“Stop sulking, you did great!” Jack nudged Arthur with his elbow.
“C'mon, you don’t have to lie.” Arthur awkwardly looked down at his feet. “You saw them, they looked like they wanted to throw something at me…and I don’t exactly think it would be roses.”
“Well I thought your jokes were good.” Jack said with a shrug and Arthur glanced up at him. “You had a tough crowd tonight for sure. Not your fault that they didn’t like the punchline.”
“So… Do you think I should try again?” Arthur asked with a small smile and Jack smirked back at him.
“I think you should aim even higher. Like mother always said… If you’re good at something, never do it for free.”
“Really?” Jack squinted his eyes at him in disbelief. “You’re asking how I’mdoing?”
“Yeah, I mean…,” Arthur hesitated and glanced at the small red mark on Jack’s cheek. A bruise had started to form around it and it looked a bit swollen. Looks painful, he thought as he swallowed hard, forcing down that familiar tingling in his throat. “They did hit you pretty bad. I’m really sorry, you didn’t have to-”
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Jack cut him off and shook his head, leaving two little locks to fall down over his eyes. He ignores them. “What about you? How is your nose?”
“B… Better, yeah.” Arthur touched it a little as if to check if that’s even true. It was still a bit sore but not too bad. No worse than he has had it before. “I uh…I want to thank you again. Well-… more properly…for stopping them.”
“You really don’t need to.” Jack stiffly shoved his hands into his pockets but something changed in his eyes. “I’m just sick of people like them. Rich assholes, thinking they can just get away with anything-” He stopped himself. His frown relaxed a little and he ran his tounge over his lips. “Forget it. I’m sure anyone would have done the same.”
Now that was just a bad lie. Arthur wasn’t very good at reading people but that one was obvious even for him. “They wouldn’t.” He mumbled and also shoved his hands into his pockets where his fingers found his lighter and cigarettes. He started to fiddle with them as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Anyways…are-…are you free on Friday evening?”
Jack raised an eyebrow at him but nodded.
“I will be doing one of my first shows then.” Arthur smiled shyly but Jack just stared at him in confusion. “…I mean, I do stand-up comedy!” He then quickly added and Jack’s expression softened again and he gave a small smile.
“Yeah? That sounds cool.” The big scar on the left side of his cheek curved slightly as he smiled. It didn’t really look bad, it suited him somehow. In a way, it was even beautiful, Arthur realised and his ears suddenly felt hot.
“Yes… you’re welcome to see it! I’d treat you a beer! Or we could…eat something after? If you’d like of course, I understand if you don’t-“
"All that sounds great!” Jack interrupted him again and chuckled. "You just let me know when and where?”
“Yeah!” Arthur cracked a big, excited smile. “I’ll see you around.”
Jack slowly crouched down in front of Arthur. For having gotten into a fist fight with three guys he looked almost decent, his clothes just a little dusty and having just one single cut on his right cheek. “Are you alright?”
Arthur stared into Jack’s brown eyes in disbelief. He had his right hand gripped tightly around the gun in his pocket still. Had Jack stepped in just by seconds later… He swallowed hard and cringed at the metallic taste of blood.
“Yes.” He managed to get out, his voice hoarse and a bit shaky.
Jack tilted his head a little and Arthur could see his eyes focusing on his bloody nose. He finally let go of the gun, his fingers feeling stiff from holding it so tightly and he clumsily wiped some blood off with the edge of his sleeve.
“I ah-” Jack hesitated and shifted his weight a little awkwardly. “I’m sorry. For what they did to you.”
Arthur glanced at him under his locks, still in doubt. Why?Why did he decide to step in? It would have been so easy to just walk by like everybody else would have done. Like everybody else always does… Why did Jack get himself hurt to help him?
Heeey I’m still around! This time I threw them all into one of my favourite series that is about a perfect bank robbery…since I felt a little out of inspiration I thought a crossover could be fun to play around with and here we are! They be ready to rob the bank of Gotham…where the bat at?
“La casa de papel” (aka “Money Heist”) is a great series on Netflix and I strongly recommend it to anyone who hasn’t seen it already… who’s excited for season 5??
Because what if Jack and Arthur lived in the same time period and met just a little before the events of “Joker”…? Would they still go down the same violent path or would things be different?
Summary: You had moved on from Gotham, from your home, from your marriage. There was no point in staying, so you left. However, when you are pulled into an interrogation for a case about the Joker, you realize your past may not be so far behind…
(/ ): 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.
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.
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…
