#gotham seems so close and so sweet and so cool and so dorky in a lovable way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marveldc-imagines-hub · 5 years

Text

That’s Not a Real Kiss (Telltale John Doe x Reader)

A/N: Here’s a thing nobody asked for that I’ve had on my mind literally since I created this blog. I love soft John Doe and just want him to be happy because Harley’s abusive and Bruce is a jackass; you’re welcome.

My take on the Telltale Harley Quinn/Joker dynamic is that it’s essentially a switcheroo on the regular representation of the couple, with John Doe being the unstable but more or less well-meaning pushover and Harley being the manipulative, abusive mastermind. With a side of Bruce also being kind of a dumpster fire of a character, in my opinion. I just mention this because I recently realized that this apparently isn’t the most popular take on Telltale’s Joker and a good portion of people still think he’s the main mastermind and has Harley wrapped around his finger. To each their own.

Word count: 1999 (2001 before editing; longer than what I usually write, woo)

Summary: You’ve been close friends with John for a while now, but have grown tired of his blind affections for people didn’t seem to think nearly as highly of him. During another late night of listening to him fawn over Harley and Bruce, you end up deciding to confront him--and corner yourself into confessing your own feelings for him in the process.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (nothing too graphic), a bit of a cliffhanger? (I might make a sequel if people are interested); I started this months ago and just continued/finished it at three am this morning, so while I did edit it and al that jazz, there may still be the occasional grammar error and choppy writing. That being said, I did also try to write it in a way that felt lengthy and breathless and jumpy? I guess? In hopes of portraying how the reader was feeling and the way their brain was buzzing out of nervousness. Lemme know how I did.

Like what I do? Leave me a tip!

~~~~~

You sat crouched against the wall of John Doe’s scrappy home within the warehouse hideout of the criminal group he’d decided to attach himself to, a scowl etched into your features as you watched him flamboyantly pace around. Seeing him so happy would normally make you happy too, and if he wasn’t talking about the two most manipulative people in his life like they were gods, you would have been. Unfortunately, though, Harley and Bruce were the ones bringing that adorable grin to his face, so you sat unenthusiastically nursing the drink John had provided and stewing in a mental pool of God, I wish that were me.

Then, against your better judgement, you decided to do something about it.

“Hey, Johnny.” You placed your drink down with a hard clink against the concrete floor and glanced up at the man, who had stopped his affectionate rambling with an embarrassed grin; god, you loved that grin. Most people found it unnerving, saying that paired with his paper pale skin it made John look like the living dead--or a clown if they were a crackhead. You, however, found it fitting for him, a strangely cute smile for a strangely cute man. You just wished you were the cause of it more often.

You also wished that what you were going to say wouldn’t result in an argument but you knew it probably would anyway. Shaking aside your butterfly-stirring thoughts and grumbling--partially in case Harley or her criminal buddies were still wandering around the warehouse at this hour, mainly because you’d almost immediately lost all the confidence you had about five seconds ago--you repeated, “Hey, Johnny--”

“Hey, [Y/N/N],” John chirped back, relaxing enough to take a seat on an overturned crate across from you. Curiosity and a bit of confusion sparkled in his green-gray eyes, and his head was tilted slightly to the side. He looked like a puppy; a sweet, dorky, green-haired, white-skinned, horribly lost puppy. One of those pretty soft eyes was still purple-black and partially swollen shut, a punishment from Harley Quinn herself after John had gotten a little too excited and caused a mission earlier today to turn sour. Better than getting a bullet through the eye instead, though that thought didn’t make you feel much better about it.

Still, he smiled, shining like a ray of sun in the dark chaos that was Gotham these days. Still, he fawned over Harley and treated her like a queen.

The idea of it made you want to hurl. You could almost feel the frown lines etching themselves into your skin.

“Why do you like either of them?” you blurted, louder than you had meant to and apparently cutting John off from speaking at the same time; his lips had parted and one of his hands had risen just as words were pouring from your own mouth.

