Another prompt ficlet! @skyromaniac-05 requested “Rick thirsting over Harley” and this was the result. Given the nature of the prompt, this one’s a spicy one so feel free to skip if that’s not your thing.
Rick has to suppress a groan at the sight that greets him when he walks into the kitchen. Harley, wearing one of his t-shirts (the yellow one with the bunny on it that she seems to be obsessed with) and making coffee. The shirt hits about mid-thigh and he knows for a fact that she’s not wearing shorts underneath. She stands on tiptoe to reach something from the cupboard and the shirt rides up—giving him a glimpse of the black boyshorts she’s wearing.
It’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.
She squeaks when he comes up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist. His lips go to her exposed shoulder and he teases, “Been wondering where that shirt went.”
Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun—leaving her neck on display. He starts pressing lingering kisses along the length of her throat. She tilts her head to the side to give him easier access. “What’re you doing up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she gasps, as he nips at a particularly sensitive spot.
“Nightmare?” he asks, immediately turning serious. He doesn’t usually sleep through them but there’s a first time for everything.
“No,” she replies as she leans into his embrace. “Just woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“They’re getting better.”
“Yep.” She turns around in his arms and smiles up at him.
He decides to change the subject. “Seriously, where was this thing?” he asks in reference to the shirt she’s wearing.
She giggles. “I may or may not have stolen it from your laundry pile last month.”
“So you’re just gonna keep stealing my shirts?”
“Yep!”
“You know, keep stealing them and I won’t have anything left to wear.”
She grins mischievously and trails her hands up his bare chest to drape around his neck. “All part of my master plan.”
“Is that so?” He pulls her closer.
“Uh-huh,” she says—rolling up on her toes to be closer to his height.
He gasps when he feels her lips on his throat and his grip tightens on her hips. He can feel her smirk. She continues pressing heated kisses along his neck and jawline. His pulse hammers and blood rushes south. She finally gets to his ear and whispers, “Fuck me, Colonel.”
And he snaps.
He hoists her up onto the counter and drags her to the edge. “Yes, ma'am,” he growls, before crashing his lips into hers.
The coffee ends up getting cold.
———
Rick smiles and takes another sip of his beer as he watches Harley having the time of her life on the dancefloor. She’s on her third margarita and has already informed four other patrons that she’s “got a PhD, motherfucker!”
He’s content to sit back and enjoy the view. And he can’t help but think the view he has right now is nothing short of amazing.
Harley’s wearing a pink crop top and those denim shorts she’d hand painted stripes on—leaving her whole back and long legs exposed.
She takes a break from dancing to come say hi to him. “Hiya baby!”
He chuckles. “How drunk are you?”
She huffs. “I’m pleasantly tipsy, if you must know.”
He can tell she’s a little past pleasantly tipsy, but not sloppy drunk.
She grabs the hoodie he’d discarded earlier and throws it around her shoulders before climbing into his lap. His hands go to the bare skin of her lower back automatically and he bites back a groan. He’ll be honest, this is the last place he wants to be right now, with her looking like that.
“Havin’ fun?” she asks.
“Harls, I’m this close to dragging you to the back alley,” he rasps in her ear, before pressing a sneaky kiss to her neck.
“Home?” she gasps.
“Home,” he agrees, before practically dragging her out the door.
His lips are on her the second they get home. She kisses back enthusiastically—jumping up and wrapping her long legs around his waist. His hands go to her ass.
He presses her back against the nearest wall as his kisses move downward.
They don’t even make it to the bedroom.
——
Harley finishes applying her bright red lipstick and then takes a step back to look at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’s wearing a red satin A-line dress with a plunging neckline and open back. She looks hot. It’s the kind of dress that’s gonna have Rick drooling over her all fucking night. Curled hair and black heels complete the look.
She walks out to the living room to see one of the sexiest things she’s ever seen. Rick Flag. In a suit.
He looks uncomfortable as he fiddles with his shirt cuffs and the tie around his neck and his hair is still damp from the shower he just took. Her type may be “covered in blood” but god damn does he clean up nicely.
