#once again i keep flipping the canvas without realizing that i did a mistake

[theatresweetheart]

Of Stars and Royal Gardens

Summary: When the king of the Eastern Kingdom falls ill suddenly, the wedding that was supposed to unite the Eastern and Northern Kingdoms via the princes suddenly gets moved immediately. 

Warnings: Talk of sickness, arranged marriages, anxious thoughts, feelings of worthlessness, mentioned death due to childbirth. 

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety, Familial Analogical, Platonic Logince.

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Logan, Emile, Remy, Deceit (not mentioned by name), Patton (mentioned in passing/flashback.)

Word Count: 6647 words.

A/n: I absolutely love writing fantasy and royalty. (Not to mention how putting the two together makes me swoon.) I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile and I wanted to flesh it out as best as I could, and I’m actually pretty happy with the outcome! I’ve been trying not to rush through scenes and actually write them and feel them out. Enjoy! I have moved the taglist to the bottom of the fic, this is how it will be from here on.

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One could only handle travelling in a carriage for so long before they started to go mad.

Emerald green hills outside the window rose and fell like unceasing waves. The sky was once again fading into a dark red. Purple, dark blue and black began smearing the edges of the world and doused it in a warm pinkish hue. The skyline was breathtakingly stunning, he would admit that but he was more than ready to get out of this carriage and stretch his legs again.

The prince let his head rest against the cool glass, a gentle sigh escaping him as his eyes lazily traced the ups and downs of the landscape outside.

When rolling hills slowly turned into flatter farmlands, Virgil’s dwindling hope of never getting out of this carriage faded. It changed to something more tentative.

The Kingdom they were visiting was closer now, even as darkness fell over the lands and gave the waking world a clear view of the stars shining brightly above them. Looking like crushed diamonds smattered against a black canvas sky, twinkling without a care in the world and unknowingly giving the prince something far more relaxing to look at.

There were small cottages that dotted the farmland, their lanterns like fireflies. Some people were still out in their rows upon rows of crops, their lantern bobbing and swaying to their gait.

Seemed like being escorted to your future spouse had a few pros. The night sky and stunning scenery was it so far.

It was also a rather large relief when he realized that this tantalizing journey would be over soon. Travelling for three days in a confined space with his father could be painful. However, the idea that they were almost there also brought the fact that his wedding was just a day away now.

It set an uneasy feeling in his chest and his breath came a little more laboured. Not enough to be noticed by an outsider, but just enough to be uncomfortable for the prince himself.

“How are you faring?”‌ His father’s voice cut into his thoughts and Virgil turned to see sharp blue eyes meeting his own.

Virgil had a few options; he could lie and say that he was perfectly fine. Of course, that would not be taken at face value in the least. He had already told his father just how unhappy he was about this marriage, not to mention how unready he felt about the whole ordeal. Nor the fact that he didn’t even know the man he was being wedded to.

He knew his betrothed’s name.

That was literally it.

“It might be love at first sight, Your Highness,” a friend of his had said, the tailor stitching up the last seam on the prince’s outfit, pulling it taut enough that it showed his assets modestly. “And besides, he might not be as awful as you think he is. I’ve heard only good things about the prince of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Virgil had shaken his head, a fond look on his face. “Patton, please, enough with the formalities, we’re alone. You don’t have to call me “You’re Highness” or “My Prince” or whatever, it’s kinda weird. Besides, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“That was before I‌ was the royal tailor,” Patton had said, grabbing a pair of scissors to his left before snipping the dark purple thread. Pointedly ignoring Virgil’s unimpressed looks. “But my point still stands. You never know what could come of this. You two could end up happy in your marriage! A happily ever after and all that.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Virgil didn’t have much hope that he would end up falling for his soon-to-be-husband. He was going to be a king and that was shaking him to the core.

It was odd, being betrothed to a man he had never met. Nor did he know what he looked like. What if he wasn’t even all that attractive? Virgil didn’t like basing his interest on another’s looks, but it was hard not to.

Could he truly live the rest of his life content if he was married to a man he wasn’t physically attracted to?

Patton had always told him that finding someone handsome was part of the attraction. It was one of those whispered talks they had at night, after sneaking out of the castle and going to their secret spot up by the waterfall near the edge of the kingdom. They would sit there under the stars together, talking about their future.

Patton had always dreamed of a fairy tale ending. Meeting a handsome stranger and being swept off of his feet. The cliche of the white knight swooping in on a horse.

Virgil had been the opposite, not caring much for the romance of life. Much more content to live his life on his own, reading or painting. As the crowned prince however, he didn’t have much time for his own little personal activities and was more often than not found in self defense classes, or reading something necessary to understand how to take over and run the kingdom after his father passed the crown on.

Virgil’s father had never been too thrilled with the idea of him sneaking out at night once he figured it out, but the king had also never forbade it nor stopped him when he had been caught one night. Logan had always told him to be safe and to be back before morning.

It wasn’t that Virgil didn’t respect this father, he did! But this was a decision that he wished hadn’t been set in stone. A decision that could have been swayed for at least a few years further into the future.

Though, when the Eastern Kingdom’s king fell ill, there was a messenger sent to their kingdom.

A letter had been delivered that spoke to joining forces by having their sons marry and conjoin the kingdom. Giving his son, Prince Roman, someone to rule beside and keep in check. Pleading with them to rearrange the timing of the marriage and to come to the Eastern Kingdom as soon as humanly possible.

And Virgil, being Logan’s only heir, had had no choice in the matter. He still remembered the chat as though it was yesterday, and he could still the same emotions twitching under his fingertips. Itching at his throat.

“You must understand that uniting the kingdoms was always the plan, Virgil. Though, the marriage was not supposed to happen until you and his son were older.”

“I get that, but this isn’t fair. That I‌ get no choice in what happens to my life!”

“I will not tolerate this childish behaviour, this is for the better of your kingdom and your people.”

“I just want to make my own choices, is that a sin?”

“You will be able to make your own choices after you’re joined in marriage.”

Logan had told him from a very young age that he had been betrothed to the crowned prince of the Eastern Kingdom, but as a child Virgil hadn’t understood the weight of those words.

Now that it was happening, it was the only thing he could focus on.

The horses continued their trot along the stone path, unknowingly carrying the prince to what was soon to be his demise. Ruling a kingdom with a man he didn’t know was stressful enough in theory, but to actually have to put that into action? He was surely going to either lose his mind or his dignity. If he was lucky, perhaps both.

Virgil mumbled something incoherent. It made him feel just the slightest bit better to know that his father hadn’t caught what he’d said. “I could be better,” he said louder, turning his attention to stare achingly out the window again.

Logan let out a terse sigh. “I‌ understand that you are upset with this,” he said after a moment, and Virgil turned his head just enough to show that he was, indeed, actively listening. “But this is for the better of our people. The wedding was not supposed to be this soon, and I apologize that it came so suddenly.”

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. “It is what is is.”

There was a tense silence between the two royals and Logan soon realized he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with Virgil. So, he instead settled on a different topic of importance.

“I did meet Prince Roman once,” he said while rummaging through the bag to his side, before pulling out his book and flipping it open. If he said it nonchalantly, Virgil would be more intent to listen. It was a quirk of his son’s that Logan had picked up on very quickly. He fingered through the pages idly. “He was only seven, merely a child, mind you, but he was kind and respectful. A bit exuberant, but well meaning.”

Virgil snorted. “Why are you telling me this now?‌ I’m about to meet the guy.”

“True,” Logan replied, pushing his glasses up so they sat further up on the bridge of his nose. “Though, there is no harm in knowing. It will be easier to prepare yourself if you’re armed with knowledge.”

“Yeah, yeah, knowledge is power and all that.”

“You mock now, Virgil, but in time you will understand that yes, knowledge truly is power,” the king looked up briefly, meeting the prince’s eyes for half a second before Virgil quickly glanced away again. “Ruling a kingdom is not something you just do. It’s something that will take years of learning. And you will make mistakes, as all kings do. Especially young ones.”

Virgil scrunched his nose, pushing off of the window and crossing his arms. Staring pointedly down at the floor of the carriage. “If you’re trying to be reassuring, it’s not working.”

“I’m not trying to be reassuring,” Logan said, turning his attention back down to the book in his lap, “I’m trying to tell you that things will go wrong in your reign and you mustn’t panic. If you do, do not let your people see it. They will see it as a sign of weakness.”

Virgil’s nails tightened in his sleeves, and he worried his lower lip.

“Though, have peace. You will not be doing this alone.”

“Yeah, because ruling a kingdom that is not mine with a total stranger is better.”

“It is very possible that you two will get along.”

Logan did understand the frustration of being married to someone he didn’t know. That’s how he, himself, had been wedded to Virgil’s late mother, Evangeline, and how they had given Logan an heir.

Virgil’s mother had unfortunately died in childbirth.

The queen had been beloved, but both her and Logan had shared something that the rest of the kingdom needn’t know. They had both been attracted to men and women respectfully. They had done what was necessary, but neither had truly felt attracted to one another.

Evangeline and himself had been close friends, but never anything more.

Virgil rolled his eyes and sunk further down into the leather seats, when he suddenly felt the change between gravel roads to paved stone.

His eyes were drawn outside instantly. His heart both fluttered and sunk. He was granted with the view of huge stone walls rising high above the carriage, guarded with knights and archers. Torches lit up the wooden gate as it was lifted. The carriage rode through it with hardly a qualm, the crest on the side of it recognized. Not to mention the thing had golden crested accents and looked as if it would carry important people.

The city streets were lined with people, all standing in large chattering groups. Pointing, smiling, cheering. It made Virgil pull slightly away from the window. The shops were all still open and lights glittered and shone. Lanterns, lamps, torches.

Virgil nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his knee and he turned his attention back to his father, who was looking at him with a soft gaze. “You will be alright,” he told him, an affirming tone behind his voice, “you are more than capable of doing this.”

That set something in Virgil’s chest. Hard, immovable and a lump formed in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it stayed stuck where it was.

Oh god, I‌ hope you’re right.

They didn’t say anything to each other for the rest of the trip up to the castle gates. Which were coated in gold and silver. Two armed knights stood outside the gates, their swords by their sides. There was some muffled talking between the coachman and the guard on the other side of the carriage. Then there was a shouted command and the huge gate doors began to open.

Peering out the window only gave him so much of a glance at the glory that awaited inside. The courtyard was filled with life. Trees and plants and flowerbeds, lanterns hung and lights from inside the castle glittered like starlight. There were ponds filled with crystal clear water and the carriage circled around a stunning white marble fountain.

Virgil was positive that the moment he found out where the royal garden was, that was where he was going to spend a bit of his night. He needed to unwind and spend some time with just himself and the night sky and the stars hanging so far above them.

The carriage finally stopped moving after what had seemed like ages and the coachman was hopping down from his perch. Before anything happened, Logan picked up his crown and settled it comfortably once more, checking himself once, making sure his appearance was more than presentable. He sent a pointed glance toward the prince.

Virgil sighed, but knowing that it was better to make a good first impression, he reached into his crown box and pulled his own out. His thumb ran over the ruby that sat in the stock middle before turning it around in his hands and putting it on.

Logan had stood up, hearing the coachman preparing to open the door and he quickly bent down to fix Virgil’s crown so it sat straight on his brow, before adjusting the clasps that connected his cape to his jacket. It seemed he was satisfied with that and just in time. The coachman opened the door and Logan led out, Virgil was quick to follow, making sure not to step on his father’s cape.

It was a brief thought and he had to bite his lip to keep the smirk from spreading.

“Your majesties,” a man dressed in a crisp suit came down the large flight of perfect stairs, his arms open and a smile on his features. “The Eastern Kingdom greets you with the humblest of welcomes.”

“It’s our pleasure,”‌ his father said to the side of him and Virgil straightened his shoulders, matching Logan’s perfect posture.

It was all for the public eye.

Such was the life of royalty.

Always watched by their people, almost as if they were waiting for their leaders to mess up and find a reason to revolt against them. Though, Virgil knew his father was well liked by much of the kingdom, there was always the worry of something happening, no matter how wonderful the ruler.

“Prince Virgil, your betrothed eagerly awaits you,” the man said, turning to Virgil with that same bright charismatic grin. It almost set something uneasier in his chest, though he let it pass for the moment. “Come, follow me.”

Virgil clenched his hands, attempting to still the nervous shaking and letting his father lead once more. He was quick to keep pace though. Up the marble stairs and leading through the winding hallways. He would have to memorize this new layout as it was almost completely different from their own castle. There were red tapestries on the walls, decorated with gold and silver, shining in the lamp light and the moonlight seeping in through the large windows.

They dipped around a few corners before the two large mahogany doors were being swung open and a brightly lit ballroom was revealed. There were tables, chairs and benches set up to the side. The room was staggeringly big. A huge glittering crystal chandelier hung above their heads and he was admittedly taken by it. Everything about this kingdom just seemed to be breathtakingly gorgeous.

His attention shifted as soon as he heard the same man’s voice from before beginning to introduce his father and himself.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, I introduce to you King Logan and Prince Virgil of the Northern Kingdom.”

Virgil’s attention shifted toward the head of the room, seeing two thrones sitting dauntingly large compared to their occupants. In the middle throne, he saw a sickly looking man. Pale skin, dulling brown eyes behind glasses sitting perched on his thin nose, but his shoulders back and his head up as far as it could go. The king, Virgil had no doubt about that. He knew he had fallen ill, but to see the king in this state yet trying to hold his head high?‌ Well, he gave the man even more respect.

Then, sitting to the king’s right was the crowned prince. His husband-to-be.

Virgil’s heart jumped right into his throat, upon seeing chocolate brown eyes meeting his own. They were soft, full of warmth. He felt short of breath, watching as the candlelight glinted off the crown perched delicately upon styled brown hair, tucked behind his ears. All worries about being attracted to his betrothed immediately disappeared.

Prince Roman Amir was certainly something to look at. And he made Virgil’s poor heart flutter.

However, he retained a neutral stance as Roman was granted permission from his father to step forward. Virgil heard Logan clear his throat quietly, a pointed nudge without truly touching the prince.

Taking the hint, he stepped forward, heart hammering in his chest with every step he took closer to his betrothed. The closer they got, the more details he could see on him, not to mention just how much taller Roman was than himself. He carried himself with true pride and confidence and Virgil was just faking it.

The two met in the middle of the ballroom, meeting each other’s eyes for the first time up close and Virgil found himself watching Roman’s eyes. The gentle hazels seeming to flicker over his person. A part of him felt self conscious, but the other part of him just was so mesmerized by the golden brown swirls in the prince’s eyes.

Roman dipped into a respectful bow, dropping his gaze. “Prince Roman, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Virgil quickly mimicked the same action, knowing it was required of him. “Prince Virgil, the pleasure’s mine.”

Standing straight up, Virgil tucked his hands behind his back and he felt Logan come up behind him, laying a reassuring hand on his lower back before continuing his way past the two princes. The king on the throne rose to his feet, struggling slightly as he reached for his cane and hefted himself up.

Roman turned on his heel, after sending Virgil a gentle look before returning to his father’s side. “Father,” he chided, hooking a hand under the king’s arm and helping him stand further. “You know what the healer said, stay seated unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, yes, I‌ know,” the king smiled, patting Roman’s hand to show that he appreciated the sentiment. His smile grew wider upon seeing Logan closer to him, greeting him with a look that almost said it all. “Logan Sanders.”

“Emile Amir,” Logan greeted back, a smile that one could only spot if they knew what they were looking for appeared. “It has been a long time, my friend.”

“I‌ do believe the last time you were here, Roman couldn’t have been older than seven,” King Emile reached out a hand and Logan took it, the both sharing a grasp that said they were old friends. “How have these years been treating you?”

Logan chuckled. His laugh was rumbling, like a comforting thunderstorm. Virgil could remember falling asleep to that sound, or finding comfort in it when he would get spooked as a child and run to his father for protection. “As they say, it could be going worse.”

Emile laughed at that, though it quickly turned into a round of coughs. Roman’s features dropped slightly, though it was gone within a flash and was replaced with a look that was more concerned than sad.

Virgil stepped closer to the throne and Emile turned to face him, that soft smile returning after recovering from his fit. “And, if my eyes don’t deceive me. Virgil, the last time I‌ saw you, you were just a babe. Now look at you, a dashing young man.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he dipped his head into a respectful nod. He could feel Roman’s eyes on him, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Or, tried not to.

“Now,”‌ Emile said, his smile dropped slightly, turning into something a bit more serious as he eased himself back down into his throne. “I‌ know this situation is not exactly ideal.”‌ The king did not hide his glances toward his son and Virgil in turn, obviously talking about the wedding being moved so much sooner than originally planned. “But I appreciate your cooperation and valiance more than anything, Virgil. It is truly remarkable.”

Virgil offered a tight smile, though it was not unkind.

“We have done everything in our power to make sure that this transition is comfortable and painless,” the king continued. “As you know, tomorrow is the wedding and the coronation to follow the day after. I‌ will do everything to make sure that both days go flawlessly to ease the stress of the both of you.”

“Father, you mustn’t worry yourself so much,” Roman told him, taking Emile’s hand and holding it tightly. “I’m sure Prince Virgil and I‌ will be alright. And so what if some hiccups occur? No matter what, it will be fine. We will be fine.”

Emile smiled at his son, patting his hand in turn. “You will be a good king, Roman. Now, enough of such dreary talk. Come, you two must be exhausted. I‌ will have Remy show you both to your quarters.”

Seemingly at the mention of his name, a man with slick black hair appeared in the grand doorway, dressed in a sleek black jacket and dress pants, hands tucked behind his back.

“Ah, what impeccable timing. Remy, please escort our guests to their quarters.”

“Actually, Emile, if you wouldn’t mind,” Logan stepped in, “I‌ would like to spend a little while catching up with you before I turn in for the night.”

“Oh.” Emile’s entire demeanor seemed to change at that. It brightened somehow, more than before. “Why of course I‌ wouldn’t mind. Let us talk in the library. I‌ know how much you loved it when we were younger.”

“I‌ can assure you that that aspect of me has not changed.” Logan stepped forward, offering his arm as Emile reached for his cane.

Emile accepted Logan’s offered assistance and lifted himself up, leaning most of his weight on his cane. “Roman, you are released for the night. Get some rest, the both of you.” It was obvious Emile was talking to both Roman and Virgil. “It is a big day for you and you will want to be well rested.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, father.”

Logan shared a look with Virgil, both saying something entirely silently but communicating it perfectly. His father wished him the best, since they might not see each other until just before the ceremony.

Virgil excused himself and turned to follow Remy out of the ballroom, the taller man taking swift steps. They walked in silence for a couple minutes, but he could tell Remy was glancing at him from time to time. Virgil instead let his attention linger on the walls and the stained glass windows high above them, trying to memorize the path as best as possible. The sooner he knew these halls, the better. That way he wouldn’t have to rely on someone else for assistance in his own castle.

However, he supposed soon enough that the bedchamber he was in now would no longer be his own. As a married pair, the princes—or perhaps kings would be the proper term? No, until after the coronation, don’t get ahead of yourself—would be sharing a bed.

The thought was staggering and he took in a shaky breath.

