.♠︎.💜 𝐀 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 💚.♠︎.
Chapter 14: Claimed
___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___
Chapter Word Count: 6,674
Fic Summary: Alina Vale dreams of escaping her dead-end life as a diner waitress, finding solace in painting Gotham’s haunting shadows. But when a routine trip to the bank turns into a living nightmare, she finds herself face-to-face with the Joker—a man as captivating as he is terrifying.
As his twisted games unravel her defenses, Alina is forced to confront the pull he has over her, a collision of fear and desire she can’t control. Trapped in his world of chaos and power, survival means facing not only him but the darker parts of herself he’s brought to life.
A story of obsession, control, and the intoxicating allure of letting go.
Genres: Dark romance, Gothic romance, Stalker romance
Pairings: TDK Joker x Female OC
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: non-con, grape, extremely dubious consent, violence, psychological manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, slow-burn, toxic relationships, trauma bonding, childhood trauma, graphic sexual content, stockholm syndrome, dead dove do not eat
A/N: Alright, here it is—the chapter I’ve been dying to share with you. 😈🔥 It’s dark AF (seriously, read the tags), but also hot as hell. If you’re here for the raw, ruthless domination, the unbearable tension, and the thrill of surrendering to something inevitable… you’re in for a treat
Enjoy. 🖤
___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___
🚨 Content Warning: 🚨
This chapter contains explicit non-consent (technically grape), coercion and a heavy power imbalance. If that’s not for you, please skip this chapter. I’ve tagged everything appropriately, but I still wanted to give a final heads-up.
I know dark romance—especially with this level of intensity—isn’t for everyone, but for those of you who love the tension, the twisted power plays, and the deliciously dark dynamics… well. 😈🔥
This one’s for you.
Chapter 14: Claimed
The Joker’s fingers dug deeper into the back of Alina's thighs, leaving behind phantom bruises as he carried her further into the cell. Her mind spun with panic as she thrashed, but he held her with possessive ease. His warm, mocking breath ghosted over her neck with each step, sending a chill straight to her core.
“Put me down!” she demanded, her voice breaking with desperation as she realized how futile her words sounded, even to herself.
He chuckled, his grip tightening for a moment longer before throwing her onto the mattress.
Alina hit the bed with a sharp gasp, the impact ricocheting through her body. The softness beneath her felt like an insult—a cruel contrast to the raw force that had slammed her there.
For a heartbeat, everything went still.
Her eyes snapped to his.
He stood there—just a few feet away—his dark silhouette looming in the dim light. His gaze locked onto hers, unblinking, a gleam of something predatory flickering behind the shadows. The twisted grin that curled at his lips didn’t reach his eyes. No, those were cold. Calculating. Hungry.
For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stared.
Then, with slow, deliberate ease, he slipped off his suit jacket. It slid from his shoulders like a shadow of something much darker unraveling, the soft rustle slicing through the silence. He let it fall with a quiet thud.
He didn’t need words.
The way his gaze raked over her—the slow, deliberate drag from her eyes to the rapid rise and fall of her chest—said everything.
Instinct took over.
She scrambled, twisting onto her stomach, fingers clawing at the sheets, trying to launch herself toward the edge.
She didn’t make it.
His gloved hand snatched her ankle, yanking her back with terrifying ease. A cry tore from her throat as he dragged her across the mattress, her nails raking at the sheets—snagging, tearing—but useless.
Before she could react, he flipped her onto her back. The world tilted violently as her spine hit the mattress with a jolt.
She lashed out—wild, desperate. A swing at his face, fingers clawing for his eyes, his scars—anything.
But he was faster.
His hand shot up, catching her wrist mid-air with startling ease.
For a breathless second, their eyes met—hers blazing with defiance, his gleaming with something more dangerous:
Amusement. Possession. Hunger.
He didn’t just stop her. He stole the moment.
His grip tightened, slow and deliberate—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who held the power. He twisted her arm down, down, until it was pinned, useless beneath his strength.
Then his other hand found her throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Letting her feel it.
He pressed forward, his weight sinking her into the mattress, knees bracketing her hips, caging her in as his face hovered over hers. A dark grin stretched across his scars while he drank in her heaving breaths, the raw wildness flashing in her eyes.
“You really thought you could walk outta here?” he murmured, his voice dropping into a slow, dangerous rasp.
“You’re mine, Alina.”
Alina twisted beneath him, her heart pounding with fear and rage.
“Get your hands off me!” she spat, her voice venomous and raw. “I’ll never belong to you.”
