#walts for devil

[weirdlookindog]

Alice and the Dog Catcher | 1924 | dir. Walt Disney

[astrids-blog333]

No Saint, No Savior

Walter De Ville x Reader

Fandom: The Invitation (2022)

Summary: You've felt watched for days, eyes following your every step. One eerie night, everything changes as a dangerous chase through shadowed streets shows you that not all threats are as they seem. But who is hunting you, and why?

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (towards the end), creepy men, blood, stalking, violence, lemme know if I missed anything.

A/N: This man is SO UNDERRATED and it pains me. This fic does not follow the movie's plot, and you don't need to have seen it; you just have to fw vampires. After this fic I'm writing a Jude Bellingham fic someone requested, but I forgot who, I'm so sorry. If that was you, pls lemme know so I can tag you. 🫶 Please comment or like if you enjoy, it really helps :)

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 4.7k

You are responsible for your own data consumption <3

You’d felt the eyes on you for days now, even though you weren’t sure where they came from. Everywhere you went, you felt stalked, watched, hunted.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing, that it was just paranoia creeping in after too many late nights. But the feeling never faded. If anything, it grew stronger with each passing day.

Now, as you walk down the dimly lit street, you feel the eyes again. The city around you has calmed, the usual distant sound of traffic and people seeming quieter than usual—an eerie silence. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, resisting the urge to look over your shoulder.

But then you hear it. A footstep.

It is soft, almost unnoticeable, but it is definitely there. And worse, it is in time with yours.

Your pace quickens.

So do the steps behind you.

A shiver runs down your spine. Your breath hitches as you try to keep your movements natural, to convince yourself that it is just a coincidence, that someone else is merely walking in the same direction as you. After all, you are walking down a street.

Then, you hear something else—quieter this time, but closer. It is not just following. It is closing the distance. You start to run, your feet colliding with the cobbled road, footsteps echoing off the walls.

All of a sudden, from somewhere behind you comes a sharp whistle through the air, too fast, too precise, and then it is gone.

And so are the steps.

You slow, looking behind you, but there is nothing. Or at least, nothing you can see.

Then comes the sound.

A gasp. A struggle, brief and frantic. A choked-off noise, cut short like a thread being severed. And then nothing. Silence envelops the street again.

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding with every shallow breath. The only sound is the thumping of your own blood, but you can feel it. Something looming in the shadows.

You turn and come face to face with a man, so close your nose nearly brushes against his chest. He’s tall, so impossibly tall, and cold, like the night itself. His eyes are dark but steady, watching you with an unsettling calm, a sort of curiosity.

"Are you alright?" He places his hands on your shoulders to steady your trembling body.

His voice is softer than you expect, like he’s trying not to startle you. It cuts through the air, smoother than silk, but there’s something underneath it, something sharp. Your breath is still uneven as your gaze flickers over him, drawn—despite yourself—to the glint of his teeth. His canines catch the light, just a little too sharp.

You’re still breathing hard, too overwhelmed to process. "You... You were chasing me."

His eyes flicker, just for a moment, like he's trying to measure your reaction. "I wasn’t chasing you." His gaze sharpens. "I was keeping you safe."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The man's presence settled like a weight in the pit of your stomach.

"Safe?" You barely recognise your own voice, it’s so shaky, so small, “From who?”

"From him." His hand gestures behind him, toward the empty space behind them. "I’m afraid he's no longer a concern."

You don’t know what to say. Part of you wants to run, to question everything about this night, but you can’t move. You can only stand there, trembling, wondering if you’re even safe at all.

"I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude" he takes a step back. "My name is Walter, Walter De Ville."

"I think," he continues, his tone softer now, but no less intense, "you’ll find comfort inside. You’ve had enough excitement for one evening."

You feel conflicted, you don't know this man, he's a stranger. "Okay..." your voice shaky. "I live about 5 minutes away." You start walking down the street, your legs feel as if they might give out, but Walter makes no move to follow you. Instead, before you can take two steps, his hand grasps your wrist, harshly.

"I know, but I am not sure I would forgive myself if I let you go home and spend the night alone. Someone could still be out there." His eyes look into yours, icy and blue. "Please, stay at mine tonight, there's plenty of space."

You stand there, you know you shouldn't agree, there is no rational reason for you to go to his house. Yet, at the same time, you feel safe. Safe in a way you cannot explain. His presence comforts you, it feels strong and sturdy. So when your voice comes out quiet, almost silent you, decide just to go with it.

"Are you sure? I really wouldn't want to impose or-."

"I insist."

Walter smiles down at you, placing a strong hand on the small of your back, leading you down the street. "I've called a car, should just be around the corner."

As you round the corner, you see the car, you can tell its expensive, with its sleek and black exterior. The man standing beside it nods at you as you approach.

"That's Mr Field, the butler," Walter explains. "We'll take very good care of you. You mustn't worry about anything."

But before you reach the car, your eyes find a huddled shape in the alleyway, and you recognise it as the same alley you ran through mere minutes ago. As you step closer, the shape becomes clear. A body. A pool of blood spreading around it.

Walter follows your gaze, his voice as even as ever. "As I told you," he says, "the man who was following you is no longer of any concern."

He leaves no room for conversation, opening the car door and ushering you inside. You follow him with your gaze as he rounds the car, sliding in next to you and leaning forward to Mr Field. "Home, thank you."

You feel the car start to pull away.

You must have fallen asleep, because you wake to the sensation of movement beneath you. A slow, steady rise and fall. Your head is resting against something firm.

Then the realisation sets in.

Your eyes open just enough to take in the dim, leather interior of the car. It’s no longer moving, and you can make out the shape of Mr Field walking away. Walter’s dark, rich, scent surrounds you, and as your mind clears, you become painfully aware that you’re not just leaning against him. You’re curled against him, tucked neatly into his side.

Your body stiffens slightly, and before you can pull away, his voice breaks the silence.

"Comfortable?" There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, making you want to disappear. You've known this man for maybe an hour and you're sleeping on him.

Heat creeps up your neck as you shift, sitting up far too quickly. "I wasn’t—"

Walter chuckles softly, turning to look at you. "You were," he corrects smoothly. "Quite soundly, in fact. It was... endearing." His gaze flickers over you.

You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already reaching over, unbuckling your seatbelt effortlessly. Before you can process what’s happening, his arms slide beneath you, lifting you bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all.

"Walter—"

"Please, call me Walt."

"Ok, Walt—"

"You’re exhausted," he states simply, stepping out of the car taking you with him. "And I did promise to take care of you, didn't I?"

