#arthur fleck x younger reader

[jokeringcutio]

Oooop yes I meant the pleasure HCs for joker!

At the end of your headcanon you said you were going to write another part about pleasure for the younger/older dynamic btwn Arthur and partner

I see what happened 😊 I said I write with pleasure, hihi, but I will also write about pleasure, of course. Especially about his pleasure muahaha. I think a lot of it has been covered in the NSFW Alphabet and HC’s like kissing, flirting, turn on and offs, and receive and express affection. But to make things a little, tiny bit more specific:

You’re younger than him, that in itself is a huge turn-on for him. I mean… How did a bachelor his age, still living at home with his mum, manage to bag you? It’s thrilling to know you chose him. Merely dating someone like you brings pleasure to him.

Especially if he can show you off to others. Their jealousy, them craving you, gives him pleasure as well.

But I know what kind of pleasure you’re asking for. And by all clowns sacred…. ~ 18+ below the cut ~

If you’re more experienced than him he’ll gladly learn from you. It’ll make him feel ten years younger or more, just to know he is brought up to date by a young thing like you.

If you’re less experienced, he’ll gladly teach you the ropes, and explore what you like together. That said, he might not be the world’s greatest lover and sometimes forgets to bring you to your peak, too eager to get to his own. But damn, he is good and getting better. And when he turns into Joker and starts using his lips more. His tongue. Well. You’ll never complain.

His wrinkly old dick in your tight cunt/hole. Yes, please. Just the thought makes him hard. Not that you think his cock to be old or wrinkly afgfagafk

If you can get pregnant, taking you raw and finishing inside is a huge turn-on for him. His orgasm is much more intense knowing that he can still get you knocked up. Whether you actually can or not (birth control, agreed not to etc). Doesn't matter. You're still such a young thing compared to him, so yeah, that'll bring him pleasure too.

If he is bigger than you, he will try not to crush you under his full weight during intercourse. He'll lean on his elbows, and always makes sure not to have his full weight upon you. He’ll use his size during sex to give that extra bit of pleasure, to overpower you, tower over you, grasp your wrists in his own much larger hands, and spin you around to kiss you.

He loves your body, so much younger than him still. But he also takes pleasure in watching you grow more mature, and eventually older, by his side. He takes pleasure in that too. Getting love handles, wrinkles? Becoming rounder? Sagging skin? New scars? Signs of having given birth or surviving one health battle or another? Each new stage of your body is a huge turn-on to him, because he doesn’t only love your skin, but your inner self as well. And he’ll take his pleasure in watching you grow old by his side.

AN: I have a feeling most of his pleasure isn’t specifically age-related. But yes, send in prompts for drabbles and let us explore together what else might turn him on.<3

[jokerownsmysoul]

I wish my love could flow backwards in time and reach you on the days of your youthfulness when I did not yet know you and love you as hard as I can. I wish my love could reach you in every temporal part of your life, past, present and future and inundate it with love, for you to never have to live without it or know the effects of its lack. and if we're allowed to have a taste of eternity, also throughout that one. I wish I could hold all your life in my hands and cradle it in my heart. my love for you knows no sense of time, nor age, no confines. it only knows how to come to the home that is you. it only knows how to reach you. it only knows how to expand. when we love someone, we wish our presence could linger in their life as long as possible. just a little longer. like the seasons, coming and going in waves but never leaving, assuredly there from the first time we open our eyes into the world to the last time we close them. like the light, like the sea. like your breathing. a childhood friend who becomes a lover who becomes a secure safety net to grow old. I wish I could be your companion across the stream of your existence. Loving you for the rest of my life isn't enough. I would've liked to love you for the whole of your life, too.

[milkywaygalaxygurl]

Caring - Arthur Fleck

i hated the way Joker 2 ended, so this is my alternate ending. sorry if this sucks booty, i haven’t written in a while 😭

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Female!Reader

Warnings: probably slightly sad, reader doesn’t like Arthur at first (though she doesn’t treat him badly), probably cursing, smoking, reader is significantly younger than Arthur (i headcanon him as in his like late 30’s - early 40’s and reader is supposed to be 20ish)

Word Count: i’m too lazy to put it rn, will update later.

Being assigned to babysit Arthur Fleck had seemed like a slap to the face before you really knew him. You had spent your whole life studying Psych, just to be permanently assigned to caring for an insane criminal who miraculously happened to escape the death penalty. You had begged your higher up to give you any other patient, to assign you to any other case.

Your wishes were not granted. Instead, you were ordered to allow this strange man into your living space and to make sure he went to therapy and took his meds. All remnants of your old life were gone; You no longer lived alone, you no longer had the job you loved at the fancy psychiatric hospital on the West side of Gotham due to the fact that Arthur need 24/7 supervision. Everything changed and you were not happy about it.

Having Arthur move in was awkward, to say the least. He didn’t speak, he barely left his room, he barely ate. He just sat quietly in his room, smoking pack after pack. The only time he left it was for therapy, where he sat in your living room while you vacated the house for some much needed you time.

It annoyed you, having this strange man in your house who couldn’t even pay you the decency to speak to you or look you in the eyes. You had read his case file, read about his childhood, so you understood why he acted this way. You couldn’t place why it annoyed you until one day, when on your walk while he did therapy, you realized you were annoyed with yourself.

You had been able to get so many patients to open up to you in the hospital you worked at, but no matter what you did Arthur stayed closed up and distant. Nothing worked and you couldn’t understand why. It was on this walk that you had started to formulate a plan. You had decided to put this plan to use as soon as you got home and so, you did.

It started with simple things like inviting Arthur to eat meals with you at the dining table, he had denied the first few times but said yes when you had asked him to join you for dinner.

“You’re allowed to leave your room, y’know? You’re not in Arkham anymore, you’re free to roam the house and do whatever you please.” You spoke softly, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you look up at Arthur. He nods, taking a bite of his food.

You want to scream, yell at him to say something, but you know that wouldn’t do anything but cause him to retreat further into his shell. Him even joining you for dinner was a big step, you had to remind yourself. Taking a deep breath, you speak again.

“It’s good to see you eat, thank you for joining me. Maybe we could do this for every meal?” You smile warmly at him when he looks up at you, his eyes almost shocked that you even offered. He nods again, looking back down at his plate.

You smile to yourself, happy that he even agreed. “I was thinking of watching a movie tonight, if you’d like to join me.” You take a bite and nearly choke when he speaks.

“I- I’d like that. What movie?” His voice is soft, timid. It makes your heart ache, hearing how unsure he sounds with his voice. You swallow your food and the pain, instead smiling brightly at him.

“I’m not sure yet, maybe you can pick?” Your words seem to make him smile, and you swear your heart falters at the sight of it. It’s easily one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen.

“I’m not sure you’d know anything I’d prefer.” He says it softly, so softly you barely hear.

“That’s okay! I love watching new things, so pick whatever you’d like.” He nods, still smiling, and looks back down at his plate. You realize that’s the end of the conversation, but you don’t mind. This is amazing progress. You both finish your meal and settle into the living room once the dishes are cleaned, as promised you let Arthur pick whatever he wants.

After that night, it becomes a daily occurrence for him to join you for every meal and a movie after dinner. You take turns picking, Arthur introducing you to old movies and you introducing him to newer ones. It was nice, you could almost convince yourself that he wasn’t just a patient you were assigned to.

After months of getting to know the man, you couldn’t deny the fact that he is more than just a patient to you. He had become a friend and, whether you liked to admit it or not, you had developed a crush on Arthur. He looked good after having home cooked meals for the past few months, he no longer looked sickly and had even started to build some muscle by helping you around the house.

“You look good!” You smile brightly, seeing him in an outfit he had picked out. He was in need of a new wardrobe after gaining some weight, so you had taken him shopping. He smiles at you through the reflection in the mirror before looking at himself, still smiling.

“I vote yes for this outfit, it’s adorable.” He had picked out a yellow corduroy jacket with brown corduroy pants to match and a purple shirt to go under the jacket. He truly looks amazing in it. He nods his head and goes back to try on another outfit. You leave the store with at least 10 new outfits for him, he just looked too damn good in everything.

“Did you have fun?” You ask, nudging him softly with your shoulder as you walk.

“I did, thank you.” He had seemed to become more confident in himself as you got to know each other, his voice no longer quiet. It made you happy to see, to hear.

“Good, I’m glad! I got the clothes a little big so you could grow into them, you still gotta get some more meat on you.” You giggle and he laughs as well, a real genuine laugh. It makes your cheeks warm, but you’d blame it on the cold if he were to ask.

Your cheeks warm further when he timidly grabs your hand, pulling you a little closer to him. “I-It’s cold.” He says with a shrug when he sees your questioning look. You smile to yourself and shake your head, continuing your walk back to the house.

Later that night, you two are watching a movie when he suddenly breaks the silence. “Thank you for giving me a chance, Y/N. I-I know it wasn’t easy for you, having me come here and invade your space. You- You still tried though, you fought through my shell and you’ve been taking such good care of me.” His words warm your heart, tears almost rising to your eyes.

“Of course, Arthur. I’d do it again a million times if it brought me here, to this exact moment. You’re so much more than just an assignment to me now, you’re honestly my best friend.” You each for his hand as you speak, taking it into my own and squeezing it.

“My-My therapist encouraged me to share something with you, but I’m-I’m a little scared.” You immediately pause the movie when he says this and give him your undivided attention.

“You can tell me anything, Arthur. Anything.” You take his other hand in yours, squeezing them both as you turn to face him on the couch.

“Well I-You-“ He seems to struggle with his words and you smile at him encouragingly, waiting for him to find the right words.

“I’ve never known what’s real and what isn’t, but I know that you’re real. I know the feelings I have for you are real.” You’re heart leaps to your throat at his words, your eyes going wide.

“W-What do you mean?” You ask, not wanting to get your hopes up.

“These last few months have been the best of my life, Y/N. I think-I know that I love you.” Barely able to contain yourself, you lunge forward and hug him.

“I’ve been falling for you since the moment you smiled at me that first night we shared dinner.” You say, your face buried in his shoulder.

“R-Really?” He asks, pushing you back softly so he can look at you.

“Of course, Arthur. How could I not fall for this beautiful smile?” You ask, cupping his face and softly rubbing his smile lines with your thumbs. His smile widens at that and he surges forward to hug you tightly.

“Thank you.” He whispers into the crook of your neck, holding you snug to him.

“For what?” You ask, pulling back to look at him.

“For noticing me, for seeing me.” He almost whispers, his eyes full of unshed tears. Your own eyes fill with tears as you lean forward to kiss him softly, trying to put all of your love into the action.

“It’s my pleasure, Arthur.”

[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.”

[darkshadow90]

Arthur Fleck x reader drabble (request): He helps you deal with body image issues

Summary: You are often told by many people that you’re too thin, and you should eat more. You don’t feel skinny. You become frustrated and Arthur comforts you.

A/N: Hey guys. This is a short drabble requested by @dont-be-alarmed They requested a fluff piece in which the reader becomes frustrated over people’s comments about her body and Arthur comforts her through it. Warnings: Body image issues. Sorry it took so long, I’ve had a lot going on. hope you like it :)

You never liked how you looked. In reality you looked normal, but comments from people didn’t help. They frequently told you that you were too thin, that you shouldn’t skip meals. You usually never did unless you weren’t hungry. You remembered when you were younger in school teachers would make you eat lunch even if you weren’t hungry. As you got older, you understood they were only looking out for your wellbeing. But it didn’t make those moments less frustrating.

You would get random comments from people at work asking you if you skipped breakfast. They would ask you how much you ate, or if you had eaten anything in the past few days. On this particular day, you had enough. You made it to your apartment and were surprised to see Arthur was home early. He knew something was wrong. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” “Oh it’s nothing, Artie.” “It was people making comments about you again wasn’t it?” You didn’t answer him, but he knew that’s what was bothering you. “Y/N, I know it can be really hard sometimes, but you know your body is not the reason I’m with you. Those people don’t matter. They don’t know your situation. The important thing  is you take care of yourself and you know you’re doing the best you can to stay healthy. As hard as it is, and believe me, I know it hard, you have to ignore them and be confident in yourself. Focus on your positive qualities. As long as you aren’t skipping meals and you are taking care of you so you can be the best version of yourself, that’s all that matters. Try not to let other people and your negative thoughts stop you from being your best. And besides even if you were trying to skip meals, you know there’s no way I would ever let you.” It really meant to know how much he cared. His new therapist must’ve really been helping him. “Feel better?” “Yeah. Thanks, Artie.” “You know you don’t have to thank me. You ate dinner and went you went to bed, you actually felt like you were ready to take the next day head on.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Aching soul, bleeding heart // Arthur Fleck x Reader // fluff + angst.

Summary: You find him climbing into the fridge at 3 AM. What choice is there but to stay awake with him?

Fun fact: all of my writing is emotionally driven so when I’m done with a piece I’m usually pretty sleepy/tired. I have so much love for Arthur Fleck it keeps surprising me. Also this GIF made me sad so what I intended to be pure fluff now has angst in it, too. Sorry.

Tw: swearing, smoking, unhealthy elements to your relationship which reader admits to privately but doesn’t care about. Mentions of implied NSFW - past and future.

Word count: 2, 548.

The feeling that something was really wrong woke you up from your deep slumber. Languidly did you stretch an arm out, fingers probing the cold air for Arthur’s warm body. You met only air and it was with a sleepy groan that you sat up, opening your eyes. The bedroom door was wide open and from where you were in the bed could you partially see Arthur leaning against the counter top, the blue lights illuminating his emaciated features eerily. 

