Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The woods will not stop moving.

Branches snap and whip back as Dana barrels through them, lungs burning, boots slipping in the mud.

“Shit—shit—shit,” she gasps, nearly sobbing the words as she stumbles over a root and catches herself at the last second.

Branches tear at her jacket. Thorns rake her arms. Every sound is too loud, too close—her own breath, the crunch of footsteps behind her, the frantic pounding in her ears.

Dana doesn’t know how she got here, only that she has to run.

The forest of Silas University feels wrong tonight—too dense, too endless, and the path twists away from anything familiar to the young college student, and panic blooms hot and fast in her throat.

“Help—” she tries, but the word dissolves into another broken breath.

Moonlight spills through the trees as a cloud slides away, silvering the ground just long enough for Dana to risk a glance over her shoulder.

Something moves behind her.

Not a face. Not a shape she can name.

Hell, it might not even be fucking human. It’s just a shadow gaining ground.

“No, no, no—” Dana wails, her voice cracking as adrenaline surges, forcing her legs to move faster, deeper into the woods she knows she should not trust.

Then—

Her foot catches.

The world lurches.

Dana goes down hard, the cold earth slamming the breath from her lungs.

“Wait—WAIT—”

Before she can scream, a weight crashes onto her back.

Dana is blind, for a moment, can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel.

Knows she’s yelling, knows she’s frantic, but doesn’t comprehend.

It’s like she is an animal in the jaws of death, nothing in the eyes of God, every bit of intelligence wiped from her in white-hot panic.

Dana thrashes, nails scraping uselessly against the dirt, pinning her in place, but a rough hand clamps over her mouth, smothering the sound.

Her torso screams with agony at the added weight and the effort of trying to draw breath, and then…

A sudden, searing pain blooms in her neck.

Fuck.

What is happening?

She’s dying.

Dana can feel it. She is bleeding out and punctured, and her head is becoming too dizzyingly to form a coherent thought.

Terrified, blue eyes go wide. Her scream turns wet and broken. The woods spin. The moon fractures into light and shadow.

And Dana is fucked. She is so, so fucked.

With the last shred of strength she has, she tears her mouth free and screams—

“NO!”

Josie Forbes jolts awake like she’s been personally attacked by her own subconscious.

One second she’s highlighting footnotes, the next she’s gasping so hard her chair screeches backward in protest, textbook slipping from her hands and thudding to the carpet.

Okay.

Nope. Hate that.

Brown eyes, calm as her dorm room comes into focus in pieces—desk lamp humming softly, half-empty coffee cup, color-coded notes spread with military precision.

Silas. Third floor. Safe. Fluorescent lighting. Zero forests. Zero screaming girls.

“Just a dream,” Josie mutters, calming slightly but still pressing a hand to her throat anyway, fingers trembling, pulse sprinting. “Just… a very vivid, extremely rude dream.”

Too bad her heart refuses to listen.

Dana’s scream still feels lodged somewhere behind her ribs, sharp and awful and too real.

Josie squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them again, scanning the room like the answer might be written on her corkboard between Midterm Schedule and Do Not Forget to Eat.

Dana is missing. Her roommate is missing.

Has been for weeks.

The official explanation is “investigation ongoing,” which is police code for we have no idea and please stop asking.

Josie exhales slowly, counting the way her therapist taught her.

In for four. Hold. Out for six. Again.

“This is what happens when you’re overworked,” she tells herself firmly. “And under-slept…. And maintaining a flawless 4.0 GPA like it’s a moral obligation.”

After a few minutes, Josie nods, satisfied with that diagnosis, and pushes the book back onto the desk.

She straightens it so the spine lines up perfectly—because chaos is unacceptable even at one in the morning—then rubs her face with both hands.

Dana isn’t her.

The woods aren’t here.

She is fine.

Mostly.

Still, as she settles back into her chair and reaches for her pen, Josie can’t quite shake the feeling that the dream didn’t come from nowhere.

And that something—someone—is still out there.

⊹︶︶⊹

“She’ll be back,” Penelope said gently, rubbing slow circles into Josie’s back like she’d done a hundred times over the last few weeks.

Josie nodded, even though her stomach stubbornly refused to buy into it.

It had been weeks with no sign of Dana, and on top of that, the nightmares had started coming almost every night.

Still, with the therapist she’d been seeing, she was at least learning how to blunt their edge—how to wake up, breathe, and remind herself she was safe, even when her mind tried to tell her otherwise.

“I know. I know that logically. But yesterday we were literally cramming for Econ in my room, and then I fell asleep and—” She made a vague, helpless gesture with one hand. “Nightmare. Woods. Screaming. Very not on the syllabus.”

They crossed the quad together, late afternoon sunlight cutting through the trees, leaves crunching underfoot.

Everything looked painfully normal, which somehow made it worse.

“Sweetpea, Dana is probably sleeping off the mother of all hangovers.” Penelope glanced sideways at her, lips twitching. “Half the student body disappeared after that party. If she’s not dead, she’s dehydrated.”

Josie snorted despite herself.

“That’s… reassuring in a deeply unhinged way.”

“I do my best,” Penelope said, bumping her shoulder lightly before steering her toward a bench. “Sit. You look like you’re one mild inconvenience away from crying in public, and I would prefer not to fight campus security today.”

“Thanks, Penny.” Josie dropped onto the bench with a sigh. “Seriously.”

For a second, neither of them moved. Penelope stood close—too close—and Josie became acutely aware of that fact in the way one becomes aware of a paper cut five seconds after someone points it out.

“Oh—uh,” Penelope said quickly, stepping back and clearing her throat. “I’ll… see you later, yeah? Try not to spiral. Or do. Just hydrate.”

She gave Josie a small, awkward wave before heading off.

Josie watched her go, chin resting in her palm, doing absolutely nothing to stop herself from staring. They had been getting closer. Long nights. Shared coffees.

Penelope showing up whenever Josie looked like she might fold in on herself. Helping search for Dana. Listening. Staying.

She groaned, picked up her books and headed back toward her dorm, the edge of her nightmare still lingering like a bad aftertaste.

Penelope's recent attentiveness felt like more than friendship, and a fleeting thought that her best friend might want her flickered in Josie's mind.

She immediately squashed it. That kind of thing sounded like a bad porno plot in college, and she wasn't even into it.

It was probably just stress, she decided, and her own frustration at being a year into college without getting laid, which felt both rude and statistically improbable.

Of course, the universe, as always, said nothing.

A fact that Josie was so busy spiraling internally on that she almost missed the girl leaning against her doorframe—almost.

Auburn hair, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, posture way too relaxed for someone who absolutely did not live here yet.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” the girl drawled as Josie approached, smooth and unapologetic.

Josie startled, actually yelping a little before recovering with what she hoped was dignity.

“Uh—hi.” A faint blush crept up her neck as she tugged her headphones down from where they’d been abandoned around her ears. “And you are…?”

The stranger pushed off the frame, bright blue eyes sweeping over Josie with open interest.

“Hope. Hope Mikaelson,” she said easily. “Your new roommate. So, can I just—”

“Um excuse you?!” Josie cuts in, trying very hard to look unimpressed while failing spectacularly. "Uh no, you're not, I have a roommate!”

Hope laughed, low and warm, like she found that adorable rather than inconvenient.

“Um, according to housing, I am your new roommate." She stepped closer, grin turning conspiratorial. “You know the Hall Director said I should check in early. Now I know why. You are fucking hot at hell.”

She winked, slow and deliberate, like she already knew exactly what it would do to Josie.

It worked.

“Charming,” Josie muttered, the word doing absolutely nothing to hide the way her pulse jumped. She shook her head, resigned, and offered her hand. “I’m Josie Forbes.”

Hope glanced down—and then ignored it completely, brushing her fingers against Josie’s instead as she leaned in just enough to close the space.

The touch was light. Intentional. A quiet test.

Josie’s breath stuttered. Traitorous nerves lit up her arm like they’d been waiting for permission.

Hope’s smile curved, slow and knowing.

"I know, we have history together.”

Josie lifted a brow, unimpressed.

"Now we don’t. You’ve known me for, like, two minutes." She then snarkily added, "Two minutes in which you've done nothing but expertly piss me off."

Hope let out a low, amused chuckle.

"I meant our subjects.” She tsked. “We also signed up for the same English and French class this semester.”

Josie felt a mortified squeak escaping her as the realization hit, making her feel utterly foolish.

Hope didn’t move forward.

Didn’t step in. Just tilted her head slightly, gaze warm and unreadable, standing close enough that Josie became painfully aware of how narrow the hallway suddenly felt.

“So,” Hope added softly, eyes flicking past Josie—toward the room. “Are you going to keep me standing out here all day, or…?”

Josie hesitated and looked at the door. Looked back at Hope. Felt the weight of the moment settle somewhere low and dangerous.

She stepped back.

Just one step. Barely anything.

“Fine,” Josie said, fiddling with her key card, and opening the door. “Come in. Before someone thinks you’re casing the place.”

That was all it took.

Hope’s grin flashed—quick, pleased—and in a smooth motion, she crossed the threshold and sent her duffel sailing effortlessly across the room, where it landed squarely on the bed with a solid thump.

Josie stared, dumbfounded.

“…What,” she said finally, eloquence completely abandoning ship.

Hope turned back to her, closing the distance again, close enough that Josie could feel the heat of her.

“Relax,” she murmured. “I didn’t break anything.”

She brushed past Josie and the brunette shut the door behind her already regretting the kind of fucked up mayhem she just invited into her life.

Even if it was an absurdly attractive mayhem. Possibly illegal in those tight, denim jeans.

…Absolutely nothing else.

“Uh—no, you don’t!”

Josie snatched the bottle Hope had just picked up, her fingers brushing the other girl’s in the process.

“That is not yours,” she muttered, quickly setting it back on the desk behind her—a desperate attempt to reclaim space that already felt nonexistent.

And to ignore the jolt that shot straight through her at the contact.

Too electric. Entirely unnecessary.

Fucking hell everything about this new girl is unnecessary, especially the way Hope refused to move an inch.

Her hand stayed suspended in the air where the bottle had been, her gaze never leaving Josie’s face.

“Well, don’t you catch on fast,” she purred, a silent challenge flickering in her bright eyes.

Then she sauntered over to Dana’s side of the room and started rummaging through her things, slow and deliberate movements.

The auburnette turned, holding up a scrap of scarlet lace—a very sexy piece of lingerie—and draped it against herself, lips curling.

“Cute PJs,” she teased, giving a languid turn that showed off her absurdly toned body.

Josie’s mouth went dry. Her eyes betrayed her, tracking the curve of Hope’s waist…

Oh hell, the way the fabric did absolutely nothing to hide and everything to emphasize.

“Hey! Stop that!” Josie is hardly even able to rasp the words out, heat blooming low in her stomach as she yanked the lingerie away and tossed it onto the bed.

God. Her face felt on fire.

Hope only shrugged, shoulders flexing, oh and Josie changes her mind, the way that flexes beneath her top is what really should be illegal.

“Fine. Pink’s not really my color anyway,” she said, flashing Josie a quick, mocking grin that did things to her stomach.

She continued her invasive inventory of Dana’s belongings, pulling out another item, then another, before apparently deciding the haul was disappointing.

“What a fucking boring girl. No money. No drugs. No nothing,” she said, flopping onto Dana’s bed, landing with a soft thud that made the mattress bounce.

“Okay, that’s it!” Josie growled, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. “Forget what I said earlier—I’m calling campus security.”

She grabbed her phone, thumb hovering over the dial pad.

Hope quirked an eyebrow, fingers laced behind her head like she owned the place.

"Go for it, Cupcake." Hope leaned in, and she is practically purring. Josie’s eyebrow twitched at what the fuck Hope just called her, before she could stop it. “But I’m meant to be here.”

“What about Dana?” she murmured, the question slipping out more to herself than anyone else, her phone suddenly dead weight in her hand.

Hope slowly turned her head, eyes locking onto Josie’s with an intensity that made every nerve ending light up.

She looked her up and down like she was cataloging something interesting.

Then, with infuriating slowness, she sat up, slung her bag back over her shoulder, and stepped closer.

And closer.

“What about her?” Hope murmured. “She’s gone. I’m here. Not that complicated.”

