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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 5 years ago

Text

a flower for a flower

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: smut (i want to say pure smut, but i also ramble a lot, so it’s not just smut—close to it though), food innuendos and other cheesy things, fluff, harry in his pimp daddy outfit, oral (f & m receiving), exhibitionism (mentions of voyeurism), teasing, soft!dom feels, praising kink, a couple of good girls thrown in there

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: a walk on the beach leads to more

author’s note: hi, i hope you're doing well :) sorry the synopsis sucks, but you know what i mean! xx hope you enjoy

masterlist

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She’d never been the type to like the beach.

Granted, she had never been to an actual beach, like the ocean kind of beach, until she was well into her twenties, but that’s beside the point.

Then, she met Harry.

Harry, someone who has nothing but kindness and love in his soul, open for anyone who’s willing to take him, scared her when they first met. She has always been anxious, riddled with insecurities and tension, and to meet someone who breathed and exuded nothing but unadulterated confidence was absolutely terrifying. At that moment in time, she thought she could never be with someone who was like that, thinking that it would be difficult to keep up with someone like him.

And she was never one to take risks.

She will be forever grateful for finding someone who is able to open her eyes and give her the opportunity to see and do things that she never even dreamed about. It definitely helps that he is the way he is. She doesn’t think she would have ever found the courage to be the woman she is today without him being just him, kind and patient.

Now, the beach is their safe place. The ocean is their escape from the world around them, a peaceful place for them to simply be with each other.

It’s a little past noon, the sun high in the clear sky, with only a couple of clouds shrouding the beautiful day. She’s been sitting on the sidelines underneath a fluttering umbrella, working on some unfinished assignments she has for her classes. She hasn’t gotten much work done, however, not only because she gets easily distracted in general but also because of the teasing looks Harry shoots her.

She watches him through large sunglasses, a chipping gold coloured wire surrounding fading pink lenses, as he sits at the table once again, setting down a plate of watermelon atop the terribly ugly tablecloth. He told her how important this shot was before when they were driving to the beach location. With jittery hands and giddy eyes, he told her about how it was going to be the teaser that would be posted a couple days before the big release. Getting the “perfect” shot hasn’t been going too well, especially since Harry knocked over the glass of orange juice in the very first take.

Despite his pleas and the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes, she declined his offer to be a part of the video, opting to sit and watch from afar. She has never been one to put herself into any situation that forced the attention more on herself than necessary. Besides, when their relationship is in the public eye (it’s, sadly, an inevitable part of their journey), she doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about their relationship, that she’s simply using him to better herself.

The director calls for a quick lunch break before the next couple of scenes, and Harry took it as an opportunity to spend some time with her, having been distracted and busy for the better part of the day. He tugs her up from the worn chair, a brittle little thing that had been sitting in the patio of her rental house for what looks like centuries (she was honestly surprised when it didn’t crumble beneath her). Watching their footprints spread and sink and die beneath merciless waves as the tide rolls further and further in, they walk to a more isolated part of the beach.

A pair of green sunglasses, large and shaped like hearts, are perched on his head, pulling back the stray curls that always seem to fall onto his forehead, and the necklace she gave him for their anniversary sticks to the skin of his chest, just barely tucked beneath low swooping neck of a dark orange tank amongst an array of dozens of dangling charms and shells.

His eyes are crinkled form the blaring sun, but he still doesn’t move the glasses from his hairline; they don’t cover much of anything anyhow. His feet are still bare as he kicks through the sand, swinging their connected hands between them. The sun beats down on his freckled shoulders, and he savors the warmth. She stops suddenly and turns to face him, a faint smile creeping over her features as her nails tease across the green stitching of the tank.

“Ya know,” she begins, making him turn to face her. He has such a sweet little grin on his face, and she can’t help but melt at the sight. It never gets tiring being able to see Harry in his element.

He’s been beaming since they woke up this morning, especially since she told him she would be joining him at today’s shoot. While his other songs are very dear to him, they don’t hold a candle to Watermelon Sugar because it was made because of her; it was a culmination of everything he’s been through in the past two years, the highs and the lows.

It signifies his new beginnings with her.

When he met her, on that dry summer night, she made everything seemingly fall into place. And later that night, after a couple bottles of wine and a riveting game of twenty questions, he kissed her, her lips, soft and supple, tasting like cheap moscato and strawberries, and he felt like he was breathing for the first time; it was all very new and exciting and dangerous. He knew, after having just gotten out of a relationship, he shouldn’t put his heart so entirely on his sleeve, for fear of having it absolutely shattered. He fell for her hard and fast, despite his reservations and fears and common sense.

Looking back on it now, he’s glad he didn’t listen to his common sense. Then, he wouldn’t be walking with his soulmate on a beach now.

“You look really hot in this,” she says, her hands smoothing along his hips before connecting right above the curve of his bum. He cups her cheek, thumb tracing along the heated skin.

“Yeah?” His lips curl into a teasing smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she returns the light tone, her nose just barely grazing against his. When she catches his lips, they’re sweet and sticky. She holds him steady by the cheeks, feeling the slight stubble. Hands grasped tightly to her bunched dress, he backs her up against a rock as her hands travel toward any piece of open skin she can feel, from his biceps to the tips of his fingers digging into her waist. She feels a rush of anxiety settles in her stomach as he hikes up her dress around her waist, his crotch grinding into hers.

While they used to fill her with dread, these nerves leave her eager and wanton, and she wants so badly to melt into him and have him take her however he wants, but that little voice, the one that always reminded her of every little thing that could possibly go wrong, is screaming at her to stop him. Harry, ever the pusher, who holds her hand and guides her through the things that she never thought she would before, would tell her to shove those fears back, that this is their moment to just be and live, just him and her, together.

Through her inner turmoil, she still focuses on her sensible side, and she hesitates.

“H,” she moans, tugging on his hair. He presses his lips to her neck, tongue dipping out to wet her skin, tasting, savoring her.

“Not that I’m not… loving what you’re doing, but��” Her voice breaks a little as he nibbles and sucks just below her jaw. “We could get caught,” she says breathily, and he pulls back, his hands still tucked in the hollow of her neck and her waist.

Despite the beach being very private, she can’t help but be worried that someone would catch them in such an intimate way, but he just gives her a comforting smile, their fingers interlacing at her hip, and she can feel her worries melt away. She still can barely believe that he can make nearly all of her nerves dissipate with just a simple look or touch.

“Isn’t that a part of the fun?”

Her heart jumps into her throat. Now, all she can think about how someone could catch them at any moment; all she can think about is how stupid and reckless it is for them, especially for him. It’s risky and nerve wracking, but her pussy still throbs in her underwear, wetness seeping into the already stained fabric. She could only imagine the person’s surprise if they rounded the corner to see him on his knees before her, her fingers tracing through his still wet hair as he works his mouth on her.

