Written for live journal community "psych30" challenge: Daddy Issues.


"Daddy left before I was born."

"Poor baby."

"I never knew him."


"He didn't want me."

"What a cad."

"I don't know where he is. He could be dead."

"He deserves to be. Leaving poor lickle Hawee all on her wonesome. I wouldn't do that if you were my little girl."

His hand in her hair, smoothing it back over her ear. Hypnotic. She felt her eyelids grow heavy. His shoulder was broad; she rested her head against it. His lap was so warm.

She'd known, of course, this wasn't what they were supposed to do in therapy. They weren't supposed to talk about her. They were supposed to talk about him.

But he'd asked. He'd said, 'tell me about your father, Dr. Quinzel'.

And he'd seemed so concerned when she'd replied, rather coldly, that there wasn't anything to tell.

That had been six months ago.

"How's my little slugger doing today?" He grinned at her as she placed the tray bearing his meal down by his elbow. She stood up straight and beamed.

"A-okay, Mistah J!" she sang back and he chortled and looked down at what she'd prepared for him. A huge berry pancake, with honey and cream hair, a sugared banana mouth and two big chocolate syrup eyes.

"Baby, you've outdone yourself!" he cried. "What a clever little minx you are."

And she glowed beneath his praise.

She skipped off towards the bathroom. What she really wanted to do was sit by and watch him for a while, maybe help him out as he designed the finer points of the next brilliant orchestration he would bring to Gotham. But she knew better than to disturb her Puddin' when he was working. He needed to concentrate. And little Harleykins can get underfoot, he'd scolded her once, and then I'll have to punish you. She hadn't meant to spill her grape soda all over that experiment. Really.

So, instead, she was going to have a bubble bath. Her little apartment hadn't had a bathtub, but this big penthouse did. A huge sunken thing, almost big enough to swim in, and it had been filling for the last fifteen minutes with hot water and strawberry bubble bath.

She giggled at the sight of it. The bubbles were mountainous, iridescent white and waiting to conceal her. She remembered when she was a little girl and used to have bubble baths; how when she was surrounded by all those white frothy mountains she pretended she was in the North Pole.

Humming cheerfully to herself, she stripped and scrubbed off the white greasepaint then pinned her hair on top of her head.

She caught herself in the mirror and frowned. Something was wrong.

She just looked… odd. She put her head on one side and puzzled over it, reaching up to twirl a strand of hair around one finger.

Suddenly it hit her. It was her hair. It was all wrong. She'd gotten so used to the cowl of her costume she couldn't feel comfortable with the sight of her out of it. The two curving liliripes on either side of her head, that Mistah J found so useful to grab hold of in various situations. Quickly, she pulled her hair out, then parted it down the centre. She tied it up into two high pigtails above her ears and gave herself a sharp nod. That was so much better. She used to wear her hair like this when she was still in grade school. She shook her head from side to side and giggled to feel her pigtails bounce.

She opened the bathroom cabinet and peered into it, searching for some nice lotion or something she could rub into her skin after her bath. Most of the stuff she fumbled through was for men but finally she came across a great big jar of some thick lavender-scented cream, right up the very back. She didn't pause to wonder about it, or wonder about the man who up until just recently used the other products the cabinet contained. That was one of the nicest things about her new life. She never had to worry about things like that anymore. Mistah J took care of it all.

She dipped a toe tentatively into the bath then put the rest of her foot in, testing the heat. It wasn't too hot. She didn't think. She lifted her other leg and dropped that foot in. ooh. Pretty hot. But not too much. Okay, here goes…

Carefully she lowered herself down and squealed as the hot water washed over her groin. That had always been the hardest part! But she'd always liked it too, hadn't she, the almost-pain of hot water flooding over her cootchie. Hee.

Steam wafted in great clouds around her, the hills of bubbles extended up over her head. She felt ensconced within them and cupped up a handful in her fingers, blowing on them so that a few shiny suds floated away in the air.

She really liked this new place. She hoped they would stay here for awhile. Mistah J had cleverly found a place where the owner was just about to go away on holidays. Mistah J was so clever like that. He just effortlessly took the stress out of life, leaving only the fun.

She leaned back against the bath cushion and stretched her legs out in front of her. They didn't even reach the other side. She bet even Mistah J could sit in here and stretch out his awesomely long legs completely too. Mistah J…

She felt a little pang in her chest at thought of him. If only he would come in and join her. She'd be so happy then. She trailed a hand over her breasts, down across her stomach.

The heat was making her feel a little drowsy. She better not fall asleep. Mistah J might need something. She'd dimmed the overhead lights and the room was quiet, the drip of water from the tap echoing softly off the tiles. The hot water embraced her, and she thought of Mistah J's arms around her, remembered sitting on his lap at Arkham while he rocked her.

"There, there, sweetheart." His breath hot on her ear.

