers clenched around the towel’s edge, jaw tight, pulse pounding.

"You’ve got some fucking nerve," you muttered, stepping further into the room, closing the distance between you and him.

Harvey leaned back against the pillows, one arm draped lazily over the headboard, watching you with something smug, something knowing.

"Had to see you," he said simply. Like it was normal. Like it was nothing.

Your stomach twisted. It was never nothing with Harvey.

"And let me guess," you bit back. "You just let yourself in."

His smirk widened. "Door was unlocked, it’s not breaking and entering if you used to live together."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Bullshit. That’s exactly what it is, Dent. We don't like together anymore. Never did officially either."

Harvey didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze slid lower. Over the damp strands of your hair. Over your throat. Your collarbone. Your bare legs.

You knew that look. It made something ugly stir inside you.

He looked at you, gaze slow, deliberate, taking in every inch of you. The damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. The way the towel barely covered enough to keep you decent.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t stop on my account. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

Your fingers clenched around the towel, pulse thundering. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harvey let out a quiet chuckle, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Relax, sweetheart. Just thought I’d drop by. Say hello. You wouldn’t answer your phone, so I figured—” he spread his arms in mock innocence, “—why not pay a visit?”

You hated how calm he was. How easy he made it look. Like he hadn’t just broken into your home. Like he hadn't broken your heart. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, heart hammering against your ribs. Slade was gone. Gone.

No one was coming. But you could handle yourself. And Harvey knew it. His eyes flickered down your body again, this time slow, calculating. Looking at all the marks and love bites Slade had left the night before. “You always did have a thing for older men,” he mused.

Your jaw clenched. Low blow.

Harvey smirked. “What’s the matter? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Thought you could just run off and play house with Gotham’s favorite mercenary and I’d let it slide?” He tsked, almost disappointed. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You glared at him. Where did he get the audacity? “You don’t own me. Especially not now. Especially not after what you did. Your apology didn't change anything. You've got no right to be here.”

Harvey’s expression darkened, but only for a second. Then he grinned. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was thinking about him.”

Your stomach twisted. Because you knew what he was doing. He wanted you off balance. He wanted you to doubt. It was working. Because a part of you—a part you hated—was already wondering what Slade would do when he found out. Because he would find out. How jealous would he be? Would he finally drop the whole nonchalant act, ask you to be official?

Harvey’s smirk widened. “You think he’s coming back soon? You waiting for him? That's real cute princess.”

Your throat tightened. “He'll be back tomorrow.”

Harvey shrugged, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How missions can just drag out longer than expected?” His grin turned sharp. Cruel. “Would be a real shame if something happened to keep him… occupied.”

Your blood froze. Harvey watched you, waiting for the realization to sink in. He knew. He knew Slade wasn’t coming home anytime soon.

Your fingers curled into fists and suddenly you were on top of him, fangs bared, “What did you do?”

Harvey simply leaned back, enjoying himself and the view of your almost naked body on top of him. He turned his neck, as if trying to give you more access to him.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “Now, now. Don’t go blaming me. I didn’t lift a finger.” His grin widened. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who did.”

Your breath was coming too fast, too shallow, panic creeping up your spine. Slade was gone. Harvey was here. You were trapped. And Harvey knew it. Your pulse pounded. Slade was gone. Harvey was here.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pinning him down harder against the mattress, your fangs bared, breath coming in sharp, furious exhales.

"What did you do?" you hissed again, voice low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained rage.

Harvey smirked up at you, completely unbothered. His eyes gleamed with that same smug amusement, like he was playing with his food.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured, voice infuriatingly smooth, teasing. "No need to get all worked up."

You pressed your thighs against his sides, pinning him harder. "Answer me, Harvey."

He let out a slow breath, his smirk twitching, dark amusement flickering across his features. "You always were so determined. I love that about you."

Your fingers tightened, nearly scratching his back, sharp acrylics pressing into his skin through the fabric of his white button down. You didn't want to hurt him, not badly at least.

"Tell me why Slade’s mission is taking so long," you demanded, your weight pressing down on him, your legs gripping him tighter.

Harvey’s hands moved then; sliding slowly up your thighs, gripping just hard enough to make your breath catch.

"You really think I’m gonna make this easy for you?" he murmured, voice dropping to something lower, something thicker with something he wasn’t bothering to hide.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping down your spine, twisting through your limbs. He knew. He felt it.

His smirk widened, his hips shifting beneath you just slightly.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Throbbing. Pressing against the thin fabric of his slacks, against the barely-there barrier of your towel. You nearly moaned, stop being a slut, you tried to tell yourself.

You froze, just for a second. And Harvey noticed.

You were straddling him, baring your venomous fangs. You could kill him. And he was hard. You could feel it, it was impossible not to, thick, twitching against your inner thigh, pressed right against you.

Your powers didn’t help. They never fucking did. The second you got close enough to feel body heat, it was over. It was a constant hum under your skin, that ache, that need, clawing at your sanity. Your towel barely clinging to your damp skin, the heat of his body seeping into yours, you didn't know how much longer you could hold on.

He let out a low, pleased chuckle, his good hand settling on your waist, just barely gripping. "Didn’t know you missed me this much, sweetheart. Thought you were over me?"

Your nails dug into his chest even harder, but he didn’t flinch. He never fucking did. "Tell me where Slade is," you demanded.

Harvey hummed, mocking. "You sure you wanna talk about him right now?" His fingers flexed against your skin, his smirk widening as he shifted slightly beneath you again. "Because from where I’m sitting, you got bigger problems."

Your breath hitched, and you hated it. Hated the way your traitorous body reacted to him. Hated the way he felt so familiar.

His gaze flickered, taking in the flush on your skin, the way your thighs squeezed involuntarily around him. He felt it too. The heat. The tension. The pull that never really disappeared, no matter how many times you had tried to convince yourself that you were done with him.

"You always were greedy," Harvey murmured, tilting his head, eyes dark with something wicked. He was loving this. "You just can’t get enough, can you?"

Suddenly, you were angry at him again. You remembered Tiffany. Your grip tightened around his wrists, holding him down, pressing harder into him, and his smirk twitched, just slightly.

Good. Let him fucking squirm. "You still think you have control here?" you whispered, lowering your head, your breath grazing the sharp line of his jaw.

His breathing faltered. Just for a second. Just enough.

Then, just as quickly, his lips curled again, sharp and taunting.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice deep, smug, full of sin. "As long as youre on top of me or under me, I don't give a shit who's in control."

Your entire body tensed. Your nails dragged down his chest, slow, teasing, right over his shirt. You could feel his heartbeat pounding beneath your fingertips, fast, erratic, out of sync with the smug bastard act he was putting on.

He was burning for you. Just as much as you were for him. But you weren’t going to give in.

"You still think you can do whatever you want to me?" you whispered, leaning in, letting your lips hover just over his.

Harvey’s eyes flickered. A muscle in his jaw ticked. And for the first time since he had shown up, his smirk finally fucking dropped.

You grinned. Then you moved your hips and ran your fingers up and down his chest.

Harvey cursed sharply through his teeth, his grip on your waist tightening instantly, fingers digging into your skin like a vice. His dick twitched against you through his slacks, so fucking hard and aching that you could almost feel the pulse of it.

You let out a slow, breathy chuckle. "Guess you do still want me, huh?"

Harvey’s breathing was uneven. "Careful," he rasped, voice lower, darker, more dangerous now. "You’re playing a real stupid game, princess."

"Why?" you taunted, grinded your hips again, watching the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to snap. "Because you can’t handle it? Because you can’t handle me?"

It was fun being in control. Slade never let you do whatever you wanted to him, barely ever in the bedroom. You loved control, especially when it meant having a man at your mercy beneath you.

Harvey’s eyes flashed. Then, he flipped you. Fast. Brutal.

You barely had time to react before you were the one beneath him , your towel barely hanging onto your body, his hand locked around your wrist, pinning you down, his body hovering over yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His breathing was hard, uneven, tense.

"You really think I don’t know what you’re doing?" he murmured, so close now.

