"Mamaa...mamaa...mama!" You let out an exasperated sigh as the little cub kept waddling after you, you didn't want to touch the humanoid snow Leopold baby that had just learnt walking, knowing his father was nearby, but you had a duty and feeding the little one was one of them, you reached out for the little cub who obediently stretched out his hands.
"You were a good boy?" You couldn't help but coo as the cub nuzzled your neck affectionately, his ears perked up as he slowly blinked "Yea!...was good!" He replied before making grabby hands for your hand so you could pet his head.
This was your own fault for taking a little cub as your familiar, well, technically the baby imprinted on you and his father, which you dared not to look in the eyes was a behemoth of a hybrid, was not pleased, but he stayed in the shed in the backyard of your home, watching closely how you treated his precious cub.
You didn't look at him in the eyes, not because you were afraid, no, it was because he'd devour you whole with his piercing gaze, nearly pouncing on you to nuzzle you close, oh right, as the cub thought you were his mother, he now had claimed you as his mate, welp, good thing you have a spray bottle for shooing him away.
Lord, what would you do with them two when your witchery exams drew near?
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Black Forest Cookie is so lovely—and she seems to have an obsession for the witches. You know what that means! Careful there Keyholder, wouldn’t want to be outed hehe~
Guide to Dealing with Your Deadbeat Family's Evil Counterparts | Part 3
Meanwhile, at the Wayne Manor...
"They hung up on me?"
Dick stared at his phone in disbelief. Hours he'd spent trying to find you because this dimension's unworthy excuse of your family never bothered saving your phone number moreover installing a single tracker in said phone, hours he'd ended up tearing your bedroom apart for the slightest clue until he came across a scribbled note of what he later learnt with knee-buckling relief was indeed your phone number, hours fretting and praying nothing had happened to you–
Only for you to hang up on him??
Not far from Dick, Jason, the bastard, snorted in amusement.
"Oh, I like the kid's audacity." He grinned. "I was already worried they would be the kid version of a Stepford wife, what with the perfect socialite manner before. Turns out all they needed to be a brat was for Dickiebird to be all motherhen over them."
Breathing in, Dick reminded himself that the phone he was gripping actually belonged to his counterpart and thus necessary for pretending to be him (except for the terrible brother part), and thus shouldn't be thrown at Jason's head.
Bruce, on top of a ladder by the wall where he was re-hanging a framed painting, proceeded to frown. "That could have many implications. Our previous investigation has shown that Reader is not close to any of our counterparts, and they have acted–as Jason remarked–perfectly polite to us back at dinner. But then they ran away and behaved flippantly towards Dick who contacted them, which could mean–"
"Which could mean we would not finish putting my sibling's room back together before their return, if you chose to dwell upon this matter right now, Father," Damian snarked, then added, "Tilt the painting two more milimeters up on the left side."
Bruce frowned harder, but did as directed.
Shutting closed the drawer where he had just put your re-folded clothes in, Alfred ignored the rest and addressed Tim, "I presume you are still unable to track down Mx Reader's location, Master Tim?"
Tim let out a voice between a groan and a shout, pressing one hand over his face while throwing his tablet across the bed he was sitting on using his other hand. Said tablet skidded near the edge and precariously hung halfway out, threatening to fall and shatter into pieces, but it seemed Tim was too exasperated to care right now.
"It's unbelievable! It's like the signal is glitching out of reality itself! Which it isn't because I know how to deal with that! I don't know what is up with their phone!"
"Just say you're not as smart as you thought you were, Timmy," teased Jason. "Wouldn't help with anything, but would keep you humble at least."
"I'll humble you, you–"
"If you would be so good to focus on the matter at hand, please, young masters."
"Right," Dick muttered, massaging his forehead while going through his phone one more time. Just like all the previous times he did it, Dick felt a pang in his chest. His counterpart had been as social as he was; there were countless chats and call logs as well as pics and recordings from all sorts of events in said phone. Even his notes app was full of reminders for people's birthdays and other celebrations with suggestions for gifts.
Yet out of the hundreds of chats and calls, the thousands of pics and recordings, not a single one came from you. Hell, Dick's counterpart did not even have your phone number.
Did that bitch even remember you were his little sibling?
