TW: STEAMY CONTENT (still not smut tho)

After spending some more time at the club, you, Joker, and Frost decided to head home. It felt funny to you, considering that grandiose mansion "home." It looked like some impersonal residence you'd see in a magazine, briefly envy, then move on. But, you had grown attached to it, and whenever you saw it creep into view, you could relax. This was your refuge. A getaway from all the stresses of your criminal lifestyle.

When you walked inside, you were stunned to see William sprint toward the three of you immediately, looking quite frazzled. He skidded to a stop in front of you, eyeing you like your presence was somehow unexpected. "Boss, can I talk to you a minute?"

You frowned. He looked nervous. It was times like these where you wished the whole situation with Matt hadn't happened. If it hadn't, he would've been able to say whatever he needed to say, and you would be able to understand the full extent of things. Whatever that may have been.

Joker, looking just as concerned as you felt, nodded, and the two of them retreated a few steps. Close enough so that you could still hear the hissing syllables of their whispers, but not close enough to understand what they were saying.

Whatever William had told Joker was clearly bad. His expression hardened, his eyes narrowed. He beckoned Frost over, who dutifully obeyed.

Joker whispered the news, whatever the fuck it was, to Frost, whose expression soon mirrored his boss'. Clearly, something was wrong, and there you were, standing there with no knowledge whatsoever. You knew that you didn't deserve to know everything, given your fuckup, but you figured that you were entitled to at least some information. After all, how could you perform as well as everyone else when you weren't as prepared?

   This three-way conversation, with you on the outs, made you feel incredibly lonely. Maybe even infantile. You felt like William, Joker, and Frost were all your parents, hiding things from you that they knew you couldn't handle. But, you could handle it, and you were sick of having to just be quiet and let shit get hidden behind this curtain of secrecy. How could you show you had improved if they just kept you away from everything?

   "What?" you bravely piped in, causing the three men to turn and look at you.

   Suddenly, Joker walked up to you and seized your wrist. "It's a training day, isn't it?" he asked, his voice an unsettling growl as he began to lead you up the closest staircase.

   It was, according to the new deal you two had made. But, why the sudden want to train? Why did it conveniently present itself when seemingly bad news was given? Obviously Joker was training you for a specific purpose, and you could feel your blood run cold as you knew that you had to prepare yourself for a fight. A fight he didn't believe you were currently qualified for.

   You wanted to believe that you were, but you hadn't really done a good job of showing that. So, his lack of confidence in you leeched onto you, and you began to feel dread start to creep into your mind. You knew you needed to reroute your dread into confidence, for your own sake, but that task felt pretty daunting when this news had rattled even the Joker.

Once you two got to the training room, he practically shoved you in there, causing you to stumble and nearly lose your footing. You looked behind you in indignation, trying to hold your tongue. After all, talking back could be the thing that killed you.

He shut the door behind him. He refused to turn back around to face you, though; instead, he stood facing the door, frustratedly running a hand through his hair. You could see how ragged his breaths were in the way his body rose and fell, and you instinctively took a step back. Whatever mood he was in would not bode well for you, especially if he was going to be training with you. You would be knocked into outer space!

"J, are you all right?" you asked weakly, wanting to reach out to him but also not wanting to do anything less. You worried that if you did, you'd get your hand chopped off or something.

He didn't answer. He just kept breathing heavily, kept running his hand through his hair.

Then, suddenly, he whipped around and tackled you to the floor. It all happened so quickly that you had no time to process it. What was going on only registered in your brain when your body slammed against the cement floor, completely missing the mat. You hissed in pain; not only was the wind knocked out of you from the impact on your back, but it had also felt like you had cracked your skull open.

You looked up at Joker, and he was staring down at you with a crazy look in his eyes. He was growling lowly, and he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. He was so immersed in his own emotions that it didn't even look like he realized what he had done, and that he had hurt you. There was no lucidity behind those bright blue eyes of his, just hazy mania.

"What the fuck? You gotta give me a heads up before you start, and fucking aim for the mat next time!" you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut at the aching pain in the back of your head.

"Ya think you're gonna have warning in a real battle? Ya think there's gonna be a mat in a real battle?" he spat, each word distorted with a mix of rage and anxiety. He was speaking hurriedly, like he couldn't waste a second on talking to you. "You're gonna land on the floor a time or two, (Y/N). Get over it."

