FIC: "We Should Stop Meeting Like This" [The Dark Knight, Batman/Joker]
We Should Stop Meeting Like This
by bionic
pairing: Batman/female!Joker
rating: PG-13
words: 1,191
disclaimer: Belongs to DC and WB.
summary: Genderswap, female!Joker. She doesn't bite, much. A short piece originally intended for picfor1000 but I couldn't for the life of me cut down the wordcount anymore!
They’re a match made in hell. Her voice is a soft purr, dipping into acid when he overpowers her, cuffs her, but her steady, wide gaze speaks louder than her words - it’s like she can see past his mask and read the man beneath, an open book. Her dirty blonde hair curls around her shoulders, and her wrists are thin and delicate, Bruce is careful not to hold too hard onto her slender arms when he escorts her back to Arkham (for his own guilt, because he knows he’ll see those bruises later.) She’s never a proper lady about it - kicking and screaming, fuming as she twitches. She hides her unease with a litany of obscene curses from her obscenely scarred mouth, until Bruce just tunes it out.
She escapes twice. Batman takes her back in, a few scratches and bruises, both times. The third time she checks out of the asylum, Batman finds her with her beautiful hair cut off until all that remains is a lanky, curly mess surrounding her thin face.
She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. Her purple jacket is missing, her pinstriped pants are one size too big for her thin waist. It’s raining; the rooftop is slick with water and grime. It seems she picked the building at random, though the view is only slightly worse than the MCU. She stretches her arms wide, welcoming the rain that covers the city in a blanket of humidity. Her blue shirt is soaked through and the top two buttons undone. Bruce can see her pale skin and the shape of her small breasts.
“Hi there, Bat-freak,” she says and smiles as she approaches in a slow lurch. The Joker appears to be unarmed, but you can never tell for sure with her. Bruce keeps a wary eye on her hands.
“Wanted to be found this time?” He growls. It’s been one week since she escaped, and usually, it takes at least three to get her back in cuffs, if he’s lucky to get her back at all. He has a feeling she wanted to be found all three times, that she likes the chase. It isn’t like Arkham can hold her anyway.
“Only ever by you,” she says as the paint runs further down her face, completely ruined from the rain. This is the most Bruce has ever seen of her face, the most he’s seen of her skin.
“Haven’t you heard?” She pauses and cackles, tips her head back and opens her mouth to drink the warm drops. “Didn’t you know? I always - always - want to see you.” She smiles and water drips over her lips, watercolor pink. The scarring is definitely more visible now that the lipstick is thinned.
“You’re going -”
“Back to the nuthouse?” She asks sweetly, walking back and forth in front of the dark figure. She must be freezing, even if the rain isn’t particularly cold. This high up, a slight breeze is more of a moderate one, and if he squints hard enough, Bruce can make out the tiny shivers down her back and shoulders.
“I don’t think so.” This, she says derisively, her tone turned wrong and completely like the villain Batman knows her to be. The twisted line of her smile and her laughter begin again.
“It’s not up for debate.” Time to put an end to this, before things really turn into an unnecessary fiasco. Three big strides and he has one gauntleted hand around her bony wrist, twisting her around until he pins both arms behind her back and cuffs her in one smooth motion. She struggles and screams, a loud, sharp shriek of anger.
“Why can’t you be fun anymore? Where are the punches? Where the hell are the fists, Batman?”
It’s pitiful. The unmistakable need for pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. He guesses if he looked, he’d find numerous scars all over her thin body, cut into the muscle as if it were wax. Despite her gruesome stories, he’d bet she cut that smile into her own face, too young and too alone. Too insane, even then. Especially then.
He doesn’t want to know what she did before she came to Gotham, before there ever was a Batman to foil her plans. Doesn’t matter, as long as she’s somewhere behind bars. Gotham can sleep soundly for another night.
“I want to plaaay!” She pouts and shakes her head like a dog, rainwater splattering the cowl, his lips. “Don’t you want to play with me? Down there, I’m just like any other girl - ”
Batman backhands her hard, but he takes no pleasure in it. Only to shut her up.