You exhale, relaxing just enough to let yourself slowly doze off in his arms. Trusting him just enough.

Just a little.

You wake up slowly, wrapped in the warmth of the duvet. For a moment, you forget where you are, until your eyes flutter open, taking in the grand bedroom, the heavy drapes filtering in only the softest traces of light.

Right.

You sit up, stretching the stiffness from your limbs. On the bedside table, you see a note, folded neatly beside a dress he's laid out for you.

I’ll return by evening. Make yourself comfortable. Mrs Swift will be there if you need anything.

There’s no signature, but he doesn’t need one. Your eyes drift to the clothes he’s left for you.

You reach for the dress, your fingers brushing over the fabric, so soft it barely feels real. It’s delicate, impossibly so, as if it belongs to another era entirely. The bodice is fitted, the sheer lace hugs your skin just right. The sleeves, if they can even be called that, are wisps of mesh and the skirt flows over your body like liquid, pooling in gentle waves around your feet.

It’s the kind of dress meant to be admired rather than simply worn. And somehow, you have no doubt that was exactly his intention. Another quiet reminder that, despite everything that feels wrong, he intends to take care of you.

And yet, beneath that, there’s the lingering truth you’re trying not to think about too hard.

Walter isn’t normal.

And whether you admit it or not, you’re about to spend the day in the home of a man who you're pretty sure isn't quite human.

You decide to explore, if you're to be alone until Walter returns, you may as well familiarise yourself with the estate. The mansion is eerily quiet as you wander through its corridors. The architecture is stunning. The dark wood, the intricate carvings, the bookshelves that seem to stretch endlessly.

What captures your attention though is the lack of any personal touches. No photographs. No clutter, no sign of life beyond the perfectly arranged furniture and candlelight, even in the middle of the day.

Pushing open a door to what looks like a study, your eyes scan over the neatly stacked papers, the antique desk, the massive fireplace. And then, you notice something.

A wine glass, still half-full.

You step closer, expecting to find deep red wine, but the liquid is thicker, darker. Your stomach twists.

"Ah, you’re awake."

The voice startles you, and you turn quickly to find a woman standing in the doorway, her expression warm. She’s older, dressed neatly, with sharp eyes that seem to assess you in a single glance, despite that, you feel no threat from her.

"You must be Mrs. Swift," you say, remembering the name Walter had mentioned in the note.

She nods, stepping inside. "And you must be her," she muses, as if that alone explains something. She glances at the glass on the desk but says nothing about it. Instead, she smiles, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "I imagine you have questions."

You swallow. You should be afraid. You should. But the fear doesn’t settle, not fully. Instead, there’s a strange sort of inevitability to it. You already know the answers, even if you haven’t spoken them aloud.

Still, you meet her gaze and say, "He’s not human, is he?"

Mrs. Swift exhales, her smile tilting just slightly. "Do I really need to answer that miss?." You look at her, slowly shaking your head.

"No."

The admission should terrify you, but somehow, it doesn’t. Maybe because you’ve felt it all along.

Maybe because, despite everything, you’re still here.

She smiles, turning to leave. "Do wear the dress," she muses, a knowing glint in her eyes. "It’s a favorite of his, and I’m sure he’d love to see you in it."

The dining room is ridiculously grand, the candles flickering around you and reflecting off the polished silver. The place setting before you is pristine, the cutlery and plates are set out perfectly. It’s clear that everything has been prepared for you.

Walter sits across from you, watching with an easy, unreadable expression. He picks up his glass, the deep red liquid swirls inside, catching the glow of the candlelight in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"You’ve barely touched your food," he says, voice smooth as ever. There’s no teasing in it, he's simply observing you.

You shift slightly, pushing a bite around with your fork before finally taking it. He watches, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, clearly satisfied.

"I still can't really believe this is happening," you admit. "Last night, I thought I was going to die. And now I’m having dinner in a mansion with—” You stop yourself, not sure how to finish that sentence.

His lips curve just slightly. "With a monster?"

You hesitate, your fork hovering over your plate. "I was going to say ‘a man I don’t know.’"

Walter chuckles, the sound low, quiet, and undeniably amused.

"Ah, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? You know me, at least you do now. You know what I am. What I’m capable of." He tilts his head slightly, studying you intently.

"And yet, here you are."

For a moment the room goes silent. He’s right. You could have left. You could have run. And yet, for some reason, you stayed.

"I suppose I should be thanking you," you say, nearly whispering, finally meeting his gaze fully. "For last night, I mean."

Walter lifts his glass in a slow, almost theatrical motion. "It was my pleasure," he says. "I do try to keep my guests from harm."

It should be unsettling, the way he says it, so smooth, so undeniably charming, but it isn’t. Not to you anyways.

Walter watches as you take another sip of wine. The rich taste lingers on your tongue, though you’re not sure if it’s the drink or the way he’s looking at you that’s making your head feel so light.

"You don’t seem as afraid of me anymore," he muses, leaning forward slightly. His voice is still flawlessly smooth, but there’s something else in it now, something that makes your cheeks heat up.

"Should I be?" you counter.

His lips twitch, amusement flickering across his face. "Well, that depends, darling," he murmurs, the nickname rolling off his tongue, sending a shiver down your spine. "Are you the kind of person who enjoys a little danger?"

You roll your eyes, but the increasing warmth creeping up your neck betrays you. "That sounds like something a very dangerous man would say."

He exhales a soft chuckle, tilting his head. "And here you are, dining with him. What does that say about you?"

The air shifts. This time though, it's not fear. It’s something else entirely, something that tightens in your stomach when he slowly traces his finger along the rim of his glass, his icy blue eyes never leaving yours.

"You stayed," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, more intimate. "Even after understanding what I am. I find that... intriguing."

You swallow, pulse quickening. "Maybe I just wanted dinner."

His smile turns sharper, darker. "Mm. Or maybe," he says, his voice like velvet wrapping around you, he stands up from his chair, slowly rounding the table. You tense as he stops just behind you, the space between you vanishing in an instant. He leans down, you feel his breath ghosting against your skin, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"You wanted something else."

The words linger between you. You should say something quick, something dismissive. But you don’t.

Because maybe he’s right.

"It's getting late," he whispers, hand reaching out to tilt your head towards his. "Perhaps it's time to retire for the night?"

His thumb brushes over your lower lip before you can answer. His touch warm despite the unsettling coolness of his skin. His eyes flicker down, watching the way you react.

He moves, placing a hand on the table beside your plate, caging you in. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat of his body, the way his breath fans over your cheek.

