#arthur fleck reader

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."

Arthur walked down the deserted street, hand in yours, as his fellow protesters followed close behind dragging their signs on the pavement. Everyone was exhausted, but this was the last neighborhood scheduled for tonight’s event. It was now past midnight and the streets were desolate. Arthur then sat down in the middle of the street and the other protesters sat beside him. You laid your head on Arthur’s shoulder as you sat next to him. You were tired and it was cold out (just beginning to snow), but Arthur’s jacket was keeping you warm. 

You looked around at the empty street as the snowflakes began to fall. Your eyelids were getting heavy, and you could see the street lights fade from your vision. You closed your eyes and kept your head on Arthur’s shoulder. He then began to play his ukulele softly and he began singing. A few of the protesters joined in. You listened as a few Gothamites came out of their homes to tell Arthur to “shut up,” but he ignored them and sang louder. 

He wrapped an arm around you and continued to strum, singing Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love.” As the protesters grew louder in song, a few more neighbors emerged from their doors to investigate the noise. The tenants then began to sing along and a few of them even stopped to read the protesters’ signs. Soon, the majority of the block was singing, and a grin stretched wide across Arthur’s face. It was strange, but you swore Arthur’s cheerful spirit was contagious, and could inspire smiles in even Gotham’s most miserable. 

“Always introduce yourself to security when you arrive at the venue,” she advised you on the ride over. “That is, if the venue even has security. And never go off anywhere by yourself, even to the bathroom. If you’re alone, you’re a target.” 

 You swallowed and nodded. Though you’d been cat-called on the street many times - this was Gotham, after all - you knew the odds of interactions with unsavory types increased exponentially in a job that gave you so much exposure to the public, especially when said exposure involved you having to to wear the most scantily-clad of outfits. 

 Fortunately, most of the casino’s patrons that evening seemed more interested in hitting the slot machines than harassing two girls in skimpy skirts. 

 “Free sample? Amore Mio Gets You More.” 

 That was the slogan you and Tina had been instructed to parrot to whomever was within earshot from 8PM until midnight that evening. Two hours of standing in the entrance hall and greeting new arrivals had resulted in only a handful of people actually taking you up on the offer, absent-mindedly snatching the sample sticks from your hands as they floated towards the sea of flashing lights beckoning from the rooms behind you. 

 “How’s your costume holding up?” Tina asked in the ladies room at your ten-minute break. You’d had to borrow the extremely well-endowed Chantelle’s cigarette girl costume, so the back was cinched up with about seven safety pins; Hoyt promised he’d order another one in your size once you’d “proved you were here to stay.” 

 “It’s fine,” you replied. “I’m just afraid it’ll fall off any minute and I’ll inadvertently flash everyone here.” 

 “At least that would liven up this place a bit,” Tina quipped as she touched up her lipstick in the mirror. “I’ve never seen so many slot machine zombies in my life. Exactly how long can a person stare directly into a strobing light?"

 “At least no one’s bothering us.” In truth, you were relieved to be ignored. At least it kept the riff raff out of your hair. The good news was that the uneasy feeling you’d struggled with all day was finally starting to dissipate. You’d take distracted gambling degenerates over drunk guys and sexual harassment any day of the week. 

 “Ready to go back out there?” Tina asked. “Final stretch.” 

 “Yeah,” you nodded. 

 Exiting the ladies room, you and Tina made your way to the entrance hall (the casino intentionally put the bathrooms all the way in the back of the building so people had to pass through both the table games and slots in order to pee). 

 When the large man - at least six-foot-three and well over two-hundred pounds - pushed himself onto Tina, causing her diminutive, thin frame to lose balance and topple against the wall, you initially thought it was an accident. 

 When he didn’t immediately pull himself off her, apologizing profusely for his clumsiness, your heart started to race, and you realized that your anxiety had begun to dissipate prematurely. 

 “Tina!” you called out. 

 The man had her caged against the wall, arms keeping her from slipping out and making an escape. He pushed his mouth to her left ear, slurring:

 “You look good enough to eat…”

 Tina squirmed, but her voice remained steady. “Please step back, sir.” 

 He didn’t move, of course. A part of you was worried he’d crush her against the wall.

 “Hey, back the fuck off her!” you yelled from behind. If he hadn’t been so big, you probably could have pushed him off her, but your better judgment told you that was out of the question. Frenzied, you scanned your immediate surroundings, but there was no one around to step in and help. 

 “Y/N,” Tina said in the same composed voice as before, “go get security.” 

 You wanted to do what Tina said, but remembered what she’d said earlier about never being alone. 

 I can’t leave her with this guy, your mind raced. Who knows what he’d do to her? 

 Tina had maneuvered herself and was now pressed up against the wall, turning her face to get as far away from his as possible. When you saw his hand reach up and grab at the ruffles around her chest, something inside you snapped. 

 Your eyes locked onto the back of the man’s sweaty neck and you felt your right hand curl into a fist. The next thing you knew, your entire adrenaline-filled body was hurtling towards him. When your knuckles pounded down on his vertebrae, you swore you could hear a small but powerful crack! 

 The man cried out in pain and surprise, bucking backwards. This created enough space between himself and the wall for Tina to slip free. He staggered and turned around to face you, but the rage in his eyes was no match for yours. Before he had the time to react, you jammed your right knee directly into his crotch.

 “Aghhhh!” he screamed again  and fell to the floor. 

 “Keep him on the ground!” Tina howled as the two of you kicked him repeatedly in the stomach. A small crowd began to gather around you.

 You could only see red when you got like this. You kicked and maimed with every ounce of strength in your body. 

 “Kick him in the balls!” you screamed at the top of your fiery lungs. 

 “No, stop! Stop!” he cried out.

 “Y/N!” Tina’s voice broke through your consciousness. 

