(/ ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them.
( ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think.
( ): DK! Joker x Reader.
( ): 7,600+ k words!
( ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence.
The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief.
“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice.
The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.
You can do this.
Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–”
That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.
The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running.
You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper.
“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.
“I can see you really tried there.”
You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he?
“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No,” he smirked, petting your head.
Curse his height.
“Now,uh, what is it, doll?”
You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”
“I’m not going.”
“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”
“Gee, I can’timaginewhy.”
You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.
“J, I can’t just not show up.”
You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath.
“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and…” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearlybeloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have everhappened?”
He scoffed.
“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”
“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars.
It broke your heart. You could’ve sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.
“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”
You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.
“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!”
“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.
Damn it.
“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.
It didn’t work.
The third, well…
You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it.
And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word–
That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you.
Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first.
“Will this make you, uh, happy?”
All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?”
“My being with you.”
“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’.
He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I’m not that cruel.”
You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.
“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late.
“Thank you!” You shouted.
You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.
Third time’s the charm.
Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.
Knock knock knock!
“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rudeintrusion.
“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.
You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.
This was it.
You breathed in one last time before opening the door.
“Okay, I’m re–”
You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.
His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam’s apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks.
It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.
“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning.
You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling.
“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe.
“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady.
He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips.
All fidgeting stopped.
You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold.
The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk.
“Peach,” he cooed.
You were going to have to reapply later.
With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him.
“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself.
Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him.
“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!”
True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. Thetap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with.
“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”
“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work.
“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.”
“Hmm,” he trailed off.
Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green.
The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.
“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!”
He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed.
“All done!”
As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.
“Wait! I have to walk you through something.”
At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention.
“Conditions!” You announced.
“Ah. Now there are conditions.”
“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.”
“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.”
“Promise me.”
He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”
You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”
“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach.
It would have to do, though.
“Okay,” you whispered.
He stood up now, towering over you.
“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips.
The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact.
As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed.
“What are you–”
It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed.
“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring.
The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days.
Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving.
Clearly safety was his middle name.
Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting.
After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust.
He sniffed, “it smells like…” he paused to grimace, “high society.”
The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.
“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.”
“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.
“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.
“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism.
“It’s hard not to.”
“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”
Thathad to get him.
“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’
You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”
“I can try,” he spat sourly.
You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.
One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?
“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago.
You fought the urge to run.
“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.
Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath.
“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.
“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand.
“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?”
She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”
Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.
“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.
You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.
“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–”
“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.”
Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out.
It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.
“I think I should go check on him now.”
“Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision.
Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology.
Your stomach turned.
You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.
Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm.
“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt.
“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.
Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him.
After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset.
“They think I’m lying about you.”
He swallowed.
“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.
Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier.
Pee-yew.
Everyone here sucked.
“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her.
“J, you promised to be good!”
Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.
His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.
“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement.
“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.”
He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.
“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?”
“Hmmph.”
It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.
The message was clear:
I’m new to this.
Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation.
Something had changed.
Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.
How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’
At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him.
“Hey– what are you doing?”
No response.
“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain.
“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.
You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment.
“So what? What are you doing?”
“What does it – ah – look like?”
He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren’t all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away.
“Well aren’t I just fullofsurprises.”
He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo.
“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but.
And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right.
Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.
“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it.
His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles.
As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt.
Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash.
Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.
In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean.
“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that.
The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good.
He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you.
“You fucking bitch!” He roared.
You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you.
“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.
“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth.
“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.”
The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade.
“You’reboth going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.”
“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.
“So you do know who I am–”
“The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.”
“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.”
“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man’s statement.
The groom gritted his teeth.
“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your bigday.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation.
Yeesh.
“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming.
While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.
“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here.
With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom.
He smacked his lips.
“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse.
He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?”
With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side.
“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”
All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye.
Hah!
“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her.
When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation.
“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?”
“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.
“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”
“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.
“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?”
You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.
“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”
It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing.
J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer.
“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut.
He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance.
Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed.
Silence prevailed again.
Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms.
“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”
“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.”
“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly.
Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again.
The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.
“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale.
“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.
He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.”
“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?
“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected.
“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–”
You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic.
“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”
You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness.
“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady.
“Mine,” you whispered.
In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete.
Supernal.
You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand.
Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song.
(A/n):I had a request for some Dark Knight nurse Joker action so,,,,, here! Hope it satisfies! :) @pennyship is my HYPE she is the light of my LIFE she helped me make sure this was coherent and lmk if I was being too much of a self-deprecating asshole HIFSHDFUIS. Enjoy!
The sea of people your shoulders were ramming up against seemed to be a never-ending stream of mayhem; a faucet that desperately needed to be turned. Truthfully, you were surprised you hadn’t been dunked, swept under the furious stampede of shoes and trampled on.
Ever since the threat was made by Joker, the hospital had been thrown into panic mode. Staff, law enforcement, and the clamour of patients added to the suffocatingly anxious air. It was proving to be a very tolling day, the cherry on top – a sour, bitter one might you add – was that somewhere in between you’d lost your necklace. You remembered twirling the small pendant between your thumb and forefinger while everyone, you included, crowded around the small TV in the waiting room.
Just minutes after receiving the news, after hearing that soul-chilling voice announce its equally as cold plans, the jewellery vanished. During the rush, there was the possibility someone had snatched it off you. Too distracted by the waves of patients you had to tend to, you guessed you failed to notice its absence until too late. Alternatively, your meddling could have loosened the delicate piece, rendering its tumble inevitable. So much so, that when you were practically slamming into people, like a typical game of bumper cars, it may have fallen.
Regardless, it was gone, irrespective of its sentimental value. For now, you had more pressing matters to worry about.
Lives.
Coworkers tried their hardest to lead subjects to safety, whether by their beds or by feeble arms. It looked like an accident in itself waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb which no one would have the luxury to clean up after. A dramatic number of personnel had dropped off the face of the earth within minutes of the news broadcast and so you all tried to make do. There was no doubt the hefty chunk had left to escape the danger, fearful for their own lives.
Irony at its finest.
As you attempted to escape the barrage and locate your next patient, a sharp turn took you into one of the rooms. The cubic area wasn’t large and its walls were coated with a particularly unappealing shade of mint green – a style which after all these years seemed as hideous as the first time your poor eyes made contact with it. The empty bed settled within the middle told you the patient had already been assisted, and you were about to leave when a flash of white and copper caught your vision. Upon second glance, you realised it was another nurse. With her back turned, you could see the glistening of her short framed hair. She looked to be occupied, her posture odd and hunched over, hiding whatever she was doing. You could also hear… mumbling?
Curious.
Clearly not hearing you enter, you promptly cleared your throat, trying not to startle her. Then, you approached.
“Everyone’s crazy out there…” you started with a bitter laugh.
The further you travelled, the more obvious the grumbles became. The clacking of something metallic emerged with your increasing proximity, a clamour from a fidgeting of some sort. After a quick flicker, you noticed that her shoulders were quite broad, along with her seemingly defined biceps. While it was more of an observation, the pit in your stomach told you something about her was off.
No response. Not even an acknowledgement.
Your amusement subsided when it was met with the ever-so-reassuring retort of silence, your smile falling as well when your next words received the very same.
“Especially since everyone’s ditched.”
You were about to ask if she was alright, considering your existence had apparently been downgraded to ‘invisible,’ when suddenly, you froze.
A pool of crimson had seized your attention.
The woman who was yet to speak, let alone turn, went rigid when she heard you gasp. Your hand had automatically flown to your mouth then, the distinctive whack of skin slapping echoed throughout the room. Though, such a change was lost on you as your instincts immediately kicked in. The source of the sinister liquid was hidden behind the bed, but you didn’t need to see any more of the scene to already make a conclusion. A little shuffle to the right had informed you that the man had been an officer, his uniform soaking up the seemingly fresh bullet wound wedged just above his heart.
Immediately, your gaze returned to your questionable coworker, the adrenaline rushing through you tingling your fingertips. In one swift movement, you had forced yourself up against the wall opposite her, your shaky figure slowly sidestepping towards the exit, ready to pounce for the door. The disturbing reality of the situation washed over you when the new angle enabled you to view what her frame was protecting – what she had been playing with all along.
A gun.
“M-ma’am?” The whimper that left you was a pathetic sound, one that coincided with the wavering of your lips. To top things off, like the legendary klutz you were, you stumbled over one of the metallic bins, a small rectangular thing that only served to signal your intent to escape.
That had been the last straw.
“Ah-ah-ah!” She sung, abruptly whirling around.
Or, more accurately, he.