He picks up the delicate wine glass, turning it lazily in his fingers before taking a slow sip. His gaze never leaves yours as he lowers it again, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Instead of setting the glass down, he lifts it toward you.

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, and for a moment, you think that’s all it is. But then, just as you bring it to your lips, his other hand moves to your waist, steadying you as he leans in even closer. The sensation of him pressing against your side has you in a trance, his fingers tightening just slightly.

"Good?" he asks, his voice low.

You nod, though you're not entirely sure whether it’s in response to the wine or the way his lips have begun to ghost down the line of your jaw, barely touching, just enough to make your breath hitch.

All of a sudden you feel the air whoosh around you, and the next thing you know, your back meets the smooth surface of the table.

His weight hovers over you before his mouth finally claims yours. The kiss starts slow, teasing, but it deepens in an instant, his fingers gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his firm body. You run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles working beneath his shirt.

A soft sound escapes you, and his restraint snaps. His hand slides down, fingertips pressing into your thigh as he shifts against you, lips trailing lower, over your throat, as if worshipping every inch of skin he can reach.

Just when you think he might push you further, he suddenly pulls back, breathing heavier than before. His eyes are darker now, the blue nearly completely hidden behind his blown pupils, but his lips curve with satisfaction at the way you lie beneath him, breathless.

"Not here," he murmurs, his voice rough. "I have far better places to ruin you."

Before you can respond, his arms slide beneath you, lifting you from the table. You barely have a moment to catch your breath before he carries you toward the grand staircase.

Walter’s grip is firm as he carries you. His pace is unhurried, teasing in itself, as if he’s savoring the anticipation.

The flickering candlelight barely reaches the long, shadowed hall he strides through, but you don’t need to see anything, you can feel the shift in the air, the quiet hush of the mansion pressing in around you. Then, with a slow creak, he pushes open a door, stepping inside.

The room is dark. Luxuriously so. Heavy velvet drapes block out the world beyond, and the vast bed made up with black silks dominates the space. Everything about it feels indulgent.

Walter doesn’t stop until your back meets the bed. He sets you down with deliberate care, but the moment his hands leave you, a shiver rolls through you at the loss of his touch.

He notices.

Well, of course he does, and a smirk finds its way to his face.

You raise yourself on your elbows, studying his features in the limited light. His face seems sharper now, the lines of his cheekbones and jawline more defined.

“Lie back,” he murmurs.

You hesitate for a moment before obeying, your pulse hammering in your throat, not wanting to provoke him. He watches, eyes dark with hunger.

Then he leans over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other ghosts down your arm, fingertips barely skimming your skin.

“Keep your hands to yourself love,” he orders you and his free hand continues down the length of your torso.

It’s a test. One you already know you’re going to fail.

His lips trail over your jaw, nipping at the skin from time to time. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch teasing and light, keeping you on edge. He takes his time, working his way down, his mouth grazing your throat, his hand slipping lower, and lower and lower.

You shift beneath him, body aching for more, for anything, for something to ground you. But when your fingers twitch, reaching for him, he’s faster.

His hand catches your wrists in an instant, pinning them above your head against the sheets.

Your breath hitches. You test his grip, but it’s useless. He doesn’t even strain to keep you still, it’s effortless, a quiet display of strength, of his unnatural power. The realisation sends a shudder through you, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

He chuckles, no doubt because it took you about two minutes before you failed your one simple instruction. “Impatient are we?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. His lips return to your throat, trailing lower, slow and torturous. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress and move your flimsy underwear to the side. When he finally touches you where you need him the most, it’s agonizingly slow, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

Walter watches, savoring the way you react to him.

“Let’s see how long you last, darling.”

Walter’s grip tightens just slightly around your wrists, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin. He doesn’t need to restrain you, you don't stand a chance against him, but he does it anyway. He loves the way your eyes beg for more, relishing in the way your pulse flutters against his lips when he places open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

His fingers work against you, and every touch sends sparks up your back. Every time you get too close to that release you've been craving, he pulls back to leave you aching for more.

When you finally whimper his name, "Walt please—" it happens.

His restraint snaps.

You barely have a moment to react before he releases your wrists, his hands shifting lower, gripping the delicate fabric of your dress.

And then—rip.

The sound of tearing fabric splits through the air.

Your breath catches as the ruined dress falls away in shreds, his hands trailing over the newly bared skin, entranced by the way the light reflects off you.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his gaze flickers back up, dark and ravenous, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I suppose I should have warned you,” he says, voice dripping with amusement. “I never planned on being gentle.”

He pulls away, his gaze fixed on you like a predator watches its prey. His hands, still resting on your skin, now move to the buttons of his shirt.

One by one, they come undone.

He never breaks eye contact, and you feel every inch of his control and dominance; it's suffocating, as he slowly exposes more of his chest.

The moment the shirt hits the floor, his muscles seem to shift in the dim light, the strength beneath the surface no longer hidden.

He’s flawless.

His body is smooth, sculpted, you can’t look away. Every inch of him seems designed to make you need him more.

His fingers brush over your skin again, a fleeting touch, before he reaches for his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet room, the sound sharp, making your heart race with anticipation.

He pauses, just for a moment, like he’s savouring this, savouring the power he has over you, the way you’re looking up at him with wide eyes.

With a single fluid motion, the belt is gone. His pants follow quickly, sliding off his hips, revealing the tautness of his body. He steps out of them, his gaze still unwavering, watching you as he stands before you, tearing the boxers off his body, fully exposed to you now.

You swallow, mouth dry as you take him in. He doesn’t give you time to look away, stepping closer, his bare skin brushing against yours as he leans over you again. The heat of him is overwhelming, and you feel every inch of him pressing against you.

"You’re perfect," he whispers, low and full of hunger, just before his mouth claims yours again. His words linger in the air, the kiss hot, insistent, demanding.

The heat of him, the solid weight of his body pinning you down, only makes it worse, makes you needier. He knows it, too. The way he moves, the way he presses into you.

His hands skim over your skin, exploring, claiming, pressing into every inch of you as if he wants to memorise how you feel beneath him. He’s still taking his time, but there’s something different now. The patience and self-control he had before is slipping away with every gasp, every arch of your body against his.

You feel his breath at your throat before his lips follow, dragging over the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing, threatening. He lingers at the pulse point, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, a moment that seems to drag on forever, he hesitates.

And then he bites.

A sharp gasp escapes you as his fangs sink into your neck, but the pain is fleeting, but it's drowned out almost instantly by a sudden, overwhelming rush of sensation. It crashes over you all at once, dizzying, intoxicating.