She tilted her head, gaze heavy, knowing—like Josie was the only one in the room who hadn’t realized what was happening yet.

They were suddenly too close. Breath mingling. Space nonexistent.

"You’ve got a little… something there, Cupcake." Hope said softly, her eyes dropping to Josie’s cheek.

‘Cupcake.’ Josie mentally bristled at the nickname, but before she could even process the words, Hope’s finger brushed her skin—light, warm, lingering just a second too long—as she plucked off a tiny speck.

"Cream cheese," Hope murmured, her thumb sweeping it away.

Ugh Of course this girl had arrived on the one day Josie still had lunch on her face.

Hope then began to turn, a languid, deliberate motion as if she knew the exact effect she was having.

"Where are you going now?" Josie blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Hope smiled—dangerous, delighted.

"Oh, wouldn’t you like to know," she said. "I think I’ll make myself at home. Take a shower."

She tossed Josie a wink—an unmistakable dare—before turning and disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

Silence crashed down around the room.

‘What the hell was that?’ Josie thought, staring at the closed door as her heart raced wildly.

Had they really replaced Dana that fast? With someone who looked like she could kill Josie in her sleep—or make her beg for it?

Great.

Her mind, unhelpful and entirely disloyal, immediately conjured heat and steam and the unmistakable curve of Hope’s silhouette through it all.

And—god, seriously—Josie could not stop thinking about the sounds she’d make if she were in there with her, breathless and ruined and very much not alone.

She groaned internally.

Yeah. College celibacy was officially rotting her brain. She needed to get laid.

⊹︶︶⊹

A whole week after Hope had sauntered into the dorm and left Josie there frozen in the exact center of the room again—déjà vu, but with more resentment.

She had stood there for a solid half minute, staring at nothing, doing precisely zero productive things.

Which was, frankly, unacceptable.

Josie had to give herself a mental reprimand, squared her shoulders, and attempted to reboot her evening like a responsible adult.

But textbooks were reopened. Highlighters were lined up with military precision, and her desk chair was nudged into the Correct Ergonomic Position.

Because if Josie was going to spiral, she was at least going to do it with good posture.

Unfortunately, none of it worked.

The air still felt charged, and Josie could swear her cheek still tingled where Hope's fingers had brushed it, and every time she blinked, her brain replayed the image of that smug, infuriating grin disappearing behind the bathroom door.

This was not how she'd envisioned college life unfolding.

See, the dream had been simple: Josie was going to find a compatible roommate, preferably someone quiet and studious, who liked tea and respected shared space.

They would become instant friends, stay up late studying, occasionally gossip, and someday reminisce about their dorm years with fond, harmless nostalgia.

Maybe one day they'd move off-campus together, find partners who got along, maybe even plan a celebratory post-grad trip—something vaguely European and wholesome.

Josie wasn't entirely sure what backpacking actually involved, but she assumed it required scarves, photos, and personal growth, and someone who would become more of a sister to her than the blonde twin she currently has a strained one with.

But fucking Hope Mikaelson had obliterated that fantasy in under an hour.

From the start, there had been something unsettling about her—not overtly threatening, just… off.

The way she watched Josie felt too focused, too deliberate, as if she were cataloging her.

It made Josie hyper-aware of herself in a way she didn't yet have the language for.

As time passed, it became clear that Hope was a walking disaster zone as well.

Her side of the room existed in a constant state of upheaval: clothes strewn like casualties, snack wrappers everywhere, crumbs appearing in places where crumbs should not logically exist.

Music pulsed through her headphones so loudly that it might as well have been communal, often rattling Josie's concentration mid-equation.

And then there were the people.

So many people.

Women, to be more specific.

When a knock echoed through the room—again—Josie let out a groan that bordered on feral.

"I swear, this place is cursed," she muttered.

Normally, Hope would handle it, but she was allegedly "running errands," which Josie had learned usually meant pastries and alcohol.

Somehow. Mystifyingly. The girl consumed calories like a competitive sport and yet looked carved from marble.

Josie was halfway through mentally cataloging the exact definition of a "distraction" (see also: abs, criminally unfair, hypothetical) when she realized she'd been staring at the same paragraph for at least four minutes.

That paragraph was about Chaucer.

Chaucer did not deserve this.

"I'm coming!" Josie shouts as the knocking becomes more insistent, and she shoves herself out of the chair.

Whoever was on the other side was clearly not giving up.

She shook her head, shoved the thought firmly into the mental filing cabinet labeled Do Not Open, Especially Not About Your Roommate, and stood, marched to the door, and yanked it open with purpose.

There stood a girl with dark curls pulled into a chaotic ponytail, big brown eyes, and a scarf that looked like it had lost a fight with a clearance rack.

She smiled too brightly, like someone who knew exactly who they were here for, and it was decidedly not Josie.

Whelp Josie’s purpose immediately fizzled.

"If you're looking for Hope," Josie said flatly, and quickly tried to shut the door.

"Wait—sorry—hi." The girl lifted a hand to stop the door from closing, desperately. "I'm Maya. I just wanted to know if she was coming back soon. We had plans to... study."

Suddenly, the word "study" sounded suspiciously like it was wearing air quotes.

"Depends." Josie stared at her for a beat, then shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "Are we talking Hope-time or real-time?"

Maya actually laughed. That was a mistake. It was disarming.

"Oh. Uh. Hope-time, I guess?"

"Then anywhere between five minutes and never," Josie replied, immediately regretting ever opening the door. "She said something about errands."

"Right..." Maya shifted her weight, a tiny crease forming between her brows. "Would it be… totally weird if I waited inside for a minute? My phone's almost dead."

Yes. Extremely. Catastrophically weird.

But alas, Josie was cursed with an inconvenient politeness, so she sighed deeply, spiritually, and stepped aside.

"Make yourself comfortable," she muttered, gesturing vaguely toward Hope's ridiculously minimalist chair. "Or don't. Dealer's choice. I'm busy."

‘Just ignore her,’ Josie told herself. ‘She will go away.’

One second passed.

Then another.

Maya began humming—softly at first, then with growing confidence. Her eyes drifted around the dorm room, lingering on everything with the gentle curiosity.

Josie did not look up.

Maya, tragically, did not leave.

“So,” she said, clearly wanting to strike up a conversation, “are you a first-year too? Your roommate said you’re, like, terrifyingly smart.”

“Yes,” Josie answered, but didn’t look up, and slid her textbook closer. “And I’m busy. I’m majoring in journalism. I have a media ethics deadline and a professor who thinks extensions are a moral failing.”

“Oh wow.” Maya’s eyes widened, “That sounds… intense. I’m undeclared. Hope’s been helping me with my writing stuff, though. She’s really good at that, you know? Like—”

She stops and gestured vaguely, searching for the right word, “—super creative. Kind of annoyingly talented.”

Josie grunted noncommittally, trying to find her place in the textbook.

“So,” she continued, leaning forward like this was the most natural topic in the world, “are you planning on joining any sororities? Or clubs? Or, like, campus stuff in general? I heard there are a ton of really cool ones, and it’s a great way to meet people. I’ve been thinking about rushing the Summer Society.”

Josie’s eyes flicked up.

“The what?” she asked.

“The Summer Society!” Maya beamed. “It’s this sorority that’s, like, super prestigious. They’re all about networking, internships, legacy connections, philanthropy, all that. Everyone says if you get in, you’re basically set for life.”

“That’s really not my scene,” Josie says flatly. She pushed her textbook forward another inch, creating a small but unmistakable barrier. “I’m here to study, not pledge loyalty to a glittery cult with matching tote bags.”

Maya’s smile faltered—just slightly.

“Right. Yeah. Totally,” she said, a little too fast. “I just thought—”

The sentence collapsed in on itself.

She went quiet, and Maya was starting to seriously regret every life choice that had led her into this conversation.

"So," Maya started again, fiddling with a loose thread on her scarf, "you and Hope live together, so you probably know her pretty well, right? Like, what's she really like? When she's not, you know... running errands?"

Josie blinked. This was not the academic discussion she'd signed up for.

"She's... Hope," she said slowly, choosing her words with extreme caution. "She's got good hair. She occasionally shares her snacks. And she's a menace with a whiteboard."

Maya chewed on her lip.

"Right. But... does she ever talk about me? Like, in a good way? She said she likes my essays, but sometimes I feel like she's just being nice. Do you think... do you think she actually likes me? Like, more than just a friend who needs help with her writing?"

She pauses, trying to think of how to phrase how insecure she is without giving it away.

"Because sometimes she looks at me, and I can't tell if she's about to solve world hunger or just tell me my paragraph structure is fundamentally flawed."

Josie felt a sharp, unexpected pang in her chest, like a tiny, jealous imp had just tap-danced on her aorta.

‘Oh, Maya. You poor, hopeful, utterly oblivious soul. You have no idea what you're dealing with.’

"Hope is... complicated," she managed, a little tighter than she intended. "She moved in a few days ago. I hardly know her, and she's not exactly an open book, you know? She keeps a lot to herself....”

"Yeah, I guess." Maya sighed, looking genuinely worried. "It's just... she's so amazing, and sometimes I feel like I'm messing it up. Do you think she's seeing anyone? Or...?"

Josie's hand clenched on her textbook. This is getting ridiculous. And painful.

“Maya,” she scoffed, more in disbelief that this was even a conversation than in annoyance, “I’m not Hope’s personal assistant. I actually have a media ethics piece due, and my professor doesn’t believe in mercy.”

Before Maya could retreat further or Josie could accidentally confess her own complicated feelings, there was another knock.

Not a hesitant one this time, but a confident, almost theatrical series of raps.

Josie groaned.

"Oh, for the love of—" She stomped to the door, opened it with all the warmth of a tax audit, and there, perfectly framed, was Hope Mikaelson, grinning as she'd personally engineered the moment.

"Hey, Cupcake," Hope said brightly, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Forgot my keys. And I brought snacks… other than myself, of course."

Josie closed her eyes, praying for patience.

"One: you're a menace. Two: I hate that nickname you gave me." she gestured behind her with a jab of her thumb "Three: you have company. Your very worried, highly observant, and apparently quite insecure company."

Hope leaned past her, immediately lighting up.

"Maya!"

Maya all but levitated out of the chair, her face breaking into a radiant smile, all previous insecurities seemingly vanished. "Hope!"

Josie watched them, a strange cocktail of exasperation and something akin to a burning resentment bubbling in her gut.

"Dinner?" Maya asked hopefully.

Hope winced.

"Rain check, sweetheart. I'm buried in work."

"Oh." Maya tried not to look crushed.

“But hang out for a bit?” Hope added, glancing at Josie like she was half-asking, half-testing her. “We won’t be long. Promise.”

Josie’s lips thinned, though she forced a polite smile. Who was Hope to simply assume she wouldn’t mind?

“Yeah. Totally,” she hummed, teeth gritted.

Josie retreated to her bed, tugging her headphones on like they might insulate her from the sudden, inconvenient awareness of everything.

She tried to focuse very hard on her screen, on the music, on anything that wasn’t the way Maya leaned closer to Hope or how Hope absentmindedly fiddled with the edge of Maya’s ridiculous scarf.

Josie told herself she didn’t care. She couldn’t care.

She’d known Hope for all of—what—a week? Less?

And yet her thoughts refused to behave, spiraling into half-formed images of Hope elsewhere on campus, laughing too easily, settling into spaces like she belonged there.

Like she belonged anywhere.

The unsettling part wasn’t jealousy, exactly.

It was the heat—low and quiet—that crept in when Josie imagined Hope thinking about her at all. Wondering if Josie was comfortable. If she was waiting. If she wanted company.

The thought made Josie’s stomach twist, equal parts thrill and embarrassment, because it was absurd and unwarranted and far too intimate for someone she’d just met.

Time dragged. Minutes stretched thin and useless.

An hour passed. Maybe more.

She absolutely did not think about abs.

Absolutely not.

Time flies when you think about it.

Maya, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air, was already slipping her shoes and jacket back on before wrapping her arms around Hope in what Josie prayed was a definitive, one-way farewell hug.

"I'll see you tomorrow night?" Maya asked, a little too hopeful, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

Hope's azure eyes dropped to Maya's throat, and Josie watched, morbidly fascinated, as the curly-haired girl swallowed hard, her pulse practically thundering in the suddenly too-quiet room.