They’re hidden behind a set of pale rocks, plentifully dotted with dark moss. He nearly covers her, his thick arms resting on the rocks behind her, blanketing her in his shadow. He grinds his hips into her. She tucks a hand beneath the dark orange top, her thumb running along the fleshy meat of his hips, his sun kissed skin smooth beneath her touch. He spreads kisses down to that same weak spot beneath her jaw, still tender from his earlier ministrations.

“Okay,” she hums, finally sinking into him. Despite the heat from the burning sun, she embraces him, tugging and pulling him closer until they’re nestled close, chest to chest, his knee settled between her spread thighs, against the rock behind her.

“You jus’ gotta be quiet,” he mumbles.

That makes her chuckle.

“Me? I’m the loud one?”

Compared ot beginning of their relationship, she has learned how to be more expressive and emotive and assertive when it comes to sex, often telling him exactly what she needs, how she needs it, and when, but she still isn’t near as loud or talkative as he is. He could chatter her ear off about any just anything while he’s fucking her. Initially, it was odd; sex was never an experience she considered to be something that was really open or comfortable, if that makes sense. She always saw it as something that was supposed to be taken very seriously, and it was somewhat of a personal experience, despite it being between two people.

But, perhaps, that was just her anxiety telling her that it’s not a good idea, or it was because of her innermost fear of embarrassing herself.

However, it’s moments like these, where she can barely comprehend the world around her, only being able to move her head slightly, the words completely caught in her throat, that she’s glad that he talks her through everything; she’s glad that she can bear witness to the filthy words that leave his lips, words that make her tremble and quake with anticipation.

He cups her through thin panties, his nails tracing her swollen lips. His rings offer a different kind of friction, one she yearns for, rigid and relentless. She hooks a knee around his waist, and he cups the back of her thigh, the cotton of her dress pooling around his elbow. He pushes the panties to the side with his free hand.

“Your poor little peach,” he pouts teasingly, voice soft. He pinches her puffy clit, and her hips buck against the sudden, harsh touch. “So wet and swollen. ‘M sorry, babylove. If I knew you were feelin’ tingly, would’ve taken this walk earlier.”

He kisses behind her ear, fingers spreading her wetness over her folds, paying special attention to her painfully hard button, throbbing and aching from his faint brushes across her sensitive skin. She whines, head sinking against the rocks, eyes fluttering closed. He pulls her lips apart, until she’s full open to him, her tight, clenching hole seeping with arousal.

“What got you this worked up, lovie?”

Her thighs tremble and shake, her knees threatening to give at any moment.

“Was thinking about… you,” she admits softly, sweetly, and she can feel his bulge thicken just a little more against her.

“Me?” He has an incredulous tone, but the darkening edge to the laughter that punctuates it makes her thighs close around his hand. “Little ol’ me?” A flare of pink has started to form on the rounds of his cheeks, probably from the sun, but it looks cute on him.

“What were you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“This,” she chokes out. That’s all she can really say at this point. With the pressured circles he’s kneading into her poor, swollen clit, she can’t think coherently. It’s not enough to make her come yet, but it’s enough to keep her satiated, just enough for her to teeter on the brink of insanity.

“Dirty girl,” he says, “thinking ‘bout me eating your pretty little peach out here, where anyone could see, your honey drippin’ down your thighs.” She clenches, aching and throbbing at his words. She can feel her arousal slip down her thighs. “Anyone could see us out here, sweetness.” He tuts, tapping the tips of his fingers against her poor bud, her hips buck at the slight friction, and she whines pitifully.

“Or is that what you wanted?”

He cocks his brow. He strokes his fingers along her swollen lips, nails slightly grazing the tender, pink inside, which makes her hips jolt into his touch. Breathing ragged, the meat of her thighs tense from his gentle touches, teasing and fleeting.

“Maybe you wanted someone to see us. You wanted them to watch me make you come with my mouth. Maybe they’ll think about those pretty noises you make while they come. Is that what you wanted?”

He sinks two fingers into her sopping pussy, stretching and filling her, and she cries out at the sudden relief. The burning ache inside her is quelled just a little bit more as he curls his fingers into her little spot. She slips, the rough rocks grating against the skin of her bare back; the pain lingers and heightens her senses, the throbbing pleasure from his movements sinking deep into her bones. He catches her before she can fall, knee still holding her up.

“Yes,” she whines, grinding into him. He sinks to his knees.

“So pretty, babylove,” he praises as he pulls back the hood of her clit. “Such a perfect little peach.” Suckling and nibbling at her swollen bud, her hips buck in time with his lips. He runs the flat of his tongue along the underside of her clit, her taste making his cock stir in his pants. Her walls clench around his fingers, sucking and pulling him deeper inside her. He pulls his lips back, his thumb pressing harshly into her bud, a stark contrast to the warmth from his mouth. He kisses the inside of her trembling thigh.

“Can you take another?”

She nods desperately, her hips grinding against him. He easily slips another finger, and he smiles as more arousal seeps down to his wrist.

“Never taken three, have ya? My good girl, so fuckin’ wet f’me,” he says, pulling at her swollen button with his free hand.

“What else were you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

She struggles to speak, her world still spinning and blurred from her impending orgasm. Her pussy tightens near painfully around his ring-clad fingers.

“Tell me,” he coaxes her, fingers fucking into her at a brutal pace, leaving her breathless and incoherent. She mumbles something through broken whines, her heaving chest stuttering. She can’t even keep her eyes open as she chases her coming high, her wetness squelching between his fingers.

“What was that?”

“Wanna choke on your cock,” she says through ragged moans. He smirks against her thigh.

“You want me to pull your hair back and tell you how much of a good girl you are while you take my cock in your pretty little mouth?”

“Yes, please,” she whines. She can actually feel her mouth water at the thought of shoving his cock deep in her throat with him moaning and claiming her and taking what he wants.

“Come for me, babylove, and then, you can have my cock,” he coos.

Her high takes over her with a burning fire, igniting every vessel in her body with ecstasy, sending waves of tremors and chills through her muscles, until it settles to smoldering embers, leaving her hungry and eager for him. She tugs him into a biting kiss, teeth tugging at his teasing lips. She wants to rip that orange top from him to feel his glistening skin against her, from the hardness of his chest to the soft little pooch that settles around his hips and stomach. She can’t now, but she’ll definitely have to play out that fantasy some other time.

He sits on his bum, the burning sand shifting and settling up around his thick thighs, but he doesn’t take much notice in that as she pushes his thighs apart, eagerly tugging his pants down. There’s a pretty red, nearly purple, hue to the head of his cock, precum slipping from the slit.

The fabric of his pants bunch up tightly underneath his balls, but it offers the perfect amount of pressure whenever his hips buck up. Her tongue traces along her lips, bitten and puffy, her eager eyes taking in everything he has to offer. His cock jumps a little under her gaze.

“Take it, lovie,” he moans.

And take it she does.