But her defiance only seemed to delight him.
The Joker chuckled, the sound dark and indulgent, as he forced both her wrists above her head, locking them in place with one unyielding grip.
He leaned in—so close she could feel the ghost of his breath against her lips.
"Oh, but you do," he murmured, his voice low and silky with certainty. His fingers flexed around her wrists, a reminder of how easily he held her down.
"You just haven’t accepted it yet."
She tried to twist away, but his body was solid, immovable, anchoring her in place. Her muscles ached, her body struggling beneath his hold, but the real battle was in her mind—the last fragments of resistance slipping away with each breath.
She was so tired. So hopeless.
Finally, her body sagged beneath him, her energy fading like the last glimmer of light before nightfall.
“Let me go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with helplessness. “Please...”
Hot tears clung to her lashes as she slowly lifted her gaze to his. It was a look she hadn’t meant to give him—wide-eyed, raw, a silent plea she couldn’t swallow back.
For a moment, there was no sound but the low hum of their breathing.
His expression didn’t soften. If anything, her tears seemed to please him. A slow grin stretched across his lips, jagged scars pulling at the corners. His eyes—a rich brown, gleaming with something unreadable—roved over her face, drinking in every flicker of desperation.
Then, he leaned in—so close she almost felt the ghost of his lips against her own.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low, deceptively gentle.
His free hand lifted.
Alina flinched, expecting a strike—but instead, his gloved thumb swiped the damp trail of tears from her cheek.
She froze. Not from pain this time, but from the wrongness of it—the sick, unnatural gentleness that sent ice down her spine.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. His fingers drifting—light, absentminded—over her bottom lip. Barely a touch. A whisper of leather against skin.
Her pulse slammed into her throat.
Was he going to—?
But he didn’t.
His grin stretched wider, dangerous, knowing, reveling in the way she stiffened beneath him.
"Mm," he sighed, mockingly thoughtful. His thumb lingered just a second too long before trailing away, slow and teasing.
"You’re so pretty when you cry."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Shame knotted deep in her gut, twisting tight. The humiliation was far worse than any taunt before. He wasn't just mocking her pain—he was feasting on it.
His eyes devoured her, gleaming with something primal—something almost reverent. Like he was memorizing the way she looked beneath him, the way her lips trembled, the way her body shook beneath his hands.
Then his gaze shifted—intensity sharpening into something more sinister. His eyes danced with cruel amusement, a predator settling in to savor the game.
"Tell ya what, doll," he murmured, his voice silky, syrup-thick with menace, "if you can get out from under me… I’ll let you go."
She froze. For a breath, just one—
Could he be serious?
Hope flickered, fragile, dangerous.
Then his grip loosened.
Barely. Just enough.
Her heart surged. She thrashed, twisted, kicked—fought like hell.
For a moment, she almost believed...
"That’s it," he purred, watching her struggle.
"Give it your best shot."
Alina bucked harder, desperation giving her one last surge of strength.
His grip slipped just slightly, her arm almost free...
And then—
Snap.
His fingers clamped down, shattering her resistance like it was nothing.
"Oops," he drawled, smug and lazy. "Guess you’re stuck."
The hope she’d clung to was gone. Snuffed out, like a flame between his fingers.
"Didn’t really think you had a chance, did ya?" he whispered against her ear, his voice hot and cruel.
"Poor little thing."
The Joker’s laughter unfurled, a low, dangerous promise. "You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart," he whispered, each word slicing through her resolve like a blade, severing every last fragile thread of hope.
He shifted his weight, one hand still holding her wrists above her head, while the other slid down her side, his touch slow and exacting. Alina’s skin crawled at the sensation, a shiver running through her as he traced the curve of her hip.
Her heart nearly stopped as his fingers teased the hem of her nightgown, tugging gently, just enough to make her skin burn with fear, disgust, and something else—something unwelcome.
She tried to twist away, to buck him off, but her body responded with a flicker of heat she couldn’t ignore, even as her mind screamed in protest.
"Stop!" she cried out, but he only smiled wider at her desperation.
“You can scream all you want,” he teased, “no one’s coming for you.”
Her throat tightened, a sob threatening to escape as she realized just how hopeless this was. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her tears. Not yet.
With a growl, Alina twisted her body, summoning the last of her strength—but it wasn’t enough. His hold didn’t waver, didn’t even strain. Her muscles burned, her wrists throbbed, but the Joker only chuckled, his grin widening as he enjoyed her struggle.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath skimming her neck as he leaned in closer. “Keep fighting me. It makes it more fun.”