"Of course, I like spending time with you," Hope whispered, her breath ghosting along the fabric of Maya's scarf, sending shivers that Josie could almost feel across the room. "...among other things."

Josie swore she just threw up a little in her mouth, or at least a tiny bit of cream cheese, as she watched their interaction from the corner of her eye.

She was trying to look utterly engrossed in the wallpaper pattern but was clearly failing.

Maya did something Josie had not been mentally prepared for.

She placed a hand on Hope's cheek, pulled her down, and kissed her.

A kiss which, apparently, Hope didn't plan on stopping anytime soon.

Josie's stomach erupted into a confusing mix of butterflies and what felt suspiciously like molten fury.

She cleared her throat with the force of a small cough.

"Other people are in the room, you know?"

Hope pulled away with a start, a faint, almost endearing blush coloring her pale cheeks.

Josie couldn't tear her eyes off Hope's lips, now a little smudged, a little swollen.

She walked Maya to the door, gave her one last, lingering kiss, and then, in a move Josie found oddly meticulous, straightened Maya's neck scarf before closing the door behind her with a definitive click.

"So that was your…" Josie struggled to form the word, her heart doing an erratic tap dance in her chest. "…girlfriend?"

“Not exactly."

Hope narrowed her eyes for a brief second, a mischievous sparkle there, before chuckling in amusement.

“We've slept together a few times."

"I see." Josie could hear how pitchy her voice got, and she secretly hated herself for it. "Is that… common for you?"

Hope raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too knowing.

"Are you asking me if I have sex a lot, or if I have sex with women a lot?" She mewled, and Josie's cheeks reddened to an alarming degree as she gave a pathetic little nod.

"Both."

Hope blinked, answering without a flicker of hesitation, which had Josie stammering, her brain temporarily losing its ability to form coherent sentences.

"So… you're—"

Oh god, what was happening to Josie? She never got flustered. This was ridiculous.

"A lesbian?" Hope supplied, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. "Yes, I am."

Josie nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat that felt suspiciously like a huge, awkward boulder.

She didn't really know what to do with that information.

Her brain was replaying the image of Hope's tongue running along Maya's lips in a continuous, maddening loop. Her chest felt tight, her head swam, and everything felt unbelievably, disturbingly hot.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Hope asked, her voice a silken thread, deliberately casual as she leaned against the doorframe.

She stood there, all elegant nonchalance, weight shifted onto one hip, confidence practically humming off her.

The stance screamed unbothered, a carefully constructed fortress of cool. But Josie, ever observant, caught it anyway—the barely-there hesitation, a quick, almost imperceptible flicker of something vulnerable behind those unnervingly bright eyes.

Josie hesitated.

Which, as luck would have it, was her absolute worst tell. Her face probably glowed like a stoplight.

Objectively speaking, she had zero issues with queerness. None. Zip. Nada.

She was an ally for fuck’s sake.

Josie had taken the classes, read the books, had the enlightened conversations.

She knew the terminology.

She corrected people gently but firmly.

She had once described herself as aggressively supportive at a party and meant it.

She was progressive. Evolved.

Possibly even a little bit sparkly.

And yet—

That kiss from earlier, Maya's kiss, replayed uninvited, a high-definition loop in her mind.

The sheer audacity of it. The heat of it.

And mostly, the weird spike of irritation that followed, sharp and confusing and absolutely, irrevocably unwelcome.

It felt warped, like discovering a flaw in herself she hadn’t known was there.

It was just probably Josie being annoyed with the situation.

That was all it was. Irritation. Disruption. Her meticulously organized life did not need chaos in the shape of a smug, beautiful, perfectly sculpted auburn menace.

Except… why was her stomach still doing that peculiar gymnastic routine?

Oh god.

A horrifying, brain-frying thought crashed into her, making her inner monologue screech to a halt.

‘Am I… reacting badly because she's a woman?’

Josie is pretty sure her soul briefly left her body, took a quick tour of the astral plane, and then slammed back into place with a frantic little thump.

"N—no," she blurted, mortified. "Not a problem. Totally fine. Completely fine. Very fine. Impeccably fine, actually!"

Hope tilted her head curiously because, of course, she did.

It was unfair how good she looked, even when confused, and how much she enjoyed Josie's spectacular unraveling.

Josie felt her ears heat, probably matching her face, as Hope finally turned away, strolling toward her half of the room like she already owned the place, the dorm, maybe even the entire campus.

"Well," she said quickly, scrambling for some conversational footing, anything to divert from her internal meltdown. "Did you live somewhere else last semester? Or is this your first time in this dorm, too?"

Hope hummed, clearly still amused.

"Nope."

Josie frowned.

"So you transferred rooms?"

Hope spun back around, intrigued.

"Why the twenty questions, Cupcake?"

Josie swallowed, instantly regretting everything she'd ever said, or thought, or possibly even breathed.

Maintaining eye contact with this woman felt like staring directly into the sun during a solar eclipse without proper eye protection.

"We share a room," Josie points out defensively, puffing out her chest slightly. "I think I'm allowed to ask basic, non-threatening questions about my new… roommate."

"If you're asking," Hope replied, taking a deliberate, slow step closer... before sidestepping Josie and flopping down on her bed, "then it's only fair I get to ask some too."

"That's… normal human interaction,” Josie whined. She feels immediately embarrassed, but the world feels like it's moving way too fast, and she can't coherently keep track of anything. "The give-and-take of getting to know one another."

"You're not going to enjoy mine," Hope said, scrolling through her phone.

Josie sighed, also dropping down onto her bed, arms crossed tightly over her chest, feigning an air of annoyed indifference.

"You don't know anything about me."

Hope glanced up, unimpressed.

"Let me guess, you alphabetize your books, highlight in multiple colors," she comments with an inappropriate amount of sarcasm, "and absolutely cry at movies you pretend are 'ironic' while consuming an entire pint of vegan ice cream."

Josie sputtered, indignation battling with a reluctant flicker of awe.

"That is wildly inaccurate!... well, mostly!"

"And yet," Hope continued, gesturing vaguely toward Josie's pristine desk and the carefully arranged study supplies, "you also definitely have a comfort fandom you won't admit to, probably involving magic and morally gray characters."

Josie straightened, her Gryffindor pride (or was it Hufflepuff? The distinction felt suddenly very important) piqued.

"First of all, rude. Second, I am not predictable. And if I am anything," she added, pointing an accusatory finger, the gesture surprisingly steady despite her inner turmoil, "it's Gryffindor. Through and through."

Hope's grin turned wicked, a flash of pure mischief.

"Then I'll gladly take Slytherin."

Josie's breath caught despite herself. The thought of them, facing off in some magical, metaphorical battle of wits and wills, sent a strange thrill through her.

"Oh," Hope added lightly, kicking off her boots with an almost sensual grace and dropping onto her bed with a soft bounce, "and no—I'm not in the mood for small talk tonight, Hufflepuff."

She looked over, eyes sharp and knowing, lingering on Josie's flushed face.

"Some conversations are better… nonverbal."

Josie stared. She wants to snap back at the auburnette so bad but that would only make her mouth looser and her this frantic little flutter in her heart, which is a horrible combination, worst.

Fuck, this was terrible.

She was irritated. Offended. Confused. And absolutely, catastrophically, irrevocably intrigued by Hope fucking Mikaelson.

⊹︶︶⊹

One slightly deranged lap around campus later, Josie practically collapsed onto a stone bench in the courtyard, wedging herself between Penelope and MG.

The girl was rapidly typing something undoubtedly scandalous into a group chat Josie had muted for her own mental health, and MG, whose book (Occult Symbolism in Postmodern Literature) lay open on his lap, unread.

Strange as it was, these two were her haven.

They had been consistently, since her somewhat troubling, traumatizing childhood in Mystic Falls.

And now, they had also been instrumental in her survival of the infamous Dana Situation, mid-terms week, and that one ill-advised attempt at joining a study group that inexplicably morphed into a keg stand competition.

If Josie was going to spiral, it was definitely going to be here, with them.

"You are not going to believe this," Josie announced, breathless, cutting straight through MG's rambling discourse about magical realism and the inherent liminality of collegiate existence.

"I was in the middle of a thought, Josie," MG let out a pained noise, his highlighter hovered mid-air. "A rare and delicate thing. Like a lunar eclipse, or a genuinely good campus coffee."

"That explains why it was taking so long, Milton.” Penelope, ever the supportive friend, smirked. “Your thoughts move at a glacial pace."

MG gasped dramatically.

"Wow. Betrayal.” He has literally never been so offended “And don't call me Milton, it's MG."

Josie waved them both off, already pacing verbally, her hands flailing for emphasis.

"Okay, guys, focus! New roommate. Absolute menace. Zero manners!” she half-yells half-whines, huffing out a miserable breath “The little pocket demon desecrated my Harry Potter poster with her sarcasm."

Penelope finally looked up from her phone, her eyes narrowing dramatically.

"That's a hate crime, Josie.” she deadpans. “A full-blown, reportable hate crime."

"I know!" Josie said, utterly vindicated. Though she might have missed the sarcasm in Penelope’s voice. "Thank you."

MG closed his book with a soft, philosophical 'thump'.

"Hold on. Is this the same roommate who replaced Dana? “He looks honestly confused.  “The one you're currently formulating a three-part email to housing about, complete with bullet points?"

"Dana didn't get replaced, she's just… missing!" Josie pointed an accusatory finger at him. "That is entirely irrelevant!"

"Just saying," MG continued, trying dose Josie’s anger with a little humor,, "you staged a full protest because you wanted 'the authentic college roommate experience.' And now," he gestured vaguely at her current state of dishevelment and barely contained rage, "you are ten seconds away from committing arson because someone dares to exist in your general vicinity."

"She's weird," Josie insisted, practically vibrating with indignation. "Like… intimidating, weird. Broody. Too confident. Eats like a linebacker but looks like she lives on protein shakes and pure vengeance. And she didn't even try to get to know me. She just—exists!"

Penelope hummed, finally putting her phone down, a predatory glint in her eye.

"Is she hot?"

"That's not the point!" Josie screeched but still needed to recross her legs and fight a blush that was threatening to engulf her entire face.

"That is absolutely the point," Penelope countered, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Answer the question, Jojo. Critically. For science."

"...Yes," Josie admitted, her cheeks heating to a dangerous crimson. "But in a very stressful way. Like she could bench-press me and simultaneously judge me for my GPA while doing it."

"Ah, so you're intimidated because she's hot and mysterious." MG leaned back, folding his arms. "Classic Josie Forbes."

"No!" Josie snapped, stomping her foot. "I'm concerned! My gut says she's trouble!"

"Your gut also said oat milk was 'just a phase.'" Penelope raised an eyebrow, a picture of skepticism, "And then you bought a bulk subscription."

"Okay, rude!" Josie huffed.

"And yet accurate," MG added gently, earning him a glare.

Josie groaned, dropping her face into her hands.

"You don't understand. There's something off about her. Like she knows things. Or sees things. Or—" she gestured helplessly, her voice muffled, "—exists at a frequency I didn't personally consent to!"

Penelope was about to deliver another one of her devastatingly accurate quips when her eyes suddenly widened, locking onto something over Josie's shoulder.

MG, sensing the shift in the air, followed her gaze. Both of them went very, very quiet, their previous banter dying a silent, ignominious death.

Josie felt it before she saw it—the unmistakable prickle between her shoulder blades, like she was being stared at with an almost geological intensity. She turned, slowly.

Hope Mikaelson had just stepped out of the dorm building.

Of course, she had.

She moved with that same infuriating ease, like gravity was merely a suggestion for her.

A paper bag tucked under one arm—no doubt full of stolen beignets from the campus bakery—her dark jacket slung open, hair still slightly damp from her shower, catching the late afternoon sun in a way that felt deeply, irritatingly personal.

She scanned the courtyard once, lazily, like a queen surveying her domain—

And then her eyes landed directly on Josie.

“Fuck.” Josie curses.

She quite literally pinches her leg as hard as she fucking can so the pain will overpower the aching heat that’s starting to simmer in her belly again.

Hope didn't smile. Didn't wave. Just tilted her head, slow and curious, that heated stare lingering a beat too long before flicking—very deliberately—to Penelope.

To MG.

