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jungkookschin · 2 months

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demigod trials: fates intertwined

synopsis: you met jungkook at camp half-blood when you were 10 years old. since then, your fates have been infinitely intertwined.

word count: 20k

pairing: son of ares!jungkook x daughter of hephaestus!reader

genre: camp half blood au, percy jackson au, demigod au, childhood friends to lovers, exes to lovers , enemies to lovers, jungkook is sooo in love, jungkook is emotionally constipated, THEY FALL INTO TARTARUS TOGETHERR, jk and y/n are supposed to be reminiscent of percabeth, y/n can wield fire 😳 , ANGSTYY, taehyung as a son of poseidon, namjoon son of athena, mingyu son of jupiter, mina daughter of venus,

warnings: death, angst, blood, kinda gruesome, SMUT (not explicit at all- it's told more in a poetic way), v card loss, many percy jackson references, character death (she comes back to life)

author's note

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 3.5 | chapter four

“Missed me, inferno princess?”

Jungkook stands in the entranceway of your hotel room, soft strands of fringe falling into his piercing brown eyes like the delicate curtains of a war chariot. He stares at you smugly, the most classic Jungkook smile etched across his lips.

Jungkook is a demigod, meaning that one of his parents is a Greek god while the other is a mortal. In Jungkook’s case, his celestial father is Ares, the god of war- also associated with brutality and chaos.

Those vaguely familiar with Jungkook would argue that he is the poster child for everything his father represents:

A ruthless warrior on the battlefield, his every step echoes the thunderous march of Ares, causing monsters and enemies alike to flee like waves of the Red Sea. Thick and muscular biceps you can’t even wrap both hands around, a sleeve of tattoos running around the circumference of his arm, and natural affinity to any weapon- effortless wielding a spatha, spear, javelin, or knife with precision and ease.

Jungkook also rides a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and has had the occasional fling with a daughter of Aphrodite- all echoing behaviors of his father.

You beg to differ.

To you, Jungkook is love. Jungkook is your spring solace after a grueling winter, Jungkook churns the gears in your brain and heart that stop functioning. Jungkook is your serenity after war- countless wars by which you both narrowly escaped the clutches of death.

His presence fills your heart with the warmest, most nostalgic sensation. Endorphins fill the hotel hallway, and suddenly you’re 14, savoring the fragrance of strawberry fields with Jungkook’s large hands on your waist as you soar on a pegasus over the harbor of Long Island.

You met Jungkook at Camp Half-Blood when you were ten years old. After your fifth grade volleyball coach turned into a giant cyclops and tried to eat you, you found yourself at Camp Half-Blood, a summer camp for children of Greek gods and goddesses.

Nestled within Camp Half-Blood's grounds are the children of around 20 Greek gods, including the 12 Olympians and various minor deities. The enchanting aroma of strawberry fields wafts through the entire camp. As you explore, you'll find an amphitheater, Pegasus stables, a sword-fighting arena, and even magical cups and plates that intuitively read your mind, materializing the food of your desires. Don't forget the ever-so thrilling challenge of scaling the lava wall, which almost killed you, like, ten times.

It took you a while to adjust to the bustling life in Camp Half-Blood.

Despite being a volleyball player, your athleticism waned in comparison to the other demigods. You sucked at archery, struggled with sparring, and could barely stand under the weight of armor.

However, you quickly discovered that you excelled in the forge.

Before Hephaestus even claimed you as his, you spent hours cooped up in the forge, constructing jewelry, engineering random gadgets and gizmos, and printing 3-D sculptures of your favorite anime characters.

One day, when you were scaling up the climbing/lava wall, your left foot slipped from one of the ledges and a wave of lava washed over you. Gasps ripple through the crowd of demigods, and you swore you heard the Hades kids sigh because they had the unfortunate obligation of preparing burials for campers.

Once the wave washed over, absolutely nothing happened. You were still hanging onto the climbing wall with both hands, and your feet found solace back on the stone ledges.

You heard more gasps, and everybody began pointing at something above your head. When you looked up you saw a red fiery hammer, the symbol of Hephaestus, the god of metalworking, volcanoes, and fire.

Jungkook was only ten years old, but his voice resonated louder than anybody else’s.

“By the blade of Ares,” Jungkook muttered, an awestruck look morphing into an amused grin gracing his lips, “our little warrior is Hephaestus’s kid!”

Before inferno princess, he coined the nickname little warrior when you failed to even lift a Celestial Bronze sword. At ten years old, Jungkook always teased you and found the best ways to get under your skin.

You have a stupid theory that you’re genetically inclined to dislike Jungkook. After all, his father was one half of a millenia long affair with Hephaestus’s wife and your stepmom (?) Aphrodite.

Jungkook, on the other hand, might actually be genetically predisposed to picking on you for how easily his dad bitched yours.

Anyways, what made you even more special was that you wielded the ability to control fire.

The last child of Hephaestus who had the ability to do so died in the 1700s, meaning that you were a prodigy, an anomaly. You immediately met with the camp director Chiron to discuss your special abilities, placing you in elite training classes with none other than the Ares cabin and your favorite person Jungkook.

The head counselor in the Hephaestus cabin, Atticus Gonzales (he is dead now), personally trained you in the forge, instructing you to engineer and construct contraptions that were lightyears above the proficiency of a ten-year-old.

One morning, as you get out of bed, you spot a toolbelt resting on your bedside.

From H

A gift from your father.

Ten year old you marveled at the toolbelt before wrapping it around your waist. You quickly discovered its celestial magic, capable of summoning any tool you desired or envisioned. However, it had its constraints. It couldn't magically produce enchanted weapons; its abilities were limited to mortal tools like screwdrivers and mallets.

Your first task was to forge a Celestial Bronze knife for none other than the boy who miffed you like no other, Jungkook.

Celestial bronze is a special metal forged on Mount Olympus, the home of the gods. According to Greek mythology, it is the one of the only metals that is capable of vanquishing monsters, meaning that demigods would have to wield Celestial Bronze weapons.

As a ten year old, forging a Celestial Bronze knife was not an easy feat, and it was even more painful with a ten year old Jungkook over your shoulder the entire time. You wanted to strangle him the entire time.

You first had to invoke the blessing of Hephaestus, offering a sacrifice to your father to guide you through the forging process. Getting Jungkook to just sit still was a quest on its own; he wouldn’t stop bouncing around the forge and you were horrified that he would knock something over or set the place on fire.

Next, you had to heat and melt the celestial bronze, a task you were instructed to complete with your own fire.

Though it was established that you wielded flame manipulation, it was difficult to spark your own flame without the assistance of gas or a lighter. You must have sat in the forge for an entire day, grunting and groaning as you willed yourself to spark a flame from your fingers.

Jungkook was absolutely no help at all. He was the least encouraging person and kept asking to place the Celestial Bronze in a preheated fire.

Eventually, you willed yourself to ignite a spark, and the fire spread over the entire sheet of metal. You and Jungkook were so thrilled that you actually hugged before staring at each other uncomfortably and backing away.

Next, you shaped and formed the blade in accordance with Jungkook's wishes, which wasn’t so easy because he kept changing his mind about the shape of the blade. Afterwards, you quenched the blade in water before enchanting the knife with a protective spell.

15 years later, three wars, countless battles, a plethora of dead monsters, and yours and Jungkook’s lives are still forever intertwined.

You and Jungkook are 25, and you have been to hell and back together, literally.

The answer is yes. You did miss Jungkook and your face dissolves with utter relief as you run into his arms and melt into the safety of his embrace.

You hadn’t seen Jungkook in an entire year. Last year, your father Hephaestus asked if you wanted to spend a year with him in the forge of Mount Olympus, working on a top secret engineering project.

You had just returned, requesting that your father open a direct portal to Camp Jupiter, the camp for Roman demigods.

Camp Jupiter stands as a training ground for Roman demigods on the West Coast, offering a structured and disciplined environment akin to the Roman legions. Adjacent to this formidable camp, New Rome emerges as a concealed city, a testament to ancient Roman architecture combined with modern amenities.

Camp Jupiter differs from Camp Half-Blood because New Rome is a fully operational city where former members of the Roman legion, upon completing their service, could choose to reside. Graduated members of the Roman legion had the options of going to university, building a family, and seeking employment within the city, which also provided a barrier against Roman monsters.

Currently, you and Jungkook are in Camp Jupiter for a special gathering with fellow demigods in your generation and the Praetors of the Roman Legion. The Praetors Mina and Mingyu are essentially the commanders of the Roman army, overseeing operations and making crucial decisions for the camp's well-being.

Yours and Jungkook’s generation of demigods is deemed particularly special because yours is the first generation of demigods to live beyond your teens. Typically, demigods were monster bait and were either eaten or murdered before they reached their 20’s.

Yours and Jungkook’s generation changed the tide, with almost 100 demigods reaching their mid 20’s, dubbing this the beginning of the Golden Era of the Demigods.

