Belated Secret Santa Fic: Dangerous
Title: Dangerous
Author: Tyleet27
Rating: NC-17. Perhaps a bit disturbing, edges around non-con.
Prompt:61. Batman remains the same, but the Joker is genderbent into a woman. Cue the tabloids' cry of 'ABUSE! ABUSE!' and feminists psychoanalyzing the hell out of female!Joker and Batman--just Gotham's general reaction to their Guardian routinely beating the shit out of a woman (and sometimes forgetting how dangerous she is).
Ooh, and the cherry on top, a bonus if you will: After a wild night where IT finally happens (and on the other side, you can argue Batman snapped in the moment and raped Joker out of a desire for control, but then again, Joker's really enjoying both the violation and brining him down that low), female!Joker's pregnant. And while she muses that she's NOT infertile after all, and all over a lil' part of Batsy all her own, and with a bit of her mixed in for good measure, Batman is freaking. Out.
A/N: OMG. I am so sorry this is so late! I had a holiday travel nightmare which left me without internet for about a week, so this is the soonest I could post. Sorry! Hope you all had wonderful holidays. : )
Of course she’s dangerous.
She keeps knives in her pockets and hand grenades in her coat lining.
She killed thirty four people before she ever sent her first video to Gotham Tonight--and that was only personally. Minion killings never count. Before she shot Tommy Elliot she cut out his tongue and made him eat it. She grotesquely murdered the only woman Bruce has ever loved, and the only man who could have ever saved him. Arkham can’t hold her, prison doesn’t touch her, Batman can never hurt her. She’s an agent of chaos, and she revels in it. Death is too good for her.
Bruce can’t forget that just because he knocked her up.
*
You see, Batman had always intended to give up the playboy facade and pick another. This mask would still be called Bruce Wayne, but he would be quiet and respectable. Matured out of his wild youth into a guileless businessman with a beautiful wife and three charming children he would never ever leave.
It is hard for a young man to imagine being alone forever.
Despite the darkness Bruce was certain the future held for him, he couldn’t help but imagine there was room for fate to surprise him. Someday a hero might arise to take the Batman’s place. Someday Gotham would be clean and good and Bruce could let Batman go. In the corners of his mind he didn’t dare probe too closely a happy ending was waiting, and her name was Rachel Dawes.
An older man knows that love, like everything else, requires hard work and time if it is to turn out right. It is at this point that most men begin to settle down, finally ready to put energy into a commitment.
Bruce Wayne was twenty nine the year the Joker came to Gotham.
At thirty, he was old enough to accept that he had nothing left to give.
So Batman got used to having tragic relationships. Took advantage of his playboy reputation once in a while. Dated psychologists who specialize in obsession, playgirls with ties to the mob and things for leather, and almost a divorce attorney once-but never a lawyer, never again. He looks for women who don’t want commitment.
How he wound up fucking the Joker on a semi-regular basis, he’ll never know.
*
The Joker, of course, understands it perfectly. In all possible worlds. Even the worlds where she’s a man, or doesn’t really enjoy sex for some reason. It’s why she came to Gotham in the first place, as soon as she saw the blurry photo on CNN, and it’s why she didn’t kill Rachel Dawes. Right away.
She knows about the other universes, sometimes. She always does, and she knows they’re always the same.
What makes things interesting in this universe is what makes things different. Not too different-the Joker still came to Gotham when Bruce was twenty nine, left calling cards at crime scenes, loitered on a street corner in full makeup waiting for a van.
The Joker still orchestrated the first attack on the mob with meticulous precision, still followed her minions silently through the bank and moved with huge, overdramatic gestures of what she thinks a criminal would be doing. The Joker is always the bomb guy, even when she’s a girl. She doesn’t like the idea of anyone else touching her explosives. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.
The Joker’s face is exactly the same, because it doesn’t matter what it looks like under the makeup.
She still cocked her head curiously to the side and bent over a man with a shotgun to stick a little metal something in his mouth. The nasally drawl, the greasy green hair highlighted in the sun, the quick flash of grin and the string unraveling from underneath her jacket-all exactly the same.
But when the bus crashed back out of the hole in the wall, a man’s head exploded.
And when Rachel Dawes was tied hand and foot on the floor of the Joker’s van on her way to 252nd street, the Joker just had to kiss her through the gag. Just to see.
