TW: STEAMY AT END! NOT GRAPHIC, BUT SEX IS IMPLIED! 18+ FOR THIS CHAPTER!

Following the discovery of the ominous Polaroids, there was a brief period in which Joker had kept you and Harley under lock and key once more. He was rightfully freaked out by the swiftness in which Two-Face pounced on your one moment outside. But, after a few days of reasoning with him, he had finally given up trying to tame you.

   And now, you and your team had just gotten back from your first mission in months. It was a rather extravagant one, considering the long hiatus you had been on. You and your team had shot up a jewelry store, one with armed guards standing at every corner. You had also taken a majority of the jewelry, intending to upsell it with your usual tactic of withholding your price until you had a gun aimed at your client's head. While it would be risky to resume your business at The Last Laugh, you were just itching to do so. What little bit of normalcy you were receiving now was addicting, and it began to push Two-Face out of your mind.

   As you and your team stood by the door, Ronnie popping a bottle of champagne to celebrate your reintroduction to criminality, you felt content. You knew you had made the right decision in choosing to go down with a fight.

   He messily poured your and Harley's glasses before anyone else's, causing the drink to slosh over the sides. "Ladies first." His speech was almost slurred, which was odd; you knew he hadn't had a drink all day. You suspected that it may have been the thrill of victory that had made him somewhat drunk-adjacent.

   "Hey, careful man. This shit's expensive!" you joked, raising the glass to your lips and taking a sip.

   "We could probably buy a million of those with the money we'll make from selling these ugly things!" said Shaun, gesturing to the bags of smuggled jewelry lazily strewn across the floor.

   "Ugly?!" cried Harley dramatically, resting a hand on her chest in faux offense. "I think they're just gorgeous. I'm probably gonna keep a lot of 'em for myself!"

   "Now, Harls," said Joker with a smile, "we can't have you making bad investments just because something's pretty."

   "Well, what do we need the money for anyway? We already got a mansion, for God's sake!" She gestured around her wildly. "We already have everything any of us could ever want! Besides jewelry!"

   "Being even more rich than we already are just sounds so much better than accessorizing," William said with a shrug. "Even if we don't use the money, it just feels nice to have it."

   Shaun nodded. "You're speaking my language, man."

   "And mine," you added. You raised your glass with a big, genuine grin. The biggest and most genuine grin you'd had in a long time. "Here's to being filthy rich!"

   Everyone clinked their glasses together with energy. Just by the good vibe of the room, it was clear that everyone had needed this win. Everyone had wanted to just be criminals again.

   Surprisingly, Lennon was the one to say the quiet part out loud.

   "I fucking missed killing people," he said, a big grin on his face.

   The fact that the quiet, timid one of the group was infected by this positive energy almost intensified its effect on you. After all, Lennon was always quiet and stoic, refusing to show much emotion other than anxiety. But now, he was alive and free, just as you were.

   "You can say that again," said Frost happily, sipping on his champagne.

"Last time I killed was when I was still with puddin'," said Harley, latching onto Joker's arm like a koala. He, having also been infected with the euphoria of victory, did nothing to shake her off. He simply smiled and sipped on his own drink.

   This was the only thing that could've possibly dampened your mood. Your hand squeezed your glass of champagne in reply to this moment.

   Over the past few days, it seemed that Harley had almost forgotten about your relationship status. She was being more openly affectionate with Joker: being extra giggly, touching his arms, calling him pet names. It was almost as if your conversation with her on the walk hadn't happened. It was as if she still thought he was hers, and that it was completely appropriate to express that.

   Joker had initially been resistant to these advances, but it almost seemed as if he was growing used to them now. He wasn't engaging with them, but he definitely wasn't responding in a way that you would've liked. Granted, the only thing you would've liked was for him to dropkick her across the room. But sadly, not everything one wants can come to fruition.