For you and your friends to be called to a meeting with the Praetors- it concerned you slightly. But after all you had been through, nothing seemed to scare you. Instead, all you’re thinking about is how much you missed Jeon Jungkook.

You haven’t seen Jungkook in a year, and you take a moment to relish the man who’s been to Tartarus and back with you.

Jungkook’s in ripped jeans, combat boots, and a seemingly brand new orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. He looks the same, except a little leaner, and maybe a little taller.

“Missed you a lot, Jungkook the Relentless,” you muse in return.

Jungkook’s features crumble in disgust, before he, in his dramatic nature, theatrically flicks his head back, soft and wispy strands falling back onto his head to reveal his handsome forehead.

“Inferno princess is cute,” he claims, a grin peeking from the frown he just could never maintain around you, “Whatever you said,” he pauses, “It lacks creativity, it’s not clever, it’s not smart. I give it an F.”

You scoff amusedly, nudging his chest with your left shoulder before marching past him.

“Whatever, stupid.”

“Wait up, inferno princess,” he calls from behind, speedily catching up in a single stride, “Why didn’t you answer any of my Iris messages? Didn’t miss me at all over the past year?”

You shrug, pressing the down button on the elevator as you and Jungkook step in. “My dad probably blocked you from calling. You know how he feels about you.”

Muzak fills the elevator, and Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Just say you didn’t want to see me, inferno princess. Hephaestus loves me, personally thanked me for keeping you safe all these years.”

The noise that leaves your mouth falls in between a scoff and a gag. “You? Kept me safe? You would’ve been dead in seventh grade if it weren’t for me,” you tease.

“Gotta give it to you there, inferno princess. This knife has killed more monsters than you’ve ever seen in your life,” he teases, unsheathing the Celestial Bronze knife you forged for him when you were ten years old. He always keeps it on him, and it makes you happy because it means he still cares

You lean against the elevator railing and raise a brow at him. “Is that so?”

He smiles smugly at you, the same stupid Jungkook smile that never changed after all these years. “It definitely is so.”

He smiles at you, toying with his lip as his eyes shamelessly glaze over you. His features fall into a pout. He opens his arms again, and you waddle over for another hug. “Gods inferno princess, I missed you,” he whispers,” You ignored me for a year-”

The elevator door swings open, and you’re greeted by a greatly amused Namjoon and Taehyung.

Taehyung whistles. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

You gently shove Jungkook away with your forearm and greet Taehyung and Namjoon with a huge hug, each arm encircling one of their necks.

Just as it’s been a year since you’ve seen Jungkook, it’s also been a year since you’ve seen Taehyung and Namjoon. You met Taehyung, son of Poseidon, when you were 12 years old and he stumbled into Camp Half-Blood after single handedly bringing down the Minotaur.

Namjoon, son of Athena, came to Camp Half-Blood a couple years after Jungkook. After devising the strategy to defeat Kronos in the Battle of Manhattan, he was given the honor of redesigning Mount Olympus in accordance to his architectural preferences.

Being in Olympus for a year, you really were able to relish in Namjoon’s creations. The Greek-style temples maintained their traditional charm with innovative twists. You had the opportunity to walk through the most beautiful of gardens, special flowers bred by Namjoon specifically for Mount Olympus.

You’ve known them for so long that they’re practically your brothers. Both are wearing Camp Half-Blood shirts- Namjoon’s is a little tight and tattered so you reckon it’s the same shirt he adorned in high school.

Everyone’s back together. A warm wave of nostalgia washes over you, and you feel at home.

“So little Ms. Olympus is finally back to the mortal world?” Taehyung teases, meandering around playfully as he lazily swings an arm around your shoulder.

“Oh? What about Mr. Olympus over here? I ran into him all the time up there,” you gesticulate towards Namjoon who scoffs playfully and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You worked with Namjoon occasionally on Mount Olympus to construct his architectural plans for the godly city, so it hadn’t been that long since you’ve run into him.

“Didn’t get the chance to live there like you did. Gods, was I envious of you when I heard you were moving! The gods all know I would be the better option.”

You shoot Namjoon a theatrically annoyed glance, rolling your eyes the same way Jungkook does.

“I’m kidding,” Namjoon asserts, “I’m infinitely proud of you and all your accomplishments.”

You smile, pressing the friendliest of kisses on Namjoon’s cheeks. “Thanks Joon, love you the most.”

“Yea, well,” Taehyung begins, “You’re bearing witness to the only demigod to ever take up residence in Tartarus and Mount Olympus, so you better put some respect on her name.”

You grin, rolling your eyes as you press another kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the warm welcome, Tae.”

You momentarily pause, shifting your gaze from Namjoon and Taehyung to Jungkook. “What? You guys aren’t gonna say hi to him?”

Taehyung makes a psh sound with his lips, “I see this guy everyday.” He skips over to Jungkook, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You want a kiss too?” Taehyung teases, about to press a kiss to his cheeks to which Jungkook pushes Taehyung away with his infinite strength.“Gross, dude.”

Taehyung smiles, his combat boots skipping against the gravel of New Rome. “Gods, I feel like we’re 17 again- discovering all this Camp Jupiter shit, meeting the Romans- doesn’t it all bring you nostalgia?” Taehyung continues, carelessly skipping through the gravel with you.

“Remember when we were 14?” you add, “And you, me, and Joon had to go through that Labyrinth?” you recall, chills running down your spine at the very memory.

“Gods, that was the worst,” Namjoon adds, “And you broke your ankle so I had to carry you through the labyrinth? Yea, I remember that.”

“Hey, at least, you got the laptop of Daedalus,” you add, “I mean, that thing even had an international credit card programmed onto it, and gods remember the fake ID’s? We got so drunk on your 18th birthday- the party ponies came and everything. That was ridiculous.”

Jungkook cheekily smiles at the memory, and Taehyung detects it immediately. “What, Jeon? Smiling because you remember how shitfaced you were? You could’ve gotten a DUI on a pegasus if it weren’t for me.”

Jungkook can’t help but smile, “Gods Taehyung, you’re dumb.”

Taehyung shrugs, “But I’m your favorite.”

Reunited with your friends, you’re home.

Over the years, you’ve observed the multifaceted aspects of Jungkook’s character.

There were special occasions by which he became rigidly serious- his pupils morphing into flames, a feature he clearly adopted from his father.

You witnessed this firsthand when you were 13 when you and Jungkook were on a quest now dubbed the Quest of the Eternal Night.

Los Angeles, the city of Angels home to all the glittering allure of Hollywood became shrouded in darkness. The mortals all assumed the famine was attributed to an extended solar eclipse when in reality it was the Greek monster Lamia who intended to conceal the entire world with darkness, starting with Los Angeles.

Once a beloved queen of Zeus, Lamia’s life went to shit when Hera, out of jealousy, mercilessly murdered Lamia’s children. Overwhelmed with grief, Lamia transformed into a child-devouring monster with a snake-like lower body. From the waist up, Lamia was the most beautiful woman you’ve ever encountered. Lamia resembled the little mermaid, her long orange hair reminiscent of warmth from the sun, perfectly framing her face and enhancing her mesmerizing glow.

At the time, nobody in Camp Half-Blood was aware of the true nature of the threat, just that it was most likely a monster.

Given the prevailing uncertainty, the Oracle presented herself at the daily campfire, revealing the prophecy to the entirety of Camp Half-Blood:

In shadows' grasp, the forge's child shall dance,

Beside the warrior, fire's fierce advance.

Through the endless night, a tandem in step they weave as one,

A celestial key, by blood begun.

Within shadows, echoes of a tragic tale,

Redemption blooms as darkness lifts its veil

In an instant, everyone's gaze shifted to you.

“In shadows' grasp, the forge's child shall dance,

Beside the warrior, fire's fierce advance.”

Not a single camper could contest that this was about you. Forge’s daughter, fire’s fierce advance- it dawned on you that the weight was on your shoulders, and you may be heading towards your impending doom.

A fight broke out between Jungkook, Namjoon, and Jinyoung son of Hermes over who would accompany you on the quest. Beside the warrior, fire’s fierce advance, indicating that the quest called for a warrior to your side.

Through the endless night, a tandem in step they weave as one,

What made you feel especially at unease was that the prophecy explicitly called for two demigods as opposed to three. In Greek mythology, the number three was associated with balance and completeness. Three celestial spheres governed the world- Zeus ruled the sky, Poseidon ruled the sea, and Hades presided over the underworld. There were three fates that determined the destinies of mortals and deities. The guard dog of the underworld Cerberus, had three heads.

Three was a lucky number in Greek mythology, so why did this quest call for two?

“You fucking kidding me?” Jungkook mocked, crossing his arms as he stared at Jinyoung in disdain. He pointed at Jinyoung, singling him out in front of the entire camp. “This guy is a candidate for the quest? He’s a son of Hermes. All he does is send letters and shit.”

Thirteen year old Jungkook was a menace to society.

Chiron, the camp activities director who was also a centaur (horse from the waist down and human from the waist up), cleared his throat and cast Jungkook a look that screamed boy, sit down.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, acquiescing nonetheless, sitting on a log while glaring bitterly into the campfire.