"But, why would you want me injured for—"

"I'm preparing you!" he snarled, his grip tightening on your wrists. "Clearly, our old method of training was useless! I need to immerse you in a real situation, because you need to be properly trained for—"

He cut himself off, shaking his head furiously. He looked insane; rabid, almost. "Doesn't matter." He stood up, crossing his arms and impatiently tapping his foot. "Get up."

"Give me a second!"

He replied by grabbing your hand and forcefully pulling you to your feet. You quickly lashed out with a balled-up fist, effectively punching him square in the nose. You needed to disarm him quickly, since he was clearly out of his mind right now. And when Joker was out of his mind, anything could happen.

He stumbled back, touching his fingers to his nose. They came back stained with crimson, and he nodded to himself, almost pleased at his injury. His breathing seemed to slow a little, yet he clutched at his heart as if it had stopped beating. He was clearly in a state of panic, and at this point, you just wanted to console him. There was something about this hysteria that was so pitiful that it made your chest hurt. It was probably idiotic to feel sorry for the Joker, but you wouldn't wish any negative emotion upon him, even if he made you experience worse.

You wanted to ease his mind more, so you set out to hurt him as much as possible. All of his nerves were due to his lack of faith in you, his sureness that you would be unable to handle what was to come. So, you swiftly kicked him in the groin.

He hissed in pain, instinctively covering his junk and hunching over. But, he smiled, seemingly a little more at ease.

You mentally apologized to him, figuring that now would not be an appropriate time to speak it aloud, thereby showing weakness. To any normal person, an apology would be indicative that you were a decent human being. One with morals. But, to Joker, an apology was a sign of defeat. It was renouncing a criminal action, which was definitely frowned upon in his eyes. After all, why would a true criminal feel remorse? Why would they want to renounce their actions? To him, empathy and kindness were negatives. They showed that you were absent of the emotional distance that he possessed, and that you needed.

You tried to take him to the ground after that, to make him feel trapped. In having power over him, he'd have faith in you. But, your strategy in doing so was flawed. Instead of doing something crafty like kicking his leg out from under him, or knocking him out, you simply just tried to ram your body against his, hoping that the force would knock him down.

Given your comparably weak stature, this did nothing. He shifted on his feet a little, but he remained otherwise solid in his stance. You felt embarrassment begin to creep in, since you had charged at him with such confidence. You had forgotten that he was, in fact, a strong man. A strong man that required intelligence to beat, since you were lacking the strength. You weren't sure if your lack of strength was a matter of not being properly trained, or if it was simply how you were wired. A biological disadvantage. Regardless, you had to work around that, not try to utilize a skill you didn't have.

Joker flung you off with such force that you were sent flying backwards. Thankfully, you landed on your rear this time and not your head. But, still, the cement below you did not feel great when it came to landing on it so forcefully. Your tailbone was aching painfully, and you felt as if your brain had been rattled by the sudden impact. You blinked, wondering if you would even be well enough to fight in whatever battle lay ahead. So far, you had probably sustained a bruised tailbone, a bruised spine, and maybe a concussion. The first two weren't huge deals; they may just lead to an uncomfortable couple days. But, the concussion... That would be more of an issue.

Joker slowly walked over to you, whatever zen he had managed to secure gone. His breathing was ragged once more, his hands trembling. "You're decent at keeping the enemy at bay," he mused, once again pulling you to your feet. "But, when it comes to actually taking them down, ya can't."

His arm shot toward you in a blur of motion, a pale fist striking you right in the jaw. The impact caused you to fall over again. This time, you landed on the mat, thankfully.

"Not the best with defense, either. Ya can't even keep your balance." He kicked your side, causing you to yelp and instinctively roll away.

"Hold on!" you yelled, scrambling to your feet. "I can take you down! I am good at defense! You just have to give me more than one chance to show you!"

He grabbed your arms and pinned them behind your back. "Ya don't get more than one chance in the real world, (Y/N)."

You sighed, nodding defeatedly. He was right. You weren't taking this seriously enough. You were just getting in punches where you could, trying to succeed where you could. If you failed, you could just try it again. But, your mentality was all wrong. Succeeding where you could was not enough, and you didn't get a second chance. You had to succeed in every maneuver you attempted, dodge every attack he tried. You needed to strive for perfection, since it takes perfection to comfortably win a battle in real life. You needed to view Joker as the enemy, and take him down like he was your enemy. Not your training partner, your enemy. You had to fight like your life was on the line.