You were sixteen to Dick's twenty-eight. Twelve years' difference. Dick, both in his world and this one, first came to live with Bruce at age eight–twenty years ago, damn, he was getting old. The records concerning you and your mother were frustratingly sparse, but the part about your age was solid enough. Dick couldn't help wondering what his counterpart's twelve-year-old self was feeling and thinking about your existence then.
Was he excited to have a baby sibling? Or was he jealous, scared that the baby would take away all the love and attention from him?
And what about your mother? The one and only wife of Bruce's counterpart, Dick's counterpart's stepmother, who went missing without a trace three days after giving birth to you. Were he and your mother close? Or the opposite? Did he hate both you and your mother, or did he like her but hate you, or did he like the both of you?
Dick thought about the twelve-year-old boy who had every chance to be a big brother to you, who could have witnessed your first word and step, who very likely never did–and detested him with every inch of his being.
Dick would have been a much better brother to you.
(Though as your big brother, his first act once he got you back would be to lock you up inside until you knew not to run away or hang up on him.)
You paused in the middle of walking through the street, suddenly feeling a chill running up your spine.
Pressing one hand to your nape and another to the mana stone brooch pinned on your sternum (actually the concealed hilt of a dagger you'd made yourself), you warily scanned for danger. Finding none, you slightly more frantically used your magic sense to check on your technically-in-progress projects, just in case one of them was about to explode and decimate Gotham again.
Having triple checked that everything was fine, you tentatively assumed the chill was caused by the impostors. Whatever they were planning or doing to give you this premonition, though, you had no idea. You could only hope it was nothing you and your coven wouldn't be able to handle yourselves.
It was such a pain to get the JLD involved...
Mentally sorting that into the To Panic Over/Deal With Later folder, you continued on your way to your destination:
The evil dimensional portal's original location.
Of all cliches, said location happened to be an abandoned warehouse that had been used by a cult to summon their god. Or maybe a bunch of baby goths to summon a demon, you weren't sure. The traces of a shoddy pentagram drawn in pig blood on the concrete floor could've been done by kindergarteners for all you knew.
("Not everyone's an ambidextrous able to draw perfect circles and straight lines without tools or a natural array genius, witch."
"I have no idea what you are talking about, werewolf.")
Your coven was waiting already. Callum paused his prying open the crates stacked by a wall with his favourite crowbar to cheerfully wave at you, syncing with Gudrun who was perched gargoyle style on a rafter above. Dressed in a pure white, bell-sleeved medieval-esque robe with a hood drawn over the upper half of her widely-smiling face, you privately thought she looked scarier than Callum with his rusty ol' crowbar. Kilmeny and Lark, the lovebirds, blessedly just nestled to each other on top of a long crate while smiling and nodding at you in greeting.
You waved your own hand, at once greeting your coven back and gathering them around. Without further ado, you asked,
"Got anything?"
After a minor breakdown over the impossibility of changing the impostor Bats for the originals, you had your coven members split up to gather clues, info, or whatever else they could. You yourself had gone to your lab-slash-study-slash-studio to retrieve your grimoire.
Gudrun was the first to speak. "I've checked with Grandmère. Nothing historically important about this place or either times those portals appeared. As far as we've been able to check, it was chosen randomly."
You sighed, unsurprised yet still disappointed. Logically you would know if an important event (ranging from a demon-worshipping orgy to a wrongful mass execution) had happened here considering your mana sensitivity, but you had held onto a tiny bit of hope that at least the time might mean something.
Callum went next. Waving the handheld metal detector he'd 'liberated' from one transphobic mall cop and modified into a mana detector, he announced, "Nothing. Zilch. Nada. If not for the recorded notification of the portal reopening, I would've thought I'd dreamed it up."
Again, sadly unsurprising. Back when the portal first closed, you had been unable to detect even a hint of something ever happening there.
Mentioning the notification, you turned towards Kilmeny, who fumbled the tablet in her hand and held it up the wrong way first before scrambling to flip it. On the screen was a scanned picture of the array you had originally put down here after closing the portal.
"I, I checked the num, numbers. It wasn't–there was nothing w, wrong. It sh, should work norm–like normal."
Once again, completely within your expectation. Not to toot your own horn or anything, but you hadn't trained to draw all kinds of array with your eyes closed and your hands tied at the back for you to fumble such a basic alarm array. Frankly, if you had drawn it wrong, you would cannonball into the ocean out of shame.
