#this is about chocolate guy and jonny cakes

[just-absolutely-super]

Baking is definitely some alchemy bullshit like have you SEEN the things these people can make???

[riveracheron]

hey guys have my wild magnus protocol theory that stemmed from me just overanalyzing the little bits of content we have

i think lena is a homunculus.

(spoilers for the pilot and jonny + alex’s post pilot discussion under the cut)

basically this stems from. a lot of places w small amounts of information so some of this might be stretches. But

1. a lot of marketing around protocol mentions the theme of “what does it mean to be a person?” which. leads me to believe there’s gonna be a plot around a protag being Not Human but has the heart or whatever the fuck. standard pinnochio or wizard of oz story. sure youre not human but ur a person bc of xyz free will or whatever

2. lena’s behavior in the pilot is So odd and almost inhuman in its extremely dull corporate jargon way. she literally uses things like “you can file a complaint” or “here at the oiar we….” (advertiser shit) , in genuine conversation. she doesn’t leave the building, either and has a Generic office party.

im genuinely thinking bureaucracy and the weird eldritch stuff of the oiar is Literally all she knows, not that shes being manipulative and evil in the trailer like elias; she doesn’t or maybe cannot question the whole. asking sam about the eldritch trauma thing, something something cant understand human emotions and why that might be troubling.

also “people like chocolate cake.” that sounds weird and something someone with only base knowledge of humanity would say.

she’s described as “an odd one” by jonny and that we will “get her soon”. im under the full belief that shes the non-human character of the bunch thatll yknow. have the Real Boy plot

3. homunculus specifically comes from all the alchemy shit around protocol, and homunculi are some of the most famous alchemical creations in popular culture, and i think she’s not. an entity creation. lenas too much of an important character to just be like. tied to An Entity, as a main character extremely tied to the OIAR, that entity would have to be the basis of like the entire plot of protocol; which i doubt theyd do.

the eye is so important to archives because the themes of archives was the consequences of knowledge- the entire plot was engineered around the Eye as the Main Character Entity and the Eye was written to be that in turn, sorta similarly to how Griffindor is the Main Character House (TM) of HP with its themes of bravery. i doooont think the oiar is tied to the stranger or flesh or any other simulacrum creating entities.

all that to say i think lena is a different kind of artificial human, one that’s manmade rather than entity made yknow?

we get glances of the people above her in status, theres mentions of an ephemeral “he” in the pilot, so. heres what i think

the He in question is an alchemist whose in charge of the OIAR (and maybe other branches but lets focus w the oiar). He created Lena the homunculus to be the middle manager of the branch in his stead; “programming” her to be as dull and corporate as possible to keep the employees in line or whatever. something something shes got a plot wrestling with that and her inherent lack of persondom

EDIT: totally forgot this part

adding that the first statement’s plot was about an abomination of corpses given a humanlike shape and coming back wrong which is. exactly what frankenstein’s monster is, and frankenstein’s monster is considered a homunculus.

with the anglerfish’s importance to season 3 of archives i definitely think the Arthur monster will come up again in some form, but maybe instead of Actually being In Podcast maybe its a parallel to the main characters’ story in the same way that many s4 statements were used to give us more information on how jon is working through it all. the zombie statement when he just wakes up comes to mind especially. maybe it’s a hint and echo of what a Character in podcast (lena) is

[apocalypticsinn]

Random Jon Headcanons I’ll add more later:

* He loves sweets. He really REALLY loves sweets, that’s why in his birthday recording he perks up when they mention cake. A slut for like- creme filled things, like a good Boston Creme or lava type things (give this man an eclair he’ll love you forever-). Will defend red velvet with his life. (“It’s just colored chocolate Jon-“ “It’s More Than That >:(.”)

* Because of this he takes his teas and coffees with lots of cream and sugar. You’d think because of his early season demeanor he likes things bitter and bland but NOPE. Douse that shit until the coffee is almost white. How have his teeth not rotted out yet idk man.

* He’s autistic DONT Look at me he is SO HEAVILY neurodivergent.

* He can play guitar and has a very pretty voice when he sings. Idk I remember hearing Jonny was in a band idk if he sang but. I need. I need this HC okay.

* He had a part-time job at the library starting in middle school. Idk about rules in the UK on working ages?? But I can see him wanting to help his grandmother with money. I’m not sure if they needed a lot because I mean… life insurance from his parents probably helped keep them afloat for quite some time… but Jon also just needed to be kept occupied and feel like he’s contributing.

* He knows how to cook very well. He basically had to raise himself at times and cooking was something he picked up.

* He’s extremely clean (pre-season 2). Keeps bugs out.

* He’s dated a few times but has always had difficulty letting his walls down. He’s been raised thinking he’s a burden so it’s hard to let people truly inside without feeling guilty… before Georgie, he never had long lasting relationships.

* His favorite season is Autumn. He’s a pumpkin bitch.

* Has the most luxurious hair you’ve ever seen. That shit is THICK and SOFT. Speaking of hair, his grows super fast. Man has to shave or get hair cuts like. In half the time a normal person does.

* He becomes a vegetarian in season 3.

* He strikes me as a soup guy. He just. Likes soup.

More to come later.

[frightknights-n-monstergirls]

Jonathan hates it when you call him your Spookshow Baby, but it didn’t bother him as much as it did when you said it in public. Whenever Jonathan escapes Arkham Asylum, he would spend most of his free time, or whatever was left outside his research, at your place whether you allowed it or not. He would help with the cleaning, even though he does a horrible job at where he crashed at, and does occasionally go out to grocery shop with you. This is when Jonathan usually gets the most stress in. He is already taking a risk going out into the public eye with you as it is, but your little nickname would give him away as The Scarecrow.

“What would you like for dinner, Spookshow Baby?”

“Hey, Spookshow Baby, I found those wheat things you like!”

“My poor Spookshow Baby being beaten up by the Batman.”

It was bad enough that Jonathan would get strange looks from people as it is, but with you calling him Spookshow Baby… He just wants to gas bomb the store. Maybe this is the whole ‘In a Relationship’ deal, get to be with a beautiful person who understands him, get fed when he’s in their home, have a warm bed to pass out in, and in return get to call him embarrassing names. Jonathan never thought he would be so lucky as to have you as his significant other, even when you call him Spookshow Baby. He wouldn’t mind you saying that one more time.

Jonathan sits in the REC Room with a book in his hands as Jervis beats Edward at chess for the third time in a row. Jonathan doesn’t really pay attention to Eddie’s assumptions of the small man cheating, or really reading the book in front of him. Instead the thought of you enters the Scarecrow’s mind, what are you doing right now? Do you even know what today is? Today is Jonathan’s birthday and he’s stuck spending it in Arkham with people he would rather not be around on this day. A sad sigh passes through Jonathan’s lips getting his friends’ attentions he would rather be at a Starbucks with you drinking a pumpkin spice latte.  

“Geez, Jon.” Edward starts resting his head on his hand looking at Jonathan, “You look really depressed. Did they get rid of the book you like to read?”

“Up yours, Nigma.” Jonathan grumbles his shoulders hunching up to where they almost touch his ears as a thin blush travels across his cheeks. There was no way in hell that he is going to tell them that it’s his birthday and is missing a certain someone. Edward and Jervis don’t know about Jonathan being in a relationship with you, and would like to keep it that way.

“Now, now, Jonathan.” Jervis lightly scolds resetting the board. He seems more lucid today, yesterday the hatter was in full Wonderland Mode to the point of being sedated for the whole day. Jonathan knows this from how Jervis’s fiery hair is combed back rather than looking like a he had a good romp. “Edward has a point, you look rather sad today, more so on the emotional side than any given day.” That cheeky bastard. “Mind telling us?”

“No.” Jonathan immediately barks out glaring at his companions adjusting his glasses by the nose piece with his index finger. The other two look at each other in a side glance, “I’m telling you two that there is nothing wrong about today!” By God, he will get through today, plan his escape, and be done with these lunatics without anyone knowing about…

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JONNY!” Harley and The Joker scream into both his ears. A painful ringing makes Jonathan’s eyesight go blurry, but it comes back faster than his hearing. He sees Edward’s mouth move and his expression change to glee. Jervis’s overbite is now even more prominent baring a wide grin of his own. As Jonathan regains the concept of sound more inmates crowd his view and muffled 'Happy Birthday’s are becoming more clear. For some odd reason, he is half expecting them to start chanting 'Kali Ma’.

“How old are you turning?”

“We shoulda threatened the cook for a cake!”

Jonathan growls actually baring his pointed canines at the crowd, “How did you even know?”

“We read your file.” The Joker grins like a smug snake that he is. Figures, it would totally be Joker and Harley to break into Arkham’s office and read everyone’s files. Hell, they probably even change the prescriptions on the damn computer just for shits and giggles.

“Alright that’s enough!"The inmates turn to look at the Head of Security, Mr. Cash, and Dr. Jeremiah Arkham not too far behind. Jonathan sees that Arkham is standing with someone, who he can’t tell but has caused a stir if Cash is out of his box. "Crane, you have a visitor.”

Jonathan, as well as the other insane criminals, exchange confused looks. No one has ever come to visit him, on his files it clearly states that he has no known relatives in Gotham, or any that want to acknowledge that he is related to them.  A smile is on Arkham’s face, this usually means that he has something planned that can be 'beneficial’ or he just got another grant for his asylum. Jonathan stands up leaving his book on the chair, giving Edward and Jervis a look. They know what that means, they won’t be able to talk about this without any sort of recreational drug present, luckily Jervis is that guy who knows a guy in their group. Jonathan is about half way there when his jaw drops. There you are with a soft smile on your face and a small cake in your hands. It is covered in the darkest brown frosting, you know him all too well to know that he is a sucker for chocolate.  Nothing could ruin this moment…

“Happy birthday, Spookshow Baby.”