You were up and out of bed almost as soon as you realised that his insomnia was acting up again; it was one of those nights in which neither of you would get any sleep. There was no way that you would leave Arthur alone with his thoughts tonight, especially if you caught sight of his joke book. His journal making an appearance always meant that his negative thoughts were a little darker, a little louder, and a little more obnoxious. On those nights were you tested; your patience usually only stretched so far but with Arthur, it was pushed further still. He always made it up to you, though, well aware of how his bad behaviours could try you. You had your own behaviours which tested him, and it was with silent understanding that you accepted the other for all that you were. Together would you find new ways to be yourselves, and in your personal growth would your relationship strengthen as a couple.

Before you could make it to the doorway did you hear the sound of the fridge being opened, then a terrible series of dull thuds, grunts and crashes. Your ears were met with the sound of the fridge closing after a brief pause. The second time the door opened and closed was it slammed shut harder, and in confusion did you slowly walk into the kitchen; wondering if you were going mad or if Arthur had actually just... climbed into the fridge. You knew that he expressed himself in odd ways sometimes when it seemed that nothing else would show how he was feeling, but this was definitely one of the more worrying impulses he had had of late. If this was going to become a late night habit of his, you would need to keep a closer eye on him.

You wasted no time in rushing through the small, cramped space to wrench the fridge door open. You paused, your brain still trying to shake off sleep. Arthur was crouched with his head tucked between his knees, his hands over his ears. At the rush of cold air and the light inside the fridge turning on did he look up at you. Sorrow quickly turned to a small rush of happiness as his eyes fell upon your cautious form in the doorway.

“Arthur, what... what are you doing in there?”

“I, I, uhh - I c-couldn’t sleep so I... I just wanted to stop feeling. The f-fridge is c-cold so - so it would make me stop.” His next broken whisper, which you could barely hear over the humming of the fridge, made you drop to your knees, uncaring of the shelves which had been haphazardly tossed across the floor, “I just want it all to stop.”

You cooed sympathetically and reached out with both hands, your fingers curling around his thin wrists. Shit, he was cold. His hands were almost frozen through. It was lucky that he had barely been in there for a few minutes before you got to him if his core temperature had dropped so fast in such a short space of time. Hurriedly did you leave his side, calling out a, “I’ll be right back!” as you darted into the living room and ripped the big, thick blanket off the back of the armchair which Penny used to sit in, before legging it back into the kitchen, almost skidding to a stop. You crouched, reached for Arthur again, exhaling heavily through your nose as you helped him slowly out of the fridge. You wrapped the blanket around his frame and ran your hands all over his upper body, desperately trying to, at the very least, chafe some warmth into him.

Arthur tilted forward to rest his forehead on your shoulders. With shaking fingers did he peel back your shirt, pressing dry kisses to your bare shoulder with cold lips. You closed your eyes to just enjoy the moment, your arms wrapped around him. Just at the point you were ready to take Arthur to bed for a different reason, reality slammed into you and you pulled away from Arthur, doing your best to think on your feet. Your exhaustion and other bodily needs could wait. Briefly did you feel irritated with how you weren’t already wide awake.

“Go sit down, darling.” You watched Arthur go. He didn’t even bother picking up his feet, walking with a shuffle and a slight limp, his head tilted to one side. It was really bad tonight, whatever it was that had made his insomnia flare up. Quickly did you reassemble the fridge’s insides, a part of you wishing that you could do the same to Arthur’s head; opening him up and rearranging the parts so that, when you were done, he was less broken, happier. You shook off the thought, though, slightly disgusted with yourself. Arthur was fragile, this was true, but he wouldn’t be Arthur without all that he was, all that he had been through. He was perfect just as he was. It wasn’t that you wanted to reach inside Arthur and fix him, but you wanted to be able to reach those darkest, rawest parts of him, and heal them. If you could take his pain for your own, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

With the fridge fixed, you peeked through the small built in gap in the wall to look at Arthur. He was sat staring at the floor, his brow furrowed and his hands tightly clenching the soft material of the blanket which you had wrapped him in. Quickly did you make some sandwiches, grabbing the nearest things you found to make him something. You cared little for what Arthur ate, just so long as he did. You also grabbed the pack of Marlboro's which you had bought on your way home from work. Arthur had run out earlier this evening and wouldn’t be paid for another few weeks, and you wondered if he wasn’t experiencing some nicotine withdrawal symptoms on top of everything else. He hadn’t been shaking that badly just from the cold in the fridge; he hadn’t been in there long enough.

With two plates in your hands and his cigarette pack in your mouth, you made your way over to him. You set the plates down somewhat awkwardly - you didn’t want to lean over too close to Arthur because he had issues with personal space sometimes and you didn’t know if he would be okay with you practically leaning over him at the moment. It was so hard to read him sometimes, but your instincts were rarely wrong when it came to Arthur. Still, you remained stood just off the side of him as you took the pack from your mouth and went about opening it, removing one and lighting it easily. 

“Here.” You held it out to him, filter first, and watched his eyes light up. You smiled. Such a simple gesture meant so much to him, and it was one of the things that you treasured the most about him. “You gotta eat, too.” You put the plate on his lap and sat down to eat yours. Eating sandwiches at three in the morning with your insomniac significant other had always seemed like a far off dream to you when you had been somewhat younger and more impatient to start living despite all the time you still had in front of you, but here you were. You couldn’t think of a better person to spend your life with, if you were being honest with yourself. With all his challenges and conditions, he was still the purest, kindest soul you had ever encountered and you would hold onto him tightly. Never again would he go through a day without you right there with him. You would tear the world apart if it meant keeping him happy and you knew that he would do the same for you.

Arthur looked at the two plates and then back at you, a look of childlike curiosity on his face. “W-what are you doing?”

You smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Arthur leaned into the touch, his eyes slipping closed; a soft smile on the corner of his mouth. You kissed his forehead, hummed against his skin happily, and pulled back. Arthur’s hand caught yours before you could lower it, and he kissed the back of your hand just once. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette and his eyes fluttered shut as he exhaled with his entire body. 

“Thank you,” He murmured. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the cigarettes. Who were you to deny him anything? You had never been able to say no to him for anything. If he asked you to jump, your next response would be, “how high?”. You could admit that there were unhealthy elements to your relationship, but you didn’t care enough about that to change it. You were both obsessed with each other and you both loved it.

“Of course. Come on,” You tapped his plate with your finger, “Eat.”

Arthur frowned, then. “Oh, yeah.” He sounded like he had just been reminded of something, his voice lighter towards the end of his sentence. “Why are you up?”

You couldn’t help the look of ‘duh’ on your face. It was three in the morning and you were tired. “I’m staying up with you. If you’re gonna be up all night, then so am I.” You didn’t tell him that you were also up because you couldn’t sleep without him beside you. The bed was too cold, too big, too empty. You had gotten so dependent on Arthur for so many things and you knew that you were ruined for anyone else in your life, ever. You were Arthur’s first and last everything and he would never let you go for anything.

“No,” Arthur sighed, “I don’t want to be a - “

You cut him off. You could admit that you really were too tired to censor yourself, even given the circumstances. Arthur had always appreciated, always craved total honesty, though, and so you weren’t all that bothered by what he would think of your being sharp with him. As long as you didn’t actually snap at him, he could handle a little terseness. Goodness knew that he was sometimes the same with you when everything was too much for him and you wanted something from him that he didn’t have the mental energy to give to you. “Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence.”

Arthur shifted, guilty, and he took a small bite of his sandwich. You watched him chew before you started to eat your own. You felt a quiet hum of satisfaction towards yourself for how well you had managed to pull Arthur out of his mood. Sometimes it was almost impossible to get through to him. You had done well this night to help him. You could admit to yourself that you were proud of yourself, and you were proud of Arthur too. Only he knew just how bad things were inside his head, but still he fought each and every day.

You ate without speaking, the thunderous silence ringing in your ears. When Arthur was done, you took your plates into the kitchen. You would deal with them in the morning. You heard the quiet noise of paper rustling and a lighter, the deep and relieved inhale, and when you turned to look, Arthur had dropped his head over the back of the sofa, the arm not held to his lips draped over the edge, too. He looked so at peace now. What had you done this night to so completely soothe him?

Sitting beside him did you rest your head on his covered shoulder. You let your eyes drop closed, your tiredness threatening to overwhelm you. You were just so tired. Your eyes were burning even when they were shut and you had a headache brewing behind them. When the sun rose in just a few hours, the long day ahead of you would be made all the worse by your scant handful of precious hours’ sleep. You would definitely both suffer with sore backs, too. The sofa was well past its time but you couldn’t afford to replace it.

Arthur’s pressure beside you eased off. Just as you were about to open your eyes to look for him, hands pulled you into a lying down position; one tender hand lifting your head up gently, just enough to put a pillow underneath you. You let Arthur arrange you as he saw fit, and then his weight was on you as he nestled into your body; his blanket coming to shield the both of you from the cold atmosphere. It wasn’t cold, as such, but without a jumper was it chilly. Arthur snuggled into you, his head over your heart, his legs tangled with yours. Immediately did your fingers find their way into his hair, and you threaded the strands through your touch carefully, comforting him even on the edge of sleep as you were. Arthur moaned quietly and without even looking at him could you see the sleepy smile he had to have on his face. You knew him so well that you could recall his facial expressions in your mind’s eye from a single noise. You knew what every laugh meant, what every noise meant, what every silence meant. He was your entire world.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you so, so much.” Arthur slid up your body clumsily to kiss you softly, gently, his lips barely touching yours. You opened your eyes just enough to see him pull back. You used your grip on his hair to pull him back into you for a proper kiss which left your toes curling into the sofa, breathless with love. You felt a brief arousal pool low in your stomach but you were just too tired to do anything about it. Arthur would be there in the morning and you were sure that he would be in the mood to satisfy you, especially if he stayed lying on top of you the whole night through.

“I love you too. You know I do.” Your words were slightly slurred, your voice soft, and the last sound you heard before Morpheus swept you away for a nap (for that was all the time you could have this night to sleep again) was Arthur’s quiet happy laughter. You slipped into sleep like you would ease into a warm bath, and with Arthur all around you did you dream with a smile upon your face. Arthur was there waiting for you in your dreams, too; there was nowhere you could go that he wouldn’t follow.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z  @x-avantgarde-x  @mapreza1 @insomniabird  @mavalenovaninagavi  @itwasrealenough  @morrisonmercurymalek  @rand0ms-fand0ms  @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing  @rebs-doom  @vivft  @help-i-am-obssessed@autumnaffection   @taintednihilist   @vladtoly   @mg-woolf99@misstgrey92  @that-s-life   @dopey-girl-blogs  @seeking-dreamland  @sweetheart-syndrome  @heartxfdesire  @xmusichealsthesoulx  @0callmejude0  @the-one-that-likes-riddles  @hannibalsslut  @folliaght  @freeeshavacadoo  @bingewatchingmylifegoby  @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything  @okamiredfoxx  @sp0okysp0oky  @the-pandorabox  @mardema  @jibanyyan  @honeyflvredcoughdrop  @emissarydecksetter  @jokerfleckk  @epidendroideae  @chuuntas  @stillmabel  @pumpkinpeyes  @onehystericalqueenposts  @the-jokers-wolf  @nalsswa  @justahyena  @arianatheangelworld  @soullessblondbitch  @gothamslittlejester  @twentyonestarrynights  @sirianfromsixties  @kissmeclownman  @joker-is-my-hero  @lazyloosah  @lovesickkloxx  @ladylovelyluna  @live-love-loki  @clownerybbxx   @tragicarthur

[pocket-clown]

A Mutual Confession | Arthur Fleck x reader // pure fluff

// original request: Hi!!! I have request that Arthur and Reader met before when he was younger and they fall in love but don’t say that to each other and she needs to move from Gotham. When she came back, they met again for accident and they say everything to theirself!!! This will be pleasure to read! Thank you!!! 😇🥰

Thank you, @pomozmi-zamknacoczy​ for the request! and I cannot stress it enough how appreciative I am of your patience. This took me much longer than it should’ve to get done, and I cannot thank everyone enough for being patient with me. I’m sorry for the recent lack of content.

Summary: Regardless of how long you spent thinking it wouldn’t happen, a move back to Gotham was inevitable. An onslaught of new employees at your place of work led to hours being cut and positions lost, and so you needed to take a transfer back to Gotham save your only means of income, and had it not been for the meager hope that Arthur was still somewhere in the city, you would’ve lacked much drive at all to return. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they’ve always said - so when you manage to accidentally run into him on the street one day, within the following days you waste no time in making your feelings known.

Words: 5,458

Eight days had passed since you ran into Arthur, and each day that passed without him felt excruciating.

You were only a week into the third month of your move back to Gotham, and readjusting was hard. What was once the city that you used to consider something akin to home had changed so much that you couldn’t help but bemusedly wonder if you should consider yourself a total newcomer to it, as opposed to someone who was returning after some time away. Sections of the city had been so affected by the economic unrest that they were left almost unrecognizable because of it; with the ongoing garbage strike that resulted in piles of trash littering the streets, how many of the shops and markets you used to frequent had closed down, and the frequency at which you were awoken almost nightly by a cacophony of gunshots, shouting, and sirens, it was almost as if you were in an entirely different environment than the one you had grown up in.