The Joker is exactly the same.
*
She’s really quite a small woman. Five feet three inches and she hunches. Batman towers over her.
He’s really sick of the jokes. Not even hers-those are bad enough-but Gotham’s. Political cartoons where a thumb sized Joker giggles up at a gargantuan enraged Batman. Comedy sketches. Letters to the editor.
Even Bruce’s personal life is filled with snide commentary and accusations of abuse. Stark Industries’ CEOs visited Wayne Enterprises in May to discuss a possible merger. “So let me get this straight. America’s number one crime city. Guarded by a vigilante in Kevlar that drives around downtown in a fucking tank every night can’t stop a Napoleonic bitch in cheap makeup from blowing up police officers? Goddamn but Gotham is pussy whipped.”
Batman laughed because it was expected, but seethed throughout the meeting and directed most of his remarks to the real CEO, a balding man who seemed wryly apologetic on behalf of his infamous counterpart. Bruce still had Fox cancel the merger.
And then there was the front cover of psychiatrist Chase Meridian’s new book Feminism’s Last Laugh: Misogyny and Prejudice on Gotham’s Superstage, which showed Batman slamming the Joker into a police interrogation table by her throat. The back cover shows quotes from six glowing reviews which lauded the book as a “biographical masterpiece of a dark feminist icon. Meridian explores the symbolism of Gotham’s most famous criminal as child, maiden, Magdalene and death crone with frightening realism! With exclusive interviews from the Joker herself, Meridian paints a picture which could only be reminiscent of Capote’s In Cold Blood.”
Alfred bought him a signed copy.
The Joker’s face grins up from the glossy paper above the quotes. She wears the same purple men’s suit she first wore when she came to Gotham. Batman doesn’t think he’s ever seen her in women’s clothing, or in anything more binding than a man’s vest. She doesn’t have very many curves, and the greatcoats she continually buys hide them all. She has small high breasts and she never wears a bra.
Bruce doesn’t find her desirable at all, this skinny little woman with her hunched shoulders and her knotted, twisted spine. From the skewed shape of her naked back, he thinks it must have been broken, maybe more than once. There’s no use asking her when or who did it or how she can still be walking.
He never meant to fuck her. He’s never thought of himself as a good man, but he’d never thought of himself as an evil one before.
But only evil men would know there’s a knot of scar tissue surrounding one of her tiny brown nipples, spiraling around it in a flashy starburst-like someone was so fascinated by the contours of her body that they couldn’t help tracing and retracing them with the point of a knife. He thinks she probably did it herself. The nipple itself is still intact, though, so he knows she can feel him when he bites down on it, hard.
He doesn’t understand why except that it feels like another form of fighting, a fight he can win.
It’s not that she feels good around him, scraping at his neck and wailing around his touch. And if he shudders whenever she groans, surprisingly deep, it’s out of sheer disgust.
“I-won’t--”
“I thought-ooh-you only had one rule!”
All it took was her whisper in his ear when he was deep inside her and she was flexing around him in the most horribledirtyfilthy way. “Batman,” she moaned, and without knowing what led him to that moment Bruce became evil, and came inside Rachel’s killer.
*
How she got pregnant, of course, is pretty simple. You put tab A into slot B and there’s always a chance you’ll hit the slot machine jackpot, so to speak, even if you do play the odds in filthy alleyways.
What isn’t simple, she thinks, is the Bat’s reaction to it all. At first he's predictable-sailing his own bat-encrusted yacht down the Egyptian river like there was no tomorrow. He laughs at her.
She laughs back and hits the red button. An abortion clinic in the Narrows goes bang.
Batman stops laughing. Then he punches her in the face. The Joker lands back in her maximum security cell in Arkham, snickering around her broken nose.
“You’re beneath contempt,” Batman rages, and makes an impressive exit.
He comes back two nights later, snarling like he’d choked on a batarang, his face a mask of fury. Well, his face was always a mask of fury, but his lips had a definite distressed twist to them.
She really can’t help giggling a little bit.
“You’re lying.”
She relaxes into her straitjacket. “What? You don’t want it? Why doncha bring me back a coat hanger on one of these visits then, Bats?”