It grew silent, Jonathan could not believe you called him Spookshow Baby in front of everyone. All time seems to stop, he feels all color drain for his face and into the pits of his stomach. Jonathan knows it will be coming, that horrible storm that he never wanted to endure again after highschool. He wants to turn around to his fellow inmates to see their reactions, but he can already picture them. Joker and Edward probably have the same smiles on their faces, a few will think it’s cute that Jonathan is known as Spookshow Baby, and the rest will deem it as sickening sweet. To his horror, the storm hits.

“SPOOKSHOW BABY?!”

“THAT’S SO CUTE!”

“Isn’t that a Rob Zombie song?”

Jonathan’s skin blooms into color once again in an overdose of red. A long bony hand slides under his glasses and covers his eyes and forehead in embarrassment. He would give anything for a gas bomb of his toxin right about now. Cash yanks Jonathan with his hook out of the REC Room closing the laughter off by the closing of the door. You and Arkham stand before him, his gaze is averted to the ground avoiding all eye contact from anyone. You regret calling him by the nickname that you express your love for him. You knew that Jonathan really didn’t like it, but you couldn’t help to make his blush with just a simple word. Now, it will give him nothing but grief as long as he is in the asylum.

Dr. Arkham still has a smile on his face, looking between you and Jonathan, “You can have the interview room.” He informs as the group gets to walking down the hallway, “Normally, I would say that you two will have a limited time.” He gets to the door facing you again, “But take all the time you like.”

“Thank you, Dr. Arkham.” You smile at the good doctor as he allows you to enter the room. Cash pushes Jonathan lightly into the room, his head still downcast. You can’t see his eyes from the combination of his hair and his foggy glasses. He sits down in the chair on one side of the table as the door closes leaving you two alone. You inhale deeply taking the other seat gently placing the cake in the middle of the surface that is between the two of you. “Jonathan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that in front of your friends and I didn’t want you to be alone on your birthday…”

“Y/N,” Jonathan smiles peeking from under his hair, “I’m glad you came.” He reaches over the table to grasp your hand before putting your fingers to his lips. “I haven’t had company on my birthday for many years, dear.” You smile at your love going to cut the cake until he slides it over towards himself, “Oh no, pet, you’re not getting any after that little stunt.”

You laugh then stop once you realize Jonathan is being serious.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader- “The Black Plague”

The Joker’s unexpected death left you behind with a young daughter to raise and unbearable pain. Things have never been easy but now that he’s gone you miss him so badly it hurts. And you have a lifetime to endure without The King of Gotham.

“What…took you…so long? I almost died waiting…literally…” J takes deep breaths, trying to focus on you. He’s lying in a pool of blood, still holding the cell to his chest.

You rush by his side and kneel, so shocked you can’t make a sound. You lift his head in your lap, wiping a few red drops splattered on his pale cheeks.

“Those bastards…got me…” he manages to point towards the two dead bodies a few feet away in the underground parking. “But I got… them too,” The Joker pants, making an effort to continue. “I’m glad…you answered…the phone…” and he groans in pain; it’s so hard for him to speak at this point. “If…if there’s something…you wanna tell me…you should hurry…” he faintly smiles and your mind is completely blank. You finally start bawling, reality suddenly hitting with its cruel outcome.

“I love you,” J hears and it seems so far away.

“I…I know that…What else?” He starts coughing, almost choking in his own blood.

“What am I supposed to tell Emma, hm?” you bring your face close to his, so desperate and hopeless you can’t stop shaking.

“Tell her…that…” and The Joker really strains to finish but can’t. “Tell… … …her…” His eyelids slowly close, the world fading away.

“J…? J…?” you gently caress his hand even if it’s too late: you know he’s gone. “What am I supposed to tell Emma?… What am I supposed to tell her?…”

*************

As soon as you step out of the elevator into the penthouse, your three years old daughter runs towards you, excited:

“Mommy!” and she hugs your legs, giggling. “Whe’s daddy?” Emma glances behind you, pouting. You don’t even pick her up, not realizing that’s what she wants. Frost gave you his jacket to cover your clothes soaked with blood.

“Up, mommy, up!” she pulls on your jeans, whimpering when you ignore her and walk away.

“Whe’s daddy?” your child insists, hoping he will be the one to play with her.

“Daddy will never come home again,” you turn towards her for a few moments, feeling the unbearable pain crushing your heart.

“Com’ere, kid,” Frost sighs, lifting the little girl in his arms, her pigtails flying in the air.“You want chocolate cake?” he asks, distracting Emma and she nods a yes, forgetting she was about to whine.

“Cake?” the squeaky tone excitedly inquires.

“Yes, kiddo, your favorite.”

“Yaaayy!!!” she bounces in his strong hold, happy to get a sweet treat. You barely drag your feet to the nearest bathroom downstairs, locking the door and start to undress, your body convulsing under the pressure building up inside.

Jonny is very quick to hurry out of the penthouse so the child won’t have to hear the screams that will soon echo in the stillness.

**************

“Wanna see daddy?”

“U-hum,” Emma impatiently reaches her hands for you and she gets picked up right away.

The silver casket is opened and she peeks at her dead father.

“Daddy?” she leans over and strokes his forehead, not understanding why he’s not moving. “Daddy, wake up,” and his daughter kisses his cheeks, snickering; she thinks The Joker is pretending and will tickle her for sure in just a few seconds.

“Daddy can’t wake up, sweetie,” you bite on your lower lip as hard as you can to stop the tears.

“Why?” she sulks, rubbing her blue eyes, then pets his hair, sensing something is not quite right but she’s too young to comprehend the awfulness of what is happening.

“He has to go far away and we won’t see him after today, ok?” you try to explain in the best way possible, your voice breaking towards the end of the sentence.

“Nooo,” she whimpers, clinging at your black dress.

You sniffle and Emma kisses his temple, upset.

“Daddy’s cold.”

You lift your shoulders up, incapable of mustering a reply. She puckers her lips and blows warm air on his neck a few times, then the little girl smiles once more, waiting for him to say something.

“Daaaddy…wake up…” she gets disappointed again since J is not reacting. The kid taps his hand, not giving up. “Daddy…daddy…”

Your daughter notices you’re crying and she frowns, wincing when you squeeze her in your embrace.

“I want my daaaaddy,” Emma places her arms around your neck, her mother’s behavior making her uneasy yet you can’t control the raging emotions anymore.

“Your dad is gone,” you whisper in her ear, sobbing. “It’s only us the girls now.”

***************

“Is this seat taken?” someone wants to know while you are immersed in your book, waiting for the meeting to begin.

“Yes!” you almost shout since you always want to be alone and not socialize with the others.

“Perfect!” the person grumbles and takes a seat by you, disregarding the answer.

“Do you mind?!” you get pissed, slamming the pages shut.

“No, I don’t mind,” the arrogance takes over.

You want to tell the man to fuck off or something but as your eyes meet his, that can’t be done: it’s The Joker. You kind of had a one night stand, then another one, then another one, then a few more, then…nothing in the last two weeks.

“I can seat wherever I want, Y/N, I don’t need permission.”

Avoiding confrontation with J is tough, almost impossible. He pretends to brush an imaginary crumb off his green suit, resting his fingers on the top of the cane matching his outfit.

“You’re all dolled up; going on a date or something?” The King of Gotham teases because he loves to annoy you: he calls it “his hobby”.

“In the matter of fact I am after this boring crap,” and it’s actually the truth.

“Pretty popular, huh?” he grins, chuckling.

“Yeap, always,” the sassiness bothers him and J growls.

“In your dreams, Y/N, you’re not that special,” the malicious smirk on his face irritates you.

“Well then, thank God you don’t have to go on a date with me.”

“Indeed,” he snarls, crossing his legs. ”You get on my nerves; I couldn’t stand you even if you pay me.”

“I have better things to spend my money on, Mister J. You’re just jealous.”

He glares in your direction, burning holes through you.

“Jealous?! Me?! I bet the guy’s a loser anyway,” he starts laughing and you don’t find it amusing. If you continue the conversation he won’t shut up so you swallow your pride and let him have the last word.

** “Is this seat taken?” you hear his voice and panic.

“Yes!!” you look up to see him as he’s positioning himself right by you.

“Excellent. So the guy’s not here yet?” The Joker pries in your personal life, wanting to hear the scoop.

“No, not yet, so I would appreciate if you would just leave. Are you following me around?!” you bluntly demand to know.

“Ha! That’s a good one, Y/N. Like I don’t have better things to do with my precious time. I actually have a date too, not that I need to inform you. I am being a gentleman here because I saw you all alone at the table and I thought you should know: your date is not coming.”

“Wha…? How do you know he’s not coming?” you suspiciously squint your eyes.

“I told him not to show up or I’m gonna kill him. It worked, didn’t even fight it. Told you you’re not that special,” J winks, satisfied with his victory. He gets up and steps away, leaving you behind dumbfounded.

You try to call your guy and after a couple of rings, the message makes you cringe: “This number is no longer is service.”

Are you kidding me?!  you angrily yell at your cell, concluding things will not happen so you abandon your table on the terrace, making your way out of the restaurant when you see him: J with a woman, getting reading to have dinner.

You stomp towards them, antagonized.

“Is this seat taken?” you touch one of the two extra chairs, yanking it away.

“Yes,” the woman stares you down, confused. “We are expecting company.”

“Cool !” and you drop on it, nonchalantly grabbing an extra menu and reading through it.

