#clowntramp fic

[clowntramp]

“Curiosity”

Part one of three

Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warning: adult themes, mention of dissociation

It was your first day at Ha Has Amusements. Party clown wasn’t your first career of choice, but it seemed like easy money, and you got hired on the spot. You saw a flyer on a street corner and took a chance, knowing that wearing a wig and clown makeup was better than offering five dollar blow jobs just to get by.

The office smelt like stale cigarettes and booze, and Hoyt, the boss, was already shaping up to be quite the ass, and a perv. You entered the dressing room, which was littered with portraits of clowns and nude women, and put your bags down by the lockers. You took your mirror and makeup bag out, carefully laying out the paints and brushes on the bench beside you. You could feel them staring at you, their eyes became fixed when you walked in. Men who dressed up as clowns for a living never thought they would share their space with a woman, let alone such a young and attractive one. You expected this, most of your previous jobs had all been staffed by men, with you as the only acception. Even outside of work boys would always keep you around, just for the eye candy.

You started to apply your makeup, trying to ignore their incessant staring. It only took a few moments of concentration before you were finished with the look. Blue triangles above and below your eyes, red circles on your cheeks, red nose and a red painted smile. It didn’t look good, but you looked like a clown, and that’s all that mattered.

—————————————————————

You spent the first half of your shift at a kids birthday party, the second half was spent spinning a sign outside of a pizza parlor. It may not sound like hard work but you were tired once you arrived back at the office, it was dark, rainy, and cold, you just wanted to get home.

The dressing room was empty, all of the men had packed up and left by the time you got back. You opened your locker, then took a seat to take off your clown shoes. Relief settled in as you slowly started to peel off the many layers of your costume. You remained in your undergarments, finding a freeing comfort in the empty space.

It was silent as you sat there relaxing, taking deep breaths, letting your eyes close. The paint on your face had grown tight, you raised your eyebrows and watched the white paint flake into you lap. It was a satisfying feeling to watch your mask crumble off.

You reached an arm up to your neck, forcing your fingers in deep, massaging off the tension of the day. Clowning around was hard work. Suddenly, you heard a door open in the distance. The sound startled you, and you got to your feet. Your eyes moved around the room in search of a towel or robe, something to cover up your barren body incase anyone walked in. It was futile, there was nothing. You rummaged through your locker in search of the clothes you had worn to work. You heard the rhythmic pattern of steps approaching as you finally fished out your large tee shirt. You quickly pulled it over your head as he walked in. His gaze was fixed to his hands, unaware that there was another body in the room.

You pulled down your shirt uncomfortably in attempt to cover your lower half, but the slight motion caused him to look up, startled. He stopped in his tracks and looked to you with wide eyes, letting out a gasp before turning around swiftly.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry!” he blurted out in a strained voice, “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

You quickly found your pants and pulled them on, “it’s ok,” you said softly, aware of the clear distress in his voice, “I’m all dressed now it’s ok.”

He turned around, brows furrowed, he let out a pained nassely chuckle before a cough ripped through his chest, causing him to reach up and grab his throat. You cringed at his apparent discomfort and felt the urge to go over and rub his back. He looked meek and gentle, mostly tired. His clown makeup was smudged terribly with traces of what looked like blood. He stood tall but his posture was defeated. He looked different than other man that you had seen in the dressing room, more delicate.

He ran a shaky hand through his rather greasy hair, you could see his embarrassed cheeks through the faded white on his face, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in on you, I’ll let you be, I’m sorry.” You could hear the shame in his voice, and he turned around to leave,

“Wait,” you said desperately, “I’m just finishing up, you don’t have to leave, I’m new here, I should have locked the door, it’s my fault.”

He turned around, gave you a weak smile and walked over to the vanity, placing a plaid duffel bag down. He audibly winced as he sat down before flicking on the incandescent light bulbs that framed the mirror. As you gathered up your things that were spewed about you noticed the extent of his facial injuries in the light. His upper lip was caked in blood from his nose and he had a deep gash above his painted eyebrow. You watched him flinch in pain as he held up a dirty rag to the cut.

“My goodness,” you said faintly, “what happened to you?” You walked over to him slowly, standing beside him now, he looked up at you timidly. “Here,” you said, taking the rag from his hand cautiously, “I can do it if you like, I know how painful it is to clean a gash like that.”

He closed his eyes and nodded, “please, thank you, that’s very kind,” he said with a cracking voice.

You took a half empty water bottle off the vanity and poured a little on the rag, he tipped his head back and you leaned in close, “Ok, this is going to sting a little bit, just bear with me.” You placed the rag onto the cut gently and he let out a groan, clutching the arms of the chair. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, we’re almost done,” you said in your most soothing voice. You cleared the wound and the surrounding area of any face paint then patted it dry lightly. You took a couple of fresh tissues and folded them, placing them directly on the cut. You held it there with slight pressure until it clotted with blood. You continued in silence and tenderly patted away the blood under his nose. You were close to his face and the stench of cigarettes and sweat overwhelmed you. It wasn’t utterly repulsive, you probably smelled similar, but there was a distinctive undertone of musky pine, probably from his aftershave or deodorant. The mixture was actually quite pleasant and strangely familiar.

He stared at himself in the mirror as you finished cleaning up his face. The act of wiping away his makeup felt very intimate. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the intrusive thought of this. “Ok I think that’s the last of it,” you said rubbing away the last bit of dried blood.

He looked up at you gratefully, “thank you.”

You smiled, “don’t worry about it.”

You put the rag back down then continued to gather your things in silence. You glanced over to him and he remained staring at his reflection. His eyes were vacant and his face still. You recognized this look, he was dissociating. Having been familiar with this state yourself, you decided to break the silence, to snap him out of his trance. You had always been grateful for those who had done this for you.

“So do you know of any good places to grab a drink?” You said while you zipped up your bag and flung it onto your shoulder.

He turned to you slowly, “what?” He questioned softly, as if you had spoken to someone else. You repeated the question with a slight smile. “Oh right,” he said with a strained voice, “Um I don’t really go get drinks, so I’m not sure.” His gaze fell on his lap and he started to bounce his leg idly.

This wasn’t the answer you were looking for. You hoped he would have mentioned a place, then you would have said something along the lines of ‘maybe I’ll go there, would you like to join?’ Then you would’ve gone out and hopefully learned more about this mysteriously bruised co worker. You thought that he was intriguing, simply because he didn’t act or look like any of the other men who worked at Ha Ha’s. And more specifically he didn’t look at you like you were a piece of meat, which was refreshing.

“That’s ok, I shouldn’t waste my money anyway.” You tried to sound nonchalant, “I’ll see ya around I guess, hope your night gets better.” He gave you a weak smile in response then turned back to the mirror.

As you walked down the hall, you thought you heard sobbing or laughter, or both, you weren’t sure. But as you left the building a sudden pang of guilt hit you. You felt bad for the guy, he looked pretty beaten up and you don’t get those kinds of injuries from taking a fall, someone did that to him on purpose. You turned around and walked back towards the building, your body moving without thought.

You took a deep breath before entering the dressing room again, attempting to muster up the courage for what you were going to do next. You entered and he was still at the vanity, he looked up to you in the mirror, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you wanna maybe hang out sometime? I mean I’m new here, in the city, and I don’t have many friends, and you’re the first person who hasn’t been a complete asshole. I mean only if you want, I understand if you’re like busy or something.” You bit your tongue hard as he looked at you tilting his head a bit as if he was confused. You counted as three painful seconds past. You took his silence as a no, “It’s totally fine if you don’t, I understand, I’ll see you around.”