Tears welled in her eyes, a sob clawing at her chest—but she swallowed it down, clinging to the last threads of defiance.
But the Joker wasn’t finished.
“You’re mine, Alina,” he whispered, his voice soft and dangerous as his scarred lips brushed against her ear.
“And now, I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
The words landed like a knife in her chest.
No. No, this wasn’t happening.
But her strength had drained away, every muscle in her body screaming from the endless struggle—powerless against the inevitability pressing down on her.
“Please—” she begged, her voice a fractured whisper, raw with disbelief.
His grin stretched wider, the heat of him radiating against her skin as he leaned in, soaking in every flicker of resistance, every delicious tremble.
"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice humming along the curve of her neck, the rough scrape of his scars branding her skin. "I’ll be gentle."
His lips brushed her throat, his voice a silken whisper—
"Promise."
Then, his free hand moved.
Lower.
A gloved fingertip traced up her thigh—light, lazy, bunching up the fabric as he went. A simple tug, a mere flick of his fingers, and the nightgown lifted, exposing her bare skin to the cold air like a cruel unveiling.
Her breath hitched.
Betrayed her.
He chuckled softly, voice dipping into something indulgent, intimate. “Do you know what I like most about this?” he murmured, dark satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “It’s not just the fear… though that’s nice...” A pause. Lethal. Amused.
“No… it’s watching you fight how much you want this.”
Alina's fisted tightened under his grasp. The audacity of him—his certainty, his arrogance, the way he owned her reactions like they belonged to him... It made her sick.
But not as sick as the sharp, traitorous thrill that hummed through her veins.
"Fuck you," she spat, but the words faltered in her throat, swallowed by the suffocating air between them.
His laughter slithered over her skin. Low. Knowing.
“Deny it all you want,” he purred, voice thick with smug delight. “But your body?” His hand slid higher, teasing, fingers skimming the bare skin of her thigh.
“Your body’s telling me everything I need to know.”
His fingers inched up slowly,
Light. Barely a touch.
Too much.
Not enough.
No. No, no, no.
“You like this,” he whispered, his voice nothing more than a breath against her jaw. Softer than it should be. Crueler because of it.
Alina shook her head, eyes squeezing closed. As if she could shut him out—shut out the truth laced in his words.
He wasn’t just breaking her body. He was inside her mind now. Laying siege. Stealing her resistance thought by thought.
His fingers pushed higher, slow, methodical, teasing her with every second of hesitation.
Her body arched, unbidden. A breath too sharp, a movement too much.
His grin sharpened, feral delight gleaming in his eyes as her body responded despite herself. His hold on her wrists tightened, pinning her harder.
“You’ll give in,” he rasped.
A promise. A certainty.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out, raw, desperate—the only weapon she had left.
"I hate you," she whispered.
Weak. So weak.
His low exhale brushed against her cheek, deep, pleased. The words weren’t a challenge to him. They were a gift.
"I know, sweetheart," he murmured, silken, smug.
He sounded like he cherished it.
Like he could taste it.
Like he wanted more.
“Feel that?” he whispered, his voice low and breathless, each word like a dark caress against her skin as his fingers finally slid all the way up her nightgown, brushing against the damp lace between her thighs with agonizing slowness.
His grin widened against her cheek, sharp and triumphant, as he pressed a little firmer against the soaked barrier.
There.
Her thighs trembled, muscles tightening in a desperate attempt to resist—but her hips betrayed her, lifting just enough to meet him.
A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"That’s you wanting this," he murmured, his voice drenched in smug certainty.
"Wanting me."
Alina gasped, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. Every nerve in her body was on fire, her pulse pounding in her throat.
His fingers curled, dragging softly over the evidence of her betrayal, reveling in the way her body trembled beneath his touch.
Slow. Intentional. Inescapable.
All the while, his eyes never wavered. He studied her like a masterpiece only he could understand, memorizing every shudder, every gasp—etching her into the darkest corners of his mind, where no one else could reach.
But it wasn’t enough.
His gaze darkened, something feral flickering in his eyes—He wanted more.
Then, with a single, deliberate motion, he pushed her panties aside, the cool air hitting her heated skin like a shock.
Alina jerked, a sharp inhale breaking from her lips as his touch slid over her, teasing, taunting, just barely grazing the place she didn’t want him to reach.
Her thighs clenched, her hips twisting against the mattress, desperate to shake him off.
His fingers stilled.
Just barely. Just enough to make her aware of it—of the unbearable anticipation curling in the space between them.
