A Life in DC
Chapter 7 - Part 1
Selina crouched on the rooftop ledge of the old Wayne Enterprises warehouse annex, the one they'd scoped three nights ago. Rain had stopped but the air still felt wet, sticking her catsuit to her skin like a second layer of sweat. She had the blueprints spread out on the gravel in front of her, weighted down by a couple of loose bricks. Red lines marked the security cameras, green lines the patrol routes, blue lines the exact path she wanted to take once the power grid flickered. The heist was simple on paper: in through the service hatch on the east side, straight to the private vault on the third floor, grab the Falcone family jewels that some idiot billionaire had put on display for a charity gala. Easy score, big payout, and a nice middle finger to half the corrupt assholes in Gotham.
She tapped her earpiece. "Ivy, you still got eyes on the power relay?"
Ivy's voice came back smooth and a little distracted, the way it always did when she was halfway through one of her greenhouse experiments. "Relay's tagged. I can bloom a vine through the conduit in thirty seconds once you give the word. Harley's supposed to be on lookout but she's late again. Typical."
Selina smirked, even though no one could see it. "She'll show. Probably found a new toy to play with. Just keep the plants ready."
She scrolled through her phone one more time, checking the fence contact who'd already lined up a buyer. The screen lit up with a new message notification. Group chat. Queens of Crime. The thumbnail was a frozen frame of Harley's face mid-moan, pigtails flying, eyes half-rolled back. The file name was just "daddy.mov".
Selina's thumb hovered. She almost deleted it on reflex—Harley sent dumb shit all the time—but something in the angle of that frozen moan made her pause. She hit play.
The video started shaky, then steadied. Harley was in the front seat of a car, rain streaking the windows, dashboard light casting everything in ugly yellow. She was already on her knees in the footwell, mouth stretched wide around a cock that Selina knew too well. Thick, heavy, veins standing out like ropes. Vieri's cock. The one that had ruined her own throat and cunt more times than she could count.
Harley pulled off with a wet pop, spit stringing from her lips to the fat head. "Mmm, wakey-wakey, Daddy," she purred, voice husky and playful. Then she dove back down, throat working visibly as she took him to the hilt.
Selina's breath caught. Fury hit first—hot and sharp, like a whip crack across the ribs. That was her cop. Harley had no right.
{R-18 Scene Vieri x Harley Quinn aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
Selina stared at the black screen, chest still heaving. The fury was still there, hot and sharp under her ribs, but it had twisted into something else now — a throbbing ache between her legs and a clear, cold plan forming in her head. Harley thought she could just sneak in, drug him, and take what belonged to her? Fine. Selina would deal with the clown later. Right now the heist still needed to happen, and it needed to happen clean.
She wiped her slick fingers on her thigh, the leather of her suit sticking slightly, then straightened the crotch panel and sealed it. The suit felt tighter than usual, her body still buzzing. She took one slow breath, forced the image of Vieri's thick cock stretching Harley's cunt out of her mind, and looked back down at the blueprints.
No. She wasn't climbing through his window tonight like some desperate stray. That would be sloppy. Emotional. She had a job to do first.
Selina rolled the blueprints tight, slipped them into a slim tube on her belt, and dropped silently from the rooftop ledge. Her boots barely made a sound as she landed on the fire escape two floors down. From there it was rooftops all the way — quick, quiet leaps across the gaps, staying low so the security lights on the Wayne annex wouldn't catch her silhouette.
First stop: the power relay station three blocks over. She needed to see it with her own eyes.
The relay was exactly where the city schematics said it would be — a squat concrete box behind a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Selina crouched on the adjacent rooftop for ten minutes, watching the single guard make his rounds. He was bored, checking his phone more than the perimeter. Amateur. She waited until he turned the corner, then dropped down, cut a neat hole in the fence with the monofilament wire in her gauntlet, and slipped inside.
Up close the relay looked simple enough. Ivy's vines could punch through the conduit without tripping the main alarms if they timed it right. Selina took photos from three angles, noted the exact model of the lock on the access panel, and planted a tiny repeater bug the size of a fingernail inside the housing. It would let Ivy trigger the bloom remotely without being anywhere near the site.
She was back over the fence and on the rooftops in under four minutes. Clean.
Next: the fence.
She hit the back alley behind Maroni's old pawn shop on Kane and 14th. The buyer was already waiting — a nervous little man in a cheap suit who smelled like fear and cheap cologne. Selina stepped out of the shadows and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
"You said midnight," he stammered.
"I'm early. Means I'm serious." She kept her voice low, flat. "The Falcone collection. All of it. You move it the same night, no questions, no haggling. My cut is sixty percent. Take it or I find someone else."
He swallowed hard but nodded. "Sixty. Fine. Just… no bodies this time, okay? Last job with you left too much heat."