He leaves. The next day her medical records go missing. He comes back. He paces wildly inside her cell, cape flaring dramatically behind him and accuses her of sleeping with the entire asylum in the tones of someone grasping fervently at straws. It wasn’t his, it was probably a mistake anyway, it was a wonder he hadn’t caught anything.
She explains, because the moment your lover realizes he’s going to be a father is a moment to be treasured. She dimly thinks she remembers what it was like herself, when her name was Jack. More to the point, the expression on his face just kept getting more-- precious.
“Now Batsy. I’ve only ever cheated on you with my doctor, and he told me it was a medical exam. He’s, ah, terrified of strong women, did you know that? Probably why he wanted to fuck Harrvey’s lawyer girl so badly."
She plows on over Batman's enraged "Don't you dare mention her--" because she has a point to make. "Can you imagine what that’s like, when you’re hot and tight around him, and he just trembles underneath you? Even his cock trembles."
“So this-this--could be-“
“But that was after I found out the good news,” she concludes wickedly. “I wanted to find out if the baby was all right after Daddy threw us off the edge of a building last week. Good news! Batsy Jr’s got a nice, healthy sense of fear. And he’s all yours, honeycakes.” She would like to rub her belly here, but has to settle for rolling her eyes down at herself suggestively and resettling in the straitjacket.
Batman stops pacing. Now his lips look grey.
“Get rid of it.”
“Oh, Batman! Murder our unborn child?” She licks her lips.
“It’s an abomination,” he snarls.
“And for that you’d deny him a chance at, ahaha, life?” she demands, raising her left eyebrow teasingly. “What kind of abuse did your parents give you, anyway?” She doesn’t miss the way he freezes. “I bet he’ll have your darkly handsome good looks. And my sense of humor.”
Batman’s eyes glitter under the fluorescent lights. Rage, pure hatred, and self loathing struggle for the spotlight. Oh, and horror, of course. The Joker takes a minute to bask.
“Shut up.” His rasp is unsteady.
“It is a, uh, person, you know,” she laughs. “Fear toxin doesn’t work on me. Never has. But I let Johnny spray some up my cunt the other day and you wouldn’t believe the things I saw. It. Was soo. Beautiful.”
“Shut up!” He slams her hard against the wall, and then abruptly drops her back to her cot, eyes flashing with sudden panic.
She smiles, and plays her trump card. “I thought you had a rule.”
Batman leaves.
She escapes the next night.
*
Three weeks later, the Joker doesn’t have a glow. In fact, she looks like shit. There are huge bruises under her eyes and her breath stinks of vomit and her temper is…shorter than usual. She hijacked a small airplane and set it down on a rooftop in the Narrows, but didn’t actually kill anyone, although she did give out a few smiles. By the time Bruce gets there the panicked pilot has the plane back in the air, and she’s stuffing a huge supply of tiny white bags into a duffel.
Batman has spent the time battling evil, and quietly imagining a different future. His mask will still be called Bruce Wayne, but he will become a recluse in his mansion, living alone with his aging butler and his adopted son, and Bruce will love his son and keep him safe. There will be someone to pass Batman’s mantle to, and Bruce will not die young.
They meet on a rooftop. They dance.
The Joker licks her scars and flicks out a switchblade. “You know, airline security just, ah, isn’t what it used to be.”
"Drop the knife, Joker."
She lowers the knife immediately, but does not drop it, putting on a mock pout. "But I like it. You've left me alone for so long now...well, sometimes. A girl's got to, ah. Get creative." She drags the hilt between her legs and moans before bringing it back up to her mouth and licking it.
“You’re disgusting." Batman narrowly avoids punching her in the abdomen and doesn’t avoid getting stabbed in his left shoulder. He trips over the duffel and white bags go spilling everywhere.
She smiles, a hideous baring of lipstick stained teeth. The makeup around her mouth is thinner than he’s ever seen it. “And you love me for it.”
She leaps at him, and they slip on white bags and go crashing down to the tiled roof. Batman wrestles the knife out of her grip and thinks, I will die young. She kisses him violently and she tastes revolting and his fist cracks the tile beside her head and he knows this will end badly.
She cackles, and bites fiercely down on his lower lip. “You know, something like this--this--happens in, like, all possible worlds.”
Of course she’s dangerous. Bruce thinks about rolling them both off the roof, and bites her back.
