The North Star

by ShadyDigress

Summary:

Bruce Wayne has been supporting Harleen Quinzel's dream of becoming a psychiatrist. He has no intention of letting her out from under his thumb once she finishes her degree. Refusing to give up her independence, Harleen runs... right into the arms of the notorious Joker.

No need to read the other parts in this series to enjoy this one!!

Chapter 1: Party of One

It was probably the fifth time Pam had tried to call me within twenty minutes, and I was about to lose my shit.

It briefly crossed my mind that she might have been calling me because someone had died. After all, what else would cause this kind of persistence in my best friend? But everyone that I cared about was at this particular party, and the few that weren’t were more than capable of taking care of themselves.

And the one person I was most concerned about getting herself into a fuck load of trouble was Pam herself, and since she was calling, she was probably fine. Unless her murderer was calling me, but I figured that at some point even a murderer would give up and send me a text.

These parties were ridiculously tiresome, but at some point, I had almost gotten used to them. Almost being the operative word in that sentence. The truth was that after growing up without much being in the face of all of this over-the-top gaudy splendor was a bit gag-worthy, but it was part of the deal.

The goddamn deal. Which was, I reminded myself, almost over. I was on my last class at NYU, then I’d take the bar, and then no more parties, no more Gotham, and no more goddamn Bruce Wayne, sugar-daddy extraordinaire. Minus the sex, thank God.

These parties were all for Bruce. A way for him to show off his ridiculous wealth, to parade his generosity, and to show off all the poor unfortunate souls that he’d helped. God, it was like Ursula herself invited a bunch of merpeople down to her lair and hung ornaments from all those creepy little people trees or whatever the hell those things were.

Needless to say, I didn’t find it very impressive, but I put on a smile because as much as Bruce Wayne might have repulsed me, the truth of the matter was that he was still, effectively, the king of Gotham. And he was my ticket out of this place. If I could get my doctorate, I could finally leave this place and follow my dream. I could find a practice somewhere else in the country, make some money. I didn’t care if I had to live in a hole for the first few years. I’d make that hole super adorable and decorate the shit out of it.

“You know,” Pam had said to me the other night as she brushed out her gorgeous red hair. “You could leave any time you wanted. You could go live in a hole and work some random job. If you hate him so much, you could just leave.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that because... she wasn’t wrong. I could leave. I could suffer in squalor somewhere and try to raise enough money for college, but...

I was so close. I was so fucking close. I couldn’t just leave, not now. Not yet.

Besides. Bruce wouldn’t let me. He’d find some way to make me stay until I finished. This is your dream, he’d murmur to me with those “gentle” eyes. Don’t you want your dream to come true?

Yeah. Yeah, I did. And maybe I’d made a deal with the devil, but the devil was about to make my wish come true with no strings attached.

At first, I hadn’t believed it. I still didn’t really, even as I took a champagne flute from a tray and shifted in my skin tight cream colored dress. Everyone knew that Bruce Wayne never did anything for free. He was as ruthless as he was handsome, and that beauty of his faded pretty quick when you figured out just how fucking cruel he could be.

And foul. Yes, he was very foul. I had witnessed him throwing enough crying men and women out of his mansion to know that he didn’t give a fuck who he hurt.

And there were, of course, the rumors that he had certain people executed if he tired of them. It was unclear what had happened to his wife and his husband, Barbara Gordon and Jason Todd, but all that was known was that they were gone. Presumed dead.

This was Bruce Wayne, and people didn’t fuck around with him. Especially people who had spent thousands upon thousands of dollars of his money to get a degree that wouldn’t benefit him at all.

It was a quid pro quo situation. One that I certainly benefited from more than others, but he still received a positive outcome. After all, I came to his parties–the formerly homeless, beautiful young woman who was now somebody, thanks to Bruce Wayne. I doubted he would have given me this deal had I not been someone who he thought of as attractive, but for the longest time I had convinced myself that I didn’t care about that. And I didn’t.

I hadn’t cared at all until suddenly, he had started to care.

Lately, it had become Bruce Wayne’s mission in life to get me when I was alone. He was forever trying to get me in corners, to walk into rooms when no one else was there. I saw the look in his eyes. I knew what he wanted. I had been getting a lot of positive reception in the press lately, and it would look good for him if–

But he wouldn’t do anything. Right? That would just be fucked up. I was attractive, sure, but I was not wealthy nor was I even remotely well-bred. No amount of she looks good on my arm could compensate for that.

I had never been trash a day in my life, even when I’d been poor, but if that was what kept Bruce Wayne’s notoriously wandering hands away from me, then so be it.

“Well, despite everything, you look great.”

My older sister Lily was sipping from a champagne flute with a remarkably sour look on her face. She looked gorgeous in an emerald green dress that I’d had to talk her into for what felt like hours. She glanced at me–and then back towards the portrait that I’d been looking at.

“Back here again, huh?” she huffed. “If I didn’t know any better, I might think that you were a little obsessed.”

“Look, it’s just interesting, okay?” I said with a wave of my hand (the champagne-less one so I wouldn’t end up sloshing bubbly all over the place). “All the other villains that Gotham has seen, he leaves their pictures up, but this one...”

For whatever reason, Bruce Wayne took pride in the downfall of the villains of Gotham. He did fund Batman, after all, so maybe he could take a little bit of the credit. It was, however, a bit disturbing that he hung giant portraits of these defeated villains in his home. They were nearly as tall as the wall, and each of them were a full bodied painting. There they all were–the Riddler, Penguin, Mr. Freeze, Catwoman, Scarecrow.

But this portrait. This one.

It had a long slash down the middle. The canvas hung limply. The only thing that was really discernable was a pale hand.

Every time I walked past it, I longed to push back the canvas to see his face. The only one who Batman had truly hated.

The only one that he hadn’t sent the Arkham. The one that he’d killed.

“Nobody really knows anything about him, not even the way he died,” I murmured. “It drives me crazy. Why did Batman hate him so much?”

“Because he was evil?” Lily said, utterly deadpan.

“Oh my God, you’re an actual genius,” I smirked, clinking my champagne flute against hers. “In other news, this party is almost over so we can go have some actual fun. You know, drink rose and watch Bachelor in Paradise. Fantasize about Jesse Palmer.”

“Yessss,” Lily groaned. “What–fifteen more minutes? We can make it. We just have to hide from–”

“Ladies.”

Well. So much for that plan.

It was impossible to deny that Bruce Wayne was hot. He was as conventionally attractive as they came. And if I ignored my standards, I could see how somebody could be into him. He spoke in a soft, rumbling voice. He kissed the backs of hands. He would wink and tell jokes and laugh loudly, the sound of it ricocheting around any room that he was in.

He was larger than life. He made me feel sick, but he was powerful. And for some people, that was enough.

It was so easy to pretend when he wasn’t around that he was just another man that I had to dodge for the evening. It was almost fun to pretend that he was the guy who made lewd comments on a subway, or who bought me too many drinks.

But like every man, you could only joke about him for so long before he became something dangerous. Men had a way of shapeshifting like that when you weren’t looking.

“You look beautiful, Harleen,” he murmured, offering his hand to me. I had no choice but to take it and let him kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Of course they were. Sometimes he would kiss my cheek, and the way he would linger there after...

“And you look handsome, Bruce,” I replied as easily as breathing, trying to give him a breezy smile–but it wasn’t working. Like my mouth was defective. There was something wrong with the way that he was looking at me. Usually, he gave me space and would try to find other women in the party to set his sights on, but that whole night, I had felt his eyes following me around the party. And I really could feel them. The way they raked down my spine, curved around my ass, and casually unzipped my dress like it was his right.

Fuck. I wanted to run suddenly. And then he put his hand on the small of my back, and panic bubbled in my guy. Goosebumps raised on my skin, but not for the reason that he surely thought they did.

“I’m so glad I finally have a moment with you,” Bruce murmured. “I think we’ve both known this has been coming for quite some time. Come with me.”

Ahh. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. His hand wrapped around my wrist and I allowed myself to be toted to the middle of the party. There felt like thousands of people surrounding us now and I glanced back to see Lily trying to push after me, her eyes as panicked as mine surely were because Bruce was up to something and it wasn’t anything good.

“Friends,” Bruce said, and the room immediately went silent, all eyes on him. And me. Mostly me. I could feel them rippling down my skin. The poor miserable girl that Bruce had taken under his wing. Wasn’t she so lucky?

I didn’t feel lucky at all. Jesus, the mere idea of a four leaf clover was about as far from me as I could imagine.

“I am so pleased that all of you have gathered this evening to celebrate with me in a very special moment. Harleen Quinzel, from the moment I met you, I knew there was something special about you,” Bruce was saying, and I felt myself smiling mechanically. I figured he wouldn’t mention that the first time he’d met me, he’d sneered at my sweatshirt and jeans and said Fine, the press will be good if I support her. “And over the past few years, we have grown undeniably close.”

What the fuck. I didn’t know what alternate universe Bruce was living in, but there were probably fucking unicorns in it because apparently in this universe reality didn’t matter. I had hardly talked to Bruce, mostly just endured the way he looked at me and tried catch me when I was alone and–

“I think it is only natural that we move ahead in our relationship,” Bruce smiled–and he was reaching into the jacket of his tuxedo and this was happening oh fuck no fuck a velvet jewelry box and he was opening it and holy fucking Christ that was the biggest diamond ever? Jesus what coal had to die to create that ridiculous eyesore.

“Harleen Quinzel, will you marry me?” he asked, and he didn’t kneel because of course he didn’t.

Well. At least I knew what Pam had been calling me about now. It would seem I’d accidentally attended my own engagement party.

Fuck.

Chapter 2: Stuck

Summary:

Harleen really doesn't have much of a choice, except the one that she'll make for herself.

The room was absolutely quiet. Nobody seemed to be breathing. I knew I certainly wasn’t because the moment that I took a breath would be the moment that I was expected to answer, and I knew there was only one acceptable one.

Fuck. I could see just how carefully calculated this had all been. He’d summoned the biggest crowd I’d ever seen at one of his partners before, and there were journalists with their cameras at the ready. He knew. He knew I wouldn’t dare to embarrass him publicly like this. Doing so would mean the end of my education, for certain.

And everyone knew that Bruce Wayne did not suffer humiliation quietly.

He wasn’t just a silly boy that I could ignore. No. God, I wished he was. I would relish laughing in his face and throwing that ridiculous ring across the room, but I had a part to play. The pretty, sunny young woman who longed to be a doctor.

The kind of girl who would swoon if Bruce Wayne deigned to ask her to be his wife.

I felt like I might be sick. Wouldn’t that be a picture and wouldn’t that be a headline. Bruce Wayne Vomited on by Future Bride.

I had a sudden delirious urge to laugh.

“Harleen?” Bruce prodded gently, but his eyes were anything but gentle. No, there was a sharpness to them. He looked like a fucking shark. I could see the unspoken words around his lips.

No one says no to Bruce Wayne and lives to talk about it.

It wasn’t just me I had to look after. Lily. Pam. Everyone in my life who’d looked after me and had supported me and had told me to just be strong and you can do this.

This. This. This was what I was supposed to do now.

“Right,” I heard myself say. Bruce’s eyebrows flickered. The slightest you’d better try that again, bitch. He had the look on his face of a man who couldn’t wait to get his hands on a woman so that he could train her.

I imagined being married to Bruce. I imagined sitting alone in a room, not working, not living, not dreaming, not doing anything but waiting for him to come home so that he could put his hands on me and–

“Yeah,” I said finally. Now his irritation was written all over his face–and the hand wrapped delicately around mine was suddenly gripping much more tightly now. He wasn’t playing games, and he wouldn’t let me play them either. “I mean, of course, Bruce. Yes.”

Then, his entire facial expression lightened like the darkness had never been there, but I had seen it.

He was sliding the ridiculous engagement ring on my finger. It fit perfectly. He’d planned this. He’d planned out every damn detail, down to my fucking ring size.

Trapped. Pinned. Cornered. Stuck.

I felt his hand wrap around my lower back and he pulled me in close. I could feel his body flush against mine and his was hard with muscle. He pressed me so firmly against my body, and I had a feeling he was trying to feel my body with his. To claim me before I actually married him.

He’d want to fuck me tonight. God. God, no.

My mind was spinning. I needed to get out of here. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. The cameras were flashing and the bulbs were blinding and I felt his face so close to mine and his lips were on mine and Jesus Christ and Mary and Joseph and all the camels and sheep and shepherds and wisemen it took everything in me not to shove him back.

No. No, this was not going to happen. No, fuck, I wasn’t going to let this happen, but for now, I had to play along. I had to play the sweet faced, beaming fiance.

For now. For now.

And then, he kissed me, and everything inside of me tried to revolt.

I forced myself to freeze, to just stand there and fucking endure it because what else was I supposed to do? I mean, I knew what I wanted to do, which was to slam my knee into his expensive family jewels and give him some highly justified testicular torsion, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do anything.

Stuck. Fucking stuck.

It hit me in that moment that I’d never truly been stuck before. There had always been a way out, and a way forward. There had always been someone who would help me, or I would figure it out, and this was no different. Hell, I would figure my way out of this, I was sure of it. I just needed to think.

I kept my lips tightly closed even as he pushed harder against my mouth. It was fucking appalling. I absolutely wanted to scream, but I figured that would be pretty damn hard to play off so I just stood there.

Stuck. Still stuck.

After what felt like a hundred years, Bruce finally pulled back and gave me a smile that looked like an ice chip, and it felt like it was sliding right down my spine. Cold and sharp.

You’ll pay for that.

Ahhh. Fuck. No. Goddamnit, no, I wasn’t going to be trapped like this. I could get away. But I would have to be careful because if he knew just how much I hated him, he would clamp down on me harder than before. Then I’d really learn the meaning of the word stuck.

“Sorry,” I apologized, doing my best to look as doe-eyed and pretty as possible (though I was pretty sure the queasiness lingered around my features because I could still feel his appalling hard kiss, the way he’d forced my lips to press so hard against my teeth they’d nearly left indents. “This is all just so much. I didn’t even know that you...”

Yes. This would work. A plan formed. I reached up to touch the lapels of his handsome suit, playing with them “shyly” (I had never felt less shy in my life). I saw his gaze soften as I said probably the worst thing I’d ever said (and I said fuck at least 500 times on a daily basis):

“I just didn’t think you’d ever want a girl like me.”

And when I say his gaze softened, it melted. He looked utterly won, and I could practically feel his ego swelling beneath my hands as they smoothed over his chest.

There we go, Bruce. Eat out of my hand. Easy. I got this under control.
“Ever since I met you, Harleen, I’ve always thought you were one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met,” Bruce murmured, reaching up and brushing my hair away from my face in a way that felt horribly intimate.

And with one comment, he’d tried to take me down. Complimenting only my looks when I’d come to him to grow in my career, in my education. Saying I was only one of the most beautiful. As if that might make me feel jealous, as if that would make me wonder who he had deemed to be just as beautiful–if not more so–than I was.

I didn’t care. I really didn’t. I just wanted to–

“Thank you,” I breathed. He thought he would win in this game with me, but we weren’t playing the same game. Hell, he was playing Candy Land and I was playing Blackjack. I was going to get out of this. Somehow. I’d figure it out. Right? “Sorry, this has just all been–so overwhelming for me. I need to get some fresh air.”

“Of course,” Bruce murmured. “But hurry back. The sooner you come back, the sooner we can go upstairs.”

His fingers traced down my bare arm. Goosebumps rose on my skin, but not for the reason he thought I did. I managed what I hoped was a flirtatious smile, but I knew there was likely an edge to it. Maybe not in my lips, but in my eyes–this slightest notion of how could you do this to me.

Maybe it was my imagination, but it almost seemed like he noticed–and it only made his smile grow wider.

I should have known. I should have known that he wouldn’t do this out of the goodness of his heart, and the good press wouldn’t be enough. He’d want more. He’d take what he thought he deserved.

Not on my fucking watch, Wayne.

I pecked his cheek just to seal that I was submitting to him (never gonna fucking happen, Bruce) and then turned, walking away, and immediately fumbling for my phone.

Where could I go? Jesus, where could I fucking go? I had figured out a long time ago that Bruce had high tech cameras everywhere. In every room of his mansion, in his cars, hell, even in his goddamn gardens. I watched what I said around this damn place. Really, the safest places were when I was in the open surrounded by hundreds of voices, or when I was as far away as my feet could carry me, and even then.

Bruce Wayne owned Gotham. Every inch of it. There was nowhere that would be safe for me.

I had texts from Pam.

PAM: Fuck, I tried to warn you, I’m sorry.
PAM: Lex told me. I tried, but he already asked you. I saw it online.
PAM: Goddamnit. What are you gonna do? I’ll help. Whatever you need.

God, I felt a lump of gratitude form in my throat. I knew Pam would do anything for me. Hell, she’d throw everything she’d worked for in the trash just to make sure that I was safe, and she’d spent years and years getting enough money to open her own greenhouse. She’d had to do shitty things, and she’d sacrificed a lot, but she’d made it.

If she helped me, Bruce Wayne would take everything from her. He would do the same to Lily. He would punish the fuck out of them in ways that I didn’t even want to think about right now. Or ever.

Stuck.

No. Never stuck. There was a way out. I just had to...

I had to get out of here. This fucking party, all the lights and the paparazzi and people trying to congratulate me, I just had to–

I didn’t even remember leaving the party, but all of a sudden I was outside and then I was walking and walking and walking. The rhythm of my footsteps was calming me somewhat, though my heart was still beating out of my chest. I realized at some point that I’d put my phone down and walked away. Why had I done that? I had to go back and get it, but the thought of going back into that fucking mansion again–and I knew that Bruce would snatch me up the moment that I stepped into that oversized ballroom and then he’d–

And then we’d–

No. No. Never stuck. Not stuck. Walk. Think. Clear your head. You can do this.

The ground beneath my feet. The air on my skin. I was alive. I was alright. I worked on regulating my breath, feeling the anxiety in my stomach, trying to get it to uncurl. Let go. Let go. Release. I can’t fucking think.

Funny thing about walking is that you travel. By the time I had somewhat calmed down I realized that I must have been walking for–ten minutes? Fifteen? Twenty? Thirty? I didn’t have my phone so I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t recognize where I was. This was not close to Wayne Manor. The neighborhood was distinctly shabbier than anything I’d ever seen in Gotham. Bruce Wayne’s pristine touch clearly did not extend here.

My feet hurt. My dress was not keeping me warm. And I was completely lost.

Well. At least I wasn’t stuck any more.

Chapter 3: Playhouse

Summary:

Harleen runs away--and to someone.

I had once been as poor as you could possibly imagine, but I’d been poor in a different part of Gotham. This place? I didn’t have a damn clue where I was, but I was suddenly incredibly aware of just how exposed I was.

But oddly enough, people weren’t looking at me. The few people that were out on the street at night, at least. I was used to being gawked at and unpleasantly perceived wherever I went just because I was the pretty charity project of Bruce Wayne. Here, nobody seemed to give a fuck who I was–except for the curious glances because of how I was dressed.

And then, I felt something.

You ever get that feeling where you know that somebody is watching you? That chill down your spine, that fucking shiver. The notion of being perceived in a frightening way by someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.

Fuck. There was no way that Bruce was going to let me get this far away from him. I should have known that he would send his goonies after me.

I started walking again even though my feet were fucking killing me and I was freezing. Just a casual stroll, nothing to see here. As much as I might have wanted to run, I knew if I did, they would run after me, and there was no way I was going to be able to get away. Not in these fucking shoes, and not even if I took them off.

They weren’t letting me get far. I could tell they were always about twenty feet behind me or so. A casual glance over my shoulder told me there were two, shrouded in darkness. Goddamnit. Fuck. My heart was pounding. I felt so cold, so numb, like I wanted to die. If they caught me, Bruce would punish me. I didn’t want to find out how he intended to do that. He wouldn’t take my education away, no, but he’d find a way to force me to pretend to be the pretty girl who really did care for him. The things I’d have to do–

No. Nope. Fuck, absolutely not. Over my dead body. I wasn’t fucking going back there, never ever fucking ever.

But if I didn’t have to die trying to get away, that would be nice.

I could tell that I wouldn’t lose them unless I did something really reckless. Unless I went somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to go, where they couldn’t follow? The further I walked, the more graffiti littered the walls, the more dark alleys I saw, the more warehouses with broken windows. I could go into any of them, but then I’d be stuck in a deadend.

No. I was going to allow myself to get trapped. I had to find something, someone, anything. I had to get these fucking cronies off of my back, one way or another. I had to find a place they wouldn’t go. What would stop them? Fuck, what would stop them?

And then, I saw it.

I had to blink multiple times, just to make sure that my eyes were fooling me. It was a fenced off area with an open gate and over the gate was a neon, garish sign. Fuck, there was no way those words were there. Batman would have ripped them down years ago.

I wanted to stop to look at it. To just marvel, the same way I did at that ripped painting when no one was looking because the sight of it alone was one of defiance. Of spitting in the face of Batman.

God, it was like looking at a taste of true freedom, one that didn’t have to gasp for breath under the oppressive thumb of those who owned Gotham and pulled the strings of every fucking resident.

A chain link fence in front of an ugly, white brick warehouse. Across the opening was a huge flashing neon sign, garish and hideous but somehow I felt myself being pulled towards it. The gall. The fucking gall.

THE JOKER’S PLAYHOUSE.

No fucking way.

Whoever had built this place was a dead man.

No. Stupid idea. Whoever lived inside of there was not someone I wanted to fuck with, but I couldn’t turn around. Not now.