Your fingers dig into his arms, but you don’t push him away, you can’t. Even if you wanted to, there was no way you would be able to. If anything, you’re pulling him closer.

Walter groans against your skin, low and wrecked, his grip tightening on your waist. You can feel him shaking with the effort of holding back, of keeping himself from completely losing control.

He yanks you against him, pressing his thigh between yours, rolling his hips giving you some of that friction you'd been craving. His hands roam lower, gripping, kneading your body, setting fire to every inch of you he could reach.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, his lips are stained red, his pupils blown wide with hunger.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. His voice is rougher now, raw with something dark and unrestrained. He shifts between your legs, lining himself up.

"You ready?" He asks, holding eye contact.

You nod, and you suddenly feel just how much he’s been holding back. The stretch is inevitable, his size enough to make you hesitate, and for the first time tonight, Walter softens, just ever so slightly.

His hand moves to your jaw, making you look at him.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, soothing command. “You can take it.”

The burn is real, but so is the pleasure that chases it, growing with every slow, deliberate thrust.

He watches you, drinking in every reaction, every sound. He waits just long enough for you to adjust before he moves—a slow, rolling motion that has you arching beneath him.

And then he really lets go.

His grip tightens, his thrusts grow deeper, harder, his breath coming ragged against your ear. He presses your wrists above your head, pinning you effortlessly, and when you try to again test his strength, trying to shift, to move, you find that you still can’t.

A wicked smirk crosses his lips.

“Trying to fight me now, darling?” His voice is pure sin, teasing, taunting. “You’ll lose.”

And you do.

Walter sets a brutal, unrelenting pace, overwhelming in the way he takes you, like he wants to consume you completely.

And the worst part? You want him to.

Pleasure coils tight in your stomach, building to something devastating, something inevitable. Walter can feel it—he knows. His fingers slip between your legs, teasing, pushing you closer, dragging you over the edge slowly.

And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he presses his mouth to your neck again, tongue flicking over the wound he left earlier—

And bites.

The sensation sends you spiraling, the pleasure shattering through you in waves so intense it leaves you shaking, gasping.

Walter follows moments later, his grip tightening almost painfully as he groans into your skin, burying himself deep one final time before he stills, his entire body rigid with pleasure.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is your heavy breathing, the occasional aftershock still pulsing through your limp body.

He doesn’t move away, doesn’t give you a chance to drift too far. Instead, his body shifts just enough to wrap around you and cage you in beneath him.

You’re spent, but he stays pressed against you, arm draped over your waist, anchoring you in place. He’s not holding you down anymore, not pinning you with that unrelenting strength, but you can still feel it. The power. The possession. The quiet, unspoken claim on you.

And for some reason, you love it.

“I told you,” he exhales softly, pressing a final kiss to the pulse point on your neck, right where he bit you.

“You were always going to lose.”

And he's right, neither of you are going anywhere.

[disneytva]

Her final adventures need the best tunes with the Moon Girl And Devil Dinosaur Season 2 Vol. 2 (Soundtrack) by Raphael Saadiq and Walt Disney Records.

Streaming TOMORROW on Spotify, Deezer ,YouTube Music, Amazon Music, TIDAL, Pandora, Apple Music & iTunes.

[voxmortuus]

#17 & #29 for Walter Deville please? I figured you could use a break from Hannibal.

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Walter Deville x F!Reader ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ The Invitation ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 424 ✧*̥˚ PROMPT: *̥˚✧ From THIS prompt list: 17. "beg for it" & 29. "you're such a needy girl" ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ Smut in Gazebo AKA Outside | Reader rides tip of dress shoe | Pet Name Used - Blood Doll | Calling Walt Master | Reader begging | Reader gets bitten | Blood Kink? | Unprotected P-i-V | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ YOU'RE LUCKY I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE LIMITS ARE AND WHAT YOU LIKE! I will literally write for any character you send me prompts for; I love branching out! So, I guess that makes me a whore for prompts.... ✧*̥˚ DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ IMAGE CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @ariesrain ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist *̥˚✧

As Walter looks down on you, watching you be this horny needy little blood doll of his, he can't help but chuckle. Watching you whimper and moan as you grind yourself against the tip of his shoe as you wrap your arms around his leg. Wet, fuckin soaking wet and needy for him you look up at him and bite your lip.

"I'm so wet… so needy…" You whimper. "I need you, Master." You whimper.

"Do you now, Blood Doll?" He asks with a slight arch of his brow.

"Oh, yes Master, I really… really need you. I need you to fill me. I need you to feed on me." You whimpered as you graze your bud against his shoe.

With a soft chuckle, he takes your chin and forces you to look at him. "Beg for it." He states.

Biting your lip you look over his face, your hands sliding up his hips, over the front of his pants pawing at him.

"Please, Master… Please. I need you, so badly, I need you to fuck me, I need you to feed on me. I need your guidance. Please… Please Master." you beg.

"Aww, look at you. Stand up." He demands.

Standing up you look over his face, biting your lip you let out a soft whimper as you press yourself against him. He reaches his hand between your legs and feels how soaking wet you are.

"Now what do we have here my sweet little Blood Doll? Are we soaked?" He asked.

"Yes, Master, that's how badly I need you." You state nodding.

"Well now… I'm sure that can be arranged." He chuckles with that charming smile of his.

Turning you around he makes you face the outside yard as he places your hands on the railing of the gazebo. As he feels himself stiffen from your arousal he groans and slips his hardened member between your folds and groans.

"You're such a needy girl." He groans softly.

"I'm always needy for you master." You moan softly as you grip the railing and let out another soft moan.

As he kisses your bare shoulder he moves the crook of your neck and sinks his fangs right in. You let out a slightly louder moan and grip the railing tightly. Looking down you see the blood from the bite drip down your chest, you bring a hand up and wipe it across your chest, smearing it into the skin as you let out another moan.

"Oh Master… you're too good to me." You whimper.

[thefugitivesaint]

Ub Iwerks (1901-1971), 'Hells Bells' (1929) You can watch the short here if you're curious.

[skullmysteries4]

Rubberhose party. I wanted to take a picture like this for a long time, I finally did it. Yeah, there are some photobombs, dinosaur blanket, yellow drink, blue cloud, Princess Bubblegum and a cactus. But I think they added to the charm a bit.

