TW: SLIGHT SPICE, HINTING AT HAVING SEX

   The days following your kiss with Joker were nothing less than brutal. Not because of any rigorous training or complicated missions, but because of the fact that your craving for him was growing more and more intense by the minute. Sharing a bed with him did little to mitigate that problem; after all, feeling his body next to you was enough to cause your mind to run wild.

   Sadly, nothing more transpired between you two in the following days. Sure, he had touched you like he always had. A hand on your face, perhaps, or your legs touching when going to sleep. But, nothing atypical. Nothing even remotely like that kiss you had shared, with his hands on your ass as his tongue explored your mouth. God, you craved that moment again so badly. You couldn't seem to focus on anything else.

   That included whatever truth that Joker was keeping from you. Sure, it was still in the back of your mind, but it was more of a distant curiosity than a real worry. His manipulative ploy had worked, and you had completely given up on trying to figure out what was being kept from you. You figured you'd know when you were meant to know, and you didn't let Joker's very obvious concern affect you too much.

   He had held a meeting the day after finding out the news, a meeting you were forced to sit through with your ears covered. That way, you didn't have to leave his side, but you weren't exposed to whatever was being said. After that meeting, Joker seemed to level out a little, appearing much less concerned about what lay ahead. But, he still made quick, whispered comments about the topic to the rest of the team. He also occasionally scribbled down more notes about it, which you knew better than to try to look at. But, all in all, he wasn't nearly as crazy about the news as he had been.

   Presently, you were at the Last Laugh once again. Today, you and your team didn't really have a goal in mind. Joker had said that he had viewed the club as a business venture, and in doing so, he often forgot to have fun. So, he brought you and your other team members along to have a fun outing, no strings attached. It was nice to be able to just relax, let go. Dance, drink, chat. All the things that had been neglected ever since you became a criminal.

   You were dancing with Shaun on the dance floor, giggling at his moves. To put it delicately, he needed some work in the dancing department. It's not like you were a professional, but good God. There was not an ounce of rhythm to Shaun, and no matter how hard you tried to teach him, it didn't seem to click. All he was doing was hopping around with poor timing, and occasionally whipping out the robot. That was probably just a testament to the infrequency of him getting to club.

   Dancing with him, although embarrassing, made you feel as if you were slowly being integrated into the team again. Ever since your fuckup, the team (except Frost) had been cautious around you. They'd been pleasant, but they obviously had their guards up. Even Ronnie was more tight-lipped than usual, regarding you with silent suspicion as opposed to the blatant insolence you normally received. But, now, you started to feel like an acquaintance to everyone again. More than just a colleague that was universally hated but tolerated for work purposes.

   You could see Joker watching Shaun and you dance, which caused you to add a little extra flare to your moves. You let your hips move more freely, letting your hands tangle in your own hair. You had recently been pining for Joker's attention any way you could, and you had recently found that you were not above using your body to obtain that.

   "Show-off!" Shaun pouted, crossing his arms.

   "It's not that hard, dude!" You kept dancing, your eyes glued on Joker and the smirk that had started to form on his lips. You knew that he wasn't stupid; he knew your motive for dancing like this, proven by the intense eye contact you were making with him.

   "Well, I can't do that!" Shaun gestured to your writhing form. "Guys don't do that. Actually, I don't know if we're physically able to do that."

   "This is the twenty-first century! Why are we assigning a type of dance a gender?"

   "Because I've never seen a guy dance like that!"

   "So what? Break the mold, Shaun! Be a trendsetter!"

   He laughed a little. "Let me phrase it better. It's not my personal cup of tea."

   You grinned in reply. "And that's fair. Still, it's not hard to dance how you would deem 'manly.' I've been showing you how all night!"

   "Maybe the art just isn't meant for everyone." He laughed again, glancing over at the table where everyone else sat. "Well, I'm probably gonna get back over there. Dancing makes me thirsty."

   "Hey, you did a lot today, brother. Reward yourself."

   With a smile, he nodded at you and set off for the table, which was located right off of the dance floor along with a few others. You followed him with your eyes, thereby taking in the happenings at the table you had left behind in order to dance.

   Joker was staring at you, Frost was respectfully averting his eyes, and William and Ronnie were chatting up two random women that had decided to sit at the table. There were enough chairs for them, since you and Shaun had been on the dance floor, yet they still chose to sit in William and Ronnie's laps, giggling drunkenly. You knew that those two girls had to have been Shaun's motive to go back there, or maybe he was just really that self-conscious about his poor dancing.

You continued to have fun a little while longer, playfully grinding up on anyone that seemed interested. It wasn't a matter of attraction or lust, it just felt nice to share an experience with someone. Even though your life with Joker was great, it was a little isolating. Even just a friendly touch from someone made you feel good, since you didn't exactly have many bonds with people outside of your team anymore.