Virgil had never had to share a bed with anyone before. At least, no one that was supposed to be his romantic interest. He had shared a bed with his father when he was a child, after having a particularly bad dream maybe. But nothing of this magnitude.

“So,” Remy finally said, turning another corner and leading Virgil down yet another well lit hallway that looked exactly like the others, save this carpet had turned from a royal crimson to a darker red. “You’re the bride-to-be.”

Virgil laughed unexpectedly. He couldn’t help it. Of the first words he had thought Remy would say to him, that was very much not it. “I‌’m sorry, that was unprofessional.”

Remy had a smirk on his face, knowing he had gotten the nervous royal to crack that anxious facade to reveal something more childish and human-like. He was pleased with himself, that much Virgil could tell. “No reason to be apologetic babes, getting a laugh like that makes you seem more human.”

Virgil snorted, bringing his arms up to wrap around himself instead of staying tucked behind his back, it was a more natural position for him and he felt more comfortable this way. At least he felt more protected.

They stopped walking after they reached a large set of dark oak doors. “This here is your bedchamber for the night,” the adviser said, pushing the door open.

Virgil was welcomed with the sight of a lavish four poster bed. The room was decorated, but dimly lit. It was comfortable and felt rather homey. It was something that he had seen in his own castle, yet it felt so different. Virgil felt somewhat homesick looking at it. The tapestries on the walls depicting waterfalls and battlefields, flowerbeds on some and a mix of a crown and a sword.

Remy turned to leave once Virgil stepped inside, but the prince was quick to stop him. “Is it possible to know where the royal garden is, and how to actually get there?”

Remy turned on his heel, looking the prince up and down before tucking his hands into the front pockets of his black jacket. “Head a little further down this hallway and take the first door on your right. It’ll lead you to the outside balcony with a set of stairs that leads into the garden,” he then swiveled back around and moved to leave before pausing again, “but, gurl, you didn’t hear that from me.”

The adviser left with a wink and shut the doors. Virgil let out a half laugh, almost unbelieving of what had happened.

He then turned to face the rest of the room, noticing a large window and a comfortable seat just underneath it. To the other side of the bed, there was a large bookshelf with countless books of all colours.

Virgil un-clipped the cape from his shoulders before folding it and placing it on the chest just in front of the bed. He removed the jacket and vest underneath as well, setting those away in a neat pile and leaving him in just his white button up shirt. He rolled the sleeves up and let out a breath.

Passing the mirror on the boudoir he realized his crown was still there. He’d been wearing it so long he had forgotten it was even there.

Virgil reached up and lifted it off, taking a single glance at it before setting it down onto the dresser. He didn’t need to be so formal if his only company for the rest of the night was himself.

Glancing through the books on the shelf, Virgil came across one about myths and mythical creatures. As a child, his father would read him books like this. However, that shifted soon enough and Logan began to read him non-fiction books, scrolls about how to rule a kingdom, how to be a proper prince. It was a leisure to read something that didn’t focus too much in the real world.

Taking the book off the shelf, he fingered through a few of the opening pages before deeming it worthy enough of a late night read.‌ At least to hold his attention until everyone went to bed so he could take his time to wander through the royal garden without the fear of being caught or seen. Or interrupted.

He grabbed the candle sitting on the dresser before bringing it over to the window seat and settling it down on the ledge. He propped the window open just enough to taste the fresh night air outside, but not enough to let it snuff the candle. He pulled his legs up onto the cushion and leaned his back against the wall, propping the book up on his knees.

Out of this entire situation, this had to be the most peaceful and relaxed he had felt after this whole endeavor had begun.

Even with the wedding looming over his shoulder, Virgil could take these last few chances to be by himself.

A few hours had passed by the time he had nearly finished the book and he heard servants outside his door beginning to snuff out most of the lights, save for leaving one or two. It was a routine he was used to back home, and would normally wait until everyone else retired for the night before sneaking out and grabbing Patton, before they ran off to the waterfall in the dead of the evening.

After waiting an extra ten or so minutes, Virgil closed the book and placed it back onto the shelf where it belonged.

He opened one of the doors and peered out into the hallway. Just as he had suspected, most of the lights had been snuffed and only a few remained flickering. Most of the hallway was illuminated with a warm moonlit glow.

Slipping out into the hallway, he shut the door as silently as he possibly could before making his way down the hallway. The same way Remy had told him earlier that evening.

First door on your right.

When he turned to the right a little ways down, there was another corridor, but at the very end of it were two more large mahogany doors with inscriptions and pictures engraved into it. Virgil made sure to walk on the carpet and not the stone, not wanting his shoes to make any noise against the polished flooring.

His hands roved over the inscriptions, his fingertips finding the small detailed divots. He tugged on the metal handle before the door opened. He slid through the opening he had created and shut it silently behind him.

When Virgil turned, he was welcomed with the sight of a garden beyond compare. He was currently standing on a balcony made of polished white marble, but when he leaned over the railing, he could see emerald green that went on for what seemed like ages. Stone walls with flowering vines crawling up the sides, matching ponds on both sides of the stairs that descended. Statues that spouted water into the fountains surrounded by flowerbeds and bushes with roses. Trees, arches, a gazebo in the centre of the magnificence.

The stars glittering so high above brought it altogether. If this was how dazzling it looked at night, then the daylight it must be even more breathtaking. Or, hell, during twilight.

Virgil was so taken by the view in front of him, he had failed to hear the sounds of the door opening behind him before it was too late.

“You sneak out into the garden at night too?”

The sudden voice from behind the prince made him jolt, snapped out of his trance and flinching away to turn and see Roman standing almost directly to the side of him. He was missing practically everything Virgil was. The crown, the cape, the over decorated jacket.

He looked just like an average boy.

“Uh, yeah,” he admitted after a moment, turning back to lean against the railing after calming his poor heart from the scare, “couldn’t resist really. I‌ needed some fresh air to clear my head about everything.”

Roman chuckled. The sound was warm and comforting and it made Virgil’s heart skip a beat, as cheese-y and sappy as that was. The other prince came to stand beside him, their shoulders nearly touching as they both watched the peaceful garden in its most natural form. The soft rush of water, the chirping of crickets, the gentle sound of the pond water lapping from the gentle breeze overhead.

“I‌ don’t blame you,” Roman told him in a soft voice, side glancing Virgil from his leaned position. “I’ve found a safe place in the garden. The sounds, the sights. Night is when everything is at its most peaceful.”

It had an air of absolute serenity.

Hearing that his fiance felt the same way about such a place was almost like a weight off of his chest. One that he didn’t even know had been there in the first place. Virgil let the ghost of a smile appear on his lips, feeling content in this moment. Even with the chaos that was about to ensue tomorrow, he felt at ease with his partner.

Though, when Roman’s words registered, Virgil realized he had said his safe place, so did that mean he was encroaching on something that almost felt sacred?

“I‌ don’t want to intrude if you want to be alone–”‌ Virgil said, moving to push away from the banister when his hand was grabbed, stopping him immediately in his tracks. Brown eyes flickering up to meet Roman’s.

“Please don’t go.” It was a soft plead and Virgil let out a breath, seeing the vulnerability behind that gaze. Roman was completely genuine in not wanting him to leave. “I really would like your company. Besides, you were here before me. Truly, it is I that is intruding on you.”

Virgil broke out of his thoughts again, his face flushing when he realized Roman hadn’t let go his hand. It was so soft, and warm to the touch. He really didn’t want Roman to let his hand go. But right at this moment, Virgil didn’t have the confidence to interlace their fingers either, so he just stood there.

He smiled a little more sincerely, relaxing the slightest bit. “Nonsense,”‌ he said after another moment of collecting his scattered thoughts, “it’s your garden after all.”

The two stood there for another moment more, just drinking the other in. Memorizing what they could of each other in the moonlight. Virgil could see the way the moonlight shone off Roman’s eyes, making them glitter in the most cliche way. But it was something so…so real.

Maybe Patton was right, maybe there really was such a thing as true love.

“Come on,” Roman broke the silence, “I want to show you something.”

With a gentle tug on his hand, Virgil was following Roman down the marble stairs and onto the stone path of the garden.‌‌

And they hadn’t let each other go.

“You’re not leading me all the way out here to kill me, just so you can get out of the marriage are you?” Virgil teased.

This time Roman’s laugh was louder, more boisterous, more unabashed and unashamed. That beaming smile was turned back on Virgil and he swore his heart nearly stopped. It filled him with warmth and butterflies and everything that Patton had always told him love would make him feel. It was cliche and sappy and disgusting.

And he liked it.

“No, no,” Roman’s laugh tapered off, showing something still amused but serious. “I swear to you it’s nothing like that.”

Roman led him through a few arches covered in vines and greenery and the sweet fragrance of flowers surrounded the both of them.‌ Soon enough, though, Virgil could hear the rushing of water and before he knew it, Roman was pushing some dangling vines and long grass out of the way and they were ducking down into a cavern.

The cave itself was short, Virgil could see a faint light over Roman’s shoulder and the rushing water got louder. They were pressed rather close together as there wasn’t enough space for the both of them to be side by side.

After another minute, Virgil was able to stand up straight and he saw a waterfall, stretching high above them. When he looked all the way up, the moon hung just over the top of it, giving it an angelic glow and he stepped forward on instinct, mouth agape.

“This technically isn’t apart of the royal garden,”‌ Roman told him quietly off to the side, not wanting to ruin the moment, “but I‌ found it when I‌ was a teenager. It’s one of my favourite spots in the entire kingdom, really.”

“I‌ can see why.” Virgil’s hand unconsciously tightened on Roman’s, just wanting to drink in the moment. He could feel emotions budding in the back of his throat. “I‌ have a waterfall like this back home, but it’s nothing compared to this.” 

As much as Virgil loved his and Patton’s secret spot back home, it paled in comparison to what he was looking at now.

Roman finally intertwined their fingers and Virgil looked up to him. “You’re the first person I’ve ever showed this place,” he told him, moving to stand directly in front of him, reaching down and taking Virgil’s other hand in his own.

That information shocked him. He was the first person this wonderland had been shown to? Ever?‌ Virgil was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say?‌ He was honoured?‌ Touched? “I– I‌ don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” Roman’s voice had dropped significantly and Virgil’s face went scarlet. He could feel the tips of his ears getting warmer and heat creeping up the back of his neck. He could only thank the lord is was too dark for Roman to see just how flustered he was making him.

(However, it was such a cliche line that if Virgil had heard it out of context, he would have laughed and moved on.)

“I‌ know this whole situation is really strange for the both of us, Virgil,” Roman continued, softer. “And I‌ completely understand that. But I honestly think we can do this.”

Virgil’s mouth went dry and he licked his lips to try and went them again. He had just an urge to just surge up and press his mouth against Roman’s. It would be wildly inappropriate (ignoring the fact that they were going to literally be married tomorrow) and Virgil was pretty sure he would combust if he actually did it.

His eyes dropped from Roman’s, and glanced down to their interlaced hands. It was such an intimate moment and they had barely known each other three hours. Had barely interacted more than twice.‌

And yet, it felt real.

He knew what he was about to say was something he truly felt. It was weird and strange and the last thing he had expected, nevertheless speak such a cliche and romantic sentence without cringing.

Virgil looked back up, meeting his betrothed’s once again. Roman looked so hopeful, a delicate light flashing behind those breathtakingly brown eyes. He smiled and squeezed Roman’s hands. “I think so too.”

Maybe there truly was a silly thing known as love at first sight.

                                          ——————————

Taglist: @isle-of-gold 

#Brook writes #Sanders Sides #Cartoon Therapy #Sanders Shorts #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Emile Picani #ts Logan #ts Virgil #ts Patton #ts Roman #ts Deceit #ts Emile Picani #ts Sleep #Prinxiety #Romantic Prinxiety #Familial Analogical #Platonic Logince #Fantasy AU #Royalty AU #tw death mention #tw death #tw anxious thoughts #tw feelings of worthlessness

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Study Sessions

Calum’s always wanted to go back to school and it’s the first midterm that makes him realize just how long it’s been since he’s been in a class. Thankfully, Noa’s nice, albeit a little too organized, and more than happy to help. 

Who asked for a 21 page long fic about Calum, Valentine’s Day, smut, and poetry? Bc I got one hot off the presses. 

There is 18+ content in this fic. Please, no one under the age of 18 interacting or reading. Thank you!

You can support me on ko-fi. I’m saving up for graduate school.

____________________________________

Noa really wants to kick herself. She always left her pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack. Everything had a system; everything had a place with Noa. The placement of the full-length mirror in the corner of the dorm room, the cleaning supplies, the rotation of who cleaned what, making sure her books were always in the same spot, and always, always putting the pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack was important to Noa. She was sure it drove her roommate up the wall in their dorm room. But Brooklyn, Noa’s roommate, could be just as anal retentive about the trash and boxes from their addictive online shopping, and keeping the room free other people past 11 pm. Their crazies matched. So things worked out well. 

Maybe Noa was panicking a little too much about a pencil pouch. That didn’t really matter though. Her system was out of whack and she would have to backtrack to the science building on the other side of campus before making a loop and going to the library after class. Her printer refused to print properly and while it was annoying having to go to the library at the end of the day to type up and print out her notes to study later, it made catching group dinner with her friends easier on Thursday’s because she didn’t leave the west side of campus to go to her dorm. This did, however, mean that when Noa was going to get a lot more steps in today. Not bad, but not ideal. 

This also means that she’s going to have to use a laptop. She hated using her laptop because it meant she’d have to rewrite her notes so there were no gaps in her notebook. Noa could see that it was a very contrived system--at the end of the day, all she needed were the notes. That’s it. But it mattered to the deep recesses of her mind. It had to flow from handwritten notes to her laptop, no matter how she had to backtrack 

“Here, I have an extra.” 

Noa blinks at the hushed voice. A black pen slides in next to her open notebook. The hand is tan and tattooed. She knows those initials anywhere. Calum. She smiles and looks up to him, even if the shadows cover his face thanks to the bucket hat. It’s a staple she’s noticed over the course of the semester. “Thanks. Promise I won’t steal it,” Noa grins. 

Calum exhales his laughter. “I’d be a little upset but they are really good pens to write with. So I’d understand.”

“I’m a woman of my word, though. So you won’t have to chase me down.” Noa dates the top right corner of her blank page and then pulls out her book. She hates the book. She wasn’t able to get a copy to rent and had to kick out 50 bucks for the anthology for class, one she never really use again either. 

Calum gives a hum in response, his own pen twirling around his fingers. The professor, a man in his late sixties at the youngest, with thinning white hair and thick circular glasses walks in through the doors. There’s still five minutes before class starts and the chatter amongst students quiets just a little but doesn’t stop. Calum looks to her notebook, the way she’s written the poet’s name at the top of the page, her handwriting is tight together with a lot of width for each letter. It’s pretty with a little mess to it.  

He’s noticed that she normally uses purple ink for her notes and part of him feels bad for not having a purple pen for her. “Sorry it’s not a purple pen,” Calum states turning to face her. 

How the hell did Calum notice that? Sure she had a color for every class she took each semester. But surely no one else would’ve noticed that. It had only been three weeks of the semester. No one could’ve known that besides her group of friends and her roommate. “No, no, it’s okay. I forgot my pencil pouch in my last class so you really saved me from having to use my laptop.”

“Don’t like it?”

Noa shakes her head, feeling some of her Senegalese twists falling from the bun she put it up into on her walk across campus. Though this part of campus was walkable the heat of summer was dry and it took no prisoners some days. “I remember everything better if I write it down in my own words instead of just typing everything down the professor says. It’s like I’m not learning anything.”

He gives another nod. Though Calum studied for his high school diploma on some late nights, on tour buses, hell even in the studio, he liked sitting in class. He liked processing things and attempting to get the right words together to understand the core of things. He liked the sense of normalcy. It was nice to be learning not just from a textbook but from everyone else in the room. Sure this is just a poetry class, and sure he hadn’t really known what to expect with a title like “Modern Poetry from 1920” but he was straddled in and was surely going to see until the very end. 

Before Calum can respond, the professor clears their throat. He fishes his book out of his bag too and flips to the poems that he read the night before. “Hope everyone’s having a great day,” the professor starts. Even from the fifth row of the tiny room, Calum notices the shakes in the older man’s hands. The room is full of three to four gray rectangular tables pushed together to create rows. They sit two at each table comfortably. Each row sits about forty students comfortably. 

“A quick reminder, your first midterm is next week. All the poets we’ve discussed including today’s poet is going to be material that I will pull questions from. I’ll be providing the excerpts if a question calls for it. I’m saving about ten minutes at the end of class for us to discuss it more in-depth.” 

With a quick dab to the corners of his mouth, he finds a volunteer to read the first poem up for discussion. Once the first reading is concluded, the professor looks around for another person to read. Noa lifts her gaze and she locks eyes with the professor. A fucking rookie mistake. Something she knew better of in her eighteen years of being in school. But here she is making it. They smile at her and point at her. “Miss Noa, right? Why don’t you read for us?”

With a nervous habit of biting her pens, Noa puts Calum’s pen down and picks at her nails underneath the table. She nods and lets her eyes drift down to the page. “When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s/ edge, unseen, the salt ocean/lifts its form.” Her voice is a little shaky and though William Carlos Williams's poem is short, she becomes more confident by the end. 

Calum watches her reading more than he listens. In the three weeks classes have started, she’s never read. Neither has he. But it’s already a little awkward to walk around campus, being in a classroom isn’t too bad but it’s a confined space. He knows people are looking. He knows that they know who he is. He does what he can do just blend in and even hide. He likes listening to her reading. Her insights in class have always kind of blown Calum away too, now that he thinks about it. 

As discussion opens up, Calum finds himself taking fewer notes than usual and waiting for Noa to speak again. She doesn’t say much about the first poem but the second about the death of a cat she cuts in to make reference to Robert Frost’s poem. “I know there’s a literal connection of fire and ice in each poem but there’s death in both pieces too. Frost and Williams’ are on opposite ends of the same spectrum in a way. Williams is talking about fleas that couldn’t escape death and Frost mentions that nature is powerful that if it doesn’t take you with the sweeping fire then it will swallow you up with water. Williams's titled his piece, ‘Complete Destruction,’ and he details the destruction of a pet, of maybe even memories. While Frost is more metaphorical with some religious undertones too about the destruction of society and earth.”

Calum grins a little, watching the way she shrugs at the end of her thought. As much as if she weren’t so sure of herself. When she glances over to him, he nods at her, writing down a condensed version of her thought. The class goes on and the professor ends early like they stated. There are a few questions about the style of the midterm but not too many about the content. So the professor pulls up a small canvas bag. “Before you leave, feel free to grab a piece of candy. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and you guys may or may not still have classes after this. So I hope it helps your day just a little. I have chocolate and non-chocolate options.”

He upturns the bag gently, shaking the wrapped candies onto the table next to the podium. Laptops are shut, people get up to venture to the candy. Noa slides the black pen across the gray table to Calum. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Without much thinking, in the shuffle of packing up belongings, Noa lets what she intends to be just a thought fall over her lips. “I haven’t had a Valentine’s in so long, candy from a professor feels special,” she jokes. 

Calum laughs a little, pocketing the pens and stands. “What’s your poison?”