Dressed there in all his glory stood the very man who’d threatened to blow up the entire building. Threatened to kill hundreds of innocents in the process. To say you saw your life flash before your eyes when he reared his gun towards you was an understatement; all colour draining from your face as if it had merely been coated on like his own face paint. The glaring abyss, angry and entrancing, was reminiscent of the gaping hole in your heart, decaying from the ever-so-acidic weight of terror. And, even though half of his face was concealed by a white surgical mask – an absurd combination with the makeup – he still succeeded to emit a viciously deadly aura.
He had snuck in and hidden right under everyone’s noses.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
With a cringe, he yanked off the mask. The ’snap!’ of its elastic strings bouncing back emanated as he flung it behind him uncaringly. Peeling off the copper wig and discarding it similarly, he snickered at your expression, “well, helloo, beautiful.”
Involuntarily, you felt ice glide down your spine, branching throughout your body and leaving its distinctive mark in the form of risen skin. The sound of his voice was enough to strike fright in anyone. He’d proven as such from his inception. The very thought of what he’d do to you was even more disturbing.
“D-don’t.”
“Awww, scared of this lil ol’ thing?” Sadistic giggles spilled from his lips as he jiggled the weapon.
“She won’t bi-te,” the last portion had his tongue flicking off the roof of his mouth.
Your eyes had been darting from him to the firearm nestled loosely in his grasp, his hand worryingly relaxed for such a weapon of butchery. Contemplating whether or not you had an opportunity to run for it, a sudden cry rippled the silence.
A sharp inhale followed by another moan to your left had you twisting your neck, deviating from the oh-so-dangerous man in front of you. Similarly, the gun locked in his clutch was flung towards the origin. The slant of his weapon – downturned towards the floor – spoke volumes; told you all you needed to know.
The man was still alive.
“You know what the, uh, funny thing is about people?” Joker started, his voice dangerous and spoken with an edge, a serrated knife slicing into the well-bolstered tautness of the air.
“They’re like,” he paused, looking up at the ceiling as if to remember. The whole charade, his wiggling fingers and his drawn-out words were all to drag out the gut-churning anticipation, “insects.”
You knew he was talking to you, even if his focus was elsewhere and occupied by the man who he’d previously shot. It didn’t take much observation to pinpoint the man’s strange idiosyncrasies. The way his tongue darted out, speedily scaling the risen tissue on the corners of his lips, the unpredictable fluctuations in his tone, the controlled gestures of his hands. All screamed erratic.
Suddenly scrunching his nose, he dragged back the hammer with his thumb, the small clacks from the small extension exacerbating the wild drumming of your heart.
“Theeey. Just. Don’t. Die–”
“WAIT!” You shouted, shooting out your trembling palms.
It had been an improvised move, one that could have gotten you killed, but the innate tendency to prevent bloodshed (well, more), seemed to override logic. You had trained all your life for this job – to be a nurse and help people. Like hell you were about to just stand by and let him kill another innocent on your watch. Either you’d succeed or die trying.
Leaning over the bed to view the state the man was in, you recognised positive signs. Like always, things could be better, but he was still fighting. Meaning, there was still a chance you could bring him back from the brink of death and get him to safety. You just needed to convince the other male waving the firearm around somehow. Surprise him.
“Ju-just–” you swallowed the lump in your throat and shut your glassy eyes for a brief moment to release a steady breath, “take me instead.”
“A-and then–” you riskily took a step forward, your palms still raised defensively, “the-then you can do anything you want. Please. Just let me help him.”
The man who had his head angled, essentially letting it hang, perked up his eyebrows at your proposal, the prominent creases of his forehead no longer fully concealed by his smudged greasepaint. Slowly, like a big cat toying with its prey, he prowled forward. His steady approach had you shrinking back into the wall behind you, your arms firmly planting themselves against its chilly surface while the trickle of laughter revealed his wicked pleasure. The taunting voices in your head told you that you’d worsened the situation and further cornered yourself into his vile trap – playing right into his hands.
With no concept of personal space, he then hovered over you, face only centimetres away from your own. You could tell this was just one of the ways he intimidated people – gained control. By some miracle, you endured eye contact.
“Hmm, are ya willing to shake on that, sweethear-t?” He drawled, the sudden weight shoved against your stomach involuntarily coercing you to look down; down at the handgun practically connected to you, the point of its muzzle hiding in the fabric of your uniform. When you naively tried to create more distance, the attempt ended up as a pathetic, miserable display. Soon, you gave in, your fingers reaching around the gun. Slow, stuttering motions manipulated your wrist as you worked to mimic the action of a handshake.
The hum he emitted at the interaction was deep and reverberated – almost like a purr – the sound igniting an unimaginable yearning you tried with all your might to suppress. You didn’t even want to acknowledge it, mentally kicking yourself when you instinctively glanced at his lips. You prayed he didn’t notice, but a part of you knew better. The way he inched closer, your noses nearly touching confirmed this, coaxing you to look back up at him. Focusing into those dark, glittering eyes, you saw the hellfire behind them, a black hole which sucked out any form of innocence; a cesspool which bred corruption. Speckles of intrigue swam in them.
Or was it excitement?
You couldn’t exactly tell, but you knew it was bad news. Knew that you had, most likely, made one of the worst deals in your life.
To compare this man to the devil, the master of deals, was inaccurate. With only just one, tiny, interaction, you could infer this. No. He was much worse. Worse because unlike fairytales, unlike the mystic, this man existed. He could, if he so very willed, demolish you in an instant.
“Welll,” his gaze lingered on for a split second – just enough for you to notice – before he reared himself back, “that settles it.”
Joker, who was much taller, was able to effortlessly shift his focus to the policeman struggling to push himself up against the wall. The injured man shimmied back into its cold reinforcements while one of his hands desperately fiddled with his belt.
Entirely shielded from the scene due to your angle, the most visible section being his head, you missed the way the wounded man drew his firearm and aimed it for the anarchist in front of you. The only sign something had transpired was the blur of white in front of you bobbing low, as well as the dizzy scent of smoky gunpowder. As the shot rang out, echoing throughout the room like an explosion, causing brief deafness, Joker ducked down just in time. The bullet whizzed above him, wedging itself into the wall behind, just missing the glass of the door; a permanent, antithetical imprint.
“Op– and that’s my cue,” with a quick wink, he grabbed his previously discarded attire.
“See you around, doll,” he said, zipping out of the room entirely.
The officer slumped up against the wall when he realised he hadn’t hit his target, exhaustion enveloping his form. You made your way to the dying man as fast as you could and began to tend to him.
“Oh!”
You jolted away from your patient when Joker suddenly appeared again, head peeking from the corner. He had the surgical mask, although this was lowered and the wig was back on, concealing the scraggly strands of dyed hair.
“And – heheh – you mayyy want to, uh, make it fast,” he shook the detonator in his hand, clicking his tongue twice with a crooked grin before he took off for good.
With the door now wide open and the overwhelmingly white hallway visible, you quickly noticed how empty it was. It was virtually a ghost town. While this meant it was easier to navigate him to safety, it also spelled trouble. After halting his bleeding, you were going to need to move him, this being problematic since you weren’t exactly the strongest.
You weren’t up to that part yet, however.
“Stay with me okay? Can you hear me?”
The dazed look in his eyes and the expansion of his pupils told you that he was experiencing head trauma. Assessing the small bloody mark against the green paint and the gruesome splatter near it, you were able to figure out a rough idea of what happened. The force of the bullet had propelled him backwards and whipped his head back, it rutting up against the wall while it tried to catch up with his body. The aggressive hit to the cranium was what finally knocked him out, rendering him limp until he later regained consciousness.
Ouch.
It took a moment, though the gentle nod of his head answered your question.
“Good,” grabbing scissors from one of the tables nearby, you tore into his shirt, finding the source of the wound. Another positive – just from the way the crimson liquid was flowing, it was clear no arteries had been hit.
“What’s your name?"
It was essential to keep the victim as awake as possible, your questioning aiming to do just that.
No longer at his side, you rushed around the room like a chicken with its head cut off, frantically trying to find a tourniquet or any sort of compressor.
“Daniel,” his voice came out strained and delayed.
“Well Daniel, we’re going to get you out of here, alright?” You said, hoping he could hear your reassurances over your wild searching.
The room was more of a mess than when you entered, bits and pieces of equipment decorating the floor as if a twister had come through and hurled them there. You found it funny how in times of great urgency the things you needed most you could never find.
You were about to give up and tear Daniel’s uniform, using the shreds of his suit when your quivering digits stumbled across precisely what was needed. When you found the tourniquet, you had to literally hold yourself back from screaming eureka. You hastily returned to the disoriented man and dragged along one of the wheelchairs which had been abandoned. In no time, the wound, both entry and exit, had been covered, the utensil applying a great deal of pressure. Daniel’s cries hadn’t been easy to listen to but as you gently eased him into the wheelchair, they lessened.
The home stretch.
Fiercely clutching the push handles, you flew into the corridor, extremely conscious of the time and the tiny device which had been attached to Joker’s palm like superglue. The mental image motivated you to maintain your swift pace, Daniel’s head lolling to the side, jostling with each sudden movement.