"Fuckin' do something to get out of this!" he hissed, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was a little ironic that your thoughts criticizing standing idle had caused you to stand idle. "Ya can't just sit here and do nothing! Ya can't just let yourself get tossed around and restrained whenever your opponent feels like! Fuckin' fight back!"

He took one of your arms and painfully twisted it behind you, causing you to scream in agony. You thrashed around violently, unsure of how to escape such a situation, since he still had a secure hold on your other arm.

You figured that kicking him was really the only thing you could do, so you did, your foot blindly lashing out at the legs behind you. It connected several times, yet Joker was so fired up that the pain didn't even seem to register. His breathing, which was fanning your ear with each exhale, didn't even catch. His body didn't even flinch or reflexively recoil from the impact.

You were met with the bone-chilling realization that when he was enraged like this, he was untouchable.

Panicked, you kept kicking, but nothing happened. He only twisted your arm more, causing your screams to raise in intensity and pitch. "J, STOP IT!" you shrieked, starting to thrash harder.

You thrashed so hard that you fell to the floor. You would've pulled him down with you, but he let go, causing you to, once again, hit the ground hard. In spite of yourself, you felt tears begin to roll down your face. You were scared, and for the second time ever, it felt as if Joker wasn't here to help you. He was here to hurt you.

This moment, the way he stared down at you with cold, unsympathetic eyes, brought you right back to the gas station, where he had his gun trained on you and was ready to shoot. The only difference was that at the gas station, he had had a moment of clarity. A moment of kindness, even. He had decided to spare you, let human emotions dictate his actions instead of his sociopathic tendencies.

You searched his eyes for evidence of that moment of clarity, hoping that history would repeat itself. Hoping that he would find it within himself to see what he was doing to you, and want to stop.

There was nothing of the sort in his eyes, and he didn't stop. He yanked you to your feet again, grabbing your face harshly. His thumb was on one cheek, the rest of his fingers on the other, and he squeezed your face tightly. "Get a grip," he spat. "Stop fuckin' crying, do ya hear me?! Stop crying! I need you to fight, and fight well, and this is the only way you're gonna learn!"

You had expected more from this evil monologue, so you once again (foolishly) let your guard down, dismissing the possibility of further violence. But, you were wrong, and you discovered that when you were kicked in the knee, causing it to buckle and send you right back to the floor again.

Even though your last training session had been ineffective, you missed it so much in this moment. It made you feel so safe. It gave you confidence, and it allowed you to walk away with minimal injuries and a strengthened friendship with Frost. You could take breaks whenever you needed, you could try again when a maneuver hadn't worked out, and, most importantly, you could tell Frost to stop. In fact, Joker and Frost had stopped on their own accord, noticing how tired you had been. But, now, you felt like a punching bag, and like no matter what you said, this torture would keep going on until you injured Joker. Or until you finally got him to open up about what William told him, then somehow get him in a position to reasonably discuss solutions.

You figured both were unlikely, but you would try both at the same time. Whichever happened first, you were okay with.

So, you stood up again, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. How intimidating, right? A girl standing shakily before a well-regarded criminal, face tear-streaked and bloated. You knew that it didn't really matter if you looked intimidating, and that your performance was all that counted. But, your unthreatening vibe made it a little more difficult to tap into that violent part of yourself. It made you feel ashamed, and discouraged you from even trying to fight.

Yet, you still tried. You tried to latch onto any bit of aggression you could bring yourself to feel, and you let it come exploding out of you as you lunged at Joker, punching him repeatedly. Kicking him repeatedly. Letting any part of you make contact with any part of him, making extra sure that it was painful.

"What did William tell you?!" you yelled between attacks, feeling his fist come in contact with your face a time or two as he defended himself. While you didn't exactly have a big lead on him, he hadn't taken you down yet. You figured that was a good sign.

He didn't answer you, just kept defending and kept attacking.

This angered you, but you tried to keep yourself calm. After all, you doubted that he would be inclined to tell you anything if you were screaming at him. You had to coax the truth out of him. He was like a deer. A very violent, scary deer; if you moved too quickly, asked for the truth too aggressively, he'd get scared off.

