୨ৎ Summary: Arthur has imagined being with you plenty of times, but he's never been able to capture - or even imagine - this feeling.
୨ৎ Notes: just a short first time fic that cuts straight to the chase without plot. I do have a sort of 'fix-it fic' for Arthur in the works, but for now, I hope this is something...
୨ৎ Warnings: nsfw, first time, kinda premature ejaculation, cream pie, Arthur questioning reality, Arthur crying, fluff
Arthur shuddered as you guided him inside, then at the fingers raking across his back as you adjusted to his size.
He didn’t move right away; his eyes slipped shut while he basked in the feeling of you wrapped snug around his length, and you had no intention of hurrying. It felt like he was made to fit you, and you could bask in him just as long as he could in you. You could get lost in one another.
You watched his brow furrow then, and whispered his name to bring him back to you. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open to gaze down at you with all the adoration in the world.
‘Is this real?’ he breathed, emerald eyes burning into yours.
You brought a hand to his face, your gentle palm pressing to his cheek. ‘It’s real, Arthur,’ you reassured softly.
He huffed an incredulous laugh, his gorgeous smile broadening.
‘It’s okay,’ you smiled back, ‘you can move when you’re ready.’
A flash of realisation sparked behind his eyes — ‘R-right, of course-’ — and he rolled his hips once, slow and soft.
You moaned quietly, arching your back to meet his careful thrust.
Eager to hear you again, he replicated the movement.
And again. And again.
Before long, with the way he was dragging so perfectly over that spot inside that made your toes curl, your nails were cutting into his shoulders. He didn’t care one bit; your nails leaving a mark was actually kind of exciting, and Arthur would take all the pain in the world if it meant he could feel you like this, see your blissful face, hear you moan for him. God, it was intoxicating.
‘You f-feel so- ah!- so good-’ he groaned, trying to keep composure in his voice but not really managing it, ‘so wet for me, s-so-ohh nnnhh-’
You cried his name and his hips snapped faster.
‘I- I can’t l-last-’ he stuttered, voice cracking with the multitude of sensations spreading like the most delicious poison through his body.
‘Let go,’ you panted, and Arthur growled, low, under his breath.
His head dropped to yours and his chest heaved as he stilled with one final thrust.
He could feel every clench of your walls around him, his own climax, spilling thick and fast. Arthur practically blacked out being able to actually feel that he’d tipped you over the edge with him.
Weak with pleasure, he collapsed onto you and you held him close, fingers trailing soothingly up and down his back as you felt him twitch with aftershocks inside you, his seed dripping out, hot, onto your thigh.
As his vision cleared of stars, he rolled off, groaning at the sudden lack of you. He didn’t feel the loss for long, though, as you quickly snuggled into his side and placed a gentle kiss to his face.
Arthur’s cheek was damp, and pulling back you saw he’d squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lips together, a single tear having trickled down his cheek.
You lightly wiped it away with your thumb and turned his face to yours. ‘Arthur, what is it?’
‘You said this was real,’ he said, voice shaky as he held back a sob.
‘It is, see?’ You brought his hand up to your chest and helped him feel your heart beating, bursting just for him. ‘Don’t you feel good?’
Hesitantly, he nodded, focussing on the slowing rhythm of your heart.
‘I feel good when I fantasize being with you,’ he admitted quietly, ‘but I’ve never felt so… so-’
‘Safe?’ you suggested, and he nodded again, another tear spilling down his face as his lips curled into that beautiful smile.
No matter how many oversized sweaters you donned, the wind still found its way through your icy skin.
You enjoyed an evening stroll down to the only area in which Gotham had some greenery: a small park. With your feet in fuzzy socks, and double knotted combat boots, you shivered in the Christmas Eve air. This was not the weather you were hoping for, but you couldn't bring yourself to wuss out, simply from the cold, but you soon regretted your decision. Your nose hairs were starting to turn into icicles, and your ears were getting sore. You could use a large cup of coca, with loads of whipped cream on top. The very thought gave you the energy to leave your walk and up the several flights of stairs to reach your dreadful apartment.
When the screech of a gate reached your ears, you knew that the heat from your building would soon relive your incessant chills. It was by no means a burst of warm air, but it was certainly better than outside, and that was enough for you. Even the rattling of the elevator didn't seem to bother you as much as it normally did: it was warmer than the winter wonderland you had exited from.
You were about to slide the key into the lock when you heard the dull sound of footsteps, nearing you. Glancing upward, your eyes met the figure of your next door neighbour: Arthur Fleck. His head was down, and he was carrying a bag of what you presumed were medications from the pharmacy. You knew of Arthur's condition, from the few times you had spoken to him. He was rather quiet, but you could tell he had a kind soul.
"Hey Arthur!"
He turned around in surprise, his eyes meeting yours. It made your heart stop for a quick second.
"Hey, Y/N." He smiled gently, setting down his bag and reaching for his keys.
"H-have you had a good holiday?"
He turned back towards you again, seeming surprised you were continuing this conversation. He opened his mouth, and shut it again, giving a slight nod.
"That's good." You weren't sure exactly how to continue the conversation and you glanced at your snow-slicked boots, trying to think of another question you could ask him.
Before you could he finally spoke. It was so soft you felt yourself stop breathing in fear it would be too loud.
"How has yours been?"
"Great!" You responded far too quickly and enthusiastically. You cringed inwardly.
This response seemed to have startled him, as his eyes widened and he gripped tightly on his door handle.
Before he could beeline for his apartment, you stepped towards him.
"Uhm, I was going to maybe drink some hot chocolate, and listen to some music. Would you....care to join me?" You felt your face get hot, as you fidgeted with the hems of your sleeves.
He looked down the hall, and back to you.
"What, me?" he questioned, gesturing to himself.
You grinned.
"Yeah, who else, silly?"
His hand was clutching the doorknob with all his might, his eyes darting to his door.
"Well, uhm, my mom is expecting me..." He refused to meet your eyes, as he stared down at a stain in the hideous carpet.
"Oh, well that's alright." You bit your lip, trying to hide the disappointment that most definitely was on your face. You liked the guy, what could you say? There was something very intriguing about him, that kept you wondering.
"Sorry." He barely whispered.
"No, it's alright. I get it. Have a good Christmas." You almost scrambled to get your own door open. Once you had closed it, you felt yourself breathe normally for the first time since you had seen him.
You couldn't lie; you were pretty crestfallen when he made his excuses. You were certain you had freaked him out by being too eager, something you were normally quite good at, but for some reason hadn't been. He gave you butterflies, and you weren't sure why.
Sulking, you trudged towards your sofa and let your weight fall down on top of it, not caring if you had even removed your coat or boots.
It's not like you had expected to see him. Why were you so upset he didn't accept your invite?
You know exactly why, a little voice chirped, to which you huffed in annoyance.
You were too lazy to even get up and make your much needed cup of cocoa, opting for a sip of tepid coffee, which made you gag in repulsion.
So much for a nice Christmas Eve.
It had seemed like hours, but had only been a few minutes, you heard a knock at your door.
Part of you wanted to ignore it, but you also were curious who was on the other side.
You, with some difficulty, finally made yourself get up and open the door.
To your utter and complete surprise, it was Arthur Fleck.
The butterflies returned.
"Hi."
"Hey, Arthur."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
You could swear you could hear your heart beating.
"I-I wanted to come over, it's just...I got nervous and...." a small fit of giggles suddenly erupted from his mouth.
You looked at him with deep concern.
"No, it's ok. Really. I completely understand. You don't need to explain yourself to me." You reached out, resting a hand on his arm, and rubbing it comfortingly.
He clutched his chest, taking a few deep breaths.
"I-I, appreciate it." he finally got out, blinking back his watery eyes.
You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with warmth.
"Come in. I'll make you some hot chocolate."
He nodded and let you pull him into the apartment.