Her body went rigid, her mind screaming to brace for what came next.
And then he started to move, circling slowly, cruely.
"Mm," he hummed, watching her struggle, loving it. His fingers danced along the edge of her entrance, playing with her, spreading her slickness with a slow, purposeful drag.
"Such a pretty little mess," he murmured, his voice a soft, indulgent whisper. "All for me."
Alina’s stomach dropped as she realized what he was about to do.
She shut her eyes and turned away, her pulse bursting desperately, wild with panic.
No, please, not this—
Her chest tightened, body rigid with fear, as if sheer will alone could stop him.
And then—
He pushed inside.
Alina’s whole world collapsed.
A sharp, raw gasp tore from her throat as his gloved fingers breached her, forcing her open—taking her.
Her mind splintered as his touch claimed more than she was willing to give, a silent scream tearing through her thoughts.
And yet, her hips rose toward him, unbidden, as his fingers began to move, slow and deliberate, his thumb circling her most sensitive spot with a calculated cruelty.
Her lips trembled. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t reacting to him like this—she couldn't.
No. No. No.
She pressed her thighs together, trying to block him out, to deny the way her traitorous body responded.
But it only trapped him there, making his touch more intimate, more devastating.
The Joker laughed.
"Oh, sweetheart…” His voice dripped with smug indulgence, every word slinking around her like a snare. “Trying to stop me? Or…” He leaned in, his grin brushing against her cheek. “Trying to keep me just where you want me?”
A violent shudder racked through her, her entire body tensing as if it could somehow force the sensation of him out.
He released her wrists. But before she could react, before she could so much as breathe —a gloved hand slid up, the cold leather biting into her overheated skin as it wrapped around her throat.
Not squeezing. Holding. Claiming.
Her pulse fluttered against his palm.
“You love this,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction.
The words burned.
She hated him.
Hated the way her heart raced, hated the heat pooling deep in her stomach, hated the unbearable ache between her legs.
But more than anything—she hated that she was starting to wonder if he was right.
Her back arched against the bed as his fingers curled deeper inside her, striking that spot that made her body tense with unwanted pleasure.
No. No. No—
A strangled moan tore from her lips before she could stop it.
The Joker's chuckle followed, soft and dark, vibrating against her ear as he leaned in closer.
"Tell me," he growled, his thumb pressing harder, stroking her with a rhythm that was both torturous and perfect. "What's it like... knowing it's me making you feel this good?"
Alina whimpered in response—a soft, broken sound that sent a wave of horror crashing over her the moment it escaped.
And that... that fragile, helpless surrender—that was all he needed.
The Joker’s breath hitched—a low, wrecked exhale.
A sound he hadn’t meant to make.
His jaw clenched, tension rippling through him like a fault line about to snap.
For the first time, there wasn’t just amusement in his gaze. There was something darker.
Wilder. Unhinged.
“Fucking hell,” he rasped, his voice rough, guttural, as if the words were dragged from somewhere deep and uncontrollable.
His hold on her throat tightened, not enough to cut off her air—but enough to remind her of the power thrumming in his hands. His other hand flexed against her hip, fingers digging in like he needed to anchor himself or risk unraveling completely.
And then, his head tilted back.
As if he could feel it. Taste it.
As if the way she trembled beneath him was something he was starving for—
Something he was about to devour whole.
Alina squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out—the sensations, the hunger in his gaze—it was all too overwhelming.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, when the pressure inside her coiled so tightly it felt like it might snap—
She heard it.
The soft, unmistakable clink of metal.
Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat.
No.
The sound was soft, almost delicate, but its meaning thundered in her ears.
The Joker’s smirk widened, sharp and knowing, as he watched cold realization flood her face.
The clink came again—his belt, sliding free with smooth, deliberate ease. The cool leather slipped against her bare thigh, a slow, teasing stroke that ignited a fevered heat beneath her skin.
Her heart pounded, a wild, frantic drumbeat in her breast. She twisted beneath him, but it didn't matter, his weight alone pinned her.
He chuckled, low and dark, before leaning in, dragging his scarred lips along her throat.
“You’ve got so much more to give me,” he whispered, his exhale hot against her skin, his teeth grazing the delicate curve of her neck.
The cruelty in his voice was almost tender.
And then—the rustle of fabric. The harsh scrape of leather.
The weight of inevitability hung thick in the air, stealing the very breath from her lungs.
His fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving her empty, aching, and utterly exposed as he pushed down his pants and cast them to the concrete.