Your move from Gotham all those years ago was majorly due to this impending decline; opportunity had risen elsewhere, and your family had been so desperate to escape Gotham’s downward spiral that they seized it the second it reared its head, and you were given less than a week to prepare for the move. Said week was spent packing your belongings and tying up any loose ends with school and work, but the inconveniences of that paled in comparison to how much it hurt having to say goodbye to Arthur. It was a hasty and melancholic goodbye, and since your last words spoken to him had you sworn to yourself that you’d return to Gotham someday - though the more you heard about how poorly it was doing and then actually experiencing it yourself, the more you almost began to doubt that decision. 

Soon, though, did you realize that had it not been for making the very decision you were beginning to regret, then you would’ve missed the opportunity at reconnecting with Arthur. 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they’ve always said - and in your time away from the city did you grow to miss him and his presence more and more, and the hollow they once filled now had an ache that grew as time went on and you were left without any sort of contact with him. He’d been your only legitimate friend all those years ago, and dare you say that you had developed a crush on the older man. The slight age gap meant very little to you as he’d never been anything but kind to you in all the time that you’d known him, and the warmth of his presence alone had made you feel safe and at home in a city that was, more often than not, the exact opposite. He made you feel like you had a place - and that feeling was hard to come by in the world, especially in a city such as Gotham. 

A portion of your younger years with him had been spent sharing your hopes, dreams, fears, and desires for the future with each other; both of you working on figuring out just where your respective places in the world were, and Arthur had let you in on his belief that he was destined for a life outside of Gotham, far away in sunny California. While whatever it was in California that Arthur longed for you were unsure of, you knew that it had to be better than what even the best of Gotham had to offer, and so you had encouraged him to chase his faraway dreams - but deep down, then and now, you knew it wasn’t really realistic. Money had always, always been tight for him and his mother (and, really, everyone in Gotham), and so you knew that the probability of him still being in the city was much higher than it was for anything else.

- And, as guilty as it made you feel to admit, part of you hoped that he never left. Had it not been for the meager hope that you may run into him one day, you might’ve just rolled up into a ball and died by the second week of being back.

Initially, your return to Gotham was greeted with nothing but the cold apathy that the city was infamous for, and very quickly did what little liveliness you had left in you get beaten into the ground. Not only were you fed up with how rude people were, but as time went on, your mind became far too preoccupied with matters regarding work and other responsibilities to have room for much else, and in that did Arthur go from dominating the majority of your attention to dwindling to only fleeting thoughts that came late at night when trying to fall asleep, or when something reminded you of him in one way or another. It was a reality that you hated to accept given the fact that the thought of his name alone brought so much comfort to you - but you knew that the chances of ever running into him were one in a literal ten million. 

In a way, you felt pathetic because of how much you hoped - how much you almost expected - to just coincidentally run into him one day, and by the beginning of the third month that hope began to falter, and soon you began trying to forget about the whole thing.

Or, you tried to forget about it until it actually happened one evening while you were on your way home from an appointment.

You had been so preoccupied with fiddling with the zipper of your jacket that you failed to realize how quickly you were approaching a crosswalk, and had it not been for a stranger literally sticking their arm out in front of you to stop you, you would’ve walked right into the oncoming traffic.

It was an action that initially scared you, and at first you thought that someone was trying to get handsy with you or mug you - but when you heard the blaring of a car horn and your eyes looked up to meet those of the angry driver as they sped off did you realize what had happened, and immediately you felt the heat of shame fill you, embarrassed of how oblivious you had been. 

Though it took you a moment to regain yourself, once you turned your attention to the stranger to thank them did you realize that they weren’t actually a stranger; the beige hoodie that hung from him, the way his dark eyebrows were knit with concern, and how he uneasy he seemed under your gaze - it hit you like that taxi would’ve, had it not been for him.

“Wait - Arthur?”

Rather than give any sort of answer or confirm your inquiry, he instead opted to stare at you; his eyes unblinking as you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to decipher what exactly it was that was going on, evidently confused by how someone on the street knew his name. 

“It’s me - Y/N. You know, from…?” You gestured vaguely as you spoke, hoping you’d be able to prompt any sort of recollection that may help him remember. You also hoped that you weren’t making a fool out of yourself by talking to a complete stranger and assuming that they knew who you were, based solely on the fact they just so happened to look exactly like an aged version of your friend from long ago.

Though it took a moment for what you said to sink in, like a light bulb switching on did you see his eyes brighten, the smile that slowly spread across his face lighting up his fatigued features. “Yeah - Yes! It’s been -”

“Way too long - like seven years, I think?” 

The conversation began to flow so easily from there that It felt as if you had never even left in the first place. As you walked with him, with what time you had before your eventual split up did you catch each other up on any and all happenings in your lives that were worth mentioning; you learned that he still lived with his mother (something he admitted quite sheepishly, though you were quick to assure him that if anything, it was sweet that he made that sacrifice to take care of her), and you told him about how the entire reason you were even back in Gotham was because of a mess at your old job, needing to take a transfer or else you’d risk losing your only means of income - choosing to omit the part about how half of why you came back was based on the hope that you’d find him again.

Each time he spoke your name, each time your arm accidentally brushed against his, each and every little action from him - the more the two of you spoke, the more did those feelings that had been lying dormant for all those years wake up; how happy even just hearing his voice made you, the way his occasional, brief glances at you made it feel as if someone set fireworks off inside of you, how your heart skipped a beat each and every time he said your name, how good it felt to hear him laugh - you’d forgotten how at peace he made you feel.

Not only that, but you’d forgotten how much you loved him.

The realization of your feelings was one that flustered you enough that you almost tripped over a bump in the sidewalk, though luckily you were able to catch yourself and brush off Arthur’s concern with an awkward laugh of “Oh, looks like I almost fell for you, haha!”, a statement you immediately regret due to how unintentionally bold it was. Fortunately though, his concern regarding your stumble seemed to keep him distracted from how flirtatious your statement was, and the incident was forgotten within a matter of seconds, after he asked you once more if you were sure you were okay. 

It wasn’t until you were about halfway to your apartment that Arthur pulled out a pack of cigarettes, signaling that your chat would be coming to an end soon as the two of you needed to go your separate ways. You used to always chastise him - playfully, of course - for his habit of smoking, and the fact that even all these years later he remembered your dislike of it and so waited until you wouldn’t be near to smoke made your heart melt. He’d always been one of the most considerate people you’d ever known, always putting the comfort of you or his mother over that of his own and while it was a fact that while broke your heart, it warmed the broken pieces nonetheless. 

You had to insist about four times that it wasn’t necessary for him to walk you all the way back to your apartment (an offer that hurt to refuse, given that you wanted nothing more to spend every second possible with him), and as the two of you were about to say your goodbyes did you remember that you had stuffed a scrap of receipt in your pocket days ago. With what was most likely all of the luck that you’d be allowed for the rest of the month did you also find a pen shoved in the opposite pocket, and so by hitching your leg up just enough so you could use your thigh as a solid surface, you scribbled your phone number down onto the receipt - triple checking that you got it right, lest you accidentally manage to give him the wrong number and then never hear from him.

“Hey, Art,” You said, the nickname you’d given him all those years ago catching his full attention. “I work every day this week, but I’m always home by 6 - would you maybe want to give me a call sometime? -”

Arthur practically snatched the note from you, his shout of “YES!” earning some sharp glares from those around you, but his eagerness was endearing enough that neither of you minded, and you found yourself actually laughing at how he so happily accepted your invitation. It was evident, at least now, that the excitement of the reunion was shared, and while the relief it left you with was calming, you couldn’t help but feel a bit uncertain - how were things going to progress between the two of you? Would you be able to be friends just like you had been all those years ago, or now that you were adults with separate lives and responsibilities would you be limited to only brief, occasional meetups? Of course the latter was better than nothing at all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to walk you home…?” He asked as he tucked your number away into the pocket of his trousers, his eyes not leaving yours. “I wouldn’t mind - just so you get back safely.” 

“I promise, cross my heart, that I’ll be alright, okay? And besides, the morning news said it was going to rain tonight, and you’d have to walk all the way back to your apartment in it.” Though you could tell that your reassurance really didn’t do much, Arthur seemed to accept it with a solemn nod. “I promise I’ll be alright - and please, use my number whenever! I’ll see you around, okay?” 

And with a wave you were off, and had it not been for you looking both ways before crossing the intersection would you have seen how intently Arthur watched you as you left, before he turned and went off in his direction, his posture a bit straighter, a smile on his face.

And so, a routine started. 

Each day, after work, you would forgo any and all other plans you may have had in favor of making sure you were home by 6 the latest so there was no risk of missing a call from Arthur. Your days were practically planned around the anticipated phone call, and you found yourself unable to keep your mind off of it nor him regardless of how swamped you were at work. It was very much like the expectancy you had prior in regards to meeting him again, and it was exciting. 

… But days passed, and a call never came. 

It had been over a week since you’d run into him - eight days exactly - and while you told yourself that he was probably just busy with work, with his mother, with errands, with whatever it was that Arthur Fleck had going on in his life - the doubt always managed to creep in, and you were left wondering if maybe he forgot to call - or if he even had the intention of following through at all. You felt guilty for worrying about such a thing, and so you’d try to keep yourself preoccupied; tidying up your small apartment, doing the dishes, watching television, reading, anything at all to keep your mind off of how much time was passing by without your phone ringing. 

But the longer it went without doing so, the more did the question of whether you’d ever hear from him grow, and a nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke up, saying that maybe he did forget, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to you, or he might not want to be friends anymore -

And you flew off the couch the second you heard your phone ring at about 6:43pm one Tuesday evening. You barely managed to keep yourself from tripping over the frayed edge of your carpet as you rushed to the kitchenette, trying to steady your breathing as you picked up the receiver. 

“Hello?”

…

Silence. 

Nothing. 

No speaking, not even any breathing could be heard on the other end - nothing but a complete, deafening silence. 

Go figure. Telemarketer? Prank call, maybe?

“Hello?” Now you were annoyed, and after a few seconds without a response you were about to slam the phone back down, but then you heard it.

“H-Hey..” A timid, quiet response.

“Arthur? I could barely hear you!” With a sigh of relief did it feel as if a weight lifted off of your shoulders, and you couldn’t help but smile at your own so silly stupidness for getting so worked up over not getting a call from him immediately. You knew that in time, at his own pace, would he call, and that you just needed to be patient. “How’ve you been? I was wondering when you’d call.”

Arthur, apparently, was having a hard time getting over the fact that not only did you two run into each other for the first time in almost a decade, but that you wanted to talk and gave him your number, and as a result of his disbelief he became far too shy to call you immediately. It made sense now, given how you knew what Arthur was like, just like you knew a good deal about what he’s been through; his need for reassurance was just a part of him, and if insisting that yes, you did, in fact, mean to give him your number and that yes, you did, in fact, want to talk to him was needed to calm him down, then you had absolutely no problem with giving it to him as much as he needed, so important was his comfort to you.

It became increasingly difficult for you to contain your nerves and bite your tongue to keep yourself from accidentally outing yourself and your feelings as the conversation went on; each time he laughed, each time he expressed any sort of interest in what you were doing, wanted to know how you were, caught you up on any matters pertaining to his life that he felt comfortable with sharing - even just the cadence of his voice as he spoke and how softly he hummed your name made your heart flutter and your stomach fill with the restless frenzy of butterflies as those feelings that had been lying dormant for so long awoke. You could listen to him speak for hours - he could read a phone book aloud to you, and it would capture your attention for however long it took for him to finish. 

He’d asked you about your job as a bank teller as you’d told him a bit about it during your walk, and despite your joking remark about how glamorous it was, he listened to intently as you spoke about the ups and downs of it; asking you to elaborate on odd aspects of it and expressing sympathy when you went into how you almost lost it due to an onslaught of new employees and had to transfer back to Gotham. The topic involving employment piqued your curiosity regarding Arthur, and so you asked him about it - smiling to yourself as he went on about how he was actually a party clown, who one day most definitely would make it as a stand up comedian. Arthur had always, always expressed a desire to make others happy, to spread joy and laughter to a world that so needed it, so just hearing that he was still pursuing at least one of his dreams filled you with such giddiness that the smile that grew on your face made your cheeks ache. 

The more he went on though, through his tone and the way he spoke about certain things was enough to clue you in that he was still struggling with finding his footing, finding his place in the world. He’d always felt, always had been, somewhat out of step with the rest of the world, and you knew that he so desperately sought connection with others, but rarely ever found it - at least, nothing positive. You knew that more than anything, Arthur needed someone there for him, and you had a feeling that he really didn’t have many resources at his disposal. Funding was being cut all across the city, and so many people had begun to lose their only means of help, and while he had his mother, she had never actually been there for him, never really physically, nor mentally. You saw it every now and then when you were younger, and just judging by how he still lived with her because she was too unwell to live on her own told you that he probably never had been able to escape and pursue any of what he really wanted to. 

More than anything, regardless of what relationship the two of you would end up having, did you want to be there for him in any way that you possibly could, and the longer the conversation went on the more melancholic and regretful for not keeping contact with him for all those years did you become.

It wasn’t until it was nearly 8pm that you realized how tired you had become, and with a lull in the conversation did you find yourself feeling a bit more bold than you had previously, your fatigue causing you to let your walls down ever so slightly.

“Hey, Arthur?” 

He must’ve been tired as well, his fatigue given away by the languid “Hm?” he hummed in response, and before you could stop yourself, you blurt out a question - one asking him not if he missed you, but rather how much he had. 

It was something you felt silly and almost a bit selfish for asking - part of you even felt stupid for assuming that he had at all - but then again, hadn’t he already said that he did? Surely there was no harm in asking, and you could only assume that he had missed you given how eager he was to accept your invitation for a call, but it was your turn for needing some of that reassurance that you had given him prior.

