#touched briefly on my fear of mental deterioration. I tried and probably failed once again to express how little I'm worried abt my body

[lemememeringue]

struggling to process today's session. I am not having a good brain day and it's deeply frustrating to Speak Wrong

[joaquinfeed]

I Think I Want to Marry You (Arthur Fleck x Reader)

Prompt: You and Arthur are getting married. Angsty-ish with a happy ending.  For @rise-like-the-phoenix. Sorry there’s not many wedding feels. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but this is not my best work. It felt forced in areas, and I apologize. 

A/N: The reader is a female because I mention “wife” twice or so, but can be gender neutral otherwise.  Warnings: Thoughts on forced relationships, descriptions and mentions of Arthur’s thoughts as well as coping mechanisms.  __

Clothes? Check. Vows? Check. Ring? Check.

You went over the list a few more times because surely you forgot something. Today was such an important day, one you thought may never come—your wedding.

Before you met Arthur, you weren’t sure what to think about the man. You had heard rumors floating around his apartment complex, and through the city of Gotham, but when you had asked a few people, many denied they even knew him.

It took a while for you both to develop a friendship, and even longer for it to move to the next level. The more you learned about Arthur, the less you wanted to overwhelm him with your feelings. Little did you know, he was already falling too.

There were times in the relationship where you questioned if you were right for one another. Although you loved him deeply, so profoundly it threatened to swallow you at times, you occasionally worried that your love was not enough to overcome the affliction of society.

This was the one time when you were grateful to be wrong.

As soon as Arthur proposed, and by ‘proposed,’ you mean he accidentally said, 'if you were my wife’ in a conversation. You both had a long and grueling talk that consisted of rambling, nervous laughter, and repetitions of 'you don’t ever have to be my wife.’ An hour of reassurance, a declaration of love, and a cuddling session later, you were engaged to Arthur Fleck.

You both agreed that it was best to 'get it over with’ per-say—not that you would ever actually mean that. With money being tight, and Arthur’s mother needing treatment for her deteriorating health, it just wasn’t practical for you to go all out for a wedding party. When Arthur timidly suggested a courthouse 'elopement’ so-to-speak, you were all on board as long as you got to spend the rest of your life with him.

After checking the list of items—clothes, vows, ring—once again for good measure, you make your way to the courthouse. You and Arthur agreed to meet there instead of arriving together because you wanted to follow the traditional rule of not seeing each other before the wedding.

The skies of Gotham are sunny, and the residents are unusually adherent to your body pushing through them on the sidewalk. You definitely miss the annoyed glances and scowls as you nearly run to the courthouse, excited to see the man who’s about to be your husband.

When you get to city hall, you meet with a judge who brings you into the courtroom. It looks no different than a room in which you’d be convicted for a crime, but it was perfect for you and Arthur to make your partnership official.

“Y/N, I have the marriage licenses here,” the judge tells you. “When your fiancé gets here, we will start the ceremony. If both of you have prepared vows, you may read them after I’m done speaking. Then, we’ll present the rings, and you’ll be hitched in no time.”

Your heart beats wildly in your chest at that notion. Married. You and Arthur were going to get married. You still couldn’t believe it. You glance at the clock above the entranceway and frown.

“Arthur should have been here by now,” you say more to yourself than anyone else.

“I’m sure he will be,” the judge replies, startling you out of your thoughts. “It’s normal for people to run late on their wedding days; most people are just trying to work up the courage. It can be a lot of pressure.”

You shake your head absentmindedly. “He wouldn’t be late to something like this for no reason. That’s not- he’s not like that.”

The room falls silent as you chew on your bottom lip, worriedly. There’s no need to panic over nothing, you tell yourself. He will be here.

You’re not sure how much time passes—an hour, maybe two— before you feel a small touch on your skin. You jump slightly at the brush, turning to see the older judge place—what you assume is supposed to be a comforting hand—on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you look back up at the clock, the hands moving slowly as if to taunt you with Arthur’s absence.

“No,” you mutter, trying to fight the urge to cry that’s building up behind your eyelids. “He’s not here.”

“He could still come,” the judge tries to reassure you, but his words fall flat. You know Arthur. You have spent the last year of your life trying to learn every detail about the man you’re so desperately in love with. His life fascinates you; he fascinates you. Getting to know him was like reading a really good, but challenging book. You never quite catch every detail, so you just want to keep reading and reading until you understand it better.

Arthur never misses a chance to tell you that he loves you, so it always felt quite apparent to you that he felt the same way. But did he?

You think back over your year together, trying to pinpoint a moment when you may have upset him—any reason to explain his absence—but you can’t find one.

