hi i’m new to this. here’s some things about me. my name is Veronica (you can call me Roni). she/her. bi. i’m 21 years old. i’m a chris girl. love dogs. i love reading. i love to write as well. love the triplets. love the arctic monkeys, lana, and frank ocean. that’s really it! i hope to make friends and people to just enjoy my writing! i also love making moodboards and different types of aus so please if you have any requests i will do them just ask! and if you have any questions about my aus that i already made then please ask! i love answering questions!
Warnings: violence/fighting, physical injury (face hit/blood), use of weapons, toxic/imbalanced relationship dynamics, obsession, brief abandonment themes, morally grey characters
Summary: A gala turns into chaos when Harley and Joker make it their stage, but when Batman intervenes, the night proves that in Joker’s world, everything is a game… and Harley will do anything to keep playing.
Harley Quinn!Reader’s POV
The first thing I notice is the silence, not the peaceful kind, not the soft, sleepy, late-night quiet that wraps around you and lets you breathe, but the kind that hums under your skin, that presses in from all sides like the city itself is holding its breath and waiting for something to snap.
And that’s how I know something’s about to go very, very wrong.
I lean against the velvet railing of the upper balcony, lazily twirling the stem of a stolen champagne glass between my fingers as I look down at the crowd below. Gotham’s elite laugh like they’re untouchable, like their diamonds mean something, like their crisp suits and polished shoes can keep them safe, while security lingers in every corner like a poorly kept secret that thinks it’s doing a better job than it actually is.
“God, I hate rich people,” I mutter, tipping the glass back and letting the last of it burn down my throat. “They always smell like money and bad decisions.”
A voice crackles in my earpiece, smooth as silk dragged over broken glass, and just like that, everything feels a little more alive.
“Careful, doll. You’re startin’ to sound jealous.”
My grin hits instantly, sharp and automatic, like it’s wired into me.
“There you are,” I sing under my breath, pushing off the railing as I start walking along the balcony, my heels clicking softly against the marble. “Was wonderin’ when you’d stop lurkin’ and start flirtin’.”
“Oh, I’ve been flirtin’,” Chris hums, that lazy amusement dripping through every word. “You just haven’t noticed. Kinda hurts my feelings, Harls.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see it, already knowing exactly where this is going. “Please, if your feelings were hurt, the building would already be on fire.”
There’s a pause on the other end, not empty, never empty with him, but stretched thin and deliberate, like he’s letting the moment breathe just enough to make it interesting.
“…Give it a minute.”
My smile widens slowly, something wicked curling in my chest.
There he is.
The gala’s being held at the Gotham Antiquities Museum, three full floors of artifacts locked behind glass, overpriced history nobody actually cares about, and just enough security to make everyone feel important without actually stopping anything real from happening.
Which makes it the perfect place to ruin everything.
“Remind me,” I murmur, letting my eyes drift over the room as I take in every exit, every guard, every weak spot, “what exactly we’re stealin’ tonight?”
“Stealin’?” Chris echoes, sounding personally offended like I just insulted his entire existence. “Baby, I’m wounded. I don’t steal.”
I snort under my breath. “You robbed a bank dressed like a priest last week.”
“And I looked fantastic doin’ it.”
I bite back a laugh, shaking my head slightly because, yeah, he did, and that’s the worst part.
“Relax,” he continues, his voice dipping just enough to make something in my chest tighten, “we’re not here for the money.”
That gets my attention immediately, my steps slowing just slightly as I glance back over the crowd.
“Oh?” I say, curiosity slipping into my tone despite myself. “Then what are we here for?”
Another pause, but this one crackles, charged and alive, like static before lightning hits.
“…A message.”
Of course it is.
I exhale through my nose, a smile tugging at my lips because, honestly, I should’ve known better.
“Y’know,” I say, tilting my head slightly as I watch the crowd below, “most people send texts.”
There’s a quiet chuckle in my ear, low and amused, and then…
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Something shifts below me, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice, but I do.
Security.
One guard leans in toward another, murmuring something under his breath while a radio crackles softly, and suddenly there’s too much movement, too many eyes scanning too quickly, too many hands drifting just a little too close to weapons.
My pulse spikes, not with fear (never fear) but with something sharper, brighter, something that hums through my veins like electricity.
Excitement.
“Chris,” I say quietly, my voice dropping just enough to mean something, “what did you do?”
“Oh, nothin’ yet,” he replies, and he sounds far too innocent for that to be true.
I stop walking completely now, narrowing my eyes slightly.
“…Chris.”
There’s a beat.
Then…
“Okay, maybe a little somethin’.”
Before I can even begin to respond, before I can ask anything else,
The lights cut out.
Screams ripple through the museum, starting small and confused before they spread, fast and loud and impossible to ignore.
Emergency lights kick in almost immediately, flooding the room in pulsing red that stretches shadows long and jagged across the walls, the chandeliers above swaying slightly like the whole building just took a breath it doesn’t know how to let out.
And then,
Laughter.
It echoes from below, loud and sharp and completely unhinged, cutting through the panic like it belongs there.
Beautiful.
My chest tightens in the best way, something warm and electric blooming under my skin as I step forward again, resting my hands against the railing.
God, I love that sound.
“You’re late,” I call out, my voice carrying easily over the chaos.
A spotlight snaps on.
And there he is.
Dead center, like the entire world tilted just to put him there.
Chris stands in the middle of it all like he owns it, like it was built for him, his suit still too clean for what’s about to happen, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it all night. There’s something dark smeared along his jaw (blood, probably) and of course he hasn’t bothered fixing it.
And that grin.
Too wide. Too sharp. Too him.
“Miss me?” he calls, spreading his arms like he’s welcoming an audience instead of a massacre.
“Oh, terribly,” I shoot back, unable to stop the smile that pulls at my mouth. “Almost started behaving myself.”
He gasps, loud and dramatic, one hand flying to his chest like I just stabbed him.
“Oh, don’t say that,” he laughs. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Guards start closing in around him, guns raised, voices sharp and urgent, but he doesn’t even glance at them, doesn’t spare them a single second of attention.
His eyes are on me.
Always on me.
“C’mere, angel,” he says, holding out his hand like nothing else matters, like nothing ever has. “Show’s about to start.”
I don’t hesitate.
I don’t think.
I vault the railing.
The drop hits hard, the impact jolting up through my legs, but I roll through it easily, coming up into a crouch with a laugh already bubbling out of my chest, adrenaline lighting me up from the inside out.
“Missed me?” I grin, straightening as I walk toward him.
“Always,” he says, but it’s not soft, not gentle, it’s amused, like I did something right, like I played my part exactly how he wanted.
And God, I feel it.
For just a second, everything else fades away, the noise, the chaos, the guards shouting and people screaming, until it’s just him standing there in front of me like the center of everything.
Then a gunshot cracks through the air.
We move at the same time.
His hand closes around my wrist, yanking me sideways just as glass explodes where I was standing a second ago, shards scattering across the floor.
“Rude!” I snap, ducking low as another shot rings out.
Chris laughs, loud and real and completely thrilled, already pulling a gun from his jacket and firing back without even properly aiming.
“Right? No appreciation for the arts anymore!”
Another shot echoes, another scream follows, and then the smoke starts to spill in, thick, green, familiar.
I inhale slowly, my grin sharpening as it fills the air around us.
“There it is,” I sigh.
“Had to make an entrance,” he says, almost casually, like he didn’t just turn the entire room into a punchline.
People start dropping all around us, not dead, just laughing, clawing at their throats as they collapse, their giggles turning wild and uncontrollable as the gas takes hold.
The guards hesitate, their formation breaking apart almost instantly.
Chaos wins.
It always does.
I spin, pressing back against his chest as I fire up at a security drone buzzing overhead, watching it spark and crash to the ground before tilting my head slightly.
“You said this was a message,” I say, breathless and grinning. “What kinda message needs this much drama?”