She gasped, a soft whimper escaping as she fought to stay composed.
But he wasn’t done.
Not even close.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed himself against her, the hard, unforgiving reality of him replacing the space his fingers had left.
He was warm—so warm.
Her mind spiraled, caught between a rising wave of dread and a creeping numbness that spread through her veins, dulling everything except the unbearable weight of him.
His gaze burned into her, dark and ravenous, consuming her whole as he lingered there—just for a moment—letting her feel it, letting her know what was coming.
And then—
He thrust into her.
The world splintered.
Her breath faltered, her body stiffening against him in shock, in horror.
He was inside her.
Inside her.
He didn’t move—just stayed there, buried deep, his eyes locked onto hers, drinking in every flicker of devastation, every ragged breath, every tremor that rippled through her.
The silence was deafening, broken only by the harsh, uneven rhythm of their breathing.
And then, he started to move.
Her nails tore into the mattress, her spine arching with raw desperation, her body instinctively trying to reject him—but it was useless.
He drove himself deeper, claiming every inch she'd fought so hard to keep him from.
A sound tore from her throat—one she didn’t recognize. A choked, broken sob, helpless and humiliated.
He responded with a deep, guttural groan that reverberated against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, she saw it—the flicker of something raw and unguarded in his eyes.
"Fuck, doll,” he rasped, thrusting harder, slow and indulgent, stretching, claiming.
"You're so soft, so wet for me."
His free hand cupped her jaw, forcing her to face him. His gaze pierced through her, dark and claiming, relishing the helplessness swirling in her eyes.
Alina tried to glare back, holding onto the last remnants of defiance burning in her chest—but it was futile. Then, with a shift of his hips, he adjusted, bringing her even closer to him. Her thighs instinctively squeezed around him, her toes curling involuntarily as he ground against her, striking a spot that sent reluctant sparks of pleasure racing up her spine. The instant she realized what she'd done, she fought to regain control, but it was too late—
He noticed.
His grin stretched, sharp and gloating, as he grabbed her thighs and hooked one leg over his arm, plunging deeper. The new angle made her gasp, her mind reeling with horror as she felt her agency slipping further away.
“You feel that?” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hips rolled again, slow and punishing.
“That’s me inside you, Alina.”
His lips grazed her collarbone, slow and deliberate, before his voice dropped to a low, guttural growl, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I own you.”
She wanted to scream, to shove him off, to claw at his face until those twisted words dissolved in his throat. But she couldn’t.
She felt hollow, like a doll with its stuffing ripped out, nothing but an empty vessel for him to claim again and again.
But even as her mind drifted, desperate to escape, she couldn't stop the sickening pleasure clawing its way up her spine—jagged, invasive, like a spark setting fire to the hollow shell she’d become.
The heat of him scorched between her thighs, an unwelcome blaze seeping into the emptiness, invading places she both dreaded and craved him to touch.
A small, broken moan slipped past her lips.
His smug smirk mocked her in response, scars pulling taut as he drank in her devastation.
"Tell me you hate this," he sneered, grinding into her. "Go on. Say it."
She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip until she tasted blood, desperate to keep the words locked inside.
His rhythm deepened, relentless, as her pleasure coiled tighter despite herself.
He laughed—low, knowing. "Wouldn’t have believed you anyway."
Her cheeks burned with shame, her heart pounding as his words seeped into her like poison. She hated him. God, she hated him. But her body… her traitorous body didn’t care.
The sensation of him inside her was maddening—every slow, punishing thrust unraveling her piece by piece, pulling her deeper into a haze of surrender she couldn’t escape. It shattered reason, blurred the edges of right and wrong, until all that remained was the molten, intoxicating warmth of him, filling her so completely it felt like he was seeping into her very soul.
Then, without warning, his pace slowed. Deliberate. Torturous. His free hand slid from her wrist to her waist, fingers splaying across her skin like he was memorizing every curve, every fragile tremor. He shifted, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath mingling with hers—hot, uneven, wild. For a moment, there was nothing but the primal rhythm of their bodies and the maddening closeness between them.
His lips brushed her temple—featherlight, almost reverent—before trailing down to her ear, his voice a low whisper that slid over her skin.
“You know how long I’ve waited for this?” he rasped, his breath breaking against her cheek, each word soaked in hunger. His hips rolled into hers with a slow, devastating grind, filling her so deeply it stole the breath from her lungs. “Since that day at the bank... when you looked up at me with those beautiful, scared eyes.”