The night sky stretched above, adorned with a myriad of constellations depicting Greek heroes such as Hercules, Perseus, and Achilles. It was like the stars were mocking him, casting doubt that he would be selected for this quest.

But he had to be chosen. He was positive he was the only demigod equipped with the skills to keep you safe on your quest. Jinyoung and Namjoon didn’t hold a candle to him.

The prophecy called for a warrior, and he was a warrior. He was the most talented offspring of his father, the literal god of warriors. It had to be him.

Namjoon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “With all due respect,” he begins, “We’re not going to send Jungkook’s dumbass on a quest alone with Y/N. He’d get both of them killed with his recklessness.”

Jungkook didn’t take that well. “I won’t,” he sneers, gesticulating with his hands dramatically, “None of you guys know Y/N like I do. I’m a warrior, and I’m going to protect her.” he states matter-a-factly.

Namjoon was probably one of the only demigods unphased by Jungkook’s abrasion.

“Jeon, you might be a warrior, but there’s absolutely nothing in that head of yours. Sure, the prophecy calls for a warrior, but not a complete imbecile like you,” Namjoon spits, rising to his feet. “This quest needs someone with the capacity for strategic warfare, which my mother is the goddess of,” he declares, “The city is covered in darkness, so we’ll have to move around strategically. Your dumbass would walk straight to the enemy.”

Jungkook stands at that, immediately squaring Namjoon up, hardened pupils daring Namjoon to back up his words with action.

“He’s right, Jungkook,” Jinyoung adds, “You want to go on the quest because you want to protect Y/N. I want to go on this quest because I know our assets are compatible and that we work well together.”

“Y/N and I have the best chemistry out of everyone in the camp.” A bold claim by Jungkook, eliciting a few gasps from the gallery, and you tilt your head because you don’t believe that to necessarily be true.

Jinyoung stands, “You know what Jeon? You think you’re the shit because your dad’s the god of war. Even as a Hermes kid, I guarantee I can beat you in sword to sword combat,” Jinyoung unsheathes his Celestial Bronze sword, and Jungkook’s pupils glitter against its shine.

“Winner goes on the quest,” Jungkook obliges, unsheathing his own Celestial Bronze sword, a wave of conviction clouding his aura.

Chiron stomps his hooves on the terrain, demanding the attention of the camp.

“That’s enough,” he declares sternly, “There will be no fighting. It will be Y/N’s choice. She gets to choose.”

All eyes drift towards you, putting you on the spot.

You open and close your mouth repeatedly like a dying fish, not having a single clue how to respond. You wish Chiron would decide for you. You see yourself being fine with all three candidates, but you don’t even have the courage to consider making a decision.

Jungkook cuts you off.

“I swear on the River Styx that I will complete this quest successfully, protect Y/N, and return safely.”

Jungkook’s sudden declaration elicits a collective gasp from the campers.

Swearing on the River Styx meant making a promise so serious it couldn't be broken. The River Styx was a sacred river in the Underworld, considered to be a boundary between the world of the living and the realm of the dead. Oaths sworn by the river were binding and unbreakable.

Swearing on the River Styx was incredibly wreckless of Jungkook, and he suffered severe reprimanding from Chiron for doing something so callous.

And that was basically it. Jungkook already swore on the River Styx so he had to go through with the quest. That made your choice a lot easier, since you were pretty much indifferent to choosing your partner.

Jungkook didn’t lie. He most certainly kept his binding oath.

After navigating through the mazes of Los Angeles, scaling the Hollywood sign, and coursing through the animatronics of Disneyland, you and Jungkook encountered your final foe, Lamia.

Lamia had the ability to psychologically torture her victims, eventually revealing that Jungkook was the perfect candidate for the quest because the psychological torture had no effect on him.

You liked to joke that it was because he didn’t have a brain.

Lamia cast a curse upon you, plunging you into a trance of your most haunting memories. You were transported into the scene of your mother's murder the previous year, forced to relive the moment a million times over.

The flame you sparked from your fingers as a makeshift torch immediately went out, and you were rendered a screaming crying mess as you rolled on the floor with your fingernails scraping against the pavement.

The only light you perceived was the light reflected off Jungkook’s Celestial Bronze knife, the same one you forged years before when you were ten years old.

Seeing you like that, Jungkook became so angry, his pupils exploded into flames and he immediately decapitated Lamia, returning light to sunny Los Angeles and sending Lamia into the depths of Tartarus.

When you were 19, the Earth mother Gaia, a primordial deity and the very essence of the Earth awakened from her slumber. Her goal was to overthrow the gods, wipe out humanity, and destroy Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood so that she and her offspring, the giants and monsters, would reign over the world.

Obviously, that wasn’t good so you and six other demigods ventured on a quest to the homelands Rome and Greece to incapacitate Gaia. You were responsible for engineering a flying magical warship to transport said group of seven demigods to Rome and Greece- and it was arguably the largest project you’ve ever taken on.

You still remember when the Oracle presented herself and read the prophecy aloud to the entire camp.

"In realms of ancient twilight, seven shall heed the call,

To storm or fire, the Earth shall fall.

Forge’s armor, a shield against fate,

Through the ancient homelands, they navigate.

A choice profound, in shadows deep,

To banish Gaia's wrath in fiery sweep.

In storm's embrace or fire's light,

Seven demigods shall rewrite the ancient night."

After the Oracle announced the prophecy, you felt personally victimized and were ready to throw the towel in to drown yourself in the Atlantic Ocean.

To storm or fire the Earth shall fall?

Nothing was definitive, but that basically meant a child of Zeus or Hephaestus would be designated to vanquish Gaia, and since you’re the only child of Hephaestus who can wield fire, you were left in a sheer state of terror.

Forge’s armor?

There was no doubt in your mind that it had something to do with you- and your intuition was accurate.

You would soon be embarking solo into the depths of the Hephaestion (temple of Hephaestus) to recover the armor your father forged for the Olympians in the original war against the Titans. You needed this armor to defeat Gaia’s offspring, the giants, because the armor bestowed its wearer with the divine capabilities of their demigod parent.

That was great and all, but you didn’t understand why you had to travel solo to retrieve it. You didn’t know what perils lay ahead, and to your luck, there was another prophecy- just for you. The fates consistently chose you for perilous quests- you were obviously their favorite.

"In forge's embrace, beneath Hephaestion's grace,

A child of fire seeks the lost, a sacred trace.

Through tunnels deep, where riddles guard the way,

Guardians forged in flame demand a price to pay.

The armor forged for gods, in shadows it lay.

Alone she tread, the quest's weight to bear,

A solitary journey through trials and despair."

A solitary journey through trials and despair- how exciting!

You wanted nothing more than to be with Namjoon, Taehyung, Jungkook, and all your friends. If you had it your way, you would bring the other six demigods with you, but the prophecy made it clear: Alone she tread, the quest’s weight to bear.

Your final moments may very well be under the ruins of the Hephaestion, and no matter how you screamed and cried, there would be nobody to save you, just miles and miles of dirt and terrain.

By this time, it had been a year since Jungkook started riding his Harley Davidson motorcycle.

The motorcycle was a gift from his father, and was presented to Jungkook in the form of a Rolex watch. With a press of a button, the watch unfurled and morphed into a sleek Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Jungkook was a talented rider, maneuvering swiftly through the hills and slopes of Athens, gripping the handles so tightly that his knuckles became white and the wounds on his hands reopened.

You clung tightly to his waist, finding solace as you rested your cheek against the back of his leather jacket, reveling in the warmth of his body while you had the chance.

You were scared out of your mind.

Jungkook evidently feels the same way, the look of apprehension on his face something you will never forget. He grimaces, utter trepidation enveloping his features as his eyebrows furrow and his eyes reflect a sense of unease. His hands, once steady, now betray a subtle tremor, and the air seems to thicken with the weight of his anxiety.

Braking abruptly at the entrance of the Hephaestion, the motorcycle veers sharply, casting dirt onto the ancient ruins. It's his way of telling Hephaestus to go fuk himself for having his nineteen-year-old daughter tread through the temple’s ruins to her potential doom. With a spiteful glare at the ruins, he mounts his vehicle and helps you off the motorcycle, watching as it folds back into a Rolex watch on his wrist.

His heart melts when he sees how glossy your eyes are. Jungkook hates the gods- nothing but deadbeat parents who fucked and reproduced like animals. He hates this stupid quest.

For a very brief moment, Jungkook dares to imagine life as a normal person. A luxury he would never experience in his life: normalcy, and he knows it’s pointless to covet for what he doesn’t have but he can’t help but desperately delude himself into thinking that he’s dropping you off at class, your first day of work, to hang out with your friends, and not on a dangerous quest.

In an alternative universe, University Y/N and Jungkook would be a campus couple. Gods, if the circumstances were different he would have confessed years ago. He just hasn’t because the very act of loving is selfish when you’re a demigod.