And besides, whoever was in there was someone who didn’t mind giving Bruce Wayne the middle finger.

No. I wasn’t going back. The only way was forward.

My feet were fucking killing me. I felt one slip inside of my shoe, slippery and wet and I realized with a jolt of fear that the wetness was blood.

Fuck. No. Still, we go on. I wasn’t going to fucking take this lying down, I would be as goddamn brave and defiant as that ridiculous flashing sign.

The playhouse of a wannabe super villain is probably not much better than Bruce Wayne’s place, but hell, maybe we can unite under a common hatred?

Unlikely, Harleen. Oh well.

Then, I heard it.

The footsteps behind me were suddenly faster–and I could feel the press of their presence. Fuck, they were starting to run. Jesus, fuck, no, no–fuck.

As much as my feet screamed in protest, I too started up a staggering run. I knew it was stupid. I knew I was a moth flying directly into a candle flame. I knew I was throwing myself into shark infested water covered in blood. But goddamn, there’s only so much an animal can do to you. Humans can do much, much, much fucking worse.

I’d rather die of my own accord than die a thousand fucking deaths in his bed.

My heels were catching in the cracks in the pavement and eventually, my right one flew off. I had to stop to get the left shoe off, and then I was really running, my aching feet slapping wetly against the concrete.

“Stop, you little bitch–”

They weren’t silently stalking any more. Jesus, my heart, my fucking heart--and I could feel that there were tears running down my cheeks, but let them flow, I didn’t give a fuck because as long as I could just keep running and–

Through my shaky and blurry vision, I could see that now, there was a figure standing beneath the neon sign. Tall, lean. Hands tucked in pockets. Fuck.

Run to him? Whoever the fuck that was?

How stupid did I have to be? Or maybe a better question was how desperate was I. And the answer was very.

I was close. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I saw vague features. Light eyes. High cheekbones. A long, angular face. And for a moment, I thought that he looked like–

“Come here.”

What?

He was watching me, and the words had been so soft and he was so far away that I wasn’t still sure that he’d said them–but then, he spoke again:

“You can do it.”

And as dangerous as this all fucking felt, I cannot even begin to describe just how it felt to have someone in my corner. Even if he was just trying to lure me close so he could...

No. I didn’t really care. In that moment, I came to terms with what I had always known but hadn’t fully acknowledged. Anything was better than being Bruce Wayne’s wife. Anything in the entire fucking world.

And before I knew it, I was standing right in front of him. And he was taller than he had seemed far away–maybe 6’3”. Bruce was tall too, but he was caked in muscle, every single one of his suits straining with the heavy workload of holding all of his mass in. This man was trim and slender in a fitted dark suit. Not a black suit. No, it was–navy maybe?

Purple. Dark purple. And his face was–

Before I really even knew what was happening, he had grabbed me. His hands were firm, but he didn’t hurt me. Almost like he was intentionally handling me in a way that would look violent, but wasn’t really. He turned me so that my back was against his front. My ass against his crotch. He slid his hand around my neck, tilting into to the side, and for one lascivious moment, I felt him bury his head in the nook there. The sheer unexpectedness of it made me gasp–and I gasped against when I felt his tongue brush my skin.

“You can tell Bruce Wayne that his little girl belongs to me now,” the man said to the two who had been following me. “And if he wants to get her back, he knows where to find me. I can’t promise her pussy will be intact though.”

What the fuck. The fuck.

I should have been terrified, throwing my elbow into his gut and yelping and screaming, but he wasn’t hard against my ass, and he wasn’t groping me. Not really. There was a showmanship to it.

And even now, his hands didn’t hurt.

I had more bruises from Bruce than from this stranger.

A gate shuttered closed behind us as he turned us, taking me towards the warehouse. I felt the buzz of what sounded like electricity kicking on. An electric fence would keep them out for some time, but not for long. And it wouldn’t keep Bruce from finding me.

“Don’t–he knows where I am?” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. He had a surprisingly gentle hand on my arm. “Fuck, no–he’ll come tonight, he’ll–”

“No. He won’t.”

And then, he looked down at me–and I gasped, feeling theatrical as I did so, but–

He pulled me into the warehouse. His face was cast in the light. There was no doubting it now.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” I whispered.

“Miracles happen every day,” he murmured, though his eyes seemed to flash with delight. Perhaps pleased that I knew who he was. “It was Bruce Wayne’s dearest wish. What he’d love everyone in this fucked up city to believe, but as you can see...”

He took my hand and pulled it up to his face, giving me a wicked smile.

“Flesh and blood, sweetheart.”

My heart was pounding harder than it had all night, and that was saying something.

“So tell me,” he murmured, kissing the palm of my hand. “Why would one of the most beautiful and envied women in all of Gotham run willingly to a notorious crime lord?”

“Well,” I said, my heart still slamming, “I thought you were dead so. I didn’t know who I was running to.”

My answer seemed to almost surprise him for a moment. He tilted his head to the side. “I suppose that’s a fair point.”

“And.” For some reason, I felt courage slam through me, lighting every nerve in my body on fire. I had to be brave now. I had to show that I had my own mind or he might– “I hate him. Bruce Wayne. As much as you do. Maybe more.”

“You certainly don’t hate him more than I do,” he snorted, and I heard it. The ghost of that chilling laugh of one of the most terrible villains Gotham had ever had. I had heard the sound on the nightly news. He was fucking dangerous. The stories went on and on. Murderer, rapist, arsonist. The jester of chaos.

“Has he ever tried to rape you?” I said suddenly. And it was an exaggeration, but I had seen it in his eyes. I knew what his intention was for the night.

He paused. And then, his eyes met mine.

Yes, I was looking into the eyes of The Joker.

“No,” he said, and his eyes were flickering with what was so clearly mirth. But not at my pain and misery. No, he seemed to be amused by me–by the way I spoke.

Perhaps my open hatred of Bruce Wayne that everyone else was too terrified to show.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of that particular assault,” the Joker murmured. “Perhaps we have more in common than I thought we did.”

And then, he picked up my hand and softly kissed the back of it–and my face lit on fire.

Chapter 4: Dead Man

Summary:

The Joker takes care of Harleen, and she makes a proposal.

THE JOKER

The whole thing is rather unexpected, but not unpleasantly so. I do enjoy chaos deeply, but she is a different kind of chaotic. The type I don’t think I’ll be able to control.

At least not yet.

I can’t quite determine if she’s serious about Wayne’s attempted assault. It wouldn’t surprise me. You know what they say, the ones who claim to be the tamest are of the most wild.

And everything that I’d seen about little Miss Harleen Quinzel reeks of a woman who is so desperately ordinary. Surely she knows how she has bolstered the image of Bruce Wayne. This bland, beautiful blonde woman, raised in a slum, being supported by the least generous billionaire on the planet. If someone as pretty and dull as her could adore Bruce, then we all should give him a round of applause.

Marrying her would mend Brucie’s image, at least until the next news of his latest bought of financial fraud. Or perhaps another lovely imagine of him kicking a homeless individual just for shits and giggles.

And they say I’m the monster.

Taking her in is perhaps one of the most reckless things I’ve done in awhile, but she’s just a girl. She might think that she’s daring and bold and I must admit that her candor is refreshing and her eyes flicker with such a delicious hateful gaze, but she will never be able to plumb the depths as deeply as I do. At some point, she would balk and tremble and begin to cry and run away from the big bad Joker. And then, Bruce Wayne would be terribly angry with me and would have to come give me a talking to!

Or perhaps he’d just send his best friend and muscular errand boy, Batman. Now that I was looking forward to.

It had been an endless stretch of years, being limited to this small area of the city. The only reason I obeyed was because I knew if I left, Batsy might finally snap and take me out once and for all. But if I could lure him here...

I could plan. I could set traps. I could catch him by surprise.

And then we would really play.

Harleen Quinzel was only useful to me as what she’d likely spent her whole life being–a pawn. So I’d give her shelter and she could sit here and cry. Or not cry. It didn’t really matter to me what she did as long as she stayed out of my way.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she said, and she did have the most adorably stubborn little glare, the corners of her lips turned down in seriousness. It was hard to take in what she was saying when she looked like such a little Disney Princess.

“Oh, au contraire, sweet Harleen, I would love to have a tumble in the hay with Mr. Wayne. The golden condoms, the caviar-flavored lube–it’d be quite the decadent experience, I rather think. And a man like that likely doesn’t last longer than a few seconds, so the whole thing would be over quicker than a sneeze. But not everyone is quite as bold and deviant as I, my love.”

I expected to see her express melt into one of disgust and rage at her words not being given the weight she had been hoping for, but her expression didn’t waver.

“He says you’re dead.”

“That’s what he’d like everyone to believe. Now, come here, my pet, you’re bleeding all over my floor.”

Without asking her, I reached down and swept my arms under her knees so I could carry her bridal style further into my warehouse. My playhouse.

The only thing I belonged in the world. I didn’t even own my soul, I’d sold that shit years ago.

“Hey–hey–I can walk,” she said, and that little frown was back in place–but I watched it melt away as she took in the sight of the interior of my home. I had forgotten just how far it was from what was expected of a dirty, bloodthirsty criminal such as myself. This warehouse was my home, and I wasn’t about to live in a dank, concrete dungeon. It was still a warehouse, of course, but with the help of some of my most ardent supporters, I had dressed it up to be a home. I was particularly fond of my polished hardwood floors, which the little Gotham princess had been fouling up with her bloody feet.

Feet that would certainly need to be treated and cared for. The poor thing had tumbled into the right trap.

“This is... I don’t understand,” she was saying, and maybe she didn’t even realize that she was clinging onto my suit jacket. Such a sweet little sign of vulnerability. No wonder Bruce wanted to gobble her up. There was something about her that was small and innocent, something that could be claimed.

Maybe even purity that could be fucked away. God knows Bruce loved to fuck the tender hearted and make them cry. I’d seen it a thousand times before. People who helplessly fell for his beauty, his touted generosity, his heroism.

He was a fucking coward who hid trembling behind Batman. And soon, I’d be able to show everyone just who he was. But first, I’d take the thing he wanted, and he’d think I turned her inside out. My God would that infuriate him.

“What don’t you understand, sweetheart?” I asked idly as I took her down the hallway to my guest room (yes, of course I had a guest room, I wasn’t a savage, my God).

“This is... you’re supposed to be dead,” she said slowly.

“As you’ve said.”

“But you’re here. And this is... it looks like a palace.”

“That’s because it is, my love. A monument to the most hideous creature in all of Gotham. He said I could live here as long as I stayed out of his way, and you’d better believe I took advantage.”

“But I don’t–” I set her down gingerly on the bed and she paused for a moment, pulling back when I reached for one of her feet.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to suck your toes when they’re all bloody like this,” I smirked. “We’ll save that for when you’ve cleaned up a bit, then you’ll get a foot fucking you’ll never forget.”

I gave her an oily wink. She blushed in the prettiest way, but her eyes were skeptical–like she didn’t believe that I was in for a foot fuck. Which–honestly, I was always down for any kind of a fuck.

But this prissy little princess wouldn’t enjoy any of the shit I was into it, and despite what lies Wayne spread about me, I wasn’t a rapist. That was his thing.

Which made me wonder about her comment from earlier. Had he really tried to assault her? I wouldn’t put it past him. Piece of shit. Can’t get someone to want him for who he is, so he forces their legs apart. Sad. Personally, I’d never had to resort to rape. My partners were always enthusiastically willing to fall into bed with me, and they always opened themselves up so deliciously to my brand of debauchery.

And while the vision of this pretty blonde thing all trussed up with the tiniest scraps of lingerie, her ass cheeks flushed pink from a vigorous spanking, soaking through the fine lace of white of her panties until I finally dropped my mouth onto her and gave her what she was mewling for was enough to make me want to see just how far I could get with her, I knew that such a thing would only be an idiotic distraction. And more than that, she didn’t seem like the type to teeter on the edge of disaster. The kind of person who came to bed with me was looking to be hurt, to be destroyed, and to find solace and comfort in the weight of my cock.

No. Not the pretty sweet girl in her cream colored dress, looking at me like I was the Big Bad Wolf licking my dripping chops.

Sweet girl, if I wanted to fuck you, you’d be panting in my arms already, you can be sure of that.

But then, she’d regret it and be embarrassed and be filled with shame at her mistake so perhaps it was best not to go there.

“He... banished you here,” she tried, frowning again–and now I could see that she was thinking, her forehead bunching with focus. “Because–?”

“Because he couldn’t destroy me. Not permanently. I am very adept at finding a way to slip through his fingers,” I murmured, getting to my feet and heading to the bathroom. Her feet would need to be disinfected, wrapped, and she’d have to stay off of them for awhile, which would be–

“But he could have this warehouse bombed–or he could–” Now her stubborn voice was at my elbow and I realized that she’d followed me, and sure enough, a little trail of bloody footprints followed her to where she was, standing by me, relentlessly curious.

“Now, now, you don’t obey very well, do you, Miss Quinzel?” I huffed, trying not to sound irritated, but my God, did this girl have any idea just how fucking hard it was to get blood out of hardwood? I picked her up, this time bending down so my arm was under her ass, holding her tightly to my body before depositing her on the bed (trying to ignore the soft, sweet curves of her body flush against mine and Jesus I needed a fuck, as it turns out I was quite fucking pent up). “The last thing you need is to ruin those pretty feet beyond fixing.”

She gave me a stubborn look. “You’re condescending,” she said, surprising the ever loving hell out of me.

“Oh?” I said, unable to keep myself from letting out a low chuckle. “Some people like that. They find it sexy.”

“I’m not some people,” she replied in that delightfully stubborn way, the corners of her pink lips turned down in almost matronly approval. And yet again, the unbidden thought slithered into my mind–

I could have you if I wanted you. Make no doubt of it, Harleen, and all you’re doing it making me want to prove that I could get you to whimper.

“Duly noted,” I said through what I knew was a tight smile because the little brat. It made me want to put her over my knees. After all, what girl lectures the Joker when he’s already on her knees for her, serving as her own personal Florence Nightingale.

Fuck. I was getting soft.

Or maybe I just hated Bruce Wayne so fucking much that I’d even be nice if it meant it would piss him off.

“I was... thinking about something,” she said as I cleaned her feet. I had to use a pair of tweezers because she had little pebbles and even small errant pieces of glass in her feet. Stubborn little mule that she was, still trying to walk on these broken feet.

“Oh? How very cryptic, my sweet. Tell me,” I said, unable to hide the amused tone from my voice because she spoke so haltingly, as if anything she said would surprise me.

“I just–was thinking about what you said. When I was in your arms.”

I huffed. “That little bit of showmanship? I’m not going to rape you, love. I don’t resort to foul activities like that. Murder, torture, arson, thievery, yes. Rape, no. Even criminals have their limits.”

“But if he thought...”

Her words made me sit back on my heels, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s sort of the whole point, love. I’m going to pretend I fucked you. Lure him here.”

“But what if–I... don’t want to be with him. Ever. If he’d thought you raped me, he might still–try to save me. But if he thought...”

My eyes hadn’t left hers. She looked so deliciously vulnerable again. Damnit, it made me want to run my hands under her dress, pull her panties down, and taste her.

“If he thought what, darling?” I murmured.

“If he thought I had... gone to bed with you willingly,” she said quietly, but that stubborn fire was there. “Then he’d never want to touch me again.”

Well damn.

A bit of fire, a bit of spunk. More than a bit. It was daring and it would result in the forever tarnishing of her reputation, but maybe she wasn’t as pristine as I’d thought she was.

It’s a foolish little mouse that wanders between the cat’s paws.

And without even thinking, I smiled.

Chapter 5: Virgins and Hellfire

Summary:

They consider the deal further.

HARLEEN QUINZEL

It’s clearly not what he’s expecting me to say. And the way he smiles is...

Well, it’s not a smile of overwhelmingly lust, which is what I was banking on. I thought maybe the prospect of fucking me would blind him to any issues that might arise because of this little plot, but it’s suddenly and powerfully obvious to me that the Joker does not lack people warming his bed. It should have come as a surprise, but being this close to him, it isn’t. Not at all. He’s fucking beautiful in a way that transcends words and has nothing to do with looks. It’s all in the way he carries himself. His power, his ease, his control. Those little pet names that should have annoyed me, but that dripped off of his lips like honey.

Unfortunately, he is wildly fucking hot. So much more attractive than I had ever found Bruce Wayne, People Magazine’s 2023 Sexiest Man Alive. No, to me, Bruce Wayne was about as sexy as wet bread.

The Joker, on the other hand.

“It’s a nice idea,” he said dismissively–and my heart sinks. “But I don’t fuck unwilling girls, and I don’t fuck virgins.”

My face floods with color–and for a moment, I sputter almost like a damned cartoon character. “I don’t–what? Excuse me?”

He seems amused to have gotten this reaction out of me. Damn him. God, what the hell was I doing anyway? I should be careful. I should take this fucking warning and run.

But I was always reckless to a fault. Lily had always said I’d purchase a landmine if it fit my aesthetic.

“I think I spoke very clearly, Miss Quinzel,” the Joker said, reaching for my other foot to start working on cleaning that one.

I jerked my foot back (even though ouch Jesus). “I am not a virgin. That’s a pretty big assumption to make about someone you don’t even know.”

“And you’re being very cheeky and gusty for a girl who just wandered into the abode of the crime kingpin of Gotham,” the Joker replied, and then, I saw it. As much as I might have thought that he was playing games before, there was no humor in his eyes. His gaze was sharp, controlling, and quite serious. “You should be grateful that I don’t have you facedown on this bed right now.”

I swallowed. I knew when someone was trying to scare me when I saw it, and I couldn’t lie, there was a flutter of fear in my stomach. One that I found I almost liked, because there was something about his eyes that just–

Well. It was almost like I recognized him.

“You told me you wouldn’t rape me,” I said, frowing and never breaking his gaze.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be afraid of me, pet. The answer to your little suggestion is no. “Now be a good girl and let me clean up those pretty feet before you get my floor all dirty.”

“Why.”

I could see his hackles rising. He knew I wasn’t asking him why I should let him clean my feet. I was getting under his skin which was probably one of those most reckless things I’d done in a while, but in a way, it was almost intoxicating.

“It’s a foolish idea. One that you clearly haven’t thought through. There’s nothing at risk for you and everything at risk for me. This is my home, Harleen, and there are people here that I must protect. If you are here and intact, Bruce will only seek to harm me, but if he thinks that you have betrayed him, he’ll try to kill us both–and anyone else who gets in the way. Simply put, this is a plan that benefits only you, and it is as childish as it is selfish.”

The problem was, of course, that he wasn’t wrong. I twisted my hands in the fabric of my dress, thinking of what to say in response because I wasn’t about to let him have the last word, but if I tried to respond to him without thinking things through, he’d quickly shut me down like that again. He studied my face for a moment–and then moved down to clean my injured foot.

“However.”

His voice was very soft.

“You may have a point in that he will certainly be lured here if he thinks that you belong to me. Especially if we make a little show of it.”

His words dripped like honey. It was hard to focus suddenly. This was not really the time and place to be getting aroused, and I wasn’t really, but my body was reacting like I was just because...

Well, ever since I’d seen him with his face covered by that slashed portrait, I’d wondered what kind of powerful person had to be able to make Bruce Wayne react like that. And now that I knew he wasn’t dead, I knew he was even more powerful yet.

“You’d never be able to go back to your old life,” the Joker murmured, still studiously cleaning my foot. I could hear little clinks of glass as he set them onto a small metal tray. He did this so carefully, like he’d done it before–and I surmised that he had. “Bruce Wayne will make sure everyone knows what a hideous traitor you are.”

I thought of replying, but there wasn’t any point. The Joker didn’t know my life and the people in it. Lily and Pam wouldn’t reject me. They loved me, and they’d see through this for exactly what it was–a ruse. And if they didn’t, I’d explain it and make sure they did. I wasn’t in this world without a support system.

“And we’d have to make sure he knew. That everyone knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were mine. We’d have to do things my way.”

He said in so lightly, but there was darkness in his voice–and it was the first time that I’d heard any kind of desire from him. All of his other soft comments had existed just to frighten me or to make me stop talking. No, now I was really getting to him. Or rather, the whatever idea he had in mind was getting to him.

“You don’t know anything about me?” the Joker murmured, sitting back on his heels. “Nothing? Nothing about what I do, what I like, who I am?”

What I like. Those words were pounded into my head with a mallet. The way he said it.

“I... all I know is that you’re the one that Bruce Wayne hated, and I thought you were the only one that he had killed. He tried to scrub you from Gotham as much as he could, but there were still videos that would show up in the news... clips of you torturing people. Killing them.”

The Joker shook his head. “Staged. Propaganda. Not that I haven’t ever done anything like that. And that’s not what I’m talking about anyway. If he truly scrubbed me, then maybe you don’t know... but he’ll never be able to scrub this.”

Now he was talking to himself even as I tried to process what he was saying. Propaganda? Staged? My God, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the Joker was touting himself as some kind of Robin Hood, the anti-hero that Gotham didn’t know it needed. Like perhaps he was misunderstood.

Fat chance. He was better than Bruce Wayne in my opinion, but not by much. After all, he was the self-described crime lord.

“I like others to watch, Harleen. I enjoy watching and being watched.”

My mind was blank. I stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Um...”

He snorted softly and shook his head, pushing himself up. “Never mind. You’ll never convince me that you aren’t a virgin.”

