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Imagine half-Incubus! Jaskier, who feeds off of all emotions like food. Except because he’s only half, he has to actively ward himself against any negative emotion that could poison him, at all times, which is EXHAUSTING.
But then Jaskier finds a witcher. And this witcher is…different. Because for as much as he insults the bard, threatening to run him through or leave him behind, his emotions do not match his words. So Jaskier just smiles as the months and years pass, because even though Geralt tries to hide it, there’s no mistaking the fondness that tastes like a warm buttered roll on Jaskier’s tongue every time the witcher acts annoyed at the bard’s antics.
It’s not the candy sugar-high of lust, nor the strange bitter, strong, earthy scent of what Geralt feels for the witch, but it’s something. It’s positive, and it’s for him, and that’s enough. Has to be enough, really, because Jaskier couldn’t ask for more. It doesn’t work like that, they’ve never worked like that.
And Jaskier takes it, lets down his walls against Geralt, because the man has never once felt an ounce of hate for him, even when the bard screwed up particularly egregiously. Which, really, in the grand scheme of things, is more important than the desire Jaskier has for honey cake-care, syrupy-sweet fritter-devotion, apple-pie filled-love—
Jaskier aches, and chides himself daily for being greedy. He takes what is given, and does not ask for more, having long ago chosen to never use what powers he has to feed like that. It’s not worth it, not for the confusion and pain it leaves in its wake.
But Jaskier will sometimes help take the edge off of negative emotions, can swallow down some of the spoiled meat-fear, mouldy bread-despair, sour, slimy ale-disgust. It leaves him feeling nauseous, his appetite poor for days, but it’s worth it for the relief it brings to those truly in need of it.
So when he notices the rotten egg-hurt coming off of Geralt on the mountain, he reaches out, trying to help the witcher. Open, defenseless, he chokes heavily on the bitter, numbing, burning-hate that Geralt shoves down his throat, the taste unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his life. Dizzy, he falls to the ground, clutching his chest at the way his heart stops breathing quite right, how his lungs don’t want to move.
He doesn’t notice the familiar beef stew-concern until it’s right next to him, visible in the bright golden eyes. The last thing he thinks before he passes out is how ironic it is, that Geralt’s hatred had taken the form of a buttercup, Wolf’s bane.
That he will die with the taste of his namesake on his lips.
He doesn’t expect to wake up, certainly not to the comfort, care, hope, love surrounding him like fog. He’s almost drunk on the emotions, feeling more full than he has since…well, ever. When he notices who they’re coming from, though, he can’t help the wall that flies up, has to force back a flinch at the realization of whose arms he is in.
And Geralt apologizes, verbally, feelings more free than Jaskier has ever seen them before, clearly projected for his sake. Jaskier listens as Geralt explains he’s suspected for years, but never knew for sure until…
It takes time, as most hurts do, to heal. Jaskier is reluctant at first, to leave himself vulnerable to feed off the witcher. But he is weak, and tired, and there’s no one else on this forsaken mountain he’s willing to feed off of, so he doesn’t have much choice.
For his part, Geralt only lets go of the bard when absolutely necessary, seemingly aware that physical contact makes the process easier on Jaskier. And Jaskier doesn’t want to forgive the witcher, wants to hold onto the fear, betrayal, hurt that he’d felt when Geralt force-fed him his emotions. But Jaskier can’t control the way his heart softens as the witcher helps him down the mountain, how the golden eyes always on him make him feel safe even when they shouldn’t.
It takes them a week to make it back to Roach, at which point Jaskier’s heart has finally stopped skipping beats and the dizziness has faded. Geralt asks Jaskier a silent question, and the bard thinks, really thinks, before stuffing the scant belongings he’d brought with him in his pack atop the witcher’s horse.
Jaskier squeaks when the witcher lifts him into the saddle, and he tells Geralt that he’s feeling all better, really, it’s been nice but he can walk, only for the witcher to join him atop Roach silently. And Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with this, this new territory, as Geralt wraps his arms around the bard to grab the reins.
He’s seconds from panicking when warm spiced milk-contentment envelops him like a hug, so overwhelming he can’t help but relax as he’s guided back to rest on an armored chest. The sensation is all-consuming, and Jaskier, more tired than he realized, feels his eyelids drooping.
The last thing he thinks before falling asleep is that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to want for more. If only this once.
Werewolf Bf that's so big and hairy and pulls you into his chest, it's soft and warm and safe and he is growling whenever you try to move out, even just a hand to reach for the water. He nuzzles into your neck and you can feel his every breath. He pulls you on top of him and keeps you in place, you feel his every breath with the steady rise and fall of his chest. It's a mess of fur.