And then, back to Josie.

It felt less like being seen and more like being catalogued, analyzed, and possibly marked for future study.

For one unhinged second, Josie had the absurd, terrifying thought that Hope could hear them. Like she'd somehow clocked their entire, highly inappropriate conversation from fifty feet away.

Which was ridiculous.

Obviously.

She shook it off.

Penelope exhaled reverently, a long, drawn-out sound that was part sigh, part gasp.

"Okay. Wow."

"Who... is that?" MG swallowed, apparently now very curious about this new, dazzling addition to their campus.

Josie sighs.

"That's my roommate," she muttered, the words tasting vaguely possessive on her tongue.

Penelope whipped her head to face Josie, her eyes wide and glittering.

"Josie.” She awed. “She's looking at you."

"I know," Josie whined. Her throat is dry—hoarse. "I can feel her stare... it’s unnerving."

Hope, as if on cue, glanced away—only to look back again, slower this time, eyes sharp with something unreadable, something that promised untold mysteries.

Her mouth curved, into a taunting, pleased smirk.

Josie’s thoughts promptly derailed, skidding off the tracks and exploding somewhere in the distance.

"I take back everything. You are not allowed to complain." Penelope leaned in, a feral grin fully unleashed, "The universe has blessed you. I would let her fuck me in a heartbeat."

MG nodded solemnly. He hadn’t spoken in a while—too utterly captivated by Hope—but now he chose to break his silence.

“Truly,” he said with reverence. “I bet there is a line already forming for that.”

“Exactly.” Penelope nods, giving Josie an aggressive smack on the back, “Which is why, you need to add yourself to the virtual queue right now.”

Josie just about chokes on her own spit, head snapping up to look at the ravenette so fast she’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash from it.

“I am not getting in line,” she hissed, horrified—despite the traitorous blush burning across her cheeks.

Penelope scoffed.

“You’re her roommate. You basically have free rein to see her change, watch her work out, get that sexy body up close and personal—and you’re telling me you don’t want to tap that?”

Josie squeaked, her mind instantly—and traitorously—drifting back to yesterday, when she’d come home from class and found her stupid, infuriatingly attractive auburn-haired roommate doing push-ups in the middle of their room.

She’d known Hope worked out, obviously.

Her sculpted arms alone were evidence enough.

But she hadn’t seen it like that before.

…Until she was confronted with an incredibly sweaty, ripped Hope Mikaelson in a tiny sports bra and even tinier shorts.

A thin sheen of sweat clung to her skin, muscles glistening and rippling with every movement, like Hope was personally designed to some serious damage.

Or… maybe a little damage is fine?

“No,” Josie said quickly, shaking her head as if she could physically eject the dirty thought away. Her face burned as she blushed even harder. “Absolutely not. I refuse. She’s infuriating. She’s smug. She’s—she’s too much.”

MG shrugged, nodding with quiet, worldly wisdom.

“That’s usually what people say when they do want to bang someone.”

Josie opened her mouth to argue—then stopped.

Hope finally turned away, strolling down the path with infuriating ease, disappearing around the corner like she hadn’t just dismantled Josie’s composure with a single look.

Josie stared after her, heart pounding.

She absolutely did not believe Hope could hear them. That was pure delusion.

But still—

The way she'd looked at them?

Josie swallowed hard.

Yeah. Trouble with a capital 'T'….

…and maybe capital 'H' for 'Holy-crap-she's-hot-and-I-might-be-in-trouble'.

⊹︶︶⊹

The shower roared to life, a blistering inferno that Josie desperately welcomed.

Josie had not even considered the cold tap; she wanted fire, pure and unadulterated, to sear away the insistent whispers in her brain, to silence the clamoring demands of her body. She needed it hot enough to stop thinking—to stop wanting.

But even as her skin flushed a vibrant, angry red, stinging deliciously under the punishing deluge, it wasn't enough.

Not nearly.

Josie needed it hotter. Hot enough to incinerate every errant thought, to melt her down to a puddle of primal need that could simply, blissfully, wash down the drain.

Because, oh god, she was still thinking about the way Hope was staring at her earlier. And she was definitely, catastrophically, still wanting.

It is like Josie had rolled in glitter glue and regret, a coating of grime that made her skin crawl, made her want to claw it off, even if it went straight to the bone.

Hence, this DIY self-immolation project.

But this grimy sensation wasn't just a lingering aftermath of her earlier, frantic solo performance—she'd meticulously cleaned (most of) that up.

No, this was an entirely different beast, a mental muck she could practically feel adhering to her pores.

A thick, revolting, yet strangely captivating layer of guilt, self-loathing, and a profound, bone-deep disgust in herself for having pleasured herself to the memory of Hope.

And saying she "pleasured herself" felt like too much to admit. Because, yes, technically, she'd touched herself in the shower.

Twice.

And… achieved a shattering climax that rattled her molars.

But the truth was, she'd been teetering on the edge all damn day, precariously balanced on the precipice of pure, unadulterated arousal, all thanks to the ghost of her sexy roommate, the fleeting brush of her fingers, the insidious scent of her skin.

So once Josie's own hand had finally, desperately, made contact, it had taken hardly a single, desperate breath, hardly a movement, and she was plunging into a dizzying, vision-blurring, life-altering orgasm that felt less like a wave and more like a goddamn tsunami.

The worst part, the truly infuriating cherry on top of this mental breakdown sundae, was that it had required almost no actual effort.

Which meant the vast, terrifying majority of that earth-shattering release was… mental.

Mental!

Meaning Josie was so catastrophically, irrevocably turned on by just the thought of Hope, by the sheer, unholy force of her existence, that her body had practically short-circuited before she'd even had a chance to properly initiate anything.

The whole thing left her breathless, slightly traumatized, and spectacularly new to her.

For the first time in Josie's entire meticulously controlled life, she'd been on the absolute verge of pure, unbridled sexual release just from contemplating another human being.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Josie," she muttered into the water. "You'd think after all these years of... self-discovery, you'd need more than just a passing thought to launch yourself into orbit."

But no. Apparently, her brain had decided to outsource all the heavy lifting to her imagination when it came to Hope Mikaelson.

Just the memory of that infuriatingly confident smirk, the way Hope's eyes had lingered for just a second too long, the sheer audacity of her existence... and bam!

Instant, full-body combustion.

"Of all the people in the entire campus," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "It had to be her."

Josie should be absolutely, utterly, irrevocably humiliated.

Like, "hide in a cave until graduation" level humiliated.

And, to be fair, she was humiliated.

But then her brain, the traitorous little minx, pinged with an even more mortifying thought: she really, truly, desperately considered reaching down in the shower and doing it all over again.

The thought was so immediate, so insistent, it made Josie gasp, swallowing a mouthful of hot water.

'Nope! No, no, no! Bad Josie!' she scolded herself, mentally slapping her own hand. 'Stop! Think about your student loans! Think about that time you accidentally wore two different socks to school! Think about anything but…'

But it was too late. That treacherous brain, despite the scalding pain and her frantic mental self-flagellation, was still operating at peak horny performance.

Apparently, her hormones had decided to stage a hostile takeover of her cerebral cortex.

Evidently, the "pain as a thought-stopper" trick only worked for so long.

And with the sudden, overwhelming influx of thoughts—and frankly, very explicit, entirely unsolicited images starring Hope—it was clear her skin had grown entirely numb to the burning heat.

Her brain was just like, More heat? Cute. Now, back to that time, Hope looked at you like you were a particularly intriguing math problem...

So, with a furious grunt, she yanked the knob until it was as cold as it would possibly go.

"Right, Josie," she chattered, her teeth clacking a frantic rhythm. "This is a kindness. A cool-down. We're soothing the self-inflicted horniness. Think of it as… a very aggressive reset button for your libido."

This icy torrent was just as painful as the searing heat, maybe even more so, because the shock of the sudden temperature change stole her breath, leaving her gasping like a fish out of water.

But it worked. For a few precious, agonizing minutes, at least. Her brain felt like a frozen, sputtering engine.

See? Peace. Well, relative peace.

Mostly just the sound of your own whimpering, and the distinct possibility of hypothermia.

Then, inevitably, the numbness set in. The cold stopped being a distraction and just became… cold.

Annoyingly so.

"Alright fuck this!" Josie resolved, and with a defeated, animalistic groan, she yanked the knob back to blistering hot.

'God, this is awful,' she thought, steam swirling around her, 'This is actual torture. This is worse than finals week. This is worse than a family dinner with my mom and sister.'

'But you need it,' another, darker part of her whispered, insidious and persuasive. 'You need this. You deserve this. You clearly cannot be trusted with unsupervised thoughts.'

That is true.

Josie had never said it out loud.

Not once.

Never even allowed the words 'I'm gay' to form fully in her mind without promptly spiraling into some mental fucking breakdown, usually involving catastrophic visions of her meticulously planned future crumbling into glitter and oat milk.

But hell, if she couldn't even admit it to herself, then how the hell could it feel so undeniably, so viscerally true, so right, all because of Hope?

'Is it that obvious?' she panicked internally, pressing her palms to the tiled wall, trying to push the thoughts away.

Is 'I'M GAY' written across her fucking forehead in glowing, neon letters that only Hope Mikaelson has the secret decoder ring to read?

Does everyone fucking know but her? Is Josie just the last idiot to get the memo to her own brain?

"No, you stop!" Josie shakes her head, chiding herself. "This is humiliating!"

And yet, for some reason, deeply, thrillingly hot.

"Oh, God. I need to stop thinking now." Josie scolds herself over and over. "Please, brain, just shut up for five seconds. I'll give you a cookie. A gluten-free one, if you behave."

After what seemed like hours, Josie finally got out of the bathroom, wrapped questionably in her fluffiest towel. Her hair clung damply around her face, dripping onto shoulders that were still buzzing from the hot-cold-hot-cold psychological warfare she'd just subjected herself to.

She was still steaming, both literally and emotionally, but at least she felt better.

Well, that changed fast as brown eyes flicked toward Hope's side of the room, half-hoping she'd vanished entirely, or at least been swallowed whole by one of her terrifyingly thick, soul-crushing books.

Absolutely not.

Instead, Hope was sprawled across her bed, propped against a ridiculous pile of pillows, pretending to scroll through her phone.

Josie knew—knew—with bone-deep certainty that Hope had clocked her existence the entire time, probably sensed the disturbance in the Force.

Because when Josie stalled, Hope's eyes lifted slowly, bright with lazy amusement.

"Well, look who survived," Hope teases, smug and unfairly attractive. Her eyes seem to be drinking Josie in just her towel, unapologetic. "And wow. You look… aggressively refreshed."

Josie's face went nuclear.

"Yep. Super refreshing," she blurted, and tightened her grip on the towel like it was the last moral boundary she had left.

'Say something cool, Josie. Anything that doesn't translate to 'I fuck myself thinking about you under running water.'

Unfortunately for the brunette, her brain blue-screened.

"I, uh… didn't mean to keep you waiting," Josie said, which came out fragile and rodent-adjacent.

Hope giggled softly, the sound landing straight in Josie's sternum.

"Waiting? Please. Though I will say, the sudden emotional rollercoaster happening in the pipes was impressive." Her expression stayed sharp and mischievous. "That was one enthusiastic shower, Cupcake. Training for something?"

Josie froze.

"I—what?!" Her thoughts detonated.

'Did she hear me? Did she hear the noises? The breathing?'

Oh god. Hope knows she got herself off in the shower. Josie doesn't know how, but Hope absolutely knows.

"Relax," Hope said easily, grin widening into something profoundly unserious. "Just an observation. You've got a… glow."

Josie swallowed.

'Okay. She's messing with you. This is playful. This is harmless.’

It was valiant reasoning, except Josie is still undecided whether she wants to dissolve into the wall or maybe shove Hope onto the bed and scream.

It was unclear.

"Whatever, I know you are messing with me." Josie retorts, forcing indignation, "And to think I was actually trying to be a good roommate. Establish trust. Boundaries. Normalcy."

Hope tilted her head, faux-thoughtful.

"Bold strategy. Especially after you waged war against the plumbing and lost." Her smile sharpened. "Very compelling behavior."

"What is wrong with you?" Josie whined, looking away, and getting flustered despite herself. "Why are you like this? Is being infuriatingly charming your whole personality?"