"J, why aren't you telling me?" you asked, delivering a particularly hard kick to the shin.

Again, his anger was so consuming that he barely even flinched. He tried to take another swing at your face, which you avoided by ducking down. He hadn't really been giving you much variety in his attacks, so you had grown to expect a knuckle to the face, especially when he wound up so conspicuously.

"You'd make things harder if you knew," he begrudgingly spat.

While cryptic, his statement was still something. He was speaking to you about the topic at hand, and that was shocking. You tried not to let yourself appear too excited at this vulnerability, but you realized you had failed when you stopped attacking, too distracted by the prospect of minimal information.

What was even more shocking, you realized, was the fact that he had stopped attacking, too. Now, he was just standing there, very obviously still keyed up. His hands were shaking, and it looked like he was fighting demons to not lunge at you and continue to rock your world.

This brief window of benevolence gave you hope, but you had no idea how to respond to it. What would you do? Would you back up a bit and give him space? Would you gently restrain him to discourage him from lashing out again?

You settled on staying where you were, but keeping your voice calm as to not upset him. "Why?"

"Because you're so fuckin' anxious all the time that you're gonna be overanalyzing every detail. You're gonna stress about it so much that you're gonna fuck it up for yourself, for me, and everyone else! If you just go into it blind, your instincts will take over. You won't have to worry about planning what to do ahead of time."

Even though Joker was barking out this explanation like he couldn't stand you, the words he was saying were, in a way, sweet. After all, it showed how much he knew you, and how much he paid attention. Granted, the reason he paid so much attention was because your qualities directly affected him, but still. It felt good to be seen.

"That makes sense. But, on the other hand, if you don't tell me, I'm not gonna be as prepared as everyone else. Don't you think that makes me more susceptible to fucking up, if I don't know what to expect?" you asked, pushing your luck by stepping a little closer to him.

You immediately wished you hadn't. His eyes flashed with lunacy. It washed over his face, and he began to laugh bitterly. He grabbed your wrist, pulled you to him, and pushed into you until your back was pressed against the wall.

"I don't know what makes you more susceptible to fucking up," he hissed, his eyes focusing on one of your own, then the other as he pinned your arms above your head. It made him look as if he was watching a faraway game of tennis, blue irises moving about to follow the ball as it was bounced from one side of the net to the other. "That's why I'm so fuckin' paranoid. I don't know what to do, (Y/N). We know how you acted last time you knew about something in advance, so obviously I'd want to change the fuckin' formula somehow."

His face was so close to yours that you audibly swallowed, your fear on full display. "I still think it's unfair to tell everyone else but me," you squeaked. "I know I'm in hot water still, but me and William are technically the same rank-wise. We're both your henchmen. Shouldn't we have access to the same knowledge?"

He groaned, punching at the concrete beside your head. His knuckles immediately split open, red cascading from the white. He winced, shaking out his injured hand. This expression of pain gave you hope that he was calming down a little. He was becoming human again, not this unstoppable murder machine that couldn't even feel a punch.

"Now that I know I'm not being told something," you continued cautiously, "I'm only gonna be more anxious. Because then, I'll always be on high alert, but not knowing what exactly I'm looking for. Besides, how do you know that I'll perform better on the spot? There's no evidence to suggest that. It feels like you're gambling, J. Just please tell me, and I'll show you that was the right decision."

   Joker's eyes bored into yours as he bit his lip in deliberation. You could see the gears turning in his head, so you stayed silent, letting him think.

   Then, without warning, he brought his face to yours, and connected your lips to his.

   You were in shock for two reasons. One: this was a very odd time to kiss, given the fact that there was something amiss in terms of missions, and possibly even the team's safety. Two: this was the first kiss he had shared with you in the privacy of the mansion. He wasn't doing this to portray an image. He was doing this for some other reason, one you couldn't determine. Was he aroused by the helpless way you were pinned against the wall? Or was there some other reason, a reason that ran deeper than routine lust or attraction?

   Was there an ulterior motive?

   Even if there was, you realized that you didn't care. You felt your body react, kissing him back. You couldn't move your arms due to his secure hold on your wrists, but you found that your body was desperately arched toward him, searching for some contact.

   He noticed this. He chuckled lowly against your lips, letting his body further close in on yours as he continued to kiss you. His tongue ran along your lower lip, causing you to gasp quietly.

