Jeremy sat on his couch, staring at the ceiling of his living room, quietly absorbed in the silence of a summer evening. He closed his eyes, letting his lips stretch in a peaceful smile, as the memories of his most valued success shined into his mind like gold. It wasn't an economic success, nor a work success, nor an educational success, no: this success was... emotional, or rather... romantic.

Just a year and a half before, while Jeremy happened to be walking the Streets of Gotham City, he happened to stumble almost by mistake in an alley, and not just any alley, but the same alley where a certain plaster faced girl was sitting all miserable in. Harleen "Harley Quinn" Quinzel. Former psychiatrist, actual "right hand girl" of the clown prince of crime, The Joker. The criminal girl sat in the alley, as best as she could with gashes and bruises on her pale skin, crying dense tears after what she called "The usual gone wrong": her "Puddin'" had beaten her black and blue after the most recent failure of a plan... to prank the Batman. To prank the Batman. One failure in this plan, and Harley had to pay the consequences.

Jeremy saw this. He knew this had happened, on instinct: everyone knew Harley and the Joker had a terribly abusive relationship, and it made him mad with anger that some people even derangedly desired such a relationship for themselves, but this wasn't the topic at hand. Harley looked up at the man in front of her, smiled, stifling some sort of chuckle... and fell forward. Or would have, if Jeremy wasn't there. He caught her mid fall, and picked her up gently: she was so... light. So terribly light, malnourished and abused. The writer did the only thing he could think at that moment: he ran. Ran with the girl in his arms to the one small clinic he knew would have helped them without prejudice for her crimes.

It was desperate, almost without chances of survival, even less of recovery, and it would have taken an ungodly amount of time. But Jeremy pushed through it: when Harley was starting the operations to save her life, he was there. When she screamed in pain so many times during recovery, he was there. When she cried and cursed his name for not just letting her die... he was there all the same. All the months of healing, all the moments, every single day. He was always there. And this was like a ram going through Harleen's defenses in her heart. After her recovery, it was her who asked Jeremy out first. And they did. Once. Twice. Thrice. Time and time and time again. After 6 months of dating, they finally made it an official engagement, in the house they bought in Central City.

That's what Jeremy was thinking. It made him happy. It made him... realized: successful writer, engaged with a beautiful (if not a teeny tiny bit crazy) woman, a nice house... he felt both was lacking from his life. That made him happier. And when he opened his eyes to see his fiancées ones as she was handstanding over the head of the sofa, hovering over him, he got even happier.

"Heya, Jer~"

"Harley~"

"Whatcha doing? Thinking about something funny?"

"... Maybe. I was thinking about how... we made it. At least... I did. With you... I'm complete. I don't think I could be more happy than I am right now."

"... Well I think yer wrong mister~" She booped his nose, keeping herself up one handed. "And I'm gonna show it to ya. There's still something you can give us and then. THEN. You'll be truly as happy as a boy at the Circus!"

"Oh? And what is this great thing I can give us? Tell me, Harley." Jeremy knew what she was gonna ask. He knew. And he was ready for it.

The former criminal laughed. And jumped down from the headrest. With a quick movement, the nightgown she was wearing fell to the floor, revealing her toned, yet supple, body. "Make a lil Jeremy with me~. I know you wanna~"

... Fuck yes he did want to do that. He smiled, and tried to stand up, fiddling with his belt... but the writer was pushed back on the couch by his fiancée's foot. "Nope, sweetie~. Don't do a thing until yer Harley asks, Kay?~". Without even kneeling or bending down, she unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped his pants. All with only her toes. All in less than 15 seconds. Jeremy found it weird... super hot-like weird~

But He didn't have time to think about it. Before he felt his Harley wrap her lips tightly around his cock. His head hanged back on the headrest, again staring at the ceiling, this time absorbed in bliss and pleasure. Harley was merciless with the artist's appendage, nothing was out of her head game: from nibbling with her teeth on the tip to wrapping her surprisingly long and moveable tongue around his sack, she was absolutely going to town on his penis. As Jeremy moaned and looked down towards her, she smiled at him with her eyes... and started to add a scarily strong vacuum to it. A sloppy, wet, slimy vacuum. The writer almost lost his head: groaning in bliss, he started pulling on her pigtails, thrusting his hips into her face, digging further down her throat with his cock. The ex clown girl was overjoyed, gagging on the hard, succulent meat that was carving its shape on the walls of her throat, feeling ecstatic at the plapping sound of her fiancé's full balls slapping on her chin, coupled with his raw masculine smell.

Soon, Harley felt Jeremy throb in her mouth, and with a wordless roar, he released his orgasm down her throat. Her eyes rolled back, as her flower clenched on air, full of lustful desire she knew would have been soon satisfied. After a few healthy gulps, she detached from the writer's cock with a comical "POP", giggling and going up to kiss her fiancé's handsome face. The acrobat sat on Jeremy's lap, nestled in his chest... and whispered in his ear. "Come on now... you said you would have give me-"

She couldn't finish her sentence: she was pushed down on the Persian carpet on the floor, her legs spread as wide as they could, and her beloved on top of her, ready to fulfill his promise with a gentle smile. Harley regained her breath... and nodded, ready for anything.

Jeremy thrusted inside her, for the first time with a true objective in his mind, in her mind, in their minds: creating life. And by god did that make it feel different. It wasn't their first time having sex, absolutely, but it was the first time they did it with such pure ideals: the writer's penis pumped in and out of the woman of his life with the gentle fury of a man truly in love, pushing Harley to moan in bliss, her breast bouncing gently with every thrust. It wasn't a carnal, rough way to copulate, oh no: it was gentle, loving, so loving that they could caress each other's face, gazing in each other's eyes, enamored of each other, a love so pure...

They both felt on top of the world, him digging into her, as deep as he could, their hips joining and colliding in a warm, fleshy applause. And Harley? Harley wanted to bite her lip to stay more silent, to make the moment more romantic... but the pleasure she was feeling was overwhelming, and she expressed it, encouraged by her man's loving stare, in loud, sincere moans that echoed around the house, pleasure shooting in both their bodies like electric shocks, spreading pure rhythmic pleasure in their bodies. The couple moaned in pleasure, going faster and faster with each passing minute, their bodies mashed against each other in a fiery embrace, their minds able to think only one sentence: "I love you".

And soon, Locking lips with Harley in a deep kiss, Jeremy released a second powerful orgasm, deep into her folds. Their tongues danced a sweet, gentle valzer in their mouths, while the inevitable they wished for was beginning: A zygote, prelude to new life. They laid on the carpet, the texture of it tickling their skin, and nuzzled into each other, her body nestled into his larger form. They smiled, happy in their blessed life... for everything they could wish for, was already in it. And nothing, nothing would have ever taken any of it away

Happy Birthday, XImmortal_StevenX . May you live forever, brother. I love you. Always.