Incubus Bf that does the same but much tighter, needs much more skin on skin contact. He holds you so tight he wants you to merge into his chest. His thin tail wraps around your thigh as he aims to have you completely under him. His hands occasionally stray and squeeze and grab in less than innocent places, but it's all affection.
Succubus Bf on the flip side that presses into your chest, tries to merge in and climb between your ribs to find a place to rest, nestled by your heart. Of course he can't so he'll settle for your arms around him. His tail holds your waist, the tip of it rubbing softly against the small of your back to offer the same comfort you give him.
Dragon Bf just laying on top of you. His weight comfortably weighing you down and shielding you from the outside. He gets to feel you beneath him and the sun warming his back. His wings wrap around you and so does his tail, wrapping you into a warm cocoon where your only worry may be him. Every now and then he squeezes you closer so his treasure doesn't slip from his grasp.
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I’ve been thinking about these characters and their dynamics for a while nao now -- picture, if you will, a paladin dispatched on a quest to recover a magical sword, a relic said to corrupt all of its bearers. His sacred creed is meant to stand as a shield against the thing’s ill influence, and yet when he finally reaches the blade, he discovers that the ‘sword’ is, in fact, an incubus imprisoned within it for far too many years… and its very, very bored.
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Modern Times, Porn With A Little Plot, Switchy vibes
Warnings: Explicit Content Ahead (18+ ONLY), Unprotected Sex (Wrap it before you tap it!)
Summary: Harley knows he's hot as hell. Literally.
He knows it's that combined with his god-like dirty talk and endless stamina that he got where he is today; One of the highest performing porn stars on the internet, his streams constantly hitting new records in terms of viewership and revenue. It's why he has no issue approaching you, the adorable stranger, at a mutual friends party. You're different, an unfamiliar face in a sea of people he knows intimately, and he's desperately curious how you ended up at a party full of pornstars. Especially when you look so...bookish. Not that it's a bad thing, of course, just unexpected.
What he doesn't know is just how full of surprises you are.
(GN!Writer!Reader x M!Pornstar!Incubus)
Word Count: 6274
For a party full of pornstars, this sure is boring.
Harley's not sure what it is about it, he’s usually the epitome of a social butterfly. Extroverted to the max, even for an incubus. His near limitless social battery is part of what makes his line of work so enjoyable; He’s always meeting new people, seeing the most intimate and hidden parts of themselves that no one else gets to see, getting to be with them more than others can. Even if he weren’t born an incubus, wasn’t literally fed by his work, he still thinks he’d be a pornstar. It’s just too much fun.
Maybe it’s the burning sun, hot enough that it sinks into his heat-resistant skin and almost has him melting into his pool floatie. The chitter-chatter of everyone else has faded to the background, his mind drifting elsewhere, the ice in his mimosa melting and making it nothing more than orange-juice water.
The party is packed with people, those who he does and doesn’t know. A mix of pornstars or sex demons or both, glisteningly beautiful and scantily clad in what barely counts as swimwear. Yet, Harley still can’t find himself interested, too relaxed on his floatie to even take a sip of his drink.
What finally draws his attention is the sound of the door slamming, the clicking of heels as the host dangerously runs past her own giant pool to greet the newcomer. It’s enough for Harley to pick up his head, finally sipping on the bendy straw and focusing his eyes to see whose come so fashionably late. Once he does, a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raises.
That’s interesting.
Now, Harley is far from one to make assumptions. He knows plenty of fellow sex demons and sex workers who, in spite of their profession, prefer to dress modestly in their day to day. But they rarely arrive to a pool party dressed in business pants and turtlenecks, even if they prefer to show less skin than most.
The host, Andronica, slams you into a hug, her ass cheeks jiggling with her razor-thin thong, practically nude as she shakes you around like an old friend. You giggle and set aside your sensible briefcase, meeting her energy back and giggling excitedly. After exchanging some words too quiet and far away for Harley to hear, you gesture your head to the bar. Andronica waves her hands as if to say “of course’ and walks off, presumably to continue her conversation with her coworkers and let you get your beverage.
Harley finds himself sitting up, the tip of his tail making mini whirlpools in the water.
Maybe this party isn’t so boring after all.
He slides off his floaty, making sure to toss his hair and pull up his swim shorts, baring a dangerous amount of his muscular thighs. Like a lot of people here, you can practically see the imprint of his cock through the black material, made all the more tantalizing by cut pelvis lines and his tree trunk thighs, adorned with black ink. Harley knows what he’s working with, and he’s planning on using it.
