warning: sexual content
The cold, flickering light above you buzzed like it was laughing. Or maybe that was him. You couldn't tell anymore—sound and sensation were starting to blur.
Your wrists ached from the cuffs, arms strung above your head, back pressed to the chilled concrete wall of the Joker's lair. The air was damp, thick with smoke, sweat, and madness. He'd left you here for hours. Maybe more.
Then came the clink of his shoes. The metallic sound of chains dragging behind him. He always made an entrance, even when you were the only audience.
"Darlin'..." His voice slithered through the dark. "You still with me?"
You lifted your head. His grin split his face, green hair slicked back, shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease the inked chaos on his chest. His eyes glinted like knives.
"Go to hell," you muttered.
He tsked and moved closer, dragging a single gloved finger along your jaw. "Now, now, that's not very nice. After everything I've done for you?"
You swallowed hard as he brought a blade to your neck—not cutting, just pressing, teasing.
"You screamed so sweetly earlier," he murmured, voice dipped in honey and venom. "Made me feel all... tingly. Right here." He tapped over his heart, then laughed like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"You're insane," you whispered.
He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "And you... you're mine. That makes you just as twisted, doesn't it?"
His hand slid down your side, slow and calculating, until it gripped your waist with bruising force. He didn't ask for permission—he never did. But your body betrayed you, heat pooling in your core as the Joker's mouth descended to your throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark.
"Tell me to stop," he said, breath hot on your skin. "Go on. I dare you."
You didn't. You couldn't.
Maybe it was the fear. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you like chaos incarnate, like a storm you couldn't outrun—but didn't want to.
"You like dancing with the devil?" he growled, one hand sliding between your legs, two fingers curling under your soaked panties.
You bit your lip hard enough to bleed. But he saw. He always saw.
"Oh, baby," he purred, pressing into you just enough to make your knees tremble. "You're filthy. I love it."
The chains rattled as he pushed you harder against the wall, lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that tasted like smoke and madness. His control was violent. Addictive. And you were too far gone to care.
Tonight, you belonged to the Joker. Mind, body, and whatever was left of your soul.
And he was going to break you beautifully.
His mouth crashed onto yours again, this time harder, hungrier—teeth grazing, tongue claiming, lips devouring like he wanted to consume you. You gasped against him, but he swallowed the sound, one hand twisting in your hair while the other slipped beneath your ruined panties.
"Look at that," he murmured against your mouth, fingers sliding between your folds, slick with proof of how your body craved the chaos. "You're soaked. For me."
You hated how good it felt—how he touched you like he knew your body better than you did. Slow at first, dragging his fingers up and down, building the pressure until your hips bucked forward, needing more. And he laughed, soft and breathy, the sound laced with wicked amusement.
"Beg for it," he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Beg for daddy to wreck you."
Your pride screamed no—but your body was already betraying you.
"Please..." you whispered, voice hoarse. "P-please... daddy."
That was all it took.
With a growl, he tore the panties from your body in one brutal motion. The sound of fabric ripping echoed off the walls, and then his belt hit the floor, fast and loud. His length was already hard, thick, and veined, his arousal as obvious as the madness in his grin.
"Daddy's gonna ruin you," he hissed, grabbing your thighs and lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around him, chains above your head clinking as he lined himself up.
And then—he thrust inside.
No mercy. No patience. Just raw, relentless force.
You cried out, half from the shock, half from the stretch. He didn't stop. Just grabbed your throat with one hand, holding you in place as he drove into you over and over again, hips snapping with a brutal rhythm. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, along with your ragged breaths and his low, unhinged groans.
"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted. "You were made for me baby."
Every thrust sent shockwaves through your body, pain and pleasure blurring until you couldn't tell the difference. Your body trembled, heat coiling low in your belly, winding tighter with every brutal stroke.
"You gonna come for me, baby?" he mocked, biting your shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. "Gonna fall apart on this dick like a good little girl?"
You nodded frantically, tears prickling in your eyes from the intensity. "Yes—yes, I'm gonna—ugh—"
He slammed into you even harder, hitting that perfect spot over and over again until your orgasm exploded through you like a gunshot. You screamed his name, back arching, body convulsing as he kept fucking you through it.
And then—he stilled, groaned low in your ear, and emptied himself inside you with one final, punishing thrust.
Silence followed. Heavy, thick, electric.
Then he pulled back, letting your legs drop slowly as he licked a line up your neck, tasting the sweat and sin on your skin.
"You're mine now," he whispered, tucking himself back into his pants with a lazy, wicked grin. "Broken. Beautiful. Mine."
He left you there—sore, used, still shaking—with that twisted smile carved into your memory like a scar.
You wanted him to come back.
