Gotham's Pizza Guy - Chapter 20 (Patreon)

The knock on the door was tentative. Another day, another delivery. His hand hovered over the peephole of 4B, the insulated bag heavy with the scent of extra cheese and garlic crust. ‘Just do the job,’ he told himself. ‘Drop the pizza, get the cash, leave.’

Even though this was one part of Gotham that meant it wouldn’t be that easy…

The door flew inward before his hand even dropped.

“YOU SON OF A—!”

A blur of motion. A toned, furious leg swung up in a vicious arc aimed directly at his groin. He saw the boot—black, studded, lethal—and the bare thigh above it, and the brief, horrifying flash of black satin shorts. Instinct made him flinch back, but he was too slow. The tip of the boot stopped, perfectly, an inch from the fabric of his delivery pants. The force of the halted kick vibrated through the air.

The pizza guy’s eyes widened. His heart hammered against his ribs. He looked down. The boot’s toe was pressed softly, dangerously softly, against his balls.

He blinked.

Slowly, his gaze traveled up the leg, past the shorts clinging to an ass that could stop traffic, past the midriff bare and pale, to the furious face now staring at him.

Harley Quinn. Shirtless. Well, not shirtless—she wore a tiny, black lace bralette that did nothing to contain the frantic jiggling of her breasts as she settled from the kick. Her pigtails were loose, strands of blond and pink and blue flying around her shoulders. Her eyes, wide and blue, went from rage to surprise to a sort of dawning horror.

“Oh,” Harley said, her voice dropping from a scream to a whisper. “Oh, shit. Pizza guy! Hey!” The boot retreated. Harley lowered her leg, standing there in her booty shorts and that lace bra, her chest still heaving. “I thought you were… someone else.” She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry. Really, really sorry. Yeah. Almost ended your future family right there! Hahaha!”

Ha. Ha.

The pizza guy just stood, mouth open, the near-miss of a nut-crushing kick replaying in his mind. The warmth of the pizza bag grounded him back to reality. “I-it’s fine.” His balls shrivelled up anyway. 

Harley’s expression softened into something genuinely apologetic. She stepped forward, not to attack, but to hug him. It was sudden, impulsive. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her bare torso pressing against his uniform. Her breasts flattened against his chest through the thin fabric. She squeezed him tight for a second, then let go, patting his arm.

“Really, I’m serious. You okay? Sorry. My head’s all… blah.” She took the pizza bag from his limp hands. “C’mon.”

He followed her inside, the familiar chaos of the apartment greeting him. Takeout containers, the mallet, the journals. And in the corner… the pole was empty. No random goon there. Just a few stray pieces of duct tape on the floor.

“Wallet shouuuld be in the kitchen.” Harley tossed the pizza box onto the table and padded toward the kitchenette. The lace bralette was a sheer, black web. From the back, the shorts cut high on her thighs, showing the full, round curve of her ass as she bent to rummage through a drawer.

The pizza guy stood awkwardly in the center of the room, trying not to stare. His eyes scanned the clutter, looking for anything safe to focus on. A stack of books. A discarded hyena toy. Then he saw it.

On a small, rickety shelf by the window, next to a pile of empty Red Bull cans, was a plant. A single, potted ivy plant. It was dead. The leaves were brittle, brown, curled into fossilized claws. The stem was gray and desiccated. It looked like it had been forgotten for a century.

He stared at it. Why? Dunno. 

Harley was still muttering in the kitchen. “Stupid wallet… always sliding under the fridge…”

He walked closer to the shelf. The pot was cheap ceramic, cracked. The soil was dust. He touched a leaf; it crumbled under his fingertip. ‘Beyond dead.’

“Uh,” the pizza guy called out, his voice hesitant. “Harley?”

“What’s up, sugar?” Harley emerged from the kitchenette, holding a battered leather wallet. Still shirtless. Still titty-jiggling.

He pointed at the plant. “This… plant. It’s, um. Really dead. Right?”

