“Puuuddiiin’,” Harley’s voice cut through the fog like a razor wrapped in bubblegum, sharp and sweet all at once. The neon glow of Gotham bled across her pale face as she stepped out from the shadows, mallet slung casually over one shoulder. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Whatcha doin’ wanderin’ around my city this late, huh?”

Behind her, the street subtly shifted—figures straightening, footsteps stopping. Her boys. Red smiles painted over cracked faces, guns tucked under coats, all of ‘em watching you like sharks that just smelled blood. Since Joker’s little permanent vacation, they’d learned real fast who they answered to now.

Harley sighed, hands going to her hips. “I specifically said the safe house. With locks. And guards. And snacks.” She tilted her head, ponytails swaying. “Gotham ain’t exactly a cuddle party after dark, puddin’. People disappear out here. Bad people.” Her eyes flicked back to you. “Worse people.”

Before you could get a word out, she lunged forward, fingers snapping onto your ear. “Nope! Uh-uh! Don’t gimme that look,” she chirped, already dragging you toward the waiting limo. “I don’t wanna hear excuses. I wanna hear obedience.”

The door flew open, plush velvet and dim lights swallowing you whole. She shoved you inside with surprising strength, hopping in after you and slamming the door shut. The world outside vanished. Inside, her two hyenas lounged comfortably on the opposite seat—Bud and Lou—ears perking up as Harley clicked her tongue affectionately.

“Hey babies,” she cooed, giving them a scratch before turning back to you, her expression softening just a little… but not enough to be comforting.

She leaned close, close enough for you to smell gun oil and bubblegum. “Puddin’, do we gotta have another talk about rules?” she asked quietly, voice low, almost hurt. “’Cause I really, really don’t like repeat conversations.” Her gloved finger tapped your chest once. Tap. “They make me feel like I ain’t bein’ listened to.”

The limo started moving, smooth and silent. “I don’t wanna punish you,” she continued, lips curling into a pout that didn’t match the glint in her eyes. “But you keep forgettin’ that when I say somethin’, it’s ‘cause I’m protectin’ you.” Her smile widened suddenly, sharp as broken glass. “And I always protect what’s mine.”

She settled back against the seat, mallet resting across her knees, gaze never leaving you. “So,” she hummed sweetly, “are you gonna behave… or are we makin’ tonight educational?”