“There’s the Bat-freak I know,” she says and giggles, high and exaggerated. He wants to tie her up and leave her somewhere rank to rot, but that’s the Bat talking, dark and bitter. Sometimes, when she goads him, it’s hard to ignore that voice.
“Well I didn’t plant any explosives this time,” she says as if to placate him. “Just - heh - at least let me ride in the Bat-mobile!” He cringes, yanks on her wrists and drags her to the railing by the door to the stairwell.
“I’m leaving you for the police,” he growls and shoves her shoulders, her knees landing hard on the floor. He unlocks one cuff long enough to circle it around the rail before the cool metal clicks around her wrist again. He looks up, the Joker’s face inches away from his own.
“Give us a kiss, hmm?” Her wet lashes are long and the remaining paint clumps it together. Her eyes are green and dark, unreadable. She’d look devastatingly beautiful if it weren’t for the scars. If it weren’t for the scars…she’d probably still be the same person underneath.
“No.”
He turns to get up but she lunges for him with her teeth, grabbing on the edge of his cape, then she’s biting onto his belt, and it’s got to hurt.
Batman turns back around and almost backhands her again, but stops. She’d only want more pain.
Instead, he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls her face away. Bruce bends until he’s eye-level.
“I won’t hit you again. I won’t kiss you.”
“Such a stick in the mud! I'll have to make you bend.”
Bruce almost forgets himself, almost smirks. He keeps his face stoic and disapproving. “I think you have it backwards.” His fingers are still in her hair, curled in a loose fist. He tightens his hold and pulls her back by the roots and her mouth drops open, her green eyes never straying from his gaze. Batman leans in above her as if to break his word, but he stops too soon to touch her cold lips.
“Never.” He says, before shoving her head away in disgust. There’s silence as he walks to the edge of the roof, then a short bark of laughter as he jumps off, gliding into the dark.
Later, after the Bat is gone, and the cops find Joker, happy as a kitten, she sits in her cell and doesn’t mind it so much.
It’s her move now, and she’ll make him play this time.
by bionic
pairing: Batman/female!Joker
rating: PG-13
words: 1,191
disclaimer: Belongs to DC and WB.
summary: Genderswap, female!Joker. She doesn't bite, much. A short piece originally intended for picfor1000 but I couldn't for the life of me cut down the wordcount anymore!
They’re a match made in hell. Her voice is a soft purr, dipping into acid when he overpowers her, cuffs her, but her steady, wide gaze speaks louder than her words - it’s like she can see past his mask and read the man beneath, an open book. Her dirty blonde hair curls around her shoulders, and her wrists are thin and delicate, Bruce is careful not to hold too hard onto her slender arms when he escorts her back to Arkham (for his own guilt, because he knows he’ll see those bruises later.) She’s never a proper lady about it - kicking and screaming, fuming as she twitches. She hides her unease with a litany of obscene curses from her obscenely scarred mouth, until Bruce just tunes it out.
She escapes twice. Batman takes her back in, a few scratches and bruises, both times. The third time she checks out of the asylum, Batman finds her with her beautiful hair cut off until all that remains is a lanky, curly mess surrounding her thin face.
She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. Her purple jacket is missing, her pinstriped pants are one size too big for her thin waist. It’s raining; the rooftop is slick with water and grime. It seems she picked the building at random, though the view is only slightly worse than the MCU. She stretches her arms wide, welcoming the rain that covers the city in a blanket of humidity. Her blue shirt is soaked through and the top two buttons undone. Bruce can see her pale skin and the shape of her small breasts.
“Hi there, Bat-freak,” she says and smiles as she approaches in a slow lurch. The Joker appears to be unarmed, but you can never tell for sure with her. Bruce keeps a wary eye on her hands.
“Wanted to be found this time?” He growls. It’s been one week since she escaped, and usually, it takes at least three to get her back in cuffs, if he’s lucky to get her back at all. He has a feeling she wanted to be found all three times, that she likes the chase. It isn’t like Arkham can hold her anyway.