Hope's grin went lethal.

"Seems so, Cupcake."

Josie's spine folded. She wanted to scream. Throw something. Or crawl onto Hope's bed and commit crimes.

All terrible options.

‘No. Stop. Absolutely not.’

With a frustrated huff, Josie spun toward her dresser, speed-walking like dignity was chasing her.

“I need to get dressed,” Josie muttered, her back rigid as she turned away. “Unless you’d like to continue… appreciating.”

Hope’s amusement was practically audible.

“I’m flexible,” she said lightly. “But don’t rush. Wouldn’t want you catching a chill.”

A chill? Josie’s mind screamed. I’m on fire. I’m a disaster. This is a nightmare.

A stunning, humiliating, deeply sexy nightmare.

Scowling, Josie spun back around, fully prepared to bite the auburn-haired menace’s head off—but that turned out to be a mistake.

Sunlight poured in through the window, bathing Hope where she lounged on the bed, thumb tapping impatiently against her knee.

Her perfect white teeth worried at her lower lip in a way that felt entirely unfair, and Josie was suddenly, acutely aware that she was unraveling by the second.

God, she was beautiful.

Something strange fluttered low in Josie’s stomach.

“I, um… please go,” Josie managed. “So I can change.”

Hope’s teasing softened immediately.

She rose, giving Josie the space she’d asked for—but not without passing close enough to let her fingers trail, just barely, over Josie’s bare back.

The touch was brief. Casual. Respectful.

And still, heat flooded through Josie’s veins, traitorous and undeniable.

By the time the door clicked shut behind Hope, Josie was left standing in the quiet hallway, breath shallow, pulse racing— furious, humiliated, and painfully aware of her own body.

She told herself it was irritation.

That she hated the way Hope was always so close, so casual with touch, so effortlessly charming. That she despised the flirtation, the warmth, the easy intimacy that Hope wielded without thinking.

But the truth sat heavier in her chest, impossible to ignore.

Josie didn’t hate it.

She hated herself for liking it.

“Fuck,” Josie cursed as she fumbled for her clothes, desperate for fabric—any barrier at all—while her heart thudded wildly in her chest.

She was so stressed out.

Overwhelmed, really.

Mostly because she felt like she should be able to handle this, like she was going to implode from all the pushed-down, carefully repressed feelings finally spilling over.

And… maybe it wasn’t just that Josie was gay, either—though that was definitely a step in the right direction on her self-discovery journey.

She’d never felt this kind of deep, feral pull toward anyone before.

Not like this. Not regardless of gender.

Maybe she could only feel it with Hope.

Josie didn’t let herself think too hard about that—not now, not when her thoughts were already skidding dangerously out of control.

Because for the first time in her life—no matter her sexuality, no matter what it all meant—she wanted someone.

And that realization lingered long after she finally got dressed, settling heavy and undeniable in her chest, impossible to ignore.

⊹︶︶⊹

"Forbes, you in there?!" MG yelled from the hallway, followed by a slightly more modulated, "Are you decent? Because we're coming in."

Josie barely had time to slam her textbook shut before the door swung open, revealing MG—already dressed like he was ready to party—and Penelope Park, also dressed like his partner in crime.

"There you are!" MG announced, beaming. "We thought you'd been absorbed into your studies like some sort of tragic academic goblin. Come on, Jo, we're hitting Zeta Omega Mu biggest homecoming party! It's Friday night!"

Josie pinched the bridge of her nose.

"No. Absolutely not." She gestured weakly to the open books, scattered notes, and aggressively highlighted margins. "I'm studying."

'And currently recovering from a full-body electrocution courtesy of Hope Mikaelson catching me in just a towel.'

Penelope didn't respond right away.

Instead, she stepped fully into the room, eyes roaming with deliberate slowness.

Bed. Desk. Closet. The other side of the room. Hope's side.

Empty.

"Huh," Penelope said, her smirk turning a touch predatory. "Where's your hot roommate?"

Josie's pen snapped in her fingers.

"She's out."

Please don't ask where. Please don't ask where.

Penelope arched a brow.

"Out where?"

Damn.

"Out partying," Josie replied too fast, the words tumbling out before her brain could catch them. "Probably with Maya. Or another girl from her class. She meets a lot of girls. She's very… approachable."

MG can't help but make a face that says:  Ah, cute, look who's jealous now?

"Wow." He says with a put-on cheerfulness, "That was weirdly detailed."

"I'm being observational," Josie snapped, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Hope likes parties. I like books. This checks out. Perfectly normal roommate behavior."

Totally not a jealous, hormone-addled mess. Nope.

Penelope's smile turned feral.

"You're jealous."

Josie suddenly feels an irresistible urge to finally succumb to the constant beckoning of finally punching her best friend in the face.

‘Jealous?’ 

It hangs in the air between them like a physical thing—like something Josie can’t cower away from.

‘Yes, I’m jealous. Yes, I’m fucking jealous in a way that makes me want to scream into a pillow at the mere thought of Hope having a love affair with Maya, okay? I’m angry and mad and this isn’t fucking fair!’ 

But of course, Josie isn’t going to say the word out loud, 

"I am not jealous!" She shouts, instantly, loudly, and incorrectly. "I just don't feel like standing on sticky floors listening to bad remixes while people shout. My ears are susceptible to poorly mixed trap music and rampant hetero-normativity, thank you very much."

MG shakes his head.

"Perfect!" He sweetly pinches Josie's cheek and nods. "Since you obviously are not jealous, that if your roomie can party tonight, so can you!"

"That logic is deeply flawed, MG." Josie starts to protest whatever the hell's going on, "And also, Hope is a walking hurricane of chaos, so your theory is moot."

Penelope crossed her arms.

"Honey, you've been holed up in here brooding for weeks," she replies under her breath, and Josie even catches Penelope rolling her fucking eyes. "At this point, your notes look like they're crying for help. Or perhaps they've formed a support group for neglected academics."

"And," MG added earnestly, "Penelope needs supervision. At the last party, she nearly started a philosophical debate that ended with security having to get involved. Something about the inherent fallacy of modern societal structures versus the existential dread of a sugar crash."

"I was provoked," Penelope said, then softened just slightly as she looked back at Josie. "Look, Jo. You need a distraction. Besides….”

The ravenette cooly pointed to Hope's empty side of the room,

"…you never know whom you might run into. Or who might be looking for you."

Josie groaned. Her brain immediately supplied a vivid, inconvenient image of Hope, possibly dancing with someone else, or worse, not dancing with someone else but simply looking gorgeous and approachable.

"I hate you both." She is grasping onto her current demeanor for dear life to try not to let it slip. "I really, truly hate you both."

MG grinned.

"So that's a yes?"

"Fine," Josie muttered, defeated. "But I'm not dressing up. This sweater and jeans are peak sartorial effort for my current emotional state."

Penelope looked her over, then sighed dramatically.

"That hoodie is a crime against fashion and probably several international treaties."

"It's armor," Josie declared, stubbornly pulling on her faded black hoodie.

It wasn't the fancy one with the metal zipper, just a plain, comfortable one.

⊹︶︶⊹

The walk to the Zeta Omega Mu house was easier than expected—mostly because the Zetas had taken a very loud, very serious vow: If there’s a hottie, we’ll be on her.

Which, in practice, meant they insisted on accompanying any woman they deemed a solid 7.5 or higher across campus at night, supposedly to keep her safe from the weird that was Silas.

It was ridiculous. It was patronizing.

And yet, somehow, it worked.

By the time they reached the house, several frat members had flanked them the entire way—an unspoken security detail that ensured no one even thought about bothering them—and Penelope and Josie weren’t entirely sure whether to feel thrilled… or deeply offended.

The Zeta Omega Mu house was a riot of noise and pulsing bass, and the porch was festooned with string lights that probably hadn’t seen a Valentine’s Day—or any holiday—since last year.

Josie shivered slightly, pulling her hoodie tighter. The doors and windows were thrown wide open in a weak attempt to air out the cloying mix of cheap beer, questionable cologne, and…
…yeah, definitely not just nicotine.

“Ugh, I’m freezing,” Penelope complained, rubbing her arms.

“Here.” Josie, with an internal roll of her eyes at her own chivalry, stripped off her black hoodie—the armor one—and wrapped it around Penelope’s shoulders.

If nothing else, people might think they were dating, that Josie had actually come with someone who cared, and leave her alone.

Probably not, but a girl could dream.

“Thanks, Jo!” Penelope gave her a genuinely grateful smile, nudging her slightly. “You’re not so bad when you’re not angsting.”

Josie just grunted, scanning the throng.

A few feet away, a cluster of guys had formed a mini mosh pit around a table. One of them—a broad-shouldered guy with a perpetually surprised expression—spotted MG.

“MG!” he boomed, abandoning his friends to plow through the crowd.

It was Kaleb, one of MG’s frat brothers, a man with a larger-than-life personality and amazing hair.

MG grinned, his whole face lighting up. “Sup, Kaleb! Ready to tear this place apart?” He pulled him into a quick, bone-crushing hug.

Kaleb clapped MG on the back, then turned his attention to the party’s main attraction: a keg being tapped with far too much ceremony.

“Keg stands!” he announced, loud enough to cut through the thrumming music.

Josie flinched, instinctively peering over Penelope’s head, past the crush of bodies, toward the keg.

Standing beside it, holding court, was a tall, burly guy with a shock of fiery red hair, already surrounded by an eager audience.

He was huge—an absolute boulder of a person.

She vaguely recalled that some of the football players lived here. Was this one of the team captains?

“Alright, Hawkins and Greasley!” a new voice bellowed, cutting through the din.

This was Jed—another beefy frat brother, swaggering forward with a challenge in his eyes.

He pointed at the keg.

"Think you two can still run this show? Or have you gone soft on me?" He thumped Kaleb on the shoulder. "Kaleb, you're with me. MG, you're on your own, unless you wanna tap into some... new talent."

Jed's gaze, cold and challenging, swept over the onlookers, landing squarely on Josie, then on Penelope.

Penelope, ever the instigator, immediately straightened.

"Oh, no, no, no," she purred, stepping forward because she was a little prone to competitive shenanigans. "Milton is never on his own. And we're not just 'new talent,' Jed. Consider this a tag-team effort."

Josie felt her stomach clench.

Oh, for crying out loud, they literally just got here!

But she knew that look in Penelope's eyes all too well. This was about to get intensely competitive, embarrassingly public, and undoubtedly messy.

"What do you say, boys?" Penelope egged on, winking. "A friendly little competition? Best time wins bragging rights. And maybe a round of actual drinks for the ladies who clearly have to endure this barbaric display."

Kaleb, ever eager for a challenge, grinned, flexing his biceps.

"You're on, Jed! MG, you heard the woman. Let's show 'em how we do it!"

"Yeah!" MG, looking a little overwhelmed but already pumped up by Penelope's enthusiasm, nodded eagerly. "Team Super Squad!"

Josie groaned. She really, really didn't need to be here for this. Not like this, watching her friends prepare for what was surely going to be a sticky, beer-soaked spectacle.

She turned to escape and waded through the throngs of dancing, shouting bodies, and finally stopped at a folding table laden with plastic cups and various bottles.

'I don't have to drink it all,' she told herself, grabbing a red plastic cup, she poured a splash of dark alcohol, then topped it off mainly with soda. 'Just enough to look like I'm participating. And maybe enough to make my brain shut up about a certain auburn-haired roommate.’

⊹︶︶⊹

An hour later, Josie was nursing her third cup, the contents noticeably less innocent than the first.

At this point, it was less a drink and more a liquid dare.

But whatever alchemical blend was sloshing inside her had done its job: the earlier knot of mortification had loosened into a slightly uncoordinated jig.

Progress? Probably not. But at least Josie’s internal monologue about Hope wasn't screaming.

She leaned against the railing, feeling vaguely like a sentient towel rack, half-watching MG, Kaleb, and Jed devolve into a loud, deeply unserious keg-stand competition.

They looked less like college students and more like a trio of overenthusiastic, slightly damp otters.

Jed oversaw everything, shouting shockingly precise instructions like "Lower your center of gravity, Kaleb! Don't let MG get the psychological advantage!" and applauding every poor life choice.

"Still spiraling, Forbes?"

