A/N: You can find the previous part here.
“The fridge?!”
Minotaur (Ambrose) x chubby fem!reader || fluff, tooth-rooting fluff, found family (kinda)
You love family dinners with your minotaur family. It always makes you extra giddy to be invited to Ambrose’s weekly family reunion, and this week wasn’t different. You had had a bit of a rough week, but right then and there, you felt cozy and relaxed. You are talking around the coffee table, everyone lounging around the sofas as the girls play around the table.
You are resting your head on Ambrose’s bicep as you talk to your sister in law about her new job. You are trying not to munch too loudly, but the dessert Cyrene made is fucking delicious and you let out a tiny noise that makes Ambrose’s hand tense on your thigh. You smile up at him, knowingly. You can see the way he’s looking at you with hooded eyes, and you know what that means… you are going to get your pussy pounded as soon as you get home.
But for now… You are content just eating some dessert and maybe a bit more alcohol than necessary when one of Ambrose’s nieces, who were playing around pointed at you and whispered to her sister.
Juniper, the older of the two, points to your leg. Your miniskirt rolled up a bit and your thigh is on full display, which meant… “Hey human-auntie,” your heart skips a beat at the cute nickname they gave you, “why do you have a boo-boo in your leg?”
“Huh?” You look down at where she’s pointing. You have a big finger shaped bruise right on your thigh. Your brain starts firing ideas on what to say. “Oh! You see…”
You try to think what to tell them that is not the truth. Because as much as minotaurs are sexually open, you can’t tell the kids that your boyfriend, his uncle, grabbed your hips so hard while he was fucking you that he left finger imprints in your thighs. You wouldn’t say that out loud in front of his family even if there weren’t any kids around, to be completely honest.
“You see… Your uncle Rose was a total hero!” Ambrose, who was looking at you with a knowing smirk almost chokes on his next breath at your statement. His eyes are big and round as he stares at you, not knowing what you were about to say.
“I am?” Ambrose asks between coughs, making you have to bite your lip not to laugh.
“Yes, silly! So, your uncle here was my hero and saved me when I fell the other day.”
“He did?!” Aster almost screams, the little one has the biggest romantic heart, and she’s already smiling, climbing the table to sit in front of you two. Her sister does the same, both of them staring at you as if you are the best storyteller in the world.
“Mmh-hm,” you hum in agreement, “I was climbing on the counter to get to the top cabinet where we store the good cereal,” you look at the kids who look a bit confused, so for their sake you add: “the cereal that tastes reeeal good, not that one that’s just bland, you know which one, right?” They nod frantically, apparently knowing perfectly what you mean even if you don’t. “So I was on the counter, but I still couldn’t get there, so I tried to climb…” You pause for dramatics, and then continue with a hand flourish: “the fridge!”
“The fridge?!” Both of them exclaim in unison, completely shocked by your story. You want to giggle so bad, but you contain, continuing with your story. The adults around the room are looking at you equally shocked.
You look around expecting to see amused smiles and knowing smirks, but everyone is nodding along your story as if it’s completely doable that you climbed a fridge and fell off it. Well, maybe they aren’t wrong, but you are lowkey offended that they all think you would fall. You have good control, you’ve been climbing on counters and furniture all your life. You are a professional. How dare they think you are clumsy? But the kids are looking at you, and there’s no way you are about to explain the adults that the story is just because of Aster and Juniper.
So you continue your tale. “The fridge. You see… I’m a bit shorter than that.” That makes them laugh, knowing full well you are a lot more than a bit shorter comparing to a minotaur-sized fridge.
“What else?” Juniper asks, her little hands resting under her chin, as if every word out of your mouth is the most interesting story she’s ever heard.
“And I was about to get the cereal, my hands were this close,” you get make a pinching motion and suppress a laughter at their surprised big eyes. “And then I slipped!” You clap hard and they let out a tiny squeal that makes everyone around the room laugh. “But don’t worry, your uncle Rose was right there, catching me before I hit the ground. Isn’t he a hero?” You ask the girls.
