Written for Joker x Harley week day 3: Lust.
Contains explicit content, dub-con. Set in Suicide Squad.

My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God
Help me, you make me perfect.

- Closer, Nine Inch Nails

She wants his destruction.

Like something dark, unfathomable, when her breathing gets stuck in her throat and pain stings her skin when his teeth breaks it. Every heartbeat is slow, painful. She can hear it in her ears, the slow thumping that tells her she's alive.

Love is hard, rough and cold. Like hands around her throat and teeth in her soul, tearing into her deepest self. That's release. The ultimate way to let go of everything.

She wants to feel him inside, showing her the way to go. It blooms in her chest, her hands trembling around his body; she presses her mouth to his throat and gasps when he forces the air out of her. He is the beginning of the end, the end to the beginning.

Desire. It's something hot that scorches her, lighting her up from the inside.

She knows what he needs. So she is happy to give it to him, teeth and nails and bruises. She will do anything just to feel him, to soothe him afterwards, to stroke his eyelids with utmost tenderness and breathe into his mouth. He is violent and that's just what she craves.

Violence is like a caress, it brings her to the surface. Her eyelids fluttering, his hands between her legs and he makes the universe unravel right there, a place she can't reach on her own. He works her in that spot that makes her legs tremble and shake, tasting her, her fluids dripping on his tattooed fingers.

He licks his lips so slowly and she throws her head back.

He pounds into her like a demon – there is no other word for the unraveling in his movements and the way his hands grasps her skin until it turns black and blue – as if he is trying to shatter her from the inside, so hard and cruel.

Cruelty is like a feather soft touch and his fingers in her mouth. She licks and nibbles greedily.

She knows that sometimes his lust is like a double-edged sword, and he tears into her. In that moment she can't always reach him, not until afterwards. It's just his body speaking to hers, one on one. As if his mind is somewhere else, caught up in the feeling. Afterwards he will hold her in his arms and whisper in her ear, secrets that are hers and hers alone.

She knows he likes feeling her rushed pulse from within. She helps him with whatever is tormenting his mind, those darkest thoughts of his, she is always there the way he needs it. Soft or tantalizing, she is fluid; she takes any form he desires.

Some days he only wants her close and he won't touch her, he only lets her caress his skin softly. Some days he doesn't want to be touched and slaps her hand away if she tries.

Other days she sees in his eyes just how he needs her in the worst way. She loves it when that expression takes over his features and he throws her onto the bed, tearing her clothes off.

Her moans are silenced by his hand – she bites her lips until it bleeds to keep her sounds quiet. She feels so good but doesn't voice it, because he requires nothing but her utter silence, her breathing reminding him that he isn't alone.

He dominates her completely; filling her up until it hurts, pounding her into the mattress. It's something he needs to express and she is the only one who is trusted to see him like this. No one else will ever see him like this, in a state far more vulnerable than anything else.

Every trust speaks to her in a language only she can understand. It tells her why the very idea of someone else touching her drives him insane. He can't stand the thought, the rage burns white hot in his veins – no one can ever think that they'll have her. His hips are ruthless and she is breathless.

Her body reacts to his whenever he wants – she gets moist and slippery and it's easier for him to get inside even if her mind is tired.

She knows the smell of her drives him wild. Her arousal is different from his, his is darker and heavier. Hers is thick, it fills her up to the tip of her toes. Her need claws within and his obsession falls into a symphony with hers.

He needs pain, the only thing that helps him some days, and she scratches and bites, abuses his skin. Every harsh punctuation of her nails makes him tense and fuck her harder.

Sometimes he can go on for hours, she loses track of time, only his body working with hers. She is filled with tenderness that is almost motherly – all this time before she existed he had no one. He never had anyone and she is his only one.

She draws blood on his pale skin, tracing his tattoos – monuments of past pleasure. Her nails draw patterns and her tongue soothes every wound, hearing him grunt.

His heavy breathing in her ear sends her quickly spiraling into madness; the tension grows thicker, unbearable, until it explodes. He never stops until he has got rid of whatever is tormenting him and she holds him as tight as she can.

She always accepts him inside when he needs, day or night. Sometimes he doesn't touch her for a long time and her desire grows so painful she can't take it. Then he makes her touch herself and he watches, his eyes dark and predatory. His gaze is heavy on her like a warm caress and she comes with loud sounds, begging him.

Other times she is not allowed to touch herself, and he leaves her whimpering and cold, trying to ignore the raging fire he ignited in her.

She knows that when he is inside of her, all of his demons are silent. Maybe that's why he prefer to stay that way, why he doesn't want to detach from her, why he holds her body so tight some days as if he was afraid she'd disappear.

She comes alive when their bodies are together, as if nothing – not the colors, the scents or the sounds can ever be as strong when he isn't there. She arches her body for him and her body opens up to him, her legs wrapping around his body with force.

When they're both approaching climax and she can feel it hovering around her, that is the most painful moment. It's slow, endless. She desperately reaches for that point, knowing only he can bring her into absolute ecstasy. She gets wild and she screams and he gets harder. His teeth clenches and she feels it on herself.

Her hands move aimlessly in his hair and messes it up – sometimes he reprimands her with a slap. She is swallowed up by the darkness and the bed and she knows he is searching for his end as well – he can only find it within her deepest depths.

Her insides are assaulted, warmed and filled. There is nothing else. She can almost taste her orgasm. She wants him to stay inside forever, to fill the void in her soul. Whenever he withdraws the void gets bigger and she needs a bigger dose to silence the emptiness that she is without him.

No one can ever take her place and she knows it by the way he has marked his presence on her body – the tattoos and the expensive jewelry he brings her, but he brands her from the inside in the most primal way. She carries him within wherever she goes.

When he's close his grip around her tightens and he groans into her mouth. Then – simple like the universe is laid out in perfect order in front of her – she grabs a hold of him and her body jolts.

He makes her moan breathlessly, whine with a sensation that is too big and complex for a human mind to comprehend, a violent, quick high that splatters everywhere. She comes around him and he comes into her, warm and wet. She grasps the sheets and lift her mouth so she can breathe.

Afterwards it's like his dark energy has dissolved, and his touch becomes gentle again. Whatever he has been battling in his mind, she knows it's over and she can only congratulate him on the victory. He lies behind her, his arm around her middle and his face pressed against her neck.

She feels calm, satiated, his calm breathing overtaking her and slowing her breath. She always breathes in his rhythm; her body adjusts to his hard sculpted one.

When he's fallen asleep she watches him and she strokes his skin ever so gently, careful to not wake him up. The lust is still thick in her, a haze that she can't escape.

She wants him with every fiber of her being, she wants to devour him and make his body and mind melt into hers; she wants to physically be a part of him and tear into him. She wants to be a drop of water in his mouth, the very blood inside his veins.

She breathes into his mouth with a light kiss, and she knows their souls are intertwined with sharp thorns. She watches this man sleep after spending days awake; she strokes the deep blue shadows underneath his eyes. She wants to physically keep his demons away.

She sits against the headboard in the quiet darkness. Arms and legs bruised, sore but soothed to the core.

Watching over him.

I always love to know what you think!