Chapter Text
~
,,Hey, Blue,” comes an excited whisper near her ear, something cold grazing her face. ,,Wakey, wakey.”
Someone pokes her cheek with a freezing finger, forcing her to turn her head away from the traitorous cold to burrow her nose into the warm pillow in order to escape the unpleasant sensation of chilliness.
However she groans out muffled into the soft cushion when the fingertip resumes to drawing a trail of cold from her cheekbone to her earlobe, pulling on it now, the sounds of soft giggling telling her torturer is enjoying this, rape of her human right to have sleep, way too much to be a nice person.
The flesh of her earlobe stretches, sending a wave of memories through her fatigue body.
Unpleasant and scary memories of some certain..well, people, trying to steal something certain from specifically her ears. Something important enough for her to remember these occasions with a bitter after-taste of panic.
These goddammit, sacred earlobes have been the place of the one and only Ladybug Miraculous for more than just three years.
Really, people, can anybody blame her?
Marinette's bluebell eyes snap open, her body ready to properly react.
Gone is the exhaustion and heaviness of sleep, she has some devious, earring-stealing Akuma-guy to take care of.
,,There ya go, Bluey. Awake and cute. We have a lotta things to do. Ya can sleep like a dead girl later, here I am a lil bit bummed ya won’t support the earlee birds in this household, but we can handle that problem later,'' Her malicious henchmen and opponent here in the name of her infamous nemesis, is apparently only a pacing and muttering Harley Quinn, wearing nothing but a white, a bit translucent, over-sized t-shirt.
That much she can process, blinking away the sleep in her eyes, moving her blanket to warm her shoulders again, having been about to attack her guileless, but guilty (let's be honest, Harley's a bad girl, criminal and ruthless murderer; death is the least, she deserves) half-naked host.
Is that all? Can she go back to sleep now?
Seemingly Harley decided otherwise, grabbing her cheeks to pinch them, like old people like to do to their grandkids. (Marinette never got to know this. Luckily. Her Nonna is more into hugging anaconda-style if she's not currently climbing some random mountain in Taiwan or helping some village in Kenya.
Of her Grandpa's existence, she wasn't even aware up until last year when he was akumatized and even then he didn’t recognize his grand-daughter when she came to get to know him better.
What is normal a family anyway?)
,,Did ya shower? Good,'' the blonde leans forward, sniffing at the girl’s hair, the pinching of her cheeks never stopping. ,,Strawberry. Sweet and delicious. Fits. Just like ya, adorable Cutie,'' she gushes.
Finally some brain cell seemed to have returned from it's period of skipping working hours. Marinette removes the invasion of unneeded skin to her face with her own hands. ,,Harley, is there a reason, you have woken me this early?''
It's not even past lunch. Still WAY too early after she stayed up late, scrubbing off plates of off food and collecting some questionable parts of lingerie all over the floor in the corridor and actually basically everywhere. The pizza in the fridge put small energy into her muscles, the shower was more to wash off the smell of Joker gas and sweat and the hours, she spent just uselessly, laying on the couch, occasionally wriggling, only added into the state, she is in now.
Her body is sore, her brain demanding sleep and her mood at about the level of a mid-life-crisis, grumpy lady on period.
There better was a reason to wake her.
,,There is,'' Harley nods wildly, shifting on her feet, her radiant grin only convincing there absolutely isn't. ,,I've got a reason.''
Marinette growls at her, imaging the blonde erupting into flames by some higher forces to revenge the sufferings of people, meeting this mental torture disguised as happiness in the mornings.
,,Oh? Do tell. I'm dying to hear.'' Her dry and fakely sweet tone was planned to have worked as a warning.
Harley, of course, completely ignores such important signs.
Sitting down next to the bluenette (almost making her fall over in surprise), her thighs on top of her giddy hands, she beams brightly, her teeth widely seen. ,,Did ya sleep well?”
Marinette groans. Honestly it should be forbidden to be this happy in the morning hours.
