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Summary
The man gives you another grin. Somehow, impossibly, it spreads more and more. Until it can’t go further.
“Heya, doll,” He says. It purrs, gets caught in his throat. Your face burns with a blush. “I’m the Joker.” He extends a hand, purple, red, and green painted nails point towards you. His cuticles are torn, blood crusted and dried against his fingers.
Another writing sprint.
Series
- Part 6 of Dex's DC fics