Her breath hitched, her muscles locking beneath him—but he only grinned, his fingers digging further into her waist like he could fuse her to him, piece by piece.
“You thought you could hide it,” he murmured, his voice dark and guttural, the jagged scrape of his scars dragging along her throat. “But I saw it, sweetheart. That little spark behind the fear.”
He rocked into her, slower, as if he wanted to carve himself into her, to make sure she felt him in places no one else could ever reach.
“I’ve been thinking about this ever since,” he growled, his lips brushing her ear, voice rough with unfiltered obsession. “You. Beneath me. Your body wrapped around mine, so fucking tight, desperate for more—even while you lie and tell yourself you hate it.”
A violent shiver tore through her, a soft, broken gasp slipping past her lips before she could stop it. No. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out his words—but they slithered beneath her skin, burrowing deep, sharp and unforgiving. Because part of her knew they weren’t entirely lies.
“You were mine the moment our eyes met,” he hissed. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
His voice echoed in the hollowed-out spaces where her resistance had once lived, now nothing but ruins. It wasn’t just his body invading her—it was the sick, terrifying truth that he’d wormed his way into her mind long before this moment. Long before she even realized how easily she’d let him in.
That thought alone should have shattered her. But instead, it ignited something dark, something she was too afraid to name. It wasn’t just the heat of him inside her—it was the unbearable weight of knowing he’d been waiting for this. For her.
And the worst part? Some twisted, broken part of her had been waiting too.
He lowered his head, his tongue trailing through the sweat beading along her collarbone, the jagged scrape of his scars brushing her skin with every movement. Each mark a silent, violent story pressed into her as his breath—hot and ragged—ghosted over her flesh.
A reminder that it was him—him—a monster unraveling her.
And she couldn’t fight it anymore.
Her eyes fluttered shut, her body arching into his, surrendering to the twisted pleasure he dragged from her.
God, what was wrong with her? If her wrists weren’t pinned, she’d be clawing at his back—not to escape, but to anchor herself against the chaos he unleashed inside her.
She felt his pleasure too—fierce, brutal—folding into hers like they were one, every desperate thrust branding her from the inside out.
He owned this moment, owned her body.
But the true horror wasn't his control—
It was the part of her that wanted more.
Suddenly, his movements grew more forceful, more demanding.
“Look at me,” he growled, his voice thick with desire as his hand moved from her wrists to her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Alina’s eyelids fluttered open, her breath ragged and uneven as she locked eyes with him.
His gaze was burning, dark and hungry, a fire consuming him from the moment he had laid eyes on her.
The intensity in his expression sent a shiver down her spine, making it harder to resist the building pressure within her, the way her body was forsaking her.
"Tell me," he commanded, his voice dripping with possession. "Who do you belong to?"
Alina’s breath hitched. She clenched her eyes shut, refusing to meet his gaze, refusing to let him see the cracks forming beneath the surface.
If she didn’t look at him, maybe she could pretend this wasn’t happening. Maybe she could pretend she wasn’t feeling anything at all...
The Joker didn’t move. His breath hovered over her cheek—hot, oppressive—his weight an overwhelming force, pinning her down like she was nothing. The stillness between them stretched, sharp and unbearable, until her refusal became its own weapon, hanging heavy in the air.
And then, he laughed.
A low, dark sound that slithered over her skin like a snake, more terrifying than any threat he could’ve spoken. It wasn’t the laugh of someone angry at defiance—it was the laugh of someone amused by it.
Someone who knew he would win.
Before she could brace herself, his hand shot into her hair, fingers curling at the roots with a vicious grip. He yanked her head back, snapping her eyes open with the sharp sting of pain.
Their gazes collided—brutal, intimate.
His hold didn’t ease. But it wasn’t the savagery that broke her breath. It was the way he looked at her.
Like she was something precious. Something fragile he couldn’t wait to destroy.
The grin faded from his face, replaced by something darker, something far more dangerous. His eyes—those dark, endless eyes—burned into her, not just with hunger, but with something deeper. Something that reached inside her and twisted.
And then he moved.
A slow, punishing thrust that set her nerves on fire, her body betraying her with a violent shudder she couldn’t control.
No. No, no, no…
Her chest tightened, breath coming faster as the heat between her legs surged—a sick, twisting hunger that clawed at her insides. She tried to fight it, to hold onto whatever sliver of defiance she had left, but every thrust dragged her closer to an edge she didn’t want to reach.
"I feel your answer," he breathed darkly, his voice a velvet blade slicing through the last threads of her control. "But I want to hear it."