You turned around and started to walk out, “Wait” he said, his voice cracking slightly. You turned and faced him, the corners of his mouth were twitching up into a soft smile. “I'd like that,” he said sweetly, “when?”

“When are you free,” you said trying to hide your excitement, you didn’t think he would say yes.

He looked around the room, “right now?” He asked.

“Yeah! Do you wanna come over? I live a few blocks away, I can let you finish up here and you could meet me there, or whatever.” You said, trying your best to sound casual.

“Ok,” he said quietly with a gentle smile, “I can do that.”

“Great! Let me write down my address for you.” You walk over to the table and tore off a bit of newspaper. You scribbled down the address and handed it to him. “Alright so I’ll see you in a few.”

“Yeah,” he smiled.

As you walked home you couldn’t help but question why you took a liking to this man. Something about him drew you in, something unexplainable. It was a strange feeling, almost familiar. You always questioned everything, but decided to that you wouldn’t question this. There was freedom in letting things happen, and you would come to this realization very soon.

[clowntramp]

���Curiosity”

Part two of three

Arthur Fleck x Reader

Find part 1 on AO3 @ abbeypop

Warnings: mature themes, alcohol and drugs, language

You paced the span of your living room nervously. You never had a guy over just to hang. It was always about sex if you decided to bring a man back, usually drink a little, smoke some weed then fuck. They would always leave right away, taking the hint that you didn’t want to make any conversation. No snuggling, no small talk, just getting down to business. Gotham proved that it wasn’t the place to find a guy worthy of anything else besides a good fuck, so you didn’t like to waste your time. But this was different. This man seemed kind, gentle, and maybe a little sad. You knew he needed a friend, and honestly so did you.

You plopped down on the couch and reached for your drink, gin and tonic with a slice of lime, but you opted for all gin with a splash of tonic instead. You took a large sip, the juniper bite of the liquor stinging your throat slightly. You let out a satisfied sigh but the nerves hit again. You were worried that it would be awkward, you didn’t know what to talk about, or what to do. Would you pour him a drink and spill your life story, or would you put on the TV and sit in silence? You stared at the wall as your mind went static trying to figure out what to do.

The trance snapped when Peanut, your all black cat, hopped into your lap with a little meow. You greeted him happily and gave him a scratch on the face, he responded by tapping you with his paw lightly, he was frisky. Suddenly, an idea came to you. Peanut was a shy cat so you would play games with him to loosen up, it worked well, and you gained Peanut’s friendship. This man reminded you of Peanut, he was shy but gentle, with a spark of something stirring underneath. So you decided that you would play a game, an icebreaker of sorts, maybe never have I ever, or two truths and a lie. You took another sip and smiled. It was perfect.

There was a soft knock on the door, Peanut jumped down and headed over to investigate. It was sure to be him. You peeked through the eyehole, he was standing there with hands shoved in his pockets. He was wearing a white button down and navy blue sweater vest on top. He looked better than before, less disheveled. You opened the door and greeted him with a smile,

“Hi! Come on in!” You said a little too eager, he smiled in response and walked in. You closed the door behind him,

“Please make yourself at home, do you want a drink? I can make it, or I can get you a beer or whatever.” You stumbled over your words nervously and he took a seat on the couch.

“I’m all set thank you though, I’m Arthur by the way,” he said with a raspy mumble. You took a seat next to him on the couch facing him, back leaned up against the arm rest and one leg pulled up to your chest. He looked over and gave a weak smile, you picked up your drink and took a sip.

“Well I’m glad you came Arthur, making friends in Gotham is harder than it seems.”

“I know,” he replied, stuttering slightly, “thanks for cleaning me up back there and inviting me over, it was really sweet of you, you didn’t have to do that.” His gaze fell on his lap and his fingers interlaced each other with white knuckles.

“Please, it was no problem really. You seem like a really nice guy, and I’ve been in similar situations where I wished someone would have helped me out.” You smiled softly and he returned the glance. Suddenly, Peanut jumped up to the empty space between you two with a meow. You instinctively started petting him then noticed that Arthur had gone tense.

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly, “this is Peanut, he’s super friendly! Go ahead and give him a pet!” Arthur looked at you wearily and let out a deep whiny chuckle. He slowly reached his hand out and Peanut automatically nudged into it, rubbing it against his whole body. He looked up to you as if to ask permission to keep going. He started to scratch his head, which gave way to some audible purrs. Arthur smiled at this. “See he likes you!” You said endearingly, “I knew Peanut would approve.” Arthur let out another small giggle and shifted in his seat.

“So,” you said cheerily, “I was thinking we could play a game to like, get to know each other, or if you don’t want to do that we could always watch a movie or something, I just got a vhs player.”

He smiled at you, “we could play a game, I’d like that.”

“Great,” you said grinning, “how about two truths and a lie? You tell me two things that are true and one thing that’s a lie and then I have to guess which one is the lie.”

He nodded and pulled out a pack of cigs, removing one, sparking it up, “okay, can you start?” He asked gently through a puff of smoke.

“Of course,” you said kindly, “let’s see,” you looked around the room and back to him, “ok I got it,” you took another sip of your drink, “I was a circus clown before I was a party clown, I don’t like cats, and I’m glad you decided to come.”

You watched Arthur’s brows furrow a moment before his lips twitched into a smile. “Well,” he said taking a deep drag, “I know you like cats, um because you have one,” he motioned to Peanut who was on the floor now. “So that was the lie.” He took another drag and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yes. Very good observations Arthur.” You giggled at yourself, now feeling the gin warm your fingertips and toes.

“So you were a circus clown?” He asked smiling bashfully, a pink hue looming in his sunken cheeks.

“Ya, a while ago, didn’t like it.” You took another gulp of you drink, “your turn now.” You gave him a wide smile.

“Okay um,” he looked around the room and started bouncing his legs. “I love Murray Franklin show, I’m a pretty good dancer, and I’m from California.”

You looked at him curiously, “you do look like you could be a good dancer, so I believe that, I don’t know what Murray Franklin show is, so I’m not sure, and I guess you could be from California?” You giggled at him and he smiled, letting out a little laugh while shaking his head.

“You got it all wrong,” he said, giving you a sloppy smile, “I do love Murray Franklin show and I’m from Gotham not California, but I want to go there some day ya know, have you been?”

You finished your drink and placed the empty glass on the coffee table, now fully feeling the calming blanket of drunkness. “No, but I feel like that’s where dreams come true, so I want to go.” He stayed smiling as you spoke, eyes glinting in the dim lighting, he looked happier than he did in the dressing room. Silence fell for a brief moment and you allowed your glance to linger on him, maybe influenced by the gin, but more from the fact that he looked utterly handsome, a fact you wished you hadn’t acknowledged.

“So, now you gotta prove to me that you’re a good dancer,” you got up and walked over to your old record player, you placed the needle down and scratches of soft jazz filled the room. You turned to him and motioned for him to get up, “come on, we can dance together.”

He reluctantly got off the couch and ran a nervous hand through his hair, but remained smiling as you reached out your hands for him to take them. He moved in close to you and gently placed your hands on his body. You adjusted your hands accordingly and looked up into his eyes, as if to ask if you were doing this correctly. He nodded and smiled, now slowly swaying the both of you to the swells of music.

You looked down, suddenly feeling a bit shy and self conscious, “sorry,” you laughed, “I haven’t danced with anyone in a while.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly with a smile, “you’re doing great.” He pulled you in a little closer, you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t being hyper aware of his touch on you. You started to settle into the rhythm and noticed he was humming along to the music, “see, now you’re getting it,” he said reassuringly. He removed one hand from your body and stepped out, allowing you to spin into his arms with a flourish.