“How… much did you miss me?” You tried to play your question off nonchalantly as if it were just a teasing, playful musing, but seconds after asking it did you find yourself worrying your bottom lip as you waited for his response. You knew it was a dumb question that was foolish to ask, but the part of you that so longed to feel needed by the same man you spent so long missing completely overrode the part of you that told you to stay hushed about it.

The other line went dead silent in response to your question, and mentally did you berate yourself for asking such a fucking stupid thing. How was he even supposed to answer that? You put him on the spot without any warning, and you knew that he wasn’t good with that sort of thing -

“A lot…” Arthur said after a moment, his voice so hushed that for a second you thought that in your hope for your feelings to be mutual that you imagined it. “A lot - and when I saw you on the street, I honestly didn’t think you were even real,” He laughed dryly at this, though it was void of any humor. “Why did you move back to such an awful city?” 

“To find you, Art,” Though you felt that that admission was a bit trite with how cliche it was, it was true. Had it not been for the possibility of meeting up with him, you would’ve lacked much, if any at all, motivation to make the move back, even with the threat of losing your job. “I’ve spent so long - so long missing you, and then I started remembering everything about how I felt about you back then, I got excited and happy to see you, and then I just -” 

You paused, taking a deep breath. 

“God, Arthur - I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m in love with you.” There was no going back after this, and so not even giving him a chance to respond did you continue your rambling; “I don’t even know, I felt it back then, and then I thought I was over it, but then we met again and it all came back so quickly and now I just - want you to know about it.”

Your voice trailed off, and you felt yourself holding your breath. You knew you had said too much too fast for him - and to be entirely honest, if you were in his spot then you probably would’ve slammed the phone down because of how absolutely overwhelming the sudden barrage of information and feelings that were poured out undoubtedly was, but deep down you hypocritically prayed that he wouldn’t respond that way. Arthur could be a particularly complex person to read, and while that was something you liked about him to a degree, it made situations like this tougher at the same time. 

Your feelings were so incredibly conflicted, as a handful of actions from him gave the indication that he might’ve felt the same way; that soft hum his voice had every time he spoke your name, how when you were walking with him the other night he always smiled at you when you even so much as glanced at him, the fact that he had been so eager to accept your number - but at the same time, you knew that Arthur spent most of his time alone or with his mother, having little, if any at all, genuine contact with others. There was a very good chance that he had platonic - and only platonic feelings for you - and that each and every sign that you thought carried the connotation that he liked you more than such was just him being excited to just have a friend again. 

Of course, you prayed that your admittance of feelings for him didn’t sully your friendship, as well. Humiliating as it would be, you could deal with the rejection and still feel nothing but fondness for the man and the desire to remain friends - but did he feel the same way, too? Would knowing that you were in love with him, as you had put it, make him uncomfortable with you? Would it be far too awkward to continue speaking? He was a grown man, so surely he’s had his eye on someone after all of this time - but the thought of it being anyone but you made your heart sink into your stomach where it settled into a sour pit of dejection. It hurt, but the more you thought about it did you accept it - as long as he was happy, could you live with whatever the outcome was - and with that acceptance did you patiently await his response. 

After a moment, what sounded like a sniffle came from him first, and then the words that could’ve broken your heart;

“I don’t think you really mean that, Y/N - you can’t, there’s no way -” 

He sounded heartbroken as he spoke, his voice so unsure that it sounded as if he expected this to be nothing but some sort of cruel, absurd prank being played on him. 

“Arthur, what? No - I do mean it, and I mean that. What would I gain from lying? - No, why would I do that to you? You’re the only good thing about this damn city, and I have no reason to lie about this.” Whether or not your statement was any reassurance to him you had no clue, but you couldn’t help but regret how completely inappropriate it was for you to suddenly blurt out such a heavy confession to him at such random notice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No! No, don’t apologize, please,” His voice had a sort of hushed, yet frantic undertone to it - Penny was probably near, and the last thing either of you needed was for her to overhear. “I just don’t get it - why me of all people?”

“Because you’re you, Art,” You whispered, hopefully loud enough for him to hear. “I’ve kind of always had a feeling ever since we first met, but I don’t know. I guess I was just scared back then and I knew you didn’t - and probably still don’t - feel the same way, so I just… never thought I should mention it.” 

Once again did he go silent, and you debated on just bidding him a quick goodnight so you could hang up and sulk in the utter humiliation of what was undoubtedly a rejection, but you respected both Arthur and yourself too much to do such a thing. You were fully prepared to apologize once again, your mind running a million miles for each second that ticked by without any sort of response, and just as you were about to ask if he was still there did you hear him take a short breath.

“What if…,” He paused for a second, taking another shaky breath. “I said that I did feel the same way…?” 

What?

Your breath hitched, and had it not been for feeling its pulse as it pounded away in your chest, you would’ve thought that your heart had stopped from the shock. 

“Wait - What. What do you mean?”

“You know, Y/N… That I like you - too, in that way.” 

“Arthur - do you actually mean that?”

“Y/N, what would I get from lying?” His voice was teasing, yet gentle as he tried to reassure you the same way you had done for him when he asked you the same thing prior. 

You knew that Arthur wouldn’t be bold enough to outright say it if he loved you like you did him at the moment, and part of you didn’t even believe that your feelings were reciprocated, so full of self doubt and insecurities were you. That part of you thought that he just didn’t know how to let you down without hurting you, but at the same time, the other part of you so desperately wanted to believe that it was true - and that was the part you were inclined to go along with.

“Hey, Art - I have this weekend off, and if you do too, maybe just you and I could… go do something…?” 

“Yes - yes! What would you -? ” 

“There’s a discount theater about halfway between my place and where we split up, so we could go see whatever’s playing there - I think it’s a Chaplin film, and you still like those, right?”

One of Arthur’s long time favorites; he’d always had a soft spot in his heart for Charlie Chaplin, and so it made sense that your first date (if you could be so bold as to call it that) would be seeing one - one that, ironically enough, was City Lights as you saw the marquee above the doors advertising on your way home from work earlier that day. 

He didn’t even need to actually answer your invitation for you to know that it was a resounding yes, the smile that was undoubtedly on his face audible through his voice as he confirmed that he did, in fact, still like them. With a plan in place - Saturday, 6:30pm, 9th Ave - did you bid each other goodnight, the giddiness in your voices not going unnoticed by the other. 

From the kitchen to the couch did it feel as if you were floating on whatever the earthly equivalent to cloud nine was, and with a lack of grace did you flop down into the spot you had been sitting previously. The television drawled on in the background, and the grin that spread across your face showed no signs of letting up any time soon, but you cared little for how much your face was beginning to ache from it. Instead, as you tipped your head back did tears of pure happiness flood your eyes, threatening to spill over and blur your vision. 

How nice it felt to be liked, to be wanted, to maybe even be loved in return by the same person that you had spent so long longing for. You couldn’t help but wonder how long exactly Arthur had gone feeling the same way; had he always felt it, like you had? Or was it a recent realization, one that sprung up when you two spoke again the other day? You’d have to ask him about it whenever the opportunity came up, but until your weekend rendezvous could you subsist on just your ponderings and fantasies about what the two of you could get up to, knowing that regardless of how it went, as long as you had Arthur by your side, would you be okay.

You would be okay - because while Gotham was different, it was home, especially now that you had Arthur again.

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taglist;

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[mister-fleck]

blue heart: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: All of my Arthur/Male Reader requests combined into one.

Standing here, neck stiff and blood cold in Hoyt’s office, Arthur daydreamed about what his life would be like if he hadn’t been born into poverty.

Would he still have the same morals, the same gentle mentality if he had been raised like Thomas Wayne? If he had been taught arithmetic at a private school, instead of half-heartedly lectured on his mother’s couch? If he had the luxury of showering with shampoo rather than discounted bar soap? If he had been able to celebrate his birthday as a child, rather than wistfully wonder how old he even was?

“Why would I keep a sign?” Arthur heard himself defend, barely audible, hardly there. It was beyond him why somebody would think that he would lie about being jumped. By children. How mortifying. If it hadn’t been work related, Arthur would have easily kept it to himself.

And yet, his boss brushed it off, scoffing and rolling his eyes as he continued to go down the list as to why Arthur was an inadequate human being. Normally, Arthur would reach into his pocket and take out his rolodex of coping mechanisms for this exact occasion, but there was something in the way Hoyt dipped his chin, looked at him as if to say really?

As his pulse reached his ears like the drums of war, Arthur knew that if he didn’t get out of there soon he would be leaving with blood on his hands. So he smiled, he smiled, he smiled all the way through the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the alleyway. 

But once he was alone in the shadows, Arthur snapped. He felt himself fly out of his body, abruptly disassociating, and watched himself werewolf. It frightened him, what years of rage looked like, of how he was capable of muting the pain in his shoulder and ribs as he drove his foot into the nearest dumpster. 

He imagined Hoyt lying there, blood pouring out of his nose, begging for mercy as Arthur stomped his face in. How blissful it would be to finally shut him up. Arthur transcribed his violence into music — the low notes of sin, the high falsettos of redemption. 

Arthur’s lungs burned, each inhale ragged and unfaithful as he continued to plow the imaginary corpse of his boss. Eventually his body gave out, not cut out for such brutality — it had been days since he had eaten a solid meal — and he found himself collapsing within the heaps of trash. 

But as he did so, the heel of his shoe skidded across something slick and Arthur didn’t land as he had hoped — no, he was forced to put his hands out behind him to stop himself from ramming his head into the dumpster, which in turn led to —

“Fuck, ow!”

Seething in an agonized breath through his teeth, Arthur forced himself into a sitting position and cradled his right hand in alarm. Pain shot through the tendons of his wrist, white-hot and throbbing, and Arthur found himself blinking away tears. It was just his luck. The one time he had allowed himself to vent, he wound up injured. Nothing surprised him anymore. 

Now back at home, Arthur rolled up his sleeve and sat down at the kitchen table to examine the damage. There wasn’t anything gruesome, thankfully — no bones sticking out or deep gashes — but it was still spasming and tender to the touch. 

“What the hell did I do?” He mumbled to himself, thick brows furrowing as he turned on the lamp nearby to take a closer look.  His hand was starting to swell. Wanting to test just how hurt he was, Arthur attempted to clench his hand up into a fist but cried out at the unexpected, blinding pain that coursed through his wrist and up his arm.

“Happy? What’s going on?”

Arthur’s head shot up. He had forgotten about his mother trying to sleep down the hall. “Sorry, Ma!” He hesitated, grasping at excuses with a vague hand gesture. “Just, uh, banged my knee!” 

“Don’t do that,” his mother called out wearily, as if Arthur needed to be instructed. “It’s bad for you.” 

Rolling his eyes fondly, Arthur pushed himself up onto his feet and padded his way over to the kitchen cabinets. His body ached all over and he cursed his poor behavior. Why would he throw such an irresponsible tantrum after being beaten the day before? It made Arthur feel like a child, this new situation, and he felt his eyes burn again. Would a day go by where Arthur didn’t feel like crying?

On the top shelf of the furthest cabinet sat a paper bag, the contents within something of a first aid kit. It wasn’t anything grand, just some bandages and disinfectant that Arthur had gathered over the years due to, well — life. Thankfully there was still half a roll of gauze left. He figured he could put together some sort of makeshift brace. How hard could it be?

The following morning, Arthur trembled with frustration as his bandages came loose once again. He was back at work, midway through opening his tray of face paints when he felt the gauze begin to unravel for the third time that day. Thankfully, he was the first one in and consequently alone, so Arthur didn’t feel too self-conscious when he let out a gruff:

“God damn it.” 

“Are you okay?”

A little spooked, Arthur gasped and whipped around, a few of his paint brushes rolling off of the vanity counter in the process. He could have sworn that he was all by himself. 

An embarrassed flush painted Arthur’s chest and neck upon noticing an unfamiliar young man standing at the top of the staircase. Was this a client? A lawyer? His heart seized as he remembered the gun tucked away in his locker. Would he get in trouble for that?

The man raised his eyebrows apologetically and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. But you sounded like you were in pain,” he explained, his voice smooth and sweet. He made his way over to Arthur, kneeling immediately to pick up the fallen brushes. Gazing up at him beneath long lashes, the man threw him a smile so charming that Arthur could have collapsed. “Here you go.”

Arthur shyly accepted them with a smile of his own, though he doubted it was anything nearly as arresting as what this man had gifted him. “Thank you. Yeah, I — uh, fell yesterday,” he managed to stammer, glancing down at his stupid, stupid hand. 

“Can I take a look?” The stranger almost perked up at the news. “I know first aid, I might be able to help.”

Really out of his element here, Arthur sat back a little and tilted his head. “Who are you?”

The man laughed softly and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I’m Hoyt’s nephew. I’ll be working here as his new assistant.” He remained kneeling, seemingly completely comfortable with their close proximity, and held out his hand. “May I see?”

A little guarded but hopeful, Arthur gave him a short nod and extended his bandaged wrist, face pinched with pain as he held his breath. “I think it might be sprained. I don’t know.”

Hoyt’s nephew frowned, gingerly turning over Arthur’s hand. “You should definitely get this wrapped. Properly.” He shifted, preparing to unwind the gauze, but something caught his eye.

The bruises on his shoulder. The damage to his ribs. Arthur had forgotten that he had been shirtless this entire time.