Even from afar and even in those stiff pants, Harley can tell you have a nice ass; Good size, nice shape, perfectly slappable. Your turtle neck is loose, but the imagination makes it all the more tantalizing. Especially when you lean over the bar to point out the kind of gin you’d like for your gin and tonic, and he gets the barest sliver of your bare back. What can he say, he does love a change of pace.
Harley tosses his hair again, letting it be perfectly bad-boy surfer fluffy, before he slides right next to you.
“Howdy.” He says, relishing the way you jerk in surprise. It’s cute, the way your hand clutches your chest.
“Oh!
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.” Harley chuckles, his sexy chuckle that always makes people weak in the knees.
“It’s no problem. I just spent all morning at the office and I guess I’m still a little wired.” You say, huffing a laugh and quickly rebounding from your shock. Harley finds he likes the way your smile curves.
“Name’s Harley.” He holds out a hand, hoping you notice just how long and dextrous his fingers look.
You respond with your name and a firm handshake, business like, just like your attire.
“Never seen you around here before, are you a friend of Andronica’s?” Harley asks, pretending he wasn’t watching your entrance with rapt attention.
“Yes, actually we were roommates in college.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ears. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, but I just moved back to the area so we were both psyched to see each other again” Ah, that makes sense. A school buddy, not a work buddy. “How do you know her?” Harley smirks, feathering the muscle of his jaw. He leans one of his arms up on the bar, conscious of the way it shows off his bicep and shoulder muscle.
“We’re coworkers. Never done a scene together, but a lot of mutual friends.”
Harley hates to admit it, but he expects a little blush. Maybe a stutter, or a look away. Clearly you know what she does, nor do you seem bothered by the excessive amount of nudity all around you, but Harley also knows that this line of work tends to be out of most humans' purview. So it's a surprise when you just nod, humming as if he just said that they met during pickleball.
“Cool! Do you usually do hardcore stuff, like her, or..” You trail off, eyeing the bartender making your drink.
“Uh, no, I'm kind of on the more basic side. I mean, not totally vanilla, I do some rough play, but nothing as intense as BDSM or that stuff.” Jeez, Harley might be the one blushing now. “I mostly stream, actually.”
“Ooh interesting, do you find that's easier or harder than the recorded stuff? Andronica always says she hates streaming. Doesn't like the pressure of a live audience.” The bartender slides your drink into your hand, yours sliding a nice tip her way and taking a sip.
Harely definitely didn’t expect the conversation to take this turn, but he certainly doesn’t hate it. Honestly, it's kind of refreshing having someone outside the industry to candidly talk about it.
“I prefer the live stuff actually. I’ve got a pretty solid audience, I like having immediate feedback. Plus, it's more independent so I get to play with a lot more ideas. Lot more improvisation, which has its perks.”
“Fascinating.” You take a big swig of your drink, and Harley’s surprised to see your eyes never wander. Never roll down his chest, glistening with water and sculpted like a marble statue. No, you put full and total attention to his eyes, really listening.
It’s…sort of hot.
“What do you do? You said something about an office?”
“Ahh, kind of. It was my publisher's office, I was having a meeting with my editor.” You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. That turtleneck is not doing you any favors in this heat. “I’m an author, actually. I’m writing my next book, so kind of in crunch mode at the moment.”
“Really? Thats fucking sick.” Harley finds himself leaning in. “What kinda books do you write?”
“Erotica.”
Harley finds his eyebrows raising. Wow, you really are full of surprises.
“Really? Anything I would know?”
“Maybe, I’ve had some decently popular ones. Lets see, I know Andronica really liked Passionate Midnight, so maybe she’s talked about it. Or Sunset On The Ship, that had a pretty broad reach. Late Nights At The Office also performed pretty well-”
Your spiel is interrupted by the bartender slamming her hands down, completely disregarding her glass cleaning.
“Oh my god! You’re Jamie Devereaux?”
You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck, the hint of a blush now coloring your cheeks.
“Ah, yes, that's my pen name. You know my books?”
“Omg, I love your books!” The bartender leans down and quickly produces a well loved copy of Late Nights At The Office, full of tabs and bent pages. Harley only catches a glimpse of the cover, a dragonborn woman dressed in a pencil skirt straddling a human man, before it's flipped open and pushed in front of you. “Gods, I know this is like, so unprofessional, but could I get your autograph?”
You laugh again, a twinkling sound Harley could definitely get used to, and sign.
“It’s no problem. What's your name?”
“Emilie!” The bartender bounces up on the balls of her feet, jittering from excitement as you write a sweet message in big swooping cursive. For the first time in his life, Harley understands what it's like to feel like a side character.
