I'm just your average Lilia Vanrouge/Divus Crewel/Rook Hunt/Floyd Leech simp. I write small fics every now and again.
Age: 27.
Preferred pronouns: She/Her, but use whatever makes you comfortable.
Heard your requests were open for RSA and ran over here
Anyways, may I have Chenya with a touch starved reader? Or someone who craves physical affection but is too nervous to initiate it? Idk how to word this at all I'm so sorry💀
Feel free to delete, and make sure your taking care of urself, taking breaks, and drinking water!!!
SUMMARY: Chenya with someone who is touch starved.
WARNINGS: none!!
COMMENTS: i kept their relationship vague ^^ i thought it would be sillier that way AJHSFDAHGSFD
Chenya notices it when you awkwardly moveaway from his touch, constantly holding him at arm's length.
He also notices how you lean into his touch, wrapping your arms around him and holding him there for far longer than usual.
You whisper that he’s warm, that his hugs are nice, and he notices how you cherish every last bit of his affection before he absolutely has to slip away. He often finds himself running his fingers down your arms and across your scalp, hoping to soothe you so he can have the chance to hug you again.
You may think he’s warm, but he knows he’s got nothing on you.
Which is why it’s so painful when you two have to part.
He doesn’t like slipping out of your arms, mind you. Your furrowed brow and small frown of disappointment make him just as disappointed that he had to leave you.
“You don’t have to hesitate, you know.” he hums, tail swishing back and forth.
Your fingers pause against the textbook, your shoulders bunching up around your neck like stone walls guarding a castle.
“What do you mean?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.
“When you touch me. When I touch you.” Chenya says, flipping upside down with a wide grin stretched across his face, “You hesitate every single time.”
Your eyes dart towards the floor, farther away from him. Chenya’s eyes drop to your lips, where your teeth are digging into the flesh.
“Why are you nervous?” he teases, slinking up to you, “It’s just me.”
He knows why.
You jump when Chenya wraps his tail around your wrist, dragging your hand towards him. He intertwines your fingers and captures your gaze, practically forcing you to look at him.
“I’ll touch you as often as you want.” he chuckles, tilting his head, “So don’t worry about it, okay?”
He relishes how you sputter and yank your hand away, looking more embarrassed than ever.
Stealing this from twitter: Reblog this with four (or more) pics that expose your taste in men (or just blorbos in general). Let the judgement come
Tagging: @levistwomissingfingers @postwarlevi @the-milk-anon @sckerman @leyyvi @ackermendick @youre-ackermine @jayteacups @theferricfox and everyone else who sees this!! You don't need to be tagged, don't worry!
white people please just purchase native artwork and jewelry from native people i keep seeing idiot white people be like “waaah i wish i could support native creators but its cultural appropriation” girl why would beaders sell you their earrings then. just dont get a medicine wheel or a thunderbird then like damn it is that easy