Oh my God. That lit a fire inside of me. I stood up on my ragged feet and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards me. He was so surprised that he came–and I wrapped my arms around his neck and I kissed him.

I didn’t bother to try to make it romantic or soft or sweet. I kissed the way that men had taught me too, languid and hot, slow and hungry. He was still for a moment–and then he was kissing me back. But he didn’t kiss me like the other men had. Like the others boys had. That endless stream of Greg Matthew Joshua Lucas Kevin Tyler Tanner Benjamin Peter boys who wanted to turn the lights off while they fumbled with the clasp on my bra until they finally gave up, complaining that they weren’t hard any more.

No, the Joker didn’t kiss like that at all.

His hand snaked around my lower back, nearly pinning my body against his. His kiss was slower than mine even, and it was fucking searing. I felt it all the way into my toes. He bit me softly in the kiss, almost like he was testing, his teeth brushing my lips before sinking down. He seemed to savor it, and he didn’t respond to any attempts that I made to turn the kiss frantic or rough.

And suddenly, I wondered if I maybe actually was a virgin. Not because I’d never had sex before, but because I’d never had sex with a man. Not a real one.

Not one that I had actually wanted.

When he pulled away from me, I found that I was clinging onto his jacket–and I couldn’t help but feel a little shocked and embarrassed because what the fuck was happening to me here? I had intended to stay fully in control of this situation, unwaveringly, because I had been so desperately out of control with Bruce. Having a handle on what was happening here was not only what I wanted, but what I needed.

But maybe I had to surrender a bit of control just to make sure that I wouldn’t lose everything. No, there was so much at stake here, I couldn’t let it all slip through my fingers. And maybe I wouldn’t even get my degree any more (the thought made my throat almost close up because all of that work all of those hours everything that I’d dedicated my life to over the past few years just down the goddamn drain just like that), but this was the only path I could see for myself that didn’t involve marrying Bruce Wayne.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said quietly, taking my hands and pulling them off of his shirt, giving them back to me. “But I feel confident that I will never hurt you like he did. And for me, it will be a game. I will never truly expect you to surrender your soul to me. Just your body.”

And that spark had disappeared from his eyes now. That heat of desire. He sounded almost clinical about it.

“But if you will give that to me, I feel confident that together, we will be able to take him down in a way that may finally be permanent,” the Joker said quietly, reaching to finish cleaning my foot. I gave it to him because I wasn’t really sure what else to do. Right now, I was fighting everything in me to keep myself from touching my lips, marveling at the sweetness of that kiss. The taste of his lips. “I have always thought that the way to destroy Bruce Wayne was through his incredible pride. Then, and only then, can I truly punish him and Batman for what they’ve done to this city.”

That gave me pause. “What they’ve done to you?” I suggested, unsure of what to make of his wording.

He looked up at me and shook his head, his lips pressed together. The ghost of a mirthless smile. “There is still a great deal you don’t understand about this city, Harleen. But you will in time. I’ll make sure of it.

“But first,” he said softly. “You will have to understand me.”

He had finished with the bandages. He stood and offered his hand to me.

I took it, and felt like I was making a deal with the devil himself. And the hellfire that lapped at my ankles felt like a warm fireplace on a cold December night.

Chapter 6: Mark 8:36

Summary:

The Joker and Harleen come to a small understanding.

THE JOKER

She didn’t know what she was getting into with me, and I knew it was about to be painfully obvious to her. So perhaps I relished this moment before she crashed–before she skittered away. Not that I cared. I had plenty of people who enjoyed my particular brand debauchery–and these people came to me, begging for only the kind of pleasure that I could afford them.

No, she had no idea what she was getting into with me.

“How much do you know about me? About what happened to me? About how I came to be presumed dead?” I let out what I knew to be an empty chuckle, ratting through the halls of my massive warehouse turned mansion like dry leaves, clattering emptily.

“I don’t really know anything about it,” she admitted, and I was a bit surprised that she would cop to that quite so quickly. I glanced over my shoulder at her as I led her down the hallway, towards... well, she would see shortly what was in there. “I just know that Bruce keeps a painting of you in his mansion. Your face is torn, ripped down, so that no one can see what you look like.”

I snort. “Oh? Is he so afraid of me being more handsome than he?” I replied dryly. “He can’t even look me in the eye even though he so clearly thinks that he’s put me in a box forever. Pity. He was never really able to face me, or to understand me. Not many in Gotham were.”

And then, I find myself hesitating as I approach the door. Yes, I could show her who I am–what my work really entailed, but what would she do with it? Perhaps I was foolish to think that I could alter her perspective of me–especially when I had been the first one to claim that I was the crime lord of Gotham.

But I had learned quickly within these few minutes of having her near me that while she was beautiful, she was far from the empty-headed future plaything of Bruce Wayne that she claimed to be for the paparazzi. Perhaps I should have known. After all, she would have to be shrewd to have survived untouched this long.

In fact, maybe I could learn a thing or two from her.

“And what do you think of our savior of Gotham, Mr. Wayne himself?” I drawled, stopping in my tracks and turning back to look at her.

She frowned back at me, that beautifully stubborn look, a pretty expression that told me that she was not to easily pushed into a corner, and that she was not someone who could be controlled. She needed to be careful with pretty looks like that. It was a hobby of mine to break those who thought they were unbreakable. “I think I’ve made it very clear what I think about him, Mr. Joker.”

I huffed quietly. “Oh, now, I quite like that, pet. Mr. Joker. But why don’t you tell me exactly what you think of him–after all, love, it’s hard for me to forget that you willingly took his help and let him pay for all of your schooling.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Oh, now that little bit of fire was quite exciting. I saw my word light something inside of her. So she was not so easily controlled–she was not capable of hiding herself away completely. I liked that in someone–knowing that I could make them passionate, that they were still capable of lighting a spark in the dry kindling in their chest. Perhaps it was something I envied, for I myself was so rarely moved by the words of others.

Perhaps that was just because I was a narcissist. At this point, I didn’t care too much to figure out my own reasoning as I lived my life.

“You must know what it’s like out there. I thought that was the reason why you turned against all of it. He runs Gotham–nothing happens without his approval and without his say-so. And as long as you’re poor, there’s no way to get out of there. The slums...”

She trailed off, and I found myself unconsciously leaning in.

“The slums?” I murmured, studying her face.

“What?” she said, and she was so delightfully snappy. “You can’t smell it on me? They say that if you were raised there, the stink never fully goes away.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I think we both know where the stench is coming from, Harleen. From the one who refuses to help–or the one who holds out a gold encrusted hand only to pull it away.”

“He didn’t pull it away. There were conditions–ones that I didn’t know about,” she said quietly. “And who the fuck is he kidding? He doesn’t want to marry me. He just wants to see if he can control me and make me obey.”

A thought slithered between my ears. Honestly, love, can you blame him?

Because my God, there was so much fire, so much spirit burning behind those blue eyes. It was hard to not want to cage, to not want to push that burning, smoldering power into your own furnace and allow it to keep you warm. When you’re in power, you’re always trying to find ways to make others take the knee.

It was tempting. God knows I knew that much. In fact, there had been a time in my life when that had been a little bit of an obsession of mine. And even now, I nearly grew hard at the idea of making Bruce Wayne get on his knees for me. Or better yet, Batman, and peel back all that rubber and see what that violent vigilante who everyone loved so much really was. Just another pawn of Bruce himself, no fucking doubt.

“And what would be so bad about giving in, my sweet?” I asked, turning and leaning against the wall, crossing my arms and looking at her, tilting my head to the side. “You could have everything you ever wanted.”

“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

She said it so effortlessly, so quickly, as if the words were always lingering on the tip of her tongue, and only now did they trip between her lips, the sounds forming them into reality. She seemed to catch herself, looking away from me, but she had spoken.

And for a moment, it almost felt as though the door to her heart opened just slightly, the light spilling into the room.

“Sorry, that’s–” she started.

“A Bible verse. Mark 8:36. Didn’t take you for the religious type, my sweet. If you’re going to try to convert me, I’m afraid you’ve encountered a very lost soul,” I said quietly.

And for a moment, she just looked at me–and perhaps it was just my wild imagination, or the way that I so effortlessly found a story in everything that crossed my path, like I was forever trying to help reality knit itself neatly together in a way that I could wear around my neck like a woolen sweater, but for a moment, just a breath of time, it was almost like we understood each other. Like there was a flicker of recognition.

It was such a strange thing, to live my life looking into the eyes of humans and seeing souls that were so unlike mine. It was a strange, odd thing, but something that I had become quite accustomed to, so imagine my surprise when I looked into her eyes and I saw–

“No conversion here, Mr. Joker,” she said quietly. “If I could make people align with my way of thinking, I would have tried that already with Mr. Wayne. Some souls are beyond saving–and I don’t mean yours.”

“Oh, my love,” I said softly. “My soul, that old thing? I sold it for a song years and years ago. It had never done me much good anyway. Though I am pleased to see that we are like in mind. Perhaps that means that this will all work out.”

“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me,” she said, and my God, there it was again, that brittle dryness, that wall that was so thick and impentitrable I just knew that many, many had tried before and had failed. Bruce Wayne didn’t have the slightest idea of what he had wandering through his halls. If he had, he would not have tried to marry her–he would have executed her on the spot.

This was a dangerous woman. After all, the most dangerous of all of us were the type that had seen the bottom of the pit and had found that it wasn’t so bad after all. Those that had figured out how to deftly crawl out of the boiling pot, not caring which of their fellow crabs they pushed to their death.

She was ferocious, this one, with claws sharper than any of us knew.

“You’ve led me astray,” I observed, and I had a feeling that she would be doing that often during our time together. She was incredibly distracting. “You haven’t told me what you think about Bruce Wayne.”

“I pity him.”

She said it the same way that she had deposited the Bible verse into the open air between us. Quickly, easily, and nearly without emotion. But she couldn’t deceive me. As someone who had tried my whole life to hollow out my chest, I knew when someone was trying to appear empty. After all, if there is no gold to be found in a mountainside, you cannot plunder it.

But if there is something there, some will never stop mining.

“You pity the man who has everything?” I repeated slowly.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Because he died a long time ago, but he didn’t realize it. He’s not human. He’s a monster. When you look at him, there’s nothing behind his eyes. I’m not scared of him. You can’t be scared of nothing. I know he wants me, but even if I were to submit to him, he’d never really have me. He’s not capable of it. He doesn’t know who I am, so he could never really have me. But I know that if I was with him... I’d love something that I could never get back. And if I was too close to him for too long, I think I’d lose who I was. So... I’m afraid of him, but I’m not.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

She looked up at me, and my God, there it was again. That gold sitting behind her eyes. And for a moment, everything in me breathed mine.

Goddamnit. Easy there, Napier.

“Because I know myself, and I knew I’d be able to find a way out, one way or another,” she said quietly. “But I knew if I stayed, slowly, somehow, he’d find a way to strip enough of me away that it wouldn’t matter whether or not he knew me. And then maybe it would become far too easy to just... disappear.”

I had once almost disappeared myself. I could remember that life. The starched suits, the empty laughter, the money, the greed, the hunger for more more more.

And then, the day when it had all toppled, and I had found who I really was–and I had looked myself in the eye and saw who I would never be again. And while all of that had taught me so much, I had wished that I had never tasted it in the first place. Because she was right, even if you escape, there’s a part of you that you leave behind.

I could not blame her for toying with selling her soul when I had done so for so long. Just so I would not taste my own poverty.

“Yes,” I said softly. “I understand.”

It was uncomfortable to be known. I would give her what she wanted, I decided then. I’d fuck her, and then she’d be free.

But this? No, this was not something I could have. So as I opened the door for her to my room, I closed a door in myself, and bolted the lock.

There are some things you cannot allow yourself to lose twice.

Chapter 7: History

Summary:

The Joker asks Harleen important questions.

I had surprised him. It was strange to think about, but I had seen it briefly flicker in his gaze. Then again, I reasoned with myself, he’d probably had such a low opinion of me to start that anything I did at this point would be considered impressive.

Still. I had to admit, there was something about it that felt good. Because after all that time of wondering about the man in the painting, the one who Bruce Wayne had despised...

Well. I had almost felt a little jealous. After all, if Bruce Wayne had hated me, it would have made everything so much easier.

“So then,” I murmured. “You understand why I need your help. And why I’m willing to do... whatever it takes to get that help.”

It felt a little wrong to say anything. I wasn’t sure I was ready to open that all-encompassing door yet. After all, there were some things that I would draw the line at, but since he was so reluctant, I got the feeling that I would be able to withdraw if I wanted to.

“Yes,” the Joker murmured, turning his gaze back towards the door that he had approached. “Now. Let me show you what I like. And perhaps that will inform your decision.”

He gave me one last small look before he reached into his pocket, taking out a ring of keys. He selected one that was completely purple–a uniquely small, but ornate key. It almost looked like it was decorated in small vines, the ridges of it distinct and interesting. Like it was a key that was meant to be touched, like perhaps the Joker would reach into his pocket just to run his fingers over the shape of it.

He turned the key and opened the door.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but it wasn’t this.

It was oddly expected, but not at the same time. Yes, I should have expected the numerous toys that lined the walls, the dildos of various shapes and sizes and girths, the ornate butt plugs that decorated the shelves, the chains that hung from the ceiling, clearly meant to have handcuffed hands attached to them. The large bed in the back of the room with the purple silk sheets that looked so soft to the touch.

But what really drew me in was...

I stepped forward without even thinking about it. I half expected him to grab my wrist, to stop me, but he didn’t, and so I walked forward and found myself standing in front of...

“Well,” the Joker said softly. “A man is allowed to dream, isn’t he?”

It was a throne. A beautiful throne, so large that two could sit in it comfortably at once. It was dark gray, metallic, and there was a soft looking purple cushion in the center of it. The welding of the metal reminded me of the key that he had withdrawn from his pocket–the winding vines, the beautiful interlocking ornate quality of it. A seat for a twisted king.

My fingers trailed over one of the arms. The metal was so smooth–almost soft in a strange way. Unbidden, I imagined myself stripped nude, the way that the cold metal would feel against my exposed skin. I was suddenly aware of how little I was wearing, how easy it would be to take off my dress and arrange myself on this throne, a silent invitation, showing him that I was not afraid, not in the slightest.

And perhaps he was having similar thoughts, because before I knew what was happening, he was standing behind me, a hand on my hip.

“Imagine,” he murmured, his voice as tenderly silken as the covers on his bed, “how furious he would be to see you kneeling before this throne, my cock in your mouth.”

This was the most forward he’d been with me–the first time that he had suggested doing something sexual together. It was hard to resist–God, he was hard to resist. This was all so damned unexpected–the moment that this had crossed my mind, the idea of fucking him to get out of my predicament, I had thought that it would be easy–that I’d be able to control it the same way that I’d controlled every sexual experience in my life up until this point. Men were so easy, after all–they were led by their cocks, and when their cocks failed them, there seemed to be so little between their ears. Only masculine pride that was so easily toyed with, and I could wind it through my fingers like I was a cat with a piece of string.

But this. No, this was different, because I found myself feeling the electricity between us, the heat, the zapping feeling that snapped through my body every time he was close to me like this. It made me want to kiss him again, to taste his lips, to do something wild and reckless that I was sure I would regret later.

Because as of now, he was fully in control, and I didn’t like that. No, that was not what I was used to.

“And how furious would he be if you were on your knees for me?” I whispered back, and he let out a soft groaning sound, and it was my first inclination that he felt the heat, the same spark that I did.

“You are a badly behaved girl,” he said in a low, throaty voice. “It makes me want to bend you over my throne and pull up that flimsy fabric you call a dress. Teach you a lesson.”

I felt a lump of arousal grow in my throat. “Aren’t you–supposed to be explaining to me what this arrangement would look like?”

The Joker let out a soft chuckle, stepping past me–and suddenly I regretted everything that I had said to make me lose his presence. “Impatient little thing. I thought that would be obvious, but allow me to explain the only way that I will accept this arrangement.”

As he spoke to me, he reached up, threading his fingers through one of the handcuffs that dangled from the ceiling, playing with it as he spoke. The only thing that kept me even remotely grounded was the reminder, the constant thought that I had that he had had others in here. Men, women, there was nothing special about this. This was business for him, and it had to be business for me, or something silly would happen. Like I’d end up hurt.

And I’d be damned if I ever let anyone in like that.

“If we do this, then at least for now, you will belong to me. To make Bruce and everyone else believe that this is real, two weeks would be sufficient, don’t you think?” he murmured, his long fingers fiddling with the cuff, and the light metallic noises that accompanied the sound were almost hypnotizing–almost so much that I didn’t even realize–

“Two months?” I repeated, unable to hide my incredulity. “That’s... it’s a long time.”

“Oh, now you wound me,” he huffed. “I believe that it will fly by for you, Ms. Quinzel. Now, as far as my particular tastes... many of them are obvious, I’m sure. I enjoy bondage, sadomasochism. I like to be dominated and to dominate. I like to hurt and be hurt. Sometimes, my love, I find that it’s the only way that I feel even remotely real.”

When he said this, he searched my eyes like he was looking for something. I didn’t know what he was seeking–but I tried to summon it, whatever it was. He took a moment longer–but then, the spark in his eyes flickered off.

“But...” he mused quietly. “I know you’ve assured me that you aren’t a virgin, Harleen, and while I believe you, I don’t think that you are being fully forthcoming with me.”

With that, he turned and sat on his throne. The sight of it was unexpectedly grand–and I couldn’t help but think that when he sat on it, he looked like he belonged there. Like that was where he was born to be. My God, Bruce would hate a thought like that.

“Come kneel before me,” he said softly.

I balked. “Why do you need me to do that?”

“I don’t need it, Harleen. I want it,” he said, and his voice was liquid heat tumbling down my spine, and my heart was pounding in my chest–both with the irrational desire to obey and disobey. I fought my own internal battle before I tilted my chin up, a silent refusal of his demand.

Something dark flickered in his eyes.

“Little princess,” he said softly. “Alright, my love, we’ll do it your way.”

He stood, and then, he was moving towards me. There was nothing rushed about his gait–the way he stalked across the room. His chest met mine for one moment, and then he continued walking forward. For whatever reason, I did not step past him or push him back, I let him walk me backwards until my back found a wall, the sensation of suddenly stopping causing me to let out a soft huff of surprise.

He caught my chin between his fingers–and now, my desire to not be controlled reignited. I pulled my chin away–and then, he seized it again.

“If we are going to do this, I’m going to have to break that little royal streak in you,” he murmured.

“It’s part of the package, Mr. Joker,” I replied quietly, but defiantly.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, now won’t we?” he said, and the smirk was audible in his voice. “Now tell me, Harleen, you told me you’ve had sex with a man. What positions did you engage in?”

“I don’t see how that’s–”

“If you want me to do this, you will tell me.”

Now his voice was suddenly cold. Immovable. I had learned where one of his boundaries was–how he could not be pressed over this threshold. No, he stopped completely. His fingers were still on my chin, but this time, it was my decision to lift my gaze.

“I guess–doggy,” I finally said, feeling a flush of embarrassment find my cheeks because in this room, with all of his toys and his clear expertise towards sex painting every square inch, I felt ridiculous using such an adolescent term for the position.

“And?” he hummed.

I faltered. His gaze hardened.

“That is all?” He squinted, and for a moment, I thought his displeasure was with me, but then I realized it was directed as someone who wasn’t present. “What a poor excuse for a lover that man must have been. Did he tease you? Did he put his mouth on you? Bring you to your brink?”

God. I squirmed, I couldn’t help it. His gaze slammed so hard that I, again, thought I’d displeased him.

“What? Was this some boy who thought he was worthy to take you home? Someone you met in a bar, perhaps? A miserable frat boy who didn’t know what to do with his cock, nonetheless his fingers or his tongue.”

“He was–my boyfriend,” I blurted out, and for a strange moment, I felt oddly protective of Greg. After all, we’d both been young, barely out of high school, and for what it had been, it had been good. Maybe Greg had been inexperienced and a little selfish, but that was how all men were. As much as the Joker talked a big talk, I felt certain that once he had me in bed, he would push his cock into me and that would be it. Then, all of the pretense and the seduction and the sweetness would tumble away.

Then he’d just be another man.

“Oh no,” the Joker said softly. “No, Harleen, we have so, so much to do together, don’t we, my love?”

His tone of voice for a moment convinced me that what I had dreamed for our future might not be true–and when I looked up at him and met his eyes, I realized that–

The plans he had for me were nothing like anything I had experienced before. And now, more than ever, the crime lord of Gotham was excited.

And my heart felt like it would burst in my chest.

Chapter 8: Intimacy, Trust, Assurance

Summary:

There are some things that are even more intimate than sex.

THE JOKER

Did she understand how dangerous this was? For both of us?

I felt the heat blasting through my veins. If there was something I had been unable to resist my whole life, it was someone who did not know true pleasure. While I had no great love for virgins (I disliked the idea of being someone’s first experience as there were so many damned expectations, and often a certain clinginess that left me feeling frustrated and irritated), I did appreciate someone who had never been truly fucked before. I’d even had some partners who had come to me, claiming fervently that they’d experienced love-making to a celestial degree, only to be left a whimpering puddle in my bed after mere minutes.

Harleen would be just like this. A beautiful, sweet new project for me.

Now, of course, the cake was the idea of fucking with Bruce Wayne and destroying him from the inside out. But the frosting and the cherry on top would be Harleen’s pleasure.

Though, my God, she was delicious.