“See,” he said excitedly, “you’re not a bad dancer!” You laughed in response as the two of you swayed around the living room, letting the music move you.

“Well you have most definitely proven to me that you are a good dancer Arthur.” You said with a soft smile. Suddenly, the music stuttered and scratched out, leaving the two of you in each others grasp in an awkward silence. You pulled away gently, “sorry, I guess the rest of the vinyl is scratched.” You moved to the record player, soft crackles and static filled the room, Arthur returned to his seat on the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as he restlessly adjusted his seat, ever so slightly bouncing his legs. You flipped the player off, deciding that it was too much to deal with in your currently tipsy state. You moved to the couch and plopped down, sitting the same way you were before, facing him.

His eyes were fixed to his fingernails where he was mindlessly picking at his cuticles, he didn’t notice you staring intently. Through your intoxicated haze you noticed the finite details of his face, the ever prominent dimples, his glossy eyes and long, dark eyelashes. There was a strange beauty to him, stern but almost feminine. You felt an unusual allure towards him, maybe from the gin and the fact that you haven’t been truly attracted to a man since you moved to Gotham. An urge of lust washed over you adburtbutly and before you could stop yourself you placed a hand on his thigh. He looked up immediately at your touch, and with wide eyes he stared back at you as slurred words started to spill from your mouth.

“You know Arthur, you’re like really handsome.” You kept your hand on his thigh as his gaze shifted from your eyes to your hand rapidly. He didn’t respond. “I bet you get that all the time though.” You withdrew your hand and smiled at him, feeling a twinge of rejection as he just stared back at you in silence. “I’m sorry,” you said dismissively, “that was really forward of me.” He still looked back at you in silence and you grew uncomfortable under his blank gaze. You wanted to do anything to break the awkward silence but couldn’t think, your mind was a blur along with your vision and anxiety churned the contents of your stomach, you felt sick. Then, that unmistakable feeling crept up your chest and into your throat, your face drained of color, and your skin went cold. You sprinted to the bathroom and slammed the door without thought. You fell to knees before the toilet just in time as the contents of your stomach were expelled violently.

You coughed heavily and got up to your feet with a sigh, flushing the toilet. You splashed water on your face and washed your hands before sloshing around some mouthwash. You dreaded walking out of that door and having to apologize again, you felt like an utter fool, he clearly was not interested. You opened the door slowly and kept your gaze on the floor, “I’m sorry,” you started and then looked up. The couch was empty, the room was empty, you looked quickly to the front door, it was open. You ran to hallway and looked left and right. You called out, “Arthur?”

You were met with silence, he was gone.

[clowntramp]

“Curiosity” part three is coming soon as well as the next chapter of “Man in The Window”

Curiosity is a three part Arthur x reader oneshot

Man in The Window is a female x joker/Arthur fic

[clowntramp]

Thank you so much for that message, that made my night! You're so sweet, I just started on your fic tonight and I love it! I hope you continue it 💕 Arty just bailing was so on brand, it hurts 😭

Omg thank you for taking the time to read my stuff!! I’m glad you enjoy and I will most definitely be continuing... :) xoxo

[clowntramp]

I really hope you continue “curiosity” it’s fr good

This means so much. I will most definitely finish it. Part three coming soon friends honk honk xoxo

[clowntramp]

Anonymity

Arthur Fleck x female oneshot

Warning: smut, mature themes, kinda noncon

She was walking home, tipsy, alone, and on the verge of wetting her pants. It was late, nothing was open, and various homeless people and crack heads were scattered about the street, some yelling incoherent things and others just shuffling along.

She noticed a familiar park and turned in, hoping to find some bushes she could squat in. The orange street lights cast tall shadows on the dark cement and tall chain link fence. She was nervous, always told never to walk through a park at night. The she saw it, the bathroom. A wave of relief washed over her as she rushed to the door and flung it open. To her surprise, there was no one already in there, she assumed there would have been someone sleeping, or shooting up, but she was alone.

She proceeded into the stall and closed the door, not bothering to lock it. She assessed the toilet situation while pulling up her skirt and pushing down her panties. It wasn’t horrifically dirty but definitely not worthy of actually sitting on. She squatted above the seat and let out a sigh, finally. She finished up and reached into her bag, pulling out some napkins, she didn't trust the toilet paper. She pulled up her panties and fixed her skirt before reaching into her bag for a cigarette. She put the toilet lid down and took a seat, flicking her lighter a couple times before she pulled smoke into her lungs.

The bathroom door suddenly flung open and closed loudly. She lifted her legs and curled up on the toilet instinctively taking her bag off the floor, afraid to be seen. She worried that someone had followed her in there. She was the perfect prey, a woman alone at night.

She glimpsed down at the ground illuminated by a sickly fluorescent blue light and saw men’s dress shoes. She watched the feet stayed stagnant in the same position as she tried to hold her breath. Then slowly, they started to move, he dragged them across the floor calmly, almost gracefully. She backed herself further into the wall afraid he would spot her through the crack in the stall. She didn’t try to look. She was afraid. She didn't know what he was doing and she didn’t care either, she just didn’t want to end up in the river that night. Girls who walk alone in the park end up in rivers.

She watched intently as his he carefully placed one foot in front of the other, it was deliberate and poise, almost like some kind of dance. Her curiosity got the best of her and she peered through the opening. He was wearing clown makeup, his face was shadowed with dried blood. Confused, she watched him move and contort his body slowly in such a graceful but precise manner. His hands fell to his thighs as he stared at himself in the mirror. He traced his fingers along his hips and up to his chest tipping his head back. One hand curled through his hair as the other one reached down and grasped his groin.

Her eyes widened at the sight of this and her cheeks burned as she watched him fondle himself, head still tipped back with eyes closed. She couldn’t get herself to look away, the adrenaline from watching someone do something so private made her head spin. Her mouth fell open when he unzipped the patched up trousers, revealing white underwear and an obvious erection.

Am I really going to sit here and watch this? She pondered this in her head. She decided to bite the bullet and leave, it would most definitely be awkward for both of them for her to just come out of the stall, but she concluded that it would be better than just sitting there and watching some clown jerk off in a dingy bathroom.

She prepared herself to place her feet on the floor while her eyes remained fixed on the man, who continued to touch himself over his underwear. She set one foot down and suddenly froze when she heard a deep and guttural moan escape from his painted lips. She felt her cheeks grow even hotter. It turned her on but she couldn’t admit this to herself. She retracted her leg back up and remained in her place, peering through the crack attempting to see more, solely out of lust and a dangerous curiosity.

She watched as he turned around, eyes still closed and hand still moving. He backed up against the sink as a lazy smile slid onto his face. She looked away quickly, afraid that if he opened his eyes he would notice hers glimmering in the crack. He slipped his hand underneath the band and let out a nassely laugh, looking down at himself, smiling.

She was dizzy with confusion, alcohol, and a touch of infatuation. She didn’t know that this man, but they way he moved made him seem alluring and familiar, like a past dream forgotten.

She continued watching as he proceeded to sink into his own pleasure deeper. She needed a drink if this was actually happening. She quietly reached into her bag, successfully pulling out her flask without making a sound. She undid the cap and took a big swig in an attempt to calm her nerves. She overdid it and the vodka hit the back of her throat hard. She tried to stifle a cough but couldn’t keep it in. SHIT, she thought to herself.

His movement halted at the sound and he looked towards the stall. She froze now and her gaze settled on the unbolted lock. He took two steps towards the door cautiously and stopped. She placed a hand over her mouth. This is it, she thought.

His Feet moved closer and she prepared herself.