He leans in close, close enough that I feel his breath before I hear him, that familiar heat curling along my skin.
“The kind they remember,” he murmurs.
My pulse stutters.
And then, a voice cuts through everything, cold and controlled and far too familiar.
“That’s enough.”
Something sharp twists low in my stomach, not fear, never fear, but something else entirely as I turn slowly toward the sound.
And there he is, stepping through the smoke like it knows better than to touch him.
Batman.
Matt stands there, solid and unmoving, completely unshaken by the chaos around him, like he exists outside of it instead of inside it.
His eyes lock onto mine first.
Of course they do.
“…You again,” I murmur.
Chris’s hand tightens around my wrist, not protective but possessive, like a claim.
“Aw,” he pouts, dragging the word out like he’s savoring it. “Batsy, you’re gonna interrupt our date? That’s just mean.”
“This ends now,” Matt says, his voice steady and certain.
I huff a quiet laugh. “You always say that.”
Chris leans in closer to me, but his eyes are locked on Batman now, bright and sharp and interested in a way that means this just got a lot more fun for him.
“Oh, I was hopin’ he’d show,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, something more dangerous. “Would’ve been a pretty boring show without a critic.”
My gaze flicks between them, between chaos and control, between fire and steel, and I can feel that pull again, sharp and familiar.
And I smile.
“Then let’s not disappoint him.”
Everything snaps at once, and I move first like I always do, because if Chris is the spark, then I’m the gasoline, and I would burn this entire city to the ground if it meant hearing him laugh like that again.
If Chris is the spark, then I’m the gasoline, and I don’t wait around to see what happens next. I launch straight at Batman, boots hitting the marble hard as I swing up, aiming a kick right for his chest, fast and sharp and just reckless enough to be fun. For a split second I think I’ve got him, but of course I don’t. His hand catches my ankle mid-air, grip tight, controlled, like he’s done this a thousand times before.
“Predictable,” he mutters.
I grin, because that’s exactly what he wants me to be.
“Aw, c’mon, Batsy,” I shoot back, twisting in his grip and flipping my body with the momentum, my other leg swinging around hard enough this time to actually connect with the side of his head. It’s not enough to knock him down, not even close, but it’s enough to feel, enough to make me laugh when I land back on my feet, light and buzzing with adrenaline. “Don’t ruin my entrance like that.”
He recovers instantly, no hesitation, no wasted movement, and then we’re moving, really moving. He swings, I duck, I come back in low, fast, unpredictable, my mallet flashing up and around as I try to catch him off guard. He blocks, counters, steps in, steps out. It’s controlled on his end, precise and clean, while I’m all chaos and noise and sharp edges, and somewhere behind me I can hear Chris laughing like this is the best show he’s seen all week.
“C’mon, Harls!” he calls, voice bright with amusement, like he’s heckling from the front row. “You’re losin’ your touch. He's still standin’!”
“Oh, shut up!” I snap, lunging again, faster this time, letting instinct take over instead of thinking. I swing wide, knowing he’ll dodge, and when he does I spin with it, slamming my elbow straight into his ribs with enough force to make him actually shift.
There. That.
That’s the reaction I want.
“Ohhh, there she is,” Chris laughs, clapping once, sharp and delighted. “That’s my girl!”
And God, that does something to me. Something stupid and electric and dangerous, something that makes me push harder, move faster, grin wider. I circle Matt, bouncing on my heels, tilting my head like I’ve already won.
“C’mon, Batboy,” I taunt, voice dripping sugar and venom all at once. “Thought you were supposed to be scary.”
He doesn’t answer, but I see it, that shift in him, that tiny recalculation like he’s decided I’m worth a little more effort now.
And then everything changes.
His next move is faster than the rest, sharper, less reactive and more intentional. I barely see it coming before his hand catches my wrist mid-swing and twists hard enough to send a spike of pain up my arm. I suck in a breath, trying to wrench free, but he’s already moving, already following through.
And then his fist connects with my face.
The world doesn’t go black. It goes white, like a camera flash behind my eyes, my head snapping to the side as my balance slips out from under me for just a second too long. I taste blood immediately, warm and metallic, and my knees almost buckle before I catch myself, swaying, blinking hard as everything sounds distant and muffled, like I’m underwater.
And then the laughter stops.
Not slowly. Not fading out. Just… gone.
Completely.
I don’t even have time to fully turn before Chris is moving, and it’s fast, faster than anything he’s done tonight. One second he’s behind me, watching, laughing, enjoying the show, and the next he’s slamming into Matt like a force of nature, shoving me aside just enough to get between us.
“You don’t touch her.”
His voice is low, flat, stripped of all that playful chaos he usually wraps around everything. It’s not loud, not dramatic,it’s worse. It’s serious.
Batsy recovers quickly, but Chris is already swinging, and unlike before, there’s nothing controlled about it. No clean lines, no careful calculation, just raw, unpredictable movement, punches thrown with a kind of reckless precision that somehow still lands. A hit to Batman’s shoulder, another glancing blow, a knee driven forward, and then he’s laughing again, but it’s different now, sharper, edged with something darker.
“C’mon, Bats,” he says, almost conversational, like this is just another game to him. “That all you got?”
Batboy counters, landing a solid hit to Puddin’s side, but Puddin barely reacts beyond a short, breathless laugh, like it only makes it more fun.
“Oh, there he is,” he mutters, grin flashing. “Was wonderin’ when you’d show up.”
They move fast after that, too fast for it to feel like anything but chaos, blow for blow, control versus unpredictability, something almost even but not quite. And me? I’m just standing there now, breathing hard, blood on my lip, watching it all unfold like I’m part of the audience instead of the act.
Chris doesn’t look at me once.
Not once.
He’s locked in on Batman, completely focused, like nothing else in the room exists anymore.
And for some reason, that stings more than the hit.
A smoke bomb goes off between them, thick and black, swallowing everything in seconds. I cough, stepping back, waving my hand in front of my face, and by the time it clears, they’re gone.
Just like that.
The museum is wrecked. People groaning, glass everywhere, alarms still screaming and I’m left standing in the middle of it, alone.
I press my fingers to my lip, wincing slightly before letting out a quiet, almost amused breath. “Rude,” I mutter, because what else is there to say?
And then I laugh, because of course I do.
The walk back feels different.
Not quiet exactly, just… empty in a way I don’t like thinking about too much. No voice in my ear, no footsteps behind me, just the city settling back into itself like nothing happened. I shove my hands into my jacket, kicking at the pavement as I go.
“He’ll show up,” I mumble to myself. “He always does.”
Still, my jaw tightens a little.
“…Big dramatic exit, though,” I add, rolling my eyes. “Real original.”
“Talking to yourself now?”
I stop.
Slowly turn.
And there she is, leaning against a streetlight like she belongs to the night just as much as I do, just in a different way, quieter, sharper, more controlled.
Catwoman.
“Well, well,” I grin, spreading my arms slightly. “If it isn’t my better-dressed half.”
She pushes off the pole and walks toward me, eyes scanning over me in a way that feels more observant than judgmental, but not by much.
“You look rough,” she says simply.
“Flattery’ll get you everywhere.”
Her gaze lingers on the blood at my lip. “To him?”
I shrug, like it doesn’t matter. “Occupational hazard.”
She studies me for a second longer, then says, “Did he leave you?”
I tilt my head, smile still in place but sharper now. “Depends. You plannin’ on bein’ annoying about it?”
“I’m asking.”
I step closer, meeting her halfway. “Then don’t.”
There’s a pause, tension settling between us, not hostile, just… aware.
“You deserve better,” she says finally.
That makes me laugh, loud and genuine this time.
“Oh, you’re funny,” I tell her. “You really think I want better?”
She doesn’t answer, and that’s how I know she gets it, even if she doesn’t like it.
I lean in just slightly, lowering my voice. “He didn’t leave,” I say. “He just… stepped offstage.”