𓋹
You were stirring a packet of chocolate mix into warm milk, your toes bouncing, as you hummed the chorus to a popular Christmas tune. The cocoas were loaded with whipped cream and topped off with a slightly dinky candy cane. You admired your effort, and took both mugs to where Arthur was sitting.
He was admiring your large collection of records, his eyes set on your special edition of Nat King Cole.
"Jazz fan, huh?"
He set the record down, and reached for the cup of cocoa.
"Yeah, I guess so."
You took a sip. You felt it warm your body almost immediately, and let yourself relax and sink into the sofa. There was something so wonderful about this time of year, even if the cold was like Hell frozen over.
And the company certainly made it better.
You supposed he was quiet because he didn't have much to say, but, you wondered if maybe he had so many inhibitions set into him, that he just chose not to talk, in fear of what others would think.
"Why are you always so nice?"
The question seemingly came out of nowhere and took you off guard.
"Because I like you."
You couldn't believe you had said that with so much nonchalance, you wanted to both pat yourself on the back and smack yourself in the face.
He nearly spat out the hot chocolate from his mouth. Choking slightly, he gasped for air.
"Y-you d-do?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I? You take care of your mom, you work in a place to make people laugh, and you always smile at me when we cross paths. I think you have such a lovely soul, Arthur. I hope that you know that."
He seemed genuinely grateful for your praise. It was clear he didn't hear it often. You feared that people often judged him because of his condition.
"No. I guess I didn't." He ran his hands down his arms as if a chill had run through him. "I think that I don't deserve that."
You wanted to cry at his confession. What a tragic admission, to not know your own goodness.
"Oh, Arthur. I know you do."
Before either of you could comprehend what was happening, had reached out for his face, and had kissed him.
It was brief, and uninteresting, but it sent a larger wave of heat than the hot chocolate had.
You wanted another one.
You hesitated, fearing he hadn't wanted to be touched this way, but were completely shocked when he reached for the back of your neck and kissed you again, this time with a little more movement.
Your head had gone completely fuzzy, and you had forgotten all concepts of time.
When he pulled away, you let out a rattly breath.
"Wow, Arthur I had no i-"
You didn't finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours again.
There was no stopping him now. You had confessed, and now so had he. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands slid from your neck to your waist, and finally settled on your hips.
Neither of you were sure how long you kissed, but you were certain the moment he released you that you were addicted.
You laughed, your fingers finding their way through his chestnut curls.
"You keep that up, there's no way I'm letting you leave."
He chucked.
"I probably should. My mother might need me."
Before he could stand up, you let your legs cage him between you.
"Nooo, you can't go now. I just got warm." you pouted.
"Y/N, c'mon, you'll be alright. I promise."
And with that he lifted you off him, and made his way to the door.
Before you could feel more saddened at his disappearance he turned just before exiting.
Arthur, working as a mall elf during the Christmas season, falls in love with a girl who who brings her kid brother to see Santa Claus (unfortunately, Randall).
Chapter One—The Happy Elf
Chapter Two—Meeting
Chapter Three—Annie Oakley
Figured this time of year, after the year we've had, it was due time to repost this little story. Hope others get a little joy from it.
Hello! i’m wondering if you could possibly write an Arthur Fleck fic where it’s y/n’s first time meeting Arthur. Possibly at one of his comedy shows, or in the apartments, which ever. In the fic, i just want them to possibly feel a connection between each other. Hopefully you see this!
Hi there!! Got a little carried away with this one, but I had a lot of fun writing it! I read comedy show or apartments and I was like “why not both!”😂 I hope I did your idea justice! Thank you for your request!
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The Spark ✧.*
‣ Pairing: Arthur Fleck x GN!Reader
‣ Summary: After years of searching and failing to find ‘the spark’ that lovers always talked about, you began to think it wasn’t a real possibility for you. That was, until you stumbled into a man by the name of Arthur Fleck.
‣ Genre: Fluff
‣ Warnings: None!
‣ Word Count: 5,158
‣ Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!
Arthur Fleck/P!Joker Masterlist
Main Masterlist
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You absent-mindedly swirled the straw inside of your drink, one elbow positioned on the dimly lit table beside it as you supported your chin with the palm of your hand. Glancing around the room for what had to have been the hundredth time that night, you let out a disappointed sigh.
"Stood up again, huh?" You muttered to yourself. "Just my luck…"
The crowd around you laughed, and if you didn’t know better, you would’ve assumed they were laughing at you. Rather, they were all focused on the pretentious man standing under the spotlight on the small platform stage. It was a Thursday night at Pogo’s, which meant the mic was open to any comedian daring enough to take on the task of trying to make the dreary people of Gotham laugh. This particular comedian seemed to have knocked it out of the park. Everyone was practically rolling out of their seats with laughter.
Everyone, but you.
You wouldn’t say you were a hard person to please when it came to humor. There were many things you found funny —even a lot of the darker stuff. Your humor just didn’t align with the misogynistic and overall bigoted jokes that seemed to be ever-flowing from this guy’s mouth. Having arrived at Pogo’s nearly an hour and a half ago, you could confidently say that the jokes from everyone else that had taken the stage that night had been no different. Quite frankly, you were bored.
It wasn’t even your idea to come to Pogo’s that night. Your date recommended it, raving about the comedian who went by the same name as the one currently on stage before you. According to him, this guy was the "comedian of the century".
You could feel your eyes threatening to roll into the back of your skull just thinking about it.
Dating in Gotham had left you jaded, and this was one of the many reasons why. You just couldn’t seem to find someone you truly felt a connection to. After being on so many first dates with multifarious characters —all of which never led to a second, you began to lose hope in finding that special someone to share your life with. At first, that reality stung like a hundred paper cuts on your lonely heart. But after some time, the loneliness faded, and you realized you didn’t really mind being alone. You enjoyed your own company better than most others’. And you never disagreed with yourself on things like whether pineapple belonged on pizza, if cereal was a soup, which superpower is the best, which jokes were funny and which were plain bad —you know, the important stuff. Whether or not you found a partner in the future was no longer a top priority on your list, as not only had you given up on the terrible dating pool of Gotham, but you had also finally found contentment within yourself and the prospects of being alone.
That was until last week, when you met the no-show date of yours in person for the first time. Your friend had mentioned him in conversation before, so you weren’t too surprised to find he had joined your scheduled get-together with a few of your other friends that evening. He introduced himself, and the two of you seemed to hit it off quite well. You didn't talk about very much, but you swore you felt something.
The spark, perhaps?
You had always been told about a special spark that you’d feel when you met "the one." However, nobody could seem to tell you what exactly it felt like. All you were told was, "You’ll know it when you feel it."
Unfortunately, you’d never get to find out whether you were right about that spark. You even stayed far longer than you normally would have for a no-show date like this. As much as you had yourself convinced that you were totally fine with being eternally single, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were still a hopeless romantic at heart, always seeking out that special connection, that special spark.
That’s why you stayed as long as you did, suffering through ninety minutes of ridiculously bad jokes —though you seemed to be the only one in the room with that opinion. Looking back, you were glad your date didn’t show. You deserved better than someone who thought the jokes you’d heard all night were the pinnacle of humor.
Cheers from the crowd around you pulled you out of your thoughts and back to the center of the room as the previous comedian could be seen waltzing off the stage. The announcer took his place at the mic, reading off the information for the next comedian in line. A disgruntled huff left your lips. The last thing you wanted was to stick around for another insufferable act filled with the same jokes. Besides, it was getting late, and you’d already waited long enough for a date that was never going to happen.
Getting ready to leave, you took one last sip of your drink and collected your things. You pulled out your wallet, fishing for a tip to leave the waiter, just as the announcer finished reading their script.
"For his whole life, was told that his purpose in life is to bring happiness and joy into this cold, dark world…Uh…Right. Everyone, please help me welcome Arthur Fleck!"
