May 21, 2024
Inspired by @jokeringcutio’s black phone x harry potter fic!! Their writing is the fuel to my brain rot fire (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
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Inspired by @jokeringcutio’s black phone x harry potter fic!! Their writing is the fuel to my brain rot fire (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
[Edit: I have pinned this post to the top of my blog as it is important personal information.] I am not fine. But I made a promise. Here I am, after nearly 2 years of radio silence. Fanfiction writers disappear all of the time for all sorts of different reasons. I made a promise that I was going to finish my Joker Fanfic no matter what. As you have guessed, my health was as such that it prevented me from writing any further. Despite the bad fortune of the past, I still intend to fulfil my promise.
I came on here today to let you know I have started rewriting the final chapters to “The Man Who Claimed to Be Yours”. To all of you who have been reading my tale, commenting and leaving me kudos, asking me to write more: I am incredibly grateful <3 Your support has never failed to make me feel warm, loved, and helped me even in times when my health prevented me to write.
Although I am still not well and might not ever fully recover, my intention is to have TMWCTBY finished before the release of the new Joker. I will try and keep you all up to date with this process. As it seems right now, I might be reworking the outlines. If Arthur runs away with the plot again, it might even be extended from 12 chapters to more. He likes to do this sometimes, especially now that he is the Joker in my fic. ->The Enola Holmes Fanfic is for now on hiatus. I am not sure if I will take it up again. -> I have an unfinished reader insert project running for two friends of mine (who both love Crimson Peak) that I started right before I fell ill in 2020. I wish to try and finish this story for them somewhere this year, or the next. If people enjoy my writing, especially my reader inserts, let me know if I should keep you up to date. It's another dark fantasy, hopefully with different endings options. Best wishes, JokeringCutio (You may have seen me lurking on AO3 as JokeringCutio or on my main as BreakingTheStandards. Despite not having been able to write and update my own tales, I try and support the works of others whenever I can).
Pretty please list turn ons and turn offs for Arthur/joker? 🍒 on top
AN: You asked for it. I provide an honest answer. Brace yourself:
Turn ons:
- It starts with an act of kindness. It could be a flash of a smile or a kind word. But he knows you’ve noticed him and by the Gods, he sure as hell noticed you.
- Your body. It looks perfect to him. Perfect to hold. Perfect to cuddle. Perfect to squeeze himself into.
- Your warmth. He deliberately stands too close to you just to bask in the heat your body seems to radiate. It sends hot liquid sparks down his abdomen.
-Your scent. He tries to catch it whenever you walk by, leaning in a bit too close, picking up discarded or forgotten laundry, burying his nose in your used undies, anything to smell you again. When he’s in a queue behind you he subtly tries to bury his face in your hair just to smell you there. It makes him feel oddly comfortable to know you’re close.
-Your eyes. He feels he can drown in them and honestly, he wants no one to throw him a lifebuoy.
-The way your clothes cling to your body. When he checks you out he has to bite his lip to keep his dirty thoughts from spilling from them. Is there anything more sexy than knowing what those layers hide and fantasizing about taking them off, piece by piece?
Turn Offs:- Once you’ve turned him on, there’s no putting him off, darling.
Prompt- Arthur finds out you are carrying his child !
AN: Hope you like!
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It’s early morning when the front door opens with a creak. He is home later than usual. Penny is still in bed. You slept on the couch, waiting for Arthur to return late, as he does lately, but you’d fallen asleep somewhere along the waiting. You had awoken by singing birds in the trees, feeling slightly nauseated and in need of a certain relief.
It had seem the perfect moment to do the check, it said so in the manual after all.
You’re standing at the kitchen sink when he walks in. His face is riddled with lines. He’s tired, his hand trembles as he forces a smile when he sees you. “Up already?” His voice is so soft and fragile, and you’re afraid it might crack at the littlest motion. So you keep your eyes ahead at the tiles on the wall and grip the edge of the counter until your knuckles turn white.
The squeaking of the worn soles of his shoes tell you that he approaches, and before you have time to look over your shoulder at him, you already feel that Arthur’s behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles your neck. You can hear the suppressed chuckles in his throat. He is nervous, distressed, and you feel a pang of pain in your heart, knowing you should comfort him.