Jungkook can’t confess to you and then die the very next day. And assuming that you do feel the same way and choose to become his girlfriend- he just doesn’t know if he’ll randomly drop off the face of the Earth and he can’t bear to think of you just waiting for him, sobbing on your knees by the barriers of Camp Half-Blood.

Perhaps he’s projecting his deep-rooted fears onto you. If Jungkook ever gets a taste of you then loses you- he knows he would never be the same.

Gods, it’s cynical, but it’s true.

He pulls himself out of his little trance.

“Y/N.”

Jungkook looks at you, sees that you’re trembling- scared shitless.

“Take this.” He slides off wristwatch and puts it onto yours.

The gesture has you tearing up, and once a single tear falls from your lashes, Jungkook’s brows furrow thoroughly. “Y/N. You’re one of the strongest demigods I’ve ever fucking met. You’re going to make it through. You’re going to find the armor, and once you’re done, we’re going to take care of it.”

Jungkook sounds confident in his conviction, and it almost rubs off on you.

You pout. “I-I I have to fight too.”

“No. No you don’t. I’m going to fight for you. Look. If you’re not safe, take the watch off. It’ll magically appear on my wrist, so I’m going to assume that you’re not okay and go in there if it comes back to me.”

“Except you can’t do that,” Namjoon points out from above. A glorious, beautiful white pegasus lands adjacent to you, neighing and rearing on its hind legs. Its two passengers dismount the pegasus and intervene between you and Jungkook.

“You can’t interfere with the prophecy, Jungkook. That’s going to make things worse.”

Jungkook’s body uncomfortably stiffens, and his jaw clenches. “So you’re going to let Y/N in there alone? We have to do something about it.”

Taehyung sighs, joining the conversation. “Kook, if something happens, we’ll know. We’ll sense if something happens to her. You’re going to make things worse if you follow her. You can’t.”

You nod in agreement. “I’m gonna keep the watch. It’s the same thing as bringing a weapon in there. It’s fine- and who knows- I might have to ride the motorcycle over a volcano or some stupid shit like that,” you mutter, “But Jungkook, you can’t come after me. If I die, then it’ll be by the gods’ will, but I swear on the River Styx that I’l get you that armor, even if that means my life is at risk.”

Jungkook’s expression hardens at that.

“Don’t say that,” Namjoon mutters, “You’re going to jinx it.”

Taehyung sighs, pulling you in for a hug. He rests his head against your neck, and you can feel his hot breath tickling your skin. “Good luck Y/N. You got this. You’re the most capable demigod I know. You got your tool belt?” He asks, pulling away and checking your waist.

Sure enough, your tool belt was wrapped securely around your hips, just like it always was. You nod.

“Then you’re going to succeed,” Taehyung declares, “You got that thing strapped on you? Nobody can do shit to you,” his gentle smirk comforts you.

Namjoon hugs you next, pulling away to place his glasses on the bridge of your nose. Namjoon’s glasses, a gift from his mother that allows the user to see the most successful strategy for any situation.

You scowl. “Aren’t you going to need this?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I have my brain and that’s all I need. You need this.”

You smile and face Jungkook. No words could convey the emotions on his face. He approaches you and hugs you tightly, eyes squeezing shut in anxiety and anguish once you melt in his embrace. “You got this, inferno princess. Let’s give hell to those stupid giants.”

You nod at them, running off into the ruins of the temple of Hephaestus.

You face countless trials, mechanical automatrons, and fire obstacles that only you could have ever survived. And you were right- you did have to ride Jungkook’s motorcycle over a volcano. Crazy.

With the armor in your hands, you throw off the wristwatch, knowing that Jungkook would appear in minutes. Since the quest was complete, you had every right to call on your friends, and you knew they would arrive without fail.

Anyway, had you known that just beneath the thin layer of dirt lay a pit straight to Tartarus, you wouldn't have called for him. The magical warship you engineered appears above you, and Jungkook plummets onto the dirt like a meteor.

Mingyu son of Jupiter, Mina daughter of Venus, Rose daughter of Apollo, Namjoon, and Taehyung secure the armor and load it onto the ship. Its celestial glow was nearly too much for the interior of the warship to handle.

Although the armor was safely loaded onto the ship, you weren't as fortunate.

The ground underneath you cracked, and you plummeted into a pit that led straight to Tartarus, the deepest pit of the Underworld where monsters, titans, and giants are imprisoned. Jungkook almost immediately jumps in after you, prompting the others to meet you guys at the Doors of Death.

You both fell for what seemed like hours, Jungkook’s strong arms securely wrapped around you, holding you tightly. You don’t know if it was days or hours, but you plummeted for what felt like forever.

He refuses to let you go no matter how weak his arms become, and despite how fast you plummet, Jungkook tells you that it’s going to be okay every 1000 feet of your rapid descent.

The atmosphere in Tartarus is noxious, causing boils to erupt on your skin, burns to sear, and intense headaches to course through your body- even before you slam into the terrain of Tartarus.

Given that you survive falling into an infinity high pit, you and Jungkook are likely to die from the toxicity in the air.

After what feels like a millenia, you perceive the ground from thousands of feet in the air.

“Jungkook!” you scream, “Wrap your arms around my waist!”

He obliges, maneuvering your body so your back is pressed against his chest.

Then, you get the work.

Retrieving nylon fabric and sturdy rope from your toolbelt, you intertwine the rope around the fabric, fashioning the parachute's framework with the added support of metal tubing. Handing Jungkook a specially crafted two-person harness, he allows you to slip into the loops before he follows suit.

You attach the harness to the metal framework and deploy the parachute,allowing you and Jungkook to drift to the ground.

Upon landing, you stumble on your knees, hyperventilating as the adrenaline courses through your body. Jungkook joins you, also dropping to his knees as he gently cradles your face. He appears just as disoriented, resting his forehead against yours. “You good?” he asks, chest rising up and down.

You nod before you fall into his arms, sobbing.

“Thank gods I’m with you,” he murmurs into your skin.Jungkook embraces you tightly, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. Once you've calmed down, he assists you in getting back on your feet. “We’ll be okay,” he states, holding you by the crook of your arm. “I’m here. I got you.”

Tartarus is an ominous realm with a combination of shadowy chasms and rugged terrains. Heavy clouds loom overhead, casting a dark veil across the landscape. The ground is uneven, marked by deep crevices that seemingly stretch into infinity. Unsettling sounds permeate the air, forming an eerie symphony of the cries and moans of monsters.

You and Jungkook quickly fall ill to the noxious atmosphere in Tartarus.

Jungkook’s handsome face erects boils, and he appears more ill with each passing moment.

“Kook,” you nudge him with your body, “You alright?”

He nods, gulping. “‘m good, inferno princess. Worry about yourself.”

You pause. “You’re clearly not okay.” On cue, Jungkook stumbles to his knees, and you fall to yours as he rests his head on your shoulder. You’re not sure why you’re not as affected, but you always knew that it was relative to your immunity to fire.

Suddenly, an idea appears in your head.

The River Phlegethon.

The River Phlegethon is a river coursing through Tartarus, made entirely of molten lava.

It is said to consist of healing properties that keep monsters alive. It may work on demigods too.

You rush to the River Phlegethon, submerging your metal water bottle beneath its fiery surface before rushing back to Jungkook. “Drink this.”

“What the fuck-”

You force it to his lips and down his throat. He gazes at you with despondency, like you’ve betrayed him horribly. He clutches his throat, retching and coughing at the sensation of molten lava down his throat. You eye him back like an insane person, bringing the bottle to your lips before you gulp down the rest of the lava.

The only way to describe drinking molten lava is painful, excruciatingly horribly painful, even with your immunity to fire. But after a moment of torture, you feel good as new.

It must have had the same effect on Jungkook because the boils vanish, and the familiar youthful glow returns to his face.

“Gods inferno princess. Thought you were trying to kill me,” Jungkook jokes.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe it actually worked!” you exclaim to which Jungkook scowls. “So you shoved that down my throat when you weren’t even sure-”

“Well, well, well. Demigods in Tartarus. Now that’s a sight I didn’t think I’d ever see. And it just so happens to be the same demigods who banished me down to this pit.”

You and Jungkook whip your heads to the direction of the voice. Lamia, the same monster you encountered on the Quest of the Eternal Night.

Seeing Lamia again for the first time in years makes your knees buckle. There was no doubt in your mind that her abilities would be enhanced within the depths of Tartarus.

She still adopts the appearance of a monster with the grotesque combination of human and serpent, her coiled, snake-like body merging seamlessly with a distorted human upper torso.

Jungkook, reckless as ever, doesn’t hold back. “Lamia, you tried to kill Y/N! You committed a sin, and you’re reaping the consequences! Now leave, or I’ll kill you again!” Jungkook roars, causing Lamia to scoff as she slithers.

“A grandson of Zeus,” she sneers, “Just like your grandfather. Stupid. Reckless. Selfish. Demigods are no different from gods. Hera murdered my children, and I will murder every single one of her descendants in return.”