“Hello??” The voice was rasp and slightly high pitched, but obviously masculine. She didn’t respond.

“I know someone’s in there,” his tone shifted down and she panicked as the door slowly opened. She froze with wide eyes and he stared back at her equally perplexed.

“Were you watching me?” he asked smiling while glancing down at his lower half. Her cheeks turned bright red as her gaze fell there as well and he let out a genuine giggle. She tried to muster up anything to say but couldn’t and just stared back, still curled up on the toilet.

He took another step forward and the stall door closed behind him. She finally got the courage to look into his eyes, they were dark in the shadow of his brow and he returned the glance, staring viciously. He ran one hand through his hair and the other remained in the band of his underwear, still grasping himself. His veins were still pumping with adrenaline from the subway incident, the feeling of power and confidence overwhelmed him, and aroused him. But she didn’t know this. However, she wasn’t scared anymore, instead, she was intrigued in the dirtiest way possible. The thought of hooking up with a random stranger had always resonated with her, the anonymity and mystery drew her in. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak or move, her lips remained parted as her eyes moved up and down his body. This was her moment, to fulfill her fantasy.

She didn’t have to say anything though, she stared back at him with sultry eyes as he continued to massage himself. She stood up, letting her bag hit the floor, as he smiled dangerously. She closed her eyes and tilted her neck, surrendering to whatever came next.

He let out a carnal laugh, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He gripped himself harder for a moment, in reassurance that this wasn’t all a hallucination.

The confidence radiated off of him and she felt the static in the air. She squinted her eyes at him, smirking lustfully. He smiled back. His response gave her the gumption to speak up,

“Come on. Do it. I’m yours.” She didn’t recognize the voice that echoed from her throat. It was husky, racy, and filled with desire.

She consented but that didn’t matter to him. Animalistic lust would have caused him to do what he did next, regardless of what she wanted. She sensed this beastly thirst and succumbed to the hand that was now wrapping around her throat and pulling her in.

He crashed his lips into hers, their teeth gnashed together violently as he slid his tongue in deeper. She moaned with an open mouth as his other hand slid up her skirt and settled in between her legs. He deepened the kiss further, turning her around and pushing her face into the stall door, gripping her hair. She yielded to him and arched her back, inviting him to continue, as his free hand pulled down her panties.

There was a sharp pain, her breath hitched, and then a wave of submissive pleasure crashed into her, hard. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, the pure adrenaline heightened her senses to the fullest, and she let out a satisfied groan as he continued to work his way in her.

She felt the ecstasy rise within her as he quickened the pace, letting out soft grunts of utter release. She responded to his sounds of frenzy by pushing herself back further on him, matching his rhythm. She was getting close and so was he, they both knew it. He pulled out, turning her around violently and lifting her up on him. His strength surprised her and she let out a cry as he slammed into her. The knot that was forming in her stomach snapped and she unraveled on top of him. He held her tight, relishing in her release for a moment. She buried her face into his neck as she came and inhaled the scent of aftershave, sweat, and metallic paint. He withdrew himself and set her down, she instinctively fell to her knees with an open mouth and dilated eyes, still panting. He placed a hand behind her on the stall door and used the other one to work himself up to the edge. He grunted as her mouth closed in around him and he let out a startling groan of pleasure as his body tensed. He released himself inside of her mouth and let out a groaning laugh as he felt her swallow him whole.

She got up to her feet slowly as their eyes remained locked. He quickly put himself away while she whipped her mouth with her sleeve and pulled up her underwear. Suddenly, the sounds of loud sirens rang in their ears and the crooked smile he had in his face fell flat. His eyes widened as he pushed past her out of the stall. She turned around and opened her mouth in protest. But before she could say anything he turned back around and smiled at her softly,

“I gotta go hun.” With that he left the bathroom sprinting. She tried to hurry after him,

“Wait!” She yelled. But he was already running down the street, the darkness of night swallowing his vanishing figure whole.

[clowntramp]

Chapters 1-4 of Man in The Window  Arthur/Joker x Female

Warnings: adult themes, drugs and alcohol, language 

A/N: all feedback is appreciated greatly!! Please enjoy my fic! 

CHAPTER ONE

She liked watching people, day or night, through her window into theirs with a pair of binoculars. She enjoyed seeing people at their most vulnerable, where they were in their own environments and under the impression that no one was watching. She sometimes would make up stories, elaborate ones, about the people she watched in an attempt to put the strange things she had witnessed into some kind of context. Sometimes she saw things she didn’t want to see, like the old man who would regularly jerk off to a pretty news anchor, or the woman who seemed to enjoy talking to her collection of dolls. She never judged them though, whoever she saw or whatever they did. 

Sometimes she would fancy a particular person and watch them constantly. Those were the people who seemed to pique her interest the most, the ones who she could watch for hours on end, regardless of what they were doing. These were also the people who seemed to never close their curtains all the way, inadvertently giving her access to their most intimate doings. 

Recently there had been a man that she took a specific interest in. She had watched this man before here and there. He lived with an older woman and seemed to never eat. Sometimes he danced around in his underwear, other times he would stay up late scribbling into a journal. On a specific occasion she watched him dance in his living room with a gun, he accidentally fired it and the sound startled her. She also had watched him touch himself, on a number of different occasions. She felt guilty about that but never looked away. It wasn't until she recognized him on a clip played during the Murray Franklin Show that she really started paying attention. 

Her intrigue for this man became definite on random cloudy afternoon. She sat in front of her window with binoculars fixed to her eyes. He was sitting in front of a mirror applying white face paint, taking long drags of his cigarette in between strokes. She observed him with acute attention, taking note of the ritualistic way he applied the makeup, It was almost alluring. Suddenly he got up and went to the door, opening it to reveal two men, one big and one small. She watched curiously as he welcomed the men in, they appeared to conversate. The exchange was brief and then it happened, the thing she never thought would happen in all her time as a window watcher. He did it once in the neck and once in the eye with what appeared to be a knife or scissors. She gawked at the blood and her mouth dropped open when he slammed the big man’s head against the wall, according to her count, approximately ten times. Horrified but enthralled, she continued watching and to her surprise he let the small one go. He was alone again. 

She put her binoculars down and retreated back into her room, closing the curtains behind her. She didn't pick up the phone, instead she sat on her bed and turned on the tv. Not wanting to process the events that had just conspired, she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep in the dead of afternoon. 

After a few hours her sleep was broken by the sound of a loud audience. She strained at the tv, it was the Murray Franklin Show. She slowly got up to turn it off but stopped when a man waltzed onto the stage sporting a full face of clown makeup and a striking red suit. It was him, she recognized him immediately. Surprised but mostly confused she watched as he planted a big kiss on the woman guest and sat down. He beamed with confidence and she watched on intrigued. The events that happened next shocked her to the core but resonated with her deeply. It was outrageously disturbing but she remained fixated on the tv, almost amused by the fact that she had witnessed this man commit two murders. It was strange to observe such acts of deviance, but it triggered pequliar feelings of liberation and to some degree, a small amount of attraction. The show cut out and she was left staring at the screen with her heart beating fast and her stomach churning. 

She didn't sleep that night. Questions swarmed her head, including the question of whether she would see him again, she wanted to but didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until she saw him again that she finally understood why he did what he did and why she learned to admire it. 

CHAPTER TWO

She was alone, sitting on the couch, hands intertwining with white knuckles. The taste of blood was strong. She licked her lips tasting the warm iron, and the dried blood under her nose cracked and flaked off onto her lap. For weeks now, fires still raged in the streets and the smell of burning plastic remained caught in her throat.