“So tell me,” I murmured, finding myself falling into the role so very easily, the dominant lover, the one who wished to please and to own. If there was one thing I was remarkably good at, it was molding myself into whatever my partner longed for. Perhaps some would think of it as a sign of weakness, but I had never viewed it that way. After all, each person was a challenge in their own way, and everyone had their little rewards to offer by way of sweet words, eager cock sucking, sloppy cunts.

Yes, there was something sweet to unwrap with everyone I brought to my bed.

“Tell me if you’ve ever experienced oral sex before,” I whispered feather soft against her ear. She might have been trying to hide it from me, but I could feel her chest rising and falling against mine, soft breasts pushing into my chest. God, I wanted to pull that stupid little dress off and see her body for myself. Taste her skin, how different her nipples and her cunt would taste from the rest of her body. One of my favorite things about a woman.

I could see her ducking away, trying to escape my gaze. The way she would tuck her chin, trying to hide her face from me was absolutely charming beyond what I had expected to experience with this woman. And I couldn’t blame her. Intimacy when you’d never had it your whole life felt like such a damned invasion, and I thought that if I was her, I would try to keep me out too. Especially if I didn’t understand just how good sex could be.

But fuck, I was already lost in the idea of claiming her, of making her mine, even if it was only for two months. The idea that maybe she would leave only to come back to me later...

Well, I was getting ahead of myself though. I had so many playthings that I’d had similar fantasies with, and they had all dulled in interest for me in the light of day. Those first sparks of attraction and heat were so undeniably delicious, but nothing lasted. Not really. And that was the way she wanted it, so we could both benefit from this arrangement.

“Don’t want to tell me, hmm?” I murmured. “You do realize that that answers my question.”

“I thought... this was just a ruse for Bruce Wayne,” she breathed. “Why does anything like that matter? It’s not–I’ve had sex. I know what to do. I can make you feel good.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt.” Alright, she wanted things a bit more neutral? Very well. I took a step back, taking her hand and drawing her after me. Perhaps this was not the best room for such a vulnerable conversation as this, not when the beauty and glory of sex moaned from every corner and every wall.

I’d have her in there, of course, but perhaps not now.

“Come, we will talk in my conference room.”

She let out a quiet laugh–and I glanced over my shoulder, raising my eyebrows.

“Oh, I... thought that was going to be some kind of code for–another sex room,” she admitted.

“Well, who’s to say it isn’t?” I murmured, but when I opened the door, it was a sleek table with multiple chairs surrounding it. I was not just a criminal. I was a businessman first. Really, I had always been that–and I had been better at it than Bruce Wayne ever could have dreamed. Perhaps that was why he hated me so much.

What a petty, juvenile, cock-measuring reason that would be. Deeply disappointing, quite frankly.

I led her to one of the chairs and sat by her, crossing one of my legs so my ankle rested on my knee.

“You are correct, Ms. Quinzel, that this should be a ruse for Bruce Wayne. Above all else, I desire to break him, just as you do. And I will help you ensure that he never desires to touch you again. The sympathy of the public will be with you. I am sure that your university will eagerly support your studies, and wish you well as you leave Gotham once and for all.”

She nodded, and her eyes were sharp. Despite any arousal I may have been able to tug out of her for a moment, she had snapped back into that focused and centered space. She was a little shark. Ferocious, and I wanted to feel her teeth.

“But I do not see why this shouldn’t be an enjoyable experience for both of us,” I murmured. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t strive to make you cry out. And perhaps I will ruin you for any other man.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. I raised the same eyebrow back.

“You’re setting the bar very high for yourself,” she informed me.

“Thank God I know I can clear it. Now, we came to some conclusions together in the room. You’ve experienced only one sexual position. Now–I’d like you to tell me some things that you’ve always wanted to try in bed. Anything, Harleen, I truly enjoy making dreams come true.”

The look she gave me was nothing short of scrutinizing. Like she was trying to see through my skin. Quite frankly, her gaze was quite searing–and I found it much more attractive than I would care to admit, because more than just being piercing, I knew that she was seeing much more than I wanted her to. Damn this little minx.

“I know, you don’t know why and you are dying to know my reasoning,” I hummed. “As a man who is constantly trying to understand things, I understand the desire. But let me ask you this, Harleen–when was the last time you did something for yourself? For your own pleasure? For no other reason beyond the fact that you wanted to do it?”

Her fingers were lightly rubbing along the top of the table. I saw that movement, and I felt her starting to sway in the breeze, like she might fall to me at any moment.

“Perhaps asking you to tell me multiple things is too much. Tell me one thing, Harleen. Just one. One little dream or fantasy. The thought that makes your body hum with desire.”

Her lips parted. I could see her struggling with herself–and that pretty pink flush found her cheeks again. Her fingers were rubbling more along the table. Her eyes found mine quickly.

“I–don’t want it to happen right now,” she said firmly. “I need... I don’t know. I want some time to get my head together.”

God, how quickly the tables had turned, I realized. Just a few moments ago, she had been pleading with me to consider going to bed with her, now I felt like crawling on my knees a bit just to know that I could have her if she ignited something in me.

Predator, prey. Which was which? Or perhaps we were both hunting for each other in different ways.

“Alright,” I agreed, though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my promise, especially if that pink flush kept spilling all over her soft, creamy skin. After all, I was only a man.

“I just...” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and my God, let it be known that it was a Herculean effort on my part not to pry it out with my tongue. “I have always wanted to receive oral sex.”

I felt something inside of me soften even as my cock hardened.

She was a dangerous, sharp woman with more intelligence and canny than those around her knew, but inside of her was still a vulnerable young woman who just wanted to know what it would be like to experience pleasure without having a cock shoved into her from behind. To know what it would be like to let her head fall onto a pillow and all she had to do was be and it would be enough for her partner.

To be tasted, to be consumed in the most primal way that one could imagine.

I knew that my breathing was ragged, and it would be a lost cause to try to settle it down. It was taking everything in me not to surge across the table, ignoring her wishes, and make her desire a reality. The dress was so utterly flimsy, it would be so easy to push it up, and even if she fought back at first, she would melt, yes she would, liquid and sweet and sexy into her chair as I tasted her, and I could only imagine how sweet and soft she would be.

“I know it’s–most women have experienced it. I just... have felt like I’m missing out on something,” she said softly. “And I know I could probably just go to a bar and find a guy. Or–if I asked Bruce Wayne–”

“No,” I said softly, but firmly. “You were right to wait. It’s such an intimate thing, to give your body like that to someone else. And so many men do such a poor job of it–so rushed and eager for their own pleasure, they couldn’t care less how it feels for their partner. You were right to wait for someone who enjoys eating pussy–and, quite frankly, can’t get enough of it.”

I turned my chair towards her, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward. “Now Harleen. I have to ask you if you meant what you said about it not happening right now. Because if I’m being quite honest, I have a mind to take you to my bed. And that would be all we would do. My cock wouldn’t touch you, and I wouldn’t expect you to do the same for me.”

Her face was bright pink now–and I saw her eyes widen for a moment in surprise. And I realized where that came from–the shock that she would not be expected to wrap her lips around my cock after. This woman had been so sorely mistreated, I hardly knew how to begin to engage my mind with it. The thought of a man having such a vulnerable, sweet creature within arm’s reach, and not treating her like the goddess she was.

“No,” she said softly. “I’m not ready yet. I know that I said–”

“Promises can be broken,” I assured her gently. I took her hand and kissed her palm, even as badly as I wanted to settle my hands on her knees and push them apart, exposing my prize. But I knew better than most that intimacy, that trust, that assurance could be even more sexual than the act of love making itself. Simply knowing that you could do what you needed in the moment, that you could authentically be yourself without fear of being turned away.

That was a prize more beautiful than gold or silver. Or, as much as I was reluctant to admit it, a perfect cunt.

“Shall we have dinner?” I suggested instead, standing up before I let my baser impulses take over.

And she looked so surprised. I would treasure such a sweet look.

Yes, Harleen Quinzel would be the death of me, I was sure of it.

Chapter 9: The One that Got Away

Summary:

Harleen meets two people she didn't expect to see.

This was so out of control, and I needed to stop it as soon as I could. Or at least get a better handle on it.

Damnit! I was supposed to be the one who was in control. He was supposed to be the one who I led around by the cock. It was supposed to be easy–weren’t all men supposed to be like this? I’d done it before. Men truly were idiots when they thought they were about to get their dick wet.

I’d underestimated him, and I could see that I was so damn foolish for doing that.

My face was burning as I followed him into what I assumed would be his dining room. I had admitted to him that I’d never had oral sex before. I’d never told anyone that before. It was a stupid bit of information to share–a little secret place that he would now be able to use against me, but fuck, now I was so tormented with the thought of what would have happened had he dropped to his knees, tugged my panties down, put my legs up on his shoulders and–

No. Harleen. Christ. Since when have you been this easily swept away?

Since the Joker, I supposed.

I was trying to convince myself that this was all just a bit of hero worship. I had loved that picture of him, the mystery of it, the haze of forbidden that it had breathed into my lungs. I was not supposed to want to know more about him, but I did, and the moment I’d seen his face, I’d known that I was in a lot of fucking trouble, because in reality, I had never been drawn to the pretty, sparkling things. I had been drawn to the damp, to the dark, to the forbidden. To the things that well-behaved girls were not supposed to think about or talk about.

I wasn’t a good girl. Bruce thought I was, but I wasn’t. And part of me wanted to be, still, even yet. And another, larger, more demanding part of me was telling me quite firmly, Come on, Harleen. Fuck that. Fuck being sweet and docile. What does it get you?

Nothing but chains. That was what Bruce Wayne had wrapped me in. As pretty as they’d been, they had been violent restraints.

And now, I feared the same thing was about to happen with the Joker and me. Was he about to shackle me too? And why did I fucking trust this man anyway?

Goddamnit, Harleen, get a grip back on reality. I had never been swept away like this before, and I wasn’t about to let it happen right here and right now. The last time I’d let a man take the reins, I’d ended up with a God awful ugly ring on my finger.

Which, I suddenly realized to my horror, I was still wearing. It still fit like a damn glove, but it felt far too fucking tight. Because I knew what it had symbolized. And what it might symbolize if I was stupid enough to trust a man again.

I’m not gonna let that happen, ever, ever again.

Mercifully, he didn’t say anything as he led me through the hallways. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed to be as lost in thought as I was. Maybe he had shit to consider too about this arrangement–which I realized we still hadn’t confirmed that this was actually going to happen. We’d both gotten so caught up in his ridiculous sex games that that little detail suddenly hadn’t seemed to matter all that much.

But I was going to figure this out. I had a brain. I had just apparently forgotten how to use it in the past few hours.

No. He was not going to be the only one in control. I had spent too long under Bruce Wayne’s thumb to let it slip away like that. I wouldn’t lose myself for anything–not for my career, not for money, and not for sex. My life was mine, and he was a damned fool if thought he could pull it away from me with just a few honeyed, sweet words.

Though fuck, what amazing words they’d been. What a sinful promise. I was still thinking about how he’d promised me anything. Anything I wanted. And as much as I wanted to believe that he’d take advantage of my submission to him and he’d bend me over the bed and just rut mindlessly into me, I knew that wasn’t how this man operated. No, as much as I tried to admit it, it was incredibly obvious that the Joker, the prince of sin, was a marvelous lover, and he’d give me anything I wanted. Any little fantasy.

A little flame of desire in my chest couldn’t be extinguished. And as much as I claimed I wouldn’t give myself up for him, it wouldn’t be just for him, would it?

For the first time in my life, I had a chance to have what I wanted in bed. No performance. No arching my back and pretending to moan and praying for it to be over. No, real fucking sex with a real fucking man.

Goddamnit. There went my head again.

“Dinner will be served shortly,” the Joker said, jolting me out of my delightfully dirty thoughts. He smirked as if he knew (and maybe he did, fuck him). “I hope you don’t mind having a few guests join us.”

He swung the door open, and for one awful moment, I imagined Bruce Wayne sitting at the table, but then–

Well. All I could do was stare.

It would seem that the Joker wasn’t the only undead person lingering about in his Playhouse, because as plain as day, right before my damn eyes–

“Hey,” said a young man, standing up, and I’d know that tousled red hair from anywhere and that rakish smile. He stretched a hand forward, and he was still wearing a gold wedding band. I wondered why he hadn’t taken it off. “I’m–”

“Jason Todd,” I said for him, blinking in surprise. One of Bruce Wayne’s dead spouses. And sitting next to him was another redhead, this one a woman, fair of complexion, and God, she was even more beautiful up close, with a sharp but intelligent gaze. “And you’re Barbara Gordon. But...”

“We’re both supposed to be dead,” Barbara supplied dryly and then waved a hand dismissively. “That little detail.” She was still wearing her wedding ring too. Fuck. My mind was spinning. I had been told for years upon years that they were dead, but...

“She’s giving us that look, Babs,” Jason huffed. “That oh my God, I’m looking at dead people look.”

“Come on, Harleen,” Barbara smirked, leaning forward. “You really think that Bruce Wayne would have the courage to actually kill someone? What if it got out? All the gory details? He’d be done for. No, it was better to keep everything very mysterious. To pretend like we just... disappeared. Then everyone’s terrified, but there’s no proof of anything.”

“And don’t get us wrong, he definitely thinks we’re dead,” Jason added. They had such an easy rapport with each other–almost like siblings. “After all, he entrusted the worst of the worst to finish the job.”

They both stopped and then turned to look at the Joker, who was settling himself into the seat next to me.

“The pretty boy of Gotham dropped them off here, into what he assumed would be a den of debauchery and torture,” the Joker murmured. “All because he got tired of them. Now isn’t that some shit?”

It all sank in. I had already thought of Bruce as being absolute shit, but something about this hit me extra hard–like a goddamn ton of bricks.

“So–what? He just decided that he didn’t... and then he just dropped you here? To be killed?” I said incredulously. “But why would he...”

“You know Bruce just like we do,” Barbara said quietly. “He plays with his toys until they’re broken, and then when he doesn’t think they can do anything else, he throws them away. And it makes him look all that much more noble if some big bad monster killed the people that he loved the most.”

I remembered the press conferences, Bruce Wayne with tears in his eyes reporting the death of his beloved Jason, his beloved Barbara. At first, I had thought what everyone else had–I had pitied him, this heartbroken man, but later, it had all smelled rotten to me. The crocodile tears, the muffled sobs that sounded so theatric, so rehearsed.

And when I’d met Bruce Wayne, I’d learned that there wasn’t an ounce of love in his heart.

Jason and Barbara had been just like me. They’d both been damn near criminally young when Bruce had taken them in (and there had even been ugly reports of grooming regarding Jason). He’d taken advantage of them when they were in need. Jason had been an orphan. Barbara had been an orphan too, her father killed in the line of duty while patrolling with Batman. And kind, generous Bruce Wayne had taken them in–and fallen in love.

The pattern. Fuck, the pattern. Yes, I’d seen it unraveling before me. It was why I had run away before I had become another dead body.

But they weren’t dead. They were here.

“You didn’t kill them,” I realized as if it was some great revelation. “You could have. You didn’t.” I was looking at the Joker now. He was pouring himself a glass of red wine, not looking at me.

“What purpose would it serve, to slaughter the innocent on his orders?” the Joker murmured, his eyes meeting mine. “I do not follow his agenda any more than you do. He wished to make me into even more of a monster than I already am, but I determine the shape and color of my claws, Harleen. My destiny is my own, and it is not as inextricably tied with his as he seems to believe.”

For perhaps the first time since I’d arrived at his home, I found myself completely at a loss for words. This was not the Joker I had been told stories of, the horrible boogeyman who was waiting around a corner to murder women and children. He was not a good man, no, but...

“Besides, killing them would have given him exactly what he wants. But keeping them alive... now that is truly an asset I cannot ignore,” the Joker murmured. “Besides, they are marvelous companions–and intelligent and helpful in their own right. Bruce was a fool to have thrown them away.”

I suddenly wondered if the Joker had had sex with them. They were both so beautiful, I felt certain he had. The jealousy that rushed through me was so deeply ridiculous–I had no claim to this man. No one did, he was making that clear.

“So you’re the one that escaped,” Jason smiled, taking his glass and raising it in my direction. “You did what Babs and I couldn’t. What we didn’t have the guts to do.”

And for a moment, I saw what almost seemed like a touch of shame cross his eyes. I knew Bruce–I knew how winsome he could be. Jason had nothing to be ashamed of. Neither did Barbara. The only one who should feel shame was the one incapable of doing so.

“To the one that got away,” Barbara smiled, raising her glass too.

I felt like I had no choice. I toasted to my own escape, as hollow as it suddenly felt. As I drank, the Joker watched me over his glass.

Wine had never tasted so bitter.

Chapter 10: To Make Him Angry

Summary:

The plan begins.

THE JOKER

I had known that Jason and Barbara would surprise Harleen, but I had hoped that they might put her at ease. After all, they had once been part of her world. She didn’t know that it was a life I had once taken part in, and there would be no need for her to ever know.

No, some things were too precious even for my curious little caged bird.

I watched Harleen loosen up during dinner. A little wine could do wonders at relaxing someone, and before long, she was chatting happily with Jason and Barbara. The three had so many stories to share–little tricks that Bruce had used on all three of them. I felt a twist of worry though, keeping a close eye on Jason and Barbara. I didn’t want them to feel foolish. After all, Bruce’s dirty tricks had worked on them.

But I could never blame them for that. After all, Jason had been a child when they’d met. Barbara had been wrecked with grief. Bruce had such a unique way of ripping away every resource his lovers could cling to. He left them shivering out in the cold so that they had no choice but to hide in his big, warm mansion.

Stockholm syndrome at its finest. What a conniving, manipulative bastard.

Not for the first time in my life, I lost myself to a fantasy of what I would do to Bruce once I finally had him under my thumb. I would make him suffer the way he had made so many before. It was hard to even begin to think of how I could give him the same amount of pain and despair and loss and emptiness, but I’d find a way.

I was a resourceful man, after all.

“You should just consider yourself lucky you never saw the face he pulled before he was going to kiss you,” Jason said with a snort. “He always left his mouth slightly open. Such wet kisses. It was repulsive.”

“Exactly,” Barbara said with a snort. “I can’t believe I ever liked it.”

“I can believe it,” Harleen said quietly, and my head jerked in her direction. I saw her frowning now–that smile so quickly replaced with a look of solemness. “He has a way of finding you when you’re at your lowest. And he makes you feel like he’s saving you. And you feel grateful, like you’d do anything to repay him.”

Some small part of me had thought that she might feel superior to them because she hadn’t given in. But she was better than that. I should have known.

“Yes,” Jason said quietly. “And then, that bright light goes away. All of his interest in you fades so fast. It feels like...”

Jason wet his lips. I watched him. My little red-headed prince. I could still see so clearly how he’d looked when he’d showed up on my doorstep, tears streaming down freckled cheeks, how he’d begged me to kill him quickly. He’d been so broken, this boy who’d never known a home before.

“It feels like you did something wrong. Like you ruined it,” Jason said quietly. “Like you were a failure cuz you couldn’t keep him. And... before I left I met someone who showed me that wasn’t true.”

I’d heard this story before. It was clearly so important to Jason. He was still such a gentle young man in so many ways, no matter how much he might have tried to pretend like he was a full grown man, strong and independent. He wasn’t. And it would be hard for him to become that way, all because of what Bruce had done to him.

It was hard not to think of Jason as mine. And he had been mine, many times over, but I wasn’t the one who held his heart. He’d made that very clear. But really, I hadn’t been able to help myself–nor had I held back with Barbara either. They had both sat on my throne many times before and enjoyed what I had to offer, but both of them didn’t want me. Not really. How could they? At the end of the day, I knew what I was–a fetish. A diversion. It was fine, and it was much easier this way. A brief pitstop on the way to finding true love.

I imagined that was what would happen with Harleen too. It was better this way. People like them–like Barbara, Jason and Harleen–were meant to walk in the light, and to find someone who could do the same. That would never be the path for me again, and in many ways I was glad for it, but Christ, it could be so lonely. Not that I’d ever fucking admit it.

“And maybe when the Joker finally kills Bruce Wayne, I can go find her again,” Jason said, sitting a little taller in his seat and glancing over at me. I nodded with a smile, reaching down and squeezing his knee.

“Of course,” I murmured. “When he’s gone, Gotham will finally be free again. Speaking of which, Harleen, are you finished with dinner?”

Her plate was clean, but she glanced up at me with surprise–and with a blush, almost as if she’d forgotten why she was there. The deal that we very well had almost made.

A deal that I intended to fully make tonight. And when she was ready, I would...

My mind spilled with the possibilities, all the lovely ways that I could have her. Even now, I so badly longed to slide my hands up her dress, and then to take the whole thing off, laying her out bare on my table. And she might resist at first, she might claim she wasn’t ready, but the moment that my mouth was on her, she would melt for me. I knew she would. And some sick part of me wanted to see just how many of those sweet little protestations I could push through.

But no. I wasn’t Bruce.

“No need to look so alarmed,” I huffed. “I simply want to make sure that our deal is set in place before you go to sleep. One last conversation.”

She looked a bit nervous, but I saw a small shiver pass through her body. Yes, she would be mine–but I wanted her to enthusiastically desire me, to be begging for my mouth, my cock, my hands, any part of me that she could have. Making her desire me would be a foolish game. She was a stubborn little princess and I knew without a doubt that she would want me so much more if it was her own idea.

“Alright,” she agreed–and then smiled at both Jason and Barbara and, ah, there it was. Her real smile. I knew now that she hadn’t really smiled at me, not yet. That would be something that I would have to earn, and I was prepared to do so. “It was nice to meet you,” she said sincerely to them.