Jungkook grimaces, instinctively stepping in front of you to shield you with his larger frame. “Then take it out on her. Believe me when I say I’m not the biggest fan of Hera either. We are not her allies. Just go on your way, and we won’t have a problem.”

Jungkook is especially talented at bluffing. He knows he doesn’t have the advantage on Lamia’s home court, and you can tell how terrified he is by the way his body trembles.

Lamia cackles, a Grinch-like smirk spreading across her lips as she goes for Jungkook’s weak spot: You.

Her red eyes look straight into yours and you begin trembling uncontrollably.

She compels your mind with millions of

distressing and heart-wrenching visions, flooding your hippocampus with agonizing memories that aren’t even yours. The overload is so intense, and you feel the barriers of your brain expanding, threatening to implode.

The intensified influence of Tartarus seems to be amplifying Lamia's powers.

She no longer simply wield the ability to psychologically torture with the victim’s own memories, she can harness the most agonizing memories of the history of the world to lead you to your demise.

Gruesome visions from World War 2 relentlessly flow into your mind.

Your brain synchronizes its rhythm with your heartbeat – thump, thump, thump. Each beat sends a jolt through your body, and your breath hitches in your throat when your mind drifts to a vision of the Allied and Axis Powers marching towards one another.

The memories relentlessly infiltrate your mind, and you find yourself understanding the ruthless mindset of soldiers who were not merely bent on killing but also on torturing and annihilating- annihilating everything.

Victims of chemical warfare desperately tear at their skin, their heads exploded by gunshots. Gradually, you start feeling the effects of chemical warfare creeping over you, prompting an agonizing scream as you instinctively claw at your own face.

Suddenly, a gun magically materializes itself a few yards from you.

With tears relentlessly running down your face and hives protruding from your skin, you crawl towards it, not minding that your fingernails are digging into poisonous terrain because you’re hellbent on ending this agony.

Jungkook quickly engages Lamia in combat with his sword. Jungkook bitterly laughsl in amusement when Lamia unfurls wings from her sides, soaring around him. Of course she can fly.

Flying around Jungkook, Lamia claws and slashes, leaving a deep cut on his bicep. Grimacing in pain, he falls to his knees, clutching the wound. His expression contorts into agony, the pain becoming so excruciating that sensation from his arm starts slipping away. He tries to wiggle his fingers, but he can’t.

His ears ring, prompting a groan as he bites his lip, striving to mentally overcome the pain. Lamia's maniacal laughter echoes in his mind, but the throbbing in Jungkook's arm drowns it into a dull background noise.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you in the midst of your psychological torment, crawling towards a nearby gun.

His face falls when he realizes the scenario Lamia is attempting to placate.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, immediately rising to his knees and kicking the gun into the River Phlegethon.

Regret immediately washes over him as he watches the gun fall into the depths of the River Phlegethon. Your hysterical trance may actually compel you to jump into the river to go after it.

You were immune to fire, but Jungkook isn’t so sure that you’ll survive a bath in the river of fire.

He winces, trying to mentally overcome the intensifying throbbing in his arm so he can finally finish things.

Jungkook hurts so much seeing you like this: sobbing, ripping your hair out, writhing in agony at Lamia’s infliction.

Lamia had already taken a part of you when you were 14, leaving you shivering and trembling in the eternal darkness of Los Angeles. Jungkook would be damned if he let it happen again.

When Jungkook was 14 years old, he sent Lamia to Tartarus by decapitating her. He thinks this time, he’ll get rid of her for good by shredding her into dust, leaving no mercy.

He’ll make her death the most painful one he’s ever inflicted.

With flames in his pupils, he charges towards Lamia, slashing up with his sword to cut off the bottom of her snake tail. Before it hits the ground, he slashes it for what must have been a hundred times, cutting her tail into such tiny pieces that the wind carries her remains away.

She howls in pain and Jungkook takes that as an opportunity to leap up and tackle her to the ground. He holds her down with his good arm, his strength easily overpowering hers.

He starts by cutting off her arms, shredding her arms into nothing but dust. He finishes the job, leaving nothing but her head. It’s bloody and gruesome, but it’s everything Jungkook is used to.

He makes sure to slice off her fangs as he picks her up from her long orange hair.

Practically drenched in Lamia’s blood, Jungkook turns his head and sees you lying like a dead sack of potatoes by the River Phlegethon. The tips of your fingers are lying in the river, meaning he killed Lamia just in time.

He runs over to you and immediately fishes a canteen of nectar from his backpack, setting your head on his thigh as he puts the nectar to your lips, feeling thankful as you respond by weakly sipping on it.

Putting a hand on your forehead, he feels that you’re absolutely burning up. After weakly sipping on the nectar, you gasp like you’ve breathed your first breath.

Jungkook immediately pulls you into his embrace, his eyes full of so much relief. “Gods, inferno princess. I’m so happy that you’re okay.”

You sob into his shirt. “I was so useless, I’m sorry. You saved me. Thank you so much.”

Jungkook holds you even tighter, allowing you to sob into his shirt as he savors the sensation of having you in his arms, alive and okay.

Jungkook pulls back, fingers combing through your hair and tucking a strand behind your ear. He hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs wiping your tears away, until he realizes that he actually smeared Lamia’s blood on your face.

“Oops- sorry, I got blood on you,” he sheepishly mutters, biting his lip.

You giggle at that, wiping the blood away with your sleeve before your eyes drift towards that large gash on Jungkook’s arm.

“Gods Jungkook!” you exclaim, reaching into your magic toolbelt to pull out some healing properties. Your magic toolbelt always materializes what you need just in time.

“Oh this?” Jungkook looks down at the gash on his arm that is now foaming, bloody, and turning a shade of green, “This papercut? Don’t even worry about it.”

You scoff, quickly cleaning the wound and wrapping his arm in bandages. Jungkook always pretends like he doesn’t feel any pain, but you don’t miss the way he winces in pain when you begin to apply pressure on his wound.

Once the task is complete, your gaze shifts to the decapitated head of Lamia. Her eyes are void of life and color. Without a doubt, Jungkook had completed his duty successfully.

You narrow your eyes, examining her head, devoid of the snake's lower body, claws, and fangs.

Your chest aches as you exhale shakily.

Lamia was the most strikingly beautiful being you’ve ever encountered. You’ve met the goddess of beauty Aphrodite multiple times, and you dare to entertain the idea that Lamia surpasses her beauty.

Aphrodite has the kind of beauty that was glamorous and attention-commanding.

Lamia, on the other hand, was naturally radiant. Her look could not be easily imitated by artificial means. She was a sculpture, a form of art that would never be replicated.

No wonder the queen of the gods was so envious. No wonder the king of the gods was so utterly obsessed and smitten with her.

Her beauty is a reminder that at her core, Lamia was a human being. A tragic soul whose children met a ruthless end by none other than the gods you served. Her long, soft, and luscious orange hair cascaded across Tartarus's harsh terrain, comfortingly beautiful against its vile surroundings.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to weep for her as much as you wanted to kill her.

Eyes lifting towards Jungkook, you force a slight smile. “Ready to finish the deal?”

Jungkook looks at you and nods, unsheathing the knife on his waist, offering you the very celestial bronze knife you forged for him when you were ten years old.

You find yourself torn between tears and laughter. For some reason he always kept that stupid knife with him. You would never tell him, but it made you so emotional- like the knife was a symbol for yours and his unbreakable bond.

“You got this, inferno princess.”

You nod, gulping nervously as your fingertips brush against his, your fist closing over the handle of the knife.

You’re on the verge of bringing Jungkook’s knife down on her head, your features harden as you prepare to end Lamia for good, seeking retribution for the torment she’s inflicted and the lives she’s taken.

With a scream you will yourself to bring the knife down.

Until you don’t.

Your features soften, and the celestial knife falls with a thud.

You cast a glance at Jungkook, and he responds with a nod, seemingly grasping your thoughts.

His right hand entwines with your left, and he closes his eyes. "Oh gods, I implore your mercy upon her soul. May the fates consider her past, the loss of her children, and the wrath from the queen of the gods. I offer her head as a solemn sacrifice."

As he speaks, your fingers tighten around his, clinging onto his every word, sobbing in relief that he shares your sentiments of grief for her poor soul, even after she tried to kill you both.

With a shaky exhale, you continue. “Kindly extend your compassion to her spirit and reunite her with her offspring in the Fields of Asphodel. Anywhere but the Fields of Punishment would suffice. Please, shower your mercy upon her.”

And with that, you hold the celestial bronze knife up and bring her millenia long suffering to an end.

Following your encounter with Lamia, you and Jungkook continue your journey, navigating through the rugged terrain, weaving between jagged rocks and hiding in concealed potholes.

Unfortunately, monsters are literally built to sense demigods so it isn’t long until you encounter another monster.

The next monster you encountered is Cheimarrhus. Cheimarrhus is less of a monster and more of an elemental force: the essence of coldness in Tartarus.