Your chest heaved. You got too cocky, too confident, and now you were paying the price, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Harvey laughed softly, mocking, brushing his nose against yours. "Liar."

You swallowed, pulse hammering.

"You love this," he said, voice like gravel against your skin. "The attention. The desperation and groveling. You love seeing me beg. The way you talk like you want to kill me, and the next second," his lips ghosted your cheek, his cock pressing hard against your thigh, "you’re grinding against me like a fucking addict."

Your breath hitched. His grip tightened.

"He ever let you get on top?" he murmured, lips just barely grazing yours.

Your stomach twisted. "Don't."

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Did you think about me when he had you at first? Did you close your eyes and pretend it was my hands on you even after I broke your heart? Should I tell him that?"

Your nails dug into his shoulder, your body betraying you, the heat between your legs only getting worse, stronger, overwhelming, unbearable.

"You wish," you rasped, but it sounded too breathless, too shaky.

Harvey smirked. He knew. "Say you don’t miss me," he challenged.

You clenched your jaw, turning your head away, trying to ignore the way your body burned beneath his.

"Say it," he demanded.

You tried to, but the words wouldn't come out.

Harvey hummed. Then, his fingers slid lower, trailing along your bare thigh, teasing the hem of the towel.

"Yeah," he mused, smug and cruel. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers flexed against your thighs, his grip tightening.

"Little desperate, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with something smug, something rough.

You scoffed, but your heart was hammering, your body betraying you. "If I was desperate," you whispered, leaning forward until your lips were just barely brushing against his, taunting, teasing. "You’d already be inside me."

Harvey let out a low groan. He flipped you back around, giving you full control. Letting you be on top. You lost yourself for a moment, lost the plot. You melted into him and began kissing his neck slowly and unbuttoning his shirt as you slowly moved against him. But then, you saw the picture frame you hung of you and Slade, right behind Harvey.

Slade made you take down all the photos whenever he went away on a mission, in case someone broke in and saw them, and decided to hurt you to get back at him. It was the only one you refused to remove.

It was of you and him, two months ago. Slade had a mission in Paris and he let you tag along, after you were done, you made him go to an ice cream shop. Some sweet old man asked if you wanted a picture together, Slade wasn't smiling, barely even smirking, but you could see the happiness in his eyes as he had his arms around your waist, looking down at you.

You felt nauseous, all the arousal you felt was gone. You were a whore. How could you do this to Slade? You stopped moving as your eyes watered, what if Harvey had done something to him?

Harvey's hands snapped up, gripping your hips, grinding you down onto him. He wasn't gonna let you stop now.

"Fuck, baby, I forgot how good you are at this. Don't stop, please." he exhaled, almost begging, his jaw tightening, his cock pulsing against you.

You bit your lip, trying to fight the heat clawing through your body, the way your nerves lit up at the sheer pressure of him beneath you. It felt so good. You were horny again. But you could use this to your advantage, Harvey wanted you even more that you wanted him.

"Tell me," you whispered, rolling your hips just slightly, torturing him. "Tell me what you mean when you say Slade's occupied.."

Harvey’s smirk curled, his hands dragging you down harder, making you feel every inch of him. " What’s it worth to you?"

Your breath hitched. Harvey’s fingers trailed up your back, slow, possessive, teasing. "You wanna make sure your merc comes back in one piece?"

You swallowed hard, your body thrumming with frustration, anger, something else. All control you had was slipping, your powers were making you horny but they weren't working. Harvey wasn't listening to what you told him to do.

"Make me happy, sweetheart. If I’m happy," his smirk deepened, his voice dripping with dark amusement. " the bastard stays alive."

Your chest tightened, heat roaring up your spine, burning you from the inside out. You hated him. You wanted him. You needed to keep Slade alive. Harvey’s hands slid lower, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles into your skin.

"Make a decision, pretty girl, his flight leaves soon." he murmured, his dick twitched against you, heavy with need. God, how could he be horny while threatening your teacher/ mentor /situationship's life?

You couldn’t lose Slade.

So you kissed him. Hard. Desperate.

Harvey groaned against your lips, his hands flying up to grip your waist, dragging you down harder against him, practically trying to merge your bodies together.

"That’s my girl," he muttered, his voice rough, victorious, possessive.

Your stomach burned with shame, with need, with something twisted and terrible. You hated him. You loved him.

You needed Slade to live.

But you couldn't do this to Slade, couldn't betray him on the bed you shared every night. He would be livid, what would he do in this situation? Probably kill Harvey. But you weren't Slade, you weren't as brave or as cruel as him.

So you did what you do best: You ran.

You jumped off of Harvey, punching him in the nose, still only in your towel that somehow stayed on, and shut the bedroom door in his face. You had powers, you were faster than Harvey, maybe even stronger than him. You made it to the front door in seconds, but your heart dropped as you saw the three new deadbolts.

Fucking Slade. You debated letting him die at that point.

Suddenly, you felt him behind you, grabbing you and pinning you against the door.

“Goddamn,” He laughed, amused, mocking, “you really thought that would work?”

You snarled, struggling harder, but he didn’t budge. His grip only tightened.

“Let me go, Harvey.”

His breath hitched at the way you said his name. Not Dent. Not Two-Face. Not some alias meant to keep distance. Just Harvey.

And it made something in his chest clench. His fingers flexed, his other hand dragging up your spine in a slow, deliberate motion, making you shudder.

“You always run, don’t you?” His voice was low, smooth—but there was something dangerous beneath it. “Always running from someone.”

His grip tightened on your wrists, pressing them into the wall, “From them. From me. From yourself.”

You hated how well he knew you. You hated that he was right. You hated how he got you into bed willingly even as the guilt ate you up. You hated how good he made you feel, how you couldn't bring yourself to say no. If you did, he would stop, and you didn't want that.

"Don't act like you don't want me now. You were all over me not even a minute ago." He sneered, as he ripped off your towel like it offended him.

You didn't know how many times you came, or how long you went for. You felt so good, but somehow you've never felt worse. Even as Harvey made you scream his name, you thought of how Slade would react.

You felt even worse as the night wore on, and instead of rough sex, you began to make love. Harvey buried his face in your neck as he muttered apologies, still buried inside you, and swore he would make it up to you.

You began to cry, it felt so good. But it was so wrong, so disgusting.

And you knew you never felt true regret until you woke up the next morning in Harvey Dent's arms, naked on the bed you slept on with Slade Wilson.

WHAT YALL THINK?? 1-10?? ALSO COMMENT DOWN BELOW TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere harvey dent #yandere slade wilson #platonic yandere batman #yandere jason todd x reader

572 notes · View notes

hereforuconnwbb · 2 months ago

Text

Unexpected Halt - CHAPTER EIGHT

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

~paige plays for uconn and azzi plays for stanford~

word count: 10.9k

warning: language, drugs

I PRE WROTE ALL TS AND WAS GONNA POST LATER BUT IMMA POST NOW CS IM SO GIDDY AND HYPED AZZI IS BACK FOR ANOTHER YEAR LESSSSFUCKENGOOOOOOOO

hey guys heres chapter 8 !! ik u guys wanted me to fix it but hey, we r getting there veryyyyy slowly 🤞🏽 gonna build off of this in the next chapter and maybe get them right ??? 🤷🏽‍♀️ we will see 😛 im hoping i didnt leave any mistakes in here and that it all adds up but hopefully yall enjoy !!!

DISCLAIMER: i want to make it clear that i DO NOT support, condone, or normalize victim blaming, manipulation, or any form of abuse. this story is purely fictional and meant for storytelling purposes, exploring themes of deception, miscommunication, and emotional conflict. the events depicted are not meant to excuse harmful behavior but rather to show how misunderstandings and outside influences can impact relationships. if any part of this story is upsetting, please read with discretion.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days had passed since the incident at Ted’s, and the silence between Paige and Azzi was deafening. Neither had reached out to the other, both wrapped up in their own spiraling emotions, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had suddenly appeared between them.

Paige had spent the last few days in a haze, replaying everything over and over in her head, feeling the weight of the mistake she’d made. She hadn’t known Lexi had drugged her, but the consequences of her unconsciousness were now clearer than ever. Azzi was hurt, and Paige couldn’t fix that — not yet, at least.