Yet she is still just a guest here. Being rude towards her hosts won’t bring any good. ,,No, but it was better than nothing at all.” she answers with full honesty, turning to look at the blonde. ,,Thank you.”
Harley’s smile if possible turns even happier. ,,No probs.”
The blonde shifts on her hands, her lips trying and miserably failing to conceal her excitement, while the pigtails on her scalp dance just at least as jittery as their holder.
Having been about to stop her jaw from dislocating while jawning, Marinette now raises a surprised brow.
Actually it should be nothing strange to see the woman that agitated and energized. She saw (and felt enough) of her quirky compositure yesterday. One thing she can say for sure after one day knowing her: Harley Quinn is a touchy person. She had been constantly searching for any way to stay in contact with somebody. (Even with Marinette, despite not knowing her.) If it was just a fingercup in Marinette’s cheek or an whole arm drapped over Ivy’s shoulders, the blonde loves physical contact.
It‘s ..odd.
Don’t get her wrong, she has nothing against it, hell she had been once a touch-loving person too, but with Akuma‘s always attacking and keeping her on edge, the threat of Lila always being in reach, she withdrawed from the people around her in favor of being able to bear the responsibilities of both Ladybug and Marinette. She hardened to affection. Loving hugs and emotional kisses just aren’t necessary for Paris’ survival. She had to focus onto the priorities.
Looking back she might come to realize, that she didn‘t let herself the comfort of feeling like a teenage girl at all.
However now, the Marinette here in Gotham, this one can live with three criminals in an apartment and beat up a huge man in an alley with only a jacket and her fists without having to worry of her image as Ladybug being ruined or her friends finding out about her well-protected secrets.
This girl, this one can be different, more reckless, more brave, less like clumsy Marinette, but, or so she hopes, more like Ladybug.
But still fearless Ladybug here is mildly concerned, since while Harley Quinn is, as already noticed, the literal joy incarnate, this giddy, dare she say suspicious, behavior is a whole new level itself. If her tingling Ladybug senses aren’t wrong this whole deportment was not caused by Harley’s natural over-energized body, but by something new. Something possibly concerning her and therefore maybe dangerous.
Is it wrong that she’s feeling kinda positively expectant? She’s pretty sure it should be the other way around.
She wants to ask where Selina and Ivy are, but instead her mouth leaves. „Spit it out already, what got you so agitated?“
(Mission failed. We’ll get them next time.)
The clown woman squeals, letting out the surpressed cheerfulness through another sudden physical contact. (Oh cats.)
Suddenly and all too sudden (it’s really sudden), finding herself in a tight embrace with a loudly squealing woman, Marinette awkwardly pats her back in return to her fierce show of affection and happiness, feeling intimately embarrassed with the fact that both of them are wearing nothing more than a top and panties. At least the cover is somewhat dividing them, she would have blushed to the roots of her hair otherwise.
While she may have accepted her emotional inability of a brick now, that’s still too much. Especially if all that physical situation so happens to be with a stranger and better, a criminal too. Here her awkwardness can be excused as inexperience in handling a hugging murderer than her discomfort.
Harley breathes out deeply, still wiggling in the hug, and then she withdraws, holding the girl’s shoulders with her hands.
„ ‘Kay, I have a surprise for ya. Apparently Kitty Cat played with some connections of hers, (he’s some slimy guy, yuck, can‘t believe she‘s still talking to that slimy slimebag), but he knows how to fake documents and all that boring stuff, so we got ya a name and also, maybe I won’t kill him since,” she takes a deep breath after ranting down valuable information for a full minute. ,,BLUE! He got ya a fucking place in the freaking Gotham Academy!!!“ she suddenly screeches, shaking Marinette by her shoulders in an overload of emotions, making the girl’s head feel dizzy with blood being moved and emotions boiling under her skin.
She‘s not feeling guilty.
She‘s really not.
It‘s not like she‘s using them and they have no idea of that. It‘s not like Harley Quinn is as sweet as a fluffy muffin in caramel sauce and wrapped around with sparkling cotton candy (sweet), that she even applied her to a local school, on top seemingly also to one with a great reputation.