“Arthur, I-“ You can’t say more because he has brought his hand to your chin and gently turned your head, his fingertips digging into your skin as he guides your lips to his own and seals them with a kiss. Your eyes open wide and you allow him to spin you around in his arms until you’re front to front with him. When the kiss breaks and you look up at him, truly look at him, you can see the remnants of the white paint on his face and a fresh bruise on his cheek. A line of ruby red droplets is found on the other side.
He is hurt!
“Who did this?” You ask, reaching up to cup his sore cheeks, but he catches your hands before you truly reach him. Wincing, he sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. “Does it matter?” He asks in turn.
You nod, gritting your teeth. Someone hurt him. Someone hurt your man. Curses filled your mind, as did thoughts of what you wanted to do to them. Why was this world so unfair? “It does to me.”
“Let it go,” Arthur says before placing a kiss on your knuckles. You watch him and notice his freshly split lip. Tears start to well in your eyes.
“I love you,” it comes out as a sigh but you know he heard you. His lips curl into a smile for a moment, then twitch down again.
“I’m going to clean up.” And with another kiss on your knuckles he’s gone to the bathroom to get a fresh washing cloth. You don’t think to stop him, don’t think of anything else but the people who hurt him. Who were they? Tough boys? Ghetto youth? People who thought it was fun to beat up a poor ailing clown? Your hands curled into fists at the many scenarios that wrecked through your brain.
Until you heard him, of course.
Stupid, stupid you.
This wasn’t soft sobbing, rather loud wailing, and you wondered if it would wake up his mother. Quickly you rush to the bathroom, halting in the doorway to see Arthur standing bend over the toilet. The seat was down, the lid covering the seat. He wasn’t standing there to throw up, or to take a piss. No, he was looking at the thing you’d forgotten to take off of it.
A little white stick that had cost you a fortune, but you had needed to know. Especially after the many days that had slowly turned into weeks of you missing that certain time of the month. And there it was. The evidence. Little blue coloured stripes, not faded but very clear and sharp.
And Arthur was stood over it, tears streaming down his face in an uncontrollable wailing. It was no ordinary crying, but sounded heart-shattering and as painful as his forced laughter. You carefully lift your hand, wanting to reach out for his back, but you hesitate. What if he wasn’t happy at all? What if-?
“This can’t- ” he is choking, but forces the words past his lips anyway. That is dedication. “This can’t be real.” Because of his choking and stuttering you have a hard time catching what it is he says, but then you blink.
“It is.” He turns around at the sound of your voice and you see the tears rolling down his face. His expression giving a whole new meaning to ugly sobbing. But oh, how it shatters your heart. You want to reach for him but he reaches for you first. His large, thin hand is placed on top of your still slender belly. And through the tears he forms a smile.
You stand there in silence, just the two of you, gazing into each other’s eyes while his hand lays warm and heavy upon your tummy. You don’t know how long you stand that way, long enough for his tears to dry and the pained expression to turn into a smile. And long enough for his mother to awaken and call out for his help.
You gently place your hand on top of his and give him a squeeze. “I know it’s supposed to be your name,” you whisper, “but I am happy this child is yours.”
Another suppressed sob and you fear he will start anew. But there’s the hint of a smile when he retracts his hand, reluctantly you note. It’s as if he doesn’t want to ever let you go. He takes a careful step away from you. But the distance he creates between you is compensated by the love that fills his eyes.
“I am blessed,” he whispers in turn. His mother calls out for him again.
“You should go to her,” you say. “If she sees I stayed over she might get a shock.”
Now he laughs, uncontrollably, and Penny says his name again, louder this time. She’s clearly worried if all is well with her son.
“She’ll get a shock, all right,” he mutters, then reaches for your shoulders. He draws you in for a deep kiss, then gently lets you go.
“Have a seat on the couch,” he tells you, his voice still soft. “I’ll tell mother that you came in early because you saw me coming home just now and worried.”
It was most of it true, except the coming in when you’d stayed over. You lift a brow and want to ask him why he would lie at all, but his finger is up in the air, shushing you, and then that very same hand runs through his hair as he smoothens it. “Let’s not tell her she’s going to be a grandma just yet. I want the time to be right.”