   You fought weakly against his grasp, just wanting to reach up and touch him. That's all you wanted. You didn't care about any of this anymore. You didn't care about what he was hiding, nor did you care how unprepared you probably were for a battle. All you wanted was his body against your body.

   "No, baby," he cooed, seeing your attempts at freeing your arms. "I'm in control here, you know that."

   That statement was enough to make you whine quietly, your head nodding on what felt like its own accord. "Yes, J," you whispered as his lips moved down to your neck.

   He bit down on the sensitive skin, covering the mark with his tongue afterward to soothe the ache of it. You tilted your head back, encouraging more contact as you let your eyes close. The pain felt so good, and all you wanted was for him to give you just a little bit of freedom. Just a little bit of autonomy so you could touch, feel.

   But, you had to stay still. Obedience was what he expected, so obedience was what you would give him.

   "I have ya trained so well. Don't I, Trouble?" he purred against your neck, his voice sending delicious vibrations along your skin. "Ya do whatever I ask, don't ya?"

   He was obviously referring to how you stopped fighting him at the simplest of requests. While it embarrassed you to be so amiable, clearly, it pleased Joker. "Whatever you ask," you breathed, feeling yourself start to grow desperate for him.

   He growled lowly, clearly liking that answer. Then, he released your arms and instead wrapped them around your waist.

   You took this opportunity to immediately fling your own around his neck as his lips connected with your own again. His hands slid down to your rear, patting it gently as a signal to jump up.

   So, you did, and he caught you with two hands firmly gripping your rear. He pressed you further into the wall, your front against his stomach. You almost hoped that someone would walk in and interrupt this whole fiasco, that way you would have to stop. Like Frost said, this would only be bad for you in the long run. But, you knew that you did not have the strength to simply stop it yourself.

   After what felt like not long enough, Joker pulled apart, sliding one hand underneath your shirt and gently tracing his fingers along your bra. The lace material touching his fingertips clearly excited him; his eyes flashed, and he groaned quietly. "I think we've trained for long enough, haven't we?" he whispered.

   Your heart began to race. You had a feeling that you knew what he was implying. You knew what he wanted to do next. "Yes."

   But, you had been wrong in your assumption. He smirked at you, gently setting you down and stepping away. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, which you had apparently messed up when you hungrily lunged at him with your arms around his neck. "Then, we should head back to our room, yes? I have some planning to do, and a meeting to call." 

   You blinked, completely surprised at how quickly he had moved on from this moment. "What?"

   "Oh, doll." His voice was filled with mock sympathy as he gently touched your cheek with his fingertips. "I'm a busy man. I can't afford to let myself be distracted by your..."

   His eyes roamed your body, a primal sound you couldn't name escaping his lips, "...tempting attributes," he finished.

   You blushed a little, and he smiled in reply. He began to walk out of the room, gesturing for you to follow. "Come now, (Y/N)."

   Obediently, you followed, your mind reeling with what had just happened, and why it had ended so abruptly.

   As he led you up to the third floor, you realized:

   That whole display was intended to distract you. It was intended to make you forget that things were being hidden from you, and to vaporize the want to know what those things were. He wanted to make you want him so bad that you no longer cared about anything else. He wanted to tease you enough to where he was all you could think about, but not too much to where you were satisfied. An excruciating middle ground.

   And the terrifying reality was that it had worked. Even knowing this, knowing his true intentions, you couldn't bring yourself to care about what he wasn't telling you. About what would happen to your team because of it.

   No. He was so damn suave that these things were at the back of your mind, eclipsed by the feeling of his mouth on yours, your front pressed against his toned stomach.

   Once you had reached his floor, you sat in his office and watched him draw up plans. You didn't even care enough to try and read what he was writing down. All you could do was hope that maybe he'd change his mind, that maybe he'd press you against the desk and finish what he started.

   Of course, that didn't happen. So, you were left with a spinning mind and an aching body, which was sore from the grueling training.

   You were disappointed in yourself for falling into his trap, but his trap was so damn sweet that you didn't even want to try to crawl out.

   He had you right where he wanted you, and that could either lead to extreme benefits or dire consequences. Maybe he was right on how you'd perform on the spot, and maybe you were. Maybe you'd rise to the occasion, or maybe you'd choke.

   Time would tell.