John’s response was a blink, then a chuckle, then that rubbing of the back of his neck that he did when he was flustered. He’d blush if he could, but he couldn’t so he started talking instead. “Well, as I was saying--”

You winced at the slow way he’d said ‘saying,’ like he was annoyed that you’d prevented him from continuing his love-struck rant about a couple of bullies. “You know what I mean, John. I don’t want you to go off on another tangent. We’ve talked about this before.”

It’s true. Despite your unwillingness, this wasn’t the first time you’d gotten enough courage to call John out on his self-destructive bullshit. You’d initially joined The Pact because you had had nowhere else to go at the time, a Gotham newbie with no money but with an attitude and a penchant for eavesdropping and minor pickpocketing--the key was to return the wallet from the person you’d taken it from, acting like they’d dropped it during you bumping into them; everyone in Gotham was too busy to check if anything was missing right then, and you were bland enough in appearance to have basically disappeared and been forgotten by the time they’d noticed. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you might even be mistaken for a homeless ragamuffin and given more money than what you stole from a particularly sympathetic victim.

By the time you’d impressed Harley enough to join her squad of crazy, saving you from sleeping at bus stops and bathing in sinks at gas stations, John Doe was showing up with his friend. His friend Bruce Wayne, AKA Batman--it wasn’t difficult to figure out who the man behind the mask was, if you were really looking; the fact was that no one in Gotham really wanted to ruin the illusion--who you soon realized wasn’t really a friend at all. Like Harley, Bruce used John as pawn at every turn, and you, who had made friends with the lively man pretty easily, couldn’t stand it; you’d quickly learned that John was brilliantly clever, entertaining, had a very intriguing set of gray morals, and was almost completely unaware of the poor treatment he was receiving. After a few weeks of enduring the irritation of watching two mightier-than-thou Gothamites treating your friend like a doormat with the intelligence of a box of rocks, and in some cases saving him from and nursing him back to health after suffering Harley’s wrath, you decided to put on your adult pants and deal with the problem head on: showing John what he was avoiding seeing and hoping to whatever being of high power that he believed you.

At some point among the many high-energy, zany moments you’d experienced with John, but more likely during one of the few gentler, more caring ones, you had caught feelings for the bizarre but lovely man. This realization had you further searching for shooting stars, tossing pennies into fountains, praying, doing whatever else you thought may help every time you every time you considered talking with him about his toxic loved ones. Silently begging that he wouldn’t get so upset with you that he’d decide to completely cut ties with you, or worse--tell Harley what you’d been trying to do, most likely resulting in your corpse being thrown off a Gotham pier.

Now John sat across from you, his long-fingered hands fiddling with each other and his purple-shoed foot tapping and his pale gaze shifting to look anywhere but at you as he considered what to say. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to explain his love for an abuser and a manipulator without losing the one person who never seemed to grow tired of him.

“[Y/N],” he finally drawled, hesitant, then with a chuckle, “I know you don’t like them but they’re great guys, really; you just need to give them a chance. Harls? She can be real sweet, as long as you stay on her good side and do what she says. And Bruce! Sure, he’s a little grumbly around the edges but--”

“John,” you cried softly, desperately, and rose to your feet. In a few steps you were right in front of him, kneeling and gently pressing a hand to the side of his face that was still bruised. Your face was twisted in pain, none felt for yourself, as you brushed a hand over the surprisingly cool but still puffy skin under his black eye; you looked directly into it, a half moon of silvery green almost hidden by purple flesh, as you continued, “Bruce is a rich boy with a hero complex doing whatever he needs to do and screwing over people he doesn’t think matters in order to finish a mission. Harley Quinn is a menace. She would have smashed your head in if I hadn’t distracted her with new mission plans; that wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago! The bruises from her almost strangling you because you went out to the carnival with me without telling her are just now beginning to fade. I didn’t get a punishment like that, and you know why? Because she thinks I’m useful and she thinks you’re a toy that she can play with and then throw away whenever she wants. She knows you worship the ground she walks on, but I’ve seen you noticing that you don’t deserve the treatment she’s dealing out. People who love you don’t treat you like that, John. Bruce and Harley don’t care about you. They don’t love you. They’re not even your friends.”

