Joker x Reader

Chapter One

I walk in my little apartment. I'm eighteen, and very far from rich. I have a pretty normal life, I think; other than the fact that my parents rarely ever call me. They're nice, just don't know how to use cell phones.

I'm not unusual from anyone, other than the fact that I live in Gotham. I know, I know. Highest crime rate of anywhere.

I take my Samsung, plug it in, and put it in a bucket of ice water, "because it's water resistant" and I don't want it blowing up.

School ended 30 minutes ago. Now it's time for work.

Work is my least favorite part of the day. I'm a waitress at a fancy restaurant, the type where you wear tight skirts and shorts in all black.

Getting changed for work, I get in my beat up Rover that I can't afford, and make sure to cover up my shoulder tattoo. My job has a strict policy.

Pulling out of the garage, I begin driving to Layla's Love. Pretty weird name for a restaurant, right?

I hit traffic and mentally squeal as I pull out my phone and begin hunting Pokémon. Unfortunately, traffic soon starts to clear up.

I get to work at 5:01 sharp. Jane, the hostess, looks at me like I'm the woman Her Highness is sentencing to death.

It could be due to the fact that I'm late by one minute, or because she normally looks like that anyways.

My tables are 2, 7, 8, and 14. I don't look at my customers, really, I just kind of daydream as I take their orders.

I do notice as people look at my tiny skirt.

After a few hours my shift is over. I start up my car and begin driving home.

The car ride home is pretty quick. I flip on the news.

14 killed, 35 injured... Joker strikes once again at Gotham bank...

I give an eyeroll. He is so predictable. After Harley died, well, he'd been pretty beat up.

I can't say I felt sorry for him.

I go to make myself some pizza.

I'm about to rob a convenience store. It's not that big a deal, everyone in Gotham does it. I grab my little gun and drive myself to the store, a little 7/11 by the gas station.

I enter and pull out my gun at the guy at the register.

"Your money, now."

He sighs; opens the register and pulls out what's left after the last robbery, which, according to calculations, would've been around 2 hours ago.

He hands over the money, I take it, pay for a pack of gum, and run off.

Four minutes later, the cops are after me.

"Pull over, we know you have the money!"

I hit the gas pedal, but my car is too old. The cops pull over to me.

See, I'm not a criminal. Everyone in Gotham steals, and therefore I'm not breaking the law. People like Deadshot and Joker, though, we want in the Asylum. We meaning everyone.

The cops tap on my window, I roll it, and then am greeted by a gun at my face.

I'm smart enough to know the gun has no bullets, because, in Gotham, we play a fair game. Once you're caught, you're caught. Once in your house, you're safe. Unless you're a high criminal, then the rules are a little different. But I'm not a criminal.

I take out some donuts; for bribery purposes.

The cop smiles. "We can buy a hell of a lot more donuts with that money."

I take out my new $30 and hand it over. The cops partner, though, has a different idea. He raises his no-bullets-gun to the guy who tapped on my car; and held his hand out. I laughed. The first cop wasn't going to get that money back; because once you're caught, you're caught.

I laughed as I sped away from the cops, going way over the speed limit. I know I should've done it before, but, after how fast I was going now, my car wouldn't last until I got to my house.

Joker's Pov

I want to pick a fight with anyone who crosses my way. After Harley, well, I just am on a killing spree. Which is why I'm heading to 172 Cross Street right now.

Y/n Pov
I find my apartment, which is number 7. Unlocking the door, I collapse on the sofa and flip on the TV.

More robberies. More murders.

Mine isn't a crime, so I'm not on the news. I wish it was, just for an instant.

Then that instant is gone.

I close my eyes for a few minutes. Then I hear it. The screaming. The gunshots.

And the laugh.

My body goes ice cold. I'd know that laugh anywhere, anyone in Gotham would.

It's Joker's laugh.

I hear him coming up the stairs. I quietly go to my bedroom, careful to avoid the loose tiles. I get my gun. Even though, as a cop or civilian, you don't carry bullets, you always have them. Just in case.

I'm traumatized as I hear the shooting of my neighbors next door. I'm traumatized as I hear my door open.

I'm face to face with the Joker himself. He puts his gun on my chest and laughs as he moves it up to my head. I begin to cry. I can't help it.

"Hello, doll."

And I hear the shot.