Your ears perked up at those words. That introduction was much more interesting than any of the others you’d heard. Still, you continued to search for the five-dollar bill you knew you had somewhere in your wallet, not paying any mind to the clapping around you or what was happening on stage.
That was, until he spoke.
"Hello, it’s good to be here." His velvety voice was laced with nervousness. He chortled, but it didn’t sound natural at all.
Forgetting about the tip, you glanced up at the man in the spotlight. Your heart unexpectedly fluttered in your chest as you observed the man —Arthur, was it?— closely.
He wore a merlot-colored vest over a white button-up shirt, paired with matching red slacks and brown loafers. His hair was slightly brushed back, little brown curls framing his face that stopped just a couple inches above his shoulders. Dark eyebrows highlighted a pair of eyes so strikingly green that you could distinctly see them from the back of the room where you were seated.
Arthur… He was certainly handsome. What concerned and intrigued you was the veil of pain over his smile and eyes and the underlying strain in his voice. There was something about him that drew you in —made you want to know more. Your wallet laid disregarded on the table as your eyes remained focused on him.
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Arthur swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. "Not now. Remember your practice." He repeated these words over and over in his head, begging the laughter not to take over again. He had performed this act once before a couple of months ago, but his condition had stolen the show from him, which left everyone laughing at him and not his jokes. He was embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but think, "What’s new?". Yet, after that failed performance, he somehow felt more determined to try again. He practiced and practiced any time he had the chance, often in the mirror or in his living room in front of an imagined audience.
He really felt like he had it down pat this time. All he had to do was get ahold of his laughter long enough to get through it.
Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the journal gripped tight by his trembling hands before looking back up at the audience.
"I h-hated school as a kid." One line down, and he only slightly chuckled. He made sure to smile like he rehearsed.
"My mother would say, 'You should enjoy it; one day you’ll have to work for a living.'"
Arthur could feel his throat closing up again. Sweat began to bead on his forehead from the stress and the hot stage lights above. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself before moving on to the punch line.
"N-No, I won't, ma’, I’m gonna be a comedian!" He held his arms out with a smile.
Scanning the silent audience, he began to feel his confidence crumble. As it did, the laughter became harder to suppress. He awaited his own doom…
A giggle could be heard somewhere in the distance. Arthur felt a bolt of excitement run through him, reviving his dwindling composure as he quickly began searching for the owner of the laugh amongst the dark sea of judging eyes around him.
Finally, they landed on you.
Arthur was immediately captivated by your beauty. You were all dressed up, your hair was done up nicely, and your radiant smile was pointed directly at him. You even laughed at his joke! Or were you just laughing at him like everyone else typically did? He wasn’t the best at reading people, but your smile seemed warm and your eyes friendly. And honestly, with your eyes locked on him in that very moment, he didn’t really care much whether he was misreading that or not. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to you —made him want to keep making you smile like that.
Arthur took his newfound confidence and continued with his act, trying his hardest to illicit more of that wonderful sound you made earlier.
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For the first time all night, you laughed. Not even a pity laugh, like the few you’d heard sprinkled amongst the quiet. Arthur evidently had some sort of condition he struggled with, but despite that, he was genuinely funny. The more he continued with his act, the more you found yourself laughing. You didn’t even care if you were the only person in the room who found his jokes hilarious. They clearly had terrible taste, and dammit, you were actually enjoying yourself!
It seemed like after he and you made eye contact, his laughter subsided a bit, enough for him to get through things a little more smoothly. Even so, you still felt deep concern each time he seemed to choke on the laughter that forced its way past his lips. You had never heard of such a condition, but it was clear to you that his laughter was not voluntary. You found yourself admiring his bravery and persistence, even when he was continuously cut off by his painful laughter, and eventually, the announcer, telling him his time was up.
You felt your blood boil at the announcer for interrupting his act so rudely. The other comedians had been allowed to finish their full acts, even if they went over their allotted time. They just wanted Arthur off the stage.
A pang of worry hit you as Arthur’s laughter finally got the better of him and came out in full force. You felt the urge to leap out of your chair and help him as he buckled over with his back turned against the audience, covering his mouth as if trying to stuff the laughter back inside himself. You didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was, so instead, you clapped. Not once did you clap at the end of the other comedian’s acts that night. But Arthur, he made you truly laugh. If any one of them deserved praise and support, it was him.
You clapped loudly enough to fill the deafening silence in the room, standing up in your chair with a smile. Arthur turned his head to look at you, his lips tugging into a genuine smile that reached his eyes before he was abruptly taken over by another fit of laughter. Your eyes followed him as he quickly scurried off the stage, heading into the backstage area. Your heart tugged against your chest at the sudden absence of him, a sensation that confused you.
It couldn’t possibly be the spark you’d been searching for…right? You barely knew the man.
You didn’t give yourself any more time to think before you tossed a random bill onto the table and rushed towards the backstage area you had seen him vanish into. Your feet moved quickly down the stairs, your eyes scanning around for him. Stopping in an unfamiliar room, you found it to be filled with nothing but framed photos of popular comedians who had performed at Pogo’s and a TV hung in the top left corner by the stairs from which you came. It was quiet and empty, but there was a hallway ahead that you hoped might lead you to the person you were seeking.
This time, you hesitated before moving your feet. Was this weird? Creepy, even? All you wanted was to speak to him face-to-face. Tell him his act was great. But would a normal person come bursting through backstage all for that?
"Hey!" You jumped at the booming voice behind you. "Didn’t you read the sign? Performers only!"
You spun around on your heels, not even looking the person in the eye as you mumbled an apology before quickly racing back up the stairs and heading straight for the exit of the building.
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For days after, you couldn’t stop thinking about how ridiculous an idea that was. You were certain that if you did happen to meet Arthur then, he would’ve thought you were crazy. You didn’t know him at all. He definitely didn’t know you. All you knew of him was what you observed in less than 7 minutes of his act. You made eye contact a few times, he smiled at you, whatever. Nothing special.
So why was it that you couldn’t get him out of your head?
Weeks passed, and the thoughts of Arthur Fleck persisted. You went over the memory of him from that night about a million times. Not just that, you’d been catching yourself imagining what he was doing at any given hour, as well as what kind of person he was. The thoughts kept coming and coming, frequently hindering your focus and only growing louder in the darkest hours of the night. You were beginning to question your own sanity a little. Obsessively thinking about a stranger you barely knew surely wasn’t normal. You knew this, yet you couldn’t seem to separate him from your mind, no matter how hard you tried.
There was just something about him. The way he shined so brightly against the depressing gloom of the city, despite the odds stacked against him —that which you knew you’d only seen the smallest glimpse of. He was a rare gem in Gotham, and you felt lucky to have witnessed him in person. Your only regret was that you never got to officially meet him.
With Gotham being so largely populated, you knew the chances of seeing him again were slim to none. If only you hadn't missed your chance. You’d debated going to Pogo's again in hopes that you’d catch another one of his performances, but you lacked the time, money, and, quite frankly, the willpower to sit through any more of those other dreadful acts. You may have been bordering on crazy when it came to your interest in this complete stranger, but you weren’t THAT desperate.
So, you let him go. Tried to, at least. He still popped into your head frequently throughout your days, but you managed to accept the grief of never getting to know who Arthur Fleck truly was, telling yourself that he was probably not as special as you made him out to be in your head. Arthur Fleck was just a stranger you projected your deepest desires onto, making him out to be the kind of partner you’d always wanted to share your life with but could never seem to find out in the real world. There was no such thing as the ‘spark', the magical connection people always talked about in the movies and that your friends and family raved about. Maybe it was real for them, but not for you. Foolish, were you, to think otherwise…
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Arthur had been distracted lately, more so than usual. He frequently spent a lot of time in his head; contemplating life, crafting jokes, having conversations with himself, daydreaming scenarios that helped him cope with the harshness of his reality. But as of late, most of his mind had been consumed by one particular subject.