Lastly came Lark, who typed on his phone's text-to-speech function, "I hacked the BC. The OGs brought the impostors in."
Your eyebrows flew to your hairline. Okay, now you were surprised. Also mildly suspicious Lark was insulted you made him go last, which was why he delivered the news so nonchalantly.
Judging from the lightning-quick smug look in his eyes, your suspicion was correct.
Geez, this guy was too petty.
The petty Lark proceeded to elaborate, fingers practically flying over the keyboard. "According to their comm transcript, the OG were about to wrap up patrol yesterday morning when they witnessed the Im spat out by the portal. The OG confronted them. The Im said it was an accident and they meant no harm to this dimension."
Hmm. Truth or lie?
"The OG took them to the cave. Then–" Lark grimaced, "–said they'd begin interrogation."
"They didn't do that?" asked Callum.
Here Lark hesitated. He grimaced again, then shot you an apologetic look that your brain hurriedly tried to decipher, but only managing to do so after Lark answered Callum's question.
No words, no sign language, only Lark's fingers forming a scalpel and making a Y shape over his own torso.
Your back felt like it'd been drenched with cold water.
"Vivisection?!" Gudrun blurted out. You and the others couldn't help recoiling at the word bluntly said.
"D, d, did they real, really–?"
"No." Blessedly, Lark shook his head at Kilmeny's unfinished question. Your almost collapsed in relief. Or stomped on Lark's pristine white tennis shoes for the scare. "They were going to, but the Im refused to cooperate. Obviously. They fought instead, all the OG vs half the Im. The other half hacked the BC and somehow opened the portal again."
"...seriously?" Gudrun voiced what you were thinking. The portal opened a third time? Not here, granted, but it did?
Lark was about to nod, but paused to think it over, before eventually shrugging. "A portal, at least," he amended.
"Right. Sure. All right." You had a headache. Nursing your left temple, you closed your eyes and let out a great sigh, then asked, "So, the impostors sent the originals into this portal, I suppose? What did they do next?"
"Checked the BC. Looked up the OG, Gotham, JL." Another pause, then Lark added, "You."
"Me?" You blinked, headache temporarily forgotten. "...why?"
Lark just shrugged, causing you to sigh again.
"Maybe because the 'you' here is different from their 'you'?" Gudrun suggested.
Your face twisted at the concept of any of your counterparts, evil or otherwise, being the Bats'. However...
"That does make sense," you admitted. After all, your evil counterpart you had to fight back when the portal first opened was–well, not like you.
They were colder. Sharper. You remembered their eyes, impassively surveilling the area, your coven and you with only calculation of how troublesome it would be to take you all down. Their voice, bored yet perfectly decisive when telling their coven: Attack. No need to hold back. Their movement not slow so much as perfectly measured to not waste energy and brimming with lethal grace, poised to kill you and your coven members as if merely handling petty annoyances.
Assuming the impostors knew you there–wait a freaking second.
"Did they know me? My counterpart?"
Your coven blinked in unison. You hurriedly elaborated.
"We've all fought our counterparts, so we know they exist in that dimension. In this dimension, I'm related to Batman. But does the same case apply there? Were the impostors–the Bats from that dimension–related to my counterpart there as well?"
Callum opened his mouth, but closed it again to rethink whatever he'd been thinking. Gudrun ran a fingertip over her rapier, frowning. Lark turned on his phone and rewound the recording he had of the impostor Bats from the Batcave. Kilmeny fidgeted with her cable-knit cape, shyly peering at you before equally shyly asking,
"W, what if they di, didn't... Or did?"
In all honesty? You hoped the impostors did.
Because that'd mean they would be wary about you becoming like your counterpart–someone dangerous and possibly out of the Bats' control. Because that'd mean they would seek to prevent you from becoming like that. Because that'd be something you could handle, if neither easily nor without help.
But if they didn't know you there?
If they only saw you here, stated to be Batman's, Bruce Wayne's older biological child who was not involved in the family at all moreover the ~family business~?
If they saw you here and decided to... what? Get to know you because you were family?
You wouldn't know how to deal with that at all.
