I apologize for not being the best writer, and for not having a proof reader, but I've had a lot of thoughts in my head about how each LI would react to a touch averse reader due to some past trauma in their life. GN!ReaderxLIs. Individual POVs. My requests are open if anyone has idea for me to write!
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Xavier:
Xavier was always watching, noticing every little detail. The way you stepped away when someone reached out. The hesitation in your eyes when his hands drifted a little too close.
He never pressed, he never asked. He made sure to keep a safe distance, to step between you and anyone who was getting too close. When he draped his coat over your shoulders on a cold night, he made sure not to touch your shoulders.
One night, you were sitting together but separate, rain pattering outside of your apartment. Xavier had ordered takeout, and you ate together in a comfortable silence.
He reached across the table to grab a napkin, and his hand just barely brushed over yours. Without thinking, you jerked your hand back, knocking your glass over and you watched, frozen, as it fell to the floor shattering and spilling its contents all over you and the floor.
Xavier immediately stopped, eyes widening just slightly at the crash. He took a slow, careful breath and said softly, “It’s okay… accidents happen.” He grabbed some paper towels and began cleaning up the mess, keeping his distance, letting you step away.
You stood there for a moment, flustered and embarrassed, cheeks heating. He continued in his calm, quiet way, his voice gentle. “Take your time. I’m right here.”
You felt the tension in your shoulders slowly ease, comforted by the fact he wasn't pushing you to explain or rushing to help you clean off. You excused yourself briefly to change out of your ruined shirt.
You finally sat back down, listening to the rain falling outside. The steady sound of the downpour soothing your breaths. Finally, you whispered, so softly he almost missed it, "I'm...I'm not very good with touch."
Xavier's eyes softened as he looked at you, noticing the way your lips quivered, embarrassed by your own admission. "You don't need to explain," he said, slowly, gauging your reaction. "Love isn't about how close we are physically, it's about how close our souls are."
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you smiled softly, cheeks flushed. "Thank you," you said and inched a little closer to him. Still not touching, but enough to feel he was there.
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Zayne:
Zayne was never a man of many words. He was never one to waste them on things he already understood. He saw your tensed shoulders, the guarded look in your eyes.
So he found other ways. He always left a blanket draped over the arm of your favorite seat. When you went out and the streets were busy, he shifted his body to create space for you and shield you from the others.
One day, you were enjoying an array of macarons and small cakes in a little bakery when somebody walked by, accidently brushing against you, and you froze, a panicked look in your eyes, your heart rate rising and your breathing becoming unsteady.
Zayne noticed immediately, and he didn't reach out for you as his instincts wanted him to, but his voice cut through to you, low and soothing.
"Breathe with me."
He shifted his body slightly, blocking the crowd from your view, but still saving the space you needed. "In through your nose. Hold. Out through your mouth." His voice was steady.
You tried your best to follow his instructions. Your breath was shaky at first, but his steady presence grounded you. His eyes never left yours, giving you something to focus on.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I just, I don't..." You started speaking too fast, embarrassed by what he had just witnessed.
"No," he said, stopping you, "you never need to apologize for how you react. I will always be here to help you through it."
You nodded and exhaled as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, one you had been carrying for too many years.
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Rafayel:
Rafayel was affectionate by nature. always leaning in, always teasing. But the moment you had flinched away from him, his mischievous grin faded.
He stepped back, raising his hand up in surrender. "You're like a delicate flower," he noted. "My mistake for reaching out too soon."
From that day, he turned a full 180. His affection turned from touch to words. He whispered poetry under the stars, laughed with you late into the night, and complimented you in every shared moment. He made sure you knew how much you meant to him, he made sure there was never a moment of doubt.
He had asked to paint you in his studio, and although you were shy, you agreed at his constant insistence.
You were sitting on a velvet stool in the center of his studio. Canvases lined the walls, each one more brilliant than the last, but his gaze was fixed on you.