J ignores you, continuing to gaze at his.

“Who is this, Mister J?” she frets, appalled somebody has the audacity to interrupt them.

“The Black Plague,” he snarls, sucking on his silver teeth, calm and composed. His favorite nickname for you.

“Can you tell her to leave, please?”

“It’s a free country. If you want her to leave, tell her yourself.”

The woman is very confused and you interrupt:

“So what are we having?”

“Lamb,” The Joker shortly responds, closing his menu.

“I’ll have the same,” you decide. “What do you want?” you address the woman and she is lost. “Mister J, what’s going on? I thought we’re on a date.”

“We are.”

“It’s very awkward,” she complains.

“I love awkward,” you serenely smile, apparently without a care in the universe.

“I don’t!” the woman snaps and J retaliates:

“If you don’t like it, disappear!”

Her mouth opens and before she protests, you enunciate with an indifferent tone:

“I’m pregnant.”

“Why?” he debates on the question, skeptical.

“Why what?” you continue, scratching your arm.

“Why are you telling me? You need a father for your kid?”

“Nope, I thought you would want to know,” and the woman feels out of place since her presence is totally disregarded by both parties. “You want a paternity test?”

“Naahh, I will spare you the embarrassment of everyone finding out I’m not the dad.” “More like you want to spare yourself the embarrassment of finding out you are the dad after creating such a fuss over it,” your confident comeback makes the woman abandon her seat and The Joker doesn’t acknowledge the move.

“This is ridiculous! We are on a date! I can’t…”

“Then get lost!” he rolls his eyes. “Or stay! Your choice, allright?!”

**************

“Daaaadyyyyy,” you hear Emma’s mouse voice and open your eyes, still tired as hell. You fell asleep inside the walk-in closet again: it’s been your refuge and sanctuary lately, the only space that keeps the demons at bay. Surrounded by his clothes and everything he left behind, you don’t come out of the sacred hideout for hours.

“Daadddyyyy,” your daughter little feet run up and down the stairs: she’s searching for her father again. The poor child believes J is playing hide-and-seek with her, that’s why he’s not around. Sometimes you join the quest, finding your troubled mind actually hoping he would just show up out of nowhere and brag about how amazingly diligent he is since his girls couldn’t find him. An idiot’s hope, fueled by your daughter’s innocence and you own sorrow…

“Y/N,” Frost knocks at the door, “I brought food, come and eat.”

You lick your dry lips, remembering you didn’t even drink water today.

“I’m not hungry,” you yawn, adjusting your body on the air mattress and turning on the laptop.

“You have to eat; Emma’s hungry, come on,” he insists and you obey, not in the mood for anything.

You roll off your current bed, cracking your stiff bones as you stretch. Somehow it’s even hard to breathe. After a couple of minutes you are finally out of the closet and find your daughter at the table in the kitchen, already munching on some mashed potatoes. You really don’t know what you would do without Jonny; he takes care of her and everything else since you are incapable of being a full time mother or tend to any business.

“Mommy, look,” she proudly shows you her plate, excited to see you for the day.

You kiss her forehead and sadly smile, not touching your food.

“Eat mommy,” Emma tries to feed you. “This is f’om meeee,” she drags the word and you are familiar with the game so you accept the tiny spoon. More mashed potatoes come your way. “And this is f’om daaadddyyy,” you daughter giggles and you can’t even chew. But you pull yourself together as she goes on: “This is f’om meeeee… …This is f’om daaaddddyyy.”

You forcefully eat and can’t stop the tears anymore when the inevitable question arises:

“Whe’s daddy, hm?” and she looks around, probably wanting to feed him also.

“Daddy’s not here,” and you abruptly get up and run away, bumping into Frost that is coming over with more food.

“Hey, Y/N, did you eat already?!”

You don’t reply and go back to your oasis, crying so hard you can’t focus as you go through the laptop, looking at pictures and videos, precious memories that summarize your only hope for some kind of closure. You accidentally click on “Accounts”, then want to back out when a subfolder gets your attention: “For The Black Plague.”

What is this? you wipe your eyes, not having a clue about what it would be: you rarely go into “Accounts” on your laptop because J had all the links on his and kept track of the money more than you did.

You double click on it and it opens up a video icon, dated 6 months ago.

How intriguing.

Click again and…

“So only watch this if I’m dead, OK?” The Joker’s face popping up on the screen makes you gasp. “Are you still watching?… Well, I guess I’m dead then. First thing first: don’t cry. Your eyes get so puffy you look like a blow-up fish! Very unattractive! It’s 2 in the morning, I am in my boxers and after you totally ignored my request for sex, I guess I’m bored enough to make this stupid video. What is that?!” he turns around and you can see yourself in the background, sleeping, completely out of it. “Is that snoring? Huffing? Puffing? The Queen of Gotham, making all those sounds! Geez, woman,” and J faces the camera again, tucking his messy green hair behind the ears.

“Anyway, in case you were wondering, yes, I hate you. I hate so much that I had a kid with you,” his husky voice announces. “I guess that says it all. E-hem,” J fake coughs and you are mesmerized, can’t even breathe. “Hey, Princess!” he yells, “I’m horny, wake up!” Some mumbling about being tired is heard, you don’t recall anything. “For the record, this is a direct threat to my health,” his blue eyes stare at the camera. “ I have to be able to walk tomorrow so I must insist. Hey, Princess!” he yells louder. “I’m horny, come on, wake up!”

A faint answer, can’t even understand what you said.

“Wow, that tired, hm? Don’t care. I’m gonna get laid no matter what,” and that cocky grin gets you out of trance for a second. “It’s a miracle we got a kid out of this relationship. Before I go, here’s the deal: since I obviously died first, I’ll wait for you. Don’t take too long: try not to live until you’re a hundred or something, you are aware I get easily bored. Then after you come, we’ll wait together for the kiddo, ok?”

Then he stops, thinking about what just came out of his mouth.

“Oh my God, see what being horny and ignored makes me do ?! I talk about a bunch of stupid stuff; it’s all your fault !!!” he scrunches up his face, squirming in the recliner. Then it seems J is having an interior struggle about his final words. “Are you gonna make me say it?” and you involuntarily clench to your shirt. “Fine, I’ll say it again: I hate you. You know what that translates into? Do you?… It translates into I don’t like you. What?! Were you expecting I love you? Pfft, in your dreams, woman, get over yourself; you’re not that special,” The Joker hisses. “I might delete this since it’s complete garbage. I’ll decide after you take care of my needs.”

And his finger goes over the camera, the video coming to a halt.

You are so overwhelmed your body is petrified, looking around the closet and expecting for something to happen. But nothing happens, so you sigh, replaying the video over and over again until you fall back to sleep.

*****************

Emma crawls by J, sucking on her binky, trying to climb up his foot.

“You’re pretty helpless, aren’t you?” he scoffs, watching her retry and dropping back on her little butt numerous times until crying starts.

“For heaven’s sake, why can’t you just do it?” and he helps her up, firmly pressing the 6 months old against his leg. She clutches to his pants and starts smiling so widely that the pacifier falls out of her mouth.

“What, you’re happy now?” and that almost toothless, sweet smile makes him groan.“You’re not a cute baby, you know that?”

“Stop saying that to our daughter, she is cute!” you get mad since you heard him.

“You’d think she would be better looking kid: I’m handsome and the mom is not that hideous,” The Joker blares out a bunch of obnoxious unfunded opinions.  

You snatch her from him, frowning.

“Let’s go, sweetie. Daddy’s just a bitter, cranky man!” “Watch it, Y/N!” he shouts after you as you leave the premises and after a while a door gets slammed, then the elevator descending makes him aware you left.

Great, he gazes at the ceiling, already knowing where you’re headed.

He didn’t contact you in a week, you didn’t bother either. Just stayed at your apartment like you usually do when things go sour. And they go sour very often.

It’s the middle of the night and you go check on Emma when you realize the nightlight in her room is on. You quietly approach and peep inside from behind the wall: J is there, holding the little one in his arms.

“You are cute,” he kisses her forehead. “I just don’t like you too much.”

You decide to make your presence known.

“What are you doing here? You came to see your ugly baby?”

The Joker growls, full of spite.

“Why didn’t you bring her over?! It’s been a week!”

You lift your shoulders up, grouchy and resentful.

“Why bother? You’ll be mean to her and she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Shut up and stop aggravating me! You’re coming back to the penthouse first thing in the morning.”

“No!”

But fighting him is pointless.

“You can’t keep a father from his child; it’s illegal!” J throws that in your face and it sounds so silly you chuckle.

***************

“Da’yy,” Emma babbles and J drops the cellphone in his lap.

“Did she just…did she just say daddy?!” he inquires and you snort.

“I think so,” and you watch the one year old hesitantly stepping towards a fascinated Joker.

“Can you say it again?” he lifts her in his arms, probably expecting a full conversation. He’s that type of person.

But Emma just baby talks, preoccupied with his crazy colored hair.

****************

“Daaadyy, Daaaddyyyy, Daaaddddyy, la, laaa, la, Dadddyyyyy, la, la,laaaa,” the two year old keeps on singing, walking her Doll on her father’s knees.

He’s getting a headache: she’s been singing that for the past 15 minutes, completely insensitive to her parent’s pain.

“Pumpkin, are you going to stop soon?!”

The singing gets louder and you have to underline:

”Aren’t you excited you have your own song? I don’t!”

“Ughhh, lucky me,” The Joker grumbles but caresses her tiny head.

***************

“Mom, mom, wake up, you’re talking in your sleep again.”

First thing you see upon awakening is Emma, sitting on the bed and holding your hand. She is 35 now, almost the same age you were when you lost J.