By some miracle, as you pushed through those automatic glass doors, you saw the last of the patients being loaded into the yellow school buses. Using the ramp, relief washed over you like a chilled breeze on a hot summer’s day. The closest bus was where you headed, and you flagged down one of the doctors to get immediate help for Daniel. Within minutes, he was moved into the bus receiving treatment.
About to dispose of the wheelchair, an enormous roar had you rearing your head back to the hospital. The ground shook with each stuttering explosion, the surreal view forcing you to look on with wide eyes. It was a distressing sight to process, but for some reason, you were unable to look away from the tragedy.
This was especially the case when a familiar blob of white waddled out of the building with outstretched arms, his painted smile wider than ever. As if everything had been predestined, he knew exactly where you were, immediately noticing you gawking. Stuck between the weird limbo of boarding the bus, he gave you a wave. It wasn’t fast, nor one in which required his whole limb. It was a slow, controlled one, only the tips of his fingers obliging. Time seemed to slow with the movement, each drawn out wiggle adding to the deep-rooted layers of terror and astonishment. A staring contest ensued.
Before you could intake the sight anymore, let alone process it, you felt the distinctive clutch of hands from behind, pawing at you. As you were hauled into the bus by your underarms, the doors slammed shut with a hiss. Then, the bus booked it, your eyes never deterring.
Nor his.
———
Hours after the event, Joker had been captured and thrown into Arkham Asylum like most criminals in Gotham. While your job was more or less blown to smithereens and unsalvageable, forcing you to look elsewhere, you were sure it had marked the end of your interactions with him.
All in all, life seemed to revert back to normal. Weeks passed as you hunted for another position, and ultimately, your searching paid off when you found another hospital. Resuming your duty as a nurse, Daniel had been transferred to the same institution for treatment as chance so happened and in a weird twist, you were assigned as his carer. His recovery wasn’t very long but within that small time frame you knew him, you’d come to enjoy his company – perhaps a bit too much. Time revealed the feeling was mutual by how, as he so eloquently put it, he owed you dinner for ‘saving his ass’.
How could you have resisted?
However, like the venomous serpent it was, fate appeared to strike when you least expected it; baring and infiltrating with its noxious fangs. This much was proven when you arrived back home from said ‘dinner.’ Expecting a night filled with laughter and shy glances, reality was disappointing. Instead, you were met with a boatload of anxiety and stress.
For starters, the dress you had laid out earlier in the morning had magically disappeared when you returned from work, and you eventually gave up searching after a ridiculous amount of time. Opting to leave the house with a backup, you hadn’t dared to peek at the time. Yet, the worst was yet to come; the straw that broke the camel’s back was the amount the traffic jam you wound up in.
Everything that could’ve gone wrong, wentwrong.
In total, the high of the night, came screeching to a stop when you spotted blinding flashes of red and blue. Combined with the waving, directing hands of law enforcement, the weight of dread compelled you to roll down your window and ask around. A few ignored you, though you had gotten some one-worded answers – ‘accident,’ and ‘crash’ being the mains. Yet, none of their explanations, underwhelming and dismissive at best, prepared you for the shock which cocooned your worn form as the culprit revealed itself – a firetruck.
On fire.
It was almost like a sick joke.
The truck was completely destroyed and wedged between the entrance of the bridge, blocking exactly where you needed to go. In summary, it looked like you weren’t seeing Daniel anytime soon.
Heaven only knew how long you sat in the car for when you arrived back home again. Resting your throbbing forehead against the leather steering wheel in a pathetic attempt to fight the manifesting tension headache. You had practically driven in one giant loop. It felt as though the Gods were laughing at you, all huddled around each other in their perfect utopia looking down, pointing and snickering.
You needed a drink.
When you finally did stumble out of the vehicle, you just managed to make out the small rectangular object placed ever so delicately on your doorstep. Then, with the automatic sensor light flickering on, you were able to identify the material it was sheathed in: recycled wrapping paper. Purple tinted and crinkled, the colour complemented the vibrant green bow criss-crossed on top.
The hues alone communicated enough.
Hey, at least Joker was an environmentalist.
Even rotting in a cell, he was still able to pull strings, sustaining some semblance of terror. He must’ve had men on the outside, eager to do his bidding.
The strange feeling of being watched, the apparent echoes trailing your footsteps, the disordered internal debates sparked by open windows over the past few weeks finally made sense. You had merely chalked off the occurrences and the growing collection of missing items to your overactive imagination. To your paranoia.
The naive belief that Joker was too busy wrapped up in a straitjacket to chase up on the deal you’d idiotically settled on had been shattered, thrown to the ground and stomped on. Originally, you doubted he even remembered the agreement; he certainly didn’t seem like a man capable of holding down a thought – the chaotic energy emanating from him so astounding it was almost a phenomenon. Though, this had been wrong. Foolishly, you had thought yourself safe.
Foolishly, you were mistaken.
The joke was on you.
You wanted to go to the cops. You wanted to turn in the little gift of death. The hovering worry of it being tampered with in some way, everlasting. Running rampant and wild with possibilities, your imagination outrageously tried to guess what was inside while your curiosity simultaneously nagged at you.
Overwhelmed by the two shrieking entities, you reached down to pick up the small package, most likely adding to your list of dumb decisions. A small Joker card was attached to the bow, the bottom-half dangling, while tiny, messy crimson writing demanded the card to be flipped. It read:
'Tick tock!'
The phrase was repeated in scratchy, crazed scribbles, decorating the card in a rather unsettling fashion.
Swamped with confusion, itching fingers coaxed you to look inside the ambitiously innocuous box. Within its cardboard confounds laid a circular pocket watch – withered and deteriorated. You could barely make out the thin hair-line cracks in the glass. Although deceivingly harmless at first inspection, further scrutiny revealed they were deep-rooted and hardly repairable.
Your heart skipped a beat when the sensory light suddenly shut off, but you didn’t need it any longer. Not with the harrowing imprint of the card cruelly carved into your brain. Ultimately, the message was loud and clear:
The end was nigh.
Yourend.
The very words Joker had uttered to you haunted your thoughts like a spectre: a promise of your finale. Of your very last, spectacular, blue-faced, gasping breath. You were about to pull out your keys to unlock the door and barricade yourself inside when you noticed something horrifically disturbing.
The door was slightly open.
With a hand reaching for the phone and ready to dial the police, your shoulder served to nudge it open. No groans emerged from its hinges as you pushed yourself inside, immediately heading left in the darkness to the kitchen. In the hopes of reducing any noise, you’d taken off your heels before you entered the house, mindfully placing them away from the door in case you needed to make a quick exit.
Your go-to stop was the cutlery drawer. Gently sliding it open, you felt around for a knife, snatching it away when you found the right one. As if on cue, the kitchen light flicked on, rendering you momentarily blind from the dramatic shift in luminance. Like a newly birthed animal, scrambling to comprehend its surroundings, you flipped your body against the counter and wordlessly threatened the intruder. Pretending like it would make a difference, you waved the weapon around carelessly, eyes attempting to adjust.
“Sorry for the deee-lay,” a familiar voice drawled, one that shook you to your very core. Within the few seconds of focusing, you observed how Joker mimicked a cringe, dragging out his 'e’s’. His figure was resting against the second door frame, opposite of the way you had snuck in. The plum coat he often wore was lost and his sleeves were hastily rolled back to his elbows, exposing his toned arms. Along with all this, the infamous green vest was no longer hugging his waist, instead the tucked in hexagonal blue patterned shirt made a firm appearance, with olive diamond ridden suspenders.
“I’ve been a bit… busy.”
“And,uh, by the looks of it,” he paused as he eyed you up and down, scanning the form-fitting dress you completely forgot you had on, “you havetoo."
In an attempt to shield yourself from his sweeping, to hide how begrudgingly exposed you felt, you crossed your arms against your chest. It was a gesture he ignored.
"How did your little play date…” He clicked his tongue, waving his hands in gestures of quotations, “go, hmm?”
You couldn’t help the involuntary falter in your expression when the words left his mouth. The series of unfortunate events which appeared to plague your day no longer resembled coincidence. The thought that he had been monitoring every movement was disturbing to say the least.
“Not so well?” He continued with an all-knowing grin, tilting his head until it was properly angled against the door frame, following the lead of his body. The only divergence was in his suffocating gaze, displaying ponderance.
“Seems like poor Daniel, uh, missed his chance.“
The way his name rolled off of Joker’s tongue contained deep-seated malice, a guttural growl which had you rutting back into the counter with a jump. Bruises were sure to form on the tender flesh of your backside by morning.
“Wh-what did you do?” The words came out mumbled as if you were afraid to know the answer, and in a way, you supposed you were. Still shaking, you hardly deterred the point of the knife from the criminal in front of you, the blade wavering so much it almost looked like its length was vibrating on its own accord.