She couldn’t bring herself to call Azzi. The idea of hearing the coldness in her voice, or worse, hearing nothing at all, made her stomach twist. She knew Azzi had blocked her number. She had seen it in the moment of panic after waking up, and it hit her harder than any physical blow.

The days dragged by in an uncomfortable mix of regret and confusion. Paige found herself constantly checking her phone, hoping for a message, but there was nothing. Not even a hint of the person she’d come to rely on, to trust.

Azzi, on the other hand, was no better off. She sat in her room, staring blankly at her phone, unable to erase the image of Paige with Lexi’s lips pressed against hers. It burned in her mind every time she closed her eyes, the overwhelming betrayal eating away at her. Her heart ached in ways she hadn’t known possible, but her pride kept her from reaching out. What was there left to say?

Each passing hour felt like a battle to hold herself together, to not let her emotions get the better of her. She missed Paige. She missed the connection they shared, the easy comfort of being with her. But she also felt foolish for letting herself believe it was real. How could she have been so blind? And now, all she had was the image of Paige, unconscious, while Lexi twisted everything for her own gain.

Caroline had tried to comfort her, offering words of support, but even she had become a distant figure in the background. Azzi couldn’t focus on anything except the pain of what had happened. She’d blocked Paige’s number because she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want to hear more lies, more empty apologies. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Paige anymore. It was that she couldn’t trust her. Not now.

Paige lay in bed now, scrolling mindlessly through social media, trying to drown out the quiet ache in her chest. She didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know where to start. The whole situation felt too complicated to untangle, but she knew she needed to find a way to apologize — and more than that, to explain what had really happened.

But how could she even begin? Would Azzi believe her?

Paige sat up, the silence in her room feeling more suffocating than it ever had before. Her phone lay in her hands, the screen lit up with messages from KK and Ice, but not a single word from Azzi. She couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep staring at her phone, hoping Azzi would maybe unblock her and reach out. She had to be the one to break the silence.

But where to start?

With a shaky breath, she unlocked her phone and scrolled through her contacts, stopping when her eyes landed on Caroline’s name. She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen. Caroline wasn’t exactly Azzi, but she was close. She might not be the one to forgive her, but maybe she could help. Maybe she could tell her what to do. After all, she had been there through everything with Azzi.

Finally, Paige tapped out a message, her heart pounding.

Paige: Hey, Caroline. Can we talk? I need to explain myself.

It took a few minutes before the dots appeared, and then the reply came. Caroline’s response was swift, but it hit like a punch to the gut.

Caroline: Paige, I don’t think you and Azzi should be talking right now. She’s hurt, and I don’t think it’s going to help either of you for me to be the messenger. You fucked up, and now you need to give her space.

Paige winced, the sharpness of Caroline’s words striking her harder than she had expected. She had known it was coming, but it still stung.

Paige: Caroline, I swear, I didn’t.

Caroline: I don’t care what you didn’t do. The fact is, she’s upset, and you need to respect that. Azzi’s not in a place where she wants to hear from you, and I don’t think it would help. Not right now. And honestly? I don’t think she’d want me to be talking to you either, but I’m not going to be the one to make this harder for her. She’s already been through enough.

Paige’s hands trembled as she read the messages over and over. She could feel the anger, the hurt in Caroline’s words, and she couldn’t blame her for it. She had let Azzi down, let both of them down, and now Caroline was just as angry. But she needed to talk to someone. She needed to explain.

Paige: Caroline, please. I just— I didn’t know what was happening. I was drugged. Lexi did it. I— I’m not making excuses, I just need Azzi to know that. I need to explain to her that I didn’t do this intentionally. It wasn’t me.

The reply came quickly, almost too quickly.

Caroline: I know you think you’re explaining, but right now, it’s not going to help. Azzi needs time, and I’m not sure if she’ll even want to hear what you have to say when she’s ready. You’ve hurt her, Paige. I think you need to take a step back and think about that.

Caroline’s words were like a slap in the face. Paige’s chest tightened as the weight of her own mistakes came crashing down again. She didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know if Azzi would ever be able to look at her the same way again.

Paige: But I love her. I really do, Caroline. I never meant for any of this to happen. Please, just tell her I’m sorry.

Caroline didn’t reply for several minutes, and when she did, it was in a much softer tone.

Caroline: I’m not the one to give you her forgiveness, Paige. You’ll have to work for that. Just… think about what you’ve done. Think about how Azzi feels.

Paige read the message over and over again, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth. She didn’t deserve Azzi’s forgiveness. Not yet. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fight for it. She had to.

She just didn’t know how.

—----------------

Azzi sat on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly at the floor. Her phone lay beside her, still turned over, as if even looking at it would bring back everything she was trying to push away. But no matter how much she tried to distract herself, Paige’s words—or what she thought were Paige’s words—kept replaying in her mind.

She had barely slept since that night. Barely eaten. Everything felt off. On the court, she was slower, unfocused. She hadn’t even told her teammates what happened, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would. She just kept pretending she was fine, when in reality, she felt like she was unraveling.

A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

Caroline stepped inside, her expression cautious. “Hey,” she said softly.

Azzi just hummed in response, not looking up.

Caroline walked over and sat beside her, exhaling before speaking. “Paige texted me.”

Azzi stiffened at the mention of her name. Her jaw clenched, but she still didn’t look up.

“She wanted to talk,” Caroline continued. “Said she needed to explain herself.”

That made Azzi scoff. “Explain what? That she lost interest? That she wanted her ex instead?” Her voice was bitter, laced with hurt. “I don’t need an explanation, Care. She made it pretty damn clear.”

Caroline hesitated for a second before nodding. “I told her I didn’t think you’d want to talk to her,” she admitted. “I shut her down.”

Azzi finally lifted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment before she exhaled. “Good.”

Caroline studied her carefully. “Are you sure?”

Azzi let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “What am I supposed to do? Let her talk her way out of this? She kissed Lexi, Caroline. She literally told me she wanted her. And then she let me find out with a damn picture? Nah. I don’t wanna hear anything from her.”

Caroline frowned but didn’t argue. “I get it,” she said. “And I’m not saying you should forgive her. But… you’re not okay.”

Azzi looked away. “I’ll be fine.”

Caroline sighed. “You don’t have to be fine right now. But you also don’t have to act like this doesn’t hurt.”

Azzi swallowed, trying to keep herself composed. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” she muttered.

Caroline nodded slowly. “Alright,” she said, squeezing Azzi’s knee gently before standing up. “Just know I’m here, okay? For whatever you need.”

Azzi didn’t respond, just gave a small nod before Caroline walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

And no matter how much she tried to bury them, they weren’t going away anytime soon.

—----------------

Paige sat at her desk, her phone still in her hand, though it had been a few minutes since she sent the message to Caroline. She didn’t expect an immediate response, but she still stared at the screen, waiting for something—anything—that would bring some relief to the knot in her chest. There was no reply from Caroline yet, and, even though she’d already given her the cold shoulder, it felt like she had lost Azzi for good.

She couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at her. The way Azzi had blocked her, the way everything had gone from feeling perfect to nothing in the blink of an eye. Paige had never felt so helpless in her life. She hated herself for that night. For letting herself get caught up in Lexi’s twisted games, for not being able to explain herself, for letting Azzi slip away.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. She hadn’t had the chance to tell Azzi what had actually happened. She hadn’t even had a chance to apologize properly before things had spiraled out of control. Paige wiped at her eyes, trying to blink away the tears, but they kept coming. She hated the weakness she felt, the tears that kept spilling out even though she couldn’t stop them.

She couldn’t explain to Azzi. Azzi wouldn’t listen. She had no way of telling her that she wasn’t the one who sent the messages. That it hadn’t been her kissing Lexi, that she had been knocked out, unconscious, and that the whole thing had been twisted into something that it wasn’t. She wanted to scream, to shout at the top of her lungs to anyone who would listen, but all she could do was sit there, feeling more alone than she ever had.

And Azzi—Azzi would never know.