“He’s not going to come,” you finally let the tears fall down your cheeks. You hope that you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. You’re not sure why he’s not here, but it had to be real—final. Arthur would never leave you waiting for no reason. He either had trouble getting here, or he realized proposing to you was a mistake.

That’s when it hit you. Arthur hadn’t actually proposed to you, not really. He slipped up; he made a mistake. You had been the one to initiate the conversation afterward. Did you trick him into marrying you? You couldn’t remember him ever once telling you that he wanted to get married; you only assumed after he called you his wife.

Panic and guilt arose in you at the idea of pushing Arthur into this. Your brain started to run a mile a minute as you tried to recall the events leading up to this moment. Did Arthur even want to be with you in the first place? Surely, he would have said something if he didn’t. At the same time, you knew he was often shy and reserved about certain emotions, especially in the beginning. It’s possible he didn’t want to upset you with rejection. Or because he lacked experience in dating, maybe he believed you were the best choice for him, even if it wasn’t true.

“Here,” the judge says, holding out a tissue. Your eyebrows scrunch up before he nods towards your wet cheeks. You take the tissue, drying the tears that you failed to realize were still spilling down your face.

“I guess I’ll go,” you chuckle humorlessly. You turn away quickly, not wanting to see the pity in the judges’ eyes. He still proceeds to follow you out, trying to console you with empty promises, and 'it’s his loss’ bullshit.

You push open the door of city hall, only to be met with hard raindrops hitting you like a punch in the face. You watch as Gotham’s people rush to cover, and umbrellas are flung open as the puddles grow increasingly heavy.

“Fucking great,” you scoff, not bothering to run for cover yourself. Instead, you put one foot in front of the other, only hoping to make it home before the lighting removes you from this godforsaken day. “Sunny earlier, and raining now. How ironic.”

This time, you let people hit into you as they push their way through the city streets. When you arrive at the apartment, you can’t tell if the lines running down your face are drops of rain or your own reminder of this evening.

You slowly trudge up the stairs, avoiding the elevator to make time. You’re not sure what you expect to find at the home you share with Arthur. You halfway anticipate a note explaining his whereabouts and why he has decided to leave you. On the other hand, you briefly consider the idea that he may still be there. 'I got caught up at work,’ he’ll say, apologizing profusely. You’ll cry tears of joy, and he’ll kiss you so passionately your heart will threaten to burst.

But as your hand wraps around the doorknob, and you walk into the apartment, you’re not met with either of those options. Your eyes float around the room, landing on Arthur’s items that are carelessly tossed on the floor. Remnants of his Carnival makeup lay splattered on the table, along with a sweater, his medication, and an old cigarette butt.

You make your way across the room and drop yourself onto the couch with a sigh. “Arthur, what is going on?”

A world without the man you love is a world you can’t conceive of. If he has left—vanished without so much as a word—you genuinely don’t believe your heart could mend from such a devastating blow. The emptiness settling in your stomach already was enough to drag you down; you couldn’t imagine having to carry out the rest of your life like this.

Your head shoots up when you hear a small knocking sound coming from the kitchen. You almost stay put, fearing it’s a figment of your imagination due to overstimulated emotions. When the knocking gets louder, you pull yourself off the couch and walk towards the disturbance.

“Arthur?”

You swing around the corner, only to find the kitchen empty. Probably the stupid rats, you think to yourself. As soon as you turn to exit the room, a small whimper comes from behind you, one loud enough to echo through the quiet room.

You follow the noise, dreading the worst once you find the source of it—the refrigerator. You can recall the many times you’ve found your fiancé (ex-fiancé?) in the colder appliance. When you both decided the relationship between you was serious, he had confessed to you the strain his mental illnesses put him under, and you, in turn, had been willing to listen to every word.

You tug open the refrigerator door, hoping to find the rats you were previously expecting. But just as the day has shown you, you don’t always get what you predict. Arthur sat inside, knees bunched up to his body, and still wearing his wedding suit.

“Arthur, sweetheart. Can you hear me?”

You didn’t know how long he had been in there, and that made worry bubble up in your chest. Arthur didn’t move from his position or acknowledge your presence; he just continued to knock his head slightly against the refrigerator back.

The knocking sound was amplified in the otherwise noiseless room. You could hear the faint tick of the clock on the wall, but it did nothing to soothe your increasing heart rate.

“Arthur,” you repeated. “Can I touch you?”

Another minute goes by with no response, but you keep your eyes trained on the man you love, hoping to see any sign that means he’s come back to the material world. The tension in his shoulders was obvious, and his nose twitched slightly with every shift in his body.