She didn’t remember how she got there but she was there in the middle of it all. It was the second week of protests. Surrounded by the sound of blaring sirens and jarring cheers, she watched as people lit fire to cars and smashed windows. They were all clowns. Masks and painted smiles glinted in the crowd as she rolled her eyes back taking it all in. 

All of a sudden there was a dull sound and an ache ruminating in her jaw and nose. Warmth traveled through her body as she began to process the pain. A uniformed man had struck her with a biton. 

She reached into the back of her jeans and withdrew a gun, fingers already moving instinctively to pull back the hammer, she squeezed the trigger. Everything blurred and that’s when the ringing started. She heard a voice call out from next to a body on the pavement,

“He’s dead!” 

Cheers erupted as the crowd closed in around her. That’s when she started running and didn’t stop. She had done this before but forgot how long ago it was since the first time. 

She didn’t remember how she got home. She lost track of time, days rather, as she often did. She tilted her head back and let the static of the television drown out her thoughts. That’s when she saw it, out of the corner of her eye, a light flicked on across the street illuminating a window she was familiar with. It had been a while. 

Her heart started racing as she scrambled to the chair by her window, she gripped the binoculars and held them to her eyes. She saw him dressed in white. She watched as he closed the door behind him. He sank to the ground, smiling and laughing, or sobbing, she couldn’t tell. A satisfied smile slipped onto her face, she winced at the pain as she let her teeth show and she tasted the blood again. 

Something came over her, a hot wave of curiosity. She placed the binoculars down and let her legs carry her out of the apartment. She was now standing in front of the building across from hers. Without thinking she opened the door and found the stair corridor, she began to sprint up the steps, two at a time until she reached level B. She walked down the hallway and counted the doors until she arrived at what she thought to be his door. She leaned in close, pressing an ear to the cold metal, and heard him. Before she could stop herself she started to knock. 

His laughter got stuck in his throat at the sound of knocking. He choked and coughed while scuttling to his feet. He was sure that no one followed him back, but fear overwhelmed him as he peeked through the eye hole holding his breath. It was a woman. Dried blood caked her face as she looked nervously back and forth down the hall. She knocked again. His mind raced as he reached for the knob, he slowly turned it and opened the door a crack, only to reveal part of his face. 

“Can I help you?” He said with a shaky but firm voice. 

She looked deeply into the one eye she could see and smiled. 

“You’re him.” She said breathlessly. “I’ve seen you, I’ve watched you. You’re the man who killed Murray.” 

In that moment he shut the door hard. 

“Wait! I’m not police! Please let me in I can explain!” She shouted and knocked again. 

He let his head hang as a brief chuckel of distress arose in his throat. Against his better judgement he unlatched the chain lock and opened the door once more. He stood in the frame hunched over as he looked down the hallway and back to the woman. 

“Who are you?” He said quietly with his voice cracking. He cleared his throat as he waited for the woman to answer. She smiled again, displaying bloody teeth. 

“Please let me in, I can explain.” She spoke in a whisper, as if she was sharing a secret. He grimaced as he looked down the hallway once again. Denying himself of the satisfaction of slamming the door, he opened it further and gestured her in. 

“Who are you?” He asked calmly. She frowned in response. He closed the door and latched the lock. “Did you follow me here? Did the hospital send you?” 

“No.” she replied as her gaze shifted and settled onto the floor. 

Not sure of what to do, he shoved a shaky hand through his hair, smoothing the strands behind his ear. He took a deep breath looked her up and down again. “Then why are you here?” 

She looked around the room for an answer and began to walk towards the living room window. He stepped out of her way and remained standing by the door as he watched. She lifted an arm and pointed to the building across the street. 

“I live there, and I’ve watched you, from that window.” His eyes followed her arm as she continued to point.

“What do you mean you’ve watched me?” He asked and let out a bashful giggle. She turned around and met his eyes smiling. 

“I like to watch people through my window and I noticed you-“ she was cut off before she could finish. 

“You noticed me?” A child-like smile slipped onto his face

“Yes, how could I not? I saw that clip on Murray and recognized you, so I started watching you more from my window.” Her smile dropped and her eyes met the floor when she realized how embarrassing it was to admit this out loud. But she continued, “then I saw you on Murray again, except you were different this time, it was captivating.” 

He felt blood rush to his cheeks as he closed his eyes and smiled, letting out a happy sigh. “I know. Can you believe I did all this?” gesturing to the window where the streets below remained filled with crowds of clowns. He let out a true laugh and looked at the woman once more. “So, you’ve watched me before? What have you seen me done, huh?” 

He dug into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it as he waited for the woman to respond. She watched as he took a deep drag, silence filled the air, except for the quiet crackle of embers, he took another drag.

“Would you like one?” He asked holding one out. She took it out of his hand without saying anything and pulled a lighter out of her back pocket. She took a long drag and began to speak, 

“Well, I’ve seen you do a couple noticeable things,” she took another drag and started pacing, “I’ve seen you dance, which is very impressive,”  he smiled at this while she continued, “and I’ve often seen you with an older woman, but I think I have seen something that I’m sure I wasn’t meant to see.” 

He took a seat on the couch and leaned back crossing his legs, his cadence was slow as he carefully spoke, articulating his words, “yeah? And what did you see?”

She spoke slowly, “I saw you kill that man, the day you killed Murray.” He raised his eyebrows in response.

“You saw that, really?” he asked smiling. She nodded slowly and shifted her gaze back towards the window. 

“You started a movement you know,” she spoke softly, “things are changing because of you.”

He stifled a laugh, clearing his throat and speaking again, as if saying a punchline, “I started it but they are finishing it.” He sucked on the last inch of cigarette before flicking it to the floor, “I heard someone shot another cop tonight. Can you believe that?” With closed eyes he laughed again, then returned his gaze to the woman. 

“I know. I was the one who shot the cop,” she said smiling. He giggled and lit another cigarette. 

“Is that so? Now you came here to thank me or something?” he asked gently. 

“Actually I did,” she answered mirroring his tone, “and I wanted to meet the man responsible for the greatest revolution Gotham will ever see.” 

CHAPTER 3 

She was sitting in front of a mirror framed with flickering incandescent bulbs. The room was stiff with the smell of tobacco and cheap perfume. There was a pair of girls sitting on the couch behind her, they counted stacks of money out of big black plastic bags as she applied a deep blush to her cheeks. The Minx Carbert was as cliché as it sounds. It was past midnight, she didn’t recall leaving his apartment. She looked into her reflection straining to remember. Everything was blurred, memories with soft edges faded into each other, unrecognizable and out of reach. 

“Gentlemen, let's give a warm welcome to our next dancer, she’s beautiful, she’s strange, and she’s got discounted lap dances for seniors, it’s the magnificent and mysterious Carmen!” 

Sparse claps filled the room as she walked across the stage. Jazz music swelled as the spotlight settled on her, she took a deep breath, and began. It was second nature at this point, dancing for the male gaze, which she felt burn a hole through her body. The lights were hot, and sweat started to form at her hairline as she observed the shadowed faces that littered the crowd. Men who all looked the same stared back with lazy drunken smiles. She moved across the stage hypnotically and mindless, losing herself in the sultry music. 

“Alright let’s give it up for Carmen! If you’re interested in a lap dance from this lovely peach please go to the back room where she will be waiting!” 

No one clapped as she finished her set and stepped down from the stage. She made her way to the back room where worn red velvet curtains took the place of a door and a dark blue neon light flickered in the corner. She took a seat on the couch and waited. A couple of minutes passed before the owner walked in. He looked like the rest of the men who frequented the club, sad, old and lonely. 

