T, Bunny or Usagi is fine! â 22 â Virgo â Female â Perth, Australia â MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ ONLY AGELESS AND EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED
general!kiba opens up to you and you do the same and suddenly youâre both clingy and needy
18+ / fem!reader, royalty AU
connecting drabbles: 1 / 2 / 3
imagine you suggest taking a bath together in attempt of growing closer, and he's just so awkward and clumsy when it comes to showing actual tenderness that it's almost absurd.
and he not only acts awkward, but looks like it, too. stuffed inside the wooden tub that's just been filled with hot water, he's almost too big to fit properly into the damn thing; even less when you're in there with him as well. the water splashes over the brim whenever he moves, so he's stuck there with your back resting against his chest, one arm draped over the edge of the tub, the other finding home on your stomach.
the room is illuminated by the soft glow of candles you've personally lit each and every one of before inviting him in. sitting in the tub and thinking about it now, it had been a pretty mundane task; one that had certainly took you a long while to accomplish, considering that you previously had no desire to play with fire.
but you got there eventually. you've made the room nice and cozy - warm. the stone isn't cold, steam lazily spirals from the surface of the water and up towards the ceiling. the scent of lavender lingers in the air, creating a heavier atmosphere which he, you guess, probably doesn't even care about enough to notice in the first place.
"smells nice in here."
mildly surprised, you turn to look at him over your shoulder. it's as if he's read your mind. "really?"
one of his brows quirks at the odd question you offer as a reply. it's the left one; the one that's been split because of the godawful scar that runs along the left side of his face and which you still have to keep reminding yourself to stop gawking at. you've never asked him how he got it. you don't really plan on asking anytime soon.
"sorry, i-" you mumble, shaking your head in attempt of getting rid of the sudden timidness that washes over you under his domineering stare. "i didn't word that quite right; i just didn't think that you'd... notice."
"i've got a good nose, y'know," he explains as an answer. a second passes before he adds, "works better than most."
you've since learned that a rather large portion of his personality consists of bragging and speaking highly of himself even when there's really no need for it. and that's fine to some degree, but this statement feels different. he says it like it's a fact, unlike the usual boast.
"is that so?" you ask with just the slightest hint of playfulness. even you are surprised that you've allowed yourself the pleasure of a merry little lilt to accommodate your voice.
"yes," he says simply, reclining further against the tub. you try to ignore the way his sigh sends a shiver tumbling down your spine when it brushes over your naked skin. especially when he reaches out to trace and smooth down the goosebumps that have now formed on your stomach; just underneath the fat of your breast.
"mm," turning your head away from him, you mumble a meek, "prove it, then."
that makes him smile, but you can't see it. one corner of his mouth kicks up as he says, "the oil you rub into your skin every morning before you start your day smells like roses. i usually catch it right-" his voice drops a tone lower as his wet fingertips rise to press against your pulse point, "here."
you feel like a lamb caught in the hands of a lion whenever his touch lands anywhere on your body. it makes warmth bubble inside your belly, making you feel like you've just finished eating a rather large bowl of piping hot stew. and sure, you've experienced this exact same sensation once or twice before being wed, but lately it's been showing up far more often. especially when he's around.
you're not entirely sure if it's the heat or the realization that makes your words come off wobbly as you mumble, "lucky guess."
and mother above, he laughs at how you behave, now. laughs! quiet and deep, the rumbling in his chest sounds like phantom thunder. "i didn't guess."
"of course you didn't." your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you look around the room. "what about that bar of soap over there? what does it smell like?"
"sage."
he's right, you've picked that exact one. "and the herbs i'm using to scent the room?"
"lavender."
"wow." water splashes, threatening to spill over the edge of the tub again as he readjusts into a more comfortable position. "your answers sound so suspiciously certain that some would call you a smooth liar instead of a general."
"i can't afford to be uncertain," he says after a moment of brief silence. you can feel him grow stiff behind you whilst his fingers idly stroke the curve of your hip. "it could get me killed."
that makes you turn around again. makes you look at him properly this time around.
his eyes are brown. pretty, yes, but plain. however, they are also so dark that they reflect the orange glow of the candles you've spent an eternity lighting earlier. the little flames dance whenever the melting wax disturbs them, and it's like his very irises are set ablaze each time.
surprisingly, his gaze kindles something within you, too.