Author: Tyleet27
Rating: NC-17. Perhaps a bit disturbing, edges around non-con.
Prompt:61. Batman remains the same, but the Joker is genderbent into a woman. Cue the tabloids' cry of 'ABUSE! ABUSE!' and feminists psychoanalyzing the hell out of female!Joker and Batman--just Gotham's general reaction to their Guardian routinely beating the shit out of a woman (and sometimes forgetting how dangerous she is).
Ooh, and the cherry on top, a bonus if you will: After a wild night where IT finally happens (and on the other side, you can argue Batman snapped in the moment and raped Joker out of a desire for control, but then again, Joker's really enjoying both the violation and brining him down that low), female!Joker's pregnant. And while she muses that she's NOT infertile after all, and all over a lil' part of Batsy all her own, and with a bit of her mixed in for good measure, Batman is freaking. Out.
A/N: OMG. I am so sorry this is so late! I had a holiday travel nightmare which left me without internet for about a week, so this is the soonest I could post. Sorry! Hope you all had wonderful holidays. : )
Of course she’s dangerous.
She keeps knives in her pockets and hand grenades in her coat lining.
She killed thirty four people before she ever sent her first video to Gotham Tonight--and that was only personally. Minion killings never count. Before she shot Tommy Elliot she cut out his tongue and made him eat it. She grotesquely murdered the only woman Bruce has ever loved, and the only man who could have ever saved him. Arkham can’t hold her, prison doesn’t touch her, Batman can never hurt her. She’s an agent of chaos, and she revels in it. Death is too good for her.
Bruce can’t forget that just because he knocked her up.
*
You see, Batman had always intended to give up the playboy facade and pick another. This mask would still be called Bruce Wayne, but he would be quiet and respectable. Matured out of his wild youth into a guileless businessman with a beautiful wife and three charming children he would never ever leave.
It is hard for a young man to imagine being alone forever.
Despite the darkness Bruce was certain the future held for him, he couldn’t help but imagine there was room for fate to surprise him. Someday a hero might arise to take the Batman’s place. Someday Gotham would be clean and good and Bruce could let Batman go. In the corners of his mind he didn’t dare probe too closely a happy ending was waiting, and her name was Rachel Dawes.
An older man knows that love, like everything else, requires hard work and time if it is to turn out right. It is at this point that most men begin to settle down, finally ready to put energy into a commitment.
Bruce Wayne was twenty nine the year the Joker came to Gotham.
At thirty, he was old enough to accept that he had nothing left to give.
So Batman got used to having tragic relationships. Took advantage of his playboy reputation once in a while. Dated psychologists who specialize in obsession, playgirls with ties to the mob and things for leather, and almost a divorce attorney once-but never a lawyer, never again. He looks for women who don’t want commitment.
How he wound up fucking the Joker on a semi-regular basis, he’ll never know.
*
The Joker, of course, understands it perfectly. In all possible worlds. Even the worlds where she’s a man, or doesn’t really enjoy sex for some reason. It’s why she came to Gotham in the first place, as soon as she saw the blurry photo on CNN, and it’s why she didn’t kill Rachel Dawes. Right away.
She knows about the other universes, sometimes. She always does, and she knows they’re always the same.
What makes things interesting in this universe is what makes things different. Not too different-the Joker still came to Gotham when Bruce was twenty nine, left calling cards at crime scenes, loitered on a street corner in full makeup waiting for a van.
The Joker still orchestrated the first attack on the mob with meticulous precision, still followed her minions silently through the bank and moved with huge, overdramatic gestures of what she thinks a criminal would be doing. The Joker is always the bomb guy, even when she’s a girl. She doesn’t like the idea of anyone else touching her explosives. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.
The Joker’s face is exactly the same, because it doesn’t matter what it looks like under the makeup.
She still cocked her head curiously to the side and bent over a man with a shotgun to stick a little metal something in his mouth. The nasally drawl, the greasy green hair highlighted in the sun, the quick flash of grin and the string unraveling from underneath her jacket-all exactly the same.
But when the bus crashed back out of the hole in the wall, a man’s head exploded.
And when Rachel Dawes was tied hand and foot on the floor of the Joker’s van on her way to 252nd street, the Joker just had to kiss her through the gag. Just to see.