Emotionally exhausted and scared that you had crossed a line you shouldn’t have, you ended your speech with a slow breath. You took a moment to look away, shake off the feeling of your eyes burning. You only looked back at John when you felt his cold hand on yours, felt his face lean into your warm palm.

The green-ette who was all limbs and jawline--he looked more like a deer in headlights than a curious puppy now--was watching you, his eyes wide and conflicted. He seemed to be struggling to say something again; you could feel his hands quivering and see him chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. Then he blinked, pressed his cheek more securely into your hand, and asked in the quietest voice you’ve ever heard him use, “Do you?”

You grew more flustered and confused the longer the moment stretched on, and it was your turn to tilt your head slightly. “Do I…?”

“You said they don’t love me,” John clarified, and you felt your mouth go dry. “You said people who love me don’t treat me like that. You’ve never treated me like that.”

Attempting to bring moisture back to your mouth in order to protest, to deny the truths John was claiming, only resulted in what you assumed was pretty unattractive grumble and cough. Not that you thought John would care; you knew he wouldn’t. You did, however, realize that talking was futile, so you took a moment to think of the next best thing. Just as John began to start a new thought again, just as doubt began to blossom in his eyes, you decided to throw all caution to the wind and kiss him.

A small kiss. A very slight brush of the lips. And not on his lips, but right in the center of his forehead.

There was a moment of silence, another excruciatingly long one that briefly made you feel like you were having a heart attack, until you felt the brush of eyelashes on your jaw when John blinked once again.

“That’s not a real kiss.”

You could help bark a short laugh at the pouty tone your friend’s--friend?--voice had. You began to sit back on your heels, apologizing more about the fact that you had kissed John at all than because he’d considered the kiss ‘fake.’ Before you could pull away fully, however, you felt chilly hands make their way from your arm to your shoulder, then to your neck and jaw, pulling you closer. You hadn’t noticed that you had closed your eyes until you opened them again, and then inhaled sharply. You saw the look on John’s face, something new and breathtaking and lacking any of the sadness or doubt that was usually there lately, and smelled a faint cologne all around you--did he always wear that?--and finally felt his breath on your lips when he spoke again.

“It’s okay,” he said, responding to your apology. Pulling you ever closer--you could brush noses and lips now, and even though you felt your eyes flutter shut again but could still see that face behind your lids--he continued, “I’ll do it.”

You weren’t sure, as John’s lips met yours, where this kiss would take you or where the man’s thoughts were at. All you did know was that your doubts of having a chance with John flew right out the window at you leaned into his touch, and that if Harley wanted a fight for him, you’d give her a war.

232 notes · View notes

myloveofwords · 7 years

Text

Do You Believe?

Original Imagine: hi! I love your writing! it’s absolutely amazing! I was wondering if I could have a one shot request where the reader gets critically injured bc Barry wasn’t fast enough to save her. super angsty and sad? thank you! @zbvbble (Sorry it took so long Sweetie! hope you enjoy, cuz it almost killed me!)

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings: ANGST. SO MUCH ANGST. UH. OH MY GOD. I’M SO SORRY.

Author: Contrygal7

* * * * *

If I didn’t believe in you.

The words cut deep into your head, the first thought of the day and recalling fights hurt. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those words, though. Of course the first time wasn’t nearly as depressing.

No.

The first time it was warm. A fuzzy kinda warm that slowly seeps its way into your bones almost as if its igniting your entire body in a tantalizingly slow burn. The early morning sunshine, the whole world cascaded in a pink tint, as it fell lazily over the small bedroom in your even smaller studio apartment that you currently shared with your full time boyfriend part time superhero, Barry Allen.

The whole day seemed to reflect your mood, everything a stupid, can’t possibly be real kinda happy. Then you heard it, you’d heard it before of course, but singing in the shower was one thing… This was something different all together.

♪ If I didn’t believe in you♪

♪We’d never have gotten this far. ♪

♪If I didn’t believe in you♪

♪And all of the ten thousand women you are. ♪

He was actually singing. Like he sounded like he knew what the hell he was doing, now your boyfriend was many things. Goofy. Cute. Adorable. A super dork. Charismatic as hell when he wanted to be. But a singer? It just didn’t seem like it was actually him.