As you were grinding on a random man you didn't know, you heard a sharp whistle pierce through the crowd.

On instinct, you looked toward the sound, and Joker had his thumb and forefinger pressed together, and both of them to his lips. He was making direct eye contact with you, so it was obvious that he was beckoning you to him. Part of you was detesting the action, since you wanted to believe that he didn't own you, and couldn't call on you like a dog. But, another part of you knew that he did, and it was oddly attractive to see him boss you around like that.

You knew then that you had serious issues. Who would think these deranged thoughts about Joker? Definitely not a sane person, but you knew you weren't sane. Honestly, who would be sane if they were under his constant protection? He had a habit of hooking his claws into unsuspecting people, and making them his bitches.

And by the way you scampered to him, you were, no doubt, one of his bitches. The man you had been dancing with tried to shout something after you, seemingly a plea to stay. But, you barely registered it. You needed to get to your actual man. Well, he wasn't technically your man, but with each passing day, you viewed him as that more and more.

Once you got to him, he patted his lap, a signal to sit there.

That was one thing you loved about being with the Joker in public. Since you two were still acting as if you were in a relationship, he would really play up the romance. He would always be touching you and kissing you, and each time he did so, you looked forward to the next time. The feel of him was so addicting, in any capacity, that you had grown to rely on the hope that he would go further someday. Now that would be a dose of euphoria you weren't entirely sure if you could handle. But, God knows you wouldn't refuse.

It was a little odd, though. You had a name of your own now. People knew you, and people feared you for more than who you were "dating". The whole point of this fake relationship was to ensure you had clout, and to call it off when you did.

You had the clout now. So, why was he still engaging in this with you?

You didn't know. But, you weren't going to tell him to stop.

You sat on his lap, automatically wrapping your arms around his neck. "Yes, J?" you asked quietly.

"What were ya doin' back there?" His voice was low and accusatory as he gripped your thigh firmly, almost as if he was discouraging you from moving. He was clearly being possessive, and that was evident by the way his jaw was set in indignation, and the way his nails dug into your thigh.

   You swallowed, feeling guilty you had even entertained another man at all. Joker had manipulated you to the point where you recognized yourself as his, even though you two weren't official.

   Truthfully, you didn't know what to say in reply. You didn't want to admit that you were being disloyal, and that your devotion was beginning to go elsewhere. But, you didn't want to lie either.

   You settled on an "I'm sorry." Not a lie, but not putting what you had done into words either. A perfect middle ground.

   However, to Joker, it seemed less than perfect. His expression strongly suggested displeasure, so you decided to keep talking and admit your faults. "I was dancing with another man. I'm sorry."

   He nodded, seemingly coping with this response a little better. "Ya know you're mine, don't you, Trouble?" he asked, his eyes burning into your own with the utmost sincerity.

   "Yes." As much as you would've liked to believe that you were lying, you weren't. You knew you were his.

   "Then why aren't you acting like it, hmm?" His hand slid from the top of your thigh to your inner thigh, his thumb teasingly caressing the skin.

   You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure. "I just wanted to have fun, that's all."

   "And ya can't have fun with me?" His bottom lip was jutted outward in a faux pout. You could tell he wasn't really sad, he was just unbelievably angry and jealous. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on. 

   "I can. I'm sorry, J, I have no excuse."

   He smiled, leaning in and whispering in your ear, "I hate seeing you with any other man, dollface. Do it again and see what happens. Watch that man bleed out and die a slow, painful death. You're fuckin' mine. And I don't like sharing what's mine. The only person your perfect body should be pressed up against is fuckin' me. Understand?"

   As if to punctuate his words, he squeezed your inner thigh so tightly that you yelped quietly. "Yes, J," you agreed quickly, feeling your body start to heat up at his words. While they were controlling and undeniably possessive, they were so fucking sexy.

   Though, you couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't pressed his body against yours. If you couldn't do it with anyone else, why wouldn't he make you his? It was just another question added to the pile of mysteries surrounding Joker. You couldn't figure him out. He always got what he wanted, so if he wanted you, why not take you?

   "Good," he purred seductively, gently grabbing your face and forcing eye contact. "Very good. I trust you'll remember this going forward, yeah?"

   You weren't planning to ever be with another man, but now that he was barring you from it, you began to feel a little frustrated. Sexually frustrated, of course. After all, if Joker's teasing had been too much to bare, you could've just filled the void with another man. But now, you'd have to just sit back and let the sexual tension consume you, with no way to release it. All you could do was vainly hope that he'd give you what you wanted.

