Feb 3, 2020
Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn | Shelton Bryant
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Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn | Shelton Bryant
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I’ve been writing this thing and I dunno. Let me know if you like it or don’t. Or don’t even read it. Live your life.
Eight years later and I finally finished DADDY’S GUN lmao
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Daddy’s Gun Pt. 5
Harleen sat at her ramshackle kitchen table, alone. It was round and worn down, the type of table made out of questionable formaldehyde that was peeling at the edge and giving off a faint chemical odor. She had dealt out a hand of cards onto the table, playing a game of Freecell. She sighed.
She missed the Joker. She’d taken a leave of absence from Arkham since their little... incident. No one questioned it, and she couldn’t bear to admit that she missed him, that she’d had dreams about him every night since he’d escaped. For fourteen nights he’d haunted her, ruby lips, emerald green hair glowing in the light of the places she conjured him. Usually back at Arkham. She’d dreamt often of their old sessions.
Ding.
The cappuccino machine went off in the kitchen. She got up, and began to fill her cup when a BOOM shook her house-
A hole suddenly appeared in the living room wall. A team of what appeared to be SWAT members rushed in, wearing bulletproof gear emblazoned with the words JOKER. One officer pushed up the face shield on his helmet before he went to grab Harleen. Mistake.
“GET... OFFA... ME!!!”
She threw her cup of steaming hot coffee in his face. He fell backward, screaming in agony. She threw the cup at another goon and it shattered, leaving blood streaming down his face. She grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter and held it out.
“Stay away from me!!!”
“Harleen, Harleen... you never disappoint.”
The Joker climbed through the hole in the wall with his own SWAT outfit. Harleen dropped her knife immediately when she saw him.
“M-M-Mr. J?” She stammered.
“In the flesh.” He gave her a deep bow. “We came to take you on a little ride.”
“Ride?”
Frost came through the hole, in his signature suit instead of SWAT attire. He looked thoroughly bored by the entire affair.
“Want me to grab her, Boss?”
“No, no. Ms. Quinzel with come with us willingly, won’t she?”
Harleen felt like she was being sucked into a spinning black hole. Here he was, his dazzling self, in the flesh. Could she say no to him?
Of course she couldn’t.
“I’ll come.”
***
They sat across from each other in the Joker’s penthouse. It was huge, taking up the entire top floor over his club. She’d been to the club many times - in the early days of having the Joker as her patient, she’d visited often, sat at the bar and drank, trying to feel closer to him, to understand him - but this time he’d swept her in through a back entrance she’d never seen before. They’d ditched the rest of his entourage downstairs and rode up with only Frost in an old-fashioned service elevator, complete with an elevator operator.
They played fast-paced games of Tonk where Joker threw hundred dollar bills on the table, followed by his jewelry and other items from his pockets. But Harleen was an experienced card shark; her father had seen to that.
“I win!”
She threw down her cards with an excited flourish, and swept her winnings off the table into her purse.
“Nice playing with ya.”
She held out one hand for him to shake. The Joker frowned.
“I don’t like losing, Quinzel.”
“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?? Ya lost fair and square.”
She grabbed her bag and checked her watch.
“And I reckon it’s time you were taking me home, Mr. J.”
“Home?” He grabbed his heart in mock offense. “Without a chance to win back my honor?”
“Your honor is in this bag,” she shook it ruefully, “and it’s goin’ home with me.”
She stood up and made her way over to the door. Joker shot Frost a pointed look, and he cleared out the other door to the adjoining suite. Harleen tried to turn the doorknob, and found it locked. She turned around to face an empty room. A flutter of unease passed across her face.
“What’s this all about, Mr. J? I can’t open the door.”
“Why, my honor, of course.” He swooped over to the door, where he gave a deep bow and presented Harleen with a carnation. She refused to take it.
“Very funny,” she said. “And then it shoots water in my face. Please unlock the door.”
He stood over her, reminiscent of how he had in the therapy room. It seemed so long ago, even though it had only been a couple of weeks. She shrank against the door, pressing her back against it and realizing again, suddenly, that she was alone with THE Joker. Surprising her, he pressed his forehead against hers.
“You want to leave me now?”
His voice was low and gravely. One cold, white hand snaked up and wrapped itself around her throat. She spoke truthfully; her life felt as though it depended on it.
“No...”
His grip tightened around her neck as he pushed her head back. She had visions of him turning into a vampire and biting her exposed throat. Instead he sniffed her delicately.
