#Joker (2019) fanfiction

[jokeringcutio]

Okay first off you deserve so many more reblogs/likes, your writing is incredible! About the black phone/joker crossover prompts, would you write about reader being a teacher at the school where the kids are going missing and she accidentally helps a kid escape but is face to face with Albert, and they kinda have a moment but she’s actually on her way on a date with Arthur? Or something like that ��

YES, That IS going to happen.

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Rating: Teen? Fandoms: The Black Phone / Joker 2019 Crossover Pairings: Reader x Arthur Fleck (Established), Reader x Albert Shaw (attraction) Warnings: Older man/younger woman, Established relationship and crushing on another guy, talk about lust/desire. Summary: You’re on your way to a date when you meet him.

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“Josh! Your mother is waiting for you.”

The boy stood in front of a man dressed in black. The boy’s head was directed at the ground, looking at something down there, and you were by his side within an instant.

“What are you doing, Josh? You need to go home. Your mother’s waiting,” you repeated yourself while you hurried over to them.

The boy with blonde curly hair looked up at you with big watery blue eyes.

“Sorry, Miss,” he said, calling you by your surname. “I was just helping…” And wasn’t he a sweetheart with his angelic face and his good manners? He was one of the favorite kids you had in your class. Being a teacher was a joy when there were good kids like him around.

You flashed him a small smile and was about to tell him that it was fine, when the stranger suddenly spoke up, his voice smooth and low. “Oh, it’s my fault, I fear.”

You instantly looked over at him. Black gleaming shoes, a dark suit, and shaded glasses that hid his face. Groceries lay scattered on the pavement in front of him. Splattered eggs and a pile of flower that had been ripped from its packaging and was now softly blown away like it was dust.

“Josh here was helping me,” the man continued in the same pleasantly low vein. “I’m afraid I’ve been ever so clumsy.”

You looked at the fallen groceries once more and understood why Josh had wanted to help him. This was an unfortunate accident indeed. Then you looked back up at the man and studied him.

He was slender, average height. His shoulder-length chestnut hair had whisps of grey in it, but that could also be smears of the makeup, you thought, as the man’s face appeared to be painted white. Big sunglasses obscured his eyes, and he surprised you by raising his hand and elegantly taking them off in one swift motion.

He nearly bowed as he did so. The top hat he was wearing seemed to topple over, but by a miracle of balance remained on the top of his head as he straightened his back again.

Your eyes locked and time stopped.

Bright blue eyes met yours and you felt it, instantly. A strong feeling that struck you to your core, had you rooted on the spot. He must have felt it as well, for you recognized how he stood frozen in the same way. How his lips parted slightly at the sight of you. How the look within his eyes changed until his pupils dilated and there was a spark there of something dark and dangerous. Something like longing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss-“ here he said your surname, probably having remembered how Josh had addressed you only moments before. He then gestured for Josh to move along, much as you had implored he would.

The man’s fingers touched Josh’s back lightly in passing as if he wanted to help the boy move along. You noticed the gesture, but it was a fleeting one. Josh stopped in his tracks and turned around to smile at you and wish you a good day. You watched him go before your eyes focused on the handsome man in front of you again.

Your name spilled from your lips unbiddenly. “That’s my name,” you said, as if he needed telling.

The man repeated it as if he were tasting each and every vowel and consonant. Then he looked up at you with a smile. No longer lost in thought.

“Hi, I’m Albert,” he said and thrust his hand forward as an offer for you to shake it. You did so, though hesitatingly. The spark in Albert’s eyes had you distracted and made your knees go weak.

“Not the best way for an introduction, eh?” Albert said once you let go of his hand, and he laughed nervously. He brought a hand up in his hair, awkwardly, the top hat tipping to the side. You could only imagine how he must be feeling.

“No, not at all,” you said, already getting down to your knees. “Let me help you pick this all up.”

Albert surprised you by kneeling down as well. His hands reached for the scattered groceries in an attempt to help you. “Thank you but I can’t have you do this all on your own,” he said, voice sounding jocular. “After all, it was this old man who made the mess, eh?”

Old man, you thought, giving him a quick once over. He didn’t look that old. In fact, he looked pretty decent for a man. Just the right ripe age. You quickly had to hide your blush, looking away. But your eyes darted back to him on their own accord not long after.

You recognized that he was trying to lift the tension and saw how the corner of his smile trembled slightly. Was he nervous?

“Not that old,” you honestly said, as you reached for another fallen product. “Besides, the older the wine, the finer, right?”

A soft chuckle escaped him, as if your comment caught him by surprise. He had not expected it.

You suppressed a smile and reached for another item when Albert’s fingers accidentally brushed past yours. A sharp tingle of energy warmed the place your hands touched, skin to skin. Your heart rate picked up and your lips parted.

You looked up to find his blue eyes waiting to meet yours.

The tension was familiar to you, as was the tingle deep in your tummy and the awakening of lust. You fancied him, there was no denying it. And by the look of raw hunger in his eyes, you could tell he felt the same.

Lips suddenly dry, you rose to wobbly knees, your head spinning with emotions. “I’m sorry,” you said, words a whisper. “I need to go.”

His smile faltered and the light in his eyes seemed to die down when he heard your words. Albert got up, a torn bag carefully clutched against his chest. The groceries that the two of you had managed to save were semi-safe folded into the tattered bag. “I understand,” Albert said, his voice more nasal now. It reminded you so much of him. It was the some tone of judgment, the same pitiful tone that Arthur would use whenever he put himself into the role of a victim. Whenever you had hurt his feelings.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Albert,” the words were hard to leave your lips, even though you meant them. It was just that he was reminding you of Arthur so much right now. Even their names started with an A.

Averting your eyes, you shook your head and took a step away from Albert. They were so similar in looks and sound. You could easily confuse them, imagine them both inside your bed. But you knew you shouldn’t. You were only allowed to love one man in this society.

Plus, Arthur would never forgive you if he found out you fancied another. If you so much as looked at another man he would turn livid. And so you dreaded to think of what he would do if he found out you had actually met a man you found attractive. More than innocent looks. Not that you should worry about any of it. You seemed to have disappointed the man in front of you with your move.

But Albert surprised you.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said, voice determined. And when you looked up you saw his jaw clenched. His fingers dug into the bag he carried with force, the knuckles turning white. He was being serious.

“That is, if you’ll let me,” he continued, sounding a little less certain now. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

And there it was. Such a bold request, it made your heart skip a beat. With your hand fluttering to your heart you turned back to him, eyes locking with his bright and hopeful ones.

“Oh,” you said, sounding surprised. “Oh,” again. You saw the hope glimmer in Albert’s eyes, saw how his muscles tensed for the inevitable rejection. “I’d love to,” but I am already spoken for, you should have said.

Instead, your voice died in your throat and the words never left your lips. Albert’s blue eyes shimmered with gratitude, a look of victory and something dark passing over them. “Good,” he said, sounding relieved and determined at the same time. “Good. Let me give you my number.”

He placed the tattered bag with groceries in the back of the black van and then pulled out a piece of paper. Leaning over the car, he scribbled a number on it before he handed the paper to you. It crumpled in your hand as he wrapped his around yours, giving it to you like a secret to keep safe.

The small smile Albert flashed you made you feel warm inside again. It was a sin that a man like him was alive. And then, after a slight squeeze, his hand was gone. You stared at the wad of paper in your hand for a moment. What were you going to do with it? If Arthur saw it…?

“Call me,” Albert asked, leaning forward to whisper the words close to your ear, an intimate gesture, ready to lean in even further and steal a kiss.

But he didn’t do that. Instead, he leaned away again, giving you your space. A gentleman, after all, you mused. You quickly hid the crumpled paper in one of your pockets and flashed him a comforting smile.

“I’ll see you around, Albert,” you promised.

“See you around, little miss teacher.”

You liked the nickname he gave you, smiling brightly upon hearing it.

Even when walking past him and away, you could still feel his gaze upon you, eyes boring into your back. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder to confirm he was watching you go. A small smile appeared on his lips when he saw you looking and you returned it.

And then you were round the corner and gone.

You tried desperately to get Albert off your mind after that because you knew you needed to focus on your date.

Arthur was waiting two streets away, hands in his pockets and a puppy smile on his face when he saw you arrive.

“There you are,” he said when you came within his reach. With a bright smile, he circled his arm around your waist, leading you away while whispering sweet words about how he’d missed you in your ear.

You let him guide you away, hand on your pocket to conceal the forbidden number of a man you should try to forget.

While Arthur led you to a small and cheap coffee shop, elegantly opening the door for you, a black van slowly passed by, slowing down even more when it came up behind you. You hardly noticed it, too busy as you were being focused on your date. Arthur was making you laugh, doing one of his silly clown moves. Even in his ordinary clothes, you could see the clown in him.

And even if you had looked over your shoulder to see the black van parked in the middle of the street, you still wouldn’t have been able to discern the grim expression hidden by a layer of white makeup and black sunglasses, or the way the man’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned as white as the makeup on his cheeks.

You were oblivious to what you had started.

The beast of desire was unleashed. And one day, you would feel the brunt.

[thepinkdreamganjaqueen]

Subway Obsessions Arthur's POV ch.1

Arthur Fleck POV x Fem!Reader  

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: From Arthurs POV. It's just another night on the subway. A typical ride on the Gotham train on his way home from a long day of running errands and away from his tedious depressive thoughts. Perhaps he would catch a glimpse of the woman he could only seem to catch in passing, the woman he’d been secretly watching, following, fantasizing about nightly. Perhaps the unending misery that is the city above had him thinking of change, of something new to obsess about. Something to draw his mind away from the blistering and the mundane. Would he finally get the courage to talk to her? 

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, swearing, stalking, obsession, mentions of violence, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff

A/N: Beginning to a series? Who knows. May add things later. First fic, btw! I'm hyper fixated now, so expect more. This is something I've been mulling around with for a while. I've done this story from both the readers' POV and from Arthur's because I can't get enough!! So, make sure to read both! I loved writing from this perspective so much, btw! Literally! Send ideas, edits, etc. my way!! And be nice please. The first chapter is mostly fluff/ descriptive plot/character building. Cheers! Enjoyyy!

Word Count: 3.9k

SERIES: Subway Obsessions 

CHAPTER 1: Chance Meeting 

Today was another mundane day. Arthur had been out earlier in the evening running errands for his mother. Picking up T.V. dinners at the grocer and medications for him and her at the local pharmacy. Still, getting around the city was a chore in of itself. He figured the subway would be the easiest and quickest way home. It was nearing 10 o'clock pm. His mother would be worried, and it was getting late. He knew the dangers of roaming Gotham city at these hours. His mother used to say, "That's when the colorful people come out." A way to make something serious, completely unserious. Still, he knew the dangers and tried as hard as he might to keep his wits about him. Easier said than done when you're a man with a neurological disorder, apparently so many people hate you for. He wished they’d understood or tried at least.  

He always pondered why the people of Gotham were so... well so mean! Everyone he encountered save for the very, very few were just assholes to him. Perhaps it was the political climate? With Thomas Wayne running for government placement, it probably didn't help. Make the rich richer and the poor poorer he thought. Perhaps it was the state of the city itself, the infrastructure, the lack of resources. He sure has been on the wrong end of that stick one too many times. "Good people suffer Happy," his mother would say. But he never understood why it had to be that way. Life was circumstantial. He didn't ask to have what little he did. He didn't even ask to be born and thought life was the real joke.

It doesn't have to make sense to be funny! He jested internally. Because its fucked! And there lies the comedy for those broken enough to see, yet perhaps healed enough to laugh at the pain. Because, what else can you do?  

His mind wandered through these endless fields of thought when a train car stopped in front of him. He had been standing on the platform disassociating for some time. Perhaps he even forgot where he was for a moment, ruminating over the wrongs of life and playing them out differently in his head. The things he didn't say or do, what he could have done differently... 

The brisk hiss and click of the air brakes as they screeched to a halt brought him back to reality. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for the doors to open. As he did, a disheveled looking figure pushed past him while exiting. He burst out in a cry of compulsory laughter and stepped on the train. He was in the last car and immediately noticed it was bearable, as bearable as riding the subway can be he postulated. 

In his search for a seat towards the end of the train car, he noticed a large putrid looking spill in the back. It melted off the seats and slid across the aisle. It looked sticky. Best to avoid that then, he thought. He opted for a bench seat away from the offending area and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, arm outstretched on the head of the seat next to him. No one was in this car except for him. He found a moment of solace and drank it in, filling himself with the noiseless satisfaction of silence and peace when a warbled voice broke over the loud speaker. He couldn't really understand it, but the semblance of words spoke what sounded like “platform 19”. It was all he could understand through the robot whine. He felt anticipation rising within him. 

At approximately 10:15 p.m., the doors of the subway train broke open with a gush of cold night air. At the other end of the subway, he watched as a woman stepped onto the train like a fawn. Scared and unsure of where to go or sit. She was bright and colorful; she immediately caught his eye. Was this what his mother meant by colorful people? He thought to himself. He quickly realized it was her! The girl he had fantasized about daily and nightly, hoping to catch her on the train but only seeming to in his thoughts and dreams, remembering her face, her scent that penetrated her surroundings. He had tirelessly followed her the first time he saw her. She was the only person to smile at him that day. He had to know more and had to know why. But she wasn't always on the same train. He always hoped to run into her and had almost given up, thinking she must have been some sort of hallucination he created for himself to lessen his own pain. But there she was.  

She looked different tonight. She looked like a predator, displaying colors brightly in the face of possible danger. She was a force; he felt the atmosphere change as soon as she stepped in through the steel doors, a thickness lifted in the air and he could feel himself tense in his seat. His clothes were suddenly uncomfortable, his collar too tight, his hands, sweaty. She always looked beautiful when he saw her, she always looked content and comfortable. Hair in a messy bun with strands falling about her face swayed by the wind that surged through the train car. Sweats he could still make out her figure through, leaving him wanting more every time, it drove him crazy! But today she looked like she was straight out of the films on the TV! He thought to himself. She made him think of glamour, it's the only word that truly fit, like the old films he would watch with his mom. Wow! Was she a sight to see, a cool pristine liquid flowing over his burning eyes. A soothing image of pure proclivity. An unknown sense of calm swept over him. 

He watched, frozen, as she cautiously observed the train car searching for a seat. He looked at her from top to bottom. She was significantly smaller than him, petite, probably around five feet three he gauged. Fuzzy black boots, blue jeans tightly hugging her figure, full thick thighs, his mouth began to water - he thirsted for her, wanted to drink in her every essence. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to choke it down. A tight black shirt under a small cropped pink sweater with red hearts all over. It perfectly displayed her large soft breasts. Brown curls bounced about her shoulders as she walked, strands of them fell daintily on her face and cheeks. As she walked, she would flick it away with a quick movement of her head. The way she did that, moving her hair out of her face without using her hands. It made him tingle in all the right places. His mind raced. What else can she do without using her hands? he thought.  

There was something pink in her hair too, he saw as she walked past. She didn't notice him at first. Most people don't he thought to himself. Although this thought disappointed him, he didn't fault her for it. He had the urge to make her notice him. To be a presence and to be objectified by her, he only wished he could hold that kind of power.  

As she passed, the scent he had come to know as her- wafted past him, he sucked in through his teeth sharply. It was heaven on earth. Stimulating. He would follow that scent hoping to find her, mercilessly searching. It was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, and he felt his cock spasm. She was eyeing the seats towards the back where that odd spill was. A butterfly he thought. It's a pink butterfly in her hair. He immediately felt like a school boy again, fawning over and wanting to get the attention of the pretty girl and for her to return it.  

"This one's fine!" He blurted out, not really knowing what he was saying. She turned around, her beauty, dark, striking, and he found it hard to speak again. He stammered and was able to get the lump out of his throat to follow up with; "I don't know what that is back there but these are not so bad" his voice felt cracked but he tried to contain his composure, he didn't want to scare her off. He was the only other person on the train, and it must have jolted her since she didn't see him at first. Plus, she probably thinks I'm some kind of creep or weirdo, he thought to himself. There was some truth behind those thoughts, but that didn't make him a bad person, he thought. All day, he spends trying to have a nice day to make himself and others happy, trying to think good thoughts, trying not to let the bad influence the good he can salvage. 

"Oh, thank you!" A sweet voice broke the monotony of thought, and immediately he was flung back into the present. She made her way to the seats laid out in front of him. A row of sideways seating. He watched her sit gracefully, slowly, like a calculated ballet dancer, he thought. Every move fluid, every move perfect. When she sat, she arranged her things on the seat next to her and settled in. He wondered to himself where she was going. Why she had so many bags, why she was riding the subway so late, as a woman, she should be terrified. This city is not safe, especially for someone as strikingly beautiful as her. She was like a beacon of light, too bright to stare at, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and simply couldn't resist the allure. 

She actually sat next to me! He thought. Only one seat away, actually next to me. But that wasn't all. She saw him, noticed him, heard him, and listened to him. The weight of these simple gestures made his hands sweaty, and he tried his best to remain aloof. The doors of the train opened on the other side of her, and a breeze blew her hair behind her and over her face. He couldn't help but see her, every aspect of her. He studied her every move, every inch of her body. He wanted this to last, for this image to never leave his mind.  

The wind that blew past her carried on it her scent. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweet alluring scent of peach? No. Some kind of berry? No. When the doors shut and the pressure created another breeze, the scent wafted to him again. Taking it all in, he identified the smell as watermelon. Some kind of fruity smell filled his senses with the feeling of euphoria. It was intoxicating. He wondered what it would be like to be pressed up against her, inhaling her deeply. He looked down with a deep sigh when he looked back over. She was moving a strand of hair out of her face and caught a glimpse of her looking at him as well. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she broke her gaze. She was fire, burning too hot near him, and he wanted so badly to play, to burn himself, engulf himself in her flames breathlessly.  

He tried to come up with something to say, anything. How do I talk to her? What would I even say without sounding stupid? He thought. He watched on as the florescent lights above her flickered. It lit up parts of her he hadn't seen upon first observation. Glitter decorated her collar bones and cheeks. Her sweater was slightly unzipped. He could see the peeking out of her cleavage. Sparkling with glitter, so pretty, she reminded him of the stars of the night sky. Unmistakably beautiful, yet so. Far. Away. He had been working up the courage to say something to her, to hear her voice again, he didn't want to forget it. A symphony replayed in his mind. He needed more.  

He stumbled over his words, "Sorry, I-it's hard for me to talk, I meant to introduce myself. I'm Arthur, " he said in the kindest, most unassuming voice he could muster. She looked up and locked eyes. They burned his insides like hot coals. He anticipated her reply, not knowing if she would even engage in conversation with him. "No worries!" She spoke in a reassuring way that made his heart flutter. "I know how it can be, trust me!" She sounded genuine. Kind. There was something underneath her voice, though he couldn't quite conceptualize. Fear? Doubt, maybe? He wanted to take it away.  

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur!" Again, her voice beaming so light and so lifting. She reached out to shake his hand that he had offered. Her hand was small and was practically swallowed by his. Her fingers were warm, sweeping softly over his palm as she grasped his hand in hers. It's a simple thing, he thought. It was a small touch, but it was enough to make him crumble inside. She felt so nice! "Y/N," he said. "I like that." He lamented. Such a beautiful name. But everything about her was beautiful. Her presence was wholesome and welcoming. Is this real? he pondered. Thoughts took over again, and not knowing how to continue the conversation, they sat in silence for a moment as he worked up the courage to speak again. 

Moments passed that felt like a lifetime, but he was content in her presence, soaking up her aura. As he went to ask her a question, she moved to speak as well. Catching each other off guard, Arthur profusely apologized "No it's okay, go ahead," he said, not wanting to interrupt her. "No, no, that's okay, what were you going to say?" She insisted back. Her voice was small and mousey, she seemed so shy. Why would she be? She screams confidence and power. Even in her apprehensive movements, she seems calculated, he thought to himself. He stole another glance at her. Her eyes sparkled reminiscent of a smokey quartz gem in a bracelet he once saw in a shop window. A thought of her adorned in nothing but gems crossed his mind. He tried to hold onto the image before it left his mind's eye. He felt a flush in his cheeks again, and his eyes darted. He couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. It made him nervous. He was working up the urge to speak again, to say something, anything.  