… Until he accidentally dropped this solid one liner into the air in front of him.

“Maybe I should just ask her… Nah. No. It’s too soon. Yeah. It’s wayyyyyyy to soon. But is it? Seven months? Maybe. I mean, ugh. I don’t know. I mean I know it’s what I want. But is it what she wants?”

Elevated heart rate, which Barry can hear, or sense or whatever the fuck he does. He turns around faster than your eyes can see, but living with a speedster you we’re used to it.

His deep blue eyes seemed to mirror your own terror as the two of you stood in the bright sunny kitchen, the tension palpable. You could feel his anxiety from across the small room as he too loudly asked “Coffee? You need coffee. I need coffee. I think we both need coffee. I’ll…”

Barry was gone and back in seconds two coffee cups from CC Jitters. You smile sweetly at his terror filled face as a single hand cups his cheek “Thank you sweetheart. Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

His eyes screamed yes, but somehow he kept his dorkiness to a minimum as he, as slowly as a speedster can, dropped down on one knee. His big puppy dog eyes are what sealed the deal, he opened the small black velvet box in his hands. You looked down, catching glimpse of the shiny red bone shaped dog tag nestled inside.

BUT back to present day … Barry had left this morning with out a single noise.

You woke to a dark room and cold sheets. Glancing quickly at the alarm the 5:13 there glared at you with bright green neon. The world around you seemed to darken, you didn’t like fighting with Barry but sometimes he was just so stubborn.

The fight seemed to cycle and cycle thought your head. You overthought everything said and remembered everything. It was torture, sitting alone in a bed meant for two. Cold and alone. A single tear fell from your cheek as the words said came into razor focus:

“WEll, I’m sorry Barry! I’m sorry I can’t be everything that you want me to be! I’m sorry I’m not a doctor like Caitlin, or a superstar reporter like Iris! Shit Barry.“

"Who said anything about Caitlin or Iris?”

“And you’re never home! You’re always with everyone else but me. You leave me for days, sometimes weeks at a time with no explanation.”

“I have responsibilities (Y/N)! I can’t be here every time you have a feeling!”

“Like you’d know anything about me feelings, Barry. You’re never home. You’re always gallivanting around the city, fighting bad guys and ignoring ME!”

“I do NOT ignore you (Y/N).”

“Well you certainly don’t pay attention.“

"And when am I suppose to do that (Y/N)? The three hours I get to sleep at night? Or maybe you’d like the thirty minutes before hand when I eat before I pass out. Oh! Or maybe you’d like the eight hours when I’M AT WORK EVERYDAY.”

“OR you could come home before the goddamn crack of dawn. Or when you do come home, you always find some kind of excuse to leave yet again!“

The click of paws on the floor snapped you from your memory so you figured Flash, the lovable dalmatian that you and Barry adopted together, needed to go outside.

Without hesitation you stumbled your way through the dark gathering Flash’s leash and your shoes before hustling him outside.

The air was cold and wet. The rain fell around you, chilling you to the bone. You didn’t see anything until it was too late. The sweet smell filled your nostrils and the last thing you remember is the cool sensation against your face as you feel into the darkness.

* Barry’s P.O.V *

I should have went back this morning. I should have went home and crawled into bed, held her close and never left. My neck is sore from sleeping on the couch at the lab, my body aches from lack of sleep, and my head is spinning in regrets.

I should just go home now. Call the captain, tell him I need a personal day. Pick up some flowers and some pizza from that place in Gotham she loves so much. Meet her back at the apartment and lay in bed all day.

Hell, she’s never going to say yes to marrying me if I keep treating her like this. My hand instantly goes to cup the diamond ring in my coat pocket. I shake my head as I realize that I’d been carrying it around since the second month we’d started dating.

She is my everything. I have to make this up to her.

I take out my phone and begin to execute my brilliant plan, until my phone lights up and Cisco’s name pops up. Damn it.

”Cisco, whatever it is let Wally handle it. I can–“

"Barry. It’s (Y/N).”

I was in Star Labs before the call ended.

“What’s happening Cisco?”

