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fleckficgirl · 9 months

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Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 10

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: This chapter contains mugging, memory loss, traumatic brain injury. This fic as a whole contains sex, language, violence, mental illness.

Word Count: 3164

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Author’s Note: I’m back! Obviously, it took me sooo long to figure out how to write this next chapter, but I finally got it together. I really appreciate your patience in the meantime & hope you enjoy reading it. The plan is to post more regularly soon (Chapter 11 is almost done).

“Makeup is an art,” Chantelle and Tina had explained to you the night before. “Think of your face as a canvas.”

Despite all their well-intentioned beauty coaching, the cold, hard truth was you still had no idea what the hell you were doing - you couldn’t even keep the differences between moisturizer, foundation and concealer straight in your brain. And after twenty minutes of attempting to “paint” your face like the natural-born Rembrandt they were convinced you were, you’d stared back at your reflection in the mirror and decided you looked like a clown…and not in a sexy-Arthur-Fleck kinda way.

Exasperated, you’d washed everything off, opting instead for a tiny bit of mascara, lip gloss and powder.

But then there was the issue of your hair. You’d burned your fingers on Tina’s flat iron before managing to get things somewhat under control. But as soon as you stepped out onto the street the rain began to fall, causing your already-unruly mane to frizz up completely by the time you reached the subway.

Chantelle’s handpicked outfit, however, remained the only unblemished element of tonight's ensemble: her tight-fitting angora sweater did things for your non-existent cleavage you’d never imagined possible. You’d be sure to thank her profusely later…even though she thought you were going out with someone else tonight.

You’d never cared how you looked in front of a guy before…but Arthur Fleck wasn’t just a guy. To say he’d gotten under your skin was, perhaps, the understatement of your life: you were becoming crazy about the man.

You didn't know how you were going to survive this date. You could barely hold it together in Arthur’s presence without wanting to reach out and smother him with affection, and the kiss between you earlier today had only solidified your deepest desires. You wanted Arthur in so many ways…ways you didn’t even understand yet. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever rode the Giant Dipper at Amusement Mile: the sensation of your stomach flying up into your throat as you went over that first terrifying drop…a disconcerting mix of fear and exhilaration. Was this what being in love felt like?

***

The bouncer at Pogo’s frowned as you handed him your ID.

“Are you…um…are you alright, miss?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

You were thrown off by the question. “Of course. Why?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…have you looked in a mirror recently?”

You shook your head. The jerk was actually making fun of how bad your hair and makeup had turned out. People in this city really didn’t know how to act.

“Wow, you’re hilarious,” you rolled your eyes at him, snatching back your ID. “Can I please go inside now? My friend’s about to go on.”

You pushed past the rude bouncer and entered the club, scanning the room feverishly for an empty seat. Spotting one parallel to the center of the stage, your eyes lit up and you rushed over to claim it. As you sat down, a strange chill ran up your spine as you slowly began to realize: everyone was staring at you. Faces of concern and mockery swam around you, and you weren’t sure why.

Oh shit, you thought. Do I have something on my face?

Unfortunately, you hadn’t brought a compact mirror (Tina and Chantelle had given you a five minute lecture on the importance of always carrying on in your purse), so you couldn’t check. And you couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom because then you’d lose your seat. You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, then glanced at your watch and saw the glass was cracked.

Weird. You hadn’t remembered smashing it against anything on the way over.

Your concerns about your appearance, however, were quickly dissolved as the current act wrapped and the emcee took the mic.

“This next comic describes himself as a lifelong Gotham resident who from a young age was told that ‘his purpose in life was to bring laughter and joy into this cold, dark world.’ Umm. Okay? Please help me welcome Arthur Fleck!”

You applauded along with the rest of the half-faded crowd as relief washed over you. Thank God you hadn’t missed him. As Arthur took the stage, your heart began to throb again. There were simply simply no words to describe how incredible he looked tonight. His red vest. The crisp, white button-down shirt underneath it. The matching slacks.

And his hair. His hair.

You were certain his hair was going to be the death of you. How was it possible that you and that gorgeous hair inhabited the same planet without the entire world imploding?