”Ohhh, nothing a little gasoline couldn’t fix…”
It was only then when you realised he was slowly making his way towards you, slow and calculated and ready to pounce. With each one of his steps, you could feel every agonising jolt from your heart – feel it pick up its pace.
Then, you mulled over his comment, recalling the terrible traffic, the ember hellblaze engulfing the raging red of the firetruck, and the amount of time it took you to maneuver out of the driving nightmare.
It was all because of him.
“And now that I have you allll to myself, we can get down to business,“ by now he had already inched halfway into the room.
"I swe-swear to God, I will use this if you don’t stepback."
Regardless of how many times you swiped the knife – to get it to look like you were actually serious about using the weapon – Joker remained unperturbed.
"But all I wanted to do was say hiii,” he paused his advances, his hands shooting up to display his palms while his scarred mouth fell into a mocking pout, “especially to my favvvvou-ritenurse.”
“I-I’m warning you–”
He was barely a meter in front of you now as his towering figure practically cornered you like your first encounter. The wave of déjà vu flooding your senses drove you to raise the knife and plunge – or at least try to. Stopped midair was the kitchen utensil, along with your struggling arm by his forceful grip. He hadn’t even cared to toss a glance at the incoming weapon, maintaining composition as he swiftly and effortlessly succeeded in capturing your wrist. Only after did he shift attention, a low whistle of feigned surprise his barbed acknowledgment. He had drained all your hope, then. Killed whatever shred of optimism you had left in the process; hell, it didn’t even look like he was trying.
In one swift maneuver, he ripped the blade out of your hands and quickly tossed it to the side, pinning your lower half against the counter as he did so, “did you – heeheh – really think I was just gonna let you go? Hmm? Forget about ya?”
You tried your best next to use your hands – to slap him, to push him away, to wriggle out of the trap his body had forced you in. Yet, tricky vine-like hands excelled in capturing your own. Then, acting like nothing happened, as if it were a mere momentary hiccup, he continued, his tongue flickering out to dab at his scars, "no no no, you see, you caught my eye.”
“Aselfless little bird!”
“Willinggg to sacrifice your life for another,” he spat, vicious and gruff; the volatility of his tone made it hard to decipher his thoughts. Though, it wasn’t as if you were well versed in such a thing to begin with. One moment revealed mockery, the next, disdain.
What was real?
Maneuvering his hold on your wrists into one hand, his unoccupied digits reached for your hair, twirling a small strand that had fallen in front of your face during the struggle, “I’ve come to coll-ect.”
“P-please-” Your breathing came out uneven through your nostrils as you clamped your eyes shut, still attempting to create distance. The feeling from last time, the shame woven into the forbidden craving had arisen again and you essentially prayed that he chalked off your squirming to fear and not to a specific… discomfort.
”Noww, relaaax – doctor’s orders,” he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows. A trickle of joy spilled from his scarred lips, “what happened to that bravery?”
You had shied away from his stare up until then, the rough hold which had migrated to your chin forcefully wiggling you closer. When your eyes met his dark ones, his eyebrows flicked upwards in what seemed like a tic.
“I-if you’re going to kill me, just do it,” you forced out. Gloved fingers squeezed at your cheeks.
“I’ve had a change of heart.”
His thumb swiped your quivering lower lip, a sight he was thoroughly engaged in. Mere centimetres apart, it was there when you realised, with his breath sweeping against your mouth, that you wanted to kiss him. You really had sunken.
“Though, I am looking forward to – oh how did you put it? Letting me do what I want?“
In one sudden, erratic movement, he wedged his knee between your legs and lifted the limb slowly, sliding it up until he reached your cunt. With your lungs feeling like they’d been robbed of air, you inhaled sharply, dizziness overtaking you. The tightening pressure around your wrists acted like a constrictor knot, its bindings strengthening the more you writhed.
“Do you remember that, sweetpea?”
He rocked his knee which in turn rutted against the cabinet, enabling his thigh to brush your clit through soaked panties. Your dress was bunched up and pooled around his leg, hiding a good portion of his pinstripe trousers and in a response you weren’t particularly proud of, you released a choked moan, his actions providing the semblance of the relief you were chasing – craved.
"Hmm, yeah?” He cooed, high pitched and almost like he was talking to a child.
Protests – a whole bouquet of them sprouted from your vocal cords, their great green stalks filling the width of your throat, clogging it. So much so that instead of frantic clusters of ‘no,’ ‘stop,’ ‘get away from me,’ strangled noises and gasping moans trickled out. At least that’s what you told yourself; because to face cold harsh reality would have proved to be too much. To realise that so much as one nudge from the cold criminal could reduce you to putty, a hot melting mess would be repugnant! To realise that those flowers hardly represented your innocence and more so the blossoming of carnality was a hard seed to swallow.
And so, perhaps it was better to hide behind the excuse of obstruction even though the weakness in your knees told you different, even though you were leaning into him and transfixed on his lips. And maybe, just maybe, it was better to ignore how your stomach leapt at his resonating growl and how he pulled you by your wrists, and how you continued to ignore the auspicious swell in your chest as the risen skin of his scars brushed your cheeks and how the quick prod of his tongue coaxed you into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss and how your honeyed hums pressed against his mouth and how he darkly chuckled and–
Fuck.
Fuck it.
Melting into the way his tongue teased yours, you rolled your hips, meeting the occasional bounces as you rode his thigh. His free hand began its slow ascent up your dress, squeezing greedily at the flesh and when he knew you weren’t going anywhere, he relinquished his domineering hold on your wrist. In a move that seemed all too comfortable, natural even, your arms reached up to rest on his shoulders while the wandering hands nearing the waistband of your panties suddenly yanked the material – a fierce ‘snap!’ forcing you to jolt.
You had no time to recover when he hoisted you on top of the kitchen counter. The sudden liftoff was rough considering his handling but the landing was even more so when he plopped you on its surface; the small squeak of pain followed by skewed mimicking and taunts. Regardless of the humiliation, the sudden loss of contact had you whining pitifully in the middle of the room, a reaction you were positive only urged his sadistic inclinations.
“Wooould ya look at that,” Joker smirked, directing you to the sizable wet spot in his suit pants.
The heat rushed to your cheeks instantly at the vulgar display, a rose dusting sweeping the area. With his knee still propped up against the counter, he was able to push his way between your thighs losing your ability to shut them knee to knee.
No matter how much he tried to poke at your eagerness, shame was void. Such a point was proven when you leaned backwards slightly, adjusting your position, never straying far from his lips. Once done, you reached for the digits circling the skin of your hips. Joker hardly seemed fazed by the sudden contact, though he watched you intently with squinted eyes – intrigue the dominating emotion. Said narrowing was so subtle that if you hadn’t been looking up at him the whole time, you wouldn’t have picked up on it at all.
The gentle trail you led him down, from your hip to your inner thigh, and then, finally, to your slit had been drawn out, the pleasured groan he emitted a forbidden delight submerged in concupiscence. Slickness coated the tips of his gloves as they toyed with the area, his long digits sliding easily inside from how wet you were.
“One second you’re scared stiff,” he grinned, eyes flicking between you and the way his unhurried fingers filled you up.
“The next you’re allll ho-t and bothered.”
With no time to adjust, he ditched the leisurely act and started a much more impatient speed. You eagerly leaned into the sly, slithering touch which happily found you were braless. Curled markings scratched into the edges of the counter, coinciding with the tortuous ascension of poisonous fingers – a poison in which seemed to seep its way into your bloodstream instantly, manipulating every feeling, every thought, every sensation to the firey, prickling rush of desire; of him.
“What does that say about you, huh?”
Knowing exactly what you needed, his thumb promptly found your nipple. With both hands busy, the sheer euphoria they propagated brought on a daze.
“It says I’m a nurse,” you warbled, breathing heavy.
Jokers eyebrows furrowed, though quickly reverted in seemingly the very same twitch; it appeared he always wanted to have the upper-hand. To control. Nonetheless, he was eager for your continuance, the way his skilful fingers glided inside you, exploring, not stopping in the slightest. The swell of pleasure which forced your toes to curl and your hips to rise let you know you were close.
“I’m built for high-pressure situations.”
“Is that so?” He said, his voice as smooth as silk. He leaned in again, so close that measuring the distance would have been redundant. Strands of green, which were once woven neatly (or more, as neatly as they could get for the man), deviated. Each curl bounced along with every thrust.
“Care to put your money where your mouth is, sweetheart?” He grunted, pinching the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger, drawing out a sharp mewl.
“Another deal?” You forced out, breathing a laugh.
“If you, uh, think you can handle it,” he flopped his head to the side and performed his idiosyncrasy with an impish twinkle in his eye, “you know I’m a man of my w–”
You both paused.
During the exchange, you swore you had heard something. Considering Joker’s sudden halt too, you were certain it hadn’t been your imagination. The only thing louder than the silence was the furious ‘rap rap rap’ of your heart, a thunderous drum calling out for something – anything to mask its bellows.