“Hey doll, there is a strange looking guy here who wants to pay for a dance but doesn’t want you to dance. It’s weird, I know, but it’s money hun so just give him the time and shout if he tries to do anything. He doesn’t look right to me.” 

“Alright, thanks for the heads up Mike.” She sighed and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the adjacent table as he left the room. She struck a match and inhaled deeply relaxing back into the chair. The strange man then entered, head down and hands buried deep in his pockets. She took another drag of her cigarette and stood up. It was him. 

He wasn’t wearing the sterile white he had on before, instead he sported a brown sweater with a white collared shirt peeking out underneath accompanied with polyester blue dress pants. His salt and pepper whiskers framed his worn face and hollowed cheeks. He shifted his feet in the uncomfortable silence as she remained standing and staring at him. He mumbled a stuttered hello and passed a hand through his hair anxiously, waiting for her to say something, anything, back. 

She broke the awkward silence, “what can I do for you?” 

“Nothing,” he stuttered, “I don’t want anything like that I mean.” His gaze fell to the floor as he felt his cheeks grow red. He was different, he wasn’t the man in the pretty red suit and painted face, this man was meek and subtle. 

“Then why are you here?” She responded, genuinely confused. 

“You told me you worked here and invited me to the show tonight, remember?” His words sounded hopeful. 

She didn’t remember saying that at all. But then again she barely remembered going to his apartment in the first place, or how she got to work, she could only recall vague bits and pieces that came in and out like a dream she couldn’t shake. 

“Well thank you for coming, I appreciate it very much.” She forced a smile and sat back down. He remained standing as he watched her light another cigarette. 

He cleared his throat, taking his hands out of his pockets and taking a seat on the table with crossed legs. He leaned in close, looking into her eyes which were framed with swirls of smoke, “you know, you’re a really good dancer.” He smiled confidently and sat up straight, “those other girls don’t dance like you do.” 

She smiled at this and let out a stifled laugh. “Thank you, that’s very sweet. I’m just doing my job.” 

“Well you’re very good at it.” he said quietly, smiling wide and almost whispering. Suddenly he spotted the pack of cigarettes on the table and took one without asking, he placed it between his lips and leaned in close to the woman, silently asking her to light his cigarette with hers. She got the hint and leaned in. She had never been that close to him, even when she was at his apartment they kept a safe distance. Their heads were almost touching when the cigarette lit and she could smell his woody floral cologne. It was subtle but recognizable and when mixed with smoke it was intoxicating, although she refused to admit this to herself. 

He took a deep audible drag, leaning back on his free hand, exhaling the smoke slowly. He shifted in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs nervously, but still maintaining a smile. She seemed more reserved than when she was at his apartment, less manic but still blank behind the eyes. 

“So,” he said cautiously, taking another drag, “I really came here because I wanted to ask you something…” he trailed off and began bouncing his legs anxiously. She could sense the unease within him. 

“Sure, ask me anything.” She said in her most soothing tone, familiar with the terrors of social anxiety, knowing that a calm voice always helps. 

“That day, when I killed Murray,” he whispered, “and you saw me kill that other man,” he looked around the room nervously, “were you scared?” His eyes settled into hers as his lips remained parted, waiting for her to answer. 

She stared back at him as she toyed with the cigarette in her hand and the question in her head. She knew the answer to the question but found satisfaction in letting it hang in the air. 

“No. I wasn’t scared. I was more excited than anything.” She said this confidently as she watched a wide smile slip onto his face. “I don’t know that man or what he did, but just like Murray, I know he deserved it. And even if he didn’t, what I saw reminded me of a part of myself that I’ve tried so hard to forget. It was liberating.” 

He was satisfied with this answer and let it show on his face. But his cheeks still burned and legs still bounced. He found himself nervous around women in general, despite being liberated from his past. The old side of him was fighting the new and he wasn’t sure who would win. Little did he know, the woman was experiencing the same thing. Both sides of them were evenly odd. They had more in common then they would ever know. 

Silence fell as the two just looked at each other. Suddenly Mike popped his head out from behind the curtain, they both turned their gaze to him. 

“Eh sorry to interrupt but we got an older gentleman here and he would like a lap dance from you missy. So this guy has gotta go in 5” With that he left the room. 

They both stood up awkwardly and he began to speak, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave, you’re busy I shouldn’t have bothered you.” He frowned and furrowed his brow as he turned to leave. 

“Wait, I’m sorry my boss is a jerk. I get off in a couple hours, I can come over, I mean only if you have anymore questions for me or whatever.” She tried so hard not to sound desperate. 

He tried to hold back a smile by looking at the floor, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, I guess I have a couple more questions, you can come over.” It was a poor attempt at sounding casual. 

They looked at one another again and he threw up an awkward wave as he turned and left. Once alone again she smiled and sat back down. She had emptied her mind once the old man came limping in.

CHAPTER 4

She was there again, in front of his door, this time clutching a bottle of red wine with one hand and a lit cigarette with the other. It was late, and she had decided to give a couple more lap dances before leaving the club around 2am. She didn’t want to but she needed the money. And now she stood in front of his door hoping she wasn’t too late. She reached up to knock but hesitated, questioning her motives briefly. She was mostly curious, partially driven by the fact that she couldn’t recall inviting him to the club. She hoped she could put the pieces together, maybe talking to him would trigger her memory. 

She flicked her cigarette and knocked. The fluorescent lights were humming a soft tune accompanied by the jarring pangs of gunshots and sirens. She regretted staying late, but she still needed money even if the city was burning. She counted as ten long seconds passed. He was probably sleeping. 

Suddenly the door opened, causing her to flinch. He looked at the floor smiling and stepped aside ushering her in gently without a word. He was wearing the same pants but with a cream button down and a dark blue vest, which pinched in the back accentuating his boyish silhouette. His hair was still damp and she noticed the thick scent of aftershave as he closed the door behind her. 

He turned around and she noticed his freshly shaved face, it looked young and innocent. 

“I brought wine,” she said quietly while holding up the bottle, “I don’t know if you drink, you can have some of course I mean, if you do drink.” She stammered over her words painfully. 

“That’s okay,” he said softly, “I don’t really drink, but thank you.”

She was surprised to hear this. “Are You sure? You’re really going to make me drink alone?” The bottle was already open, she took a large sip, raising her eyebrows at him, offering up her most enticing smile. She hated drinking alone, but had gotten used to it. 

He opened his mouth to object but refrained and instead walked over to her, taking the bottle out of her hand. He let out a stifled nassely laugh as he rose the bottle to his lips. He took a long gulp and mirrored her smirk. Warmth hit his empty stomach and he took another sip. 

He handed her the bottle smiling. “If you want, I can grab us some glasses from the kitchen.”

“No, thanks, I prefer the bottle.” She took another sip, or a chug rather, and he stared at her intrigued. 

“We can sit down if you want.” He gestured to the couch as she lifted the bottle to her lips once more. She let out a satisfied sigh after she swallowed and silently took a seat, tipping her head back and closing her eyes

He took a seat next to her, but not too close, and took the bottle out out of her idle hand. She looked up drowsily, watching his throat twitch as he took a few big gulps. 

He sighed and placed the bottle down on the coffee table, which was cluttered with newspaper clippings and magazines. She watched as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs out. He turned his head and looked at her playfully, 

“So, did it bother you?” he asked gently. She pretended not to know what he was talking about and reached for the bottle. 

“Did what bother me?” she took another sip of wine and stared at him, hoping he would elaborate. She wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth, her ego needed it. 

He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in close to her, speaking through his teeth, “when you shot that cop, did it bother you?” 

She smiled at him casually, satisfied, and sat up a little. She took another swig and let out a mumbled “no.”

