The air in the room hums—silent, charged, thick with the kind of tension that crawls under your skin and whispers to your nerves. You don’t remember walking in. Maybe you were led here. Maybe you followed him. Either way, you’re here now, and he’s in front of you.

The Joker.

That pale, sharp face is turned halfway toward you, shadows cutting across his cheekbones like knives. His lips are curled in that impossible smile too knowing, too intimate. You’ve seen that smile in news reports, on wanted posters, splattered in blood across broken glass. But it’s different now.

Now it’s yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice low and amused, like a secret only the two of you share. His eyes glint with something dark, wild, and possessive. “But I’m so glad you are.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, like it’s trying to warn you or maybe it’s begging for him. You can’t tell anymore. He tilts his head, examining you like a puzzle he already knows how to solve. He steps closer, slowly, deliberately, and you feel the pull gravity in reverse.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes, almost tenderly. His gloved hand lifts, and the back of his fingers brushes your cheek like you’re something fragile. Breakable. Beautiful in the way a fire is dangerous and captivating.

“I could ruin you,” he whispers, leaning in, his breath ghosting across your skin, “and you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”

You should run. Every cell in your body knows it. But you stay. Because you’ve seen the way he looks at you like you’re the only real thing in a world made of chaos and smoke. And maybe that’s the lie you’re willing to believe tonight.

Maybe being his obsession… feels like the only kind of love you’ve ever truly understood.

And when he laughs a low, wicked thing that promises madness and devotion in equal measure you laugh too.

Because in this moment, you’re not afraid of him.

You’re afraid of how much you want him to never let you go.