A/N: Not super thrilled with this part 3 tbh, hope you guys don't dislike it bc I'm afraid this is the best I can do. I think I have a not-really-plot for this series tho, so hopefully part 4 will be easier (and faster) to write :)
Please don't hesitate to leave replies or send asks! 💕
Demon x Witch!reader— praise, body worship, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, scratching, biting, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms
When your coven members started getting sick, dark horrifying jagged marks blooming on their skin, they all looked to you for answers. You weren’t coven leader, not by far, you were only their humble head healer. This was the kind of stuff you specialized in yet even you had no idea what was going on.
But witch after witch was appearing on your doorstep, their faces scared, desperately begging you for help. Of course you did what you could but the illness was such a peculiar thing, you could barely make sense of it.
With each new blot that formed the witch’s magic grew more powerful but also more unstable. The marks consumed them until they could no longer control their magic and it became a liability to allow them to continue their practice. Which was another issue as the illness also raised their aggression levels tenfold. Even the slightest uptick in their heartbeat could unleash a raging current of magic.
Most cases, no matter how much you tried to stop it, ended in the death of a witch and fewer answers than you started with.
For some it came on quicker and for others it was like a slow crawl. Yet it always reached its end and you could never catch up with it. That is until it finally caught up with you.
Haunting tendrils that began to form on your hands as if the illness was mocking you. You had failed to heal your coven members and now you’d fail to save yourself before it was too late and it’d claim another witch.
You only allow yourself a few minutes to panic. There isn’t time to linger on it any longer. Not when you’re unsure how much you have left. But even as you move, scouring through countless old texts and forbidden spells, that frenzied fear is what drives you forward.
Days go by running through the same cycle. Reading the books, testing incantations and potions, refusing to collapse as another fails, and forcing yourself to start all over again. Each failed attempt threatens to destroy what little hope you have left. There has to be something— anything— you haven’t thought of.
That’s when it hits you. As much as the rationale side of you immediately rejects the idea, the other tells you it’s your last chance. For your coven, summoning a demon is quite possibly the greatest offense a witch can commit. You remind yourself of this over and over as you draw the circle in the dead of night.
Bright purple flames shoot straight to the ceiling as the Demon appears before you, in clothes from a time long ago and a piercing gaze that acts like he already knows what you’re about to ask. Yet when you show him the marks making their way up your arms a flicker of surprises passes over his expression.
He breaks through your summoning circle with ease, clawed hands grasp at your arms with a surprising tenderness. It still manages to send a fierce shiver down your spine. Under his inspection you try and remain normal, ignoring the way your body warms and hums under his touch. A growing throb echoing straight to your core.
“A witch forming marks? What is the meaning of this?” He asks in awe, and his own demonic marks shimmer under the candlelight.
A soft gasp leaves you at the familiar patterns you’ve seen so many times before on your fellow witches. How had you never realized this? The connection between a demons blots and the illness taking control of these witches. Suddenly it was all making sense, the deathly power surges that they couldn’t contain on their own.
“I was hoping you could help me figure that out,” you whisper and his gaze snaps up to meet yours, the hum in your body buzzing harder by the second.
Then it’s weeks that pass in the blink of an eye. You rarely leave your home and refuse to let anyone inside. It’s clear your coven members worry for you but that’s the last thing on your mind. With your days now full of this alluring demon who you can’t get enough of leaves space for little else.
He moves around your home like he owns it, having grown more comfortable there than you ever would’ve expected. The two of you have come to work in tandem, your hand reaching and his is already there waiting as you trade old books, passing each other ingredients without a thought while making potions you’ve never even heard of, and your bodies moving as one as you work.
Every interaction between you is charged with something deeper, something you don’t dare to speak of. Yet it speaks through every brush of your hand against his, how neither of you move away whenever you bump into the other, the smiles and glances you send each other that linger a few beats too long, and that both your marks shimmer in each others vicinity.
And just like the others, as your marks move up your arms and down your body, your power grows stronger. But something about this demon helps calm the magic swelling inside you. His presence soothes the storm, his touch calms the spikes of your emotions. Ones that are starting to happen far too often for comfort.
Leaning against the table you clench your fists as another wave of anger urges you to lash out, to unleash the emotion swirling inside you. Your body shakes with the force of trying to resist but you hold on as long as you can.