They really think she‘ll be staying. With them. In Gotham.
And she didn‘t tell them the ugly truth. No matter how she tried fighting it, she‘s still lying. Just like she did to her parents when they wondered why she‘s often so sleepy in the mornings after Hawkmoth decided to cancel another night of sleep for her, with another dumb Akuma idea. Just like when Alya wanted to meet up after school to visit a new café and she everytime had to excuse herself due to patrolling in the evenings with Chat.
This American woman barely even knows her. Heck, she’s still refusing to tell her name, at least here warning bells should have started ringing, but no matter to that, Harley Quinn treats her like some friend (and not even a drop like some strange girl who threatened to shoot them in their own home like she actually deserves).
She’s treated like Harley actually gives an honest care about her.
It‘s such a peculiar information to know that, Joker‘s ex-girlfriend, crazy psychopath and hammer-swinging, twintails-wearing blonde cares about her. It’s so shame-filling and morally conflicting to realize Harley is kind enough to ignore her tons of mishaps (Harley doesn’t even know about the majority of these) to help, that the bluenette returns the hug, ignoring her embarrassment for once and squishing her nose into the woman’s collarbone to hide from the hard guilt pawing at her thoughts.
Harley tightens her hold on her gladly as if she‘d been just waiting for her to take the initiative. Maybe that’s even exactly what she did.
„Merci beaucoup, Ms. Quinn.“ she whispers, her voice heavy, when the blonde chuckles, the laugh vibrating against her cheek. „My, my, skip the formalities, kiddo. Just call me Auntie Harley! Not even my dear, ol’ momma is called that way.“
Marinette has a little smile on her lips, feeling a warmth spreading in her stomach. „Thank you, Auntie Harley.“
The blonde breathes in deeply, her hands rubbing comforting circles onto the bluenette’s spine.
Then Harley un-clings herself from Marinette and jumps onto her feet, a satisfied grin forging her face. Grabbing and dragging the half-naked bluenette after herself, they both stop in the kitchen, in front of the stove. ,,I made ya breakfast. Here,” she pushes a startled Marinette onto a bar stool and sits her down before turning around and clattering with kitchen supplies meanwhile humming something un-understandable but happy. ,,I’m maybe not the best of a cook, but I tried.”
Placed onto the counter in front of her is a plate with a slice of enhanced pizza.
Oh, Harley, she wants to sigh since the gesture alone is so goddamn sweet and caring.
But what’s so different about the pizza to call it enhanced, one may ruin the moment now.
Well for one it’s burned. Not just roasted a bit too long with the colour starting to shade from brown to a little darker ombré, but BURNED to not have any traces of brown seen anymore and with black dominating the whole picture.
Secondly about two-thirds of her black breakfast is covered in tons of ketchup too.
Is now a bad moment to mention she absolutely distastes ketchup?
Harley stares at her anticipatingly, her hands folded beneath her chin in the thrill of her excitement while her naked legs are trying to stay un-moving, but still the occasionally bounce of her knee tells her attempts are un-successful.
Marinette meanwhile stifles the whine of mental pain and wants nothing more than to be mercifully swallowed and digested by the ground.
Okay, burned food she can handle. In her glorious history of becoming a baker’s daughter, she roasted enough macaroons and accidentally inflamed enough crême brûlée’s to be acquainted with the local fire fighters.
But really.
Of all things to torture her with.
Ketchup.
And in such masses too.
Please tell her, she’s not forced to eat-drink this now.
Carefully Marinette lifts one, not soaked in ketchup, corner with her fingertips, looking over to Harley to eye her reaction, partly hoping her host will see her troubles and dispose this breakfast before it can make someone having to drive into the hospital.
However the blonde only nods energetically, and remains blissfully oblivious.
Sighing and accepting her fate, Marinette closes her eyes and takes a bite. The urge to throw up battling to win, she quickly swallows and feels the dry, ketchup-pizza only slowly traveling down her throat. When it finally fell into her stomach, she drowns the immediate body reaction of gagging and shivering at the strong after-taste of spicy tomato.