Her brows knit faintly. “You actually believe that?”
I smile, slow and certain.
“I know him.”
Across the street, hidden in shadow, he watches.
Chris leans against the side of a building, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on me like he’s still watching the show, even after the curtain’s supposed to have closed. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stays there in the dark where he’s most comfortable.
Exactly where he wants to be.
Exactly where he’s always been.
I don’t look at him.
I don’t turn.
But I smile anyway.
Because I know.
He never left.
And somewhere in the distance, soft and familiar, I hear it, that quiet, sharp laugh slipping into the night like it belongs there.
And God help me…
I’d burn the whole world down just to hear it again.
oh hi… long time no see? it’s been a while. like… a long while. honestly don’t even know if anyone’s going to read this anymore or even remembers them but i missed them too much and had to get back into writing them. so yeah i’m back and of course i had to bring back my favorite chaotic duo with me! hope you guys still love them the way i do!!! inbox is always free
Warnings: violence/fighting, physical injury (face hit/blood), use of weapons, toxic/imbalanced relationship dynamics, obsession, brief abandonment themes, morally grey characters
Summary: A gala turns into chaos when Harley and Joker make it their stage, but when Batman intervenes, the night proves that in Joker’s world, everything is a game… and Harley will do anything to keep playing.
Harley Quinn!Reader’s POV
The first thing I notice is the silence, not the peaceful kind, not the soft, sleepy, late-night quiet that wraps around you and lets you breathe, but the kind that hums under your skin, that presses in from all sides like the city itself is holding its breath and waiting for something to snap.
And that’s how I know something’s about to go very, very wrong.
I lean against the velvet railing of the upper balcony, lazily twirling the stem of a stolen champagne glass between my fingers as I look down at the crowd below. Gotham’s elite laugh like they’re untouchable, like their diamonds mean something, like their crisp suits and polished shoes can keep them safe, while security lingers in every corner like a poorly kept secret that thinks it’s doing a better job than it actually is.
“God, I hate rich people,” I mutter, tipping the glass back and letting the last of it burn down my throat. “They always smell like money and bad decisions.”
A voice crackles in my earpiece, smooth as silk dragged over broken glass, and just like that, everything feels a little more alive.
“Careful, doll. You’re startin’ to sound jealous.”
My grin hits instantly, sharp and automatic, like it’s wired into me.
“There you are,” I sing under my breath, pushing off the railing as I start walking along the balcony, my heels clicking softly against the marble. “Was wonderin’ when you’d stop lurkin’ and start flirtin’.”
“Oh, I’ve been flirtin’,” Chris hums, that lazy amusement dripping through every word. “You just haven’t noticed. Kinda hurts my feelings, Harls.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see it, already knowing exactly where this is going. “Please, if your feelings were hurt, the building would already be on fire.”
There’s a pause on the other end, not empty, never empty with him, but stretched thin and deliberate, like he’s letting the moment breathe just enough to make it interesting.
“…Give it a minute.”
My smile widens slowly, something wicked curling in my chest.
There he is.
The gala’s being held at the Gotham Antiquities Museum, three full floors of artifacts locked behind glass, overpriced history nobody actually cares about, and just enough security to make everyone feel important without actually stopping anything real from happening.
Which makes it the perfect place to ruin everything.
“Remind me,” I murmur, letting my eyes drift over the room as I take in every exit, every guard, every weak spot, “what exactly we’re stealin’ tonight?”
“Stealin’?” Chris echoes, sounding personally offended like I just insulted his entire existence. “Baby, I’m wounded. I don’t steal.”
I snort under my breath. “You robbed a bank dressed like a priest last week.”
“And I looked fantastic doin’ it.”
I bite back a laugh, shaking my head slightly because, yeah, he did, and that’s the worst part.
“Relax,” he continues, his voice dipping just enough to make something in my chest tighten, “we’re not here for the money.”
That gets my attention immediately, my steps slowing just slightly as I glance back over the crowd.
“Oh?” I say, curiosity slipping into my tone despite myself. “Then what are we here for?”
Another pause, but this one crackles, charged and alive, like static before lightning hits.
“…A message.”
Of course it is.
I exhale through my nose, a smile tugging at my lips because, honestly, I should’ve known better.
“Y’know,” I say, tilting my head slightly as I watch the crowd below, “most people send texts.”
There’s a quiet chuckle in my ear, low and amused, and then…
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Something shifts below me, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice, but I do.
Security.
One guard leans in toward another, murmuring something under his breath while a radio crackles softly, and suddenly there’s too much movement, too many eyes scanning too quickly, too many hands drifting just a little too close to weapons.
My pulse spikes, not with fear (never fear) but with something sharper, brighter, something that hums through my veins like electricity.
Excitement.
“Chris,” I say quietly, my voice dropping just enough to mean something, “what did you do?”
“Oh, nothin’ yet,” he replies, and he sounds far too innocent for that to be true.
I stop walking completely now, narrowing my eyes slightly.
“…Chris.”
There’s a beat.
Then…
“Okay, maybe a little somethin’.”
Before I can even begin to respond, before I can ask anything else,
The lights cut out.
Screams ripple through the museum, starting small and confused before they spread, fast and loud and impossible to ignore.
Emergency lights kick in almost immediately, flooding the room in pulsing red that stretches shadows long and jagged across the walls, the chandeliers above swaying slightly like the whole building just took a breath it doesn’t know how to let out.
And then,
Laughter.
It echoes from below, loud and sharp and completely unhinged, cutting through the panic like it belongs there.
Beautiful.
My chest tightens in the best way, something warm and electric blooming under my skin as I step forward again, resting my hands against the railing.
God, I love that sound.
“You’re late,” I call out, my voice carrying easily over the chaos.
A spotlight snaps on.
And there he is.
Dead center, like the entire world tilted just to put him there.
Chris stands in the middle of it all like he owns it, like it was built for him, his suit still too clean for what’s about to happen, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it all night. There’s something dark smeared along his jaw (blood, probably) and of course he hasn’t bothered fixing it.
And that grin.
Too wide. Too sharp. Too him.
“Miss me?” he calls, spreading his arms like he’s welcoming an audience instead of a massacre.
“Oh, terribly,” I shoot back, unable to stop the smile that pulls at my mouth. “Almost started behaving myself.”
He gasps, loud and dramatic, one hand flying to his chest like I just stabbed him.
“Oh, don’t say that,” he laughs. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Guards start closing in around him, guns raised, voices sharp and urgent, but he doesn’t even glance at them, doesn’t spare them a single second of attention.
His eyes are on me.
Always on me.
“C’mere, angel,” he says, holding out his hand like nothing else matters, like nothing ever has. “Show’s about to start.”
I don’t hesitate.
I don’t think.
I vault the railing.
The drop hits hard, the impact jolting up through my legs, but I roll through it easily, coming up into a crouch with a laugh already bubbling out of my chest, adrenaline lighting me up from the inside out.
“Missed me?” I grin, straightening as I walk toward him.
“Always,” he says, but it’s not soft, not gentle, it’s amused, like I did something right, like I played my part exactly how he wanted.
And God, I feel it.
For just a second, everything else fades away, the noise, the chaos, the guards shouting and people screaming, until it’s just him standing there in front of me like the center of everything.
Then a gunshot cracks through the air.
We move at the same time.
His hand closes around my wrist, yanking me sideways just as glass explodes where I was standing a second ago, shards scattering across the floor.
“Rude!” I snap, ducking low as another shot rings out.
Chris laughs, loud and real and completely thrilled, already pulling a gun from his jacket and firing back without even properly aiming.
“Right? No appreciation for the arts anymore!”
Another shot echoes, another scream follows, and then the smoke starts to spill in, thick, green, familiar.
I inhale slowly, my grin sharpening as it fills the air around us.
“There it is,” I sigh.
“Had to make an entrance,” he says, almost casually, like he didn’t just turn the entire room into a punchline.