“But I can’t... we can’t... if I ever want to work again...”
Her voice trailed off.
“Look at me.” It was a command, and she obliged. He looked into her eyes as his other hand found it’s way between her legs again, sliding into her. He clucked like a hen from a place deep in his throat.
“You’re wet. You want it.”
His hand rose from her neck to her chin, tilting her head upward so she couldn’t evade his gaze.
“Tell me you want it.”
She answered honestly again.
“I want it.”
Her voice was strong, and clear- she surprised herself.
“But my job...”
He stroked her gently, from inside, and she choked back a sob.
“Your job...”
He removed his hand from inside her suddenly, and spun her around so that she faced away from him. His voice was low and dangerous in her ear.
“You can say I took it.”
One hand remained around her neck. The other ripped off her silk blouse forcefully, the buttons flying haphazardly around the room.
“You can say I ripped your blouse and pinned you to the wall.”
He grabbed her wrists and held them high above her head, in an ice cold grip so strong she thought her bones might break. He hiked up her skirt and pushed into her from behind.
A moan escaped from her lips. She couldn’t believe it. She’d dreamed about this for so long.
“I can’t say... you’re not...”
His grip tightened around her neck, and his other hand covered her mouth.
“You can say I covered your mouth so you wouldn’t scream.”
He moved her away from the door, and pushed her upper body over onto a supple leather couch, so she was bent over while he plunged into her. She arched her back and shuddered.
“Oh? You like it a little rough, don’t you, Harleen?”
He picked up the pace. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. He filled her so completely that she almost couldn’t stand it.
“Look at me.”
In an instant, he had flipped her over so she was on her back. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist. With one hand, he grabbed by her throat and pulled her upper body towards him. He was still inside of her.
With his other hand, he pulled out a gun.
It wasn’t the pretty purple pistol, but a black revolver with gold accents and a Mother of Pearl handle. The words ‘love’ and ‘hate’ were etched into the cylinder.
He held the gun to her temple while he fucked her even harder. The feeling of the pistol on her head sent her tumbling over the edge, and she screamed out as she came again and again.
His hand tightened around her throat.
“Ah… FUCK… HARLEEN.”
His hips bucked. He came inside her like a storm. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He dragged the revolver lightly down the side of her face, tracing it over her cheek, her chin, the hollow of her throat. He tapped it there for a moment.
Then he pulled it away and offered it to her, handle first. She raised her eyebrows.
“What’s this?” She asked.
“It’s yours,” he said. “Told you I couldn’t have you running off with mine to have fun.”
Her eyes lit up. “For me?”
She took the gun. It was beautiful.
“Just for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He held up one finger. “And just one more thing.”
She looked up at him.
“You are home.”
She looked around his place.
“What?”
He cackled. “You might not have noticed, but we blew up your house.”
Right. They had blown it up, hadn’t they? They’d blown right through the wall. Even if she tried to go home, the place was probably crawling with Gotham PD.
“I can’t stay with you here, can I?”
She might have been imagining it, but she thought he looked a little put out.
“Why not?” He pouted. “Is it not up to your Crown Point standards?” He gestured around.
She blushed. Of course his penthouse was magnificent, decorated with the best of everything.
“No,” she said softly. “My house was a shithole. But if I stay here, that means…” she trailed off. “Well, what DOES it mean?”
“It means you’re mine. Forever. Do you comply?”
“Yes.”
“Do not make these vows thoughtlessly. Do you swear?”
“I swear.”
“Then hold on.”
She wrapped her legs around him even tighter as he lifted her up and carried her over to a console table pushed up against the wall. He set her down on top of it and, without sliding out of her, began rummaging through the drawers of the table. The motion sent thrills of pleasure through her. His dick twitched inside of her.
“Naughty, naughty!” He laughed. “Not yet, Harley.”
“Harley?”
“Yes, I think I’ll call you that from that now on. Harleen Quinzel… my little Harlequin.”
She loved it. She’d never liked Harleen. But Harley settled on her like a warm blanket.
“Ah! Found it.”
He pulled out a belt-style choker. Emblazoned across the front of it, in solid gold letters, was one word: PUDDIN.
He wrapped the choker around her neck and closed it.
“I had it made just for you.”
“Puddin?” She asked.
He winked. “Because I’m so sweet on you.”
Harley felt herself melt.
“Awwww, Puddin.”
She was his. Forever.