‘Mass hysteria’ was doing rounds in your mind as an explanation for the sudden, unexplained noise until finally, it repeated. Short, sharp, and distinguishable.
This time, you heard it clear as day.
Your name.
“(Y/n)?”
It seemed you were the only one who remained in your fixed state as Joker clamped a hand over your mouth. However, he continued with his thrusts, controlling them into a slower pace; a patience you didn’t think he had. With your tongue, you ran the muscle against his gloved fingers, biting into the material, a signal to ditch the covering. It appeared to work too, because within seconds his bare flesh replaced it. He slipped two digits into your mouth instead and pressed the pads of his digits of your appendage. Immediately, you hollowed your cheeks, looking up at his lust ridden gaze as you sucked. A delighted purr resonated from him.
“Good girl,” he growled, curling the fingers still inside you; marking the end of his teasing. Joker, more agitated by the second, returned to his previous rhythm, the kitchen counter groaning.
So much for patience.
The interruption was almost forgotten as you began to reach your peak. Arching your back, you forced Joker closer to you and clung onto him, ensuring each rapid ram reached his knuckles. In a flurry of desperation, you pawed at his arm, trying to redirect the hand not currently busy fucking you into oblivion. With a small ‘pop’ he left your mouth, finding your neck with your guiding. His fingers wrapped around the area perfectly, squeezing while a laugh left him.
“Well, aren’t youjustfull of surprises.”
“(Y/n)?” The voice repeated. You heard your door slam shut soon after, only just now had it occurred it had been left open the whole time.
“Hey, the door was open,” they confirmed, continuing as you heard the distinctive thud of boots searching the house, presumably searching for you.
Mumbled, nonsensical phrases left your mouth in the violent flurry of release, suppressed by the pressure around your throat. In the midst of things, the top half of your dress had fallen and bundled around your waist. As you went rigid, your nails clawed and sunk into the back of his shirt, stealing a few grunts. Too wrapped up in your own pleasure, you missed how Joker intently watched your climax, mischievous eyes deviating to the exposed flesh of your shoulder.
“I heard about the accident, and I guessed you wouldn’t have made it so I decided dinner here would be–”
Joker without warning had bitten into your shoulder, the unexpected intermingle of pain and pleasure coaxing you to cry out. Such an interruption warranted the frantic footsteps heading your way.
Shit.
“Is everything ok–”
Splat.
Both you and Joker whipped your heads around to the source which was now in one of the doorways of the kitchen. There stood Daniel, horror stricken and trying his hardest to comprehend the scene before him. A demanding contrast of colours – flowers, wrapped and nicely presented, had fallen to the floor in surprise, explaining the slap of sadness.
No one said anything.
The thick mist of unease permeated through the kitchen, suffocating everyone inside. Well, at least those prone to embarrassment. Although you couldn’t see the cocky smirk on the jester’s face, you could feel the distinctive rumble of laughter brewing from the way you continued to cling onto his back.
In short, Joker was shameless.
No sooner than when you had realised such a thing was festering – it erupted, breaking the spell time had cast on the small box of a room. Hysterics was contrasted with Daniel’s visible confusion and, dare you say, hurt. The blood had rushed to his face, whether in anger or embarrassment it was clear it was both. A small part of you felt bad, it truly did, though it was difficult to sustain when Joker, without even so much as looking at you, forced you back further to a 130-degree angle until your upper half was leaning against the kitchen wall. Without missing a beat, he started to fiddle with his pants, a vicious, sharp smile delivering the final slice to the intruder’s heart.
You took the photo of J on an afternoon away from the craziness of the city. Much to J’s irritation you had insisted upon taking it, telling him how perfect it would be with the creepiness of the fog.
Today is the first time in a while that I’ve felt Arthur’s presence. He’s been sittng with me, both of us doing our thing, but quietly enjoying our own spaces and the company of one another. It’s strange feeling his love again.
Hey does anyone want any comfort character letters? I was hoping to write again and i thought it might be fun to try writing comfort character letters.
Head cannon: J loves the song Why Can’t I Be You by The Cure.
I think J would just start singing it to Bats as hes fighting him. Just imagine that, hes walking around an abandoned building and just starts singing"Oh why can’t I be you batsy, your sooooo gorgeous! So Wonderful! Tooo goood to be truuuue…“ Almost creepily while wating to find the bats.
A Place in your Home; A Place in your Heart | Arthur Fleck x reader
// original request: Hi! I love your writings and I shyly wanted to request something. ^^ I wonder if you could write about Reader that has a difficult situation and has to find a new place to live, but doesnt have enough money? Arthur wants to help her and offers her that she can live with him. They’ve not dated for long but it’s serious and the’re much in love. She wants to move in with him, but she’s afraid it wouldn not work out for many reasons, but eventually she agrees and Arthur is immensely happy. ^^
// A/N: This originally was going to be a longer fic, but I’ve been struggling with writing yet again, so I figured breaking it down into headcanons was easier than taking eons longer to write something more detailed.
It had been nearly three weeks since you were given the news, the words barely making their way over the fuzzy phone lines, voice as uncaring as ever.
Due to a better suited tenant making an offer, your lease was not going to be renewed, and you needed to be out by the end of the month - no if, ands, or buts about it.
Your lifestyle was a hand to mouth one; paycheck to paycheck, your weekly earnings were just enough to cover rent and basic necessities with little left over to save, splurges on luxuries being an occasional, very rare treat.
With your rainy day savings, your actualsavings,andthe total accumulation of the profit you made from selling various items that you could, you barely had enough to cover even a depositon any of the nearby apartments - let alone deposit, andthe first month’s rent.
In short, you were screwed.
You were screwed, and it was eating at you. Day and night, the thought loomed over you like the piles of trash that littered the city, threatening to topple over on passersby at any moment.
Had you been given a much more reasonably timed heads up, it wouldn’t have been even half an issue, yet you were left to do nothing but lay in bed, eyes burning as you stared at the television, seeing but not really watching the program on it. You’d been pulled from your restless sleep by the sound of a glass bottle dropping and shattering somewhere outside, and given that it was nearly four in the morning, you were about to give up on sleep.
Even in your sleepy haze, did the weight of the situation hit you like a truck, your stomach tightening with anxiety, the churning twist of panic, worry, and hopelessnessmaking your eyes blur with tears as you shifted your gaze to the ceiling.
You couldn’t help but almost pitifully chuckle at that - soon, there wouldn’t even bea ceiling for you to cry over.
December was nearly on its last legs with Christmas just around the corner; the days of autumn bleeding into those of winter as you found yourself growing more and more grateful each day that your boyfriend’s apartment was one of the few that had a functioning heating system. Temperatures dipped below freezing more often than not, and you often had to take a moment to brace yourself before you stepped outside as the air’s freeze physically hurtsometimes - your eyes, nose, and fingers on the days you forgot your gloves stinging from the wind, while any exposed skin reddened from the nip of the wind.
It was thoughts of days like those that made you brief a sigh of relief and sink back into the couch of Arthur’s living room, one of his softest blankets fluffed and draped around your body as you curled your legs under yourself, warm and safe from the harsh weather outside, and the even harsher population of the city.
It was also thoughts of days like those that reminded you that this wasn’t going to last.
“Love, what’s on your mind?”
As in tune with your emotions as ever, Arthur noticed that you were particularly quiet that evening, lost in your thoughts as you didn’t even pay any mind to the television - set to the weekly airing of The Murray Franklin Show.
You hadn’t even told Arthur what was going on, the fear of stressing your already overworked boyfriend out keeping you from opening your mouth.
“Huh? Oh - nothing,” You blinked, turning your attention from the carpet to the television. “I’m just tired.” You spoke, fingertips picking at the frayed hem of the blanket currently wrapped around your body.
Another hint for Arthur: no Art, no Artietacked on the end to your reply. From the corner of your eye could you see him through the passthrough, eyeing you from his spot at the kitchen counter where he was taking the utmost care to not spill the mug of hot chocolate he was making you as he stirred it.
Even though your relationship was hardly out of its infancy, you both knew each other well enough to tell when something was wrong. Arthur was already so very in tune with your emotions, so you knew he wasn’t just going to let your morose mood go without a question or two, and you knew yourselfenough to know that something about Arthur’s concern hit a soft spot in your heart, rendering you unable to keep much from him once he managed to get into your head.
He seemed almost sad as he now stood in the entrance to the living room, his lips settled into a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on you. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze, the guilt from keeping something so major from him eating at you, but the uncertainty and apprehension of not only howyou’d bring it up with Arthur, but how he’d react.
One of your worst fears was Arthur jumping on the opportunity to have you live with him. Not because you didn’t wantto, not because you didn’t trust him or anything of the sort - but Arthur had a habit of putting the needs of others, especially your own, miles above his own. Money was muchtighter for him than it was for you, and hell you had no idea if even combining incomes would be much help. No doubt that it would be some, but whether it would be enough, especially given the uncertain job climate of Gotham, left you scratching your head.