She licks the little divot of his balls, wetting the pliable skin before massaging her thumb into him, the way she knows he likes it. His eyes roll back. She presses the head into the soft skin of her cheek, making them puffed and protrude. She sinks further and further down, her wet lips tight and absolutely perfect against him.

“So pretty, baby,” he sighs, eyes fluttering closed as her throat tightens around him. Her teeth just slightly graze the throbbing vein on the bottom part of his shaft, making him twitch.

She grips tightly onto his pleated pants, twisting the thin fabric in little fists as she takes him entirely this time, choking her. Saliva dribbles from her lips to the swell of his balls, and he cups them, spreading the wetness over his sensitive skin. When she lets up, a string trails from her lips to the throbbing head.

“Such a good girl f’me,” he moans, brushing some wetness from her chin. He can feel himself twitch again at the sight of her, lashes clinging together with unshed tears, lips soft and plump and wet—she looks ethereal, absolutely divine. Her breasts are pressed tightly together, shifting slightly with every move of her wrist.

“My best girl.”

She jerks him in quick, wet strokes, the obscene sounds nearly muffled by the crashing waves nearby. A swell of wind brushes through, rustling his hair, and it sends chills down his spine, leaving his thighs quivering.

“Gonna come?” His sweet’s voice is raw and wrecked, and it makes him throb. She breathes sharply through her teeth, wiping her lips crudely with the back of her hand. She lets a thick drop of saliva slip past puckered lips and onto his swollen cock, and his hips jolt up as it trails teasingly down the ridges until it stops in her hand at the base of his cock, nestled tightly against the fine curls. Her other hand teases along the tip, just barely slipping it through her loose fist.

“Please, wanna taste it,” she whimpers, and he swears he could black out. His body is overwhelmed by his racing heart; he can feel it everywhere, from his ears to the tips of his toes, blood rushes through him, heating his skin. She wraps her lips tightly around the head, her cheeks hollowed, and she looks at him with hooded eyes, begging, pleading with him.

Her tongue suckles at that special spot on the underside of the tip that makes him see stars. With trembling hands brushing back the flyaways from her forehead and his face scrunching up, eyes closed, a toe-curling, all-consuming orgasm rushes through him and leaves his hips bucking and skin sticky. She laps at his cum, her pretty, puffy lips still wrapped around him to coax him through his high.

He pulls her up, his hands cupping the back of her neck, and she straddles him, his softening prick lying between them, still twitching slightly. He tugs her lips onto his, molding them together with swollen lips, saliva, and sweetness, twinged with salt and sex. He pulls their lips apart to finally catch his breath, but she continues to press her lips to his tender skin, her comforting kisses bringing him out of his euphoria induced lull.

A cute little purple flower catches the corner of his eye. It’s the only one sprouting beneath a heavy layer of sand, just barely peeking beyond the surface. He picks it.

“A flower for my flower,” he says sweetly, and she takes it, her eyes soft. She looks it over.

“I’m pretty sure this is a weed,” she laughs, rolling the stem between her fingers, and his eyes widen in offence.

“No, it’s a native wildflower.” He tries to defend himself, but she isn’t having it, soft billows of laughter falling from her swollen, wet lips. He pouts. “Fine, then, jus’ take my gift and completely squander it.”

Ever the dramatic one.

She stands up, brushing the sand that accumulated in the folds of her dress.

“Put your cock away. We should head back before everyone gets suspicious,” she says.

“After everything I do for you, you still make me put my own cock away,” he scoffs, teasing smile still curled over his features. He shakes his head.

“Last time I did, you said I was bein’ too rough,” she says, brow cocked and hip jutted. He concedes to her and tucks himself back into his slacks. “C’mon, sugar butt,” she says, pulling him onto his feet. He stumbles, standing more onto the heels of his feet to get used to the heat of the sand. She has the flower tucked behind her ear.

If anyone noticed their beaming smiles or their rumbled clothes or the scratchiness to her voice, they don’t say anything. They don’t say anything then, or when Y/N parts from him with a quick peck on the cheek and a pinch to his bum. They don’t say anything when he gives her even more teasing glances when he’s in front of the camera or when he stops by her after a quick wardrobe change and gives her a deep kiss, followed by a whispered promise of more to come.

—

#such a pretty title for such a dirty fic lol #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes smut #gif not mine #credit to owner

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quinn-tessence · 4 years ago

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Paint me like one of your French girls

Part 2

This goes out to all the artists in this heart warming Joker community, who still find so much inspiration in our beloved character. Thank you for sharing with us how you see Arthur/Joker through your eyes, your creative vision brings so much joy and comfort through these troubling times! 🙏🤡❤

Summary: you accept Joker's invitation against your better judgement, even after he'd broken into your home and caught you red handed. His rhetoric makes you fall into his degraded sense of civic duty. So does his sly but chivalrous demeanor, a different shade of the Arthur you used to know. You're in for a revelation that seals the deal.

Length: 7k ish, gradual build up

Warnings: a touch of Theodore Twombly, splashes of Arthur and heavy strokes of Joker, mentions of mental conditions, flirty fluff, oh smut, yes, yes, keep readin'

As his scent still lingered, the yellow street lights engulfed the room as you stood naked at the window, facing the portrait you'd painted. Maybe it had only been the light reflecting off its surface, but you could have sworn it was looking right through you.

Did this really happen? You thought to yourself as you stepped down from your high, hoping this had not just been one more of your self induced vivid fantasies. But the flammable cocktail he'd left lingering in your studio was a stark reminder.

Arthur had come at last, even if one year late, but it had been Joker breathing down your neck, intoxicating you with whispers of your most ardent desires. A butterfly in the path of a flame you were, the attraction to him primal, insatiable, frightening. Was this really Arthur? He was surely the Clown Prince of Crime, and that was not something sweet Arthur could have maneuvered while pumping himself full of antidepressants.

‘I'd put my mouth on you’ resounded against your temples, his purring whispers a delicious catalyst for a continuous pulsating sensation throughout the night. 'Cause that's how I imagine you every night' had been the least expected confession, had he lied to just get you hooked, he'd been successful. As you tried to drift away, you'd force yourself to resist the urge and keep yourself untouched for him. Agonizing as that was, how he'd stirred the embers in your mind had made any of your attempts futile. No substitute would do.

Tick, tock. You hadn't heard your bedside clock ticking for years, but today it was thumping, a metronome to steady your breath as you woke. The only sensible action was to take charge and keep yourself busy. He was going to get what he wanted, clearly he had made the alternative impossible with his mischievous schemes. But he had been thinking of you all night as well, and that was one aspect up to be exploited.

A few minutes to 9 PM, a pinup doll you'd never seen before was staring right back at you in the mirror. His spine tingling whispers had made you work on yourself on commission. He had one demand and it was up to you to fill up the rest of the canvas to impress.

The street was empty as you walked out on the dot. Swiftly, 3 SUVs pulled up in front of your alley, and your heart leapt to your throat.

