a lover’s spat
summary: reader tries to teach lloyd a lesson
pairing: lloyd hansen x f!reader (third person)
rating: mature
warnings: almost cheating, mentions of blowjobs, guns/gunshots, minor character injury/death, choking, third person for no reason??
w/c: 1.2k 😭 WAIT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DUMBASS DRABBLE
a/n: i rewatched tgm and i have some thots.--i need a suicide squad jokerxharley type relationship with lloydxreader where they’re both crazy/erratic and always horny for each other.
- btw i'm writing this after 3 glasses of wine and i'm not gonna proof read it until tomorrow--so enjoy [?]
series masterlist
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bear with me: imagine the reader attempting to make lloyd jealous
so everyone knows about Lloyd and his princess. Lloyd is a batshit-crazy murderer and his girl is the same. the only difference is that she does it all in heels.
evidently, no one wants to get involved in that shit-show.
they have a history of ending their explosive relationship with actual explosives, and celebrating their fiery make-ups with actual fire (and unnecessary torture sprees[?]).
basically, it's assumed that if someone gets in the way, they're asking to be collateral or volunteering to be their next meal.
now, the relationship is "on" again--and it's as rocky as ever.
Lloyd's precious princess is attempting to teach him a little lesson for ignoring her. apparently, he's been too focused on work lately: always kicking her out of his office because she’s “too distracting” when she hangs around.
she doesn’t understand. all she did was perch prettily on his lap, eat some snacks, and occasionally try to suck him down her throat. it's not her fault he can't handle it...
so she decides she’s gonna grab a cute boy from the club and ignore him. it's an innocent game of trying to make her boyfriend jealous. of trying to see how far she can go until he breaks down and fucks her.
but it doesn't go exactly according to plan.
her first mistake was doing it in his own club. he has eyes everywhere. every entrance is watched, every person is accounted for, and everyone is under his command. he won't miss anything.
her second mistake was wearing his favorite dress. she knows the barely there pink number drives him crazy: cut outs in all the right places, draping beautifully against her figure. he personally picked it out to fuck her in it for their second anniversary.
she thought it would be that extra kick-to-the-throat to send him over the edge.
her third and final mistake was breaking the kissing rule. despite what everyone thinks, lloyd can be a reasonable guy. at least for her. he gives her second, third, even fourth chances. she's allowed to tease, prod, or even grope other guys, but kissing has always been off limits.
unfortunately for him, she's always one to push the limits. that was his mistake.
she is exhilarated by the deathly stare he sends from across the dance floor. and though her lips were pressed against another, her eyes stayed locked onto his baby blues, drinking in every ounce of his fury. his hands curl into fists at his sides as he watches the scene under the dimmed lighting.
she sees him call over one of his men, eyes still locked with hers, grunting frustrated commands over the bass-boosted music. they nod, muttering into their earpiece before passing him a dark object.
suddenly, the music around her ceases. she recognizes this chest-tightening feeling: something is about to happen.
lloyd winks at her with a sly smirk before casually raising his arm in her direction--his long fingers delicately hold a gun. before she can separate from the man, an ear piercing bang echoes through the crowded room. everything stops for a moment: all dancing pauses, all talking ceases, and all breathing freezes.
then once everyone processes the noise, it's instant chaos. the music, still blaring through the speakers, is quickly drowned by high pitched screams, and frantic yelling. fear and desperation pools through the crowd, pushing everyone towards the exits.
his girl, however, simply rolls her eyes in annoyance: he just had to make a scene. she drags the back of her hand against her lips, wiping off smudged lipstick and the distinct taste of tequila, before abruptly pushing her experiment away from her, sharply aware of what is coming next.
the nameless man clumsily stumbles backwards in confusion, his drunk-fucked mind still unaware of the cause of the chaos. then another shot rings through the room, and he ceremoniously falls to his knees.
she sees lloyd graciously walking toward them, the crowd parting around him. a shit eating grin beams from under his 'stache.
"come'on, princess," his scolding tone is doused in honey as he considers the man under him. without hesitation, he pops another shot into the man's back before looking back up. "you know the rules." she doesn't pay any mind to the violent act, used to his outspoken actions.
she gives lloyd an innocent shrug, emphasizing her considerable cleavage that's now shining with sweat from the hot atmosphere of the (once) crowded club. "you said rules are made to be broken." she calmly smoothes out her short dress, ignoring his heated stare, pretending to make sure there aren't any unruly blood stains from her temporary partner-in-crime.
