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Whenever J spent the night, you always woke the next morning feeling more depleted than usual, and you would often bee line to the fridge in search of sustenance. He had quite the appetite, and as you opened your fridge and saw the shelves near barren you thought, literally. You gave a sigh, rubbing your eyes and drawing the shirt higher up your bare legs, the chill draft from the fridge drawing a shiver.
After scrounging around the kitchen, you ate the last two pieces of bread, and sipped on a cup of coffee. It was a miracle you had enough to brew a pot, the taste of it light like caffeinated water as you trudged through your apartment to your bedroom. J was sprawled out on your bed, his lengthy frame covering the mass of it, and completely nude. Shameless, given the window was wide open and the city was bustling just outside. He had thrown his arm over his eyes, the way he absently licked at his lips telling you he was indeed awake.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” You said, taking a sip of the coffee as you approached. He shifted his arm upwards to rest on his forehead, regarding you with heavy lids.
“Correct me if I’m wrong–or don’t, I really couldn’t care less, but sleeping beauty only woke up with a, ah, kiss.” He blinked slowly, and you took a fleeting moment to admire him; the sun was streaking in through the window, casting long shadows on his bare frame, accentuating all the divots of his scars and the slopes of his muscles. It made his hair glow with an iridescent mossy green and deep gold (he needed to dye it again, you thought), the light that slipped past his shielding arm lit up his darkened iris’ to the point they looked like molten gold.
“You’re not wrong, but I don’t remember her being naked when her prince charming came along.” You mused, setting the coffee mug down on your nightstand before crawling onto the bed. J stretched an arm out, coaxing you closer with a tug of your waist.
“We must’ve watched different versions—could’a swore she was.” He jeered, and you snickered. J lifted his arm from his head and brought it to yours, cradling the back of your skull and pulling you down. You hummed in the kiss, the chaste embrace veering when he slid his tongue along your lower lip.
“Do you have plans today?” You asked, pulling away. J followed, before dropping his head back onto the mattress unceremoniously.
“I think you already know that answer to that.” He retorted with a flick of his tongue. He was right, you did; J wasn’t ever here this late in the morning unless he had something to do. You disregarded the subtle bite of his words and continued on, absently petting the hardness of his chest.
“I need to go to the store. It seems someone ransacked my entire kitchen, and I’m out of food.” You said, and you saw his grin from your peripheral. You traced a circle around a scar, before looking at him. “Wanna come with me?”
He squinted, as though your question was asinine. It was, the whole concept of taking him to the grocery store nothing shy of a terrible idea, and that’s exactly why he said,
“Ah, what the hell.”
As fun as it would be walking into the store dressed to the nines as The Joker, makeup, trench, pinstripe slacks and all, you had suggested he take a more subtle approach. Much to your surprise, he relented, walking out of your bedroom in clothes you didn’t even know he had; black slacks that fit loosely around his narrow frame, a faded T-shirt you couldn’t quite see the design of anymore, and a worn green hoodie. The cherry on top: a bare face.
“Woah.” You couldn’t suppress the grin that stretched your lips, approaching him in the midst of slinging your scarf over your head. He looked like an entirely different man, and if it weren’t for the scars, he would have blended into the crowds of Gotham seamlessly.
“What?” His tone was sharp, avoiding your eyes as he fiddled with the sleeves of the hoodie. It fit snug, and he growled, “You get used to the trench, now all of a sudden everything else feels…re-stric-ting.”
“It’s just a run to the grocery store. Promise, you’ll be back to your purple second home in no time.”
J have a short huff of breath in response.
“Although, the scars might just give you away.”
“No miracle cure for a fucked up face, doll.” He retorted. You didn’t answer him, instead taking the black scarf from around your neck and slinging it over his. There was no telling him that he’s beautiful, or that the scars didn’t matter, because they were monstrous, and they mattered a great deal (to him, that is. You indeed found him beautiful, but words never counted for much). However, there was the simple gesture of intimacy; you tugged on the scarf until he leaned down, then you kissed him.
When he went to deepen the embrace, you let him. For a brief moment you two stood in your quaint living room and kissed, and you savored the feeling of bare skin rather than greasepaint. Finally, you pulled away, flicking the scarf around with a graceful touch and a smile. J didn’t say anything, instead adjusting the fabric until it covered the entire lower half of his face, just beneath his nose.