Paige felt the suffocating weight of her isolation, the constant ache in her chest. She couldn’t reach out to Azzi. Not after what happened. Azzi had made her choice. She had blocked Paige’s number, had made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with her. And Paige couldn’t blame her. Not after everything that had happened.

But still, the thought of not being able to explain herself, of not being able to make Azzi see that she was innocent in all of this, tore her apart. She needed Azzi to know. She needed her to understand that everything had gone wrong, and she had been powerless to stop it.

Paige wiped at her eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. She hated this. Hated feeling like she had no voice. No way to make things right.

The room felt too small, too suffocating, and Paige stood up abruptly, pacing for a moment before grabbing her jacket. A walk. She needed a walk.

Without thinking about it any further, she grabbed her keys, slipped on her shoes, and stepped out into the cold night air. The campus was quieter than usual, the only sounds being her footsteps echoing on the pavement as she walked aimlessly, hoping the chill in the air would cool her thoughts, calm the storm inside her head.

Her mind kept circling back to Azzi. She kept wondering where things had gone wrong. When had everything started to unravel? Had it been Lexi’s reappearance? Had it been her letting her guard down and trusting the wrong person?

Paige wanted to scream at herself, to apologize for everything she had done wrong. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t take back any of it. She couldn’t change what had happened. And the longer she walked, the more she felt like a part of her was just slipping away.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fix this.

The tears came again, harder this time, but she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She let them fall, letting the cool breeze brush against her face as she tried to breathe through the pain. All she wanted was to hold Azzi, to make everything right again, but she knew that would never happen. She knew she had messed it all up beyond repair.

And the worst part? She didn’t even know how she’d get back from it.

Paige’s footsteps slowed, the weight of the night pressing down on her as she wandered aimlessly through the quiet campus. She could hear the soft rustling of leaves in the trees, but it felt like the world around her was miles away. Every step was a reminder of how broken she felt, and the pain in her chest felt like it might swallow her whole.

As she turned a corner, the sound of voices caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat—Ice and KK. They had probably come looking for her. She hadn’t been in her room for hours. She hadn’t wanted to be there, hadn’t wanted to face the emptiness of it all. But now, she was alone, and the guilt was suffocating.

“Paige,” Ice’s voice called gently, and Paige’s shoulders tensed, the weight of the tears she’d been holding back finally breaking through. She didn’t even try to hide them as they fell freely down her face. She felt small in that moment, vulnerable in a way that she wasn’t used to. But the comforting presence of her friends made the pain a little more bearable.

KK was the first to reach her, pulling her into a tight hug. Ice followed, wrapping her arms around Paige as well, the trio standing in the quiet night with nothing but the sound of Paige’s soft sobs filling the air.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ice whispered softly, her voice soothing as she rubbed Paige’s back. “You don’t have to be alone in this, alright? We’ve got you.”

Paige could barely catch her breath, but somehow, just being held in their arms felt like the tiniest bit of relief. She had been running on empty for so long, her emotions too tangled to even make sense of. But now, with KK and Ice there, she felt like she could finally break down—like she could admit how badly she was hurting.

“I messaged Caroline,” Paige finally whispered between shaky breaths. “I thought… maybe she could help me explain. But she shut me down. She shut me down…” The words stung more than she expected, and she felt a fresh wave of tears crash down on her.

Ice’s grip tightened around her. “You tried, Paige. You’re trying. That’s all you can do right now.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige choked out, her voice cracking. “I just… I can’t lose her, but it feels like I already have. I can’t even explain what happened to Azzi. I… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but everything’s messed up now.”

KK’s voice was quiet but firm. “You’ve got to give her time. Azzi’s hurting too, you know? You can’t blame yourself for everything, Paige. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t even get to tell her what happened,” Paige whispered, barely able to speak the words through the lump in her throat. “I didn’t get to tell her I was unconscious when the picture was taken, when the messages were sent… I didn’t get to explain myself.”

Ice sighed softly, her fingers still gently brushing through Paige’s hair. “Paige, we know. But right now, you can’t carry all of this on your own. You’ve got to give Azzi some space. You know how she is—she’s hurt, too.”

Paige nodded weakly, burying her face into Ice’s shoulder. “But I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t know if I can fix this.”

“You can’t fix it overnight,” KK said, her voice full of quiet assurance. “But you can start by being honest with her. And with yourself. You’re not alone in this, Paige. You’ve got us. We’ll help you through it.”

Paige nodded, her tears slowly subsiding as the weight of her friends’ words sank in. She still had a long road ahead of her, and there was no telling how things would turn out with Azzi. But for now, she wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to carry this pain by herself.

With a shaky breath, Paige whispered, “Thanks… both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

KK gave a soft laugh, squeezing her tighter. “You’ll never have to find out, Paige. We’re here for you. We always will be.”

As the three of them stood there, the cold night air no longer seemed so suffocating. It wasn’t much, but it was a small glimmer of hope in the middle of all the darkness. And for the first time in days, Paige allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she could make things right with Azzi.

—----------------

The morning after the late-night breakdown, Paige awoke feeling heavy. The guilt still clung to her, but today was game day—UConn was playing at Gampel Pavilion, and she couldn’t afford to be consumed by her emotions. She had to push through. She had to focus on basketball, even if it was hard to focus on anything else.

As the team began to prepare, the gym buzzed with excitement, the energy of the upcoming game pulsing through the air. Paige couldn’t shake the thoughts of Azzi, but she was determined not to let it affect her performance. Today, she would be focused. She would be the Paige Bueckers the fans knew and loved.

During warm-ups, Paige went through the motions, bouncing a ball between her hands, stretching her legs, and mentally preparing for the game. The stands were already filling up with fans—die-hard UConn supporters who were excited to see their team compete. Paige couldn’t help but notice how many eyes were on her. She always thrived in the spotlight, but today it felt different.

As she walked toward the sideline, a young fan caught her attention. The little girl was holding a sign that said, “I believe in you, Paige!” It made Paige smile despite everything she was carrying inside. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a couple standing near the front row, holding a baby who was staring up at her with big, curious eyes.

“Hey there,” Paige smiled softly, walking up to them. The baby’s eyes locked onto hers, and she couldn’t help but wave. “Hi, little one! You’re so cute.”

The baby giggled and reached out a small hand toward her. Paige’s heart melted. It was a simple interaction, but it was the kind of innocence and sweetness that she desperately needed in this moment. Without thinking, she bent down to get closer to the baby, letting the little one grasp her finger. The parents were smiling, clearly just as touched by the moment as she was.

“I think you’re a future UConn fan,” Paige said with a chuckle, her voice warm and gentle. “Look at you, already a natural.”

The baby babbled happily, and Paige couldn’t help but laugh. She made a silly face, trying to get the baby to smile more. And sure enough, the little one broke out into a bright grin that had Paige grinning back, feeling a brief respite from her worries.

The moment felt perfect in its simplicity. Paige spent a few more moments chatting with the parents, thanking them for their support before she moved on to the next part of her warm-up routine. But what she didn’t know was that someone had captured the interaction on their phone, and before long, the video was being shared all over social media.

By the time the game was about to begin, the video had gone viral. The caption read: “Paige Bueckers making our hearts melt with this precious moment with a young fan! This is why we love her!” Fans flooded her social media with praise, commenting on how sweet and genuine the moment had been. It was a reminder of why Paige was so adored, even in the midst of everything she was going through.

—----------------

Azzi sat in her dorm room, the quiet hum of her laptop filling the space as she stared at the screen, not really focusing on anything in particular. She had spent the last few days pushing herself through the routine of school and practice, keeping herself busy, trying to avoid the thoughts of Paige that constantly swirled in her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the pain.

As she scrolled mindlessly through social media, something caught her eye. It was a video, a short clip of Paige interacting with a baby fan during warm-ups before the game. Azzi’s heart skipped a beat as the thumbnail loaded. She hadn’t expected to see Paige on her feed, especially not like this.

The video was simple but so undeniably sweet. Paige was crouching down, smiling brightly at the little baby, making faces and engaging with the child in a way that was pure and endearing. Azzi couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest, watching the way Paige lit up in that moment. She hadn’t seen Paige so carefree in a while, and the sight of her doing something so genuine made Azzi’s heart ache with longing.