You smile at him and nod. You had to consider his mother’s frail condition, after all. Arthur turns on his heels and for a moment there’s a streak of confidence in him. He pockets the white stick with the blue lines, the evidence of your pregnancy, and you let him. God knows it might give him the strength he so badly needs.
You hear your name and watch as Arthur halts in his step to look at you from over his shoulder. “You’ll be perfect.”
Hearing Penny cry out his name more exasperatedly now, he turns just as swiftly and is gone. You stare at the empty toilet for a moment longer, letting his words sink in. Perfect for what? Perfect mother? Then you swiftly make your way to the couch, sitting down just in time for Arthur to step back into the living room with his mother on his arm. Your hand automatically flutters to your abdomen. Penny smiles and her eyes lighten up at the sight of you. “Arthur here told me you had come over early.”
For now, you decide to play along.
HC about how Arthur and joker would like to receive and express affection!
Arthur:
- He is in constant doubt and fear of not being good enough, of being a failure.
- When you talk to him he already feels amazed. Because you talk to him like he is a normal human being.
- When you accept his oddities, his morbid humour, his forced laughs and cries – that’s when he knows you have accepted him.
- He still fears you will leave him one day, that he’s not good enough.
- You telling him how perfect he is gives him a feeling he can be proud.
- You whispering how perfect he is sends shivers of pleasure down his spine.
- He takes delight in it when you hold his hand. Even more so when you are the one who initiates the touch.
- He can’t wrap his head around it when you are the one who crawls all over him, begging him to take you. Because how could anyone want him that way? His cheeks bloom a bright red, all other blood pumped elsewhere, and he stops to think. He can’t think when the two of you are intimate, and that’s why he loves those moments the most. No one makes him feel as good as you do. So he tries his best to work to such moments.
- He tries to dress up sexily, but it’s just his usual wear only his hair is messy and his vest is unbuttoned.
- He deliberately stands too close to you whenever he wants to get you in the mood.
- You discover he is all for cuddling, so you wrap your arms around him as often as possible and hold him close. Once he musters the courage to be the one to hold you, he does so at any given opportunity, even in public settings when it’s a little strange. But you don’t care. You know he needs this.
- He loves running his fingers past your skin, preferably when its exposed, just to feel you are real and to let you know he’s there.
- He orders food he knows you enjoy wherever you go, so you can have his portion.
- He tries to cut down on the smoking, because he has your health to worry about now.
- He gives you little gifts, most of it cheap or crafted himself, but he poured his heart into making them.
- When he gets a little more confidence, he starts doing little striptease dances in the bedroom whenever you two decide to get it on. His little dances are so absurd they never fail to make you laugh.
- You don’t tell this to anyone, but you two talk and laugh during ‘the deed’. No one can make you laugh as much as he does. He loves to cuddle you close and make lame jokes. You both still come anyway. And it’s heavenly.
Joker:
- He is confident, bratty and very open about what he feels and what he needs.
- He has no issues in touching you. In fact, he does so all the time.
- In public, his grip on you is a little tighter.
- He still enjoys it when you tell him how good he is, how perfect for you.
- He’s still instantly up for the job when you are the one to initiate intimacy between you.
- He still performs those same odd dances when he strips, only he sings different songs with it now. And when he’s on top of you, he’s usually rougher than Arthur was. Though Arthur could put in some force as well (in his thrusts).
- He showers you with standard gifts such as flowers and chocolate and sweet cards he wrote obscene texts on. It’s his way of showing he’s finally good enough for you and that he always gets what he wants.
- His manner of receiving affection in turn is for you to agree and go along with whatever absurd fantasy he has in mind.
- He buys you fancy lingerie and one of the ways to show him affection is to wear it.
- He’s still starving for your touch.
- In public, he makes sure everyone knows you belong to him. His grip on you is a little tighter and there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
- He shows his way of affection by swearing through gritted teeth that he will kill that bastard who looked at you, and he will even give you a detailed account of how he’ll do it.
- He’ll show his affection by trying to keep you out of harm’s way.
- He’ll show his affection by keeping you safe and being locked up in jail alone.
Can we have a continuation from when Arthur finds out the reader is pregnant please? I loved it
AN: I’m sorry. Did I hear you beg me for more? >D–When he comes home you notice he’s tired. There are crinkled lines next to his eyes and there is a fresh bruise to his temple. Of course, with the make-up on, no one will hardly notice. But without the make-up his bruise is vulnerable on display. “Did someone hit you?” You ask, gently brushing a strand of hair out of his face.
