SUICIDE SQUAD HARLEY QUINN AND JOKER IMAGINES

Siege pt2

The joker isn't that bad.

The joker isn't that bad.

The joker isn't that bad.

Harley tried. She tried so hard to tell herself that. To convince herself that it was the truth.

But as the tears ceased to stop and her body still shook with the reverberations of his careless anger she found the words hard to believe.

He loves me.

He loves me.

He was behind her. His shadow cast itself across the wall, a monster of black that broadcast itself into the mirror, he caught her gaze in the mirror, caught it and just stared.

He's a good person.

He's a good person.

His breath misted the nape of her neck, and his lips were a whisper against the base of her throat.
A sigh left her lips and Harley hated herself for being so weak.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face, and she watched with aching heart as his eyes once again met hers.

One eye closed in a devastatingly slow wink. And the shame that she felt burned so harshly that she closed her eyes to avoid seeing herself.

"I missed you." He whispered into her skin and Harley fought from flinching away. His arms caught her in an embrace that made her skin crawl.
Then he was gone.

And his absence ached even more than his presence had.

Harley stared at herself in the mirror, stared and tried to forget what he had done. And she tried even harder to forget what emotions his presence had just brought. Because in that moment, in that small moment when his lips had brushed her skin, Harley had felt alive than in her whole life before him. A tear fled her eyes, a tear filled with every emotion she wished to hide, because she hated him. She hated him. But here she was, unable to break free from his treacherous miracle, his prisoner, his slave, and she loved it. She loved it.
And even if she love it, even if she didn't love him, where would she go? Where would she run? Harley would die on the street without him, he had made that very clear.

Her eyes caught the blue from outside the window, and her whole body, from her toes to the roots of her hair was suddenly overcome, overcome with yearning.

To be free, to be safe.

She could hear him, the shackles that held her here, in the next room, moving things about, trying to be silent but obviously listening in to make sure that she wouldn't escape.
Her tomb surrounded her, the four walls that made her house- their house, her prison, her grave, and in some small disgusting way, her sanctuary.
She had been outside, she had witnessed other's inability to help, she had seen humanity, and she had discovered that they were as ugly and as brutal as him. They were monsters. Every single one of them. No one would help her then and no one would help her now. Another tear fell, then a flood covered her cheeks.

The shattering of glass brought the joker into the room. She stood there, smaller, more vulnerable than ever before, her shoulders shook, two hands barely managed to cover her face, and through the remaining shards of mirror he could watch as blood spread from her knuckles to join her tears.

Gently, ever so gently, he pulled her from the room, terrified that if he pulled harder or gripped tighter that she would be lost. He pulled Harley into the bedroom and watched as she shivered from the biting cold. Why? Why didn't she complain as she once would have?
The stared at her, and watched as she was thrown back into s memory where once this room had been warm; but now, like everything else in their doomed relationship, the room was but a echo of the past, a sad, crumbling shell of what had once been.
The jokers eyes were drawn to the bed, and he was transported into another time, another life.