Harley’s eyes followed his finger. She blinked, her expression shifting from confusion to a faint, guilty recognition. “Oh. That.” She shrugged, a motion that made her breasts sway. “Yeah. I forgot about it. Totally.” She walked over, standing beside him to look at the shriveled thing. “It was a gift. From Ivy.”

‘Ivy.’

Poison Ivy. The name sent a chill down his spine, different from the chill Harley inspired. Ivy was an eco-terrist and seducer. He’d seen the news clips, the people cocooned in vines, the parks that turned into jungles overnight.

“A gift?” he asked.

“Yeah. Pammy gave it to me when I moved in here. Said it was a ‘test of care’ or some shit.” Harley snorted. “Like, I’m gonna remember to water a plant when I’m busy bashing balls?” She looked at the dead ivy, a flicker of something—regret?—in her eyes. “She’d be pissed if she saw it now.”

The pizza guy looked at the plant. He looked at the dust-dry soil. On the floor next to the shelf was a half-empty water bottle, one Harley had likely kicked aside. He picked it up. There was still a few ounces of clear water inside.

Without really thinking, driven by a stupid, humble urge to fix something in this insane place, he uncapped the bottle and tipped it over the pot. The water trickled out, soaking into the parched earth. It wasn’t much. Just a little.

Harley watched him, her head tilted. “What’re you doin’?”

“Just… giving it a drink.” The pizz guy finished, capped the empty bottle, and set it back down. The soil looked darker now, a tiny patch of dampness in the center.

“Huh.” Harley didn’t seem to care. She was already turning back to her wallet. “Anyway, payment!” She opened the wallet, then grinned. “Oops. No cash in here. But…” She turned to face him fully, arms propping up her breasts. 

He stared at her generous cleavage and the money sticking out from it.

Harley snickered. Two twenties and a fifty were nestled between her breasts. The money was warm. Her arms were intentionally angled to emphasize her DD boobs. “Tip’s in there. Take it. Be a good boy.”

He hesitated, his face heating up. This was… this was…

“Come on,” she purred, stepping closer. The money brushed against his chest. “Don’t be shy. You saw me in my panties. This is nothing.” Her voice dropped, teasing. “Take it. From me.”

His hand moved slowly. He took the money from her boobs. He was tempted to grope her. He didn’t want to die though. His breath shortened. “T-thank you…”

Harley giggled, a sound that was both manic and sweet. “Aw, your cock is twitching~!”

Panicking, he looked down. It surprisingly wasn’t.

“Hah! Made you look!” Their eyes met and she kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for the za. And for not running.” She gestured to the door. “See ya next time! Hopefully you’ll still have your nuts with you!”

He nodded, dumbly, clutching the cash. He turned and left, her laughter floating behind him as he shut the door.

Another day, another order, another round of torture for his balls. Man. 

In his car, he sat for a minute. The rain had started again, a light drizzle on the windshield. He started the engine, the world outside blurring into neon and shadow. As he pulled away from the curb, he didn’t notice the redhead standing under the awning of the building next door.

The redhead held a black umbrella. Her hair was one thing, her complexion was another, standing out as green and distinct in the gloom. She wore a long, emerald-green coat that seemed to blend with the shadows. 

Inside apartment 4B, Harley was dancing around the room with a pizza slice in one hand, singing a nonsense song to herself. The door opened without a knock.

Harley froze, mid-bite. “Pammy!”

Poison Ivy stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She folded her umbrella, her movements precise and calm. Her green coat was open, revealing a body-hugging dress of dark leaves and vines patterned into the fabric. Her skin had the faint, alluring green tinge of someone who lived with plants, not just near them. Her red hair was full and wild, framing a face that was both strikingly beautiful and coldly intelligent.

“Harleen,” Ivy said. “Pizza again?”

“Pizza again!” Harley announced, waving the slice. “You wanna share?”

“Please. Shouldn’t you be on a diet?”

“Honestly, yes, but lately, all my calories have been doing into my ass.”

“Great.” Ivy’s eyes swept the room, ignoring the clutter. They landed on the shelf by the window. On the plant. Her gaze sharpened, hardened. She walked over. Harley watched, her chewing slowing.