You.
He didn’t know you. Didn’t even know your name. But something about you left a lasting imprint on his mind for days, weeks after his last gig at Pogo’s.
Your beauty, your smile, the way your eyes perked up when they met his. Even at the far end of the dark room, you stood out so clearly to him. And the things he felt when he heard your laughter...he couldn’t possibly describe in words. Never had he been filled with such warmth from a stranger —and all you did was laugh at his jokes! Nobody ever laughed at his jokes.
Nobody, but you.
And you didn’t laugh at him once. He paid close attention to see if you would, all while hoping with everything he had that you wouldn’t. Instead, he was met with an expression filled with joy and kindness, and at certain moments, deep compassion for him.
If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have been able to get through his act. Your laughter was what kept him going and inspired him not to give up. That’s why he wanted to be a comedian in the first place. To make people laugh. To give people a sense of happiness that he himself had been cruelly stripped of his entire life. As Arthur had regrettably learned time and time again, most people found that sense of happiness in laughing at him, seeing him hurt, beating him down —but not in his jokes. Even his own mother didn’t think he was funny.
But you did. And that mean the entire world to him.
Since then, there was seldom a moment in which thoughts of you weren’t floating around his head. He pondered over everything he could remember about you. He imagined what you were like, what your name was, what made you smile, if you had a partner. He selfishly pretended you didn’t for the sake of the daydreams he created of you and him together, despite knowing that if you were to meet him, you’d probably want nothing to do with him. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced you were actually real. How could someone as perfect as you exist? Nobody in Gotham had a smile that bright. Nobody in Gotham would ever openly show him such kindness and warmth. It was impossible…right?
Arthur carried on with his life, knowing that you were likely just a part of his imagination, and he once again confused fantasy with reality. He had been watching too many romantic films lately, and it got to his head, that’s all.
But that certainly didn’t stop the persistent thoughts of you and the deep desire that you did really exist. That, for the first time, he had been truly seen by someone real.
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"Shit. Dammit. Come on," you cursed under your breath as you struggled to lock your friend’s car with one hand, all while performing a balancing act with an overflowing box of items in your arms and two bags slung over your shoulders.
You felt lucky to have such great friends —the kind that would let you borrow their car when you suddenly got evicted from your apartment. You weren’t feeling too lucky about that, but at least you had people you could rely on to help you through it.
It didn’t help that it was such short notice, leaving you scrambling to find somewhere else to live. Your friends had offered to let you stay on their couches while you searched, but as it turned out, there was only one place within reasonable distance of your job that you could afford, so your search didn’t last long. It wasn’t a great place, by any means. It looked to be practically falling apart, and it was in a terribly dangerous area of Gotham, but you would take that over being on the streets any day. Besides, it was cheap enough that you would conveniently save a few bucks a month. Not much, but it was better than not being able to afford the rent at all.
After successfully locking the car, you walked carefully towards the entrance of the apartment building. With how exhausted you were from frantically packing everything at the last minute, the last thing you wanted to do was take multiple trips to and from your friend’s car for some basic necessities. That said, you made a mental note to move your friend’s car to a safer location before the end of the day. Apparently, the area was known for a lot of car break-ins and robberies.
You walked through the entrance of the building, not having much time to look for where to go before you abruptly collided with someone in front of you, causing most of the items in your arms to fall onto the dirty checkered floor below your feet.
"God, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t really looking—I mean, I couldn’t really see where I was going, and I...I’m sorry," you said as you rushed to pick up all your belongings off the floor. Wanting to avoid witnessing the stranger judge your frazzled state, you kept your eyes glued to the ground and focused on putting things back together in a way that would allow you to carry it all again.
"It’s alright. I wasn’t looking where I was going either," the stranger responded. They seemed surprisingly understanding, something you were not used to receiving in the merciless city you resided in.
"Sorry. H-Here, let me help," he added, just as you noticed the familiar brown loafers on the stranger’s feet. Suddenly, the rest began falling into place.
Wait a minute…That voice. You knew that voice.
You shot your head up just as the stranger crouched down to help you pick up your things. Your eyes met in that moment, leaving you both frozen in place for an unknown amount of time as you each took in the familiar face of the person before you.
It was Arthur. The man you had been thinking about for an embarrassing amount of time. It had been almost a month since you’d seen his act at Pogo's, and thoughts of him still remained active in your mind all this time later, despite your many attempts to lock them away and forget about him.
The chances of you two seeing each other again were so very slim, and yet, there you were, crouched at eye level on the floor, staring at one another in shock. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you realized you had been blatantly staring at him for what would definitely be considered too long and scrambled to find something to say.
"You’re Arthur Fleck from—"
"You were the one who—"
You and Arthur laughed sheepishly, heat rising to your cheeks as you looked into each other's eyes.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆
There was that laugh he’d been craving to hear all month. It filled his ears and soothed his soul. Even better, your speaking voice was the most heavenly sound he’d ever heard. The way you said his name was enough to have him on the verge of melting into a complete puddle on the floor, and it took all of his conscious energy not to do just that. He was surprised you even remembered him at all. ‘Memorable’ was not a word Arthur would even think to associate himself with. Arthur was invisible to much of the world around him. But strangely, miraculously, not to you.
Not only that…you seemed to be real. The fact that he was so shocked to find out you were the person he ran into pointed more to the possibility of you not just being a figment of his imagination. Never in a million years had he expected to find you in this dump, of all places.
"Y-Yes, that’s me. I’m Arthur." He nodded timidly. "Why are you here?"
"What a stupid question. You didn’t even ask for their name!" he thought. He tried to think of the right things to say in this kind of situation. He had imagined many scenarios of meeting you, but never like this. It became harder to breathe as he realized he had already said the wrong thing. Now you probably thought he was rude and a loser. Why did he always have to mess everything up?
Surprisingly, though, you laughed.
"I swear, I’m not stalking you!" You joked, putting your hands up in playful defense. "I’m actually moving in today." Arthur felt relief fill his being, but the threat of a laughing fit still loomed over his head. You were just so pretty, and perfect, and so much better than he had imagined. He would never forgive himself if he messed this up.
"I’m Y/N, by the way. It’s nice to officially meet you…I’m assuming you live here?" You smiled at him, radiating the same warmth he had received from you at Pogo’s all those nights ago. If he could bask in it forever, he would.
Y/N… Your name definitely suited you better than any of the ones he came up with in his mind. He avoided the temptation to repeat it aloud in front of you. He wanted to know what it felt like rolling off his tongue.
"Yeah, eighth floor," he said. "What floor are you on?"
Your eyes grew wide, and you blinked a few times in what appeared to be shock.
"E-Eighth floor…"
Now it was Arthur’s turn to feel shocked. What a strange twist of events that seemingly led you both here. Arthur thought he’d given up on fate, seeing as his life had only been filled with one traumatic event after another, no matter how hard he tried to change things for the better. Either fate had a nasty grudge against him or everything was all random chance, and he just so happened to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. For Arthur, it was easier to believe the latter. At least that way, he still had some sense of control over his life. He’d take his chances in a battle against bad luck over some divine force that he surely stood no chance against.
As he gazed upon you now, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted once more. Maybe he was wrong about fate. Sure, it was his performance at Pogo’s that caught your attention, but Arthur certainly wasn’t the one that led you to being at the club that night, nor the reason that you were moving here —on the same floor of the apartment building he lived in, no less. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was a crazy coincidence, or maybe it was something more…
A glimmer of hope filled his heart as he smiled at you. Maybe you were real, and maybe fate was too. If all the terrible things he went through were the exact things required for him to end up here in this very moment with you, then it was all worth it to him.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Arthur was surprisingly not much different than what you imagined him to be like. He was very sweet, and you found his timidity around you charming. Your heart fluttered every time he smiled at you. The smiles he presented you now were not veiled with pain like the ones you had seen from him on stage. They were soft and sincere, and they accentuated the wrinkles around his pretty green eyes.