The Joker is exactly the same.
*
She’s really quite a small woman. Five feet three inches and she hunches. Batman towers over her.
He’s really sick of the jokes. Not even hers-those are bad enough-but Gotham’s. Political cartoons where a thumb sized Joker giggles up at a gargantuan enraged Batman. Comedy sketches. Letters to the editor.
Even Bruce’s personal life is filled with snide commentary and accusations of abuse. Stark Industries’ CEOs visited Wayne Enterprises in May to discuss a possible merger. “So let me get this straight. America’s number one crime city. Guarded by a vigilante in Kevlar that drives around downtown in a fucking tank every night can’t stop a Napoleonic bitch in cheap makeup from blowing up police officers? Goddamn but Gotham is pussy whipped.”
Batman laughed because it was expected, but seethed throughout the meeting and directed most of his remarks to the real CEO, a balding man who seemed wryly apologetic on behalf of his infamous counterpart. Bruce still had Fox cancel the merger.
And then there was the front cover of psychiatrist Chase Meridian’s new book Feminism’s Last Laugh: Misogyny and Prejudice on Gotham’s Superstage, which showed Batman slamming the Joker into a police interrogation table by her throat. The back cover shows quotes from six glowing reviews which lauded the book as a “biographical masterpiece of a dark feminist icon. Meridian explores the symbolism of Gotham’s most famous criminal as child, maiden, Magdalene and death crone with frightening realism! With exclusive interviews from the Joker herself, Meridian paints a picture which could only be reminiscent of Capote’s In Cold Blood.”
Alfred bought him a signed copy.
The Joker’s face grins up from the glossy paper above the quotes. She wears the same purple men’s suit she first wore when she came to Gotham. Batman doesn’t think he’s ever seen her in women’s clothing, or in anything more binding than a man’s vest. She doesn’t have very many curves, and the greatcoats she continually buys hide them all. She has small high breasts and she never wears a bra.
Bruce doesn’t find her desirable at all, this skinny little woman with her hunched shoulders and her knotted, twisted spine. From the skewed shape of her naked back, he thinks it must have been broken, maybe more than once. There’s no use asking her when or who did it or how she can still be walking.
He never meant to fuck her. He’s never thought of himself as a good man, but he’d never thought of himself as an evil one before.
But only evil men would know there’s a knot of scar tissue surrounding one of her tiny brown nipples, spiraling around it in a flashy starburst-like someone was so fascinated by the contours of her body that they couldn’t help tracing and retracing them with the point of a knife. He thinks she probably did it herself. The nipple itself is still intact, though, so he knows she can feel him when he bites down on it, hard.
He doesn’t understand why except that it feels like another form of fighting, a fight he can win.
It’s not that she feels good around him, scraping at his neck and wailing around his touch. And if he shudders whenever she groans, surprisingly deep, it’s out of sheer disgust.
“I-won’t--”
“I thought-ooh-you only had one rule!”
All it took was her whisper in his ear when he was deep inside her and she was flexing around him in the most horribledirtyfilthy way. “Batman,” she moaned, and without knowing what led him to that moment Bruce became evil, and came inside Rachel’s killer.
*
How she got pregnant, of course, is pretty simple. You put tab A into slot B and there’s always a chance you’ll hit the slot machine jackpot, so to speak, even if you do play the odds in filthy alleyways.
What isn’t simple, she thinks, is the Bat’s reaction to it all. At first he's predictable-sailing his own bat-encrusted yacht down the Egyptian river like there was no tomorrow. He laughs at her.
She laughs back and hits the red button. An abortion clinic in the Narrows goes bang.
Batman stops laughing. Then he punches her in the face. The Joker lands back in her maximum security cell in Arkham, snickering around her broken nose.
“You’re beneath contempt,” Batman rages, and makes an impressive exit.
He comes back two nights later, snarling like he’d choked on a batarang, his face a mask of fury. Well, his face was always a mask of fury, but his lips had a definite distressed twist to them.
She really can’t help giggling a little bit.
“You’re lying.”
She relaxes into her straitjacket. “What? You don’t want it? Why doncha bring me back a coat hanger on one of these visits then, Bats?”