Just as fear it’ll overcome you, the demon’s chest molds against your back, his arms curl around you and tug you close. That soothing sensation courses through you and you sigh in relief, melting into his arms like you’ve been doing it your entire life.
“I hate these marks,” you murmur, voice filled with pain.
The demon freezes against you and for a long moment he doesn’t respond. Neither do you. Then a moment later he leans down, nuzzling into the streaks that have bloomed on your neck. His own shimmer and yours respond immediately.
“I don’t. I adore them. You just need to learn how to control them,” he rasps.
His breath on your skin makes that constant buzz return to your body as if calling out for him. Warm arousal bubbles up in your belly and looks in your panties. You know he can sense it all yet he doesn’t rush a thing.
“Your coven’s tapped into a power it wasn’t prepared to handle but you have me now. Let me help you.”
All you can feel anymore is him as his fingers skim across your skin, tilting your chin up just in time to claim your lips in a kiss that’s been a long time coming. A soft moan leaves you, your body turning to face him before he picks up your plush frame with ease and plops you down on top of the table.
Low demonic growls vibrate from his throat as he pushes at your clothes like they’re a nuisance, his lips curl in a sneer as his mouth dances with yours like he’s trying not to just tear them to shreds.
Only when the lack of oxygen pinches at your lungs does he break from the kiss and immediately make his way down your skin. Pressing feverish kisses along every inch of bare skin he exposes.
“Your marks… they’re gorgeous. Just like the rest of you. If only you’d embrace them, embrace me,” he pants against your chest and you gasp as he takes one of your perky buds into his mouth, sucking till they’re swollen, then moving onto the next.
You writhe against the table, small whimpers leaving you as you get hotter and hotter, the mess between your thighs dripping down your legs and onto the table.
As if he can sense just how needy you are he leans back and forces your thick thighs apart, groaning at the slick that gushes out of your weeping pussy.
“You even have them here. How beautiful,” he purrs.
His long clawed fingers slide through your folds, tracing the streaks till you’re crying out and rocking your hips into the movement. You get so lost in the rhythm and the constant stimulation that you don’t notice him replacing his fingers with his cock until he’s sliding in and stretching your sensitive walls to their very limits.
You start to scream only to have them silenced by his mouth as he kisses you again. Your magic pulses in time with your throbbing cunt as he starts thrusting his cock deep inside you, slipping deeper and deeper with each rock of his hips.
Meanwhile he fucks your mouth as hard as he fucks your pussy, swirling his tongue against yours in time with every brutal thrust. You feel his tip smash against your cervix just as his tongue pushes into your throat and suddenly he’s everywhere.
Consuming you from the inside out. For a second you panic, your nails scratching down his back and he hisses, picking up pace and rutting into you even harder. You feel unsteady, body moving in time with his only to realize it’s not your body moving but the magic inside you. As you let him in the overpowering magic settles into your bones like it’s always meant to be there and it increases your pleasure to a point you’ve never known.
The demon grunts as he slams his cock along your walls, molding you to the shape of him. He’s breathless but he’s never felt more alive than he does now and he can’t stop staring at the streaks that resemble his one. Like you’re his, all his now. It makes his cock swell within you.
“Tell me you love your marks as much as I do. I want to hear you,” he growls, ducking his head to worship every inch of marked skin he can reach.
You cry out, the pressure in your belly building, so close to bursting.
“I love my marks,” you whine, trying to sound convincing.
“Louder,” he snarls and nips at your throat.
Every thrust he makes you scream those words till you shatter around his cock, your vision flashing white and your release spraying out of you in a brilliant stream of arousal. Your demon roars as he buries himself to the hilt and sends spurt after spurt of his thick cum to splash against your cervix till you’re coming again for him.
He helps work you through the intense pleasure, rocking into you steadily and holding you close. When the fog starts to clear from your mind a burst of clarity booms and you realize you’ve been going about this all wrong. Trying to be rid of the streaks is impossible. It’s only through accepting them can you manage the power that comes with.
And all along it was your demon helping you to see that. To accept it. Now you think you finally are and if you can convince your coven members to do the same you think everything may just be ok.
Your marks glow in a silent heartfelt thank you. Warmth flows through you as his own shine in return. Both your body and souls now connected as one.