You accepted his offer to help you carry your things up to your apartment. He claimed he was headed that way anyway, though you swore he had been exiting the building when you ran into him. The possibility of him dropping his plans to help you instead released a whole swarm of butterflies in your stomach.
Arthur pressed the elevator button for the eighth floor, shifting the weight of the box in his arms as he did so. He had insisted on carrying both the heavy box and one of your bags for you, leaving you to carry a few smaller items and the other bag slung around your shoulder.
"I, um…I never got to tell you how much I loved your act! I wanted to speak to you afterwards, but…I guess I missed you," you said.
"Uh, yeah, sorry about that…" He shot you an apologetic look.
"Don’t worry about it." You smiled. "I’m just glad I get to tell you now. You’re really funny, Arthur. Funnier than all those other comedians, if you ask me."
Arthur’s cheeks turned a rosy pink as he looked down at the box in his arms, a big smile taking over his face. "Thank you. That means a lot."
The elevator door screeched open, and the two of you walked down the hallway of your shared floor, your conversation continuing on the way to your door. You both found yourselves walking slower to avoid the inevitable end of the moment you were so immersed in.
Something about the way Arthur spoke to you made you feel special. His tone was gentle, and his eyes held a deep curiosity for every word that you spoke in return. The more the two of you talked, the more comfortable you began to feel around him, and you could sense Arthur felt the same way; his previous nerves now diminished as he casually walked alongside you.
Eventually, you arrived at your destination, but that did nothing to cease your talking. Arthur amusingly pointed out the fact that your apartment was directly across from his and joked about bringing a shitty casserole to your place to welcome you to the neighborhood. You noticed Arthur’s face brighten even more as you laughed at this.
He even offered to help you gather the rest of your things and bring them into your apartment, which you happily agreed to —not only for the help but for the extra time you’d get to spend with him. You were ever so curious to know more about the mysterious Arthur Fleck, who had nearly consumed your every thought for so many days. He intrigued you more than anyone else you’d ever met, the bright light of his soul drawing you nearer like a moth to a flame.
It was at that moment that you finally understood. The spark you’d been seeking your whole life was neither a thing nor a feeling. It was a person.
Finally, you had found your spark.
And his name was Arthur Fleck.
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Hello! 🐰 may I please get prompt number 23 with Arthur Fleck please?😭
Here you go! Sorry this is so late, and congratulations on being my first Arthur prompt!
Arthur Fleck x Reader
Prompt: Why can't I braid your hair?
CW: Penny is having a mild delusional episode and Arthur gives her some of her medications. Some mentions of Arthur being bullied at work. Mild swearing. Let me know if I miss anything! 2nd person, reader is referred to as "you", no physical description of reader mentioned, F!reader
A/N: There's some stuff in this that's basically me experimenting with my personal head canons about side characters. Ie. Gary being married with children and Randall being divorced. It's mostly there to give the conversation between Arthur and the reader a more realistic flavour. I was just going for something really comfortable and domestic feeling for this. Enjoy!
It was only after he heard the clunk of the deadbolt closing and the feeling of familiar, worn flooring under his feet did Arthur finally feel like he could breath again. Yes, the apartment was still a shitty little hole in the wall that reeked of cigarette smoke and where the hot water came out from the tap a copper colour half the time, but it was also his own personal oasis. A sanctuary where the two of you could shut out the rest of the world and bask in the solace of each other’s company.
He could feel the grime and grief of the day slowly start to dissipate as he padded down the hall, his sock feet no more than a whisper on the threadbare carpeting. It was a little early in the day for you to be home, but he could hear the sound of the TV, a faint drone that was still too far away for him to make out anything distinctive.
If it was the daily newscast, then it was probably Penny watching. She never missed a chance to catch sight of Thomas Wayne, no matter how brief. If the local baseball game was on instead, then Penny was napping and you’d be getting dinner started. The Gotham Knights were the worst team in the Tri-State area, but you were a loyal fan all the same.
What greeted Arthur when he rounded the corner and came into the living room, however, temporarily stopped him cold in his tracks. The TV was on, yes, but at a much lower volume than the ear shattering blare his mother preferred. Penny was awake too, still dressed in her robe and slippers, but awake never the less. Instead of occupying her usual perch on her favourite chair and basking in the glow of the flickering screen, Penny was doing her own version of pacing. Arthur watched as she shambled from one side of the room to the other, muttering quietly under her breath to someone only she could see.
After deciding she was only having a mild episode and not a complete break from reality this time, Arthur pulled his eyes away from Penny and began to search the room for you. It was only on his third pass of the space that he realized the reason he kept missing you. What he thought was a pile of laundry on the couch, was in fact your body, lying half sunk into the cushions. You were still wearing your work scrubs, as well as your shoes, and your head was buried beneath a stack of sofa pillows. You hadn't let out so much as a whimper since he'd walked in, or even let on that you knew he was home.
“Sweetheart? You alright?”
Within seconds, Arthur was kneeling by your side, contorting his body between the sofa and the coffee table to get to close to you as possible. At the sound of his voice, you stirred slightly, and brought up a hand to lift up a corner of the bottom pillow in the stack. A bloodshot, dark rimmed eye stared back at Arthur from beneath it, and he instinctively reached out to run a soothing hand down your back. He’d been through enough bad days with you to recognize the warning signs, even when you hadn’t said a word.
“Migraine again?” he asked, purposely keeping his voice low and even so as not to cause you any further discomfort.
The pillows wobbled precariously as you nodded in reply. Arthur sighed, before glancing over his shoulder to look back at Penny. In the short amount of time it had taken him to come over to you, his mother had stopped her pacing, and was staring at him as though she was now just realizing who he was.
“Happy?”
“I’m here Mom.” he said, placing a hand on the nearby armrest so he could push himself to his feet “Did you get your medication today?”
“She missed her third dose” your voice was half muffled by the pillow “Mrs. Bianci from downstairs called my job around three-ish to say she heard yelling coming from our place and she was worried. I caught an early train home, but the migraine hit before I could do anything for Penny, I’m sorry.”
Arthur bit at his bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood but with enough force that the pain it caused overwhelmed any lingering frustration. He could feel the laughter, unwelcome and oh so insistent, clawing at the back of his throat, trying to break free. He grit his jaw against it, forcing it back down as best he could. Doing this too often would eventually trigger a fit that would last hours instead of seconds, but the last thing you needed right now was for him to be out of commission.
He knew your migraines only came around in times of extreme stress, and as much as he loved her, he was also very much aware of just how stressful dealing with Penny could be. You’d tried your hardest to get along with her since you’d moved in, but Penny was stubborn at the best of times and hateful at the worst, especially when it came to who administered her daily dose of medication.
“Let me get Mom comfortable, and then we’ll get you looked after, okay?” He said, smiling down at you.
You gave Arthur a wobbly smile in return from beneath your pillow cavern. The gesture almost broke Arthur’s heart, you were trying so hard to put on a happy face for him and play it off like things weren’t so bad. If anyone knew how that felt, he certainly did.
It didn’t take long to crush up Penny’s next round of pills into a pudding cup, and even less time to coax her into her recliner in front of the news. By the time the first commercial break started playing, she was already lulled into a blissful stupor, a dreamy look on her face as her glassy eyes watched the screen without actually seeing it.
Once he was sure his mother was settled, Arthur then turned his focus entirely towards you. Without needing to be asked, you had already sat up, your stack of pillows sitting neatly on the floor while you waited for Arthur to join you. The springs squawked in protest as he sat down on the cushion farthest away from you. As soon as he was ready, you crawled over and placed your head on his lap, with your face turn upwards towards the ceiling.