Arthur’s eyes seek yours and he forces a smile. You can see it’s a forced one. Why does he always try so hard to please you and to pacify your worried feelings? It’s not his job to make you feel at ease all the time. It’s his job to be honest with you.
“I fell,” is his excuse, but you just know someone must have beaten him up. Perhaps a passer-by, perhaps a colleague. You silently vouch to find out sooner rather than later.
“I made you some dinner,” you say and he silently mutters a thank you. But instead of moving to the table he remains where he is, his hand fluttering to your protruding stomach.
His fingers are warm upon your clad skin, as if his fingertips can burn through the layers of cloth and empower the child that’s deep within.
You close your eyes and relish in the feel.
“I’m not hungry,” he mutters.
“Of course you’re not,” you can’t help but sound a bit bitter about it. Ever since the two of you got together and you moved into the cramped little house he shared with his mother, you had tried to get him to eat. A quest which seemed a hopeless one. He was still as frail and thin looking as before. You sometimes wondered if you did something wrong. You cooked the tastiest and loveliest things. Yet he would hardly have a bite. Did he not appreciate the effort?
You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath, noticing how your hands had turned to fists. He must have noticed it too because he’s now shushing you. One hand remains lightly upon your belly while the other runs freely through your hair and then gently strokes past your cheek. The gesture makes you whimper.
“No need to get upset,” you hear him whisper in that sweet dark voice of his. “Think of the baby. Our baby.”
Oh, and the way he stressed that it’s a baby of you both, it sends pleasant tingling up your spine. You squeeze your thighs together. How does he do this to you? Each and every time?
You hum a short apology to which he answers there’s no need to apologise for anything. “If anything, I should be the one apologising to you. I know you worked hard to make me a special treat.” As he says it, he makes sure to lock eyes with you so that you can see he is serious. His voice is a little sterner, his dark brows furrow, and on no account does he allow you to break eye-contact with him.
You feel yourself grow weak, like pudding. You melt underneath his gaze and into his hands. Now his second hand is back to join the one on your tummy again and he closes his eyes. A pleased hum escapes his throat like a low rumble.
“I can’t wait till we are three,” he mutters. And you know he means till the moment the child is out and he can actually hold the little one.
“Technically,” you reply with a giggle while you press his hands even firmer against the baby bump. “We are three already.”
You had not meant three to be his mum, who called for the two of you from out of her bedroom.
Drabble: At the Movies (Joker 2019)
AN: I’m a firm believer that Arthur as Joker, if he existed, would go to the cinema to watch how others would respond to his story. This is one of those possible moments of him attending his own screening. I had planned it to be longer and more smutty, but alas, my arms won’t let me. So here’s a small thing. And as I spotted @ajokeformur-ray posting she’d be at the cinema tonight. This one’s for you: “At the Movies”
You’ve seen Joker before, more than once. But tonight you followed the advice you’d read on Tumblr and decided to go once more.
Only this time you’d be alone.
No friends to sit next to you and distract you. Just you and the screen.
And Joaquin Phoenix in his amazing role.
You’d chuckled when you’d read comments about women going to watch the film late at night, on their own, who had dared to brought a vibrator along with them. You weren’t sure if it had been boasting or truth, but the thought had thrilled you. Yet, you weren’t the type to brave that sort of stuff, even if you had entertained the idea.
The theatre was almost deserted. Apart from a couple of two, a group of giggling girls and an elderly couple, there was just you. But you had arrived early and had chosen a spot in the middle, allowing you a great view. You did not sit at the front row because you wanted some privacy. But you had not sat down in one of the back few rows either. Instead, you’d gone straight for the middle.
The lights dimmed, the film started. A pleasant feeling crawled up deep inside of you; a feeling that made you feel warm on the inside.
The first few scenes had already passed when you noticed an odd scent. A bit like smoke? You shrugged it off and kept watching, your eyes glued to the screen.
No one was going to take your attention off your secret fictional crush. No one. Not even a fire.
Prompt(sent a similar one to more people): You are a princess at a charity and Arthur is a clown.