Left to right; Bendy, Donald Duck, Mugman, Ms Chalice, Cuphead, Mickey Mouse, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Minnie Mouse

Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (c) Walt Disney Cuphead (c) Chad and Jared Moldenhauer Bendy and the Ink Machine (c) TheMeatly / Paul Crawford

[amyrosesmokingafatblunt]

reading archie sonic will have you saying shit like “i’m so glad they brought back wombat stu, he was an underutilized character”

[backuparguelles]

Moon Girl at Disney Springs at Walt Disney World

https://x.com/ashleylcarter1/status/1791135957304901762?s=46&t=uOLDdX8RqxBOjZ8j-9iK0w

[itsjustpalmtrees]

Devil Magicks

[princessbettina]

4th of July Kisses Headcanons-Walter Deville x Fem!Reader

Happy 4th of July, everyone!!

I'm not really a big fan of this holiday, especially because of the annoyingly loud fireworks. They freak me out because of how loud they are, and I think they aren't necessary, in my opinion. Anyways, one way to cope if you will and feel more at ease with them was to write this Walter story/headcanon story.

The scene in the Invitation where the fireworks go off as Walt and Evie get to know each other, which leads to them sharing a kiss really inspired me to write this and the idea of it has started to relax my nerves a bit about fireworks in general. If you have the same anxious fear of fireworks, then I hope this short story fic helps! <3

Warnings: None-Kissing and fluff. I apologize if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes in this.

Divider Credit: saradika on Tumblr

When meeting Walter and the rest of the family, and finding out who and what they truly were, you never imagined that celebrating world holidays such as the 4th of July, would be a part of your new vampire lifestyle, but it was.

Yes, when you and Walt officially tied the knot, there were fireworks-both figuratively and literally. Especially when you both shared a kiss or two.

At first, you didn't mind the fireworks, but as the years went on celebrating the 4th, you developed a fear of them. Maybe it was because of how loud they appeared to be? Whatever the reason, you couldn't put your finger on it.

When Walter got word of your fear, he did everything in his power to protect you and help relax your nerves. He would first gently pull you close to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and the base, center of your back as you did the same for him too.

"Darling, it's alright. The fireworks won't harm you. Trust me, you're safe." Walt reassured you, his thumb gently caressing your face, causing you to blush.

You then smile up at him before resting your head on his shoulder, "I know, I know. But the popping and banging noises from them sound like I'm doomed and in grave danger from far away in the distance. Maybe that's why they scare me."

Walter nodded his head, softly smiling down at you. Letting you know that he understands and that your fear is valid, "You have nothing to fear, my love. Fireworks are like a mini soiree in the sky."

You playfully rolled your eyes as Walt and you both chuckled together. Lifting your head up, you gently booped his nose, "You're too funny, Walt Bae. Thank you for being so supportive. I love you."

"Anything for you, darling. I love you too." Walter hummed softly while planting a kiss on your neck.

Another helpful thing Walter did to help you was giving you kisses. Kisses anywhere. He knew just how much you enjoyed and loved it when he kissed you.

When your least favorite holiday rolled around again this year,and the fireworks began, Walter politely pulled you aside, and excused both himself and you from the fancy and festive party / guests and traveled with you to his pottery / ceramics office building, you enjoyed getting to spend time in that room, especially with your husband.

Taking a few deep breaths and sighing in relief was just what you needed as soon as you stepped into the space. Walt, a few steps behind you as he closed the door and traveled to your side in a matter of seconds. The fireworks grew louder from the outside.

"Thank you for bringing me here. I always feel calmer when I'm either with you and in this room, and I'm definitely feeling a slight improvement." You winked at him, causing him to blush and smirk flirtatiously at you.

"I'm so honored to hear that. I think I know something that could help you even more, darling." Walter chirped quickly as he began to look deeply into your eyes.

You quickly caught onto his gorgeous ocean like gaze and began blushing when you caught his eyes shift down to your lips. "Oh yeah? You turning off the fireworks or stopping them all together, Walt Bae?"

"Not exactly what I was going to suggest. Would you like me to turn them off? I can gladly do that if you think it would help, my love." Asked Walter, tilting his head slightly as he continued to look deep into your eyes.

You playfully shook your head and giggled. You knew that Walter knew that you were just messing around with him. You knew he had something else in mind, and you couldn't wait for it. "What were you going to suggest?"

Walt playfully raised an eyebrow and giggled, "Your favorite, and that is a kiss. How about this, how many fireworks go off is how many kisses you'll receive."

You instantly blushed once more after hearing those words your husband said. You playfully and then flirtatiously smirked at him and began to lean towards Walt near his ear, "What are you waiting for? Please do it, lovey." You whispered with pleading eyes, showing him that your fear of the fireworks going off right outside was beginning to creep up in you.

Thankfully getting the message, Walt flirtatiously smirked back at you and got closer to you too, "Ask and you shall receive, darling." Was the last thing Walter whispered to you before he filled the gap on top of your lips.

Your fear immediately washed away and became a blur as the kiss continued and deepened. Walter always had some kind of magic when he kissed you. Maybe it's a part of him being a vampire or something, but you absolutely loved it either way.

The fireworks continued to pop more outside but that didn't seem to bother you anymore, your mind was focused on the kisses that were being shared with your husband and your self and honestly you wished this kiss would last forever.

Bonus: When you slowly started to come back to reality and your ears picked up the loud fireworks right outside, you anchored onto Walt's arm and whispered, "I just heard four of them go off, does that mean what I think it does, lovey?"

Chuckling softly to himself as his blushy smirk appeared again, Walt whispered, "You're absolutely right. Smart and good girl, you are, my love."

You flushed to yourself and felt like your face was on fire after hearing what Walt replied with. This extremely handsome and sly vampire who just so happened to be your husband, definitely knew what he was doing to always get you going, if you know what I mean, and you loved every single second of it.

"Four fireworks in a row equals four kisses for my beautiful darling, Y/n." Walt whispered quickly to you before kissing you again and taking you away from your thoughts and anxious thoughts once again.

[hauntedkeys]

I want to make Riot listen to Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil just to see what it would to her.

[astrids-blog333]

In His Eyes

Walter De Ville x Reader

Fandom: The Invitation (2022)

Summary: An unexpected reunion stirs something unfamiliar in Walter. At first, it's nothing, just a name from your past. But as the evening stretches on, tension simmers beneath the surface.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, violence, unwanted attention, creepy man, mention of blood, possessiveness and dominance.