“You too, Harleen,” Barbara said, standing up and taking Harleen’s hand fondly. “It’s really nice to have another woman around.”

“We’ll be seeing you,” Jason grinned with a wink. He was too charming for his own good, really, flirting with everyone and everything. I swear, he’d had more sex in my Playhouse than I had. Quite frankly, he needed a hobby.

And if he thought he was going to fuck Harleen, he’d have another thing coming. No one but me would be laying a damn finger on her while she was in my home.

And with that, we both headed into the hallway together. I could sense her nervousness–and maybe a bit of apprehension. Almost like she was afraid that I was going to force her to do something that she didn’t want to.

“If you think I’m going to–” I started.

“Let me just say–” she said quickly, unapologetically cutting me off, turning to face me. “I know that I haven’t... you wanted me to kneel in front of your throne and you wanted to touch me and I didn’t let you, but I am committed to doing this. I want to do this. It’s important to me. I just don’t want to belong to someone again. It’s been such a long time since I was able to just... be.”

I knew my lips were parted with surprise because, well. I had expected her to say a lot of things, but it wasn’t that, and I had been so sure I knew what she was thinking, and then she had...

“I didn’t doubt that, Harleen,” I said quietly, reaching to take her hand and squeeze it softly. “I am in no great rush. Any pressure that you might have felt for me was simply a carnal desire that reared its head for a moment. I do very, very much like making bratty little princesses behave. But I will wait until you are ready.”

“But we can’t really wait,” Harleen said, her eyes meeting mine. “He won’t wait. He’ll... he might even move on. If he thinks that you killed me. We have to... find a way to remind him that I’m here. Under your control. And for your side of the deal, it’s important that he–be angry. Be motivated into action.”

I raised both my eyebrows. “And do you have any suggestions for how to achieve this?”

She seemed to falter for a moment, wetting her lips. “I... I thought that you might have an idea. I’ve never done anything like this before. But I’m still not a virgin,” she said sharply at the end, putting her hand on her hips (and pulling her hand away from mine, that little spark of independence again that I wanted to see fanned into a forest fire).

I snorted. “Physically, you aren’t, but in so many ways, you are an innocent,” I said airily, if for no other reason that I knew it would piss her off. And immediately I saw her nostrils flare, the corners of her lips pulled down. “But never mind that, Harleen. We can make something to tantalize and tease him with. But you’ll have to give me permission to touch you.”

Her frown faded a little and she crossed her arms over her chest. She was still in that ridiculous cream-colored dress that I wanted to rip off of her. Christ, I wanted to make her mine. And I would.

“Well, I mean–if we’re gonna do this, of course you have... permission.”

I looked at her. I smirked. She blushed.

Oh yes. She would be mine.

“Alright, Harleen. We’re going to go into your room. That’s the first thing we’re going to do.”

I put my hand on the door knob and opened it for her, letting her go in first, not bothering to keep my gaze off of her perfect round ass.

“Now,” I said quietly, shutting the door behind me, turning to face her, “take off your dress.”

She turned to look at me, frowning again. “Why do I–?”

“We’re going to take some pictures, Harleen, and a short video,” I said quietly. She flushed even more–and then I saw it. A flicker of shame. “Harleen,” I murmured. “If you want him to see, everyone is going to have to see as well. At least you will be safe–and they will be safe too. But I will not force you to do this.”

“I know,” she said softly, and I saw the resolve grow in her gaze. She turned back around. “If you... unzip me, you can take it off.”

It felt like unwrapping a delicious present, one that I wasn’t even sure I deserved, and Christ, I was truly going to fuck this woman. At some point, she’d be wrapped around me, and I couldn’t wait for the moment.

But for now, we’d start here. I stepped to her and tugged down the zipper of her dress.

Chapter 11: Looking and Seeing

Summary:

Their plan is set in motion.

HARLEEN

Everything felt so damned confusing. I didn’t know what I was doing and it was all happening fast, but strangely enough, not fast enough. I was starting to learn that maybe that was just the way that things were going to be with him. The Joker.

He made me feel unlike anyone I’d ever been with before. There was that edge of danger, of course, I mean, Christ if there wasn’t, I might need to get my brain checked because I’d gotten a lobotomy when I wasn’t paying attention. The Joker was inherently dangerous, and I was well aware of it. I knew the stories–everyone did. He was the resident boogie man of Gotham (though, quite frankly, now that I knew him and Bruce, only one of them made me genuinely terrified).

Part of me wondered if I was being stupid, not being more afraid of this man. He could have been putting on an act for all I knew–trying to lure me into a false sense of security, but...

I thought about Jason and Barbara. The fondness with which they would look at him, as if he had spared them from the worst moments of their lives. I knew that he had saved me from mine. I could still feel how it had felt when Bruce had slid that ring on my finger–the constriction of it. Almost like it was going to rip my finger clean off.

So much more than just a way to show that he cared for me, which I knew that he didn’t. Not really.

For the longest time, I had thought that there was no way to be free in Gotham–and even when I’d tried to make nice with the devil, I’d found that he was still evil. Not a savior at all, but rather the one that had made everyone suffer this way. How’s that for a damn chicken and an egg scenario? Which came first, Bruce Wayne and his insufferable need to crush everyone beneath his platinum thumb or the sheer amount of crime, poverty, and misery in Gotham?

It was easy to get lost in the thoughts–and in some way, I felt like maybe I was trying to think hard so I didn’t have to think about what was happening right now–and the repercussions of it.

I couldn’t really stop him now, could I? I found I didn’t even really want to. I wanted this–some small way to reclaim myself, to show Bruce Wayne that I didn’t belong to him, I never had and I never would, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that after I did this, everything would be different.

But maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

After all, my life hadn’t been all roses and sunshine up until this point. Far from it. More like venus fly traps and hurricanes.

I felt his hand on my back. It surprised me–and I jumped a little bit. He huffed quietly, shaking his head.

“Harleen, I’m not going to hurt you or do anything you don’t want me to,” the Joker said quietly, and his voice was such a deep, rich growl. Almost like something too sweet to taste, too expensive to savor. “That’s not the kind of man I am. If you don’t want this–”

“I do,” I said quite suddenly–and I surprised myself with just how much I actually wanted this. He wouldn’t be the only one in power here. Maybe that was what I needed most of all–to make this about me, for once in my life, and encounter would be my choice from the beginning up until the end. I knew who I was, I knew what I liked, and I knew what I wanted–and this wouldn’t happen without my consent, while I stood idly by and allowed him to arrange my body and touch me in the way that pleased him and him only.

He talked a big game about being a good lover. Maybe for once, I should let a man prove his own mettle.

He started to tug down the zipper on my dress. I was wearing a strapless bra beneath and a thong. I let the fabric whisper down my skin, pooling on the floor at my feet. I glanced over my shoulder at him–and saw his gaze dropped onto my ass. It brought me pleasure–the kind that softly burned me from the inside out. He wanted me and it wasn’t out of my control. Maybe it was sad that the mere fact that I could tell him that I didn’t want to have sex and he would listen aroused me, or maybe it just spoke to the fact that people had been shitty to me throughout my life and had worn down what should be expected in me into something that should be appreciated.

And maybe being a woman was just straight bullshit, though it didn’t feel that way right now. Because now, right here in this moment, I wasn’t expected to submit–and I didn’t want to. I never wanted to feel like I had to drop to my knees for a man again.

“Just like this?” I asked, sitting on his bed and crossing my legs, putting my palms on the bed behind me so I pushed up my breasts. “I think this would make a good picture. God knows it would piss him off.”

“I’d rather not hear about him right now, Harleen,” the Joker huffed quietly. He had his phone in hand (for some reason, I found it strange to know that the Joker had a phone, but of course he did, right? What kind of contacts did he have in there? Apps? Did he ever play like Clash of Clans or some shit on it? Anyway, I digress). “Yes, that’ll do nicely, though it needs one last touch.”

He set his phone on the bed and moved to hover over me. In a heartbeat, my hands were on his chest, holding him back.

“Tell me what you’re going to do before you do it.”

My voice was clear, clean, and expectant. My eyes on his. Immovable. Boundaries. Christ, who knew I was capable of it? I had to admire myself a bit. And again, maybe this is what I should have been doing my whole life, but what the hell did it matter if I had figured it out at some point?

Perhaps education and embarrassment didn’t have to hold hands.

I expected the Joker to look at me with irritation. Hell, I nearly expected him to pull my hands off of his chest and state that the whole thing was off. And part of me, a trembling sliver imagined something even worse happening for one gut-twisting moment.

But it didn’t happen. One of his hands came to gently circled my wrist.

“As you wish,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m going to kiss your neck. I want to leave my lipstick there. He’ll know my mouth was on you, even if it was just for a moment.”

I moved my hand so it was holding his. I squeezed it softly–and Christ, we were so close, it suddenly hit me. The heat of his body was floating out towards mine, and it was such a soft warmth. Not oily, not wet, not demanding. It was a closeness that I didn’t fear, but rather one that I liked. One that I wanted more of.

I moved to slide my arms around his neck, just following my own desires.

“You could kiss me other places than just my neck,” I told him quietly, and our eyes had never left each other’s even for a moment. His were the most striking pale blue, so light they almost blended in with the whites of his eyes. I knew I should have been afraid, but I can’t even begin to explain just how much I wasn’t.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his eyes warm with amusement. “Let’s start here and see how it goes.”

Slowing me down. Well, that was new.

So much newness. So much mystery–and so many little unexpected moments, glittering like snow in the afternoon sun. Like gold threaded through dirt.

Like a rose emerging from thorns. Fuck, just who in the hell was this man, after all?

“You’re holding back on me, Joker,” I said quietly, and the sentence was so ridiculous to my ears. Who the hell had ever wanted more from this man? A lot of people, I realized. He was the kind of man that made you ache, made you want to beg, the type that could unravel you so easily, his fingers picking apart threads until you tumbled to the ground and no one could even tell what you had been before.

“I think it’s best if I do,” he murmured, and then he leaned down and brushed his lips against my collarbone. Feather soft, and my skin was so thin there that goosebumps rebelled all over my body.

He reached up and smudged the mark with his thumb, chuckling softly. “Tell me, Harleen, did you ever think you’d wear another man’s lipstick?”

“A woman, maybe. Not a man though,” I said with a snort, but I wasn’t really joking because you couldn’t hate men as much as I did without being bi. I mean, come on.

“I’ll take it as a compliment then. Or maybe just a sign that against all odds and all reason, you trust me,” he murmured, and I felt it again. A wall sliding up between us. I knew I wasn’t stupid though, and he wouldn’t be able to convince me of what just wasn’t true.

“You don’t see reality,” I said simply. He had his phone up, perhaps ready to take the picture, but then he lowered it.

“Oh?” he said, his eyes fixed on mine again.

“You are dangerous,” I said simply. “I won’t argue with you on that, I don’t think that anyone would. You’ve done what you need to to survive–and you will fight for what you believe in at all costs. And in some ways, I know you are a bad man, but you are far from the worst. And you aren’t nearly as bad as you think you are.”

“And what would you know about me, Miss Harleen Quinzel?” he murmured, looking back down at his phone.

“I only know what you show me,” I responded softly.

His eyes met mine. He looked at me. I looked back. But it was more than just looking. We saw. And he was just like me, he didn’t let other people see, so I knew just how much of a compliment this was–and how much it showed that he would let me look at him, and for just a moment, he would lift that veil.

“And if you’re wrong?” His voice was barely audible at this point.

I pushed my tongue in my cheek. “I’ll be in deep shit then, won’t I?”
“The deepest,” he confirmed quietly. “But perhaps that’s your risk to take.”

“One that I think I might be willing to,” I continued.

“Perhaps this is all part of your devious little scheme, Ms. Quinzel,” the Joker huffed. “To use me as a pawn against the man you hate more than anything.”

“Why can’t it be both?” I asked sincerely. “Why can’t I ruin his life while improving mine? I like sex. Don’t you?”

The Joker thought for a moment. I could almost see those synapses firing behind his eyes.

Then, silently, he knelt before me.

“When I take you, every inch of you will be aching for me,” he said softly. “When we finally fuck, we will consume each other. That’s the only way I do it. The only way I’ve ever wanted to. And it will be worth it, but I am not inclined to rush it, Harleen. Good things come to those who wait, my sweet.”

My chest was tight and the thought that I could want him more than this was honestly fucking laughable. I didn’t think I could blaze any more warmly than this.

“Now,” the Joker murmured, “look at me like you want me.”

I looked up at his phone. It wasn’t a challenge to show what I felt.

“Perfect,” he said softly.

No. It wasn’t. Not yet. But Christ, it might be.

Chapter 12: Cranial Feast

Summary:

Jason Todd calls out the Joker

THE JOKER

I had wanted to stay with her. Everything in me had demanded that I do so, but it had been a long day for her. She’d barely gotten any rest, and any desire she felt for me was likely linked to pure exhaustion–and probably the wine she’d had with her dinner.

She was trouble. I had thought that I would be the one that would make things difficult, but how deeply wrong I was. She was so determined to...

I wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing, but I knew that it was unsafe with a man like me. I couldn’t even criticize her decisions. She was clearly a brilliantly intelligent woman who wasn’t afraid to say what she wanted, but...

Well. I wasn’t something that anyone could have. Not really. We would have sex, but that was all that I could offer her. The sweet girl had a case of “the grass is greener” syndrome, and yes, the grass was greener, but that wasn’t saying much when Bruce Wayne’s was scorched to the ground.

No. She’d never had proper sex before, she was all but a virgin. That was where all of this stemmed from, and I would make sure that it wasn’t any more than that. Though I couldn’t deny that we would have a great deal of fun together.

“Let me know if you need anything,” I murmured to her softly before leaving–and I closed the door before she could look at me with those tempting eyes. I half expected her to come down the hallway after me and make my resolve crumble even more than it already had, but she didn’t. It was a relief–but also a disappointment.

Fuck. I wanted her more than I was comfortable with. This was going to be an issue.

Desiring someone was not new for me, but I kept my desire carefully boxed and tucked away on a shelf. I only took out as much as I needed to apply in a certain situation, but Miss Quinzel had found a way to pry the lid off of the box and take out as much as she wanted. And I was filled with more want than I’d realized I was capable of having.

“You look like someone just electrocuted you.”

Jason Todd’s snarky little voice. He was standing outside my room with his arms crossed, both red eyebrows raised high on his freckled forehead. He was utterly infuriating, and often, I regretted taking him in because he was too damned perceptive for his own good.

“ I was starting to think that maybe you wouldn’t come back tonight,” he said a bit lazily, smirking with his infuriating I know something you don’t know little grin, and I knew for a fact that it was true. Jason had the irritating way of seeing me more deeply than most did. Made me want to throw him out on his scrawny ass.

“Go ahead,” I drawled. “Let me have it. I’m sure that you have all kinds of annoying opinions that you are just waiting to rain all over me.”

“Oh, trust me, I will,” Jason grinned, and he followed me into my room. Though I’d had sex with Barbara, I’d never touched Jason. He’d been in love with someone else at the tail end of his marriage with Bruce, and he was unfailingly loyal to her. It was sweet, though frankly it would have been a lot easier on me if I could shut him up with sex.

“You think I’m an idiot for trusting her,” I said flatly. “You think I’m thinking too much with my cock.”

“Well, yes, but in that case, it might not be a bad thing,” Jason said, closing the door behind him. “She’s incredibly useful. We’ve never had someone here who is actively with Bruce. It might be our ticket to freedom.”

“Whatever the hell that means,” I replied with a snort. “Keep dreaming, Jason, we’re never getting out of this hellhole. The only way any of this ends well for any of us is when I get to kill Bruce Wayne, and we all get our revenge.”

“That’s not my end goal, nor is it Barbara’s. I don’t even think that’s what Harleen wants–and I’m pretty damn sure it’s not what you want either.”

“If you think for a single fucking second that that isn’t everything I’ve ever wanted, then you’re even stupider than I thought you were.”

“As if you’ve ever thought I was stupid,” Jason said, and now there was a little edge to his voice–one that I had always liked about him. He was friendly and cheerful, but he also kept tight and firm boundaries. He didn’t back down. He was a fierce advocate for himself and others, and he kept me in check. Which was both infuriating and admirable. And, as usual, he was right.

“Then what do you want?” I said, my voice still as flat and emotionless as I could make it.

“You don’t want to be a pariah any more,” Jason murmured. “You know better how to save Gotham than any of us. The only chance that Barbara, Harleen or I have at being able to live the lives that we want is you, as much as it kills me. I wish that we could go back, but you know he’d just find a way to dispose of us.”

“So if I’m not supposed to kill Bruce Wayne, then what the hell am I supposed to do?” I snapped.

“Make them see him for who he really is,” Jason said, and he made it all sound so simple. My hand tightened into a fist at my side.

“You say that as if it would be so simple,” I shot back. “As if that isn’t something I’ve already tried to do.”

“You have never tried to do that,” Jason replied, and now he sounded angry. “You never have. Don’t lie. It’s much easier to let them believe that you’re a monster–and adversary. It would be hard to make everyone believe in you, but they would–especially if they knew what Bruce Wayne was really like. What he was capable of.”

“Even if I thought what you were saying was a good idea, no one would ever believe me. Not now.”

“Seeing is believing, Jack.”

My gaze flashed up to him. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name,” Jason said simply. “Don’t you think it’s time you reclaimed who you really are? And yes, they might not listen, but at least it will be true.”

I pushed my tongue into my cheek. “This all sounds wonderful, Jason, and it would all be very inspiring if I was anything but exactly what they thought I was. I’m a monster. I always have been and I always will be.”

“A monster never knows he’s a monster,” Jason murmured. “The true monster always thinks he’s the hero. You aren’t evil. You never have been. And I thought I knew why you let people think that about you–and I do think in some ways it’s easier–but really, I don’t know why. I don’t understand why you don’t stand up for yourself and make them see you as you really are.”

I didn’t say anything. I took off my jacket. I felt tired all of a sudden. All this talk of changing the way people saw me... it was so goddamn hopeless. I didn’t understand how Jason couldn’t see it, but he was young. He didn’t understand how years could build and bury you so deep that you knew you could never get out, not really.

And soon, it becomes warm and safe and comfortable and the thought of breathing again sounds like more trouble than it would be worth.

“I know you don’t want to,” Jason said quietly. “You have a lot at risk–not just me and Barbara, but I know that’s part of it too–we’re part of it. You don’t want us to get hurt–and maybe you think it’s not worth it, but he’s hurting so many people. Not just people like Harleen, but every single day. He and Batman have done so many terrible things, and Gotham just lets it happen. They don’t know any better. I can’t believe that you’re the only one who wants a change–and if you’re brave enough to step forward and say so...”

“By doing what,” I said flatly. “By fucking some prim little socialite?”

“By making this more about sex and more about marriage and more about a stupid, pointless power struggle. Right now, Bruce Wayne isn’t struggling for power. He already has it–as much as he wants and more.” Jason crossed his arms over his chest. And I saw him, I saw him as I always did–as a young man who deserved to have a life, one beautiful and independent of anything that held him back. Bruce had taken him in when he was young and he’d used and abused and groomed him and Christ, it was all so fucking sick. And Jason was right, if I stood by and didn’t do a damn thing, then I was just as bad as fucking Bruce Wayne.

The thought made my stomach knot itself in a manner that would make any damn boy scout proud.

“You know you could do something about it,” Jason said quietly. “The eyes of everyone in Gotham are about to be on you. It’ll be up to you what you do with that.”

“Just what I fucking want, more people perceving,” I muttered.

“Oh, poor you,” Jason huffed, shaking his head. “As if some part of you hasn’t wanted this. The chance to be the hero.”

I snored. “That’s what we’re calling it, are we? As if I’d ever want to be anything so fucking paltry as that.”

“Oh?” Jason scoffed. “Then what shall we call you? King? Lord? Messiah?”

The truth of it was a thousand times more pitiful than Jason could ever know–more than I’d ever let him know. All I had ever wanted, ever since everything had happened, ever since I’d first pushed back against Bruce Wayne and been thrown into the fucking pit where he threw all the toys he tired with, all I had ever wanted as to be a human again. Because Bruce Wayne had the remarkable ability to strip away all your flesh and turn you into a creature that can only hide in the dark. He had a way of shining his false light so brightly that you look like scum in comparison.

I knew he had to be stopped. I knew it. But fuck, I’d prefer it didn’t have to be me who did this bullshit.

I wished suddenly that it would be enough to kill him. Some part of me knew that that would never be enough, because in death, he would become an even greater hero–and the breath of his fascism would continue to slither around every corner, perfuming every home. The smell of a rotting body can be very sweet, you know.

“I know I can’t talk you into anything. I’ve never been able to,” Jason murmured, and he was smiling a bit. “You’re stubborn as fuck, in case you didn’t know that. But... just something to think about, yeah?”

As if I hadn’t thought of it before.

“As always, you are unbearably infuriating,” I said flatly. “Thanks for nothing.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason smiled, giving an annoying wave (basically everything he did was fucking annoying to me at this point). “And you’ll be even more welcome when you realize that I’m right.”

Which I had already realized. Because it was possible to be highly idealistic and filled with fantasy and to be right at the same time, which I was reluctant to admit. And I imagined Harleen felt the same way.

Jason hadn’t just given me food for thought. He’d given me a goddamn cranial feast.

Damn him.