“Yeah, I really took a spill,” Arthur spoke up awkwardly, definitely not prepared to admit to this kind stranger that a handful of kids had beaten him up. “Fell down the stairs.”

The man winced sympathetically, beginning to cautiously wind the bandage up and over the dip of his thumb. “I’m sorry to hear that, Arthur.” 

All of this positive attention was starting to make Arthur nervous. He knew that it never lasted very long. “How do you know my name?”

With a quirk of his lips, the stranger playfully tilted his head toward the plastic tray of paint on the counter. Upon its lid in permanent marker was a smudged Arthur F.

“Oh,” Arthur let out a sheepish laugh. “Right.”

—

To Arthur’s bewilderment, the kindness didn’t stop there. It seemed as though they tended to arrive at the same time, a few minutes earlier than everybody else. They bonded over cheap coffee and cigarettes, even gossiping about the other workers, how they performed and what gimmicks they used. He was so delighted — for the first time in his entire career as a clown, Arthur was excited to wake up in the morning. To see him. 

It took a while for his wrist to heal and as much as Arthur tried to hide his exasperation, the young man caught onto it. 

“Hey, maybe I could help?” He had offered one morning after watching Arthur struggle to apply the blue paint near his eyes. “I’ve practically memorized your routine.”

Arthur dipped his chin bashfully and lifted one of his shoulders. “No, I could never ask you to do that.”

“You weren’t the one that asked,” he replied easily, and before Arthur could react the younger man had lowered himself onto his lap. “C’mon. Give me the brush.” 

He smelled like vanilla and coffee and aftershave and Arthur felt himself fall in love. “Oh.” 

“You do that a lot,” the man teased, carefully dipping the brush into blue. He lifted his voice to match the pitch of Arthur’s. “Oh.”

Blushing wildly, Arthur gripped at the sides of the chair, knuckles white. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A gentle swipe near the swell of his cheek. “It’s cute.”

Arthur was beside himself with pride when a laughing attack never came. 

—

Having his make up done became the newest addition to his routine. You’re a star, Arthur, the man would admonish upon each protest. You’ll have to get used to having a make-up artist. Might as well start now. 

Those here-and-there compliments were the highlights of Arthur’s day. Not because he was a narcissist — far from it. Because they were genuine. And warm. Arthur was finally starting to understand what it felt like to be noticed. 

It was a Wednesday when Arthur mustered up the courage to touch him. They were alone again, the sun barely having risen, cigarettes long forgotten as they sat close together. His new friend had openly fancied sitting in his lap each morning, flippantly defending that it was the best angle to do his work. Arthur would never complain. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” Arthur questioned, feeling like a child again. His voice wavered. “I don’t understand.”

The man smiled his Arthur smile. “Because I like you, silly boy.” Confident as always, he reached out and tucked away some of Arthur’s hair — but didn’t stop there. It turned into a bit of an affectionate stroke, twirling brown locks between his fingers. “How could I not be nice to you, Arthur? You’re such a sweetie.” 

Arthur was very rarely bold, but there was something about that smile that inspired him to reach forward and mimic, twirl his own fingers around the man’s hair. He soon pulled away, though, not quite that bold. Arthur swallowed hard, counted the freckles on the man’s nose. They were sitting so close. “I like you, too.” 

The heavy, familiar slam of the employee entrance echoed its way up the stairs and the two wordlessly separated. They had a mutual, silent understanding that their behavior was a little too friendly for the workplace. But Arthur didn’t mind it. He found something romantic in keeping their moments a secret. They didn’t need to be shared. He’d rather keep them protected.

With a small squeeze to Arthur’s shoulder and a smile, the man slipped away, passing Randall as he descended the stairs. His gaze lingered there, already missing his company.

“What’s with the face?” Randall barked at him, moseying his way over to the lockers. “Are you high?”

Turning back around to face the mirror, Arthur let out a quiet, painless laugh upon seeing a tiny blue heart painted on his cheek bone. “No,” he murmured, fuzzy all over. “Just happy.” 

—

Arthur dreamt of him that night. It was a simple dream — just the two of them, cuddled up on a love seat, watching an old film. The house was foreign to him, but nice and clean. They were holding hands. Dinner was warming in the oven. They had matching slippers. It felt like home.

Even Arthur’s mother, despite how far, far away she always was, started to notice the change in him. 

“You seem lighter, Happy,” she commented one morning, watching as he pranced his way over to the coffee maker, freshly-shaven and whistling. “Are you on new medication?”

Arthur had to laugh. He laughed often now, freely. “No, Ma. Just excited for work.” 

“Be careful, smiling that much,” she looked at him pointedly before sitting down in her arm chair. “Somebody might take advantage of you.” 

Shaking his head, Arthur twirled his spoon between his fingers. His wrist was healed now, though he’d continue to fake it. He’d never want to give his only friend, the only man who ever showed him affection, reason to slip away. Checking his watch, Arthur jumped a little and made his way to the door.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” his mother added, “There’s a message for you on the machine.” 

Knowing that he was running a little late, Arthur brushed it off. It was probably a telemarketer trying to sell him another vacuum. He hastily slipped on his jacket, his coffee long forgotten on the counter. It wasn’t the same drinking alone, anyway.  “I’ll listen to it later, Ma, I’ve got to go.” 

“But, Happy — “

— 

Arthur wasn’t proud to admit that he virtually ran to the subway station and then off of it to work, but if looking foolish meant arriving on time — he could care less. He was a clown, after all. Looking foolish was his profession. 

He ascended the stairs two steps at a time, a little sweaty and out of breath once he reached the top, but let out a heavy sigh of relief upon finding it empty. If Randall or any of the other’s spontaneously decided to show up before him, it would ruin everything. 

Taking off his shoes and swapping them out for a pair three sizes too big, Arthur whistled to himself and retrieved his makeup and wig from the top shelf of his locker. He shook his head with a chuckle at the paper bag shoved towards the back. Carrying a gun sounded appealing, once upon a time. But he was more alert now, present and secure. It didn’t seem necessary. 

The butterflies in his stomach forced him to take a deep breath to steady himself. Arthur always had to give himself a bit of a pep-talk each morning. Be normal, Arthur. Sitting down in front of the mirror, he looked himself in the eye. Don’t scare him away. 

Knees bouncing in anticipation, Arthur set out his makeup just so and waited for him to arrive. It should be any moment now. The sun was beginning to spread over Gotham, painting the sky orange and yellow. He smiled. If he could compare his friend to anything, it would be a sunrise. Warm, full of hope, beautiful.

A few minutes passed. Arthur turned in his seat, green eyes glued to the top of the stairs. He thought back on that first day, on how unprepared he had been for joy to enter his life. The happy memory helped soothe his nerves, but only just. The sun was up high in the sky, now. 

Once the clock struck eight, Arthur knew something was wrong. In the two months they had known each other, he had never been late. Maybe by a minute or two, but never half an hour. Tormented by the idea that something terrible may have happened, that he might be harmed in some way, Arthur smoothed back his hair and hastily made his way down the hall to Hoyt’s office. 

He knocked twice, waited. 

“Yeah, what is it?”

Arthur poked his head into the room with an apprehensive smile. “Hi, Hoyt. Sorry if I’m interrupting.” 

Looking unimpressed and bored, Hoyt leaned forward, silently begging him to spit it out.

Wringing his hands together, Arthur briefly cleared his throat. “I was wondering if your nephew was coming in today? It’s past eight now — “

Hoyt made a face, scratched at the back of his head with his pen. “Nephew?”

Arthur frowned, frustrated that his boss wasn’t showing the same level of concern. “Yes, him. He’s late, which isn’t like him at all — “

Rolling his eyes, Hoyt looked back down at the paperwork he had been working on. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m busy, Arthur.”

“C’mon, now,” Arthur pleaded, taking a step forward, “You’re his uncle, shouldn’t you be worried, too? I know you may see him as only an assistant, but he’s your family — ”

“I’m not an uncle, Fleck. I’m an only child.” Hoyt looked disturbed, pissed. “Stop spouting bull shit. Get out of my office.”

Arthur didn’t move. He blinked rapidly, the flurry of excitement that he had woken up with dwindling down into nothing. “I don’t understand. He comes in every day. He — He helps you with your accounting. That’s what he told me.”

“Listen, if you’re going to come to work high, you can forget about having a job here.”

“I’m not on anything!” Arthur snapped at him, feeling hot in the face. “Why does everybody think that I have to get high to feel something, huh? Why can’t I just — can’t I just find happiness the normal way? Through people? Am I that detached to you? Am I that pathetic?” His throat began to seize. Arthur let out a strangled little noise, not wanting to have to deal with that right now.  “Just tell me where he is!” 

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Hoyt spat at him. “Whoever you’ve been imagining, whoever you’ve been talking to, he doesn’t exist.”

Arthur shook his head weakly, brought his hands up to cover his ears like a little boy. He didn’t want to listen to this. 

“I haven’t hired anybody new in the last two years, alright? Get the fuck out of here. Come back when you’ve stopped being such a freak.”

Blurry-eyed and wheezing, Arthur pushed himself through the door and stumbled his way through the hallway. He grasped at his throat, choking on the first terrible ripple of laughter. The first laughs were always the worst. They hurt the most.

By the time he entered the locker room, most of his coworkers had arrived. They were huddled together at the center table, whispering to themselves and all seemed to collectively turn towards Arthur upon his arrival.

“You okay there, pal?” Randall was the first to speak, his mouth twitching. He had a terrible poker face. 

Arthur couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. He stood hunched over in front of his locker, hand pressed to his gut as if he were vomiting, sweat making his shirt cling to his chest. 

“What, did you finally get fired?” One of the other clowns jabbed, a different kind of laughter hidden in his throat. “Figures.”

He waved him off, trying his best to tell them to stop, but their laughter started to gather into something ugly and cold. It had been Arthur’s goal to change his shoes, but he couldn’t spend one minute more in this building. This locker room only mattered when — when he was here. A fresh bout of sharp laughter clawed at his throat and rattled his brain. Covering his ears again, Arthur bolted down the stairs, tripping on the last one — which of course fueled the laughter above. He had to leave. He had to leave. He had to leave. 

—

Blowing your nose for what felt like the one hundredth time, you sighed and sunk back into the couch. You hated being sick, it threw your entire day off. You weren’t ashamed of your morning routine — meditation, smoothie, positive affirmations — and not being able to indulge in this simple necessity put you in a foul mood. 

You had slept most of the day away, curled up pathetically on your uncle’s sofa. You didn’t care if you got your germs all over his living room — the man was an ass anyway. If it wasn’t for your complete lack of income due to the recent move, you’d be living on your own. Anything was better than tiny cowtown Ohio, you supposed. Even if it meant listening to your uncle drunkenly rant about his political and religious beliefs every evening. As if anybody would ever sign up for that. 

Around half past nine, Uncle Hoyt came strolling into the loft. Strolled. He never had such a bouncy gait. Wiping at your nose, you massaged absently at your sore throat and spoke up. “You seem happy.”

Hoyt promptly burst into a fit of throaty giggles, wheezing in an ugly fashion, as if being tickled on the spot. “You should have seen his face, buddy. God, you really missed out, there.”

Wrinkling your nose in confusion, you frowned, tissue balled up in your fist. “What are you talking about?”

“Fleck. You know, the skinny one with the weird smile?”

Your heart jolted to a stop. “Arthur?” Sitting upright, you set your jaw. “What happened with Arthur?”

Tossing his keys and jacket onto the kitchen counter, your uncle covered his face and continued to snort obnoxiously. “I can’t get over how priceless — guy looked like he was losing his damn mind.”

You felt yourself beginning to tremble. Throwing the blanket off of your lap, you stood and stalked over to him, voice very low. “What are you talking about? What did you say to him?” 

Hoyt needed a moment to catch his breath. “Told him — Told him you didn’t exist — “ He was wiping tears out of his eyes now. “Made him think that he dreamed you up. What a fucking idiot—“ 

You had never punched anybody before and immediately realized that you weren’t good at it — the ache in your knuckles after connecting with his jaw almost pulled you out of the moment, but even your uncle’s bloody nose wasn’t enough to quell your rage. 

“You told him that I didn’t exist?” You shrieked, your voice reaching the high pitch that it normally did when you were stressed. It didn’t help that your throat was on fire due to whatever virus had been holding you hostage. “Are you sick? Why the hell would you do that!” 

But you didn’t give Hoyt the chance to reply or defend. You had pushed him into the wall, kneed him in the stomach, sent another punch to his face — any and all energy left in you was directed at your uncle until he was nearly gasping for breath on the kitchen floor. 

Red in the face, Hoyt tried to push himself up but stumbled back down, the wind having been knocked out of him. 

You paced and paced and paced, shaking hard, forced to imagine poor Arthur’s face upon being lied to so horrendously. Your sweet, silly, green-eyed boy.

Not being able to take it anymore, you stumbled towards your room and slipped on some shoes and a sweatshirt before booking it out of the loft with a hard, “Fuck you, Hoyt.”

—

Arthur wished he had his own room. God, did he, because it was only upon arriving home that he realized that there was nowhere to go, no where to hide and scream and process. He heard his mother question him, sounding half-asleep, but Arthur knew that he wouldn’t be able to put it into words.

How could he explain to his mother that he had gone insane? That he had fallen in love with a hallucination? That the hallucination had been a man?

He ended up locking himself up in the bathroom. His mother gave up trying to connect with him fairly quickly, this was hardly his first emotional break down. She was notoriously lazy when it came to anything maternal.