"try not to die anytime soon, will you...?" eye contact doesn't seem to bother him, because he's persistent at holding it even as you add, "our union isn't even a fortnight old yet, and i've only just taken some form of liking towards you... it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."
he grins at your tease - short and quick - because it means you're finally growing comfortable in his intimidating presence, but doesn't say anything as you pick up the bar of soap and begin to rub the sage-scented suds into his tan skin. just watches.
pleasant silence settles between you as you wash him. it's intimate and sweet, not necessarily romantic but definitely an improvement when compared to your wedding night. you run your hands along the stiff cords in his neck, the broad arch of his shoulders, the rippling muscle on his arms, the chest that protects a wild-beating heart, as well as every scar in-between that serves as a reminder of his bravery and bloodshed.
the water is already half-cold by the time you release the bar and he breaks the quiet to ask, "can i tell you something?"
you're practically clinging onto him on instinct, facing him, while your hands are pressed against his chest and leeching off his body heat. the way his blood runs hot no matter the season will surely prove satisfactory by the time first snow falls and your new home gets unbearably cold. "of course."
"well, how should i put it... the truth is that i-... mm." he swallows, and you fail to hide your fascination whilst watching the way his adam's apple turns prominent and bobs inside his throat. it's amazing how different he is from you. you could study him for ages.
long seconds pass as he struggles to find the right words and you force yourself to pay attention.
"what is it that you want to say?"
he's quiet, brow still furrowed. and then: "...i'm not that keen on roses to be honest."
you blink, slowly. is he really trying to say what you think he is? "pardon?"
"i said i'm not that keen on roses... i- uh, i know you use oil instead of perfume, but... fuck," he mumbles, shaking his head. "m'sorry."
your heart flutters at the crude apology. there are butterflies in your belly. "what on earth are you sorry for?"
"i understand that you're fond of them," he starts warily, "and believe me when i say i don't want to take away even more things that you're fond of, but the scent... it really makes my head hurt."
you stare at him, wide eyed and surprised. you know that he could just take away the bottle and prohibit you from using it again, and perhaps that is what he would have done before you had managed to crawl underneath his skin with your doe eyes, never-ending kindness and graceful mannerism, but something about him asking silently; giving you a choice to do something about it instead of picking it for you, makes your heart begin to beat faster and faster. all until your pulse is practically rattling behind your teeth.
he's actually willing to give you a chance.
"then i won't use the oil anymore," you say after another breath of silence. your voice is definite; like that of a proper ruler instead of a war general's wife. because the decision is yours. only yours.
he nods, his shoulders sagging as if in relief before he wraps his arms around your smaller frame and pulls you closer. both of your bodies are slippery because of the soap, and he doesn't miss the way it makes your skin glisten, the way it makes your tits look absolutely divine even as they press against his chest.
he doesn't say thank you, but he doesn't need to. instead, his voice is a mere murmur against your ear as he cups your cheek with one callused hand and whispers, "i wish to bed you now."
you look up, heat crawling up your neck as fast as ever at the lewd request that he leaves hanging in the small space of air that is between you. but what really makes you burn, what makes your insides clench and your toes curl right there in the water, is when he adds,
when dabi returns from the bar without an old-fashioned in hand, your interest is piqued.
you can't help but smile at his sulking shoulders and sullen eyes, "why are you drinkless?"
"donât ask," he waves you off before slumping into the booth beside you.
after a moment of feeling your beady little eyes focused on his through his peripheral vision, he eventually caves.
"forgot my wallet, so i tried flirting with the bartender for a free drink andâ"
his voice trails off, admitting defeat as he uses his open palms to gesture to the empty table before him, the one that represents his failure of negotiation (and smooth talking) skills.
and you would be laughing at his misery if it wasn't for the gears busy turning in your head at a tiny detail of his sentence.
"you know how to flirt?"
dabiâs jaw physically drops in disbelief, "and what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"nothing, i don't know!" you're quick to put out the fire, so you sip your drink and brush off the comment. âi just didn't think it was something you did."
dabi grimaces at your amusement of the whole scenario, so he picks the dry skin from his lips with a defensive sigh.Â
"i mean, it's not something i do frequently, or to just anyone," he assures, doing his best to keep his voice level. âit's⊠selective."
"so what i'm hearing is that you're picky."
he looks over to you, and you're enjoying this. cheeks slightly flushed from both the alcohol and the laughter you bite back, you're clearly getting a kick out of his borderline pathetic demise.Â
he scoffs before turning his head away from you, not wanting to look you in the eye when he bares his next confession.