   Still, you had to agree. "Yes. I'll remember."

   He nodded, clearly satisfied. Then, he swiftly brought your face to his and kissed you.

   This wasn't unexpected, since he had often expressed affection when the two of you were in public. But, you had been desiring this so much for the past few days that it felt like the ultimate release. You ferociously kissed back, shifting your position so that you were straddling his lap. You could feel every part of your body catch on fire, your desire so strong that you were hungrily grasping at his clothes, begging him to undress.

   "So eager," he mumbled between kisses, letting his hands explore your body as he hummed in contentment with what he felt.

   You vaguely registered the rest of your team stealing glances at the two of you, clearly uncomfortable. But, it was hard to actually muster up the motivation to care. You were in Heaven, and Heaven doesn't stop for a few peeping Toms.

   After maybe a minute of rough, passionate kissing, Joker suddenly let out this low, guttural growl. "Stop," he demanded, grabbing your face so that you couldn't kiss him.

   You were breathless, staring at him and panting. But, you stopped, waiting for further instruction.

   "Get off." He extended one of his hands and snapped, almost to emphasize that this was an order.

   You obeyed, standing despite the way your legs trembled.

   Joker stood up, too, and grabbed your hand with a wicked smirk. His other hand reached behind you and playfully smacked your ass. "Let's get out of here, doll." His voice was low and husky, and he was looking at you like you were something to eat.

   You didn't need to be told twice. You knew this would be a horrible idea in the long run, but your physical needs trumped whatever consequences would follow. You wanted him to make you yours in every way possible, and you intended to make that dream come true tonight.

   And you decided to enhance this extremely sensual moment with the idiotic question of: "Really?"

   You nearly slapped yourself in the face. You had been so giddy and unbelieving at the fact that he wanted you, that you had said what may have been the most unattractive thing in the world.

   But, Joker seemed to interpret that question differently; your obvious excitement and desire only made him more turned on. "Good God," he breathed. "Mm, ya don't know the things ya do to me, (Y/N)."

   And, just as he was about to start pulling you toward the exit, a deafening bang! ripped through the club, and you felt a searing pain in your shoulder.

   You gasped, looking down at your injury and seeing the gruesome sight of a bullet hole, blood cascading down your arm.

   For a moment, all of the clubbers just kept going about their business, figuring that Joker had gotten irritated and decided to kill someone. This was not out of the realm of possibilities; in fact, it happened very often. But, someone quickly noticed that Joker was not holding a gun, and that he was instead looking at your injury in shock, and alerted everyone else that they should get the fuck out.

   This was not standard club procedure; this was someone shooting up the place.

   The rest of your team members hopped up from where they were sitting, taking out their own guns. You and Joker did the same, frantically trying to spot where the gunfire came from.

   Eventually, you and your team spotted three men in identical T-shirts, which had the letters TF on them. They looked manic, almost like Joker when he was on a rampage. One had his weapon aimed at the clubbers that were desperately trying to flock toward the exit, picking them off one by one. The other had his weapon trained on you. Not Joker, not the other members of the team. You specifically. The last had his weapon aimed at Frost.

   You aimed your gun back at the second man, the metal feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds due to the wound in your right shoulder. You were less than steady as you gripped the gun; it bounced back and forth as you desperately tried to keep it still.

   Thankfully, with a skilled shot from Ronnie, the third man fell to the floor pretty quickly. The other two men didn't even look fazed, which made you suspect that they had planned for this to happen. To you, it seemed likely that the three men were martyrs, dying for the honor of something unnamed.

   You needed to get rid of the second man quickly, since his finger was teasing the trigger as he aimed directly at your head. You didn't entirely trust yourself to do so, given your shaky hold on your weapon, but you fired anyway, holding your breath as you prayed the bullet would connect.

   It didn't. It whizzed by his head, hitting nothing but the wall a few yards away.

   Shit.

   The second man fired his own gun in return, but luckily, Joker roughly pushed you to the ground before the bullet could make contact. You landed directly on your wounded shoulder, causing you to scream in pain. Still, you desperately tried to stand up, wanting to help in any way you could. But, in order to stand up, you would've had to dig your injured shoulder further into the ground, which you couldn't bring yourself to do.

   With two swift shots, Joker took out both the second and the first man, their blood staining the floor.

   Now that the threats had been eliminated, you abandoned your efforts to stand, instead curling in a ball and sobbing on the floor. The pain was indescribable; it was white-hot, and it felt like your arm was about to simply fall off. The pain was so intense that you felt like you couldn't breathe properly, and your vision was even starting to get spotty.

   Panting heavily, Joker immediately reached down and scooped you up, holding you bridal-style. He made it a point to avoid your injured shoulder, which you were grateful for. "We have to go!" he roared to the team.