   As you watched her break down his defenses, you realized that your suspicion of her gained on the walk was more than justified. And as you saw your worst fears unfolding in front of you, you realized that any bit of affection you felt for her had disappeared. She was no longer a mildly annoying asset with a "girl's girl" attitude. She was a provocative flirt that needed to be monitored.

   Of course, you should have voiced your concerns to Joker. But, you were worried that he'd somehow take your insecurities and make them your own fault. After all, everyone else was starting to view Harley as a part of the team. She hadn't done anything amazing yet, but she was the physical manifestation of your team's hope for victory. As long as you had her, you had the upper hand. You had the new tricks up your sleeve. The fact that Two-Face didn't seem bothered by her presence did nothing to dissuade this unwavering optimism.

   As your hand squeezed and squeezed the glass, you imagined that your hand was gripping her heart. Her pulsing, spurting, whorish heart. You wanted to watch the life drain from her eyes as she had no choice but to let go of Joker's arm. You wanted to feel her blood cascade down your hand.

   As you felt a warm liquid trickle between your fingers, you almost thought your fantasy had come true. But, as you looked down, you realized that the blood running down your hand was your own, and that you had broken your glass with the force of your hold on it.

   All conversation screeched to a halt at the sound of shattering glass. After this silence set in, you began to feel the pain of what you had done. You took a deep breath through your teeth, cupping your good hand below your injured one in order to catch the falling blood.

   Everyone looked bewildered at your sudden action. Everyone, that is, except Harley. But, she wasn't sneering at you like you would've thought. Instead, she was looking at you with knowing concern.

   She baffled you, and that just made you more angry. It was obvious she knew what she was doing to you. So, why wasn't she reveling in it? Why was she upset about it? She was an enigma you couldn't seem to understand. She needed to either actively go against you or actively befriend you. She needed to stop playing both sides, otherwise you'd go crazy.

   After a few more seconds of everyone staring at you like some circus animal, you cleared your throat. "A little help?"

   Both Frost and Joker moved toward you in unison, but with a sharp glare from the latter, the former backed down with a guilty smile. For someone who couldn't handle another man (your best friend, especially) stitching you up, it sure was rich of Joker to let Harley hang all over him.

   It seemed that Joker began to understand what was bothering you; when Harley tried to step forward, too, he pushed her back. "Stay."

   And, like an obedient puppy, she stayed.

   "Come on," he said to you with an exasperated sigh, leading you to the staircases. "Let's go get you fixed up."

   The fatherly tone he had taken with you made you blush a little. You didn't want to be a burden, and it was pretty obvious that's what you were being perceived as.

   Eventually, after an oddly silent walk, you two had arrived at the second floor. He led you into the room where you had the bullet removed a while ago, and your skin crawled at the memory.

   With a little more force than necessary, he sat you down in the dentist's chair. He grabbed your arm, flipped it so that your palm was facing up, and studied your wound. You did the same, cringing at the shards of glass that poked out of your flesh like fingers.

   Still silent, he turned to the metal tray beside him that contained his medical instruments. Or torture instruments, depending on how they were used. And by the way his jaw was clenched, you figured they could be used in either way.

   He grabbed a pair of forceps. You whimpered at the sight of them. This would be the second time you had to remove a foreign object from your body in this room. After today, you didn't think you'd ever be able to go back in there.

   "Quiet," he said flatly. "You did this."

   His unsympathetic tone made you frown. He was never really the touchy-feely type, but ever since Harley came, he somehow became even more cold. "Can you be nice?"

   In spite of himself, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Nice?"

   "Well, maybe not nice. Just...not as much of a dick?"

   He scoffed. He went to take out the largest piece of glass protruding from your palm, but hesitated. Completely ignoring your previous statement, he said, "I may have to tie you up. Just so you can't thrash around."

   With a nervous swallow, you nodded to indicate your consent to this.

   Joker walked behind your chair, grabbing something from where you assumed was the floor. When he came back, he had several lengths of rope in his hand.

   He smirked a little at your terrified expression. "Scared?"

   You nodded again.