He broke the silence and asked, "So what brings you to ride the subway so late at night? Aren't you scared?" He uttered jokingly. After saying it, he felt immediate stupidity. Why would I say that? He thought and started an inner spiral. As if seeing his reaction to his own question and wanting to ease the tension building within him, Y/N said, " Well, I work at the Gotham shelter overnight. So, having to ride the train every night, I guess, I've gotten used to it for the most part. But, yeah, I do get scared sometimes. The city can be super sketchy, and I've been attacked twice already, so I had to buy mace and stuff to try and protect myself."  

The words spilled out of her mouth like a wave of glass, he couldn't fathom her ever saying this of all things, it was jolting for him and triggered something within him he had tried so long to hide. His mind raced. He felt anger and rage well up inside of him it hardened his sternum and burned in his throat. He became stiff but was unaware. The spiraling began to start again. This city was ruining people, hurting people, good people! He thought. She helps people, and then people hurt her?! Pieces of shit! He screamed internally. The emotions he felt were at war within himself. He felt rage for her pain and suffering at the hands of this city's denizens, he felt fear for her life knowing she rides the train every night, he felt regret, why couldn't he have been there to help, to do something? He all but took the pain on as his own, it soaked through to his core. He too had been at the mercy of some of the worst people he has ever had the displeasure of encountering in this god forsaken city, he too had been attacked, hurt, mercilessly tortured by these fucking terrible people.  

Lost in his train of thought and looking straight ahead he couldn't help but sternly say in sympathy "These people are just fucking terrible!" She must have noticed his change in demeanor at this declaration. He suddenly felt a warmth cross his leg, and lightly squeeze. It was smooth and comforting. His concentration broke completely. Pulled out of a trance by her as if the thoughts were just zapped out of his brain. His eyes quickly darted back to her where they followed the length of her shoulder, to her arm, and from her arm to her hand that rested upon his thigh. He felt the muscles in his face relax, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched. The sheer power she had over him he thought. The warmth emanating off of her palm was like security, a blanket of nostalgia. He couldn't remember the last time he felt what felt like love, like connection, or attachment. He couldn't help but see flashes of images in his mind, her moving her hand closer to his cock which had began to throb. He tried to brush away those thoughts but they plagued him. She was touching him. Something that never happens to him. He immediately craved her touch, he wanted more, he wondered how that would be possible. He thought this couldn't be real. Not this time.  

Once again, breaking his thought pattern she spoke, and he gave her his full attention. "Yeah, but I'm ok now!" She said in a reassuring tone. Her voice, like petals on velvet. Soft, gentle. "You're here now! And so, I feel safe." Safe? He thought, with me? Like she trusts me? He could feel the negative thoughts start to brim to the surface of his mind but quelled them by responding instead. He needed clarification. The words she spoke just didn't make sense to him. He couldn't see why she would or should trust him, although he so badly wanted her to, for this to be true, he needed it to be. He suddenly felt the urge to never leave her, to always be by her side. He would watch, he would follow, and he would do anything for her.  

He only imagined what it would be like to know her both romantically and intimately. "You feel safe? W-with me?" He spoke haphazardly, unsure of the answer he wanted to hear, hoped to hear. "I do." She looked into his eyes sincerely. His heart leapt into his throat; he couldn't breathe. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted to grab her, to feel her against him. He shifted his legs at the thought. Looking up at him like that weakened him in so many ways. Most noticeably, in his pants, where he tried to conceal the results of his dirty thoughts. "Then I will protect you Y/N" he proclaimed proudly. A shy smile touched her lips and she continued to gaze into his eyes. He smiled back. I make her feel safe, he thought. She is comfortable in my presence. No one even bothers talking to me, no one ever wants to talk to me. He had the urge to speak once more but couldn't find the words.  

Before either of them could speak, the subway speaker rang out once again in that barely audible robotic toned voice announcing the next stop as the harsh brakes squeaked heavily to a stop. As if anticipating her to leave, he just as quickly stood up and offered out his hand. "Thank you," her voice sang. She turned to face him, her small stature looking up at him once more. He held his composure but felt the heat well up inside him. "It was so nice having someone to ride the train with tonight for a change!" She cheerfully exclaimed with a smile.  

She had grabbed her things and had let go of his hand. What sweet bliss it was for the few seconds he had held it. Her fingers, so dainty and soft. The train screeched to a halt, and he instinctively grabbed her hand again and put his other hand at the small of her back to steady her. He could feel the soft curve of her spine. He slowly moved a pinky closer, hoping she wouldn't notice, tracing the line of her jeans as he did, feeling the line of her panty through the fabric. He quickly pulled away as she exited the train. He had held back. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to turn her around, grab her face and kiss her, shove her onto the subway seats, and have his way with her, make her cry out. He wanted her to miss work. He wanted her to quit! He wanted her all to himself.  

This moment was too perfect. It felt like a dream. As she stepped off the platform and began to walk away, he stood as the doors shut, helplessly watching her as she slowly walked. Unable to stop time. As the train brakes hissed and cranked, he saw her stop and turn around. She had stepped to the doors, but it was too late. He watched on as her figure shrunk into the distance as the train traveled once again into the dark tunnel. He waved. He would see her again. He would make sure of that. Platform 19. He thought, I'll remember this time. 

[caffeineaddictwriter]

Arthur loved the park as a child just as much as any other. He didn’t get to go a lot but when he did he was always excited. He hadn’t been in years. Then when you came into his life he would join you on walks in the middle of the night, you’d end up at the park down the road that would be empty due to it being past midnight. He’d run while pulling you with him to the swings. The swings were his favourite, now he’d have competitions with you to see who could reach the highest (it was usually him).

It was a way he could let go of the voices in his head even if it was just for a while. Hes just happy to have someone as playful as him who’s willing to be a child with him even if it’s just playing at a park.

[jakegyllenbaalz]

joker comic book covers

[tally-kiza]

hello! I was curious, if sometime in the future you could do a Arthur fleck x gender neutral reader, where the reader just gives arthur all the praise, love and care he deserves? Possible smut, if ur up to it 🤭. I think arthur would absolutely just melt at any type of praise, especially from his lover. I imagine he can’t help but cover his flushed face as he’s showered with kisses and love 😖😖😖 thanks for being an amazing author, luv ur work!

I may have forgotten about this ask until a week ago when I realized Arthur's birthday was coming up. 😂 I figured this would work very well for a little birthday fic. 👀👀

*

Mine And Only Mine

Word Count: 1774

November 21st.

A day you had been looking forward to all month.

Arthur’s special day. The first one that you would be celebrating together.

The heavy weight of a skinny arm slung over your waist beckoned you out of slumber. The fog of sleep lifted, replaced by the warmth of the man nestled against you. Your birthday boy, you thought with a sleepy grin. Your tired eyes cracked open, taking in the vision before you.

Arthur was facing you. His long dark hair was mussed and tangled, curled strands fallen in front of his face, slightly obscuring his handsome features. The midmorning sun rays casted him in warm light. You took a moment to take him in. The gentle curve of his pointed nose; strong cheekbones slowly becoming more full with your every home-cooked meal; prominent collarbones exposed by the open collar of his brown polo shirt, inviting you to kiss and lick. Gentle eyes now closed, minutely fluttering as he dreamed. His face was soft and relaxed. He looked younger, peaceful... almost happy. You wondered what he was dreaming about. His warmth seeped into your heart, making everything feel fuzzy. Arthur’s struggles, his mentality, his everyday stresses and worries, all of them were out of sight and out of mind when he slept, when he was cuddled closely against you. These early mornings were often the happiest you saw Arthur. 

But not today. Your Arthur deserved a birthday free of his usual stresses and anxieties, at least just one day. And you were determined to keep his struggles as far from his mind as you could manage.

You squirmed ever so closer, forehead resting against his. Arthur didn’t even stir. You softened; he must have been exhausted, writing late into last night trying to workshop some new jokes he had thought up. He worked so hard to achieve his brightest dream.

An inkling of an idea blotted in your mind. As softly as you possibly could, you pressed your lips to his forehead over the messy strands of his hair. And then another. And another. A smattering of smooches to his forehead, his hairline, the space between his brows. Arthur made a small noise, soft and cute. Arthur’s eyebrows twitched, but he didn’t quite stir awake. But there were more kisses where those came from.

Slowly you trailed kisses over his face. Gentle presses of your lips to Arthur’s eyelids, down the slope of his nose, over striking cheekbones, and the corners of his thin lips. But never quite on his lips directly; your first true kiss together had to wait until he was awake.

As you kissed, Arthur was slowly roused out of slumber. 

His breathing turned deeper, more regular. He made another soft noise, music to your ears, dimples deepening with a growing grin. You pressed a kiss to the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and smiled in turn. With a slight squint, Arthur’s tired eyes cracked open. They peered at you with mirth. 

“I thought I was just dreaming this up,” Arthur mumbled. His voice was low and creaky with sleep, but playfulness lingered at the edges. It stoked a small flame of warmth in your belly.

“What, this?” you teased, voice just as groggy, pressing another kiss to the scar just above his lip. 

His lips pursed. Still foggy with sleep, his eyes held little of their usual intensity as they locked with yours. “Yes,” he said softly. “And you.”

Your heart turned to putty in your chest. Arthur struck you off-guard so often with sweet words tinged with melancholy. 

“Not this time, handsome.” Eyes slipping closed, you kissed his lips directly. 

It started soft and tender, quiet lips on quiet lips, but Arthur being Arthur, it didn’t remain that way for long. His arm pulled you closer against him; your hand tangled in his messy curls. You molded against him like you were the matching pieces of a puzzle. Fitting together was what you were made for.

It was you who pulled away first. Arthur’s lips sought yours still, but you kept away from his tempting kiss as you both laughed. Your forehead rested against his. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Green eyes stared into yours, wide with surprise. He sounded so small when he spoke. “You... remembered?”

“Of course,” you said, grabbing one of Arthur’s hands and lacing your fingers together. You pressed another peck to his cheek. “It’s your big day; how could I have forgotten?”

“No one’s ever... remembered my birthday before,” he whispered. The bed shook minutely and you knew he was bouncing his foot. Anxiety creeped at him still; you knew you couldn’t let it linger. “Even I forget some years.”

Your hand cradled Arthur’s face. His eyes were shiny and wet, and his eyebrows twitched with soft emotion as you kissed his forehead. 

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry,” you murmured. “But―” Another kiss, and yet another. “― I think that means we have a lot of birthdays to catch up on celebrating, don’t you?”

He closed his eyes. Voice thick with emotion, he whispered, “That would be nice. ...For years, all I have wanted was someone to share it with. I dreamed about it for so long...”

Arthur sniffled and kissed your wrist still cradling his face. “And now I do.”

Warmth filled your chest. “You do, Arthur. You do. I swear, you’ll always have me.”

After a beat, with a soft breath, he melted into you. The tension in him released; his body sagged against yours. Though his arms kept you pressed close against him. “You’re perfect,” Arthur mumbled. 

“I should be saying that about you,” you said, voice thick with adoration and love. You nuzzled your nose against his, gentle point against gentle point. “Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you...”

The lines around Arthur’s eyes crinkled; the shadows of dimples appeared around his shy, boy-like smile. Bashful was a look you always adored seeing on him; your affection only grew. 

You couldn’t keep your lips from brushing his nose. “Someone so endlessly sweet...” 

Then his scar. “With such a tender, gentle heart...” 

―The mole on his right cheek. “And the cutest jokes...”

―The sensitive shell of his ear, along with a soft bite that drew a small moan out of him. You smirked. “Not to mention, with that beautiful body.”

Arthur curled further into you. You could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. Even after the months you’ve spent together, the intimate nights you’ve spent in bed, devoting yourself to his body, and he to yours, he could be so shy. The result of spending almost thirty-four years alone and craving for affection and attention, you supposed. He was still unused to it, in many ways.

It only spurred more loving. 

You brushed the hair out of his face as you tangled your hands into his greasy curls, fully exposing his beautiful features. Arthur’s broad forehead beckoned.

“I’ve never met someone like you before,” you said, with a smattering of kisses to his forehead.

One broad hand sneaked under your shirt, caressing your back, keeping you ever closer to him. Your skin electrified under his touch.

“You understand me like no one else has,” you sighed. One tender peck to his asymmetrical hairline. A second. Before your lips traveled south, pecking a trail down his nose again to connect with his lips. 

Your connection warmed your cheeks, matching Arthur’s own flush. Both of you smiled into the kiss. Arthur pressed all of his tender love against you. Your shirt was pushed up and his hand traveled up your back; his tongue slipped into your mouth, caressing your own. His lithe hips molded against yours and you swear you could feel the beginning stirrings of his erection. Your own arousal was stoked from embers. Fog clouded your mind, lost in this pleasure, in his love.

It was Arthur who separated first. His forehead thumped softly against yours. His cheek and lips were still flushed, and yours were probably just as bright. Voice thick with emotion, he whispered your name.

In response―”Yes?”

Green eyes were half closed, eyelashes fluttered as he stared downwards, away from your gaze. Shy again, after leaving you warm enough to melt a glacier. His smile grew, twitched, preening as he considered.

“Could you... could you keep going? ...I like hearing you say those things.”

Mirth and soft amusement filled you. “Yeah?” 

“I like it a lot.“ Arthur’s eyes were wet when they stared into yours. “...Please?”

How could you resist your gentle-hearted lover? “Of course I can, darling.”.

But before you could lay an ounce more of affection on him, he spoke, fingers softly wandering on your skin. “Y’know? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you either. I know it sounds silly but, my whole life, I’ve thought so much about my perfect person. Someone who would actually see me. Someone who could understand me. Someone kind.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And you’re kind. So kind. It hurts sometimes.”

“Arthur,” you cooed, eyes pricking with tears.

He murmured your name again. You always adored the way it slipped off his tongue, not in an elegant roll, not like cascading water, but in the whisper of an autumn leaf floating on the breeze. “You’re my perfect person. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Gentle sun rays had slid in the window, lighting up Arthur from behind. His dark hair shimmered in multi-colored strands of copper, chocolate, auburn, chestnut, gold. His face was still cast in shadow, but he seemed to glow regardless. It was as much from his love as it was from the sunlight.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either,” you soothed, voice thick as honey. “But we’ll never have to. I’m yours, Arthur. And only yours. We’ve only been each others’ for a few months, but I know in my heart, that’s not going to change.”

“Mine...” Arthur whispered, almost too quietly to hear as you returned to laying gentle kiss after gentle kiss on his face, soon followed by more further below. Relief, wistfulness, tenderness, joy, solace all swirled in his voice. His words caressed your heart as gently as any brush of his lips. As the sun rose higher in the sky and the chilly November day warmed, you made good on your promise to make this Arthur’s best birthday yet. To make up for every cold, lonely birthday he’s ever had before. And you would make good on this promise every year on November 21st. For as long as Arthur would have you. 

“...And only mine.”

[pcrushinnerd]

Headcanons: Your Daughter Dressing Up As A Clown for Halloween

Summary: You and Arthur dress up your girl as a clown for Halloween upon her request.