“YES!” Both girls yell at the same time, making everyone cheer and clap.
You smile at them, bowing to your public as Ambrose huffs bemusedly next to you. You look at him, eyebrows raised, daring him to say anything. He doesn’t, he just leans down and kisses your forehead as the girls start talking about other princesses and heroes, everyone returning to normal conversation.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur, your heart warm and cozy surrounded by your boyfriend’s family. You are more than content by the time Ambrose taps on your shoulder. “Let’s go home, sunshine,” he says in the softest voice. Your heart skips a beat at the tenderness in his eyes. It’s like staring back at the materialization of love for a second.
Your parents in law walk you two to the door as your sister in law tries to wrestle the kids into their jackets. “Try not to fall off any counters again, we’d hate to lose our new daughter,” your father in law says, ruffling your hair as you pass next to him.
Your brain stops processing information and you just stare at him confused. “What?”
“The bruise?” Ambrose’s mom hints, pointing at your leg.
But you aren’t thinking properly. A part of your brain is still trying to process that the big minotaur just said you are a part of the family, his new daughter. Oh no, you are going to cry. Oh no. Your eyes are getting misty and he’s looking at you the same way you look at tiny kittens and you… Yep, you are letting out a tear as you launch yourself to him and hug his middle. Ambrose laughs behind you, resting his back against the wall and staring at the exchange of love, his smile is so big it must hurt.
“Oh honey, why are you crying?” Cyrene, your mother in law, sounds concerned, and when you feel her strong body pressing against your back so you are in a sandwich of minotaur in-laws.
You can only let out a muffled “I love you, guys!” against your minotaur dad (?) pectorals. Ambrose keeps chuckling, and you want to hit his head before you hear a loud screech and there’s little hands grabbing your legs and hugging against you two. The kids.
“We love you human auntie!” Your heart melts a little more if it was even possible.
Request: Could you do something about a reader who was cursed by a witch/wizard to not be able to feel any passion/pleasure until they touch their soulmate? Either the witch is their mate and didn't realize, or just like a random monster idk. Can be SFW or NSFW, up to you. Thank you!!
A/N: This was more painful than anticipated because I took it a step further, hope that’s okay, ended up very sweet. Enjoy the angst, I guess. :)
Touch repellent
Wizard x fem!reader || sfw, hurt/comfort, lots of banter
It takes you two years to realize there’s something wrong with you.
Every time you touch or are touched, your body reaction is utter disgust. At first you don’t sweat it, weird people made you react like that before… But then you try to kiss a girl and your whole body rejects the feeling, nausea filling your throat until you want to puke. You walk to your house completely confused, not knowing what is wrong with you.
You spend the next couple weeks testing your theory, and every time you touch somebody, the same happens. Disgust fills your body until you are almost shivering, your body reacting badly to every single touch. Even worse, if the intentions are romantic or sexual. Which sucks, because you want to kiss pretty ladies and boys.
So you do what you didn’t want to do. You go back home to look for help. To the place you remember being happy for the last time. To the place you felt like you were alive and touch still feel like a part of you. Where you could hug your mom and feel happy about it, where you could pat your friends in the back and feel the camaraderie… You needed to have that back. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you need it back, you want to feel normal, to be able to touch people and enjoy it again…
Even if he’s there.
He, as in, your wizard childhood friend who you haven’t seen since you left. He insisted on you cutting ties if you decided to leave, and you couldn’t do anything to argue with him. It hurt. It hurt more than anything to leave him behind, it hurt even worse than feeling awful every time someone touched you. Leaving him behind was like tearing a part of you, but he rejected you, and you couldn’t be there without feeling the pain every time you looked.
So you left.
And you hurt.
But now, back home and knocking on his door to seek answers to a question you didn’t know how to formulate, your whole body is shivering in anticipation. That never happened before. It’s like your soul is reaching out to touch him, to seek him. And the second he opens the door and lets you in, you feel calmer than you have felt in a very long, long time.