Arthur took a seat next to you, the drink he brought you placed on the coffee table, and with a deep breath, you let it spill out faster than you really meant for it to.
Your lease was ending in just over a week. Your landlord had no intent of renewing it because someone else was moving in, and you had no money to move elsewhere yet, even after your best efforts at earning enough. You had no where to go, nothing to do, no way to remedy the situation - and time was running out.
Hell, you had no idea if at this point you even could do anything beyond accepting the inevitable.
“Why… don’t you stay here?”
Arthur’s meek, yet hopeful voice raising such a suggestion made your ears perk up. You hadn’t even thought about that - but immediately did you know that it wouldn’t work. At least not yet.
“Art - I can’t do that, you know I can’t.” You couldn’t look at him as you spoke, the thought of being able to live in with him making your heart skip a beat, but the knowledge that it almost most definitely was not realistic at the moment making it hard to swallow.
“Why can’t you?”
“It won’t work - it’s not going to work.”
Though instantly you regret speaking those words, wincing once you realized what they implied. You knew Arthur and his anxieties well enough to know that it wasn’t improbable that he took “it won’t work” as meaning, you didn’t have enough faith in your relationship for it to work.
“ - Notlikethat,”You were quick to correct yourself, hoping to save the situation before it became more angst ridden. “I mean, living together. At least right now. Money is already tight for you, isn’t it? And I mean, it’s not like my own job is the most stable right now.”
“Y/N, do you really think that matters?”Arthur looked almost angry as he spoke, as if the fact that you were concerned about finances was ridiculous in such a situation. You knew Arthur enough to know he wasn’t actually mad, at least not at you, but still on edge at the threat of your loss of shelter. “You’ll be homeless, and - and who knows what could happen to you out there -” The hitch in Arthur’s breath as he spoke, coupled with the way his left hand gripped at the fabric of his trousers clued you in that this was something extremelydistressing for him.
You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, yet you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away. “Arthur -”
“Please,”Arthur’s hand shot out for your own, his warm from holding the hot drink previously as he held your hand tight in his own. “Y/N, please.. Don’t worry about money, we’ll figure it out - but it’s dangerous, it’s awful out there and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you -”
Had you not stopped him midsentence with a gentle “Hey -”, you’d no doubt Arthur would’ve either succumbed to a fit of laughter, tears, or both.
“ - Arthur, hey,” Your free hand that wasn’t kept in his own reached for his shoulder, tugging gently on the fabric of that brown cardigan you so loved, pulling him closer to you. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his breath just barely noticeable against the fabric of your chest. “I dont… I don’t know what I’d do, either - Arthur I just don’t want to add more to your plate, you’re already so overworked, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”
You could feel Arthur shake his head at your words, but he didn’t speak - not that you blamed him.
With your lips now pressed to the top of his head, you took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. That comforting scent you’ve come to love and seek out within the few months you’ve been with him - the scent you, really, wouldn’t mind being surrounded by all of the time.
“We’ll try,” You said finally, not missing how Arthur seemed to tense up at your words. “Arthur I… would love to stay here - I would, love to live with you. It’s going to take some time to adjust - never mind actually making the move - but… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You could’ve laughed at how Arthur shot up at this, his eyes wide as he seemed full of disbelief for a moment before your own reassuring smile sparked a growing grin on his face. “Do you really mean it, Y/N?”
“Waking up with, going to bed next to, coming home to you doesn’t sound all too bad, the more I think about it,” You whispered, your body finding its way to Arthur’s as his arms pulled you close.
Kinda unsure if anyone really reads my stuff anymore, but for those that do/those that will once I begin posting again;
Do you prefer oneshots, or do you like mutli-part pieces? I have a few ideas for some multi-part pieces (the continuation(s) for Smile are included), but I’m not entirely sure how… much attention they’ll get and I don’t want to bore readers with content they don’t care too much for.
AN: we’re just gonna. pretend hoyt keeps a mini fridge in his office. for the sake of simplicity. thanks. Originally a list of headcanons but I kinda drew ‘em out and turned them into a scenario. Thank you for your patience.
Summary:You love Arthur, and Arthur loves you - and neither of you could stand to see the other hurt. Arthur always so adamantly defended you and stood up for you when you failed to do so for yourself, but you began to feel as if maybe - maybe- you weren’t doing yourjob of defending him like you should’ve been.
Luckily, one day in Arthur’s haze of exhaustion does he forget something at home on his way to work one morning, and you decide to bring it to him - giving you the perfectopportunity to give those who handle him roughly a small piece of your mind.
Words:4041
Neither you nor Arthur were very assertive.
Though both of you could be when the time came for it, very quickly was it learned that more often than not, it was best to just let things go, in Gotham; everyone knew that it was best to just avoid the fight that would inevitably come with confrontation - avoid the problems, the anger, and the violence that seemed to be lurking around every corner. No one in the city liked to accept responsibility for their shitty behavior, and any sort of criticism - whether warranted or not - only led to more anger and violence, and neither you nor Arthur had the energy to deal with it on most days.
The passive attitude the two of you had long since adopted was both a blessing and a curse for the two of you; a blessing as you could so easily let things go and not letting them fester and bother you for days to come - but also a curse, as that passiveness was often taken as weakness- and being perceived as weakonly tempted others to try and take advantage of you. They’d think that they could just push, and push, and push- that they could just walk all over whomever they pleased, and that the one who was weakwould just sit there and take it without any form of argument, push back, or resistance.
In a way, it was almost comical. Where the two of you lacked in standing up for yourselves individually, did the other one come in. You both knew what it was like to be hurt and abused, and from your love for each other came the desire to protectthe other and keep them safe in the streets of the city. You wouldn’t stand to see your other half get hurt and exploited - and so you’d readily and happilystep in to stand up for them if they were having a hard time doing so for themselves. Perhaps a bit of an unhealthy dynamic, but one that worked for the both of you and usually kept either of you from getting hurt.
In your time together, Arthur had stood up for you time and time again; at the market, when a woman roughly shoved you aside without any hesitation or apology so she could cut in front of you in line, then again on the street minutes later when you’d had insults and slurs thrown at you by total strangers just because they felt like it, and then that time on the subway when someone decided that they didn’t like how you glanced at them for a fraction of a second and tried to start a fight. Arthur hated far little else as much as he hated seeing you get hurt and disrespected, and so out of what seemed like nowhere would he become bursting with a type of energy and confidence that you rarely ever saw, sticking up for you without even a hintof that same insecurity and hesitance that typically kept him from helping himself in similar situations.
It was sweet of him, but how angryyou’d get at yourself for not being able to do the same for him nearly as much as he did for you. Arthur never came right out and saidthat anyone was tormenting him or anything, but judging by the way he spoke about his days at work with the occasional mention of a name or two, you had a feeling that he wasn’t exactly very well respected at Haha’s - or, really, anywhere he went, for that matter.
Just from his stories alone did you know how much of a domineering bullyhis coworker Randall could be, and how he always passed it off as just him havin’ a laugh with his boy and that of courseArtie knew he was just playin’; how much Hoyt overworked Arthur, using any excuse he could to underpay and berate him for things completely unrelated to him, and how Penny - Arthur’s own mother- would often totally ignore Arthur’s own needs and wants, so self focused on herself that she apparently failed to see any problem in dismissing and belittling her own son’s dreams and goals, completely undermining how hardworking and deserving he truly was.
While just being aware that it happened hurt you, it didn’t pain you nearlyas much as it did to know Arthur seemed to just let that stuff happen - but deep down, you knew that wasn’t really the case. You knew what would happen if he stood up for himself; it would just open him up to more ridicule, more bullying, more harassment - none which anything that Arthur needed to deal with more. It was much less of him just lettingit happen, and more of him being powerlessin the face of it, the more you thought about it. Powerless and vulnerable - two things you hated to think of him as.
In a way, you were angry at the city itself and those around him who you had no doubt saw the mistreatment as it happened - but did nothing to help. As guilty as the perpetrators were they, in your eyes.
But Arthur’s struggle to stand up for himself and the voyeur-esque attitudes of those around him didn’t mean that youhad to just sit there and let it happen, too.
Ever since the two of you had begun dating, you’d both been on top of making sure that the other took care of themselves properly, and that included making sure they were eating well. You knew how Arthur rarely had time at work to stop in anywhere and eat, and how he had even less pocket money than he did time, so you picked up on making small, easy lunches that he could grab on the way out the door to take with him. They were always simple things; sandwiches, leftovers from the previous night packed securely in Tupperware, occasionally you’d bake some cookies and send a few of those - just random, small, easy things that you could afford, and Arthur appreciated them more than he could even begin to express. He almost broke down into tears the first time you presented him with a lunch you’d packed for him; a brown paper lunch bag, the top of it rolled in securely, with your bubbly handwriting reading Artiewith a big heart across both sides.