Chapter 13: A Princess, a Prince, and a King

Summary:

Harleen learns more about where the Joker lives

When I woke up, I realized that I had absolutely not been sleeping soundly for the past whoever-knows-how long.

It was a bit of a startling revelation–especially when I paused to consider the fact that I was in the lair of a true-blue (true-purple?) villain. The Joker had killed people before and hurt them and stolen and blown shit up. Granted, I was pretty sure that Bruce had done all of those things too, but he’d done it in the way that wealthy people did everything–silently and surrounded by a cushioning of money that assured him that nobody would know, and even if they did, no one would give a shit.

Honestly, at this point, I was pretty sure that Bruce Wayne could blow up half the city and his sycophants would still find a way to excuse him. Those who loved him were so thoroughly under his spell–and I couldn’t pretend like I was so much better than them. After all, I was the one who had surrendered myself nearly completely to him, and while I had done so with my own reservations, if I had truly believed that he was dangerous, I never would have done it.

Or maybe I would have. I had the habit of getting caught in the jaws of wolves. My taste in men left quite a bit to be desired–I found myself constantly settling for fast food versions of men, even when the gourmet version was right there.

Though if there really were any gourmet men alive, goddamn, I had yet to meet them.

I pushed myself into a sitting position. A set of purple silk pajamas had been delivered to my room after the Joker had left (and I was doing everything in my power not to wonder just how he knew my size). It sure beat the hell out of sleeping in those horrible, lacy nightgowns that Bruce had given me–not that we’d ever slept together. God, I was so stupid though–I thought the fantasy of me wearing something that he’d given me would be enough.

With a man like that, nothing was ever enough. He was bottomless fucking pit.

It was hatred of Bruce that finally got my ass out of bed.

My feet were still pretty damn sore–and I had a feeling they would be that way for awhile. More reason for the Joker to literally sweep me off my feet. I pretended to be annoyed at the idea, and then quickly brushed the pretense to the side. I liked it when he picked me up. I liked the feel of his body against mine. All the things that he’d said to me the night before rushed over me like the most delicious, warm wave of heated desire–and even though I had just woken up, I felt my body stir to life.

I thought about what it would be like to walk down the hallway, to find his room, and to take off my pajamas and then to just–

No. He’d probably irritatingly reject me again. More of this cat and mouse bullshit (as if I wasn’t into it, because unfortunately I was, which was likely what he was counting on).

My wardrobe was extremely limited being that I hadn’t exactly packed to end up here. I wondered what the solution to that would be as I wandered down the hallway, still in the pajama set (though I had brushed my hair and put on the little bit of make up that I’d brought with me in my clutch, because of course I’d brought my ridiculously tiny little clutch but I’d left my phone because I had a brain. Then again, I wasn’t about to blame myself because I’d had no others thoughts than getting the fuck away from Bruce Wayne as fast as humanly possible.)

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Christ. I nearly jumped out of my skin–and then, it felt like every inch of me was on fire. I was in trouble if he could do this much to me just by speaking to me.

The reality of it all was that I had thought about him all night. I had tossed and turned in my surprisingly comfortable bed, and if pressed, I would have said with the utmost confidence that it was because my feet still hurt and I was worried about my sister and Pam, and while they certainly crossed my mind more than once, the thing that had kept me away from any comfort of dreaming was a pair of icy blue eyes and a gravelly, soft, intimate voice that murmured to me like he could see right through me (and not just through my clothes).

“I knew you were a princess, but I didn’t realize that that came complete with getting up at noon,” he murmured–and I took a moment to take him in. I didn’t know how I expected him to dress, but it wasn’t like this. The make up highlighted his features, but it wasn’t nearly as clown-like as it had been the day before (which clearly hadn’t been particularly offputting to me). His dark green hair was slicked out of his face and those piercing blue eyes were on mine. He wore a blue button-down which was rolled up at the sleeves to his elbows (goddamnit, his forearms) and a pair of fitted slacks.

Bruce Wayne had led everyone to believe that the Joker had been nothing more than an emaciated, deeply mentally ill man. And while he might have still been mentally ill (join the club, buddy), he was far from emaciated. Well dressed, stylish, casual. Fucking gorgeous.

Damnit. Inconvenient.

Finally, his words sank in–and I pulled a face. “Maybe you can attribute that to the fact that I literally had to run for my life last night and had half a window factory pulled out of the bottom of my feet,” I drawled.

“It might have contributed,” he murmured dryly. “Breakfast? Or, I suppose, lunch as it were.”

“Brunch,” I corrected. “And yes, please.”

That word got his eyes to flicker and darken for a moment. Apparently he liked it when I said please. I’d have to remember that. He was holding a hell of a lot of cards right now when it came to interactions with me, could I be blamed for taking a few of my own?

He nodded and smiled, the blackness in his eyes fading into that friendly expression that I was getting used to–one that certainly should have unsettled me, but it didn’t. Honestly, talking to him and looking at him–I felt comfortable with him. That also should have been deeply unsettling, but again... it just wasn’t.

With him, I felt... settled. But maybe that was his plan.

Be careful, Harleen. Men only want to chew you up and spit you out.

I had been used one too many times. I wasn’t about to let it happen again, even if he did look beautiful as fuck in blue.

“I see you liked the pajamas,” the Joker hummed, his eyes unabashedly taking me in–and I felt suddenly naked with my legs exposed in the shorts. He had seen me in less, of course, but this felt even more intimate somehow. “I picked them out myself.”

“The man definitely has his favorite colors,” I teased. “Why purple anyway?”

“It’s the color of royalty, of course,” he grinned. “Fitting for me, and certainly fitting for a princess.”

I scowled at him–which only made him grin back more broadly, pleased as fuck with himself for getting under my skin. He held the door to the dining room open for me, still grinning down at me.

“You’re a dick,” I mumbled.

“Oh, I’m aware, sweetheart.”

Goddamnit. He was as annoying as he was handsome, and that was a dangerous combination.

He must have known that I was getting up soon because when I sat down and reached for my coffee cup, it was still warm. I helped myself to fruit and a croissant that had been placed on the table. The Joker had only a cup of coffee for himself, completely black. How very masculine and manly of him. I added cream and sugar to mine silently, aware of his eyes on me.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I said to my coffee, trying to take some damn power back by not looking at him because just the fact that I knew he was watching me had me blushing from head to toe.

“I already did,” the Joker murmured–and I felt the spot between my legs begin to pulse with longing.

Traitorous vagina.

“Oh my God,” I mumbled, but I couldn’t fight back against a smile–and when I looked up, I saw that he was smiling at me too.

I was starting to realize why Bruce Wayne hated him. He was a hell of a pain in the ass.

“So what does the Joker do on his days off?” I drawled. “Work on your stand up set?”

He laughed–and his giggle was admittedly creepy, but it was also irritatingly hot (God, I was in so much deep shit to be turned on by a guy who giggled, what the fuck precisely was going on with me?)

“Funny,” he huffed. “Well, I thought that we could go shopping and get you some new things. After all, I don’t think a dress and a pair of pajamas is enough for you to wear for as long as you plan on being here.”

I finally looked at him, blinking and confused. “So we’re leaving your warehouse?”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Well. Brucie really has gone out of his way to wipe me from the map, hasn’t he? You really don’t know?”

I shook my head, aware that I still hadn’t looked away from him–and it was so obvious just how much he was enjoying teasing with me, withholding information, making me need him. He really was the clown-prince of assholerly, and I couldn’t lie, I was unfortunately into it.

I really did have about the shittiest taste in men one could possibly imagine.

“It’s not just me here,” he murmured. “And it’s not just Jason and Barbara. There are others. So many people that he has pushed to the side–and here is where I provide them refuge. Here, it would be easier to show you.”

He stood and offered his hand to me. I looked mournfully at the rest of my breakfast and he chuckled. This sound was deeper, more intimate. Like that was the laugh that he showed to people he actually liked, and the giggle was just for show.

There was nothing more annoying than just how interested I was in this man. He was supposed to be the means to an end, but he was frustratingly turning into someone who I was actually–

Harleen, let’s maybe not play hopscotch from one toxic man to another, huh?

Break the cycle. Maybe. Hopefully. God.

“We’re just going to the window, Harleen,” he murmured. “Your food will still be there when you come back.”

I took his hand. It was soft. That made something jolt again inside of me. Everything about this man was so unexpected–and I was just waiting on goddamn pins and needles for him to show me that he was just like everyone else.

He took me over to the large window that had been covered with heavy purple drapes the night before–and then he drew the curtains open in one smooth movement.

I gasped. It felt theatrical, but it also felt honest–and honesty was something that I had found myself recovering even just one day away from Bruce.

It was a little town. Nothing too extravagant, no, but there were houses and small shops and cars driving along. I watched almost numbly as a small family unloaded groceries from the back of a minivan.

“But–how–” I stumbled. “How do you have enough land–and where do you get everything–and how does Bruce–”

“There are many people in this world who do not wish him to be the center of it all,” the Joker murmured, and I realized that he was standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his lips right by my ear.

And it was then that I realized that I was not being held by a clown-prince, but rather, a clown-king.

Holy shit.

Chapter 14: The Stench of Nobility

Summary:

The Joker shows Harleen his city.

THE JOKER

I had very much been looking forward to showing her my city, and her reaction did not disappoint.

I couldn’t lie, the whole thing was remarkably gratifying. She wasn’t the only one in this shitty little city who seemed to think that I had done nothing after being outcast than just plan revenge against the fucker who’d sent me away (well, most people thought that I was dead apparently, but that was neither here nor there. Christ, that little bit of information tickled me–Bruce Wayne and his crony Batman were so worried about what I might do if I retained a modicum of control again that he had attempted to wipe me out completely, but hadn’t had the balls to go through with it. Bruce only liked to hurt those who couldn’t defend themselves, or so it seemed).

I had done so much when I’d finally been separated from Batman. And while I would still crush him under my thumb (and I’d take out Bruce Wayne too while I was at it), that wasn’t the only purpose of my life. I had never intended to be a villain, just someone to oppose Brucie at every chance that I could possibly get.

I wanted to be the thorn in his side until it finally got infected and he fucking died. I wondered how long I could make his death last. I wanted to stretch it for as long as I possibly could, until he was begging for it to all be over, and even then I wouldn’t give it to him.

He had nearly destroyed this city, and everything worth saving in it, and there was Batman with him every step of the goddamn way, enforcing mindlessly.

For what wasn’t the first time, I idly wondered how often they fucked each other and who was the top.

“You did all this?” she breathed, and Christ, she was the prettiest thing. I imagined for an idle moment just leaning down and dragging my tongue along perfect porcelain skin and then turning her around and putting her ass on the table and pulling those silky pajamas right off of her, and I knew that her skin beneath would be twice as smooth and soft–

Goddamnit.

I really needed a fucking release here. I might need to call one of my regular fucks just to get this shit out of my system.

“As much as I wish I could take all the credit, it certainly wasn’t just me,” I said breezily. “Barbara and Jason were absolutely crucial to the entire operation. And you haven’t even met our esteemed mayor and our outstanding city administrator.”

“You–”

She turned to stare up at me, her lips parting with surprise. Christ, it’d be so easy to kiss her, to just lean down and press my lips against hers. Just another taste. The first one I’d had hadn’t been enough–and she’d kissed me like I was nothing more than a horny boy who could be led around by his dick.

She’d never been with a real man, and I was looking forward to proving that to her over and over and over again. All night, if she’d let me.

“I’ve done more than sit in my ivory tower and dream of murder,” I murmured, taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger. I couldn’t resist, my thumb teased her lower lip down. So soft, so sweet. And all mine for two months. I could hardly believe my goddamn luck. And she was about to realize that she was a lucky woman too. Something else that I was extremely eager to prove. “I am not Bruce Wayne. I am not entertained by my own fortune. Though I cannot say for certain I have done any good in my little city, I’ve done my best to give those who have been pushed to the side by the most powerful among us a second chance. After how I was treated, it truly seems like the least that I could do.”

I could see her gaze soften–and I clicked my tongue.

“Now, now, Miss Quinzel, don’t be getting any grand ideas of me as some type of self-sacrificing hero. I have, of course, benefitted from this entire operation, and I won’t hide that fact. And if others have benefitted as well, then so be it.”

“You’re a lot more noble than you give yourself credit for,” she said softly, looking up at me without fear (such a naive girl, I so badly wanted to ruin any innocence she still had).

“And who the hell said that I’d ever want credit for something as tawdry as nobility?” I smirked. “Those who long to be seen that way are only trying to hide something dark beneath. At least I wear my sins openly. But you’re distracting me–sit down, sweetheart, and finish your breakfast. When we’re done, we’ll go out and find some nice things for you to wear. I’m sure Barbara has a thing or two that you can borrow.”

As much as I wanted to continue to drink in the sight of her in those thin pajamas, the way her ample breasts pressed against the fabric of her shirt, her nipples just barely visible. Her shorts exposing her long legs, the curve of her ass that I so desperately wanted to slap my palm against and watch the sweet recoil of her body–

Fuck. I was getting hard. I really needed to blow my fucking load or I was going to spoil everything for both myself and her. This was something that needed to be savored when it finally happened, and I wasn’t interested in a rushed and hurried fuck. As much as my blood might have clamored for it in this moment (not to mention my dick).

I forced myself out of the room without so much as a look back. And as much as it prickled me to not get exactly what I wanted in that moment, I also enjoyed the feeling of withholding and the sublime ache of I could if I wanted to, but I’ll wait.

Delayed gratification, after all, would make this so fucking sweet.

—

About an hour later, I was waiting for her in the back entryway of my palace (yes, I still called it that to myself, even if it wasn’t all that grand). The front of my home was the menacing facade of my playhouse, but the back door opened up to my little civilization.

She came down the stairs–and she didn’t disappoint. Damnit, Barbara, the woman was too smart to claim that she didn’t know what she was doing. Harleen was dressed in a soft looking purple dress, cinched at the waist, delicate heels. She was unable to hide the little peeks of cleavage I could get (that soft, holy space I wanted to bury my face in so badly).

Fuck. Maybe I am just another horny boy, controlled by his unruly dick.

“You look lovely,” I murmured, offering my arm to her. She took it immediately–a sign of the class she’d been raised with. She might have been raised poor, but someone had taken care to raise her to be a good girl through and through. “And you are fortunate because we are going to have a guided tour today.”

“Only if it’s alright and not too imposing.”

Even though Dick Grayson was older than Jason, he was much less of a pain in the ass–and a lot less grumpy when shit didn’t go his way. He was a noble kid through and through–which only made it all the more ironic that Batman had thrown him out when he’d ceased to be useless. Dick hadn’t been one of Bruce’s husbands (not that Bruce hadn’t tried, from what Dick had told me), but Dick had worked closely with Batman as another enforcer. Robin.

But when Robin had started to go rogue, Batman had made sure that he wasn’t around to make his own choices any more. And so Dick had been dropped off at my door, so different from Jason though. Instead of being tear-streaked and scared, Dick had been furious.

Some days, I thought he might have wanted revenge more than I did. I liked that about him.

But Harvey Dent? Well, that was something else entirely. Harvey, my mayor, and Dick, my city administrator. They did all the boring shit that I didn’t have a mind for–and they were the real heart and soul of this operation. Some days, I felt like all I’d done was not kill them, and they’d done the rest.

“Lots of ghosts around here, aren’t there, darling?” I murmured to Harleen who was staring with her mouth hanging open again.

“You–how many more people are there here who–” she started.

“Basically our entire population, at least at first,” Dick smiled. “About a year ago, we started to get people who were just so pissed off at Bruce Wayne that they wanted to be as far from him as possible. That was when our population really exploded.”

“It hasn’t been easy to put together a city, but once we found allies outside, it got a lot easier,” Harvey said, and to Harleen’s credit, she didn’t so much as flinch at his mangled and deformed appearance. That seemed to put Harvey at ease, and he continued on with more confidence, “There were lots of people out there, like myself, who were unwilling to be bought. And some of them, like me, had to pay the price for that.”

Harvey grimly gestured to his face.

“I thought you said on the news that it was an accident,” Harleen said almost inaudibly.

“Back when I still believed that I could change Bruce’s mind,” Harvey sighed. “But eventually, I refused to tell his lies any more. At that point, I wasn’t useful any more.”

“There are lots of people who still support him, but not everyone,” Dick said eagerly, but seriously. “The problem is, as you know, that he is so damn insulated. He’s surrounded himself with very powerful people who are willing to excuse away every bit of bullshit he does. So it’s been hard to overthrow him. We’ve tried, though, and we’re not giving up.”

I considered for a moment sharing with them the plan that Harleen and I had made, but I was certain that neither Dick or Harvey would like it. They might try to instill some conscience in me, which they did from time to time. Extremely fucking irritating.

They didn’t have any qualms with my sexual deviancy. In some ways, it felt pandering (almost like they thought that I needed it to still feel evil). But mostly, I was just grateful because that was something I would never, ever want to part with.

“Shall we have a look around then?” I murmured. “I am eager for you to see what we have created.”

It was the first time in awhile that I’d been able to show someone new that there was life beyond the streets that were controlled by Bruce’s unforgiving and selfish hand. It was an experience that never got old–and as much as I tried to convince those around me that I was fucking heartless, there was something so lovely about hope blooming in the eyes of those who had felt nothing be despair and dread.

It was too late for me, but it wasn’t too late for them.

“This is amazing,” she said softly, for my ears only. And when I looked down, she was looking up at me in a way that she shouldn’t. Yet again, those bright eyes–all that admiration. I didn’t deserve that, nor did I want it. It stank of something dangerously close to pity. “You’ve done so much–”

“No more,” I said quietly. “I know you think you are being kind, but it is neither needed nor appreciated. Just enjoy the city, Harleen.”

She looked a little wounded, but I knew this was for the best.

I knew I couldn’t change, but she didn’t know that yet.

Chapter 15: Nicknames

Summary:

The Joker gives Harleen an option of what to do with the picture he took.

HARLEEN QUINZEL

He was supposed to be dead, but he was anything but.

I hadn’t been able to close my mouth ever since I’d seen both Dick Grayson and Harvey Dent. I should have known that there were more people–but I just couldn’t wrap my goddamn mind around it. How could I have been so wrong? How could I have fallen for so much propaganda? Granted, Bruce was amazing at covering up all of the evil shit about him, and he basically owned all the media so he could tell whatever fucked up story he wanted, but still.

There were so many people here, and they all had one thing in common. They all hated Bruce Wayne.

“I just can’t believe I never heard about this,” I murmured quietly. As much as I had immediately liked Dick and Harvey, there was something about me that felt like holding back a bit around them. After all, they knew how hard I’d fallen for Bruce Wayne’s lies. Just yesterday, in fact, he’d gotten down on one knee and pushed a little band of ownership around my finger.

I was still wearing it. I didn’t know why I didn’t take it off. I should. But I just didn’t. Almost like I was trying to punish myself for being stupid enough to think that I was somehow different, that I was better. That I could somehow avoid the heartlessness of a man who’d never had a heart to begin with.

“Trust me, we keep information about this place tightly under wraps as you can imagine,” the Joker murmured to me–and I clocked for a strange moment just how good he smelled. That was certainly something I hadn’t expected–but every picture I’d ever seen of him was a lie. He wasn’t the yellow-toothed clown with cracked make up and evil eyes. He wore the make up, yes, but he was a man. Just a man.

More than just a man. But I didn’t want to think like that. Not now. The last thing that I needed was to place myself solidly under another man’s thumb, just waiting for him to crush me into nothingness.

“We don’t release information to anyone until we are absolutely certain that we can trust them. We’ve had many people try to get in as spies over the years,” the Joker continued.

“You trust me?” I blinked up at him.

“My sweet, you were about to be shot where you stood,” the Joker huffed. “For some reason, I had the feeling that you didn’t think too lovingly about Bruce if you would have rather died than stayed with him.”

That much was true. For a moment, death had felt like the only option and the only release. I tried not to think about that dark moment. It hadn’t been a decision that I was at peace with–but a life with Bruce had been completely and totally unthinkable. Though, if he had caught me and if I’d been sent back to Bruce...

Maybe some day I would have ended up living here, and not of my own free will. But because Bruce wanted me to die.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it coming,” I said quietly as we walked outside of a small flower shop. I paused to watch a woman bustling around inside, seeming content to make lovely flower arrangements. “I thought I was better than others, I guess. That maybe he would hurt me like he’d hurt so many people–that I could...”

“That you could change him,” the Joker murmured for me. He was standing right next to me, not touching me. I was grateful for that small amount of privacy. “You aren’t the first person to have such aspirations, and I fear that you will not be the last. There is something about wanting to fix a beautiful, broken person that can make a person wild. But then, you realize that the only one that ended up changing was you.”

He sounded so wistful, I almost asked him. I glanced at him–and his eyes had turned into those solid ice chips again. He didn’t want to talk about it. That I understood well. There was something so humiliating about that aching opinion that you had something so special inside of you that you could change even the darkest heart into something beautiful.

I took a moment to consider my own position–and I vowed silently to myself that no matter what, I would not allow myself to believe something that I knew would never be true. The Joker was who he was, and no amount of sweetness from me would be able to change that.

Remember that whenever you start thinking about him.

An important reminder, because I’d started thinking about him a lot more than I was comfortable admitting.

“Leave it in the past,” he suggested in that same quiet, intimate voice. “That’s the first thing that most people have to learn when they come here. Accept the fact that you might have been wrong, but that you are still someone who deserves a rich and full life. One that is whatever you decide it should be. And speaking of which...”