Josie startled, sloshing her drink dangerously close to her sleeve.

Penelope had appeared at her side as if conjured from a puff of expensive hairspray, smug and radiant and clearly pleased with herself for having ditched her designated keg-stand hype-woman duties.

"I’m fine," Josie said, laughing nervously.

"At this rate, you’ll be pleasantly numb in about five minutes.” Penelope hummed, eyes flicking to Josie’s cup as she took another sip. “Ten, if you’re lying to yourself, which, let's be honest, you usually are."

Josie sighed, staring into her drink like it held all the answers to the universe.

"That obvious, huh."

Penelope shrugged, and leaned in.

"Okay. I’m just going to ask, because the universe will literally implode if I don’t, and frankly, my outfit is too cute for an apocalypse... Are you into Hope Mikaelson?"

Josie choked. Fully. Spectacularly. The liquid dare went down the wrong pipe, leaving her gasping and wheezing.

"Penelope—!"

"Oh relax," Penelope patted Josie's back. "I’m not accusing. I’m observing. And my observations suggest you're currently generating enough repressed tension to power a small city."

Josie coughed once more, then slumped against the railing, defeated.

"I don't know if I'm into Hope specifically," she mumbled slowly, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating. "But I think I might be into… girls."

Penelope froze. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows flew up, then slowly, deliberately, lowered into an expression of profound satisfaction.

Then she grinned, a wide, dazzling, utterly unholy grin.

"Thank god."

Josie comes to an abrupt stop, shock written all over her face.

"That was your reaction?"

"Were you expecting me to throw you a rainbow parade?" Penelope asked brightly. "But I believe a 'thank god' is more appropriate. Because watching you try to intellectualize your way around that has been more exhausting than a double shift at the Mystic Grill during founder's week."

Josie frowned, embarrassed.

"It wasn't that obvious."

Penelope gave her a look that could curdle milk.

"Josie. You alphabetized your crushes in high school, ranked them by astrological sign, and then color-coded them by emotional availability. Of course, it was obvious." She paused, eyes glinting. "You once described a woman's laugh as 'the sonic equivalent of sunlight filtering through old library windows.' That's not subtle. That's gay."

Josie laughed despite herself; the tension finally cracked, scattering like glitter.

"Okay, okay, so what do I do now, oh, wise and terrifying oracle of all things romantic?"

"Simple. The easiest way to get over Hope Mikaelson…." Penelope trails off, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously, "…is to get under someone else."

Josie's head snapped up so fast she heard a tiny pop in her neck.

"Penelope! You cannot be serious!"

"What?" Penelope said innocently, already scanning the crowd. "Look, low stakes. No feelings. Just… exploration. Think of it as field research. You can even take notes."

Her gaze landed on someone near the speakers, and her eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Jade. Over there, by the DJ booth. Fantastic hair, killer leather pants, and a confident stance that screams 'I probably own a motorcycle and definitely know how to use it.' Looks like she knows what she's doing and is more than capable of providing said 'research.'"

Josie followed her line of sight, heart pounding—not with panic this time, but something lighter. Curious. And maybe a little bit buzzed. Jade was indeed striking, a confident silhouette against the pulsating lights, with an aura that promised a very interesting night.

"I am not committing to anything," Josie said, trying to sound firm, but the words felt wobbly in her mouth.

Penelope smiled, a truly victorious, 'mission accomplished' kind of smile. "Of course not, darling. You're just… open to possibilities. And perhaps a scientific inquiry into new methodologies of emotional processing."

Josie sighed and took another sip of her drink, glanced back at Jade, then at the chaotic scene of her friends still battling the keg.

She knew better than to listen to Penelope, but really, what did she have to lose?

Because no, Jade wasn't usually her type. Not the ones who are in academia in the corner of a coffee shop, scribbling poetry onto a napkin.

But Jade seems fun.

And considering how catastrophically Josie's usual type had let her down in the last twenty-four hours (and, let's be real, most of her existence), maybe the universe was aggressively suggesting she diversify her emotional portfolio.

Like, immediately. And with extreme prejudice against anything resembling an existential crisis.

Besides anything, literally anything—to evict Hope Mikaelson from her brain.

“Screw it.” Josie said and tipped back the rest of her drink, immediately regretting the bitterness.

She set the empty cup down and started walking towards Jade.

Her body felt floaty, warm, and mildly unhinged—in the best way.

Like the universe had nudged her forward with a mischievous elbow and then disabled the emergency brake entirely, she crossed the room, weaving through bodies with the grace of a slightly tipsy gazelle, her smile growing with each step until she tapped Jade on the shoulder.

Jade startled, spun around—

—and immediately Josie took her in like they had been caught in a rom-com moment

Wow, up close, Josie can see that Jade's face was so pretty it bordered on unfair, as nature had just decided to show off.

“Hi,” Josie whispered brightly, her confidence finally arriving—fashionably late but wildly enthusiastic. “I’m Josie Forbes. This is extremely forward and possibly sponsored by an hour of deeply questionable frat punch, but you’re really cute. Like, unfairly cute. Would you maybe want to dance with me before I completely lose my nerve?”

Jade froze for a beat, surprise flickering across her face like she needed a second to reboot.

Her lashes lowered and lifted slowly, a thoughtful pause rather than a blink—eyes searching Josie’s like she was making a deliberate decision.

Then she smiled—soft, warm, devastating, and achingly sincere.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” she said over the music, “but with a face like that, how could I say no?”

Behind Josie, Penelope absolutely lost her mind.

Full whoop. Hands in the air. Zero shame. She probably even did a little victory dance.

"YES, JOSIE!" She yelled, cutting through the bass like a laser. "LOOK AT YOU. I'M SO PROUD I COULD CRY INTO A PINT OF CHEAP BEER!"

Josie laughed, cheeks burning with a delightful mix of embarrassment and exhilaration, as Jade, still smiling, reached for her hand.

And for the first time all night, the knot in her chest loosened—not gone, not solved, not entirely unraveled, but lighter.

Which, in Josie's chaotic world, felt an awful lot like a win.

The music continued to pulse as Josie nuzzled against Jade's cheek, the scent of something sweet and smoky clinging to her skin.

Jade laughed softly, a breathy sound that vibrated through Josie's ear.

"You're dangerous, Forbes," Jade murmured, moving close enough to smell the intoxicating hint of Josie's own lip gloss.

Josie smiled, a secret, giddy thing that felt like sunshine breaking through clouds.

She couldn't help herself.

Jade was gorgeous with her eyelashes fluttering, breath hitching—just slightly—her eyes dark and bright beneath smudged eyeliner.

God, she was adorable.

So open. So present.

A wildly unexpected detour from the brunette's usual habit of romantic self-sabotage, involving overthinking until every potential connection withered and died.

"This okay?" Josie asked quietly, her thumb tracing the delicate line of Jade's cheekbone.

Jade's gaze was unflinching, intense.

"Yeah. More than okay." She nodded immediately. They both stand there staring at each other, chests rising and falling with anticipation and nerves. "In fact, if I'm honest… it's perfect."

Josie watches Jade in silence, waiting for the beautiful woman to say—or do—something, anything, in response to her long-overdue bravery.

Her breath spills out in shaky, uneven waves as her gaze fixes on the other woman's lips.

They look impossibly soft. She’s so focused there that Josie almost has to snap herself out of it.

She doesn’t have to.

After a delicious pause comes the barest brush of lips—tentative, curious, like two planets just discovering each other’s orbit.

Josie has never kissed a woman before.

The entire week had been a slow, creeping realization, leaving her teetering on the precipice of something akin to madness, an uncharted anticipation that defied description.

Her romantic history consisted of a mere handful of kisses, all with men. She had always convinced herself she enjoyed them, finding it easier to affirm than to probe beneath the surface.

Josie remembered the warmth of their skin against her lips, imbued with the familiar fragrances of cologne, soap, or fresh sweat—an undeniably masculine essence.

There was the subtle abrasion of stubble, the comforting weight of their proximity, and the soft, almost imperceptible sounds they made as they kissed her.

It wasn’t bad. It just… never reached very far.

It was something Josie knew how to do, not something that ever truly moved her.

But this—this is different.

Jade’s mouth is warm and soft, tasting faintly citrusy and sweet, a sharp, welcome contrast to the aggressively bad frat punch Josie had been drinking all night.

The sensation lands somewhere deeper than expected, blooming low in her chest, in her stomach, in a way that makes her breath hitch.

As sick as Josie feels—and as much as she regrets nearly everything leading up to this—there’s an odd sense of peace curling through her.

She doesn’t like the truth, doesn’t like how long it’s taken her to face it, how it still makes her feel exposed and raw.

But there’s relief too.

Oh.

That’s why being with men always felt like a performance.

That’s why she unraveled so completely over Hope Mikaelson.

Josie hums, a low, satisfied sound, smiling into the kiss before leaning back in, pressing closer, letting it deepen in small, searching increments.

Her fingers tangle into Jade’s soft red hair, exploring the texture, pulling her closer—finally, instinctively—like this is something her body has known all along.

"Hi," Jade breathed between kisses, and then a joyous laugh bubbled, sounding like she couldn't quite believe this beautiful, chaotic moment was happening.

"Hi," Josie echoed back, grinning stupidly, her entire body buzzing.

Strong, surprisingly steady hands slid to Josie's waist—steady, sure—pulling her flush against Jade until the music vibrated through both of them, a shared rhythm.

Josie melted into the contact, the ease of it startling her.

It had been too long since touch felt this simple.

Real. Uncomplicated.

She let her forehead rest briefly against Jade's, laughing softly when Jade whispered, "You're kind of mesmerizing, you know. Like a really well-written tragedy, but… prettier."

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Josie's fingers, now fully lost in Jade's hair, tugged lightly as their bodies moved together, hips swaying almost imperceptibly in time with the thrumming bass. "You should probably kiss me again before I overthink it."

When Jade leaned in again, the kiss was slower, deeper, unhurried, a gentle exploration.

No urgency or competition.

Just warmth and rhythm.

Josie deepened her own kiss, pouring every ounce of desperate affection she'd been bottling up into it.

It's strange she imagined kissing a girl would be more gentle and loving at first, until she couldn't take the restraint anymore and all but devoured her whole.

But this?

This was perfect.

Even if Josie was probably smearing bright pink lip gloss across Jade's cheek, painting her with a careless, joyful abandon.

Even if everything tasted faintly of alcohol and bad decisions, it felt like the best decision she'd made all night.

She could stay here all night, wrapped in Jade's arms, pretending the rest of the world, especially the one named Hope, didn't exist.

Which, of course, meant the universe had other, far more dramatic plans.

One moment she was grounded, steady, completely lost in the intoxicating bubble of Jade's embrace—and the next, the floor vanished beneath her.

Josie yelped, a startled gasp, as her world flipped utterly, violently upside down.

Something solid dug into her stomach, a crushing pressure that stole the air from her lungs.

"Hey!" Josie breathes out, desperately trying to keep cool, but she's internally freaking the fuck out.

The world was now an inverted kaleidoscope of flashing lights and blurred faces.

"Josie!" Jade yelps in surprise.

"I think that's quite enough dancing for tonight, Jade." Hope cuts in with a furious possessiveness that made the air crackle, unmistakably jealous—rumbled straight through her.

Jade was ready to argue but Hope was... growling?

It threw her off, it wasn't human, it was like a warning, rumbling straight through the very ground.

Icy fear pours down Jade's chest and she took an involuntary step back, then another.

Her pulse roared in her ears, instincts screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

Whatever Hope was in that moment, it was not just an angry roommate or a jealous girl at a party.

It was a predator staking a claim.

Josie, meanwhile, missed the exchange completely, too busy being offended at being dangled like misplaced baggage.

"Oh, come on," she wheezed.

"And Josie," Hope added, tightly controlled, each word clipped with barely suppressed fury. "You belong on solid ground."

Josie flailed, slapping her palms against Hope's impossibly firm back.

"Put me down, you absolute menace!" She shouted, muffled by the awkward, upside-down position.

Despite Josie's thrashing, Hope carried her like nothing; it was like Josie weighed no more than a feather.

She kicked, swore creatively in a language she usually reserved for particularly frustrating math homework, and did not care that half the party seemed to have paused their revelry to gawk.