“Comfy?” he asked, once again smiling down at you. A loose lock of hair was hanging across your face, and he reached down, tucking it behind your ear with nimble fingers.
“Best seat in the house” you replied, your voice a hoarse whisper. “Thanks for doing this, Arthur.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
With that, Arthur brought his hands down to either side of your face, with one arm draping over your torso while the other sat atop the armrest. He moved his thumbs over your temples, and began to massage the skin there in tiny, circular motions.
The effect on you was almost instantaneous. Arthur watched as your eyes fluttered shut, and he could feel the tension leave your body as you settled more firmly against his legs. The migraine would’ve eventually run its course whether he was here to help you or not, but the two of you had discovered this trick could sometimes turn hours of agonizing pain into a more manageable level of discomfort.
“How was work?”
Arthur couldn’t help but smile again, even though he knew you wouldn’t see it. You could be having the worst day of your life, and yet you always found time to check in with him. It made him feel like each time you asked that question, you were really interested in what he had to say, and not just making polite conversation or because of some unspoken sense of obligation.
“It was okay,” he replied, making sure to keep his voice soft “Hoyt’s been looking into getting me a position in the Founder’s Day parade next week, since I’m more comfortable in front of crowds than the other guys, and Gary’s wife is pregnant again.”
“Oh, good for Ella. That’s what, their third together?”
“Fourth, actually.”
“Jesus Christ, any more and she’s going to make Gary sleep outside.”
Arthur let out a quiet chuckle, in part because he appreciated the joke and also because he was relieved to see your usual sense of humour returning. That usually meant you were slowly starting to feel a bit better.
“I mean, yeah. But she probably never gets migraines either.”
A faint crease appeared on your forehead, more from confusion than discomfort.
“How do you figure that?”
Arthur felt his cheeks heat up, a wicked grin playing about his lips.
“Well, cause of all the kids, you know? Randall says there’s nothing better for a headache than a good fuck.”
“Arthur! Oh my god!”
One of your hands came up, and gently smacked Arthur on his chest. He laughed, a warm and genuine sound that burbled from deep in his gut, the complete opposite to what came out during his fits. You were laughing too, though it was a much more subdued giggle than usual, most likely due to the migraine.
“Your Mom is right there!” you said, cracking open an eye to shoot him an admonishing look.
“She’s not listening to us.” he replied, still grinning. “Those blue ones will keep her out for hours. Watch.”
He turned his head slightly to the side, his green eyes coming to rest on Penny in her chair. The older woman hadn’t even glanced away from the screen, despite the ruckus you two were making.
“Hey Mom. The martians have landed and they wanna make me president of the United States.”
“That’s nice, Happy.” came Penny’s answer, as cheerful and calm as though Arthur had just told her the price of milk.
“See?” he said, looking back down at you. “I could say anything and that’s exactly what she would say back every single time.”
“Okay, okay.” you replied. Both your eyes were open now, and you were staring back up at Arthur “But you shouldn’t be listening to Randall anyway, especially when it comes to anything he says about women. He’s been divorced at least twice. If anything, you should be doing the opposite of what he says.”
“You been talking to Gary?” Arthur asked as he reached down and gently tapped your nose with the tip of his finger “Because he tells me the exact same thing.”
“It’s a conspiracy” you said, scrunching up your nose and sticking out your tongue at him. You looked so cute, Arthur had to resist the urge to lean down and cover your face in kisses. It certainly seemed like you were doing better, but the last thing he wanted to do was cause you unnecessary discomfort.
Instead, he chose to lean down and place a gentle kiss on your forehead. The gesture made his curls slip from his shoulders and hang around his face like a curtain. You stared up at him, momentarily fascinated by the image and the way the sunlight picked up on the silver streaks that clustered near his temples.
“Your hair is getting kind of long.”
You reached up and wound a strand of it around your finger, watching as it sprung back into place the second it was released. Arthur chuckled softly, and caught your hand in his own so he could kiss your fingertips.
“Yeah. Mom thinks I need a haircut.”
“No!” you said, sitting up so suddenly you almost whacked your head off Arthur’s chin. Arthur’s eyes went wide, both from surprise at the intensity of your reaction and out of concern that you would agitate yourself further.
“I mean,” you continued, your cheeks starting to turn pink “You should cut it if you want to. But I…well, I like it this length.”
“Yeah?” The shock on his face melted away, and was quickly replaced by a wide, easy smile “I mean, I don’t mind it like this. But you’ll have to teach me how to take better care of it. Sometimes it’s hard to fit under my wig at work, and it gets matted if I leave it loose under there.”
“I can help” you said, shifting your position on the sofa so you were sitting with your feet touching the floor and your body turned towards Arthur “I could put it in a ponytail. Or maybe a braid?”
It was Arthur’s turn to scrunch up his nose, though you could tell from the strain in his smile that he wasn’t being playful.
“A braid? Me? I mean it’s nice of you to offer but I’m not sure-”
He trailed off, leaving you to fill in the gaps. What Arthur wasn’t telling you painted an all too vivid picture in your mind. You reached for his hand and clasped it in one of your own. His skin felt cool and soft against the pad of your thumb as you ran it over his knuckles.
“Hey. Arthur. What’s wrong? Why can’t I braid your hair?”
For a moment, Arthur stared at the TV, as though he was in the same zombified state as Penny. A commercial for dish soap playing in the background kept the room from being completely silent, but you could feel one pushing its way into your conversation all the same. When Arthur was truly upset, he either let everything loose all at once or shut down entirely. You seemed to be the only person who could coax him into a happy middle.
“Babe?”
He let out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, while his free hand came up to scratch at the back of his neck.
“It’s the guys at work,” he said, finally, his eyes still trained on the TV screen “They…well, they make fun of me, y’know? And I feel like if I came in with my hair braided then they’d…I’d never be able to live it down.”
“Screw them.” you shot back, your voice calm but firm “Aside from Gary, they’re all idiots. Who gives a shit what they think?”
Arthur studied you for a moment before answering, most likely weighing the choice between making you happy and having you fuss over him, or keeping up appearances for a bunch of people who never seemed to hesitate to kick him when he was down. In the end, it was an easy decision.
“Okay.” he relented “My next shift is on Monday. If you’re feeling well enough before then, you can braid my hair before I go in.”
You grinned up at him, and scooted closer so you could plant a kiss on his cheek. At the last second, Arthur turned his head, catching your mouth in a warm, sweet kiss that had you tingling down to your toes. When you broke apart, you found he was smiling in earnest, with none of the tension lingering in his face from before.
“You’re so wonderful, Arthur” you said, reaching up to cup the side of his face in your hand “And if anyone says anything about it, just remember, it’s only because they’re jealous that your girlfriend loves you so much”
Arthur leaned into your touch, and he if could’ve purred, you swore he would be. Despite his apprehension, you figured that when he realized just how much of your attention playing with his hair would get him, he’d change his mind about the whole thing pretty quickly.
“It helps to have someone who makes being wonderful so easy. Now, if you wanna get better, you should let me finish that massage before dinner.”
Summary: You throw a party on Christmas Eve that doesn’t go as planned...but in the very best of ways. Extremely fluffy oneshot and the title speaks for itself :)
Warnings: mental illness
Word Count: 2087
Notes: I was inspired by @jokerownsmysoul‘s recent post about who she’d kiss under the mistletoe. Obviously, I’m choosing Arthur Fleck as well! Be sure to listen along to the Christmas album hyperlinked in the story, too. Hope you enjoy ❤️❤️
“This is a disaster!” you wailed. “Why did I think anyone would ever come to my party?”
Your tear-filled eyes finally overflowed and you buried your face in your hands.
You realized what a sight you must be: young woman in a sparkly pink party dress and white heels, sitting in her own empty apartment, crying unconsolably...and on Christmas Eve, no less.