Noa looks up at him, the cut of his jaw and the soft smile on his lips, puffing out his cheeks. “I’m a dark chocolate fan. But anything chocolate is fine.”

He nods and shuffles, backpack thrown up over one shoulder. Calum gets to the table and picks up what he estimates to be the two biggest Hershey's kisses on the table. He picks up one for himself too. Noa finally gets her backpack zipped and she slides out from between the tables. Calum drops the kisses into her hands when she pauses at the door to the classroom. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart shouldn’t flutter like it does when Calum smiles at her. She pulls the twists down and slips the silk tie around her wrist. “I’m sure you’ve got someone to get too. But thanks, though.”

Calum pushes open the door to the English building and holds it open for her. “See that’s where you might be a little wrong on your analysis.”

Noa scuffs, attempting to bite back the smile. The kiss doesn’t last long before she’s biting into the candy. She shakes her head. The joke is cheesy but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t like it. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

They pause at the end of the pathway that leads up to the building. Students are carrying on around them, to and fro they scuttle across the asphalt and brick. “Do you have another class after this?” Calum asks. 

“No, it’s my last one of the day.”

“Since we’re both lonely on Valentine’s Day, do you mind if we study together? For the midterm? It would really seal our fates.”

Noa nods. Who is she to say no to Calum Hood? She could say no of course and it’s as the breeze kicks up another heavy and slightly stale pocket of hot air that she’s reminded of her misplaced pencil pouch. “Shit, I have to go to the science building. I left my pencil pouch there. I have no clue if there’s another class in there and like I need that.”

“I-I can walk with you. If you’d like. I don’t get to see much of the campus.” Calum keeps his schedule to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He’s here from about eleven to four most days and then he heads back home. Hanging around campus would only serve to get Calum caught but he knows it might be awkward to offer his place to study. 

“Are you sure? It’s kind of far and I’m not a slow walker.”

Readjusting his hold on his strap, Calum nods. “Lead the way.”

Noa ties her hair back. “Less scenic route to get there. More scenic route on the way back.” When she steps, it’s more like a run. Noa cuts straight across, over the grass and dodging the bushes. Calum wasn’t sure what he was expecting but her power walking like his mother when they go to the grocery store wasn’t it. He keeps up though, regrettably passing by the dogs playing fetch without cooing at them. 

They cut behind buildings. A less-traveled path Calum can tell but it’s well known amongst though that have to use it to get to and from classes. He watches the others power walking past him and he’s glad he was able to keep most of his classes in buildings close together. Though parking was terrible and required him parking sometimes a block away, it was better than this walk, especially on the short time they had between classes. 

His thighs start to burn just a little when they reach the towering brick building. It looks almost like every other building on campus, minus the sign hammered into the ground--it’s the only thing that denotes its uniqueness. Noa takes the front stairs two at a time. “Holy shit, how do you do this every other day and still live?” he huffs once they enter. The lights are bright against the sterile white tiles and marble. Another marker, he notes, the older buildings on campus have dimmer light, less white. This has a more modern feel to it. 

“I don’t. I die about three minutes into the walk.”

He’s laughter leaves him in bursts, as he attempts to get his breathing back. Thankfully she stays on the first floor. Any more stairs and Calum’s sure he would’ve just opted to wait at the doors for her. The room she stops at does have some students piling in but she doesn’t stop for too long. When Noa ducks her head inside, she notices her pencil pouch sitting on a folding chair at the back of the lecture hall. Not where she left it. But she’s glad she doesn’t have to go sifting through some three hundred seats in the classroom. 

She’s quick to grab it. She can feel the eyes of the other students looking at her. Because she doesn’t raise a ruckus, the stares don’t last long and she closes the door quietly behind her. “You all good?” Calum asks. 

She holds the black pouch with roses up and grins. “All good. I just hope I didn’t kill you with that trek.”

He watches her slip into the front pocket. “I mean, I died about two minutes into it. But I’m okay now.”

Noa sucks on her teeth, a tsk falling over her lips. “Gotta keep at it. You’ll be a pro at it in no time. Is the library cool? Doubling seal our fates?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The walk back is less intense. They take the asphalt paths and go the long way around in front of buildings. They stop for a moment to just watch the dogs running on the green. They loop back around to the English building and continue on down past it. “So are you getting a degree or auditing classes?” Noa asks. 

“Auditing. I thought about going back full time but it works better for me to just audit them. The whole getting grading thing still kind of gets to me.” Calum likes to fulfill his curiosity. He just didn’t want the fear of failing to hinder him. And while he had loaded his schedule at nine credits, which was only three classes, it was more than enough. He was tempted to drop one of his classes and though Calum wasn’t super fond of the intro to psychology class, he wanted to tough it out. Prove to himself that he didn’t have to avoid the obstacle but could instead tackle it head-on.

Noa gives a hum. “Gives you time to still work on music?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t shocked that she knows. He is glad though that she doesn’t treat him differently. That she hasn’t made a huge deal of his fame. He wishes he could cloak that, at least here at school. “What about you? What are you studying?”

“I was Community Health Sciences. I switched to Public Affairs last year. So I have another semester tacked.”

The trek to the library feels somehow too short and too long at the same time. Calum’s sure it’s his thighs still angry at the stairs to get inside the science building. He learns she has an older brother and that’s she the first one in her family to go to college. She worries about the extra semester and the finances but her parents have encouraged her to keep going. Noa finds out that Calum has a dog and if he had to pick something to study it would probably be in English. He could see himself in Religious Studies. Calum’s not sure though and he’s glad he doesn’t have to be sure. He can just take whatever for the moment. 

Inside the library, Noa goes to make a beeline for the open computers and then stops. “We can book a study room? I’m not sure if you just want to be, like out in the open?”

Calum looks around. It’s nearing about 5 in the evening. No one is really in the library. Most people have plans. There’s no reason to sit inside the library on Valentine’s Day when one can drink in sorrows or be out celebrating. “Whichever you prefer.”

“Let’s just get a room. I doubt anyone’s going to be hanging out here on a day like this. But I doubt you’ll be back here at all. So why not go for the full experience? The only thing you're missing is final’s week and hunkering down in a study room where you pull an all-nighter and show up to your class in your pj’s and with your pillow in your backpack.”

He doesn’t want to believe that actually happens. But she says it so matter of factly. “You’re kidding right?”

“I am speaking from experience.” She walks one of the open computers and pulls out her laptop. She logs into both of them and then pulls up the scheduling system for the various study rooms located throughout the library. “We can only technically schedule in thirty-minute blocks for up to two hours. But there’s a trick around that.”

Calum logs in as he’s instructed to do on her laptop and they agree on a room. She books it, for every hour and when the blocks show up gray for Calum on his refresh, he goes in and books it for every half hour so that they have the room from 5 to 8. “So the library has pretty strict rules about noise. Generally, the higher the level you are the quieter you have to be. The second floor is as far as I go. You can talk inside the study rooms but nothing super chatty unlike the ground floor,” Noa explains on their ascent. “I have my notes from the other classes printed out. And I was going to type up the notes from today before working on a study guide. How does that sound?”

“Anything sounds good right about now because I literally have no clue how I’m supposed to study for this at all.”

Noa grins, cracking open the door to their room. It’s tucked towards the back of the floor, in a corner. It’s behind the bathrooms and not too far from the stairs so it’s not hard to navigate to and from for bathroom or snacks located in the vending machines on the first floor. “Trust me that’s my entire college experience. You kind of figure out what works best for you as you go along.”

The room isn’t big by any means. The white table sits in the middle of it with two trash cans near the door and a whiteboard that holds the left behind lettering of study sessions past is the complete setup, not including the four chairs pushed into the conference length table. Noa drops her bag into a chair and finds her pencil pouch, she pulls out a couple dry erase markers and an eraser in a plastic bag. 

“Do you want to write down the different poets we’ve studied on the board? Start there at the very least.” 

Calum, putting his bag down in the free chair, nods. It’s when he glances down at his phone just to check the time that he worries for a moment that he should get home to Duke but after shooting a quick text to his roommate he confirms that someone is there to take him out and feed him. Noa opens up her laptop, notebook and pulls the textbook out too from the depths of her backpack. 

Calum’s handwriting is mostly uppercase and narrow. But it’s mostly neat. The markers thankfully don’t squeak on the board. He draws columns for each poet, thinking that will at least help contain the guaranteed mess of ideas during this window. He even goes a step further and creates squares for each poem, scribbling down the titles into corners 

The room’s not even that hot, while Calum browsing through his notes. Noa’s been typing for a while since he finished setting up the drawing board. But suddenly from the walk around his jacket is too warm. He knew he shouldn’t have worn it but out of some sort of habit, out of routine, Calum snagged the extra layer and now he was regretting it. It’s like his body finally caught up and he slips out of it. 

“I thought we were studying, not getting a show,” Noa teases. The thought slips through her lips with a grin. She’ll admit that she does find Calum attractive. Most times he didn’t really flaunt his body or even his status in class and that made him even more attractive. But she didn’t think she’d ever have a shot. She didn’t really think she had one now all things considered but he was the one that asked her for help. But he had started it and she was just going to see if it would continue. 

Calum feels the heat immediately flooding his cheeks. “It’s just warm, is all.” 

“Kidding, sorry.” Her gaze flicks up from her screen. Her fingers are still going, the taps echoing amongst the silence of their room. 

Calum recognizes that gaze, the smirk that tells him she is joking, but she is also not joking if he’s willing to take that step. Calum goes back to his laptop, he’s on nothing right now just staring at a blank google doc. But he makes the initiative to break the tension and ask her what her school email was. “We can just use a Google doc to make things easier.”

As she rattles it off, Calum adds her. Maybe Noa completely misread this. Maybe he really only wanted to help to study. It definitely was a hit to her pride. She almost felt like a deflated balloon as she typed down the last bullet point in her notes. “I’m going to print these out. I’ll be right back.”

Calum nods, watching her leave with her laptop in hand. His brows knit together. She sounded hurt and Calum feels like he could absolutely kick himself. Of course, he found Noa attractive. He would’ve made a move and even though he wasn’t technically getting a grade for this midterm he wanted to at least feel confident going into. God, he was an idiot. Even after all the partying, and all the girls before, Calum still finds a way to fuck something up--even innocent flirty. 

Standing at the printer, Noa exhales. Just a hit to her pride, a hard hit too. But she wouldn’t chicken out. That’s for sure. She’d march back up there and she’d see this study session through. She could do that much. Maybe she could convince the girl to her left to switch seats come Monday. That way at the very least she wouldn’t feel awful going to class. She couldn’t drop the class now--not without a Withdraw showing up on her record. Professors weren’t too keen on adding students this late into the semester. Withdrawing, would thankfully, not hurt her graduation credit hours.

She almost wants to laugh. Just because some guy rejected her does not mean she had to drop a class. All she had to do was keep a level head about all of this. Even though asking to switch seats would be blasphemous, she still enjoyed the class. It was one of the few classes she could take each semester that were just for fun. She would not give that up just because Calum turned her down. As the last of the pages spits out from the printer, she grabs her stack. All she has to do is go over the notes. They don’t even have to stay in the room until 8. 

The stairwell is stuffy as she ascends back to the second floor. She’s always hated them in the summer, the way the air clung to the sweat and humidity of the temperatures outside. Noa wasn’t sure who designed it but it was only ever the library stairs that felt so awful in the summer and even the early fall. She can see Calum with his head in his hands from the glass walls that separate open library from the study room. For half a second, she wonders if something is wrong--like with his dog. If that were the case, he could’ve just left. 

“You alright?” she asks opening the door. 

Calum, not even hearing the door, pops his head up. His heart thunders in his chest. He was wallowing in his own misery a little too deeply. “Yeah-yeah, I’m good.”

With a nod, Noa pulls at the silk tie around her twist and stares up at the quadrants on the whiteboard. “So the best place to start studying is just as the beginning of the coursework. Lame I know. But professors usually start there for a reason.”

There goes his window. Gone all within two minutes to print notes. He nods and flips to the starting poet. “So we have Frost,” Calum starts, the blue dry erase marker semi firmly gripped between his fingers. 

“Start with basics. The year he was born, maybe what his life was like, his most famous works.” 

Calum spins his chair to face the whiteboard, attempting to recall some of the biography from memory. It’s when the lulls hit that Noa steps in. He hears the table creak but he doesn’t turn. He can almost feel her leaning into it. He can see just how the tops of her exposed thighs, not dared to be hidden by her denim shorts, would squeeze and smush against the end of the table. The weather is still warm. It’s still perfect weather for shorts and skirts. 

He turns his attention back to the task at hand though, listening to Noa speak behind him. “I’ve had this professor before. He’s a kind of lenient grader. But he wants to make sure you can back your shit up with context from the poem. You can’t say someone’s trying to talk about rainbows in their poem when they’re clearly allusions to chickens.”

Calum snorts at her point but nods. “Understood. Now this is going to sound dumb--”

Noa’s quick to cut him off. “No such thing as dumb questions.”

Calum turns, seeing her leaning on her hands on the table. One knee is resting on the chair she once sat. Her gaze is stuck on the whiteboard. For a brief second, Calum lets his gaze fall. The jade green of her top nestled against her dark skin and the way her breasts are almost threatening to spill over the flimsy material almost makes Calum forget his question. She was not wearing that before. She wore a white shirt, tied in the front. There was something green underneath it--he knows that. He clears his throat. “I assume you don’t mean illusions like magic tricks and I’m a little confused.”

Noa finally brings her gaze back down, pushing back upright realizing the position she’s in. “Allusions, they’re like indirect references. So you’re talking about a thing without actually stating what it is.” She picks up a different colored marker and writes the word down in the corner of the whiteboard not holding any information. 

Calum watches the way her undershirt rises a little as she stretches up to write but flicks his gaze to the floor. “Think he’ll ask about those on the midterm?”

“He could,” she says and then leans against the table again. Calum stands. She’s too close and he’s at a bad angle to keep his focus on the material at hand. 

Facing the spread of her notes, their laptops, and textbooks, Calum looks out over the sea without really seeing any of the details. He wants to make a move that shows he’s interested without it being too subtle or too brazen. Resting his weight onto his palms, he shakes the thought from his head. It’s probably too late now. “So, like, for example, a question could be what are allusions in whatever poem of his choice?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably ask something more like compare and contrast.” Calum nods. He definitely feels a bit better about going into this exam than he did before. But he still feels like an idiot with Noa. 

Noa turns her head just a little. Not a lot. Just enough to see the bucket hat still on his head and the way his face is almost entirely hidden. She knows though. She knows the cut of his jaw and the way his lips are a little chapped but mostly plump. As she stares at him, she does feel the urge to apologize. At least just to let him know that she didn’t mean to cross any lines and that she hopes there are no hard feelings. She can feel her heart thumping in her throat as she gently rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sorry about earlier,” she whispers. His head never raises and she drops her touch before going back to the whiteboard. “That was a poor taste joke.”

Calum’s breath hitches. It catches right on his inhale and he nearly chokes on it. “You don’t have to apologize.” His voice is soft, so much so that she barely catches it before turning to grab her phone to take a picture of their notes on the board. 

“What?” She’s not believing her own ears. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought--I was sure I had crossed a line.”

“No, it didn’t make me uncomfortable.” His gaze is soft when it lands on her. Her brows are pulled together and he has to stop his hand from raising to smooth them over with his thumb. He feels the twitch, the pull to take her hand and he lets himself to that. Just gently brushing his fingers over her hand pressed into the table next to his. 

“But-what?” She could’ve sworn the way he diverted the topic was a sign that she was pressing her luck. 

“Really, I didn’t mind. I don’t mind.”

Noa shakes her head, the twist slipping over her shoulder a little. “I know I’m not a math major but this isn’t adding up.”

Calum really can’t tear his gaze away from her lips. They glisten a little, dark brown and a hint of pink from the saliva on her tongue as she licks them. It’s really lame, he thinks, that he’s this hesitant to make a move on her. But she hasn’t pulled away from him just yet so that must mean something. Maybe he could show her what he meant. “Is-Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Fuck. Oh fuck. Noa nods, she’s sure her eyes are blown wide. She’s not sure however that she’s breathing properly until the whisper of “Yes” falls from her lips. They inch closer together. Like stuttering traffic that stops and starts and soon there’s no more space to be hesitant. Their lips brush, slightly parted too. He can smell the chocolate she had earlier and it’s so sweet in his nose. Before the first kiss truly ends Calum reaches for her waist, turning her into him. He leans into the table, his back facing the door, and she leans into him. 

Her arms loop around his neck, nails trailing at the edge of his t-shirt and his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine when her nails scratch at his skin. Calum encases her waist with his arms, pulling her into him. Her kiss tastes like the Hershey kiss and her skin is so soft beneath his fingers. When he breathes in, his nostrils are lined with the smell of coconut. An intoxicating scent if he’s going to associate it with her at all. 

The sounds of their kisses, lips meeting and pulling apart before meeting again echo slightly around the room. She reaches up, pulling away from his lips just a little. Calum stretches out for her though, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. She laughs, mostly from her chest before she gives in and recaptures his lips. 

His cologne isn’t too strong. It’s got a hint of musky to it with some more floral overtones and Noa thinks she has to figure out the exact scent because she would love to just bathe in it. She doesn’t stop her previous movements though and pulls the hat up. Calum ducks his face into her shoulder and chest. 

She didn’t expect a buzz cut but it looks good and she runs her hands over the back of his head. “Can’t kiss you if your face is buried in my shoulder.”

“But I can kiss you,” he counters, gently capturing the juncture of her neck and shoulder between his lips. The touch is so feather-light, almost as if her skin were made of glass. But it makes her hot and her heart strums steadily in her chest. It’s almost sad how the softest touch is turning her own. She’s glad for the moment Calum can’t see what effect this is having on her. It’s shameful how wet her underwear is. 

Noa lets her head go as Calum kisses across her throat too, his tongue trails after the places his lips have touched first. Her hair brushes over Calum’s fingers, as they start to travel down to her ass, cupping her over the denim shorts. They hardly do much to stop the imagination from running wild. His fingertips run across her skin, digging into the crevice between the line of her ass and the tops of her thighs. 

A moan escapes her. Noa doesn’t even feel the shame anymore. Not as her hand reaches between their bodies and trails up his chest. She cups his throat and pushes him up. His grin is lazy on his face, eyes heavy with lust. “So I see you really didn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” The vibrations of his voice tickle her palm but she doesn’t drop the hold and Calum doesn’t duck away from it. Would Noa let herself go? She could attempt to bring Calum back to her dorm though she’s not sure if Brooklyn is in the room. If so, that’s definitely an awkward shuffle to text Brooklyn and then walk all the way back to her room. 

She drops her hand from his throat, before running it up under his shirt. He tenses for a moment at her touch but grins. Noa decides not to think too much about where things go and where they wind up at the moment. Instead, she kisses at his neck, running her tongue over his adam’s apple. Calum has to bite his lip just a little to keep the groan from escaping him so loudly. He knows she knows just what she’s doing as her nail scratch at his lower abdomen right along the band of his boxer briefs.

“I have another question,” Calum asks, a soft sigh escaping his lips when she kisses up to his ear. 

“Which is?”

“I can only assume we’re not studying poetry anymore. But I just want to make sure it’s okay if I study your anatomy?”