“Here ya go. Happy to hear you like them so much. It means a lot.”
The bartender squees looking at her signed copy.
“The girls at the book club are gonna be so jealous. Seriously, thank you so much.” She looks down at your half-empty glass. “Let me make you another drink! G&T?”
“Perfection.” You give her a thumbs up, finally turning attention back to Harley.
“Well, it seems to me you're more than decently popular.” Harley style says, tilting his head and stepping even closer into your space. You don’t seem flustered a bit, if only from the fan interaction. You shake your hand to say “Oh, stop it.”
“Well, the fanbase is small but passionate. I’m far from famous.”
“I don’t know, something tells me I should check these books out. Sounds like the’;re pretty good.”
Your eyes sparkle, the beautiful smile curling up your face again as he mentions your work. God, Harley wonders why Andronica hasn’t made you any offers to guest star before. You have the perfect goody-two shoes look that would bounce well with her dominatrix vibe.
“Well, lemme know what you think. I’m always down for constructive criticism.” You down the rest of your drink as Emilie slides you a fresh one, giving her a silent “thank you”. “Or, y’know, heaps of praise don’t hurt either.” You wink, and Harley feels his stomach twisting up in a good way.
Oh, you were just what this party was needing.
Harley’s about to lead into another line when Andronica’s calling your name, waving you over to her big group of friends sitting by the pool. One of them holds up a book, and while Harley can’t see the cover, he’d bet good money it's another one of yours.
“Whelp, friendship duty calls.” You grab your drink and briefcase, slinging it over your shoulder. “It was very nice to meet you, Harley. See you around?”
“Sure thing. Andronica loves to throw a party.”
You chuckle.
“Don’t I know it.”
Harley is unashamed watching you walk away, letting his eyes wander down the line of your back and to that cute little ass.
Yeah, he’s definitely seeing you again
—
The rest of the party is a bust after that. Andronica’s too busy showing you off for Harley to get any time alone with you, finding himself leaving after another two hours of floating in the pool. Probably for the best anyway, he has a stream tonight and doesn’t want to be too sunbaked.
After another successful performance involving a vibrating fleshlight and plenty of “yeah, you like that?”, Harley finds himself scrolling through social media. Specifically Andronica’s social media: Specifically, her “Followed” list, desperately trying to find your account. To his glee, he finds two; both your personal account and your author account. While your personal is private, your author account has more than enough for him to obsess over.
You keep your appearances to a minimum, but you're not totally hidden away. There are plenty of pictures of you at fan meetups or book signings, a blurb of you in the back of each successful copy. You post a lot of fan submitted art and the official covers of each novel, each one different from the last. Seems you write a little bit of everything; Fluffy Slow burns, Historical drama, dark thrillers, all tied together by a healthy amount of smut. It's after two hours of scrolling that Harley finally bites the bullet and buys a copy of your last release, Forbidden Passions. The cover is what attracts him most, a curvaceous lead being bent over a desk by her chimera boss.
He learns quickly just how humbly you were acting. Holy shit, this smut was good.
If Harley was being honest, he never quite understood the appeal of written pornography. To him, his favorite parts of porn are things writing never quite grasps. The sounds, the frenetic energy of the performance, the ambiance. Yet he finds himself just as enraptured as he gets to the dirty bits of your book, practically hearing the slapping skin, the voices in the dirty talk. He feels himself getting worked up by every paragraph, every sentence, every word. Eventually, he even makes himself cum, despite spending himself pretty hard not hours before.
That night, before he goes to sleep, he slides into your DM’s, and asks if you’d like to get coffee.
—
Harley isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting from your first date. You had left him tantalized, just enough for him to crave more, yet still completely unaware of what could come next. You had already defied most of his presuppositions in your first five minute conversation.
What he definitely isn’t expecting is just how easy it is to talk to you. He tones down his pornstar charm this time, seeing his extra layer of flirtatiousness would be nothing compared to your honesty, yet still finding himself desperate for your approval. You make him laugh, he makes you laugh, and hours fly like minutes. Coffee turns into lunch, lunch turns into a walk around the city, and that turns into dinner at one of his favorite pizza places. He didn’t realize arguing with someone about video games over a $2 slice of pizza could be so intoxicating.
“I’m just saying, if we’re talking about Miyamoto’s original vision for the game, I don’t see how any other Zelda game can compare to Breathe of the Wild or Tears of The Kingdom. Like, they make all the others look like ass.” Harley says, picking at a stray peperoni from his paper plate and shoving it in his mouth, not a care for how uncouth it makes him look.