 Someone grabbed your wrist. If you hadn’t taken just one extra instant in turning around to see it was one of the security guards, you probably would have started wailing on their asses, too.

 “Miss! Miss! Stop this. Right now.” 

 The second guard crouched to the floor as the man writhed in pain. Tina reached out and grabbed your free hand, pulling you close to her. 

 “It’s okay, Y/N, I’m okay. We're safe now."

 “What happened here?” the second, standing guard asked. “Why were you attacking this gentleman?”

 “Gentleman?” you snorted, rage still racing through your veins. “He harassed my coworker and had her trapped against the wall."

 Tina nodded. “He wouldn’t let me go. I asked him more than once.” 

 “So how’d you get him on the ground?” 

 In the background, you could hear the man crying out in pain. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his lip was bleeding. Good, you thought to yourself.

 “I punched him,” you replied. “Then I kneed him in the balls. I know it sounds bad, but it was one hundred percent self-defense. Or, self-defense for my friend.”

 The guard turned to Tina. “Is that what happened?” 

 Tina nodded, squeezing your hand. 

 Before the guard could reply, someone tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around to see a bald man in a suit and thick glasses.

 “Excuse me, are you ladies from Ha-Ha's?”

 Shit. In a blind rage, you’d forgotten you were at work. This kind of thing always happened when your anger took over. You prayed you hadn’t gotten yourself or Tina in trouble with Hoyt.

 “Yeah,” Tina replied. “We’re from Ha-Ha's.” 

 “My name is Armando Silva and I’m the owner of this establishment. Are either of you young ladies injured?” 

 You and Tina looked at each other and shook your heads, no. 

 “I’m very relieved to hear that. I want to personally apologize for what happened tonight, and offer you the rest of the evening off, fully paid.”

 “Why are you apologizing to them?” the guard glared at Mr. Silva. “They started a fight in your casino.”

 “We didn’t start a fight, he attacked me!” Tina protested.

 The guard ignored her. “We could call the cops right now and have them arrested for disturbing the peace, plus assault.”

 “Are you fucking kidding?” you widened your eyes at the guard. “It was self-defense!” 

Overhearing the outburst, a few people in the crowd began to murmur. 

 “We saw it…" "That's what happened…" "The girls didn’t do nothing wrong…" "It's the guy, it was all the guy…”

Mr. Silva held his hand up. “The last thing I want in my casino is trouble of any kind. But it appears these young ladies were put in the position of having to defend themselves, which they should never have had to do.”

 “Maybe if security had done its job, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” you added, raising an eyebrow at the guard. He glowered back at you as Mr. Silva held out two shiny golden tickets, one for you and one for Tina.  

 “Again, I wish to express my sincere regret for the unfortunate series of events that have transpired tonight, and ask that you please accept these $100 gift vouchers, courtesy of the casino.” 

 You took the ticket from him, stunned and more than a little relieved. Thank God for Armando Silva trying to cover the company’s ass. And thank God for the crowd being willing to back you up. 

 “Fine,” the guard sighed, shaking his head. He turned to you. “But you put yourself in danger trying to help your friend tonight. Next time something like this happens, don’t try to be a hero.”

 “I wasn’t trying to be a hero,” you insisted. “But I wasn’t gonna leave my friend alone with some drunk asshole.” 

 “You got a temper, young lady,” the guard shot back. “I’d keep an eye on that if I were you.” 

 “Come on, Y/N,” Tina tugged at your hand. “Mr. Silva, thank you so much. We really didn’t mean to create any trouble.” 

 “The pleasure is all mine. Please enjoy the casino’s facilities and do take good care.” 

 Tina pulled you back down the corridor into the ladies room before closing and knocking the door.  

 “Shit, Tina. I don't know what to say,” you whispered, shame and regret taking over. “I’m so sorry about going off like that back there. I mean, I really didn’t mean to-”

 Tina grabbed and hugged you tightly, pushing the air out of your lungs. 

 "That was amazing, Y/N. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for stepping in like that. You're such a fucking badass!"

 “You’re…you mean you’re not mad at me?”

 “I mean, shit, that guard was right. You could’ve gotten hurt. But I don’t even wanna think about what that drunken idiot would’ve done if you’d left me alone with him. I don’t think anyone else would’ve intervened. I don’t know where you got the guts to kick his ass like that, but I fucking love you for it."

 “I…I don’t know if I’d call it guts,” you murmured. More like uncontrolled rage issues. “I just did what you told me to. You don’t think Hoyt’ll be mad, do you?”

 “About what?” Tina scoffed. “We're still getting paid. Hoyt doesn't give a shit as long as he gets his money.” She held up her voucher. “Wanna get a steak at the restaurant?”

 Over dinner, Tina chattered on and on about how impressed she was with your fighting skills, but you barely touched your prime rib dinner, consumed with guilt and disappointment in yourself. You'd promised yourself you wouldn't get physically aggressive with another person again, and here you were. All you could think was how lucky it was that things turned out the way they had: Tina wasn’t pissed at you, neither of you had gotten hurt, and the asshole security guard hadn’t succeeded in throwing you in jail. Three close calls in just one night. 

 Your mind flashed back to the guard’s last words to you: You got a temper, young lady.

 You hated his guts, but moreover, you hated that he was right. Your anger did have a tendency to spin out of control - or as your dad liked to joke: “Y/N just werewolfs and goes wild sometimes.” 

 This hadn’t been the first time you’d werewolfed. And you had an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach that it wouldn’t be the last. 

💕💕 If you enjoy my writing and find it valuable, please consider leaving a tip to support my work. Thank you! @ghastella xx 💕💕

Tagging peeps who liked the previous chapters and/or requested to be tagged in the past. Lmk if you want to be added or removed 💕💕