You can say whatever you want, but ketchup is just the spawn of the devil.
Fighting a grimace, Marinette hums approvingly, nodding slowly while hopefully un-suspiciously moving the plate a little away from herself. ,,Wow, Harley. I’m surprised with how.. the ketchup is complementing the pizza so well.” (Is this a lie? She’s really surprised after all how strong the tomato together with the burned pizza is murdering her sense of taste.) ,,I never ate something like this before.” (True.) ,,Thank you.”
Harley giggles. ,,Thanks, I tried. Ya gotta have some energy for today. We have a lotta planned after all.”
There it is again: the subtle hinting onto some plans for both of them. Also Harley’s excitement means this will be fun for her. Fun is good, fun is funny. (How articulate and creative) However what kind of fun, Harley is into, is what makes her actually worry.
Marinette narrows her eyes at her, propping her elbows onto the counter. ,,Why do I feel like I won’t like what you have planned?”
A snort from Harley resonates. ,,Because ya won’t,” she answers, turning to the coffee machine. (Imagine her relief when she firstly found this goddess beneath a paper square of pizza yesterday. She fucking weeped with snot running down her face. Not one of her glorious moments, but at least she was alone in the apartment so nobody was able to witness her minute of weakness. Afterwards she drowned her bare emotions in coffee anyway so now she’s as hard as old cookies now.)
,,Since I’m pretty sure, I won’t get to protest against your ideas anyway,” Marinette speaks up after having been lost in her wonderful memories. ,,You can as well just tell me.”
Harley turns back to her, two empty cups in her hands, and shrugs. ,,‘Kay, but I already told ya. I’m just a lil’ surprised ya’re not rushin’ already,” Seeing her pensive frown, Harley puts down the cups and steps forward to pat the girl’s cheek lovingly. ,,Oh, Blue, ya’re so pure and oblivious, what do I gotta do with ya?”
„Oblivious?“ she repeats the blonde’s words somewhat insulted. Because, Hello?! She pointed a pistol at Harley and her friends just a damn day ago! Did she already forget about that?
This is not her definition of a pure and innocent girl, she is probably the most mature teenage girl on earth, if she’s allowed to correct. Silently muttering a French insultment (Not pure), she taps her index finger against the marble of the counter impatiently. ,,Telling me about your plans with me, would be nice for a start.”
Harley grins ironically, fiddling on the wonder of physics and biology, able to create coffee in less than a minute. ,,I just told ya, ya got accepted, darling. Where else does a cutie student will go than to her new school?”
,,Oh.” Wow, that she could have guessed. She really wants to reach inside her skull right now and poke her brain to wake it. How is it possible that the craziest and most creative ideas can claim to have a home in her brain, when she appears to be too dense to realize the most obvious things. Maybe it’s her heavy prejudices again. Obviously (sadly) even Ladybug has her little irks and quirks.
Harley lifts the two cups to stand next to the coffee machine. Two not one, notabene.
She already felt overjoyed when the woman suddenly takes out a bottle of orange juice, fills one COFFEE cup with it and puts it down in front of her.
Naturally her face darkens.
The woman casually leans against the fridge, smiling at the, sulking down at her definitely not-Coffee, Marinette. „I have EVERYTHING planned out. Your school uniform is in my room, ya can go get it, but don’tcha touch ma stuffies.“ she lifts her finger, her lips pursed, serious like a priest. ,,They’re sacred and holier than any shit on this world.”
She raises a questioning brow, but nonetheless stands up to walk to get her new school outfit. It’s pretty handy, she’s required to wear it, since it’s not like she has any clean or appropriate clothes for outher appearances anyway.
Now after following the way of the corridor, she stands in front of a wooden door and quickly recognizes the room to belong to Harley.
How did she guess so quickly without having been near any of these chambers in fear of getting accused of snooping while absently cleaning, one may ask now? (That’s a metaphorical situation, obviously nobody would care enough to ask)
Well for one, the black caption, which reads ~Room of Harley, I’m probably naked at this moment, enter at your own risk~ is pretty clear.