You raked your eyes over his suit jacket and down to his dress pants. The thoughts from earlier forced themselves back into your head as you took in his tormented state. If he was in his wedding attire, chances are he was planning on meeting you there like planned. Was it possible he was experiencing this episode because he felt obligated to 'tie the knot’ today?

The rattling of the fridge fell on deaf ears as you thought about the likelihood of that being the case. You reached out with a trembling hand and placed it on Arthur’s arm, careful not to startle the man. At the small touch, he finally seems to notice you beside him. He blinks his eyes slowly as if he’s awakening from a dream. Probably a nightmare, you think to yourself.

His eyes focus on your hand, and his next words are uttered so softly, you had to lean in to hear them.

“I’m sorry.”

You’re not sure what he is apologizing for—missing the wedding, his current state, or both. Either way, you can’t find it in you to be upset. You only want to know why this is all happening.

“Why?”

He doesn’t ask what you’re referring to, and you don’t have to tell him. He finally meets your eyes, and the wholly destroyed look in his irises nearly forces a sob to escape your lips.

“I couldn’t do it to you,” he says, not moving from his spot.

“You mean, marry me?”

He shakes his head. “No, I- I mean, I couldn’t keep you here.”

“What are you talking about, baby?”

“Gotham. You- you said you wanted to move last week, but we were getting married.”

You exhale, moving your other hand into the small fridge to place on his knee.

“Sure, I want to move. But Arthur, I want to move with you. If we never have enough money, then so be it. We’ll stay here. I want to get out of Gotham, but I want to take my husband with me.”

“But if we never leave, you’ll be held back because of me. You want a home somewhere else.”

“No, I want a house somewhere else,” you say before moving your finger to his heart and pointing. “My home’s right here.”

A few chuckles escape his mouth, and you tense up, prepared to comfort him if he’s pushed into an attack. Instead, he falls quiet, presumably thinking over your words.

“What about Ma’? She can’t move, and- and we have to stay with her. People who are married don’t live with their parents.”

“Arthur,” you start, but he continues on.

“If you only stay here because of me, you will end up regretting it later.”

“Arthur,” you say again.

“If you regret marrying me later, then—”

His words halt when he sees you stand up and walk out of the room. He nearly jumps up in a rush to stop you, but his body won’t let him move from his position in the fridge. Within seconds, you are back in front of him with a crumbled piece of paper in your hands. You don’t wait for Arthur to ask you what it is. Instead, you just start reading.

“I wish I could explain to you the depth of my feelings. I wish even more that you would believe me if I could. It would be easy to tell you that I get butterflies in my stomach, or my heart nearly bursts from my chest, but it’s not so easy to explain all the other ways I feel you. Ever since I met you, it’s like your soul has been intertwined with mine. I fear that I can never express to you the love I feel for you because words aren’t enough. For so long, you’ve been my biggest supporter. You’re not afraid to tell me when I’m mistreating myself, and you’re even more willing to acknowledge my strengths.”

You take a shaky breath in before continuing. “It feels like you celebrate me every day, and today I want to celebrate you. You’re so kind, so funny, and so beautiful Artie. I love you, and I love Penny. I am honored to spend the rest of my life with a man who’s willing to care for his mother. You are my home, and you will always be the person my soul seeks out. I vow to choose you every single day because I can’t imagine choosing anybody else.”

By the time you’re finished, your cheeks are stained with tears, and Arthur is no better. His lips are pursed together tightly, and you can see the emotions playing out in his eyes. 

"Was- was that your vows?”

“It was,” you say. “I know we’re not at the courthouse, but I figured you could use to hear them.”

He nodded. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you. I was just speaking the truth, though.”

“I meant you.”

You ducked your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh.”

You glance back up when you feel him nudging you to stand. You follow his lead, and he moves to exit his spot in the refrigerator.

“I’m sorry I left you there today,” he says while pulling you into a hug. You bury your head into his cold chest, breathing in the cologne he must have applied just after putting on the suit.

“It’s okay. I was just worried,” you mumble. “I thought maybe I forced you into this too quickly. Then, of course, I wondered if you ever actually wanted to date me at all—which I know is silly.”

“You wondered if I wanted to date you? Do you need to hear my vows too?“

You chuckle. "Let me just hear them at the city hall, Art.”

You stand there in his arms, allowing the feeling of his body pushed against yours to comfort you. Seconds later, you pull away, cursing yourself over what you just said to him.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep assuming you want to get married. There I go again.”

“Stop saying that,” he says, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. “You have never made me do anything that I didn’t want to do.”

“So, you still want to get married?”