“Wow, the absolute slander spewing from your mouth right now is ridiculous.” You say, eyes wide with playful indignation. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome, Harley, or else I would not let this blasphemous speech about Ocarina of Time slide.”
“Booo. Basic.”
“It’s a classic for a reason! And what, you’re saying Wind Waker is ass?! C’mon, tell me you have better taste than that.”
The two of you spend several more hours just like that, gorging on pizza and talking each other's ears off.
It’s nice, getting to chat with someone about this. While he knows plenty of others in his field who like nerdy shit, Harley is used to being categorized as a jock. And yeah, while he enjoys basketball and baseball as much as the next guy, it's not often someone is willing to chat video games with him this passionately and for this long. His few nerd friends are more into FPS and speed strats, and while your tastes definitely veer into the more visual-novel, cozy gaming side, your love of the medium means the two of you never find a lull in your conversation.
By the time you realize it, the pizza guys are politely asking you to get the fuck out so they can close up for the night. You both leave in a blustered, embarrassed mess, still giggling into each other. Harley can’t remember the last late night he didn’t spend at a bar, or streaming, or co-oping in COD with pals. It’s…nice. You’re company.
Even nicer when you invite him back up to your apartment.
—
Your apartment’s cute, just like you. A perfectly humble size, not too small, not too big. Cozy, full of decorations and knick knacks from across the years, matched with an eclectic collage of garage sale furniture. It has all the hallmarks of your job and passion, a dedicated writing room with a large desk and minimal distractions, a magnificent bookcase that spans the entire wall of your living room, and notebooks crammed with notes and drawings at odd places all around.
Harley only has a moment to take it all in, to enjoy the peek into your life, before you yank down his fly. As cute as the apartment is, Harley thinks the sight of you on your knees is much cuter.
“Are you sure you’ve never done-” Harley lets out a breathy sigh, watching your tongue swirl around his head, “- sex work before? Because you’re sucking like a professional.”
You pop off for just a second,
“Positive.” You say with a wink, before taking him all the way to the base in one fell swoop.
“Oh, f-uck.” His fingers knot in the hair at the base of your skull on reflex, desperate for something to steady himself. Harley can feel the back of your throat against his weeping tip. And while he’s had his fair share of experienced partners, barely has anyone been able to take him this deep this fast. “That’s it. Suck it baby.”
Suck it you do. Drool and precum smacking on your lips as you move your mouth up and down, hollowing out your cheeks for maximum suction, tongue dragging along his shaft in just the right away. Harley’s knuckles turn a light pink from his clenching, nails digging into your scalp. He forces that tension to release once he realizes, understanding that not everyone enjoys the pain. But when the hand fondling his balls grabs his wrist and forces it back into place, Harley thinks otherwise. He lets out a breathless laugh. Gods, why is he even surprised by you anymore?
Harley doesn’t hold back, holds you still and stuffs your throat with his meaty dick, forces you to smell all of him, nose deep in his (neatly trimmed) pubes. Your covetous tongue flickers out, his cock deep enough that your tongue’s tip reaches his balls. Harley’s sure you can feel the blood pulsing on your palate, the veins of his shaft throbbing as he tries his best not to cum then and there. He’s supposed to be the professional here, after all.
Harley lets up on his grip when you tap his thigh, preparing for you to take a deep breath; Instead you pull your mouth to the very tip, lips wrapped tight around his frenulum, flaring your nostrils before slamming back down.
“Fuck!” Harley whines between his teeth when start bobbing your head faster, making your deep throat from before look like amateur work. You bully your own throat on his cock, let it thud against your gag with each nod of your head. Amidst it all you never lose your gaze on him, even when tears bud at the sides and drool falls down your jaw. Your nails dig half-moons into his bare thighs, helping keep your balance on your knees.
“Holy shit, babe.” Harley can barely sputter out the words between the smacking of your lips, a fuzz going over his mind. “Wanna fuck your mouth. Can I?”
A surge of pleasure goes up his spine when you nod, spreading down to his stomach when you open up your mouth and relax your jaw, losing the tight suction on his cock. Harley’s toes wiggle in the excitement, one second away from letting out a goddamn ‘yippee’.
“Tap if it's too much, okay?”
You nod in understanding, his cock head bouncing around in your mouth, though a part of him hardly thinks you need the advice. Clearly this is not your first rodeo.
Readjusting his grip on your head, He wastes no time to force his dick back down your throat, another tinge shooting up his back when he feels you gagging around the thick shaft. But no tap on his thigh yet, so he doesn’t relent, pulling back and surging in within a half second, setting a hard and fast pace, using your mouth like a fleshlight.