They didn't need to be told twice. You guys raced out of the club, ignoring the dozens of bodies of the clubbers that you had to pass. Some were still alive, but barely, choking on their own blood or breathing shakily. Others were very obviously dead. You didn't know why, but you felt a sense of sorrow for them. Maybe it was possessiveness; maybe you felt like since this club was your domain, only you and Joker could kill your patrons. Someone else stealing that honor from you was enough to irritate you.

You continued to cry in Joker's arms, your shoulder throbbing. It was very apparent to you that you had fucked up again. Not only were you the only injured one on the team, meaning he had to waste time and energy to tend to you, but you missed what should have been the easiest shot of your life. Your injury only went so far as an excuse; Joker had done worse when he had been in graver conditions. Yet, you were making it blatantly obvious that you were useless, and couldn't do anything on your own.

You looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to your miss. After all, he had said that if you fucked up in any way, you were dead. And due to your miss, he had to risk his own life and kill the man himself. You hoped he would consider the circumstances, but he wasn't exactly the most rational person. You could probably count on one hand the amount of times he handled things rationally, and thought before he acted.

Luckily, his expression wasn't really one of anger. It was more akin to one of panic. His lips were parted, and his brow was creased with worry as he rushed you to the car.

You hoped this was a good sign, yet you decided to do some damage control anyway. "I'm sorry."

Your statement came out a lot weaker than what you had intended. You had wanted it to be a strong assertion. One that didn't leave any room for pity. But, instead, your voice was shaky and rather shrill due to the unrelenting pain in your shoulder.

He didn't even answer you. That scared you.

Eventually, you all got to Frost's van. Everyone else got in first, leaving you and Joker to carefully maneuver yourselves in. You had expected him to put you down and have you sit in your own seat, but instead, he demanded that Frost open the trunk. He did, and Joker carefully placed you inside, clambering in after. He lifted you up from under the armpits, subsequently placing you between his legs. Your back was to him now, so you couldn't even attempt to read his expression.

You leaned back against his chest. You knew that your fate was uncertain, and the reason it was uncertain was due to the man sitting behind you, arms wrapped around your waist. But, still, he was so comforting, and that comforting part of him always seemed to win over the fearsome part.

"I'm gonna take care of ya, okay?" came his voice from behind you. It was low and whispered, almost as if he didn't want you to hear him.

This gave you hope. Maybe he didn't view you as useless. Maybe everything would be okay, and you'd recover in no time.

You felt one of his hands gently push you away as Frost began to drive, then warmth as he pulled you to him again. The warmth was unfamiliar to the past few minutes; he wasn't nearly this warm before. It almost felt like...

Skin.

And you realized that skin was what it was when he pressed his shirt to the open wound on your shoulder. You hissed loudly, starting to cry more. You knew he was being kind to you, that he was attempting to stop the bleeding before it was exacerbated any further. But, good God, did it sting.

"I know, I know, doll," he cooed to you. "I know it stings. Just hang on until we get home. I know what to do, trust me."

This kindness was so out of character, yet so touching. You nodded, trying to relax as the fabric of his shirt irritated the wound. This didn't seem like a good idea, since his shirt could have collected mass amounts of bacteria throughout the day, but you knew you had to trust him. He had gotten you to this point, so you needed to believe he could get you past this.

You began to think as Frost drove you home. You had been so focused on your pain that you hadn't even thought about the three men shooting up the club. It was hard to form a coherent thought due to all the discomfort, but questions of who the men were flitted into your mind. You wondered what they wanted, and what the TF on their shirts meant. You didn't know if you'd get any clarity, since Joker was hesitant on exposing sensitive information.

You wondered if this had been what he was so determined to keep from you a few days ago.

Your vision began to go spotty again, the pain making you nauseated. You were starting to really grow hungry for the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to open your mouth and ask. That required too much energy. All you could focus on was keeping yourself conscious.

Eventually, though, you fainted from the pain. The darkness was welcoming, and the feeling of simply falling asleep was a breath of fresh air among the searing agony that was still ever-present in your arm.

Your period of unconsciousness didn't last for very long, and when you awoke again, you were being lifted from the van.

"Do you think it was him?" came Frost's voice.

"Must've been," replied Joker, his voice full of rage.

And with that, you were carried inside, wondering who they were talking about, and, more importantly, wondering how the bullet that was surely lodged in your shoulder would be taken out.

You trusted Joker, so you figured you'd know with time.

___

SO SORRY ABOUT HOW BAD THIS CHAPTER IS MY WRITERS BLOCK IS HORRIBLE!! BUT TY ALL FOR 1K READS YIPPEEEE