.
As you pulled into the parking lot, you made a mental note not to let J drive your car ever again; you practically pried your fingers from the handle above the door, and he glanced over at you with a cackle of laughter.
“Those were stop signs back there. Like, multiple stop signs.”
“What’d you expect to happen when you let someone who doesn’t have a, uh, license drive your car?” He countered, and you gaped at him.
“You told me you do!” You practically whined, and he rolled his eyes, drawing the scarf up his face. He turned the car off, before absently tossing the keys your way. You scrambled to catch them, and they slipped through your fingers and landed on the floorboard.
“Did. There’s a difference there, bunny.”
“Should’ve left you at the apartment.” You mumbled between your legs as you picked the keys up, the resounding slam of the drivers side door jolting you.
What did you expect to happen? That he would just mosey on through the store and pick things off the shelf, like a normal fucking person?
You glanced down and began counting the amount of Little Debbie snacks he had pushed into the cart–literally, he walked right up to the shelf, drew his arm across it like he was sweeping snow off the top of a car, and continued on without another word. Looking upwards, you saw him approach a stand for Oreo’s, promptly plucking multiple packs and cradling them in his arms. From the back, the only telling sign that it was him was the faded green of his hair.
“J. You can’t survive on Little Debbie snacks and Oreo’s.” You remarked. He turned to face you, squaring his gaze with yours as he opened his arms and dropped the packages into the shopping cart. Leaning forward, he grinned (you couldn’t see his mouth, but you could tell with the crinkle of his eyes, and the mirth that glimmered there), before speaking.
“Been doin’ it for years, doll. You can, and I do.”
He brought his hand up, laying it on your waist and squeezing. You shivered, and he pulled the scarf down just enough to kiss you. Absently, you heard the sound of someone scoffing. Breaking from the kiss, you glanced around and saw an elderly woman watching the both of you, a clear expression of distaste on her weathered face.
“Why don’t you take a picture, lady?” You remarked, your voice lilted with annoyance. You normally wouldn’t be the type, but something about the elderly woman grated your nerves.
“Better yet–” J chimed in, yanking the scarf down the rest of the way before turning his gaze on her. You saw her visibly stiffen, and you had to stifle a laugh at her shocked expression. “C’mon over here, and I’ll plant one on ya.”
The woman gasped, bringing a hand up to her cheek as though J had physically struck her. You didn’t bother suppressing your laugh as she high tailed it down the isle the opposite way.
“You’re terrible!” You laughed, reaching up and cupping the back of his neck. He hummed in agreement, before dipping down and kissing you again.
.
After shopping around and getting actual groceries, you made your way to the checkout lane. J was walking beside you, flipping through a magazine he had plucked from one of the shelves, before absently tossing it onto the nearest surface. He then slowed down and brought himself behind you, his hands finding the cart’s handle next to yours.
“J–what’re you doing?”
“Step up.” He said, his voice muffled by the scarf. You hesitated, and he kicked the underside of your shoe, nearly buckling your knee.
“Alright, alright.” You did so, stepping up onto the lower bar of the cart. J brought his body close, the warmth of his chest flush against your back, and as he walked the cart right past the checkout lane, you felt a heavy sinking dread in your stomach.
“J…”
“Hold on tight, dollface.”
At the entrance to the store there was a greeter, and you saw the man visibly stiffen as J sped toward the exit. He glanced at the full cart, then to you, before stepping out with a raised hand.
“Hold up–”
“Excuse us!” You squeaked, and for some god forsaken reason the man stepped right in front of J’s path. The cart plowed right into him, knocking him back until he fell on his ass. You think you might have screamed, you weren’t entirely sure, your body scrunched up tight with your head down, gripping the cart until your knuckles turned white. J was cackling like mad behind you, the sound of the detectors going off as he ran through them.
“I’m never taking you grocery shopping ever again!” You yelled, as he ran right through the street. Multiple cars squealed to a stop, you could still hear the alarm going off, now accompanied with shouting from the employees. J was still laughing, and you quickly began fumbling for your keys (a truly difficult task given the bumpy ride), when J shouted,
“I’m driving!”