A/N: Arthur and his fans could use some fluff about now, and this idea popped into my head a few days ago.

~~~

Yours and Arthur’s daughter is as cute as a button.

Each of you says she has the best features of the other.

But mostly, she just naturally has a bubbly personality. She's the ray of sunshine that chases away the dark clouds for you and especially Arthur.

She saw things with a child’s wonder and awe, especially the holidays.

LOVES Halloween. Before she’s even old enough to comprehend fully what it is.

Her first costume of sorts is a cat, her first Halloween of her young life. Which mostly consisted of a leopard print onesie and whiskers drawn on by Arthur with one of your eyebrow pencils.

Thereafter, you both let her “choose” her own costume for several years by showing her different pictures or buying whatever costume she eventually pointed to at the store, to whatever had struck her fancy that particular year.

Her choices had largely been pretty standard: ghost, witch, pumpkin, ninja, princess.

Around age six or seven, she had spied Arthur in full clown mode one day, and she was instantly enamored.

"I want to be a clown this year!"

Arthur nearly fainted, he was so over the moon at that response to your yearly costume query.

You had asked earlier that year, because you had a funny feeling she was looking to do something more elaborate, from how closely she would look through your sewing patterns and craft supplies around that time. So the three of you had time to put together something good.

Arthur sat her down one day shortly after with a bunch of crayons and colored pencils so she could start to design what she wanted. He had his own input on things--mostly the finer details of traditional and newer clown costumes, the why behind things, aesthetic choices, etc., that you could tell he himself studied up on at some point, but he offered them as helpful tips and suggestions, and made encouraging comments on whatever your daughter dreamed up.

Finally, they unveiled the final design to you one day after you got home from work. 'Ta Da!!!' your little girl announced as she held up her drawing.

You slipped off your hat as you took it in hand. "Aww, baby, I'm so proud of you! Let's see what we got." You were surprised at how many frills it had in its skirt, and unfortunately you had to say no to the high heels she'd drawn (Arthur had also scribbled something about that), but you informed her that you should be able to make it work.

And so you dusted off your sewing machine. You preferred working with your hands, but you knew the machine would be quicker and the end result with it would likely look better. So after a bit of struggling to get the bobbin to work, you took your girl and Arthur with you to your favorite hole in the wall craft store nearby.

All sorts of pastel colored fabric samples were purchased, along with bows and bells and some fake flowers. It was a bit of a splurge for the two of you, but both of you did have a hard time saying no her.

It took you about two weeks, but you managed to put together a dress with a full, frilly skirt made of the colorful and sometimes glittery or shiny fabrics bought, as well as a matching headband.

Arthur had managed to find a smaller clown horn with a pink bulb to match for your daughter's costume. Mostly, his contribution came in doing her make-up the day of. Each time he added a circle or triangle, he let her review his handiwork in the mirror and, with her approval, continued on.

Her final look wasn't too different from what Arthur would wear--just a bit neater and cuter.

"Daddy, won't you dress up too?"

Arthur was a bit hesitant at that, but he couldn't bring himself to say no to her. "Of course Darling."

You couldn't help but smile broadly when you saw Carnival enter the room, holding your girl in his arms.

The two of you also splurged a bit to have a car take you to the nicer suburbs west of the city for actual trick or treating. Besides a handful of nice neighbors in your building...you generally don't trust the people in your own neighborhood enough to go knocking on their doors.

Your daughter gets a lot of compliments on her outfit, and Arthur gets quite a few as well.

A few of the people passing out candy give you a curious look--as you were the only one dressed normally in your little family.

You would quip that you were ‘the driver’ or ‘the assistant’ or the like.

Your daughter managed to snag quite the candy haul that night. After both of you carefully examine them, you let her have a few pieces on the car ride back.

Yet despite the sugar, your girl is asleep on her Daddy's shoulder when you arrive back home, she's that tuckered out.

You and Arthur stay up for a bit, after he's de-clowned, to watch a classic horror movie or two and try to avoid eating your girl's candy stash. You mostly succeed.

[star-dust-stuf]

Arthur Fleck x fem!reader

title: baby, think you’re bad?

warnings: violence, harassment

a/n: I wanted to write this because I think I’d be flattered if someone killed for me tbh, sorry for any typos, as always enjoy!

-

it was the last place I wanted to be, about nine at night on an empty bus- I wish it was empty all there was where three men sitting across me laughing like they where drunk and a man dressed as a clown a little farther from me but he didn’t seem to bother me as much as the drunk men across me. All the man in the clown suit did was mind his business, didn’t even look at me half the ride but he did when the men started to bother me and he saw it.

“Hey?” One of the men said, waving his hand to get my attention. I didn’t look up from my lap that my purse was sitting beside me and I was gripping on edge.

“Hello?!” He was getting angry I could tell by his voice, didn’t look.

“He’s trying to be nice, hey?” The other one day next to him, I saw by his shoes.

I turned my head slowly to the clown, a tear formed in my eye from fear and he saw this. He glanced at me and the men, again and again before on of the men threw a piece of rolled up paper at me that he grabbed from his pocket. I mad wit clear I was crying and they began to mock me.

“Aw, don’t cry!” They mocked, one of them touched my shoulder and slid next to me, he touched my thigh.

I tried to get up but he grabbed my wrist and sat me back down. “Let go of me!” I didn’t sound scared as much as I was.

All the sudden my attention was drawn to the man far from me, he began to laugh uncontrollably it seemed he couldn’t help it. “Something funny?” The man sat up and got towards him.

He still laughed and covered his mouth, they mocked him, laughing along and on of them even sat beside him, talk his wig off showing his brown hair that gleamed in the dim light as it flickered.

“I- have a- c- condition!” He laughed as he reached for his bag.

“This your friend?” The man said looking at me.

I didn’t say no or yes, I was too busy with the man next to me, he took it upon himself to put his hand on the back of my head, when my tears grew stronger he pulled my hair hard enough for me to yell out in pain.

Laughing, the man got up after the others knocked the bag from his hand, he heard me cry and felt to do something. I saw him reach in his back pocket but the man knocked him to the floor. The two men kicked him, the clown stayed down, not fighting, he was building the courage I saw on his face he was.

Holding himself he got fed up. A loud shot echoed and a yell escaped on of the men who slammed his body on the wall of the train, leaving a blood trail that stained. The other two men jumped, this time the clown had the gun pointed at the man next to me. He got up, hands in the air and he didn’t hesitate to shoot him down.

I screamed aloud and got to the floor, dragging myself to the door and putting my knees to my chest, my head faced down. One last man ended up making to the other part of the train and of course the clown followed, I heard the shots far from me.

Crying as the tears stained the floor under me, it was silent and all I could do was stay still, I had no choice but to pray to myself. Rocking back and forth I felt a gloved hand on my bare knee. I jumped.

“It’s ok..” I heard the clown say, he breathed heavily, his gun lied beside him as he was on his knees. His makeup was ruined, sweat drowned his makeup the blue was on his chin and the red stained his neck.

I looked at his gun, my tears swelled. “No- it’s ok I won’t hurt you!” He pushed his gun behind him.

He softly put my knees down, then putting my dress down over them to make me more comfortable, he was polite, and kind. He looked at me with his eyes, his so soft eyes. He was scared for himself, he’s never killed anyone and I saw that in his face.

“T- thank you.” I whispered to him.

He glanced at me, he was overall shocked. “What?”

I chocked, “thank you…”

He tilted his head, “why?”

“You helped me.”

“But I killed them.”

I shrugged, wiping the tears from my cheeks, “and?” He smiled, “is that really a- a condition?” I sniffed.

He tripped on his words. “Yeah.”

I nodded, “are you ok?”

He noticed I saw him being beaten on the ground. “Yeah…”

“Can I walk you home?”

“I killed three men, and you want to walk me home?”

I nodded, I wasn’t even thinking about what he did only why he did it, why did he do it? As we walked up the steps and I to a long tunnel to the city I wanted to know. He was tripping over his oversized shoes and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Why did you- do that?” I held my arms in the cold.

“They wouldn’t leave you alone, I guess I did it for myself too.” He saw me shivering.

Reaching into his bag he grabbed his oversized coat as well, matching his overall outfit. He put it over my shoulders and his sweet smile shined through his makeup. “Thanks.”

“Why aren’t you scared?” He questioned me.

I shrugged, “I guess I’m just grateful someone was there or it could’ve been worse.” He looked down at the wet pavement and smiled to his large shoes.

[lissasinclair]

Meeting Arthur at the mental asylum

I was lying on my newfound bed with wheels, staring at the ceiling. My brain was working hard; I was frantically trying to recall all the prayers I’ve ever heard or learnt by heart. So… the first one is to the Guardian Angel… The second is to God Himself… Or maybe God doesn’t really need me to tell Him all those beautiful prayers in rhyme? Maybe I can try to ask Him for help using the simple words and sentences?

I was feeling awful as hell. I was just lying in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know anything about that place with bars on it’s windows; no street name, no how it was look like. I didn’t know where are my own clothes; I was wearing an ugly washed-out gown that was held at my waist by the two long cords. I wondered how many people used to wear it. It felt uncomfortable and kind of humiliating. I looked and I actually felt really crazy in that.

It was New Year’s Eve, on the 31st of December. And I was lying on the bed with wheels in a big hall of a mental asylum, a mental prison, with a bandage on my left wrist.

There were about twenty to thirty other female patients around me. Some were just lying still on their beds, like me, sleeping maybe; the others seemed kind of nervous and worried about something. I was afraid to look at anyone. I was feeling like I was displaying myself in a shop window. Two medical workers were sitting next to the door, laughing and talking, guarding us.

Guarding us from whom? From ourselves?

I continued talking to God, closing my eyes shut. I wanted so desperately to have some sleep, but I couldn’t. My anxiety and fear kept me awake.

“Hey, you”, - suddenly I heard my last name, - “Get up”.

I instantly opened my eyes, not believing my luck. I was sure that the person who just called my last name would tell me now that all that was nothing but a huge mistake and I could finally leave this prison. God really helped me. He heard my prayers and pleas.

“There’s a doctor coming to talk to you”, - a female medical worker told me in a rough tone.

“Okay…”, - I answered, slowly getting up. I looked around and saw a man in a white coat coming to my bed. He was reading something in the papers that he was holding in his hands; he wasn’t looking at me.

“So”, - he said, continuing to check something in his papers, - “Tell me what happened to you exactly, why did you stab yourself and so on”.

I was taken aback by his words; it was hard for me to tell exactly what happened in front of all the other people around me. Some of the women got curious and I saw them sitting upright in their beds, looking at me with interest.

“Mmm…”, - I mumbled, - “Right here?..”

The doctor narrowed his eyes and finally looked at me: “Yeah. What’s the problem?”

I sighed and tried to compose myself. I told myself that I had to use this opportunity, maybe this man was kind enough to understand me? Maybe he would help me? Maybe this was my chance?

I started to tell him my painful story. It seemed like he had already heard that same story a million times. He interrupted me a lot and I was feeling that for some reason he was kind of annoyed with me.

“I really hope you understand”, - I told him finally, trying to speak more quickly, - “I’m an average girl, I’m absolutely normal; I just lost my self-control for a few minutes”.

“Well…”, - he said, writing down something, - “You’re not normal… You can’t be normal”, - he grinned just for a second, - “If you were normal, you wouldn’t do that”.

After saying that he disappeared, as abruptly as he had entered. I watched his back as he went away. I really didn’t understand what had I said wrong.

I laid down again and closed my eyes.

I didn’t know how many minutes or hours passed. I tried to sleep again, but it was impossible. I heard some desperate screams, loud noises around me, rough and angry voices, clatter of swift footsteps, laughing and crying.

I wished I had a book or just something to distract myself a little; but I wasn’t allowed to have anything personal at all. So my mind was the only thing I had to amuse myself. At least there was something left that they couldn’t take away from me. I didn’t want to pray anymore, ‘cause God obviously wasn’t listening to me. So I started recalling all the poems I’d learnt in my previous life ‘till my mind was completely blank.

“She’s just pathetic”, - I heard a female voice talking suddenly out loud, - “I mean, she is crazy for real”.

“She is unworthy of any respect, isn’t she? Stupid idiot. You heard what she said? She said that she’d chosen a very special knife for that; it means she wanted to do that a long ago”.

I was lying completely motionless with my eyes closed. Those fragments of their conversation were about me. They were also the patients. There were three of them.

They continued to talk about me, mocking at me and laughing about the reason why I was there.

I wished I was bold and strong enough to get up and tell them to stop that; to tell them that they were also there, with me, in the same place, that they weren’t better than me at all.

But I couldn’t move.

In the evening the cries and the screams around me became louder. I tried to pretend I didn’t hear anything.

After dinner that tasted as bad as it looked and remained untouched by me, I heard that we were allowed to watch a movie because of New Year’s Eve. It seemed such a miserable thing to me, getting stuck in there, at the dining hall, watching some stupid movie on a tiny TV-set. Why? To create a special atmosphere full of wonder? Haha…

After being forced to take some medications and finding no way to spit them out, I went to the bathroom to wash my face with cold water under the gaze of a medical worker. I wasn’t allowed to be alone with myself even for a minute. I had a disgusting feeling because of that; the words “big brother is watching you” were spinning in my head.

There were no mirrors at the bathroom. I laughed to myself, suddenly understanding why.

After that I entered the overcrowded dining hall. There were already both male and female patients there. “Wow, they decided to gather all the departments in here, what a joy”, - I thought.

My eyes desperately tried to find an empty seat.

My head was dizzy. My heart was racing. What were those pills they gave me? They always ignored my questions about that and there were no names on the packs. It was kind of a secret? Secret healing?

I sighed and tried my best not to fall on the floor and not to start banging my head against it, crying and screaming, as if I had really gone crazy.

All of a sudden my eyes fixed on an empty sit on the edge of a hall. I rushed there.

There was a man sitting next to it. I felt a little bit nervous; was I allowed to sit there or should I only sit next to women? Ohhh, what a stupid fear.

“Hi… Do you mind if I sit here?”, - I asked him quietly.

He looked up at me and our eyes met. His eyes were sad and lustreless; he looked kind of lost. He was skinny and slender; his clothes were baggy and oversized, engulfing his thin frame. His features were well-defined yet delicate; his cheekbones were pronounced and his cheeks were hollowed; it seemed that his skin clung to the bones; his eyebrows were thick and beautiful; his dark brown messy hair framed his face, giving him an endearingly charming look.

Usually I don’t look people in the eyes, ‘cause I’m kind of afraid of that and I always get anxious; but for some inexplicable reason I couldn’t take my eyes away from his.

“S..ssure…”, - he answered, his voice was nearly above a whisper, - “Hello”.

I sat down next to him, feeling relieved. He seemed to be a rather calm guy; I hoped that he wouldn’t cry or scream all the time like my female hallmates. Besides, it was a really good place. He was sitting on my left, while there was no one on my right at all; only the window with that ugly bars.

Out the corner of my eye I saw his hands on his lap. His hands were elegant and large compared to my own hands; his fingers were slender and his finger joints were distinct.

I found that beautiful.

I tried to stop secretly observing him and looked at the tiny TV-set. I was wondering which movie they had chosen for us.

A very familiar melody began to play. I shuddered. Well, of course, it was quite expected… New Year’s Eve, the 31st of December… I knew that movie. For me it was a wonderful love story right from the childhood. It was an old Soviet movie, a romantic comedy called “The Irony of Fate”.

It was hard to ignore the throbbing in my head. It was too much… Watching it here… Having no hope at all, having no one to come and save me from here, desperately trying to keep myself sane all the time; answering the same idiotic questions over and over, wondering which answer would be “normal” enough; being forced to strip naked in front of the stupid medical staff, in order to show them that I actually didn’t have anything sharp hidden under my clothes to cut myself once again… As if I wasn’t a human being, but an object to be humiliated… Ohhh… And after all of that I should watch one of my favourite movies in this hell. It felt like I was betraying myself, like I was throwing mud at everything I used to love.

I almost groaned and closed my eyes. I put my elbows on my knees and hid my face into my arms, hoping I would just disappear.

Suddenly I heard a gentle and faint whisper to my left: “Are you okay?..”

I raised my head a little and turned it left. I saw the beautiful stranger looking at me with concern. Or at least it seemed so.

His eyes met mine again and for a moment I felt my breath hitch in my throat. For a moment I was lost in the depths of his eyes.

“Nah… I mean… Yeah… it’s just… it’s just hard for me to watch this particular… movie”, - I answered in a whisper, breaking our eye contact reluctantly and stared down at my knees, feeling shy.

“You… you’ve watched it before?”, - he asked in a gentle whisper.

“Worse”, - I replied, still staring down, feeling kind of afraid and nervous to look back at him, - “That’s one of my favorite… movies”, - I whispered and looked up at him, trying to master my fears. He half smiled in a very sad and meaningful way.

“I understand”, - he replied with a faint sigh, - “You don’t want to… destroy your beautiful memories of that... Being here destroys everything”.

He continued looking at me. I stared back at him, amazed.

“You put my thoughts into words so… perfectly”, - I said, - “That’s exactly what I think”.

The opening melody was over.

He leaned a little closer to me. I swallowed.

“Can we just… Can we try to imagine that we’re not here right now, that we’re… we are…”, - his whisper was soft and calm, like a gentle gust of a sea breeze into my hair.

“At the cinema?”, - I whispered back doubtfully. It seemed to me that I was beginning to understand what he was about to say.

“Yeah”, - he smiled, his eyes were glistening in the dim light coming from the TV-set, - “Let’s imagine that we’re at the cinema. Somewhere in the centre of the city… And we’re watching it there… Feeling free and… safe…”, - he smiled at me, definitely trying to imagine himself what he was talking about.

I couldn’t help but smiled warmly at him. He seemed to be so kind and extraordinary. It was so overwhelming to talk to someone kind in here. To talk to someone who was listening to me at all.

“Nice idea”, - I whispered softly, - “However that screen is too small to imagine that we are actually at the cinema”.

He chuckled shakily, turning slightly to the left to see the screen and then back to me. “I agree with you. The screen is the only thing in here that doesn’t match with our dream… But I guess… we may try to ignore that, huh?”, - he smiled at me; his smile was so tender, personal and playful; it was a smile from his soul. I smiled back at him and nodded quickly, feeling a thrill running down my spine.

I turned to the screen slowly and saw him did the same. He was still smiling. I was feeling both overwhelmed and calm at the same time. I was feeling strangely drawn to this gentle stranger.

The movie was already going on. I was feeling much better now. I really tried to imagine that I was sitting at the cinema next to this kind man, and that everything was absolutely fine. I was trying to imagine that I was watching this movie for the very first time with him. I was feeling so warm inside because of our little conversation.

We were watching the movie in silence. The other patients around us were rather still, only one woman was getting really anxious about being away from her child. When she got too noisy she was taken away from the hall by the two medical workers.

Sometimes I sneaked glances at him to see his reaction to my favorite scenes. I guessed most of all he liked the songs. He seemed to truly enjoy them because of his sparkling eyes and radiant yet shy smile. I knew all the songs by heart and couldn’t help but imagined how I was singing them to him. Why? I didn’t know. Maybe I wanted to make him smile even more.

Several times I heard people’s loud screams from the distance. I guessed those screams were coming from the farthest hallway. It was the hallway located after entering the building. The screams were rather distant yet seemed to get closer and closer before disappearing again. Obviously there were the new patients there, crying and yelling desperately, not realizing yet why they were brought here. I was listening to them with a heavy and aching heart; I tried to pretend that I didn’t hear them as I usually did, although it was impossible to ignore those animalistic sounds. But that wasn’t the worst part. Worst of all were the shouts in response; the medical workers tried to shout the newcomers down, insulting and threatening them. Their shouts were almost completely drowning out the sounds of the TV. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed how the hands of the beautiful man sitting next to me were shaking at those moments.

I heard how the men in white coats, that were sitting in the dining hall with us, guarding us, laughed loudly: “As always they all go fucking crazy at the end of the year, don’t they?”

Almost at the end of the movie the main characters seemed to lose each other by denying their true love feelings. At that moment a very sad song started playing. In the lyrics of that song a man was trying to find his lost love. All his efforts were wasted. This song was called “I Asked the Ash Tree”. It was kind of a metaphorical song; very touching and even heartbreaking. This song always managed to touch the very inner parts of my soul, no matter how many times I’d listened to it. And, of course, it did touch my soul now. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

I turned left just a little to look at my new acquaintance. I saw his eyes locked to the screen with a sorrowful look on his handsome features. His eyes were strangely sparkling and he seemed to be so far away from here. My heart dropped. He was almost crying.

I felt my body shake a little. Did he find this song touching too? His soul seemed to me too gentle to be in here, to be locked in this soulless little world with the bars on the windows.

I felt an unbearable urge to reassure him somehow. I leaned to him and whispered: “Don’t worry; they will be together at the end of the movie”.

He turned to me and laughed nervously but quietly, wiping away the tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “You’ve just spoiled me the ending, have you?”, - he whispered in a cracked voice with a hint of playfulness.

I grinned at him softly: “I’m sorry; but I guess that was rather obvious; they’re meant to be together”, - I whispered, feeling shy and kind of nervous.

He stared back at me with a calm thoughtful look. “Yeah… They really are…”, - he smiled, his eyes were still sparkling; I suddenly thought that I wouldn’t forget that beautiful moment.

When the movie ended, I saw several medical workers leaving their posts and waiting for the patients near the door, shouting rudely: “Everybody out, now! Hurry up!”

I got up from the chair and saw the man next to me did the same. I felt a piercing ache in my heart. Suddenly a rush of panic and fear was overwhelming me.

All the patients were moving slowly towards the door. It was still rather dark in here, and the only light was coming from the hallway.

I felt so helpless. I didn’t want to go; I didn’t want to leave him; what if I would never see him again?

I swallowed hard and looked at him. “Time to say goodbye?”, - I asked, feeling awkward.

