The nightclub pulsed with neon lights and bass so loud it rattled the glasses behind the bar. Purple smoke curled through the air while criminals, dealers, and desperate people crowded around the VIP balcony above. And there you sat.

Leg crossed over the other, black leather hugging your frame, claws from your Catwoman gloves tapping slowly against the armrest. Waiting. Again. The elevator doors suddenly slammed open downstairs.

The room went dead quiet. The Joker stepped out first — gold chains hanging from his neck, silver grin tattoo stretched across his face, green hair slicked back perfectly despite the blood smeared near his jaw. Three goons followed behind him dragging somebody barely conscious across the floor.

Batman escaped. Again.

Joker’s icy blue eyes scanned the club until they landed on you. And immediately, the air changed. He shoved one of his men hard enough to knock him into a table.

Joker: “USELESS!” he barked, voice echoing through the club. “Every single one’a ya! Batsy was RIGHT there!”

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Then his gaze snapped back to you. Slowly, he climbed the stairs toward the balcony. Rings clinked against the railing as he gripped it tightly.

Joker: “You,” he muttered darkly. “C’mere.” You already knew that tone. The dangerous one. The one that came after failure. He grabbed your wrist the second you stood, yanking you into the private hallway behind the balcony doors. The music became muffled instantly. Joker paced like a wild animal, running tattooed hands through his hair.

Joker: “You distracted me tonight,” he hissed. His eyes flicked toward you sharply. “That little stunt on the rooftop? Hmm?” He mocked your voice cruelly. “‘Maybe we should leave, J… maybe it’s a trap.’”

He slammed a metal bat against the wall beside your head. CLANG.

“You think I don’t KNOW when it’s a trap?!”

His breathing was heavy now. Chaotic. Unstable. But then…Just as fast as the rage came, it cracked. His expression shifted slightly when he noticed the look in your eyes. Fear—Hurt. Still staying anyway.

The Joker stared at you for a long moment before scoffing under his breath. He tossed the bat aside loudly and stepped closer.

Joker: “…C’mere, doll.” His voice softened into that fake sweetness you knew too well. Tattooed fingers tilted your chin upward gently this time. “I didn’t mean it.” A crooked grin spread across his face. “Y’know how tonight gets me all worked up.”

He leaned down close enough for you to smell smoke, cologne, and gunpowder on him.

Joker: “You’re my favorite girl, RaKiyah.” His thumb brushed against your cheek possessively. “And besides…” he murmured against your ear, “you always come back to me.”