Here comes the devil. Dashing. Elegant. Ravishing in that pristine makeup, green eyes piercing your whole body as he swaggered closer, his body ambling, almost floating on air. Your art made him no justice compared to the original. Any shades of color you might have painted before would pale in comparison to how they contoured him in the flesh, and the makeup uneven, yet always perfect. Smoke fuming from his mouth, his heels screeched the pavement as if to warn you danger is nearing, yet your knees grew weaker with each step he took.

He was… just as slim as you remembered, but somehow a bit taller. Instead of Arthur’s timorous gazes, a devilish smirk crowned his beautiful jawline enough to make you forget even your name. You couldn't help but wonder why the dress as his gaze systematically reduced any fabric covering your skin to irrelevance. The emerald green eyes had already made you whimper in silence, this wasn't going to get any easier.

‘Hi Y/N. Glad you decided to come tonight.’ An eyebrow twitch accompanied his words as a much needed release from hypnosis.

‘Hi, Joker. Not sure if I had a choice in accepting your invitation.’ An unmistakable vibration in your voice immediately made his deep, long dimples contour his well defined face. The sexiest dimples you'd ever seen in a man, you were certain.

‘Of course you did. You had one week to consider, and here you are. I must admit, you are your finest work of art so far. Is all of this for me?’

‘I have a date later and I thought I’d dress to impress. The fella seemed to have some serious intentions.' The thump of your heartbeat could easily be heard by his armed men keeping watch. Thankfully, they minded their business.

‘What a lucky fella. He'd better, or else I know a few guys who can straighten him up'

An eyebrow twitch followed by a tongue in cheek chuckle, he tried to distract your noticing by running a hand through his slick green hair, but his shy gaze fell to his feet. Hi, Arthur…

‘In this case, we'd better be on our way before we get all of us in trouble. A couple precautions before we go. I'll need to wrap this around your eyes to protect the location we're headed to. It'll be a 30 minutes drive. Sadly, I’ll have to jump in another car, for both our protection. If anything happens on the road, I’ll be the main target and my guys are sworn to keep you safe. But we took care of a few things and Gotham should be teeming with crime tonight, enough for us to have a safe journey. Are you ready?’ his hand extended, your primary instincts shameless traitors. As you touched his fingertips, you went all in.

You both hopped into one SUV, his proximity to you nerve wrecking, the warmth of his slender body radiating against your prickled skin. The way he had been staring into your eyes for a few seconds was making you question reality. Shutting your eyes as he wrapped his tie around them didn't help clear the waters.

‘Tell me if it's too tight.’

‘Wouldn't that be the point? Don't untighten it.’

‘Miss Y/L/N... Here you are, blindfolded in the backseat of my SUV, about to drive off with Gotham's most wanted. Knowing your inner circle, I’d have wagered they'd advise you to keep better company. Good thing I’m not a betting man.’

‘Well, a certain gentleman had made a promise last night, if I remember correctly'

‘Indeed he had. I'm not going to hurt you'

‘That was not the promise...' you forced the corners of your mouth to not betray your titillating reaction.

‘Wasn't it?’

An endearing giggle helped cut the tension in your core, but you gently startled at the feel of his fingers caressing your cheek and rushing over your lower lip, the ever present smell of nicotine flooding your nostrils, the lack of eyesight heightening your other senses. Somehow he made this feel like a dream.

‘See you soon'

A 30 minute drive with only the voice of Frank. Thoughtful touch, making you feel close to home even while venturing into a world of batshit crazy. Blindfolding you might have been for protection, but it served another more tantalizing purpose. And processed you did, but not at all did it help with the anxiety. If anything, Joker had poured gasoline on the bonfire he had started the night before.

The cars stopped and the door opened, your hand touched softly, you were descending from the car and carefully directed forward by his arms. You’d been right about his scent, and it drove you mad as he helped you watch your step.

‘Open your eyes'

The venue, a vineyard outside Gotham, with a manor and view of the lake. Breathtakingly elegant and conveniently out of police jurisdiction. A coquette set up on the front terrace in an open space foyer, the breeze rustling the flowers that dangled from it. As beautiful a venue, in reality he was still the center piece of this canvas, the white streaks of makeup, his green hair, the contrasts of his suit, that never ending cigarette. Unethical, dangerous, beautiful. What was he doing to you?

‘Welcome to my summer retreat. Glad you decided to join me, miss Y/L/N.’ He pulled a chair for you, elegantly inviting you to sit.

‘If we’re so intimately acquainted, why are you calling me by my last name?’

‘I like the taste of it on my lips. I like kitten more, but you know, pleasantries and all.’

He'd called you that before. Arthur was there, but Joker was clearly behind that lewd smirk and tantalizing choice of words. Tingles started running up your thighs without warning, in sync with the rhythm of his cues.

‘Pleasantries are for strangers'

‘Oh! Well then. We already see eye to eye' the clicking of glass betrayed a slight tremor in his hands as he poured a little more wine than necessary.

‘Cheers, thank you for having me here. How could I decline the invitation?’

‘I didn't know if you'd accept the invite one year later.’

‘And yet you took the risk'

‘How could I not be intrigued by the artist who paints me as a primary subject? You can imagine my surprise when I found out you were the same Y/N from the pharmacy queue. Why did you move out?’ As gallant as he was, he sure knew how to cut straight to the point.

‘I... I wasn't in a good place, I needed to uproot myself. So I quit the force, moved out, became a full time artist and painted my view of the world. That gives me fulfillment, I had been searching for it in the wrong place, I guess.’

‘Can’t argue with that. Fascinating. Tell me more.’

‘How far back should I go that you don't already know?’ His eyes moved away for a second, then returned with an intensity to freeze one's bones to the core.

‘It would mean so much more if I heard it from your lips rather than my trusted informants’. ’

That sweet white wine was a dangerous catalyst to unleash to him your widest smile, comforted by the verified honesty of his stories and his sharing of turmoil at the world. He'd also been an artist, although his conditions had been a detriment to his success in a comedy career, and support for him nonexistent at best.

You were just as fluent in Arthur's tragic life as he was in your tumultuous one. You’d been reduced to tears in your late nights when processing his fall into madness and how helpless he had been. All alone. That utter feeling of pain and grief had fueled your inspiration through all those months. But now the makeup made him look younger, the furrows of life less visible on his skin, that deep sorrow hidden under a thick layer of overconfidence, and if that was what he wanted to show you tonight, the last thing you'd do was force him otherwise.

A couple hours flew within minutes, the food half nibbled, his elbows on the table, his eyes every shade of the sea amidst a storm, devouring your every twitch as you spoke. Each time you'd meet them, he'd watch you languidly, dissecting your every reaction, the corner of his mouth slowly arching his dimples into existence. You had already sunk deeply in the sight of him chuckling and occasionally strolling his delicate long fingers through his green locks. He was so real and close to the touch, his presence so electrifying, it gave you fever.