She swallowed hard, not expecting this reaction. But there it was—right in front of her, the real Paige, not the one with the cold, distant energy from the last few days. The Paige who made her feel like the world was worth it.

Azzi paused the video, taking a deep breath. The urge to reach out to Paige was almost overwhelming, but she quickly shoved that thought aside. No. Not after everything that had happened.

Despite what happened between them, she couldn’t help but admire the way Paige had handled the situation with the baby. It was clear that Paige was still the same person, the one she had fallen for. But Azzi couldn’t forget the betrayal she felt when Paige’s ex had sent her those messages, the photo, everything that had gone down.

Still, watching the video made Azzi feel conflicted. She couldn’t just turn off all her feelings for Paige, not when she still cared so deeply. It was hard, too hard, to simply pretend that the connection wasn’t there anymore.

Azzi sighed, shaking her head, trying to clear the fog in her mind. She glanced at the clock—there was still time before the game started. In a quiet decision, she clicked over to UConn’s sports app, finding the live stream of the game. It wasn’t the same as being there, but it was something.

She hit “Play,” and the game footage loaded, the pre-game buzzer echoing through her speakers. It was hard to admit, but a part of Azzi wanted to watch—wanted to see Paige play, to see her in her element. She missed it. She missed her.

With a small sigh, Azzi adjusted the volume, leaned back in her chair, and watched as the camera panned across the court, waiting for the game to start.

—----------------

The game was intense from the start. Their opponent came out aggressive, matching UConn’s energy possession for possession. Paige quickly found herself in a battle, hounded by a tough defender who was making every dribble, every cut, a challenge. But Paige thrived in these moments.

She took control early, weaving through the defense and knocking down a pull-up jumper from the elbow for the first points of the game. The crowd erupted, but there was no time to celebrate. Their opponent responded immediately with a three-pointer on the other end, setting the tone for what was about to be a tight, physical contest.

The first quarter flew by, a back-and-forth affair with neither team able to break away. Paige dished out assists, finding her teammates in transition and setting them up for open shots. She hit another mid-range jumper, then drilled a three of her own off a screen, keeping UConn in rhythm. But every time they gained momentum, their opponent answered right back, refusing to let them build a lead.

By halftime, the score was tied.

Paige wiped the sweat from her forehead as she made her way to the locker room. The intensity of the game was exactly what she needed—something to pour herself into, something to distract her from everything off the court. But even as she focused on the game plan, the weight of the last few days still lingered in the back of her mind.

Coming out of halftime, UConn looked to push the pace. Paige initiated the break, driving into the lane before kicking the ball out for a three. She followed it up with a hard drive to the rim, finishing through contact for an and-one. The crowd erupted as she flexed her arms for a brief second before stepping to the free-throw line.

But their opponent wouldn’t go away. They responded with a run of their own, forcing turnovers and capitalizing on second-chance points. By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the game was still up for grabs.

Paige stood near the sideline, catching her breath as the buzzer sounded to signal the start of the final period. The score was nearly even, and it was clear this one was going to come down to the wire.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders back again. One more quarter. That’s all that mattered now.

—----------------

Paige bent over slightly, resting her hands on her knees as she took deep breaths. The fourth quarter had been nothing short of a war. Both teams were going at it, possession for possession, neither backing down. Bodies crashed into each other on drives, defenders slapped at the ball with desperate aggression, and every bucket felt like it could be the turning point.

With under five minutes left, the game was deadlocked. Paige had already taken several hard hits, her jersey damp with sweat, but she wasn’t going to slow down now. She snatched a rebound and pushed the pace, weaving through defenders before dishing a no-look pass to her teammate for a layup. The crowd roared as UConn took a slim two-point lead.

But the other team refused to go away.

A deep three from their point guard put them back on top. The next possession, Paige fought through a double team, spun into the lane, and finished with a tough floater over an outstretched hand. The lead changed again.

Each time UConn scored, their opponent responded. The clock ticked down, the intensity inside Gampel reaching a fever pitch. The fans were on their feet, screaming on every possession, the sound rattling through the arena.

With thirty seconds left, UConn was up by one. Paige locked in defensively, her stance low as she shadowed her matchup. But their opponent made a quick move, driving hard to the basket. Paige slid over to help, but the ball handler kicked it out to the corner. The three-pointer went up.

And it dropped.

The opposing bench erupted as the shot fell through the net. With only six seconds left on the clock, UConn was suddenly trailing by two.

Paige felt her stomach twist, but there was no time to dwell on it. No timeouts. No huddles. Just instincts.

She grabbed the inbound pass and took off down the court.

Her defender rushed up, trying to force her wide, but Paige cut back to the middle, her feet barely touching the ground as she sprinted across half-court. The clock was down to two seconds. There was no time for anything else.

Paige planted her foot and launched a deep shot from just beyond half-court.

The ball sailed through the air, the entire arena holding its breath.

Then—

Swish.

The net barely moved as the ball dropped in.

Gampel Pavilion erupted.

Paige barely had time to react before her teammates swarmed her, bodies crashing into her as they screamed and grabbed at her jersey. The crowd was deafening, the floor shaking with the sheer force of the celebration.

She had won them the game.

Paige was breathless, hands in her hair as she tried to process what had just happened. She had done this before. She had hit clutch shots before. But tonight? This one meant everything.

For the first time in days, she felt something other than heartbreak.

She felt alive.

—----------------

Azzi sat on her bed, her eyes locked onto the screen as the game reached its final moments. The intensity had her gripping the edge of her blanket, her breath caught in her throat as she watched the opposing team drain a clutch three to take the lead.

Her heart pounded, even though she told herself she wasn’t as invested as she used to be. This wasn’t her team. She wasn’t supposed to care.

But then—Paige got the ball.

Azzi could see it coming before it even happened. The way Paige moved, the confidence in her stride, the way she pulled up from beyond half-court without hesitation.

Then—

Swish.

Azzi sucked in a breath as the crowd erupted, her stomach twisting as she watched Paige’s teammates swarm her in celebration.

Classic Paige.

It was the kind of moment that would be all over social media within minutes. The kind of moment that made Paige who she was—clutch, fearless, electric. Azzi had seen it firsthand so many times before.

And for a split second, just for a moment, she forgot everything.

She forgot about the messages.

She forgot about the picture.

She forgot about the way her heart had shattered.

Because all she could see was the girl she—

Azzi clenched her jaw and exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

No.

She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, the screen going black instantly.

She refused to let herself get caught up in Paige Bueckers again. Not after everything.

Azzi leaned back against her pillows, sighing heavily.

It didn’t matter what Paige did. It didn’t change anything.

—----------------

Paige sat on the edge of her bed, still in her game gear, staring at the floor. The cheers from Gampel still echoed in her head, the weight of her game-winning shot still lingering in her body. Any other time, she would have been ecstatic—reliving the moment over and over, scrolling through the endless reactions online, feeling on top of the world.

But now? It felt… hollow.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, fingers threading through her damp hair. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her drained, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with basketball.

Azzi hadn’t texted her.

She hadn’t expected her to, but a part of her had still hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, Azzi had seen the shot and thought of her. That she would reach out, even if just for a second.

But there was nothing. Just silence.

Paige blinked against the sting in her eyes, shaking her head. This is my fault. She kept telling herself that, over and over, even though she still didn’t have all the answers. Even though the entire night was still a blur, even though she knew she would never—could never—do that to Azzi. It didn’t matter.

Because Azzi thought she did.

Paige pulled out her phone, staring at their chat—the one that had been one-sided since that night. Every message she had sent after getting her phone back had gone nowhere. Blocked. The word still sat heavy in her chest, suffocating her.

She wanted to explain. She wanted to scream that she didn’t do what Azzi thought she did. That she had blacked out before anything happened. That she would never betray her like that. But she had no way to reach her. No way to make her listen.

Paige inhaled sharply and tossed her phone onto the bed beside her, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes.

It wasn’t just the loss of Azzi that made her feel like this. It was the helplessness. The way she felt like she had no voice, no control, no way to fix what had been broken.