He leaves. The next day her medical records go missing. He comes back. He paces wildly inside her cell, cape flaring dramatically behind him and accuses her of sleeping with the entire asylum in the tones of someone grasping fervently at straws. It wasn’t his, it was probably a mistake anyway, it was a wonder he hadn’t caught anything.
She explains, because the moment your lover realizes he’s going to be a father is a moment to be treasured. She dimly thinks she remembers what it was like herself, when her name was Jack. More to the point, the expression on his face just kept getting more-- precious.
“Now Batsy. I’ve only ever cheated on you with my doctor, and he told me it was a medical exam. He’s, ah, terrified of strong women, did you know that? Probably why he wanted to fuck Harrvey’s lawyer girl so badly."
She plows on over Batman's enraged "Don't you dare mention her--" because she has a point to make. "Can you imagine what that’s like, when you’re hot and tight around him, and he just trembles underneath you? Even his cock trembles."
“So this-this--could be-“
“But that was after I found out the good news,” she concludes wickedly. “I wanted to find out if the baby was all right after Daddy threw us off the edge of a building last week. Good news! Batsy Jr’s got a nice, healthy sense of fear. And he’s all yours, honeycakes.” She would like to rub her belly here, but has to settle for rolling her eyes down at herself suggestively and resettling in the straitjacket.
Batman stops pacing. Now his lips look grey.
“Get rid of it.”
“Oh, Batman! Murder our unborn child?” She licks her lips.
“It’s an abomination,” he snarls.
“And for that you’d deny him a chance at, ahaha, life?” she demands, raising her left eyebrow teasingly. “What kind of abuse did your parents give you, anyway?” She doesn’t miss the way he freezes. “I bet he’ll have your darkly handsome good looks. And my sense of humor.”
Batman’s eyes glitter under the fluorescent lights. Rage, pure hatred, and self loathing struggle for the spotlight. Oh, and horror, of course. The Joker takes a minute to bask.
“Shut up.” His rasp is unsteady.
“It is a, uh, person, you know,” she laughs. “Fear toxin doesn’t work on me. Never has. But I let Johnny spray some up my cunt the other day and you wouldn’t believe the things I saw. It. Was soo. Beautiful.”
“Shut up!” He slams her hard against the wall, and then abruptly drops her back to her cot, eyes flashing with sudden panic.
She smiles, and plays her trump card. “I thought you had a rule.”
Batman leaves.
She escapes the next night.
*
Three weeks later, the Joker doesn’t have a glow. In fact, she looks like shit. There are huge bruises under her eyes and her breath stinks of vomit and her temper is…shorter than usual. She hijacked a small airplane and set it down on a rooftop in the Narrows, but didn’t actually kill anyone, although she did give out a few smiles. By the time Bruce gets there the panicked pilot has the plane back in the air, and she’s stuffing a huge supply of tiny white bags into a duffel.
Batman has spent the time battling evil, and quietly imagining a different future. His mask will still be called Bruce Wayne, but he will become a recluse in his mansion, living alone with his aging butler and his adopted son, and Bruce will love his son and keep him safe. There will be someone to pass Batman’s mantle to, and Bruce will not die young.
They meet on a rooftop. They dance.
The Joker licks her scars and flicks out a switchblade. “You know, airline security just, ah, isn’t what it used to be.”
"Drop the knife, Joker."
She lowers the knife immediately, but does not drop it, putting on a mock pout. "But I like it. You've left me alone for so long now...well, sometimes. A girl's got to, ah. Get creative." She drags the hilt between her legs and moans before bringing it back up to her mouth and licking it.
“You’re disgusting." Batman narrowly avoids punching her in the abdomen and doesn’t avoid getting stabbed in his left shoulder. He trips over the duffel and white bags go spilling everywhere.
She smiles, a hideous baring of lipstick stained teeth. The makeup around her mouth is thinner than he’s ever seen it. “And you love me for it.”
She leaps at him, and they slip on white bags and go crashing down to the tiled roof. Batman wrestles the knife out of her grip and thinks, I will die young. She kisses him violently and she tastes revolting and his fist cracks the tile beside her head and he knows this will end badly.
She cackles, and bites fiercely down on his lower lip. “You know, something like this--this--happens in, like, all possible worlds.”
Of course she’s dangerous. Bruce thinks about rolling them both off the roof, and bites her back.