"so...what was this," he waves his gun around the fallen soldier, "little tantrum about, hm?" she hated how he talked to her like a child, always cooing and using easy words just to piss her off.
"the fact you don't know fuckin' proves my point!" she whines, pouting childishly under his gaze. "it's like you go through our relationship completely fucking blind, only caring when you feel like it!" he takes a swift step closer, taking her by surprise as he fully grabs her by the throat.
his words seethe through clenched teeth as he pulls her close enough for his forehead to touch hers, "look, baby, i've tried to be cordial with you, but now you're just being a brat." she can feel blood throb through her head as his grip tightens. "i don't know what crawled up your ass! i can't read your fucking mind!"
she squirms in his hold, weakly kicking against his shins, "you ignored me! you chose work over me!" her voice rasps out against his hand, but she's barely phased by her positioning. "you don't fucking love me!" his hand briskly releases her, leaving her a panting mess on her knees in front of him.
"you think i don't love you just 'cuz i wouldn't fuck you into the desk while i was on a call?"
"it was never an issue before..."
he sighs, realizing this is just another blip in their relationship that really doesn't matter. "honey, i actually have work to do. this isn't some hollywood fairytale where this money appears outta thin air."
she scrunches her nose at his condescending tone, finally having enough of this power play for the night. "obviously i knew that! i'm not fucking dumb, lloyd." she stands back up, trying to size him up even though he's quite a bit taller than her.
"well, if you knew it, then what's the fucking problem? why are we even discussing this." he groans, clearly done with the pointless argument.
"oh okay, so since you don't have a problem with it, there isn't one?"
"that's not what i said."
"whatever, lloyd. i'm done." she turns to the dark emptiness of the club, enjoying the finality of her heels echoing through the room.
a dark chuckle blooms from behind her, "yeah, that's not happening."
she turns her head over her shoulder with a snarky smile, movements not stopping, "uh-yeah, i think it is."
she spoke too soon.
as he clears his throat, every exit is swiftly blocked by one of his men, all dressed in thick black uniforms.
"no. i don't think it is.” she looks back, watching him fiddle with the gun in his hands as he stares her down, “why don’t you come back here, and sit nicely in front of daddy?” there’s a bout of silence between the couple, tensions rising as they both anticipate who’s going to make the first move.
she silently shakes her head, trying to hang on to her last strand of defiance. he tilts his head with frustration, “how about this: sit down like a good puppy or i’ll fuck your throat raw.”
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Joker White Knight fix-it fic - excerpt [jxhq/batjokes]
(or on ao3)
“Home sweet home!” Harleen announced, throwing her arms wide as she showed him into her apartment.
“Wow,” Joker said, flatly. It was a small, open floor plan; not so different from some of the places he’d stayed over the years; but none of the glasses in the wine-rack were chipped or broken, and the refrigerator was humming. The bare bricks were unpainted, and there wasn’t a spot of color in the whole place: not even a wilted cup of flowers. “It’s very…” he paused, unable to think of anything to say. Behind him, he could hear Harleen pulling off her cowl and unzipping the top section of her suit to leave only the spaghetti strap part underneath. At last, he settled with, “…normal.”
They got settled, Joker perching uncomfortably on the edge of one of the kitchen stools. “Tea?” Harleen asked. Instead of saying, You know I like coffee, the sweeter the better he asked, “you drink tea?” It played up his state of helpless amnesia. He felt like he was sitting in the house with a stranger. Joker had expected their reunion to make him feel something, but all he’d felt, ever since she’d dragged him out onto the street, was numb.
“I always drank tea,” Harleen answered, without turning around. She spoke flatly, but the bitterness underneath it was clear. “One of the many things you never bothered to notice.”
“So…” Joker said, into the awkward silence. “You left me. And an entirely new Harley took over? Why didn’t I notice?”
Harleen, of course, had an answer ready at hand. “You’re a narcissist who suffers from dysthymia and a schizoid personality disorder. Likely made worse by a chemical imbalance, which is why the medication is working. You’re probably not cured, but with the right support, you could be.” She looked down at the table, smiling, pushing her hand back through her dyed-blonde hair. It all fit so neatly, didn’t it. Joker had been diagnosed with pretty much everything in the book, by one doctor or another. They all got that same smug look on their face: you see? I figured you out. You ought to thank me.
The kettle on the table whistled, and Harleen got up to pour him tea in his plain white mug.
“I’m a psychiatrist, remember?” she said, mistaking his silence for awe.
--from Bring Down the House
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