Three cracked ribs, bruised knuckles, and almost getting arrested for attempted murder? All worth it

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!! Okay, here we have it! Another @foxlace prompt request! Prompt was shirtless cuddles and uh, this one is the spicest thing I’ve ever written. Nothing but spice past the read more so keep that in mind. BIG shout-out to @skyromaniac-05 for helping me write some of this because I’m so fucking ace and can’t describe shit

Rick’s cracked ribs scream in protest and his nose is throbbing and gushing blood, but he ignores all of that and throws another punch. The bastard underneath him won’t stop laughing maniacally and he’s determined to make it stop—permanently.

Joker’s face is a bloodied mess at this point—broken nose gushing blood, two missing teeth, two black eyes, and a split lip. And at least two cracked ribs on top of that. It’s not enough though. Rick needs him dead.

This fucking bastard had been stalking Harley for the last month and Rick will never forget how scared and paranoid she’s been lately. She’d been doing so much better until this fucking asshole had to ruin it. And then he had the nerve to show up here, at her favorite bar.

What he hadn’t counted on was Rick being so pissed off at his mere presence and just drunk enough to not give a flying fuck about any consequences.

“You and I,” he’d said, grabbing the other man by the collar as he tried cornering Harley by the bathroom, “need to have a little talk.”

He’d taken Joker to the back alley and thrown the first punch.

It hadn’t been a fair fight from the beginning. Joker fought dirty and had quickly managed to crack a couple of Rick’s ribs with a pair of brass knuckles and slash him with a knife. But Rick had quickly gained the upper hand. Right now he has the bastard’s arms pinned beneath his knees so he can’t stab or punch him again. He wraps his hands around the other man’s neck and squeezes, quickly cutting off that god awful laughter.

Suddenly, he’s being ripped away. He struggles against the grip the other person has on him. “Harley,” he says, in a warning tone.

“Not Harley,” the other person growls. “Trust me, you don’t wanna go down that path.”

“Oh trust me, I absolutely do,” Rick replies—realizing he’s talking to Batman. He spits blood on the ground.

“Think about how Harley will feel if you get sent to prison,” Batman reasons.

That makes him pause. Frankly, he’s willing to risk it if it means the bastard’s gone for good, but he knows it wouldn’t be fair to Harley. The other man lets go of him and goes towards the broken form of the Joker on the ground.

He hears footsteps thundering towards him and turns around. He braces for impact and groans as Harley barrels right into his chest. His ribs scream in protest but he hugs her tight anyway. She pulls back and grabs his face—checking him over for injuries—and starts asking a million questions as she checks to see if he has a concussion. He wipes the blood from his lip and patiently answers every question and performs every action she demands of him. Once she’s satisfied that he doesn’t have brain damage she pulls him towards her and hugs him—gently this time.

“I’m okay, Harls. I promise. Let’s go home.”

———————-

Harley goes into Doctor Mode the second they get home, ordering him to sit on the couch and getting out her medical supplies. It’s impressive, really, considering she’s so horny she can barely think straight.

She hadn’t been prepared to find out just how fucking hot it was to see her boyfriend beating her ex within an inch of his life. Look, it’s not her fault her type is “covered in blood”.

She has to take a moment to collect her (very dirty) thoughts once he takes his shirt off so she can assess his ribs. She has to really concentrate so she doesn’t get distracted by those gorgeous tattoos he has on his upper arms as she’s bandaging his knuckles. Those tattoos she’s been obsessed with since finding out he even hadthem. How dare he hide them—and those amazing abs (and those biceps)—from her for the entirety of their early relationship. That was sorude!

She manages to hide how turned on she is as she cleans up his nose—not broken, luckily. He hisses through his teeth as she tightens the bandage around his ribs just a tad too tight.

“That’s what ya get for scaring me so bad.” And for being so god damn attractive right now. Rude.

He chuckles softly and wraps an arm around her. “Sorry for scaring you, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

She shoves him away—lightly—and protests, “God dammit, I’m trying to be mad at you! Why ya gotta be so fuckin’ perfect all the time?”

He laughs again and then winces. She urges him to lie down on the couch and straddles him so she can get at his head wound without him having to move so much. Oh. Bad idea. Really bad idea.

She bites her lip and tries to concentrate on cleaning the blood off his forehead instead of the feeling of him underneath her. She feels flushed all over and needs to do something to relieve the ache between her legs.