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Summary-You accidentally pissed off a powerful witch in New Orleans and had a curse casted on you and needed the Voodoo man’s help breaking it but not without a price.
A/n: For those who may start something, he's black(duh).
CW-southern gothic vibe, Christianity mention, mention of dark magic, mentions of demons and their sigils, usage of the n word, flirting/ear candy, sex as payment, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating(cause why not), rough sex (hair pulling and choking), he finished(twice), you didn’t(cry me a river), crempie, unprotected sex(don't try at home kiddos), pet names(beautiful, ma, mama/mamas, pretty girl).
You were an Alabama baby, you knew of the powers of New Orleans, but were never aware of how truly powerful it was. It was risky; moving to New Orleans, however, you convinced yourself to since your lineage goes back there.
You wanted to practice your craft, and you assumed being closer to home would help. After ridding yourself of all Christian traditions, you returned to your roots.
Regardless, all it took was to piss the wrong person off to impact your whole life.
After you grabbed breakfast, you leaned against a pole doing research online, it was active; as it usually was, with people rushing to work, kids running to school, you were getting used to it.
“Ain't you gon’ apologize?” A Creole woman, short and elderly, a sigil on her third eye, a Tignon wrapped around her head.
“Umm, ma'am but you bumped into me. Why would I apologize?” She seemed angry, you weren't being disrespectful, just stating the truth.
“You kids these days don't got no respect.” You heard her mumble before storming past you, she was murmuring more but you were incapable of hearing any of it.
You raised your eyebrow while looking at her walk away, confused about the whole interaction.
Little did you know that's all it took.
Your life took a drastic turn after that exchange. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. You lost your job, your dog suddenly passed, you got evicted, and you were seeing things, shadows in the shapes of a human, some with red eyes, some crawling onto you in your bed, and even running directly at you.
Of course, you had no fucking idea as to why they were there, and why you were seeing them. You never had that problem beforehand, so it was new–new bullshit to be exact.
You needed help, your mental state was deteriorating because of your situation. You sat for hours contemplating why the actual fuck all that was happening to you, and why you deserved it.
“Welcome in.” You walked into a Voodoo shop, and the owner greeted you kindly, he had to know something about what was happening to you, so you vented your entire situation to him.
“Wow,” he exclaimed, “I'm sorry to hear al’tha lil mama, I don’ know nothin’ bout tha’ tho.” You sighed, if he didn't know anything, who the hell was going to help you?
“However, ma friend, Ta, he know somebody tha’ might could help ya out, hol’on lemme call him for ya.” He walked out the back door and you heard him shouting, you tilted your head impatiently waiting for him and this friend you had no trust in, but it was your last option, that or isolation.
The two men walked back into the building and Ta, oh he was as high as a kite.
“Wassup mamas, I heard ya need some magical assistance,” his words slurred, and you couldn't help but think, what the hell was he on, “so ma guy, he specializes in this shit, here his credentials.” He held out a card to you, and you slipped on your gloves before grabbing the card reading the name, address, and open/closing hours.
“Oh ya fancy huh? Nah, but ima help ya out ma, don't go there early, don't go in the afternoon, and not after midnight.”
“Why?” You squinted your eyes in confusion behind your glasses.
“He don't like being bothered in the morning, he be doin’ his rituals in the afternoon, and weird shit start goin’ down in that area after midnight.” He explained, the nigga could barely hold himself up, it was almost humorous.
“So noon?”
“Yeah, tha’ should be good.”
You nodded and thanked the men before walking out of the shop, of course, it was sketchy especially since it was on the bad side but you’d mess around with every shadow man before living like that.
You made the decision that you would go the day after that, and you headed out of your house at eight pm. You were grateful enough to be out of there, it was crawling with all those shadows, in every corner, behind every door, standing in darkness red eyes glaring at you.
Although those streets were no better, you walked the streets of the Treme area, and it was not the best place for someone as paranoid as you were.
Being along the dark, and dangerous side was quite the experience.
Crackheads running up to you asking for money.
Men cat-calling and staring.
Fights in every corner.
Old abandoned buildings and churches that just looked haunted.
Areas that reeked like a decaying body.
People lurking under the darkness of the Moss Trees.
Finally, you turned into the alleyway where you were supposed to find this Voodoo spiritualist, as he called himself. You made it to the door and the first thing you noticed was the door marked with the sigil of Lucifer painted onto it.
