Harleen The Queen

Deadshot, King Shark and Boomerang all unloaded on Flash at once, but what ended up riddled with bullets and impaled by a Boomerang was not the Flash, but the wall behind him instead. The Flash was already gone, reappearing an instant later on the other side of the street. Harley's panties were hanging from his thumb while he cupped his hands to his mouth. "You guys really need to work on your reflexes, this fight might as well be turn-based!"
For that, they sent another volley of bullets his way. It didn't help. Every time he reappeared it was in a different spot, and he started doing a little jig on the spot while stretching the panties out. Harley kept turning to keep her eyes on him, bits of her quivered whenever she moved. "SHOOT 'IM!" She kept shrieking. "SHOOT THE BASTARD! SHOOT 'IM! SHOOT 'IM!!!"
"Can somebody explain to me why Quinn's lost her clothes?" Waller growled. "Just what the hell is going on down there?"
"How the hell should we know?!" Boomerang exclaimed. "This ain't exactly standard operating procedure for Mr. Fastest Man Alive! Maybe this Brainiac clown's a pervo or some shit!"
"Can't shoot his ass, Waller." Deadshot raised his wrist cannons and peppered a car Flash had been standing in front of a few seconds before, then pivoted without missing a beat to firing into a second storey window. "Son of a bitch is as quick as everybody says."
"Great, so the observation of the Master Assassin is that The Flash...is fast? Bravo, Lawton. You've outdone yourself."
"HE HAS ACQUIRED HARLEY QUINN'S UNDERGARMENTS!" Shark covered his mouth again, shaking his head in disappointment at himself. "What did he just say?" Waller asked.
"Uh..." Deadshot fired yet again, targeting the next shot to ricochet off a balcony. It landed an inch or two away from Flash's ankle, the impact making him visibly flinch. "Oooh! Almost almost got me there, Lawton! I'd be impressed if you hadn't STILL MANAGED TO MISS!"
"I never miss! Ain't my fault you're a freak of nature who got a lightning bolt up your ass or whatever the fuck!" Frustrated, Lawton carelessly sprayed another volley at the car. "LAWTON!" Waller pressed. "Am I seriously being told The Flash has stripped Quinn down to her fucking birthday suit?! This is meant to be a serious mission!"
"Yeah, well if only you hired serious people." Deadshot muttered.
"What was that?"
"I said yeah, the Flash up and panty-raided the clown."
"And? What is she doing now?"
"Bit of screaming, bit of coverin' her ass. She's, uh...she's not taking it well."
"Christ, Lawton. At least get her something to cover herself with properly, otherwise she'll spend the rest of the mission blubbering."
"You think so?"
"This is Harley Quinn we're talking about."
Deadshot paused, then nodded. "Point taken." He looked back up at one of the buildings her clothes were strewn across. He could see Quinn's shirt was hanging from the end of a flagpole, while her jeans were fluttering gently on the edge of a balcony railing. His first instinct was to go for the jeans--less to cover up once her bottom half was clothed. With that in mind, he jogged forward and jetted up to where her shirt hung by its collar from the tip of a flagpole. In the space between his jetpack lifting him off the ground and him getting within grabbing distance of the jeans, a familiar red-and-gold blur scaled the front of the building and whisked the jeans away from the railing. Deadshot swore under his breath and had to quickly shift his trajectory to instead go for the flagpole. It was suspended by its collar, the words Harleen The Queen just barely visible on their front. Snatching it, he hovered in the air for a few seconds as he balled it up and aimed it at Quinn's feet. "Quinn! Catch!" He yelled, throwing it down to her. Harley watched it sail over and, with some difficulty, caught it with only a brief exposure of her left breast as the trade off. Still trying to keep hold of whatever modesty she had left, Harley held it to her front, making an incredulous face. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
"Cover yourself up, dipshit! Fuck's sake, I'm trying to help your stupid ass!"