I noticed that he wasn’t much taller than me; he looked fragile and even thinner than before now that he was standing.

He looked at me, leaning over to me, his eyes were deep and tender. “Could I possibly ask you to… to stay? I mean… in here? Just to talk?..”, - he stuttered a little bit while trying to find the words.

“What do you mean? They will notice… I mean… our absence”, - I sad quietly, ignoring the dense flow of the other patients around us.

He half smiled. “I guess they won’t… They need to celebrate, you know… Too busy entertaining themselves”, - he said, looking at me with a dark expression on his face.

I understood what he meant. The staff wouldn’t lose the opportunity to celebrate New Year. Moreover there weren’t any medical chiefs at that time. I’d already heard the dish clattering and the laughter coming from the distance.

I felt the adrenaline rushing through my whole body. Obviously I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to get to know him. But at the same time I was scared to death that they would find us and would try to discipline somehow.

And, of course, I was thrilled to stay alone with him. It felt too good to be true.

“I’ll stay with you”, - I whispered, looking at him timidly, feeling my heart racing.

He smiled, seemingly not believing that I actually agreed.

“Come here with me”, - he said quietly, taking me by the sleeve in a very gentle way. He led me over to the last row of the chairs, bypassing the little crowd.

It was still dark in there. No one turned on the light in the hall. We knelt down behind the seats, remaining hidden under the darkness.

I was watching the crowd of the patients passing through the narrow door to the hallway. I was praying so that nobody would notice us. I still wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing staying here with that kind man. Who knows, what was going on in his mind? He was a complete stranger to me after all; but I wasn’t afraid of him at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was feeling oddly calm except for that strange excitement and tension. I just couldn’t resist the temptation to get to know him.

Finally everyone left and the door slammed shut. I was holding my breath, listening to the turn of the key in the door. Then I heard the sound of the footsteps disappearing in the hallway.

It seemed that we both were still waiting for something in a complete silence. After a few minutes my lovely stranger laughed quietly. I turned to him, smiling in relief.

We got to our feet almost simultaneously. I was now standing right in front of him. His eyes were piercing mine. The only light was coming through the window behind my back. There were some lanterns shining in the inner yard of the building. Their soft glow illuminated through the bars of the window making the delicate features of his face visible. I found myself admiring him once again. Even more now. His beauty was exceptional without a doubt. He had a fragile, almost ethereal beauty. He looked like a real piece of art; something amazing, something historical, something you need to cherish with all your heart.

He smiled warmly at me, his eyes were sparkling. “Let’s have a sit over there”, - he said softly, looking behind me. I turned around to the window with a wide sill. I took a couple of steps forward; then I climbed onto the sill and sat on it dangling my legs. He sat down opposite me and looked at me as if he couldn’t believe that I was actually here. His deep eyes were focusing on mine as though he was desperately trying to dig into my soul. He was making me feel nervous but… in a very good way.

We were sitting silent for a few minutes or so. The silence felt strangely comfortable and… safe. It was the very first time I heard silence in here.

A funny thought just came into my mind. “Do you know what people usually say?.. About celebrating New Year?”, - I smiled, looking directly into his eyes.

“What is it? Tell me”, - he said with a soft smile.

“People usually say… that the way you’ll celebrate the New Year…is actually the way you’ll live it”, - I said, smiling shyly yet playfully, - “That means we’re fated to stay here… At least for a year… I mean… No way to escape… From this prison”.

He laughed gently and shook his head. “I hope that people are wrong about that… You’ll definitely get out of here… Not sure about myself though”, - he said, his eyes dulled a little, but his smile didn’t fade.

I continued looking at him with newfound confidence.

“Do you… do you wanna smoke maybe?..”, - he suddenly asked in a low and soft voice, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. His every move was smooth, graceful and calm. I was admiring his irresistible charm.

I widened my eyes in amazement after hearing what he’d just said. “Really?.. I mean… Sure, I’d love to… But… where did you get that?”, - I said, looking at him with wonder.

He grinned with a radiant smile, leaned closer to me and handed me an open pack of cigarettes. I smiled and gladly took one, placing it between my teeth.

“You know, my guards… I tell them some jokes at times and stuff… And if they find it funny enough, they kind of… reward me with that”, - he said, still smiling, yet his expression darkened a little.

I was watching him almost in awe, wondering to myself, how is it even possible to make jokes in such a hell?

He flicked his lighter, and brought the flame up to the tip of my cigarette, leaning even closer to me. I raised my left hand, instinctively covering the flame. The sleeve of my robe fell down, revealing the bandage on my wrist. I froze for a second, feeling like a pathetic stupid idiot, ‘cause only pathetic stupid idiot would do something like that.

I took my left hand away, not sure if he noticed that or not. I couldn’t help but looked up at him, inhaling the smoke. He was so close, looking straight into my eyes. It felt like the most intimate and magical moment I’ve ever experienced. I could feel his breathing; it was overwhelming.

I leaned back a little, feeling extremely shy. I exhaled the smoke with a sigh of relief.

“Better?..”, - he asked quietly in low and calm voice, smiling warmly.

“So much… better…”, - I answered, taking another drag, feeling the smoke burning my throat.

He chuckled like he knew exactly what I was thinking about and lit himself a cigarette, taking a long drag on it. He let the smoke linger for a few seconds; after that he exhaled it in a long stream directed to the ceiling.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Oh my… The way he was smoking was so… cinematic. He looked so… perfect, so alluring… He was almost glowing in the low light coming from the window; he looked like an angel.

He seemed to notice my gaze and it seemed that he liked it.

“What is your name?”, - he asked suddenly. His voice was soft, musical and a little husky; I felt my heart pounding against my ribs; I was admiring him, watching the smoke leaving his lips, swirling through the air. “My name is Lana”, - I answered quietly, swallowing hard, - “And what is your name?”

“My name is Arthur”, - he said, smiling, - “You have a very beautiful name, Lana”, - he added; his smile was shy and sincere. It looked adorable.

“You have a very beautiful name too…”, - I answered, melting under his stare like a snowflake on a tongue. His wonderful name suited him so perfectly.

The thin wisps of the smoke floated in the air, making all around us looking like a fantasy.

“Lana… I’m sorry for asking, but…”, - he said in a soft yet hesitant voice, - “Your wrist… That’s the reason why you are here?..”

I froze for a few moments, didn’t know what to answer, feeling embarrassed and, yeah, feeling like a pathetic stupid idiot.

I took the last deep drag from the cigarette and crushed it out on the sill. I swallowed hard and nodded, staring at the window.

“I wasn’t… I mean… I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to do that… I don’t know why I did that… I’m just…”, - I sighed deeply, desperately trying to find the words, - “It was like the other part of me. You know, like it wasn’t me at all. Like the real me was just standing there and observing all that was happening… And she, I mean, the real me, didn’t want to stop that or didn’t know how. Whereas the other part of me had an irresistible urge to hurt someone… To hurt… Myself…”, - the words were flowing out like an endless stream, - “I was so overwhelmed by pain and… fear… so hardly overwhelmed. It was intolerable… Unbearable… I wanted to release it somehow… And also… I wanted to make myself… To make myself feeling even worse. It was like I was wondering… How would I feel after reaching the bottom of this… abyss… But know what, Arthur…”, - I sighed, saying his name felt like the very last step of giving all my trust to him, - “Now I know for sure… This abyss has no bottom… And I’m keeping falling”, - I stared down, feeling my body tremble.

I heard how he sighed heavily, crushing his cig. “You’re not alone with that, Lana… Yow know, I… I do understand you. I feel you”, - he said, his voice was gentle and a little hoarse, - “I feel you…”, - he said again and moved closer to me. He laid his hand on my right forearm softly, like I was made of crystal.

I was feeling like my chest would explode from my heartbeat.

I looked up at him, feeling both deeply embarrassed and suddenly relieved. He was looking at me with a deep understanding, his soulful eyes were filled with compassion and gentleness. “Just so you know… you are not falling alone… And as long as you’re not alone, falling isn’t that scary…”, - he said.

I swallowed, breathing unevenly. His hand was still on my forearm and I could feel his warmth.

“I guess I’m here for…for kinda same reasons”, - he added, continuing looking into my eyes, - “Although… it doesn’t seem so at the first glance…”

“What… what did you did?”, - I asked, my voice was raspy and it was hard for me to speak.

He hesitated for a moment.

“I killed six people”, - he said.

His tone was dark and serious; it sounded like a joke to me, although I could tell from his expression it wasn’t. His eyes became empty, dull and lifeless in just a moment. The look in his eyes was exactly the same as when I saw him for the first time. I could see a pain in his eyes. He looked like a person who had lost all the hope in life.

I couldn’t believe what he’d just said. How could anyone so fragile-looking and gentle-hearted be a killer?..

“But… how?.. I mean… why?..” - I asked, looking at him, feeling my heart heavy for him.

“You know, Lana… I was feeling like I was drowning in my pain... I got used to that, but then… at some point… it was… too much to bear. I didn’t know how to make it stop… At least for a moment…” - he looked away, his voice was hoarse and shaking. “And then something just broke inside of me… Something I couldn’t repair. You told me that you were feeling like there was some other part of you, hurting you… I was feeling exactly the same way… I was feeling like…like I was torn in two… One half of me was petrified and couldn’t move or think of anything, while the other half was dizzy with excitement… With a strange kind of excitement I’ve never felt before… I was… so thrilled, so unstoppable, so… uncontrollable, so unfamiliar to my usual self. And you know what… I was also feeling… free. Finally free from my pain… And even… relieved… But at the same time I felt that feeling that way was wrong… That in fact my pain didn’t fade away at all… But at least it was no longer locked inside of me. It broke free… Suddenly all the pain and suffering were no longer only mine…”

Arthur was silent for a while, staring gloomily out the window. Then he said: “I wish I didn’t do that… but I did”.

I was trembling as if with a chill. Everything he’d just said felt like it was happening to me. I could feel his pain. I could feel how unbearable it was. I wish I could find the right words to reassure him, but it seemed there were no words in the whole world in any languages that would help to heal his deepest wounds.

I carefully jumped off the sill. Then I turned my right hand palm up and pulled his arm gently. He slowly moved his legs off the sill and stood in front of me.

Now he was looking at me. His sorrowful eyes penetrated my whole being. And it hurt me deeply to look into his eyes.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Never in my whole life had I met someone like him. I was feeling like I’d met my own soul in him.

I couldn’t resist but hugged him. I didn’t know from where I got the confidence to do that. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gently nuzzled the crook of it, hiding my face and breathing in his scent. He smelled like smoke; it was on his clothes and I inhaled his scent deeply, feeling light-headed and dizzy.

He froze and I could feel his body stiffening with tension. For a moment I was afraid that he would push me away; but then he gave me a tentative hug back, wrapping his arms around my waist very carefully, as if he was scared of hurting me.

“You… Why are you hugging me, Lana?..”, - he whispered into my hair.

“Because… I feel you. I feel you too, Arthur”, - I whispered back, - “I feel you more than you can imagine…”

I raised my hands a bit and stroked his soft and silky curls.

Arthur pulled me closer towards him, holding me tighter, sighing deeply and shakily. I felt his warmth; it was so incredibly comforting. I instantly felt safe and relaxed; I felt like I was weightless; like I was normal.

“I have a request for you, Lana”, - he whispered softly; I could feel his hands moving slowly across my back.

“What is it?”, - I asked in a gentle whisper, still stroking his hair.

Arthur paused for a moment before saying: “Please be… real”, - he whispered, his voice quaking as if he lost control of his emotions, - “I want you to be real. I need you to be real”.

I smiled, feeling a lump in my throat.

“Make a wish, then, Arthur… Make a wish for me to be real. And I’ll make a wish for you to be real too”, - I whispered desperately and almost inaudibly, - “People say all the wishes come true on New Year’s Eve”.

He pulled back a little and cupped my face with his hands with exquisite gentleness, looking down into my eyes with tenderness.

“I really hope they are right about that”, - Arthur said quietly with a delicate laugh, and then his soft lips pressed very gently against mine.

[savemeaimeemann]

Babe wake up! I have insomnia and wrote another fic about Arthur Fleck.

I'm Curious Yellow

AO3

Arthur Fleck is perplexed with a street girl rounding his neighborhood. He didn't know she felt the same.

Srry I'm to lazy too describe it but trust me.

Chapter 01 // I Think of You

- "What?"

- "I don’t know, that man over there...he keeps staring at you."

- "Yeah? Well, if he’s paying, I don’t mind."

- "Have you seen him? He’s kind of creepy. Dressed like a old man misplaced. Kind of a nerd I would say. He was inside that phone booth, and then was staring at you for... way too long. I don’t know, Maxine. Doesn’t feel right."

"Also is not the first time I've seen him around." added Grace.

- "Since when can we afford to be picky? I know I can’t. And, honestly, I think he’s kind of sexy with that weird set of clothing and hair. He has a "virgin" energy, don't you think" Maxine said as she was now really paying attention at the guy from the other side of the street. He was not staring anymore. He picked his colorful bag from the booth and was heading to another way".

"Look at those limbs, Grace. Don’t you think they could... do the job? I bet he can."

- "He looks broken as hell."

The man wasn’t exactly conventional. His appeal was a tightrope walk: either intriguing or repellent. To admit he was sexy felt like a confession. But Maxine didn’t care—she liked to push her own boundaries, make her own statements.

She took a long drag of her colored cigarette, watching the clown cross the street, deciding what her next move should be.

Maxine wasn’t your typical street worker. She had a certain French allure—literally, she was born in France, though how she ended up in Gotham was a story she kept to herself. Family issues, a love affair, a few revengeful twists. Gotham didn’t ask questions. It was a shadowy haven for those who didn’t quite fit anywhere else.

Today she wore a long leather coat with knee-high brown boots, just the right height to stay clear of Gotham’s filthy sidewalks. Underneath, a suede skirt and a black velvet top that hinted at more than it revealed. Her makeup was understated: a hint of blue eyeshadow, soft brown lipstick, bleached brows. Maxine was her own kind of eye candy for Gotham’s bleak streets.

No one asked much about her past. Everyone had their own dark stories. “Leave your problems at home,” they’d say. “These streets are for fresh starts.”

Not that they knew she had money stashed in a local bank. More than enough to live comfortably. But she chose to be out here. It wasn’t about the money, as she’d tell Grace—it was something more, something she couldn’t quite name. A “Belle de Jour” life, minus the self-awareness.

"We’ll see, then" She teased Grace.

-----

Arthur was glancing at the girl before, drawn to her in a way he didn’t quite understand. Her elegance had an aloofness he usually only saw in old Hollywood movies on his decrepit TV. Her colored cigarette, her presence—she felt foreign. She couldn’t possibly be a Gotham native, yet somehow she fit here perfectly.

He stopped staring and went on to his way, still in need to stop by the pharmacy and go back to his mediocre life, caring for his mom and all. Today he had a plus, as he was limping the whole way. He kept the pretty street girl aside on his mind and went on with his life.

Hours before all this, Arthur nearly got fired for losing a sign at his job as an entertainer for a run-down vinyl shop. His boss tore into him over the phone, at the booth.

"Arthur, I told you. You’re mediocre. A freak. Get it together, or you’re done. Trust me, half the guys here would love to see you gone."

Arthur banged his head against the phone booth glass, desperation seeping through him.

"I love my job. Please don’t fire me, Hoyot. Those kids at the hospital—they’re why I do this. I got jumped; it was just bad luck. I’m sorry."

- "Whatever, Arthur."

-----

1hr had passed after the intriguing man from the phone booth head his way. Maxine was intrigued by him, imagining what it would be like if he went to hire her right at that moment. Grace was right, he seemed broken. Maybe she would accept him for free only for the story. It would be fun, she thought.

Her trance for that man was so on her mind that she didn't bother working the rest of the day. She kept smoking with Grace.

- "I’m leaving for today"

"Leaving early hmmm?"

"I have a important visit to make close by. Gonna save some time."

- "So you’re off to see your new dealer?"

- "Hm...perdon?"

- "I saw you yelling at our last dealer yesterday. The whole block knows he’s been short on coke."

- "..."

- "Just tell me if he’s any good, alright?"

Maxine rolled her eyes. Grace wasn’t wrong, but she hadn’t touched cocaine in ages. She was looking for marijuana, a rare find in Gotham these days. “Let Grace think I’m as messed up as she is,” she thought.

Maxine cut through a back alley and arrived at a grim apartment building. Sad, filthy and dark.

She didn’t like elevators, but she wasn’t about to take the stairs in this place. Knife tucked into her skirt’s waistband, she stepped inside.

"Hey! wait!"

The elevator doors were about to close when she saw someone holding them open with their foot. Breathless, she stumbled in and mumbled, - "Thanks. I hate elevators. Its better to have company"

As she said the last phrase, she looked up. It was him—the sad man from earlier. Now that he was close she could white stains clung to his neck; he also was clutching a package from the pharmacy, she could tell.

Arthur looked as startled as she did, like he’d been caught mid-crime. Maxine’s confident facade faltered.

- "Oh, hey... stranger."

- "Uh... hi."

- "You know, you feel like a ‘known stranger’ to me."

- "Do I?"

- "Sure do. Maxine, by the way."

- "Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Nice to... meet you."

She leaned over to press her floor number and stood close to him, forcing herself to stay calm. She hadn’t planned on this confrontation happening here, in his territory.

The elevator shuddered upward, and she exhaled a shaky breath. - "Jesus," she muttered, as Arthur stood rigidly beside her, barely breathing.

Suddenly, the elevator jolted to a stop. Maxine grabbed her arm, squeezing so hard it hurt. She didn’t realize she was shaking.

- "It’s... it’s okay. It does this sometimes," Arthur murmured, almost kindly.

- "Oh. Great. Yeah, that makes me feel better."

- "Don’t you live here?"

- "No. Business meeting."

Arthur understood what she meant. Two floors in the building were reserved for dealers and addicts. He wasn’t naive; he knew what went on.

- "Oh."

"Can I ask you a question, Arthur?"

He nodded his head, in shock.

"I don't want to make this weird but... wasn't you staring at me earlier today?"

Arthur tensed, his body trembling. He tried to hold it in, but laughter bubbled up, uncontrollable. His shoulders shook, and he buried his face in his hand, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Maxine stared, horrified. - "Are you okay? Are you going to pass out?"

He doubled over, laughing and crying at once. She edged back, her hand instinctively finding her knife. - "Grace was right. Damn it."

Arthur fumbled in his pocket and held out a card. Warily, she took it with her free hand, glancing down. His laughing fit was finally subsiding.

She handed it back. - "Sorry..."

"It-its quite al- alright I-"

"No, I meant to say I don’t know how to read." She said with a smirk.

Arthur’s eyes widened, and then the laughter overtook him again.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, - "I’m joking, alright? Stupid joke. I didn’t mean to..."

She reached out, steadying him as his fit faded, feeling oddly protective. He looked down at her, still catching his breath.

The elevator jerked back to life, halting at his floor. Without a word, he stumbled out, covering his mouth.

- "Arthur!... Shit."

She glanced quickly at the corridor where Arthur had gone, trying to figure out which apartment was his. The last one seemed to be the only option. It must be that.

In the elevator, she pressed the button for her stop again, but all she could think about was Arthur. And how stupid she’d been with him.

She headed toward what seemed to be the dealer’s place, her package in hand, counting the cash, paying the steep price without hesitation.

“High-class babe, huh? Look at you.”

She couldn’t let herself be too familiar here. Dealers were touchy, especially the ones at the top. Guns, drugs—anything could be involved, but she had to keep her cool.

“Well, with all due respect, it’s been a good weekend.”

“Yeah? Hope you can keep up.”

“I hope so... " She said, as she gave him her paper note and he went inside to take it.

The man had it already settled. The transaction was fast.

"Efficient and worthed" Maxine thought.

"Well, Goodbye then. See you next time.” she said, turning on her heels.

“Wait.”

Maxine froze, looking up at him.

“I saw you with that weirdo who lives downstairs. Not my business, but... that’s some fucked-up shit. Guy’s not that young, lives with his mom, laughs like a maniac... I’ve had issues with him. Laughing at my customers in the elevator. Even laughed at me once. Almost shot his brains out, swear to God. He seems okay now, but trust me, you should be careful. Guy’s got problems, but maybe you can help. Fix him up a bit, stop him from scaring my customers with that laugh.”

Maxine didn’t know how to react. She wasn’t about to start defending Arthur, not after that elevator incident. She had her reasons for feeling guilty, but this wasn’t it.

"What I meant to says was, no offense, but maybe he could use your services. Blow some steam off"

Maxine wanted to laugh, but kept it serious.

“We were just talking,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t even know him. Not interested.”

“Okay. Just saying... keep an eye on him.”

“Fair enough. I’ll definitely take your advice. See you next time, thanks.”

“Sure, babe. Take care.”

Maxine’s stomach churned as she stepped out of that floor, fingers twitching in frustration. “How the fuck does he know about Arthur?” she thought. “What the hell is going on?”

She flipped him off as she stepped back into the filthy elevator, muttering under her breath. “Fuck you, fucker.”

That man really gave her something to think about. Did Arthur really live with his mom? Poor bastard, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time, almost killed by those idiots. She didn’t want to think about it too much, but the thought lingered in her mind as she pressed the button for the 8th floor.

She needed to know more. Needed to fix this. And the guilt from earlier was eating at her.

The 8th-floor hallway greeted her with its usual griminess. Her heart was pounding now, but she kept moving, determined to find Arthur’s door.

It wasn’t unusual for Maxine to be in dangerous situations. After all, she used to be a journalist—her degree, her past, still clung to her. Danger was a language she spoke fluently, even if she didn’t like it. As a working girl, she knew how to deal with people. Knew what they were capable of. And the knife she always carried? It wasn’t for show.

But she couldn't. Not today. She turned back and headed home. She would just make things worse and she needed time to process what happened and have something of use to say to him. He was becoming her obsession and she needed to act carefully.

[arthurflecksgirl]

"Halo"

Word count : 3000

TW : Quick mentions of injury/Jail life

Summary : This scenery is inspired by some scenes from the teaser trailer but Harley free. Reader is visiting Arthur in his cell, comforting him which ends up being a healing experience for both of them.

