Words: 1k || Warnings: alcohol, mentions of cheating, breakups, language
a/n: wanted to mix things up a bit while I’m waiting for AGITP inspiration to come back to me. This can definitely be read as platonic, if you prefer.
Her hand clapped you hard on the back, causing you to grunt into your shot glass of brightly-colored liquor. Although it initially was not a gentle gesture, she moved her hand up from the middle of your back to squeeze your shoulder and rub in a semi-soothing circle near the hem of your shirt. “You can do better than her anyways,” said your companion, head lolling to the side through her partially drunken state.
Harley Quinn was a lot of things. She was loud and spontaneous, and smarter than people gave her credit for, but she was not, by any means, a woman who half-assed things. After getting out of a long relationship with a girl who, despite your chemistry and her stellar good looks, didn’t deserve the title of “girlfriend” in the long run, you’d been taking the hit pretty hard.
You hated to admit the way your heart clenched every time you remembered the sight of her on top of some tattoo’d up, motorcycle lover of a man on the couch you two had bought together, but it hadn’t been the first time she’d broken your heart in such a manner.
Turns out, Harley had been a solid shoulder to cry on, having recently gotten out of her terrible relationship with the clown she’d spent so many years chasing after. As far as you could tell, she’d really taken it in stride, so it was no surprise she was the first one in your friend group you turned to to ask for a place to stay for a few weeks until you were back on your feet.
She’d mostly ignored you the first few times she heard you crying from her tiny guest bedroom, but the third time was enough to push her over the edge. That’s when she barged in and suggested the two of you go out and get absolutely hammered at the local bar. That’s exactlywhat you did.
Words: 1k || Warnings: alcohol, mentions of cheating, breakups, language
a/n: wanted to mix things up a bit while I’m waiting for AGITP inspiration to come back to me. This can definitely be read as platonic, if you prefer.
Her hand clapped you hard on the back, causing you to grunt into your shot glass of brightly-colored liquor. Although it initially was not a gentle gesture, she moved her hand up from the middle of your back to squeeze your shoulder and rub in a semi-soothing circle near the hem of your shirt. “You can do better than her anyways,” said your companion, head lolling to the side through her partially drunken state.
Harley Quinn was a lot of things. She was loud and spontaneous, and smarter than people gave her credit for, but she was not, by any means, a woman who half-assed things. After getting out of a long relationship with a girl who, despite your chemistry and her stellar good looks, didn’t deserve the title of “girlfriend” in the long run, you’d been taking the hit pretty hard.
You hated to admit the way your heart clenched every time you remembered the sight of her on top of some tattoo’d up, motorcycle lover of a man on the couch you two had bought together, but it hadn’t been the first time she’d broken your heart in such a manner.
Turns out, Harley had been a solid shoulder to cry on, having recently gotten out of her terrible relationship with the clown she’d spent so many years chasing after. As far as you could tell, she’d really taken it in stride, so it was no surprise she was the first one in your friend group you turned to to ask for a place to stay for a few weeks until you were back on your feet.
She’d mostly ignored you the first few times she heard you crying from her tiny guest bedroom, but the third time was enough to push her over the edge. That’s when she barged in and suggested the two of you go out and get absolutely hammered at the local bar. That’s exactlywhat you did.
Three drinks in, and you were crying into your elbow while your flashy friend went on and on about how your ex didn’t know who she’s messing with, and how you deserve more than someone who’s going to waste your time like that, so on and so forth.
By now you’d lost count of the number of drinks you’d accepted from the bartender, and by now you were no longer shedding tears of sorrow, and instead tears of laughter as Harley tried (and failed) to bribe the bartender for another round in exchange for a manicure. He looked thoroughlyunamused, and you apologetically fished out a few dollar bills to finish off the night at the bar with one more round for the two of you.
“I’m tellin’ ya, babe,” Harley slurred, scooping her shot glass off the table and clinking it against yours, “Bein’ single may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to ya! Ya getta chance to discover the real you, and ain’t that really the only thing that matters? Plus, come here on a good night,” she leaned dangerously far back on her barstool so she could gesture vaguely around at the other nearby patrons, “And you get a tonna free drinks. Everyone’s bein’ awful cheap here tonight.”
With a wink in your direction, she downed her shot. As you followed her lead, you heard her exhale loudly and stretch her arms above her head. “Well, that’s about all I got on me for tonight. Whaddya say we call it a night early and head back to my place? We can make popcorn and watch some cheesy movie to cheer ya up!”
“Yeah, Har, sounds great,” you replied, easing yourself off the stool and trying to steady yourself so you didn’t crash to the floor and cause a scene.
Harley looped an arm around your waist to keep you upright, snickering softly. “You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, toots… bucha know what? So’m I, so I guess we’ll do that togetha too.”
By some miracle, you both made it back to her apartment with little to no trouble, besides an occasional stumble and getting lost once when Harley drunkenly pulled you down the wrong street. Once you were both in the door, Harley all but collapsed on the couch in the middle of the room, groaning and shoving her face into one of the cushions. You followed suit quickly after, tipping your head back to catch your breath.
After a moment, you heard her familiar drawl from beside you. “I know I promised ya popcorn,” Harley said, “But I don’t think my legs are cooperatin’ anymore tonight.”
You laughed and ran a hand through your hair, moving it out of your face. “Mine either. Don’t worry.”
You heard a faint shuffling from beside you, and before you could respond, Harley was laying her head across your lap, blinking up at you with blue eyes and a drunken smile. “I mean it tomorrow though. S’ gonna be the best fuckin’ popcorn you eva had, too. And whateva movie ya want. What’s your favorite? Y’like movies, right?”
“Yeah, I like movies, Har,” you chuckled, affectionately patting her on the head.
“Me too,” she slurred, turning her face against your stomach, “I like ‘em too. We’ll watch some damn good movies,” with that, she lifted her arm and lifted her pinkie, “I swear it. Pinkie swear.”
You blinked and tried to move your arm to capture her pinkie with yours to seal the deal. You missed a few times, but as soon as you locked fingers, you could already hear her snoring.
Yeah.
Breakups are hard. Breakups suck. But not just anyone can boast they got to spend the night getting over their ex with Harleen Quinzel. Not everyone can boast they got to share a couch with her, either. Or that she promised them a day of movies and popcorn together, enjoying each other’s company.
That was something that distinctly belonged to you.
And goddammit, you felt a piece of your heart soften in favor of Harley Quinn that night.
A Glitch in the Programming is coming along very slowly. I think I’ve hit a wall at the moment, so updates will be a little less frequent until I can get out of my hole.
On the other hand, I’m planning on posting CLARITAS 4 tomorrow, and I’ve also got a Harley Quinn/Reader drabble I’ve been kicking around in my head. Maybe a Cara Dune/Reader as well.