You heard rumbling behind the door after you knocked, from the mumbles you heard he didn't seem too happy.
“What!?” The man's eyes could be seen peeking through the mail slot. You tilted your head, looking down into the man’s eyes through the slot.
“Hi, I jus’ wanted to know if I could speak to you for ah moment?” Your voice, so feminine, so alluring, stunning, hypnotic. The sharp look in his eyes dimmed once he heard your voice, too calm and gorgeous to be another crackhead.
His eyes ran over your body, smooth brown skin, 5’5+ curvy figure, a plump ass, rolls with a pudge, and thighs that look like they would suffocate him if he put his head in between them. He had to force himself to look back into your eyes, he didn't mind you a lot.
“Who put you on?” He questioned, not that it mattered to him.
“Some guy named Ta, he said he knows you.”
“I told that nigga to stop handin’ out ma credentials,” he paused, “it's alrigh’ f’ you tho.”
He dropped the slot back down, and you heard the door rattle as he unlocked it.
“You drag any of ‘em, perverted nigga's ova here?”
“I don't think so…I hope not.”
“Ya will in that dress.” He moved out of the way allowing you to walk inside. You walked inside and observed the area, the shelves of herbs, statues, incense, candles, and books. The area wasn't big, the size of a room, but it was packed. An Alter for Lucifer, Satan, Asmodeus, Valac, Sitri, Amun-Re, and Thoth, all of their sigils marked on the wall behind their altars. You assumed he was a professional or some shit, since the room was stacked. He had to know what he was doing.
“Wha’ can I do ya beautiful?” You looked back at him, tattoos trailing his arms, grillz on his bottom row of teeth, California Kingsnake wrapped around his neck, gold jewelry lacing his hands, arms, and neck.
You blinked attempting to get yourself together.
“Uh, I've been seeing things…”
He looked up, interest piqued. “Elaborate,” he took a toothpick in his mouth, “seein’ things like what ma?”
“Like shadow people.”
“Oh tha's nor-”
“No, like they run at me, some have red eyes, there's even some that crawl on me when I wake up at night.”
He narrowed his eyes, he turned to a shelf, and grabbed a book. He flipped through the pages, unconsciously flexing. You struggled to keep your eyes elsewhere other than at the captivating man.
“Ah, alright. I'm gonna ask ya a few questions,” he stated, gaining a nod from you, “do you work in dark magic?”
You shook your head.
“Do you work with any deities associated with shadows?”
“I work with my ancestors.”
He sighed; obviously, the last question wasn't one he liked.
“Did you happen to piss anyone off?”
You shook your head once more.
“Think hard.”
You simmered in your thoughts, trying to recall when you could've made someone mad. You were a nice person, most liked you.
“Well there was one lady, elderly, short, Creole, Tigon, Sigil on her third eye, and she wasn't the nicest person.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disappointment.
“You done fucked up pretty girl. Tha’s mama Lasarah, she either cursed or hexed you. How long this been goin’ on?”
Your eyes widened, he went back to flipping through the book.
“Like two weeks.”
“May god have mercy, you must be real new to this shit. Where you from, Mobile?!”
You rolled your eyes, he was right, you were from Mobile but you would've preferred for him to be wrong. He read through page after page and you got extremely nervous, hands fidgeting, unable to stand still, and you were just hoping he could end the torture.
“Welp, to cleanse, protect, and rid, it would be 300, but I'll cut to 250 since you a pretty thing.”
Damn, even Voodoo inflated. You didn't have hundreds to be handing out when you barely had your apartment.
“You can't go cheaper, or I pay you back eventually?” You tried to bargain.
“Nope, I don' negotiate or play bout my money.”
“I don't necessarily have that kind of money.”
“No money, no honey.”
You sighed, losing all hope in that moment. You knew he was right but it was still disappointing that you would have to walk away with your problem.
You thanked him and began to walk out. He watched closely, originally not caring but as he continued to watch your gorgeous body leave he gained an idea, something for both of you.
“Hey,” he moved toward you, grabbing your hips, “ya’know it's lonely. I'm here alone most of da time, no woman to come home to.”
His hand ran up your body and massaged in between your rolls with his thumb.