For two, the million stickers of clowns and puppies plastered all around the caption are actually a good indication too.
Fondly shaking her head at the silliness taking place on a normal bedroom door, Marinette opens the door and slips inside.
She doesn’t exactly know what she expected, but it looks like a relatively normal bedroom to her. In the center, a pink canopy bed with tons of fluffy cushions and stuffed animals, on the floor, an invasion of worn clothes and packaging of sweets, in one corner, a shelf with action figures of both Gotham’s Heroes and Villains and a huge black closet with a mirror. From the ceiling is hanging a basic, round lamp casting soft light down on her figure.
Killing the urge to snoop around until she finds some proof to her suspicions, she steps forward to the canopy bed and takes a scrutinizing look at the outfit laying there. It’s blue. A three-piece. A darker blue and black in several squares skirt and a plain white blouse with a blue blazer. Ignoring her heart breaking into seven pieces at the relatively boring design, she starts putting it on.
At least, it fits. The sleeves of her blouse are a little too long and the blazer too big, but it looks a little more casual than serious this way. Like she meant to rock the over-sized fashion industry and not the local stock exchange.
Of course, there is still the problem of her bare legs. Gotham won’t be kind to these, she knows. So there is the choice between either freezing to death or robbing out some local clothes store for some thick tights. Maybe she can convince Harley to join her emergency raid.
Nonetheless she got to convince that the quality of the school uniform is actually good. Presumedly the Gotham Academy is a school for kids of rich parents then, who paid to guarantee their children a uniform, which won’t decompose the very first year of wearing it. Good for them, bad for her. She will stick out like a poor raven in this, in money-bathing, group of peafowls.
Quickly glancing around and indeed noticing no one than the eyes of the plushies on her (just in case), she for once allows herself the immature pleasure to perform a little, childish twirl. The skirt is long enough to end a little bit above her knees, so the movement in circle made the material covered in black and blue squares, fly around her, the dark colors blurring together.
She was in the middle of another spin, when she trips over her own foot, loses balance and crashes against the closet. One of it’s doors opens and hard contents fall down on her. Blinking shocked at the sudden change in situation, Marinette un-movingly lies there on the carpet with all of her limbs widely out-stretched like a starfish against the glass of an aquarium.
Oh, heavens.
Is this..?
She carefully attempts to move up and immediately gasps out, her hand coming to cover her gaping mouth.
Oh yes, these are weapons on top of her. Hammers. Pistols. Knifes. (Thank Kwami in their sheaths) Baseball bats. Ropes. Swords. Revolvers.
Should she continue?
Because there is more.
,,Blue, are you okay in there?” The main door suddenly opens and Harley’s head pokes inside.
Marinette still too shocked to do anything else, mutely stares up at her. ,,I-I,” she stutters out, and then roughly slaps her face to erase the stupid stutter from her system and restart her brain. ,,It was an accident, I swear.” she croaks, quickly standing up and pushing the harmful properties of Harley Quinn of off herself.
Harley looks at her regretful face, then at the weapons on the carpet and then at her again. As the conclusion of her musing, she firstly snorts loudly and then completely bursts out laughing. She fucking cries and doubles over, while Marinette stands there rather dumbly and shuffles on her feet, occasionally adjusting her blazer.
After about fifteen minutes or something like that, Harley finished laughing. ,,I, Blue, ya,” she chokes out.
Marinette bites onto her lip. ,,Yes?”
Harley wipes her eyes from tears of laughter and pats the girl’s head. ,,Ya’re too pure. And cute. Let’s go, yar lessons won’t wait for ya.”
Harley is the first one to leave the chamber. Marinette walks behind of her, fighting off the embarrassment being about to color her face.
Harley is right, she reacted like a fucking fearful, five-year-old girl.
What did she expect?
This is Harley Quinn, she can keep as much weapons in her closet as she wants. And of course she won’t immediately shoot her for accidentally spilling the contents of her closet. If she would have wished her harm, she could have killed her while she slept or just yesterday together with the others, but she didn’t. Also she took the effort to apply her to a school, so it wouldn’t make any sense to just kill her now after she spent so much time to help her.
