literature

The Viper's Muse (Male!CruellaxReader): Part 3

Deviation Actions

LeFantomeDancer's avatar
Published:
32K Views

Literature Text

*The Viper's Muse (Male!CruellaxReader): Part 3*


~Author's Note: Alas, we reach the end *maybe; read below* This part is going to be noticeably longer than the previous parts cause there was a lot I wanted to expand, explain, and play with--i.e. your emotions ;). Hope ya'll like it. Enjoy!!~


How you managed to get into the dress, you don’t know. But there you stand, hands running over your exaggerated, curved figure in the mirror, your breasts seemingly on the verge of popping out of the plunging neckline. Your cheeks burn from the blush that has lingered for the past five minutes and only intensifies as you ride the elevator to the 12th floor where Cruelle is waiting for you. 

You fight, unsuccessfully, to steady your breathing by exhaling through pursed lips, sweaty palms dragging down your hips. The doors glide open to reveal a room strewn with dressed mannequins, paintings, blank canvases and piles of sheets of paper. Cruelle is sitting in the loveseat at the far left end of the room with a tall sketchbook blocking your view of him.

“A muse should not be so bold as to make her master wait,” he scorns at the sound of your heels clattering on the marble floor.

You swallow hard. “S-sorry…I struggled getting the dress on,” you say sheepishly as you approach him.

Cruelle tilts the sketchbook aside with a scolding look from behind flat-brimmed glasses that’s replaced by one of blank surprise. The icy blue irises darken as they take in your alluring, accentuated form like a lion eyeing its next meal, settling on your over-exposed breasts. 

“I can see why…” he mutters to himself, lips turning up at the corners, although you still hear it. You stay still while he situates himself to rise.

Now that you consider it, Roxanne had told you that he dresses ‘scantily’ when he works, and yet he’s still wearing the silk robe and pants from what you can tell—wait, why do you even care? You’re having a hard enough time as it is to control yourself; seeing him half-naked will only make things worse, so you shouldn’t act a bit—okay really—disappointed.

But then he stands up.

Oh my god…oh my god…! You nearly swoon at the sight of the bare chest, rib, and stomach muscles that expand then contract into chiseled waves when Cruelle stretches his arms overhead with a deep exhale. The gesture, much to your inappropriate enthusiasm,
causes for the already low-riding, paint covered sweatpants to drop a margin, further exposing the defined ‘V’ of his narrow hips.

You stumble back into a mannequin and hurriedly spin to catch it. Seriously, (y/n)?!

Cruelle watches, appealed, as you try to compose yourself by swiping a strand of (h/c) behind your red ear and patting your thighs. He saunters up to you, cigarette in raised hand, and cocks his head. 

“Come, darling. Come further prove to me that I’m a genius,” he winks with his hand outstretched to you.

Uncertain of what to expect, you walk forward—the heels you’re wearing and design of the dress practically force your hips to pop out with each step, something that’s far from overlooked by Cruelle—and place your hand in his. Keeping each other’s eyes locked, he uses his other hand to tip your head up, then dropping your hand before he begins to circle you, his fingers trailing across your collarbone and around your neck.

You can feel his stare engulfing the sight of your bare back, and to confirm this, he drops his fingers down your spine and back up. An involuntary shudder rolls through you that receives a firmer, more antagonizing touch from him on your shoulder. When he comes back into your view, he’s smirking down at you from the corner of his eyes with the same greedy look from before. 

“W…well?” you ask as he paces away with slow steps. “Are you pleased?”

Cruelle looks at you, an arm crossing his stomach. “You don’t ask a peacock if it’s pleased with its most dazzling feather, do you, darling?” he says. Despite the unexpected compliment, there’s something possessive and rousing about it. His gaze lingers a few seconds longer prior to him tearing it away and strutting to his sketchbook. “Ugh, I’ve wasted enough time as it is. Get over here, dear.”

You nearly trip and shuffle to him. “Um, I actually don’t know what to do…” you say. “Where do you want me?”

The question regains Cruelle’s attention, but a lewd thought crosses his face in a smirk; he acts as though it didn’t, however. He points his chin toward the west wall while he runs a hand through his black and white hair, teeth clenching the cigarette stick. 

“There for now,” he breathes. “As tempted as I am, I’ll behave and try not to overwork my little bee on her first day.”