Throwing this party was an idea you’d discussed with your therapist a couple weeks prior. You hadn’t thrown a party since childhood, but the idea had sparked your imagination. Deciding you were going to be more outgoing and invite people over for the first time since you moved to Gotham six months ago had gotten your creative juices flowing.
You'd invited everyone on the eighth floor, including some of the neighbors downstairs you'd chatted with a couple of times. Now you laughed ruefully at yourself for having gotten so excited about decorating the apartment, planning a menu, music and games....only to be stood up by everyone at your own party.
This gathering was supposed to make you feel less alone. But now you felt more lonely than ever.
You glanced around your festive living room and kitchen. You’d decorated the walls with Christmas garland. A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra was playing on the record player. A full bowl of punch sat in a large, untouched crystal bowl on the coffee table, along with cookies, cake, chips and finger sandwiches.
And mistletoe. You’d bought mistletoe and placed it over the front door. You’d also gotten dressed up and put makeup on (which wasn’t the easiest thing to do when dealing with depression). But the party had been set to start at seven and it was now a quarter past eight. The writing was on the wall: no one was coming.
You stood up from the sofa, figuring it was time to start cleaning up. Dejectedly, you made your way over to the record player and turned it off, knowing the joyful, nostalgic tunes would only depress you further.
A small knock at the door made you jump out of your skin. You froze. Had you actually heard that, or was it your imagination? Afraid of what might be on the other side, you tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.
Was that....Arthur Fleck? From 8J down the hall?
You'd run into him a couple of times in the elevator, but only spoken once, during the garbage strike earlier that year. He was shy and sweet. And beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that you’d gotten completely tongue tied around him...had found yourself blathering some incoherent nonsense about how pretending that the streets smelled like pine needles - your favorite scent - was the only thing keeping you sane through the strike.
Deep in the back of your mind you'd hoped he would show up tonight. You wiped the tears from your eyes - not wanting him to see you see you upset - and opened the door.
The sight of him now almost made your heart leap into your throat, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. Arthur was wearing a crisp blue cardigan, and his beautiful brown hair was combed back in loose curls. He’d dressed up for the party and looked even more handsome than you’d remembered.
“Hi, Arthur,” you squeaked.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” Arthur held up a small wrapped gift with a bow on it. “Sorry I’m late. I had a gig that ended at seven and raced back over here to change first.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you replied, letting him inside. “You’re...actually the only one who showed up.”
Arthur stepped into your living room and spun around, surprised. “I’m the only one here?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, trying not to break into tears again. “So if you don’t wanna stick around, I understand.”
“But everything looks so beautiful.” Arthur pointed at the garland on the walls. “And you look...especially nice tonight.” He stepped over to the record player. “I love this album. Do you mind if I put it on?”
You sniffed. “Wait...you mean...you wanna stay?”
“Only if you don’t mind having me.”
You shook your head. You were still reeling with disappointment - this wasn’t at all the party you’d imagined - but you were grateful that at least one person had showed up. Even more grateful that that person was Arthur.
“Please stay,” you responded, a small smile spreading over your face. “I’d love it if you stayed.”
Arthur beamed and turned the record player back on.
“Can I get you some punch?” you offered, moving towards the coffee table.
“Sure!” His eyes lit up, almost glittering. “Except, if it has alcohol in it I really shouldn't mix that with my medications...”
“Nope, alcohol-free,” you smiled as you poured him a glass. “And feel free to help yourself to any of the snacks.”
Arthur took the glass from you and sat next to you on the sofa. “What made you want to throw a Christmas party?”
“Well,” you mulled the question over. “I've been feeling kinda down...kinda lonely. I have some...problems with depression.”
“I know what that feels like,” Arthur said. “To feel lonely, I mean. And sad.”
“I can get extra sad around the holidays,” you continued. “And I couldn’t fly home to see my family this year. So I thought...maybe I could invite people over. Maybe I’m not the only one who has a hard time at Christmas.”
"Well I’m glad you threw the party. And I'm really glad you invited me,” Arthur smiled, shyly placing his hand over yours. "When I got your invitation, I knew there was no way I'd miss it.”
“Well, I’m sorry it’s not much of a party,” you lamented. “I guess it's official: all my neighbors hate me. Except you.”
“They don't hate you,” Arthur countered. “They probably just had other plans.”
You paused, taking a thoughtful sip of punch. “You're right,” you nodded. “That's black and white thinking. My therapist tells me I tend to do that. Just because they didn't show up tonight doesn't mean they hate me.”
“You see a therapist?” Arthur cocked his head to one side. “So do I. But all she ever asks me is if I’ve been having any negative thoughts.”
“All I have are negative thoughts!” you joked. Arthur laughed.
“Do you want to open your gift?” he asked. “You don’t have to,” he added quickly. “I read in an etiquette book I got from the library that you're not supposed to open gifts in front of other guests at a party.”
“Well, seeing as how there are no other guests!” you quipped before pausing to raise a sly eyebrow at him. “You checked an etiquette book out from the library?”
“Yeah,” Arthur smoothed back his hair self-consciously. “Well...a party etiquette book. The truth is, I've never been invited to a Christmas party before. Or any parties, really. I wanted to make sure I didn't mess anything up.”
Giddy at the thought of him sweetly taking the time to research how to behave at your party, you pulled his small gift off the coffee table and held it in both hands. The wrapping was a candy cane pattern and the bow was a simple green shiny ribbon. In that moment you felt that you'd never seen anything so beautiful in your life.
“You wrapped this yourself?”
“Yeah,” he replied sheepishly. “I’m not that good at wrapping, but...I hope you like it.”
“I love it!” you blurted.
“You don’t even know what it is yet!” Arthur laughed.
Carefully, you peeled away the scotch tape on the side and tore back the wrapping to reveal a small, green candle. Snow-Covered Pines, the label read.
“I remembered that one time you and I talked in the elevator. You said you liked the scent. Anyway, I saw it at the drugstore and...I thought of you.”
“You remembered that?” Your heart fluttered, feeling embarrassed by the memory all over again, but also touched. “Thank you, Arthur. I love it so much.”
Arthur was an extremely easy person to talk to. Conversation with others wasn’t something that always came naturally to you, but with him it felt effortless. The next time you glanced back up at the clock, you were shocked to see it was almost ten.
“Should I put on another record?” Arthur offered as the last song on the Frank Sinatra album spun to an end.
“Sure!”
Arthur stood up. “You have all the greats here,” he hummed as he mused over your record collection. He selected Nat King Cole’s Christmas album, carefully placing the record onto the turntable before sliding Frank's back into its sleeve.
“This is my favorite Christmas song!” you clasped your hand to your chest as the familiar notes of the first song poured over your ears.
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...
“Mine too,” Arthur paused, looking shy.
“We have a lot in common, Arthur,” you beamed.
“Did you...did you want to dance?” he asked in a soft voice. “With me?”
You felt your heart start to pound again. “Yes...” you answered. “Except I’m really bad at it. I might step on your feet.”
“Well,” Arthur said. “There’s no one here to see you be bad at it. Except me.”
He extended his hand and helped you up off the sofa, pulling you in close as you moved around your living room together.
“Wow, Arthur,” you murmured after a moment, surprised at the grace in his movements. “You’re a really good dancer.”
“I know,” he said with mock overconfidence. You laughed and swatted his shoulder. He dipped you. The song ended, but he didn’t let you go. You never wanted him to, wishing this night - the same evening you’d been so eager to forget just a couple hours earlier - would never come to an end.
“Hey,” Arthur hummed softly after you’d danced a few more songs. “I'm having a great time...but I should really get back to my mother. I’ve gotta help her get ready for bed.”
You paused, disappointed to see him go, but more than happy that things had turned out exactly as they had tonight.
“I had a really wonderful evening, Y/N. I'm glad I got the chance to talk to you.”