You got so sick in the last month. You had walking pneumonia and didn’t even know until you fainted in the living room. Added to your heart disease and other complications, your health doesn’t seem to improve, only worsen day by day. Your daughter refuses to leave your side, even if you tell her you’re fine.

“I dreamed about your father again,” you confess. “Dreams about a long time ago, when you were a baby…”

She softly laughs, kissing your hand.

“Did you dream about when we used to look for him all over the place?”

“How do you know?” you smile, sliding up your pillows.

“You keep on repeating his name, mom,” Emma helps you up as you kind of struggle to keep your balance.

“Let’s look for him again, we didn’t do it in so long!” you suddenly have an outburst of energy.

“Really?” she holds your waist as you walk outside your bedroom.

“Humor an old woman, would you?” you beg, playing the weakling mother.

“Fine,” your daughter agrees. “Let’s search for him. Daadddddd!!!!” she raises her voice and you follow.

“Jaaaaayyyyyyy!!!!!!” and you search the penthouse in every room, even the closets.

“He’s nowhere to be found…again…” you get sad and Emma feels guilty.

“Mom, come on, don’t get upset.”

“Why can’t we ever find him?…” and your teary eyes make hers the same. “I don’t feel too good, kiddo, help me back downstairs.”

“Did you take your meds, mom? You must have high blood pressure again.”

“Stupid pills !! My heart disease it’s from a broken heart, can’t fix that,” you repeat to the young woman like you always do when she asks about the meds.

Emma places you back to bed, tucking you in.

“I’ll bring some water for your tablets. You have to take your antibiotics too. Did you eat anything today?”

“Of course!” you lie, dizzy and drained.

“I don’t believe you. I’ll warm up some food and I’ll be back shortly, ok?”

“Stubborn like your dad,” you playfully slap her thigh.

“Stubborn like both, from what I’ve heard,” she points out the truth, exiting the room.

You want to reach for the remote so you can turn on the TV, but the sudden, sharp ache in your heart knocks you out of breath. You try to call Emma’s name but the sounds freeze on your lips. The piercing pain claws at your chest and your vision gets cloudier. The second wave of throbbing ache calms your labored breathing and as you close your eyes forever, you hear his voice so clearly:

“Finally, Princess, what took you so long ?!”

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[unavenged-robin]

I absolutely adore your DamiJon work and couldn't help but wonder if you're up for an angsty fic where Dami and Jon are on a mission together but a mishap happened and it looked like Damian died to save Jon. Jon was devastated because he was actually planning to confess/propose to Dami after that. Though Dami is not actually dead. Would have been more heartbreaking if the song You're my sunshine was playing at the back

First of all, thank you very much! :D I played a bit with the prompt and I ended up with a very long, very mushy story. I hope it’s something similar to what you were expecting :D Jon’s 16 here and Damian’s 19 and they’re both huge dorks.

Read on AO3 

It’s a long, boring, frustrating mission. And Jon knows Damian’s hating it as much as he is, even if Robin’s never going to admit it out loud because he was the one who choose it, so complaining about it now in Damian’s brain would be like admitting to a mistake, and of course mistakes are a thing that only happens to others.

Jon sighs and flies around the decrepit building one more time, monitoring Damian’s position with his x-ray vision. Once established that the place was empty, Jon had let Damian explore the inside of the building by himself as a punishment for his pride, but now he’s getting bored with the wait.

From the outside the building is shabby just as much as its surroundings, and doesn’t reflect Jon’s expectations of a cool criminal lair at all. Then again, the guy to whom it belongs to is equally, if not more lame.

For a start, he calls himself the Travelling Thief, which is already flimsy enough on its own, in Jon’s humble opinion. Add to it a flashy glittery costume, a monocle and a top hat, and you have the most embarrassing Arsène Lupin copycat Jon’s ever seen in his life.

Worst thing is they’ve been chasing after this guy for almost three weeks now and discovering his hideout is their biggest accomplishment so far, even if Jon can’t begin to phantom how a loser like that had managed to play them for so long. And yet, here they are.

“I found the stolen goods”, Damian says over the comm - which are completely useless to someone with Jon’s powers, but Superman himself has told him not to bother with the Bats because there’s just no way to win some arguments with them.

“Any trace of your friend?”, Jon asks, lazily flying around to scan the neighborhood. There isn’t much to see there either, only abandoned warehouses and a playground that has probably seen his last child before Jon was even born.

“He’s not my friend”, Damian snaps at him. “He’s our case.”

“Whatever, Batboy.”

Damian grumbles some insults of choice, and then there is silence for a few minutes.

“Damn.”

Jon stops in midair and locates Damian again. He’s in the basement now, where the real headquarters of the Travelling Thief are supposed to be.

“Something wrong?”

“Silent alarm. Just activated it”, Damian explains through gritted teeth. “No way he’s coming back here now. We have to find another place to ambush him.”

“Great”, Jon sighs. “I’m going to get married and we will still be chasing after this guy, I know it. I’ll just go ahead and tell my mom to save a piece of cake for him. He’ll be a part of the family at that point.”

“Stop whining”, Damian snarls. “There are a lot of his preparatory files here, if we study them they’ll give us everything we need to catch him.”

That’s even worse news for Jon, and he groans internally.

“…are you telling me that this is how we are going to spend our weekend?”

Damian haughtily scoffs at him.

“Right, because you had better plans for it anyway.”

“As a matter of fact I have”, Jon retorts, glancing down at his phone as it starts beeping. Talk about timing, he thinks with a smile. “But since you obviously don’t, I suppose you can finish this one on your own? You know, call the police, make a copy of the files before they arrive and all of that? ‘Cause I’ve got a friend to meet.”

“Of course, I would never want to keep you from your social life, Kent”, Damian answers, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “I mean, it’s already lacking as it is.”

Jon rolls his eyes and simply ignores the bait. It’s a weak one anyway, compared to all the creative insults Damian’s thrown his way over the years.

“Sweet!”, he says instead, voice filled with not-so-fake cheerfulness. “See you later, Robin!”

“Whatever, Jonny boy.”

The last things he hears before sprinting towards the sky are Damian’s heavy sigh and the rustle of papers while he starts looking through the files.

-

He gets the call one hour later, while he’s in Metropolis, slurping down an ice cream and laughing with a bunch of school friends. He’s happy because his plans for the weekend are great and he just can’t wait to put them into practice.

Then his cellphone starts ringing and his father’s number comes up on the screen.

“Hey dad!”, Jon greets him, still in the middle of a laugh.

“Jonathan.”

That one word is enough to freeze Jon on his feet. He knows that tone, he knows that voice. Something’s wrong.

Really, really wrong.

The conversation lasts less than a minute, and Jon doesn’t understand his father’s words right away, but Clark says Damian and accident and you need to come back right now, so Jon runs and then he jumps and then he flies, and the whole time he feels like every inch of his insides is padded with cotton, and the only two words he can think about are Damian and accident. Damian. Accident.

Accident.

Damian.

Damian.

-

There’s nothing left of the building he and Damian were checking out a little more than one hour ago.

Not even debris under which they can dig. There’s nothing.

Jon stands in midair, clouds of dust and ashes swirling his cape around him as he stares down at the giant, big, black hole on the ground without understanding.

“The explosion wiped out the whole area”, his father explains. “We don’t know what provoked it or where Robin was when it happened but-”

Superman is not talking to him. He’s talking to Damian’s family. Jon’s pretty sure none of them has yet noticed him hovering above them, which is surprising, but not really, because if they’re all here it means that they’re assuming the worst, and the worst is-

Jon lands a few feet from them, and still no one acknowledges him.

Batman is silent. So very silent. Nightwing’s yelling. Red Hood’s yelling too. Jon doesn’t understand if they’re yelling at each other or at someone else. Red Robin is silent too, but now he’s looking right at Jon with an intensity that even the cowl can’t hide. Again, Jon doesn’t understand.

So he approaches them, walking on wobbly feet.

“Where is Damian?”, he asks, and he realizes there’s anger in his voice only after the words roll out of his mouth. But he’s angry, yes. Because it’s ridiculous for them to be all here. If Damian’s injured someone should be with him. Who cares about the Travelling Thief, about their mission or the burned things? He knows that the bats are one big, freaky, emotionally stunted lot, but he also knows that underneath all of that they care, so why are they all here? Why did they leave Damian alone?

“Where is Damian?”, he asks again, louder and angrier, and everybody finally turn towards him.

There’s something on their faces. Under their masks. Jon recognizes it as he recognized his father’s urgence when he called his name over the phone.

And still, he doesn’t understand.

Refuses to.

But his scream broke the spell, and now everyone’s moving, reacting, ready to answer his question. Red Robin is the first to speak.

“Where is Damian?”, Tim repeats, voice half choked by a growl.

Jon focusses on him and Tim looks back with burning eyes, and Jon finally figures out the emotion behind his glare. It’s hatred. Pure and simple. And this much, at least, he can understand. Because it’s nothing new. Because he knows that Tim looks at him, looks at Superboy and doesn’t see Jon. He sees Kon. He sees his absence.

“Where is Damian? Where the hell were you!”, Tim yells, taking a step towards him. “Why weren’t you with him? You were supposed to protect him!”

And Jon’s never thought of himself as Damian’s protector before, not really, but again, he understands what Tim means. If he’d been with Damian, he would’ve shielded him with his body. This entire thing would’ve been solved with a burned shirt and maybe a few cuts instead of… this.

Jon feels sick.

“Where the hell were you?”, Tim asks again, almost but not quite yelling, cold rage dripping from his every word, and then Batman reaches out and grabs him by his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Enough”, Bruce growls.