There’s an underlying tone within his comment that makes you speculate he’s somehow referencing whatever lewd thought he had earlier, which subsequently sparks a barrage of your own—something that would ultimately look like a scene from a cheesy, passionate telenovela. 

You reach the glass wall. “And what position?” you ask. Okay, now you’re just doing it on purpose to get a rise out of him, and the languid, growling chuckle in his chest says he’s aware of it.

Much to your disappointment, Cruelle contains himself and doesn’t play along like you hope. “Arm on the beam, hand on the waist, and arch your side,” he says as he sits back down along the loveseat that you register was methodically placed—he knew exactly what he wanted from you ahead of time. His body is long enough for his ankles to cross on the opposite armrest while he observes your feeble attempt to look sexy.

“More, darling.” He gestures to your arch or lack therefore. You twist your figure a margin. “More,” he sings, yet you can’t seem to get it right. Cruelle’s whole body shifts almost in an antsy, restraining fashion and he taps the end of his pen on the sketchbook.

“Miss (y/n),” he hums, removing his glasses. “Either you do what I am asking of you or I’ll be obliged to physically make you do it as I did in the art gallery. One of these options would be very, very wise of you and save me the rather irritating nuisance of getting up yet again. The other would be merely a shameless indulgence. As I’ve wasted enough time already doing one of these, I’m going to ask you again: More.”

Never in your life have you felt simultaneously terrified, enticed, and blatantly aroused by a threat. What’s worse, Cruelle continues to tap his pen in what you realize isn’t impatience, but teetering self-control. It’s all like a challenge, a dare for you to defy him and make him get physical with you, and dammit are you tempted to take that dangerous risk. And even though the power currently resides in your hands, if you play the card of defiance, he would take it back without mercy and you would be devoured by this viper.

In short, you wouldn’t survive this, one way or another.

The rapping of the pen stops when you arch your side in the desired manner. Cruelle smirks at your obedience and puts his glasses back on. “Wise decision, little bee,” he says and begins sketching. “Very wise decision.”

You beat down the wriggling sensation and, instead, focus yet again on breathing. It’s only as you finally manage to calm yourself down that you notice the faint Italian song playing in the background. Partnered with the sharp strokes of the pen that’s occasionally switched out for a marker, it’s rather relaxing. He doesn’t seem to mind if you move your head around to eye the space or surrounding skyline, and it was as you’re staring at the swaying trees of Hyde Park that your curiosity about the French woman from earlier resurfaces. Roxanne had implied that she was her boss’ then ex-muse, but what triggered the woman’s rage?
“Mr. De Vil?” you say, still gazing at the trees.

“Cruelle.”

You look at him. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t call me ‘Mr. De Vil’, darling. You’re my muse, not my servant,” he replies with brows furrowed in concentration. “Besides, it makes me sound dreadfully old.”

You can’t help but laugh at his concern. “Alright, well… Cruelle, may I ask you something?”

He glances over at you briefly before continuing his sketch. “If it’s about the woman from before, it’s out of the question,” says.

His rejection dismays you to the point where a small frown appears. Cruelle, expecting you to change the subject, looks to see this dismay and raises his brows. “Oh, darling…” he grins wickedly. You look at him with a blank expression. “It was about her, wasn’t it?”

Your cheeks begin to burn again. “N-no!” you lie. 

Cruelle chuckles as he moves to a proper upright position and runs a hand through his hair once more. “Want to try that answer again?” he crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head.

How is he so damn perceptive?! You dig your nails into your hip as you try to think of ways to play it off, ending with a rushed exhale. “I mean…yes, it was,” you grumble. “But I was just curious!”

He runs the pen back and forth across his curved lips. “That adorable blush of yours says otherwise, darling,” he accuses. “That’s twice you’ve lied to me. If you weren’t currently sullying my perfect model with your incessant shifting, I’d be slightly impressed with your misplaced audacity.”

“Sorry!” you quickly say and twist yourself back into the pose. He taps the pen on his lips and continues to sketch once crossing his legs.

Cruelle glances at you in intervals after a few seconds. He sighs. “Dear, if you’re going to brood over it and ruin your face with wrinkles, I might as well tell you,” he huffs loudly. His willingness sounds forced, nonetheless. It’s actually kind of cute that he resigns his pride just to save his drawing—at least that’s what he wants you to assume is his reason.

Artists, you smile.

