warning: sexual content
The room was quiet—too quiet. Gotham's chaos was a world away up in this penthouse, yet your mind was anything but peaceful.
2:14 AM.
You lay on your side, eyes wide open, breathing shallow as you tried to will the ache between your thighs away. But it wouldn't leave. Not tonight. Not with him lying so close.
Joker slept beside you, sprawled on his back, tattoos on display under the faint silver light slipping through the curtains. His green hair was tousled, lips parted, lashes too long for someone so ruthless.
You knew better than to wake him. He was volatile when disturbed, unpredictable, and dangerous. But the heat building in your core wasn't something you could ignore anymore. You'd tried. For hours.
Your legs pressed together under the sheets, trying to relieve the pressure, but it only made it worse. Your breath hitched. Your panties were already damp.
You peeked over at him again.
He was still. So still.
Maybe... just a little touch.
Your hand trembled as you reached out, fingers ghosting over the ink on his ribs. Goosebumps prickled your skin. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath.
His skin was warm. Real. And it sent a jolt straight between your legs.
Your thighs clenched tighter.
You shifted closer, careful not to wake him, and let your hand drift lower—tentative, hesitant. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears.
"Daddy..." you whispered, barely audible.
No answer.
Your hand hovered above the waistband of his boxers. Just a little closer. Just one touch.
But then he moved.
Fast.
You gasped, pulled back too late—his hand was already wrapped around your wrist, eyes open, wild and sharp.
He looked at you like you were a puzzle he wanted to break apart.
"Well, well," he purred, voice a low, gravelly threat. "Couldn't help yourself, hmm?"
Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You looked away, cheeks burning.
"I-I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you, I just... I couldn't sleep..."
He tilted his head, watching you. "Why not, baby?"
You swallowed. "I just... I needed..."
His grip on your wrist loosened as he slid his hand down your arm, slow and teasing. "Needed what?"
You hesitated, eyes flicking down, too embarrassed to say it.
He laughed—quiet and dark. "Use your words, sweetheart. Or I'll stop playing nice."
Your thighs squeezed again without meaning to, and he noticed.
"I needed..." you whispered. "I needed you to touch me..."
That grin—the one that meant danger—spread over his face. "There she is."
He was on you in a second, pinning your wrists above your head, mouth crashing down to your throat. His teeth grazed your skin, biting just hard enough to make you squirm.
"You could've asked," he muttered against your neck, hand sliding down your body. "But no, you had to go and be naughty."
You whimpered, hips arching toward his touch.
He chuckled. "Oh, now you're desperate? You gonna beg for it, baby?"
You nodded quickly, voice trembling. "Please... please, daddy... I need you..."
He growled low in his throat, fingers slipping into your panties, finding you soaked and aching.
"Fuck," he hissed, "You were gonna touch yourself while I was sleeping, weren't you?"
You couldn't answer—couldn't think—only nod, shame and need tangled together as he slid a finger inside you.
"Aw, my shy little kitten's filthy underneath it all," he murmured, pressing his lips to your ear. "You want Daddy to ruin you, huh?"
A soft moan escaped your throat as your hips bucked.
"Say it."
"I... I want you to ruin me..."
He grinned like the devil himself.
"Oh, baby," he growled, slipping between your legs, "You asked for it."
And just like that, the Joker made sure sleep wasn't an option for either of you.