And she didn’t know how to live with that.

—----------------

Meanwhile, Ice sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone in hand as she scrolled through her TikTok drafts. “Yo, KK, remember when you were acting a damn fool at Ted’s that night?” she teased, smirking as she tapped on a video.

KK, lying across the floor with a bag of chips, rolled her eyes. “Acting a fool? Nah, I was carrying the energy that night.”

“Uh-huh,” Ice chuckled, pressing play. The video showed KK hyping up the crowd, doing some ridiculous dance moves in the middle of the bar while people cheered. Ice’s camera work was shaky from her laughing, but it captured everything—the loud music, the packed room, the chaos of the night.

They kept watching, laughing at KK’s moves, until Ice went to the next draft—another angle, another clip. The camera had been pointed at KK, but it was a little wider this time, catching more of the background.

And that’s when it happened.

KK was mid-spin when Ice’s laughter suddenly died in her throat. Her fingers twitched as she tapped the screen to pause the video.

“Wait.”

KK, still munching on chips, barely looked up. “Wait what?”

“Look,” Ice muttered, rewinding a few seconds and then slowing the video down. She zoomed in, her heart sinking as she focused on the background.

There was Paige. She was turned slightly away from the bar, caught up in a conversation with someone—not Ice, not KK, but another person they couldn’t see clearly. And behind her—just for a split second—Lexi stepped into the frame.

And then, clear as day, Lexi’s hand moved over Paige’s drink pouring substances in.

KK sat up so fast she nearly knocked the chip bag over. “Hold the fuck up—”

Ice played the clip again, watching the same thing happen. Paige had been distracted, fully unaware. And Lexi? She had been quick. Smooth. As if she had done this before.

Ice and KK locked eyes, the air suddenly thick with realization.

“Tell me I’m tripping,” KK said, voice lower now, serious.

Ice’s jaw clenched. “You’re not tripping.”

KK exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “Paige doesn’t know. She doesn’t know she was drugged.”

Ice’s stomach twisted. Paige had been blaming herself this whole time, drowning in guilt, thinking she had done something she hadn’t.

And the truth had been sitting right there in Ice’s drafts the whole time.

Ice and KK sat there in stunned silence, the weight of what they had just discovered pressing down on them like a brick wall.

Ice finally broke the silence. “We need to tell her.”

KK nodded, but she was still staring at the screen, jaw tight. “She’s been tearing herself apart over this, Ice. She thinks she actually let that shit happen.”

Ice exhaled sharply. “Lexi’s fucking sick. Paige was out cold, and she—” Ice cut herself off, shaking her head. “We need to tell her now.”

KK didn’t argue. She grabbed her phone and stood up. “Come on.”

The two of them left Ice’s room, moving quickly down the hall. KK’s heart pounded in her chest. Paige had been keeping everything bottled up, convinced she had ruined her relationship, and all this time—she never even had a chance.

When they got to Paige’s dorm, Ice didn’t bother knocking. She pushed the door open, and there was Paige, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the floor. She looked exhausted—like she hadn’t slept in days.

Her head lifted slightly when she saw them, her brows pulling together. “What’s up?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

Ice and KK didn’t say anything at first. KK just walked over, sitting next to her, while Ice stayed standing, gripping her phone.

Paige’s expression shifted, picking up on the energy in the room. “What?” she asked again, her voice quieter now.

Ice swallowed, then looked Paige dead in the eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “Lexi drugged you.”

Paige blinked. Her whole body went still. “What?”

KK took a deep breath and held out Ice’s phone. “We have proof, P. It’s on video.”

Paige stared at the phone like it might explode in her hands. Her fingers shook slightly as she reached for it. Ice played the clip, and Paige watched.

She saw herself standing there at the bar, completely unaware. She saw Lexi slide into frame. She saw Lexi’s hand move over her drink.

Paige’s breath hitched.

The room spun.

She had no memory of this.

Her stomach twisted violently, like she might throw up.

“Lexi…” Paige whispered, her voice trembling. She could barely hear herself over the blood rushing in her ears.

KK placed a steadying hand on Paige’s back, her usual playful demeanor gone. “She set you up, P. You didn’t kiss her. You didn’t cheat. She did this to you.”

Paige clenched her jaw, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Her breathing was unsteady. Her hands were shaking.

All this time, she had been drowning in guilt. All this time, she had been hating herself.

And the truth had been stolen from her.

She never had a voice in this.

She had been a victim.

Tears welled in Paige’s eyes, but this time, they weren’t just from heartbreak. They were from anger. From betrayal. From the sheer violation of it all.

Lexi had stolen so much from her.

And now, Paige wanted it back.

—----------------

Paige, Ice, and KK stood in front of the police station, the tension heavy in the air. Paige’s heart was pounding as she walked into the station, clutching her phone tightly, the video of Lexi drugging her ready to be shown. This was it—she was going to take action. She was going to make sure Lexi couldn’t hurt her—or Azzi—anymore.

After a few moments, they were ushered into a small office, and Paige nervously took a seat, her hands still trembling. A detective sat across from them, flipping open a notepad, looking up at Paige with a serious expression.

“So, what do we have here?” the detective asked, taking in the scene.

Paige’s voice shook slightly, but she kept her focus. “I was drugged. Someone put something in my drink without me noticing, and I—I need you to look into it. I also need to report… what happened after. I was unconscious, and she kissed me. I—I didn’t consent to it.”

The detective nodded, glancing at Ice and KK for a moment before looking back at Paige. “Okay. Let’s take a look at the video.”

Paige pulled her phone from her pocket, her hands still shaking, and handed it over. The detective played the video, eyes narrowing as they watched the footage of Lexi subtly slipping something into Paige’s drink. Paige felt a wave of relief flood through her—it was evidence. She was being believed.

“This is definitely a clear indication of tampering,” the detective said, pausing the video. “We can follow up on this. It’s enough to open an investigation.”

Paige nodded, finally feeling like the weight was starting to lift. “Good. I—I’m just so tired of feeling like I have no control over this.”

The detective paused for a moment, flipping through their notes. “We’ll look into the drugging part. We’ll need to talk to the bar staff and any potential witnesses, but this gives us a good place to start.”

Paige felt her chest tighten. “But what about… the other part? After I passed out… She kissed me. I didn’t consent to it. Can you do anything about that?”

The detective hesitated, then spoke in a measured tone. “I’m sorry, but without any concrete proof of the kiss or your state at the time, there’s not much we can do about that. The video doesn’t show anything further than the drugging, and no one has corroborated your story.”

Paige’s stomach dropped. Her heart felt like it shattered into pieces.

“So you’re telling me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady but failing, “that I have no proof that she kissed me while I was unconscious?”

The detective nodded, his voice softer now. “Unfortunately, without any physical evidence or witness accounts, there’s nothing we can do legally about that part of the situation. It’s your word against hers.”

Paige’s hands balled into fists, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. The one thing she thought would be enough—enough to prove how messed up everything was—wasn’t.

“You can’t even do anything about the fact that she drugged me? Just because she didn’t touch me the same way?” Paige’s voice broke. She could feel herself spiraling. “I don’t get it. This isn’t okay. This isn’t fair.”

Ice leaned forward, her voice firm but compassionate. “We get it, P. We do. But we can’t let her off the hook just because she’s being sneaky.”

KK added, “We can’t just back down. We’re not gonna let her slide. We’ll find another way to make sure she faces consequences. We will.”

The detective sighed, closing the case file with a resigned look. “We’ll do what we can. But right now, the drugging is the only part we can act on.”

Paige nodded, feeling defeated but still a flicker of hope burning inside her. She wouldn’t let Lexi win. She couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Paige whispered, feeling the weight of the conversation and the long road ahead. “Please, just… do whatever you can. Make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

The detective nodded, looking sympathetic but helpless. “We’ll be in touch.”

As Paige stood up, she glanced at Ice and KK, their faces full of determination. “This isn’t over. I won’t let it be.”

Ice and KK nodded, walking with her out of the station. Paige knew the fight wasn’t over. Lexi might have escaped the law for now, but Paige would make sure she faced the consequences, one way or another. She wasn’t going to give up—not on herself, and definitely not on Azzi.