The smell of garbage and hopelessness was hanging in the air like thick smoke. The instant chattering of the inmates impossible to keep you from feeling it in your bones. You begged for some white noise, for a sound less tormenting. Soon you will be able to hear his voice. Soothing, even if it was cracking. Only a few more steps down the stained hallways, passing some more guards, hearing some more screams and shouts. Laughter coming from a cell nearby. It wasnˋt him but you could tell it was some other inmate trying to mimic his cries. They probably didnt even know it was a cry. In here, he was the man who laughs. Always. The mocking sound send shivers down your spine. It  hurt you deep down in your heart, which was so full of love for this man, it didnt had any capacy left for anything else. You could tell by the way they tried to imitate his laughter, that they didnt knew about the painful source it was emerging from. That he had to fight it all his life. To endure it when he felt it crawling up his throat when in reality he was begging for a single tear to run down his cheek. Sometimes the tear would come but only from fighting so hard against the laughter. To them he was the man who never cried. Humiliation? He would be the man who laughs. Tasting someones fist and his own blood? He would be the man who laughs. Eletroshock therapy……

You fought for a long time to be allowed to visit him in his cell. Without the cold, stained glass between his skin and yours. Sometimes when the glass got all foggy from his breath you envied the surface for being covered with what was part of him. You wish it was your skin feeling the moist fog coming out of his mouth after he was cracking a joke that would only make you laugh.

You didnˋt notice your fingers starting to crumble the letter you were holding. The one you wrote for him  a week ago, so he had something to hold on to when you were back home again. Home. Who were you even kidding? Home was where he was, and if that meant home was a filthy cell in Arkham state hospital, then so it be.

 You would take off your clothes, fold them and put them under his sleepy head at night. Arthur rarely had been sleepy before,insomnia was holding him tight in itˋs claws, but the doctors made sure to keep him calmer. They made sure the man who laughs isnt laughing all through the night.

Even though it was never quiet in the hallways. Never a moment of rest, you knew that on his side, with your sweater functioning as a shared, tiney pillow it would work out somehow to find some peace. Even if only for a moment, even if only for a lullaby long. You would hum and sing him to sleep while youˋre touching his unwashed, curly hair. And his tiney body would soon stop shaking underneath your loving hands.The shakyness would come back in waves with every glimpse of a nightmare but you would be still awake,making sure he will be comforted by your hand on his forehead. A sweet, warm kiss or two or countless to make him drift back to sleep, even though he promised not to fall asleep to not miss a minute with you.

 But sleeping in your arms was not wasted time. It was the most precious gift under the sky. Especially in here. Your arms, a shelter within a cell. A tent within a harsh reality that wasnˋt able to effect him as baldy anymore. He knew that if he reached out to his own head he would find your hand. He would have proof the sensation of a hand in his hair wasnˋt just a dream. There was an arm and a shoulder to lie on. There was you.

„Miss,you now have an hour with Mr. Fleck.“ The Guards voice woke you out of your thoghts and you realized what you did to the letter in your hands „Dammit, what was I thinking?“ you cursed as you tried to even out the paper. The letter was important. It was something real, something physical to touch.

The door made a heavy sound as it opened. You could get a glimpse of Arthur through the small window which said „E258“.

Was that all he was to them? A number? While his name sounded like a poem to you, this number written on the door of his cell seemed like an insult which tried to strip him off his personality. You wondered who the other inmates were before they had been put in here and given a number. What their story was and what dreams they had before they ended up sounding like one pile of unbearable noise.

You wondered about if anyone in here was treating Arthur nicely. If he made some friends.

„Miss?“ the guard nodded as he pointed inside the claustrophobic space.

Then you saw him.

His gloomy eyes deperately searching for something that feels real. His tiney frame cradeling itself back and forth. There was so comfort here except a vivid dream world in your own mind. The memory of a song you used to love when you  were still able to see the blue skies whenever you wanted to.

 You hoped that he still had this amount of imagination. To make the black and greys his favourite colors. To make the mocking laughter coming from the other cells his favourite songs. You wondered if he ever danced around his cell on sleepless nights , imagining you between his arms. You craved to be the ghost of Arkham staying with Arthur night and day. Less like a spirit but more like an guardin angel wrapping him in golden, protective light.   

When the door fell open Arthur was barely reacting. He doubted it to be happening like everything else around him, including himself. The guard told you something else but you  werenˋt listening. All you could hear was Arthurs silent hum. Quiet as it was,to you it seemed more dominant than the arguments and fights going on a couple of feet away. It was like the place was filled with Arthur. His hums and heavy dreams, his sweat, tears and breath.

„Hey, my love“ you said, you could barely stand to be still a couple of steps away from him, but you wanted to give him a moment to realize you were real. Arthurs white undershirt was hanging loosely on his skinny body. He must have lost even more weight since last time you saw him.

Arthur was looking at the dim light that came from the ceiling. As if your voice was coming from there. He looked exhausted from always dreaming but never sleeping.

„Darling?“ you carefully kneed down beside him. His hands still wrapped around his knees, while he as sitting on the floor beside his so called bed. For a moment you thought that seeing him in his cell was actually worse than getting to see him behind the glass window. Wittnessing the reality of his every day life in here was unbearable. You desperately wanted him to get out of here. To bring him dinner to a sun flooded kitchen table, to wrap him into a fuzzy blanket.

„….is love, sweet love…“ he hummed quietly as he finally looked at you. His eyes trying to adjust his new reality.

„Y/N?“

„Yeah, its me. I am here now, Arthur. Do you hear me? Itˋs okay. I am here“ You placed the letter on the small table.

Arthur closed his eyes and smiled as if he was trying to absorb the information. To see if it would still be real when he opened his eyes again.

You started at him, waiting for him to do so. Desperately longing for looking into his eyes. He still kept them closed.

„…its the only thing…..“

He continued cradeling himself

„….there is just…….“

„Arthur? „

„….too little of….“

He quietly chuckled as he re opened his eyes. An emerald green universe of dreams. He opened his arms , waiting for you to get into his embrace. Eyes awkwardly focused on nothing. But his grin spoke more than words. He knew. He knew it was you.

You threw yourself into his arms within a second but yet you felt weightless, almost non existend as you fell onto his body. Did you become a dream the moment he held you? Part of his wold that was created out of imagination and hopes? Arthur was still hoping. For colors, for music and love. He was still craving after all he had to endure in here. Craving to be held.

His hold was surprisingly strong despite his weak body. You felt it while your own body seemed to disappear. You wanted to be real for him but if you were a dream……oh boy, if you were a dream you could stay with him forever and never had to leave for a single moment in time again. Time, space, cellar doors or rules……Nothing could effect you anymore. A dream can stay with you in every situation. Asleep or awake. You so desperately wanted to be his.

„Youˋre…here?!“

He needed this to be real.

You needed this to be real.

For once.

You coudnt talk as you opened your eyes. Can dreams talk back to you? You bet they can.

He needed your body to be something to touch. Not just a shilloutette of light standing beside his bed at night. Like an angel. Like something heavenly he made up in this hell that was these four walls.

The light coming from the ceiling crowned his head like a halo as he adjusted his position to hold you tighter. How ironic that this place which treated him as a dangerous criminal made him look like a saint.

Arthur shifted into your arms. The halo was gone. He wasnt standing in the light anymore.

But he was the light. He was tenderness. Holding him might have lasted a minute or an entire lifetime. It didnt matter as long as it lasted. Arms around bodies and  souls merging. Time is nothing.

After a little eternity of holding his little frame he stood there with his arms hanging from both sides of him. As if he didnt knew what to do with them anymore, now that they didnt held you.

„Arthur?“

„Hmm?“

„Could you….maybe take a step to the left side?“

He looked confused

„Is there something wrong?“

„No, ist just….I wanna see the real  you“

And as your right hand gently pushed Arthur  into position, the light  coming from the ceiling was crowning his head, making his curls look lighter in color. Making his halo shine.

Arthur smiled. Every single line that was carved into his handsome face moved, getting deeper.

„Perfect“ you whispered.

Arthur didnt even ask. He trusted you. He didnt move until you came towards him and hugged him again. This time you wanted to hold him tighter but you didnt dare to. Fragile as he seemed you were afraid to hurt him. Telling from the exposed skin on his chest and arms he suffered multiple bruises and cigarette burns.

„Who did this to you,love?“ it was hard to hold back the tears now.

Arthurs hands didnt move,lying on your back like they had always been there.

„I….um…I….canˋt remember“ he mumbled into the crook of  your neck.

„…but ist….fine…Iˋm getting…I think I am getting better. You know i´ve been thinking of some real good jokes. Of songs even. I was wondering if I could mix the two? Music and comedy and come up with a funny tune to make the days go by easier….and…I was wondering if….“

His voice cracked

„If what, Arthur?“ you losened the embrace to hold his face in your hands.

He swallowed hard „….Nevermind“

„You can tell me“

„I know“

„But itˋs okay if you canˋt right now“

Arthur nodded gratefully. Somehow all he needed was silence shared with you. The chattering down the halls became ore and more distant. Mutet even. By the music he was hearing when he looked at you. He wonˋt tell you. Not for now. But one day he will. One sweet day he would tell you about the song that was you.

„I wrote you a letter. Its actually not even close to what I have to say. But…“

„I am sure ist just perfect“ he muttered with a crocked smile. Eyes more focused now. „Thank you“.

You noticed a small wound on his temples ,placing a gentle kiss upon it.

„You know they say laughter is  the best medicine“ he said „But I disagree with them here. This is.“

You started kissing every inch of his face. Every wrinkle, every pore, the scar on his upper lip. You felt his mouth forming a smile when you did. And even if it was just wishful thinking, it felt like he was healing in your hands. Arthurs hand searched for yours while he hesitated about kissing you back. He was not used to this. The two of you had kissed before but he still remained rather insecure about being physical. He wasnˋt sure about how to act around someone he  was in love with. What if the way he was talking to you was not the way he was supposed to? If he said something wrong that would make you like him less? But then again….he knew deep inside that if there was one person in the world he could be himself with, it was you. If only he knew himself better. Sometimes he didnˋt knew what to do, how to act or who to be. But with you he felt like you truly saw something in him. And he wanted to be this man you saw when you looked at him.

The man with the halo.

Arthurs hand was holding yours inside his palms now. Carefully at first until it grew into a tight grip.

„You came“ he breathed into your face.

„Of course I did, darling.“

He let go of your hand „Iˋve made something for you“

Arthur nervously turned around to reach for a small object lying on the floor underneath the tiney window which barely let any sunlight in. He kept it in his left hand while he lit himself a cigarette.

„Oh, what is it?“

Arthur exhaled some smoke as he opened his hand.

„Um…we are not allowed to keep a lot of stuff in here….but….Iˋve collected some stones and Iˋve been carving this one here until it looked like a ….um…heart. Well…It was more like Iˋve been rubbing it against stuff because obviously we canˋt keep any sharp objects here. So….it….does not even look like a real heart… I am sorry….Itˋs….probably just some random, fucked up stone…Iˋm…“

You took the small object and kissed it. It was the most beautiful gift youˋve ever receiced.

„Itˋs beautiful…“

Arthur laughed. It was a geniue laugh.

„ Y/N? Are you crying or what?“

Now you had to laugh too.

„I guess I am“

„Iˋm glad you like it but itˋs really not that special“

„Oh, Arthur, belive me. It is.“

You carefully put the stone that had been carved by Arthur very own hands into your backpack. You will keep it under your pillow, once you arrived  at your apartment that should be the apartment of the two of you. The home that kept him save and sound. The kitchen that tranformed into the perfect venue for a waltz at 3 am. The smell of home cooked meals and tangerines filling the air.

„Will you lie down with me for a bit?“ Arthur puffed away his cigarette as he pointed to the dirty bedsheets „Iˋm sorry itˋs not that cosy. I wish I could offer you something more…“

As you crawled under the sheets with him, he lay on his back, his head turned to the side so he could face you, watching as you took your sweater off to place it gently under his head. He twitched when you accidentally touched his wound.

„Oh, Iˋm sorry my love. Better?“

„Yeah“ he whispered, as he pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray lying on the worn out bunk bed.

He buried his face into the fabric. It would be so much easier to cope having a piece of you to sleep on.

You worried about how it was probably not allowed to gift him a sweater you brought but for now his lovely head was resting on it while a peaceful look crossed his exhausted face and that was all that mattered.

You lay down beside him, using his chest as your own pillow, able to feel his sharp ribs sticking out. His hollowed out belly rising up and down with every breath.

„Did you eat something today?“

He didnt answer, afraid to worry you even more.

„Do you think I am allowed to bring you home cooked meals?“

Arthur sighed „Umm…I donˋt think so…Itˋs okay. Iˋm not even hungry“

A silent tear rolled down your cheek. Half of worry half of happiness to have him near.

„I like my new sweater pillow. It smells just like you“ he smiled, trying to hide his own concern that it might be taken away from him soon.

„You know, Iˋve got a lot of time in here. To dream I mean. To work on jokes in my head and think of songs. Sometimes I can hear the music coming out of the lamp on the ceiling. But only when the lights are on. Strange isnˋt it?“

You combed his hair with your fingers „Arthur, when you are out of here…One day you will be telling all these jokes in crowded comedy clubs and singing all those songs in Gothams most famous Jazz clubs. And I will be there clapping along with the audience before you go off stage to grab my hand and go home to our kids who watched it on live tv and are so proud of their dad.“

Arthur started humming  an unknown song that he made up in multiple versions . Each song lyric with a different kinda ending. There were so many options to choose from and he liked that.

„This sounds like my favourite version“ he whisperd bewteen the hums.

And for a moment you could have sworn the light coming from the ceiling started flickering and flooded the grey cell in golden spotlights.

[fleckficgirl]

Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 13

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: sex, age gap, language, violence, mental illness, assault

Word Count: 2651

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Arthur called immediately after you hung up the phone with Tina and Chantelle and asked you to meet him at City Central Station at noon.

“I have to go out to Long Island,” he said, a heavy undercurrent of apology in his voice. “And I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to come with me.” 

“Sounds perfect,” you’d replied instantly.

Arthur laughed, surprised. “I, uh…well, I know it’s not very romantic. But it’s kind of an emergency and-”

“I’m there,” you said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur said. He sounded tense, flustered. You wished you were in the same room with him so you could put his arms around him and calm him down. Comfort him with your body. Among other things. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Arthur assured you. “I’m not hurt or anything. I can explain everything to you on the train. I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be sorry, Arthur,” you stopped him. “I’m happy just to spend time with you. No matter what we’re doing.”

You heard Arthur pause, releasing a relieved-sounding sigh on the other end, his tone softening. “I…I couldn't stop thinking about you last night,” he confessed. “I think I even dreamed about you.”

“Really?” you felt an uncontrollable smile spread across your face. Only Arthur Fleck could make you smile like a complete loon. 

“Sorry. Is that weird for me to tell you that?”

“No!” you blurted. “In fact, I dreamed about you!” 

Arthur laughed. “You did? Last night?”

“Uh…not last night, exactly.” You felt your cheeks heating up and felt glad Arthur couldn't see you blush. “Earlier. Like…maybe after the first time I saw you?”

“That’s sweet, Y/N. Was it a nice dream?”

“It was…very nice.” 

If only Arthur knew the true carnal nature of that first dream. You’d get around to telling him someday…hopefully sooner rather than later. 

And now, one hour later, here you were: one hour standing on the train platform waiting for him. 

You glanced around Gotham City Central Station at all the bustling people - still rushing, still hustling, still rat-racing on a Saturday morning. They were like hamsters on one big gigantic wheel in a cage called Gotham, and although you knew you were one of them, having a day off gave you a refreshed perspective: Exactly who was winning this race? Why did normal people have to work themselves into the ground just to scrape by? 

It seemed the winners of this race had already been called a long time ago. 

Among the noise, traffic and images vying for your attention all at the same time, you locked eyes with a poster of Thomas Wayne. You shook your head. He was on television all the time these days. People seemed to think Wayne could “fix” Gotham and wanted him to run for mayor. 

To put it bluntly: you thought those people were delusional. 

There was no denying Gotham was a broken place. But was the wealthy mogul Thomas Wayne really the one to fix it? How could he know what the people of this God-forsaken city needed to get back on their feet? How could someone born and raised with an endless supply of silver spoons in his mouth possibly relate to living on the fringes of society?

The crowd parted and Arthur appeared, holding a newspaper under his arm. He spotted you and smiled. You ran up to him and leapt into his arms. Arthur caught you, spun you, then dipped you over and kissed you. The two of you were living in your own musical fantasy in the middle of a dirty, overcrowded train station.

“I’m so sorry that this is our second date,”Arthur said as he lowered you to the ground. “I wanted to plan something more romantic…a walk in the park, or maybe a trip to the-”

“Arthur,” you stopped him. “Anytime we’re together is romantic. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now but here.” 

He smiled shyly and gave you a tender kiss on the cheek.

The graze of his lips against you triggered a slew of wants. You wanted to kiss him again. Properly. In fact, you wanted to do a lot of things to him. The memory of the soft pull of Arthur’s lips against yours the night before had stirred within you like a fever since then - but you were worried that if you started, you wouldn't be able to stop. And there were too many people around. You’d have to behave yourself. At least for the time being. 

“So where exactly on Long Island are we headed?” you asked. “And what’s this mystery mission you couldn’t tell me about on the phone?”

Arthur drew in a heavy breath. “It’s…look, I don’t want to sound crazy. I’m not sure if I believe it myself, but last night…”

He was interrupted by your train pulling loudly into the station. 

“That’s the one we want,” he jerked his head towards it.

“Oh shit!” you exclaimed. “I just remembered, I didn’t buy a ticket!”

“Don’t worry,” Arthur fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out two small pieces of paper. “I got yours.” 

After finding two empty seats together, you placed your hand on Arthur’s and listened. Listened as he told you everything: How his mother had been writing letters to Thomas Wayne (funny how you’d just been thinking about him…though to be fair, his smug face was plastered all over the city). How he hadn’t paid his mother’s compulsive letter-writing much mind. She was set in her ways and tended to overfocus on things that were of little to no consequence. And finally: how last night after coming home from your date, an unexpected burst of curiosity had cajoled him into reading one of her letters…

…in which his mother had disclosed something totally unexpected. Something shocking.

“Thomas Wayne?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. 

Arthur nodded.

“Your…father?”

You blinked. This was so out of left field, it had gone past left field and back to right again. You struggled to pick a reaction; there were so many coursing through your mind and heart. You could only imagine how Arthur was feeling. 

“How did your mother even know him?” you asked, agog.

“She used to work for the Waynes. As their housekeeper. Just before I was born.”

You shook your head in stunned disbelief. “I have to say, I don’t know what to think. Do you believe her, Arthur?” 

Arthur was silent for a moment, and you gave him space to find the words.

“At first I didn't, really. She hasn’t always been…the best at telling the truth. She thinks things are real that aren’t. I wonder sometimes if I get that from her.” 

He unfolded the newspaper on his lap and began leafing through the pages.

“But now, when I look at pictures of him - and his pictures are everywhere - I can’t help but see a resemblance. Maybe it’s all in my head, I don’t know.” 

Arthur landed on a picture of Wayne and his wife, gazing admiringly up at him as he waved to a crowd. He tore out the photo and creased back the edges so you both could see it more clearly. 

“Do you think I look like him, Y/N?” Arthur asked. 

“I don’t know…” You scoured the famous man’s face. The curve of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows. 

Like a bolt of lightning, it struck you.  

“Shit, Arthur. I don’t know if I’m going crazy, but…now I do kind of see a resemblance!” 

“I know,” Arthur said. “Now that I see it, I can’t stop seeing it.”

You peered in closer. 

“But why wouldn’t she say anything until now?” you leaned back in your seat. “Why wait all these years?” 

“She said she signed some papers promising she would keep it a secret. It was to protect me as their child, some big scandal coming out. But she said they loved each other. They just couldn’t be together.” 

“Jesus,” you sat back in your seat. Through the window, the entire world seemed to blur as the train lurched away from the city. “What a fucking rollercoaster.” 

“I have to go see him,” Arthur’s voice broke into your racing thoughts. “Talk to him face to face.”

“Of course,” you agreed. “Go to his house and confront him. It’s the only way to get to the bottom of this. ” 

You’d been to Wayne Manor only once before: a field trip in the second grade at Burnley Elementary School. Over a decade later, all you recalled about the visit were the Waynes’ dobermans that barked at you and your classmates the entire time. Like you were intruders even though the Manor was a historical landmark with paid tours.

The Waynes were a piece of work. 

“Come on,” you took Arthur’s hand as you exited the train station. There were no cabs around like in the Gotham, and the walk from the train station to Wayne Manor would take at least half an hour on foot. 

Long Island was worlds apart from the city. Away from the endless, screeching roar of Gotham, you could actually hear yourself think. 

You and Arthur made your way down the tree-lined roads. It was autumn and the leaves were beginning to turn gold and fall to the ground. You liked how Arthur made a point to always walk on the outside of the sidewalk, creating a buffer between yourself and the street. Maybe his mother was crazy, but there was no denying she had raised a gentleman. 

Arthur seemed to relish holding your hand, the sound of dry leaves crunching beneath your feet. 

“So what was that dream you had about me?” you asked playfully, giving his hand a light squeeze. You looked over to see his cheeks flush. His shy smile swept you off your feet.  

“Oh,” Arthur gave a small laugh. “I dreamed you were onstage with me.” 

“Doing your comedy act?” you giggled. “Like a singing, dancing comedic duo?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “I mean yes. Kind of. We were singing and dancing together. I was in my red suit and you were…”

He paused. You shot him a quizzical look.

“I was what?” you prodded. 

“It’s embarrassing.”

“What was I, naked or something?” 

“No,” he shook his head. His face was even cuter (if such a thing was possible) when it was all embarrassed and flushed.

“You were wearing your Snow White costume.”

Not the answer you’d expected. You let out a laugh. 

“I guess that makes sense,” you conceded. “Given you’ve seen me in it at the children’s hospital.”

“It’s not just that,” Arthur confessed as you walked along. “It’s because…well, I didn’t tell you this at the time because I thought it would be weird. But Snow White was the first movie I ever saw in the movie theater.” 