And yet he made you feel comfortable. It had been a long time since a man had done so well and so naturally, you had forgotten how sweet the shivers were. And here was Arthur, that once shy, flustering man, igniting fire after fire in your gut with each elegant note of his voice and moves of his slender body. You couldn’t tell if the spark in his eye was his, or a reflection of your flaming self.

‘My turn to share?’

‘Yeah maybe I should stop talking for a while now, sorry, I got a bit carried away.’

‘Nonsense. You're my guest, why would I have brought you here if I didn't want to hear your stories?’

‘Well if you insist, I could think up a few reasons… aaand here I go, I’m so sorry, that was a bad joke, I swear it's the wine speaking…', your hand went straight to your face in a desperate attempt to hide your tipsy embarrassment.

Typical of you to screw this up, atta girl, you thought to yourself, feeling how your cheeks had turned the color of your dress. You weren't lying, the wine had had a woozing effect, but you were drunk on him instead. As you shyly lifted your eyes, a hungry wolf was lurking beneath the painted blue diamonds, eyes as deep as an ocean, eyebrows creasing his forehead in long, deep wrinkles. It wasn't fair how the red razor sharp grin cut through his cheeks like furrows, his crooked teeth exposed enough to make you bite your lip in shame of your sassy comment.

‘That's… one description, but not the one I’d choose… When you come out from under there, I have a surprise for you. Come with me inside for a minute.’

That red dress suddenly shrunk tightly on your chest, the fabric a suffocating shroud for your skin. Guided through the gliding doors, an elegant galley of your work hung against a red brick wall. You felt a knot in your throat, your eyes watering.

‘This part of the house is my little sanctuary. Where I come to spend time with you, with how you see me through your eyes. I started collecting those the minute I felt alive through your art, immortal, legendary. You’re fueling my ego, you know?’

This was more of a shock than a surprise. A shock at your naivety than at his right to purchase your public art. He had kept all your thank you cards, even if you'd thought you'd written them for different clients. He called them your letters. They were to him, and about him, so he found it appropriate. Was this just incredibly romantic, or was it the schizoid paranoia from his official diagnosis?

Right then, the realization finally struck, and it struck with the sound of a thousand church bells between your temples. You’d shared such intimacy with him for months, and he’d been financing your bohemian lifestyle since you’d left the force. This was his big night, just as much as yours, it was clear as you looked into his eyes to see sweet Arthur from the pharmacy line. Yet his shy gaze betrayed anything but an expectation to cash in that cheque. You were ignoring all the red flags again, the rush of emotion rendering you incapable of clear thought.

And yet, your body was yearning to shed its covers and unravel your latest masterpiece to absorb his reaction through every pore, but you gave into your superficially cautious thoughts. As he stood next to you in admiration, he lit a cigarette and passed it over after puffing almost halfway. You’d never thought the sight of red marks on a cigarette would be the catalyst to set you ablaze in your choice of men, but you'd been ironically wrong. The very close presence of this clown felt nothing like fear and anxiety, even more so as he was fidgeting so sweetly. An adorable irrational fear of a possible rejection had kept a never ending cigarette between his lips, and your heart coiled at seeing a painted Arthur before you.

‘I hope you don't mind. If a fire broke out tomorrow I'd save these first. You saw me when I needed to be seen, and the way I needed to be seen. Your art is breathtaking. Nothing humbles me as admiring it.’

You felt as light as a feather as his hand extended once again, and carried you back to the foyer to pour the last glass of wine.

‘I gotta be honest with you, kitten. I’m not an easy guy to be around. My mind is a twisted place, and past treatments were … debilitating, to say the least. Fate took me off those by force, just to feel much better afterwards, ironically. I switched my treatment for a couple conditions in the meantime. You see, having difficulty distinguishing reality from imagination could be quite inconvenient in my line of business. Else, I'd be back in Arkham by now.’

For a deranged criminal, he was exquisitely refined. His posture, his attire, the cigarette between his fingers were radioactive. This deceitfully feeble man had once bashed in the brains of a man twice his size with a pair of scissors and a wall, the police records had been detailed enough to make your stomach churn. His slim, delicate body was a dangerous trap for those who questioned his ferocity and agility coupled with his multiple mental conditions. The 3 Wall Street guys had had no idea what a catalyst they were about to be. And yet, here he was. Delicate and gentle, maybe even vulnerable.

‘Back? Why back?’ you asked despite knowing every little detail.

‘Not an easily digestible subject, I’m sure you'd agree. That's a conversation for another time, but here I am, flesh and blood, thinking as clearly as daybreak. In most aspects.’

That wine must have had no effect on him, as he continued to control the conversation, steering it with refinement, clearly more cautious than yourself.

‘What aspects are not clear?’

‘Is this an interrogation, kitten?’ his wide gaze from under long eyelashes coupled with the pet name off his lips were utterly debilitating.

‘Not at all, I am intrigued. Please tell me more'

‘If the lady insists. What’s unclear? Well some minor details. Like my future, my life, the next target, evading the police, you.’ His emeralds confidently strolled along the lines of your face, particularly the curve of your lips. Not at all distracting.

‘I can understand the others, but me?’

‘You see me for who I want to be. I’m not always Joker, that's for my men, my criminal nightlife. You knew me before all this, and you paint that man wearing this Joker outfit. Sometimes I wish it were so, but most times I am convinced that it must be otherwise.’

He swallowed hard and emptied his glass.

‘So you see how your artistic depiction of me is what I want to see when I look in the mirror, not what they say on TV. It's kept me from going too far, it gives me a level of restraint that this Joker makeup laughs at, and I really prefer that to any straight jacket. I like this new man I’ve become, but I can't allow him to overwhelm the old me. Whomever that was.’

As he spoke, there was a sweet sadness to his voice that proceeded to melt you from the inside, furthering the utterly irresponsible, delicious plunge. He was forcing himself to smile even through the most painful truths, like a tic developed through years of practice, but his voice faltered here and there, trying to stifle his bouncing knee. All you wanted was to cup his cheek and caress him through the anxiety that had been crippling the body of both his whole life. He reached out for another cigarette before you could fulfill that thought.

‘I… am flattered, to say the least. I wasn't sure what to expect of tonight, but I will have another glass of wine, please. If there's any left in this beautiful vineyard.’

‘Coming right up!’

He danced nimbly into the kitchen, Sinatra serenading an audience of hanging grapes and the two of you.

Impressed was an understatement. Where was that psychopathic, vicious killer clown that all the headlines had been about for the past year, that your friends had tried to warn you of? Joker had been a gentleman so far, none of his known crimes had tainted that opinion of him, not even Murray to be quite frank. He wasn't half as ruthless as he had been demonized to be. How he spoke so caringly about his men, they were not just his goons, he trusted them, and they trusted him. This didn't make your coming here any wiser, not in the eyes of society. But your mind was already made up.

He soon returned with a new bottle, poured a glass and extended his hand.

‘Voulez vous danser avec moi, mademoiselle?’ That pristine makeup and red suit molded him into the most alluring devil coming to claim you. Speaking in French had sealed the deal.