People start dropping all around us, not dead, just laughing, clawing at their throats as they collapse, their giggles turning wild and uncontrollable as the gas takes hold.
The guards hesitate, their formation breaking apart almost instantly.
Chaos wins.
It always does.
I spin, pressing back against his chest as I fire up at a security drone buzzing overhead, watching it spark and crash to the ground before tilting my head slightly.
“You said this was a message,” I say, breathless and grinning. “What kinda message needs this much drama?”
He leans in close, close enough that I feel his breath before I hear him, that familiar heat curling along my skin.
“The kind they remember,” he murmurs.
My pulse stutters.
And then, a voice cuts through everything, cold and controlled and far too familiar.
“That’s enough.”
Something sharp twists low in my stomach, not fear, never fear, but something else entirely as I turn slowly toward the sound.
And there he is, stepping through the smoke like it knows better than to touch him.
Batman.
Matt stands there, solid and unmoving, completely unshaken by the chaos around him, like he exists outside of it instead of inside it.
His eyes lock onto mine first.
Of course they do.
“…You again,” I murmur.
Chris’s hand tightens around my wrist, not protective but possessive, like a claim.
“Aw,” he pouts, dragging the word out like he’s savoring it. “Batsy, you’re gonna interrupt our date? That’s just mean.”
“This ends now,” Matt says, his voice steady and certain.
I huff a quiet laugh. “You always say that.”
Chris leans in closer to me, but his eyes are locked on Batman now, bright and sharp and interested in a way that means this just got a lot more fun for him.
“Oh, I was hopin’ he’d show,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, something more dangerous. “Would’ve been a pretty boring show without a critic.”
My gaze flicks between them, between chaos and control, between fire and steel, and I can feel that pull again, sharp and familiar.
And I smile.
“Then let’s not disappoint him.”
Everything snaps at once, and I move first like I always do, because if Chris is the spark, then I’m the gasoline, and I would burn this entire city to the ground if it meant hearing him laugh like that again.
If Chris is the spark, then I’m the gasoline, and I don’t wait around to see what happens next. I launch straight at Batman, boots hitting the marble hard as I swing up, aiming a kick right for his chest, fast and sharp and just reckless enough to be fun. For a split second I think I’ve got him, but of course I don’t. His hand catches my ankle mid-air, grip tight, controlled, like he’s done this a thousand times before.
“Predictable,” he mutters.
I grin, because that’s exactly what he wants me to be.
“Aw, c’mon, Batsy,” I shoot back, twisting in his grip and flipping my body with the momentum, my other leg swinging around hard enough this time to actually connect with the side of his head. It’s not enough to knock him down, not even close, but it’s enough to feel, enough to make me laugh when I land back on my feet, light and buzzing with adrenaline. “Don’t ruin my entrance like that.”
He recovers instantly, no hesitation, no wasted movement, and then we’re moving, really moving. He swings, I duck, I come back in low, fast, unpredictable, my mallet flashing up and around as I try to catch him off guard. He blocks, counters, steps in, steps out. It’s controlled on his end, precise and clean, while I’m all chaos and noise and sharp edges, and somewhere behind me I can hear Chris laughing like this is the best show he’s seen all week.
“C’mon, Harls!” he calls, voice bright with amusement, like he’s heckling from the front row. “You’re losin’ your touch. He's still standin’!”
“Oh, shut up!” I snap, lunging again, faster this time, letting instinct take over instead of thinking. I swing wide, knowing he’ll dodge, and when he does I spin with it, slamming my elbow straight into his ribs with enough force to make him actually shift.
There. That.
That’s the reaction I want.
“Ohhh, there she is,” Chris laughs, clapping once, sharp and delighted. “That’s my girl!”
And God, that does something to me. Something stupid and electric and dangerous, something that makes me push harder, move faster, grin wider. I circle Matt, bouncing on my heels, tilting my head like I’ve already won.
“C’mon, Batboy,” I taunt, voice dripping sugar and venom all at once. “Thought you were supposed to be scary.”
He doesn’t answer, but I see it, that shift in him, that tiny recalculation like he’s decided I’m worth a little more effort now.
And then everything changes.
His next move is faster than the rest, sharper, less reactive and more intentional. I barely see it coming before his hand catches my wrist mid-swing and twists hard enough to send a spike of pain up my arm. I suck in a breath, trying to wrench free, but he’s already moving, already following through.
And then his fist connects with my face.
The world doesn’t go black. It goes white, like a camera flash behind my eyes, my head snapping to the side as my balance slips out from under me for just a second too long. I taste blood immediately, warm and metallic, and my knees almost buckle before I catch myself, swaying, blinking hard as everything sounds distant and muffled, like I’m underwater.
And then the laughter stops.
Not slowly. Not fading out. Just… gone.
Completely.
I don’t even have time to fully turn before Chris is moving, and it’s fast, faster than anything he’s done tonight. One second he’s behind me, watching, laughing, enjoying the show, and the next he’s slamming into Matt like a force of nature, shoving me aside just enough to get between us.
“You don’t touch her.”
His voice is low, flat, stripped of all that playful chaos he usually wraps around everything. It’s not loud, not dramatic,it’s worse. It’s serious.
Batsy recovers quickly, but Chris is already swinging, and unlike before, there’s nothing controlled about it. No clean lines, no careful calculation, just raw, unpredictable movement, punches thrown with a kind of reckless precision that somehow still lands. A hit to Batman’s shoulder, another glancing blow, a knee driven forward, and then he’s laughing again, but it’s different now, sharper, edged with something darker.
“C’mon, Bats,” he says, almost conversational, like this is just another game to him. “That all you got?”
Batboy counters, landing a solid hit to Puddin’s side, but Puddin barely reacts beyond a short, breathless laugh, like it only makes it more fun.
“Oh, there he is,” he mutters, grin flashing. “Was wonderin’ when you’d show up.”
They move fast after that, too fast for it to feel like anything but chaos, blow for blow, control versus unpredictability, something almost even but not quite. And me? I’m just standing there now, breathing hard, blood on my lip, watching it all unfold like I’m part of the audience instead of the act.
Chris doesn’t look at me once.
Not once.
He’s locked in on Batman, completely focused, like nothing else in the room exists anymore.
And for some reason, that stings more than the hit.
A smoke bomb goes off between them, thick and black, swallowing everything in seconds. I cough, stepping back, waving my hand in front of my face, and by the time it clears, they’re gone.
Just like that.
The museum is wrecked. People groaning, glass everywhere, alarms still screaming and I’m left standing in the middle of it, alone.
I press my fingers to my lip, wincing slightly before letting out a quiet, almost amused breath. “Rude,” I mutter, because what else is there to say?
And then I laugh, because of course I do.
The walk back feels different.
Not quiet exactly, just… empty in a way I don’t like thinking about too much. No voice in my ear, no footsteps behind me, just the city settling back into itself like nothing happened. I shove my hands into my jacket, kicking at the pavement as I go.
“He’ll show up,” I mumble to myself. “He always does.”
Still, my jaw tightens a little.
“…Big dramatic exit, though,” I add, rolling my eyes. “Real original.”
“Talking to yourself now?”
I stop.
Slowly turn.
And there she is, leaning against a streetlight like she belongs to the night just as much as I do, just in a different way, quieter, sharper, more controlled.
Catwoman.
“Well, well,” I grin, spreading my arms slightly. “If it isn’t my better-dressed half.”
She pushes off the pole and walks toward me, eyes scanning over me in a way that feels more observant than judgmental, but not by much.
“You look rough,” she says simply.
“Flattery’ll get you everywhere.”
Her gaze lingers on the blood at my lip. “To him?”
I shrug, like it doesn’t matter. “Occupational hazard.”
She studies me for a second longer, then says, “Did he leave you?”
I tilt my head, smile still in place but sharper now. “Depends. You plannin’ on bein’ annoying about it?”