“That’s not so strange,” you replied. “It’s a classic, after all.”

“Well…she was also my first love. Snow White, I mean. I saw her up there on the screen and I fell in love with her.”

Now you were blushing. And as stupid as it was, you also felt a pang of jealousy course through you. Yes, you were jealous of a cartoon princess Arthur’d been infatuated with as a child. It was beyond ridiculous, but the truth was: hearing Arthur loved anyone besides you made your heart pound with envy. You just hoped he still didn’t have a thing for her. 

“You know…” Arthur’s voice broke into your racing thoughts. “I hope this isn't weird of me to say, but…I'm honestly surprised you would ever be interested in someone like me.” 

You stopped in your tracks. Was he trying to give you the brush off? Tell you he was still in love with a childhood celluloid dream? Your heart was jumping up and down, side to side. You couldn’t imagine going on without him in your life. 

“What makes you say that?” you asked, measured tone and breath, trying specifically not to sound as psycho as you really felt.

Arthur shrugged. “I’m…older than you, I live with my mother. I have no money. And you…”

You wanted to protest everything he was saying, but reminded yourself to wait patiently for him to complete the thought. 

“...you’re a college student.”

“I was a college student,” you corrected him.

“You deserve to live in a beautiful place like this,” Arthur said, gesturing at the verdant surroundings. “Someone who can give you that.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” you blurted. You could feel another episode coming on and as much as you trusted Arthur, you really didn’t want to lose it in front of him again. You especially didn’t want to lose it because he was dumping you. And on Long Island, no less. Crazy behavior was normal in Gotham, but here they’d have you arrested for so much as a shriek here.

“No!” he shook his head immediately. “Not at all. I just…don’t want you to feel like I’m keeping you from a better life. You know I have all these problems…”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wasn’t breaking up with you. He was just concerned, thoughtful, putting your needs ahead of his. 

It only made your feelings deepen for him even more. 

“Does it bother you?” Arthur asked. “That I’m older than you?”

“No,” you replied. “Does it bother you? Have you ever been with someone younger?” 

Arthur pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one loose, bringing it to his mouth as he fished around his other pocket for a lighter. 

“I haven’t really dated at all,” he said with an embarrassed wince. “I’m not someone most people would…ever be interested in.” 

“That’s not true,” you said, still reeling from the shock that this beautiful, sweet, tender man had never dated. Though to be fair, knowing he’d loved anyone else would have triggered more jealousy. At the same time, you couldn’t wrap your head around how no one could see how amazing he was. 

“I’ve never dated, either, Arthur,” you pointed out. 

“But that makes sense. You're a lot younger than I am.”

You grinned slightly. “Have you been doing the math? How much?”

Arthur inhaled the first drag of his cigarette, and it billowed out into the clean Long Island air. 

“You told me what year you graduated last night. If I’d stayed in school, I would have graduated in 1964. Which means I'm fifteen years older than you. It took me a second to do the math. That was never my strong subject. None of them were.” 

You shook your head, then suddenly found yourself laughing. “Actually…”

Arthur looked up at you with big, worried eyes. “Yes?”

“I like that you’re older than me,” you confessed.   

“You do?”

“Is that weird?” Now you felt a little embarrassed. You didn’t want Arthur to think you were a freak, but you were just being honest. “I don't like guys my age.”

“You didn't meet anyone you liked at school? I'd think lots of guys would be interested in you.”  

“‘Interested’ is a relative term,” you scoffed bitterly. “The guys at Gotham U are…let's just say a lot of them are book smart. And come from rich families. But they act like fucking animals.”

Arthur frowned. “Animals? How do you mean?”

You shook your head. “I'll tell you about it some other time.”

Arthur nodded respectfully.

“The truth is, Arthur,” you continued. “I never liked anybody that way…until I met you.”

Arthur smiled at the ground as you plodded along in sync, then silently took your hand.

“I feel the same way about you,” he said. “When we’re together, it just…feels right.” 

“I know,” you said, giving his hand a squeeze. “So many things in my life haven’t felt right…haven't been right. But this does. And if it feels right, nothing else matters.” 

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[jokeringcutio]

Update: The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours

Now that I have finally continued, I have rewritten the outline, adjusted the estimated length of the tale from 12 chapters in total, to 20 chapters. [ For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, you can check the story here ] As those of you who have read and been following the tale online know, I have uploaded 9 chapters in the past. That was with the original outline. The tale ended with Arthur having turned into the Joker and successfully kidnapping you, dear reader, already pregnant with his child. Can't have you all left stranded there, can I? What happens next: Things become more gritty and violent. I have rewritten chapters 10 and 11, and have kept some parts of 12 aside to be used in the tale later on. I had a bit of difficulty finding the right vibe now that the location has changed (no longer in your comfortable home or at the job) and Arthur has become the Joker. I didn't want to lose the feeling of the past chapters, which were mundane and full of smut. In my first drafts, the chapters lost that feel. Not enough smut. Too much I wanted to say in one go. Didn't work. I eventually found back the vibe and the right plot bunny to keep the tale interesting. Between chapter 9 and 10, I have added an interlude (so basically, an extra chapter), describing how the reader is taken by Joker and his new followers to a secret hide-out. I am currently writing chapter 14. This means we have 10, 11, 12 and 13 all written out as a draft. These chapters contain scenes which include cunnilingus, smut, a new friend for our Reader, a rescue plan, plotting against the Joker, violence and maiming (not against our Reader), jealous Joker, visibly pregnant Reader (and Arthur/Joker being all touchy because he wants to feel the baby kick) and well, there's loads more to come! Keep following me for more progress on the tale, snippets, and tidbits about what is going to come next. I plan to write the entire story till the end before I will publish it.

In the meanwhile, if you like my writing, feel free to browse my masterlist. New tales, drabbles and headcanons appear regularly. Feel free to send in suggestions and prompts as well, though I might be slow in responding to them. Make sure to check out my account for recent updates, as I usually post in a European time frame and I notice that many of my posts are overlooked because of it (which is why I sometimes decide to post prompt fills on different sites as well such as on AO3 ). If you liked The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours and are into Dark Romance/being kidnapped by an older man (with gorgeous dark hair and mental issues rofl) I can recommend my Black Phone Fanfic The Chance to make a Change. This story is complete in draft (so you won't have to wait 2 years or more to know the ending), and is currently being uploaded. It has the same kind of vibe as TMWCTBY. If you want to stick to our Arthur Fleck/Joker then I have tons of little fills written about him, as well as plans for new longer fics. I still want to continue The Princess and The Clown, perhaps rework it. But if you want something short that is complete, can I recommend No Family Man? If you like long-haired men, villains and age gap fics, then I would like to point you at the many Arthur Harrow fills I have written (don't worry, you don't have to have seen the Moon Knight series or read the comics. I haven't either). I am currently working on an asylum patient Harrow x Reader fic as well. Now, to end this post, I have posted a gif that is fitting for The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours. It's not the gif that inspired the entire tale, but it is pretty meaningful to it. I think many readers will know why. Hope you are all having a wonderful day, Yours sincerely, JokeringCutio

[thepinkdreamganjaqueen]

Subway Obsessions FemReader's POV ch2

Arthur Fleck x Fem!Reader POV

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: Chapter 2 of the Subway Obsessions series from Fem Readers POV. You search for Arthur on the train on a daily occurrence now, and it's become routine. You fantasized about him daily and nightly since your last encounter. You haven't seen him since that night. If you do see him tonight, you're making your move!

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, oral (m and f receiving), piv, unprotected sex, breeding, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, praise, begging, mentions of violence, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of mental health struggles, mentions of mental disorders, mentions of self-harm (past), stalking, swearing, obsession, D/S implications, self-doubt, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff, aftercare

A/N: Finally getting to the good stuff here!!! First full-on smut! This was so fun to write and quite uh... descriptive and long. I would also like to say that the duality of these stories when read from either POV, compliment each other so well. Its crazy to see the dynamics in how they see one another. Both carrying self doubt but seeing the other as a powerful and confident creature. Seeing the best in each other and the worst in themselves. I hope they find solace in each other to see their own true potential and know they are both loved and worthy of loving! And as always, I welcome tips, ideas, comments, and criticisms, but please be nice. Cheeers!!

Word Count: 7.8k

SERIES: Subway Obsessions

CHAPTER 2: For Him

You awoke early every day this week. Unable to sleep, your rest tinged with excitement, an unbearable urge to make time go faster. You often would reminisce of the moment you met him. Arthur, your mind warbled at the name, leaving you with a sense of lifting off of the ground. A peculiar feeling that could only be characterized by your longing and lust. For days, you have ached to see him again. So many times, you pictured him looming over you mischievously with a crooked smile on his face, like he wanted nothing more than to devour you… and you’d let him. You had imagined him in the most precarious of situations that often made you blush and would shock most. Once again, you ambled out of bed, still fuzzy from sleep, wiping the dust from your eye. You had this urge since you met him to look your best or to try. You had no idea what he liked or preferred, really. You’d hope to find out. You wanted to be his obsession, wanted him to want you as much as you did him. Did he think about you? You thought. You imagined him pleasuring himself to the thought of you, and a shiver went through to your core and nestled in your nethers where you began to swelter under your clothing. Your throat dry, cheeks brimming a rosey red, you tried to gather yourself to bring these lewd images to fruition… that would mean leaving the house!

So, on you went, doting on yourself unremittingly, trying to create a look you thought he would like. You wanted him to crave you, to seethe in your presence. You picked out a cream colored fuzzy fitted knit sweater so soft to the touch and a black pleated skirt that fluttered down and stopped above your knees. You knew it would billow in the wind, possibly exposing your lacey white cheeky panties. Everything you wore was for his benefit. Some silver accents, a ring, and a pair of knee-high chunky heeled boots. The way they crept up to your knees in a slick black laced up leather, every piece of clothing served a purpose. To drive him crazy. To make his senses tingle. You pictured your boots wrapped around his neck, gipping him and pulling him closer to you. You were plagued with these explicit thoughts for days. Tonight, you left your hair down, brushed out the curls, and let them bounce above your waist and over your shoulders. Cascading onto your chest, outlining your shapely breasts. You hoped this wouldn’t be another night you missed him - because you did, you missed him.

You truly started to worry if it was just a one-off encounter. Nonetheless, you didn’t give up. You couldn’t. He haunted your dreams, your thoughts, completely infiltrating your psyche. In your mind, he was already yours. It's time to make that a reality. So funny, you thought. There was so much confidence I pretended to have when I wouldn’t even know the first thing to say. You told yourself, if you did see him again that you’d try your best not to fuck it up. You didn’t want to scare him or turn him off. A dreadful thought crossed your mind. What if he doesn’t find me attractive? What if he doesn’t like my body? My scars… You stopped the thought. Pushing it away like a child putting their fingers in their ears yelling la la la. You wanted nothing to do with that thought. You bottled it up as you always do, trying not to internalize your fears of rejection and body dysmorphia. I look amazing! You declared, self-talking in the mirror. Say it, just always say it, even if you don’t believe it.

Platform 19 was as dreary and dead as it always is. You passed a couple of hooded figures hiding from society in the corners of the platform under the whine of exposed wires and faulty fluorescents. You kept your distance and headed for the last bench again. This was routine for you now. Every night, you retraced your steps in hopes of seeing Arthur again. Playing out scenes in your mind of how things could go if you saw him and how you would respond, etc. Your mind creating endless possibilities, always ending in your ultimate sexual demise. A familiar breeze approaches, pushing harder as it nears. Your heart leaps into your throat. The train has arrived. You grabbed your things and took a moment to steady yourself, to try and slow your nervous breathing that created a small cloud of foreboding against the cold night air. Your hands were sweating and shaking. You clutched your shoulders inward to avoid the brunt of the cold that roared as the train approached. You were restless as the doors began to open in front of you. So slow, you thought. You began your shakey descent through the corridors holding your breath, tense, heart beating in your throat. You did this every day, the same routine, train car after train car, looking for that familiar face. It had been a few days since you had seen him, but he was constantly on your mind, always nearly within reach, but never truly close enough. You needed to see him again, to hear his voice, to feel his touch.

As you approach the last section of the train, scanning the seats, you lock eyes with someone you immediately recognize as Arthur. That’s definitely him! You thought. Although, he looked different, absolutely captivating, and handsome as always. You let out a long breath. Your chest no longer felt tight. Finally! He raises a hand and waves you over, but you were already heading to him hurriedly without a thought. Practically tripping over yourself, your body taking on its own sentience before your mind could think. Being driven by pure desire, dragged to him mercilessly, you happily obliged. You were once again the only two people on the train. How lucky for you, you thought. How lucky for him! You smirked and giggled internally. Unbelievably striking! His face, decorated with white paint, a red smile that extended past his full lips, a red nose, red drawn on eyebrows, and blue triangles above and below each eye. His suit, a contrast of red, with an orange vest and emerald green undershirt. His hair slicked back messily. It curled at the ends in locks of green that matched his undershirt. He was magnificent! You thought. A work of art and everything you desired in that moment. The way he moved, the way he looked, enchanted you. You were the snake; he was the charmer. He moved, and you moved.

You felt a frigid breeze blow past your face and exposed legs. The doors of the subway train clanked shut with a force that blew through your knees and out the front, pushing the fabric of your skirt upwards and exposing your upper thighs to Arthur. You saw him glance down. His lips curled in as he bit his lower lip. He quickly stood, holding on to a rail with one hand and reaching out with his other. You were mere inches away. He helps you sit down, releasing his grip on the rail and sliding his hand across your lower back, guiding you to the seat closest to the window and sits next to you. There are bench seats in front of you both and behind you, essentially caging you in. You don’t feel threatened. You don’t feel claustrophobic. You feel safe, protected, and secure. Your mind searches, you don’t know what to say, but you play it off coyly. You boast as if you have confidence to hide your true inner demeanor. You were a nervous wreck, but also the most excited you’ve ever been. He was here! Literally within reach, the possibilities flood your mind. You finally caught him, and this time, you were not going to let him go.

When he sat, your shoulders, elbows, hips, and thighs brushed softly against one another. The movement from the train creates and alleviates pressure randomly between you two. Pushing you into one another. Immediate warmth began brewing in the space closest between your bodies. You turn to each other and shift your bodies toward one another. Your knees, pressing into his outer thigh. You straighten out your skirt and move your hair out of your face, then look up at him. He has his arm extended out on the seat behind you. He speaks out. “I'm a clown” a sudden and unexpected sentiment. He seemed to want to explain. However, you hadn't really thought much about it aside from the fact you found it extremely attractive. It was still Arthur, but the look enhanced his features, narrowing his brow and accentuating his jawline. It just felt right. Nothing seemed out of place about this to you, so you didn’t think too much about it.

“I work as a clown for a talent agency” he said while gesturing towards his face with a hand. You listened attentively as his voice caressed the most starved inner parts of your brain. Scratching an itch you didn’t know you had. “But my dream is to become a comedian. I want to bring laughter and joy to the world”. He spoke so honestly and so beautifully. You could hear the pain in his voice he masked. It was endearing, and you thought, how commendable. Such a simple dream but with such big implications and impact. It meant more than him, you thought, how selfless, and how kind. This man you saw before you, so humble and sweet. You felt primal, urges begin to take over your mind, you let them, but maintained a friendly calm exterior… you hoped. “Arthur!” You jested! “I didn’t know you wanted to be a comedian! I love that! And I love the makeup!” You slapped his leg playfully. He smiled, his cheeks creating wide lines rippling the red paint. “Yeah, I uh, have a book I write jokes in and everything! It's got a lot of personal stuff and stuff from my own life, I think that’s what makes the best jokes.” He boasted sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders as he did.

You two began a long, deep conversation as the train crawled through the endless tunnels under the city, and time stood still. The lights from the tunnel flashing across your faces every so often light up the dimly lit train car. You spoke about anything and everything. One conversation led into the next and story after story as you two began getting to know about each other on a deeper level. You spoke about your past, how you grew up in an abusive household with parents who abused drugs, and how you were taken away at five years old due to neglect. He spoke to you about his past and childhood as well, how he was adopted and didn’t know his dad, how he had a neurological condition that caused him to laugh uncontrollably in situations of high stress or emotion. You two spoke about mental health, and he spoke of his need for medications and therapy. Although he seemed apprehensive to speak about many of the deeper topics, perhaps it was a fear of judgment. Nevertheless, you maintained a presence of safety, to be someone he could speak to safely and openly. You, too, have gone through life dealing with these issues. You didn’t feel comfortable telling him about your self-harm scars, though, at least not yet. You felt it was too intense and ashamed. But you related on your mutual need for therapy and the like and spoke honestly about your own diagnosis. You bared your soul to him without hesitation, knowing you are broken, yet doing your best just like him. You sought to make him feel not so alone because, in reality, that’s how he made you feel.

You thought to yourself how lucky you were to find a soul akin to your own with similar relatable experiences. You could help each other through things, learn, and grow. You spoke about life, politics, hopes, dreams, experiences, travel, etc. etc. You watched his face as he spoke, seeing every detail. How his nose crinkles when he smiles, the shape of his nose, the angular shape of his jawline as he opens and closes his mouth. Every lash that fluttered as he blinked. How his forehead moved when he’d raise his eyebrows. You studied him, wanting to know more, to see more. You noted every emotion you saw crossing his face, keeping the images of his face stored somewhere in your mind. The two of you connected in so many ways. You related so closely to his life stories and had so much in common. You felt even closer to him now. It was no longer surface level, and your lust for him only grew deeper, more complex.

You had an abundant amount of respect for this man. You found him to be a genuinely good and respectable person just trying to take care of his mother and support himself and his life's goals. Just like you, he wanted to make people happy. To help them and to succeed and be respected. It was wholesome. With each minute that passed, time seemed not to move at all. Every time the train moved in a rough manor and bumped you into him, you took the chance to steady yourself on him. Grabbing his thigh, curling your fingers softly inward towards the middle, sliding them off softly as you did, tracing lines on his suit. Every chance you had in the conversation to laugh or jest, you used as a chance to touch him. Putting your hand on his leg, looking him in his eyes when speaking seriously and from the heart, and playfully grabbing his shoulder when he would crack a joke. He was funny without trying, often just being a smartass. His humor was dry and a bit dark. It matched perfectly to yours. You both laughed loudly and wholeheartedly in the less serious parts of your conversation. It was bliss. It was so easy to speak with him. There were no awkward silences, no need to fill the space. You could listen to him speak all day and vice versa you could talk to him all day. The way he listened as you spoke. He was still, eyes concentrated on you and you alone. Watching your lips as you spoke, afraid to keep eye contact. And those eyes peeking at you through the makeup while looking down at you as he spoke, you melted into him. Hanging on his every word, anticipation at its height.

You crossed one leg over the other. The one farthest from him, your leg hooking his knee slightly and brushing past it as you did before resting in that position. Deliberately. You wanted to see if you could make his cheeks flush behind that makeup. You wanted to test the waters to see if, in fact, he was feeling what you were feeling. As much as you preach about communication and expressing your feelings, you were far too scared of rejection to be so forward. Rejection from Arthur would break you. You already felt so close to him. So, you were unsure how to proceed. Perhaps a look crossed your face. Perhaps he could read your mind. He quickly glanced at his leg and then returned his gaze to you. He began to reach his hand toward your thigh when suddenly you recognized the loud speaker announcing the approaching platform. Yours was still several stops away, but it immediately put a panic into your heart.

You wouldn’t have much time left with him now. Reality came crashing in on you, and you sprung yourself upwards, putting your knees on the bench to see over the seats behind you. You turned towards the back to view the closest marquee board, hoping the numbers were a lie. It was quick and sudden. Unbeknownst to you, in doing so, you essentially placed your breasts right in Arthur's face. His hand immediately reached up and held you close, pliantly, pulling you in, holding you still, a loving gesture truly. His hands felt stiff and strong. For a brief moment, you could feel the pressure of his nose in your cleavage and his forehead on your chest burrowing into you and inhaling deeply before you slid back down. Once again, forgetting about the numbers and being brought back to this man before you. You so badly wanted to be with him physically. To touch him in any way, for him to touch you.

You slid back into your seat, looking up at him, a mere inches away, bodies so close you could feel his breath. He was looking into your eyes examiningly. You shifted your gaze, feeling exposed and apologizing profusely, practically babbling. “Sorry, sor-sorry, I didn’t mean to. I mean, I-I completely forgot, I wasn’t paying atte-.” While trying to explain away your actions and trying not to seem like you were being rude- because that’s how you thought he would have perceived it, jumping up in the middle of a conversation like that. Arthur grabs your face with both hands. Gently placing them upon your cheeks with his thumbs resting under your chin, redirecting your gaze back to his and tilting your head upward ever so gently. He didn’t need to push or pull. With him, you were like water. You flowed with whatever movement he initiated. His eyes gazing into yours, your face a mixture of surprise and want. Your lips parted slightly; eyebrows raised. As if answering every wish in your mind, Arthur leans in and pulls you closer to him. One thumb reaches up from your chin and brushes over your lips. The other hand moves from your face and smoothes down your neck, sliding back behind your head and pulling you even closer as he steadies himself, shifting in his seat as he does. He caresses the back of your neck, running his fingers through your hair, squeezing lightly.