Noa snorts, her laughter shaking her shoulders as she presses her face into Calum’s chest. “I told you I wouldn’t be won over by academic pick up lines but I’ll be damned if you don’t keep trying.”

“They seemed to work,” Calum takes the sides of her face into his hands. There’s still a grin on her face when she lets him pull her upwards a little. “Is that a yes though in all seriousness?”

“That’s a yes,” she sighs, enjoying the slight roughness at the tips of his fingers as he brushes them over her cheeks. 

“How likely are we to get caught in here?”

“If we don’t make too much noise, pretty low. I mean, who else is coming to the library on Valentine’s Day?”

Calum presses her in close before pushing up with his hips and spinning them around. He clears away a spot before hoisting her to the table. “I must admit, I like the sounds of those odds.”

Calum stands between her legs. She spies a set of chains around his neck and pulls them out, gently holding the gold and silver chains in her palms. She’s not sure what they mean, the symbols on the black enamel or the gold plate but they look good hanging around his chest. “Sentimental?”

Calum runs his fingers over the strip of skin just under the edge of her green tank top and the top of her shorts. “Yeah.”

The subject is dropped rather quickly and she kisses the underside of his jaw. Her fingers find the hem of Calum’s t-shirt. He pulls the black tee up without much thought and she lets her hands wander of the expanse of his chest. She lingers at his tattoos. She doesn’t question those either. Just admires them and the way the black ink stands out on his golden skin. There’s a moment, in the back of her mind, that she’s acutely aware of how much darker she is compared to him. It's a thing she’s always been aware of for sure, it’s a general fact about herself that is generally inescapable. But she’s not sure why it matters now. 

Calum can see her mind wandering and he tips her chin. “You can always say no. It’s okay.” He doesn’t want her to feel pressured. It won’t hurt him at all if she backs out of this. He’d rather her protect herself than worry about him. 

“It’s just--a thing, a small thing. Nothing to do about this.”

“You sure?” 

Noa nods, flicking her twists over her shoulder. Calum raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question. “I’m very sure,” she says, tugging at the band of his pants. 

There’s a soft chuckle he gives and nods, satisfied with her answer. “I was going to break out another taboo pickup line.”

Noa gets a grip around his neck and brings him down. Her kiss is soft and slow before she pulls back just a little. Their lips brush as she speaks. “As much as I hate those, they are effective. So I hate that fact a little more.”

Calum dares to bring his hands down, under the shorts and underwear. What he finds makes him groan into her lips. She’s dripping onto his fingers. “Very effective,” he whispers, teasing her heat with his fingers as he collects just a little taste of her onto his fingers. She watches through slightly hooded eyes as Calum licks his fingers. “God,” he huffs. 

He goes back to get yank the shorts and panties. She pushes herself up to assist and Calum wastes no time slipping down to his knees. Noa reclines back, hands pressing down into the table and the edge of a notebook. Calum takes a generous lick from her. She’s sweet on his tongue and all he wants is to drown in the arousal she drips. 

Noa shudders at the first touch and she’s glad she’s facing the whiteboard and not the window because the look on her face, of pleasure and also desperation is a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone. Her breakup sophomore year kind of scorned her. She’s had the offers at parties or even out at bars, but never took them. Right now, the way she’s responding to Calum should be embarrassing but it’s the last thought on her mind. 

All Noa wants and can think about is how Calum’s tongue flicks against her clit, the way his lips wrap around it to give it a gentle suck before planting a kiss. “Shit,” she heaves, trying to keep from being too loud. It’s not lost on her that too much noise will get them caught. But god is her rock shaking at the feeling of Calum’s tongue working at her. It’s going to be the end of her, she thinks, staring up at the ceiling attempting to keep her breathing under control. 

Calum feels her thighs starting to shake and he throws them over his shoulder. She falls deeper into her recline. Every lewd slurp echoes. The first finger into her is all too easy to get inside and he works the second one in while teasing her clit with his tongue. It’s a moment, with a breathy instruction of “Back and up,” before he’s brushing over her g-spot. Her vision spots for a moment and she presses her lips together to swallow down her own moan. 

“Fuck,” she whines when Calum sucks at her clit. The knot in her stomach grows, she can feel the heat radiating from the top of her head to her toes. She’s going to make a mess. She can feel it bubbling in her lower stomach but she can’t find the words to warn him as she works to keep her cries in her chest. 

It’s evident though when she finds the edge and falls over it. Her legs close in around Calum’s head. He works her through the orgasm, gentle licks. Calum kisses over her inner thighs before pulling his fingers from her. She’s spent above him, panting. But she stops him-- a hand tight around his wrist and brings his fingers to her mouth. 

“You wouldn’t?”

Noa says nothing before licking her own arousal from his fingers. Calum shouldn’t be so turned on by her tasting herself but he swears he could nearly come from just the way she hums around his digits. It makes him wonder for a moment what else she can do with that tongue. She grins when she releases his fingers from her mouth with a lewd pop. “I would.” 

Calum stays on his knees, watching carefully as she slips off the table and back into her underwear and shorts. She taps at the chair. “Take a seat.”

He pushes up and into the chair. “You really could’ve just left those off.”

Noa bites her lip at the thought. “Even though I’m young, I’m not dumb. I never re-upped on condoms in my backpack and unless you have some. I think you’ll be pleased with my compromise.”

Calum mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing away the key. He nearly forgot about that and that’s not a risk he wants to take either. No matter much the idea seems tempting he knows that the potential consequences are not worth it. Noa doesn’t waste any time, to tie her hair back or get Calum’s pants and underwear down either. She’s not really sure what she expected but he’s more than he lets on and her mouth drools at the thought. 

She kisses his tip, the tip leaking just a little. Calum sighs, dropping his head back on his neck. He doesn’t really want her to tease him like this. But it does feel good. How gentle she’s being. The way she’s slow to coat him with her saliva. He exhales harshly when he slips into her mouth and when she doesn’t stop but continues on Calum groans. “Fucking hell.” It’s as if she could just swallow him whole and her mouth is so warm too. 

Noa hums a little at the taste and weight of him. She looks at through her lashes and keeps her eyes nice and big, playing innocent at the way Calum huffs above her. He blinks his eyes just enough to see her batting her lashes and he’s so tempted again to pull out of her mouth and just fuck her right here. He’s sure her pussy is just as good as her mouth, if not better. Another moan is crawling up his chest and Calum inhales to keep it from falling over his lips. She pulls back from him, swirling her tongue just around the top. Her fist pumps at him. Calum knows he won’t last. His head is starting to float and he’s reaching out for anything and everything to keep ground. 

He finds Noa instead, the very thing lifting his consciousness from his body. But it’s all he has to attempt to ground him. Calum lets one choked moan fall over his lips. “God,” he heaves like he’s been underwater for too long and is getting the first gulps of air again. His eyes screw up as she takes him back down and bobs her head along his length. The sounds of her slurping up her excess saliva are a little loud but he prays that they don’t echo too much before he cums. 

That’s all he wants. Just release. That bliss of orgasm. His toes are curling and he’s holding a little tighter to Noa he knows. But he can’t help it. His hips raise up from the seat, bucking into her and she has to readjust her angle to keep him down. But Calum’s so fucking close. He can feel it. His thighs are tensing and he’s nearly in tears with how badly he desires to cum. She’s toying with him, speeding up to build up that pressure--that need, but slowing down just enough to keep it far enough away. 

“Oh, please, please,” he begs. There is definitely a prickle of tears. Noa knows she’s playing with fire but she pulls back one last time, watching the way his jaw tense and he hisses, the air sucked in between his teeth. “I wasn’t-I wasn't this mean to you.”

Noa winks at him. Calum knows he’s going to have to do something to wipe that smirk off her face somehow. “Wanted to see how much you could take.” She says nothing else and finally takes him back into her mouth, hand and mouth pumping at him. He goes barreling towards his orgasm. He halfway expects her to pull away again when he finds his hips bucking again but she doesn’t. Calum holds her head tight and pours down the back of her throat. 

Noa brings him over the edge and she’s gentle, slightly suckling to get down every drop. When she finally brings her head away, she does leave a small kiss. The air is thick and Calum exhales, attempting to bring his vision back into focus. He nearly has to make sure that it’s actually his soul that comes back to him. Noa hands him a tissue and then excuses herself for just a moment to the restroom. 

When she returns, the table is clearned for the most part. Her books are neatly stacked and her laptop is sitting on top of the sleeve. The dry erase markers and erasers sit at the top of her pile too. Calum is dressed again, leaning against the table with the bucket hat back on his head. He watches her open the door with a tiny smile. The whiteboard’s been erased too. “Did you get a picture of the--” Calum nods before she finishes the full question. 

She’s not sure if she should move from the spot at the door but Calum’s gaze is intense so she waits. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it,” he grins. “How far away do you stay from here?”

“I live on campus actually. It’s like a fifteen minute walk to the other side.”

“I’m parked not too far from the English building. How about a ride and a round two?”

“For studying poetry or anatomy?” There’s no hiding her grin as she asks the question. 

Calum’s impressed at the wit. “I would say, after what I’ve seen and tasted today, I would call it poetry.”

She has to cast her gaze down. Because if not, she’s going to explode at delivery of the compliment. “Just don’t make any joke about tasting desire twice or I might nickname you Frost and I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Calum laughs and reaches out a hand. She takes it, stepping into him. She gazes up, the shadow of the bucket hat making the moment seem more private. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Of course you are.”

The ride over is nerve wrecking. But the gentle pressure of Calum’s hand on her thigh keeps her just enough on the string that it doesn’t matter. Brooklyn agrees to give her the room until 10. It’s a little after six currently. Plenty of time but still. It’s not fun being sexiled. Noa makes a mental note to grab a few snacks on her next grocery run as a thank you to Brooklyn. The AC blasting in Calum’s car is Noa’s saving grace. The slight chill is welcomed to the warmth still radiating from her body.

She directs him to turn right at the next intersection. “It’s pretty out here,” Calum notes. The buildings follow the same brick patterns as most other buildings on the campus. But there are some trees that stand tall and it feels a little cozy. Noa hums and she directs him down to a parking lot. It’s not that far down from her actual dorm. The walk feels longer though for Noa, feeling Calum right behind her.  Calum follows with quick glances the way her ass shakes a little with her gait. The shorts are definitely higher than they were before and he’s sure that was done purposefully. 

Noa fishes out her keys and swipes into the building before directing Calum up the flight of stairs on the side. Their shoes echo as they ascend. Her room is the first one once they step outside from the stairwell. “I apologize now if it’s a mess,” Noa says with her key in the door. She’s praying that Brooklyn’s side isn’t a disaster.

 Thankfully at the first crack, the room is cool and clean. She carries past one bed to the second pushed against the wall near the window. Calum notes the white and black comforter and the posters decorating her wall. There are string lights and after a moment they twinkle off the white plaster of the walls. 

“Putting on the full works, huh?” Calum drops his hat and bag next to her desk. They shed shoes. Her bed is raised so she pulls out a step stool. 

“Something like that.” 

Calum cups her jaw. “I’m flattered.” Their kisses are still heated but less desperate. Both of them are aware of what’s happening and what’s going to happen. Calum pulls at the knot of her white shirt and pushes it off her shoulders. Maybe it was a little insane. Maybe it was the fact that Calum was a little tired of being lonely on Valentine’s Day even though he hated the whole institution of the holiday.

Whatever it was that brought him here to peeling Noa out of her shirt and revealing her breasts to him didn’t really matter. Because he was okay with it. He cups one of her breasts, teasing the bud with his fingers and he kisses along her neck. He feels her heart races with his tongue. “Love it don’t you?” 

Noa hums, pulling around his shoulders. “Maybe.” 

He laughs into her skin. She climbs up onto the bed first and Calum sheds his shirt before climbing up behind her. On the corner of her desk near the bed, he spies the box of condoms. Multiple boxes actually. He reaches over her to one of them. He’s going to drag this out just to have her begging like she did with him. “This is quite the collection.”

Noa knows part of this is payback but she reaches up running her hands over his sides to get him to come back to her. Calum resists the temptation to look down and kiss her again. If she does all his resolve will break. He studies another box and she lifts her head from her pillow finding one of his nipples and sucking it into her mouth. Two can play this game. And Noa knows that while she’s aching for me, she might have a better chance of riding this game out than Calum. 

Calum drops his head for a moment, letting the electricity of her touch travel up his body. One hand creeps up to his crotch, putting just enough pressure onto his growing erection. He’s so fucking screwed. Noa kisses across his chest, soft ones that barely make contact with his skin. “I’m going to be giving a pop quiz about the varieties I have. So study up,” she jokes before pulling her hand away. 

His laughter is soft above her. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

“You were being stubborn and I had to try something.”

“You teased me. Don’t dish out what you can’t handle.”

“I can handle plenty,” she retorts pushing at his shoulder. 

Calum straddles her lower legs, popping the button on her shorts yet again. “Is that so?” The question is punctuated by him pulling her shorts and panties off. His fingers waste no time to part her and circle her entrance. Her back sinks into the mattress and her hips rise. Calum catches the small hard exhale of all her air leaving her lungs. 

Calum hovers over her, one arm keeping his weight steady while he teases her. His lips brush over her jaw. “What was that?” His question is answered by a moan that falls over Noa’s throat. He kisses down her throat, sucking just a hair too hard at the thin skin. It doesn’t leave a bruise but when Calum pulls way, there’s a red spot for sure on her skin. 

Noa lets herself be consumed by the way his stubble scratches over her skin. Calum kisses down the valley of her breasts. His teeth graze over her nipples. Maybe he’s better at the game than she thought he was. She liked to think she was tough, but Noa knows deep down the softest touch can turn her into putty. She doesn’t find it within herself to care when he flicks her nipple with the tip of her tongue. 

Calum drinks in every sound. She sounds so good beneath him at the mercy of his whims. Though he knows he’s going to give in soon. Soon his own tough act will dissolve and all he’s want is her to be thoroughly fucked. Calum carries down her body, kissing over her stomach before finding her heat again. All it takes is one lick, bottom to the top and Noa shakes, her thighs quiver and Calum knows he has her. 

Her hands find his neck though. She pulls him up before pushing up and Calum falls into the mattress. She works his pants down and kisses over his thighs as she goes. Her teeth are sharp when she takes a bite, nothing too hard, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Calum to know she’s serious. He’s serious too. His arm hooks around her neck once the pants are fully disrobed. “Come here,” he murmurs and she settles on his lower torso. 

Noa could lose herself in Calum’s kisses and never want to find a map out. Calum traces at her skin with the tips of his fingers as if trying to etch the roadmap of her into his memory. Noa reaches behind and strokes Calum’s length, almost too leisurely, like she knows she can just take her time with him. He lets her too. What else does he have to lose? What else does Calum have to do on such a bullshit holiday than just having some fun?

He does enjoy that this isn’t rushed. He’s also glad he’s not tipsy and neither is she. There’s something about alcohol and sex that never quite worked for Calum, though he’ll admit to some days waking with hickeys and blaming the vodka almost immediately. He likes the intimacy that they share, as crazy as it sounds. Like the way Noa looks at him after they break away from a kiss. She doesn’t look crazed or greedy, her eyes cradle him almost. She traces over his tattoos. 

The questions linger on her lips. Like what does ‘Choose Life’ really mean to Calum? Who was Mali? To whom did those initials belong too? But Noa knew those were questions she couldn’t ask. And she kind of liked the mystery of it. She liked knowing Calum but not getting the full picture. She had the frame. She has the beautiful man in front of her but she didn’t have his mind. She saw bits of it in class for sure. When he finally decided to speak. But that was a piece that would always linger behind the curtain. 

It was still a game for sure. Calum giving away what he wanted to give of himself but keeping everything else. Noa knew better than to think she could win that game. She knew better than to assume she could even be a player. It seemed cliche to think that maybe just maybe she could be the one to change that. That had to be loneliness talking though. It always crept in on days like this. At least for the moment, she was having her own fun. 

Her own fun--that’s all she needs to focus on right now. Noa reaches across Calum’s body to her desk and he uses the moment to bring the nipple and even part of her tit into his mouth, to tease her for just a moment longer. She barely keeps her grip on the box of condoms at the shiver running through her body. “Fuck,” she breathes. 

Calum hums at the praise and pinches her right nipple between his fingers. “You know,” he starts, tracing the swell of her breast with his fingers. “You do this thing when you’re thinking, where you bit the inside of your lip and you kind of zone out.”

Why is Calum so fucking observant? Why did he have to go and say that? He was really digging her grave. He might as well go and build the casket for her too. “I’m not backing out of this.”

“I was just saying,” he hums. 

“When you’re thinking you tend to play with whatever is in your hands,” Noa returns and then glances down her nipple, the way his fingers roll it and pinch. A moan builds in her chest--she can feel it. Calum immediately pulls his hand away. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

The grin that takes over his face is shy. Noa kisses his nose before tearing a condom from it’s foiled package. “How about a ride?” she grins. 

Calum has to laugh at the smirk and corny joke. But he agrees. “I hope I’m tall enough for it.”

“More than tall enough,” she laughs, rolling the condom done him. It’s the first sink, the stretch that makes Noa’s eyes nearly roll back into her head. Calum finds her hips, exhaling hard too at the squeeze and warmth of her. 

“Fuck,” they both exhale. Her pace is slow to start but Calum brushes everything inside of her, even parts that she didn’t even know could be brushed. It’s a little painful but the adjustment happens and all Noa’s concerned with is watching Calum fall apart beneath her. His fingers curl into the fat and muscle of her hips and thighs. 

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo about the room and Noa releases the hiss, the only thing she can do at the feeling of Calum buried so deep inside of her. It’s true bliss when her pace picks up and Calum watches her tits bounce in time. “Fuck, just like that,” he encourages. 

It’s not easy work Noa will admit but it’s rewarding to hear how strained Calum’s voice is. How much he’s tittering closer and closer to the edge. Calum brings his fingers to her clit and her yelp, part surprise, part an exhalation of arousal, he hums. “That what you needed? Just a little attention for a greedy clit?”

Noa sighs, holding herself upon his chest. “But you like it, don’t you? You’re coming to cum for me and my greedy clit, aren’t you?”

He is. Not right now, but soon. It’s creeping up on him and god, will it be sweet. He brings her head down to kiss her, to swallow down every filthy sound she makes and save it for later in his chest. Calum plants his feet into the mattress and meets her bounces with his own thrust. “Oh, shit,” she whines, her voice straining at the added sensation. Time starts to lose its grip. They are just feeling bodies. 

It’s soon her face down into the mattress though, curling the sheets into her fist as Calum drives into her. “God, please,” she groans, feeling the twinge of her orgasm knotting at her lower stomach. 

Calum brings her up, her back into his chest with a hand tucked around her throat. It’s not tight and soon it drops to her nipples again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” she exhales. “Just you, Calum.”

His fingers dance over her sex. She clenches once, a sign of the impending orgasm that will be crashing over it. Calum kisses along her shoulders and across her back, the twists in the way don’t even matter. Not when he can feel her occasional spasms. He’s not going to last much longer. But he wants to get her there first. With a little more pressure at her clit, Noa grabs Calum's thigh. Another whine falls over her throat and she again lacks the warning. 