He talks following a pause of convincement. “The harlot's name was Vanessa; a French lingerie model, or something of the sort. I made her my muse during a trip to Morocco last summer and brought her back with me to London in the winter. She was exceptionally beautiful, inspirational unlike so many others before her, and she always did what I asked of her.”

You scowl at the blatant reference to you, and, though you don’t catch it, Cruelle notices your pout and smirks. “So what went wrong?” you ask, trying to ignore the offense.

A disdainful groan rumbles in his throat. “The fool got rather attached to me after I allowed her to move in with me; kept badgering me about a relationship even though I consistently told her it was absolute nonsense.” He shakes his head as though it was abnormal for a woman to want to be romantically involved with the man she lives with. “She became so ugly after that, like a pig that wouldn’t stop squealing, and so I told her just that when she tested my patience for the last time. As you saw, she took it fairly bitterly.”

“You don’t say…” You meant to keep it in your head but end up saying it under your breath loud enough for Cruelle to hear it. When his eyes snap up to you, you’re for sure he’s about to tear you apart. 

Surprisingly, he merely smirks and gives you a look that reads “You snarky bitch you.” 

You return the expression. A few moments pass. “Mind if I ask you something else?”

“Talkative aren’t we…” He eyes you with forced tolerance that makes you blush slightly.

“Sorry,” you laugh once. “But I was wondering…how do you go from a French lingerie model to an Assistant Art Director?”

The question takes him off guard a bit, as though he’s never considered it prior to now. “Very well then. Cards on the table, Miss (y/n).” He sets his glasses and sketchbook on the loveseat beside him and stands up. “I don’t intend on releasing you as my muse in the near possible future, sorry to disappoint you,” he says sarcastically.

He starts moving towards you like a viper cornering a trembling mouse, but you don’t dare break from the pose just in case—that, and because you honestly can’t move; you’re transfixed by the arctic blue eyes again. 

“Bearing that in mind, I’m going to spare you the time of figuring things out yourself and enlighten you right here, right now.” Cruelle grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his face inches from yours. “When I see something I want, Miss (y/n), I consider it mine, because any other outcome simply isn’t an option. You have vision, darling; that’s why you chose that spotted painting. Doing so was very wise of you, as it granted you my unhindered interest in every aspect.”

By then he’s mirroring your supported position against the window, his towering figure nearly brushing yours. “Congratulations, my little bee. I do very much look forward to working with you,” he whispers as he leans in.

Before you can control yourself, you cross that infinitesimal gap in a desperate attempt to kiss him, but he was prepared for this. Cruelle pulls back at the last second to leave you staring up at him in pure incredulity of what you just attempted. The smirk he wears is full blown yet doesn’t seem as condescending like it normally does, more so endearing. Maybe you’re imagining it due to your severely rattled nerves.

Cruelle plants a kiss on your nose. “The master always leads, not the muse, my dear,” he says and saunters back to the loveseat. “You’ll have to figure that one out the hard way, I’m afraid.”

Similar to the day at the art gallery, you remain stunned even after he’s put distance between the two of you. He…he tricked me! you gawk and meet the dancing amusement in his knowing eyes that’re behind glasses once more. Huh…Fine, I can adapt.

You reassume the pose. “More?” you ask and mimic his cocky smirk that earns a mocking scoff then wink from Cruelle.

“More, darling. Always more.”

~
“Muse: somebody who is a source of inspiration for an artist, especially for a poet.”

At the time it seemed like an honest enough job, one that would require you to just sit there and be inspirational, right? Nothing sketchy or compromising in any way; just a model for an artist. That’s all.

How delightfully wrong you were.

~Fin?~

~Author's Note: SEQUEL IS UP. I REPEAT: SEQUEL IS UP. THIS IS NOT A DRILL~
Sorry it took me longer than usual to get this part out!! >< I have to admit I was stumped halfway through, BUT inspiration did not fail me and I finished it during my transfer flight from NC to ATL :D

Though I'm posting this now as I'm chilling in Indianapolis--if you're near me, hi!!Hi!  Next stop, NYC~
As usual, I sincerely appreciate every single one of you!! Love ya'll!! Chili Anime Emoji (Snuggy hug) [V2] Yato and Hiyori (Snuggy) [V1] 
Link to Part 1!!-->lefantomedancer.deviantart.com…
Comments43
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Wait where is the sequel