It is enough, Jon realizes as he falls on his knees. It is enough for his brain to click and provide an answer to his question. He tastes the acid flavor of vomit in the back of his throat for the first time in years, before buckling forwards and spill the inside of his stomach on the ground, splattering both Batman’s and Red Robin’s boots with what used to be a double vanilla and chocolate ice cream mixed up with the remains of his last lunch.

-

He’s not sure about what time it is when he finds himself stumbling along the corridors of the Watchtower. He’s exhausted, though. They’ve been interrogating him for hours - and of course they were as gentle as they could’ve been, and they never called it an interrogation in the first place, but things are what they are, and as gentle as Bruce Wayne can try to be, he is the goddamn Batman, and at some point Jon broke up and started to cry, and from that moment on he doesn’t really remember much.

He’s sure he’s given them everything he knew about the Travelling Thief, but Damian had all the files about the case and Damian is-

Well.

He keeps walking for another undefined amount of time, until he turns a corner and unexpectedly finds Tim sitting cross-legged against a wall, unfocused eyes looking out the panoramic windows.

He’s still wearing his costume, but his domino lies forgotten at his feet, alongside his bo staff. He’s bathed in a deep red halo, and it takes Jon a moment to figure out it’s the sunset light covering him with a sanguine layer, and not some freaky figment of his own imagination drowning everything in blood.

Tim notices him but doesn’t say anything, so Jon walks towards him with heavy steps, then he stops, reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and drops two tickets into his lap. Tim blinks up at him, then he glances down at the tickets and picks them up to examine them closer.

“I went to get these”, Jon starts explaining, voice soft and careful, refusing to look at anywhere else than the floor. “There’s a concert this saturday, it’s a band Damian and I like a lot. It went sold out before I even realized they were in town, but a kid at my school managed to snatch a couple of tickets and agreed to give them to me, but I had to hurry, you know? Because there were other people who wanted ‘em and I… what I wanted was to ask Damian… I thought it could be…”

Tim’s laugh interrupts his rambling. Surprised, startled out of a justification he doesn’t even know if he should try to give, Jon looks up at him with a quizzical glare, but Tim just keeps laughing, and it’s a wet, pained, humorless laugh.

He only stops when he realizes Jon’s staring at him, then he sniffles and looks at him with a smile so sad it looks like his face is breaking.

“Two days ago Damian asked me to find him a couple of tickets for the same concert”, Tim explains. “And, I suspect, for the same reason.”

“Oh”, Jon says. And then, before he has even the time to ponder on why the hell he should care about the answer, he asks: “And did you get them?”

“Yes”, Tim’s smile breaks with a sob, and then there are tears on his face, and Jon’s cheeks feel pretty wet too. “Of course I did. Gave him hell for it, though.”

The last sentence is more out of Jon’s interpretation than anything, because Tim’s crying too hard now to be intelligible. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

Jon slumps down on the ground beside him, and thinks about how Tim is the closest link he’s ever had to Kon, this amazing older brother he never got to meet. He wonders if Tim knows. Jon’s not sure he’ll ever care enough to tell him.

Right now he throws his arms around Tim’s neck, presses his face into Tim’s shoulder and cries as hard as he knows how, all of it while he pretends it’s his dead brother hugging him back instead of the very alive brother of his probably dead boyfriend.

-

No one uses the word dead.

Missing is how people refer to Damian in the following days, and Jon has a feeling that if anybody fucked up and accidentally used the word dead instead, they’d find themselves at the short end of one of the Bats’ temper.

No one uses the word boyfriend either, not to define Damian’s relationship to Jon when they talk about them. Which is kind of fair, since neither Damian or Jon ever got to use that word before. It’s all syntax anyway. Who cares.

To Jon is inconsequential.

He doesn’t speak of Damian at all.

-

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the almost forgotten but still familiar sounds of the countryside.

When he said he wanted to move back to their old house in Hamilton for a few days, his parents had begged him not to, but they didn’t really do anything to actually stop him from doing it anyway, probably because they understood more than anybody else the need of solitude for someone like him in a situation like this.

So his father had hugged his mother tight to his side and they both had kissed him on the forehead before letting him go. Jon was grateful to both of them.

He misses them now, while he lies in the dark of their old bedroom, but at the same time he’s glad to be alone, to not have to share his anger and his night terrors with anyone.

He gets up from the bed to open the window and let the cold air freeze the sweat running down his back, let it cool down his flushed face.

Outside only dark meadows already wet with dew, the rich smell of the earth in the summer, and a black sheet of sky dotted with stars.

He’s grown to love Metropolis for its own beauty, but nothing, nothing, can compare with this in eyes.

“Because this is home, Jonathan”, his father had said long time ago, when Jon was still heartbroken about the moving. “There’s never going to be something as beautiful as this is for you right now, and that’s okay. It’s good to have something beautiful to come back to.”

He was right, of course. Home is a beautiful thing. Even without your parents, and all your animals, and the smell of apple pie in the kitchen, and a once-upon-a-time little bat hanging upside down from the highest branch of the chestnut tree outside your bedroom. Home is good even when your head is empty of thoughts and your heart is heavy with regrets and you have run out of tears. Home is always home.

So Jon sits on the windowsill, bare feet dangling in the night, nose up to look at the stars, and he enjoys the emotions of feeling at home for a while.

It’s while he’s looking at the sky that he realizes: today is saturday. Today is the night of the concert.

Right now, in another universe, he’s standing in a large crowd, singing and jumping on his feet, Damian’s fingers wrapped around his own. They are both covered in sweat, and Damian’s pretending to be annoyed by all the people around them and complaining that the music’s too loud, but his lips taste of salt and illicit beer when Jon kisses him, and he’s smiling, he’s happy, they’re happy, and they have four tickets instead of two, since they were both too stubborn to ask first, so maybe Tim and Kon are with them, because why the hell not, honestly?

If there’s another universe, then let it be better than this one, let it be without mourning, without heartaches, without mistakes. Let it be without things left unsaid, without cowardice in the smallest things, without regrets. If there’s another universe, one that you can only see at night with closed eyes, then what the hell, let it be perfect.

-

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you have food? Clean clothes? Toothpaste?”

Jon smiles into his pillow.

“Yes, mom, I promise I’m fine.”

He’s not fine, obviously. But Lois knows that. She’s just fussing a little bit without pushing too hard, just to remind Jon that she’s there, always.

“Bruce’s still looking”, she informs him gently. “So is your dad.”

Jon doesn’t say anything. Lois promptly cover the silence with news from his school. She’s not fretting about it because it will be over in less than a week anyway, and he’s not missing out on anything important, but Jon thinks she’s also trying to keep him grounded, to tell him without using those exact words that life goes on.

And Jon wants to say that he knows that. That he just wants to forget it for a little while.

Bruce’s still looking. So is your dad.

It’s been only three days.

Already three days.

After he closes the call he rolls on his side and goes right back to sleep.

-

He feels it coming, even in his sleep.

But it’s just that: a feeling, and Jon’s just too tired to actually care enough to get out of the bed.

The thing, however, doesn’t leave him much of a choice when it decides to come crashing down right into the living room’s windows. The sound of breaking glass is almost deafening in the silence of the night, and Jon’s on his feet before he even realizes to be awake.

Also, he knows he’s seen too many bad movies when he finds himself instinctively looking around the room for a baseball bat to wield against the intruders.

What the hell, Jonny boy, a voice that is not his own swears in his mind.

“What the hell indeed”, Jon mutters.

He doesn’t really need the lights more than he needs a baseball bat, but he turns them on anyway when he reaches the hallway. Whoever it is, be it a thief or a wandering animal, Jon doesn’t want to startle them, or give away too much about himself either, since he’s not wearing his costume. A nice growl should be enough to scare away anything or anyone in there anyway. Or so he thinks.

At first, it doesn’t make sense, maybe because he takes everything in in one instant: the crunching of the glass under his bare feet, the burning smell of something on fire, the cold wind coming in through the broken windows, the green glowing of a weird looking bike crashed into his couch, the two tangled figures in the middle of the room, the glimpses of red and purple under a black blanket, heavy breathing and two erratic heartbeats.

Then there is a short, choked moan, and one of the figures moves, propping themselves up on one elbow. The black and gold cape slips away and of course Jon already knew, he knew since the moment he heard his heartbeat, recognized it right away while he was still coming down the stairs because how could he not recognize it after all these years?, and yet his brain refused to formulate the thought, to lift the heavy fog of his mourning and allow him the hope, refused him the sheer reality of what he’s seeing right now until Damian raises his head and a green eye settles on Jon from behind the broken lens of his domino mask.

And he… smiles. He’s covered in blood and looks like he’s been dragged through hell and back, and yet, Damian looks at Jon and he smiles.

“Hey, Jonny boy.”

His voice is soft and scratchy and tired, but still somewhat amused, and Jon is at his side in less than an instant, pushing away the second figure from his back and barely realizing that it’s no other than their lame Traveling Thief, unconscious and showcasing a couple of bruises the size of Damian’s fists, but otherwise untouched. For now.

“Damian”, Jon allows himself to call his name while he helps him rolling on his back. His hands are shaking, his head is full of cotton again, and he doesn’t even have the time to realize he should be happy, because Damian is alive and here and alive, but Damian also doesn’t look good at all, and Jon needs to do something right now, and at the same time he’s thinking how and you bastard, and he doesn’t know what to do. “Just- just stay put, I’ll call my dad, our dads, or, or the hospital, I can carry you to the hospital right now, I can-”

A gloved hand encircles his wrist, but Jon barely feels the ruined rubber scratching against his skin. It’s the way Damian’s looking at him that makes him snap out of his ramblings.

