happiness is a butterfly (part 1)

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. 

Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… breathe out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…

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…

'Here’s what we’re going to do.’

to be continued…