‘Biensur, monsieur.’

Strolling you across the terrace on The Way You Look Tonight, leaning you onto his chest, his palm on the small of your back, gently intrusive. The warmth of his body engulfed yours, his cheek on your temple, he had you craving for a heavy dose. He was such a good dancer, you felt like a feather in his delicate arms as he turned you a few times then leaned you backwards to lift your thigh in a shy attempt to test your responsiveness. The innocence of his smile quickly altered into curiosity as his fingers brushed over your garter. A glimmering spark coated his devilish eyes and an eyebrow twitch marked the epitome of nonverbal cues.

‘Where did you learn French?’

‘From old movies on the telly. Unfortunately, my extensive knowledge of French will end here. I'd always fall asleep through the romantic dancing, so I don't know what comes next.’

‘What a terrible waste of a beautiful evening that would be…’

‘It would… But I've also prepared for tonight, kitten, in many ways.’ You whirled at his directive once again.

‘You did indeed. I appreciate the effort.’

‘Hah, I’m sure you do…' he chuckled to himself mischievously. 'I know I am putting you in an awfully strange position by being here and showing you all this. I'd like to know you're comfortable, all things considered. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you.’

‘Yes, how thoughtful indeed. Especially after how you left me last night.’

‘Ohhh yes, I did that, didn’t I?’

‘My dating rulebook had a few pages torn out, so I had to skip a couple chapters in my preparation. Perhaps you could fill me in on the content of those missing pages…’

He hadn't expected you to make the first move, the surprise in his eyes at seeing you instinctively biting your lip was palpable, but the tension in your core had overstepped any boundaries.

‘… I wouldn't want to drag you down. I'll catch up. What page are you on right now?’

As you spoke, you were dancing him inside the mansion, towards the main art room. Tantalizing him, your lips grazing over his, locking eye contact intensely, then shying away. His intrigue at your little game etched a smirk across his face, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your waist, very gently contouring the girdle holding your stockings.

‘I have an advanced edition. The page that cautions against wearing lace for a long time.’

‘Lace?… oh. Ohhh! I see! Yeah, I remember that. In the missing pages, they strongly advised removing all other clothes for easier access to the lace…'

Your back sensually turned to him, his fingers lowered your back zipper, the feel of burning wet lips on your neck snatched a deep moan from yours as a hum vibrated against your ear. In a swift second, you were in his arms being carried in front of his gallery, and as soon as the stilettos touched the ground, your dress was framing your ankles at his careful directive.

‘Oh... The advanced edition must have a copy of my journal in the writers' room’ his eyes gleaming, he took a step back to revel in the sight of his freshly lace garnished gallery.

‘Not really. Seeing how you wrapped me up in a tight bow, I found another way of adding a… touch… of myself.’

A wide grin across his face, he was visibly panting. His hands straight to the top of his teal shirt in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air. The light emanated from the frames of his portraits contoured your body as he approached with careful steps, as if a predator stalked its prey, strolling hungry eyes all over your curves.

‘And here I was, thinking I’d seen the best of you yesterday. Look at you… you're worth every damn risk in the book. Tell me, have you been a good girl last night?’

He slowly ascended the 3 steps leading to the art wall where you stood in your unholy red lace lingerie, stockings hanging from your girdle insolently. Your pedestal, that was. Colin was right, reality beats fiction every god damn time. If he only knew.

‘I clearly haven't. I should have called the cops on you. Yet you break in and rake me up with your mischievous whispers, you make me dress up for you and bring me here, to all this, and then claim you don't want to overwhelm me. You're acting like a gentleman but you're really a sneaky bastard, aren't you?’

Shamefully you put all the blame for your descent into his madness on him, as if you’d taken no part in this tantalizing game. In his ascent, he had gained the advantage right back, towering over you in all his colorful splendor. In that very moment, he knew you were his. The corners of his mouth arched so intensely that no amount of makeup could cover Arthur's arousing wrinkles any longer. He knew very well that he was the devil coming to claim what was his, and his gentle demeanor had shifted drastically to reflect that and scorch you. His inquisitive eyes onto the soft edges of the red brassiere, his tongue strolling over his lips lusciously, you were soon humming to yourself.

‘I… I am about to fuck you into next month. I hope you cancelled your plans, pussycat.’

His bluntness made it clear that Arthur had left you at the mercy of this clown, yet every atom of your body craved him.

‘How gallant… What about your criminal activities?’

‘I'm taking a small vacation. My men will shake things up enough to keep your buddies doing overtime. As for being a gentleman, I’m done with that for tonight.’

‘What if I say no?’

‘I made sure you wouldn't do that last night’

The moment you felt his ragged breath against your skin, you melted away in his arms, like gold in a fire pit. You gave in completely to his hungry lips trembling as he kissed you, his whole body as tense as a string, savoring you with heavy gulps. The intensity of his grip, the weight of his body, the shivers in his flesh betrayed the end of a painful anticipation that he'd yearned for. The bitterness of his makeup was the first shock, the second was his body weight heavy against you, the third the most unnerving, ohhh la la! If one lit a match you'd both combust in flames.

‘How about we skip the pleasantries, mm?’ he whispered in between heavy gulps of you, far from asking for permission.

The taste of his mouth, a mélange of cigarettes, wine, bitter makeup, each flavor made your limits become optional. Lace was suddenly no longer a threat for your breasts, as his fingers bared your chest for his delight, quickly followed by his painted thin lips. Something about him made you feel like a dangerous woman. Devouring you whole, shoulders, neck, breasts, his makeup brushed faded color tracing his steps, little moans escaping his throat at the taste of your skin. To your left, a full gallery of your ardent attempts to bring him back. You’d been afraid for so long to articulate your feelings for him even to yourself, always denying the possible realization of this moment. But his warm tongue strolling along your navel was a check mate to your insecurities, and now your body was his canvas, painting you in shades of Joker.

As he got on his knees, you felt yours would weaken in an instant, the heels of your stilettos working their way to penetrate yours.

‘I think we should take the advice in the rulebook and avoid exposure to lace for too long, don't you?’ his nimble fingers removed the lace panties and his tongue invaded your core before you could object. As if.

Fuck yesss… you exhaled a touch too loudly.

‘Oh dear, where are your manners, young lady?’ as if he wasn't speaking with a mouthful.

The sight of his green hair falling over the red jacket, his wide eyes pinned on yours, his mouth gobbling at you had been your usual suspects for the past year. But you'd imagined Arthur under the makeup, and these darkened eyes betrayed another beast altogether, a hungry, voracious beast. A surprisingly crafty one, within seconds he'd made you purr uncontrollably.