Tilting his head to the side, you close your eyes as you feel his lips press to yours. He lets out a long sigh through his nose, and you can hear a hum low in his throat. You immediately loosen, dropping your shoulders and pushing yourself onto him, leaning in fully for the kiss. You turn your body in your seat, getting up on your knees to reach his face more easily. You place your hands on his chest, pulling at his collar, wanting him closer. You moan and exhale pure passion, all of your longing, all of your obsession, finally being fulfilled. He sucked in through his teeth as if inhaling your essence, drinking you in. Your breathing was heavy, heart racing, skin hot. Your body felt like fire. He kissed you passionately, pushing hard into your lips, not breaking contact as he traced his tongue along yours, fighting for a spot in your mouth. Your teeth clanked as you kissed aggressively. Pawing at each other helplessly, taken over by your desire for one another. His hand went from your face and slid down the front of your top, smoothing the fabric as it slid. His hand rested at the seem just above your skirt. His fingers then began to slowly peak under your shirt as you felt his other hand slide from your neck to the small of your back. His fingers were cold against your skin, stinging, leaving a trail of cooler skin as they moved closer to their destination. It was exhilarating.

You kissed him back passionately, breathing hard through your nose, pushing back against him. You placed a hand on his shoulder, moving it to the back of his head where you playfully pulled his hair. You could feel him smile through the kiss. You moved your other hand from his collar to his chest, rubbing up to his shoulder and placing your fingers under his suits overcoat, sliding them delicately down his shoulder. Without hesitation, he took the initiative to follow suit and slid his arm out the rest of the way, pulling it off the other arm without leaving your face. His lips slightly shifted as his body moved. He re steadied just as quickly, dedicating his full attention to you. You acted, and he reacted and vice versa. Symbiotic. As his tongue gently roamed your mouth, his hands continued roaming your body greedily tugging at you, grabbing your skin lightly. Leaving no inch untouched. His fingers danced gently over your skin, but with enough force and authority to hold you in, to keep you there.

With your body pressed up against his, you lift your left knee and slide it between his legs finding a place to rest it on the seat bringing yourself even closer to him, hands in his hair again, tussling his curls playfully as you bit his lip. He let out a small, almost inaudible gasp. He then opened his eyes drunkenly and gave you a pleading look. His red paint smeared on his face, blurring the lines of the smile and no doubt spread onto your lips and nose as well in the heat of the kiss. You smirked, now knowing the power you had over him. Feeling his whole body erupt with desire at your touch. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You looked longingly into his eyes, seeing into him. You brimmed with emotions, too many to name, but at the surface was pure love and contentment, you wanted to give him all of you, all of your love. His arms wrapped around your back felt like an extension of your own body. Like he was a part of you, a piece that just fit so perfectly into place. The connection is undeniable. You placed your hand on his face, cradling his cheek and tracing where the lines of his red smile were. He all but sunk into your hand. He was so cute, so innocent, so untouched. You wanted to strip him of his purity, to ruin him sexually in ways that would make a preacher pray. You bit your bottom lip and rushed back to his. They were as soft as you imagined, pouty, and pillowy. They moved softly over yours as he pressed his tongue inward. You pulled his tongue into your mouth sucking on it, tracing underneath with your tongue reaching the tip and letting go. The kiss ended in a smack as you let go of his tongue. His hands had now wandered under your shirt, so precise and sure of his movements. One hand in the back holding you close, putting pressure on the small of your back just above your waist, one in the front, cupping your ample breast. He would switch from one breast to the other, his hand squeezing around them with minute pressure. You could hear a low groan building in his throat.

Unaware the entire time you were kissing him, your hips and legs that were straddling his thigh had begun moving upon their own volition. Rocking and swaying with the kiss, grinding on his knee. You could feel the heat that rose up from your core, moistening your panties as he encouraged you with his hands, holding you steadily, gently moving with your motions. You hadn't had much thought while kissing him. It was almost mechanical, routine. But now, all you could think about was him sliding his hands down there. You slowly nudged your knee closer to his groin, as close as it would go. His legs tightened around yours, and you could feel the stillness in his pants brush against your knee. This nearly sent you over the edge. Made you crazed with passion. He slid both hands around your back, reaching under your skirt, gripping his hands around your exposed bare cheeks, and pulled closer. The tips of his fingers brushing up against the lace of your panties ever so slightly. Squeezing his hands hard gripping your flesh until it spilled out between each finger, you audibly moaned in his ear, gasping at his touch. You flung your head back as he began peppering kisses around your neck. Starting behind your ear and working his way down to your shoulders, then collar bones and back up the front of your neck under your chin and working his way back to your mouth. This man had you in a choke hold, and you were putty in his forgiving hands. The world around you melted away. Unbothered by the frigid air in the subway, unaware that your stop had already come and gone. It was the last thing on your mind and worlds away. Arthur was your focus. You had his attention, and you planned on keeping it for as long as possible, and you didn’t care who saw or who was affected by it. Work who? Work where? Honestly, fuck that place! Nothing made you feel as good as Arthur did right now. Not helping people, not being a reliable coworker, nothing. You would let everyone and everything go for him. He’s the closest you’ve ever felt to joy, to pure unfiltered exhilaration. You were nothing if not enraptured by his touch and charmed by his nature. It felt like a dream in the sense you were content, he felt like home, like a nice warm bed you had drifted off in. He radiated pure comfort. Reality now matching your dreams, your fantasies, coming to fruition. It was destiny.

He continued kissing your face, his hands, one gripping your breast, one gripping the back of your head with his fingers, entangled in your curls. He clenched his hand and pulled you away slightly. A light gasp escaped your lips. He gazed into your eyes with intensity. You watched as his lips moved but barely registered the words. “Come on” a hazy voice spoke in a low whispered gravelly tone. You shifted your leg away from between his as he rose and offered out a hand. Mindlessly, you followed, grasping his hand as he pulled you out of the corner and led you to the seats that lined the side of the subway sprawled out in front of a large window. There was more room here. You were no longer caged in, yet you felt exposed. But those thoughts were not at the forefront of your mind. No thoughts, really. You were drunk with passion and followed his commands without thought. Like a river whose flow is uninterrupted by the current or obstacles in its way, you unabashedly follow.

He lays his suits overcoat on the seat for you. And motions for you to sit. Such a gentleman, you think. You watch him, observing how he looks at you. Reserved, trying to move slowly and take his time with you. But you could see under the surface how much he held back. You could tell by how he loosened his collar, the smile that curled onto his lips. He let out a sigh. Of course, you knew you had this power over him, but you wanted so badly for him to just take control. You didn’t have to ask.

His overcoat lay underneath you; the inner fabric was a soft, deep red silk still warm from his skin. You could feel it on your legs beneath you. He moved to stand in front of you, pushing your legs apart as he did, standing between them as close to you as possible. He towered over you as you looked up at him, trying to ignore the bulge growing in his pants right in front of your face. He must’ve seen you glance. His eyes narrowed, and a smile crossed his face you haven’t quite seen yet. It was darker, more menacing, you felt your heart skip a beat, your breathing quickened. He caressed the side of your face with his palm, and you melted into his touch. Then quickly, he pulled your chin upwards with a push of his index finger. “You’re so beautiful.” He said in a growl through his teeth. “So pretty. And such a good girl.” He chuckled as he let go of your chin. You nodded. “For you” you whispered while roaming your hand up the front of his abdomen. Reaching underneath his vest and undershirt with one while the other traced the hem of his pants and tugged gently. His smile grew wider. “For me.” He stated purposefully. There was more weight behind those words than you had realized at that time, but you would come to know in the coming weeks. You would have it no other way. You were for him.

You looked at him, your eyes, begging him as you traced your hand back down his chest and to the hem of his pants. You placed both of your index fingers within the seem and traced the waistband out to his sides, feeling his hip bones, then back to the middle. Brushing your forearm ever so gently over his now throbbing bulge. You felt a slight twitch as you did, but he didn’t flinch. “Tell me what you want Y/N” He wanted you to speak. He wanted you to say it, to ask nicely. You would beg if he asked. “Please” you say. He remained still, watching as you squirmed. He placed a hand behind your head and wrapped it around your hair once more as you looked up at him. “Please, I want to taste you.” You almost cried out. He bends down and kisses you, deeply squeezing your face, inhaling your breath, his tongue tracing your yours. He pushes himself flush against the seat, looking down at you, and nods. “Be a good girl for me then”.

You immediately began unbuttoning and then unzipping his pants. They catch above his cock and you have to maneuver them over his stiffness to finally free him. The tented underwear slid down easy. Finally revealing what you had only imagined when you were alone in your room. The lights of the subway tunnel washed over his body. The subway was dark for the most part sans the flickering fluorescents here and there. But occasionally an outside light would speed by and light everything up. And in that moment, while you were revealing him, you could see every detail. How his cock sprang up when freed from his clothing, how the tip glistened under tge amber glow of the lights. You grasped his thickness in your hand, reveling at the size and girth. You instantly felt the wetness increase in between your legs as the thought of him penetrating you played out in your mind. His tip leaking precum out of a bulbous head, your hand perched right below. You take a finger and gently smooth it over, spreading the stickiness around his tip. Tapping it, pulling it up, and playing with it. A hiss escapes through his lips. You look up with a smile just as menacing as his earlier. You slide your hand down to his base and lick from the bottom to the tip, cleaning off the precum you made a mess of.

You then take him into your mouth, stretching open as wide as you could to accommodate him. You watched his reaction as you pushed his swollen cock back into your throat, slowly taking him all in. His eyes snapped shut and his head fell back. His hands instinctively reached for your head, his fingers intertwined into your hair and massaging your neck and shoulders while pulling you in. Your hand held at his base and you began sucking his cock slowly and deliberately. Each time coming up to circle his tip with your tongue, then scrapping your teeth along the edge gently as you went down. His breathing was erratic as he lightly grunted while gently grabbing your head and rocking his hips to meet your movements. Letting go of his base you grabbed onto his hips and continued sucking, pulling him deeper into your mouth. Your hands gently playing with his balls, rubbing them and circling your thumb around each.

His size was quite substantial, and the thickness filled your throat, hurting slightly as it passed in and out. You created a pressure inside your mouth while sucking that whenever his cock slipped out it did so with a pop. You pull your lips off and again begin licking up and down his shaft. Cleaning up any spit that lingered. He let out another long sigh then pulled your head away from him. His index finger under your chin again, lifting you to his gaze and standing you up. His member poking your lower abdomen. Immediately your hands were all over each other in a passionate kiss where he tasted himself. Your tongues fighting for space in each other's mouths, as he raised your top off over your head and gently laid it onto the seat next to you. He then returned to the kiss. Pulling you close to him, pressing his hard member against you. “Lay down” he says as he gestures to the seat with his coat outstretched. You follow directions, wondering what's next.

You lay across the seats propped up on your elbows, watching him as he walks toward the end of the seats and stands again in between your legs. He grabs under your things behind your knees and pulls you closer to him with force. He then lifts up your skirt gently with both hands revealing your lacy white panties now soaked with anticipation. He places his fingers under the elastic and begins pulling them down. You look onward observing him. He’s so gentle with you, so lovingly tender. You raise your knees, and he slips your panties over your knees and boots, respectfully setting them on the seat next to you. He then raises his head to you, looming over you with your vagina completely exposed.

He began kissing you gently and lightly when you suddenly felt his hand smooth over your mound. His fingers slowly approached your opening. With your knees raised, your body starts to buck in response to his proximity. You hold your hands on his chest, he loosens his collar, unbuttons a few buttons, and removes his vest and returns to kissing you. You return your hands to his chest, feeling his ribs, his collar bones, and his hip bones as your hands travel, exploring his body further. Your mind is fuzzy and dizzy with passion. You let out a sharp gasp and moan while breathing heavily as he pushes a finger inside you. He slowly moves it in and out while watching your face. You gawk at him in a pleading manor, your breath caught in your throat when he slips in another finger. You moan loudly in his ear. The tension, leaving your body. With one hand, he pulls your bra down slightly, revealing your breasts. He begins lightly sucking on your nipple, his tongue, sharp and circling. His breathing made the saliva from his tongue cold on your skin. A tingling sensation that, paired with his fingers inside you, almost took you over the edge. His pace began to quicken as he watched you from behind your breasts. Your chest, rising and falling with each pant. His thumb rubbed your clit while he methodically moved his fingers within you. He watched for your reactions, the way you moaned told him either more or less. He was so intuitive, learning your body so quickly.

As pleasure welled up within you, you were looking at him. Seeing his satisfaction in the way he made you moan, how he made you squirm. It was almost overwhelming. He watched on and smiled. The red paint still smeared near his lips and cheeks, some of the white smeared too. You watched as he descended to your core. His fingers still working you, tipping you over the edge. You couldn’t image his cock in you if his fingers alone had you under his spell. His face disappeared, all but his eyes remained. Blue triangles peeked out above your lower abdomen. His free hand gripping your thigh. He rubbed over the scars on your legs, kissing them, unbothered. He's literally the sweetest and wants you to feel loved and appreciated. His demeanor and actions showed this. You feel a breeze as your skirt lifts and his face completely disappears. There's a sudden feeling of moist warmth on your vulva from his breath, so warm. His lips pressed against your labia. You felt him lick from where his fingers were inside you, up to your clit. His tongue was hot, and flat as he enveloped you into his mouth fully. Sucking your labia and tonguing the edges. You almost completely lost it. It's as if you could see steam coming off of your bodies against the cold air of the train car. You’ve almost completely forgot you were even on a train. A public train! With your panties off completely exposed while Arthur was eating you out! The thrill settled like a pit in your stomach. You were filled with an intense fear of being caught, but too deep in the throes of passion to care. It may have even excited you a little you thought. You hoped no one would see, however unlikely it may be at this late hour. But you also realized the long window behind you left space to be seen by anyone who passed by. Surely the train would be moving too fast for that though. Another thought interrupted in your mind, that there could still be other people on this train in another cabin, and they could come to this one any time they wanted!

“Fuuuck!” You moan. Your clit began to throb as he sucked it gently with his teeth. Flicking it left to right with his tongue and continuing to elicit moans from you with the work of his fingers. You grabbed his green locks through your fingers and pulled hard while rocking your hips into him, feeling his nose on your mound. As you approached the precipice of climax he just as quickly removed his fingers and stopped sucking. You immediately became aware and tried to pull his head back down. “No, please” you begged in a whispered moan. “Shhhh” he whispered while raising one finger to his lips and standing guard. His face barely had the paint on that it did previously. It had all but smeared off.

The train had stopped at a platform, and the doors had opened. You hadn't noticed, but to be quite frank, you did not care! You were so close, this is cruel! A group of men who seemed drunk and were loudly yelling walked past the window. You both waited in anticipation and complete silence as they passed the train car. You let out a big breath. They were leaving. The doors shut, and the subway began to darken once more. Arthur immediately turned his attention back to you, rubbing his hands from your hips up to your breasts. Still in between your legs. He had been looking down at you, seeing you be so vulnerable, so exposed, so… obedient…for him. You sat up on your elbows to match his kiss. Thrusting your face against his. His hands now back down at your knees. He spreads them wider and pulls you closer to the edge. After anticipating this, you scoot closer as well.

His mouth reaches you once more, drawing in a deep kiss holding your face cupped in his hands. You reach down and grab hold of him, feeling him throb in your grip. You lightly stroke him a couple of times before guiding him to your opening. He pulls his face from yours with a look of many questions. You silence it with one word. “Please?” Hearing you say please was all he needed to hear. He placed his tip at your entrance, sliding it up and down, smoothing your wetness all over his length. He was looking you in the eyes as he leaned over you, your hand on his abdomen. Slowly, he pushed in. You felt your vaginal opening stretch only slightly at first, but just the tip was enough to make you cry out. You jut an arm out and put it around his neck, cradling him to you, forehead to forehead as he pushes in further. You feel him completely fill you. Slowly, but he easily slips right in regardless of his size because of how wet he has made you. He hums in your ear, a low, almost guttural sound that fills you with a primal urge and instinct you can't name, just something in your nature. You eagerly take him in, rocking up to him, unable to take it so slow. You wanted him to fuck you, but he took his time being gentle and careful with you as if you were a delicate glass ornament. He treated you with so much respect and love, even in the midst of passion. You were pulled to him like a binary star system, revolving only around each other.

Every push made you cry out in ecstasy, each time getting further and further inside of you. Finally, his pace began to quicken. He rose from you, now standing. His hands grasped your knees as he rocked his hips into you fully. Each time hitting your cervix. Your walls clenched around him. With every pump, his pace sped, and the thrusts became harder and harder. He watched your face, intuitively making sure you were ok with his pace and how hard he was going. You encouraged him with moans and songs of his praises “yes, fuck, yes” “please don’t stop, fuck” “Arthur please fuck me! Please” and “harder Arthur” followed by cries of utter passion. He mimicked your cries of passion with his own, throwing his head back and grunting with every thrust.

The louder you were, the louder he got. A symphony of passion, dancing to the music created from the instruments of your bodies. Each thrust sent a shiver through your core, traveling up your spine, your legs shook, and you whimpered with relief. Goosebumps radiated and rippled through your flesh; it made you shiver. You arched your back and met every thrust of his with your own. You locked eyes, panting and thrusting in unison. He then grabbed your legs and placed them around his neck leaning into you and pushing even deeper and placing one hand on your lower abdomen in front of your legs where he reached through them and began teasing your clit. His eyes held steadfast on you, feasting on you with his gaze. Stern and focused, gritting his teeth as he grunted pumping into your cunt so hard it began to hurt. The pain in of itself transcended that of something hurtful but only became more pleasurable. It made you want more.

You felt your walls clench and spasm around his length. Gasping and out of breath you manage to get the words out “Ar-Arth” “Fuck, I-I’m gonna cum!” You grabbed helplessly towards him, to bring him close to you once more. Your legs fell from his shoulders, and he leaned in to steal a kiss. You tried your best, meeting his passionate kiss with breathy attempts to connect, to lick. He continued his loving assault on your cunt. A spasm shot through your core, and you lurched forward then fell back again, arching your back and shaking with every wave of pleasure that rippled through your body. You screamed out, cried out in high pitch moans. You caught Arthur's gaze once more, his face smiling with devilish delight. You wrapped your legs around him pulling him in, waves still surging through your body, squeezing him with every contraction of your climax. You softly touched his face “don’t stop”.

He began fucking you furiously. He was pulling you towards him with every inch of himself he could fit into you. Bucking back and forth with no rhythm, purely enjoying you for himself, using you to meet his own end. His face clenched and distorted so beautifully as his orgasm took hold. His force remained the same, slamming into you but his speed slowed considerably as he pumped every last drop of his seed deep inside of you. In almost a whisper, he let out the most deep animalistic groan from the depths of his vocal range as he came. His manhood, spasming with every burst of his essence that filled you. You could feel him pulsating within you, feel his substantial hot thick load as he continued to fuck it out of you until he couldn’t stand the stimulation and collapsed on top of you, still inside you.

He lay on top of you for some time. You embraced each other, held him close, and cradled him in the crook of your neck, still reeling from your vigorous activity and taking it all in. He was still inside of you, content, unabatingly so. You didn’t want to waste a moment with him, praying it would last forever. This perfect moment with him, so sublime. You felt at peace, euphoric. You thought since you missed work and didn’t plan on going in now, you had the rest of the night to spend with him. Your mind drifted off thinking of the possibilities when a chime from the platform interrupted your TLC so rudely. The last stop was approaching. You and Arthur exchanged glances, him looking up at you, knowing you would have to both get dressed any moment. But you took the minutes you had left with him to continue to absorb his altruistic nature, to be in his comfort. At least for this short time until you could again.

[caffeineaddictwriter]

Imagine comforting Arthur after a nightmare

•it’s obvious that Arthur isn’t a stranger to horrible nightmares.

•most of his nightmares are tauntings almost as if there trying convince him to do things.

•common ones are also him hurting you or you leaving him.

•you can tell he’s having a nightmare due to his constant moving, and he’ll whimper slightly.

•he’ll wake up on his own so don’t bother waking him. Just make sure you’re there when he does or he’ll panic even more.

•he won’t speak about the nightmare but will write it down in his diary when he his time in the morning.

•all he needs is to be held.