“Don’t.”

Jon blinks, shifts on his knees and leans a little more towards Damian. His own heartbeat is frantic, compared to Damian’s slower one. It should be the other way around, Jon thinks, he should be the calm, collected one, he should be the one handling the situation better.

“Don’t what?”, he asks, and he feels stupid. He should just snatch Damian up and fly back to Gotham, he should scream for his father and he would be here in less than a minute, and he would know what to do, but Damian is here, Damian is alive, and his brain is still processing that information.

“Don’t call anyone. I’m fine, I’m-”, Damian coughs, and his face twists in pain and exhaustion. “I just need rest. Please. Don’t call anyone.”

Rest doesn’t fix cuts and dislocated shoulders on its own, that Jon knows of. But he looks over and over again and doesn’t find anything worse on Damian, nothing life-threatening, only dried off blood and little scratches.

He shifts again, and settles Damian’s head on his lap, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes.

How, Jon wants to ask. How are you here, why did it take so much for you to come back, where were you all this time.

(Where the hell were you?, Tim screams again into his mind, but now it’s not the moment for that.)

“They all believe you’re dead”, he tells him instead, because he has this funny feeling that Damian’s not understanding how serious this situation is. “Your father, your brothers, I can’t- Damian please, I need to call them, they need to know.”

The sound Damian makes in response is very similar to a scoff, but Jon can’t be sure of it. What he’s sure of, is that Damian’s relaxing into his arms, his expression softened, his eyelids already half-closed.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”, Jon repeats with a frown.

“Please?”

That’s always a weird word coming from Damian’s mouth. But it’s not the please, it’s the question mark at the end that really pulls at Jon’s heart. Because it sounds like begging, and Damian doesn’t beg. Ever.

“Okay”, he agrees mechanically. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Batman is going to break his killing rule only for him, but okay. Because Damian asked. That’s what it matters right now. Damian is here, Damian is alive, and Damian is asking him for a favor that’s probably going to get Jon killed in at least four different ways by four different people, but okay. Tomorrow. Because apparently there’s going to be a tomorrow with Damian in it. Jon smiles.

Satisfied with his capitulation, Damian smiles back before his lashes flutter again and he starts falling down into a heavy slumber.

His face is covered in dust and sweat and blood crusts, his lips are dry and split, and yet that smile, as brief and tired and mocking as it is, still manages to be the most beautiful thing Jon’s ever seen. And that’s probably why he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to get angry at him like he maybe should. Instead he just tangles his fingers in Damian’s hair, presses their foreheads together, and keeps smiling.

-

The thought of moving Damian into a bed only occurs to him after half an hour or so, and only because he feels someone moving behind him. Incidentally, that’s also when Jon remembers that he and Damian are not alone in the room.

Careful not to disturb Damian, who’s still lying on the floor with his head settled on Jon’s lap, he turns towards the second figure and quickly assesses his conditions again. Everything considered, their thief is even in better shape than Damian is, which is not necessarily good for him at this point.

“If you are smart and you care about your well-being, then you’re going to be very quiet”, Jon says under his breath, as the man starts regain consciousness. “Try to run, try to attack us, and I’ll get mad. Very mad. You understand?”

Since the only two sources of light are the lamps in the hallway and the glowing bike currently crashed into his couch, the room is still dark enough for human eyes to be only barely able of distinguishing shapes from the shadows, so the man immediately turns towards them but he makes the mistake of not answering right away.

Jon’s eyes glow red and a hole the size of a finger appears just an inch to the right from the thief’s head.

“Do you understand?”, Jon repeats again.

This time the man is quick at nodding back.

“I’ll take him upstairs”, Jon explains without breaking eye contact, arms curling protectively around Damian’s body. “If you move even one finger, I’ll know. I’ll come back and I’ll hurt you.”

And despite Damian’s teasing, Jon’s apparently decent enough too at intimidating people, since the man looks like he’d stop breathing too, if he only could. Which is great. Because Jon means every word he’s just said.

“Good.”

Jon looks back at Damian’s face and sighs, knowing that he’s gonna pay for it one way or the other. Still, he moves one hand behind Damian’s back, the other under his knees, and he cradles Robin’s still form against his chest while he stands up.

Damian mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t wake up, and out of some only-god-knows-for-how-long forgotten instinct, he mechanically moves to hook an arm around his neck, shifting until his face is pressed against Jon’s throat, so close that he can feel his breath warming up his cheek.

You were supposed to protect him, Tim had said, and it had taken Jon by surprise. Maybe because Damian had always been the oldest, the most confident, the one that usually knew (or was very good at pretending to know) what needed to be done to get them out of trouble, but whatever the reason, Jon had - stupidly enough - never thought of their partnership in terms of protecting one another. Helping, sure, supporting, of course, looking out for each other was such a given it never really needed to be spoken of, but protecting? It sounded weird back then.

But right now, while he climbs up the stairs to carry Damian into his bedroom, it also sounds very right.

-

Jon doesn’t know his way around the Robin’s suit very well, so he only removes the broken domino and the gauntlets before start working on Damian’s boots. It takes him ten minutes straight to undo the shoe laces alone, and then some time more to slip them off Damian’s feet. He has no idea on how Damian manages to change into his costume so fast when he has these traps to deal with on a daily basis.

Robin’s utility belt zaps him when Jon tries to untie it. Having run out of patience, he laser-eyes it back in retaliation. The entire costume is probably going into the trash anyway, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about it. And if Damian has his own opinion about it, he doesn’t let Jon know, just grunts and shifts a little more on his left side, lifting up some weight from his damaged shoulder.

Right, there’s also that.

With a heavy sigh, Jon sits on the bed next to Damian and cups both sides of his shoulder with his hands, locking his fingers just above it. He’s done it dozens of times by now, and Damian’s definitely had worse in his life, still he frowns and grits his teeth in sympathy when he pushes his palms together and settles the bone back into its socket with a loud pop.

As expected Damian jolts awake with a gasp, and his eyes snap open as he instinctively starts looking around for his attacker.

“Sssh, Damian it’s okay, it’s just me, don’t move”, Jon urges him, hands pushing lightly against his chest to keep him down on the bed.

Damian’s eyes flutter and he gives him a confused look.

“Jon?”

“Yeah”, Jon confirms, then he slips him some painkillers and a sip of water to swallow it down before Damian has the time to completely wake up and start complaining about not needing any drugs.

Truth to be told, even in his dizzy state of mind, Damian does manage to give him a dirty glare for his troubles, but he must also be quite tired of playing the superhero for the night, because he leaves it just at that.

He doesn’t even protest when Jon settles him more comfortably against the pillow. He just looks around the room with a confused stare.

“Where-”

“My old house in Hamilton”, Jon answers promptly. “You crashed through my window a little more than an hour ago, don’t you remember?��

“Hmn”, Damian answers non-committally. Then his hands twitch and he tries to push himself up again.

“Nope”, Jon says, keeping him easily pinned down.

“The Traveling Thief-”

“He’s downstairs and not going anywhere. Is that really your first concern?”, Jon asks, and he’d like to say he’s incredulous, but the truth is he knows his partner good enough not to be surprised in the slightest, not even about the almost offended look Damian gives him in response.

“I got him. Held on him for- what time is it?”

“Around midnight, I think”, and then, because he’s not sure if Damian’s been keeping up with the time at all, he adds: “It’s Sunday, by the way. Well, Monday, by now.”

And finally, finally, Damian seems to pause and actually try to focus on the matter at hand.

“I was gone almost five days?”, he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

Jon’s fingers dig a little bit harder into Damian’s skin as he bites his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

That’s all you have to say?, Jon wants to ask, but to be honest, he probably wouldn’t know what to say either if their role were reversed. Also it’s quite obvious that Damian’s not totally in his right mind yet - the painkillers mustn’t be helping in the slightest about that - and Jon really, really wants to go easy on him, but.

“Damian?”

“Mh?”

“How did you survive it?”, he asks, because he has to. “The explosion, I mean. Do you remember that?”

Damian blinks hazy, half-lidded eyes, then he clicks his tongue in what looks like equal parts anger and shame.

“Tripped on a booby-trapped wire”, he scoffs. “Stupid.”

Jon shakes his head.

“It wasn’t stupid.”

“Was too. I made one mistake after another. Activated both an alarm and a trap, like the worst amateur. Didn’t even noticed-”

“You didn’t make a mistake”, Jon interrupts him and Damian looks at him with a frown.

“I just told you I made several. I’m not-”

“I should’ve been there!”, Jon yells, cutting him off. “That was the only mistake! I should’ve been there with you!”

The high pitch of his voice makes the room ring around them. Damian’s eyes widen in bewilderment, and Jon immediately regrets his outburst. But the words had been stuck in his throat for so long, and hearing Damian accusing himself was just too much for him to keep them under control any longer.

“I’m sorry”, the words keep rolling out of his mouth and Jon just lets them. “It was my fault and I’m sorry. We thought you were dead, your family and my dad, and I just, I just should’ve been there to protect you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But now you’re back and I- and I-”

And then, without meaning it in the slightest, he starts crying again. Because apparently he can’t do anything else these days. The most powerful boy on Earth, and all he can do is shake with sobs and bawl his eyes out. What a failure.

“Jon…”

Damian has really no idea on what to say, Jon knows that. Which is okay, because there’s nothing Jon really wants to listen to, right now. So he bows his head against Damian’s chest and tries to limit the sobs the best he can.