AN: Might do this in parts.. here goes… Reader x Arthur Fleck/ Joker
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The Princess and the Clown
———————-
You knew this charity event would be different than any other. You knew this, because today you’d be entertaining children who were ill, some even terminal, and making them smile was a real big challenge.
Your heart constricted in your chest at the sight of them. Too young, you thought. Too many. Yet you forced a smile on your face and delicately waved your hand, as if you were truly happy to see them.
You were happy. Though more than happy you felt privileged. Because you carried the important task of making these children forget, if just for an hour or two, about the world around them. And you’d give them your all.
With a gentle movement of your hands you lifted the layered skirts of your princes dress. Next to you, a girl you knew was actually called Chantal but who was dressed as Cinderella, let out an exasperated sigh through gritted teeth. “Mind if I stick to you?” She asked, her smile never faltering though. “You look the part. The other girls aren’t that great.”
You knew she was picky about who she wanted to work with. For this charity event, several girls had been asked to come and perform as princesses, and not all of them had accurate costumes or manners. You wondered if they were all up to play the part to be honest.
“All right.” The two of you mingled with the crowd. Gotham Hospital suddenly didn’t seem much like a hospital any longer, but rather like a fairground. With the large gardens around the hospital decorated with balloons and flags and with little stalls scattered about with toys and food.
The two of you found yourselves talking and laughing with the children and their parents, and soon you were forgetting how ill some of these children really were. It was just you and the kids, waving, bowing, doing small talk, asking them about their favourite characters, colours, favourite anything. You remained polite and kind whenever you bumped into any other characters, but Chantal was less than pleasant. She greeted them with a fake smile and sneered behind their backs once they had passed. The girl was starting to work on your nerves and so you decided to ignore her as much as the job allowed you to.
You were already on the job for about twenty minutes when suddenly, Chantal came to a halt and pointed at a group of people ahead. “Oh look, they brought in the clowns,” she said, her voice flat.
Your gaze followed hers as her eyes drifted to a single clown. A loner, by the looks of it. He was bending forward to tell a joke to a handful of children. His bright green hair, attached to a very obvious and cheap wig cap, wobbled. You heard Chantal’s voice, “I never found them funny.”
You took a swift glance at the group in the distance and then looked back at the single clown again. You silently agreed. Clowns had never really made you smile. But you weren’t going to tell that to Chantal. Instead, you shrugged and started to make your way over to a child who had just caught your eyes and was waving at you. “I’m sure they will bring a smile to many children’s faces,” you replied, and then you were on the job again.
An hour and a half later and the event was nearing its end. You and Chantal were walking around with four children on your hands each. They looked up at you with heart-eyes and seemed to have vouched to never let your hand go. Chantal relished in it, enjoying the way the children worship her. You, on the other hand, started to feel that familiar sadness again deep inside of you. That sadness that resurfaced at the realisation that these children will have to let you go at one point. And perhaps they would not be here a next time to hold hands again.
That was when you heard the choked laughter. Chantal heard it too. You could hear her coo to the kids on her hand to ignore the clown who was laughing. “Clowns aren’t as sophisticated as princesses anyway,” you heard her say.
You turned to look at the laughing clown to see it was that very same loner again. The one with the bright green hair. The one who was standing alone. The children standing around him seem to love him. They inch closer to him, some were tugging at his clothes like he was some kind of huge teddy. As you looked at him, you accidentally locked eyes with him, and that’s when your breathing stopped.
His eyes were the purest green. As green as the fake hairs on his head.
And now that he had caught you staring you felt obliged to say something to acknowledge his presence, to show you appreciate him working here, for these kids.
So that is what you say.
“The kids really love you.”
His eyes widened at your statement. Or was it a compliment? You don’t even know yourself.
Chantal had walked on ahead of you. The children at your hand were tugging for you to come along and follow Cinderella to one of the fake carriages that had been placed there as décor.
Knowing you couldn’t stay behind and that you had to fulfil the wishes of the kids, you quickly flashed the clown another apologetic smile. And, as good manners bid you to do, you did a very princess-like bow. Your dress swirled behind you when you turned to leave the man to do his job. But his laughter had died down and though you expected him to, he never replied.
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AN: More parts? And what? Dark? Angst? Fluff? Comfort? SFW? NSFW? Any desires?