"What are you doing? I-" Josie panics but stops from the corner of her inverted vision, she spotted Penelope leaning against the wall, drink raised in a toast, her eyes gleaming with vindicated delight.

She gave Josie an exaggerated wink—and then, unforgivably, blew her a kiss.

What a fucking traitor.

⊹︶︶⊹

Hope released Josie, not gently, but with a definitive shove, once they were inside a random, dimly lit room.

Josie stumbled forward, catching herself on a surprisingly ornate dresser that definitely didn't belong in a college dorm.

The air in here was stale, thick with the scent of cheap cologne and desperation, a stark contrast to the pulsating energy of the party she had just been yanked from.

Hope didn't even glance around to see which frat boy's room they had invaded; her attention was fixed solely on Josie.

It took Josie's fuzzy brain a moment to process the sheer audacity, the raw, possessive power that had just propelled her through a crowd and into a stranger's room.

Then, and only then, did she remember she was furious with Hope.

"I can't believe you just did that!" Josie shrieked. She aggressively collected her long, dark hair, attempting to pull it into a ponytail, only to remember she hadn't brought a hair tie. Her hands fell uselessly back into her lap, a dramatic, exasperated sigh escaping her. "Are you a fucking cave woman now?!"

"Someone had to stop your drunk ass from making a bigger fool of yourself," Hope snapped, her eyes dark, almost pitch black, as she leaned against the closed door, effectively blocking Josie's escape.

"Excuse me?!" Josie launched herself forward, stumbling slightly, her anger outweighing her tipsiness. "Who are you to say if I've had too much to drink?!"

The look Hope leveled her with should have been scathing, but it only amplified Josie's irritation.

First, Hope had brushed her off earlier. Then she'd practically manhandled her through a throng of people with a terrifying, effortless strength that Josie was trying very hard not to analyze.

And now she was accusing her of being a sloppy drunk! This woman clearly had a death wish.

"Jade is Wendy's girlfriend." Hope's revealed, each word a carefully aimed dart, striking with brutal precision. "She was watching you two."

Josie could almost hear the screeching halt of her own anger.

Jade was… Wendy's girlfriend?

Wendy.

That Wendy.

The one who’d gotten kicked out of a bar freshman year for breaking someone’s nose over a look.

Wendy St. Claire—who wrote devastating short fiction for the campus paper when she wasn’t, apparently, collecting restraining orders like Pokémon cards.

Josie went cold all over.

She was fully—painfully—utterly fucked.

Her brain supplied vivid, unhelpful images: Wendy cornering her in some dark hallway, expression calm, voice polite, hands already bloody, while actively ending her life.

Josie turned slowly toward Hope.

“I’m fucking dead,” she wailed.

“Relax,” Hope said, rolling her eyes. “Wendy doesn’t care, Josie.”

“OF COURSE WENDY CARES,” Josie hissed. “I was full-blown Dirty Dancing with her girlfriend!”

Hope bit down on her lip to keep from laughing.

Josie looked absolutely panicked—wide-eyed, spiraling, seconds away from fainting—and it shouldn’t have been cute.

But it was.

“She’s not about to come after you,” Hope said, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “She was watching because she wanted to.”

Josie blinked.

“What,” she said carefully, like each word might explode, “do you mean wanted to.”

Hope closed her eyes for a second.

“She likes watching.”

Josie nodded slowly.

“Watching for what. Like—safety?”

“No.” Hope opened her eyes. “Sexually.”

Josie groans, throwing her hands in the air.

“I’m sorry,” she said, frustrated. “Why?”

 “Because kinks exist, Josie.”

Josie is pretty sure her soul just left her body.

“You’re telling me,” she said faintly, “that I almost got murdered for foreplay?”

No,” Hope scoffed, a dark amusement playing on her features. “You were practically due for a standing ovation.”

Josie felt the blood drain from her face, a strangled, panicked "Oh, shit!"

Hope laughed—actually laughed—and was way too fucking pleased with Josie’s visible distress.

“Hey,” she added, shrugging. “Some people are into that. Watching their girlfriend kiss another girl? Not the worst kink in the world.”

“I hate this school,” Josie breathed.

Hope leaned her bicep against the doorway, smirking.

“It’s not so bad.”

Josie made a note to transfer.

“Fuck…” she whimpers, a mortifying wave of heat slicing clean through the alcohol haze.

Leave it to her to make a total ass of herself on her first step toward a sapphic awakening and somehow ended up third-wheeling Jade and her girlfriend.

And apparently done it all under a very public spotlight.

God forbid someone had caught video of her throwing a full-blown tantrum while Hope practically carried her away from the dance floor.

That clip would absolutely be circulating by morning, sandwiched neatly between footage of Kaleb attempting a blindfolded keg stand and whatever crime against rhythm Jed had committed earlier.

She really should have stayed home.

"I see it’s finally setting in how stupid you've been," Hope said.

Josie's head snapped up so fast her neck nearly protested.

She surged to her feet and closed the distance in two furious steps, crowding Hope's space before she could think better of it.

"You are such an asshole," Josie shot back. "I cannot believe I'm stuck living with you."

That came out sharp, but beneath them was something fragile, exposed.

And Hope didn't move. Didn't back down.

Her eyes stayed locked on Josie's, dark and intent, daring her to keep going.

The room felt smaller. Louder. Charged.

Josie's gaze betrayed her, flicking to Hope's mouth—slightly parted—before snapping back up to her eyes.

Hunger.

It was almost deja vu with Jade, but this…

...this is different.

Josie's never felt desire like this before; all-consuming, torturous, urgency in your entire being because you're so fucking desperate for it, desire.

She actually figured she was one of those people who just… couldn't feel that type of passion, and she was fine with it.

Well, until now.

The space between Hope and Josie stretched tight as a bowstring, vibrating with the promise of either a spectacular explosion… or something far worse, something irrevocably life-altering.

"Enough of this." Hope growls and to Josie that sounds well, the closest she could describe the sound that came from Hope's chest was– deep, primal, and untamed intensity.

A hand, strong and possessive, grasped the back of her neck, tilting her head up just slightly, her vision full of nothing but Hope.

Within a breath, their desperate mouths were pressed together, a hungry, desperate collision.

Josie fucking whimpers into her at the contact, her whole body melting into the auburnette like a pat of butter on a still-warm pancake.

Hope's lips were heavenly, soft and warm, but every movement was filled with an aggression that was both terrifying and utterly intoxicating.

Josie is completely—happily—overwhelmed when Hope's teeth sank into her bottom lip, a gentle tug that made her breath catch, taking the opportunity to thrust her tongue past Josie's teeth.

It was nothing like kissing Jade.

Hell, it was nothing like any kiss before, and somehow Josie feel like there should be a completely different word for what her experience of kissing was like before Hope, and what she’s experiencing now with Hope.

The fiery auburnette dominated every movement, every angle, forcing Josie into a dizzying, breathless submission.

It felt like Hope was everywhere at once, hands gripping, not bruising, but intensely firm on her skin as her tongue explored the roof of Josie's mouth before dancing back to wrap around her own tongue in a scorching embrace.

Josie was melting, falling into every inch of Hope.

It felt perfect, like their bodies were meant to fit together.

As the kiss deepened, the rest of the world blurred into nothing, and Josie was only dimly aware of her hands curling tighter in the fabric of Hope’s shirt, as if holding on was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Then, with an effortless surge of strength that stole the air from her lungs, Hope lifted her.

Josie gasped against Hope’s mouth as her feet left the floor, the sound swallowed immediately by the heat between them.

Without thinking—without choosing—her legs wrapped around Hope’s waist, locking them together as if her body had made the decision before her mind could object.

Hope didn’t break the kiss.

She just moved, guiding them across the confined room in a slow, deliberate shuffle, every step measured and sure.

Both of them were breathing hard now, ragged and unsteady, like they’d run headfirst into something inevitable—something reckless and untamed.

Josie felt the rhythm of the movement, the sway of it, her senses overwhelmed by the press of their bodies and the relentless, aching hunger.

And then she was being lowered—slowly, deliberately—until her back met a surface she barely registered, Hope following her down without hesitation.

Eventually, Josie needs air, and pulls back, but Hope continues kissing up and down greedily.

Her brow.

Her throat.

“You would have been worshipped,” Hope murmurs against Josie’s collarbone, her mouth hot and wet, tasting, lingering. Josie shudders as Hope’s lips, then tongue, then teeth, explore the sensitive skin there, making her head fall back against the bed. “Back in ancient times.”

“Hope,” Josie gasps out, and fuck—that was supposed to be a warning, but because of the way her voice is dripping with arousal, Hope takes it as a sign to go further down the brunette’s gorgeous body.

“Can’t wait to taste all of you,” Hope dips her head slightly lower, now messily kissing at the fabric of Josie’s jeans.

She still avoids the main event by pressing her lips instead to Josie’s still-clothed hip, then the other.

Her hands slide up higher, gripping either side of the tops of Josie’s thighs.

“Wanna get my mouth on every single inch of you.”

Josie should stop her right now—she really, really wants this to last.

But she can’t find words—can’t even form a singular cohesive thought in her brain as Hope finally presses her hot, open mouth to Josie’s fully-aroused (and unfortunately still fully-clothed) pussy.

"Nngh," Josie moans eloquently.

Hope lets out a faint sound in the back of her throat when Josie pulls back, and the breath Josie had been holding in while Hope was kissing her comes billowing out past her now-wet lips.

She licks them.

Josie actually fucking watches. Gulps.

Then tears her eyes away to look back up at Hope.

And that was when she saw it.

Hope's eyes weren't blue anymore.

They were gold—molten and luminous, like liquid sunlight caught behind glass.

Josie blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Wait, gold?

That wasn't—no. That didn't make any sense.

She tore herself back with a sharp gasp, hands flying to Hope's chest as her body trembled.

Hope staggered up a little but didn't let go entirely, breathing just as hard, lips flushed and swollen, Josie's lip gloss smeared messily across her face.

"Hope—your eyes," Josie whispered, the words slipping out thin and breathless.

Hope went completely still.

For one suspended heartbeat, her gaze stayed locked on Josie's—still glowing, still unmistakably wrong.

Something naked flickered there, stripped of bravado and restraint, raw and dangerous and breathtakingly exposed.

Want, unfiltered.

Then—slowly—Hope drew in a breath and looked away.

The gold receded, swallowed back beneath familiar cerulean blue, though it remained dark and turbulent, like a storm barely contained beneath glass.

Her jaw flexed as she exhaled, controlled and deliberate, as if sheer willpower was the only thing keeping her anchored.

She shook her head once, curt and dismissive, like she was brushing off a minor inconvenience.

Her thumb lifted anyway.

It traced Josie's lower lip—soft, lingering, intimate—far too deliberate for someone who was supposed to be pulling back.

Hope's touch didn't waver.

Didn't hesitate. It stayed, warm and promising, as if daring Josie to call her bluff.

"It's just… the light in this room," Hope murmured, her thumb pressed slightly harder, a quiet confession. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Josie stared at her, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might give her away.

That didn't make any fucking sense.

But Hope was still there—close enough that Josie could feel her warmth, could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath.

As if sensing her fear, Hope leaned in again, slow this time, intentional. Hunger still lingered in her gaze, but it was tempered now, edged with something gentler.

"Hey," she murmured, and lifted her forehead to rest lightly against Josie's, close but not demanding. "I would never hurt you..."

Josie lets out a noise that should probably be embarrassing, and also still be thinking about the weird gold flowing eye thing, but she's too far fucking gone to care right now.

Her whole body is lit up and overtaken with a kind of deep-rooted, down-to-her-core arousal that she's never, ever felt before, and it's radiating through every inch of her.

And Hope was looking at her, and daring Josie to even think of fleeing.

Josie’s breath hitched—a raw, audible gasp—and she leaned into the heat, no thought of resistance, no urge to wriggle or escape Hope’s firm grip on her.

She just looked up at Hope, parted her lips, and nodded.

Hope felt her earlier defensiveness cool, but felt something else red-hot instantly replace it.

“That’s what I thought,” Hope swallowed now, gently stroking Josie’s chin with her thumb, “Good girl.”

Josie let out a noise—part gasp, part sigh, part moan.

It was quiet, sure, but Jesus Christ, she just moaned.

Whimpered, even.

