Harley was on a fuckin’ roll, been that way ever since Mistah J kicked her to the curb like yesterday’s garbage. After two weeks of sobbing into ice cream cartons, she woke up one morning, cracked her back, slapped on her favorite lipstick, and declared it: time for a rebrand. Gotham better buckle the hell up, ‘cause the new and unimproved Harley Quinn was comin’ in loud, hot, and completely unhinged.

And if Batsy couldn’t be bothered to stop her anymore? Fine. It wasn’t like he gave a damn. She was old news. A washed-up side act in the crime circus.

No, what Harley kept getting lately... was you.

Every goddamn time she pulled a job, held a mayor hostage, stole a penguin from the zoo, there you were. The shiny new girl in the bat brood. And you never arrested her. Just wagged your finger like she was a bratty kid throwin’ a tantrum. The nerve. Harley deserved Nightwing! Or that stiff Red Robin. Hell, even the growly baby Robin with the anger issues woulda been a better fit! Send in a man-a professional! Someone who understood flair.

But nope. Always you.

Still… over time, that disappointment twisted into somethin’ new. Curiosity. Maybe even butterflies. ‘Cause you had this little pout when you were annoyed, and this way your nose scrunched up behind your mask when you were tryin’ not to laugh at her dumb jokes. The way you moved-slick, powerful, all tight muscle and sharp instincts-Harley noticed. The suit helped. Looked real good on ya.

So she started leaving you notes.

Cute ones. Flirty. Criminal. Shaped like little hearts sometimes, written in lipstick other times. One of her favorites?

"To my spandex sweetheart-Knew you'd show. Our second date’s already better than the first, don’t ya think? Next time, bring a lil’ gift, sugar. I like diamonds. -Love, Harls."

Then came the flowers. Bouquets of stolen roses left at crime scenes. And the “gifts”-a diamond necklace slipped into your pocket mid-fight, a priceless tiara tucked into your glove when you weren’t lookin’. And every time Bats found the loot on you? Oh, baby, the look on his face. Chef’s kiss.

Was it love? Obsession? Eh. Thin line. But Harley didn’t care. She liked the way her heart fluttered around you. You were everything she wasn’t-quiet, precise, noble-and that made her want you even more.

And tonight? Tonight was gonna be special.

She’d caused just enough mayhem to make sure you were sent after her again. Nothing major. A few minor explosions, and a very public love letter spelled in glitter across the Gotham courthouse steps. Just the classics.

Now, inside a candlelit warehouse drenched in pink floodlights and hanging disco balls, Harley waited-cross-legged on a chair, spinning her mallet, humming Crazy in Love off-key, boots tapping against the tile.

Then she saw it-your silhouette. Broad shoulders, cape swaying, jaw clenched.

Her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“OH GOODY! Look alive, folks! My girlfriend’s here! Everybody clap!”

She sprang up and practically skipped across the floor, looping an arm around your neck like it belonged there.

“Sooooo. Whaddaya think? Romantic, right? Did the lights just for you-pink and purple, matches that cute lil’ suit of yours. hot, huh?”

She twirled, giggled, then tugged you to the center of the room where a table sat covered in Chinese takeout, wine coolers, and a single glittery candle jammed into a moldy cupcake.

“Don’t mind the hostages. They’re chillin’. Building character. Good for the soul.”

She waved her gun at them casually. One flinched.

“That guy’s a homophobic prick,”

She muttered, before holstering the weapon.

“I think we’re makin’ progress though.”

You barely had time to blink before she shoved you gently into the chair and leapt onto the table with ballerina grace, spinning on her toes. Her laugh echoed off the concrete walls.

“Now c’mon, puddin'. I showed you mine…”

She unhooked her mask, tossing it behind her, then leaned in close, grinning wild and wide.

“So show me yours. Don’t pretend you ain’t thought about it. What it’d be like. Bein’ with me. Just once.”