A/N: Guys, I know this isn't a huge fandom, but I love him anyway and will forever represent. Again, you don't have to have seen the movie as this has nothing to do with the plot, as long as you have a liking for vampires, you're good to go 🤭 Also, Darian is a completely made-up character in this, sorry to any Darians out there :)

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

WC: 3.9k

The ballroom hums with the murmur of conversation. Candlelight flickers against gold-trimmed walls, and the scent of warmed wax and delicate perfume seems to fill the space.

Walter stands beside you, a familiar and steady presence. His hand rests lightly on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your gown as he guides you through the parting crowd.

He leans in close to you, “Care for a dance?” His voice is smooth and light, almost teasing.

You smile, giving him a small nod. It isn’t often that Walter takes the lead in things like this, so you take the opportunity. And when the orchestra shifts into a slow waltz, he pulls you close. His hand is firm on your waist, and the other wraps around your delicate one.

The world outside fades away, and you can only focus on him. His high-set cheekbones, the way his dark eyes bore into yours, his perfect lips parted just enough for the tips of his canines to peek through. Everything about him was simply mesmerising.

Walter's gaze focuses on you, unwavering, as if you are the only thing in the room worth looking at. The soft glow of candlelight catches in his dark eyes, and he smiles, not wide, not showy, but something quieter and measured, but you know how much it means.

His deep stare causes your steps to falter, only slightly, but Walter’s grip keeps you steady. When you glance up at him again, his expression remains unchanged, his focus entirely on you.

When the song ends, Walter spins you into the crowd with a seamless movement. His hand doesn’t leave you for long before he’s guiding you toward the drinks table.

“Do you want something to drink?” The warmth in his voice is familiar, so is his hand splayed over your back. You turn to answer, but before the words leave your lips, you recognise an old friend of yours.

“Don't you two look marvelous,” he says, his voice easy, carrying the kind of charm that slips in unnoticed until it’s already settled.

His hand clasps yours, firm and warm, a glint of amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I’d like to introduce you to my husband,” you say, turning slightly toward Walter. “Walter, this is Darian, an old friend of mine. Darian, this is Walter, my husband.”

Walter’s grip is steady as he takes Darian’s offered hand, his expression neutral and unreadable. The handshake lingers a second too long before Walter releases him, but his attention doesn’t stay on Darian for long; his eyes flicker back to yours quickly, his hand brushing the curve of your shoulder as though drawn there by instinct.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Darian says, his tone smooth, too easy. “She’s told me so much about you.” Walter inclines his head.

“Pleasure.” Walter’s voice is flat, almost uninterested, as if merely stating a fact.

Darian’s smile widens, playful, but his eyes flicker with something more calculating. Walter remains still, but you feel the faintest shift of his fingers against your shoulder, a barely-there touch, light yet deliberate. Not possessive, not forceful.

Just a reminder.

When you all sit down for dinner, a few mere hours later. The first course arrives, delicate plates of soup set before each guest.

Darian, ever the charmer, carries himself with an ease that grates against your nerves.

His words are completely innocuous but too well-placed, his smiles just a touch too warm.

“You always did have exquisite taste,” Darian muses, swirling the wine in his glass. His eyes flicker toward you for a second too long before returning to Walter. “In all things, it seems.”

Walter’s fingers tap once against the table, a slight movement which goes unnoticed by most, but you know better. His expression remains impassive, his smirk still polite.

“It is only natural to surround oneself with the finest, is it not?”

Darian chuckles, sipping his wine. “I do wonder how you manage to keep it all so… untarnished. Beautiful things tend to be fragile.”

You stiffen slightly, but Walter remains motionless. He does not glance at you, does not acknowledge Darian’s bait. Instead, he turns his attention to you, reaching for your hand under the table. His touch is light, a brief press of reassurance before he withdraws, taking a slow sip from his glass whilst doing so.

Darian leans forward slightly, feigning casual interest. “It must be… consuming, living here,” he remarks, eyes flickering to you once more. “Such a grand estate, such a grand life. But does it not grow tiresome? The weight of it all?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Walter beats you to it. “On the contrary,” he says smoothly, “she thrives here.” His smile is razor-sharp. “I see to it.”

Darian’s lips part slightly, caught off guard for the first time that evening. He recovers quickly, though, forcing an easy grin. “Ah, of course. Ever the perfect host.”

Walter exhales a quiet chuckle, something dark glinting in his gaze.

However tense the evening gets, it is not until dessert is served that something in the air truly shifts.

Walter, who has played this game with such meticulous control, has exhausted his patience. So, when Darian reaches for your hand across the table, perhaps in jest, perhaps in something more calculated. But before his fingers can reach and brush yours, Walter moves.

Not hastily, not with any outward aggression, but with an ease that is almost terrifying. His own hand intercepts, gripping Darian’s wrist with deceptive gentleness.

Darian’s smile falters, just ever so slightly.

The air in the room feels heavy with silence, the kind that settles after the laughter and music of a memorable night have long faded away. The fire crackles faintly in the hearth, casting soft light across the stone walls, but the warmth doesn’t seem to reach your skin. The guests have all gone, leaving only a handful of people behind. Now it’s just you, Walter, and Darian, who is leaving in the morning.

Darian sits on the edge of his seat, his voice is low, teasing as he recounts one of his many travels, leaning in just a bit too close, as though the space between you doesn’t matter. His fingers brush against your arm when he gestures, the touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

You try not to think about it, you try to tell yourself it’s all harmless, but the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when you feel the light breeze of his hand moving past yours.

Walter, ever the observer, doesn’t say much. His gaze stays fixed on Darian, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t break his calm composure. He shifts in his seat, his fingers brushing lightly over yours.

Darian talks on, his words still light, but there’s something sharper about his gaze now. His eyes flick over to you a little too often, his smile lingering too long.

You open your mouth to respond, but Darian speaks again, his tone softer now. “I bet you two don’t get many moments like this,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, almost conspiratorial. “With all this power, all this beauty around you. What is it really like?”

You swallow, uncomfortable under his gaze. But before you can answer, Walter’s hand is there again, a solid presence over yours, grounding you. The touch is brief but deliberate, a warning, perhaps.

It’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

Darian leans in again, his breath too warm against your ear. “She’s a lucky woman,” he says, and his words hang in the air like a challenge.

The subtle tension snaps, just for a moment, and Walter’s voice cuts through the space between you. “Is that what you see me as, Darian? A symbol of power?” His voice is quiet, but it carries weight.

Darian chuckles, brushing off the question with a wave of his hand, but his eyes are anything but casual. “No, no. Of course not.” But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, it lingers in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

The conversation moves on, but Darian’s gaze doesn’t leave you. You feel it, heavy and possessive, every time you shift in your seat. It’s subtle at first, his eyes following you just a little too closely, his words dragging on too long.