“S-shit, gonna make me-” Harley wheezes, biting down on his bottom lip, “-m-make me cum.” He grabs your head with his other hand, forcing you steady and thrusting his hips even harder. “I wanna cum down your throat. Want you to swallow it. Can you do that for me?” Your eyes crinkle up, a wiry smile on your lips despite the thick dick jutting in and out. You give him a nod, your lust fragrant on Harley’s tongue. You taste delicious. “So good for me.” Harley pats your cheek, his hands trembling from his focus. He can feel the knot twisting in his belly, his balls tightening as they thwap against your chin. “Fuck, h-here it comes!”
With one last yank of your head, Harley seats his cock the deepest it can go down into your mouth, jets of hot cum peppering the back of your throat and reaching all the way down to your stomach. Harley almost wishes you were a sex demon like him, if only so you could truly savor the lust he’s filling you with.
Your eyes going cross send him into aftershocks, his hips jutting up into your cheeks as the final drops of his orgasm decorate your esophagus. Fuck, he wishes he had a camera right now, wishes he could turn you into a star.
As an incubus, Harley’s lack of a true refractory period was something to be proud of. But after that even he needs a moment to breathe, falling out of your mouth and back onto your couch, chest heaving. He quickly strips off his shirt, not even in an attempt to show off his impressive chest and stomach, but to relieve the heat that steams off his skin. A blush has colored his pecs a dark purple, sweat dripping down in between the crevices of his statuesque muscles.
“Holy shit.”
He wipes off the rivulets currently sticking his hair to his forehead. His skin feels tingly when you crawl up his side, your kisses charting a path from his navel to his neck, like lightning on his nerves. You look unfairly put together, still fully dressed in your outfit from today, the only sign of debauchery being his sweat and juices decorating your lips and jaw. With a gentle nudge of two fingers you turn him to face you, meeting in a belly tingling kiss.
“How you feeling?” Your voice whispers against his lips, fingers coming up to pet at the back of his neck in a way that has him purring like a kitten.
“Great.” Harley manages to stutter out before smashing his lips back into you, a desperate attempt to reclaim the power, to guide what happens next. But deep inside, both of you know that's impossible. Still, he grabs the wrist currently tapping its fingers across his chest and guides it down to his crotch, his cock already perking back up under your attention. The blowjob may have winded him more than expected, but he was still an incubus. His hard shaft in your palm has you smirking, wiggling your shoulders in a mischievous way.
“Yeah?” You laugh, and Harley regrets the way his mouth follows yours when you pull away. If his fan base could see him now, they’d be creaming at this unusual side. Probably spamming the chat when his fangs clamp down on his bottom lip, pupils blowing out as you finally shuck off your outfit, as he finally gets a full glimpse of that beautiful body you’ve been keeping from him. You’re even hotter than he imagined.
In the next second you're on him, don’t let him even get a glimpse of your sweet hole before it’s gliding over his spit-slick shaft. You suck in your bottom lift, eyes rolling back with your grinding, feeling his girth against you. Harley lets out a shuddering breath.
“You want it?” Harley asks, not meeting your eyes, instead drawing them down your chest and across your cute nipples. He wants to pinch them, wants to bite them.
“Desperately.” You moan with another roll of your hips, goosebumps peppering his thighs at the sound. Such a nice voice. He thinks Andronica must be crazy for not inviting you to a shoot; Just one night and he was practically begging for you to be his next co-star.
“Then take it, baby. Ride me.”
He says it like one, but you both know it's not a command. It’s a desperate plea, a bratty request. The kind that has you smiling, leaning over so your chest to chest, hand curling around the back of his neck. His heart catches when your fingers dig into the baby hairs at the back of his skull and yank him backward, baring his thick throat like it's a morsel. Your teeth sink into his meaty neck, hard enough to bruise. Harley moans again, sure you can feel it rumbling through your body.
“O-oh~”
His eyes roll back as you attack the thin skin on his pulse with your mouth, forcing his shoulders to pin back with the tight grip you have on his hair. With controlled movements you sit up until his cockhead presses against your hole, guiding it with your free hand until it's perfectly lined up.
“P-please.” Harley croons, unable to be teased any longer. His balls feel like they’re about to burst. You smirk against his skin, pausing your kisses to whisper a-
“Good boy.”
Then, you’re sinking down his cock, as easily and quickly as your mouth took him earlier. Yet still you're tight, squeezing and warm. Precum drips down his head in rivulets, only easing your assent. Harley moans when your hips finally meet his, feeling his cockhead pressed as deep as it could possibly go. Fuck.