“I’m asking.”
I step closer, meeting her halfway. “Then don’t.”
There’s a pause, tension settling between us, not hostile, just… aware.
“You deserve better,” she says finally.
That makes me laugh, loud and genuine this time.
“Oh, you’re funny,” I tell her. “You really think I want better?”
She doesn’t answer, and that’s how I know she gets it, even if she doesn’t like it.
I lean in just slightly, lowering my voice. “He didn’t leave,” I say. “He just… stepped offstage.”
Her brows knit faintly. “You actually believe that?”
I smile, slow and certain.
“I know him.”
Across the street, hidden in shadow, he watches.
Chris leans against the side of a building, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on me like he’s still watching the show, even after the curtain’s supposed to have closed. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stays there in the dark where he’s most comfortable.
Exactly where he wants to be.
Exactly where he’s always been.
I don’t look at him.
I don’t turn.
But I smile anyway.
Because I know.
He never left.
And somewhere in the distance, soft and familiar, I hear it, that quiet, sharp laugh slipping into the night like it belongs there.
And God help me…
I’d burn the whole world down just to hear it again.
oh hi… long time no see? it’s been a while. like… a long while. honestly don’t even know if anyone’s going to read this anymore or even remembers them but i missed them too much and had to get back into writing them. so yeah i’m back and of course i had to bring back my favorite chaotic duo with me! hope you guys still love them the way i do!!! inbox is always free
warnings: graphic violence. blood and injury. that should be it!
summery: A chaotic, neon-drenched museum heist turns into a showdown when Harley and her partner-in-crime Chris are ambushed by Batman!Matt. Captured and interrogated, Harley’s loyalty to Chris remains unshaken, until Chris blows up the Batcave, breaks her free, and they escape together in a blaze of love and mayhem.
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Harley Quinn!Reader’s POV
The museum explodes in color and screaming.
One minute, it’s all velvet ropes and pretentious whispers, and the next…BOOM.
Neon pink and acid green smoke rolls through the air like cotton candy on fire. Alarms start howling like banshees, and the guards? Oh, they go down hard. Wheezing, laughing, clawing at the air like little puppets whose strings just snapped.
I spin in the middle of it all, head tilted back, soaking in the chaos like it’s sunshine.
This. This right here is art.
And then I see him.
Chris.
He’s standing on top of a shattered display case, grinning like the devil got a makeover and decided to model. He’s got a diamond in one hand, tossing it up and down like a coin, like he’s wondering if heads means love or murder.
“This one’s sparkly, baby!” he yells, voice slicing through the noise like a dagger dipped in sugar. “You want it around your neck or… somewhere more fun?”
I cackle, skipping closer as I twirl my mallet. “I want it in your teeth while you tell me I’m a genius for coming up with the gas trap.”
I swing the mallet with a flourish—CRASH—and the glass flies like glitter. People scream louder. More beautiful music.
Chris’s eyes are wild. Pupils blown wide. He’s high on mayhem. On me.
“You are a genius,” he breathes, like he’s worshiping it. Worshiping me. “My sweet, psycho sweetheart.”
I blow him a kiss. “Takes one to love one.”
And that’s when I hear it, whoop-whoop. Red and blue. Sirens. The party crashers.
“Looks like Batsy on his way,” I sing-song, hopping off a toppled statue. “Time to go, sugar.”
But we don’t make it three steps.
BOOM.
A different kind of smoke this time. Black. Cold. Military-grade. Tactical.
Everything shifts. Like the room just took a breath in and forgot how to exhale.
Chris turns on instinct, but it’s too late.
The cape drops. The Bat arrives.
It’s Matt.
And he moves like a shadow with a vengeance. Swift. Brutal. Silent.
A ghost trained to kill and raised not to flinch.
I scream and swing my mallet, “BACK OFF, FREAK!”
But he ducks, spins, and his fist slams across my temple.
Lights out.
The Batcave — Hours Later
I wake up with a goddamn migraine and a whole lotta attitude.
My wrists are cuffed to a cold-ass metal table. Everything’s steel and shadows, humming like the whole place is alive and judging me.
“Ugh, did I die and end up in Ikea hell?” I mumble, squinting against the harsh overhead light.
He’s there.
Matt.
Still in full Batboy drag. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. He looks like a statue someone forgot to dust.
“You’re lucky I didn’t bring him in too,” he says, voice low and tight. “Chris. Joker. Whatever he is now.”
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” I snap, yanking at the cuffs even though I know damn well they won’t budge. “You’ve always wanted to split us up.”
He doesn’t answer. Just stares. The Bat way. Like silence means something.
“You think you’re saving me?” I laugh. Sharp. Mean. “Newsflash, Batsy. I chose this. I chose him.”
“You chose chaos.”
I lean forward, eyes narrow. “No. I chose love.”
And he flinches.
Just a little. Just enough.
Then it happens.
The hum shifts. The lights flicker. My spine goes stiff.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s here.
Then I hear it, his voice, cutting through the dark like a lullaby dipped in venom.
“Knock, knock…”
Matt spins too late.
BOOM.
The walkway above explodes, raining sparks and smoke. Not enough to kill. Just enough to play.
Just enough for him.
Chris crashes through the chaos like a storm dressed in blood and brilliance. Laughing, wild, alive.
“Miss me, Batboy?”
Matt lunges, but Chris is already throwing a flash grenade, slipping past like smoke with bones.
And then, he’s in front of me.
His hands are on my cuffs, his breath in my face.
“Hi, baby,” he murmurs, like we’re alone in a quiet room, like the world ain’t on fire. “You alright? He didn’t touch you, did he? I’ll kill him if he touched you.”
I grin through the haze, through the dizzy sparkle in my head.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “But you better get me outta these before he gets his Bat senses back.”
Chris glances at the smoke where Matt’s silhouette is moving. Closer.
“Oh, he’s already recovering,” he says with a smile sharp enough to cut diamonds. “That’s what makes it fun.”
The cuffs fall away. I stand. And then I kiss him.
Hard.
Like we’re both starving. Like the world might end and we’d rather end with our mouths still glued together.
Then we hear it.
“Chris. Don’t.”
Matt’s voice slices through the smoke. Steady. Pleading.
Chris pulls back just enough to snarl. “You already lost me. You don’t get to take her too.”
And then he grabs my hand.
And we run.
Into the smoke. Into the madness. Into freedom.
Our laughter echoes behind us like a symphony of chaos.
The Bat’s shadow disappears in the smoke.
And we vanish into the night.
Together. As always.
Me and my darling disaster. My twisted soulmate.
My Chris.
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here’s a new DC au blurb!!! i hope you guys enjoy this. if you have any recs just ask! inbox is always open!!! @kier-with-a-k @starandcloud @fratbrochrisgf @alexisa78 @youwishyoucouldddd @sturniolofruitloop @hesvoid34 @mattsdiva
warnings: unresolved romantic feelings. mild angst. sensual kissing. mentions of theft and criminal behavior. that should be it!
summary: Gotham’s shadows are the only place the two of you can meet. You’re a thief with a silver tongue and a dangerous grin. He’s the city’s dark protector, sworn to chase you down. But on rainy rooftops, with the sky falling and hearts exposed, neither of you can pretend it’s just a game anymore. You kiss like it means something. You leave like it doesn’t. And Matt? Matt always lets you go.
Gotham was a city of secrets. But the sky had none tonight.
It bled dark and heavy above me, clouds bruised with lightning, the wind biting through the alleys like it had something to prove. And yet, up here, on this rooftop with my boots balanced on the edge, it was quiet. Peaceful, almost. Like the city was holding its breath.
I twirl the small piece of diamond between my fingers, letting it catch the lightning overhead. Tiny, brilliant, and undeniably stolen.
A smirk ghosts my lips.
“You took your time,” I said without turning around.
Behind me, I could feel him before I heard him, his presence pressed into the space like gravity. Steady. Unyielding. Familiar.