   He began to tie one of the ropes around your left wrist, binding it to the arm of the chair. "Well, don't be. Ya reap what ya sow, princess. Next time, how about we don't squeeze a glass of champagne and damage those pretty hands, yeah?"

   You wanted to tell him why you had done it, but you figured he already knew. Feeling stupid, you nodded once more.

   Your intuition was proven correct when he mumbled, "And all because of some petty jealousy."

   You pressed your lips together as he began tying your other hand to the chair's opposite arm. "If you're gonna address the elephant, at least address it delicately."

   "Why? You didn't."

   "I didn't say anything!"

   "Yeah, but everyone knew what you were thinking. I know ya better than anyone else, but that doesn't mean that everyone else is blind." He moved on to your feet, binding them together.

"Well, she shouldn't have been touching you."

"That's no excuse to act like a lunatic."

You could feel your muscles tensing with anger. "You're a lunatic all the time! That's literally your brand! Yet when I feel a rational human emotion, it's bad."

"Yes, it is bad. You embarrassed me, (Y/N)." He stood up, grabbing your arm once more. He looked at you with raised brows. "This may pinch a bit."

You bit your lip in order to keep yourself from fighting back. You figured you should do that after all the glass was removed, that way you could be clearheaded enough to form a coherent argument. So, you nodded instead, keeping your opinions to yourself.

Joker clamped onto the biggest shard of glass with his forceps, swiftly pulling it out of your palm afterward.

Of course, it hurt. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, subconsciously trying to jerk your hand away from him. But, due to your restraints, you were unable to. "Fuck."

His expression remained cold, but you thought you saw something in his eyes change. You could see him stop breathing in order to stabilize his hand as he grabbed another piece of glass. He pulled this one out of your palm just as quickly.

You groaned, your eyes squeezing shut as your hand screamed in pain. This was nothing compared to when he had to fish the bullet out of your shoulder, but it was still agonizing nonetheless.

Then, he spoke softly. "Ya know I hate seeing you in pain."

You opened your eyes, assessing his face. Still, he looked completely devoid of emotion.

"Then why are you so mean to me when I am in pain?" you asked.

He didn't answer you. He just shook his head and continued his work.

After removing two more pieces, he was done. By the time he had finished, though, you were panting, a thin veil of sweat covering your entire body. The pain had greatly subsided post-removal, but there was still a persistent throbbing in your hand that you wished would go away.

"Time to stitch you up." Joker grabbed some thread from the table, which had previously been lazily looped around itself to take up less space. You moaned quietly, knowing that your self-inflicted torture was far from over.

You closed your eyes as he got to work. You knew that if you looked at the scene before you, you would likely get sick. Even though you were a criminal, you found that it was difficult to stomach anything medical. Only other people could have their bodies mutilated. For some reason, when it was your own, it looked odd.

It was definitely painful, but that was to be expected. You wished that Joker had that numbing gel that doctors had, that way this experience would be a little more tolerable. You found it slightly ironic that he possessed a drug as strong as morphine but not your typical numbing gel. You figured that was because morphine also had recreational uses.

He finished relatively quickly, and when he had, he gave your arm a gentle pat. "All done."

You opened your eyes and looked at his work. You noticed that you only had stitches running along one of your cuts; the others must not have been deep enough to stitch up. Those ones were covered with Band-Aids instead. Your hand was still dyed red from all the blood that had trickled down it, but aside from that, you looked pretty good.

You smiled awkwardly, trying to break the tension. "Have you ever considered being a doctor?"

He smiled a little in return. "Nah. Never been much for helping people."

"You're helping me."

"Yeah, but you're my exception. You're my exception to every rule I've ever had." He gently ran a hand over your hair before bending down to untie your wrists.

Even though you hadn't gotten to say your piece about Harley yet, you softened. Knowing that you were special was almost enough for you to forget about her. Almost.

"You know I like it when you talk like that," you muttered. Your right hand had just been freed, so you used it to grab the back of his head and kiss him softly. No matter how mad you were at him, you couldn't resist his charm nor his lips.