Her eyes were looking up at Hope in that pleading way again, lips parted, and every bit of anger or annoyance Hope had felt earlier was clearly gone: wiped away and replaced with this needy fucking look that Hope could almost collapse entirely over.

Josie, was beneath her, looking up helplessly, entirely at Hope's mercy. Right where her good little girl wanted to be—right where Hope knew she wanted to be.

Suddenly, Josie reached up and grabbed Hope’s wrist—tight.

Hope was sure she was about to wrench her hand away and rip Hope’s fingers from the grip she had on her chin, maybe even yell at her for it.

But then… Just when Hope assumed it was all about to come to an abrupt end and she’d fucked everything up, Josie used her hips to scoot even closer—all the while staring at those smouldering azure eyes, never looking away.

She tightened the grip on Hope’s wrist, dipped her head slightly, and slipped Hope’s thumb between her lips.

The slight hesitation in Hope’s eyes vanished, replaced by a grateful, almost desperate eagerness as Josie closed the distance between them.

This second kiss was different, initiated by Josie, a desperate plea for more, a dive headfirst into the terrifying unknown.

Hope’s lips, still swollen and tasting of Josie, moved against hers with an exquisite tenderness, a soft coaxing that drew a needy whimper from Josie’s throat.

And her hands, no longer gripping, tangled in soft brown locks, cradling her head, deepening the kiss until Josie felt like she was melting into the mattress beneath them.

This was amazing. Electric. Consuming.

She felt like she was being rewritten from the inside out.

This felt like truth, a profound, undeniable revelation that settled deep in her bones.

Every touch, every movement of lips and tongue, confirming a connection Josie had only ever dimly perceived.

But then, as Hope’s mouth claimed hers with a deeper intensity, a cold, sharp shard of reality pierced through the intoxicating haze.

Wait. No.

This was Hope Mikaelson. Her roommate.

The woman who had, by simply existing, managed to turn Josie's entire world upside down. And the reason for her unexpected sapphic awakening.

Not to mention, the fucking person she had been actively trying to banish form her dorm room.

And now here they were—in the Zeta Omega Mu house, on a stranger’s bed, making out as if their lives depended on it, as if the world outside had ceased to exist. It was too much.

The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow, a sudden, blinding panic.

With a choked sound, Josie’s eyes flew open, and she ripped back, and bolt upright off the bed.

“Josie—?” Hope said, shocked. “Hey. What—what happened?”

“I—I can’t,” Josie blurted as she pushed herself upright on shaking legs. She is filled with arousal she doesn’t even recognize it on herself. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Hope asked, sitting up fully now. She didn’t move toward her. “Josie, slow down. You’re okay.”

Josie shook her head hard, cheeks burning—not just from the kiss, but from the crushing wave of embarrassment and fear flooding her all at once.

“This is too much,” she whimpered helplessly. “All of it. The way I—”

Hope put her hands up calmly.

“Hey, relax, I would’ve stopped.”

“I know,” Josie whispered, and that somehow made it worse.

For a split second, she caught the look on Hope’s face—concern tangled with disappointment, something vulnerable flickering there—and it nearly broke her resolve. But the panic was louder.

Before Hope could say anything else, before Josie could talk herself into staying, she spun on her heel.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, already reaching for the door.

She yanked it open, ignoring the startled protest from whoever was on the other side, and bolted out into the chaos of the frat house—music pounding, lights flashing, the night swallowing her whole.

Behind her, the door fell shut.

Hope stared where Josie once stood, still on the bed, propped on an elbow, her eyes wide, a flicker of confusion and the scent of their mingled desire still heavy in the air.

⊹︶︶⊹

The fog was thick across the Silas campus, and each street lamp added an eerie orange glow to the darkness.

Josie and Penelope shuffled down the sidewalk in unsteady sync, MG's arms slung over their shoulders, his feet dragged uselessly, and occasionally kicking at nothing.

"Best. Party. Ever," MG slurred for the third time, lifting his head just long enough to declare it before immediately going limp again.

Penelope huffed, readjusting her grip.

"Next time, I'm letting you carry him," she told Josie. "Or at least making him do some actual reps before challenging Jed to a keg-stand marathon."

"He did say it was the 'best party ever'," Josie muttered, trying to ignore the sticky feeling on her hand that she suspected was either cheap beer or even cheaper glitter. "Even if he just spent most of it upside down."

Penelope shot her a knowing look.

"You're glowing, Forbes," she observes Josie's still-flushed cheeks and distracted stare. "Did something happen with Hope after she carried you away?"

Josie stiffened, nearly dropping MG.

"We just had an argument," she insisted, a little too loudly, her voice cracking. "Nothing happened!"

"Mmm, funny," Penelope hummed, unconvinced, "I did hear a thud on the other side of the door. It wasn't a normal thud; it was the distinct thud of unresolved sexual tension echoing through the hall."

"PENELOPE!" Josie hissed, mortified. "You're horrible."

"I'm observant," Penelope corrected. "Also, Hope was glaring at half the room for the rest of the party. Which I assume means you left her sexually frustrated...

She pauses and grinned devilish.

“Honestly? Nice power move. Keep her wanting more.”

Josie shakes her head; she really doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

Mostly because Hope has managed to send her on a whirlwind of emotions she is not used to, and she needs to forget about the auburnette before it clearly settles on the one she has been having after that kiss: horny.

"I didn't, I-"

Before Josie could say more, MG stirred between them, lifting his head like a zombie rising from the grave.

"Did… did someone say Hope?" He mumbled, sober from the alcohol suddenly.

Penelope perked up, ready to spill the tea.

"We did, actually, MG. Our dear Josie here was just having a very intense, very detailed discussion about her."

MG lifted his head blearily, squinting.

"She… she is hot as fuck," he announced with absolute sincerity.

Josie nearly tripped.

"MG!" She yelped, face instantly on fire.

Penelope smirked, delighted, practically vibrating with glee.

“See?" She said, giving Josie a triumphant jab with her elbow. "Even the drunk knows. You should've totally tapped that."

"I—" Josie sputtered, waving a hand uselessly. "That is not— you can't—!"

MG nodded solemnly, as if delivering prophecy. "Missed opportunity," he murmured, then promptly went limp again.

Josie buried her face in her hands. She really needs this fucking night to be over.

"I hate both of you."

Penelope laughed, tightening her grip on MG.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said. "You absolutely do not."

And then—before Josie could recover—

a blood-curdling scream tore through the foggy night, slicing clean through the quiet.

All three of them froze.

Penelope's smile faded.

"Well," she said calmly, "that didn’t sound good."

Josie's stomach dropped.

So much for the night being over because whatever was still planned tonight, it clearly wasn't done with them yet.

Taking off in a clumsy run, half-carrying MG, the three teens rounded the corner of the courtyard to find a motionless body near the edge of the forest.

The sight was jarring, a splash of stark horror against the eerie orange glow of the streetlamp.

Penelope, her earlier snark instantly replaced by grim efficiency, was quick to call for help on her cell phone, shaky but gaining strength.

As they approached the body with caution, a cold dread seized Josie, clamping down on her chest.

The dark curls, the familiar, slightly askew scarf... No.

It couldn't be.

"I know her," Josie whispered, a sick, churning feeling spreading through her gut. "It's Maya."

MG, shockingly, sobered enough to drag himself upright, wobbling down onto one knee beside the still figure on the ground.

"Oh—oh my god," he breathed, reaching out instinctively. "Is she okay—"

Penelope grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.

"Nope. Absolutely not," she snapped. "You are drunk, uncoordinated, and one bad move away from contaminating everything. Sit. Down."

She punctuated the command by planting her foot against his thigh, forcing him back.

MG didn't argue. He just stared, pale and quiet, the gravity of the moment finally pinning him in place.

Penelope dropped to her knees beside Maya; all that teasing humor was gone.

"She's still alive," she said briskly. "Breathing. Unconscious." Her fingers hovered, careful not to touch as she examined Maya's hands. "Dirt under the nails. And—" she leaned closer, jaw tightening, "—blood. Small pool. Temple."

Josie felt a chill ripple straight down her spine.

Two attacks. One month.

First Dana. Now Maya.

What the fuck is going on at Silas?

"Did you call the paramedics?" Josie asked, forcing herself to stay grounded, to do something instead of spiraling.

Penelope nodded, already holding up her phone.

"On the way. Campus security, too." She glanced around the darkened path, scanning the shadows with a frown. "Whoever did this didn't want to be seen."

Josie hugged her arms around herself, suddenly acutely aware of how cold the air felt. The night that had started with music and laughter now pressed in close, heavy and ominous.

It felt like a warning she didn't understand yet—but one she couldn't ignore anymore.

Unable to look at Maya any longer, her mind reeling with dangerous thoughts, Josie darted around, searching for clues.

"Whoever did this probably ran into the forest when they heard us coming, right?" She asked.

Penelope gasped, horror dawning so fast it looked almost comical.

“Then why the hell are we still standing here?” She shrieked, panic shredding her usual composure. “We need to leave before they decide to come back! I am not dying in the opening scene of a true crime podcast!”

MG made a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and a gag.

"Yup, yup, time to go!" He swayed slightly, face draining of what little color the alcohol had left him with.

As if on cue, a long, mournful howl echoed, chillingly close, from deep within the forest.

Penelope and MG both stiffened instantly, the last traces of bravado gone.

No one joked. No one spoke. Whatever had happened to Maya had just taken on teeth.

And it felt near.

That’s when Josie saw it.

Movement—just barely—at the very edge of the tree line bordering the campus.

Her breath caught. She squinted, heart stuttering in her chest.

No fucking way.

Stepping out of the deepest shadows, half-swallowed by the thick, swirling fog, stood Hope.

She looked untouched. Clothes neat. Posture relaxed.

Her face was an unreadable mask, carved into something distant and closed off.

Their eyes locked.

No words. No gestures.

Just a long, loaded stare that made Josie’s skin prickle.

Hope’s expression shifted—just a fraction, a fleeting tightening around her jaw—and then she turned and moved.

Not rushed. Not panicked. She simply left, disappearing back into the dense trees and enveloping fog like she’d never been there at all.

Josie spun around sharply.

“Did you guys see that?”

MG frowned, rubbing at his temples.

“See what?”

Penelope shook her head, her gaze sweeping the empty tree line.

“Josie, we’ve been standing right here.”

Josie turned back.

The tree line was empty. Just fog, and silent, punctuated only by the distant wail of sirens.

Hope was gone.

⊹︶︶⊹

Headlights cut sharply through the mist as two police cruisers rolled onto the narrow path, gravel crunching beneath their tires.

Almost immediately, an ambulance followed close behind, its lights flashing rhythmically.

Doors opened in quick succession. Officers stepped out first, radios crackling as they began sweeping the area with flashlights, scanning the ground and the surrounding tree line with practiced efficiency.

Moments later, the back doors of the ambulance swung open, and two paramedics moved quickly, wheeling out equipment and heading straight for Maya without hesitation.

“Oh, thank god,” Penelope breathed, the words spilling out on a shaky exhale.

For the first time since they’d found Maya, some of the tension eased from her posture. Control—real control—had finally arrived, and she was more than willing to let it go.

More responders followed, along with a small but growing crowd of students drawn by curiosity and fear.

One of the officers approached them again, notepad in hand, his expression professional but alert as he took in their faces—pale, shaken, and far too young for any of this.

“Miss?” He called, drawing their attention. “I’m going to need you to walk me through what happened. Start from the beginning of your night.”

Penelope immediately straightened, shoulders squaring like she was bracing for impact.

MG swallowed hard beside her, fingers twisting into the sleeves of his jacket.

Somehow, they were going to have to explain all of this without mentioning the underage drinking that had very definitely, absolutely, occurred.

Josie drew in a slow breath and answered, forcing her voice to stay even despite the chaos spinning in her head.

“We heard something,” she said. “A scream. We followed the sound, and… she was already on the ground when we got here.”

The officer nodded, scribbling quickly. “Did you see anyone else nearby? Anyone at all?”

Josie shook her head. “No.”

It was the truth.

And yet.

As the officer stepped away, Josie drifted back toward the dark line of trees.

All she could think about was the forest.

And the cold, sinking certainty in her gut—that Hope had been there long before the sirens ever cut through the night.