“I was busy,” Matt’s voice rumbled behind the cowl, low, controlled. Still catching his breath from something. “Someone set off the museum alarm.”
“I wonder who that could’ve been,” I teased, finally turning to face him, a smug smile on my lips.
He stepped closer, boots silent on the wet concrete. His armor looked darker in the stormlight, slick with rain, cape sweeping behind him like a shadow. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes, those damned eyes, searched mine with something that wasn’t quite anger. Something far more dangerous.
“I told you to stop,” he said quietly. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“You’re the one who keeps showing up to play it with me.”
The words hung between us. Truth, bold and naked, spoken aloud for once.
I tilt my head, watching him. Watching the way his gaze flickered down; lips, neck, leather. The way he hesitated like a man standing on the edge of a cliff. I know that look. He always wears it around me.
Matt Sturniolo was Gotham’s knight. Untouchable. Sharp-edged and tightly wound. But with me? The edges softened. The wires snapped. His mask always cracked, just a little.
I reach up, slow, deliberate, fingers brushing his jaw. He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t even breathe. My gloved touch traces the seam of his mask, down to his mouth. That was always the weak spot.
“You should arrest me,” I whisper, voice like velvet.
“I should,” he murmured, but didn’t move.
“And yet,” I lean in closer, my breath warm against his skin, “here you are. Again.”
His hands came to my waist before he could stop them, fingers gripping the leather there like it grounded him. I was rain-slick, warm beneath the cold suit, and so much closer than he wanted to admit.
“You make it hard to walk away,” he said.
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Then I kissed him before he could respond.
It wasn’t gentle, it never was with him. It was hungry, aching, desperate in a way that scared us both. His mouth moves against mine like it means something, like he is starving and I was the only thing that can feed him. His hands splayed across my back, pulling me flush against him, like if he holds me tighter, the world might stop spinning.
The rain poured harder now, thunder rolling low across the skyline. But up here, in this moment, I could’ve sworn the city disappeared.
I pulled back slightly, lips swollen, breathing fast. His hands didn’t leave my waist.
“You’re not supposed to want me,” I say, my voice more vulnerable than I intended.
“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “Not with you, Kitty.”
My breath hitched. That name, his name for me. No one else used it. No one else could. It sounds different when he says it. Less like a joke. More like a memory.
His thumb brushed along my cheek, smearing a raindrop there. I closed my eyes for a second, letting myself feel it, his touch, the way he said it, like it cost him something.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because when I’m with you, I forget who I am. What I do. Why I run.”
His forehead presses to mine. “Then stop running.”
A bitter laugh caught in my throat. “And what? Stay? Let Gotham swallow me whole the way it did you?”
“I wouldn’t let it,” he said instantly. “I’d protect you.”
I opened my eyes, meeting his. And for the first time, he wasn’t hiding. Not behind a mask, not behind guilt. Just Matt. Just me.
“I never asked for protection,” I say gently.
“No,” he agreed. “But maybe I did.”
That caught me off guard. He leaned in again, lips brushing my temple, slow and reverent.
“When I see you,” he continued, “I forget why I ever wanted to be alone.”
We stayed like that for a moment, bodies warm despite the rain, clinging to something neither of us would name.
Eventually, I pulled back, and my fingers curled around the edge of his cape.
“You’ll still chase me tomorrow,” I say.
“You’ll still run.”
“And you’ll still let me go.”
His hand found mine. “I always do.”
A beat passed.
“Why?”
Matt looked at me, really looked at me. “Because I’m scared if I catch you… I’ll never be able to let you go again.”
My breath caught. And there it was, the thing neither of us would admit until now.
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” I say softly.
He kissed me again, this time slower. More intimate. Like he was memorizing it. Like it might be the last time. I lean into it, every part of me alive under his touch, my heart screaming for him to pull me closer, keep me, choose me.
But he didn’t.
When the kiss broke, he stepped back.
And I did, too.
“Stay out of trouble, Kitty,” he said quietly, like a secret. Like a prayer.
I vanished over the edge of the rooftop without looking back.
But when he opened his hand, he found the diamond resting in his palm.
So, I’m back… sorry for falling off the earth for a bit but it was much needed time. Don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about my AU’s or anything and have been writing while I was gone! So I have a lot of work in my drafts that HAVE to be posted or I will literally die. Thank you for being so patient with me and I hope everyone enjoys this! I thought I could give y’all a little something good because of my break.
warnings: talks of blood. talks of death. talk of fire. talks of wanting to kill someone. i think that's it!!!
Summary: Harley Quinn!Reader stands by her lover, Joker!Chris during a tense reunion with his brothers, Batman!Matt and Robin!Nick. Accused of past betrayals, Chris embraces his role as the family’s villain. Despite the chaos, she stays by his side, because they don’t want saving—they just want each other.
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Harley Quinn!Reader’s POV
People always ask why I stick around.
Why him. Why the chaos, the blood, the heartbreak. Why not just walk away and never look back?
Simple, sugar.
I don’t want to.
See, love ain’t always pretty. Sometimes it’s messy. Loud. Screamin’ with lipstick smeared across your face and a bat in your hand.
But when it’s real?
You feel it in your bones.
And puddin’?
He’s real.
He laughs like the world’s a joke he already figured out. Smiles like nothin’ can touch him. But I know him. I see him.
Every crack. Every ache. Every memory he don’t talk about ‘cause it hurts too much.
Especially the ones with them.
The Bat.
The Bird.
His brothers.
Yeah, I said it. Blood thicker than paint, even if it’s smeared in red and white. And tonight? They’re all meetin’ face-to-face. Family dinner without the mashed potatoes.
We drop in through the rafters. I go first ‘cause he likes to make an entrance—but not this time. No show. No spotlight. Just the man I love walkin’ into the dark like he’s got nothin’ left to lose.
That’s when I know it’s bad.
“Matty,” he says, all syrup and static. “Nicky.”
And the little bird steps up, heart practically hangin’ off his sleeve. “Chris,” he says—not Joker, and I catch that. So does my puddin’. “You don’t have to do this.”
I feel him tense beside me. He’s listenin’. That’s dangerous.
“Oh, but I do, kid,” he says soft. Like he’s explainin’ the weather. “This city—this family—they already made their choice.”
And just when things are almost civil, the Bat speaks.
“You killed them.”
My heart skips. Not mine, not his—ours.
He says it again, like a gavel slammin’ in a courtroom no one asked to be in.
Chris don’t flinch. He never flinches.
“You think I’d do that?” he asks, real low.
And Matty? He don’t back down. He never does. “You did. You set the fire.”
And right there—right there—I see it.
That last little bit of hope flicker in my puddin’s eyes before it burns out completely.
“I was a kid!” he yells, voice crackin’ like a glass heart hittin’ the floor.
I wanna grab him. Hold him. Tear Matt’s throat out for puttin’ that look on his face.
But I don’t.
I take his hand instead. Quiet-like. Gentle.
And this time, he doesn’t pull away.
“You needed a villain,” he says to his brother, voice like ash. “So I gave you one.”
That’s when Nicky—sweet little Nicky, stuck in the middle like peanut butter in a murder sandwich—he tries to reach him.
“Chris, we can fix this,” he says. “We can—”
And puddin’, my puddin’, just shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “You can’t fix what’s already burned.”
That’s our cue.
He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.
Then we’re gone—me, him, the smoke, the laughter, all of it.
People don’t get it.
They never will.
But I do.
He’s not perfect. He’s not stable. But he’s mine.
And the thing about monsters like us?
We don’t want saving.
We want each other.
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Part 2 out now!!! hope you like it!!! ik it took me forever to post but i thought people did like it as much until i got asks to post it so here it is!!! @kier-with-a-k @starandcloud @fratbrochrisgf @alexisa78 @youwishyoucouldddd @sturniolofruitloop
Warnings: angst. Emotional tension. Mentions of crime. Should be it!!!