Knees pushed up to his chest and arms curled around them, Arthur sat in the middle of the tub, wet face pressed into the fabric of his pants. His stupid clown shoes had been tossed to the side of the room, along with his shirt. He cried and laughed and cried and laughed until he felt physically sickened — but the sun setting in the window behind him brought on another devastating wave of grief.

Was it even possible to grieve over something that was never truly there? 

It was only when Arthur heard his mother close the door to her bedroom that he managed to get up out of the tub. He had to catch himself from falling, both of his legs asleep from lack of movement, but eventually found enough balance to exit the bathroom. 

His eyes fell straight away to the couch, the cushions and quilt so inviting after hours of weeping against cold, hard tile. Arthur’s entire face was sore from crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel. 

He had been lying down barely ten minutes before a series of impatient knocks fell against his front door. The rate of the pounding told Arthur that whomever it was wasn’t going to leave any time soon, so he grabbed a shirt out of the laundry basket nearby and pulled it over his head. 

Arthur’s footing wasn’t quite there yet, but with shaking limbs he managed to reach the door and peer through the peephole. He instantly stumbled backwards with a horrified grimace, desperately distancing himself from the entrance.

“Stop it!” Arthur demanded, voice thick with tears all over again, “Go away! Get out of my head!”

The knocking ceased, and Arthur thought that he had won until he heard a voice — your voice. 

“Please open the door, Arthur, please.”

“No!” Arthur took a few more steps away, wrapping his arms around himself to find some semblance of comfort. “You aren’t there! I know that now!” He hiccuped around a cry, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been a fool.” 

—

Pressing both hands flat against the door, you let your head fall forward to rest there as well. 

“He’s a liar, Arthur,” you pleaded, beginning to seethe with anger all over again at the thought of him. “It was some sort of sick prank. He’s —” You gritted your teeth. “He’s an awful man.”

You heard a soft sob on the other side of the door, breaking your heart.

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur replied after a long moment, but his voice was louder now. He had moved closer. “I’m just a freak, that’s what they all say. Because they’re right. I dream up love because a part of me knows that I’ll never have it.” 

Your chin began to tremble. You had never heard Arthur talk about himself like this. Fighting back your own tears, you shook your head. “Arthur. You have it.” You shut your eyes tight. “Of course you have it.”

You were met with silence and as the moments passed by, your stomach twisted. Had he left the room? Was he doing something to harm himself? Frightened, you began to knock again, much harder now. 

“Where are you?” More silence. Your itchy throat grew tight. “I’m so sorry for what he did, Arthur. I was hoping you would have gotten the message I left last night. I shouldn’t have called so late.” You didn’t want to cry. You hadn’t been the one abused. “Please come back.”

There was shuffling on the other side of the door and you pressed your ear to it, straining to hear what was happening. Just as you were about to speak up again, you heard your own voice play throughout his apartment.

Hey, Arthur. It’s me. Sorry if my call woke you up, but I just — I wanted to let you know as soon as I could that I’ve come down with a cold. A beat. That sounded weird, what I meant was that I won’t be at work tomorrow and… well, you know. Another pause.  I’ll miss you. Hope to see you soon.

A slow beep followed the recording and you held your breath. God, did you sound lame. You winced and looked down to your shoes, only just now realizing that you were wearing two different pairs. What a mess. You wouldn’t blame him if he lost interest. If he told you to leave anyway. If he — 

The door ripped open and you promptly fell forward into Arthur’s arms. 

He caught you easily — you always loved that he was taller than you — and helped you back up onto your feet, his eyes wide and searching. Your heart sank into your stomach at the sight of him, at how exhausted he looked. At how puffy and red his eyes were. 

You reached out without thinking, brushing the pad of your thumb below his eye. “You poor thing.” 

Arthur sniffled abruptly, still not looking stable. He leaned into your hand and closed his eyes, breathing out brokenly, “I want you to be real.”

“Arthur,” you heard yourself whispering, “I’m right here.” 

You kissed him. You wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck, took a step closer, and poured your heart into a kiss so adamant that you’d surely die if he pushed you away.

It took him a moment, but soon the hands holding you steady slackened and smoothed over your back, pulling you closer. Arthur kissed you back so sweetly, held you so dearly, but his breath hitched audibly midway. He was crying. 

You pulled back — but only an inch, just so you could press your lips to his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. 

“You’re really here?” Arthur croaked, fingers tightening in your sweatshirt as you smothered his face in affection. “I’m not dreaming?”

“My silly boy,” you murmured, leaning back to take his face in your hands, wanting to catch his gaze. You smiled up at him. “You’re wide awake.”

Slowly, beautifully, Arthur smiled back.

--

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird @jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader @aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester​

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody!)

[nephilimsarchive]

A little help | Arthur Fleck x reader imagine

Summary: Gotham seems a little less grey as someone finally cares for him. Or: A stranger helps Arthur after he gets beaten up. He loses his sign but gains what he hopes could blossom into more than friendship.

Note: basically just someone finally being nice to Arthur, a little fluff

Warnings: none??? Some swearing, unspecified age gap, crappy ending

Word count: 2301

Hearing the door shut behind you you made your way down Gothams main street, relieved that your shift was over. You worked at a local restaurant, and while serving meals wasn’t quite your passion, the occasional tips you got im your tight fitting shirt made for a rather alright pay. Nonetheless, you surely weren’t anywhere near wealthy, not that you cared much. The only thing that bothered you was that you rarely had the time - and sometimes the money - to paint anymore. With your job and small apartment, which’s properties really didn’t deserve the rent you had to pay for it, your childhood dream of earning money with art remained what it was - a dream.

Yet you couldn’t quite stop yourself from hoping sometimes, and so you found yourself wandering the busy streets. Looking for anything to inspire you, taking longer than necessary to get home. You longed to see greenery between the skyscrapers and taxis, individuality between the anonymous faces passing you by, kindness between the insensivity of this gloomy town. And that’s when something on the other side of the road caught your eye. The vibrant colours of his costume in contrast with the grey concrete surrounding him. Cheerful music was playing. Most people didn’t even glance at him as he they were passing him by. Hell, you found most clowns rather frightening. But there was something about him, his grin or his dancing, the way he swung the sign that made you stare. Maybe you just couldn’t phantom how somebody, no, anybody could seem so …happy, doing what he does. Then again it was his job, and people here have no choice than to work hard to get by.

Your train of thoughts was interrupted as the subject of your focus scrambled to his feet after a hoard of teenage boys had stolen his sign. Picking up a faster pace you kept an eye on the scene that unfolded in front of your eyes, the boys suddenly crossing the street, not even paying attention to the cars that honked. My god, getting past the mass of people in front of you was bad enough as it was, you couldn’t even imagine running in full costume. Poor guy. You stopped in your tracks and gasped as one of the cars almost hit him, but he ran on as if nothing happened. And just like that, he suddenly was out of your vision. You started running, excusing yourself as you pushed past people, yet he was nowhere to be seen. Slowing your pace you tried to catch your breath, when muffled sounds caught your attention. You turned the next corner, your mouth agape in shock. Five boys were kicking the man that already lay on the ground, his sign in pieces next to him. Not being able to stop your instincts from kicking in you screamed „Hey!“, they turned towards you, „Get off him you fucking bastards!“ you growled, at which the guys merely chuckled, but ran away anyway. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Your mind raced as you sprinted towards the man and tried to assess the situation. He was on his side, ragged breaths jolting through him, shuddering. You crouched down next to him, but he barely noticed you at first, his hand trying to reach for the bits and pieces of the sign he had been holding. „That should be the least of your worries.“, you then said, giving him a sympathetic smile. „Can you stand?“, you asked, but all the answer you got was a quizzical look. It was as if he’s aware that there’s nobody else you could possibly be talking to, but still he didn’t believe you meant him. Then again you weren’t even sure he fully heard or understood you. Gently, as to not make more damage you took one of his hands into yours. „You can’t stay like this, we’ve got to get your injuries checked. I’m going to try and help you up now, okay?“ His eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at your intertwining hands. He weakly nodded. Slowly he sat up, then got to his feet, clutching his ribs as you tried to support his walking as much as you could. You would’ve headed to the hospital immediately, but in this state he could barely stand upright, and you didn’t own a car. So you just walked to your apartment, which was only a few blocks away.

Usually you wouldn’t take a stranger to your flat, but he seemed so helpless and lonely - it felt right to keep an eye on him, at least for a bit. You tried to make conversation on the way, asking him about his name, but he never answered. His head swayed while walking, and you didn’t know if he listened, but you continued talking to him anyway. If you were in his shoes you would’ve liked someone to distract you from the pain. And that is precisely how he felt. Little did you know that of course Arthur listened to your every word. His eyes flickered to how you held him, then to your face every now and then. From the moment you crouched down next to him he could’ve sworn that you’re an actual angel. Your voice became his mantra as you told him you’re sorry for what happened to him, that he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t answer because he simply didn’t know what to say. After all this time, how could it be that someone as kind, selfless and absolutely beautiful offered him help?