When she assumes humanoid form, her skin becomes icy blue with silver hues. Her hair cascades like frozen tendrils, and her eyes gleam with an otherworldly coldness.

The aura surrounding her is so frozen cold that your flame is nothing but a mere candle.

You aren’t able to construct anything with your tool belt because Cheimarrhus simply morphed into an elemental force when you attacked. What is a hammer going to do against a snowflake?

It isn’t just that. Her mere presence is enough to extinguish your flames, physically weakening you to your knees.

On the earthly realm, Khione is the goddess of snow and winter. Cheimarrhus seems to be the Tartarus version over her.

After hours of treading away from Lamia, you and Jungkook sit in a concealed pothole, warming yourselves with a makeshift fire sparked by your finger. Jungkook sits closely by you, wrapping an arm around you while you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you Jungkook,” you murmur, “Thank you for saving me from Lamia. Gods, I was about to jump in the River Phlegethon- I could have died.” You burn your eyes into the lively flame, finding solace in its orange and red hues.

Jungkook looks at you incredulously. “Inferno princess,” he expresses dumbfoundedly, “We’re in this together. We’re a team. I would give my life for you to survive. You’re key to defeating Gaia. The others can’t do it without you.”

Your gaze remains fixed on the fire. You shake your head. “Don’t talk about losing your life so easily. I would give my life for you to survive, Kook. I already played my part by retrieving the armor from the Hephaestion. I’m not needed anymore.”

Your declaration is solemn, but you truly do mean it. You’ve played your role in accordance with the prophecy. Jungkook, Mingyu, Rose, Mina, Taehyung, and Namjoon would fare well without you.

Jungkook’s features harden. “Then I’ll make sure we both make it.”

A smile adorns your lips, and Jungkook thinks that the loveliness of your smile would bring life to flowers even in the heart of Tartarus. You nudge him softly with your body. “That’s true. We’re both going to make it.”

“That’s right, inferno princess. Atta girl. None of this death talk anymore. It’s depressing.”

You snuggle into the warmth of Jungkook’s body, enjoying the brevity of peace in the deepest pit of hell- until something feels off. You immediately jerk away from him, eliciting a look of concern from Jungkook.

“Would she mind that we’re -like- cuddling right now?” you ask.

Jungkook frowns. “Who?”

“Seraphina. I mean- you haven’t mentioned her once this entire time. Don’t you miss her?”

Seraphina is Jungkook’s special friend, or talking stage, or something like that. In your opinion, she’s easily the most beautiful girl at camp, even amongst her siblings in the Aphrodite cabin.

Before you left on the voyage to Greece, you’d seen Jungkook and Seraphina meandering around camp, holding hands, making out behind the Ares cabin.

He blinks at you with a sense of disbelief. “Inferno princess,” he deadpans, “We’re literally freezing our asses off in Tartarus. She’ll be fine.”

You shake your head. “Even in Tartarus, it doesn’t feel right. Seraphina’s my friend-”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jungkook cuts you off.

“But I saw you-”

Jungkook shakes his head. “We’re just messing around. She’s about to break things off with me anyways. It’s a rite of passage in the Aphrodite cabin- breaking a boy’s heart. Bonus points if it’s an Ares kid. She thinks she’s playing me but I’m playing her.”

You frown. “Oh.”

Typical of an Aphrodite kid. Aphrodite cheated on your dad with Jungkook’s dad, and you can’t help but feel scorn for her. You thought Seraphina was better than that.

Jungkook playing along with it is kinda icky too. You decide to call him out for it once you return to the mortal world.

As a Hephaestus kid, it’s definitely in your nature to judge the antics of Ares and Aphrodite kids.

“Are you sure you’re not just bringing it up because of Jaehyun?” he raises a brow at you and pulls you from your judgemental trance.

You scoff. “Seriously? How much longer are you going to bring that up?”

Last summer, you kissed Jaehyun, son of Apollo after the daily campfire ceremony. He had just returned on a quest to retrieve the Pythian bow. The Pythian bow is a golden bow with arrows that never miss their mark. The very existence of the Pythian bow guaranteed the precision and accuracy of all archers.

When news came out that it was stolen, Jaehyun, Namjoon, and Nayeon, a hunter of Artemis, were sent on a quest to Yellowstone National Park to get it back.

When they returned, Jaehyun announced that the Pythian bow was stolen by a giant and offspring of Gaia, Tityos.

Tityos was said to have lusted after Leto, Artemis and Apollo’s mother, and attempted to violate Leto during her pregnancy. Apollo and Artemis who were still in their mother’s womb were not pleased by this and slew Tityos with their arrows once they were born.

When Jaehyun announced to the camp that Tityos, the offspring of Gaia, had returned from Tartarus, a bone chilling unease dispersed through the assembly of demigod campers. With hindsight, you realize that this was only the beginning of Gaia’s revival.

Back then, you were so relieved to see that he returned safely so you ran into his arms and kissed his cheek. It was a heat-in-the-moment thing, and when Jaehyun turned his head- well, that was your first kiss.

The weight of it settled uncomfortably in your stomach when you realized that Jaehyun was all in for you. Letting him down was heart-wrenching, and you still feel terrible for breaking the guy’s heart.

Crazily enough, Jungkook witnessed the entire thing during a walk back from the woods. Once you pulled away from Jaehyun, Jungkook approached you both, slow-clapping like an evil villain. Jaehyun glared intensely at Jungkook, who scoffed in disdain before sauntering back to the Ares cabin.

He made you feel like shit and you were still pissed about it.

“Gods Y/N, I had to bleach my eyes out after witnessing that. I deserve to be compensated,” he sasses.

You shake your head in disbelief. “That was my first kiss, Kook. And now I have to think of my first kiss with your deplorable face in mind.”

Jungkook’s lips curl smugly. “Good.”

You glare at him. “Is that all you have to say? Asshole.”

He shrugs. “Just give me a hug, inferno princess. We should get back on our feet soon.” He opens his arms, prompting a disdainful expression from you.

Your eyes drift towards the bandaged wound on his bicep, and your features soften. “Does it still hurt?”

Just looking at the thing made your arm throb. Disgusting shades of green and purple peeked through the sheer bandages. “Hold up, let me clean it.”

You reach into your tool belt, the materials in mind magically appearing.

As you undo his bandages, Jungkook’s features curl in agony, wincing at the re-exposure. You use sterile gauze to wipe the wound before dabbing it with petroleum jelly.

Jungkook’s arms are thick, but you treat his skin as if it’s the most delicate substance. Gently cleaning the wound with an antiseptic solution, you rewrap it with a sterile bandage, ensuring a snug fit.

“It should have been me.”

You lift your head, staring at him with a look of curiosity, your eyes flickering around his features to detect any insincerity.

You know what he’s talking about, but you still feel the need to ask. “What?”

“Your first kiss,” he replies, flexing and extending his arm in comfort now that it was freshly bandaged. “It should have been me.”

He looks right at you, his expression hardened- perhaps to mask his vulnerability or to convey the sincerity of his confession.

With his features so stoic, you take a second to admire how handsome he is.

Even with his face battered and bloody, he resembles a sculpture. Every feature aligns to create the most handsome person you've ever seen.

Your breath catches in your throat. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

He relents on his stoic expression, a subtle warmth enveloping his features as he releases a light-hearted laughter. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know,” he looks around and rubs the nape of his neck, “Tartarus isn’t the best place to make a confession, eh?”

You laugh in disbelief, “That was very Jungkook of you,” you comment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He smiles, dusting his pants off to stand up, offering you a hand. You take his hand, standing, and at that moment, your makeshift fire extinguishes. The temperature plummets, and the night becomes impossibly dark.

Jungkook immediately unsheathes his celestial bronze knife, assuming defensive stance as he conducts a 360 degree scan of his surroundings.

There is a clear threat, but he can’t detect any presence.

You stand back to back with Jungkook, hair rapidly whipping against the fierce winds. The plummeting temperature sends chills through your skin, nearly freezing you solid.

You will yourself to blaze a fire from your fingertips, but to no avail. You exert more magical energy into at least sparking a flame, but the force of the frigid winds snuffs your flame out every time.

Suddenly, an evil cackle echoes throughout the atmosphere.

“Foolish demigods, entering Tartarus unprepared," the voice resonates with an eerie chill. "In the realm of perpetual cold, your feeble flames are but futile flickers. These days, Tartarus really likes cooling down." The freezing air intensifies, making it harder for you to even draw breath.

You attempt once more to summon a flame from your fingertips, determined to defy the numbing cold. However, the frigid winds persistently resist your efforts, extinguishing any spark you manage to conjure.

“Reveal yourself,” Jungkook utters lowly.

“Isn’t the cold to your liking?” As she speaks, she becomes louder, her voice ringing in your ears and making you wince.

Particles of snow begin whirling around in tornado formation ahead of you, the tornado becoming thinner and thinner until it morphs into humanoid form. The woman who appears has icy blue skin, hair cascading in frozen tendrils, and a glacial aura that crystallizes the air within a three foot vicinity.