Her heart pounded wildly against the cage of her ribs. She could hear the words—feel them echoing in her ears like a war drum.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
But the pressure inside her was unbearable. His hands—God, his hands—mapped every inch of her body like he owned it, and the worst part?
She was starting to believe that maybe...he did.
"No," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of her own betrayal.
"Yes," he breathed, his voice sinking low, intimate, like they were sharing a secret no one else could touch.
His hand slid lower, tracing a slow, torturous path down her side, his fingers burning trails into her skin as they found where their bodies met. The contact was electric, unbearable, each touch sharper than the last.
She gasped, jerking beneath him, but he held her firm—forcing her to feel him, to accept him. To accept this.
His fingers teased her, toyed with her, until her chest heaved with unbidden breaths. A sob clawed its way up her throat, but before it could escape, his hips rolled again—slow, deliberate.
Another broken sound spilled from her lips, betraying her before she could stop it.
"That’s it," he murmured, his voice deep and indulgent. "Don’t fight it, Alina. You’ve already lost."
The words sliced through her like glass, sharp and final. She wanted to deny it, to scream that he was wrong—but the battle was already over.
Her body was a traitor. Her mind was cracking. And her soul?
Her soul was slipping into the abyss.
He leaned in, his scarred lips brushing her ear, his voice a rasping, hungry growl as he drove into her.
"Say it."
Tears burned hot against her cheeks, but she shook her head, the last flicker of defiance trembling on her lips.
"Say it."
His fingers pressed harder, a cruel, calculated push that made her cry out.
Her body tensed beneath him, trying to hold on—to something, anything—but there was nothing left to cling to. The deepest betrayal wasn’t his touch. It wasn’t even his words.
It was her.
It was the way her body craved him. The way her mind started to believe maybe, just maybe, she deserved this. Needed this.
"Say it," he growled, his movements harder now, faster, relentless.
"Tell me who owns you."
Her world collapsed.
"You do," she sobbed, the words ripping from her throat, raw and broken. "You do."
For a heartbeat, the room went still. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of her surrender.
And then he smiled.
A slow, satisfied smile that cut deeper than any blade.
"There’s my girl," he rasped, every word drenched in dark, possessive pleasure.
Horror flared in her chest—a visceral, gut-deep reaction to the triumph gleaming in his eyes.
No. This wasn’t supposed to happen—
She wanted to claw the confession back, to swallow it whole. But it was too late. The words hung between them like a shackle, binding her to him in a way she couldn’t undo.
And the worst part?
The worst part was how good it felt.
Because those words—those forbidden, defiling words—ignited something dark inside her. A maddening heat that tore down every defense, flooding her senses with waves of twisted pleasure.
It was so wrong—every part of this was wrong—but she couldn’t stop wanting it.
His grin widened, admiring his handiwork—like he’d taken something whole and broken it perfectly, piece by piece. But beneath the cruelty, beneath the sadistic triumph—there was something else.
Desperation.
He wasn’t just savoring her surrender.
He was consuming it.
His gaze darkened, a flicker of hunger smoldering with twisted desire, devouring her whole. That look—intense, predatory—pushed her beyond the edge, shattering the last of her resistance.
His voice wrapped around her like chains, a low, ragged growl that sent a shiver racing down her spine.
"That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that... Come for me."
His hips ground deeper, his breath hot and erratic against her skin, as if her unraveling pulled him closer to his own edge.
A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips as the tension finally snapped, pleasure crashing over her in waves so intense it blurred the line between ecstasy and agony.
She shuddered beneath him, her body melting under the cage of his arms, every sensation sharp and exquisitely amplified.
"Yes," he growled, his voice rough and low, coaxing her deeper into the abyss. "Good girl."
Her gaze stayed locked with his, her eyes half-lidded as she unraveled beneath him, her body surrendering to the overwhelming ecstasy. His eyes never wavered, drinking in every second of her fall.
And then—just for a fleeting second—something shifted.
His grip on her wrists loosened, his thrusts slowing as his gaze bore into hers.
Gone was the gleam of mockery, the twisted satisfaction. For one breathless, impossible moment, his eyes softened, dark brown irises burning with something raw and unguarded.
Reverence.
"You’re so fucking perfect," he rasped, his voice rough with something dangerously close to awe, like the words had clawed their way out of him without permission.
It hit her harder than any taunt, sharper than any cruelty.
For a heartbeat, she wasn’t staring into the face of Gotham’s monster—she was staring into the eyes of a man drowning in something he couldn’t control.
