{ MDNI ⭑.ᐟ.ᐟ there's no smut or whtv, but they're freaks. cw: vernon and spitting. you're welcome }
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You’d tried your best, you really did.
You’d do anything for him; he could ask you to rearrange the planets and you would’ve found a way. Well, probably not, but an effort would’ve been made nonetheless.
So when Vernon had you kneeling before him, awaiting whatever command he had to give you, there wasn’t anywhere else you’d’ve rather been.
His eyes trailed over your reduced figure. There wasn’t any malice behind his gaze, only the low burn of promises to come. The mere thought almost drew a needy whine from you.
But that’s what you were, wasn’t it? Needy little thing.
So desperate to please that when he did finally touch you, just a caress along your jaw to end up tilting your chin more towards him, you let out a small whimper. You didn’t think he heard it.
Those hopes were dashed when his eyebrow ticked up and his lips curled in an amused smile. You might as well have been a puddle.
Vernon tilted his head. “You alright down there, babe?”
Such a gentleman; you wanted to reassure him you were exactly where you wanted to be—sore knees and all—but you only had the mental capacity to droop your eyes and nuzzle into his hand.
He hummed, “Good.
“Open.” His grip tightened slightly on your chin, indicating what he meant.
Oh—
Yes.
Yes, of course. Anything.
Your jaw went slack immediately, still in his hold. Vernon bent down closer to you, still hovering above your form, but leveling his gaze into yours. Dark pools of brown bore into your soul, almost black in the backlight with small reflections dotted around like stars. The very same eyes that looked at you with warmth and love on the daily; now devoid of nothing but a stagnant indifference.
A mask, of course. You both knew that.
His lips parted: soft, pink, and slightly chapped from his habit of biting them. Not that you were much help in that regard—usually it ended with the two of you smooshed together and gasping for air after five minutes. The plush muscles drew back to reveal his small rows of teeth, those of which you’d frequently told him you wanted to eat like cereal. He’d always just laugh it off after casting you a resigned look.
He’d dragged his tongue over the enamel ridges, taunting you at that point.
Saliva had pooled in your mouth, and you closed it to swallow for a moment before reopening.
Vernon tsked, “Keep it open, babe.”
Your cheeks warmed, and you nodded as best you could with your jaw between his fingers. He smirked, mouth closed once again. His lips pursed, his mouth quirking at odd angles, almost like he was swishing around mouthwash.
Then he leaned close, close enough that you could smell the detergent on his clothes—practically tasting it on your tongue—and drown in the fire that blazed behind his eyes. He glanced down at your lips, parted and waiting.
And then he spat in your mouth.
Your eyes widened, and your initial instinct to snap your mouth shut was thwarted by his hand still holding it open.
Vernon drew back slightly, a thin, glistening line of saliva connecting your mouths that he smoothly snapped with a flick of his tongue.
“Don’t swallow. I want to see how long you can hold it.”
You didn’t know what to feel. All you could focus on was the liquid—which was small in amount but still seemed like way too much—dragging itself down your tongue to the back of your throat. Your whole mouth was frozen, saliva once again pooled at the back of your throat, this time mixed with his own. You knew that if you moved anything, a mere twitch of the tongue, a subtle readjustment of the jaw, your throat would open and down it’d go (and you’d probably gag from not swallowing properly).
So you didn’t. You didn’t move a muscle. You sat there, trying to breathe through your nose, while your thoughts raced both a mile a minute and came to a screeching halt when your eyes landed on Vernon.
He smiled, “Good girl.”
Yeah. All brain function had ceased operation. Your eyes fluttered shut with a whine, before you quickly cut yourself off when you felt your throat shift.
Vernon chuckled at that. “You’re doing so well.”
You would’ve sighed.
Why was his grip shifting on your chin?
“Let’s get a better look, yeah?”
He rotated his wrist, tilting your head up with his index finger, and slipped his thumb into your mouth. You only had half a mind to close your lips around it before he hooked the digit over your bottom teeth and gently tugged.
You couldn’t help it; you gagged.
Your heart plummeted along with the saliva as you felt it slide past your uvula and down your esophagus. Which only further added to your heartache when his hand fell away from your mouth at your involuntary follow-up cough.
You cleared your throat, disheartened. Less so by the fact that you’d failed, and more so that you might’ve disappointed Vernon. He’d explicitly told you not to swallow after all, a simple task—in theory—and you couldn’t even manage that. Your head hung low in shame, only perking up when you heard him click his tongue.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he mused. His eyes met yours, a mischievous twinkle glistening in them.
“I guess you’ll just need some more practice.”
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the things i do for you people... /aff
W E L L .
this showed up in my inbox mid-conversation at 3am and i. i've only just recovered enough to send it out into the world lmao.
lieu you are evil and i love you and i might cry
i
..yea i'm gonna shut up now