It’s weird, being so happy and so desperate at the same time. It gets even weirder when the palm of Damian’s hand hesitantly brushes against the crown of his head, fingers digging gently into Jon’s hair. And Jon may not feel comfortable with playing the protector in their relationship, but Damian sure as hell feels even less comfortable with being the comforting one. Which he shouldn’t be anyway, because once again Jon’s been selfish and letting him take care of the situation when it should be him the strong one right now. Useless, he’s useless.

But the strangest thing in all of this is that Damian doesn’t complain, doesn’t tell him to man up and stop acting like a baby, he just keeps… petting him. Like he would do with Titus, probably. The thought makes Jon laugh and he shakes harder against Damian’s chest, sobs and barks of laughter mixed up together into one wet, pathetic, childish mess.

“He was there, by the way”, Damian continues after a moment, voice soft and uncertain, because apparently he’s unwilling to let Jon’s sobs be the loudest sound in the room. Jon’s okay with that. “The Traveling Thief. Appeared the moment I activated the silent alarm. The glowing bicycle - it’s called the Garimard by the way, can you believe it? - that’s why we couldn’t catch him. The engine has a technology based on particles acceleration, so it travels almost at light speed. That’s also how I avoided blowing up, to answer your question. I grabbed onto it once I realized he’d set up a self-destruction device in the basement. He wasn’t too happy about it.”

Still in the middle of his breakdown, Jon chokes back a sob and snorts weakly into the fabric of the Robin’s costume.

“Can’t say I’m sorry for him.”

“Me neither”, Damian agrees. “Is he still downstairs by the way?”

“Yup”, Jon confirms with a sniff full of vindictive pleasure. “I told you, he will not move.”

Damian nods, then he continues his recount like he would with a patrol’s report at the end of a difficult night. “I knocked him out after the explosion pushed us away, then I tried putting some coordinates into the drive system, but it must’ve been damaged by the fire because after the first jump we kept ending up in the strangest places.”

It takes Jon a few second to elaborate what Damian’s just said.

“For five days? You kept jumping around the world for five days without stopping once?”, he asks, raising his head to look at him, and he’s so taken aback from the idea to stop crying at once. “Forget the explosion, how did you survive that?”

“With my superior training, of course”, Damian answers, and he’s only half sarcastic about it, of course. “Also, time was… weird. I think it worked differently on that thing. I couldn’t really feel it, if that makes sense.”

“Not really”, Jon answers honestly. He dries his face with the back of his hand, then slips an arm over Damian’s chest and rests his cheek on it. “How did you end up here anyway?”

Damian shrugs under him, then he yawns, and his eyes begin to close again.

“For the most of the time I was busy with trying to prevent the lame thief and myself from falling down the bike, but I also kept putting into the system various coordinates of places I knew. I guess for some reason these ones actually stuck.”

“For some reason”, Jon repeats.

“Mh.”

It’s comfortable where he is, Jon realizes. Well, not for his back, or his legs, and definitely not for his neck, but he feels good anyway, with his head on Damian’s chest and Damian’s hand between his hair. So he closes his eyes too and listens to Damian’s breath. He promises himself that once it evens out he’s gonna go downstair to have a chat with their- well, their hostage at this point, and then he will debate with himself if is really smart to keep the Batman in the dark about the return of his son for an entire night.

He falls asleep on top of Damian without even realizing it.

-

He sleeps until dawn, and he knows where and next to who he is the same instant he regains consciousness, and still his first instinct is to raise his head and look around to make sure that it wasn’t a dream, that Damian’s really here.

He finds him still in deep sleep, lying on the bed just next to him, his features completely relaxed for once, to the point he’s even drooling a little. The drugs and the five days exhaustion have definitely got the best of him, which is a good thing in Jon’s book, since in the daylight Damian looks a lot worse than he thought the night before.

It’s still fine, though. Damian’s alive, and that’s what really matters.

Jon gets out of the bed and for the first time in five days there isn’t the burden of a devastating grief weighing down on his chest. He can breathe just fine. For a moment it’s really confusing. Then he looks down at Damian and decides that the emotional mess can wait. Breakfast first.

-

It’s way past lunch time when Damian makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Jon’s okay with it. He’s spent the entire morning sitting on the porch, waiting, rethinking the last night as well as the last week in general, with the Traveling Thief, now tied to a rocking chair, awkwardly trying to keep him company. It was surreal.

Damian appears in the doorway smelling like Jon’s shampoo, hair still wet from a long and well deserved shower, and he gives them both an amused glare but doesn’t comment further.

So there’s this weird silence between all of them, and Jon looks at Damian while he clears his throat, struggling to find something to say, and he wonders if despite the drugs and the tiredness Damian’s remembering the night before too, if he’s embarrassed for it on Jon’s behalf. But if that was the case, he’d be coming up with a new insulting nickname at this point.

“Hey, Jonny boy”, Damian says instead after a few more moments, because apparently that’s the best he can do. But Jon shakes his head as he gets up on his feet and walks towards him.

“Nope”, he says. “Not this time.”

So he reaches out and he engulfs Damian in a hug almost strong enough to crush him. To his credit, Damian seemed to be already resigned for something like this to happen and he obviously braced himself in advance for it.

“Ribs”, Damian warns him anyway, but at the same time he wraps his arms around Jon with almost the same eagerness, if not with the same strength.

And it’s not the first hug they’ve ever shared, but there is some kind of awareness now in their touch, something that’s been there for some time now, but that was never acknowledged before. And Jon is tired too, happy and relieved, but so, so tired, and he’s not really thinking straight while he buries his face into Damian’s shoulder and sags into the embrace, welcoming the warmth in his stomach even as he feels the flush rising up to his face.

“I love you”, he whispers then into Damian’s neck.

And it wasn’t supposed to go like this. Before those words there should’ve been a first date, to see if things really worked out under that perspective, and then a second and a third and a fourth, and at least a kiss, maybe some touching, definitely more time spent together, a few tries, some good thinking, some doubts on the where and when to say something so important for the first time. No, it wasn’t supposed to come out of his mouth on its own, in the middle of an empty kitchen, with a lame thief as a witness, and seemingly so out of the blue.

And yet, even in forced retrospect, all those preparations sound like bullshit anyway. Because Jon knows already that he loves Damian, and the dates, the physical touches, the time, none of that would add anything to it. He loves him right now, he’ll love him tomorrow and for the times to come, so why hide it behind a maybe or a let’s see what happens?

And he’s not really waiting for an answer either, or a reaction, but he braces himself for it anyway when he feels Damian shifting his weight on his feet, and then his arms tightening around him.

“That’s not very smart of you”, Damian comments. Which is not a I love you too, but neither a what the hell, so Jon laughs against Damian’s neck and considers it a win because at least Damian knows, has probably known for some time too, the same way Jon knew, and that’s enough, at least for now.

It feels natural then, it feels just right, to pull himself back a bit to meet Damian’s eyes. It feels good to kiss him, to move one hand to the back of his head and the other around his waist to press their bodies closer together, hot skin against hot skin, tastes of blood and toothpaste on the tips of their tongues.

When Damian pulls back is only because he’s short of breath, and even then he doesn’t back off the whole way, but leans down to press his forehead against Jon’s, lips still brushing against the corner of Jon’s mouth.

“The lowlife is watching”, Damian whispers then, and he’s smiling, and Jon has to laugh because of course, why did he even bothered with imagining a normal first date for the two of them.

“Who cares”, he answers, still laughing. “Let him watch.”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Auntie D”

All villains get paired up by the Dark Shadows World - “Match Made in Hell (MMIH)” Division. It’s always such a challenge to find a suitable match for The Joker. Good thing you’re still around.

“What about her?” one of the entities points out and the others attending the meeting are fast to disagree.

“No way, he’ll kill her in a week!”

“She’s not strong enough to keep up with him!” another one vociferates.

“He’ll eat her for breakfast and burry the leftovers,” the leader concludes and the contendent is dismissed.

“Oh, what about that one?” someone points out towards the woman and nobody’s happy with the new choice.

“Are you kidding me?! She’s such a wimp; no way she can handle The Clown Prince of Crime!”

“Wouldn’t last two days,” another committee member complains.

“Bad choice!” more and more object.

“I’m so sick of this, we have the hardest time finding him a girlfriend,” the youngest entity sighs and suddenly you are seen on the board.

“What about Y/N?”

“Didn’t we try before and it didn’t work?” one recalls, intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s been a while. I always thought they should have stayed together, they can handle each other. How did they break up?”

“Something about him being selfish and her not paying attention to him,” the boss remembers.

“That’s it?! We can fix this, I see she has no match yet either. We’re running out of options so I think we should make it happen again and go with the flow. No better choice. Y/N is in the same building with The Joker as we speak and we’ll have to force things a bit but it could work. All in favor, raise your hands. Oh, right, we don’t have any.”

Just a bunch of shapeless Dark Shadows.

“Yes, yes, might as well, it’s frustrating to keep on meeting about this problem.”

“Agree, I’m sick of it myself. Let’s do it!” the youngest entity impatiently speaks.

“They are so close to one another, we need to act NOW.”

“Proceed,” the leader gives its blessing and…

*********************

You and The Joker almost - kind of- sort of –nearly…well … definitely had a thing going about a year ago. You are actually thinking about that at the present moment as you crawl through the vents of “Diamond Emporium” store so you can get to the goodies.

Mister J is there on a heist with his men and you have no clue about each other’s presence…yet.

MMIH Division is taking care of it.

You suddenly hear the cracking sounds under you and before you can move another inch the ceiling gives out and you land right in front of your ex, almost killing Panda in the process.

“I’ll be damned, Frost, a fallen angel ! Is it Christmas already?” J grins, instantly recognizing you. “What are you doing here, Doll?”