“I do,” he emphasizes, letting out a small snicker at his own joke.

You shake your head, smiling. “Let’s get down to the courthouse then. We should still have the time slot reserved.”

You link your left hand with his and keep your vows tucked away in your other one. “Arthur?”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? After,” you nod towards the refrigerator. “Seeing you like that is always—”

“I’m okay. I was in my head, but I got back home,” he offers you a smile, and you return it immediately. It seems you’re Arthur’s home, just as much as he is yours.

On your way to the courtroom, you run through the streets, trying to dodge the ongoing rain like they’re bullets coming from the sky. Of course, neither of you succeed in doing so, and by the time you sprint into city hall, your dress clothes are soaked from head to toe.

The same judge from before shuffles you into the same mundane room, but this time it’s full of new beginnings. As you both stand up in from of the older man, and he reads the typical wedding discourse, you can’t help but be struck with the realization that loving Arthur is nothing like being in this dull, ordinary setting. This morning, when the skies of Gotham were sunny and bright, it wasn’t the city at all that made it the case. It was Arthur. 

The courtroom you were in surely wasn’t magical. But as you gazed into Arthur’s emerald eyes, his dripping hair stuck around his face, and his suit making puddles on the floor, you thought the world around you has never felt so perfect.

“Arthur, do you have vows prepared?”

He nods and pulls out a wrinkly sheet of paper from his jacket pocket—one that most likely was ripped from his journal.

“Y/N, I am not always good with words, but I will do my best for you. I promise to try and be the best husband I can be. I- I want to make you as happy as you make me. I will always save up extra money, so I can buy you flowers because you deserve them. You’re so strong, and you work really hard. I’m sorry my vows aren’t as good as yours, but I want to say one thing. All my life, I was nervous about doing my stand-up routine in front of people; I know how awful they can be. But you have never laughed at me, only with me. You’re the one I want to tell jokes to forever. Thank you for loving me.”

You suddenly feel his hand on your cheek, wiping away the tears you didn’t even know were falling. You fight the urge to pull him into a kiss right then and there because you know that is coming shortly.

“Your vows were perfect,” you speak softly, hoping he believes you. “You’re perfect.”

He blushes, and your heart swells at the notion of him still getting flustered by you. Before Arthur can reply, the judge is speaking out again.

“Y/N, do you have vows prepared?”

“I already read them,” you chuckle, but Arthur asks you to say them once more. You don’t want to deprive your soon-to-be husband of a single wish, so you comply and read them again.

As you fly through the words scribbled on the sheet of paper, Arthur’s smile is enough to make it seem like he’s hearing them for the first time. When you utter the last words about ‘choosing him always,’ he brings your hands to his lips, placing a kiss on each one.

“Rings will now be exchanged.”

You both pull out the individual rings, ready to gift them to the other. Neither band was spectacular, considering you both had bigger things to worry about than spending money on jewelry. However, you know Arthur spent a lot of time picking out a ring he felt you deserved, and you did the same for him.

“Arthur, if you wish to take Y/N to be your life partner in sickness and in health, you may present the ring and say 'I do,’” the judge says.

Arthur delicately slides the ring onto your finger, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His lips curve upwards into a brighter smile as he holds your eyes. “I do.”

“Y/N, if you wish to take Arthur to be your life partner in sickness and in health, you may present the ring and say 'I do.’”

You mirror Arthur’s actions, sliding the ring you picked out onto his finger. “I do.”

Arthur stares at the ring in awe, almost like he doesn’t believe this is happening. Which, very well could be true. So you reach out and cup his face before pulling him into a kiss.

“I didn’t say you could kiss yet,” the judge says, chuckling. “Okay, okay. I now pronounce you—”

He doesn’t get to finish before your pulling away from Arthur, laughing.

“So, hubby, want to go make this marriage official?”

You wink at Arthur, and his cheeks heat up again as he nods rapidly. “I would very much like that.”

You pull him by the hand down the aisle towards the entrance, ignoring the judge’s calls through his laughter.

“I’ll just mail you the marriage certificate,” the judge shouts as you push through the city hall doors.

“Do you think we can get your mom out of the apartment for a while?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could get out of the apartment for a while,” he says, holding up his last paycheck from HaHa’s. “To Gotham’s finest motel, we go.”

Your eyes widen, and you latch onto him as you both stumble down the wet sidewalk. “Motel? Am I going to get breakfast in bed too?”

Arthur glances at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Is it too late to get a refund on the marriage?”

“Oh, ha-ha. You’re such a comedian,” you gently hit him on the shoulder. “Now, you owe me.”

“I’m sure I can make it up to you.”

“I’m sure you can.”