An outpour of sensation washed over you, body and mind together feeling so sensual and wanted, he was controlling your body with his tongue even as he knelt before you. You’d been intoxicated by the smell of cologne, cigarette and faint gasoline, your finger tips tracing the freshly applied white makeup and green dye on his temples. Soon enough, the slick bastard was maneuvering your clit, exposing and tasting it to his own pleasure. For a second, he moaned as he lost himself in your folds, the sounds of him enjoying what he was doing to you made you pulsate on his tongue. He'd rattled you down to your heels, you were panting so hard you were afraid you would tumble.

‘Joker… I’m gonna fall…’

‘Now now… let me finish this first, then you can fall for me, kitten.’

It hadn't even crossed your mind to make that connection, but you were once again red-handed. You couldn't help but let out a silly school girl giggle as he got up and lifted you in his arms, so much stronger than his slim complexion let see, carrying you to the large sofa, gently laying you in a corner.

‘Is this better?’

Your eyes the size of two full moons, you nodded.

‘Keep those devils on, will you?’ winking at the red soles of the Louboutins you'd chosen for the occasion. You nodded once more with beggar eyes.

‘The taste of you… mmm how I’ve yearned for it… I wasn't joking about your cancelled plans. Don't say you weren't warned' he whispered as he kissed you, his taste and yours mingled on his lips were an aphrodisiac. You nodded obediently one last time.

Kneeling once again between your thighs, he proceeded to unbutton his vest, then his shirt, yet maintaining eye contact. Damn, that new treatment must have been making miracles. You had never been intimate with Arthur before, but you couldn't miss that it was Joker in between your thighs. You’d be shamelessly lying if you said you didn't want him to take you just like this, a painted, deranged clown that had been stalking you for months, the danger an essential part of the thrill.

As he bared his chest, a deep purple covered part of his left ribcage underneath the teal shirt, his nightlife trade in violence etched onto his body, causing you to frown with genuine concern. That must have been why he seemed to flinch and change course at the thought of baring his body to you. In his own time.

You trembled as his warm breath spread over your clit, sinking his tongue in whatever he'd made of you already. The intense eye contact would be enough stimulant to answer your burning curiosities, but he had his to satisfy. Savoring each slurp, he was masterfully tensing you up like a guitar string ready to pop at the next twirl, and those diamonds around his eyes only served to plunge you into the ferocity of his curious gazes. You were a ball of ache to feel his flesh slither inside you, tongue, fingers, cock. The thirst you’d felt for him for so long was strikingly visible in your quivering body and four octave moans, his palms strolling across the red lace all the way up to your breasts. How insatiable he was in his exploration, each touch a stronger confirmation that you were really, finally his.

A soft stroke of his tongue over his lips yanked you out of any distraction, an uncontrolled twitch of your knees betraying a futile instinct of self preservation. Your reflexes had been off by around a year, though. You whined and moaned and shivered under his velvet lips as he strolled them down your breasts, your ribs, your belly button, feeling the jolts in your body and reveling in them as he hummed. Each kiss he carefully peppered onto your prickled skin sent you into a maddening spiral, your core a backdraft aching for him to extinguish. How ironic. You had grown up petrified of those nightmares of a dreadful clown chasing you down to eat you whole. Who would have thought these terrors would develop into consuming yearnings 20 years later?

The high that came with his virtuosity made the fabric of reality feel hazy, your fingers tangled in his green hair an anchor to the real world, where it seemed as if your body had been designed for him to unlock. With each feathery stroke he'd have you yearning for more, contorting in lust as he tasted you for his own pleasure. Your fingers on his white temple, he seemed intrigued by the beggar look staring right at him, so he buried his tongue deeper.

‘This tastes exactly how I imagined it…’

This hungry wolf kept on controlling your whole body through his tongue, slurping each drop of pleasure he brought. The narcissist in him was feeding off each reaction he ignited, reveling in the fact that he was the cause of all this hot mess, and you were falling like rain on a scorching mid summer day.

‘You rascal... Is this your MO, you threaten your prey 24 hours before the inevitable?’

‘I usually take ‘em by surprise'

Fire and ice collided in your core into an outwash of sensation and your eyes drowned in the back of your head as he gentry filled you up with one finger ‘Ohh… right there…’. It was too much to bear as his tongue played with your flushed bud and his finger stroke at your deepest well of intense pleasure. Never would you have thought Arthur capable of pleasuring a woman so exquisitely, but here he was, proving you wrong in the most delicious way you'd never imagined.

He was an artist after all, a nimble dancer who was born with music in his veins. And what is dancing than making love set to music? How he constantly drained you of every drop of pleasure with his skillful tongue, as if he'd finally found his vocation. The tenderness of his touches betrayed a long lasting want for you in his arms, a haunting want that he'd finally captured and was now close enough to taste.

‘Oh God, this is too good, please keep going' your voice had turned into beseeching cries.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes, please…’

‘Mmm… Right here?’

‘Y… yes… don't stop please', the words poured out as if coming from the sweetest place of ecstasy, the beggar look and pulsating muscles a dead giveaway.

‘Come for me, pussycat, and look at me as you do...’

His command to come for him tipped you off the edge instantly, he had released the hold on the leaning rollercoaster, his tongue twirling and stroking your flushed bud. His piercing eyes gleamed as your skin went aflame and you combusted in his mouth harder than you’d ever had before. Your mind was devoid of thought as you let yourself sink into his fervent caresses. He held you down as you bucked and convulsed in blissful agony pinned onto his finger, he sank his nose and tongue into your cunt, prideful for making you come so soon. You felt flushed, ravaged, trembling from all joints, your eyes in the back of your head unable to contain their fluttering any longer. His starved frenzy had eased into careful strokes with a soft tongue, comforting you through the dwindling climax.

‘Whoa, hello there, pussycat… how I love hearing you purr like this for me’

He climbed up to you gently, the widest, proudest grin imaginable etched on his face as he smacked his lips. The lower half was smudged enough for his mouth to be visible under a glistening coat of you, and there it was. The scar that you'd specifically left out of the composite sketch. It was very old, a part of him, his face branded uniquely. As much as the clown costume spewed fire down your spine, you so badly wanted to see Arthur without it once again.

‘Joker…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I'm gonna…’

‘Come again?’

His nimble fingers were skillfully riding you fast towards another orgasm, your core still highly sensitive after your first one.

‘That's it kitten, give this joker what he wants. You're so damn beautiful, I want all of you'

His savory whispers lifted you to your peak, then his lips kissed you through your implosive ecstasy as your whole body quivered under his. The taste of you on his lips should be his new cologne from then on. After he’d seeded those thoughts the night before, it wasn't at all surprising how your body overreacted to his touches. Murmuring softly in your ear, he slowly released the grip as you descended from the second high. Your palms caressed his jawline, the feel of paint covering his skin a contradiction you'd never felt before. But here he was, teaching you what you didn't know how.

‘There there, I’ll let go now'

‘No, don't, please. Give me more…' You begged, commanding respect as the highly virtuous, dignified lady you were in that moment.

His smile as wide as on Christmas morning, his eyebrows raised, a chuckle exulting his whole body, he clearly hadn't expected that reaction so soon. Cat's out of the bag now.

