Sometimes, when people want to belong to someone for an eternity, they get a tattoo. If one would like to take less... Permanent measures, they might lean on one knee and slip a ring on their lover's finger.

However, Harley Quinn and the Joker were unlike most people.

Therefore, their way of belonging to each other was unlike most ways.

It was the dead of night, with the kind of stars that gleamed through your window like spotlights and the moon, like a search light beacon, illuminated your way as you stumbled through the wilderness of life.

Candles flickered around their small home, only a two bedroom. No upstairs. There was something so comforting about a small, quiet house between just the two of them.

Harley Quinn and her Mistah J.

Gently, she felt his hands skim along her arm, as she leaned into his chest. They lay, sprawled out on the floor, enclosed in each other's secret embrace, an embrace that only they could see, only they could hear, only they could feel.

They didn't speak, because they didn't have to. There was no reason to say the words that were already being said in both of their heads.

Sentiments clung to the burning flames and seeped into the dull carpet. They were one, Harley Quinn and the Joker. And there was nothing anyone could ever do to change that.

But there was still something Harley wanted to do. She knew Joker didn't require it of her, she knew she didn't have to do anything except lay in his arms to be his. She knew that she was his and he was hers. She knew.

But she wanted to see it on her skin, rub her hand along the lines. She wanted to feel the pain as he carved his name into her flesh. Because their love hurt. And that was how she wanted it.

It was messy and perfect and painful and beautiful and it was everything Harley could have ever wanted and everything she should have never gotten the chance to have.

She was addicted. She couldn't get enough.

His love was a roller coaster and she would ride it until the carnival closed. Until the doors slammed shut and she was finally pushed away for the very, very last time.

As Harley tucked her head into the crook of Joker's neck, the place she fit, the place she clicked. Out there, in the world, it was shaky, uneasy, scary. Harley didn't know what to make of the life she had chosen sometimes.

Somedays, it was okay. Others, she missed Harleen so badly it killed her.

But here, in Joker's gentle arms, everything was right. Everything was perfect, nothing was complicated, nothing was scary. It was just him and her and her and him. For once in her whole life, there was nothing wrong with the world. There were no wars and no fear and no crying and no shame. There was no pain and no hurt, and everybody was smiling—really smiling—and laughing. A loud, true laugh.

As she lay in his arms, she realized that nothing else mattered.

Nothing but him.

"I want to belong to you, Puddin'," She whispered into the small space, her words filling the room.

"You already do, darling." He said it with such confusion it was like she just told him that the sky was bright green.

"I know. But I want to be able to see it. Like a tattoo."

"You want me to tattoo my name on your skin?"

"Even better. I want you to carve your name on my skin. On my arm. Right here," She pointed towards her right arm, from her elbow all the way up to her shoulder.

"Harley—"

"Do it for me. Please, Jay. I want to."

"Are you sure?" He looked into her eyes, his brows furrowed as he held her tighter to his chest. She hesitated for a moment. But then she knew. There was no one else but him. It was always going to be him, and it would continue to always be him. If it wasn't him, it wasn't anyone. She nodded.

"Alright, darling, but don't say I didn't warn ya if you find I'm not as... Enticing as I seem," He grinned.

"You don't have to be enticing for me to love ya, Jay. I just do."

He looked away and cleared his throat, but Harley knew that it meant she had unlocked something hidden in him. Another little broken piece. Another little part of his shattered being she could stitch back together.

He stood up from the floor, running a hand through his faded green hair, and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a knife. He stared at it for a long moment, then turned to her.

Harley sat up, cross-legged on the ground.

Slowly, he walked to her, the knife dangling from his fingers.

Harley closed her eyes.

Joker didn't have to ask again if this was what she wanted. He already knew that it was. Slowly, he grabbed a hold of her arm.

"Your name," she breathed, "Write me your gorgeous, beautiful, name."

Joker.

She inhaled as the knife pierced her skin, biting her lip and fighting back reactionary tears that crowded her eyes faster than she could blink them away.

Once the process was done, there was blood all over the carpet, all over her lap, and his hands. Joker quickly grabbed a wet paper towel and dabbed at Harley's skin, slightly, she winced.

Harley glanced at the fresh wound.

It was done.

She belonged to him.

"I love you," She said softly. He closed his eyes.

"I love you, too."

J O K E R