(A/N: Written as a second part to this imagine. The Joker and you became a couple and robbed a bank… Also Y/SV/N - Your Super Villain Name)
“Release her!” the masked vigilante boomed, his gravelly voice echoing loudly throughout the bank.
The Joker and you shared a puzzled look conveyed through raised eyebrows. “Umm, excuse me?” you asked, directing the question to Batman. “What do you mean ‘release me’?”
Ignoring your comment, the Dark Knight continued, “Joker! Release her and these people!”
Stifling a pronounced snort at the realisation that Batman suspected the Joker to have kidnapped you as a hostage along with the people who were crouched to the floor of the bank, you waggled your eyebrows at the Joker and unclicked the gun from your belt.
Hefting the handgun in your grip, you cocked it and rose an eyebrow at the Dark Knight who looked surprised.
“Y-you…?” he stammered.
“Y/SV/N,” you corrected him, indicating with your free hand the costume you wore. “Don’t worry: it’s only natural for a man, so rooted with sexism, to believe that a woman couldn’t possibly have anything else to do with a bank heist other than being one of the victims.”
The masked hero gaped for a moment, and in that moment you signalled for the Joker and his thugs to join you as you took advantage of Batman’s confusion to run out the back doors with five heavy bags of stolen money.
The Policemen’s parade was about to start and you were supposed to be photographing for the local paper. Elbowing your way through the tight crowds of bustling citizens, you thought about the threat that still hung over the city’s head.
The mayor’s assassination.
Having put his obituary in the paper, the Joker had guaranteed the utmost precaution of the entire city- whether that had already been his plan or not, still haunted the back of your mind.
Paying no attention to where you were walking, as you fiddled with the lens on your camera, you suddenly felt yourself bump into someone.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” you apologised automatically, glancing up and addressing the person with your eyes. For a moment, your eyes danced over his features: acknowledging and noting each of them- he had fair brown hair combed neatly under an issued police cap; hazel eyes that searched your own with a peculiar glint that resembled a mix of fatigue and desperation; broad shoulders and a lean stance.
Your eyes rested for a second on the two, almost identical, scars curving upwards from each corner of his lips. It looked as though the cause of the wounds had been sincerely agonising and you felt a small pinch of sympathy for the stranger before you twitched you own lips and offered him a smile.
“I’m Y/N,” you greeted, producing a hand that wasn’t way-laid under a camera or bag. “Sorry, again.”
He took your hand with a note of surprise and gave it a small shake. “That’s quite alright,” he mumbled, as though in shock. “Y-you…” he seemed to be wanting to say something but the right words wouldn’t come forwards and the attractive policeman’s voice trailed off.
“I…what?” you asked, a small smile still settled on your face.
With eyes that had lost the odd glimmer for now- and had instead adopted a look of curiosity- he watched you for a moment longer than necessary, before answering absently, “Most people are afraid of my face…”
“Why?” you frowned. Then you realised, well done, Y/L/N, real quick one there. “Y-your scars? Do you mean?”
A vague nod.
Shrugging, you told him, “It doesn’t bother me. I think it adds a little butch to your appearance. Kind of attractive…” Did Iactually just say that to a complete stranger? This guy could be a psycho killer for all I know.
Spreading across his face was a -surprised, slightly wary, all kinds of suspicious, but delighted- smile.
But then something made him snap back to reality and he looked afraid for an instance. Grabbing your arm tightly, he leant closer to you- eyes flicking left and right- before telling you, firmly, just one word.
With a groan, you woke up and stretched wearily. It was your second day waking up in the hospital, and you reached groggily over to your bedside table to take a sip from your glass of water.
When your eyes had adjusted to the flickering lights of the ward, you spied another Get Well Soon card on your table, as well as…no.
The glass in your hand slid right form your grip and smashed on the hard floor as you grabbed the playing card off the table and stared at it. It was a Joker card identical to the one that the real Joker had given to you the other night after saving you from the fire. Except this one, instead of reading ‘YOU’RE WELCOME’, read ‘GET WELL SOON’.
Looking around you, your eyes scanned every person in the ward. “Joker?” you said out loud. “Joker!”
Several people turned their heads but they all ignored you other than that.
But that didn’t matter, because you knew that he had been here.
“HELP!” you screamed, struggling against the ropes that bound you to the chair. The flames were licking closer and closer to you, and the heat poured off them, scorching your skin. “HELP!”
A dark figure- whom you recognised from the news as the Dark Knight (or more commonly, as Batman)- was fighting his way to get to you, throwing men out of the way left, right and centre. But he wouldn’t be able to reach you in time…
Suddenly, you felt a grating sensation on the tight bonds and tried to angle your head to see who your rescuer was, to no avail. As soon as you were free, you were swooped up into the mystery saviour’s arms and they ran right out of the burning building with you.
When you were outside, he lay you down gently on the cool pavement and you tried to get your bearings and wait for the world to stop spinning so much. Nausea burned in your stomach and throat; you could still feel the smoke and soot in your mouth and in your lungs.
“Are you alright?" the person asked- their voice definitely masculine. "Can you stand? Here, have a drink of water.”
Absently taking a swig from the bottle he thrust into your hands, you blinked heavily a few times to clear your foggy sight. Looking up, you tried to focus on the man, but frowned when all you could see was gaudy face make-up, scraggly dyed green hair and a vibrant purple jacket.
Wait, that didn’t make sense.
He was still asking you questions, mainly about who you were, where you lived, how you were feeling and if there was anyone he should call. “There’s an ambulance on its way,” he told you, “He should be here soon, I’ll have to leave before it gets here.”
