𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊 | j. todd [SLOW UPDATES]

five | joker's special girl

【𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊】

The bass thumped through the speakers, drifting through the air, immersing Lina into the dark night. She could feel it in her body, the beat pulsing through her like a second heartbeat. Flashing lights blinded her vision and she roared in her euphoric state, as if she were in slow motion.

The girl didn't know if minutes or hours had passed before she decided to leave the dance floor and make her way to the private lounge. The Venom high was wearing off, and she wanted more. She made her way up the stairs in a daze, and waltzed into the back room, collapsing onto the velvet sofa giddily. The back room was an area of luxury that hid wealthy guests away from the common disorder happening below.

"What's new, pussy cat?" The Joker greeted the siren next to him with a smirk, pulling her closer and throwing his arm around her shoulders.

"Nothing." She replied with a sing song voice.

"Nothing? Nothing's got you giggling like that?" He teased.

"Maybe something." Lina bit back.

"Something. Now that can be funny." The man exclaimed.

"Do you have any Venom?" She asked sweetly.

"I've got Venom, I've got Drops, I've got Pixie Dust, I've got whatever you want, pussy cat." The green haired fiend whispered in her ear.

"Venom." She giggled into his shoulder.

He generously puffed on his cigar and passed a platter of Venom over to her. The metallic surface reflected light onto Lina, creating the image of a halo around her head as she snorted the glimmering white lines. An angel, Joker thought. An angel destroyed by the devil's world. And even the devil was an angel once.

Lina fell into him as she lost her bearings. For a moment her mind went fuzzy and she saw stars - and then entered the thoughtless bliss she adored. She breathed in the Joker's scent. It was something in between heavy smoke and chlorine. One of his hands wove it's way into her snowy locks, the other found it's way to rest on her thigh.

The tales of the Joker's looks had been far exaggerated by bored minds. His face wasn't as mangled or - well, hideous - as people made it out to be. If there was one word to describe him, it would be ambiguous. He could be somewhere between twenty to fifty, somewhere between sane and insane, there was no way to tell.

What people didn't seem to understand was that the Joker wasn't unattractive. He was far from it - there was something about him, something you couldn't possibly understand until you met him. The Joker was a walking incarnation of humanities hidden desires, rages, and emotions. He was a vessel of unconstrained chaos, and that was tempting to anyone.

It was easy to love the Joker, but it was impossible for the Joker to love in return. His affections were specially reserved for what it could get him, not for love's sake. And the Joker liked his shiny, new, pretty toy that would do whatever he wanted, as long as he thanked her afterwards.