He chuckled against your lips, kissing you back. He gently grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled, causing your head to tilt back. He let his lips glide across the skin of your neck, humming at what you assumed was your scent. "Should I keep ya tied up or somethin'?" he teased. "You seem to be taking this in a different direction."

You shivered. You almost agreed, but you managed to keep your mind on track. You needed to address your insecurities regarding Harley, and you couldn't let him sweet-talk you out of doing so. Relationships needed communication, even relationships as odd as this one.

"No. Untie me," you told him.

Your tone was firm, and Joker obeyed without question. He first attended to your other wrist, then your feet. Your body was screaming at you to just have fun and ignore your worries. Feel him in the way you craved. But, your mind was more rational, and you knew you had to obey it.

Once untied, you sat up in your chair. You patted in front of you, a silent signal for him to join you.

He did, looking like he knew what you were going to say before you even said it. He was an intelligent man, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why you were having him sit down.

"So, can we talk about Harley now?" you ventured carefully as he sat.

He exhaled, seemingly irritated. "Fine. Yes we can."

His irritation irritated you. Shouldn't he want to discuss things that were bothering you? It was instances like these where you wished you hadn't chosen to date a psychopath. "Perfect." You couldn't help the venom that seeped from your voice.

He raised a brow challengingly. "Do not take a tone with me, dollface."

"I'll take a tone if I damn well please. I'm not Harley. No matter how much you wish I was, I'm not."

He shook his head as if you had just said the most idiotic thing ever. And maybe you had. But with the way he had been treating both you and her lately, you weren't sure anymore. "(Y/N), please. I don't wish you were Harley."

"Yeah? Because you're getting very comfortable with her lately."

"Aren't you supposed to be comfortable with your teammates?"

He was being unsympathetic on purpose. This just made your heart race with anger. There was a difference between being a sociopath and choosing to be unsympathetic. Sociopaths just genuinely cannot fathom a reality other than their own. People who choose to be unsympathetic know that someone else is right, yet refuse to acknowledge it. And while Joker was, in fact, a sociopath, this was an instance where he was in tune with your reality but was ignoring it entirely.

You took a deep breath to collect yourself. You figured the only way to get him to reason with you was to humor his rhetorical questions. "Yes, J. You are. But not so comfortable that you let her hang all over you when you have a girlfriend."

"Why is this my fault? If she's the one that's hanging all over me, why don't you take it up with her?"

"Because she knows what she's doing. She's pissing me off on purpose. Why? I don't know. But I'm hoping that you're not pissing me off on purpose. I'm hoping that if I tell you I'm hurt, you'll fix what's hurting me, since we all know she won't."

"I don't know, (Y/N). If she was pissing you off on purpose, why would she keep trying to hang out with you and be your friend? Maybe she just doesn't know."

"You don't understand." You frustratedly raked a hand through your hair. "You don't see the way she looks at me when she does it."

"How does she look at you when she does it?"

"Like she knows everything. Like she can tell exactly how I'm feeling. It's fucking infuriating. If she knows, why is she doing this?" Your voice began to break the more you spoke, and by the end of your tirade, you were tearing up.

Joker's expression softened at your heart-wrenching display of emotion. "Dollface—"

"And because she knows what she's doing, I can't talk to her about it. That just means she wins. The only way it'll stop is if you listen to me." You jabbed at his chest with your index finger. "You're the one in control here. So I'm begging you. Please, please make her stop."

"Even if she is doing it on purpose," he said, grabbing your hand and prying it away from his chest, "why does it matter? You know who I want, and it sure as hell ain't her. You just seem very insecure, baby. And I don't like that. Because that means ya don't trust me."

You wrenched your hand from his grip. "I do trust you. Or, at least I did. Seeing how hard you're fighting me on this is making me think differently."

Something dangerous swept over his expression. "Ya don't trust me?" he asked.

Perturbed by his shift in demeanor, you slowly shook your head. "Not really."