"iâll have you know, i flirted with you the first time we met,â he wraps his knuckles on the table to busy his drinkless hands, ây'know, before i got to know you and became repulsed by you."
from the corner of his eye, dabi can see you giggle behind your drink, fiddling with the straw between your lips.Â
you swirl the ice around in the glass. "the first time we met, you said i had a stupid laugh," you knowingly remind him.
and you expect him to fight the accusation, to defend his flirting skills and recall the memory differently; but when he turns to you with a shrug and tight-lipped smile, everything begins to click for you.Â
"that's your flirting?â you practically gawk in surprise and heâs tsking away from you once more.Â
youâre not satisfied though, now giddy with the realization that not only was he bad at flirting, but heâd willingly admitted that he was flirting with you. your smile is blinding, and he would be content with letting it beam, if it wasnât at his disadvantage in the first place.Â
âoh god it's worse than i thought. no wonder no one wants to fuck you."
âit's not my flirting that's bad,â he holds a defensive finger to the air, âit's the fact that the person i usually flirt with is a fucking idiot. thatâs why iâm not fucking anyone.â
his confession brings a wave of heat to your cheeks, and whatever alcohol was buzzing through your veins seems weak compared to the affect of a few passing words from him.Â
you clear your throat before shaking your head, "well, maybe you should learn to flirt better. yâknow, maybe don't make fun of their laugh within two minutes of meeting them.â
"well, i don't see you coming up with any suggestions," he passes the ball right back to your court.
and you plan to not answer him, prepare to scoff at his silly tease and change the subject. but the more you think about it, the more you let your curiosity get the best of you.Â
"compliment them," your voice speaks up after a few moments.
dabiâs eyes light up with a mixture of surprise and pride, "on what?"
"anything you like about them," you shrug casually, as if itâs a simple thing you do all the time. as if youâre constantly bathing him in the knowledge of how much you love his expressive eyes, his quick comebacks, his frowns and smiles and everything in between.Â
and it's not until he laughs under his breath that you realize you've been staring at him for a bit too long. that heâs been returning the eye contact and the two of you have been admiring one another for what should be an uncomfortable amount of time. but it feels relatively natural, like admiring how the moon seems to follow your car window on a midnight drive.
you decide to break the tension and stand with a playful scoff, "it's not that hard.âÂ
dabiâs furrowed brow silently questions your sudden absence, but when you grab your wallet and gesture to the bar, he lights up with realization.Â
"you owe me one," you mumble while standing.Â
he smiles and nods in appreciation, and when you're walking away from the table, he calls out to you.
"hey," you turn on your heel to be met with his lazy smirk and a look of mischief glowing in his eyes.Â
a list of factors that CAN cause poor outcomes and fatalities in blood transfusions:
being crossmatched with the wrong A/B/O, RhD/rhesus, or HLA group
Blood that isn't properly screened for blood borne disease, increasing the risk of transmission of HepC, vCJD, and HIV/AIDs
massive transfusion protocols, which have been associated with a minor increased risk in hemolytic transfusion reactions, air embolism, hyper- and hypo- kalemia (blood potassium), magnesia (blood magnesium), and calcemia (blood calcium)
Improper storage of blood and blood products like plasma/FFP and platelets
A list of factors that there have no substantial scientific proof of being linked with poor outcomes and fatalities in blood transfusion:
the sex of the donor
Currently, in the UK, there via a shortage of blood donors; in particular donors from Afro-Carribean backgrounds, whose blood is more likely to be a HLA match for transfusions for sickle cell anaemia and beta thalassaemia sufferers.
I guarantee you that if you've gone into haemorrhagic shock, or are at risk of sickle cell crisis, the absolute last thing you're going to be thinking about is the sex of your donor, because without blood â no matter who donated it â you're going to die.
Blood transfusions save lives â no matter the donor's sex â to say that donor sex is related to adverse outcomes is at best, blatant misinformation with limited if any scientific backing, and at worst, modern day phrenology that's playing dice with people's lives.
(The data Rowling uses comes from 3 trials, all of which agree that a. further studies with wider sample sizes are needed, and b. the cause is likely due to an immunological factor rather than anything to do with endocrinology. Also, bias of interpretation is A Thing, folks.)
Yo I spent a year working in the UK blood donation service and just want to add some things to reassure people.