“The Meta-finder got something. It’s him Barry. And he’s got (Y/N).”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Neighbors place her walking Flash at 5, and he just popped up on my radar. We have no account of his whereabouts for in between.”

“That’s 3 hours Cisco.”

“Yeah, man. It’s bad. Want me to call Oliver?”

“No.”

I didn’t finish my sentence. I left her alone. Scared. In the middle of a fight. And now I may never get to see her smile again. I suited up and headed face first into a hurricane.

* * * * *

You woke with a throbbing in the back of your head. Your stomach growled causing you to slump forward, you realized your hands were bound behind you. You shuffled forward trying to regain some kind of bearing, and that’s when you heard him.

“Comfy?”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Oh I think we both know the answer to that question.”

“Well your not going to get it. He’s not coming.”

“Oh but he is.”

“Oh, but he’s not. Asshole.”

“Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?”

You tilted away from him, hoping to terminate any and all conversation which worked. For a whole half a second.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t get here in time.”

“I’m not taking the bait, asshole.”

“What is it with you and that word?”

“OH I’m sorry. Douche bag. There’s another word for ya.”

“What does Mr. Allen see in you anyway?”

Your eyes widened and you were thankful you’d turned your body away. How in the hell did he know? Your head began to throb again and you cried out.

The last thing you remember is Barry’s face as the darkness slowly took over. You stumbled over the words as they left your mouth. You didn’t know if he could hear them or not, but they needed to be said.

“I believe in you, Barry Allen.”

Your eyes closed slowly and your breathing soon followed. Everything blurred together. Then black.

* Barry’s P.O.V *

I saw the light leave her eyes and I cried out. I don’t remember much after that. Caitlin says it could have been that my body was moving faster than my brain could keep up with. Wells says it could have been too traumatic and I’ve blocked it out. I don’t know. I don’t really care.

All I know is she’s in a hospital bed, on life support and I’m still breathing. I haven’t figured out the how or the why yet.

Another tear falls down my face. It seems like that’s all I do now. Cry.

I feel nothing, I feel empty. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I just sit here and stare down at the love of my life. And pray that she will wake up.

Her last words bring a sharp pain to my chest.

I believe in you, Barry Allen.

Why? Her last words, she had to have known they were going to be, yet… She didn’t cry out for help. She didn’t try and plead for her life. She didn’t scream at the top of her lungs…

She told me exactly what I needed to hear. A single phrase and I felt I could take on the world. A conclusion of words that made me feel invisible. A solid string of syllables that connected the two of us in a way I didn’t even realize she was capable of.

A single memory came into mind. One with white curtains and yellow sunshine. Dirty dishes and happy times.

♪ If I didn’t believe in you. ♪

♪ We’d never have gotten this far. ♪

I took her hand into my own, feeling the warmth and smiling down at her.

♪ If I didn’t believe in you. ♪

♪ And all of the ten thousand women you are. ♪

I laughed slightly remembering how she hated when I sang that part to her. Part of me hoped it would piss her off enough she’d wake up.

♪ If I didn’t think you could do ♪

♪ Anything you ever wanted to ♪

♪ If I wasn’t certain that you’d come through somehow ♪

♪ The fact of the matter is, (Y/N). ♪

♪ I wouldn’t be sitting here now. ♪

She never once moved. I watched as the machine assisted her with each and every breath. The rise and fall of her chest and the sudden stillness of her seemed to be too much all at once.

I raised my hand to my face, feeling the sobs begin to tear through my body. I walked over to the machine and with a trembling hand, flipped all the necessary switches.

I watched though tear filled eyes as the machine took her final breath for her. Her eyes never once opening.

21:17

The clock taunted me beside me. I swear I could feel my soul leave my body.

I listened to the tantalizing beeping of the heart rate monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I listened closer as it begin to flat line signaling the end of her life.

BEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.

Silence. It filled the room. Filled my head, my heart. Everything. There is no moving on from this kind of pain.

This is it.

The end.

Beep.

. . . . . Then again… Maybe not.

284 notes · View notes