“Nobody to come home and kiss on,” one hand traveled to your thigh, “nobody to love on.”
He slowly moved you back to the table, and he pinned you against the table.
“So-on your knees,” you slowly lowered to your knees, “how bout a deal? You help me, I help you? A favor for a favor?”
He held his hand out for you to shake, it was your last option, so you shook. Once your hand was clasped in his, a lustful grin filled his face.
He removed his belt, bricked from the sight of you.
His throbbing veiny thick cock sprang out of his pants once he pulled them away, he positioned his length in front of your lips.
You widened your mouth and allowed him to enter, his thick shaft filled your mouth and he wasn't even fully in. Your mouth hallowed around him, lips embracing him, your tongue flicking over the tip as you bobbed your head up and down. Your hand grabbed what your mouth couldn't and stroked him, grip tight and satisfying.
He groaned and threw his head back, hips picking up an erratic rhythm. He curled his hand in your curls, forcing your head down and cock deeper. Tears dared to fall over the brim of your eyes as he drove deeper into your tight throat, his grip on your hair got tighter and more painful the closer he got to his peak.
‘Slurp’, ‘slurp’, the sound of your gagging and urgent sucking filled the room, and tears trailed down your cheeks like they were racing. He rammed himself one more time and filled your mouth with his milky cum. A smile painted itself on his face, his eye traveled to your puffy almond brown eyes, and the look in his eyes was lascivious.
He pulled himself out of your plump and juicy lips with a ‘pop’.
“Swallow.” His voice was husky and full of demand. You complied and swallowed every bit of him, leaving the salty taste lingering in your mouth.
He leaned down and captured your lips, your tongues clashing together, he licked every part of your mouth, the kiss was intoxicating and hot. His hand journeyed to your neck and clutched tightly, cutting off your air keeping your lips together. Slowly he used his grip to force you up, you rose to your feet moaning and whimpering into his mouth, you grabbed his wrist wanting him to loosen the grip but he wouldn’t let go. He shoved you against the table, pushed you down to make you sit, then pulled back a trail of saliva following him.
“God damn you're an impressive woman ma.” He praised, while letting go of your neck, you wanted to smile, however, all you could do was pant and struggle to catch your breath.
He pushed you down on the table, lying you on his table. You couldn't even gather your thoughts or breath before you felt your dress being pushed up to your waist.
He pulled your sticky underwear to the side and positioned himself at your desperate slobbering hole, he pushed just the tip in, and your hole grasped him with no intent of letting go.
He chuckled. “Tha's jus’ da tip ma.”
That didn't mean anything, you were already clawing at the table.
Each inch that he pushed in your hole hugged with a desperate desire. Once his cock was filling out your hole, he picked up an unrelenting rhythm.
He hammered into your gummy walls, the sound of squelching combined with his hips hitting the back of your thighs, and balls slapping your ass.
Your thighs shook frantically, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands wrapped around the edges of the table holding on for dear life.
“Augh–I c-can’t, ughhh–t-too much–augh shit!” You cried out, unable to control yourself.
“You can't take it?” He cooed, mocking your whines. He picked up the pace, each ram knocking air out of your lungs.
You shook your head, whining and whimpering.
“Aw…poor baby, I think ya can tho.” He was a cruel, cruel man.
He grabbed your sweat-soaked thighs and pushed them open, spreading you nice and wide for him. His mean pace made you feel like your guts were being rearranged, his cock all the way in your stomach.
With each tear, he wiped it away the only form of comfort he'd show you.
“Fuuuck,” his groans heightened, “ahhh, jus’ like tha’–ugghh.” With the last roll of his hips, you milked the man dry, he stuffed you full like a turkey.
He backed out leaving your pussy throbbing and clenching around nothing. He caught his breath and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh then pulled you to his chest, your pussy leaking his cum onto the table.
“You betta take a pill after this.” He panted.
You smiled, a soft giggle falling from your mouth.
“I mean it ma, don't you baby trap me.” He grabbed your jaw making you look at him and you bobbed your head.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He purred, adjusting his pants.
“Let's go handle these shadows, righ’?”
You smiled and nodded, grabbing the hand he held out for you and allowing him to guide you.
A/n: I think this is the best smut I've written. The deceptions was a little self-indulgent but don't mind that…