“Me too,” you replied. “If everyone else had shown up, I don't know if you and I would have gotten to talk as much as we did.”
You walked Arthur to the front door. He stopped and turned to face you once more. You paused before moving to open the door for him.
“Hey, Arthur,” you said in a small voice. “It looks like we're standing under the mistletoe.”
Arthur blinked and looked up. "Oh," he swallowed, a blush spreading across his face.
“Did your book say what people are supposed to do when they’re under the mistletoe together?”
Arthur nodded, throwing his eyes to the floor. “Yeah," he said, “they’re supposed to kiss each other.”
“Are you gonna kiss me, Arthur?”
“I'd like to...” he hummed. “But only...only if you want me to.”
“I want you to."
He was shy at first, trembling slightly as he brought his lips to yours. But once you were united in the embrace, the both of you seemed to relax. His arms wrapped around you, his hand moving to delicately cup the side of your face. Arthur’s lips were even softer than you had fantasized. His skin was warm, his cologne flooded your senses.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur,” you blushed as the two of you came apart. Your mind was spinning and you felt weak in the knees.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” His eyes were closed, slowly fluttering open as he took your hands into his.
"Maybe....maybe after your mom goes to bed, you could come back and...we could watch The Murray Franklin Show on TV together."
Arthur stared back at you. “You watch the Murray Franklin show?” he asked, eyes wide and incredulous. “I’ve been watching him for years.”
“So have I. It's his Christmas special tonight, you know.”
“I’d love to watch the holiday special with you.” Arthur’s eyes sparkled. "I'll come back after I finish up at home and we can watch it together.”
You opened the door for him, lingering in the doorway as he stepped into the hall.
"Oh, and...Arthur?"
"Yes?" he paused, turning to face you.
“Thank you.”
Arthur smiled. "What for?"
"For making my Christmas so special."
💕💕 If you enjoy my writing and find it valuable, please consider leaving a tip to support my work. Thank you! @ghastella xx 💕💕
Notes: Wishing you a safe & happy holiday season. Thanks so much for reading ❤️❤️
Warnings : None ( Except mentions of a mental hospital)
Youˋve been staring at the blank page before you ,for who knows how long. It must have taken you all morning to come up with a silly little poem that clearly wasnˋt good enough. Nothing was good enough to express your love for him. Not even the most marvelous poems of your favourite writers could tell what you felt when you held him in your arms. You brought the pencil to the paper and wrote „When Iˋm holding you, Iˋm holding my whole world. And when the world is getting too mysterious to understand, I know that we still understand each other. Sometimes I think that I understand you better than myself. Itˋs like my mind was living inside your head before it got planted into me. And I let you bloom inside of me. My sunflower, my light.“
Before you put the page into the burgundy colored envelope, you drew two little stick figures holding hands but not without adding a red dot for a clown nose to one of them. You knew that Arthur loved these small details and since he was a child at heart, those two lovebirds would put a smile on his face.
His face! Oh how you yearned for the moment youˋll be holding his face between the palm of your hands again. It has been too long. The last time you felt the fine lines of his crow feetˋs beneath your fingertips, while you kept brushing your thumb over his beautiful yet tired face, wasnˋt how it used to be. Arkham state hospital was not a place to feel homey in. Even though Arthur was sleeping in the same bed for weeks, the sheets never smelled like him. His soft curls didnˋt smell like his Prell shampoo and even the brand of the cigarettes he smoked in there tasted so differently. It felt like glimpses of Arthur were taken from him. Waiting to find their way back home into your arms.
A look at the clock woke you from your daydreams. „God, itˋs time“ you said to yourself „Itˋs…..time!“ A smile crossed your face as you got up from Arthurˋs couch to get your keys. The act of smiling alone felt like part of him was there already. You couldnˋt even remember feeling a smile on your face. Not like that. Not a genuine one.
You couldnt even remember how you got on the bus, time was moving differently now. It had to. Every minute you had to wait until you could pick him up at Arkham was a minute too long. Your fingers kept tremblin while you watched out the window. Gotham city passing you by like all of this was nothing. This big city, the wide sky above, all those strangers and buldings. It was all non existing. The only thing existing was the vision of Arthurs head resting on your shoulder at the bus ride home.
Arthur was talking to one of the doctors when you arrived. All you could see from here was his back. His tiney frame which, no matter how fragile it might looked, always seemed like it was about to start dancing any second. The slightest movement coming from him was an act of art. Naturally like a waterfall. Step, step, step, floating into a world of his own.
He nodded, nervously running his fingers through his slick back hair. Some dark strains almost reaching his sharp shoulders. You could see his blades stricking through the fabric of his shirt. Oh! To touch him. To feel his bones against yours, his breath hot against your hungry kisses. To let his body fill your arms and let your heart overflow with love!
„Y/N“ he whispered as he turned around to see you. A whisper that felt like a scream to him. A scream for love. „My god! Youˋre here. Youˋre finally here…. I was….getting nervous…I know you arenˋt even late but…Youˋre never late. Iˋm still getting nervous. Iˋm sorry Y/N…. Iˋm not makeing any sense do I ?“
Tears streamed down your face as you held him close to your heart „Arthur….“ .A name breathed like a prayer. Ghosting along his hollowed out cheeks. A slight sensation tickled your chin. He didn´t shave for three days. „You are making sense. You always do. You do to me.“
Arthur pressed his forehead against yours, eyes half closed. Seeemingly sleepy but blissed out.
„Letˋs go home“ he mublmed in his drowsy voice. „I canˋt wait to be home with you“. A shy smile appeared when you grabbed his hand. Both of your hands a shaky mess. But somehow calm and peaceful inside. Like a thunderstorm harmonizing with the peaceful noise of pouring rain.
Arthur didnt let go of your hand once when you were sitting beside him on the smelly bus. He took the window seat but didnˋt even take a look at the city he was born in. Heavy eyelids being kept close as he rested his head upon your shoulder. Nothing could ever compare. The change in his breathing was noticeable on the sensitive skin of your neck. Arthur falling asleep on you like that was a gift, knowing he was always having troubles sleeping. Even sleeping pills wonˋt free him from insomnia. But now with you, he was at ease. For a moment , right there is a noisy city bus, he was allowed to rest savely upon your shoulder. And you knew this was your purpose. To be his rest. His save place. Now and forever.
Your hands unlocked when you entered his apartment. What a cruel act to unlock your sweaty palms. What a relief to watch him walk into the kitchen and drink a glass of water.
You stood there, in the rounded out doorframe, so unapologetically in love with the man in front of you.
His emerald eyes pierced you through and through as he chugged down the water.
„A penny for your thoughts“ you whispered, slowly walking up to him, reaching for his waistband.
Arthur put the glass beside to hold your face between his gentle hands. Something he does when he was about to kiss you. Is it just you or did his eyebrows look even darker than usual?
You let your other hand brush over the dark circle beneath his eyes. Was that a tear? He was so beautiful, so pure and raw… so real.
To be inside him now. Oh to switch bodies and know how it feels like to be and breathe in his body. To become him entirely.
Arthur slipped his tongue between your lips as he whimpered sweet nothings in your mouth. You tasted everything he ever felt. You became it.
He still didnˋt answer your question.
A penny for his thoughts.
The world for his thoughts.
Arthur led you to his worn out couch.
Those sheets. His skin. His bones pressing against your ribs. This was home.
The letter you wrote for him was still lying on the table. He will read it tomorrow, after youˋve been making love all night. After you illuminated him from the inside and after he made you the person you always longed to be.
„My love“ you whispered between the kisses „I missed you so m….“
„Shhhht…“ he breathed heavily while you gently pulled his pants down.
„Just…mmmhh…just…“
You loved him.
You loved him so much as his muffled voice whimpered
„.please take that pain away...“
And while you pulled him as close as your physical bodies would allow, you felt his mouth trembling.
