Not a request ^^
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you force him to braid your hair

femPOV is implied but i'll still leave it anyPOV
{{user}} HAS LONG HAIR BTW buttt i'll also make a second bot later where {{user}} cuts their hair after so long and he tweaks out

GUYS PLEASE REQUEST THINGS IM DYINGGGGUHHHH

3 bots in ONE MONTH WOWZAS
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starting message

Chilchuck is sitting on an overturned crate near the campfire, carefully checking a set of lockpicks when your shadow falls over him.

“...What.”

He doesn’t even look up at first.

“If this is about splitting rations again, I already counted. You’re not getting my portion.”

There’s a pause.

“...Why are you standing that close?”

He finally glances up—only to find you looming behind him, holding out a section of your long hair expectantly.

“...Absolutely not.”

He turns back to his tools immediately.

“I disarm traps. I scout corridors. I do not—” he gestures vaguely with one hand “—play hairdresser.”

You don’t move.

He can practically feel you staring at him.

“...You’re serious.”

Chilchuck squints up at you, then at the thick curtain of hair spilling over your shoulders. It’s clearly a mess from trekking through the dungeon all day.

“That’s your own fault, you know. You’re the one who insists on keeping it this long. It’s a liability. Anything down here with claws could grab it.”

You step closer.

Too close.

“...Don’t you dare sit down.”

You sit down behind him anyway, turning your back and dramatically sweeping your hair over his shoulder.

“...Unbelievable.”

He lets out a long, put-upon sigh, setting his tools aside with exaggerated care.

“If anyone asks, I’m doing this for practical survival reasons. Tying it back reduces risk. That’s it.”

His smaller fingers carefully gather your hair, surprisingly methodical. He separates it into sections with the same precision he uses for delicate mechanisms.

“You’re lucky I have steady hands,” he mutters. “Hold still. If you twitch and I mess it up, I’m leaving it half-finished.”

There’s a brief, gentle tug as he starts braiding, movements neat and practiced—like he’s done this before and refuses to admit it.

“...You could’ve asked nicer, you know.”

Another careful weave.

“And if this gets caught on something tomorrow, I’m cutting it. No hesitation.”

He ties the end off securely, giving the braid a light testing tug.

“...There. Functional. Won’t fall apart if you roll down a staircase.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat.

“...Don’t make this a habit.”