Yet still there remains a spark of healthy fear in her brain.
Not really wanting to address her little failure, but knowing she needs to, Marinette clears her throat. ,,Auntie, I,”
Harley speaks up before she could have finished the sentence. ,,Bluey, ma niecey, lemme look at ya.”
Stepping a little away from her to show her appearance, Marinette swallows thickly, while Harley examines her. ,,Ya could be a perfect Wayne, black hair, feisty and smart, blue eyes,” her gaze wanders lower. ,,Nice Blues.”
,,Huh?”
,,Yar purple mushrooms are some intense skittle spit”
Marinette blinks at her in confusion. ,,Pardon?”
,,Aw, come on! Fist hickeys?”
Harley pouts now. ,,Your battle marks all over your legs,”
Marinette looks down at her legs, which are covered in several bruises in different states of recovering. It’s an oddly colorful and therefore inspiring picture. (I mean everybody can have legs, but who can claim them to be a walking picture of art?)
Out of suddenly picked curiosity, she lifts her blouse and pushes the skirt a little lower to see her right hip. ,,Oh, damn, Blue. That's some impressive bruise ya've got there."
Marinette hums, carefully tracing the rims of the blue stain on her hip bone and wincing. ,,I may have had a bit of trouble,"
,,Did ya give as good as ya got?"
,,Not really," Marinette grunts. ,,But most of the bruising was done by a counter anyway, so.."
,,I've fought a lotta opponents, but a counter was never one of these," Harley smiles. ,,Good job.”
Marinette smiles back, covering her hip with her clothes again. ,,Thank you.”
They stand there in silence until Marinette decides to break it. ,,Sooo, could you for any chance lend me some black tights?”
___________
They both left the appartment to stand inside a garage, a street away from the borough of the apartment.
„Before I‘m sitting down on THAT, do you even have a license?“
Their choice of transport is a motorcycle. Of course, it wouldn’t just be a peaceful and safe motorroller, no, it’s a freaking monster of motorbike with flames on its sides and huge wheels just like meant to drive someone over.
If by her bad feeling is about to tell, then they will both die soon.
Harley Quinn shoves one red helmet onto her head and grins wickedly with a black one on too. „Kind of.“
She adjusts the plastic to not hide her eyes anymore since it’s too big. „What do you mean with kind of? Either it‘s no or yes, there’s nothing meant to be in between! And also „Kind of“ means more no than yes to me.“
„Oh, chilllaax! I never ever lost someone on ma little darlin‘ here!“ she pats the leather seat in affection.
„Nope, I‘m not coming with you.“ she states, crossing her arms defensively. She pouts childishly, the helmet falling into her face again, but for once she doesn’t care. This really can’t be the way, her adventurous life will end after surviving this much already.
Yet Harley only has a cheesire grin on face, her red lips twitched in satisfaction and glee. „Ya don‘t have a choice, Blue. Ma little blue niecey!“ she cooes.
Marinette huffs out in frustration, not wanting to accept her victory, despite knowing well enough how the blonde is right. She does not know where the school is and definitely won‘t make it in time on her own. The way of suicide is her only chance.
„I hate you. We will both die a violent and agonizing death.“ she foresees realistically. However Harley just laughs off her pretty much possible fears and sits down on top of the huge suicidal machine.
„Awww, I luv‘ ya too, Blue! Now hop on, we have a cutie student to deliver!“ she chirps, before the bluenette reluctantly sighs and even more reluctantly complies.
As soon as her but touched the leather, the engine roars loudly and she screams out in surprise when the bike suddenly rushes forward. Clutching her driver‘s biceps like a lifeline (apparently it is) in fear of accidentally falling backwards, she yowls. „MERDDEE!“
When the wind aggressively hits her cheeks (read: coldly smacks them), she hides her face behind Harley‘s back and presses herself tighter against her driver.
She can still hear her laughter over the roaring wind as they take a curve and angry cars horn at them.