Ivy stood before the dead ivy. Her expression was stone. There was a flicker of confusion. She leaned closer. “This… was my gift.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harley said, shuffling over. “I forgot about it. Sorry, Red. It’s totally dead.”

Ivy didn’t answer. She reached out, her fingers—long, elegant, with a slight green hue—touched one of the brittle, brown leaves. She held it for a moment. Then, something happened.

The leaf, under her touch, twitched.

First was a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor. The brown color seemed to deepen, then an impossible hint of green crept into the veins. The stem, gray and dead, darkened to a rich brown.

Harley’s eyes widened. “Oh. Nice.”

Ivy stared, her own surprise evident. This was her power…with something else. Someone else. Her power was command, control, and accelerated growth. This was that and more: reversal. A return of life from absolute death. She had seen this when working with Swamp Thing. Plants the two nurtured thrived, even after death. 

She turned to Harley, her green eyes piercing. “How did you do this? Wait, no, stupid question, did Swamp Thing swing by?”

Harley shrugged, genuinely baffled. “Swamp Thing? As if!”

“Then what? You did this?”

“Me? Nah. Honestly? I completely forgot about that thing. I haven’t touched it since you gave it to me.”

Ivy’s gaze went back to the plant. She knelt, her face close to the pot. She placed her palms on the soil, closing her eyes. A connection flowed between her and the earth in the pot. She listened.

The plant, in its tiny, reawakening consciousness, communicated. Not in words, but in sensations. Water. A recent, gentle touch. A human hand, not Harley’s. A stranger’s hand.

Ivy opened her eyes, standing up slowly. “No,” she said, her voice quiet but certain. “Someone was here. Someone gave him water.”

Harley frowned, thinking. She tapped her forehead with a greasy finger. “The only guy that came recently is… the pizza guy.” She said it like a revelation, simple and obvious.

Ivy’s head turned. Her eyes locked onto Harley. “Pizza guy?”

“Yeah! The delivery guy. He was here last week, and tonight. Nice guy. Almost kicked his balls off earlier.” Harley giggled. “He’s cute. Blushes when I put cash between my boobs.”

Ivy processed this. A pizza delivery guy. An ordinary human. Watering a plant she had given Harley, a plant that had been dead for days. And something had happened, akin to the Avatar of Green. Was this another Avatar or…?

“Oh, hey, here’s the water.” Harley picked up the water bottle and squinted. “Oh yeah. I remember getting this from Madame Xandu’s place.”

Or maybe not. Magic was beyond her understanding and senses. If the water had magic, then yeah, okay, there was an explanation there. Ivy huffed. “You stole it from her?”

“Yep! She wasn’t there so I had to take something.”

“Hrm.” Ivy smiled, if only it because it was typical Harley. She glanced at the plant though. The pizza guy still lingered in her mind. The fact that he went out of his way to water a dead plant…

“Guess Gotham might still have some hope,” she murmured. 

***

The next day, the order came in again. ‘4B. Extra large, pepperoni, double cheese.’ 

Ugggh. Harley Quinn. The pizza guy sighed, but a part of him—a part he didn’t want to examine—felt a quickening in his pulse. 

‘Maybe she’ll be wearing the lace again. Or maybe she’ll tie me to that pole and bust my balls.’

Harley wasn’t predictable like the other ladies. The opposite, she could and would do anything to him. And ignoring her orders…

“Yeah, no. Let’s hurry it up and not get on her bad.”

He parked, grabbed the bag, took the stairs. This time, at the door, he remembered the kick. He knocked, then immediately took two steps back, putting a safe buffer between his groin and any sudden violence.

The door opened.

It wasn’t Harley.

The pizza guy’s brain stalled.

Poison Ivy stood in the doorway. She was dressed differently today—a gown, or perhaps a robe, transparent and red. It was open at the front, held together by a single, twisted vine that acted as a belt, and did nothing to hide her boobs. Side-boobs and half of her nipples were exposed like an open book. The red gown shimmered with a faint, dewy moisture. Her red hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders in lush, fiery waves. Her eyes, a penetrating green, looked at him with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.