Taking in her humanoid form, you finally realize who she is, and you gasp. “Cheimarrhus.”

You don’t realize how much your lips are trembling until you hear your own voice- the way you said her name sounded nothing more than a chatter.

She smirks. “Well done, young demigod. I applaud you for recognizing me. The power-hungry Olympians have practically wiped my name from existence. The gods all know that Khione is threatened by me.”

The face of Khione, the goddess of snow and winter on the earthly realm appears in your mind.

Jungkook eyes you before lying straight through his teeth. “That’s not true. You’re in our curriculum at Camp Half-Blood: Tartarus Monsters 202. They don’t even teach you in 101 because you’re too advanced and powerful.”

Cheimarrhus seems to be pleased by that, satisfaction enveloping her features before she sneers. “The giants must be the center of the 101 course. I swear they get all the attention.”

You nod in agreement. “Of course. But you understand that’s standard, right? They don’t dare let the younger demigods know about you because they would have too many nightmares.”

Cheimarrhus cackles, licking her lips.

You and Jungkook eye each other, awkwardly laughing along with her to hopefully appease the blizzard.

“SILENCE.”

You flinch, taking a step back, Jungkook reaching for your hand to stabilize you.

“Do you take me for a fool? You demigods and your lies. Typical,” she spits, her anger causing the temperature to plummet even more. “Now demigods, suffer. I will win Tartarus’s favor by freezing you to death.”

“Hey! We were just trying to be nice!-”

Her body morphs into snow particles, whirling around before it disperses throughout the atmosphere.

You look at Jungkook, ice crystallizing around strands of his hair, his skin an unhealthy hue of blue, and his lips trembling. You’re sure you don’t look much better because his features morph into horror when he looks at you.

“Y-Y/N. L-let’s take the motorcycle and get the outta here.”

“What about th-the monsters?”

“Fuck that, we’ll freeze to death first.”

You nod in agreement, and Jungkook presses a button on his watch, watching as it unfolds into a Celestial Bronze Harley Davidson motorcycle. You zoom off on the motorcycle, arms locked around Jungkook’s waist. Gods, getting on the motorcycle was probably a worse idea, the frigid air rushing against your face as the motorcycle accelerated.

Cheimarrhus is relentless, trailing on you as rapidly as she matches the motorcycle’s speed.

“Jungkook!” You call out, “This isn’t working!”

The motorcycle comes to an abrupt stop and you both tumble onto the ground as the watch returns to Jungkook’s wrist.

You crawl around the ground, sobbing and looking for Jungkook. “Jungkook, where are you? Please Jungkook, please!”

You hear him shuffle towards you before he helps you up from both armpits. You both tread to a nearby pothole, settling into it while you cling onto each other, desperately clinging to each other’s body heat.

The side effects of frostbite can be fatal. In highly severe instances, the freezing cold penetrates human tissue, causing body parts like toes, fingers, and noses to freeze and eventually fall off.

You close your eyes, nestling in Jungkook’s embrace as you prepare to welcome your final moments.

“Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

“I had a crush on you from -like- 12 to 15. I thought I should let you know in case, you know.”

“Gods inferno princess, didn’t we agree to not talk about death? It’s just an average day for us demigods. Frostbite, freezing to death? What does that even mean? It would never happen to us,” he muses, blue lips curling up into a teasing smile.

You push your face into the now sopping fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, laughing. Who would even laugh in a situation like this?

“So what’d I do to make you stop liking me?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Nothing, you just didn’t like me back,” you shrug, your shoulders barely moving in the freezing cold.

“That’s not true. I liked you the moment I laid eyes on you. That’s why I was such an asshole. It was the only way 10-year-old me knew how to flirt.”

You cease your motions, your frosty eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “You always had a thing for Aphrodite girls. I didn’t know.”

“It was only because you never batted an eye at me. Had me heartbroken.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Gods, I think that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, even in Tartarus.”

“What do you say? Do you have it in your heart to give me another chance? I want you for real. I want us for real.”

After the incident last summer, you swore you wouldn’t ever make any spur-in-the-moment decisions, until your frosty fingers cup Jungkook’s cheeks, and you kiss him.

Jungkook seems a bit taken aback, but reciprocates your kiss with equal fervor, placing his hands on the small of your back to stabilize you. The ice on your lips melts, and at that moment, everything seems okay.

Gods, you feel so warm on the inside that the temperature outside seems to gradually rise.

You pull back, eyes flickering around your surroundings. The blizzard is gone. Cheimarrhus is gone. Somehow the warmth returned, making even Tartarus feel like a tropical paradise.

In relief, you pull Jungkook in for another kiss. He holds your cheeks with his rugged palms, practically drinking from your lips in reprieve.

The sound of thundering footsteps pull you away from each other.

Yours and Jungkook’s heads whip towards the sounds of the footsteps, and there stands a thirty foot giant.

The giant is colossal in stature, the stony texture of his skin giving him an appearance as if built from the very rocks that surrounded him. The monster has a horrifying and booming presence, its malevolent aura casting an ominous feeling in your gut.

The giant blinks at you and Jungkook, the most nonchalant look cloaking his rugged features.

Momentarily, you consider the idea that the giant might not see you- but no he does- because he dismisses your mere existence with a wave before sauntering back to a hut a kilometer away.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook mutters.

Every footstep the giant takes induces vibrations through the terrain, making yours and Jungkook’s teeth chatter just as much as Cheimarrhus’s blizzard did.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir! Can you help us?!” Jungkook’s voice echoes throughout the atmosphere and your heart drops into your ass.

Giants were the direct offspring of Gaia, the Earthmother you were on a quest to kill.

If Cheimarrhus didn’t kill you, then this giant would surely be the one to finish the deal.

The giant slowly turns around, eyes narrowing at you like you’re the scum of the Earth. You shudder in anticipation.

“Follow me to my hut,” is all he says, turning back around and walking steadily towards his hut.

You and Jungkook quickly scramble to your feet, fingers intertwined as you trail behind the giant, leaving a few meters in between you and the giant.

The giant turns around again, and it’s like the whole earth rumbles. “What are you doing? Hurry up!” You and Jungkook cast questionable glances at each other, but nonetheless scramble to the giant’s side.

After a few odd moments of walking, the giant speaks up. “So, how’d you two get to Tartarus? I’ve never seen any demigods around here before.”

A giant starting a casual conversation with you in Tartarus was not on your bingo card for this year.

Jungkook told the giant the entire story eliciting a deep sigh from the monster. “That’s my mother, always insistent on wreaking havoc. She banished me and disowned me, her son for the same reason- because I refused to fight your father.” He looks right at Jungkook, and at that moment, a lightbulb appears above your head.

The giant you were addressing was Damasen.

Damasen was originally a giant created by the Earth goddess Gaea to serve her in her plans to overthrow the Olympian gods.

He was designed to be the bane of Ares, Jungkook’s father. Damasen was quite literally created to embody the antithesis of the war god’s essence, the only being designed to incapacitate Ares.

Ultimately, this backfired on Gaia. While many giants were naturally hostile towards the gods, Damasen differed in nature. Damasen rejected war, with a gentle heart that rejected the brutality often associated with Ares.

“You’re Damasen” you exhale breathlessly.

“Correct, daughter of Hephaestus. Come in my hut and have soup, then I’ll send you both on your way.”

Damasen the Friendly poured you and Jungkook bowls of drakon soup, chunks of drakon meat floating in the broth.

“What about you, Mr. Damasen? Why don’t you tell us your story?” you implore, heartily sipping down the soup.

Damasen smiles. “It’s just as I said. I rejected war, resulting in abandonment from my mother. Instead, I chose to live a peaceful life on Earth as a farmer. I befriended other mortal farmers, and we lived in harmony planting wheat and barley,” he shrugs, lifting his mug in a fatherly way as he takes a sip of hot water.

You and Jungkook exchange dumbfounded glances. A giant living peacefully among mortals was absolutely unheard of.

“It was a peaceful millenia,” he continues, “Until a drakon escaped into the mortal realm and began ravaging all the farms. I couldn’t let it be. I slayed it. My mother banished me to Tartarus, cursing me to slay the drakon everyday for the rest of my life.”

On cue, a drakon roar reverberates between the walls. Damasen casts a dark look to the outside of the hut and immediately springs into action.

You and Jungkook watch dumbfoundedly as Damasen slays the enormous creature and walks to the hut like returning from a walk in the park.

“Damasen, you’re amazing,” you express in awe, to which Damasen shrugs.

“You demigods may rest on the hammock. You both look awful. We can continue this conversation once you wake,” he says, pointing towards a hammock made from drakon skin in the corner.

Jungkook wants to protest, feeling unsafe about sleeping vulnerable in the presence of a giant, but he’s too tired to process anything.

He plops onto the hammock, welcoming you with open arms as you both sink into the sheets, falling into a restful slumber after the most difficult hours of your life.

Jungkook wakes first, eyes blinking groggily as his eyes venture towards you, sleeping peacefully in the crook of his armpit. Careful not to wake you up, he gently lifts your head with his palm and gently places it against a pillow before standing from the hammock.

