First fic for the Batman fandom, so I'm really nervous...I just couldn't resist; I love Harley, I love Joker, and I love their relationship!
This is a bit inspired by Sing A Rainbow by Swan_Secrets on AO3.
English isn't my native language, so there might be some mistakes.
Her puddin' truly was the Crown Prince of Crime, there was no denying that. Gotham had been plagued by a lot of petty criminals, but the Joker was better than anyone. Two-Face, who supposedly gave everyone a 50-50 chance with the toss of a coin, was no match for him. Neither was the Penguin, with his good manners, eloquent vocabulary, and imaginative crimes.
No, no one was like the Joker. She had come to that conclusion during their first session together in Arkham Asylum. In his file she had read that he was nothing more than a monster. But he was a man, damaged, charming, funny. Handsome in a unique way. His hair was green, not with a cheap dye as though he was a punk, but a natural, dark shade. His eyes were an amazing purple, deep, magnetizing, with all sorts of different emotions appearing in them one after the other.
Her puddin' was a god. And she worshiped him with every fiber of her being.
She was doing just that now as she watched him. He was completely dedicated to his work, putting on a show just for her, his most passionate and avid audience.
"Red and orange, yellow and green, and blue and purple and pink!" Joker was singing cheerfully as he was splashing more and more of the paint on the two men he had captured. "All the colours of the rainbow!" He giggled.
His ragged purple suit was splattered with blots of paint; his shoes had also been the victim of the colourful substance. He didn't seem to mind, though. This was his time to perform. This was the time for him to teach those men a lesson.
Harley and her puddin' were returning to the lair after a casual robbery. Harley had a diamond ring on her gloved finger and liked to pretend that it was an engagement ring - she had no doubt that her puddin' would propose to her, it was only a matter of time.
First they heard someone wolf whistle.
The two of them were the only ones in the alley, with the exception of two shadows that they noticed behind them as they turned around. Those shadows could barely walk straight, staggering, barely managing not to fall down.
"Hey, baby!" the one called. "How's about showin' us a good time?"
As the two shadows came into view, it turned out that they were two drunk men no older than twenty-eight years old. Both of them were looking at Harley as hungrily as they could through the haze of the alcohol.
"I got fifty bucks right here with your name on it, babe," the other man said - or, at least, Harley believed that he said that because he was slurring his words.
And now, the two men were gagged and bound with ropes. And it was all because the Joker hadn't liked the way they were talking to his little harlequin. This unexpected turn of events had Harley over the moon. Her puddin' was defending her honour. He was punishing those men on her behalf. He was her knight. If anyone thought that he didn't love her, they could suck it.
She looked at his handiwork in approval, as always. "Oh, you're such an artist, Mistah J!" she cooed adorably, her voice like the one of a little girl's. She was indeed his little girl; his, and his alone.
Her Mister J walked over to her and caressed her cheek. It was brief, but it was also more than enough to set her skin - hell, her whole body - on fire. She could already feel wetness pooling between her legs. She remembered the last time he had nestled there and started feeling heat spreading all over her.
"Thank you, Harls," he said and regarded his work with a critical eye. "But, you know, I think it needs more red."
The paint was discarded so that the clown could hold a knife in his hand. The blade was long and sharp, gleaming in the darkness like a crescent. When the two men saw it, their eyes got impossibly wide - they were sober now and scared out of their wits - and they struggled to get away. They would not escape, though. Their attempts were futile and everyone, including themselves, knew it.
Harley watched as her puddin' broke skin again and again. The knife tore and ripped, making hot blood spray everywhere. Joker's clothing was now stained with the red body fluid, the bright nectar of life, as well; but, once again, he did not seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy bathing in it.
The two men died slowly and in great pain, silent tears falling from their eyes and rolling down their cheeks. It took some time, but when there was no longer any life in them, Harley applauded. The Joker bowed to her, happy to have pleased his audience, basking in the admiration.
He took her right there, with the corpses of the men he had murdered witnessing their coupling. He lost himself in her wet heat and touched her with dirty hands, smearing her with paint and blood. His kisses were bruising, but it was never more than she could take.
When they were done, his eyes travelled up and down her body. She looked like a rainbow herself now, with all that colour he had transferred to her skin, and a colour that was soon surfacing, slowly making itself known; the colour of the bruises he had so generously given her.
However, the colour that he liked most on her was red. Grinning devilishly, he said, "I like you bathed in blood."
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