Arthur squinted out at the crowd before speaking. You knew he was searching for you, needing to see you in the audience, needing to know you were there for him. And you were. When the two of you locked eyes, he smiled. You smiled back at him and everything else fell away. It was you and Arthur again. And nothing else in this cold, dark world mattered.

You didn’t care that Arthur had a laughing episode at the beginning of his act. You didn’t care that basically all his jokes fell flat, either. You didn’t care about any of that. All you cared about was how proud you were of him. So proud, you felt like you could burst into a million pieces.

When he finished his set, you leapt to your feet, clapping and screaming. Arthur blushed from the stage, embarrassed…and pleased. Everyone was staring at you, then back at Arthur, then back at you in dazed confusion. Two weirdo peas in a pod…and proud.

“We’re gonna take a short break,” the emcee announced.

A moment later, you and Arthur found each other at the back of the club.

“You were amazing, Arthur!” you exclaimed as you threw your arms around him.

“I'm so glad you came tonight…” he hummed into your ear. Of course, your depraved mind twisted the meaning of those two words in your head, and you found yourself having to stifle a blushing smile. You felt your body quaver with excitement at being next to him once again.

“Wait a minute…” Arthur pulled back to look at you, shock and concern flooding his face.

“Y/N, what…what happened to you?”

You blinked. “What? Nothing happened to me.”

“You’re…you’re hurt.” Arthur looked you up and down, then lifted your hands to eye-level. Bruises in the shape of what looked like fingers and fingertips lined the insides of your wrists. You frowned at the sight, utterly confused.

“Y/N, who…who did this to you?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted. “I mean…I have a slight headache, but, y’know, it’s probably just the rain.”

“Y/N, look at me. Tell me what happened. Can you remember?”

It took a minute for your brain to register Arthur’s question, which you realized was a little strange.

“Well,” you inhaled, trying hard to formulate your thoughts. “I got on the subway…I know that. And I took it all the way to…well, whatever this stop was near here, you know? And then I got off the train and went up the stairs…and then…” you looked up into Arthur’s beautiful eyes. “And then I was here. Watching you perform for the very first time. And I’m so proud of you, Arthur!” you squealed as if you’d seen him for the first time tonight all over again.

“You don’t remember anything else? You must have hit your head.”

“I'm fine!”

“Y/N,” Arthur’s worried eyes blinked at you. “I don’t think you are. I think I need to take you to the hospital.”

“But it’s our big date!” you wailed. “I got all dressed up and everything!”

At that moment, a few Wall Street bro types brushed past and snickered at Arthur.

“Nice set, freak. In case you didn’t get the memo: you’re supposed to tell the jokes and the audience is supposed to laugh…not the other way around.”

"He has a laughing condition, you assholes!" you snarled at them without hesitation.

To everyone’s surprise, the bros paused, thrown off by the fact you’d called them out.

“Sorry…” Arthur interjected, glancing at the dudes apologetically. “She’s…she’s not feeling well.”

Arthur shot you a desperate please-shut-your-mouth-before-you-get-us-both-killed look, but you could see there was a tiny, triumphant smile curling up his lips underneath it. Still, the words were flying out of your mouth and there wasn’t much you could do to stop them.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling well,” you continued loudly, glowering at them. “Maybe if assholes would shut their fat faces and stop acting ignorant, I’d feel better.”

“Okay, you’re coming with me now!” Arthur wrapped his arm around your shoulders and scooted you towards the door. You looked over your shoulder to see them staring after you, dumbfounded. The sight of it made you laugh.

“Y/N,” Arthur pulled you into him as soon as you were outside. “I’m taking you to Gotham Hospital. We’ve gotta get you checked out.”

“No, Arthur!” you protested. You didn’t exactly know why you were so opposed to the idea, but your first instinct was to protest.

“I’m worried about you,” he emphasized. “I’m fine!”

“Y/N, please. Please? Just do it for me. Just so I know you’re okay.”

“Okay.”

You’d switched it up so quickly, Arthur blinked in disbelief. He cleared his throat, nodding.