—----------------

Paige, Ice, and KK sat on a bench outside, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over campus. They were all still processing the visit to the police station, the weight of everything starting to sink in. It felt like a lot had happened in such a short time, and it was hard to believe that it was all because of one person—Lexi.

Paige let out a long breath, her hands resting in her lap as she stared down at the ground. “I still can’t believe that’s all they could do. I thought for sure they’d take me seriously about what happened… but now it feels like I’m the one who has to do everything.”

KK and Ice exchanged glances, both trying to comfort her, but they were also feeling the same frustration. Ice reached over, placing a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “We’ll find a way. You’re not in this alone.”

“I know, but it just… sucks, you know?” Paige’s voice cracked as she looked up at her friends. “I don’t even know how to make it right with Azzi after everything. I didn’t do any of this, but I feel like I ruined everything.”

KK frowned, glancing around the campus. “Hey, look. We’ll figure it out. But you can’t carry all of this alone, okay?”

Before Paige could respond, she saw a girl walking toward them, her eyes locked on Paige. She was around their age, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, but it was the expression on her face that caught Paige’s attention. The girl looked like she had something important to say.

“Oh my God, I’ve been looking all over for you!” The girl’s voice was a mix of excitement and nervousness, and she approached Paige hesitantly.

Paige furrowed her brow, the familiarity of the situation hitting her. She recognized the girl now. “Wait… you’re the one who was in the bathroom at Ted’s that night. The one who left her phone in the stall.”

The girl’s face brightened as she nodded. “Yeah! I’m Serena. I saw everything that night. I’ve been trying to track you down ever since. I… I didn’t want you to think I was just some random bystander, but I saw what happened with you and that girl, and I think you need to know what I got on my phone.”

Paige’s stomach dropped at the mention of Lexi. “You saw… everything?”

Serena hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to Paige, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I did. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I was suspicious. When I walked into the bathroom and saw you passed out, I noticed that girl—you know, the one who was with you. She was right next to you, and I was just… something about her didn’t sit right with me.”

Paige stiffened, knowing exactly who Serena was talking about.

“So,” Serena continued, “I made sure I set my phone up on the bathroom stall door so it could capture whatever was going on. I had it pointed in the right direction, and when I opened the door and left, I made sure it kept recording.”

Paige blinked in shock. “You were recording me without me knowing?”

Serena nodded. “I know it’s weird, but I didn’t want to just let this go. I watched the footage later, and I saw that girl—Lexi—was kissing you while you were out cold. I don’t know her, but I saw it all. She took a picture of you two kissing too, and then when you woke up, she started acting like nothing happened.”

Paige’s heart started racing as she absorbed what Serena was saying. She had always known there was something off about that night, something in the back of her mind telling her that what she remembered wasn’t all of it. And now Serena had the evidence—the video.

“I knew it,” Paige whispered, her hands trembling. “I knew she kissed me while I was unconscious, but I couldn’t prove it. This—this video…” She couldn’t believe it was real. The weight of everything, the feeling of helplessness, finally started to lift as she realized she wasn’t alone in this.

Serena unlocked her phone and airdropped the video to Paige. “I just wanted to make sure you had this. You deserve to know what happened, especially if it’s going to help you get justice.”

Paige watched the video, her heart sinking as she saw Lexi leaning in and kissing her while she was unconscious, unable to do anything to stop it. She could feel the anger rise in her chest. The way Lexi had manipulated everything—it made her sick.

After the video ended, Serena gave her a small, apologetic smile. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I thought you should know. And if you ever need anything, I’m here. I’m not going to let her get away with it either.”

Paige nodded, tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say—she was overwhelmed, exhausted, and still trying to piece everything together. But one thing was for sure: she wasn’t going to let Lexi get away with what she’d done.

“Thank you,” Paige finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Serena nodded, standing up to leave. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

As Serena walked away, Paige sat in silence, the video still fresh on her mind. She wasn’t going to let this slide. This was just the beginning.

Paige, Ice, and KK sat in silence for a few moments, each of them processing everything that had just unfolded. The weight of Serena’s words lingered in the air as Paige held her phone in her hand, the video playing over and over in her mind. Her pulse was still racing from the shock of seeing it all again.

Ice was the first to speak, her voice quiet but firm. “This is huge, Paige. I’m glad you’ve got the video now. But what’s next?”

Paige wiped her eyes, her hands still shaking slightly. “I don’t know… I don’t know what to do with this.” She looked down at the phone in her hand, the evidence staring back at her. “I can’t just let this go. This is… this is messed up.”

KK nodded, her expression serious. “You’re right. You need to take this back to the police. You’ve got proof now, and they have to listen.”

Paige took a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not letting her get away with this.”

The three of them stood up, and as they walked back to the police station, the reality of the situation started to settle in. Paige’s mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spiraling as she tried to figure out what this all meant for her, for Azzi, for everything. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she couldn’t just let Lexi’s actions go unpunished.

By the time they arrived at the station, it was nearing late afternoon. The police officers who had initially spoken to Paige greeted them, and the group followed them to a small meeting room. After a quick introduction, Paige handed over her phone, her fingers brushing over the screen as she handed over the damning video.

“We need to make sure this is seen by the right people,” Paige said, her voice steady, though there was a slight tremor underneath.

The officer nodded, watching the video carefully. “We’ve been looking into the situation more closely. We actually got in touch with the staff at Ted’s and got some more details. Looks like Lexi, the girl you mentioned, has been flagged by them before. She’s got a bit of a reputation for making trouble.”

Paige’s heart sank at the mention of Lexi’s name. “You knew about her?”

The officer gave a nod. “Not all the details, but yeah. We’ve heard rumors, and it looks like your situation is part of a pattern. We’re working on getting more concrete evidence. This video definitely helps.”

Paige let out a slow breath, the pressure on her chest easing slightly. “So, you’re saying… this might actually go somewhere?”

“We’re working on it,” the officer said. “We’re reaching out to some of the people involved and pulling more footage from the night. We’ll also be contacting Lexi soon, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Good,” Paige said, feeling a surge of determination. “She’s not going to get away with this.”

Ice and KK stood behind her, their support unwavering. They had seen the weight of the situation settle in on Paige, but now they could see the fire burning in her eyes. She wasn’t going to let this end with a dead-end. They would get justice.

After a few more questions, the officer turned to them. “We’ll be in touch, Paige. You’ve done the right thing by bringing this to us. We’re taking this seriously.”

Paige nodded, relief and anger still mixing in her chest. “Thanks. I just want to make sure no one else has to go through this.”

Once they left the station, Paige felt a slight shift within herself. She wasn’t sure how long it would take, but she finally felt like she was doing something about it. Lexi wasn’t going to get away with her manipulations. And as she walked back with Ice and KK, she knew she wasn’t alone in this fight.

—----------------

Paige, Ice, and KK walked back to their dorm in silence, the weight of everything still pressing heavily on Paige’s chest. She kept thinking back to the conversation at the police station, her fingers itching to reach out to Azzi, but she knew that wasn’t the right move yet. Not when things were still so raw between them.

Once they were back in her room, Paige sat on her bed, pulling out her phone. Her hand hovered over Caroline’s name in her contacts, a wave of hesitation washing over her. Caroline had been pissed at her before, but this time, Paige had to make her understand.

She typed the message, taking a deep breath before pressing send.

Paige: Hey, Caroline. I know things have been rough, and I get why you’ve been shutting me out, but I really need you to listen to me. I owe you an explanation.

The response came quickly, but Caroline’s tone was firm.

Caroline: I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it, Paige. Azzi’s been through enough because of you, and I really don’t think this is something you need to be getting into right now.

Paige’s stomach twisted at the message. She’d expected this, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her.

Paige: Please, just give me a chance to explain. You know I’d never hurt Azzi on purpose. This thing with Lexi—it’s not what you think. It’s a lot worse than you know.

She waited a few moments, watching the three dots appear and disappear as Caroline typed.

Caroline: Fine. But this better be good, Paige. Azzi’s been heartbroken over this for days.