•held in anyway, cuddling or even just your fingers running through his damp from sweat hair.

•he may even play with your hair to calm himself as well.

•he hates being in the dark after a nightmare so even the tv being turned on or using your phone as a night light can soothe him.

•heats up during this period so don’t be shocked when he kicks the covers off the bed.

•he won’t bring it up in the morning and he doesn’t want you to either. All he wants to do is to write it in his diary and get on with his day.

[knoepfl]

A Fleeting Fantasy ||

Characters: - Arthur Fleck: The troubled, lonely man yearning for connection and understanding. - Reader (You): A gentle, compassionate presence in Arthur's life—a woman who sees the beauty in his soul, though she exists only in his mind.

Trigger Warnings: Mental health themes, hallucinations, loneliness, implied depression.

Masterlist

Part 1

Words: 1184

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After the turmoil and chaos of the night, Arthur sat alone in his dim apartment, the darkness pressing in like an embrace that threatened to consume him. He barely felt the weight of his mother’s death, not yet, as if his mind had built a barrier to keep out the full impact of what he’d done. The silence felt too thick, and his thoughts tumbled in disjointed fragments—images of the hospital, the creak of the chair beside her bed, the sound of her last breath. He couldn’t decide if it was real. He had barely returned to his apartment, and already everything felt disconnected from him.

Arthur’s eyes shifted to the worn spot on his couch where he had always imagined you sitting, smiling up at him with that quiet understanding that had soothed him so many times. His heart ached, yearning for that fleeting comfort, knowing it had been nothing more than a trick his mind had played on him. The ache of loss settled in, a strange sorrow filling him as he thought about how alone he was, how alone he’d always been. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

Then, softly, gently, a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Arthur.”

His eyes snapped open. There, standing before him, as real as he remembered, was you. You wore the same clothes he had pictured you in that first night on the bench outside, your eyes soft and warm as you looked at him. Every detail was so vivid—your hair, the curve of your smile, even the way you held your hands together, like you were waiting for him to respond.

Arthur felt a surge of relief and disbelief all at once, the ache in his chest loosening as he looked at you. But then the rational part of him, the part that still held on to a thin thread of reality, whispered that this couldn’t be possible. You had never been real, just a product of his own loneliness. But here you were again, like a miracle in the darkness.

“Y-you’re… here?” he stammered, his voice catching.

You smiled, that same gentle, understanding smile that had captivated him from the start. “I never left, Arthur. I told you—I’ll always be here for you.”

Arthur swallowed, a strange mixture of sadness and joy tugging at him. “But… I thought you were gone. I thought… I thought I made you up.”

You took a step closer, your presence steady and warm. “You’re hurting, Arthur. And when you hurt, I hurt. I came back because I couldn’t bear to see you like this.”

He felt a tear slip down his cheek, his emotions raw and tangled. He had just done the unimaginable, taken a life—the one life that had meant something, even if it had brought him pain. He had expected to feel free, to feel unburdened, but instead, he felt a hollow emptiness that gnawed at him from the inside. And here you were, the only person who had ever made him feel seen, offering solace once again.

Arthur reached out tentatively, his hand trembling as it hovered in the space between you. He didn’t know if he would feel anything if he touched you, if you were real in any way, but he couldn’t resist the need for connection, for comfort. You took his hand, your touch warm and gentle, and he felt a strange, bittersweet sense of peace wash over him.

“I know it’s been hard,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his hand, grounding him. “But you don’t have to face this alone.”

He let out a shaky breath, his voice a broken whisper. “I… I thought I’d be free. I thought it would feel better… without her.”

Your expression softened, filled with empathy. “You’re hurting, Arthur, more than you even realize. But it’s okay. You did what you thought you had to do. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Arthur squeezed your hand, holding on as if you were the last solid thing in a world that had become a blur. He wanted to believe, even if only for a moment, that you were truly here, that he hadn’t just conjured you from his mind out of desperation.

“You… you don’t hate me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Your gaze was steady, unwavering. “No, Arthur. I could never hate you.”

As the night wore on, he talked to you, pouring out everything he had held inside—the anger, the sadness, the unbearable loneliness that had haunted him his entire life. And you listened, just like before, with that same gentle patience that made him feel as though he mattered, as though he were worth understanding.

He told you about his dreams, the small flickers of hope he had once held onto. He confessed his desire to make people laugh, to bring joy into a world that seemed determined to break him. And when he spoke of his mother, the pain that laced his voice was raw and unfiltered. He had loved her, in his own way, even though their relationship had been a twisted mess of dependence and disappointment.

“Maybe I was never meant to be happy,” he murmured, his voice laced with resignation.

You shook your head, a soft sadness in your eyes. “Don’t say that, Arthur. You deserve happiness, just like anyone else. You’re… you’re more than what the world sees. They just don’t understand.”

Arthur felt a lump rise in his throat, a feeling he could barely put into words. You were saying the things he had always longed to hear, the words he had needed his whole life. And even though he knew, on some level, that you weren’t real, that you were only here because he needed you to be, he found himself clinging to the illusion. Because in this moment, you were all he had.

Hours passed, and still, you stayed with him, your presence a quiet, unwavering comfort that he couldn’t bring himself to question. You sat with him in the silence, your hand still holding his, as if promising that you would never let go.

Finally, as dawn began to break, he looked at you, his gaze searching, pleading. “Will you stay?”

You smiled softly, your eyes filled with a tenderness that soothed the ache in his chest. “As long as you need me, Arthur. I’ll always be here.”

Arthur nodded, a fragile sense of peace settling over him as he closed his eyes, leaning his head against yours. The world outside was cruel and unkind, a place that had never accepted him, but here, in this moment, he felt a strange sense of belonging. He didn’t know how long he could keep this illusion, didn’t know if it would last, but he didn’t care.

Because in this fleeting fantasy, he wasn’t alone. And for a man who had spent his life feeling invisible, that was enough.

As the sun rose, casting a soft glow over the room, Arthur drifted off into a restless sleep, your presence lingering beside him, a silent promise that you would never truly leave him..

---

[tally-kiza]

Joker (2019) Smut Alphabet

A/N: Long overdue, by request, a smut alphabet specifically for Joker (+ Reader). He’s somewhat different from how Arthur used to be, but perhaps not as much as you may think. (I write this 10 months after my first smut alphabet for Arthur, so my interpretation for him has definitely changed. Apologies for any inconsistencies.)

Words: 3334

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm for R(isk) and T(oys).

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Joker is frankly clueless about aftercare. He’s not doting after sex, but he’ll light a cigarette and clean himself off. Even for his first few times, he’ll never seem clingy or particularly cuddly afterwards, but you can tell he’s emotionally affected by the way he holds you to his chest. While he puffs away, he’ll reverently caress you, your arms, back, hair, anywhere he can. Kisses are pressed to the crown of your head. Sweet pillow talk is domestic, schmaltzy. Joker never thought he would have anything like it. Black moods turn white, heavy heart turns light. A genuine loving smile lights up his face; gone are all cruel smirks and strained grins. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Firstly, he has no favorite part of himself. Despite the grandiosity in which he views himself and the way he craves adulation, Joker still doesn’t like himself. He views his body with a neutrality thickly blanketed with disdain. If pressed on it, he does like his hair. Once chocolate brown, now forest green, he’s always taken good care of it.

On his partner, how can he choose? Naturally, Joker is drawn to your smile. But he's addicted to your body,the softness of your skin, the way you feel in his arms. Admittedly though... his eyes do linger on your legs every time you walk away. His hands automatically find them during sex. Your calves are caressed, thighs are gripped, legs wrapped around his hips as he pistons into you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Thick and grey-ish white. Arthur has never tasted it, never even thought to try. Joker got the urge for it, just once. In the shower, after getting home from the hospital, still exhilarated from the new sense of freedom he felt with Penny dead. He spills in his hand, and licks his fingers clean before sprinkling water from the showerhead can rinse it away. The taste was foul and made him recoil. He’s never tried it since. 

Joker loves seeing you covered in his cum though. Thrill runs through him when his cum paints your chest or face white, or when he watches his cum leak out of your hole and down your thighs after making love.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s stolen your underwear before. Remorse is unknown to him; if you discover it, he’ll only giggle and give you a teasing smile. It was easy, a quick swipe from your drawers when you were in the other room. When he’s all alone and you’re not around to pleasure him like he craves, Joker will touch himself to it. His left hand wraps around his cock, stroking and rubbing in a way so unlike your gentle touch. It makes him miss you all the more. While his right hand holds your underwear so tenderly. Thumb stroking the fabric, he pictures you wearing it. Wearing it for him. Thoughts of fucking you while you wear it fill his head, and his jerking fist becomes more frantic. When he finishes, he’s careful not to let his come get on it.

He keeps it stuffed in his suit pocket, treasured, bringing him selfish comfort. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Of course, Arthur is a virgin. He’s never even kissed anyone, before Dr. Sally. She was the one who taught him anything relevant he knew about sex. Before he became Joker, Arthur would sometimes watch her segments on Live! With Murray Franklin. Every time she was on, he was engrossed. No one else had ever talked about sex with such openness and professionality. It intrigued him, left him burning with questions and not enough answers. It wasn’t often that Arthur was able to listen to Dr. Sally’s radio show; it was on during the day and humiliation would swallow him up if Penny ever noticed what he was listening to. But while she napped on the odd day Arthur was home from work, he listened. He never took notes―it wasn’t like he had anyone to take notes for. But his burning curiosity compelled him.

She spoke of many things and though he listened, there was still so much Arthur didn’t understand. 

Until you.

Everything he had heard Dr. Sally discuss, Joker remembered. Despite having no experience, he tried. He didn’t feel as much like a teenager fumbling around in the dark with you for the first time―eagerness spurred him, confidence filled him. Of course, as a virgin, he fumbles. Squeezes his lover’s breast too hard, forgets to pay attention to the clit, and of course, comes early. With every slip-up, his ego and bravado slip away. Just an adoring, hungry man left in its place.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything intimate will have a special place in his heart. Making love while spooning, missionary with his cock kissing your deepest places. He’s still a romantic deep down. But it’s also very common for Joker to werewolf and go wild. He’ll bend you over the back of the couch, pump into you pressed against a wall, fuck you on the kitchen countertops, the floor... the list goes on.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely more serious. Before his revelation in identity, when he was only Arthur, on occasion he may have been a little playful during intimacy. A cute Carnival-esque joke would bring a smile to your face, making Arthur’s affections and tenderness soar. But as Joker of course, his tender heart falls away. During sex, he stares at you like he’s dissecting you, like he wants to eat you alive. He’ll smile but there’s nothing goofy about it. It’s ravenous. But rarely, he’ll whisper a naughty joke in your ear―Joker will always crave your grin and giggles. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Shaving or trimming his pubic hair is not a thought that has ever entered Arthur’s mind. His wiry patch of curls is thick and wild. ...And quite green. Dyeing his hair in the bathroom, a joyless grin pulled at him as he had massaged dye into his patch below. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s always been a romantic at heart. Nothing can change that. Joker may get a little rough, but he craves intimacy and tenderness, a smoldering romance like the ones from his favorite films. Perhaps you won’t find him lighting candles and spreading rose petals, but his romance shows in other ways. It’s in the way he presses you to his chest in a tender embrace. In the way he kisses you with his entire body. In the way his cruel mask falls away from your kisses to reveal the sad, lonely man underneath, waiting for love and care. Love he finds in your arms. The strength of how he cherishes you is evident in your every moment of making love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

With a lover, Joker would not masturbate very much at all. Without his medications diminishing his libido, he gets aroused more easily than he used to. But when arousal stirs in his groin, he doesn’t wait till he’s in the shower to stroke his girthy cock to completion, as he used to. He turns to you instead. The thought of his own hand wrapped around his member disinterests him; of your walls, tight and hot and wet, excites. He would strongly prefer to make love to you instead of masturbating. Of course, if you’re not around, he’ll have no choice. But he won’t hesitate to slip his left hand into his pants and palm his cock. Filthy fantasies quickly fill his mind. He has a hundred of them, and more. Lascivious thoughts of being worshiped by you and your tongue. Your mouth adoring his member, your gentle fingers revering his testicles, your lips whispering devotion into his ears. He finishes dreaming of the two of you coming together, with a smile on his face. Dissatisfaction sets in quickly, without you by his side to join his pleasure. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Naturally, he has a huge praise kink. Whether its gentle words whispered into his ears, telling him how well he’s fucking you, or desperate pleads to come spurring him on, or even just moaning his name, it feeds his soul as well as his arousal. Joker, Arthur, has been starved for affection his whole life. He craves any and all affection during intimacy, no matter how rough the pace is. It will bring him ever closer to the edge of finishing. And leave him curling around you tighter at the end of the night when it’s time for bed. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Joker is not as vanilla as he used to be. Arthur was most comfortable in the bedroom, though when passion inflamed, he would occasionally take you anywhere in the apartment. His desperation to be inside you was too great. But never in public would he make love to you. Joker is not much different. He’ll fuck you on any surface of your shared home, though his inhibitions for public sex are lowered. Bold caresses in a crowded subway car, risky intimate touches in plain view of security cameras at Arkham. But Joker will never fully make love to you in these public spots. Your body is a precious sight for his eyes, and his only. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Stroking his ego arouses him as much as stroking his cock. Paying personal attention to him, giving him sweet affection and compliments can easily make him hungry for more. Especially when you laugh at his jokes. It’s the highest compliment, the most tender praise. The melody of your laughter makes his heart flutter and may rouse his erection.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything to do with calling him daddy in bed. It’s 1981; that trend isn’t exactly a popular thing yet. It bewilders and of course, upsets him, because of his history. 

Joker could never tolerate degradation or humiliation in the bedroom, either. More than anything, he hates rudeness, and this does not change with a partner. It would be taken as a betrayal, if anything. You’re Joker’s perfect person. He adores you. Being called something hurtful would instantly upset him and send him right back to feeling like Arthur again: small and weak, laughing uncomfortably through internal agony. He would lash out, and it won’t be the easiest to reconcile with him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Joker is addicted to the sensation of your lips wrapped around his cock. It makes him feel powerful, worshiped, in control for once. He stares down at you while he holds your head and guides you deeper on his length. When his expression isn’t stony, his smile is intoxicated, eyes red with emotion. There’s no greater thrill for him.

Performing oral on his partner makes him almost as drunk on power and control. Joker is very much a novice, of course. The first few times he tries to eat you out, he can’t make you finish. It confuses him and makes him feel inadequate. As a result, he avoids it for a time. He’s a little pouty when you try to guide him and show him exactly how you like him to lick you. But quickly, Joker discovers how responsive you can truly be. Your moans, whimpers, and whines become the sweet music that lives in his soul. And knowing that only he can make you feel like this, only he can taste you this way feeds his ego in the best way.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Joker is just as likely to rut into you, with quick snapping hips, as he is to lay you down in bed and make love to you with his entire body. Perhaps sensual lovemaking even moreso. At heart, he’s still just Arthur. All he’s ever yearned for is his one and only, his soulmate. He may be Joker but he would still love you tenderly. His favorite intimate nights with you are the romantic ones, the ones that start with a moonlit date before you retire to the bedroom. Clothes are removed leisurely, hands pleasure each other, moans sighed into each others’ mouths as he finishes inside you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Oh, he is not averse to a 5-minute thrill. When he’s in a rush, it excites him. Though he cherishes the intimacy of a romantic night of making love, Joker has the sharpest gleam in his green eyes when he’s in the mood for a quickie. He eyes you like you’re his last meal. He’ll pull his cock just out of his trousers, push aside your underwear, and fuck into you until you’re feeling sore and used. He cums quickly every time, buzzing from the dirtiness of a quickie, before getting on his knees to finish you with his tongue or sturdy fingers. Afterwards, Joker waltzes away with a spring in his step and the naughtiest smile, every time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Assuming risk here means doing inherently dangerous sexual acts, along the lines of asphyxiation or playing with weapons, then... Yes and no. When he takes risks, it is when he’s alone and trying to just get off. When he’s in the right (rather, wrong) mindset, hurting himself brings sexual gratification. But he would never do anything risky, painful, or dangerous with you. The thought of accidentally hurting you is one that he suppresses deeply; if he did something to hurt the only good thing in the world, the only good thing to ever happen to him, he would... well. You can use your imagination. :(

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s not a young man anymore! He may be Joker, and his lack of medications may increase his libido, but he can’t come multiple times. His refractory period lasts at least a couple hours, if not a day.

Many times, Joker may come prematurely and end your intimacy early with his sour or blue mood. You’re his first, so the first few times, he did come before you. (It’s a sore point for him, his novice. Dr. Sally’s radio show can only help so much.) But once he becomes more experienced with you, it’s easier to maintain his stamina. When he gets too close, his fingers will work your most pleasurable spots to make you come before he spills inside you. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

None by any traditional measures. But Joker’s .38 pistol is a prop that excites him. Never fully unloaded, its inherent danger never fails to make his cock harden. He’ll press the barrel against his skin and run it over his body, achingly slowly. Dragging a trail from his temple, down his neck, over his hollow stomach. By the time it's rubbing along his cock, Joker is fully erect. And craving more. He will ache to shoot it into some harmless space in the room, solely for the heat that would emanate from it. The heat had warmed his perpetually cold hands when he had killed those men on the subway, though he didn’t notice until later. That warmth pressed against his most sensitive place would thrill him. Joker craves it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He stumbles into teasing unintentionally. Trying to prolong your encounter, he’ll hold off on making you come. His fingers slipping away from your clit when you get loud and fervent, jittering hips slowing down to restrained grinding when he himself can’t hold back. Joker doesn’t realize the effect it has on you. At first. The mischievous smile on his face when he realizes you like being teased could excite stone. 

Quickly, he starts experimenting. He sees how far he can push you, the kind of noises you’ll make if he keeps you from coming once, twice, thrice. If he whispers taunts or sinful things in your ears until you whine. If he ignores your begging for his touch until he himself breaks and makes love to you for an hour. It makes him feel powerful, holding your orgasm entirely in his control. He feeds on it, and it compels him to do it more. Whether the electricity inside him is from his own arousal or lovingly torturing you, who knows. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Having spent his entire life living with his mother, in an apartment with paper-thin walls, he learned early on how to keep quiet. As Joker, he’s still innately quiet during sex. But when he gets close, or particularly passionate, he’ll lose control. Heavy breathing becomes impassioned moans; grunts become gasps in pleasure; growls are huffed into your neck as he presses himself as close against you as he physically can. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Maybe not a sexy headcanon, but being too affectionate with Arthur, sexually or just romantically, will frustrate him and could send him into a black mood. Not because of your love―he craves it―but because he doesn’t understand. This is something that transcends either of his identities. 

He doesn’t understand what you see in a fuck-up like him. 

He doesn’t understand why you seem to love him so much. 

He doesn’t understand why he couldn’t have met you before his life went completely to shit.

 He doesn’t understand why he just can’t fucking appreciate the only good thing to ever happen to him.

It confuses him. These feelings might come out in a fight, or through gritted teeth during pillow talk after a heated encounter. It’s times like these he wishes he still had a therapist. Joker never wants your sweet love to change; it’s just difficult navigating these new feelings.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

With handsome veins running along it, and a gentle curve upwards, Joker’s cock is only slightly longer than average. Mournfully, he has no foreskin; consequently sensation is dulled along his frenulum. His pleasant girth stretches your walls. Testes sag slightly, loose sensitive skin stretching from the base of his cock. His left is larger than his right.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sans medications, Joker can never keep his hands off you. When his mood is high, he’ll push you against the nearest hard surface for a passionate fuck as often as you’re willing. But when his manic bursts pass and he’s struggling with black moods again, his sex drive takes a nosedive. Though he doesn’t have that same passion and need to be inside you, Joker still makes love to you often. Not for his own craving, but for the comfort of your body, and the intimacy of proximity that brings him solace in the dead of lonely night. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He never falls asleep after sex, not even when he was still Arthur. Joker’s insomnia medication used to help somewhat, but he has no medications now. After sex, he’ll be buzzing like a livewire, full of energy and pride in his ability to get you off. It keeps him drunk on satisfaction. If it wasn’t for his refractory period, he would pull you on top of him again immediately after for another round. But as it is, Joker is content to hold you close while you wind down. Your soft conversation in the intimacy of the afterglow makes him feel almost normal. Not Joker, not Arthur, just yours.