Reaching out, you grabbed the cuff of his jacket in your fist and mumbled a groggy, “Stay. With me. Please.”
About to form a reply, the man was cut short when the Dark Knight himself leapt out of the building and towards you- looking smugly noble and majestic like a narcissistic lion. “Joker!” he boomed, “Step away from her!”
You turned to look at the man and realised, with a small gasp, that he was the Joker. The make-up, the hair, the clothes, but why the hell had he pulled you from a burning building and called you an ambulance?
“He saved my life,” you breathed, repeating yourself louder for Batman’s benefit. “He-he got me out of there…he saved me,” you said in wonder, squeezing his hand, you said, “Thank you. So much. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
About to leave, he grinned wickedly at you- his characterism revealing itself- and said jovially, “Well, give me a call sometime. Here’s my card.” And with that, he tossed you a slip of card and vanished into the shadows.
Picking it up, you saw that it was just an old Joker’s card from a deck of cards, with something scrawled along the bottom:
After the infamous Joker had been brought into the high-security prison, you had been given the job of seeing to him every morning- feeding him and the like.
The first time you walked into his cell, you had been armed with a damp cloth and three burly security guards. Washing the make-up of his face had been the easy part, it was just the dark glare he had fixed you with the entire time that made your skin crawl.
Finished, you marvelled for a long moment at how handsome he was without the gaudy and sloppily painted make-up. Even the curving scars at his lips. You didn’t mind them, after all you had scars of your own. The Joker’s scars didn’t scare you like they did most.
It had been almost two months now. You had been going to see him every morning, security had laxed significantly but obviously not totally.
You and Jack- after several weeks of referring to him solely using pronouns, he had told you that you could call him Jack if you really wanted- had grown considerably close, often chatting for a good half hour before you had to leave again.
Without even considering it, you had told him all about your life, your likes, your dislikes, the guy you met at the bar the other night, how your cat had been bringing in even more dead rodents, everything.
If you got past the homicidal tendencies, Jack was actually a nice guy and you found yourself, one too many times, thinking about him outside of work.
So when you found out that he escaped one night, the first thought to go through your mind was ‘Is he alright?’
And when he showed up at your door asking for somewhere to stay with those pleading eyes and tired hope, your reply was an immediate, “Of course.”
- lust-for-pan request (I guess the Batman Anon is no longer Anon XD)
Avoid eye contact. Stay small. Do not attract attention.
Do not be a hero.
That’s what they said when they advised people in hostage situations. But even when you were trying to follow every one of those instructions, it didn’t make any difference.
When the Joker arrived at the fundraiser event, you didn’t have enough time to avert your gaze before he locked eyes with you.
Staying small was near impossible when everyone took a semi-conscious step away from you after they spotted the Joker’s immediate interest in you.
And it was pretty difficult to not attract attention when said mass-murdering villain was already approaching you, a curious infatuation in his eyes as he studied your fearful form in the gaudy chandelier lighting.
As for being a hero, not turning tail right there and then was pretty damn heroic.
He stepped right into your personal space and stroked one finger down your cheek. “Well, hello, beautiful,” he greeted, sliding a silver blade, flat side down, across the skin of your face and neck.
After the Dark Knight appeared and fought the Joker for a minute before diving out of the window in -what seemed a- futile attempt to save a woman who had been thrown out of the former, the Joker and his goons were about to leave when he turned back to you and pecked your cheek with a light kiss.
His last words echoed through the haze of shock, meant only for your ears.
-Anon request (although I have a sneaking suspicion that its the same anon who requested the previous Batman imagine)
“Hey, Y/N, right?”
You turn around to recognise the face of the man you had met on the day of the policemen’s parade. Smiling warmly, you say, “Yeah, I don’t actually think I ever caught your name.”
He pauses for a minute, then offers, “Jack. My name’s Jack. I was just…I was wondering…do you wanna grab coffee sometime?”
A grin spread across your face. “I would love to.”
By April, you and Jack had spent almost seven months together. Neither of you officially stated that you were dating, but you both knew that the pair of you had grown close.
To you, he was both parts a best friend and a teenage girl’s can-do-no-wrong crush.
Which led you to where you were now: packing your school work in your bag and getting ready to leave the university for the evening- planning to meet up with Jack.
“I never felt confident,” a voice said quietly behind you, “without my makeup- my mask- on. Not until I met you.”
Turning around, you gasped and took several paces backwards when you saw the man stood, leaning casually against the wall, behind you.
Badly coloured green curls.
Weak white painted face.
Red painted lips.
“Please, just-just leave me alone,” you begged, back tracking quickly, “I don’t want any trouble.”
At that, a flash of something -what was that, pain?- flickered across his gaudily coloured face. “Y/N,” he called, stepping forwards and catching your arm.
Whimpering under his gaze, you muttered quietly, “How do you know my name?”
Seemingly ignoring your question, the Joker sighed and released you, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “Y/N, I-I,” he started, trying to blurt out the words he needed, “I didn’t know how else to tell you. I’m so sorry. I love you. I am completely and utterly in love with you, but I can’t let this go on unless you know everything about me…I can’t live this lie.”
It hit you then.
“Jack?” you breathed, barely making any sound at all. Covering your mouth with your hand you gasped and bit down hard on your lip. “What- why? Why is it you? You-you’re not a bad person…why are you–what…?”
About to turn away, you grabbed his arm and spun him around to face you. Reaching into your purse, you produced a small wipe and gently began wiping the extensive make-up off his face after a nod of permission. When it was completely clear, you looked up into his eyes and smiled.