When he reaches out to shake your hand, as if you didn’t know everything about the other until you left, you don’t get the usual anguish or disgust. It feels different. Better. It feels like everything in the world is okay again just by that simple gesture.
And then it clicks.
All those years ago, when you left him. When you walked away after he asked you to stay and you knew you couldn’t because he didn’t love you like that. Because you knew your feelings were unrequited…
“It was you!” You scream, a threatening finger pointing in his direction, pushing his chest until he’s against the wall and you are fuming with pent up anger.
He has the audacity to act surprised, and that only makes you angrier. “What do you mean?” He tries to fake, not moving, his back against the wall as he looks down at you. You hate (lie) that he’s so tall, that he’s looking down on you even when you are furious with him.
“I haven’t been able to do anything, to feel anything… Every time I touched another being, I could only feel disgust… And now I touch you and it feels warm, and cozy, it feels like coming home…” Your words leave a bitter taste in your tongue, the realization of what happened settling uncomfortably inside your chest.
The asshole smirks. “It does?” You want to punch him in the face.
“You cursed me!” You accuse, the pain in your voice making his smirk deflate.
He looks at you with confusion and a hint of anger, but you don’t back down, fully aware that you are right, because your palm is against his chest, and you aren’t feeling disgust. It only feels warm and content. It only feels incredible and like anything you’ve ever felt before.
“I…” He hesitates. “I did,” he finally admits, looking ashamed for the first time since you entered. Your hand finds his neck, not pressing, not hurting, just resting there as a threat (but not really).
“Why would you do that? Why would you want me to feel disgust upon touching others?” You try not to sound pained by it, but it hurts, your eyes filled with tears. It hurts that not only he rejected you, but he hated you that much that he couldn’t even let you be happy with others.
“Because… Because I…” He stutters. “Because I loved you,” his voice sounds like a surrender, and your brain short-circuits.
You aren’t expecting his response and your hold on his neck releases a little. “What?” You aren’t sure if you feel more surprised or betrayed. He loved you?
He’s still struggling to talk, stuttering, but he explains: “I could sense that you were my mate, but you couldn’t... And you were so fixated in others, in going away from me, enjoying others… I just… I wanted you to suffer a tiny fraction of what I felt. So I cursed you.” He sounds completely defeated, and your soul hurts for him. Hurts for you. For the misunderstanding. For the way you two suffered because he was stupid (and okay, maybe you were, too).
“Why didn’t you just say something, you stupid shit?” You yell at him, your hand pressing down on his chest as the other curls around the side of his neck, almost a caress. “I thought you didn’t want me!” That part leaves you breathless, the anger slipping out of you and leaving your body trembling and defeated.
It’s his turn to look at you, perplexed. “What?”
“I loved you, too, you stupid maroon! I was so in love with you it hurt to be near you. But you never acted on it even though we were mates, that’s why I left!” You don’t want to scream, but the last part comes out a bit high pitched and painful. Like there’s spikes in your throat, and when you look up and meet his eyes, it only hurts worse.
“But you… You always talked about others and I…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he never even thought of the possibility of you loving him back. Of you understanding what mates were… Stupid wizard.
You pinch his nipple through his shirt until he shuts up and lets out a yelp. “You were a stupid wizard who didn’t know how to read the room. I was trying to make you jealous, so you would act on it. And you didn’t, so I left,” you explain when he only stares at you, confusion clear in his features.
But when he processes your words, he only lets out a little: “Oh.”
And you have enough of his bullshit.
“Ugh you are so fucking stupid,” and that’s all you tell him before your hands are grabbing his long hair and pulling him to you, your mouths crashing as you devour his mouth as you have wanted for so long. “You are going to pay for every single touch I missed,” you tell him between kisses and bites.
He whines, whispering: “Yes, yes. Anything you want… mate.”
