Arthur Fleck Archive, 2019

"Thank you."

Request: Could I please get a piece where Reader moans "thank you" over and over while Arthur pleases them? (I wasn't sure if the person who requested this wanted to be tagged in the literal post, let me know if you do, lol.)

Warnings: smut, angst

Arthur had had a bad day.

Granted, every day was a bad day for him. At best, he would have a rough day. You had rushed home after he had called you with that quiet, sad voice, a sign that always signaled that he was in a foggy, distant mood. The ones he got in where his voice was distant and jumbled, echoing the chaos going on in his own brain.

"What happened, love?" you had mummered through the phone, knowing that you more than likely would not get a straight answer.

"Nothing," he had lied, trying his best and failing to mask the pain behind his voice. "Just want you." A short pause, his voice quieter and rasper than before. "Please just come home soon, ok?"

And so you did. You cleaned up as soon as you could at your work, then started to make your way home through the train, anxiety eating at you all the while.

Loving the enigma that was Arthur Fleck had never been an easy task.

You weren't sure what it was, but you felt a certain sickness every time you looked at him. It crashed over you like a wave, a feeling of strong bittersweet nausea overcoming you when you stared at him, often in his apartment. You would muse over the man you loved more than life as he sat in front of you on the couch, often dangling a cigarette between his fingers, his skinny spine leaned over, naked torso always shaking visibly, left leg bouncing, his blue pants the only sign of clothing on his body. His brown hair was swept back, and every time a curl fell in front of his face he swiftly pulled a gnarled hand to put it back in its place behind his face. Everything that came out of Arthur was art, down to his hair. He was so damn beautiful that it made you choke. The nausea that you felt looking at him was one born of bittersweet passion. It was the best kind of sickness; you had grown to feel so much love for this man over the course of your time together, that it had developed into a point where you physically could not contain it anymore.

The fact that he was such an ill, tormented soul just made that love that you bore for him that much more harder to bear.

True love bore pain. If there was anything you had learned from deeply loving Arthur Fleck, it had been that much.

"I got you your medication today," you said as you walked through the apartment coming in. He raised his head from staring at the wall, then looked up at you, and the shyest of small, soft smiles graced the inner corner of his right lip as he processed that you were here.

"Thought you really weren't coming back this time," he mumbled between the cigarette caught in his lips.

You let out a gentle sigh. He never thought you would come home to him.

Smoke bellowed out of his mouth with ghostly wisps. He lunged out one skinny arm and took the medication from you. He opened it and looked into it carefully, then looked back up at you. His eyes softened. "Thank you."

You leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head. "I love taking care of you. You don't have to thank me."

Arthur said nothing, just leaned his face into your chest as you leaned forward to kiss him. He began to whisper something into your chest, mumbling softly.

"What's that, my love?" you mummered as you strained to make out what he was saying.

He let out a small scoff. "Just...the Murray show is on tonight, thats all." he said softly, his voice vibrating against your skin. "You'll watch it with me tonight, right?"