“Hold just like that,” Rafayel murmured, his tone soft. No teasing, no dramatic flourish. His brush moved, and the soft sounds filled the room.
You fidgeted under the weight of his attention, but as the time passed, his quiet focus soothed you. There was no pressure here.
When you finally broke the silence, your voice was hesitant. “Thank you.”
He paused mid-stroke, brow arching. “For what, cutie? For capturing your beauty? That is simply my calling.”
You shook your head slowly. “No, I mean, that too, but... For… changing. For noticing when I flinched, and not making me explain. You just—adjusted. Not everyone would do that.”
His lips curved slowly, tenderly. He took a moment before responding. “Ah, cutie, you wound me. Did you think I could ever ignore what you need?” He set his brush down, leaning back just enough to look at you fully. “Touch is shallow compared to this. To see you, to paint you—it is more intimate than any embrace.”
His grin returned then, boyish and a little smug, but beneath it, his eyes were warm.
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Sylus:
Sylus never missed a thing. He had spent so long earning your trust back and knew your relationship was still fragile. When he brought you to Onychinus's base for the first time, he forgot to warn you about the twins.
They came charging into the room, swarming around you, talking too fast. "It's so nice to meet you, boss lady!" Kieran said, slinging his arm around your shoulders. "We're happy to see the old boss man finally settling down," Luke said, tugging you from his brother into a hug.
Sylus noticed the way your eyes widened immediately. Your body froze, panic flashing across your face as you struggled to worm your way out of their grasp. "Enough." He said loudly, his voice commanding over their constant chatter. In an instant, they let you go.
"Leave," Sylus commanded, and Luke and Kieran left the space, uncertain of what had just occurred. Sylus watched as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to be as small as possible. "Follow me," he said and guided you into a large living room, gesturing for you to sit.
As you sat in the farthest seat from him, he watched intently. Watching as you wrung your hands and fiddled with your hair. "You hate being touched," he said, not a question but an observation.
Your breath caught in your throat, waiting for his judgment, his pity, the push for you to explain yourself. But that never came. He stood, waiting, watching.
"That's fine," he continued, slowly. "I don't need to touch you to be with you. I can wait for you to be ready."
It took some time for his words to register, for you to fully understand what he was saying, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
"Thank you," you said softly, "thank you for not asking for more than I can give."
"I'll take whatever you can give," he said in response, "and I'll talk to the twins."
"Thank you," you say again, a genuine smile flooding your face as you pat the space next to you. Sylus sits, leaving just enough space between you.
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Caleb:
Caleb had known you for years. He remembered the excited hugs you gave as a kid, how you always wanted to be around him. And now, now he saw how even the slightest touch made your whole body stiffen.
He didn't bring it up. But he didn't just let it be. He always showed up. Always encouraged you. He was always there, and he never demanded anything in return.
When you were visiting him in Skyhaven you helped him cook dinner. The radio played soft music, and the smell of braised pork filled the kitchen. You were sauteeing some vegetables, and he reached past you to grab a spice jar, his arm brushed against yours. A jolt of panic rushed through your body.
"I-I'm sorry," Caleb said immediately, jumping back to give you some space.
But you didn't answer. You didn't want to explain. You were embarrassed and flustered, and without a word, you ran out of the kitchen, running out of the room, and you closed yourself in the bedroom.
He hesitated for a moment, considering his options, and followed behind, knocking gently on the door. "Hey... Pips?" He called out through the door. "Come on, you can't hide in there forever."
He tried the door and, finding it unlocked, he slowly opened the door. He found you curled up against the wall, and he crouched down next to you, careful not to touch. "You don't have to explain anything," he started gently, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
You took a shaky breath. "I wish I wasn't like this," you whispered, tears streaking your cheeks.
Caleb frowned, shaking his head. "Don't Pipsqueak," he said, "don't ever want to be anything other than what you are. Touching or not, you're still you. That's the person I want." He hesitated and then smiled, "That's the person I will pick every time."