As you reached your flat and finally made it to your bed you sat him down. He looked around in confusion as you returned with your first aid kit, some cloths and frozen vegetables he could use to cool his side. Making a mental note to buy some new vegetables later you sat next to him. Carefully you rinsed the blood off his swollen lower lip, washing off the remains of his makeup, him being silent all along. He couldn’t help the way his eyes wandered over you, your (e/c) eyes, long wavy hair reaching just beneath your shoulders and then your lips. And how they were parted ever so slightly as you concentrated. Truly, he felt terrible for what he was thinking. He knew you were just being nice, but your proximity and the way your gentle hands touched his face didn’t help his case as he shifted his gaze just a little lower, getting a good look at your slender neck and even your cleavage. Your skin looked so soft. Fucking hell, you were simply breathtaking. His eyes fluttered close as he shifted a little. He was fully aware he barely knew you, you probably had a boyfriend, and you definitely definitely were what they call out of his league. You must’ve been at least five years younger than him, too. He felt rumbles of laughter bubbling in his throat He felt rumbles of laughter bubbling in his throat after you got up, fetching a glass of water and a pain med. you returned, and that’s when the laughter broke out, the irony of the situation painful. Now you must think he’s a total nutcase. Instead, you just sat next to him again, an amused but quizzical look on you face. He struggled to hand you a card that explained his condition, and you patiently waited for him to calm down again. His laughter broke out then. Great, now you must think he’s totally insane. Instead, you just sat down next to him again, an amused and quizzical expression on your face. He struggled to hand you the card that explained his condition. You were patiently waiting for him to calm down. „Well, I think your laugh’s lovely. Well, I think your laugh is quite lovely.”, you told him, trying to cheer him up, “Drink something.”, handing him the glass heis cheeks burned as did as you said, not so successfully hiding his burning cheeks as he sighed lightly when the cold glass touched the wound on his lip. Looking him over, you frowned slightly. Shuffling through your drawer you got out an oversized shirt and jogging pants. “If you’d like to change, the bathroom is right next door.” You placed the clothes next to him and turned to leave as a hoarse voice stopped you in your tracks. “Y.. Y/N..?” Ah! So he had listened. “Why are you helping me?”, he asked in a quiet tone, “You don’t even know my name.” Turning around you took a few steps closer to him again. “Then tell me.”, you returned, smiling. He looked as his feet then “Arthur, …my name is Arthur.” “Well then, Arthur, I’m helping you because because I want to. Nobody deserves what happened to you today. Nobody deserves what they did to you. Now, make yourself at home. Try to get some rest.”, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. He wouldn’t even have had a second thought about it, they were just kids. But you seriously meant what you said. As the rest of your words sank in he tried to protest, saying he couldn’t possibly sleep in your bed. Shaking your head lightly, you chose to make your way to the door. “If there’s anything else you need, feel free to ask.”

~~~

The next morning you were woken up by a noise you couldn’t recognise. It hadn’t taken you much time to fall asleep on your sofa the day before. It actually was a lot more comfortable than you had thought, or perhaps it was the exhaustion of you work shift followed by half-carrying Arthur here. Thinking of which, you turned to face the rest of the living room and got up. To your surprise, you saw movement through the glass of your kitchen door. The smell of scrambled eggs filled your nose as you entered, at once figuring out that the noises you heard must’ve been Arthur putting out dishes onto the small table. He had done his best trying to be quite, sneaking out of you bedroom past your sleeping form he had noted you looked wonderfully peaceful when asleep, then to the kitchen. Now there were toasts, some cut up apples and slightly burned scrambled eggs layed out on the kitchen table. It wasn’t a buffet per se, but more than enough to have your facial expression turn to one of surprise, happiness and then disbelief. As you shook your head lightly, brushing a hand through your disheveled hair Arthur suddenly seemed nervous „Oh, I‘m.. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to rummage through your belongings, I should’ve known that’s not what you do.“, you couldn’t help but look at him in shock then, how could he think your mad? He avoided your stare. „I‘ll clean everything up.“, he grabbed the handle of the pan as your hand over his stopped him. He looked up into your eyes, while his mirrored uncertainty and something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. „Arthur, my God.“, you breathed out, cradling his hand in both of yours, “The only reason I shook my head was that I cannot believe how you can stand here at 8 in the morning after the night you had, and all you worry about is making breakfast. You don’t have to apologise, and you certainly don’t have to clean up either. I can’t even remember the last time somebody went through such an effort for me. So thank you.“ You let go off his hand as he blushed profusely at your words. He stumbled over his words then, saying it’s the least he could do. Or that at least he tried, glancing at the pan in embarrassment.

The two of you ate in silence for a short while, Arthus studying your expression as you took bites. He paid attention to the rest of your apartment then, it was rather small but the way you had little pictures, plants and other adornments everywhere made it feel very cozy. It fit the impression you made, you seemed like such a positive and kindhearted person, always trying to make the best out of everything. You were sitting across him wearing a tank top, short pants and a robe over it and you looked absolutely adorable, Arthur thought. He could only wish this wasn’t the last time he got to spend time with you. You noticed the way he had been staring, hiding your reddened cheeks behind your hair. Your voice interrupted his train of thoughts “Are you going to get your injuries checked, Arthur?” Truth be told, he didn’t plan on going to any hospital. He hated burdening people with his issues, and he didn’t quite have the money to pay for any treatment -if needed- either. But you the way you looked at him made him question his attitude; your eyes were full of hope, begging him to go. As if you actually cared for his well-being. Apparently, his lack of response answered your question, as you continued: “You are aware that if you don’t get yourself checked, I’ll have to make you come back here weekly from now on to make sure you’re doing okay?” Your light tone made a weight fall if his shoulders as you let out a breathless laugh. For some reason you hoped that he’d actually accept your proposal, even though it came out more jokingly than anything. He seemed so pure and kind to you that you wondered what made him as insecure. Whatever it is, you wanted to show him that he doesn’t need to be. You wanted to be there for him, you realised. Arthur smiled at you then, a genuine smile for once “I wouldn’t mind that one bit.”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “ Nobody” Part 1

After not feeling well for months, The Joker finally found out why: the life threatening condition is so serious there’s only a 50/50 chance of survival.  Dealing with a brain tumor is not going to be easy, that’s why The King of Gotham asked his half-brother Arthur to help Y/N while he’ll undergo treatment.

The Joker yawns, repositioning his head in your lap.

“You want a small pillow?” you pause the movie you’re both watching and he refuses.

“No,” J stretches on the couch. “These are soft enough,” he pokes your thighs and you squirm, ticklish to his touch.

Suddenly, the cell phone chimes and J reaches his hand to grab it from the table.

“Arthur is here,” he announces. “He wasn’t in a hurry, hm?” The Joker mumbles while getting up.

You decline to comment and do the same because you can hear the elevator going up to the Penthouse. You could say the anticipation is making you a little bit nervous: you’ve been with J for about 10 months but you’ve never met Arthur. Probably it’s safe to assume they are not very close yet soon after finding out about the illness, The Joker contacted his sibling to let him know and sure enough he agreed to come over and help.

Although Mr. Fleck is three  hours late, it doesn’t mean he is trying to back out on his promise.

The elevator opens and Arthur emerges dressed in one of his red suits, anxiously passing his fingers through his curls. J wants to criticize and his brother is in no mood for a lecture:

“Before you lash out, I was delayed by an unexpected issue!” he keeps talking and walking in your direction. “My apologies.”

“What issue?” J growls and Arthur extends the palm of his hand, firmly shaking yours, definitely not waiting for an introduction: “Hello there,” he smiles. “I’m the older, smarter, funnier and more charming version; you must be the better half.”

“Riiiiiight…” The Joker rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Y/N,” you smirk at the man’s remark and he lets go of your hand, explaining his delayed arrival:

“Don’t get worked up, kid. One of my projects required immediate attention and I had to sort it out.”

You expect The Joker to protest the nickname but he doesn’t mention anything: Arthur always called him that since they were teenagers and your boyfriend is used to it. Doesn’t bother him at all.

“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?” you offer and he nods a no.

“I’m good; thanks,” he takes a sit on the nearest armchair and the couple reprises their position on the sofa.

A few moments of silence before Arthur decides to talk about the reason why he’s at the Penthouse.

“Sooo… What did the doctors find out? How bad is it?” he inquires and you unconsciously cling to J’s arm, not willing to hear about it again.

“The brain tumor is too big, I can’t have surgery yet. I already started with lower doses of medication 20 days ago, I have to gradually build up to the higher doses so my body can handle it. Soon I’ll have chemo every 3 weeks, then every 2 we…”

A low chuckle and Arthur covers his mouth in horror.

“Sorry…” he has a chance to whisper before bursting out laughing.

“Here we go…” The Joker crosses his legs, patiently waiting for his brother to finish his outburst. The King of Gotham may not be an accommodating individual, but his sibling’s condition is something he has always tolerated without any problem.

“I’m very…” Arthur tries to speak but the strenuous sounds he makes at the end of each cackle prove how much he’s struggling to control his inappropriate amusement. “…s-sorry,” he continues to snicker while digging in his pocket for a small piece of laminated paper. He finds the item and hands it over to you; you curiously inspect the writing: it basically explains his neurological disorder in a few words.

“It’s fine, J told me,” you return the information to its owner.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” The Clown Prince of Crime huffs as Arthur is slowly regaining his composure.

“I’m very sorry,” he emphasizes his regrettable outpour. “You were saying?”

J deeply inhales and reprises the briefing:

“I’ll have to do chemo every 3 weeks, then every 14 days until the tumor shrinks enough to be operable. I guess I have a 50/50 chance of surviving the whole thing, that’s why I asked for your cooperation in helping Y/N oversee my affairs. I will get worse before I might get better, thus here we are.”

Arthur pulls tissues out of the box next to him and gives them to the devastated Y/N: The Joker didn’t notice you are quietly sobbing by his side.

“Please stop crying,” he kisses your temple, avoiding your emotions like he regularly does. The best option is to divert the gathering towards another topic. “We got ready one of the bedrooms upstairs for you; I hope that’s up to your standards.”

“My standards are normal,” the truth is blurred out. “You’re the fancy one, kid. That’s why you’re The Joker and I’m Joker; I don’t need any glorification. Plus, I didn’t oppose when you picked this half of town and left me the other.”

“You’re an idiot!” the green haired man stands up from his spot, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the master bedroom after an exhausting day.

“Runs in the family,” Arthur nonchalantly hints and you snort, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“Keep your mouth shut!” J advices and you have no clue he’s referring to more than just the constant bickering going on between them. “I’m calling it quits, are you coming?”

“I’ll have a smoke on the terrace first, “Arthur searches for his pack of cigarettes and you believe this is the perfect chance to chat with him:

“I’ll stay with our guest, alright?”

“Suit yourselves,” The Joker grumbles and you follow his brother outside on the huge patio.

“I forgot how nice this is from the 30th floor,” Arthur stirs the conversation while lighting up a cigarette.

“Yes, it’s a lovely view,” you wipe your tears and he resentfully mutters:

“I fucking hate this town…”

You sigh, not wishing to interrupt in case he has more to add and the plain inquiry catches you off guard.

“How are you holding up?”

The question resonates in the awkward stillness and Y/N elects to bring him up to date.

“I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. He’s not doing well…” you sniffle and Arthur pays attention to your confession. “The medications may be in low amount, but they are strong; they make him very confused at times, plus the side effects of the tumor… he forgets things, he has no idea where he is or… or… who I am. The doctors advised that when it happens we have to go with the flow and not push for him to recall details. His brain is under a lot of pressure and this is only the beginning.”

Arthur blows smoke up in the air, displeased with the news about his younger sibling.

“Shit, that’s rough…”

That’s surely the understatement of the year for the heartbroken Y/N.

“When he doesn’t recognize me, I tell him I’m nobody, just a person taking care of the place and he doesn’t even know the difference. I suggest you avoid any type of confrontation while he’s like that; please generalize everything you articulate and don’t complicate the situation.”

“Of course… Yeah, yeah, of course,” he is fast to agree with your guidance.

“Thank you,” you sincerely show your gratitude because you appreciate his presence. “I think I’ll join him upstairs; tonight he’s beginning higher dosage on his pills and he might have a reaction.”

“I’ll stay and finish my cigarette,” Arthur scratches the scar above his lip. “Which bedroom is mine?”

“Fourth one on the left.”

“Perfect, I’ll find it,” he waves as you return inside, eager to check up on The Clown Prince of Crime.

**************

“What the … t-the hell?” The Joker stutters, groggy from the strong medications swallowed a few hours ago.

You barely distinguish his wobbly silhouette standing by the bed.

“What’s wrong?” you turn on the lamp on the nightstand, instantly aware of his wet boxers.

“I d-didn’t make it to… to the bathroom,” J seems out of it, yet at least he realizes that much.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you maintain your cool and jump off the sheets, rushing to help him. “The doctors warned accidents could happen since the drugs are making you dizzy and super drowsy. Let’s step in the bathtub, shall we?”

You take his hand and lead a compliant boyfriend to the master bathroom; sometimes it’s easy to deal with him in this state, sometimes it’s not.

Luckily tonight he’s obedient.

You turn on the water and he tightly holds his boxers while you attempt to yank them off him.

“Who…who are you?” The Joker sulks, unhappy with your movement.

“I’m nobody,” you reply and manage not to cry at his disorientation. “I’m here to help you, ok?” you calmly try to reason with his baffled mind.

“I… I… I don’t want you to see me naked,” he complains and Y/N has an easy solution for the apparent controversy.

“I’ll close my eyes, deal?”

You do as vowed and J lets you undress him, finally ending up in the bathtub for a quick, relaxing soak.

“You want bubbles?” you glance at him once the body is submerged under the warm water.

“No…” he yawns and you fold a towel, placing it under his head in case he’ll pass out.

“Where… where am I?...”

A faint knock at the door and Arthur talks in a low tone:

“Everything good?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” he distinguishes your reply; he just returned from the underground garage with his suitcase and discerned the commotion: made him wonder if his assistance was necessary.

“Who was that?” The Joker enjoys being pampered by the stranger he doesn’t recognize for the moment; apparently forgot about shyness also because he has no objection to the sponge bath now.

“The maintenance guy,” you lie without blinking while pouring more shampoo over J’s toxic green locks.

*************

10 am

Arthur joined you and The Joker in the kitchen less than 5 minutes ago; he positioned himself against the counter, this way he has a broad perspective of the whole space. He sips on the fresh coffee, observing the scene unfolding at the table:

J is reading a magazine and you feed him breakfast, caressing his hair every few seconds. You didn’t mention anything about last night; he woke up feeling a bit better and it’s safe not to agitate him with useless facts.

“Are you hungry?” you address Arthur and he lifts his shoulders up, undecided.

“Maybe… I’ll munch on something shortly.”

“Hurry up before it gets cold,” you encourage him and The Joker is already as crabby as he can be.

“Stop bugging him! If he wants to eat, he’ll eat!”

“I’m not bugging him,” you defend your action, upset at J’s feisty attitude.

“She’s not bugging me,” Arthur tucks a rebel curl behind his ear, disapproving of his brother’s assumption.

“I’m not,” you sweetly smile and The Joker slaps your fingers away from his hair.

The cheerfulness dies on your face and you get up, kicking the chair in the process.

“I’ll bring your morning meds,” you enunciate and leave the kitchen in a hurry.

“Goddamn irritating,” J hisses at your behavior and Arthur can’t zip it.

“Are you stupid?” he sucks on his cheeks and that definitely gets your boyfriend’s attention.

“What did you say?!”

“I’ve been here for minutes and she didn’t take a single bite out of anything, too preoccupied with making sure you eat. Do you even notice how she looks at you?” he raises his voice. “So I’m asking you again: are you stupid?”