He had pulled out his phone again (I don’t know why it caught me so off guard every time I saw him with it, it was just unbelievably incongruous).

“I have something that belongs to you,” he murmured, and he turned the screen towards me, sure to hold it low so that a passerby couldn’t see.

And there I was. Splayed out in my underwear, looking at the camera with eyes so black I didn’t even recognize them. Even though it was me, I could admit that I looked pretty fucking sexy. In fact, I hadn’t even realized that I was capable of giving a look quite that seductive.

But I’d been trying to win him over. To get him to touch me. And even with that look, I had failed.

“Even though I took this picture, it still belongs to you,” he murmured. “If you want me to get rid of it, I will. You are welcome to stay here. But if you want something else...”

For a moment, I thought he was talking about sex–and the thought excited me so much that I opened my mouth. But I quickly closed it. No, this was about something bigger–because if it was just about sex, I knew that I’d never come out of this on top. At least not in the way I wanted to.

Though that particular version of being on top admittedly would be rather–

“Either I delete it and you stay here, living out your life as you please,” he said quietly. “Or... I send it to the press. I think the Gotham Gazette would find something like this very newsworthy, don’t you think?”

I swallowed. As much as I wanted revenge against Bruce–and as much as I desperately wanted to take his criminal ass down–it was hitting me now that that picture was going to be seen by a lot of people. I’d already had a reputation for being dirt from the street. This would solidify it. And maybe Bruce wouldn’t even care–he’d use the picture to explain that this was what I’d always been. A cheap whore.

I looked up at him–and I know that I was unable to hide my own vulnerability. I searched his eyes–and I witnessed his expression soften right before my eyes. It did something to my heart that I didn’t want to name.

There was so much that I didn’t want to acknowledge around him–so much that made me anxious and unsure. And maybe it was because when I was with him, I didn’t feel so anxious or unsure at all–and I felt like I should. But I didn’t–and I couldn’t summon those feelings even if I tried.

His hand gently cupped the side of my face. The gesture was romantic–and for as much as he claimed that this was meant to be a business transaction, then he went and did absurd things like that that made me question absolutely everything.

“Do you think it will work or will everyone just think...?” I wasn’t even sure how to finish my question. He continued to look at me, as if he was drinking in every portion of my features. His thumb stroked so lightly against my cheek and then he moved his hand down to hold my chin between his forefinger and thumb. It was something he’d done a few times now–and it was starting to feel like something that could belong to us.

“I think it will work,” the Joker said softly. “But I cannot pretend that your reputation will remain as pristine as it has been. As you know, many enjoy blaming everything on a woman and calling her all sorts of vile names. But you and I will know what is true and what isn’t, Harley.”

The nickname caught me off guard. He chuckled at my reaction.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I tend to give nicknames to those I’m fond of. If you don’t like, I will call you Harleen.”

“I do like it,” I said quietly. “But what am I supposed to call you? Jokester?”

He chuckled quietly–not his big performative laugh. His real one. It was a bit husky–and it made everything in me start humming frantically. “If you wanted, you could call me Mr. J.”

“Mr. J,” I tried. “Sounds kind of kinky.”

“I know,” he graveled. “Isn’t it arousing?”

I felt my mouth go dry–which wasn’t ideal because he almost immediately leaned down and pressed his lips softly against mine. A simple, chaste, tender kiss. I had been kissed so many times before, by so many different men. I’d been kissed harshly and hungrily. I’d been kissed softly and lovingly. I’d had kisses that lasted for what felt like ages, and quick ones of gentle of affection.

When he kissed me, I felt the most incredible zing of... something. It was so powerful. I had felt it when he’d kissed me first, of course, but I felt the same goddamn thing when all he did was peck me.

“I didn’t expect it to feel like that,” I said almost numbly without even realizing I’d spoken. His hand was still on my face–and now, his thumb was tracing my lips.

“Like what, my pet?” he said in the softest, lowest voice, and I was pounding between my thighs again, so hungry for him and he hadn’t even done a goddamn thing.

“Every time you kiss me, I just feel something–in me. Something I’ve never felt before. It just makes me want so much more. I didn’t know it could be like this.”

He was looking at me again–almost like he was searching my features for something. And his gaze was so soft–but I watched it harden right before my eyes. I didn’t know what I’d done, but apparently it had been something wrong.

“I know what’s happening, Harleen,” he murmured, his hand dropping from my face. And he didn’t use my nickname, which made my stomach drop with disappointment. “But if I put words to it, you will become angry at me, and as adorable as your bratty little side is, I would like to have a pleasant day with you.”

I paused for a moment–and then my lips pulled into a frown.

“You think I’m so innocent and naive,” I glared. “Send it to the press. I want you to.”

He raised his eyebrows. “This isn’t something to do because you’re having a vindictive streak–”

“I know,” I said, cutting in sharply. “This is what I want. I want to see him burn–and if you think that this will start us on that path, then do it.”

He took me in again. Every time he looked at me, it was like he’d never seen me before. Like he was trying to make sense of me. I didn’t look away from him, not hiding that he’d ticked me off. He huffed and fished his phone out again.

“As you wish,” he hummed. “Maybe you have more spark than I thought you did, Harley.”

That nickname again. I would have him. I wanted him. And I’d give him so much, he wouldn’t even know what to do with it.

Watch out, Mr. J, you’re gonna be mine.

Chapter 16: Good Things

Summary:

Harleen finishes shopping, and the Joker makes a plan

THE JOKER

I had a bit of a thing for dressing women that I wanted to be mine.

I knew exactly why–it had quite a bit to do with my desire to control and make every situation be exactly what I wanted it to be at all times. Perhaps there was a slight misogynistic angle–and perhaps I got off just a bit on seeing a woman in something that was so delightfully tailored to my particular desires, but I was only human. Besides, in society nowadays, most things were tinged with misogyny so perhaps I was simply a product of my environment.

Perhaps.

I had sent her picture to the Gotham Gazette–and I was doing my best to not eagerly check my phone every chance I got to see if they had replied. It wasn’t like I’d be able to say anything to them anyway–I was determined to let the picture speak for itself. After all, it was worth even more than a thousand words. It was an entire goddamn diatribe against Bruce Wayne himself.

I could only hope that my precious little billionaire saw it exactly for what it was. I had baited the trap, and now I had to wait (which I was notoriously shitty at doing, but you learned something new every day and maybe today would be the day I finally acquired even a thimbleful of patience).

“I don’t want only dresses.”

There it was. The princess again was doing her bratty little thing–pushing back against me. It might have irritated me had I not found it supremely sexy, unfortunately for my pitiful ass.

“But you look so lovely in them,” I murmured fondly, my eyes effortlessly sliding over her body in a gorgeous lilac dress, all clingy and thin straps and low cut and short in the skirt and I had half a mind to push her back into the dressing room and–

“I don’t just exist to look lovely,” she said in that same little bratty voice–and I let out a groan of frustration.

“I know that,” I sighed. “You really are determined to get on each and every one of my nerves, aren’t you, Harley?”

She smirked at the nickname–and I realized that I had let it slip out again. Damnit. I needed to get better control around her. She was in my head, and now she knew it. “I think there are a few I haven’t found yet, but don’t worry, there’s time. I need to find some comfy clothes too–and don’t worry, you’ll like what I pick.”

She said it with such confidence–and I opened my mouth to tell her that I was a rather particular man and I was paying for everything that she chose, but she was already bustling past me to look through the racks in the small clothing shop. The owner smirked at me from behind her counter.

“She’s got you on a leash,” Selina Kyle murmured when I got close enough to her desk. I rolled my eyes and glared at her–and she threw up her hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger, J. And besides, I think it’s cute as fuck.”

“Great,” I grunted. “She’s going to spend every penny I have in here, isn’t she?”

“With any luck,” Selina smirked. “I’ve been hoping to get a new car. And maybe a boat.”

“You’re irritating,” I said flatly.

“And you’re a sap,” Selina retorted cheerfully, and went back to fold her beautifully made clothes. Granted, Selina was incapable of making a single outfit that wasn’t simultaneously beautiful and sexy so I knew that whatever Harleen picked would be perfect, but still...

“Mr. J?”

 

It was Harley’s irritatingly sweet little voice–and she knew what that nickname did. Damnit. I never should have let her have those particular keys to the kingdom, because now she was going to use them to unlock every damn door that I had. I turned to look at her–and God, how could she look so sweet and vulnerable, but also so damn conniving?

She knew how beautiful she was. Good looking people always did, though they might demure and pretend as though it was all a great mystery to them, they knew, and right now, Harleen was keenly aware of just how fucking sexy she was. She was wearing a silky tank top with clearly nothing beneath (the outline of her nipples and the curve of her ample breasts were so goddamn distracting I had to force myself to focus, Christ, I wasn’t an adolescent), and a silky pair of shorts. The tank top was red, and the shorts were black. That made me frown a bit.

“I was thinking perhaps something very similar, but in purple or green?” I murmured.

“I like this,” Harleen replied infuriatingly. “And I think that you do too.”

That insolence. Everything in me wanted to push her back into that dressing room, bend her over and pull down those shorts, and spank her until she finally obeyed and lost that bratty fucking streak that was the source of my most delicious dreams and my most infuriating nightmares.

She was, of course, right. She tended to be, which was equally frustrating.

I moved towards her, resting my arm on the doorframe above her head. We were so close–I could feel the brush of her breasts against mine. It would be so easy to reach out and grab her hip, to pull her in close, to remove that taunting distance between the two of us and make good on a promise I’d made to myself, that ever so distant good things come to those who wait that I kept chanting to myself.

I wasn’t a boy who would indulge at the first tease. I had to remain in control.

“These little shows of independence are very sexy, Harleen,” I murmured, intentionally withholding the nickname. That she would have to earn (provided I didn’t slip up again, idiot). “But I promise you that you will enjoy obeying me.”

“If you can get me to obey, I’m sure I’d like it,” she murmured in reply, reaching down for my hand, threading our fingers. Her skin was so soft. I felt myself start to lean down towards her neck, just to taste her skin.

“Oh my God, please stop.”

Selina’s voice was flat and blunt enough to make me jerk back–almost like she’d shoved one of her high heels in my ass (which she had done before, and would probably do again, and there wasn’t much sexual about it. I wasn’t really Selina’s type, Harleen was a much better fit).

“I appreciate that she’s sexy as fuck in the clothes that I made, but I would prefer if you didn’t have sex in my shop,” Selina deadpanned. “Believe it or not, it’s bad for business, only because nobody wants to see your pasty ass, J.”

I scowled at her over my shoulder. She smirked and flipped me off. She was a fucking brat, but I liked her (because though I might not have been her type, she was mine to a T).

“My apologies,” I said against what I actually wanted to say (this is my city, I can do what I want, you owe me, and a myriad of other pedantic, pissy things that I would certainly regret unloading later). “You are excellent at what you do, Selina. I was just admiring your work.”

“That’s all her, big boy,” Selina smirked. “Though I’ll admit, the clothes suit her. She knows how to pick it. You about ready to check out? She’s got about half the store in her shopping cart.”

I glanced at the cart that Harleen had been using–and scowled when I saw that Selina was absolutely correct. I should have known that a woman who looked expensive generally ended up being just that. The upkeep on a gorgeous woman was insane, but I had a feeling that Harleen would be worth every penny.

A few minutes later (with my bank account having taken a bad hit that I was trying not to think about), Harleen and I exited Selina’s store arm in arm. At least Harleen let me do that–and it was hard not to focus on how soft she was against me. The smell of her blonde hair and the way that it caught the light. Her long, dark eyelashes resting on her cheek.

“Harleen,” I said softly, preparing to broach yet another topic. “Tomorrow night is one of my... events.”

She stopped walking and looked up at me. Squinted, really. She shaded her eyes with her hand, frowning.

“You know, if you want this to work, you are going to have to drop the whole mysterious sexy man act and be a little more forthcoming,” she said in a way that made me want to smack her ass and make her listen, but there would be a time and place for that–and public certainly wasn’t it.

“My apologies,” I murmured, yet again apologizing to another bratty, headstrong woman. Shit, what had become of me? Maybe I didn’t really rule this city–rather, it was owned by all of the independent women who liked to crush me (and if I was being honest with myself, I rather liked being crushed at times). “This is one of my sexual, voyeuristic events. A performance of sorts.”

I saw a flush enter those pretty cheeks–and a thrill of pleasure flooded me, so pleased that I could still have that kind of effect on her. “You mean–an orgy?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I suppose if you want to refer to it in such a reductive manner. It is more than couples arrive, ready to perform–ready to be watched. In fact, those who come enjoy being observed greatly–and also receive a great amount of pleasure from watching others.”

She was biting her lower lip, clearly thinking. She looked up at me, hesitant, so small, so delicate–and she balanced both so beautifully, that strength and that tenderness. I liked both more than I was comfortable admitting. “So–we will be performing. Having sex in front of other people.”

“Yes,” I said, and saw the flush bloom in her face into her neck, but this time, I didn’t feel the rush of pleasure. “If you desire.”

She was still thinking, her brow creasing slightly. That frown. She tended to look off in the distance when she was putting her words together. She could be so quick, but she was also careful with what she said when it mattered. “So–our first time will be in front of bunch of people that I don’t know?”

And then it hit me.

Sweet girl.

It wasn’t just our first time. She’d never admit it, but I had been right earlier. It really was her first time–perhaps the first time she’d ever been in bed with someone and had actually wanted it. And to do that in front of people when that perhaps wasn’t her particular kink would be very exposing. Vulnerable. She was already giving up so much being here. To give up more might be unbearable.

I could have said it for her, but I didn’t. Instead, I simply said, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

And then, I waited because I knew that her independence wouldn’t fail me now. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would forever make a man guess her desires, fumbling foolishly around her body. She was someone who at least had an inkling for what she desired–and I wanted to see her claim it now. I could see that it would matter–perhaps even more than I knew.

“I just thought–” her fingers were tangled through mine again and she was looking up at me. Something in my chest tightened for reasons I didn’t wish to explore deeply, “--maybe for the first time that we’re together... it could be just us.”

I reached down to tilt her jaw upwards so that I could look at her properly. I wouldn’t kiss her, even though everything in me ached to do so.

Good things come to those who wait, Jack, I whispered softly to the tightness in my chest.

“I would love nothing more, Harley,” I said gently, giving that nickname like the gift it was.

And now, her blush made that knot in my chest unwind so beautifully.

Chapter 17: The Opposite of Bruce Wayne

Summary:

Harleen talks to Barbara, and the Joker comes to visit her.

HARLEEN QUINZEL

The hardest part of this was that I really didn’t have anyone to bounce off of in all of this.

There was so much going on–and it felt like it was a shit ton of big choices, one right after the other, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about this. And so now, I was sitting at dinner by myself, playing listlessly with the fettucini alfredo I’d been served and trying to sort through all of the complicated feelings and thoughts that I was having and goddamn, if my mind was going to run any faster I wouldn’t have a chance of catching it.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Barbara Gordon sat down next to me with her own plate, and I felt something shrivel up inside of me. Her loyalty was not to me–I knew it was to the Joker, so immediately, my guard was up. I was so tired of men finding ways to pull me apart before I even knew what was happening–which was absurd that that had happened even once, because everyone knew that men were clinically stupid. Even the Joker, who was smarter than most.

Okay, maybe not the Joker. Which was even more of a reason to run. A man could be dangerous even without multiple working brain cells, what the hell could one do when he was fully functioning?

Barbara must have noticed my body language because she immediately backed off a little physically–leaning away from me in a way that I appreciated. I hadn’t realized just how much privacy could be invaded just by someone constantly being in your fucking space. Bruce had done that so much to me–just one of the many ways that he violated me and made me feel so goddamn small.

“Hey,” she murmured. “You don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want to. I know that all of this is a bit overwhelming. I’ve been here long enough that I think I forgot what a wild culture shock all of this can be. To know that this was all within walking distance this whole time... God, when I found out, I had so much regret. I wished I’d run away while I still had the chance. I admire you for that, you know.”

She ate a forkful of pasta, but her eyes were distant. And I knew that look. Somebody who had been royally fucked over and was doing her best to make it make sense of the person that she had always believed she was.

It was a real fucking blow to the self-esteem to be fooled. Some people never recovered, but I could tell that Barbara was trying. And unlike others (myself included), she didn’t seem to be consumed with the hunger for revenge. Maybe she knew there was no way to ever permanently right what had happened to you.

I hoped she was wrong, if that was what she thought. Because if I could never make it right, I didn’t know how I was supposed to keep going.

“You shouldn’t,” I said with a huff. “I think he’s getting sloppy with age. He didn’t even try to woo me–he just assumed that he could have me, and that I’d want him.”

“No shit,” Barbara murmured, shaking her head. “I mean, I suppose there was a certain degree of romance–but also, he found me at my lowest. God, I was such a mess when I lost my dad–and he was right there. A shoulder to cry on, somebody who brought me meals, someone who always listened when I needed it most. It felt natural, falling in love with him.”

I couldn’t believe how easily she said it. Falling in love with him. If I had fallen for Bruce, you wouldn’t have been able to torture that information out of me, but she admitted it without shame. It was beautiful in a way, and I felt no pity or disgust for her. Because maybe she had come to realize that anyone, no matter how smart, could be fooled and tricked and used.

Maybe she didn’t blame herself. I wondered if that would ever be something I could feel. I wanted it so badly.

“But that was what he wanted,” she said quietly. “And honestly? I don’t think that’s why he killed my dad. I think it was just a benefit.”

My mouth fell open.

“You think–”

“I don’t have any proof,” she said quickly. “But–my dad was onto him. He knew something was wrong. He was trying to investigate and then, all of a sudden, one night, he was mysteriously killed. And everyone said it was the Joker who did it.”

Her eyes were so distant–like she was right back there, the events folding in front of her eyes. I knew how many times you could relive the same moment. They told you time healed all wounds, but it didn’t. The goddamn thing could still rip open over and over again, especially when you had the tendency to pick at emotional scabs.

“And the way he did it...” Barbara bit her lower lip. “I mean, it was so pointlessly brutal. And for the longest time, all I wanted was for him to suffer, but then...”

I remembered the crowbar. Everyone in Gotham did. I sat and gave her space, knowing from personal experience that when your own grief loomed so large that sometimes the kindest thing to do was step back and allow it to take up space. Especially if people had tried to make it smaller for years and years.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why it changed or when it did. Jason helped and so did Dick. But the person who helped the most was the Joker. He never said anything or did anything, and he would be so pissed off he knew I’d said that because, you know, he’s the evil clown prince of darkness or whatever.” She rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond–and I couldn’t help but smile back, similarly fond. Because he was a pain in the ass, but. Well. “It’s impossible to ignore the way he’s taken the worst circumstances and made them into something good. This place that he’s built... for so many people here, it’s the first real home they’ve ever known.”

Was this part of the Joker’s plan? To get everyone to tell me what a good guy he was so that I let my guard down? But something told me that if he knew about all this, he wouldn’t be very pleased. The last thing the Joker wanted as to be admired.

And I understood that. Being feared was concrete. Respect? That could all be washed away. But if you were the ugly thing under the bed that everyone thought you were, maybe they’d leave you alone once and for all.

Yes. I knew a thing or two about that. And sometimes, I wished that Lily and I had clung to our shared poverty and just accepted being scum. In so many ways, it had been easier.

Dreaming that there was more was when shit started getting really dangerous.

“Anyway,” Barbara said with a huff. “I don’t really know why I’m telling you all this. You didn’t ask. I’m just saying that–I understand. At least to a certain degree. And I think you’re a badass for coming here.”

I wondered how much Barbara knew about our little deal–and more than that, I wondered what she’d think of it. But despite that pretty face and those innocent looking freckles, I got the feeling that she herself might have warmed the Joker’s bed at some point.

And hell, I didn’t blame her one goddamn bit for that. I guessed that you’d be hard pressed to find people in this community who hadn’t slipped between his sheets at least once.

It was a lot easier to feel like I wasn’t special in that regard. When I started to pin some fairytale type fantasy all over this–that would be the moment that I really got in trouble.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, and I made intentional eye contact with Barbara. She’d told me some shit that I was sure had been hard for her to say–and I’d always believed that vulnerability was the most precious thing that you could offer another person (not that I knew shit about opening my heart to the people around me, but call it an educated guess). “Really. It’s nice to have somebody around who... gets it.”

“And another person who barely survived Bruce Wayne,” Barbara murmured, that sardonic smile finding her lips. “We’re a club that just keeps on growing.”

And I was starting to feel like maybe it could be more than surviving. Maybe something could grow out of all of this bullshit. After all, if the Joker could make something so beautiful out of the brutality that Bruce had put him through, maybe there was a chance for anyone.

Her words were still playing in my head, even as I changed into the clothes I had bought (or rather, the clothes that I’d had bought for me–Christ, I wondered if I’d ever buy a single set of clothes for myself or if I’d just keep cycling through rich sugar daddies my entire life. Not a terrible way to live, to be honest). The more I got to know the Joker, the more absurd it all felt–the fact that this monster could be something other than what I’d always been led to believe he was.

Then again, why had I ever believed it all in the first place? After all, they were words that came from the mouth of the egregious liar I’d ever met. And I should have known that anyone who was the opposite of him couldn’t be evil. In fact, to be the exact opposite of Bruce Wayne would have to mean that you were pretty damn–

“And here I was, thinking that you were going to come to my bedroom.”

His voice was low and gravelly from my doorway–and I was embarrassed by the way a ragged gasp caught in my chest. Half from surprise, and half from an arousal that I was desperate to try to ignore. It was almost like I’d summoned him.