This eco-terrorist was breathtaking. And terrifying.

Why did the hot chicks have to be dangerous?

“Hello,” Ivy greeted in that same soft, hypnotic murmur he heard on the news. “You’re the delivery… man.”

He nodded, swallowing. “Pizza. For Harleen Quinzel.”

“Yes.” Ivy’s lips, painted a deep, botanical red, curved into a smile. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was a predatory smile. “Harleen is… occupied. Come in.”

Ivy stepped back, allowing him space to enter. He strolled in, cautious, the pizza bag feeling like a shield. Walking past her, he pretended not to see her licking her lips or her nipples. Yeah. He had to ignore all that and look ahead. She hated men or something, right? Or was that Gotham propaganda?

‘Best not to make assumptions. Just…relax.’

The apartment was different. Cleaner? No, not cleaner, but ordered. The clutter had been pushed to the edges. The air smelled different too, like a forest after rain.

Ivy closed the door behind him. She walked around him, her moss gown brushing against the floor with a whisper. “Place the pizza on the table,” she instructed casually, her eyes having never left him.

He did, setting the bag down, pulling out the box.

“Good.” Ivy stood near the window, where the ivy plant now sat. The pizza guy smiled seeing it. It was fully alive and no longer dead. Several leaves had regained a dusty green hue, the stem was plump and brown. It was a miracle in slow motion.

Ivy turned to face him. “Harleen tells me you watered this plant.”

He felt a knot in his stomach. “Yeah. Just a little. It looked… dry.”

Ivy approached him. Her walk was faaar different than Harley’s walk. Most women didn’t walk like Ivy did. There was this languid, swaying grace, like a vine growing toward sunlight. She stopped a foot away, close enough that he could smell her—a scent of night-blooming flowers, rich soil, and something exotic, intoxicating. 

“Just a little,” Ivy repeated, her eyes scanning his face, his hands, his ordinary delivery uniform. “And it responded.”

He didn’t know what to say. “I-I guess so.”

“You are an ordinary man,” Ivy stated, not as a question. “You deliver food. You live in this city of concrete and poison.” She reached out, her hand not touching him, but hovering near his cheek. “You have no connection to the green. No affinity.”

He stayed silent, his heart pounding.

“Yet,” Ivy continued, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone, “you gave a drop of life to something I had given up on.” Her green eyes gleamed. She leaned in closer. Her scent enveloped him. 

“Thank you.”

She took his hands into his. This was a sincere thank-you. 

“Sometimes, I believe my threats fall on deaf ears. I am glad that isn’t the case.”

“I, uh, just like plants.”

“Mm. My plants seem to say the same of you.”

“T-they do?”

Her gaze trailed down his body, slow and deliberate. “You have a kind face. Strong hands.” She noted his fingers, calloused from work. “And…you’ve never stepped on a plant in your life.”

He hadn’t? 

‘Huh, maybe I haven’t?’ 

Ivy took a final step, now standing so close that the hem of her moss gown brushed against his legs. “Tell me, pizza guy… do you feel a connection to the world? To the living things that breathe beneath this city’s filth?”

“Um…”

“I see.” Ivy’s hand finally touched him. Not his cheek, but his shoulder. Her fingers were cool, smooth, with a texture like polished bark. The contact sent a shiver through him. “Such a simple life. So… untainted.” Her voice became a whisper, laden with a hunger that wasn’t sexual, but was deeply sensual. “I find that… very attractive.”

His mind raced. ‘She’s flirting. Poison Ivy is flirting with me.’ The thought was absurd, terrifying, and… thrilling.

“Harleen is impulsive,” Ivy murmured, her fingers tracing a line down his arm. “She takes what she wants, with laughter and violence. I am… different. I appreciate patience. I appreciate potential.” Her eyes locked onto his. “You have potential. I can feel it. In the way the plant accepted your water. In the way you stand here, in my presence, without running.”

He couldn’t run. Her presence was a trap, beautiful and calm. “I… I should get paid. For the pizza.”