"But everyone'll still be able to see my..." she trailed off, deciding she didn't have any better options. Waddling over to hide behind a car, Harley put the shirt on and looked down to assess the situation. The shirt was her size, that was why she'd picked it, so it just covered her flat, toned tummy. She tried to pull it down to cover her ass, then tried to do the same for her pussy, but it just wasn't long enough to cover both, and Harley's cute little cakeshop kept lifting the hem at the back anyway. She thought about it and decided to pull the shirt down at the front to better hide her pussy. Harleen The Queen, she couldn't help but read. Right now, she didn't feel like a Queen at all. Right now, Harley Quinn felt like a joke. How many grown women ended up in this kind of position: stuck in the middle of an occupied city, bare-assed and airing their kitty cat to the world with only a t-shirt to hide under? Not even a pair of undies to keep her modesty! It wasn't fair, it was funny when it happened to other girls, like that time when the Mayor had been putting on that fundraiser and the Batpack were there on the lookout for trouble. Joker had provided a distraction and in the ruckus Harley had snuck up and pantsed Batgirl right in front of the Commissioner, panties included!
This was different, though. This was most definitely not funny! She was meant to be the one who made the jokes now, she didn't want to be the butt of them, she'd decided that all the way back in Arkham, when she'd finally had to accept Joker was gone and never coming back. She'd promised herself she'd be the clown, not a clown! She glanced to her right and caught sight of herself from behind in a shop window. She looked miserable. There were two faint circles of rouge where her growing embarrassment was showing under her makeup. Behind, two big, round cakes winked in the sunlight just beneath the slightly raised hem of her shirt, the hem ending where the slim crack began. Harley growled irritably and pulled down harder on the front. She turned to address the rest of the group. "A-alright bozos! Anybody has shit to say about my tushie, I'll gouge his eyeballs out with a rusty spoon and make 'im swallow 'em!" She changed her stance, planting her feet close together--nothing good would come of her spreading her legs right now--and slowly waddled back out from behind the car. "You fan out and you find Flash before anything else goes wrong!"
"Er...who exactly put you in charge?" Boomerang cocked his head.
"What the shit are you talkin' about, Boomer? I'm the leader of this outfit!"
"I don't take orders from you!"
"Boomer, you stupid limey hobo! Just do what I say?"
Boomerang bristled. "Limey hobo? I ain't no fuckin' limey! And I sure as shit don't take orders from clowns with fat arses!"
"BOOMER—"
"What?! What are you gonna do? You gonna come over here and gouge my eyes out while you're flashing your growler at me?!"
Harley pouted angrily, but didn't otherwise move a muscle. "Listen...we ain't supposed to be fightin' each other here! We got a hostile whose runnin' rings around us and—" She was interrupted by a loud smack and the sensation of one of her ass cheeks wobbling. Forgetting herself, she turned and looked at her backside in the mirror, saw the left cheek now sported a livid red welt; it was square-shaped, with small circles cut out on the inside.
"Did...did he just slap my...my ass...with a...fly-swatter...?" She was dumbfounded, and so was completely unprepared for a follow-up. She let out a short, sharp yip when the sound suddenly rang out again. Another smack, another of Harley's heavy, white cakes made to jiggle. She bit her lip and swallowed. Hard. She'd never thought of her butt as being so...caloriffic, but now it seemed impossible not to notice it really was quite...thick; not toned like the rest of her, but positively doughy. Pale and bouncy, and so very difficult to hide or keep still. It's not fat, Harls, she told herself. It's just...full. Yeah, right. Full fat more like. A pair of luscious, sinfully stuffed dessert dishes. Harley Quinn's creamy, creamy cakes; pale as buttermilk, with that itty bitty tickled pink slit just underneath. She was so self-conscious about it now, it was all she could think about. She pulled the shirt down. It was nowhere near enough to contain dessert. Harley's cakes pushed the material out, the sensation made her cheeks feel hotter and hotter the longer she stood there.