Blood is always checked. Comprehensively. It doesn't matter if it's someones first donation or their hundredth. There are multiple checks before you even donate, and we send samples out to get them tested for any blood borne diseases long before the blood makes it's way into anyone. We sort the blood by group ourselves and it's always at least triple-checked on our end. Then it's checked again at the storage site, and once again in hospitals. We all have access to a massive, comprehensive database with every single donor. The bags are clearly labelled and barcoded.
If there was a single fatality linked to a blood donation, there'd be a massive outcry, and an even more massive internal reaction. Part of why the UK system is so careful is because of the mad cow outbreak, which was related to transfusions and honestly still gave some of my coworkers flashbacks. Everyone is constantly guarding against anything like that ever happening again.
The only significant difference between "male" and "female" blood is very slightly different haemoglobin levels. Donated blood with a different haemonglobin level will not kill you. It's meant to be higher than yours, because thats part of the fucking point of blood donations. Higher haemoglobin helps people your blood carry oxygen and helps your body with basically every vital function. Which is why we test haemoglobin levels on site and only accept donations from people with higher than average.
So yeah, one single difference. You know what this incredibly risk-averse, comprehensively research-led system said how trans people might affect that? That they don't. Our full training was literally "treat them like their identified gender"
So no, a donation from someone with the "opposite" sex won't kill you. You know what will kill you? Propaganda like this.
We have literal evidence in living memory of what happens when mass hysteria is whipped up over blood donations. My parents lost one of their best friends in Mexico during the AIDs crisis, because the media wouldn't stop screaming about contaminated blood and how it would kill you and your entire family. He died in his thirties from a fucking nosebleed.
JKR cares more about clinging to her transphobia than she does about the very real deaths that could come from this. She cares more about clinging to relevancy than she cares about the lives of the people who somehow still see her as worth listening to. Her morals are a joke on a cosmic level and I hope she rots.
im still so baffled as to how you could tell what sex the blood you got âactuallyâ was, since red blood cells DONâT HAVE DNA. of all the cells in the human body to try to ascribe the properties of a biological, intrinsic, immutable sex, the red blood cells are probably most absurd ones to pick. they have no dna! none! thatâs where your chromosomes are! and your blood cells have a grand total of zero xâs or yâs! theyâre physically just not built like that!!! holy shit!!!!
it really demonstrates the absurdity of terfs pretending like their cause is at all scientific, rather than a deeply superstitious and irrational misunderstanding of the human body right down to the most fundamental, basic particles. you could dissect a million blood cells for twenty years, and you wonât be able to find a scrap of gender in any of them.
To break it down further: We humans are built to be blood compatible (by type) because all of us shared blood with our mothers and half of us are potential hosts.
Because of this need to share blood, itâs pared down of information compared to other organs. To receive a piece of my liver, weâd need to be cell matched on multiple levels and youâd need to go on special anti-rejection drugs but we can share blood no problems.
Being on T changes literally ONE thing about your blood when it comes to donation, your number of red blood cells. It increases them. This CAN be an issue if you end up with too much but the solution is really easy, you just remove some (that is, you take some blood out) so arguably regular blood donation not only saves lives but is also something trans masc people on t should do anyway to keep their red cell numbers in check.
My husband has O- blood and you know what it's primarily used for? Maternity and neo natal transfusions. His blood goes into babies and women all the time becuase o- is the "oh fuck we haven't got time, emergancy blood transfusion!" stuff. We know this because the UK blood service actually texts you when they use your donation and tell you where it was used.
And this is why JK's crap is so dangerous, because if we start denying men the ability to donate blood because "ew icky man blood" then babies WILL DIE, women WILL DIE. And there's absolutely no evidence that different hormone levels in blood makes any bloody difference to outcomes. Blood is blood and if you need a transfusion all that matters is that it's a compatable type.
I nearly needed a blood transfusion after I had my second child, I lost a lot of blood in seconds. I went from fine to most definitely not fine in the snap of a finger. It's terrifying how fast that can happen. I narrowly missed needing a transfusion but had I needed it, i'm glad the NHS has a decent blood supply. When I had my eldest the woman in the bed opposite me suffered a catastrophic hemhorage 12 hours after giving birth. She was trying to a run a bath and then there was just blood... everywhere. She was in a BAD way and required multiple transfusions in the week we were hospitalised together.
Blood donation saved that woman's life. It saves a lot of women's lives.
It's frankly disgustingly irresponsible for JK to be tweeting this psudoscientific bullshit to her following and treating it like gospel truth.