Ivy’s laugh was low, a sound like rustling leaves. “Payment.” She turned, walking to the table where Harley’s jar of cash still sat. She opened it, pulled out a stack of bills. Then she turned back, holding the money, but not offering it. “So, capitalism still holds you back?”

She walked back to him, stopping inches away. “That’s fine, I suppose, for now.”

“R-right. Thank you.” He reached for the money. Ivy didn’t hand it to him. Instead, she let his fingers brush against hers as he took the bills. The contact lingered.

“Good boy.”

He stood there, clutching the cash, the heat of her proximity still clinging to him. He nodded, dumbly, and turned toward the door.

Ivy watched him, her green eyes glowing with an inner light. “The rain is good for the green,” she said softly as he opened the door. “Drive safely.”

He stepped out, into the hallway, and shut the door behind him.

Inside, Ivy stood alone in the ordered chaos. She looked at the revived plant, then at the door where the pizza guy had just left. Her fingers touched her own lips, a thoughtful, hungry gesture.

***

Phew. 

Fucking phew.

‘First Harley, now Ivy…can’t believe I just survived the busty duo.’

Because yeah, Ivy had some nice tits. Sorry not sorry. 

Ziiiiip! 

At the same time, she was terrifying and his bladder felt like it was about to explode. The gas station bathroom was a cheap temple of grime and fluorescent despair. The pizza guy stood at a urinal. He unzipped, let it out, a long sigh accompanying the flow.

‘Just another night in Gotham. Come on, you can’t get scared anymore.’ 

He repeated that but…come on. He wasn’t Superman or Batman. He couldn’t, like, punch brick walls or something. Or survive a kick to the balls by Harley. That one was really getting to him…

As he pissed, the restroom creaked open. A man walked in, footsteps quiet on the sticky tile. He was lean, dressed in a rumpled trench coat that looked like it had survived a war. The blonde was sharp, weary, with eyes that held a thousand hungover mornings headed right to the urinal beside him.

Ziiiiip! 

Okay. Breaking the bro-code. Not cool. Pizza guy tried to pretend he didn’t care.

“Nice streams,” the man said in a gravelly British drawl. 

The pizza guy really had to stop himself from glancing over. ‘Nice streams? Umm, who says that?’ 

“T-thanks…”

“John Constantine,” the man offered, as if that explained everything. “Not a fan of public toilets, but fate’s a funny bitch. Leads you where you need to be.”

The pizza guy nodded, not knowing what to say. He was almost finished pissing too…

Ugh. The pizza guy hated that he heard the other guy start pissing too. 

John Constantine’s eyes weren’t on his face. They were lower. The pizza guy felt a sudden, awkward awareness. He was well-endowed. It wasn’t something he thought about much, but in the cold light of a gas station bathroom, it was… obvious. Nine inches flaccid, thick, and hanging heavy between his legs. His testicles were full. It was just how he was built.

John Constantine’s gaze lingered there for a moment, then flicked up to his face. A smirk, bitter and knowing, touched the man’s lips. “Jesus, a fucking snake? Fuck. You must get all the ladies?”

“Um…thanks,” was all he could say again.

“Makes a bloke jealous. Average, me. Five and a half, hard. You’re packing a proper fucking cannon there, mate.”

The pizza guy’s face flushed. Come on, come on, just end this! “I… uh.”

“Don’t worry. Not gonna rob you for it.” One hand pissing, the other went into his pocket. Constantine lit a cigarette, the smoke curling in the dank air. “Just making an observation. Leads to another one.” He took a drag. “Zatanna.”

The name hit the pizza guy like a punch to the gut. Zatanna. The big-titty magician. The woman with the backwards spells and the legs that could wrap around a man’s world. He’d… they’d… 

To put it bounty, he had her screaming his name as he fucked her senseless. A one-night thing in another dimension. A magical, impossible thing. No one should know.

“She’s an ex,” Constantine said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Great girl. Trouble in tights. You fucked her, didn’t you?”