Summary: In a crumbling Gotham, Catwoman!Reader secretly meets with the dangerously in-love Joker!Chris and Harley Quinn!Reader for a mysterious favor – one she knows she should walk away from. When Batman!Matt discovers her betrayal, long buried feelings rise to the surface. They aren’t together, they never were, they can’t be. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t in love with each other – even if neither of them will say it out loud. As the line between trust and secrecy frays, “Kitty” might just be the word that breaks them.
But then again, I never was very good at listening — not to logic, not to rules, and definitely not to my heart.
The meeting was set for midnight. Rooftop of the old Monarch Theater, where the walls still echoed with forgotten laughter and the ghosts of Gotham’s golden age. The place was gutted now. All shattered chandeliers and rotted velvet. But Harley danced across the edge like it was still opening night.
She was humming something off-key, twirling with her mallet as Joker (Chris) watched her like she painted the sky with every spin. He didn’t even blink. Just smiled. That sick, cracked smile like she was the only person in this filthy city worth worshipping.
And for him, she probably was.
“You’re late, Kitty Cat,” Harley chirped.
My jaw twitched. “Don’t call me that.”
Chris chuckled, dragging his tongue across his teeth. “That’s his name for her.”
I didn’t flinch, but my pulse tightened.
“Oh, come on,” Harley said, flopping down on the ledge beside him. “You and Bats are so obvious. It’s like, just kiss already and get it over with. The tension’s giving me a headache.”
“There’s nothing to kiss,” I snapped.
Chris arched a brow. “So dramatic. No wonder he likes you.”
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I didn’t tell Matt right away. I never did.
It was always like this: me, doing the thing he couldn’t. Stepping into gray while he clung to black and white. He hated it. Hated me for it. And yet…
The Bat-Signal cut through the sky three nights later, and I knew it was for me.
He was already there when I landed on the rooftop of Gotham National. Arms crossed, cape shifting in the wind like some vengeful shadow. His eyes found mine the second my boots touched concrete.
“You saw them,” he said.
I nodded.
“And you didn’t think to tell me.”
“I told you now.”
His jaw clenched. “What did they want?”
I walked past him, gaze on the skyline. “They said it was a drop. Something small. Something personal.”
“Nothing’s small when Chris is involved.”
I didn’t answer. He stepped closer.
“What did they offer you?”
I turned my head. “They didn’t offer. They asked.”
“That’s worse.”
We stood in silence. I could feel the heat of him, the tension between us wound tighter than a whip.
“You still trust them?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered. “But I understand them.”
He looked at me then, really looked. That deep, unreadable stare he always wore when the mask was on, even if the cowl wasn’t.
“I worry about you,” he said. Quiet. Raw. “I know I’m not supposed to, but I do.”
I turned away before he could see the way that cracked something in me. “That’s not your job, Batman.”
He stepped behind me, his breath at my neck. “It is when you’re my Kitty.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t get to call me that. I’m not yours.” I whispered.
He was silent. Then:
“Still do.”
I hated how much I wanted him to say it again. How much I wanted him to hold onto it. To me. Even if he couldn’t admit what it meant.
“Chris and Harley are in love,” I said suddenly. “The kind that ruins you. The kind that burns everything else down.”
“And you think we’re like them?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I think we’re worse. Because we feel everything… and we still won’t say it.”
Another silence. Another thousand words unsaid between us.
“Kitty…” he started.
“Don’t,” I said. I turned and walked away. “Not unless you mean it.”
And this time, he didn’t stop me.
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Here’s Batman!Matt x Catwoman!Reader and since it was so close again… featuring Joker!Chris and Harley Quinn!Reader!!!!! i hope you all enjoy and if you have ask or requests please ask!!!! @kier-with-a-k @starandcloud @fratbrochrisgf @alexisa78 @youwishyoucouldddd @sturniolofruitloop
warnings: heavy romantic tension. slow burn. mutual pining. angsty.
summary: Catwoman!Reader’s soaking wet, heart racing, and tired of pretending they don’t want each other. they don’t kiss— unless they do.
“if i kiss you, i won’t be able to pretend anymore.” / “then don’t.”
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Catwoman!Reader’s POV
The rain started halfway through the job. Not a drizzle—a Gotham storm. The kind that makes the city feel like it’s crying for you.
By the time I reached the rooftop, I was soaked to the bone. But I didn’t slow down. I never do. Not when I know he’s behind me.
“You’re getting reckless, Kitty” Matt growled as he landed, cape snapping behind him like thunder.
I turned slowly, water dripping from my hair, the bag of stolen tech slung over one shoulder. “You say that like it’s not half the reason you keep showing up.”
His eyes narrowed under the cowl, and for once, he didn’t have a quick comeback. Just stood there, watching me like I might disappear if he blinked.
I took a step closer.
He didn’t move.
“You’re always here,” I whispered, voice soft under the sound of the rain. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“No,” I said, almost laughing. “I really don’t. You never say it. You never do anything about it. You just… watch. Chase. Let me go.”
He looked at me then—not just looked, saw. And it felt like the air around us caught fire, even in the downpour.
“I don’t want to give you another reason to run,” he said, barely audible.
And that broke something in me.
Because I wasn’t running. Not tonight.
I dropped the bag at my feet. He noticed. Took a single step forward. My breath caught. His hand hovered near my face, close enough for the heat of his skin to cut through the cold.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured.
“So are you.”
Silence. Breaths. One heartbeat. Two.
And then he leaned in—just enough for our foreheads to touch, for my lips to brush his.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
But it was something. A pause. A possibility.
“If I kiss you,” he whispered, “I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”
My hand curled into his suit. “Then don’t.”
And maybe that was all he needed.
Or maybe it wasn’t enough.
Because the next second, he was gone. Back into the shadows. Leaving me with the taste of something that could have been everything.
Or maybe—just maybe—he took the long way home that night, thinking about what it would’ve meant if he’d stayed.
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here’s Batman!Matt x Catwoman!Reader for everyone! idk what happened here and idk how they got so close but i’m just gonna leave this rightttt here… @kier-with-a-k @starandcloud @fratbrochrisgf @alexisa78 @youwishyoucouldddd @sturniolofruitloop
warnings: blowing things up. talks of fire. i think that’s it.
summary: Harley Quinn!Reader follows Joker!Chris through a night of destruction and fiery passion. As they set a building ablaze, their bond burns just as wildly — reckless, electric, and deeply in love with chaos.
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Harley Quinn!Reader’s POV
It always starts the same.
Me, twirlin’ a piece of bubblegum around my finger, boots scuffin’ the cracked pavement, heart beatin’ so loud I swear he can hear it. And him — Chris — leanin’ against some busted brick wall like he’s king of the whole damn city, smirkin’ like he’s got the whole world tucked in his back pocket.
And maybe he does.
“Harls,” he drawls, voice thick like honey, slow and lazy, like he’s got nothin’ but time. Like he knows I’ll come runnin’ the second he calls.
Which, duh. I always do.
I swing my hips, saunterin’ over, playin’ it cool even though inside I’m screamin’ like a teenager at a boy band concert. He’s wearin’ that ripped-up leather jacket I stitched for him after our little “incident” downtown — patches of denim, graffiti scribbles, blood stains he never bothered washin’ out. He says it gives the jacket “character.”
I say it smells like smoke, gunpowder, and trouble. Smells like home.
“What’s the plan, puddin’?” I chirp, poppin’ my gum, lookin’ up at him from under my lashes.
Chris pushes off the wall, movin’ toward me slow, the kind of slow that makes your knees weak and your brain melt into a pink puddle. He’s got that look in his eye, that glint, that spark. The one that says he’s thinkin’ of somethin’ real bad, and I swear, my heart does a whole circus act in my chest.
He presses his forehead to mine, our noses almost touchin’, his breath hot against my lips.
“We’re gonna burn it all down, baby,” he whispers.
