Title: Love Is a Wild Card
Summary: A series of one-shots about you and The Joker.
Notes: I realized that I had seen Reader/Character fics for almost any character you can think of but The Joker. I am sure there must be some out there, but I decided to take a risk and try my hand at writing one. Please review! Btw, Y/N means "your name".
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Dark Knight. This is just for fun.
Your dreams are stark as of late. There are towering gray buildings, clouds of black smoke and little else. You usually see the same bleak colors every night, but sometimes, like tonight, there is also bright, vivid red.
It's not your blood you see on the dirty sidewalks of Gotham but his. It's spills out into the streets and is washed down the vents. The cheers from the crowds are deafening. It feels like the whole city is celebrating while you sink to the ground and try desperately to breath through your sobs. Nobody notices you as they continue to yell in victory.
"Hi ya, princess". His voice breaks you out of your nightmare. You raise up and can just barely make out his painted face in the moonlight. He sits in the chair across from you, his right hand pressed to a wound in his left shoulder. You turn on the light and see the blood coating his gloved hand.
You feel like you have become an expert at patching people up. Well, patching him up. After you help him remove his vest and shirt, you begin to realize that your well stocked first aide kit might have met its match. The gash across his shoulder is deep and the blood is flowing steadily. It will require stitches. "I don't think I can do this", you say. The smell of blood is starting to make you feel sick. He rolls his eyes at your concern. "Oh, sure," he says nasally. "I'll just walk right into Gotham General and demand to see their best doctor". He nods at the medical kit on the bed. "Come on, Y/N, you of all people should know I can take a little pain". His smirk encourage you and you know you have to at least try.
You get out the thread and needle that you hoped you'd never have to use and silently beg your hands not to tremble. You have no idea if the thread is even strong enough. It had been his idea to to put those items in the kit. You had told him at the time that you'd never be able to stitch skin, but he had only laughed and motioned to the scars on his face, saying "Pretty sure you could do a better job than this, doll". You hear him take a sharp breath as you begin to sew the wound together but then silence for the rest of the procedure. You don't ask how got hurt because you have learned that he'll rarely ever give you an answer, choosing instead to make a joke. You used to think he was ashamed that sometimes even he, the terrifying Joker, got injured in the midst of causing chaos, but now you think it's because the less details you know about his activities the safer you will be.
You rinse his blood off your hands, watching it flow down the drain, and flinch at the memory of your dream. You return to find him reclining shirtless on the bed. He inspects the gauze you taped over the stitched wound to keep it from getting infected. "You do good work, Y/N. Ever consider taking it up professionally?" His laugh is loud in the quiet room. You can tell he feels okay and the tension in your body eases. He pats the place next to him in invitation and you quickly accept.
You know he'll be gone in the morning and it makes you press yourself tighter into his embrace. He'll lay beside you until you has rested regained his strength and then slip out the same window he came in through. You'll wake to a cryptic note like the many others you keep in a box in the back of your closet. It will hint at when you will see him again, which could be tomorrow or 3 nights from now. You don't want to go to sleep. You want to lay like this with him, silent and connected, listening to his heart beat. You want to stay awake because out here you can stop his bleeding.