“Uh…okay. Good. Let’s go.”

“This is not where I expected to end up tonight,” you lamented. Arthur sat next to you, a clipboard given to him by the nurse at the front desk in his lap. He was trying to fill out your paperwork for you.

“Um. Your last name is…L/N right?”

“Yeah” You smiled at him. “How’d you know?”

Arthur blushed. “I…might have looked at your timecard. I was…curious about you. This was before…you know…we became...closer.”

“That’s so sweet! I looked at your timecard, too!”

Arthur stifled a laugh. “What’s your date of birth?”

He patiently wrote in all the answers and brought the completed forms back up to the desk.

“I’m surprised there aren’t more people here,” you observed, looking around at the handful of other patients. “It is a Friday night, after all.”

“It’s only ten o’clock,” Arthur reasoned. “My guess is things get crazier out there in a couple hours or so.”

“I feel like things are flying out of my mouth tonight without any filter,” you blurted. “And I’m not even that angry.”

“I feel like they are, too,” Arthur agreed. “But, that’s okay. I’m glad you agreed to come here. I’m…I’m still worried about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, leaning in. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Arthur looked a little startled, but he nodded.

“How do you get your hair to look so good all the time?”

Arthur’s eyebrows arched and he laughed.

“I'm serious!”

“No…I'm sorry,” he demurred, looking down at the tile floor. “It's just that nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

“Nobody ever said your hair looks incredible?” you asked. “Like it's the most gorgeous hair in the world? Nobody ever approached you to do shampoo commercials?”

“Maybe that's my true calling,” he joked.

“What shampoo do you use?”

"That's a personal question," Arthur teased as the door to the back of the ER swung open.

“L/N? F/N L/N?” the nurse called out.

You leapt to your feet. “Oh! That’s me.”

“Do you want me to wait here?” Arthur asked.

“Are you kidding?” You extended your hand and pulled him up. “Of course I want you to come. You’re my emotional support clown.”

After weighing you, taking your blood pressure, asking if you had any allergies to any medications and all the other boring details that entailed a medical visit, the nurse set you up in an examination room and read through your paperwork, pursing her lips as she centered in on the handwritten scrawl (Arthur’s handwriting of course) that explained why you’d come to the ER in the first place.

“It says here you…think you hit your head?”

“He thinks I hit my head,” you clarified, jerking said head towards Arthur. “I’m still not sure. There’s a big gap in my memory from tonight and I don’t know why.”

“There are bruises on her arms,” Arthur added. “She came to meet me and she looked…disheveled. Like someone had…”

He paused. The nurse looked you up and down.

“You don’t remember what happened to cause the bruises?”

You shrugged. “I can be clumsy sometimes.”

“You’re not…that clumsy,” Arthur murmured under his breath. “I mean,” he looked up at the nurse. “She’s a dancer. She’s…one of the most graceful people I’ve ever seen.”

“Arthur, that is so sweet!” you exclaimed.

The nurse shot you both a skeptical look, then smiled. “Your husband obviously cares for you a great deal.”

“Oh,” Arthur blushed. “I’m…not her-”

“Yes, he’s a wonderful husband!” you interjected, flashing him a slightly maniacal smile. “So protective of me. I couldn’t ask for a better one.”

“It sounds like you might have taken a fall,” the nurse continued, jotting down a few notes on your chart. “But the bruises on your wrists do look like they were caused by someone else’s hands.”

“My watch is broken, too,” you blurted.

“I’m wondering if maybe you were mugged. It happens to women in Gotham all the time, unfortunately.”

“But I still have all my money,” you pointed out, opening up your purse to show off your untouched wallet.

“Maybe you fought them off,” Arthur suggested. It wasn’t a completely outlandish notion. You were known to bring out the feistiness if the wrong people pushed your buttons.

“In any case, we’ll run some tests to check for concussion and other injuries.”

The nurse opened a drawer and handed you a light blue paper robe. “You can put this on. I’ll inform the doctor and he’ll check you over.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said.

“Of course. He should be by in just a minute.”