"I have so many bills," an edge of panic in her voice. "I'm trying to save for a house deposit. There's a German Psychiatrist visiting next week and all of my suits are second-hand." Her voice pitched awards into hysteria, "I can't afford a new one, I -"

"Shhhh," and his hand coming up, cupping her cheek, brushing back over her hair in soft, rhythmic strokes. She'd calmed instantly.

No need to worry about any of that anymore. He'd taken care of all of it. Nothing to worry about, ever again. Mistah J was there.

There was a click. Her eyes fluttered open to see Mistah J standing there, grinning down at her with the camera in his hand. She smiled back up at him. Ever since she showed him her new look he'd got keen on taking photos of her. He'd have her pose in her costume, flirtatiously across his bed, or kneeling by his feet, or holding a gun to a hostage's head or doing rabbit ears above the grinning rictus of a victim. She didn't mind, not a little bit. No one had taken photos of her when she was little. Mommy never even did her hair nicely for school picture day and when she took those home, they were put away in the drawer of a cupboard and never seen again.

"I like your hair like that, Cupcake." Mistah J said, and his voice sounded thick and insinuative. She blinked up at him and smiled. Her head felt heavy.

"I'll wear it like this for you always, Puddin'"

He dimmed the lights a little more and sat down on the toilet, lifted the camera to his face. She swivelled her head towards him and smiled as brightly and as widely as she could.

The bulb flashed. He chuckled.

She could almost curl up here and go to sleep, it felt so cosy and warm. Mistah J stood and clicked off another couple of photos and she twirled her fingers around her pigtails and crossed her eyes and he laughed.

She sat up, scooped up a handful of suds and patted them across her face. She used to love to do that. Make herself a beard. Mistah J was stepping out of his shoes, unbuttoning his cuffs.

"Look Puddin'," she cried when she felt she had given herself a magnificent enough visage. "I'm Santy Claus!"

"Oh Harley," he said and his voice was dark with something concealed. "You are a funny thing." and he snapped a few more photos. She snorted bubbles up her nose and squeaked, but she didn't mind so much because he laughed and his laughter bounced off the tiles and made her shiver hard.

Mistah J stepped out of his trousers.

She looked up, from beneath her lashes. Of course, she could never help doing that, though it always felt a little bit naughty, like she wasn't supposed to.

"Ooh," she said, her eyes round. Mistah J was - happy to see her. She couldn't help but giggle and covered her mouth with one hand to stifle it, her eyes dancing as she lifted them to her Puddin's face.

He stepped into the bathtub, leering down at her. "Come on, now, Punkin. You're a big girl." And he reached out and swiped a handful of bubbles off her face, blew them off his fingers so they scattered across her eyelashes.

She slid over to him, between his legs, wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled his cheek. Inside her chest her heart was fluttering, spinning like crazy, fizzing with unrestrained joy. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the thud of his own heartbeat, always a little quicker than normal, always making her feel lulled and quiet.

She slipped a hand beneath the water and tentatively touched his erection, feeling the thrill of a dare given at a slumber party. Above her he tsked, and his chest vibrated with the sound.

"Naughty, naughty." he scolded playfully, "you're such a dirty little girl, Harley."

She giggled and shook her head rapidly. "Not really, Puddin'," she promised and sat back to look at him, fluttering her lashes. "I pwomise."

His eyes gleamed and his cock twitched. "You 'pwomise', do you, Harl?"

She nodded her head earnestly. "Cross my heart and hope to die!"

His smile split up his face and there was something very sinister in its brightness. "All the same, I'd best make sure." He reached past her, picking up the loofah that rested on the edge of the bath, dipping it in the water and lifting it, soaking and soapy, to her tummy where he began to draw it in wide, sensual circles. "Daddy needs to ensure his little girl is nice and clean."

She felt herself go limp, her eyelids droop. She felt a rush of sudden bliss, as heady as an opiate, flood her. A sensation, something she had no words to really articulate, that she was fast becoming addicted to. She slumped against him, every inch of her uncoiling in the sheer peace of compliance, and his free hand lifted to stroke her hair, soft and gentle, lulling her to utter submission, the way a good little girl should be.

"Okay, Daddy," she said contentedly.

The Joker laughed softly.


From my perspective, Joker doesn't get off on the incest fantasy. It's that he's broken Harley so completely down she's regressed to a pretty much pre-teen mentality. He's sort of thrilled he took this confident, ambitious young up-and-comer and turned her into this childish girl-woman.

All of Harley's immaturity, neediness and delusional tendencies make me feel that being a grown-up wasn't something she coped with very well and that she probably didn't have a good relationship with her parents. Given the obvious parent/child dynamics between her and Joker and the fact Joker refers to himself as her 'Daddy', clearly seeing himself in that sort of role, I figured her Father probably split the scene early on.

I think part of what Harley loves about insanity is there's no responsibility. In being submissive to Joker, there's nothing for her to worry about. It sets her free and she regresses back to a little kid in many ways.

And yeah, I think that gets Joker off.