The purple Lamborghini purred like a wildcat as it rolled to a stop in front of a high-end boutique on the edge of Gotham's elite shopping district. Joker leaned across the center console, silver chains glinting under the city lights, his pale hand resting on your thigh as he turned his icy gaze to you.
"You've been such a good girl for me while I was away, baby," he purred, voice silky and dangerous. "Didn't set anything on fire. Didn't fight anyone. That kind of behavior earns a reward, don't you think?"
You blinked, surprised—he wasn't the type to do "normal." But here you were, holding his hand as he escorted you into a store that looked like it belonged in Paris instead of Gotham. His fingers never left you. Possessive. Adoring. Dangerous.
Inside, the stylists were too scared to say no to anything he requested. He waved his hand at the racks. "Pick anything. Everything. Try them on for me."
You grinned and disappeared behind the velvet curtain of the fitting room, armed with a stack of designer outfits. Joker sprawled into a leather chair just outside, legs open, teeth flashing as he waited.
The first outfit was a sleek, black number—tight, short, and sinful.
You stepped out, biting your lip. "Too much?"
He tilted his head, eyes devouring you slowly. "Not enough." A pause. "Spin for Daddy."
You did. Slowly. His low growl of approval made your cheeks heat. "That one's a maybe," he said, beckoning you closer. "Come here."
You stepped between his legs and he let his cold fingers trail up your thigh, just brushing the edge of the dress. "You wear this out, baby girl, I'll have to kill someone before dessert." He smirked. "Next."
Outfit after outfit, he watched, commented, sometimes tugged you into his lap for a better look. You were getting bold, tossing in teasing twirls, winks, even a little dance in a silk slip dress that barely covered anything.
His patience thinned deliciously.
You came out in a deep emerald set—lace, mesh, meant to be lingerie but sold as "fashion." Joker stood this time, eyes locked on yours, jaw tight.
"That one's not for the public," he growled, stalking toward you. "That one's for me."
Your breath hitched as he pressed you gently back into the fitting room, curtain sliding closed behind you. The air thickened.
"You like playing dress-up, hmm?" he whispered, nose brushing against your jaw as his hands skimmed your sides. "What a pretty little doll you are."
You whimpered as his mouth found your neck, soft but teasing, never too much. Just enough to make you ache.
"Good girls get spoiled..." he murmured, lifting your chin with a gloved finger. "But if you keep looking at me like that, you're gonna get ruined instead."
You smiled innocently. "Maybe I want both."
His laughter was low and dark, the sound of chaos wrapped in silk.
"Lucky for you, baby," he said, lips brushing yours, "I'm good at both."
