batman!matt who... came from money. his father, thomas sturniolo, was a renowned surgeon, philanthropist, and ceo of sturniolo enterprises in gotham city.
batman!matt who... grew up in the spotlight with his two brothers, nicolas and christopher.
batman!matt who... witnessed his parents' murders during a mugging gone wrong.
batman!matt who... inherited his father's company, since he was the most involved out of his brothers
batman!matt who... took his parents' deaths the hardest. he stayed in his room for months, never leaving the house and barely interacting with his brothers.
batman!matt who... was practically raised by his family's valet, alfred pennyworth.
batman!matt who... swore vengeance against criminals in gotham city to avenge his parents.
batman!matt who... in his late teen years, began crafting his bat-inspired persona, with the help of alfred and his brothers.
batman!matt who... began to patrol the streets, fighting crime that ranged from small muggings to attempted murders.
batman!matt who... at first, the gotham pd was concerned about, but they quickly realized he was cleaning up the streets.
batman!matt who... even had a special symbol that would be cast into the night sky whenever he was needed.
batman!matt who... became a playboy after he turned 18, attending and hosting many elegant galas and parties all around gotham city.
batman!matt who... does a great job in hiding who he truly is, with no one suspecting gotham's most eligible bachelor is really a crime-fighting caped crusader.
batman!matt who... has stopped a wide variety of criminals, including the joker, the scarecrow, and the riddler.
batman!matt who... was summoned one night to stop a planned robbery on a yacht.
batman!matt who... the moment he stepped onto the yacht, he saw a figure sneak through the shadows.
batman!matt who... was caught off guard when he was pinned down... by a woman? in a black cat suit?
batman!matt who... the moment he looked into her eyes, he knew he was done for.
batman!matt who... the first words that were spoken to him by the mysterious woman were: "what? cat got your tongue, batboy?"
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.
Joker!Chris who’s…psychotic. makes poor decisions. laughing. family issues. biggest enemy Batman!Matt. hates his brothers. loves making everyone one’s life hell. causes trouble with Harley Quinn!Reader. money. misunderstood. makes jokes. never takes anything serious. life is just one big riddle. would NEVER admit it but feels sorry. don’t EVER disrespect Harley Quinn!Reader. EVER.
warnings: talks of asylum. talks of guns. talks of explosions. that should be it.
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The walls of Arkham Asylum are cold, but not as cold as a night without him. You’d been locked up for 47 days, 13 hours, and some change. Not that you were countin’. The food sucked, the guards were mouth-breathers, and worst of all? No laughs. Not one. Not a giggle, a snort, or a full-blown belly laugh. Gotham without him is like a joke with no punchline.
But you knew he was comin’. He always comes.
It started with the lights. Flicker. Flicker. Boom. The backup generator coughed like it had a death wish, and the sirens howled like they knew what was about to happen. The guards scrambled like roaches in a motel; pathetic.
And then you hear it.
That laugh. Low, smooth, sugar-slick and soaked in chaos. Chris was here.
“Did ya miss me, baby?” his voice crackled over the intercom, just as the cell doors started clickin’ open like dominoes. “Hope you wore your runnin’ shoes.”
You didn’t run. You strutted.
Smoke poured down the hallway in candy-colored clouds, explosions goin’ off like confetti cannons. Chris never did subtle. You caught a glimpse of him through the haze; black coat, wild hair, eyes glowing with mischief and madness. And that grin. That damn grin.
“’Bout time,” You purred, hopping into his arms like you’d never left. “Took you long enough.”
“Traffic,” he shrugged, like he hadn’t just turned Arkham into a war zone. “Now let’s blow this joint.”
And just like that, you’re gone; laughin’, dancin’, leavin’ chaos in your wake. The city would be screamin’ by morning, but right now?
It was just you and him.
The queen and her jester.
You and your Chris.
Just the way it’s meant to be.
------------------------------
First Joker!Chris x Harley Quinn!Reader!!!! I hope you like it! It's kinda mid but I'm just going to get better the more I write so I hope you stick around!!!
warnings: angsty??? talks of stealing. i think that’s all!!! (Batman!Matt does call Catwoman!Reader Kitty as a nickname / that’s just what he calls her)
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Catwoman!Reader’s POV
There’s a chill in the Gotham air tonight, the kind that bites through even the thickest leather.
I land soundlessly on the rooftop, my heels clicking softly against the concrete. The diamond in my pocket is still warm from the vault. Alarms were late. The guards slower. Almost disappointing.
Almost.
Because I know what comes next.
He always comes next.
“You’re getting sloppy,” his voice cuts through the dark like a blade—calm, cool, and infuriatingly familiar.
I don’t turn. Not yet. I let the silence stretch, let it wind tight between us. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”
There’s a pause, and I know he’s analyzing me—reading my posture, my breathing, the way I’m already two steps ahead. He always does. It’s his thing.
But I know him too.
Matt Sturniolo may wear the Bat like a second skin, may hide behind all that growling and brooding, but I’ve seen the cracks. The way his hands tremble just slightly after a fight. The way he says my name when he thinks I’m not listening—like it’s a secret he’s scared to say out loud.
“Return the diamond, Kitty.”
“There it is,” I smirk, finally turning to face him. He’s just as tall, just as annoyingly calm as ever—cape fluttering behind him, eyes sharp beneath the cowl. “You say my name like you mean it, but all I hear is control. You don’t really want me to stop.”
“I don’t want to have to chase you.”
“Liar,” I step closer. He doesn’t move. He never does when it’s me. “You live for the chase. So do I.”
The distance between us could vanish with one step, one breath. I wonder what would happen if I kissed him right now. Would he pull away? Or would I?
But we never do that. We never cross the line.
Because if we did… this game would end.
“I won’t ask again,” he says, voice lower now. Not angry. Almost… tired.
And there it is. The part of him no one else sees. The weight he carries. The grief he wears like armor. I feel it in my own bones. We’re mirrors of each other—broken, sharp-edged, drawn to the dark.
“I’m not your villain, Matt,” I say softly, barely above a whisper.
“And I’m not your hero, Kitty.”
The words sit between us like a wall. I could scale it. He could tear it down. But neither of us does.
I step back, turn toward the edge of the rooftop. “Then stop chasing me.”
“Then stop making me.”
I laugh—quiet and bitter. “Maybe next time.”
And I’m gone. Into the night.
But I know he’ll follow.
He always does.
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you asked for it so here it is!!! i made this a couple days ago but never posted it so it was already in my drafts and i just edited it up some!!!
Catwoman!Reader who… loves to cause mischief. likes toying with Batman!Matt. favorite color is black. loves black cats. pearls. light on her feet. cat-like reflexes. doesn’t admit it, but might have feelings for a certain bat. crimes. stealing. says she likes to be on her own but secretly she hates being alone. very flirtatious. only wears black. likes running but likes being catched by him even more.
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
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