Blood donation saves lives, it's a vital part of medical care. That terfs are attempting to undermine that with this bullshit is not just sickening, it's terrifying. They really are doing so much harm.
CMV is a super common virus that like 85% of adults have been exposed to, but it renders your blood unsuitable for use in infants because of their undeveloped immune systems. My stepdad is CMV-negative, with a rare blood type on top of it. He has donated gallons of blood over the years, saving the lives of countless infants and immunocompromised persons. Being a 6-foot 200-pound man, he can also donate greater volumes of that blood.
JKR can take her bizarre TERFY man-cooties fear-mongering and shove it right up.
fan fic authors be like yes i know this will flop however i simply have too much love for this character and my very niche headcanons for them. and i think that is so fuckin sexy of us
You try not to rustle the sheets too loudly when you sit up in bed. You rub at your eyes, frowning, as you tap at your phone screen to read the time. 3:26am, and you havenât gotten the sleep you know you both need and deserve. you sigh quietly, sitting up against the headboard as you watch the dimmed colors pass on the tv.
âWhatâre you doing up?â A voice slurs to you from your left. You jump a little at the sudden gruff noise, before you deflate. You glance over to Bakugou, where he lays on his side, one crimson colored eye blinking up at you, before he yawns loud and wide, akin to a lion with his golden mane. You canât help but rub gently at his cheek and jaw and neck, patting him once his eye flutters close at the warmth of your hands.
âCanât sleep. You go back to bed, though.â You whisper to him, leaning down to peck at the corner of his mouth. You laugh under your breath when he frowns, hard and over dramatic. Silence passes on for a few minutes, with Bakugouâs frown slowly disappearing into a thin line, seemingly falling back asleep as your fingers continue to rub at his skin. Your quiet moment is interrupted though, when your stomach makes a whale-dying-classroom-interrupting-bomb-dropping noise. You donât say anything, but blink down at Bakugou when he cracks his eye open again.
âYou hungry?â He slurs once more, stretching a little in place as you run a hand through his hair.
âYeah, but I donât feel like getting up to fix anything, and we havenât gone to the store yet to get some snacks, so,â you shrug to yourself, convincing yourself youâd fall asleep before the hunger pangs set in. Itâs your turn to frown though, when Bakugou suddenly groans before rolling over and standing from the bed.
âWhere are you going?" You ask him, afraid you and your loud stomach disturbed his rest too much. You watch how the muscle in his back ripple when he stretches again where he stands, guilty eyes tracking up his body when he looks at you from over his shoulder.
âTo fix your hungry ass a midnight snack.â He tells you, finality lacing his voice as he starts stalking off to the kitchen in just his boxers before you can even answer.
âBut itâs past midnight!â You call to him, scrambling up to put your slippers on as you try to keep up with his pace.
Bakugou doesnât answer you by the time you make it to the kitchen, already boiling water, and dumping rice into the cooker. Heâs pulling out different ingredients and knives and the cutting board, and it feels like too much to be so late, but you know if you try to speak up, heâll only shoo you to bed until heâs finished. The only acknowledgment he gives you is when he turns, placing his hands on your underwear-clad hips and lifts you to sit on the counter behind him, pecking your lips once, twice, before he goes back over to the stove.
The next couple minutes go by gently, with quiet conversations about his most recent capture, about the paperwork you had to fill out, about Denki being an idiot, about Denki actually being a sweetheart, about eating all this damn food heâs cooking, about promising to clean your entire plate. The kitchens lights are low and dimmed, and it casts a soft glow on Bakugouâs high cheekbones and his pretty lashes and the sweet curve of his mouth when he grins at you.
And when the food finishes, you share a bowl, a respective fork for the each of you. Bakugou stands between your legs, chewing quietly and scolds for you to slow down when you eat too fast. He wipes away the rice from your mouth and you lick away the sauce from his chin. He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and lets you have the first sip, offers you the rest when you watch some of it dribble down his chin.
Itâs a serene moment shared between the two of you, and when youâre both finished, heâs carrying you back to bed. Tells you that you better take your full ass to bed this time, and he doesnât fall asleep until he hears your light snores first. Then, he can rest.
@ my mutuals who are struggling to love themselves right now or just in general. I love you and Iâm proud of you. Youâll get there. Youâre worth it.
idk about you but iâm a sucker for the we just had sex and itâs the morning after and i woke up to an empty bed and how could i be so stupid of course you left me alone but wait youâre in my kitchen cooking me breakfast and iâm so relieved trope
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