My dark angel. My light devil. Whatever he was, standing in my bedroom door, he was so fucking beautiful that my heart clenched. He was wearing a pair of dark green sweatpants that hung low on muscled hips and nothing else. I hadn’t expected him to be so lean, so muscular. His skin was so smooth–and he was so different from the pictures of Bruce Wayne I’d seen in magazines. Bruce was all thick muscle behind thin layers of fat. He was so massive–he took up half the room with his fucking shoulders alone.

But the Joker was a whisper of a man. Tall, lean, but undeniably strong. And the way he held himself–the looseness of it, his hands slipped casually in his pockets like he wasn’t moved at all by the sight of me in the tank top and shorts I had picked out in the hopes that it might make him have the same kind of reaction I had to him.

But I was wrong. I did have an impact on him. His eyes slid down my body, lingering on the places I expected–yes, my breasts, my hips and thighs, but they also lingered on my neck. My waist. My wrists. Every inch of me. Like he didn’t just want to sink his dick into every hole he could find, like he wanted to stroke every part of me with his fingers, his lips, his tongue.

“You asked me for something today,” he said very softly, moving towards me. Even though everything in me wanted to move towards him, I found myself stepping back because the longing was so overpowering, so strong, so consuming that I was afraid of what I’d do if he actually touched me. “A moment with just the two of us before we perform. And as much as I know I shouldn’t indulge, not yet, I find I cannot sleep with this thought on my mind.”

My back was against the wall. His forearm propped up over my head. He loomed. He was fucking awful and beautiful and terrifying and the most comforting thing I’ve ever seen.

He leaned down and whispered so softly into his ear, “Tell me this is what you want.”

I swallowed. My throat was dry and my heart was pounding everywhere. My chest, my head, between my legs. A rhythm that whispered please.

“I want it,” I whispered back, my words so soft in the dark. Just for him. “I want it so much.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I can’t fucking hold myself back any more, Harley.”

Before I even had the chance to suck the sweetness from that nickname, his lips were on mine and nothing else mattered.

Chapter 18: Ache

Summary:

The Joker can't stop himself any more.

THE JOKER

I was a fool. I had never been more certain it was true until this moment.

Where was all of my pride? Slipping through my fingers like water. Something that was never meant to last, perhaps–or something that could leak through any cracks created.

Especially if those cracks were created by a brat of a woman who had me by the dick more than I would ever care to admit.

But she would bend to my will. It might take some time, but she would submit–and she would submit so sweetly, like white wine on the tongue. The acidic taste still lingering, but Christ, the headiness that it would bring.

The first sign that she might be mine was that when I kissed her, she melted into me–and I couldn’t help but immediately get so hard, I ached. Her body molded against mine–those full breasts, slender waist, round hips–and my hand slid down to claim a handful of her rump, groaning at the softness of it. So beautiful. So soft.

So untouched. I couldn’t lie, it was so fucking arousing that she might experience some firsts in my bed–that I would forever have a claim over her, and I was intending to make that claim as many times as I possibly could.

“Harley,” I murmured against her lips–and she let out the softest sound in reply, sweet and sexy. But she didn’t kiss with just softness–no, there were hints of teeth and tongue here and there, like she was trying to draw me out–I knew it, I sensed that she was trying to make her claim. Trying to top from the bottom, like the little brat that she was.

I hummed softly and gently slapped my hand against her ass, loving the recoil of her flesh against my hand. She let out a soft squeak that I immediately caught with my own mouth, chuckling softly. “You don’t have any idea how to submit, do you?” I murmured.

“In my experience,” she was murmuring between kisses–and goddamn, it was frustrating that she still had her mind about her enough to get this many words out, “Submitting just means that a man gets to get his rocks off and I don’t ask for what I want.”

I let out a soft huff. “While I certainly intend on taking what I want, Harley, I can assure you that you will enjoy this. Very, very much.”

As much as I wanted to take my time, surely I couldn’t be shamed for being eager–especially when this sweet little minx was kissing me like I was damn oxygen to her soul, her body rubbing up against mine. Such soft breasts–such soft skin, every inch of it. I wanted my tongue on her.

“Harley,” I growled out softly, the sound deep and low in my chest. I lowered her to the bed as gently as I possibly could before reaching for the elastic of her shorts. It was a bit of a kink of mine–leaving a woman modest in some ways and wholly exposed in others. I began to tug down–but she gripped at them, looking at me–surprised and flushed (and it was that surprise that sent a bolt of pleasure straight to my cock).

“You’re–going in reverse,” she mumbled. “Aren’t you supposed to–aren’t I going to get any–foreplay?”

She said it with the innocence of a woman who had never really enjoyed her time in bed. A girl who wasn’t used to having what she wanted matter at all. Men were such garbage. I despised every man who had ever thought he had the right to put his disgusting hands on this perfect body.

“I’m not going to fuck you, Harley,” I said softly, shocked by just how rough my own voice was–but she had me so hot with desire I hardly knew what to do with myself. Especially if she kept me from getting what I wanted. “You told me there was something you’d never had before–and I can’t get it out of my mind.”

My thumbs were on her hip bones, rubbing there lightly, allowing her to keep her shorts up for as long as she wanted. Unlike Bruce, I wasn’t a fucking rapist. “Let me taste you,” I said softly. “That’s all I want, Harley. Let me have that, baby girl.”

The pet name tumbled from my lips before I was aware I had even said that–and from the soft gasp that caught in her throat, I had to wager a guess that she liked that little name. I nuzzled against her soft thigh, mouthing a kiss there.

“You can stop me at any point if it gets to be too much,” I said in that same husky voice. “And I won’t convince you if this isn’t what you want. But it’s what I want, and I promise you, you will come. You’re going to come so hard for me you won’t even know what to fucking do with yourself.”

As much as my own cock protested, that was what I wanted. More than anything. I wanted to taste her, to feel those thighs clenching around my head. I wanted to show her what a real man could fucking do as opposed to these boys she had wasted her time with.

“It’ll be intense,” she said so softly, and her face was flushed bright pink and she was sweating and she was so beautifully undone.

“Yes,” I murmured. I didn’t move, and I wouldn’t. Not until we were both certain that she wanted me.

“And it’ll be...” She seemed to struggle with herself, her hips squirming in obvious need, but she hadn’t given in yet, so as much as I might have wanted to push, I didn’t.

“It’ll be...?” I prompted gently, unable to stop myself from placing a soft kiss on her thigh. I surprised even myself with how damn gentle I was being. But she warranted it, with all of her sweet softness that she tried to bury under a rocky exterior that didn’t suit her.

“Vulnerable,” she finally said, and she looked so sweetly vulnerable when she said that–her chin tucked just so, that pinkness in her pretty cheeks. And I was sure that my gaze softened on her–I was unable to do anything but let that godforsaken wave of tenderness tumble over me.

I was such a goddamn sucker when it came to a partner opening up to me in bed. If only Bruce had an ounce of softness in him, I’d be fucking butter.

“Yes,” I murmured, kissing her thigh again. “Which is why I won’t just take it. Not without you offering it to me. But I promise you, Harley, you’ll enjoy it. You’ll enjoy it very much.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” she said, but I saw it then. That fire in her eyes–that flush, the sweltering heat that poured off of her with such suddenness–that primal hunger that burned so brightly in her chest. That flame that Bruce would have been eager to dim. I couldn’t get enough of it.

“I know,” I said, and my voice was rougher than I had anticipated it would be. “But you want this. And you should let yourself have it. A little treat, just for you.”

Her breathing was noticeably heavier–and there was that delicious squirm again. “Please,” she whispered, just barely, and her ragged voice made my cock throb.

“Mmm,” I hummed, mouthing a wet kiss on her thigh. “Say it again, Harley, all sweet and sexy like that.”

Her lips parted. Fuck, I needed her, the ache was so spectacular, and it felt like a thousand fireworks were going off in the back of my head–a thunderously loud sound demanding that I take everything that I wanted. Every bit of it.

“Please,” she whimpered again, and while it was still so vulnerable, there was more confidence to it now. And that was really all that I needed.

As much as I wanted to dive forward with overt eagerness like some stupid boy who’d never seen a cunt before, she deserved more than that–and I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to hold this moment suspended in glass forever–a relic of when she was mine, even though I knew that she certainly wouldn’t stay that way.

Beauty and the beast was a story for a reason, after all, and the girl never rode off into the sunset with the villain.

I hooked my fingers into the elastic of her shorts, leaving her panties on for now. They were plain and nothing sexy–at least not in appearance. Were they being sold at a department store, I wouldn’t have looked twice, but on her–

On her.

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned forward and mouthed a kiss on her, right where her heat burned behind the fabric, right on that sweet and eager pussy. Her legs fell apart, thighs quivering–and I knew that her anxiousness and eagerness were doing a fierce battle inside of her, because a moment after her legs fell apart, they clamped back on my head.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” I murmured, though secretly I hoped that someday she might want to do a little something with safewords. There was something so fucking hot about a woman consenting to a little fight–a little struggle. That only made my blood boil a thousand times hotter.

Bruce wasn’t the only one who craved power and control, after all.

I glanced up to make sure that she had heard and understood me–and she nodded, swallowing like it was difficult for her–and I just wanted her. I wanted every inch of her–it was hard for me to be satisfied with just this, but I knew it would be more than enough. And so fucking sweet.

So fucking delicious to be her first, at least this way.

I gently nudged her panties to the side so I could lick her directly–and she let out another one of those sweet whimpers, the kind that made me helplessly grind in the bed. And then, when she reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair with that soft hand, I knew I was fucking done for.

Losing my desire to make the moment linger, I reached up to tug her panties down, leaving them impatiently around one ankle–because as much as I wanted to stroke every inch of her skin, I had something that I wanted, and all of that softness could be offered later.

I loaded her legs up onto my shoulders–and she almost instantly squeezed my head with those thighs again. I couldn’t help but growl hungrily, and my hands sank into her ass to hold her steady as I finally put my tongue fully on her.

The noise that she made. So sweet, so high pitched, so gorgeously feminine–I knew it was going to fucking torture my wet dreams, as if she didn’t do that already. I felt fucking backed up–I felt feral, I felt out of control. I wanted to fuck her. Everything was white with how much I wanted her, how it burned achingly bright and agonizing in my chest, but for now, this was enough, this was more than enough, and she was so soft and so wet and so hot under my tongue, and she parted open for me so beautifully and when I circled my tongue around her clit, her back arched and I felt like I was in either a beautiful dream or a tortuous fucking nightmare.

“That’s it,” I murmured into her as I swirled my tongue yet again, my fingers digging in more roughly than I should have. “That’s it, baby girl, come on, just a little more–”

She was so close. She was quivering with it, like a bowstring pulled too fucking tight, just about to tip over when–

Knocking. Knocking at the door. What the fuck.

“Joker?”

Oh, I knew sure as shit that Dick Grayson knew better than to knock on the fucking door when I was busy. Especially since I was in her room. He wasn’t a virgin, he was fucking Barbara, so maybe he could fuck off?

I ignored him and went back to her–sucking lightly on her clit, trying to get her there, and she was whimpering again and then–

Knocking again. Fucking motherfucker.

“What the fuck do you want?” I snarled, finally pulling my mouth away from her.

“It’s Bruce. You need to see this,” Dick said, and his voice told me more than my words did.

And my fucking hard on fell like someone had dropped it.

God fucking damn it all to fucking hell.

As if I needed another reason to hate Bruce fucking “Cockblock” Wayne.

Chapter 19: Hellfire in his Veins

Summary:

Dick, the Joker, and Harleen work on a plan.

HARLEEN QUINZEL

Maybe there was a reason that his name was Dick Grayson.

I was so wet and swollen that it hurt. I couldn’t help but whimper as the Joker pulled away and began to tug my panties up gently. Too fucking gently for what he’d just been doing to my pussy. Where had all of this tenderness come from? But the moment had absolutely passed–and now, I was worried that it might never happen again.

And if I didn’t happen again, I just might–

“I know,” the Joker murmured. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise, sweetheart. But Dick wouldn’t bother me unless this was something very fucking important. He knows much better than to interrupt me when I’m enjoying something sweet.”

His tongue passed over his lips, and while his arousal might have faded, mine burned and throbbed even hotter than before. I must have moaned because his eyes darkened when they caught mine.

“I know,” the Joker hummed again. “But I promise you. You won’t be left wanting next time, no matter what.”

I wanted him to kiss me, to linger–but he didn’t. And maybe that was for the best, because God knows if he’d stayed, I would have made sure that he stayed for the rest of the damn night.

But I had to admit that there was something sexy about a man who was in control of his desires. As feral and sexy as he’d been in my bed, he wasn’t some groping and hungry boy who’d never seen a pair of tits before. He was in control.

I wish I had even the smallest ounce of that. All that self assuredness.

The Joker waited for me to pull my shorts back up before he extended his hand to me, and we left the room together. It was astonishing and bizarre to me just how much I could be into someone holding my hand. These little shows of intimacy that had once felt so performative just felt different with him.

He had wanted me to want him fully, and I did. God, I really, really did.

Dick’s face was serious. That warm twinkle in his eyes from the afternoon was gone, replaced by a grave expression. There were fine wrinkles around his eyes–like he’d been forced to grow up way too damn fast. Like maybe Batman had hired a child to be his own personal bodyguard, and Bruce Wayne hadn’t seen a damn problem with it.

Dick Grayson was a cautionary tale in Gotham. Bruce had tried to convince the world, to nearly universal success, that Dick had turned evil. That he’d tried to betray Batman, tried to take over Gotham and kill anyone who said anything against him. And at first, I’d believed it because–well, just like everyone else, I’d been hoodwinked. But now, it was so obviously a lie–and not even a very good one.

“He’s responding to your pictures,” Dick murmured. “He did an interview on the news.”

“I’m shaking in my fucking boots,” the Joker drawled. “What is this time? Empty threat after empty threat? Because if that’s all it is, Dick, I’m going to be very unhappy with you for interrupting me when I was doing something I like very, very much.”

Doing something. Should have been so demeaning, but I was aroused again, goddamn this irritating and wholly sexy man who had me wrapped around his dick more than I’d care to ever fucking admit.

“You know I wouldn’t interrupt if it was just that,” Dick said, and like a gentleman, he didn’t look at me. At least there was one man in this room who had manners. “You just–need to watch it.”

The Joker let out an irritated growl, but he stalked down the hallway, still holding my hand. Heading towards the common room at the end of the hall, which had a few plush leather couches and a truly enormous screen. The Joker plopped onto one of the overstuffed couches and tugged me in with him. I wanted to curl up on him, still basking in the glow of everything that we’d shared, but he was stiff as a damn board and I could tell it wasn’t the right damn time.

Fuck. When had I become such a single-minded horndog anyway? Probably coincided with the moment when the Joker put his head between my legs.

Dick took the remote and turned the screen on, accessing the DVR and pulling up the recorded segment. Yes, the clown prince of darkness had a DVR. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this–and there was something about it that was oddly endearing.

Any warm feeling I had, however, completely froze over when Bruce Wayne’s enormous, slickly handsome face filled the screen.

“It’s been a horrible few days,” he was saying, and I saw the way his eyebrows knit together in a way that should have created wrinkles of concern, but not only had he botoxed the fuck out of his face, but he didn’t actually care. He wasn’t worried. I saw that black, shark-like look in his eyes. He was fucking livid. He wanted to burn the world down. “I thought, like everyone else, that the Joker was dead. I can’t believe I was wrong.”

I watched in utter disbelief as tears actually filled his eyes. But I knew they weren’t tears of sadness. Tears of rage at those who had dared to do shit that he hadn’t approved of. No one made a fool of Bruce Wayne and lived to talk about it.

“I don’t know what he’s done to her, but that’s not my fiance,” he was saying passionately. “He must have–brainwashed her or something. He’s evil. And all I know is that–I am counting on Batman to take care of this.”

Dick glanced at the Joker. The Joker was still staring at the TV. Now his shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched.

“Wherever he is,” Buce was saying, and now he was looking directly into the camera. “I am going to make sure that he pays for it. Him, and everyone who has supported him over the years. They will all pay for what they’ve done to an innocent woman.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne. If you have any information about Harleen Quinzel’s whereabouts that you believe might assist Batman and the police, please call–”

The reporter’s cool tone was interrupted by the TV being snapped off. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it all rushed out.

“Well, we knew that he’d react like that,” I said slowly. “Isn’t that what we... wanted?”

Dick was still looking at the Joker. He wasn’t looking at either of us. He was staring directly forward.

“He wants a war,” the Joker murmured. “That comment about everyone who has supported me...”

The Joker looked at Dick. It was like they were speaking a language that I didn’t know, the accent between them obscuring my understanding.

“Harleen,” the Joker said quietly. “He wants to wage a war over this. Sooner or later, he will come here–no matter what our treaty is. And if he can’t come, then he’s going to send someone who can arrive here.”

“No,” Dick said quickly. “He can’t discount the treaty. If he does–”

“If he does, I’ll tell the world what he’s done, but what the hell will all that matter, Dick?” the Joker snapped. “Nobody believes a damn thing that I say, do they?”

“Well,” Dick said–and now his tone was much more measured and slow. “We had been anticipating that this would happen eventually, right? Otherwise...”

He glanced at me–and then quickly back at the Joker. The words unsaid slipped into the air.

You never would have taken her in in the first place.

The decision to allow me to enter his city was a provocation. I now understood my role in all this. It wasn’t just about my desire to run away from Bruce, and to escape that hellish life that I had envisioned–I had accidentally put an entire city in incredible danger.

Batman had methods. If he wanted to kill people in this city, he could–and he would make it count. It would be graphic, public, and horrible. I thought about Harvey, Dick, Barbara, Jason, Selina–

“I’ll go back,” I said quickly–and before I even knew what I was doing, I was on my feet.

“No,” the Joker snapped, waving a hand dismissively, not even looking at me.

“I’m not kidding,” I pushed, my gaze on him until he finally looked at me. His eyes were cold–like a wall had been constructed between me and him. Something to keep me out. “This is–I didn’t know what I was doing when I ran here. If I stay, I’m putting so many people in danger. It’s not right. I shouldn’t expect all of you to protect me when I have nothing to offer you.”

“Still thinking like Brucie, hmm?” The Joker who had taken me to bed was completely gone now. There was a rage there, bubbling beneath the surface. It made me want to withdraw, but I didn’t because the Joker didn’t make me afraid. Not in the way that Bruce did. “Within these city walls, I do not make deals with people for their souls. If you are here, you are under my protection.”

“But–”

“No,” he snarled–and now, I recoiled.

“You don’t get to decide what I do and what I don’t do,” I challenged. He let out a low growl, irritated–and for some reason, when he looked at me his eyes flickered to my thighs.

Almost like the way that I defied him made him–

“Headstrong girl,” he huffed, some of that anger seeming to cool. “Sit down.”

“No,” I shot back–and I witnessed his nostrils flare. For whatever reason, he didn’t push the point–but I did notice his knuckles flex in his hand that was resting on his knee.

He took a deep breath, looking away from me–his gaze turned back onto the TV where Bruce had once stood, that horrible soul masked by what had once been a handsome face. Every time I looked at Bruce, he was uglier and uglier. Even the sight of him made my stomach roil.

“If you are here, you are under my protection,” the Joker said quietly. “And more than that, Harleen, I wish to protect you. I do not relish the idea of you returning to be under his control for the rest of your life. And since you’ve run away and defied him, that life would be rather short-lived, don’t you think?”

Yes. I knew that. I looked down at the floor.

“Besides,” the Joker said, “we have been preparing for a war for quite some time anyway. We were just hoping that perhaps we could get the first shot off. After all, he has broken the treaty so many times already–it’s flimsy enough as it is. And even if people didn’t believe me, if I could get word out about what he’s done...”

The Joker glanced at Dick, whose lips were twisting. “What?”

“It’s just–we get one shot at this,” Dick murmured. “I honestly think we’re on the right path–getting him mad is going to help us a lot. When he’s angry, he makes stupid mistakes–I saw it a thousand times when I was living with him. And Batman just does whatever he wants.”

Dick dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek. The Joker raised both eyebrows and let out a low huff.

“Are you telling me that you want me to keep taunting him?” the Joker growled softly, his eyes flicking to me–and suddenly, I didn’t feel quite so defiant.

“He’s off balance,” Dick said, and his cheeks were flushed because the poor guy was basically telling the Joker to fuck me. “This is good. We need to keep him that way.”

“I think we can make that happen,” the Joker murmured, his gaze sliding to me. “Unless Harleen wants to run away again.”

My mouth felt too dry to talk. I just shook my head.

“Good,” the Joker hummed. “Thank you, Dick. This actually helped a great deal. Now–”

He stood and offered his hand to me, “Shall we go provoke, Harleen?”

It was like shaking hands with the devil, and I took his hand. It was warm like hellfire burned through his veins.

You might burn me alive, Joker, but I also might like every second of it.

Notes:

Okay so I know I have a fic right now that is WELL LOVED that I have not finished but I'm giving myself a little breathing room to write something a little more light-hearted and easy. I will absolutely return to "What Belongs to Him" and finish it some day, but this fic is going to be really important to me in a lot of ways, I can already tell, so I hope I have my readers invested and ready to read more!

Also I shamelessly ripped the plot from Neon Gods. Sorry not sorry. I promise of course to go my own way with it. This is going to be different from my other fics and it may not leave you hating yourself! Which is nice!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 9 of The Sun and the Darkness