Arthur Fleck/Joker Imagines

Chaos is a ladder | Joker x reader smut | NSFW

Summary: The riots have never been more crazy, yet the only thing the Joker can focus on is a beautiful stranger. He gets what he wants, when and where he wants. Even if it's in the middle of a street.

Warnings: unprotected sex, (very) public sex, voyeurism

Word Count: precisely 3700

Writing for the Gotham Times. It was what you always wanted to do for a living, being the aspiring journalist you were. But once you got the job you questioned it all.

Your superiors either treated you like you didn't even exist, or like trash, they criticized every word you committed to paper. Over time, you got used to spending more time preparing coffee than articles. That was until that day those three men in suits were killed by whatever guy dressed as a clown. It was one hell of a story, and as soon as you heard from it you started gathering information. You drove to the local police and you started writing. Hours were spent sleepless, typing word after word until sunrise. In the morning you stormed into your boss' office, plopping your work onto his desk.

With his eyebrows raised he glanced at you skeptically, but started reading. Studying his expression as he read, he seemed.. almost impressed. Like he was seeing you for more than the pretty young thing that brought him coffee each morning for the first time.

From then on, you were assigned to keep up with the clown vigilante and his followers. Your articles were finally published, and you even got promoted. In a way, you acquired a sense of gratitude for those revolutionists and their unknown leader. On the one hand you felt like you understood them, you began to like the idea of wanting to change the society you lived in. But maybe, just maybe you were slowly making your way up to the top yourself. And that, on the other hand, was thanks to them. You pondered all of this as you sat on your sofa, clutching a mug of hot chocolate. The telly was on in the background, notes sprawled out in front of you when something caught your eye.

The Murray show was on, and in strut a guy clad in an outrageous outfit: His hair was colored green and slicked back, his makeup was like those clowns that you saw everywhere. He flicked his cigarette away and danced in wearing a red suit, blue button up and a bright yellow vest. He seemed confident beyond belief, and you just knew that this guy was exactly what your article needed.

You watched his every move and took notes, listened to his every word intently until the conversation turned much more threatening than witty. You remembered his face then, his video had been on the show before. He was the same guy who was made fun of for his comedy show at Pogo's, that Club right around the corner. But that man sitting there, the joker, seemed so very different than the one from the video. He just admitted to murdering people. He seemed colder now, calculating, dissociative. The joker said it himself then. He had lost it all, nothing can harm him anymore. And you felt for him. People screamed and ran out of the studio after he shot Murray, and as much as you should've been creeped out yourself, you were more intrigued than anything. His first shot landed on the hosts forehead, then another three into Murrays chest. The joker held everyones attention as he made sloppy steps towards the camera. His hands clasped around it and you almost felt as if he was looking right into your eyes as he mocked the jingle of the show.

The program shut off then, bringing you out of your trance. That was him. The infamous clown vigilante was a guy like anyone else, pushed into madness by the community surrounding him.

You gasped as the sound of glass shattering made your head whip to the side, almost straining your neck in the process. Something broke through your window, glass shards were scattered over your floor. It took you a second to realize that orange fume was steadily rising in your apartment. Only then you perceived all the turmoil outside, you heard crashing sounds followed by screams, tires were screeching, sirens distantly rung through the air.