She cums with a heavy grunt scratching over her throat. Calum bites down onto her shoulder. His orgasm follows soon after thanks to her spasms. After they clean up, she falls into her sheets and Calum lays for just a minute. Just to catch his breath and he traces over the still red marks of his teeth. “Is it too much if I offer to buy pizza?” Noa asks, curled up into his chest. “Does seal the fate on Valentine’s Day as well when you’re single?”

Calum laughs. “It’s definitely sealed the fate on many of them for me in the past. But I should probably get home. Be an adult, even if I don’t want to be.”

Noa nods. It’s a little awkward when Calum has to crawl over her to climb down off the bed but all she does is giggle before kissing his cheek. Calum finds his shirt and she tosses him his underwear from the sheets. “I should write a personal note to Calvin Klein for that underwear. Your ass is ten out ten in those.

Calum shakes his head, his laughter loud. “And out of them?”

“Seven out of ten.”

“I should be offended.”

Noa shrugs, holding the sheets to her chest. “Alas, you don’t seem to be though.”

With the bucket hat situated back over his head, Calum shrugs. “Guess I’m not if it’s coming from you. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

She nods. “Sure.” Calum’s hand doesn’t quite reach the door before she calls out her next question. “You remember how to get out of here right?”

“Something tells me it’s like the same way I came in? But I’m not too sure.”

“Smartass,” she grumbles. 

Calum chews on his lip for a moment to hide the smile. He was worried him leaving would be awkward. But he finds himself not wanting to go really. He thinks he could split a pizza with her. What would be the worst that would happen? But he doesn’t want to push any more boundaries or piss off her roommate.“Bye, Noa.”

“Bye, Calum.”

***********

Now Noa is definitely worried after not seeing Calum on Monday that he freaked out about their hookup. She didn’t have his number and emailing him was out of the question. Emailing wasn’t the format to have the ‘what-happened-and-why-are-you-avoiding-me’ conversation. Everything seemed fine when Calum left. He even sent a thank you email when she sent him the notes she typed up from their study session. He had included the blowing a kiss emoji. That had to mean something. It had to. Even Brooklyn said it meant something. Sure Brooklyn was no expert. But who sends that kind of emoji unless they mean something behind it?

Though when Monday rolled around, Calum wasn’t to be seen. Today was Wednesday, the day of their midterm. Noa books it from her class in the science building but because of some rain, there is a mud spot and she slips. She doesn’t fall, thankfully catching herself on the edge of the brick wall but she knows the feeling of her pants splitting literally anywhere. 

Her shirt is most definitely not long enough to cover it and she can’t be late for the exam. So she carries on, wishing she had grabbed an extra layer to help save her from the embarrassment. First Calum ghosts her and now her pants rip. Today’s really not her day. Not that she needed it to be her day, but she would’ve liked it. 

Taking a quick moment to assess the damage, Noa feels behind. The hole is mostly towards her inner thighs but it does gape a little to the back and she’s mortified that half her ass is hanging out. She hopes this is the icing on her cake. She’d really rather not have too much else to her shit cake. This was more than enough shit for any one particular day. 

Just a few minutes before class starts, she opens the door to the classroom. The professor stands at the podium, exam in hand. Her eyes scan the room briefly and there’s Calum. His head down and she’s sure that he had to have heard the door opening but he doesn’t look up. There’s nowhere else to sit either, except for her spot right next to him. And she’s not going to cause a scene on midterm day either. 

She’s careful as she sits, to avoid further splitting, and slips off her backpack. She keeps her back turned and fishes out a pen, black ink this time. Just as she faces forward, a Hershey’s kiss and peppermint are placed in front of her. Calum grins, pulling the wireless headphones from his ears. “My mum used to give me peppermints before a test. She said it was supposed to help. I don’t know the exact science.”

Maybe Calum didn’t hate her? It definitely is a shock for him to be talking so casually. She’s happy though. She’d rather not have to shun Calum. She liked his stupid ass jokes and maybe, just maybe, she was letting herself get a little too close. That was a disaster she’d deal with later though. “Were you sick on Monday or something?” Something was going around and if Calum had caught it, she did worry that she would too, 

He shakes his head. “A gig ran late Sunday. I just emailed my professors that I wouldn’t be able to come in on Monday. I realized I needed the notes from Monday but I didn’t want it to seem like I was just using you. So I’m sorry about you not hearing from me after I said I would.”

Noa reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small bag of peppermints. There was just a misunderstanding. She can handle that. “My mom used to say the same thing.” She situates the bag between them. “In case you need another one during the exam. Also, I can give you my number.”  She finds a scrap piece of paper and writes it down. Calum saves it fast and sends her a text too so she has his number. 

As the professor starts to hand out the exam, only a list of four questions of which they’ll pick two to respond too, Calum feels the slight jitters coming back. Noa notices and slides her piece of chocolate over to him. They lock gazes for a brief moment and smile, both reminded of the last time chocolate was involved. 

The questions aren’t too hard. The practice ones Noa came up with fall right in line with what she said the professor would ask. She finishes first between the two of them and leaves the bag of peppermints. Calum notices her awkward shuffle and the hole in her jeans. He can’t use his phone to tell her to wait up but he’s almost done himself. So he scribbles down the last few sentences for his question and quickly gathers his things. 

From the pocket of his backpack, he feels his phone vibrate. He hands over his exam and slips out of the front door. Noa’s not in sight so he digs out his phone, stepping out into the bright sunlight. She’s not even halfway down the path, stopped by someone else as they chat for a moment. He thinks it’s her roommate, she looks familiar and the two laugh before going their separate ways. 

“Noa,” Calum calls out to her and she turns. These stairs aren’t as steep and he’s quick to get down them. Calum reaches into his backpack, revealing a sweatshirt and hands over her bag peppermints. “You can use this until you get back to get new pants.”

“I have a meeting with my advisor and then a club meeting. I was just going to tell them I’ll be a few minutes late to our meeting.”

“No, no, keep it. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be late.”

“I won’t be able to get it back to you until Friday.”

“I could come to pick it up too before then?”

Noa knows that look, the glint in his eyes as she ties the sweatshirt around her waist. “My last class tomorrow ends at 2.”

“I’ll pick you up from class. Just text me the building. We can study. I heard it’s Valentine’s Day. 

“That’s about a week late.”

“I was always bad at math,” Calum jokes. “You think I should sign up for one next semester?” Noa laughs as she steps backward from Calum. Of course, he would make another joke. They get her every time too. “Is that a yes though?”

“That is a yes. To Thursday and to you needing a math class.”

“Ouch.” He holds a hand to his chest, faking pain.

She twirls before throwing a wave over her shoulder. “Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Noa.” He wipes out his phone, watching her walk down the bricked over paths. Next time you don’t have to split your pants to get my attention. 

She stops and spins around, fingers flying over the keys. I can and will take this hoodie hostage. 

“That’s my favorite hoodie,” he shouts at her. 

“Not my problem, sweetheart.”

“It absolutely is your problem.”

“My problem is that I’m going to be late.” 

___________

Tagging: @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @glitterlukey 

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood fluff #calum hood smut #calum hood x black oc #calum 5sos #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #5sso fic #5sos imagine #calum hood imagine #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #michael clifford #valentine's day fic #h writes

[coraxaviary]

Sister-in-Arms | CHAPTER 2: The Camp

(Part I, Run the Gauntlet)

Summary: June gets situated in her billet, and runs into some new faces. It’s not very civil.

Word Count: 5.0K

AO3 | Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Author’s Note: Long author’s note incoming; click here OR check my masterlist. 

Warnings: Minor canon-typical profanity and slurs.

Taglist: @keoghans​​ @papercinders​​ @junojelli​​ (ask to be added)

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As June stepped out of the office and back into the main corridor, she breathed deeply, feeling some new feeling settle over her. The weight of responsibility. She was in, and the burden was heavy. But she would make it. She had to. 

“Private Diedtrich,” Coates said. “I’m to show you around the place, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” June said. 

He gave her a vague smile, and led the way out of the building, holding the door for her as she came out, back into the hot sun and into the camp.

It was strange to be given a tour. She was sure none of the other men received an introduction to the place when they arrived, but she knew she was again being given an exception despite Sink’s promise to the contrary. She sighed, following Coates down a concrete path deeper into the camp. This isn’t an exception, she told herself. It gives me no advantage over the other men. 

Coates snuck a glance behind himself as he walked, making sure June wasn’t trailing too far behind. She sped up a little, suitcase swinging against her knees, and she stubbornly held it a little out to the side, as if proving to herself that her upper-arm strength was sufficient for the training ahead. She knew it wasn’t. Her strength was in her legs, not her arms. She took a moment to curse her female anatomy, eyeing the biceps of a platoon jogging by in training shirts and shorts. 

June caught up, thinking all the while about the training. Her record of strength was both mental and physical – something she was proud of – but she’d still be at a disadvantage training with male criteria. She’d trained relentlessly in the months leading up to her departure to Toccoa, and still she couldn’t sustain more than seven or so pull-ups. It was significant, but not for Army training. She was already fitter than ever, yet she felt dismally behind.

Her only advantage, possibly, was her history of running. She was a long-distance runner in high school, and nabbed herself a shiny silver medal in senior year for the 10,000-meter district race. At West Point, she hit her best times, beating a few of the men who happened to be on the track at the same time before realizing just how much they hated being outran by women. The men did a lot of running, June observed, seeing yet another platoon run by.

Someone whistled, and June whirled around, looking for the perpetrator. The platoon was already past, but not without the fading sound of a few laughs from other men. June silently watched their retreating backs, clenching her teeth. 

Coates’s eyes flicked to the passing group momentarily, and he turned around to continue walking. June switched the suitcase to her other hand and followed, clacking in her heels down the path. Maybe it was a mistake to come for her first day in a skirt and lipstick. Would the men respect her if they’d seen her before with a full face of makeup? 

Coates gestured in the direction of a whitewashed building with a few windows to the right. 

“That’s the secretary’s office, where most of the women are on base,” he said. “You’ll use the facilities there.”

One woman was leaning against the doorframe, smoking. She silently watched June and Coates pass, tapping cigarette ash into the dirt.

“There’s a bathroom and showers behind the office,” Coates said.

June wasn’t upset, because what other alternative was there? She couldn’t shower with the men or use their latrine. June disliked her options, looking at the distance between the barracks and the office, imagining having to run from the barracks to the bathrooms for quick bathroom breaks.

“Mess halls are down here,” Coates said, pointing to some houses that looked exactly like the billeting houses, but slightly set apart.

They broke into the barracks, spreading out onto the field to their right, and June felt like a foreigner walking between the rows of training housing, imagining the months ahead of living as the only woman in a crowd of men, always watching her own back. June had held onto some strange hope that it wouldn’t be so bad and that these men were supposed to be disciplined, trained, and respectful. Still, she knew that the military wasn’t an end-all to harassment or assault. In fact, they could probably be more rowdy. She looked around at the buildings and the gaps between them: each had the potential to create some dark corner or hidden gap. Dark corners communicated danger to June, and she forced herself to look straight ahead at the dirt and crabgrass in the main thoroughfare between billet rows.

She was going to take care of herself. Not all men are like that, she reminded herself.

Some of the billets were still being built around the edges of the living quarter zone in various states of construction. They passed a particularly skeletal frame of plywood, some men in ODs perched up top, hammering nails into the roof line. 

June and Coates turned to the right and into a gap, following a column of barracks until they met the open field. June guessed that most of the men were out training because the barracks were all empty, and she was hit with the sight of the training field in full when they cleared the last row.

A track ran around the whole thing, and on the far end stood a shooting range with targets. An obstacle course took up a substantial area in the center, and June could make out figures crawling beneath barbed wire, hauling themselves over a wall, and tripping – sprawling – over a network of ropes. And an officer yelling, occasionally leaning down to get in someone’s face.

June took it all in with anticipation. That was going to be her, on Monday, regrettably. 

“Let’s go back to the PX area,” Coates said, after giving her a moment to watch the field. 

June followed him back across the camp, thoughts of training and sweat running through her mind. She was getting slightly sweaty just rushing after Coates in the afternoon heat, not even doing anything physically significant. She sighed to herself, for the hundredth time that day, and picked up the pace, calves burning a little with the exertion of pushing the bottoms of her feet against her heeled shoes.

They went back to the main grouping of buildings that June had figured to be the headquarters. Coates led her to a nondescript building, just like the rest, which turned out to be something of a laundry house when they were inside. 

“Colonel Sink told me you already have your service uniform, correct?”

June thought of the uniform she’d had tailored right before she left for Georgia, now folded in her suitcase. “That is correct, sir.”

Coates nodded. “Stay here.” He disappeared around a corner. 

June set her suitcase down and looked around with detached interest. Most of the laundering must have happened in the back, because out front in the main room, there was only a counter, a shelf filled with laundry to the right, and plain walls.

Sound floated through the open door behind June, and she stepped to the side of the entryway right as one man detached from a larger group, boots pounding up the few steps that led inside. He immediately acknowledged June with something of a surprised look – seeing women in the other sections of the camp must have been a shock – and gave her a once-over that June knew she was going to have to get used to. She gave him one in return. He was built, more than Coates, sharp-jawed, angular, and dark-haired. Mischievous-looking. 

“Hey, what’s your name?” he said, in a decidedly Philly accent. It was so thick, in fact, that June had to stand for a moment to process the phrase. 

June debated how to react, again. She couldn’t be overly friendly because she needed to be respected. She needed it. She would demand respect. She was not another broad to be messed with.

So June raised her chin, and gave a slight smile which probably showed more in her eyes than her face. She had to look slightly upwards – another thing she’d also have to get used to – but she drew herself up to her full heeled height. 

“Diedtrich, June, Private.” Her eyes darted to his sleeve momentarily. “Hello, Private,” she added. 

He looked taken aback for a moment before settling on a rather disbelieving grin. “Didn’t know there were WACs here.” He sized her up again. “When did you dolls move in?”

June looked over his shoulder at the back doorway, where she expected Coates to come out soon. He was taking longer than she expected, and she chanced a glance out the front door, though she couldn’t see anything at her angle. The conversation had stopped. The others were listening. 

She huffed out a sigh, and bit the side of her tongue, looking flatly at the man, who was expecting an answer. She probably looked shifty, nervous. She planted her feet.

“Not a WAC. I’m integrated into training starting tomorrow,” she said, seeing no other way to put it. 

He looked confused. 

“Same as you,” she explained. 

“The hell?” he said, looking lost. 

As if on cue, Coates emerged from the back, holding a bundle of olive-colored fabric and a canvas sack. The uniform. He had a rifle strap crossing his shoulder and an M-1 dangling off his back. June made brief eye contact with him before the man looked back at Coates, who was still rounding the corner. 

“You hear this girl?” he said to Coates. “Dame says she wants to fight.”

The trainee watched Coates stack the clothes on top of the pile and give the clothes and sack to June after she hefted the M-1 onto her shoulder, who took the bundle with a quiet, “Thank you, sir.” 

She made a show of flipping through the layers while keeping an iron grip on the heavy sack. Sandwiched between two articles of clothing was a patch. A single gold chevron. She looked at it with pride before remembering she was in the middle of an awkward conversation. 

Putting the pile back together, she tucked it under her arm and faced the trainee once again. Coates didn’t do anything, just looked at the man. 

“Is she crazy?” the man said to Coates. 

Coates looked quickly at the man’s arm, seeming to take stock of his patches. “Name?”

The trainee looked at Coates disbelievingly as if to question his priorities, eyes darting to the sergeant’s triple-chevron on Coates’s arm, but complied after a few tense moments. “Guarnere. Private.”

Coates looked at June. “Well, Private, Diedtrich has been approved by Colonel Sink to take her place at Toccoa. She’ll be running Currahee every day just like you.”

Guarnere’s mouth opened slightly, brows coming together slightly in an expression of indignance. “You don’t mean to say she’s… billeting with the men, do you?” he asked, disbelief evident. 

“It’s up to the Private whether she’s going to wash out or not, regardless of your opinion. If you’d excuse the Private, I believe she has some business to attend to,” he said, already stepping out of the laundry building. 

Guarnere watched Coates with an expression that grew colder and colder by the second. 

“I don’t believe it,” he said, but June was already busying herself with picking up her things, shoving the boots under her other arm, and moving out behind Coates. “You a whore or something, Diedtrich?” Guarnere said to June’s back. 

She stiffened, breathing in sharply, and stopped walking. She didn’t bother to turn around, but she took one moment to calm her nerves and her heart, deadened with shock. When she spoke, she’d never been more glad that there was no quaver. 

“No, Private,” she said, stock-still. “I’m a trainee.” 

She heard a scoff behind her, but June broke out of her immobilized state and started down the steps, out to where Coates was waiting. She passed three men, staring at her in disbelief, who were standing in the dirt outside. She didn’t stop to take their faces down in memory or try to make eye contact. She walked after Coates, who nodded to acknowledge her, and the pair retreated down the path towards her billet. 

Mercifully, Coates didn’t check behind him. June sniffed, once, and blinked away tears that had come of shock more than shame. Coates wouldn’t always be around to defend her. After the relatively calm reception June had gotten from Bea, Sink, and then Coates, she’d gotten used to a false sense of security; she’d held onto some fantastical hope that everyone was just as nice as Coates. 

Obviously, that wasn’t going to be the case. 

June squeezed the handle of her suitcase, hard, and adjusted her uncomfortable hold on the canvas bag. She needed to hold her own the next time, without someone defending her. By herself. She kept forgetting that she was alone. 

♤

“Here it is,” Coates said, gesturing to a barrack house that looked exactly like all the rest. June tried to remember the turns and number of other billets between this and the road. She peeked in, feeling as if she was violating someone’s privacy, though ironically, she knew she was in for possibly the most uncomfortable moments of her life. 

No one was inside. It was nearing late afternoon, the sun past its apex, and sunlight slanted through the windows on the right. The billet was clean and neat – and each bed was tucked and made – just like regulation, but somehow the place had minor touches of personality that were invisible to the indiscriminate eye. Suitcases were stowed under cots, and each man had a small container of belongings – letters, probably, and extra olive drabs among other supplies. 

June walked between the rows of beds, stopping at the first open one. Unfortunately for her, the beds at the far end of the billet were taken, as well as those nearest to the doorway. She set her suitcase on one of the beds a few from the door – woefully away from either end of the billet, eliminating any semblance of privacy – and set her sack down. She sat with her ODs in her lap, putting her elbows on her knees and staring out at the door. 

“June?” Coates’s voice drifted in from the outside.

“Yes, sir?”

“Why don’t you get changed and then we can head down to mess?” Coates said.

“Yes, sir,” June said loudly back through the billet, and soon she heard the door drift closed, with just a sliver of sunlight streaming through the crack. The windows were wide open, but June couldn’t do anything about it. She hoped no one walked by, and she laid out her new ODs on her bed after setting her suitcase below her cot.

She had been given a white t-shirt, standard black shorts – PT gear – and a pair of OD trousers and a jacket. There was a helmet, which she placed on top of the shelf above her bed, like she saw that others had done, and other supplies – canteen, lighter, OD belt – she’d figure out later. She set those in the trunk and got around to putting on the OD uniform.

June had embarrassingly asked one of her old high school friends how to put on the ODs before Toccoa. At least she’d had the foresight to ask whether or not the Army men tended to wear their PT gear underneath their ODs, and after the conversation, she’d left slightly red in the face but much more enlightened, especially about the unique usage of lighters, the trading value of chocolate and cigs, and the impossible durability and infinite odor capacity of ODs.

June also had to run into the problem of underwear. The skivvies that the men were issued were, well, skivvies, and nothing else. June took it upon herself to stock up on brasseries, because she’d taken a look at her corselette and thought hell no. Whenever she ran, June had worn smaller bandeau bras and sometimes a bit of bandage cloth. Good thing she didn’t have a huge chest. She’d also brought her smallest pairs of panties because those PT shorts were shorter than anything she’d worn before.

June got to work unbuttoning her white blouse and left it open, working on the side panel on her dark blue wool skirt; she wanted to spend as little time as possible completely unclothed in case someone walked by the window. 

In the corner of her eye, there was movement beyond one of the barracks. She sped up, taking off her shoes and then her pantyhose the fastest she’d ever gone, wondering if Coates was waiting. She stripped off her civilian socks and finally got around to taking the skirt off, hastily pulling the PT shorts on and tying the string. 

Shoot, shoot, shoot, she said to herself like a mantra, feeling like every extra second cemented her as a stuffy woman and not an able soldier. She kept her normal blouse bra on, intending to change it later when the time permitted, and threw on the t-shirt over the top, stuffing it into the shorts. She put on the issued socks, and pulled the pants over her legs, doing the buttons fast with slightly shaking fingers and then tucking the bottoms into her boots like she’d seen the others do, lacing them up for the first time and feeling the stiffness of the leather with resigned expectation. Her feet were going to be painfully blistered by day two, at least. She pulled on the jacket and started cleaning up. 

She shoved her civilian clothing back into the suitcase, already knowing with regret that this was her last day as a woman – but also hoping she wouldn’t have to wear them in a few week’s time, or even a few days, hopping back on a bus out of Toccoa. She hung her service uniform up beside the bed and placed her issued rucksack beside it, on a hook. 

Her hand hovered over the tights, spotting a large run. She must have ripped them in her hurry to tug them off.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself, throwing the ruined pair back into the suitcase with a little more force than necessary. It was not time for regret, so June slammed the suitcase closed with an air of finality, but the muffled bang was accompanied by another sound, in the entryway. 

June spun around, meeting the gaze of a disgruntled man hovering in the doorway, mouth open in surprise. 

“Can I help you?” June blurted, face heating inadvertently at the intrusion as she hastily buttoned up her jacket, pulling on her belt and cinching the waist as tight as it would go. 

The man looked at her, silent, trying in vain to comprehend what was going on in front of him. 

“Who–” he started, then stopped. 

June sighed, trying to calm down her own panicked heart. She turned around and took a few deep breaths, finishing up quickly before the man could even leave the billet. He kept staring until after a few more seconds he pointedly looked down and away. June left the top button undone and dropped the dog tags over her head, tucking them below her PT shirt, the cold metal clinging against her chest and on her bra. 

She turned back around awkwardly and shoved her suitcase below the bed. The man cleared his throat and ducked out of the billet before June could ask for his name. She breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a close call.

She’d be dressing in front of the men in a few hours anyway, she reasoned, with a pit growing in her stomach. It would be worse, with everyone changing at the same time with her spot in the center of the billet.

She checked her watch, which she assumed she was allowed to have under regulation. Coates had one, after all, and she gathered her spirits, checked the ties on her boots, and opened the door of the billet. 

There were a number of men waiting outside, clearly back from training and all watching her step down from the building. More than a few faces were judgemental. Some simply looked very, very confused. June’s heart picked up speed once again, and a cold sweat gathered beneath the collar of her ODs. All eyes were on her: maybe about seven or eight men watched her step onto the path, and they parted for her as she cast darting, nervous glances at the frowning men. She started to crane her head to look for Coates, trying to give herself something to do.

“What the hell?” came a voice from the back of the group. 

June resumed walking away from the gathering, already overwhelmed by the sheer number of people she’d have to try to get to know and possibly win over. These were the people she was to live with, and it scared her more than anything else at the moment.

“Hey, you!” the same familiar voice shouted, and June turned around with no other choice, unable to see Coates anywhere nearby. She schooled her face into something stony and flat, hoping her debilitating anxiety wasn’t bleeding through. She raised her chin and clenched her fists, jaw working. They all had at least three or four inches on her, looming terribly.

The owner of the voice broke through the pack, the others letting him through without protest.

Guarnere.

“Whatcha doing here, Diedtrich?” he sneered, spitting out June’s surname with disgust. “Gonna make some trouble with our billet?” 

June froze. She was housed with this trainee, the one who already had called her something unsavory. She avoided eye contact, settling her eyes somewhere below his chin, but staring forward defiantly, daring him to make a move. Say something else. She was afraid, deathly so, but she wasn’t going to show it. 

Guarnere was clearly expecting an answer. Someone sniggered behind him.

“I’ve been assigned to this billet,” June said flatly, with just a note of unsteadiness in her voice. She eliminated any waver in her next statement. “I don’t intend to give you any problems.” At that, a litany of men started to quietly talk amongst themselves in hushed tones.

Guarnere laughed. The men laughed with him. June’s eyes darted around him, who was beginning to press in closer. She took a step back, noting the attention their exchange was getting. Where was Coates? she thought, almost ashamedly. Her only protector had vanished. 

“I think we do have a problem, girl,” he said, still crowding June. She took another step back. “You’re weak. You’re a dame. You don’t belong out here,” he said. “You’re not gonna last a day, starting with Currahee on Monday.”

June raised her eyes to his, and his gaze drilled into her, searching for weakness. She clenched her jaw, knowing a tendon or two would pop because she’d witnessed some street fights in her time. Not that she was any more intimidating at five feet and four inches, but she stood her ground, not taking any more steps back, the decision not to back down already feeling unnaturally confrontational to her. 

He’s just another West Point prick, she thought, trying to make herself less intimidated. 

Guarnere looked down his nose at June, clearly irritated enough to try something. June swallowed, and the motion didn’t go unnoticed. He grinned slightly – a shark-toothed one, sort of predatory.

“Private Diedtrich?” came a voice around the corner. “Private, are you–” Coates’s voice came closer and June heard him cut himself off in surprise. 

June wondered how they looked. Ready to fight, maybe, or maybe as if Guarnere was about to wipe the floor with June. June was no match. None at all. 

“Private Diedtrich,” Coates said, slightly nervously, now over her shoulder. June hadn’t turned around to look, but she knew he was behind her, looking at the mob-like crowd that was forming in front of the billet. “I see you’ve met the rest of your platoon.”

Guarnere directed his grimace-like smile over June and onto Coates. 

“Look,” a new voice  – calmer – started over the din of whispering men. “Let’s just work this out at HQ.” June watched the guy who’d initially walked in on her changing emerge from the crowd. “Maybe there’s been a mistake or something,” he said, avoiding looking at June. 

It hadn’t been the amount of skin he saw – almost none – but the principle of accidentally seeing her putting on clothes that June was embarrassed by. Get over it, she repeated to herself. You’re gonna have to change in front of these guys multiple times a day.

“Fine, Lip,” Guarnere said without looking behind him, backing away from June. He still looked unpredictably ornery, but one of his friends June recognized from the laundry place muttered about chow and gave Guarnere a forceful thump on the back, effectively pushing him away from the scene. The man – taller, tough-looking as Guarnere, and black-haired – directed a powerfully hostile gaze at June before moving away to pull the private towards the mess hall.

Lip, if that was his name – rather gentle-looking in comparison to Guarnere and the other, but still far from domestic – watched the two retreat with a vaguely concerned look. Coates cleared his throat, dropped a finished cigarette, and ground it with his boot. June looked at the extinguished pile of ash and then at Coates. 

He went away to smoke? she thought. Maybe he thinks it’s improper or something, like he doesn’t want to encourage me to start. Tough luck. She already smoked infrequently; it was a practice she suspected would get stronger every day she was here in Toccoa. God knew she needed one right now.

As if reading her thoughts, two or three men behind Lip and Coates lit up cigarettes and the crowd seemed to disperse a little. Everyone seemed to want to eat, even though the freakish wonder of the hour was the Broad in the Billet.

“I’m Carwood Lipton. Private,” said the mystery man who had caught June unawares, extending a hand for a handshake. He was the third that day to have done so, and June wondered if simple greetings like handshakes were going to become rare pleasures for someone like her. 

They shook, and Lipton looked back at Coates. “Private, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Coates said. “I’m John Coates, Sergeant. HQ.”

“Easy Company,” Lipton responded. There was a lapse of silence, and both men turned to look at June, who was in turn watching the last of her billet-mates-to-be drift towards mess, with her hands shoved in her pockets. 

“Would you mind giving us an explanation?” he said to Coates. It did not escape June that she was being talked over, but she kept her mouth shut. “This is all very strange. Are WACs being integrated? Or is she just in the wrong place?” Lipton asked, regarding June’s OD uniform with skepticism.

Coates rubbed at his forehead and stared at the ground. “It’s a new idea, but Private Diedtrich is to train with the experimental training outfit here at Camp Toccoa. If she can clear the physical requirements needed to pass the Basic exam and then keep up with all the men, the Colonel is convinced she can integrate into the paratroopers.” It was the longest and most complete explanation June had heard from him – maybe Lipton seemed more reasonable to Coates, too.

Lipton’s eyebrows came together in concern as he mulled over the statement. “The Paratroopers? She’s trying to be a paratrooper?” he said with obvious doubt, probably noticing how small June was. She was still wearing her makeup from the day, and she almost felt as if she should wipe it off under Lipton’s scrutinizing gaze. But maybe she would pass judgement if she took an effort to reduce the markers of her femininity. She turned around, sensing that Lipton obviously wasn’t going to directly address her anytime soon, and she looked blankly over the field through gaps in the billet rows. “Why?” Lipton asked. 

“That’s something you’ll have to ask the Private,” Coates said, and then they both looked at June again, who could feel their stares on her back.

“Fine,” Lipton said, with a tone that communicated the opposite sentiment. 

Everything was so obviously not fine, and June doubted she’d find anyone as calm about the issue, even if Lipton wasn’t exactly warm. June shifted uncomfortably. The cat was out of the bag, and it would probably only take a few hours for the entire camp to know there was a woman in their midst, playing at being a soldier. 

People were still hanging around. June tried to ignore them and look out over the camp. This was a sight she’d hopefully have to get used to, if she wasn’t thrown out tomorrow for failing the physical requirements. Coates and Lipton were still scuffing around in some disjointed attempt at conversation while watching June. She finally had enough and went back into the billet to get her Army-issue cigarettes, tucking them into a pocket.

She got outside and lit one up, feeling the smoke travel down her lungs. She exhaled, and sighed. 

“Wanna eat?” Coates asked. Lipton trailed behind. 

“Sure, Sergeant,” June said, letting the cigarette dangle from the corner of her mouth while she talked. 

Coates frowned. 

June hastily took the cigarette out in her fingers and straightened, reddening in the face.“I mean, yes sir.” 

The ghost of a smile touched Coates’s face, but he looked too strained to look genuinely amused. “Relax, Private. It’s just mess hall.”

.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #fanfic #sister-in-arms #run the gauntlet #writing #bill guarnere #carwood lipton

[vagrantblvrd]

Twist of Fate (1/1)

Summary: Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Battle Buddies with one of them trying to win a stuffed toy at a carnival booth. :D?

(Read on AO3)

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while. Always a critical mission here or world-threatening crisis there. Enormous mountain of paperwork to forge through with command breaking down their necks, that kind of thing.

So this?

A chance to unwind for a few hours on (relatively) friendly soil before someone back at HQ secures them transport back home is a nice break.

Jeremy’s charming a booth operator, Ryan can hear him from here. He’s using that atrocious southern accent of his that slips every other sentence. Can never hold on to accent for long, will swing from southern to some mangled form of British or other to an approximation of Australian.

Irish, sometimes, when he’s feeling a little family pride.

Half a dozen other accents that would rightly insult their native speakers if they even recognized them for what they were. (Jeremy...he’s just bad at accents.)

Ryan can’t help the fond little grin that breaks out as Jeremy walks towards him. Smirking like an asshole and two heaping plates of amusement park food.

Greasy, covered in cheese, and likely to contribute to heart problems somewhere down the line just looking at it.

“The hell is that?” he asks, as Jeremy hands Ryan one of the plates, gesturing towards an area with picnic tables under canvas awnings.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, shrugs and shovels a sporkful of the stuff in his mouth.

“Who knows,” he says, “Lorna gave it to us for free and promised there’s less than ten percent rat meat in it.”

That -

Okay, yes.

They are in Los Santos, cesspool of the great and beautiful state of San Andreas, so that’s a thing. (Only here, Ryan knows, would that kind of statement be something to be proud of.)

“Let’s never come back here again,” Ryan says, because any percent of rat meat in anything is too much.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, laughs at him like he thinks Ryan’s joking. (He’s not, but really, what are the odds they’ll end up back here again anyway?

========

Ryan must have been a horrible human being in a past life because they end up in Los Santos again.

To be fair, it’s probably the safest place for them to be now what with the whole thing with the agency and all.

“Wow,” Jeremy says, limping a little. “This places smells worse than I remember.”

To be fair they didn’t exactly take the scenic tour through Los Santos’ sewers the last time they were here.

Oversight on their part because it’s just lovely down here.

“Less talking, more walking,” Ryan grunts, and it’s mostly the bruised ribs talking. “Also, yes.”

Jeremy snorts, moving closer and being all so subtle about worrying about Ryan falling on his face and into ankle-deep sewage as they trudge along.

One of Ryan’s old contacts has set up business in Los Santos, ought to be able to help them out, if they can find him.

Just gotta keep the cops from finding them after the commotion they got pulled into. Daylight robbery and comical ineptitude on the part of the cops that had them mistaking Ryan and Jeremy as the robbers, and they’ve only been in Los Santos for a few hours.

It’s been a hell of a day. (Week? Month? He’s lost track by now.)

========

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for time off in a while. Always a job here or a heist there. Cops on their assess because Jeremy just won’t let this whole damn Rimmy Tim business go and people notice. (People in Los Santos are just different than people anywhere else. Sniff that shit out like you wouldn’t believe.)

Still.

Every once in a while they manage to get some time to themselves away from the chaos of the crew. Get the opportunity to walk around the city without someone looking at them and pegging them as public enemy number one.

They end up back at Del Perro Pier where they got their first real look at Los Santos all those years ago.  (A lifetime ago.)

It’s changed a lot since then, chic little restaurants and cafe’s replacing most of the outdoor eating areas. Food vendor booths with their questionable foods boasting about the lack of rat meat in their dishes like that was the selling point that would convince people to hand over their money.

Although...he’s not so sure the food these chic little restaurants and cafe’s are selling are much better when he thinks about it.

Ryan still doesn’t know what they had for lunch, but it was tasty enough and odds are good they won’t live to deal with the consequences anyway.

Not with the way the Fakes approach life, all chaos and anarchy and this careless disregard for their own mortality like they’re racing the clock. (Everyone’s always running out of time, more so here in Los Santos than anywhere else Ryan’s been.)

Jeremy nudges Ryan with his elbow, tips his head towards the midway and waggles his eyebrows.

“You know,” he says, grin on his face and mischief in his voice. “We never did get the chance to really check this place out before.”

That sounds ominous, given it’s Jeremy and nothing’s exploded or even combusted around them for, oh, a good couple of hours.

“Huh,” Ryan says, and lets Jeremy drag him towards trouble.

========

So here’s the thing, right.

The two of them, they’re doing alright for themselves these days.

The agency’s one of those bad memories behind them they don’t have to worry about anymore thanks to a judicious application of explosives and planing and petty vindictiveness. (Mostly the explosives.

They’re part of a crew that doesn’t want them want to claw their own skin off, might even feel like family. (The stupidly annoying kind you’d do just about anything for, but would be a mistake to let certain members know because they’d never hear the end of it, but there you go.)

High up enough in the food chain here in Los Santos without their status in the crew they could get by just fine if things ever fell apart. (Unlikely as that is.)

So why, Ryan wonders, why is he losing his goddamned mind over an amusement park game booth?

Ridiculous little pellet gun in his hands and the faces of horrendously drawn clowns laughing at him as he fails to hit a single bullseye even though he’s a damn good marksman. Hell of a sniper, even if he’s gotten a little rusty over the years with Jeremy on overwatch while he gets up close and personal, uses his size and reputation for maximum effect.

The booth operator is a bored looking teenager with this tiniest of tiny smirks tugging at the corner of her mouth and obviously laughing at Ryan and his repeated failure to win the grand prize.

A whole stack of consolation tickets and one or two low-level monstrosities meant to be some form of adorable animal, but no luck with the giant purple and orange abomination Jeremy had eyed before moving on. Or trying to, before he realized Ryan had forked over money trying to win it for him. And failed and failed and failed.

Ryan shouldn’t even care about it this much, he knows that.

They’re hardened criminal types now, and battle-weary spec ops operatives loaned out to some hush-hush secret agency before then. No room in their lives for sentiment or nostalgia and all that because those were weaknesses they didn’t need.

Jeremy had done the smart thing, passing the stupid little stuffed animal by, but Ryan?

Stupid, idiot Ryan had noticed the little flicker of a smile on Jeremy's face, some bit of childhood nostalgia or something else, and in all his infinite stupidity decided he’d give winning it a try because why the hell not?

They’d sacrificed enough to get where they are, and something frivolous like this was more than deserved.

All Ryan had to do was hit the bullseye on all the targets in a set amount of time and the damn stuffed dragon was theirs – Jeremy’s, whatever.

Seemed simple enough, which should have been a warning sign.

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan hisses, and sets down more money for another go at the stupid targets in front of him.

Jeremy’s not quite at the point of laughing at him, but the asshole’s certainly enjoying Ryan’s complete failure to win this game.

Stupid goddamned rigged game.

Ryan was one of the agency’s best marksmen, had all these certificates and cute little trophies from “friendly” competitions – and all that to back it up. (Not to mention the carefully redacted files and trail of bodies that set of skills netted him.)

He’s up there when it comes to snipers you can find in Los Santos – maybe not as good as Ray, but then again who is anymore – but he can hold his own.

And yet somehow he’s finding it nigh impossible to shoot a goddamned clown in the goddamned nose.

Nightmarish renditions of the things painted on wood and laughing at him every time he clips the outer ring around them.

“Ryan,” Jeremy says, the way he does when the situation has spun out wildly out of control in a manner that isn’t exactly life-threatening but still the kind of disaster where Ryan just wants to set the world on fire. “Oh my God, Ryan.”

Ryan glares at Jeremy because that’s not helpful, and – still laughing it up – Jeremy takes the toy gun from him and takes a turn.

Hits the bullseye every damn time even though his aim’s sure to be off with the way he’s still giggling like an idiot.

Grins up at Ryan as he shoves the stuffed dragon in his hands and a moment later gasps in overblown surprise at the sight of it in all its tacky glory.

“Oh, Ryan,” he says, hands on his face like that kid from that one movie, look of surprise and utter delight on his face. “You shouldn’t have!”

The feigned surprise and soft joy is ruined by the giggling he can’t seem to stop, but when he takes the dragon from Ryan and leans up for a quick kiss to his cheek, it’s a little more tolerable.

Okay, a lot, because Jeremy is happy, even if it’s at Ryan’s expense.

All bright joy and clear laughter and Ryan’s heart does this little flip in his chest because it’s been a long, long time since they’ve had the luxury for either and he intends to hold on to it as long as he can.

#jeremwood #ragehappy #battle buddies #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #Anon #Prompt Fills

[nony314]

1998- Miroku's Tattoo Parlor

So this is just a little story set in the 90s because I've always wanted to write a story set in the 90s... Also a post earlier reminded me of this tattoo idea I had. I'm just so happy I wrote something. A couple months of writers block was getting me down! Side note, I have no idea how to do a read more on mobile, so if any of you have the answer, please lemme know and I'll stop posting whole stories in a big block.

Word count: 1,265

****

Inuyasha didn't flinch as the buzzing needle touched his skin, plenty used to the feeling of a new tattoo. Miroku was focused with a deadly precision on his work, carefully following the light purple guide he'd put down with rich black ink.

“If Kagome asks me about this, I'm telling her you threatened me.” Warned Miroku, wiping over his progress with a damp towel to clear the excess, revealing neat and clean lines. “She's gonna flip when she sees this.” He resisted chuckling for the sake of keeping his hand steady, allowing only a slow exhale and a wry smile.

“That's the plan.” Replied Inuyasha, who couldn't have possibly looked more pleased with himself.

“Still, don't you think this is going a little too far for a prank?” Miroku was leaned over in his swivel chair, surrounded by the tools of his trade. Piercing guns, tattoo ink, sanitation supplies and dozens of pictures in frames along the walls, examples of some of his best work. At least half of those photos were of tattoos he'd done for Inuyasha, though the pictures themselves were the only evidence of them now. His friend's supernatural healing rate and high pain tolerance made him a perfect canvas for practicing his art, because any ink  Inuyasha got, good or bad or just plain stupid, would be gone in a month or less. Benefits of befriending a half-demon.

“Not like it's permanent, and besides, she started it. You should have heard her tearing into me!” He frowned to himself as he remembered the fight they'd had the day before. “How is it my fault that Kikyo still had my number? She called me.”

“Well… yeah, but…” Miroku trailed off, lifting the needle to wipe his work down again. “You didn't have to answer it.” Said Miroku, shrugging when Inuyasha shot him a cold glare.

“Not you too.” He groaned. “I only answered to make sure it wasn't an emergency, why else would she call me??”

“That's exactly why she'd call you…” Muttered Miroku dryly.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Inuyasha knit his brows in annoyance as he watched Miroku work, always hating the subject of Kikyo, especially when he was stuck under a tattoo needle. The definition of captive audience.

There was a sigh as Miroku dipped the needle and repositioned his wrist, buzzing away at the cursive strokes.

“What I mean is, Kikyo knows you'll bail her out of whatever trouble she gets herself into, whether it should be your problem to deal with or not.”

“Well then you admit there might be some cases where it should be my problem.” Inuyasha made his point matter-of-factly as Miroku struggled not to roll his eyes.

“Actually, no. Kikyo is a big girl, who can take care of herself. I'm just worried that you seem all too eager to drop everything for a girl who doesn't… always deserve it.” He was so focused on his work that his mouth was running without check, though not saying anything he didn't believe. “Or at least doesn't need it.” He amended.

“Yeah? Well who asked you anyway?” Muttered Inuyasha. Miroku frowned, but didn't know what he had expected.

The tattoo parlor was silent for a long moment as Inuyasha moved his glare to the ceiling, only the buzz of the needle and low rock music filling the gap. When Miroku sat back, tilting his head to look at the finished piece, he seemed satisfied, setting his tools aside.

“Stay put a minute.” Said Miroku, wandering off and leaving Inuyasha alone, his mind wandering back to yesterday morning, where the trouble had started.

Kagome had slept over, and they were still wrapped up in the sheets together, warm in the morning sun, when the phone rang. They both groaned awake, but when Kagome had tried to sit up Inuyasha had pulled her right back down. He had been perfectly, stupidly content to let the machine pick it up just to catch a few more minutes of morning bliss with Kagome. He could still hear her light giggles as the long high pitched beep sounded through his apartment, followed by a hushed female voice.

He flinched when a hot towel hit his chest.

“Clean it up, will you? I gotta find my camera.” Said Miroku, opening a high cabinet and rummaging through. Inuyasha sighed sharply through his nose but did what he asked, wiping away whatever small amount of blood and ink was still on the surface until it looked presentable. He smirked with at how good it looked, dark and crisp lines; ‘Kagome’ in small cursive print, right over his heart. He sat still as Miroku snapped a picture of his chest, winding the disposable camera for a second shot.

“Keh! Let her accuse me of commitment issues now.” He chuckled, running his thumb over the slightly raised print. Miroku didn't seem to be hearing him, focusing only on his camera work. Click, and wind, Miroku glanced up over the camera at Inuyasha, with his features just slightly scolding.

“I know it's a touchy subject and all, but it's been two years.” Said Miroku, clicking the camera again.

“Drop it.” Growled Inuyasha.

“And I'm not trying to preach at you--”

“Rich, coming from a priest.”

“I was a monk, not a priest.” Corrected Miroku, setting the camera aside, and returning to his swivel chair. “All I'm saying is, I like Kagome. You like Kagome, so--”

“Would you drop it already??”

“So don't fuck it up over some teenage mistake.”

Inuyasha turned sharply at his words, his eyes leveling with Miroku's. Neither man moved or backed down from the staring match, until Inuyasha spoke, his tone low.

“Don't you ever fucking call her a mistake.” He said evenly, pulling on his shirt and turning for the door, grabbing his jacket along the way.

“Inuyasha, that's not what I meant!” Miroku called after him but the slamming of the shop door was the only response he got. He sighed heavily, standing and grabbing his jacket to head the same direction.

Miroku stood alone on the street, leaning against the window of his shop, lighting a cigarette and letting the calming smoke curl past his lips as he exhaled. Inuyasha was his closest friend, but damned stressful at times. As he glanced up the street a young woman in a pink jacket caught his eye. He was dumbstruck for a moment, watching her long ponytail sway as she drew closer, until he realized he was starting to stare. Much to his surprise, she walked right up to him, watching him just as curiously as he'd watched her.

“Excuse me… are you Miroku?” She asked. He thought it must be one of the luckiest days of his life. Now that she was closer he could see she was gorgeous, from her full lips to her soft cinnamon eyes. He took another drag just to steady himself.

“I am.” He answered with a smile. “Do I know you?” He really hoped so. She smiled back, seeming relieved to have found the right person.

“I'm your seven o'clock appointment.” She said, extending her hand. “Sango.” He dropped his cigarette at once, snuffing it out under his shoe as he stepped forward to take her hand.

“Sango…” He repeated the name, liking her more and more each moment, and now hopeful that he was going to be given the honor of tattooing this legendary beauty. “Let's step inside, did you have something in mind already?”

“I actually brought some sketches.” Said Sango, walking in when he held the door.

[ravenqueensspecialboi]

Transfigurations

DaiSuga Week Day Three: Magic or Mutual Pining Rating: G Summary: Koushi had been around magic for a year and a half, but he kept finding that he had the same question he did from day one: What else can magic do? Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15770364

Fic under the cut!

"Are you positive this won't give me magic powers?" Tanaka asked, gesturing to the same tarot card deck that he had been for the last fifteen minutes.

Daichi kept reading his book as he replied, "Again, no, it won't.  It's a beginner's deck and has no magical properties."

Koushi bit back a laugh as he reclined against a nearby bookcase.  Tanaka and Nishinoya had dropped by during Daichi's lunch break that day.  Normally, Tetsurou would have handled the pair—with less kindness than Daichi would have—but that day he had seen the two coming, shifted into cat form, and bolted out the backdoor before Daichi could stop him.  Daichi instead stood behind the counter, reading while the dup wreaked havoc on Daichi's shop.  Koushi had volunteered to watch them so Daichi could have his break, but oddly, Daichi had declined.  Koushi had no idea why; it wasn't like he was a bad influence and egged the pair on or anything.  Not at all.

"How can you tell?" Nishinoya asked.

"Noya, I do all of the supply ordering.  I think I'd know which of my tarot card decks are and aren't magical.  And before you ask, no, none of them are magic."

Nishinoya and Tanaka deflated.  Koushi snickered; time to cause some chaos.

"Hey Daichi, so about the necklace you gave me," Koushi said, getting to his feet.  He pulled the pendant from his around his neck and held it up so Nishinoya and Tanaka could see it.

"Yes, Koushi?"

"What did it do again?"

"Blue fluorite: represents the highest state of mental achievement, boosting aptitude and discernment, the absorption of new information, and helping one work through complex issues," Daichi said, his tone flat, as if reciting a well-memorized monologue.  "Makes you smarter."

"Is that all it does? Because I've been starting to feel funny when I wear it."

Daichi's eyes stopped moving across the page, but he didn't look up.  Tanaka and Nishinoya moved closer to Koushi.  Got em.

"Funny how?" Daichi asked.

Koushi shrugged, "I dunno, I feel more energetic.  Like there's electricity under my skin-."

"Suga, you're one of the coolest dudes I know-," Tanaka began.

Nishinoya added, "-and we get that you're Daichi's boyfriend and all-"

"-but we've been at this whole 'Trying to get magic powers' thing for a while-"

"-and if you get magic powers before us-"

"-we will kill you," they finished in unison.

Daichi slowly looked up from his book, his face unreadable as he locked eyes with Tanaka and Nishinoya. Tanaka and Noya's spines straightened, their eyes widened.  Without saying another word, the duo bolted to the other side of a bookshelf. Daichi's expression softened as he snickered under his breath.

"What did you do to them?" Koushi asked.  "You curse them or something?"

"No, if anyone were to specialize in curses, it'd probably be you," Daichi said.  

Koushi wasn't sure if he should be flattered or offended by that assessment of his character.

Daichi continued, "I just gave them a good old fashioned murder glare.  Threatening my boyfriend with death is off limits."

Daichi spoke louder than he had been for his last statement.  Koushi saw Nishinoya and Tanaka duck behind the bookshelf again out of the corner of his eye. He put the fluorite necklace back around his neck and moved to stand next to Daichi.

"How did they figure out that you're a witch?" he asked.

"An unfortunate mistake on mine and Kuroo's parts," Daichi grumbled.

"Forgot to lock the door before an experiment, right?"

"We saw the whole thing," Tanaka chimed in.  "I thought Daichi was going to turn us into toads."

"I still can, you know," Daichi threatened.

Tanaka waved off Daichi's empty threat.  He put the tarot deck back on the shelf and left with Nishinoya, promising to come back on a day when they had money.  Almost immediately after they left, Tetsurou walked out of the backroom.

"Finally, I thought they'd never leave."

"Next time they show up, I'm locking you in here with them," Daichi said as he marked his page and closed his book.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sawamura."

Daichi pulled his wand out of the desk drawer.  He made a complicated gesture towards the bookcase next to Kuroo, then put the wand back in the desk.  For a moment, the shop was silent.  Then books began to fall off the shelf.  Before they hit the ground, they flipped, flapping their covers and pages like hardcover birds.  Koushi guessed Daichi's plan a second before it came into fruition.  The books swarmed Tetsurou, knocking him flat on his back.

"It's cheating to steal moves from the Harry Potter video games, Sawamura!" Tetsurou shouted from under the dogpile of books.

"It's cheating to run out on me when Tanaka and Noya show up," Daichi said, returning to his book.

Koushi watched as Tetsurou turned into a cat, slid out from under the books and bolted for the break room. The books rose in the air; Koushi didn't realize how menacing animated books could be.  They dove for Tetsurou.  He shifted back into a human long enough to slam the door shut, the books bouncing harmlessly off the door.  They shook to reorient their pages, then flapped back to their shelves.

***

"How strong is your magic?"

Daichi turned towards where Koushi was sitting on the bed, vision obscured by the shirt halfway over his head.

"Why do you ask?"

Koushi shrugged, then realizing Daichi couldn't see him, explained, "Just curious.  I've seen you do a lot of cool things in the last year and a half, but I have no idea how powerful your magic is."

Daichi finished pulling his shirt on.  He made a face as he smoothed out a wrinkle.

"I don't really know how to answer that," he admitted.  "My guess is average?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"I don't know, Koushi," Daichi said.  "I don't know how strong my powers are compared to others.  Illusion magic is radically different from transfiguration which is radically different from, say, shapeshifting.  I guess some people can do more than others, and obviously my magic is stronger when compared to people who don't have magic, but I don't think that's what you're asking."

"It's not," Koushi agreed.

Daichi crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed.  Koushi crawled across the bed to join him, resting his head on Daichi's shoulder. Daichi wrapped an arm around Koushi's waist.

"I just want to learn a little bit more about the logistics, I guess," Koushi said after a minute.  "You've shown me a lot of stuff, but you never really talk about the how and the why."

"Are you an art teacher, or a science teacher?" Daichi teased.

Koushi let out a scoff.  "Curiosity knows no discipline, asshole."

Daichi chuckled, giving Koushi's hip a squeeze.  Koushi headbutted Daichi's shoulder in retaliation.

"It's kind of hard for me to explain the logistics," Daichi said.  "My parents never really explained it to me when I was first learning how to use magic.  They always said it was just something we've always been able to do, and to enjoy what I could do."

"Could you learn how to shapeshift?" Koushi asked.

"I could, but it would take me years.  I don't have time for that."

"So, could a normie learn how to use magic?"

Daichi shook his head, "I really don't think so.  There may be some hidden magic out there somewhere, but I don't know how it could happen.  Either you're born with it, or you're not."

Sensing Koushi's dissatisfaction, Daichi pulled Koushi closer.  He pressed a kiss to Koushi's temple and whispered, "That being said, magical items still work with normies with the right kind of training."

Koushi sat up straight, turning on the bed to stare at Daichi.

"Explain."

Daichi grinned at Koushi, flopping back onto the bed.  He pushed himself up to the pillows and slid under the covers.

"You'll find out tomorrow."

Koushi's jaw dropped.

"Daichi!  You can't just drop that on me and go to bed!"

Daichi laughed, "Good night, Koushi."

"Daichi!  Daichi explain!"

"Babe, can you turn off the lights please?  I'm trying to sleep."

"I'm gonna smother you with a pillow, you dick."

***

The following morning, Daichi led Koushi back to the shop.  Once inside, Daichi handed Koushi a bandana and instructed him to cover his eyes with it. Koushi looked at Daichi, then the bandana, then back to Daichi.  He waggled his eyebrows at Daichi.

All Daichi said in response was, "No."

Snickering, Koushi took the bandana from Daichi.  He tied it around his eyes.

"So, when were you gonna tell me that you're into-."

"Koushi, I promise you, if I was, you would have known by now.  Now do you want your surprise or not?"

"Yes, sir."

Koushi couldn't hear Daichi's exact wording, but there was something there about Koushi being the world's biggest dick.  A strong set of hands settled on his shoulders.

"Ready?" Daichi whispered in his ear.

"Absolutely," he replied.

Daichi pushed Koushi forward, stopping long enough to open the door to the backroom before pushing Koushi again.  Koushi let Daichi guide him into position.  He could feel his excitement growing; he had to fight the urge to pull the bandana off.

After a moment, Daichi instructed him to take off the bandana.  Koushi complied.

Resting on the break room counter was a set of open acrylic paints, a palette, a water cup full of brushes, and a 29x36 centimeter canvas.  Koushi turned to look at Daichi.

"A paint set?"

Daichi motioned towards the counter.  Koushi took a few minutes to squeeze some paint onto the palette.  He picked up the biggest brush, dipping it in the purple. He turned back to Daichi.  Daichi motioned towards the canvas.  Koushi raised the brush, the dragged it across the canvas.  The brush left a long, purple mark on the canvas, shimmering gently under the lights of the break room.

Then the mark began to spread.  Little tendrils of color branched across the surface of the canvas.  Koushi dropped the paint brush.

"Daichi, what the fuck-?"

Daichi placed a hand on Koushi's shoulder, grounding him in the moment.

"Transfigured paint. I had a friend of mine teach me how to make it."

"How is it doing that?" Koushi asked.  "How am I making it do that?"

"Oh, anyone can use items with minor enchantments on it," Daichi explained.  "What we're going to do today is teach you how to control the paint so you make what you want, not what the paint wants to make."

Koushi turned to face Daichi.  He threw his arms around Daichi's neck and kissed him hard.  Daichi staggered backwards under Koushi's weight.  He caught them just before they hit the ground, and laughed against Koushi's lips.

"I take it you're excited," he said in between kisses.

Koushi's pulled back; he was grinning like a fool.

"Let's get painting."

#daisugaweek2018 #haikyuufanfics #hq writers #haikyuu fanfiction #daisuga #witch au

[illyrianwingspans]

The House of Beasts, Part 1

Here is my official first chapter for the House of Beasts!

Summary: Prythian University, the grounds where frat houses wage wars and throw the best parties yet. Feyre, an art student and girlfriend to the Head of House of the Spring House, discovers secrets everyone’s been keeping from her for the last year and a half. 

An ACOTAR/ACOMAF AU, which begins as Feylin then evolves into Feysand. Begins as ACOTAR, includes AU of Under the Mountain, but will focus more on Acomaf. 

Word Count: 2038 words

Once again, thank you all for withholding any hate and supplying only constructive criticism (I really need it!) and sending any requests, suggestions, etc.  

Disclaimer: All characters and some direct and or modified quotes belong to Sarah J Maas, as well as some of the plot points. I take no credit for them whatsoever

Part 1: Parties

I looked across the lush grounds of Prythian University, my cotton robe tucked tightly around the curves of my figure, and I sighed at the wonderfully gorgeous campus that swept across my view. Students walked along, talking together, backpacks strung over their shoulders and heavy books bound to their arms. Autumn kissed the trees that dotted the grounds, leaves collecting within the tracks of students’ footprints. The fall air caressed my skin blissfully and I closed my eyes.

It had been 6 months since I’d moved into Spring House. The six happiest months of my existence, probably.

Shivers went down my spine as I remembered that terrifying night in June. How he’d forced me into the Spring House. How I’d begged the Principal to get me out. How he’d refused. How my sisters completely shut me out when I tried to collect my things. How they wouldn’t even let me in the door.

I had nothing, not even my paints, when I moved into that lonely bedroom. And then Tamlin had given it all to me.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tamlin whispered into my ear, pressing soft kisses down my neck and shoulder. I sighed.

“Gorgeous.” He began to pull my robe down even further but I snatched it from him, spinning away from his grasp. His low laugh filled the room and he stepped again towards me, this time planting his lips directly to mine.

I laughed into his mouth and pulled away. He was gorgeous. The shoulder-length blonde hair, the bright green eyes like freshly cut grass, the even features and hint of a beard. Everything about him just made me want him even more.

“I’m gonna be late for class,” I murmured, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

“C’mon, it’s just art class. You’ll be fine,” he did not falter, still tugging against my hips and pulling me back to the bed, despite the trails of toothpaste that trailed down my chin. “It’s our three month anniversary!”

I gripped the sink, squealing, as he tugged and tugged, the pair of us laughing. Quickly, I spun around, and he laughed as he dragged his thumb against my chin, collecting the excess toothpaste and flicking it into the sink. I scowled, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You’re cute when you brush your teeth. I can’t help myself.”

I turned to spit, then wiped my mouth. “I can’t be late again, Tam. She yelled at me last time.”

He sighed frustratingly as he finally dressed. “Fine.”

“When’s your break?” I asked, sliding out of my robe and tugging on undergarments, then jeans and my paint-stained t-shirt.

“Ten o’ five. You?”

“Shit. Mine’s only at eleven.” I pouted, which only made him kiss me again.

“Don’t worry. Tonight’s going to amazing.” His hands slithered around my waist, pulling me against him. This time, our kiss was deep, passionate, and I never wanted to leave his arms. Yet, still, as I left, my bag slung over my shoulder, I drawled, “I love you, Tamlin Atwell!”

“Love you too, babe!” he replied over his shoulder. Automatically, I nodded my head good morning to Alis on the way down, one of my old roommates from when I first moved into Spring House. Once down in the common room, where various members lounged around on their laptops, almost all of them carrying coffees, Lucien waved me over to where he sat by the window, his ear pressed against his phone.

I held my hands towards him in confusion and he just made hand signals for a coffee in return. I scoffed. Yeah right. I’m not going to be late for class just to fetch the prick a coffee. Instead, I rolled my eyes and he flipped me off, which made me smirk in return. Reaching into my bag and untangling my earphones, I plugged them in and stepped out into the fresh air, tugging my coat closer around me. Despite my usually gloomy mood, I grinned.

+ + +

There was no other euphoria than the feeling of a pencil against sketch paper, or a brush to canvas. Once I entered the studio, and the smell of acrylics burnt my nose, I lost myself. I escaped from reality and entered my own little pocket of the world where no one could find me. The lines between myself and reality blurred. All I knew were the colours and the vision and the feeling, nothing else. Only that burning passion to create something out of nothing.

I’d come to Prythian University on an arts scholarship. Everyone loved PU—the campus was exquisite and the division of Houses was nationally renowned for its originality and sense of ownership it offered the school—7 houses, four seasonal (autumn, winter, spring, summer) and three solar (dawn, day and night). You had to apply to get accepted within the school, and pay extra on top of the already expensive room and board to be sorted into a house. My old friend Clare had sent in a portfolio of mine when I’d told her that I probably wouldn’t even be going to school due to my lack of funds thanks to my dad’s failing wood carving business. I was hysterical when I’d got that letter in the mail, thinking it’d all been a mistake. I would most definitely not be here if it weren’t for her.

Yet, of course, that scholarship didn’t pay for the room and board, and it was too far for me to drive to school every day from home, so I’d been forced to move into my sisters’ cramped apartment a few blocks down from the University. They’d both attended for one year then went on a different path: also known as the ‘get rich arrogant boyfriends’ path. Rich, arrogant and cruel boyfriends that liked playing cruel tricks on me, like forcing me to shoot Spring House’s mascot. And if I didn’t, they threatened to stop my sister’s cash flow. My sisters? They had no clue. They shoved me into the smallest bedroom, and I paid rent by working at the coffee shop on campus after school. I was lucky, in fact, to receive all the odd hours that no one else wanted, because that’s when it was at its emptiest, which meant I could study behind the counter without anyone noticing.

I hated it at PU my whole first year. I’d thought so many times, over and over, whether I should just give up and drop out, but Tamlin gave me a second chance when he made me move in with him. He’d given me a whole second chance at life.

Despite our bickering and arguments, Tamlin and I were forced to spend more and more time together once I’d moved in. He was the head of Spring House, just as all the houses had a Head, and he majored in business and politics. He told me that the rule (the one that forced me to move in to Spring House) was an ancient one put in place decades ago. They’d never really gotten rid of it, because it was useful at times to call it in. Tamlin actually once admitted (while he wasn’t extremely sober) that the only reason he’d forced me to move in was because he’d seen me at the coffee shop and he was attracted to me. I teased him mercilessly for the few weeks following that.

As we grew closer though, our relationship just kind of…happened. Of course, I’d had a few boyfriends here and there throughout high school, but nothing like what I’d felt for Tamlin. He was my saviour, my protector, my lover. I couldn’t ask for more.

And now, we were here. Happy, in love, at peace. I was eternally grateful to him.

I hadn’t even realized that the bell had rung with all those thoughts swimming in and out of my head. Staring back at me from the canvas was the great sweeping night sky. The big wide moon and an expanse of intricately detailed stars against a background of intertwining shades of black, indigo and navy. I was almost breathless from the effort that it’d taken from me. Despite it all, the painting was booming with life.

“Some of your best work,” my teacher, Ms. Smith, murmured from behind me. “I love it. Would you like to show it off in the upcoming Christmas vernissage?”

“Seriously?” I asked, incredulous. No second years ever made it into the Christmas vernissage. It was only upperclassmen, the ones who’d mastered themselves over their years here.

“Of course! If I were to be honest, Feyre, you’re probably the most promising students I’ve seen in a while. You’re point of view is spectacular.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Smith,” I said, and she dismissed me with a nod.

As I headed to history, my phone beeped in my bag. I fished around for it only to find a text from Tamlin. I smiled.

Friends are having big party at the House tonight. Raincheck?

I sighed frustratingly through my nose. Tamlin, despite himself, was a big partier. And an even bigger drinker. I’d been fine with it most of the time, yet sometimes he took it a little…overboard. His temper seemed to be worse under the influence of alcohol. He could be a little scary sometimes. Which made me more than reluctant to agree to a big party. I shrugged it off, though. He was head of house. Of course he could throw a party if he felt like it.

No problem babe

+ + +

When I arrived home that night after bustling around behind the coffee shop all afternoon, the House was already packed. It wasn’t uncommon for the this place, though, to be almost in a perpetual party mode. We were known for our outrageous parties that were filled by students from all across campus, no matter their origin.

As I waded through the sea of people, I really felt myself at a loss. The pounding music definitely did not help my hammering head ache, and the aromas wafting from all the crammed bodies around me had me resisting the urge to gag. I just needed to find Tamlin, to make an appearance, then I could sneak away to my room and try to block out the sound caving in on me.

Yet, of course, no matter how far and wide I searched, Tamlin was nowhere to be found. No matter who I asked or where I looked, he always seemed to vanish.

All of the sudden I found myself in the back yard, where things were much tamer, only a few stragglers here and there. The throngs of people inside were suffocating and I just needed to be alone, away from the raucous. I made my way to the side of the building, where I knew no one would be, and leaned against the wall to take a few breaths.

Eyes closed, I felt better instantly. There was something about the night sky, like the one I’d painted this morning, that seemed to calm my being. It was a comfort to me. 

But that comfort was ruined as two figures stepped out of the darkness. Both were evidently stumbling and reeking of alcohol. Instantly, all my muscles clenched, and before I could get to the backyard where there would be witnesses, two hands gripped my arms.

“What a great party, right?” one of them slurred into my ear.

“You’d make it so much better though,” the other said, and I fiercely kept trying to yank my arms away with no result.

“Let go of me,” I demanded as sternly as I could. “I swear to God, I’ll punch you both in the balls.”

They began tugging me, dragging me away as I thrashed within their grasp. “I’d like to see you—”

I’d just began swinging my wrist before it was caught by a hand. This one warm, new. Unfamiliar.

“There you are,” said the alluring, low pitched male voice. Instantly, the arms that’d been holding me up went slack, and I fell backwards into the strangers arms. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The two males’ faces went taut with fear, and all the stranger said was, “Thank you for finding her for me.”

Both of them seemed as though they were quivering in fear at the sight of this man that slipped his arm around my shoulders. I didn’t dare look at him, I only kept my eyes on the two imbeciles before me.

“Enjoy the party,” the bite in his words is what finally shooed the pair away, and I instantly extracted myself from his half embrace, having enough of the feeling of strangers touching me for one night. I rubbed my arms vigorously as though I could erase their touch before looking up to finally reveal the identity of my saviour.

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar au #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acomaf fanfic #acomaf fanfiction #acomaf au #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #sarah j maas #rhys #rhysand #feyre #tamlin #feyrhys #feysand #the house of beasts #the house of beasts part 1 #the house of beasts fanfic

[trinisgayforkimberly]

can you write a trimberly fic where they're already dating and during an argument one of them says something hurtful, but doesn't realize it cause of how mad she is and the other just gets kind of quiet because she's actually really hurt? super angsty with a happy ending?

Thanks for the prompt!

Kimberly is well aware that her walking personification of an angry cat girlfriend is actually the softest softy to ever soft, and while the other girl mostly keeps to herself, there are various moments when she just drives Kimberly up the wall. She hates when the other woman leaves her dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor, hates when she doesn’t pick up after herself and she ends up tripping over gadgets the Latina steals from Billy’s lab without his knowing, hates that she’s always leaving empty water bottles on the kitchen counter or on the coffee table, and she hates when Trini blasts music while she paints in their apartment on the nights before Kimberly has a big exam. It makes her groan in frustration as she glares down at her notes, reading the same line at least three times before understanding the first half of the sentence.

She can only take so much before a headaches starts, her mind feels like waves are crashing violently against her skull as she goes to read the next part of her notes. She groans again, glaring at the thin, white, wooden door for being so flimsy. And when the same song repeats for a third time, she just seems to snap, standing as she reaches for the door knob, pulling hard enough to take the door off it’s hinges - great.

“Will you please lower your music?” Kimberly seethes, her teeth clench as she watches Trini stops in shock, mouth closing as she stops singing along, paint brush mid air as wide green eyes look back at her. “I have this huge test tomorrow and if I fail, it’ll drop me to failing, so turn the stupid music off and paint in silence for once. You always do this.”

“Kim,” Trini starts, putting down the paint brush, music still blasting through her speakers, but Kimberly doesn’t give her a chance to respond as she continues on her angry rant.

“You always pick to the nights before big tests. Honestly,“ Kimberly lets out a mirthless chuckle as she shakes her head, “if I didn’t know better, I would say you’re doing this on purpose, Ever since I told you I might have to transfer schools to get the necessary credits, you’ve been acting like a real bitch.”

Kimberly turns and storms back into her room, her cheeks flushed as her heart beats madly in her chest, landing on her chair with a loud huff. She brushes her hair back behind her ear as she lets her elbows rest on the edge of the table, flipping her notes back and forth for a few good seconds. It doesn’t take long before she hears the music turn down to a reasonable level and she feels her shoulders sag, a small frustrated sigh escaping her lips. She doesn’t let herself concentrate on anything other than the papers in front of her, so much so that she misses the front door opening and closing.

—

It’s almost two in the morning when Kimberly realizes that Trini wasn’t in bed sleeping or in the living room painting. She had decided to get some rest and continue studying in the morning, dropping her pencil on the pile of papers on her table with good riddence, running her fingers through her hair before rubbing at her eyes. She stood and stretched, her back cracking every so often as she moved from side to side. She sighs and looks towards the bed, furrowing her brows when she noticed their bed was empty. She moves towards the door to look into the living room, only spotting a half painted canvas and almost dried up paint left sitting on the chair Trini is usually in. She frowns as her heart picks up speed, worry coiling in her stomach as her brown eyes trace the empty living room.

“Trini?” She calls out, the creases on her forehead deepening as she steps out further into the living room, the rest of the apartment empty. Where was she? She thinks back to see if Trini had told her anything about going out, but all she remembers was being frustrated and-

“Shit.” Kimberly whispers into the empty apartment before she jogs to her room and picks up her cell phone, unplugging it from her charger as she dials her girlfriend’s number. “Come on, come on, pick up.”

The call goes to voicemail and she curses underneath her breath because of course she was an idiot. She feels nauseous as guilt sinks deep into her stomach as each call goes unanswered.

After five calls she figures it’s a lost cause, so she settles for sending her a text, hoping the yellow ranger would at least tell her she was alright, not that she worried too much, the other woman was at least two times stronger than she was and that was saying something.

Babe, I’m sorry. Please call me back.

At least to tell me that you’re okay.

She sends the texts and waits for a response, her frown deepening as nothing comes through.

Will you please come home so we can talk about this? Or tell me if you’re okay?

She gives up on texting after five more messages go unanswered, each a variation of asking Trini to come back or to at least tell her if she was alright. She’s half tempted to ask Jason and Billy if Trini was crashing at their place, but she didn’t have the heart to wake them up, at least not yet. She tries Zack, though; knowing him, he’s probably up playing video games.

“Yea?” He answers after the third wring.

“Trini there?” She asks, choosing to get right to the point, guilt still making her feel like her heart was being squeezed in her chest.

“Uh, no, she left about twenty minutes ago.” Zack says distractedly, and Kimberly is sure he is in fact playing a video game. “She seemed upset though.” There’s silence over the phone before he continues, “what did you do?”

Kimberly wants to scoff because most of the time Trini gets mad at other people that aren’t her, but she’s really fucked up this time. “I called her a bitch and might have insinuated she was trying to purposefully sabotage me.”

“You what?” Zack asks incredulously as Kimberly hears him pause his game.She winces because it sounds worse when you say it out loud.

“I know, I’m an idiot.” She sighs into the phone, taking a seat at the kitchen counter, letting her head fall against her arm as she held the phone to her ear with her other hand. “She had her music playing really high again, and - ugh. What kind of girlfriend am I? I called her a bitch for playing music? Really? Even I wouldn’t date me.”

“That’s messed up, bro, but just apologize and never do it again.” Zack says and Kimberly can picture him shrugging his shoulders before un-pausing his game. “You made a mistake - Trini knows that. Now you just gotta make it better. And do it well, yea? Cause I got a bet going where I said you two would get married and I don’t wanna be wrong.”

Kimberly rolls her eyes, and she was tempted to laugh, but the guilt was still eating her up inside, so she settled for a small grimace. “Captain, huh?”

“Damn right,” Zack says into the phone. Kimberly smiles now because she can’t help but smile whenever it comes to Zack and his weird fascination with their relationship.

The sound of keys jingling out side her door makes her sit up, and when she sees the door knob turning, she barely says goodbye before hanging up the phone, standing as she tucks the bar stool back underneath the counter, running her fingers through her hair, almost as if to make sure she was presentable.

Wide brown eyes looked at the white wooden door until the door opens, guilt and apprehension swirling in her stomach as her heart beats harshly against her ribs. She takes a deep shaky breath as her brown locked onto green, a small apologetic smile blooming on her face before her lips twisted in a frown when Trini didn’t return it.

The air is tense and Kimberly doesn’t know what to say. What if she says the wrong thing? What if this is it? She swallows the bile in the back of her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hands clammy as she rings them together. She should have thought over what to say instead of calling Zack because the woman in front of her makes her nervous.

“Trini,” she says, and it doesn’t come out like she intended it too because it sounds weak to her own ears. Brown eyes watch as the shorter woman storms around her and opens the fridge, taking out a water bottle.

“Can we not talk about this tonight?” It’s the first thing that Trini says in what Kimberly thinks is all night, and it makes her feel worse. “I’m exhausted and we both have class tomorrow. I wouldn’t want you to fail.”

It’s a stab to the gut, but she shakes her head and steps closer. She deserved it anyway.  “I wanna talk now,” Kimberly says, choosing to ignore the fact that Trini takes a step back, “and it’s already late.”

“More of a reason to go to bed.” Trini responds quickly. Kimberly thinks she scoffs underneath her breath, but she’s not certain.

“I’m sorry,” Kimberly says, purposefully making sure her voice is firm with sincerity. She swallows as she watches Trini stop for a second, the other woman pulling at the collar of her yellow jacket - a tell that the other woman was frustrated. “I should have never said that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Trini says with another shake of her head letting her empty hand fall to her side as she rests the water bottle on the counter. Kimberly can see the sadness that resides just underneath stormy green eyes, and it makes her stomach drop. She takes a step closer, her need to comfort the other woman overwhelming.

“It does matter, babe, because I hurt you.” Kimberly confesses, guilt lacing every word as she tries to keep green eyes locked on hers. “I was so frustrated and mad that I didn’t realize what I had said.  That was disrespectful and wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

“You know what?” Trini snaps, turning her head to look at her head on, “I can’t believe you would think I would want you to fail. At anything.” Trini seethes, lips curling as hurt green eyes look into guilty brown. “I love you and I want everything good for you. Do you really think I was doing that on purpose? You’ve never said anything about it before, Kimberly! How was I supposed to know if it was bothering you if you’ve never complained before?”

“I should have told you,” Kimberly concedes, shaking her head as she takes another shaky breath, taking a couple steps closer until she was a couple feet away from the other woman, her hand reaching out to grab the other woman’s hand, but Trini brushes her off, moving into the living room.

Kimberly hated fighting with Trini because the other woman could be stubborn when she wanted to be, and while Kimberly could deal with that, Trini wasn’t one for physical comfort when she was angry - especially with her. Kimberly sighs, but follows her into the living room, keeping her distance.

“Baby, will you please sit down?” Kimberly asks, shaking her head when the response was a huff. Kimberly rolls her eyes, and instead of sitting down like she wanted to, she walks closer to the Latina. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a bitch. You’re the furthest thing from that. You’re the kindest and most selfless person I know. And I over reacted with the music, okay? I should have told you it was bothering me. Can we please stop being angry?”

The air is still heavy with tension as Trini stares at the wall and Kimberly stares at Trini’s back. Kimberly rolls her eyes again because this is how she knew Trini was calming down; every time she would give her her back, it meant that she was still trying to hold onto her anger. Kimberly waits until she sees the other woman’s shoulder sag before stepping behind her, wrapping her arms around the Latina’s waist and resting her chin on the shorter woman’s shoulder, their curves fitting perfectly against each other.

“I didn’t mean to say all of that.” Kimberly whispers into the other wise quiet apartment, kissing just behind her ear, smiling when she felt the other woman shiver.

Trini stays quiet for a few seconds. “I don’t want you to transfer schools.”

It’s a confession Kimberly knew was coming. “I know.”

“But I would never want you to fail because of me.” Trini says, looking sideways as Kimberly smiled into her neck, her nose nuzzling into brown hair. “If you happen to fail because you suck at History, then that’s a whole other topic.”

Kimberly laughs into Trini’s neck, peppering her neck with open mouthed kisses as she feels the other woman pulling away. She’s about to complain, when Trini turns around in her arms, wrapping her arms around Kimberly’s neck. Kimberly lets her hands travel down Trini’s sides before tucking them underneath the other woman’s jacket and shirt, her thumbs rubbing the smooth skin of her back, her hands laying over the Latina’s ass.

“Make up sex?” Trini asks a few seconds later with a knowing smile. Kimberly curses under her breath and instead of responding, she’s busy kissing her girlfriend and guiding them towards their bedroom. They fall when her feet tangle with one of Trini’s painting smocks, both landing on the floor with a loud groan.

“Seriously!?”

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #power rangers #power ranger 2017 #it's not as angsty as I would like #but its something #sorry nony #also i barely edited this so sorry for the mistakes #oneshot #mine