✶ touch-starved!neuvillette

touch-starved!neuvillette who never asks for affection outright, only lingers a second longer beside you in the kitchen while the kettle hums. dawn light turns the counter silver, and he stands close enough for your sleeve to brush his wrist as if by accident. he says nothing when you take his hand, but the rain outside softens at once. touch-starved!neuvillette who pretends to be reading while you rest against him on the sofa. pages remain unturned for nearly an hour, his gloved thumb tracing the seam of your sleeve with absent care. the room is dim except for one lamp, and he looks almost startled by how peaceful he feels. touch-starved!neuvillette who wakes in the middle of the night to make sure you are still there. moonlight spills across the sheets, pale and cold, until he reaches for your waist and finds warmth. only then does he close his eyes again. touch-starved!neuvillette who listens more than he speaks, storing every careless gesture you give him like treasure. the way you fix his collar, the way you lean into his shoulder during long carriage rides, the way your fingers tap twice against his palm before letting go. he carries each one through lonely afternoons. touch-starved!neuvillette who becomes quietly possessive of ordinary routines. tea shared at four, your hand on his arm while crossing wet streets, your knees touching beneath the table during late dinners. love, to him, is repetition chosen daily. touch-starved!neuvillette who looks almost embarrassed when you kiss his temple in passing. evening rain beads against the windows, and he follows you from room to room afterward under the excuse of conversation. neither of you mentions it.

✶ ivykeeper’s note : reuploading :3 thank you for spending time beneath the ivy walls ♡ interactions, requests & tiny thoughts are always welcome here. if you’d ever like to leave a small petal behind, my ko-fi helps support both this greenhouse & my education . . . 

the size difference between you and varka would be uncanny. he’s just so…big. just so massive that when he bends you over the desk to fuck you your feet dangle off the ground; you’re suspended and completely at his mercy. his large hands on your hips and his thick cock lodged inside your wet pussy keep you up, and varka almost unravels too soon at the sight of you — dress bunched at your waist, drenched panties pushed to the side, little cunt stretched to its limits around his pulsing shaft.

and he believes in chivalry, of course, but he can’t help but enjoy the way he gets to have you all to himself like this, using you like the cutest little toy just for him. the way you whimper and arch your back when his large cock can’t help but hit that sweet spot nestled inside over and over and over.

“so good for me, princess,” he coos. his voice is gruff and low, slightly winded from the pace he’s fucking you. “so pretty and all mine.”

and all you can do is just take him to the fullest with each deep thrust until you can’t process where you end and he begins. he molds your insides to the shape of him, and varka thinks you can’t be anymore perfect for him than you are right now.

the pillow muffles your whimpers, but he wants to hear you, so he pulls you up by the hair, turning your face in his direction. he chuckles dryly at the fucked out expression you’re wearing.

“c’mon baby, tell me how good it feels,” but you lost your ability to form coherent thoughts, much less any sentences after your third orgasm.

warbled cries leave your lips, trying to tell him that he is making you feel good, but your mouth seems to have given up the moment you opened it—that won’t do.

in a quick sucession, he pulls you up by your hair flush against his chest, just to wrap his arm around your neck and push you down against the bed once again. the headlock he’s gotten you in, the impossible closeness of your bodies, the sounds of his rough grunts right against your ear, it amplifies all sensations beyond words.

weakly hitting his bicep to signal your approaching orgasm, he doesn’t say anything, too focused on hitting your sweet spots inside. “y’wanna come again? yeah?” you nod as much as you could, with his arm restricting most of your head movement. he laughs, slowing his thrusts, feeling his cock reaching shallower and shallower spots.

sniffling, you whine, “wh-why…?” your hips begin to grind against his, attempting to stimulate your clit, until he pins your body down, fully immobilized.

“you ignored me. now you’re reaping the consequences of your actions. y’gotta hold it, until i tell you to cum, and i better hear a ‘yes sir.’”