“What a nice lady,” you said to Arthur after she left you alone. “Don’t always meet people like that around here.”

“Very nice,” Arthur agreed. He cleared his throat. “Um…do you want me to leave, or…turn around while you get changed?”

You blinked, the reality of everything that had happened tonight finally hitting you.

“I just can’t believe this is how tonight turned out.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked softly.

“I had a whole outfit planned, Arthur! And my hair and makeup. I wanted to impress you and look beautiful for you tonight.”

“Y/N…” Arthur stood up to face you. “You are beautiful. No matter what. All I care about is that you’re okay.”

You sighed, moved by his sweet words, but you still felt utterly crestfallen and defeated. “I ruined our first date. And your big stand-up debut. I wanted tonight to be perfect so bad…”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Arthur interrupted. “I…” he paused. “Of course I wish none of this had happened to you. This city is…awful. In so many ways.” He paused, taking your hand into his. “But…I just love being with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, as long as we’re together.”

You wanted to kiss him again, but suddenly the door flew open and a man in a white coat suddenly stood before you both.

“I hear somebody got banged up tonight.”

** Dr. White’s bedside manner was on the complete other end of the spectrum of your nice nurse’s from a few minutes before, but you’d come to expect that from men with MDs. After performing the perfunctory tests of shining a light in your eyes, examining your body for additional trauma or bruising (none was found) and asking you a few routine questions, he announced his evaluation:

“My guess is you got mugged. Maybe the muggers chickened out before they could actually…you know…mug you. It does look like you’ve got a concussion.”

“What can you do for that?”Arthur asked, concerned.

The doctor snorted at what he obviously deemed a dumb question. “Not much. Just wait it out. Don’t go to sleep for a while.”

“What happens if I fall asleep?” you asked.

“You could die.”

“Oh.”

“Your brain’ll heal itself,” the doctor continued. “Might take a little time. Just try to take it easy and don’t be in places where this could happen to you again.”

“You mean the entire city?” you asked, raising an annoyed eyebrow at him. You knew what he meant, but the slight insinuation that getting mugged was somehow your fault didn’t sit great with you.

“What can I say?” Dr. White shook his head and shrugged. “Welcome to Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here all my life,” you informed him dryly. “Gotham’s a jungle.”

“Then welcome to the jungle.”

“Are you hungry?” Arthur asked in the lobby of the hospital. It was past midnight. “There’s a diner down the street people seem to like.” He paused. “That is…if it’s not too late for you.”

The way you saw it, you’d stay up all night with Arthur if he’d have you.

“Let’s go to the diner. I could really go for a cheeseburger."

Arthur laughed. “Okay.”

The rain had stopped and the air outside felt crisp and freshly-washed. For a brief moment, it made you forget that the garbage strike in Gotham had just entered its seventh week.

You and Arthur moved through the crowded sidewalk together, stumbling through the endless obstacles of people and garbage. A startling headline caught your eye as you walked past a newsstand, and you stopped in your tracks to read it:

KILLER CLOWN ON THE LOOSE. LATEST NEWS ON THE MURDERS, PAGE TWO.

Beneath was a drawing of a vampiric clown.

“Can you believe that?” you asked.

Arthur paused alongside you, his eyes wide as he soaked in the headline.

“I watched this on the news last night."

Arthur nodded, pulling out and lighting a cigarette. “They worked at Wayne Enterprises. All three of them.”

You rolled your eyes. “That figures.”

Arthur cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

You continued, lowering your voice. “Between you and me, I actually knew one of them. Back when I was still at college. He was a complete asshole, and that’s putting it nicely.” You sighed. “And if I had to guess, those ‘friends’ of his were cut from the exact same cloth. But it looks like he finally picked the wrong person to fuck with. And I can’t say I’m shedding any tears.”

Arthur nodded slowly, taking in your words.

“I’m sorry,” you stopped yourself. “You must think I’m crazy for talking like this.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

“Three less pricks in Gotham City,” you quipped. “Only a million more to go!”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed. You took it as a good sign: despite the traumatic brain injury and the chaotic night you’d shared, his smile still made you go weak at the knees.

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