The first roll of your hips has his back arching, forcing his head deep into your grip, chasing the pain of your nails digging into his skin. The second roll has his toes curling, lewd noises crawling up his throat. The tenuous seconds once you finally pull up, let him almost fall out of you with only the tip remaining, before slamming back down, has him seeing stars. Just a couple moments, a couple moments of tantalizing teasing, to let him catch his breath. Before the real show begins.
“Aa-aah~” All Harley can do once you start riding him in earnest is cling on to your hips, fingers squishing into your love handles in an attempt of staying sane. It's a herculean effort, when you bounce so beautifully on his cock. In normal circumstances this is when he’d take control, use his superior demon strength to move you on his cock, or force you in place and make you beg for him to keep moving. Even when he thrusts upwards, flexing his glutes and pressing his cock against the sensitive spot inside, you’re still in control.
“You like that?” You pant, sweat finally starting to bead up on your skin. Your fingers had loosened in their grip, focusing your energy in throwing your hips up and down, but they yank once more when Harley tries to move. The whimper that escapes his lips is foreign to his own ears, yet so delicious. “You like being my toy? My dildo?” Your sultry voice bounces directly in his ear, his hands clawing at your thick ass, pawing and groping. You yank when he doesn't respond, the feeling shooting straight into his cock.
“Y-yes! Yes, I love it!” Harley turns and open-mouth kisses you, all desperation and craving being connected to you in every way. You chuckle into his mouth, indulging him with a french kiss, just as sloppy as the rest of him. “U-se me, use me!” Harley slurs between kisses, tongue and brain and cock far too preoccupied for his normal, controlled dirty talk.
“Hmmm, good boy.” You say, finally pulling away so only a string of saliva connects your two lips. Your fingers unwrap from his hair; but Harley doesn’t have time to complain when they draws down his chest instead, pinching one of his nipples.
“Fuck!” He whines, hips jumping again into your aching hole. You don’t reprimand him this time, rewarding his debauchery with a deliberate squeeze of your insides. “S-shit!”
You’re sitting up now, one hand still playing with his pec while the other rests on his thigh, perfectly aligning yourself so his cock goes even deeper. Your core and leg strength are impressive, perfectly balancing on his dick and still going up and down, up and down. The slapping of your two bodies, his balls hitting your ass cheeks, sticking together with sweat and bodily fluids, is a cacophony across the apartment. A part of him hopes your walls are thick, but the exhibitionist part hopes they're thin. Hopes everyone on the block can hear him and his pretty moans, hear you talking him through it.
“I’m-” Harley sucks in a breath through his teeth, “-fuck-I’m close.” He’d be embarrassed, in other circumstances, by his lack of stamina. On a normal day he can go for hours, indulging himself in orgasm after orgasm, stomach never feeling full, his balls never empty. Yet under you he finds himself on the razor’s edge, the last remnants of his mind forcing his own concentration and stopping him from blowing his load without at least proper warning.
“Hmm? That so?” You halt, his cock still pulsing inside you as you tap your chin. The whine that vibrates his cock is that of an animal. His hand squeezes your ass, trying his best to forcefully grind you on his cock. But a lightning fast slap to his wrist has him retreating, kneading at your cheeks like an apology, properly domesticated and docile. “Seems to me…” You hum, slowly rising up from your knees and letting him thwap outside of you, now nestled between your ass cheeks, “...you still have to work for it.”
With a dramatic flourish you fall to the side of him, quickly adjusting so you’re on your back; Legs wide open, hole practically begging for his cock. Your message is understood immediately, adrenaline shooting directly into his veins and making any exhaustion fall to the wayside. Harley pounces on you, meeting you in a forceful kiss, so desperate it makes you chuckle.
Despite the way you tease him, it's your gentle hand that guides his cock back to where it belongs. As aloof as you act, Harley can smell your desire, thick enough to have his forked tongue flicker out and taste in the air. So sweet, so tantalizing.
Harley can’t help the sigh once he’s back inside, the way his cock twitches with joy upon feeling your insides around him. He’s too far gone to pretend he’s not hounding for it.
“Show me what made you a star.” You purr in his ear, and if he wasn’t ready to go before, then that is what sets him over the edge.
His hands find their place back on your hips, but not just to steady himself. Now it’s to make sure you don’t wiggle away, that he has a solid grip. Because now, it’s his time to shine.
He doesn’t give you a breather as you did for him; No, he’s far too pent up for that. Besides, with the way you're looking at him he doubts you’d want it anyway.
