Impractical Jokers: [Joker]xReader Collection

Joe x Reader - I'll Prove You Wrong

He's been off with you all week now. Becoming less affectionate, less welcoming, less enjoyable to be around and it's all because he's sad. He doesn't say anything about it but you know it's true. The way his eyes refuse to meet yours for too long lest you see the hopelessness caged within them; the way he wrings his hands in his lap when you touch him; the way he only chuckles feebly when you try your hardest to make him laugh. It's heartbreaking.

"Joey...?" you ask softly, rapping your knuckles against the door. He has a habit of leaving it open, a fairly unashamed man (hell you've caught him changing, masturbating, the list goes on and on) and so when the door is closed you go out of your way to check that he's not doing anything private. However, when all that greets you on the other end is silence, you ease the door ajar slowly and poke your head in. The outline of him is clear in the bed but he doesn't respond."...Joe...?"

Steps are taken to stand in front of him... but he simply tenses and pulls the duvet further up over his head. A new approach is taken in that you slide to the other end of the bed and attempt to weasel your way under the blankets with him, eventually able to press a hand to his back. He's shaking.

"...are you okay? Are you sick?" you ask quietly, fingers taking in the tenseness of his muscles as you shift in as close as you can get. "Joe... please talk to me. I'm worried about you."

For a moment, it's as if your entire world has frozen - because the sound that you hear is so incongruous with reality as you've come to accept it, so painstakingly cruel that it strikes fear and depression alike through your entire body.

He sobs.

And then he can't stop. Sadness, desperation, the writhing of muscles as if he's in physical pain as legs curl up and fists clench so tightly they're shaking with the sheets between them. You're unsure of what to do, listening to Joe Gatto crying, but you force the sheets blocking you from his body away and wrap your arms around him tightly. He seems to all but collapse into you, face burying into your shoulder as he cries.

"Oh my... Joe, what's wrong... please tell me..." Part of you knows it's fruitless to whisper these things in his ear while he's sobbing himself dry but you do anyway, a hand making its way to the back of his head and combing through his hair. He's choking over his breaths, trembling with effort to keep it in and you quietly assure him that no, it's okay, please get it out.

"I–I'm not– I'm not–"

"All right... it's all right..." you soothe, rubbing his back with gentle hands and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead before pushing his head into your chest and letting him weep. In truth you're terrified - you've never witnessed such a breakdown, nor have you ever seen Joe shed a tear, never mind sob to death. His sorrow has toxicity rising into the air, the breath you take in tasting foul and unjust as he stammers over his own and tries to take oxygen into his aching lungs.

Many minutes pass in which the Joker does nothing but wail, tears soaking your shirt while you hold him close and stroke anything of him that you can reach. But eventually, he begins to calm down, perhaps simply because there's nothing left in him to cry. After many moments of quiet, you find it in yourself to push once more.

"Joe–"

"I'm bein' dumb, just forget it."