Before she knows it, she’s grinding against him. Fuck! It feels so good. She can feel him hardening against her and she can’t help it. She lets out a soft moan and moves her hips with more purpose, hand going to his chest to steady herself. She comes back to herself when she hears him hiss through his teeth, and stops.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” she apologizes, feeling terrible. This is not the time to be thinking about sex.

“No no, keep going,” he urges.

“What about your ribs?” she asks.

He smirks—that smirk that always makes her knees weak—and trails his fingers from the hem of her crop top down her stomach to toy with the waistband of her shorts. “Well I guess we’ll just have to be careful then.”

His hand slips into her shorts and past her underwear. She tips her head back and gasps when she feels his fingers against her clit. She lets out a soft moan as he slips two fingers inside her and grinds against the heel of his hand. Fuck! It feels sogood.

“That’s it, Harls. Keep going,” Rick encourages. His husky voice stirs something deep in her belly.

He lets her do all the work and she’s so wound up that it’s not long before she’s coming with a scream. He works her through her orgasm and she almost collapses onto his chest. She remembers his ribs at the last second and instead steadies herself with her hands on his lower abdomen.

———————–

Before she can even catch her breath, he’s ordering her to strip—pupils blown as he catches that familiar mischief in her eyes as she climbs off of him.

The first thing to go is her shirt. She lifts it over her head slowly—maintaining eye contact the whole time. And fuck! She’s not wearing a bra. She tosses the shirt somewhere behind her and his eyes drift to her newly revealed skin—the defined curves of her lean muscles trapping his gaze in a way that has him unbearably hard.

Next to go are her shorts. Her hands run down her front to the waistband and she toys with it for a second—as if debating whether she should take the garment off. Before he can tell her to hurry the fuck up, she’s pulling the shorts down, along with her underwear. He swallows hard as he takes in the sight of her long legs—heart pounding and blood rushing south.

She runs her fingertips down his chest and toys with the zipper on his jeans. The mischievous smirk on her face and the desire in her eyes makes him strain against his pants even more. He wants her. Now.

Just before he feels like he’s about to go insane, she finally removes his pants—his erection slipping free and finally providing some relief. She moves to straddle him and he groans. He can feel her wet heat against his cock.

She grinds against him and he grabs her hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Harls,” he warns. “I swear to god if I’m not inside you in the next fifteen seconds—”

He cuts himself off with a moan as she finally sinks down onto his erection.

She doesn’t move for several seconds and he has to resist the urge to thrust his hips up. Just when he thinks he’s about to go insane, she moves—bracing herself against his abdomen. The pace she sets is slow at first but quickly picks up.

“Play with your clit, sweetheart,” he orders.

She whines and then complies—fingers starting at her neck and moving downward slowly, in between her breasts, and then finally to the apex of her thighs. She gasps once she reaches the bundle of nerves and rubs furiously. Before he knows it, she’s falling apart on top of him. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

She collapses onto his chest, hands going to his shoulders to avoid his ribs, breathing hard. She squeaks as he quickly reverses their positions and it turns into a moan as he increases the pace and power of his thrusts. His whole body is screaming at him.

“What about your ribs?” she manages to ask as he fucks her, hard and fast.

“Don’t give a shit,” he pants, before crashing his lips into hers.

He tilts her hips up, to change the angle of his thrusts and she shatters—screaming his name as she comes a third time. He follows soon after.

He rolls to the side so he doesn’t crush her and collapses onto his back. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck but he doesn’t give two shits. Harley squeezes herself between his body and the back of the couch and snuggles against him. He wraps an arm around her and tucks her into his side. Slowly, their breathing returns to normal.

“I still can’t believe ya did that for me,” she says, tracing the edge of the bandage wrapped around his torso.

He smiles. He doesn’t regret what he did for a second. “You’re worth almost getting arrested for attempted murder, Harls.”

“It was really fuckin’ hot,” she says next.

“Really? I had no idea,” he deadpans.

She laughs and smacks him lightly. He smiles and leans down to kiss the top of her head. She gets serious again. “Ya want anything for the pain?”

Truthfully, his whole body hurts like a bitch but he’s already half asleep and doesn’t answer. The last thing he registers before sleep claims him is a blanket being draped over him and Harley kissing his cheek and saying, “Sweet dreams, Rick.”