A chuckle of disbelief left your lover's lips. "Interesting." You thought you heard hurt in his tone, but with him, you could never be sure.

He slowly reached out to you, grabbing your face in his hands. "I've kept you safe, Trouble. I've trained ya. I've been completely loyal to ya, and you know that because you're always with me. I make sure all my men respect ya. I make sure you're never lonely. I make sure you have everything you could ever want, both material and otherwise."

As he spoke, his blue eyes pierced your soul like icicles. You were hypnotized by him once again.

He let one of his hands slide down and subsequently close around your throat. "So, remind me again why ya don't trust me after all I've done."

"Because you're fighting so hard to not stop Harley from flirting with you. You know that's suspicious," you said, your voice weak. "If you really cared about me, you'd just do what I asked, even if it didn't make sense to you."

He heaved a sigh as he let you go. He seemed to be looking over your shoulder, clearly deep in thought.

You could sense his resolve giving way, so you decided to throw something else in to really get his gears turning. "How would you feel if another guy was touching me the way Harley's touching you?"

He visibly gritted his teeth. "I'd be pissed."

You smiled, knowing that you had found your opening. Feeling like being petty, you decided to mess with him a little. "But why? Don't you trust me, J?"

Seeing your teasing smile, his eyes narrowed in irritation. "I do trust ya. I just don't trust whatever lowlife decided to touch what's mine."

"Exactly my point," you said proudly, playfully cupping his face in your hands. "And let me ask you this: would you want me to put a stop to the guy's advances? Since you don't trust him and all?"

Begrudgingly, he nodded as his hands wrapped around each one of your wrists.

"Precisely. So, that's what's going on here, J. I trust you—or, I did before you started fighting me. But, regardless, I really don't trust her. I don't want her to think she can try anything because you never said no. Don't put yourself in that position, okay?"

In a shocking turn of events, he averted his gaze and mumbled, "Understood. She'll be dealt with."

"Thank you." You considered this a huge win; it wasn't every day that the fucking Joker did a complete one-eighty in terms of his opinion. All it took was a little intentional prodding at his jealous side.

"Anything for you."

With a devious smile, he gently pushed you so that you were laying back against the chair, crawling on top of you after. "Although I will say, if Harley ever thought that I would choose her over a body like yours...she's crazier than I thought."

He looked down at you hungrily, letting his hands roam over your form. Your back arched, a primal and subconscious way to welcome his touch.

He smiled at your reaction, hovering over you as he pressed his lips against yours.

When he pulled away, he was panting. "And you're not just a body either. You're a beautiful face. A badass. A comedian at times. A kind woman. But not too kind to where you let people walk all over ya. Not too kind to where you can't enjoy some bloodshed every now and again."

He dipped his head so that he could kiss your exposed collarbone, moaning at the way you squirmed. "You're everything she never was, and never will be."

You couldn't help the pleased sigh that escaped your lips at his words. There was nothing to worry about. In every timeline, universe, and reality, Joker would choose you. You were his number one, and you were being valued as such when he chose to respect your wishes.

His words made you feel emotionally connected to him. So connected, in fact, that you were beginning to desire a physical connection.

He could sense this as he looked into your eyes. Your desperate eyes that were glazed over with lust. He nearly groaned at the sight.

"Should I get the rope?" he asked with a smirk.

"I think that'd be best," you replied with a similar smirk.

With a spring in his step, he hopped off the chair and gathered the necessary items. You watched him, grateful for the soft spot he had for you. Even if he was difficult at times, you felt very heard in your relationship. After all, he always took what you said to heart, even if it took him a while. He was growing as a partner and as a man, and you were over the moon at this improvement.

And you suspected you'd be even more over the moon in the coming moments as he unzipped your dress.

This time, you didn't even care if anyone heard you. In fact, you made it a point to be noisy. You wanted Harley to hear what was happening. You wanted her to realize she had no chance with him and that this sexy villain was all yours.

And by how noisy he was in return, it was clear he wanted her to receive the same message.