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Hi guys, I've been writing for Jared Leto's Joker since The Suicide Squad came out (Joker x Reader fanfi...
It was a well known fact The Joker's girlfriend left him with four young children and disappeared. It was also known that his ex stepped up and took care of them even if she didn't have to. The King of Gotham might have lost his woman, but he never lost his Queen.
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"Do you feel sick?" you ask Aiden, carrying him in your arms around the kitchen. The boys just woke up and everyone is downstairs, waiting for breakfast.
"Yeeessss..." he whimpers and you press your lips against his forehead: best way to assess a fever.
"Just a little bit hotter than usual; I'll give you some medicine after you eat and you'll feel better, ok?"
"Ok," the two year old wraps his arms around your neck tighter, sniffling.
"What kind of pancakes do you want, honey?" you lift him up higher in your arms, opening the huge pantry.
"Bu'belly," Aiden points his little finger towards the shelves, spotting his favorite.
"Blueberry. Alright," you grab the box and turn towards his twin. "Zane, what kind of pancakes do you want?"
The child places his chin on the table, yawning:
"Sto'belly mommy."
"Strawberries it is. Kase honey?" you ask the oldest, interrupting the fun he's having with Mia. The four year old is playing peek-a-boo with her and she giggles in the high chair, trying to touch him but he dodges her tiny hand, teasing the little Princess.
"Can I have apple, mommy?"
"Sure can," you take out a third box, placing it by the stove. "Jaaayyyyyy!!!" you shout so he can hear you from the office. "What kind of pancakes do you want?"
"I don't care!" you immediately hear his voice.
"I think we're out of I don't care pancakes," you wink at the boys and they snicker, not understanding the joke but you're being goofy so it's funny enough. "Here you go," you help Aiden sit at his place at the table; he doesn't want to leave your arms but you have to cook. As a reward, you lean over and kiss his forehead, making these very long, strenuous sounds, prompting the rest of the boys to whine, wanting one also.
"Me too, mommy!"
"Me too!!"
"A squeaky kiss for you," you pucker your lips, granting their wish, "and one for you," you smile, amazed on how good you got at this stuff.
The seven months old Mia is not moving anymore: her eyes are big, completely taken aback by the sounds you make.
"What is it, love bug? You want a squeaky kiss too?" and her forehead is being kissed also, followed by the silly sounds that prompt her to close her eyes really tight and scream with delight. You laugh, amused on how easy it is to entertain The Joker's children sometimes.