“Only ever by you,” she says as the paint runs further down her face, completely ruined from the rain. This is the most Bruce has ever seen of her face, the most he’s seen of her skin.
“Haven’t you heard?” She pauses and cackles, tips her head back and opens her mouth to drink the warm drops. “Didn’t you know? I always - always - want to see you.” She smiles and water drips over her lips, watercolor pink. The scarring is definitely more visible now that the lipstick is thinned.
“You’re going -”
“Back to the nuthouse?” She asks sweetly, walking back and forth in front of the dark figure. She must be freezing, even if the rain isn’t particularly cold. This high up, a slight breeze is more of a moderate one, and if he squints hard enough, Bruce can make out the tiny shivers down her back and shoulders.
“I don’t think so.” This, she says derisively, her tone turned wrong and completely like the villain Batman knows her to be. The twisted line of her smile and her laughter begin again.
“It’s not up for debate.” Time to put an end to this, before things really turn into an unnecessary fiasco. Three big strides and he has one gauntleted hand around her bony wrist, twisting her around until he pins both arms behind her back and cuffs her in one smooth motion. She struggles and screams, a loud, sharp shriek of anger.
“Why can’t you be fun anymore? Where are the punches? Where the hell are the fists, Batman?”
It’s pitiful. The unmistakable need for pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. He guesses if he looked, he’d find numerous scars all over her thin body, cut into the muscle as if it were wax. Despite her gruesome stories, he’d bet she cut that smile into her own face, too young and too alone. Too insane, even then. Especially then.
He doesn’t want to know what she did before she came to Gotham, before there ever was a Batman to foil her plans. Doesn’t matter, as long as she’s somewhere behind bars. Gotham can sleep soundly for another night.
“I want to plaaay!” She pouts and shakes her head like a dog, rainwater splattering the cowl, his lips. “Don’t you want to play with me? Down there, I’m just like any other girl - ”
Batman backhands her hard, but he takes no pleasure in it. Only to shut her up.
“There’s the Bat-freak I know,” she says and giggles, high and exaggerated. He wants to tie her up and leave her somewhere rank to rot, but that’s the Bat talking, dark and bitter. Sometimes, when she goads him, it’s hard to ignore that voice.
“Well I didn’t plant any explosives this time,” she says as if to placate him. “Just - heh - at least let me ride in the Bat-mobile!” He cringes, yanks on her wrists and drags her to the railing by the door to the stairwell.
“I’m leaving you for the police,” he growls and shoves her shoulders, her knees landing hard on the floor. He unlocks one cuff long enough to circle it around the rail before the cool metal clicks around her wrist again. He looks up, the Joker’s face inches away from his own.
“Give us a kiss, hmm?” Her wet lashes are long and the remaining paint clumps it together. Her eyes are green and dark, unreadable. She’d look devastatingly beautiful if it weren’t for the scars. If it weren’t for the scars…she’d probably still be the same person underneath.
“No.”
He turns to get up but she lunges for him with her teeth, grabbing on the edge of his cape, then she’s biting onto his belt, and it’s got to hurt.
Batman turns back around and almost backhands her again, but stops. She’d only want more pain.
Instead, he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls her face away. Bruce bends until he’s eye-level.
“I won’t hit you again. I won’t kiss you.”
“Such a stick in the mud! I'll have to make you bend.”
Bruce almost forgets himself, almost smirks. He keeps his face stoic and disapproving. “I think you have it backwards.” His fingers are still in her hair, curled in a loose fist. He tightens his hold and pulls her back by the roots and her mouth drops open, her green eyes never straying from his gaze. Batman leans in above her as if to break his word, but he stops too soon to touch her cold lips.
“Never.” He says, before shoving her head away in disgust. There’s silence as he walks to the edge of the roof, then a short bark of laughter as he jumps off, gliding into the dark.
Later, after the Bat is gone, and the cops find Joker, happy as a kitten, she sits in her cell and doesn’t mind it so much.
It’s her move now, and she’ll make him play this time.