He looks up to see her and she smirks as she watches his gaze trail from her face downward. His eyes linger somewhere around her cleavage.
“What do ya think?” she asks, knowing full well what he’s thinking.
He comes close and snakes his arms around her waist—hands resting on her exposed lower back. He leans down and whispers in her ear, “I’m half tempted to just forget about dinner and find out how good this dress looks on the floor.”
She bites her lip and suppresses a moan. She reaches up and loosens the tie around his neck and pulls him down to her height so she can whisper back, “And if I’d known how well ya clean up I would’ve insisted on a fancy dinner months ago.”
Truthfully, all she can think about is getting him out of that suit. She’s not one to turn down a fancy dinner though. They’re celebrating her birthday after all.
She unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt and snakes her hand inside to caress his chest. He inhales sharply at her touch. She moves the fabric aside to gain access to the skin of his neck—where she drops a lingering kiss. His hands tighten around her back. When she pulls back she sees that she’s left behind a lipstick print and she smirks. A little gift for him to discover later when he takes his tie off.
Dinner ends up being more amazing than she could ever imagine. She’s never been taken out to a fancy dinner before for any occasion, let alone her birthday. It makes her feel special, and she can’t say she’s felt like that very often in her life.
Really, the only thing hindering the date is the fact that both of them are so horny they can’t wait to leave. She has to refrain from dragging him to the restroom no less than four times while they’re waiting for their food.
The drive home is agony. Rick has his hand on her thigh the whole time and the closer they get to home, the higher his hand inches up her dress. He’s so close yet so far from where she needs him the most. She lets out a soft moan when he strokes her through her panties. It quickly turns into a whine when he withdraws his hand as quickly as it appeared. She glances at him and can see him smirking. Smug bastard.
She grabs his tie and pulls him into a sloppy kiss the second they’re through the door of their apartment. Without breaking the kiss or releasing her grip on his tie, she leads him to the bedroom.
They both agree the red dress looks much better on the floor.
————–
Rick is busy in the produce section of the grocery store when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees it’s a text from Harley. He opens it, expecting a meme that makes absolutely no sense to him, but the image he’s confronted with is better—muchbetter—than that.
It’s a picture of Harley, lying on her back with her head at the foot of the bed, hair cascading over the side. Her legs are bent in front of her and raised slightly and one hand is in her hair. She’s staring directly at the camera. She’s wearing a red corset with black polka dots that makes her chest look amazing and black boyshorts. Curled hair, red heels, and her favorite shade of red lipstick complete the picture.
He looks closer and realizes that, yes, she’s clutching his dog tags in her other hand. He curses under his breath and seriously contemplates just abandoning the cart and rushing home instead. Unfortunately, they desperately need groceries.
He gets another picture as he’s standing in line at the checkout.
She’s lying on her stomach this time, propped up on her elbows. Her legs are crossed behind her and she has his dog tags twined between her fingers. She’s blowing the camera a kiss with her other hand, and winking.
He suppresses a groan and wills the line to move faster. Instead, it seems to take forever.
The third picture comes when he’s putting the groceries in the trunk.
She’s on her knees this time—back arched and hands in her hair.
He goes twenty over the speed limit on the way home.
The groceries get abandoned by the front door and he stalks towards the bedroom. Harley is lounging on the bed, scrolling through her phone, but immediately tosses it aside when she hears him come in.
She shoots him a wicked grin. “Did ya get the pictures?”
He drops to his knees. “Oh I got them.”
He grabs her by the ankles and drags her to the edge of the bed, tossing her legs over his shoulders.
“What did ya think?” she asks breathlessly.
He trails kisses up the inside of her thigh. “I think it’s time for some payback.”
He peels her panties down her legs and trails his kisses higher—purposely avoiding the area she wants him the most. She’s practically shaking in anticipation by the time his lips touch her wet heat.
The ice cream is half melted by the time he’s done with her.
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.”
Hey guys. So this is one of my best friends. Izzy is her name. Camera skillz are her game. She’s pretty cool. Y'all should follow her. MAKE HER FAMOUS #izzy2014