He smirked at her response and adjusted his positioning on the couch so he was facing her. “It didn’t bother me,” he let out a snort of laughter, “when I killed those three guys on the train, or Murray, or Randel, or my mother…” he trailed off mumbling as if reliving a blissful memory.

This was the man she remembered seeing on the Murray show, the one who’s confidence seemed to spill from his eyes. The man who came to the club earlier that night was different, less potent, she liked this version better.  

Her brows arched in response to this and her lips twitched into a slight smile, “I didn’t know you killed your mother,” she said casually. 

He ran a hand through his hair, “yeahhh,” he said sighing, almost bragging. His eyes flickered around the room nervously, “so have you killed anyone, I mean besides that cop?” He asked this question nonchalantly, as his fingers tapped on his thigh. 

The informal way he delivered such heavy words made her stomach twinge with satisfaction. She never thought she would come across another person like herself, one who took joy in their acts of deviance. The thought of this made her smile.

“the cop wasn’t my first,” she muttered, with her lips on the bottle. “I’ve never told anyone about it, but the first one was a while ago, I was younger, but I don’t really remember.” She tilted her head back and took another long chug of wine, then passed the bottle to him. “I have this memory problem,” she continued as he drank, “I lose time, often. I almost blackout, and forget where I’m going or how I got there. That’s what happened with the first one.” 

“Then how do you know it happened?” He asked amusingly while drawing the bottle up to his lips, taking another sip. 

“Well,” she said hesitantly while looking around the room, “the last thing I remember was that I was in a car, it was dark out, I was covered in blood and the guy next to me was dead.” She smirked. 

He passed the bottle back to her, “sounds to me like you’re a bad date.” 

She tried to stifle a laugh but couldn’t and let out a childish giggle. He grinned back at her. 

“You’re not going to tell on me right?” She asked playfully. 

He flashed a toothy smile, “of course not! As long as you don’t tell on me.” He winked and dug around in his pockets, pulling out a package of cigs and a lighter. 

She placed the bottle down on the coffee table, finally noticing all the clutter. Her eyes scanned the various newspaper clippings, most of which had his mugshot plastered on them. Then she noticed the magazine clippings, and questioned how she hadn’t noticed them earlier. Torn pages from Playboy and Hustler were scattered about amidst sloppy cut-outs of nude women. Hard scribbles covered their faces while the rest of their bodies were untainted. She reached out and picked up a page, the woman was fully naked and spread eagle, her head was cut off.

She looked back at him curiously. He was lighting the cigarette now, oblivious to her shuffling through his papers. He took a long drag with eyes closed as she stared at him. Then he looked up and saw what she was doing. She noticed the color drain from his face as he widened his eyes, clearly embarrassed. He started to stutter. 

“I-I’m, I’m s-sorry.” He let out a snort of pained laughter as he frantically got up and started gathering up the papers on the table. In between the rummaging he covered his mouth hard in an attempt to silence his laughter. She cringed at his clear discomfort. 

“No im sorry,” she said firmly, “I shouldn’t just be going through your things like that, I’m so sorry.” He wheezed hard and she reached up and placed a hand on his arm. He tensed up immediately and let out another bout of pained cackles before gathering up the other papers and stumbling into the other room. He slammed the door behind him. She remained seated, listening closely to his muffled howls. The sounds of his distress made a knot form in her stomach, and before she could stop herself, she was at the bedroom door knocking lightly. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you, I really am,” she said in her most soothing voice, “please, it’s nothing to be ashamed about, I have magazines of my own too ya know, please I really didn’t  mean to upset you, please come out.” She didn’t recognize the voice that came out of her, it was sweet and forgiving, lacking the harshness she had worked so hard to perfect. 

She stepped back from the door as his laughter subsided, taking a moment to debate whether she should just leave and never bother him again. She turned around and walked back to the now empty table, picking up the wine and taking a big chug. Silence had filled the air again and she looked to the door anxiously. She wondered briefly if he would come out and stab her in a frenzied rage. That’s what she would have done if a stranger came to her apartment and rummaged through her collection of porn. 

She played this image out in her head vividly. The idea of a sharp pain and then the euphoric tingle of blood draining from her body sent a shiver up her neck. She wouldn’t mind going out that way, she had always assumed that her life would end in the hands of a violent man, or herself. She wouldn’t put up a fight either, she would surrender easily, finding comfort in the fact that she got to share one of her many secrets before settling into the black oblivion of death. 

The bedroom door creaked open, bringing her back to reality. He stood in the door frame, hands buried in the pockets of his pants, his fiery gaze fixed to hers. She felt the unease that settled in the space between them, it made her squirm with anxiety. She was ashamed of herself, of how she had made him upset. 

She mirrored his posture and hung her head in shame. The wine hit her stomach hard and she felt dizzy with contempt. She wanted to fall to her knees out of absolution. She couldn’t fathom why she felt the way she did. She had never felt remorse for making others feel bad, she actually took joy in it, but this was different. She wanted this feeling to go away, it was unfamiliar, unrecognizable. She silently hoped that he would walk over and slap her, she wanted to feel anything other than this feeling. In that moment she had a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or herself. Anything to escape this feeling. 

He was standing in front of her now but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. He reached up and took her chin in his hand, raising her head to meet his eyes. The gentle touch grounded her back to reality and she looked into his eyes. 

He smiled softly. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” he whispered.  

His words hit her like a brick to the chest, she opened her mouth to object, but the words never came out. He released her chin and let silence hang in the air as she desperately searched his eyes for an explanation. But there wasn’t one, and she knew this. 

With that she clutched the wine bottle close to her chest and left his apartment in silence. He followed her to the door and closed it behind her. Alone again in the dim hallway, she took another chug of wine and let herself surrender to the habitual warmth of time beginning to fade. 

[clowntramp]

Would anyone read an Arthur/female oneshot if I wrote it

Edit: it’s up

[clowntramp]

Someone requested an Arthur x Reader so should I do it?

[clowntramp]

Man in The Window - chapter four - all chapters available on Ao3: abbeypop

Arthur Fleck x Female

She was there again, in front of his door, this time clutching a bottle of red wine with one hand and a lit cigarette with the other. It was late, and she had decided to give a couple more lap dances before leaving the club around 2am. She didn’t want to but she needed the money. And now she stood in front of his door hoping she wasn’t too late. She reached up to knock but hesitated, questioning her motives briefly. She was mostly curious, partially driven by the fact that she couldn’t recall inviting him to the club. She hoped she could put the pieces together, maybe talking to him would trigger her memory.

She flicked her cigarette and knocked. The fluorescent lights were humming a soft tune accompanied by the jarring pangs of gunshots and sirens. She regretted staying late, but she still needed money even if the city was burning. She counted as ten long seconds passed. He was probably sleeping.

Suddenly the door opened, causing her to flinch. He looked at the floor smiling and stepped aside ushering her in gently without a word. He was wearing the same pants but with a cream button down and a dark blue vest, which pinched in the back accentuating his boyish silhouette. His hair was still damp and she noticed the thick scent of aftershave as he closed the door behind her.

He turned around and she noticed his freshly shaved face, it looked young and innocent.

“I brought wine,” she said quietly while holding up the bottle, “I don’t know if you drink, you can have some of course I mean, if you do drink.” She stammered over her words painfully.

“That’s okay,” he said softly, “I don’t really drink, but thank you.”

She was surprised to hear this. “Are You sure? You’re really going to make me drink alone?” The bottle was already open, she took a large sip, raising her eyebrows at him, offering up her most enticing smile. She hated drinking alone, but had gotten used to it.

