The mansion was quiet—too quiet. You paced the living room, heart thudding with each heavy step. The moment the front doors slammed open, your breath caught in your throat. He was home.
Joker.
He moved like a storm, suit jacket hanging open, green hair tousled, and that wild look in his eyes—the one that always meant trouble.
"You went behind my back." His voice was calm, too calm.
"I did what I had to do." You lifted your chin, standing your ground. Your fists clenched at your sides. "You were out of control. I handled it."
"You handled it?" He laughed, a short, unhinged sound that didn't reach his eyes. "You don't handle my business, baby. I do."
"I'm not your puppet, J." Your voice shook, but you didn't back down. "You can't just snap your fingers and expect me to sit pretty while you burn everything to the ground."
In an instant, he crossed the room, grabbing your wrist—tight enough to sting. His smile was gone now, replaced by something colder, darker.
"You think you know what you're doing?" he hissed, eyes boring into yours. "You think because I let you sleep in my bed, you get to question me?"
You yanked your arm back, but he didn't let go. "You don't scare me," you whispered, voice wavering.
"Liar."
His grip shifted—rough but not breaking you. Just enough to remind you who he was. Your back hit the wall before you realized he'd moved you. His body caged yours in, heat radiating off him like a furnace.
Your breathing was shallow now, your mind spinning. You wanted to scream. Fight. But the chaos in his eyes held her still.
"You love this," he growled low, lips brushing your ear. "The danger. The games. The pain."
You shook your head. "You're insane."
"And yet, you're still here." His hand slid up to your throat—not choking, but firm, possessive.
Your heart thudded against your ribcage, the fire in your chest flickering between fear and something darker, something dangerously close to desire.
"Say you're mine," he whispered, voice smooth as silk but laced with threat. "Say it, or walk out that door."
You hated how your knees weakened. Hated how your pride screamed to push him away—but your body betrayed you.
"...I'm yours," you breathed, eyes fluttering closed.
Joker's breath was warm against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your jaw as he murmured, "You always come back to me, baby. No matter how loud you scream."
Your hands trembled at your sides. Not from fear—not entirely. It was the way he knew you, could peel you open with a glance, make you betray yourself with a single touch. You hated that he was right. Hated that your pulse skipped when he looked at you like you was his favorite sin.
His fingers trailed down your waist, slow, deliberate. Not to comfort—to claim.
"I should be madder," he whispered. "Should break every dish in this house. Should make you beg me to stop."
"You already broke me," you said, voice like glass. "You just keep playing with the pieces."
His hand stilled on your hip, and for a moment—just a sliver—his expression flickered. Something behind his eyes softened. Then it vanished. He chuckled low, shaking his head.
"You're dramatic tonight," he said, brushing your hair from your face. "That's cute."
You grabbed his wrist. "I'm not your toy."
His smile twisted. "But you're mine."
He spun you, pressing your chest to the wall, his body flush against yours back. You gasped, but he was already speaking again, low and dangerous in your ear.
"I know you wanna fight me. Hell, maybe you should." He pressed closer. "But we both know how this ends."
You gritted your teeth, nails digging into the drywall. "Let me go."
"No."
The word was a vow.
Then he pulled back just enough for you to turn and face him again. His hand gripped your jaw, not hard, but enough to make your eyes stay locked on his.
"You think you're the only one falling apart?" he whispered. "You think I don't feel it too? I'm crazy about you. Literally."
Your lips parted, but no sound came out.
He leaned in, lips barely brushing yours. "You ground me. And that pisses me off."
You swallowed, your fight finally cracking at the edges. "You destroy everything you love."
Joker nodded, grin widening. "Exactly. So why would I ever let you go?"
You hated him. God, you hated how deep he was under your skin. And yet, your hand rose to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.
"I hate you," you whispered.
"Good," he smirked. "Makes this more fun."
And then he kissed you—hard, unrelenting, like he was trying to consume the fight right out of you. And maybe he was. Because with every second, every breath, you felt yourself slipping.
Not into fear. Not into love.
But into him.