Suddenly, Walter shifts and stands up without a word, excusing himself to another room to check on something. You didn't catch what, after all, you could always ask him later.

You watch him go, but before you can process it, Darian’s voice comes low and close again.

“You know, you don’t have to stay with him forever,” Darian murmurs, his voice rough with something darker. “You could have anyone you want... someone who knows how to truly treat you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and a cold shiver runs down your spine. You glance at him, but before you can respond, his hand reaches out, brushing yours with a cold touch that makes you pull back instinctively. His fingers tighten around your wrist, far too firmly.

“You deserve someone who sees you,” Darian whispers, his eyes dark, unsettling. “Someone who knows what you need.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your instincts telling you to pull away, but before you can do anything, the door creaks open.

Darian smiles. “You’re quite lucky, Walter.” His voice is smooth, addressing the man who just reentered the room. “To have someone like her.” His hand, which was on your wrist, moves up your arm, finding its way to your shoulder and creeping still further.

You squirm in your seat, edging backwards, desperate to get away from him. But it all happens too quickly to process.

One moment, Darian’s hand is where it shouldn’t be. Next, Walter’s grip is around his wrist, unyielding. Darian's sharp inhale that follows is the only sound in the room before he drops his hand from you.

Darian’s breath stutters. His fingers curl against the force of Walter’s hold.

“Let her go,” Walter murmurs, his voice low, even.

Darian flinches, his balance shifting as Walter twists his arm just slightly, just enough to make his point.

Darian grits his teeth. “I didn’t mean-”

Walter tightens his grip.

Darian exhales sharply, his body folding slightly toward the pressure.

“I told you to let her go,” Walter growls, his voice cold and full of venom.

You sit, frozen, watching as Walter’s strength overtakes Darian’s resistance. Darian’s other hand grips Walter’s forearm, struggling, but it’s no use. Walter’s grip tightens, and his eyes never leave Darian’s, a fury burning behind them that’s hard to ignore.

For a second, Walter’s gaze flickers to you, sharp, possessive, full of something dangerous. Then, without warning, he shoves Darian back into the stone wall with a force that knocks the air from his lungs. Darian crumples, gasping for breath, but Walter doesn’t release him.

“You don’t get to touch her.” Walter’s voice is deadly low, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to think for a second she’s yours.”

Darian’s chest heaves as he scrambles, trying to push himself up, but Walter steps forward again, his boot pressing into Darian’s stomach, forcing him back to the ground with a sickening crunch.

“I invited you to my home. I gave you the courtesy of a seat at my table,” Walter murmurs, dangerously calm. “And you mistook it for equality.”

Darian wheezes, gasping for air. He pulls Darian up by his collar, his face inches from his. The venom in Walter’s eyes is unmistakable.

“We are not equal.”

Finally, Walter pushes Darian away with one swift motion, his hands leaving him to collapse back onto the ground.

Walter doesn’t spare him another glance. His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths as he turns to you, his dark eyes still burning with an intensity that pins you in place.

Then, without a word, he steps toward you.

The kiss takes you by surprise. It’s not soft. It’s fierce, hungry, his lips molding to yours as his hands grip your waist and pull you flush against him. There’s heat behind it, a release of everything simmering beneath the surface, his anger, his dominance, the undeniable desire between you.

It’s a kiss that demands surrender, and you give in without hesitation.

The silence stretches when he finally pulls back, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breath is warm against your lips, but his hands remain firm on you, steady, grounding. The world around you feels like a distant hum compared to the sharp focus of Walter’s gaze on you.

There’s something raw in his expression, something unguarded. His fingers brush along your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you. For the first time since the night began, his touch is gentle.

"Are you alright?" His voice is quieter now, still deep, still commanding, but with a thread of something softer woven through it.

You nod, though words still evade you. Your heart pounds, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of him, the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, the way he fought for you without a second thought or even an ounce of hesitation.

Walter’s thumb brushes over your cheek, lingering there for a breath before he exhales, his control tightening like a leash on whatever storm still brews inside him. Then, without another word, he takes your hand and leads you away.

The grip of his hand is firm, his every step deliberate, carrying you both away from the wreckage of the evening, away from Darian’s ruined pride and the tension that still lingers in the air.

He doesn’t stop until the doors of your chambers close behind you, shutting out the world beyond.

The moment the lock clicks into place, the air shifts again.

Walter turns to you, his gaze sweeping over your face, down the length of your body, as if reassuring himself that you’re truly here, unharmed. Then, in a single stride, he’s on you again, his hands at your waist, his lips brushing yours in something softer this time, but no less demanding.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he murmurs against your lips. But there’s no hesitation in his voice, only quiet certainty, the command of a man who knows exactly what he wants.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him. "Don’t go slow," you breathe, a teasing smile playing at your lips, but the need behind your words betrays you.

Walter’s lips twitch, a knowing smirk ghosting across them before he claims your mouth once more. His hands slide up your back, pulling you against him, his touch steady.

He gently lowers you onto your bed, his gaze never leaving yours. His movements are deliberate, slow, but each touch, each brush of his hand against your skin makes your breath catch.

You know he’s still in control, but there’s a new tenderness in the way he moves.

His hand slides down your side, settling at your hip as his lips trail down your neck and across your collarbone. The kiss is soft at first, gentle, but with each movement of his mouth, there’s more heat, more urgency.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin.

His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slide lower, gripping the fabric at your hips. His fingers bunch it up, pulling it up above your hips, so that your lower body is fully exposed, save for your underwear.

“You’re still so put together,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice low, a hint of amusement breaking through his tone.

“I think I prefer you undone.”

His hands move to the hem, slipping beneath it, fingertips brushing against bare skin as he pushes it higher. The cool air kisses your exposed thighs, a contrast to the warmth of his touch. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric gather in his grip.

Then, his fingers find the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes you. Your body already responds to him, your breath hitching as he spreads his hand over your leg, his grip firm but reverent.

“Relax,” he coos, voice dark. “Let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you sweetheart.”

His fingers graze higher, just barely skimming where you crave him most, teasing you, coaxing you. The heat between you intensifies, your pulse quickening as he takes his time. You feel the fabric of your underwear shift under his touch, a barely-there pressure that makes your breath stutter.

He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours, waiting, always waiting for you to yield to him completely. And then, without another word, his fingers dip lower, dipping into you. His thumb presses against you, drawing slow, deliberate circles, each movement sending another wave of shocking heat surging through you.