And that terrified her more than anything.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the moment snapped. His jaw clenched, and the warmth in his eyes snuffed out like a dying flame. A sneer curled at his lips, sharp enough to cut glass.
The Joker was back, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate as he took her, each brutal thrust pulling a low, guttural sound from deep within him.
His fingers curled back around her wrists—not squeezing—just holding, as if to remind her of exactly where she belonged.
Trapped.
Owned.
But instead of mocking her or forcing her gaze, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her like the scent of her surrender was something he’d been starving for.
His grip on her wrists tightened, his body tensing with unbearable restraint, holding himself back—dragging it out.
Savoring it.
Savoring her.
But his control was slipping. She could feel it in the tension coiling inside him, in the way his muscles strained, desperate and frenzied. His breath hitched, hot and ragged against her neck, wrapping around her like a noose.
The line between fear and desire blurred, and with every thrust, she felt herself sinking deeper into the chaos he dragged into her.
He didn’t just want to take her—he wanted to devour her, to obliterate every part of her that existed before him. The violence of it, the primal hunger, coursed through her like wildfire, igniting something dark and dangerous she feared she'd never escape.
Then he tensed, his body coiling tight, ready to strike—the raw hunger in his eyes darkening, like he was on the verge of consuming her whole.
His breath hitched again—a wrecked, guttural sound, as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
"Fuck, I'm gonna ruin you..." he growled, his voice hot and broken against her ear, "Gonna leave you so full, you'll never forget me."
Her heart seized mid-beat, caught between the raw clash of terror and twisted need.
With one final, savage thrust, he erupted, the force of his release crashing over them like an avalanche. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat, low and primal, as he buried himself deeper inside her.
His grip tightened—painfully now—his fingers digging into her wrists as he rode out his release, claiming her without mercy. His breath turned ragged, his body taut and trembling against hers, the last pulses ripping through him with savage intensity—and then—
He bit down—his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her shoulder.
Branding.
Claiming.
Her body arched at the sharp sting. But before she could catch her breath, his tongue glided over the mark—soothing and savoring all at once.
He lingered there, his rough lips grazing her fluttering pulse, each breath a molten whisper against her sweat-slicked skin. The heat of him bled into her, as his voice followed—low, hushed, dark with satisfaction—
“Mine.”
He kissed the bruise blossoming beneath his bite, slow and indulgent, savoring the taste of her skin as if sealing his claim. Then, with a breath that barely stirred the air, his mouth trailed upward, ghosting over the shell of her ear, his next words a whisper, thick with cruel affection.
“You’re mine now,” he rasped, voice low and thick with menace. “No one else will ever have you—no one but me. You’ll never escape.”
Alina’s body trembled beneath him, her breath sharp and uneven as the jagged edges of fear and pleasure tangled, drowning her in him.
The world shrank to nothing but the heat of his body, the possessive weight of him still fused into her, and the cold truth settling in her chest—he had claimed her.
Completely.
His hands roamed, languid and deliberate, tracing every curve like a sculptor committing his masterpiece to memory, each touch sinking into her skin, leaving behind the searing imprint of his claim.
She felt it—the terror, the violation—but beneath it, something even darker pulsed.
He had taken more than her body.
A bond had been forged—twisted, inescapable. And no matter how fiercely she tried to deny it, a part of her burned for that connection.
Even as the rest of her screamed to break free.
The Joker grinned against her skin, his teeth grazing her neck like a dark promise. He had won. She was bound to him now.
But the most horrifying part?
It wasn’t the terror.
It was how deeply she was falling into him—drowning in the darkness he'd wrapped around her like a shroud.
He had her body. But not everything.
Not yet.
Her mind was still her own.
But as she lay beneath him, the warmth of his claim trailing between her thighs, a darker fear slithered in.
That one day…
He'd take that, too.
___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___
A/N: OK, so you have to tell me what you think! 😩🔥 Brutal, right?! This chapter was dark—not just in the obvious ways, but emotionally too. The mind games, the breaking down, the way he takes control… it wrecked me.
But damn, I can’t help it. Their dynamic is just so insanely hot. The power, the tension, the inevitable pull between them… UGH.
I need to know—how did this chapter make you feel? Did it ruin you in the best way? Are you questioning your morals? 😈🔥 Let’s talk.
And if this was too much, and you were waiting for a shift in their dynamic—don’t worry. That time will come. But first, Alina has to fall. All the way down. 😏
___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___
Taglist: 💚 (please let me know if you'd like to be added)
@furisodespirit
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