Selina gave him a thin smile that didn't reach her eyes. "No bodies if everyone does their job. You don't, and I'll make sure the only thing moving is your corpse. We clear?"
"Crystal."
She made him repeat the drop point and the escape window twice, then left him standing there sweating. The fence was locked in. Good.
From there she swung across to the old garment district, checking the three possible exit routes she'd marked on the blueprints. The first alley was too narrow for the van — scratched it. The second had fresh police cameras on the corner — scratched it. The third, a loading dock behind a shuttered textile mill, still looked clean. She spent twenty minutes on the roof opposite, timing the patrol car that rolled past every seventeen minutes. Plenty of gap if they moved fast.
She planted two more repeater bugs, one for the dock door lock and one for the streetlight on the corner. When the time came, the whole block would go conveniently dark for exactly ninety seconds.
By the time she finished it was pushing 2:30 a.m. Her thighs were tight from all the running and climbing, and the ache between her legs had settled into a low, insistent throb that refused to go away. Every time she landed hard on a rooftop the suit rubbed against her swollen clit and sent another little spark through her.
Harley's smug face kept flashing behind her eyes. That video. The way Vieri's cock had disappeared into the clown's cunt over and over, the wet slap of skin, Harley screaming "Daddy" like she owned the word.
Selina landed on the roof of a derelict parking garage and crouched there, breathing hard. She wasn't going to Vieri's tonight. She'd already decided that. Breaking in while she was still this wound up would be stupid. She'd end up riding him raw and loud, and right now she needed him sharp for whatever came after the heist.
Tomorrow morning, though… that was different.
She let herself picture it. Slipping through his bedroom window just after dawn. The house still quiet, rain tapping on the roof. Vieri asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, sweatpants tented with that heavy morning wood she knew so well. She'd crawl onto the bed without waking him, tug the waistband down just enough, and take him into her mouth — slow at first, just the head, tongue swirling while he was still soft and warm from sleep. Then she'd work him deeper, sucking him hard until he woke up with a groan and his hand fisted in her hair.
The thought made her squeeze her thighs together again. She could almost taste him — salt and skin and that faint trace of soap he used. She'd suck him until he was throbbing and leaking on her tongue, then climb up and sink down on him in one smooth motion, riding him slow and deep while he was still half-asleep and cursing her name.
Selina shook her head hard, forcing the fantasy away. Not tonight. Tonight she finished the recon.
She checked the last two escape rooftops, confirmed line-of-sight for her grapple lines, and planted one final bug on the fire door of the annex itself. Everything was wired. Ivy could trigger the blackout on command. The van would be waiting at the dock. The fence was paid and scared enough to stay quiet. The whole job was as close to locked down as it could get without actually walking through the vault door.
By 3:45 a.m. she was back on her own safe-house roof three miles away, peeling off the catsuit in the tiny bathroom. She showered fast — hot water beating the tension out of her shoulders — but her hand kept drifting between her legs. She let herself rub once, slow circles over her clit while the water ran down her back, thinking about tomorrow morning. About waking Vieri up with her mouth. About the way his cock would swell against her tongue before he even opened his eyes. She came quietly against her fingers, a small, sharp orgasm that left her legs shaky but her head clearer.
She dried off, pulled on an oversized t-shirt she'd stolen from his place weeks ago, and dropped onto the mattress. Sleep came fast, but her last thought before she drifted off was simple and possessive.
Tomorrow morning she'd remind him exactly who that cock belonged to.
***
Across town, in the humid greenhouse hidden behind the abandoned botanical gardens, Ivy was elbow-deep in a new hybrid strain. The air smelled like wet earth and night-blooming jasmine. Vines curled lazily around the steel worktable, responding to her mood the way a cat responds to its owner. She was testing a new pheromone blend—something that could drop a room full of armed guards into a compliant haze without the usual violent side effects. Clinical. Controlled. Useful.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside a tray of seedlings. She glanced at it, expecting an update from Selina about the heist. Instead she saw the same group chat notification. Harley's thumbnail. Ivy's lip curled. She almost ignored it—Harley's distractions were usually loud and pointless—but curiosity won. She tapped play.
The video opened the same way. Harley on her knees, mouth full, throat bulging. Ivy's eyes narrowed. Scientific curiosity first: the angle let her see the exact stretch of Harley's lips, the way the thick shaft forced her jaw wide. Impressive. Then the riding started.
{R-18 Scene Vieri x Harley Quinn aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
Harley had crossed a line. But the data was useful. Vieri was still out there, still potent, still untouched by any real claim except the one the Green had already laid on him. Ivy was going to find him. Soon. Tonight, if she could manage it. She needed another sample. Needed to feel that stretch again and let the Green drink deep.
She sent a quick text to the group chat: "Cute. My turn next."
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