This became a routine for you, and most nights a week you’d take an extra few minutes to prepare something for him. He’d always ask if he could help, feeling ever soguilty that you were going out of your way to care for him, but you always brushed it off with a shrug, telling him you were doing it because you lovedhim - as well as tossing in a playful comment here and there about how what you were making him was a top secret surprise so he was temporarily banned from the kitchen while you did so.
He was always so good about remembering to grab what you made him, but one morning after a night of actually managing to sleepand subsequently oversleeping, so exhausted was he that on the way out the door he forgot to grab what you’d put together for him. By the time you opened the fridge realized he’d left it behind he was already long gone, but given the fact that his workplace was only a five minute walk and a 15 minute bus ride away and you had the day off you figured the least you could do was bring it to him, and so you slipped on your shoes and jacket and set out.
The commute was uneventful, but the closer you actually got to Haha’s, the more did a sinking feeling settle into the pit of your stomach; a nagging, gnawing, almost warningpang of anxiety that seemed to be telling you to brace yourself for whatever you were going to have to put up with once you arrived. It was the feeling you typically had when you were about to pass by a rough looking group on the street, the same feeling you got when you knew you were about to run into trouble - and you knew that the trouble your subconscious was trying to warn you of was most likely Arthur’s coworkers.
And once you actually arrived at Haha’s did you wish you’d listened to it and braced yourself better.
For starters, there was no response when you rang the bell. The sign taped on the door felt like it was almost taunting you; HaHa’s Talent Booking Agency, Please Ring Bell, with a crudely drawn arrow pointing to the doorbell that was either so quiet no one heard it, or totally out of service and thus, useless.
It was frustrating - it was nearly nine at that point and you knew that Arthur had a gig early that morning, so the chances of him still being there were incredibly slim and you didn’t want to leave his things with anyone but him. It took a good minute of debate, but you mustered up every bit of courage you had and with a deep breath pulled the door open. You wanted to go in, find a safe place to leave his lunch, and leave. Nothing more, nothing less.
Immediately did the air of the interior slam you in the face; it was warmer than the air outside was, and thick and heavy with the hazy scent of cigarette smoke and mildew slamming you in the face. An unpleasant greeting, and you held your breath on the way up the stairs and through the hallway until you ended up in what you figured was the main room.
The room itself wasn’t what was bad, considering it was Gotham city and most buildings needed a good bit of repair, but the atmosphere itselfwas what made you feel more sick to your stomach than the air that was thick with scent of cigarette smoke and sweat did.
Most conversation came to a halt, voices trailing off and words cut short as everyone’s attention turned to you once the creak of the floor under your footsteps was heard. Men in their thirties, forties, and probably even fiftiesturned to look at you; some of them looking amused, some annoyed, and some undeniably hungry.
You smiled, albeit incredibly awkwardly, at them, hoping that a friendly disposition would be enough to stave off any sort of crude comments any of them may make, and as you were about to speak up and ask where Arthur was, two words into your question were you interrupted by a particularly large man on the other side of the room.
“Oh, well, well, who d’we got here?” He thumbed at the suspenders that held up his oversized red trousers as he sauntered over to you, a lazy, lopsided, poor attempt at a friendly grin spread on his face. “You lost, sweetheart?”
It took most of your self restraint to not roll your eyes at the name, and instead you kept up your smile. “Oh - no, actually. I’m here for someone, but I don’t see him -”
“Yeah? Who around here could you possiblywant anything to do with?”
Yet again did he interrupt you - but in that second did you realize who heactually was. You knew that this was Randall, and he fit the exact image you’d had in your head of him: tall, sleazy, and obnoxious - but you weren’t about to let him have his way with you like he so often did others.
Straightening up, you looked him in the eye as any trace of geniality that was once present vanished from your face. “Arthur. I’m his girlfriend, and I need to see him for something.”
A handful of the men scattered around the room choked back laughs. A quick look around showed that a good chunk of them found your comment funny enough to scoff at, most uncaring that you’d caught them smirking at the apparent utter absurdity that Arthur Fleck had a girlfriend. They couldn’t believe it, and Randall especially seemed to get a kick out of how unlikely it was.
“Aw, c’mon,” He reached forward to nudge your shoulder with his hand, a poor attempt at being playful. “Artie’s not here right now, but I’m surehe wouldn’t mind sharin’ with us. Why don’t you come sit with us? We’d love to meet you.”
You stepped backwards. “No, thank you, really. I’m just here for Arthur, and I have somewhere else I need to be. Is there someplace I can leave this so he’ll get it?” You held the bag up for a second long enough so he could get a look, but you absolutely did nottrust any of them enough to leave Arthur’s belongings anywhere near them. Considering how often they teased Arthur, you figured it wasn’t too far fetched to assume that they’d have no issue fucking with his stuff, and the suspicion of it alone was enough to make you immediately distrust the lot of them.
Not even taking the hint, Randall continued on. “C’mon, don’t be such a stick in the mud, sweetheart. You can leave it with us, yeah? I’m dying to know what you brought our Arthur.”
TheirArthur. It was a comment you had to once again stop yourself from rolling your eyes at, but by that point you’d had well more than enough. You’d made it clear you didn’t want to leave it with them or stay there with them, yet he just kept pushing. One thing you hated was someone who couldn’t - who wouldn’t- take no for an answer.
“You know,” You stepped up to him, ignoring the fact that you couldn’t properly square him up considering he had at least half a foot on you in height. “I know I don’t reallyknow you that well, but from just this interaction I can already tell that Arthur is more of a man than you could ever even dream of being. At least he can take no for an answer - something you should work on, sweetheart.”
You spoke sweetheartwith a spat of venom; enunciating it condescendingly enough to get the point across. This was the first time you’d even met the guy, but just from his presence alone could you tell that even if it weren’t for already knowing what he put Arthur through that you stillwouldn’t like him. He wasn’t an ass in a blunt, high-school bully type of way; rather it was a subtle, almost passive aggressive, domineering form of teasing that seemed to put those around him into some strange position of submission so he was left free to poke fun at them however he pleased - modeled perfectly so any retaliation could be shrugged off with an excuse of “C’mon, I was just kidding around.”
“Is there anywhere I can leave this?” Your impatience was evident at this point; your foot tapping, and you were hesitant to make any eye contact with the men as you looked about the room. At this point you just wanted to get out of there - you hadn’t intended for any of this to happen today, and while you were almost mad at yourself for being so rude with Randall and causing such a stir, you weren’t in the mood to put up with this situation orhim, and to say he deserved it would’ve been an understatement.
Of all the men in the room, while most of them were large in stature, it was ironically enough the smallest of them that seemed to be able to find it in him to respond to your question. A small, balding man of about four feet tall who stood at his locker, quietly watching the exchange before he reached a hand out, pointing towards the hallway behind you. “Hoyt keeps a spot in his office, you could leave it with him. I’ll let Arthur know when I see him.”
With a smile and an appreciative nod of your head, you turned around and headed down the hallway, ignoring the chatter of the men as you left. Thankfully, the section of the building was small and apart from the descending stairs and a doorway right at the top labeled Restroom, there was only a short hallway with a door at the far end - the peeling, chipping letters spelling O fice stuck to it.
You knocked, and through the window of the door could you see that - whom you presumed to be Hoyt - either didn’t hear you, or couldn’t be bothered to respond. With the nature of the place it wasn’t too out there to assume it was most likely the latter, but not wanting to be rude you knocked again - only for him to shout an irritated “What?” from his desk, muffled through the door as he couldn’t be bothered to look up as you pushed the door open.
“Can I help you?” Finallydid he look up at you, taking his eyes from whatever he was writing and focusing on you.
“Oh, yeah, sorry - I was told there was a spot I could leave this, in here? It’s food, for Arthur.” You held the bag up, and Hoyt glanced between you and it, his eyebrow raised as he scrutinized you.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Arthur’s girlfriend.”
“Arthur.Girlfriend.” Hoyt laughed at that, shaking his head before he went back to writing, the cigarette that was smoking away in the ashtray stinking the room up. “Jesus, those are two words that don’t belong together.”
“How come everyone has such a hard time believing that Arthur could be in a relationship?” You knew you had to speak carefully; say the wrong thing, piss off his boss or one of his coworkers enough, and it wouldn’t be you in trouble - it would be Arthur who’d end up paying for it. “He’s great, he’s a hard worker and he’s really nice, unlike a lot of people nowadays. He’s taken for granted way too much.”
Hoyt only hummed in response, unamused. Sure.
“Imeanit, those guys out there are awful to him. You seriously don’t hear it?”
“Look, as long as they work and don’t get into trouble on company time, I stay out of it. They’re grown men and I ain’t their parent.”
“Hoyt, I know this is the first time I’ve been around here, but Arthur is one of the hardest workers you have here. He comes home exhaustedall the time, and rarely ever takes a day off. He hates causing problems, so the least you could do for him is tell the others to knock it off when they’re bothering him.”