Daring to glance over her (newly) aunt‘s shoulder, she sees her steering right towards a mass of standing cars on the street.
Harley‘s arms tense, when she yells against the breezes. „Hey, move yar asses, butcheeks! Here are people who‘d like to get through!“
Obviously, neither the cars nor the drivers react, but then suddenly sharply the transport turns to the left, instead driving over the pedestrian walk now.
They get shaken as the wheels drive over the uneven stones and people stare at them in disbelief and shock when they’re passing them, if they‘re not currently busy with running for their lives right now.
Harley Quinn turns a bit to look at Marinette and smiles winningly. „See? That‘s how ya handle a traffic jam in ol’ Gotham.“
The bluenette panically hits her hand against her shoulder a few times to turn her attention to the street again. „Holy -Children!“
The bike merely dodges a group of kids in bagpacks, she then breathes out in relief as a man jumps by side to save himself of getting squished under their wheels. „Sorryy!!“ she yells to him as Harley changes to driving on the streets again.
„My little darlin‘ served me for a few years now, never let me down-“ Harley tells, while Marinette stares at the pavement in front of them which has familiar white stripes.
„HUMANS!“ she shrieks, pinching her driver’s biceps again. Yet the blonde merely reacts by snorting.
„-I got ‘er from ma poppa, he loved her just as much as-“
Now she burrows her nails into her shoulders, her voice raising at least an octave. „HUMANS!“
The clown woman giggles (fucking giggles!) at her screams of pure panic and horror. „Blue, don’tcha worry, they‘ll jump aside.“
The motorbike roars as a passing woman screeches out in fear and pushes a man by side, who in return makes everybody fall like bricks of domino. Marinette tightly closes her eyes to not see the incoming bloody mess, not wanting to have it burned into her memory for the rest of her life.
But really don’t ask her what god had mercy on her, somehow they managed to not hit anybody. That she notices that when hears no crash, no screams or moans of pain.
„Yeah, where were we? Ah, I had the theory he named me after the bike, I was prettey flattered, it‘s a beautiful darlin‘ afterall!“
They stop, the engine cools down. The bluenette leans against the driver’s figure in exhaustion, trying to hold back the urge to throw up somewhere and to show the world Harley’s talents in cooking.
„Mission accomplished, ya can thank me later, Blue.“ Harley sings.
Marinette stands up and presses her hand to her mouth to push the ketchup-pizza back inside, while noticing out of her peripheral vision, a few neatly dressed students curiously stare over at them and the flashy bike.
She notices it with a bitter taste in her mouth, since she needs no attention to her persona. Attention means curiousity and curiousity means questions, questions, she pretty much can‘t answer with her no-lie policy.
„I think I might throw up for a while, but I‘m good, you can leave now. We have a crowd,“ she says through her teeth and looks at her meaningfully, before quickly pushing down the ventail of the blonde‘s helmet, which was (oh, holy Jeezes,) the whole ride over not closed.
Harley Quinn, (whose famous face is thank god shielded by the plastic now) sniffs.
Marinette rolls her eyes, having an idea to what it‘ll lead. „My little niecey, so mature and pretty. Can‘t have her ol’ auntie let be seen near her anymore.“
Marinette covers her face with one hand in embarrassment and shakes her head, groaning. „Oh my god, Harley, you‘re not even my real aunt and you aren‘t even older then thirty.“
Here the woman stops moving, completely freezes, what is incredibly concerning, if anybody would recall her normally really energetic behaviour.
„Ya want me to be yar real aunt?“ Harley suddenly surprisingly gently asks.
Unexpecting, the girl blinks surprised by that.
Wow, this is,.. wow. Is Harley really suggesting to adopt her for real? Like real-real? That’s oddly heart-warming considering their previous history. She, wow, she didn’t expect for Harley to be so suddenly sensitive and understanding. Maybe..
Harley cackles sneeringly from under her helmet.
„Oh man, your face! Come here, lemme hug my little niecey!“ Harley doesn‘t wait for her answer, she just grabs her. Marinette sighs, but then melts into the embrace.