“Aah!” You yelp when his dick first pounds against that sensitive spot, teeth clamping down on your lip hard enough to break the skin. Your hands crawl up his muscled back, struggling to find purchase on the sweaty, hard planes as he starts pounding into you like a machine. Like he was crafted just for this, which in a way, he was. “Fuck, right there!”
Normally, this is where Harley would let his mouth work his magic too. Talk you through it, whisper every dirty, unspeakable thought he’s had about you and this tight little hole. But he finds his throat dry, too focused on making you cum on his cock, on not letting himself cum before you do, to even try. All he can offer are animalistic grunts that come from a deeper, unconscious part of him. The baser, less-performative side that's only for you, not the cameras.
“Yes!” You wail, legs wrapping like a vice around his waist, forcing him even deeper inside. You can’t even cross your ankles, his muscular torso too wide, even though you try your damndest. Anything to keep him pounding at the same, delicious spot. Especially when he curls his hands under your ass and forces your body to bend, to allow him to drag against your inner walls in a way that has your vision going spotty. “Yes, yes, yes!”
The heavy breathing in your ear, the feeling of his thick body against your chest, his hair hanging like a curtain around you; All of it feels handcrafted by sex-gods themselves, specifically meant to scramble your brain until all you yearn for is one more orgasm.
Harley’s balls slap against your ass hard enough to bruise, the sharp edges of his defined stomach digging into your softer abdomen. Good, he wants you marked up, wants you to smell of him for days. Speaking of marks…
“Un–gh.” Your eyes finally clench shut, your hands finding their rightful place on Harley’s skull when he starts sucking on your neck. He doesn’t bother holding back, can feel your body reacting when his fangs nip at the sensitive skin. A primordial feeling has come over him, the need to claim you, to shape you until only his cock will fit inside you. Till the only thing you both can taste is each other.
“Wanna cum inside.” He pants directly into your ear, craving what he rarely gets to feel. While one of the few benefits of being an incubus is being unable to get STI’s, he still practices caution in every shoot, wanting to emulate something for his followers to take away. Yet still a part of him craves it, the base part that wants to see you dripping with him, walking with his seed inside you. “Can I?” You answer him with a fervent nod and another tug on his hair, pulling him into a half-moan half-kiss. The knot inside his stomach pulls even tauter, but Harley still knows it's not time just yet. He’d asked just in case, but he has one more task to complete before his dreams come true.
So the next thing you know your ankles are up by your head, Harley pulling away from the drooling kiss to put all his energy into the mating press, his cock practically carving a hole into your gut. All your nerves light up, ablaze with too much sensation, and you can see your toes start curling mid-air.
“Fuck-I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me, baby. C’mon.” Harley’s nostrils flare, eyes bloodshot as he fights with all his might not to cum before you do. Even when you make that beautiful face, when your body wracks with pleasure and squeezes around him.
“Fuck!” You both scream at the same time, bodies pulsing with energy as Harley shoots you full of his cum and your whole milks him for all that it's worth. With a final few pumps of his hips he rides out the climax, overstimulating your poor entrance as he makes sure every last drop stays deep inside you.
Harley can’t remember the last time he was this exhausted, this full. His belly pooches out with the glut of pleasure in his stomach, his mind feeling hazy as he collapses back onto you. All his finely formed muscles, crafted from hours at the gym and a strict routine, do nothing to hold him up against this exhaustion, even as he clings to the arm of your sofa. The one comfort he has is that you’re just as exhausted, sweat slicking your entire body, your poor human heart pounding like a bass drum against his chest.
“Oh-” Harley sighs, face deep in your neck, no doubt leaving sweat stains on your sofa, “-my god.”
Your laugh, the beautiful, twinkling one, bounces off his ears. Your hands card through his long, sweaty tresses, your grip much more gentle than before.
“I know.” You sigh, kissing his temple.
The two of you stay like that, interlocked, for a while. It takes several minutes for your muscles to bounce back, for the dehydration to kick in and finally force you two apart. Harley doesn’t think he’s missed anything more than when his cock falls out of you.
“I’ve got-” You wheeze, just the act of sitting up taking out your miniscule energy, “-I’ve got lemonade.”
“Fuck yeah.” Harley says, giving a thumbs up. It has you giggling again, kissing his outstretched palm.
“Does that mean you want a glass?”
Harley just nods, face now pressed down into your stomach. You laugh, and move to stand up. Harley's arms wrap around your legs.
“I’ve gotta get up to get the lemonade, dork.” You pat his head, and with a dramatic groan, Harley lets you leave him. Though not without tilting his head, watching that cute little ass sway as you head towards your tiny apartment kitchen.