You thought you could see the subtle bob of a nod from him, but you wouldn’t bet much on it. “You can put that in there,” He pointed with his pen towards the far corner of the room, where nestled between a stack of boxes and the window was a small, off-white, chipping mini fridge that probably needed to be replaced. “The others won’t mess with it if it’s in there.”
Once Arthur’s lunch was tucked safely between another brown paper bag and a Tupperware container with contents that you couldn’t discern, you offered little more than a hurried thank you to Hoyt as you left the room, turning left, hopping down the stairs and back out the door without looking back.
You never wanted to go back, but you hoped what you said had at least made some impact.
Whether Arthur was completely unaware of what you had done at Haha’s or he didn’t know how to bring it up you weren’t sure, but one thing you did know was how he seemed almost… lighter, that night. Usually, when he came home he was tired, dragging his feet as he was weighed down by both his fatigue and the stress that came just from living in the kind of city the two of you did, but Arthur seemed cheerful - almost giddy,that night. His shoulders weren’t slouched, and he wasn’t dragging his feet like he tended to from his exhaustion; instead, when he came through the apartment door, he greeted you at your spot at the sink where you were washing dishes by turning you from the counter, his right arm coming to wrap around your waist and his left hand to your face so he could kiss you in a deeper manner than he typically did when he came home from work, gracefully spinning the two of you so you were pressed between his body and the edge of the counters
Whatever was going on, you absolutely weren’tgoing to argue with it.
After checking in with each other did he excuse himself to the bathroom so he could wash off the remaining streaks of white greasepaint that clung to the sharp edges of his jaw, and you finished up the dishes, settling down on the couch, trying to think of options you could cook up for dinner as Arthur returned, taking a seat next to you.
“Thank you, again, sweetheart for bringing my lunch today,” Arthur said, his voice soft and his words grateful as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, taking a seat next to you on the couch. “I’m lucky to have you.”
“Oh,Happy,” Penny interjected before you could answer your boyfriend, her attention taken from the television by Arthur’s words and she looked towards the pair of you. “You forgot something again, and Y/N had to bring it to you?”
She had a certain look on her face - her eyes narrowed, her eyebrows raised as she scolded her son. You almost asked her what she meant by againas this was, as far as you could remember, the only time you had to bring Arthur something he forgot - but questioning didn’t matter. Not right now. You were already on a roll today, and you weren’t about to let Penny of all people now dig at Arthur, and tear down his good mood.
“Pen, Arthur is stressed, overworked, and exhausted. You can’t expect him to be on top of everything all the time,” You leaned back on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV as in your annoyance you couldn’t bother to look at her. “Besides, he deserves to have someone help him out. He’s always taking care of us and things here, and it’s only right that I look out for him, too. It’s unfair for him to have to do everything when he already works so hard.”
“Well, he always has been a hard worker. Maybe a little too hard, you don’t think I don’t see how tired you are all the time? Those sleeping pills of yours don’t seem to be working.” She said, redirecting her attention from you back to Arthur. “You’re lucky you have Y/N, she helps keep you in line.”
“I think it’s the other way around,” You laughed, though Penny was hardly amused. Arthur, as per usual, didn’t say anything about his mother’s critique of him. “I think Arthur’s taken for granted, way too often. He’s funny, and I have no doubt that he’s one of the best guys that a girl could ever ask for.”
You figured you should stop before your poor boyfriend at your side was reduced to nothing but a puddle on the floor, and you could tell how embarrassed he was from not only how adamantly you defended him, but how you spoke of his character as well, by how tightly his hand was holding your own, his face angled away from his mother and yourself.
You didn’t want to stop, though. If you could, you’d sing praises of him to the damn heavens themselvesif that’s what it took for your boyfriend to get the respect and recognition he deserved.
You turned to him, your hand cupping his face and pulling him to look at you as you brought your face close to his, whispering to him before you pressed a kiss to his lips -
“I mean it. I love you, Arthur. You’re one of the best, and one day everyone’s gonna realize it.”
author’s note: thank you for the responses to my first fanfic on this tumblr!! i don’t really have a schedule for when I write or specific characters who i write for at the moment, i just thought i could use this whole quarantine thing as a time to be productive:))
this fic is named after a lana del rey song
the dark knight, except you are the second person the joker captures in order to get batman to reveal his identity. little does he know, you’re as broken as he is. (ledger!joker x reader)
trigger warning: psychological trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of mental illness, reader experiences panic attacks
If he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst
That could happen to a girl who’s already hurt?
I’m already hurt
The room is damp and cold, with no source of light. The smell of rotting flesh suffocates your air.
You’ve been here for hours now.
When you’d first woken up, groggy from the effects of some drug, you’d begun to hyperventilate in the pitch black, the ropes that bound you pressing down tightly on your organs and making it even more difficult to breathe.
This had continued on for longer than it normally would. Every time you managed to drag in enough air to fill your lungs, thoughts that this was more than a kidnapping by those who wanted money or sex flashed through your mind in garish colours of green and purple, and the oxygen was ripped from your body once again.
Eventually your breathing had steadied, and now here you sit, two hours later, still pulling on your ropes and trying desperately to think of a way out.
The sudden shove of what must be the door knocks the breath that you’ve spent so long obtaining out of you, and the harsh glare of electric lights followed by the sight of a tall, stooped figure in a purple suit make you scream.
How funny that just a few days ago, you were watching and pitying the police officer in the exact same position that you are now in safely from your bedroom, if unhappily at least safely, and at least safely from others, if not from yourself.
Your gasping cries echoe about the room, grating on the peeling walls and the intruder’s ears and the huge hunks of bloody red meat hanging from hooks in the corners -
‘Shh, darling, shh.’
And the Joker is in front of you, and you take in the matted green hair and the yellow teeth and the face plastered in white greasepaint and the bright red lips and the two huge scars curving up from the corners of his mouth, forming a grisly smile. He paws at your face with a gloved hand, the action quick and sharp and devoid of tenderness.
He wants you to shut up.
Your terror overrules your hatred and you stop screaming, having to come up for little gasps of air every few seconds.
’Oh, smartgirl.’
His voice sounds exactly like it did in the clips they showed on the TV; the Joker speaks in snarls, with a wet smack of the lips at the end of each sentence. He is still close to you. You can smell sweat, leather, and blood.
‘I presume you know why you’re here,doll.’
There is no point in lying: you raise your trembling head, and nod.
'And Ipresume… you have seen my previous recording, yes?’
Another nod.
'ANSWER ME!’
His bark makes you jump, and sends chills trickling down your spine like cold water. You want to curl up in a ball and die out of sheer terror, but you force your dry mouth to open, unsticking your lips bit by bit, and…
'yes.’
The Joker leers. He puts his large hands on your shaking thighs and pushes himself down into a kneeling position, red lips grinning up at you.
He is like a cat, toying with its prey to make it taste sweeter.
'And what, ah, did I say, was the purpose…’ the intruder’s fingers trace small circles on your skin, 'of my video?’
You know the purpose, but you don’t want to say it, can’t say it, because if you said it, you’d be admitting the truth to yourself, and even after everything you’ve been through, you don’t want to die.
As each second of silence passes each thigh circle becomes bigger, and the Joker’s long nails dig deeper into soft skin, and tiny red roses of blood begin to bloom. You feel the urge to let him continue: to let him scratch his way down to bone and marrow and eventually to the chair you’re trapped in, while you suffer in proud, noble silence.
But when the Joker sighs irritatedly and pulls out a knife from his boot, you decide you are a coward.
'You - you are using me - to try - to try to - to try to get Batman to reveal who - who he really is.’
'Full marks, doll… and you are a pretty doll, aren’t you? Wanna know why I chose you for this, ehem, operation?’
Silence.
'Course you do. Now. It seems as though our, hehe, brave,Batman, did not have much sympathy for the poor police officer who was sitting exactly where you are now…’
See, this is how crazy Batman’s made Gotham…
'Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting exactly where you are now! Geddit?’
The Joker laughs a maniacal laugh, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.
'So, in order to persuade both Batman and the goodcitizens of Gotham to reveal his identity, I have chosen someone younger, prettier, more, ah, innocent,thanour dear police officer, to fill their hearts with empathy and the urgent desire to act -
Namely, you.’
Blood pounds in your ears. You’ve forgotten entirely about controlling your breathing - but what is the point, when you are going to die?
'You’re terrified, doll.’
The Joker’s tongue wets his bottom lip.
In a quick thrust he pushes himself off the ground so he is towering above you once again. The knife spins in the air before he catches it with nimble fingers. Footsteps sound on the floor, and the Clown begins to pace the room.
'Before I start to make my little films, however, I like to play a few games.Justto get my actorsinto the right mood, you see.’
You can’t breathe, please, god, someone, help, because you can’t breathe…