He opened his mouth to object but refrained and instead walked over to her, taking the bottle out of her hand. He let out a stifled nassely laugh as he rose the bottle to his lips. He took a long gulp and mirrored her smirk. Warmth hit his empty stomach and he took another sip.

He handed her the bottle smiling. “If you want, I can grab us some glasses from the kitchen.”

“No, thanks, I prefer the bottle.” She took another sip, or a chug rather, and he stared at her intrigued.

“We can sit down if you want.” He gestured to the couch as she lifted the bottle to her lips once more. She let out a satisfied sigh after she swallowed and silently took a seat, tipping her head back and closing her eyes

He took a seat next to her, but not too close, and took the bottle out out of her idle hand. She looked up drowsily, watching his throat twitch as he took a few big gulps.

He sighed and placed the bottle down on the coffee table, which was cluttered with newspaper clippings and magazines. She watched as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs out. He turned his head and looked at her playfully,

“So, did it bother you?” he asked gently. She pretended not to know what he was talking about and reached for the bottle.

“Did what bother me?” she took another sip of wine and stared at him, hoping he would elaborate. She wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth, her ego needed it.

He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in close to her, speaking through his teeth, “when you shot that cop, did it bother you?”

She smiled at him casually, satisfied, and sat up a little. She took another swig and let out a mumbled “no.”

He smirked at her response and adjusted his positioning on the couch so he was facing her. “It didn’t bother me,” he let out a snort of laughter, “when I killed those three guys on the train, or Murray, or Randel, or my mother…” he trailed off mumbling as if reliving a blissful memory.

This was the man she remembered seeing on the Murray show, the one who’s confidence seemed to spill from his eyes. The man who came to the club earlier that night was different, less potent, she liked this version better.

Her brows arched in response to this and her lips twitched into a slight smile, “I didn’t know you killed your mother,” she said casually.

He ran a hand through his hair, “yeahhh,” he said sighing, almost bragging. His eyes flickered around the room nervously, “so have you killed anyone, I mean besides that cop?” He asked this question nonchalantly, as his fingers tapped on his thigh.

The informal way he delivered such heavy words made her stomach twinge with satisfaction. She never thought she would come across another person like herself, one who took joy in their acts of deviance. The thought of this made her smile.

“the cop wasn’t my first,” she muttered, with her lips on the bottle. “I’ve never told anyone about it, but the first one was a while ago, I was younger, but I don’t really remember.” She tilted her head back and took another long chug of wine, then passed the bottle to him. “I have this memory problem,” she continued as he drank, “I lose time, often. I almost blackout, and forget where I’m going or how I got there. That’s what happened with the first one.”

“Then how do you know it happened?” He asked amusingly while drawing the bottle up to his lips, taking another sip.

“Well,” she said hesitantly while looking around the room, “the last thing I remember was that I was in a car, it was dark out, I was covered in blood and the guy next to me was dead.” She smirked.

He passed the bottle back to her, “sounds to me like you’re a bad date.”

She tried to stifle a laugh but couldn’t and let out a childish giggle. He grinned back at her.

“You’re not going to tell on me right?” She asked playfully.

He flashed a toothy smile, “of course not! As long as you don’t tell on me.” He winked and dug around in his pockets, pulling out a package of cigs and a lighter.

She placed the bottle down on the coffee table, finally noticing all the clutter. Her eyes scanned the various newspaper clippings, most of which had his mugshot plastered on them. Then she noticed the magazine clippings, and questioned how she hadn’t noticed them earlier. Torn pages from Playboy and Hustler were scattered about amidst sloppy cut-outs of nude women. Hard scribbles covered their faces while the rest of their bodies were untainted. She reached out and picked up a page, the woman was fully naked and spread eagle, her head was cut off.

She looked back at him curiously. He was lighting the cigarette now, oblivious to her shuffling through his papers. He took a long drag with eyes closed as she stared at him. Then he looked up and saw what she was doing. She noticed the color drain from his face as he widened his eyes, clearly embarrassed. He started to stutter.

“I-I’m, I’m s-sorry.” He let out a snort of pained laughter as he frantically got up and started gathering up the papers on the table. In between the rummaging he covered his mouth hard in an attempt to silence his laughter. She cringed at his clear discomfort.

“No im sorry,” she said firmly, “I shouldn’t just be going through your things like that, I’m so sorry.” He wheezed hard and she reached up and placed a hand on his arm. He tensed up immediately and let out another bout of pained cackles before gathering up the other papers and stumbling into the other room. He slammed the door behind him. She remained seated, listening closely to his muffled howls. The sounds of his distress made a knot form in her stomach, and before she could stop herself, she was at the bedroom door knocking lightly.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, I really am,” she said in her most soothing voice, “please, it’s nothing to be ashamed about, I have magazines of my own too ya know, please I really didn’t mean to upset you, please come out.” She didn’t recognize the voice that came out of her, it was sweet and forgiving, lacking the harshness she had worked so hard to perfect.

She stepped back from the door as his laughter subsided, taking a moment to debate whether she should just leave and never bother him again. She turned around and walked back to the now empty table, picking up the wine and taking a big chug. Silence had filled the air again and she looked to the door anxiously. She wondered briefly if he would come out and stab her in a frenzied rage. That’s what she would have done if a stranger came to her apartment and rummaged through her collection of porn.

She played this image out in her head vividly. The idea of a sharp pain and then the euphoric tingle of blood draining from her body sent a shiver up her neck. She wouldn’t mind going out that way, she had always assumed that her life would end in the hands of a violent man, or herself. She wouldn’t put up a fight either, she would surrender easily, finding comfort in the fact that she got to share one of her many secrets before settling into the black oblivion of death.

The bedroom door creaked open, bringing her back to reality. He stood in the door frame, hands buried in the pockets of his pants, his fiery gaze fixed to hers. She felt the unease that settled in the space between them, it made her squirm with anxiety. She was ashamed of herself, of how she had made him upset.

She mirrored his posture and hung her head in shame. The wine hit her stomach hard and she felt dizzy with contempt. She wanted to fall to her knees out of absolution. She couldn’t fathom why she felt the way she did. She had never felt remorse for making others feel bad, she actually took joy in it, but this was different. She wanted this feeling to go away, it was unfamiliar, unrecognizable. She silently hoped that he would walk over and slap her, she wanted to feel anything other than this feeling. In that moment she had a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or herself. Anything to escape this feeling.

He was standing in front of her now but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. He reached up and took her chin in his hand, raising her head to meet his eyes. The gentle touch grounded her back to reality and she looked into his eyes.

He smiled softly. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” he whispered.

His words hit her like a brick to the chest, she opened her mouth to object, but the words never came out. He released her chin and let silence hang in the air as she desperately searched his eyes for an explanation. But there wasn’t one, and she knew this.

With that she clutched the wine bottle close to her chest and left his apartment in silence. He followed her to the door and closed it behind her. Alone again in the dim hallway, she took another chug of wine and let herself surrender to the habitual warmth of time beginning to fade.

[clowntramp]

Slowly but surly chugging along on part 1 of 3 of my Arthur x Reader “oneshot”

Also working on the next chapter for my Arthur/joker x female fic Man in The Window

You can find all the chapters on AO3 @ abbeypop

[clowntramp]

I think I’m going to make the arthur x reader oneshot like 3 chapters. The ideas are just too good to try and force it into one

[clowntramp]

you are fueling my need to continue writing my Arthur X Reader fic so thank you

Thank you for this validation. And with that I sneak away to continue writing mine

[clowntramp]

Firstly I've watched over your blog for a while and love all your fics!!

Omg this makes me so happy. Thank you. Maybe I’ll continue writing them now lol