Paige quickly attached the video Serena had sent her and typed the message. Her hands were shaking, but she had to get this out.

Paige: I just got this today. It’s from that night at Ted’s. Lexi drugged me, and she used my phone to message Azzi, pretending to be me. She even sent that picture of us kissing while I was unconscious. I’ve already reported it to the police, and it’s under investigation now. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of monster. This is all on Lexi.

She stared at her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. She had said it. She had finally said it all. There was no turning back now.

Caroline: Wait… what?

The message came a few seconds later, her disbelief clear through the words.

Caroline: I knew something wasn’t right. But I was pissed. I was too pissed about what happened between Azzi and you to think it through properly. I didn’t want to be the one to defend you when Azzi was heartbroken.

Paige’s chest tightened as she read that, the guilt gnawing at her. She understood why Caroline had felt that way, but hearing it out loud still hurt.

Paige: I know. I know, Caroline. And I hate that I made her go through that. But please, you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt her. I’m doing everything I can to make this right.

Caroline: I just— I don’t even know what to say, Paige. This is a lot.

Paige sank back onto her bed, taking a deep breath. She had to get through to Caroline, she had to.

Paige: I know it’s a lot. I just need you to understand that I was never trying to do anything wrong. I thought I was protecting her, and I failed. But I’m not giving up on her, and I’m not giving up on us.

The message sat there for a long moment before Caroline replied.

Caroline: I’ll talk to Azzi. But you better hope this investigation leads somewhere because she doesn’t deserve to go through all this.

Paige felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she read Caroline’s words. She wasn’t sure what would happen next, but at least she had an opening now. A small one, but enough to build on.

Paige: Thank you. Just… please let her know the truth when you can. I just want to make this right.

Caroline: I will. Just don’t make this worse, Paige.

Paige set her phone down, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She knew this wasn’t over. Far from it. But she’d taken a step. Maybe it was a small one, but it was a start.

As she sat there, Ice and KK glanced at her from across the room, both of them giving her small, reassuring smiles. She didn’t know what would happen next, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she had a chance at making things right.

—----------------

Caroline paced nervously outside of Azzi’s dorm, her fingers tightening around her phone as she held it in her hands. She had told Paige she would talk to Azzi, but she wasn’t sure how this conversation would go. Azzi had been hurt by Paige, and the last thing Caroline wanted was to make things worse. But, after everything she had seen, she knew the truth needed to come out.

Taking a deep breath, Caroline knocked on Azzi’s door. She heard a faint voice from inside, and with a hesitant nod, she pushed the door open. Azzi was sitting on her bed, a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes red from crying earlier that day.

Azzi looked up, her expression hardening as she saw Caroline. “What’s this about, Caroline? I told you before, I don’t want to talk about Paige right now.”

Caroline took a few steps into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes softening as she looked at Azzi. She had never wanted to be the one to get in the middle of their mess, but this was bigger than anything she could ignore.

“I know, Azzi. I know you don’t want to hear from her. But I think you deserve the truth,” Caroline said, her voice firm but gentle.

Azzi’s brows furrowed, confused. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Caroline hesitated, then pulled out her phone. “Paige reached out to me. She explained what happened, and I didn’t believe her at first. But then… She sent me something. Proof. Proof that what happened with Lexi wasn’t what we thought.”

Azzi looked at Caroline skeptically. “Proof of what?”

Caroline swiped through her phone and opened the first video. She held it up for Azzi to see, her heart racing. “This is from the night at Ted’s. It’s the moment when Lexi slipped something into Paige’s drink while she was distracted.”

Azzi stared at the screen, her eyes narrowing as she watched the video. She saw Paige, laughing and talking with someone else, unaware of Lexi standing beside her, covertly putting something into her drink. Azzi could feel her stomach twist, but she stayed silent.

Caroline swiped to the next video, her finger shaking slightly as she clicked on it. “And this… This is the part where Lexi kissed Paige while she was unconscious in the bathroom.”

Azzi watched in silence, her lips parted as she saw Lexi leaning down over Paige, who was unconscious in the stall. Lexi kissed her, taking a moment to snap a picture before Paige stirred and pushed her away, visibly confused and disoriented. Azzi could see the tension in Paige’s movements, the way she was fighting to shake off the fog, the way Lexi tried to act like nothing had happened.

Then, Paige’s voice, shaky but strong, rang out in the video, pushing Lexi away. “Why the fuck are you kissing me while I was out? Are you crazy? I’m in a happy relationship right now.”

Lexi, her expression unbothered, smirked. “Well, not anymore,” she said, her words dripping with malice.

Caroline watched as Azzi’s face shifted, her jaw tightening in anger. Azzi’s eyes were glued to the screen, her brows drawn together in disbelief. Caroline couldn’t blame her. Seeing it all play out like this, it was hard to process.

“Do you see it now?” Caroline asked quietly, her voice softer. “Lexi was the one manipulating everything. Not Paige.”

Azzi turned her gaze to Caroline, her face pale. She was quiet for a long time, as if trying to absorb everything. Her emotions were all over the place — hurt, confusion, betrayal.

“I don’t know what to think,” Azzi murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t believe it. I— I don’t know how to feel about it. I should've given her the chance to speak to me but I didn't.”

Caroline reached over and put a hand on Azzi’s shoulder, trying to comfort her. “I get it, Azzi. I really do. Lexi manipulated everything, and she’s the one who needs to be held accountable. Not Paige.”

Azzi shook her head slightly. “I don’t know if I can fully process this straight away. It's gonna take some time. ”

Caroline sighed, understanding the depth of Azzi’s pain. “I know this is a lot. I don’t expect you to process this whole thing right away. But you deserve the truth, Azzi. And now you have it.”

Azzi’s eyes were distant as she stared at her phone, her mind clearly racing. “I need some time. I just… I need time to think about all of this, it's all just new.”

Caroline nodded, standing up and walking toward the door. “I understand. But just remember, don't stress yourself too much because of how you handled it.”

As she left the room, Caroline glanced back at Azzi, who was still sitting on the bed, staring at her phone, the weight of everything settling in.

Outside the door, Caroline’s heart was heavy, but she knew that the truth was out there now. She could only hope that Azzi would come to see that Paige hadn’t been the one who had hurt her.

Azzi sat on her bed, her phone still in her hands, but now everything felt different. The video Caroline had shown her kept replaying in her mind. The look of shock on Paige’s face when she woke up, the way she pushed Lexi away, the argument that followed—it all started to make sense in a way that Azzi hadn’t fully understood before.

But even with the truth laid out before her, Azzi was still struggling. She couldn’t just flip a switch and go back to how things were with Paige. There was too much hurt. But now that she knew what happened with Lexi, it felt wrong to hold onto the anger. It felt like she was holding onto something that wasn’t real anymore.

Azzi took a deep breath, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on Paige’s name. Her finger hovered over the “unblock” option, and for a moment, she just stared at it, her chest tightening. Was she ready to hear from Paige again? Did she want to hear from her?

She thought about the last few days—how she’d kept her distance from Paige, how much she had cried, how much she had wanted answers, even when she wasn’t sure how to get them. Paige had been blocked, shut out from her life, but Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this story. And maybe—just maybe—she needed to hear it from Paige herself.

Azzi tapped the screen, unblocking Paige’s number. It felt like a heavy weight was lifted, but it also felt like she was stepping into unknown territory. Her emotions were still raw, but she knew it was a step toward healing, even if it wasn’t one she was ready to take just yet.

She didn’t message Paige. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Azzi lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind swirling with all the things she still needed to process. She wasn’t sure if she would ever fully heal from what had happened between her and Paige as it has emotionally wrecked her.

This was going to take time.

But unblocking Paige was a start. It was a sign that, maybe, just maybe, she was open to talking again when the time was right. The healing process couldn’t begin without some form of connection, and as much as Azzi hated to admit it, that connection had to come from both sides.

She closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. “It’s going to take a while,” she whispered to herself, her heart heavy. But for the first time in days, she felt like there was a possibility of moving forward, even if that meant taking baby steps.

For now, that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #wbb

201 notes · View notes