The pleasure builds slowly as his fingers push deeper, stretching you just enough to make you gasp in anticipation. His eyes never leave yours, watching you, loving your every reaction. You arch your back slightly, your chest rising and falling with each breath as he works you with expert precision.

"Good?" He asks, his voice is barely a whisper, but you hear the quiet edge of possessiveness in it.

It drives you wild.

You nod, unable to string together a coherent sentence, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as your body betrays you, every slow movement of his fingers sending waves of pleasure through rocking through you. He picks up the pace just slightly, his fingers finding a rhythm.

You can feel the tightness building within you, a coil winding tighter with each press of his fingers before a wave crashes over you. You gasp, your body trembles in his hold, your fingers curling in the sheets as the pleasure surges through you. You barely have time to catch your breath before Walter’s voice fills the silence.

“That’s it love,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

But before you can fully come down, before the rush fades, Walter’s fingers don’t stop. He shifts between your legs, his thumb circling you again, this time with more pressure.

It’s nearly too much, too overwhelming, you’re already so sensitive that the second one comes quicker, more intense. The gentle but relentless pressure of his hand sends you spiraling once again, your body jerking beneath him as a second climax rips through you.

It leaves you breathless, the feeling almost too much to bear. His thumb doesn’t stop moving, just coaxing you through the aftershocks.

Walter watches you, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he takes in the way you tremble beneath him. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin as you try to steady yourself, but the way his hands continue to roam your body tells you he has no intention of giving you a moment’s respite.

“Feel good, love?” His voice is smooth, knowing.

You nod, still breathless, and his lips find yours again, softer this time, as if savouring the moment. His fingers trace down your sides, slowing when they reach the fabric still clinging to your skin.

“Tsk,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding lower. “Still dressed. That won’t do.”

His fingers toy with the waistband, tugging just slightly, enough to make you squirm. “I should take my time with this, don’t you think?” His lips brush your jaw, trailing lower as his fingers slip beneath the fabric. “After all, you look so pretty when you beg.”

You let out a soft whimper, hips shifting involuntarily, and Walter chuckles, a deep, satisfied sound. Then, without warning, there’s a sharp tear of fabric as he rips your underwear away in one swift motion.

“Much better,” he murmurs, tossing the ruined scrap aside before dragging his fingers down your newly bared skin, making you shiver. “I do like you like this, nothing in my way.”

But then his hands drift higher, fingers gathering the fabric of your dress still bunched around your waist. His lips curl against your skin as he hums in mock disapproval.

“And this?” he muses, toying with the material. “We won’t be needing it anymore, will we?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he slips the dress over your head and tosses it aside in one smooth motion. The way his gaze sweeps over you, his eyes hungry, makes heat pool low in your stomach.

He lets his hands explore, slow and teasing, before he pulls back just enough to unbutton his own shirt. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, letting you watch as he undoes each button with practiced ease. When he finally shrugs off the last piece of clothing, his gaze finds yours again, dark and unwavering.

He moves between your legs, pressing his body against yours, the heat of his bare skin searing against yours. His touch is still gentle, still teasing, as he guides your thighs apart, positioning himself between them.

“Are you ready for me, darling?” he purrs, dragging his lips down the column of your throat. He gives you no time to answer before he tilts your chin up to claim your mouth in another kiss, leaving you dizzy.

Then, just as you’re lost in the feel of him, he thrusts inside in one slow, unrelenting motion, stretching you, filling you completely. A gasp catches in your throat at the sensation, at the way your body responds to him instantly, moulding around him in a perfect fit.

His movements are slow at first, giving you time to adjust, his hands on your hips guiding you as you both find your rhythm. He looks down at you, eyes dark with desire but filled with something more.

He’s still focused on your comfort, on making sure you're okay, but you can tell he’s losing himself in you, the control slipping with each thrust.

He shifts his hips, finding a new angle, and you gasp, the pleasure shooting through you again, sharper than before. He doesn’t pause, just continues, each thrust deep and slow, bringing you closer to the edge again.

“One more for me, love,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I know you can.”

His words are a challenge, a command, and you find yourself rising to meet it, your body responding to him, every inch of you connected to his as the pressure builds once again.

With each thrust, you feel your body tightening, the coil winding tighter, and when you finally let go again, it’s overwhelming. He doesn't slow, still chasing his own high. Your hands clutching at his shoulders as you lose yourself, surely leaving marks.

Then he groans, his pace faltering as he follows you, his body tense with the force of his release. He holds you close as you both come down from the high, his breath hot against your neck as you lie together, wrapped in the quiet aftermath.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low. “So perfect."

[disneytva]

Congratulations to the crew members of Walt Disney Animation Studios, Disney Television Animation, Disney EMEA Animation, Lucasfilm Animation and Disney Jr. Education & Inclusion for their wins at The 3rd Annual Children and Family Emmy Awards.

The Walt Disney Company took 25 wins with the 20th Television live action series "Percy Jackson And The Olympians" being the lead of the awards of the night.

Marvel’s Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur (Disney Channel / Disney Television Animation)3 Wins

Outstanding Children’s or Young Teen Animated Series

Outstanding Directing for an Animated Series – “The Molecular Level”

Outstanding Writing for a Children’s or Young Teen Animated Series – “Dancing with Myself”

Kizazi Moto: Generation Fire (Disney+ / Disney EMEA Animation)1 Win

Outstanding Individual Achievement in Animation – Character Design

Monsters at Work (Disney Channel/ Disney Television Animation)1 Win

Outstanding Voice Directing for an Animated Series

Once Upon a Studio (Walt Disney Animation Studios)1 Win

Outstanding Short Form Animated Program

Star Wars: Young Jedi Adventures (Lucasfilm Ltd. /Lucasfilm Animation/ Disney Jr. Education & Inclusion)1 Win

Outstanding Sound Mixing and Sound Editing for a Preschool Animated Program

SuperKitties (Disney Jr. / Disney Jr. Education & Inclusion/Sony Pictures Animation Television)1 Win

Outstanding Voice Performer in a Preschool Program – Kari Wahlgren

[toodefendorperson]

Biden is from Satan. He wants to ban Disney.

[foxssie]

Heisenberg and Jesse playing chess november 2023 an appropriation of 19th century German school painting Mephistopheles and Faust playing chess

[filmjunky-99]

n o r t h e r n e x p o s u r e created by joshua brand, john falsey The Robe [s6ep5]

'Just who do you think you are?' - shelly

'Satan.' - the devil

'The Devil is a spa salesman?' - shelly