The pizza guy froze. His throat went dry. “I… I don’t…”

“I’m not judging, brother. She’s fucking bad.” Constantine exhaled smoke. “And her mana on you is thick. Like, you’ve got her residue. A little spark of her magic clinging to your aura. Like glitter after a party. Rarely happens unless you’ve fucked for hours and hours. Hair, sperm, saliva, that stuff has mana in it, you know?”

‘I didn’t know.’ 

“But, more importantly, she did something with you. Something of a dimensional scale, I take it?”

The pizza guy’s mind reeled. ‘How does he know that…?’ He was done pissing but it didn’t matter. Was he really referring to the time-altered dimension Zatanna made? Or…the possible universe shift? The fact his bosses had changed or the apartment stuff…

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered, the lamest reply in the universe. 

Constantine side-eyed him. As the pizza guy slapped the last bits of his urine and zipped up, John Constantine copied him. He even followed him to the sink where they washed their heads, separately but, well…

“So, you don’t know shite?”

“Y-yeah.”

John looked him up and down and snorted. “Yeah. Seems that way.”

“Um…”

“Met this other guy with a huge hog once. He looked like he was hiding secret behind secret. You…” John still had that cigarette and the corner of his lip had to curve to blow out smoke. “Yeah, you ain’t got that aura.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Thank you? No thank you? Sorry, I'll try to have more aura?

“So, uh, is there advice you have for me or…?”

“I think, ya see, our world’s changed. Somewhen, somewhere. It changed. Branched off because of something. I don’t sense anything from you, aside from the Zatanna sex thing. It’s the only reason I found you.” John cocked his head. “Come on, mate. Can you think of a time when things changed? Shifted? Before Zatanna, I mean?"

The pizza guy could think of a time when things shifted. It was getting a bit scary.

“D-do you mind if I ask where this is coming from?”

“I got something called the Synchronicity Wave Traveling—or the Situational Synchronicity. Puts me in the right place at the right time and nudges me toward certain questions and answers. I think, just by intuition, that you felt a shift that none of us did. Either that, or I’m bugging out.”

A moment when things changed…

Before Zatanna...

‘It was after meeting that nude Asian woman. Um, what was her name?’ He couldn’t remember, only that she was the first pussy he had seen. ‘After meeting her, everything got…weird.’ 

John continued, “Me and Madame Xanadu and some of the top magic folk felt a shift with you and Zatanna. Like the whole timeline wobbled and there were minor changes, you catch me? We couldn’t tell what changes, only that there were changes. And more importantly, from the residue we’ve seen, that shift was built up. It was a bubble that popped, you feel me? And that bubble was already causing changes. Nobody noticed since a bubble's a bubble. Invisible to the eye, ya know?"

So…what? All that perverted stuff was building up—and then when he encountered Zatanna, the perverted bubble popped? And caused a shift in the world? Caused it to branch off?

“Well, maybe it’s more accurate to call it a balloon. Balloons leave behind residue. No, wait, bubbles do too, don’t they?” John went quiet, thinking about it some more.

“Um…shouldn’t you talk to Zatanna about this?”

His remark hit a chord. “...yeah, if I’m being honest, you were just a long shot. This is probably just Zatanna’s mess. She's powerful, you know? Much more powerful than she knows."

"Y-yeah."

"Just awkward 'cuz I'll have to mention how you fucked her brains out. And that her orgasms caused shifts in the multiverse."

"..."

"Whiiiich I never managed to do to her."

"....."

"Fuck my life." John sighed, turned and walked out, leaving the pizza guy alone with the smell of smoke and shame.

Because maybe…maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was his mess. After that meeting, after seeing that woman, his fate changed, a bubble was formed, and then it popped.

‘But it’s not like I knew. How could I have known?’ He finished drying his hands and looked at his broken reflection.

The pizza guy smiled.

‘Hey, it’s not like it’s all bad. I’ve met great people like Kara and Mera. Karen and Selina too! I don’t know what this multiversal stuff will mean but…all I can do is continue doing my best!’’ 

All he could do was continue being the pizza delivery guy!