You gather yourself from the floor, dusting debris off your clothes, grateful you didn’t break anything.

“Same thing as you, J: making sure the air ducts are clean.”

“Ha!” he snorts, signaling his guys to spread around so they can collect as many items as possible.

“Sir, the seif is over there,” Frost announces and you turn around to look.

“Want me to open it for you?” you offer, this way you can get a few things as payment instead of The Joker getting everything. You know how he operates: too bad he had the same wretched idea of robbing the place in the same time with you.

J debates and decides after a few seconds:

“Are you as fast as you used to be?”

“Faster,” you smile, fixing your hair.

“OK then, go for it,” your former boyfriend pouts, watching you head over the seif. A very sparkly necklace gets your attention so you break the small glass case and get it out, tossing it to the ground after analyzing it.

“Too shiny,” you answer J’s soundless question when he looks your way with an intrigued expression on his face.

“Too shiny?!” he repeats. “Since when a woman complains about diamonds being too shiny?! Never heard of it before,” he grinds his teeth, puzzled.

You just lift your shoulders up, you don’t need to explain your taste in sparkly stones – he should know that by now.

Jonny is waiting by the seif and you just have to say it:

“My, my, Frost, you always look so sharp in your perfect tailored suits. I love men that dress fancy for every occasion.”

Frost straightens his back, pleased at your compliment:

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt your flirting,” The Joker shouts. “Can we finish this faster? We need to move out !”

Ahhhh, he’s getting annoyed, one of his “qualities” you like so much.

You start your work and J is messing around with his cane. He doesn’t want to bring it up but when does he ever know how to control himself?

“What’s wrong with my outfit, hmm?”

“Huh?” you stop what you’re doing so you can hear him.

“What’s wrong with my outfit? Since …ummm…apparently you like guys in suits. I wasn’t aware.”

You stare at his attire: no shirt -  just the purple coat, Batsy shorts and boots. About 4 heavy gold chains around his neck, a handful of bracelets on his wrists and a bunch of rings on his fingers.

“Nothing, it looks…good,” you smirk, getting back to your stuff and…done. “My God, you are faster!” The Joker exclaims, forgetting he was irritated about your earlier statement.

“I just want a few things; you know me: I’m not greedy.”

“Go ahead,” he agrees as you open the seif.

“I want this one…and this one…” you pick what strikes your fancy, excited at the excellent quality.

“What is this?” he frowns, pulling out a chocolate bar from a small drawer inside the seif.

“Weird, why would you keep chocolate with diamonds?” you inquire, surprised.

“Maybe one of those sentimental souvenirs for someone working here?” J tries to guess, disgusted at the thought.

“How dumb, you think so?”

“Maybe,” he glares at the bar, scoffing.

“Is it expired?” you bite your cheek, in mood for sweets.

“Nope, still good.”

“Can I have it?” you reach your hand and he gives it to you.

“Suit yourself, Doll.”

“I think that’s all I want. I’m done,” and you rip the plastic foil, beginning to munch on the chocolate.

The Joker’s henchmen stashed a lot of diamonds in bags and you linger around for a bit.

“I heard you have a kid,” J sniffles, puckering his lips.

“Yes, I’m taking care of my niece. My sister died last year, shortly after we…e-hem…went our separate ways,” you bring him up to date since he’s gazing at you with those hypnotizing blue eyes, expecting a briefing.

“She died?” he replies, not really giving a crap and you are aware of it.

“Car accident,” you mumble and your eyes get teary, saddened at the memory.

“That sucks.”

That’s the best he can say for “I’m Sorry” in Joker language. Thank goodness you speak that language.

“It does…” you whimper, trying to keep it together.

“We finished, sir!” Frost announces and you are glad for the interruption.

“I’m going then,” you back out, holding tight to your backpack.

“I might need you again, Y/N. Your skills have improved even more. I have a heist in 2 days, 3 seifs inside Gotham Bank. Interested?”

“Yes, of course,” you mumble, wanting to hurry up and run before the cops show up.

“Want me to pick you up?” J offers.

“Sure, I’ll text you the address.”

“You don’t have my new phone number,” he yells before you disappear behind the stairs.

“I’m an excellent hacker, I’ll figure it out!” you scream back before sneaking through the gap in the wall J’s henchmen opened for themselves to get in.

***********************

You managed to get J’s phone number and text him your address ; it was a piece of cake. Yummm, cake…you love sweets. Anyway…

He came to pick you up for the robbery, wearing… a suit. Dark green. Looks ravishing on him, not that you pay attention to such details.

You are going to take a shower and get ready. In the meantime, he’s left alone in the living room with Mikah, your niece.

She’s 7, going on 40.

MMIH Division’s strongest ally and she’s not even aware.

“I know who you are, I saw you on TV,” the girl inspects J, curious to hear him speak.

“Did you now?”

“Yes, plus Auntie D has pictures of you on her cell.” “You don’t say!” J grins, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

“Are you a bad man, mister?” Mikah wants to know right from the source.

“Yeah,” the short answer confirms it.

“Can I sit in your lap?”

“NO!” J growls, hoping you’re coming back soon.

“My aunt says she has the biggest crush on you,” the kid reports, not understanding why.

“Does she now?”

“U-hum, she talks about you quite a lot.” The little girl tightens her pony tails. “Hey, mister, are you single?”

“Supposedly,” he rolls his eyes, wishing she would shut up.

“Auntie D too. You should take her on a date.”

This feels like an interrogation: The Joker is the one that likes to ask questions, not the other way around.

Mikah just ignores his earlier reply and places herself in his lap. J doesn’t know how to react. She touches his face and he tils his head backwards because surely doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.

“Are you shy?” she bounces her legs, giggling.

“No, kid, I’m not.”

“Why do you have tattoos on your face?”

“Because I wanted them there, that’s why.”

“Auntie D says you are very handsome. I guess you are…in a strange way. Why do you look different? Auntie says we shouldn’t judge people for being different.”

Why can’t she quit talking?! J thinks. Is there a turn off button somewhere?

“Do you dye your hair?” she caresses the green locks, smitten with the wild color.

“No, it grows like this.”

“I think that’s cool. What happened to your teeth? Why are they silver?”

“Do you ever shut up?!” your ex snaps, fed up with the questionnaire.

“No, only when I sleep, ” your niece innocently blurs out. Mikah notices the numerous tattoos under the almost unbuttoned shirt. “Untie D loves guys with tattoos. She told me once you are a stud and then she covered my ears, but I heard it. I asked what it means because you don’t look like a horse in pictures. Auntie said to forget about it, it’s not for children.”

J snorts, finally amused.

“Did Y/N say that?”

“U-hum,” she nods. “Why do you have a cane? It doesn’t look like you’re limping.”

“So I can spank people that don’t behave,” J winks, entertained.

“Are you gonna spank Auntie D with it?!” “Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!” he laughs. “Maybe, if she doesn’t behave.”

Interesting kid, he never had a dialogue with one before.

“Do you have children mister?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The Joker lifts his shoulders up, not replying. Mikah continues her tirade:

“Auntie D says you’re the Daddy type. So how come you don’t have any kids yet?”

J is getting quite immersed in this crazy spiral consisting of the little girl spitting out things he shouldn’t know about.

“You should have a baby with Auntie D, I would loveeee a sibling,” she continues yammering and J wants to cover her mouth.

He finally has to seek for an answer to the burning question:

“Why do you call her Auntie D? Her name doesn’t start with a D.”

Mikah places her index finger on her lips, getting secretive.

“It’s girl stuff, I can’t tell you if you’re not part of the girl club.”

“I can be,” The Joker grins, hoping to trick Mikah into telling him.

“You’re a boy, can’t be part of our club.”

“Ohhh, that’s too bad, little Doll. But if you tell me, I’ll take your aunt on a date.”

She gasps.

“Oh my God, for reals?!” “A-ha,” The Clown Prince of Crime is fast to utter.

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

She gets close to his ear, whispering: “My auntie’s bra size is a D-cup, that’s why I call her Auntie D.”

The Joker doesn’t remember hearing anything funnier than this for the past few months. He snickers, closing his eyes and Mikah giggles, happy the bad man is laughing at something she said.

“I’m ready,” you finally step in the living room, gathering your wet hair in a messy bun. You are intrigued seeing your little niece in J’s lap, both laughing, accomplices on a secret for sure; you can tell.

Before you can express your curiosity regarding the scene unfolding in front of your eyes, J gets up, leaving the kid on the chair he sat and cracks his neck, approaching.

“Change of plans, Princess, we’re going on a date. Go put something nice on.”

“We’re going on a what?!” you crinkle your nose, watching Mikah’s mouth opening in amazement - she seems delighted.

“Hurry up, I don’t have all night,” he pushes you back towards the bedroom.

“I don’t want to go on a date with you,” you protest, displeased and baffled.

“Shut up, woman, don’t talk back to me! Be grateful you have the honor of having a date with The King of Gotham,” he snarls, shoving you in the bedroom and closing the door behind him. “And hurry up…Auntie D!!!!” and you hear him laugh as he distances himself from the door.

What the hell is going on? You debate, perplexed about tonight’s twist, digging in your closet for a dress. But you have to admit you don’t really hate the present situation. After all, you still have the biggest crush on your ex, too bad he doesn’t know.

********************

Match Made in Hell Division is absolutely, utterly and indisputably more than happy to close two difficult cases in the same time: The Joker and Y/N aka Auntie D.

You took enough of their precious time, even if they have an eternity to their disposal.

Plus, J is the first male villain to be part of a girls’ club, another legendary skill he will forever be praised for in The Shadow World.

It all started with a bra size.

Also read- MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist