More Dangerous Than Grimm (RWBY College AU: Student AU: Roommate AU)
Blake Belladonna had prepared herself for many things when moving into a college dorm.
A roommate who borrowed her books without asking.
She had not prepared herself for opening the door after class and finding Joan Arc standing in the middle of their cramped room, fresh from the shower.
The air in the room was still heavy with the scent of vanilla and warm steam. Joan was standing with a towel draped precariously around her shoulders, wearing only a white sports bra that looked a size too small—the fabric straining against the swell of her chest with every breath—and a pair of thin, grey athletic shorts that clung to her hips and thighs in a way that left very little to the imagination.
Blake froze, her bag slipping an inch from her shoulder.
Joan looked up, blinking with bright blue eyes and an innocent, wide smile. “Oh! Hey, Blake. Sorry, I thought you had study group.”
Blake’s ears—very much hidden under her bow—went rigid, twitching violently.
Because Joan Arc was not merely “fit.”
Broad, sloping shoulders. Defined, toned arms. A strong back that tapered into a narrow waist, leading down to abs that looked like they had been carved from marble. A few stray droplets of water still clung to the dip of her collarbone and the valley between her breasts, shimmering under the fluorescent dorm lights. Despite the raw, athletic power of her build, she had the soft, awkward energy of a golden retriever who had no idea she had just shattered Blake’s entire internal composure.
Blake’s brain produced exactly one thought:
Then another, more frantic one:
Joan tilted her head, the movement causing the towel to slide slightly, exposing a tantalizing sliver of a shoulder. “Blake? You okay?”
“Yes,” Blake said immediately. Her voice was flat and calm, but her throat felt suddenly dry, and a traitorous heat was blooming across her cheeks. “Completely fine.”
Joan glanced down at herself, her eyes trailing over the tight fabric of her gear, and then she flushed a deep, lovely pink. “Oh! Right! Sorry!”
She scrambled for a shirt, twisting her body as she reached into the laundry basket. The movement caused the hem of her shorts to ride up just a fraction too high, flashing a glimpse of a toned thigh that made Blake’s heart hammer against her ribs.
Blake had always considered herself composed, mysterious, difficult to fluster.
Apparently, all it took to break that image was one muscular blonde roommate with damp skin, a scent like summer rain, and absolutely no sense of personal intimidation.
Joan finally pulled on a shirt, though it clung to her damp skin, tracing the lines of her physique. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
Blake slowly set her bag down, her fingers trembling just slightly.
“You didn’t,” she lied, her gaze lingering a second too long on the curve of Joan's waist.
Joan smiled, relieved. “Good!”
Blake turned toward her desk, opened a book upside down, and stared blankly at the page, the image of those grey shorts burned into her retinas.
From that day on, Blake learned three things.
One: Joan Arc was kind, clumsy, and painfully genuine.
Two: Blake had a very specific, very intense weakness for blondes who didn't know how to dress for a shared living space.
Three: sharing a room with Joan was going to be much more dangerous than any Grimm.