“Excuse me?!” J abandons his seat and the threatening demeanor queues Arthur about the imminent scuffle, not that he’s willing to avoid it.

“I wasn’t clear enough?” the latest provokes his sibling. “ARE. YOU. STUUUUPID?” he repeats, cracking his neck with anticipation.

You are coming downstairs with the meds and the ruckus happening in the kitchen makes you speed up.

You are certainly not disappointed at the show: J and Arthur are wrestling on the floor, relentlessly hitting one another.

“Stop it!!” you shout and your plea is ignored. “Stop it!” you insist when you detect Arthur’s bloody nose and J’s busted lip. “Are you deaf?! Stop it!!”

This is the last drop: after another shitty night and the stuff you endured recently, you are completely lacking any kind of patience for anybody’s nonsense.

You toss the vial with The Joker’s tablets on the counter, snatch the ice bucket from the freezer and fill it out with water. The ice cubes float in the clear liquid: the 8 gallons metal container is pretty large since it’s used for J’s grape juice cans.

You thud on the marble floor and dump the freezing concoction on top of the two heated fighters, the sudden shock from the unexpected impact being enough to halt the brawl.

“Ugg!!” J rolls on his back while Arthur crawls by the stove. “What are you doing, Y/N?!” he yells and you storm out, firmly squeezing the ice bucket to your chest without realizing.

The loud bang of a shut door bears witness of your justified rage concerning the altercation; how can you not get mad at such crap?!

Arthur seeks for his beloved cigarettes in the interior of his orange vest, triumphantly lightening one after failing the first trials.

“I like her,” he puffs the fumes out, leaning towards his brother because J is gesturing for the bud.

The Joker takes a deep drag, admitting for once:

“Me too.”

“I thought you quit,” Arthur points out.

“I did,” his brother answers, glaring at the ceiling. “Clean up this mess!” he orders and continues to smoke.

“Nope, we should let fate determine,” the older sibling suggests and J falls into the little trap.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Ready?” Arthur smirks and counts. “1…2…3!”

“… … … Dammit!” The King of Gotham cusses.

“Have fun, kid!” the winner plucks the cig away from J. “Gimme, these are bad for your health!”

**************

“Are you in here?” The Joker sneaks in his office and watches you patrol around the desk, still vigorously attached to the infamous ice bucket.

The lack of reply makes him approach the distressed woman; you avoid gazing his way at all costs.

“I need my pitcher,” he sniffles and Y/N disregards his sentence. “You’re aware I like to use grape juice on ice for those bitter capsules. There’s no bucket and no ice in the freezer so… what am I supposed to do? Skip my morning remedy?”

A hint of lowered resistance and he’s taking advantage of it.

“My lip hurts,” he rubs the swollen, red spot. “I need ice for this too.”

You place your precious bucket on top of some folders, cautiously examining the superficial cut.

“Stitches won’t be necessary,” the obvious result updates a pouting J.

“Are you sure?” he plays dumb and wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a closer look, I can’t afford to walk around with chipped dignity.”

You peck the unharmed corner of his mouth, mad you’re giving into such cheap amendments.

“I’m positive…”

The Joker grins and kisses you, entirely convinced it wasn’t hard to get under your skin.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he rests his forehead on yours and Y/N is speechless at the question. “This is the tumor talking, obviously,” J fixes the tiny mistake when he sees your reaction.

“Obviously…” you whisper, sadly reckoning he purposely avoids any type of sensitive debate about your future together.

The Joker though is carefully listening to Arthur mumbling on the hallway, suspicious at the meaning.

“Is he eavesdropping?!” you focus on the faint words also and it clicks for J.

“Cut it out!!!” he screams while Mister Fleck is not phased, joyfully concluding the ceremony the couple didn’t agree to.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”

“What was that?!” you crinkle your nose, puzzled.

“He has a minister license and never used it; he tried to hitch me with my ex too,” J clarifies his brother’s odd conduct.

“You may now kiss the bride!” Arthur shouts and The Joker had enough:

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“What am I supposed to do with my license then?!” the wavy hair pops in the door frame.

“I don’t care!” J snarls, fed up with his sibling’s persistence. “Go pester someone else!” the door is slammed in Arthur’s face; fortunately the 42 years old is not the type of man to be easily offended.

He adjusts the pieces of tissue sticking out of his bloody nose, proudly holding the minister accreditation at eye level.

“I got myself a sister-in-law,” Arthur chuckles at his achievement, impatiently searching for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his red jacket.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho. 

[hannahbisssssss]

Arthur Fleck x Reader Angst (Vent)

She was so close to making it to the doorway when Arthur stopped, panting, and looked up at her with big puppy dog eyes.

"(Y/N), you have to tell me what's wrong," his chest rose and fell with a sudden rythm to it. Her fists clenched and her teeth grinded in anger.

"Arthur," her tone was low and dangerous, "Get out of the way." Arthur remained in the doorway.

"Honey, I don't want you to leave here in anger, you might break something or hurt someone," his voice was gentle as he slowly stood up.

"You should talk," her voice spat at him.

"Please, tell me what's got you so riled up," Arthur's eyes remained locked on hers, empathy clearly showing through his eyes as tears brimmed at the edges. He slowly walked towards her and she lunged at him. She hit him right in the chest, screaming profane language in his direction.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY! JUST LET ME LEAVE THIS FUCKING PLACE, I CAN'T TAKE IT!" her voice reverberated off of the walls. "I'M SO FUCKING TOXIC. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I DO, I CAN'T CHANGE WHAT HAPPENED, I CAN'T CHANGE HOW I WAS TREATED WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, I CAN'T TAKE BACK THESE FUCKING WORDS I'M SAYING RIGHT NOW. SOMEONE JUST LET ME DIE!" the beating on the chest had stopped and (Y/N) collapsed on the floor below Arthur.

Arthur's tears had finally slipped through as he gently swooped down to hold his beautiful girlfriend.

"You can't change what happened in the past. You can't change how your family treated you or how you reacted to it. You can only focus on the here and the now. I know that you're angry and scared and upset, but you have to remember to never stay stuck in the past. Your heart lies in the present, and I will remain here to help you let that heart free. It's okay to be angry, but you can't stay stuck in these emotions," her cries had softened as she soaked Arthur's shirt. Arthur's hand caressed (Y/N)'s scalp as she wept into his clothes.

"I had to have been the issue, there's no other explanation," her voice was fragile and croaky. Arthur picked up her head and kissed her forehead.

"You can't continue to blame yourself for how they treated you, you were just a kid, you couldn't keep your emotions tethered as though they would disappear. They never do. That's what I love most about you, how free you can be with your emotions, even when it hurts. But dont ever, EVER, excuse the abuse doled out to you, physical, verbal, emotional, or the like," the tears that spread into (Y/N)'s cheeks were many.

"It's so fucking hard, Arthur."

"I know, baby."

---------------------------------------------------

[aerynwrites]

heya! could you please write an arthur fleck x reader where the reader is quite younger than him and he is insecure about him being too old for her and just a lot of fluff? or maybe he confesses how he feels about society and she 100% agrees? just fluff pertaining stuff like that ive been a little too obsessed w him lately

It’s on the list! Thank you for requesting!

[darkshadow90]

I’m working on a different kind of one shot

Hey, guys. I know I haven’t posted much this week. I’m working on a different kind of one shot. It’s an Arthur Fleck x female reader pairing. I got a request to write an NSFW/one shot featuring smut from an anon. I’m in the process of figuring out how I want everything to pan out. I’ve never written anything with NSFW content or smut before, so I’m trying to make sure it’s at least decent.

A couple of things some of you might want to know is I tend to write Arthur a little darker than what some of you might be used to. I’ll go into more detail in the summary for the story and include warnings, but I’ll mention a few things I plan to have in it. Arthur will be creepy. There won’t be healthy boundaries since he doesn’t know what they are. He’ll misinterpret things because of his delusions. I’ll also go ahead and mention for this one shot, Arthur is more sexually experienced than the reader. The reader is also several years younger than him (early 20′s). Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen to her, it’ll just be dark and creepy at first.  I’m actually looking forward to writing this. There aren’t many stories featuring Arthur having more sexual experience than the reader. Usually it’s the other way around. So I think this will give some more variety, and it gives me a chance to practice my writing, and try writing a story with mature content. I just wanted to give y’all a heads up for the one shot I’m working on. I’m hoping to post it sometime this weekend or during the upcoming week. Anon, if you see this, I’m sorry for the long wait. Bare with me 😅

[jokeringcutio]

helloo, hope this return means things are looking up <3

reader on a blind date with arthur fleck imagine ? it could happen by gary speaking to arthur during work and they'd get onto the topic of women and gary would suggest arthur going out with a female friend (reader) of his who is currently looking for someone. the reader then gets a bit concerned for arthur (his weight, illness, how little money he has and age gap between the two) and starts to stick around him to make sure he's alright. could end with smut or fluff, whichever you prefer. sorry if this is asking for a lot, you could take your time or ignore it if you think its too much! no pressure

Nothing's too much! ♥ Here's a little imagine I just wrote for you. Enjoy:

(Story under cut)

Reader's Gary's friend and Arthur's Blind Date Imagine

Fandom: Joker (2019)

Reader x Arthur Fleck

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mention of age difference, medicine, health issues, worries, smut.

When Gary comes to him to tell him he knows this sweet girl, Arthur thinks his colleague is just teasing him. Why would anyone try and set him up with a date? No one had cared about him being lonely before, least of all his day-to-day colleagues. But Gary was different, it seemed. He was the only one at work who didn’t seem eager to joke about all of Arthur’s shortcomings. So when he told Arthur that he had a friend and that the two of you should definitely meet, he accepted.

The little café where you are to meet is small and cheap. But it has a pleasant décor and atmosphere. Arthur’s leg jitters nervously, and then you come inside. At first, he thinks you made a mistake, and he says so.

“Excuse me, miss, but this seat is taken.”

“I know,” you say, looking intently at the man you knew had to be your blind date. He looks cute, your type, you realize. Where had Gary been hiding this man all this time, you wondered? You try to sit down but Arthur stops you again.

“No, I mean, I am waiting for someone.”

“Mind it if I were to be that someone?”

Arthur is left dumbfounded for quite a few minutes, merely capable of blabbering apologizes as you sit down, and staring at you as if he can’t believe his eyes. “So you are my blind date?” he eventually asks. “Gary-?”

“Yes,” you confirm, taking away all his doubt and fears. “Gary is a good friend of mine.”

Arthur had been scared to hope that you could be there for him. Scared that he would be disappointed to find out that you were here to meet someone else, afraid of getting his hopes up. But the moment you say Gary is a good friend of yours, his fears quiet down and his shoulders sag as his body starts to relax.

His whole demeanor changes. He becomes more confident, all smiles. He talks like a proper man on a date, moves the coaster around the table as he speaks. His leg still jitters somewhat, but it is no longer due to fear. It is excitement.

His attention is fully upon you. His green eyes follow your face all the time. He takes you in, the way you smile, the little crinkles near your eyes, the small lines, the imperfections. It is all perfect to him.

Nightmares come true. Not dreams. So how can you be real then?

It’s near the end of the date when it is time to pay that you ask Arthur if he really had enough. He hardly drank and didn’t eat at all. You figure he is just being polite, but wonder if he enjoyed the time he had spent with you. Had he just been sticking around so as not to offend you? Would there be a second date? You worry, internally, until the bill comes and Arthur insists he shall pay for you.

You see the contents of his wallet. It is nearly empty.

With a gasp, you offer to pay for him, but he refuses no matter what you try, even gets offended for trying to take this away from him. So chivalry isn’t dead yet.

You tell him you admire him.

The date ends with the two of you walking down the promenade. Talking. Arthur smiles sweetly at you. He tells you not to worry about him, and the two of you set up another date.

You know he has been lying to you. That he doesn’t have the money he claims he has or a nice apartment of his own. Gary tells you all about him. A forty-year-something-old man still living with his deranged mom. Gary tells you about the medicines he saw Arthur take and of the card that describes his ailment. Of how he never eats during the job – too busy, he said. He always said that according to Gary. And Gary's worried about him. But also about you. Should you truly continue dating this man, he wonders?

Gary is worried, but you are even more so. Arthur is your dream man. It becomes quite clear to you rather quickly, and as such, you can’t let his situation go. You worry about him. You care about him.

During your second date, Arthur has fully emerged in a tale of his own devising when you suddenly interrupt him by placing a gentle hand on his wrist. He looks shaken, green eyes upon you questioningly.

All you do is whisper he doesn’t need to hide.

“Don’t pretend, sweetheart, I am here for you. The real you.”

A soft breath leaves his lips, stuttering, shaking.

Then he places his warm hand upon yours, hot palm lightly resting against your skin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. And then a smile tugs the corner of his lips. Just a tiny one, like a hidden gem.

He shows you his apartment after. You meet his mom and examine his empty fridge. Determination fills your being.

The next time you are invited to come over to his place, you take along some home-cooked meal which you share with Arthur and his mom. He is reluctant to eat, as he isn’t hungry, but under the scrutinizing eyes of his mom, he knows it is the only polite thing to do. And so he tastes it. That night. And the night after. And all the nights that follow when you visit him and bring another home-cooked meal. He can’t refuse them, so he won’t.

Now that you have gotten him to eat, you start helping him do some chores around his house. You help his mother dress, clean the rooms, get rid of some of the mess. You sort through his medicines and get rid of the ones that have passed their dates. You bring in flowers and different drinks for Arthur to taste. His life quickly becomes less bland.

He’s a different man at work. More confident. Less caring about what others think of him.

This lasts for several weeks until one of his colleagues remarks that you are too young for him. Then Arthur breaks down.

You meet Arthur at his house but find him a wreck. Things had been looking up lately, so to find him in a mood is a surprise to you. Even more so when you see how he is chain-smoking, and how he sent his mom to her chamber.

He then tries to send you away.

“They’re right. Why would you stick with an old man like me, anyway? I am no good, can’t do anything good. No money, not a stable mind. Did you come here only out of pity?”

When he says it, he looks up at you with watery green eyes and you can’t help it. Your hands are upon his cheeks within an instant, his lips pressed against yours. You taste the nicotine on his tongue and allow it to sweep through your mouth. He eats you, ravishes you, his lithe body presses firmly against you and you can feel how eager he is for you.

You take the initiative, show him the ropes. He is hot and hard and eager for it. Every taste is a reminder that it isn’t enough, and his lips hungrily seek out yours. You guide him inside but he sets the pace. You moan his name, but he paints you white and claims you as his.

In his arms you shudder with the last of your orgasm. Against his chest, you come down from your high.

And by his teasing nimble fingers, you are teased into another round until your body is clamping down on his cock, hard. He groans in your ear and bestows you with another round of his cum. His heavy sack empties for a second time after having been denied the release so often before. It is like heaven to him, and he can’t get enough.

And you let him. Because you enjoy it.

You love him.

Next time he appears at work and someone comments about you being too young or too pretty for him, he retreats into his mind and feels you there, around his shaft, pulsing. Too young, perhaps. Too pretty, definitely. But you’re willing and you want him.  

No one will be able to take you away from him.

~ FIN ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it. I'm ready to receive more prompts again as you can see.

[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.

--

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.

--

“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.

[jokeringcutio]

IT'S THERE: THE FINAL CHAPTER OF 'THE CHANCE TO MAKE A CHANGE' IS ONLINE (Grabber x Reader)

Only the epilogue left. Dare to hazard a guess?

DID YOU KNOW?: A rewritten version of this tale exists as an Epub/Mobi, and hopefully one day in print. The ebook file can be purchased by donating on my ko-fi. Just let me know you want to have it in your accompanying message (For more info including how to make your message private: check this post, I also have a collection of 12 Reader x (older) Villain stories up to offer you as a thank you for helping me out financially. )