And God help me, I don’t even flinch.
I just grin, wide and wild and toothy, because that’s what we do. We burn things down. We rip the city apart. We live.
And besides, Chris’s ideas? Always a helluva lot more fun than sittin’ around waitin’ for the world to rot on its own.
He laces his fingers through mine. Rough hands, scarred knuckles, chipped nail polish still clingin’ to the edges. And it’s like someone plugged a live wire right into my veins.
Electric.
Dangerous.
Perfect.
He tugs me along, and I don’t even ask where we’re goin’. I don’t need to know. Wherever Chris leads, I follow, barefoot, blindfolded, hands tied behind my back if I gotta. That’s love, ain’t it?
We bolt through the alleys, laughin’ so loud it echoes off the walls, laughin’ like we ain’t got a care in the world. And maybe we don’t. Maybe when you’re already broken, there’s nothin’ left to be scared of.
As we run, I catch glimpses of the city, the flicker of neon lights, the glint of shattered glass, the way the sky hangs heavy and purple, like it’s bruised. Like it’s bleedin’ for us.
Chris stops short in front of a rundown convenience store, yanks a can of lighter fluid outta his jacket like it’s a damn party trick.
He turns to me, grinnin’ that wicked little grin, the one that says, “You with me, Harley?”
And oh, puddin’… I’m always with you.
He tosses the can at me and pulls a lighter from his pocket, the flame spittin’ to life with a flick of his thumb. His face glows in the firelight, all sharp cheekbones and mischief, and for a second I swear he looks almost angelic.
If angels wore combat boots and set cities on fire, that is.
“Ready to make some noise?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.
I snatch the lighter from his hand, lettin’ my fingers brush his, savorin’ the way he always feels too hot, like he’s burnin’ from the inside out.
I hold the flame to the ground, watch the trail of gasoline light up like the Fourth of July.
The fire roars to life, wild and hungry, and we stand there, hand in hand, watchin’ the whole place go up.
Chris squeezes my hand tight, and I look over at him, catch the way his eyes shine — full of chaos, full of joy, full of me.
The world could crumble into dust around us, the city, the streets, the stupid little rules they tried to make us follow. And I wouldn’t even blink.
As long as I got my beautiful, broken prince beside me, smilin’ that crooked smile, laughin’ like we’re the only two people left alive… it’s all just noise.
Just another sugar rush.
Just another perfect night in love with my disaster boy.
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okay here’s Joker!Chris x Harley Quinn!Reader fic!!!! it was a very close call on which one yall wanted tonight which makes me happy because that means that y’all like them both! @sturniolofruitloop @starandcloud @youwishyoucouldddd @alexisa78 @fratbrochrisgf @kier-with-a-k
warnings: chasing. talks of robbery. being pushed against a wall. small fight. fighting emotions. angsty? that’s it i think!
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Catwoman!Reader’s POV
The city stretches out under me, humming with sirens and secrets.
Gotham never sleeps, and neither do I.
The diamonds clink against my thigh, tucked safely inside my suit, but they’re not what’s making my pulse race.
No.
It’s him.
I hear the heavy swoop of a cape before I feel the impact.
A blur of black slams down onto the rooftop right in front of me, crouched low, muscles tense.
Matt.
Or — Batman, if you want to be technical.
I smirk, backing up a step, my boots scraping the concrete. My heart’s hammering like crazy, but you’d never know it. Not from the way I move. Not from the way I smile.
He stands, slow and deliberate, and God help me — even after all this time, even after all the fights and the betrayals — I still feel it. That pull.
That magnetic, stupid, dangerous pull toward him.
“You never learn, do you, Kitty?” he says, voice low and sharp. His eyes, barely visible under the cowl, pin me in place.
I laugh, light and careless, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “I learn just fine, Bats. I just like the chase.”
He lunges.
I twist at the last second, his gloved fingers grazing the bare skin of my arm. A spark shoots up my spine, white-hot and dizzying.
I flip backward off the ledge, catching a pipe, swinging down to the fire escape two floors below.
I don’t miss the sound of him growling under his breath as he follows.
The chase is on.
I leap across the gap between buildings, boots skidding a little on the slick surface. Behind me, I hear the snap of his grapple hook firing, the whir of it pulling him through the air.
Of course he’s gaining.
He always does.
A few rooftops later, he finally catches me. Slamming me against a brick wall with a heavy, controlled force.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to make sure I can’t run anymore.
I gasp, more from shock than pain, my hands pinned above my head by one of his.
His body presses into mine, close enough I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
We’re breathing hard. Too hard.
The city roars around us, but up here, it’s just him and me and a heartbeat so loud I swear it’s shaking the sky.
“You’re reckless,” Matt growls, his voice barely more than a whisper. His forehead dips, almost touching mine. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day.”
I smile, tilting my face up to his, my lips brushing the edge of his jawline.
“You worried about me, handsome?”
His grip tightens, just slightly. I see it in his eyes — the battle. The way he wants to hate me, to scold me, to stop me.
But he won’t.
He never does.
Because no matter how many lines we draw between each other —
No matter how many times we swear this is the last time —
We always end up here.
Breathing the same air.
Burning with the same fire.
I twist in his hold, using the movement to free one hand — fast, slick, practiced — and before he can react, I duck under his arm and slip away, laughing breathlessly.
“Catch me if you can, Batboy,” I call over my shoulder, already disappearing into the night.
But I know he will.
He always does.
And deep down, a wicked part of me hopes he never stops trying.
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okay here’s Batman!Matt x Catwoman!Reader fic!!!! i’m posting this one cause it’s currently winning and i want to post!! it was a very close call on which one yall wanted tonight which makes me happy because that means that y’all like them both! @kier-with-a-k @alexisa78 @sturniolofruitloop @starandcloud @youwishyoucouldddd @fratbrochrisgf
warning: talks of fighting. talks of bloody fists. that’s it???
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Harley Quinn!Reader’s POV
I never meant to fall for a villain. But when Chris smiles—that slow, dangerous grin that makes the world tilt—I forget I was ever sane.
It started in the alley behind that grimy little club in Gotham. I was patchin’ up a busted knuckle from a bar fight when he waltzed in like chaos with a pulse. Tall, sharp-eyed, and wearin’ that purple coat like it was custom-made for madness. His laugh sliced through the night air, and somehow, it made the blood on my fists feel like art.
“You’re Harley, right?” he asked, eyes dancing like he already knew the answer.
I blinked. “Who’s askin’?”
He leaned in close, that wild energy rolling off him like heat. “Call me Joker. Or Chris, if you’re feelin’ soft.”
Soft. That was never me. Not till him.
The days blurred after that. I stopped clockin’ in at work. Started clockin’ in at mayhem. We’d steal cars and swing by diners for pancakes like it was just another Tuesday. He’d hum while settin’ off explosives, and I’d laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world—’cause with him, it was.
But it wasn’t all glitter bombs and giggles.
Sometimes I’d catch him starin’ too long at the moon, like it owed him somethin’. Other nights, he wouldn’t speak at all—just sit, breathing hard like the weight of his mind was crushin’ him. I’d lie beside him, fingers tracing the scars on his hands, whisperin’, “You’re not alone, Chris.”
He never said it back. But once, he grabbed my hand like it was the only thing tetherin’ him to the planet, and I knew. I knew.
The world calls him a monster. Gotham’s freak. But I’ve seen him cry at a broken music box in a pawn shop, laugh at my worst jokes, and kiss me like I’m the last good thing in a city built on lies.
They say love is blind.
Maybe mine’s just wearin’ a purple suit and warpaint.
And maybe… that’s enough.
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Joker!Chris x Harley Quinn!Reader blurb!!! i hope you enjoy!!! Part 2 of Blood in the Shadows should be coming out soon!!! @kier-with-a-k @alexisa78 @starandcloud @fratbrochrisgf @youwishyoucouldddd