‘Well well well… Look at you beg!'

‘I didn't beg…!'

‘But you will'

You should have known better than falling into that again, but you were too distracted with unbuttoning his red pants and finding the real culprit for your sleepless nights. If you'd known Joker from so many accounts, this had not been in any police record. But boy, it should have been, you wouldn't have thinned your art exhibitions to avoid being found, what a ridiculous thing to do!

With a swift motion, he was already in between your thighs. Lowering his white briefs and positioning himself at your glistening entrance, he was massaging with the tip, testing your sensitivity. This surely wasn't the same gallant gentleman who'd wooed you so far, this was another animal who was toying with his food, and you had willingly stepped into his lair.

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

His eyes squinted in the dim light, a smug smile to his ears and your whole body jolted at the feel of him entering you all the way down, groaning with eyes in the back of his head.

‘Knowing me, what’s the difference?’

You molded so well on him as he filled you up and some more, his arms locking you down for his pleasure. Careful and gentle at first, his knees deep in the couch the more he'd bury himself into you, his face immersed in your hair gulping your scent, his tongue nibbling your ear.

‘And now I’m inside you. All the way inside you', his hand caressing your jawline, shyly brushing over your gaping mouth before kissing you.

Releasing yourself to him had been the epitome of the most ardent desires clawing out of you progressively. You‘d craved each and every word he was whispering in your ear as he was having you. His size filled you all the way in, you must have been molded to him or else you could not fathom how you'd never felt so awash as you did with Joker. He was going there, working exquisitely to get his little prize again, and it was terrifying how familiar he had become with your sweet spot in under an hour. Perhaps you'd anticipated this moment for months on end that his slightest touch would just keep you hooked in a state of blissful tension. His slim body felt heavy over you, his sharp pelvis bones grinding against your inner thighs, his protruding ribs over yours.

And yet he was so beautiful, no other man had ever awakened such riveting feelings inside your gut so effortlessly. The amount of torment this man had felt throughout his life, and yet he was still capable of making you feel such heart warming bliss in his arms. As he'd wrapped you around him tight, his palm on your cheek, his forehead to yours, it was clear you weren't just tonight's fuck. He had longed for you, and you were finally his. And his you were.

‘I'd asked myself so many times why you kept painting me, and what would you think about when you did that… Am I on the right track?’

You were a broken record of enticing approvals, your mind and body in ecstatic agony. This was not the same man from Pogo's Comedy Club, or the same man on the police car for that matter. This man was phlegmatic, charismatic and gallant enough to be a dirty flirt, and so goddamn dashing in his suit and makeup. Everything about him was such a contradiction it was driving you rabid.

Getting plowed you screamed and panted heavily, your core soaking him whole. His strokes were taking you to the edge, had they been delicate so far, now they were progressively vicious as he heard you whimper. Your mind was a sweet void, a deep abyss of shivers and tingles shrouding you in free fall, your dry lips pleading him to keep going.

As he bit his lips, his facial features turned aggressive, his eyes dark with lust. You moaned as he laid you down and fucked you hard and deep, hitting your sweet spot rhythmically, your cries fuel to his ego. The sneaky bastard was grinning at the sight of his kitten crumbling under his pleasure, so damn proud of himself.

‘You've been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?’

Your five senses were invaded by his forehead sweaty onto yours, his eyes a hypnotizing flood of green murky waters, the smell of ammonia and cigarettes filling your nostrils, his husky voice whispering softly as his cock rummaged your sweet spot.

‘You want to be my precious little slut doll, don't you? Come for me.’

Oh god… a new set of pleasure waves rushed through your flesh progressively. Something about the way he cursed sent you into a spiral, how it tipped you over into another outpour of muscle spasms. Under tight grips, he fucked you the way you needed to be fucked, fast and hard, without a pinch of mercy, his cock growing stronger under your spastic contractions, Arthur must have left the building completely. You slowly shed every ounce of ecstasy as he trailed his eyes down your body, his breath ragged, his voice purring little silent curses.

You're here, really here, you're mine, all mine, his voice whispered right before his sea green eyes disappeared in the back of his head and you felt a strong throb rushing through you as he spilled himself into you, shuddering, panting, gasping for air. His moans in pleasure were an aphrodisiac you’d never believed you'd get a taste of. But here it was, and all you wanted was to savor it at your discretion again and again.

As he descended from his high, his body felt heavy and his heart galloped against your chest, yet his lips still lingered on your skin, peppering it with red traces of himself. Joker had ousted the whole world from your senses, leaving only himself under your skin, his embrace the safest shelter for both.

‘If you only knew…’ he whispered as he lay his face to rest in the nuzzle of your neck ‘… just how many times I’ve played this in my head, kitten… If there's one good thing out of my condition, it's that my imagination can be blissfully vivid.’ His fingers deciphered your face gently, grabbling the warmth of the skin. ‘But every time I’d wake hopeful, you weren't there. And that's when it was most cruel and bitter…’The faltering of his voice played the piano tiles of an innocent, tormented concerto that filled the room despite the windy night.

‘But I am here now, Arthur'

‘You are… yes, you are…’

The sweetness of his soft lips deliciously covering your face until reaching your mouth, he'd been right when predicting your fall for him, and what a rhapsodic fall he'd triggered. The silence of his tight embrace said more than you'd ever dared hope for, but a playful hum lingered in his throat as the words murmured indelibly.

Someday when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight

His husky voice gave you shivery prickles, and a chuckle escaped you remembering the direction of Sinatra's lyrics, what a master of anticipation Arthur had become.

*Knock knock*

Arthur's voice froze in an instant, your heart almost bursting into his palm, he placed a finger over your lips to shush you.

A voice with a British accent apologized for the intrusion and set your mind at ease, but had clearly set Arthur on edge. By his puzzled reaction, he had meant his promise of a vacation and an interruption couldn't be a good omen.

‘Ahhhh shit, Gary! He wouldn't bother unless it was important. Stay here, kitten, I'll be right back. COMING!'

Untangling himself from you proved difficult for both as he kissed your lips one last time while tucking himself back into his pants. You'd covered half your face with the first pillow to stifle your giggles as he stumbled putting his shoes on, seemingly willing to greet Gary with his lower face smudged in a most decadent mixture of you both.

‘Arthur… that suit won't cover the lower half of your face, you know?’

An eyebrow twitch stopped him in his haste to ponder at your hint, the realization of it spreading a most endearing smile of the night onto his face. Your heart coiled at his complicit chuckle of needing to put Joker back on as he'd forgotten him for a second.

Two minutes later he bowed gracefully, his makeup shamefully half applied over the initial mess.

‘Gary's my best man, he's seen worse of me. But what’s a valiant knight to do if not protect his sweet damsel's virtue?’

A wink and a quick peck on the lips, so comfortingly as if you'd known each other for ages, and off he went.

As he will, undoubtedly…

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