Damasen sits on the kitchen table, structured from Drakon bone, reading a Guide to the Underworld by Persephone and Demeter, a book that must have blown into the pit of Tartarus.

He takes a seat by Damasen. “Sir, we need you to lead us towards the Doors of Death.”

The Doors of Death stood as the sole gateway to the mortal realm. Gaia and her giants had seized control of these doors, enabling monsters to surge back into the mortal world with alarming speed. You and Jungkook had to enter the mortal realm through the Doors of Death, sealing it off from Tartarus’s side while the rest of the crew would work on closing the doors from the Earthly side.

Damasen shakes his head, and Jungkook becomes slightly intimidated. This giant was designed to kill his father, the most fierce warrior amongst the Olympians. Though Damasen claimed a life of peace, what if he changed his mind? Damasen could crush Jungkook with his bare fists.

“Son of Ares, I already told you that I chose to leave a life of peace. I do not wish to involve myself with pointless affairs.”

Jungkook grimaces, taking a knee on the concrete floor, a sign of respect for the Greeks “Sir, please. I’d do anything. We won’t survive without your guidance.”

Damasen lifts his gaze from the book to Jungkook, seemingly trapped in intense contemplation. “There is one thing you can do.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll try my best to do it for you,” Jungkook implores.

“My pocket knife,” Damasen responds, “It was the only belonging I carried from the mortal realm. The drakon knocked it into the River Phlegethon, and it’s been sitting at the bottom since. The child of Hephaestus can retrieve it for me.”

“No-”

“I’ll do it,” you declare, sitting up from the hammock.

Jungkook cuts you off immediately. “Sir, is there anything else I can do? I don’t want to put her in danger.”

Damasen shrugs, “That’s all I can think of. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything else.”

You shake your head, joining Jungkook and Damasen at the kitchen table, sitting on one of the drakon bone chairs. “I can do it. I’m immune to fire.”

Jungkook glares at you, and you respond with an even more fierce glare. Damasen, studying the dynamic between you and Jungkook, releases a sigh. “Child, does your father know about your relationship with this son of Ares? I imagine Hephaestus won’t find that very favorable.”

You stick out your hand, partially ignoring Damasen’s comment about Jungkook. Damasen uses his pointer finger and thumb to shake your hand.

“Call me Y/N. If I retrieve the pocket knife from the River Phlegethon, join us on our quest. You can return to the mortal world and work as a farmer on Camp Half-Blood. We’re looking for a manager for our strawberry fields.”

Damasen shakes his head, “Your efforts would be futile. Even if I tried to leave, we would walk endlessly until returning to this hut.”

“Damasen,” you implore, “You deserve so much more than this. You deserve to see the stars, the sky, the moon. We need you.”

“If you retrieve the knife, I will guide you towards the Doors of Death. I will not be able to provide assistance beyond that,” he stubbornly responds, refusing to change his stance.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you exhale. “Okay. Where’s the knife?”

Jungkook scowls deeply at you. “Y/N. It’s dangerous. We can do this a different way.” He redirects his attention towards Damasen. “Anything else. Just let me know, anything that a son of Ares can do, I will do.”

“You already killed Lamia. At the very least, I can do this. I’m immune to fire, I’ll be able to survive at least 5 minutes in the river, and I can come back up to the surface if I need to.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No. You’re not doing it.”

You frown deeply at him. “What, so you think I’m too weak to contribute to the quest?”

“What? No- that’s not what I’m saying. I just want you to be safe.”

You place both palms on his shoulders, looking at him straight in the eyes. “Jungkook,” you declare firmly, “Drop the Prince Charming complex. We’re in Tartarus. I wouldn’t try if I knew I couldn’t do it.”

Leaving him dumbfounded, you face Damasen. “Lead the way. I’m ready to jump in when you are.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “Damasen, give us a moment to discuss. Please.” He pulls you by your wrist to a corner of the drakon bone hut. You’re not necessarily secluded and Damasen catches heed to every word.

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably. “You’re sure you can do it? You’ve never walked into a fire, let alone swam in one.”

You dismiss the notion with a wave. “I have. I saved some mortals from a house fire last summer. At the very least I can do five minutes- maybe ten if I try hard enough.”

Jungkook eyes you suspiciously, but you refuse to relent on your stoicism. Of course, you’re lying, but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” Jungkook relents, “But you’re making a silicone harness, with a fire-proof string, and I’m pulling you out after three minutes,” he compromises, features hardening.

That’s all you’re getting, and you are going to take it if it means getting this over with more quickly.

“Damasen, if you give us a minute, I’m going to construct a makeshift breathing apparatus. Jungkook, I won’t make a harness, but I can tie a string around my waist. Pull me out after three minutes.”

You begin pulling things from your toolbelt, leaving Damasen to marvel at it. “Hephaestus technology, huh?” he beckons, “Your father must love you a lot to provide you with something like this.”

You shrug, “I guess. Man doesn’t talk to me much. It’s whatever,” you respond, quickly brushing off the topic as your hands quickly assemble a makeshift breathing apparatus from titanium alloys, ceramic composites, and rubber seals.

Anyways, without delving too much into the details of yours and Jungkook’s excursion to Tartarus, you can safely claim you and Jungkook soundly escaped Tartarus.

Damasen was not so lucky.

That didn’t mean, however, that you and Jungkook weren’t on the brink of death when you narrowly escaped Tartarus through the Doors of Death.

Writhing on the floor, you vaguely remember Taehyung whisking you in his arms, willing the water from the surrounding lakes to form a wave, carrying himself back to the ship.

Meanwhile, Mingyu, son of Jupiter, soared through the air carrying an unconscious Jungkook from the crooks of his armpits.

You and Jungkook must have laid idle for quite a while in the ship’s corridors, and your friends, in their infinitely loyal nature, sat by your bedside for the entire time.

Rose, daughter of Apollo and one of the demigods on the quest, remained by your side throughout, using her most powerful healing properties to save you from returning to the Underworld as a dead spirit.

Her voice was the very first thing you heard when you woke up.

“Gods Taehyung, you fucking idiot, don’t pour more than half of a cup of nectar into the canteen! It needs to stay refrigerated!”

“Damn doctor- I’m trying my best here!”

You blink groggily, closing your eyes shut at the sunlight seeping through your eyelids like you have a sun allergy.

“Rosie?” you breathlessly express.

Rose drops nearly spills the canteen of nectar onto her pretty dress and whips her head towards you.

“Praise the gods, Y/N!” she squeals, reaching out to embrace you before she rapidly recoils her arms, “Oh shit, I don’t want to hurt you, but Gods Y/N, I’m so fucking happy you’re awake!”

You shake your head, sitting up on the bed, allowing Rose to cup your cheeks and rest her forehead on yours.

“‘m fine Rosie, I feel brand new,” you mumble, and she finally reaches her arms out to tightly embrace you, tears of relief streaming down her face, soiling the fabric of your T-shirt.

“Gods Rosie, are you crying?” you express, a teasing giggle leaving your lips.

She playfully swats at your shoulder, “Yes Y/N, I’m fucking crying! I was worried sick! You fell into freaking Tartarus for Gods’ sake! We were so worried that you wouldn’t make it back, and to just-to just- to just see that you and Jungkook are okay- Gods, I’m so happy!”

The sounds of more cries echo across the walls, and you lift your head from Rose’s shoulder, blinking like you might be hallucinating because Taehyung is sobbing, like actual tears streaming down his face.

You don’t think you’ve seen him cry since you were 14, during the Battle of the Labyrinth.

And as much as you want to make a teasing comment, you know you shouldn’t encourage his toxic masculinity any further.

He’s using his large palms to wipe the snot seeping out of his nostrils, and you and Rose simply look at each other, not knowing what to do or say.

Should you comfort him? Should you say something?

“I need to pee,” is all you muster in response.

Rose laughs, rising up, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Want me to come along?”

“Duh.”

At that moment, you feel a large palm wrap around the circumference of your wrist.

“Don’t go,” is all Jungkook mumbles, resting his forearm on his eyes to shield himself from the sun. He opens a single eye, and you feel your heart skip a beat- the sun is perfectly reflecting off Jungkook’s skin, making his brown irises appear the prettiest shade of hazel, and he’s looking at you so needily you wish you could stay with him forever.

He tightens his hold on your wrist, pulling you towards him- you resist slightly so he doesn’t pull you on top of him in front of everyone. “Shit baby, we made it. It’s you and me inferno princess, the only demigods to survive Tartarus.”

And with that, the hand on your wrist moves to the back of your head, and he pulls your lips toward his, kissing you deeply like you were made of the sweetest nectar. You’re a bit taken aback, but you kiss him back just as passionately, eyes shutting in relief because Jungkook is okay.

He almost died several times in Tartarus protecting you. He laid his life down to save yours, and Gods, you hate to admit it but Jungkook is your handsome warrior, your Prince Charming, your man.

You would do anything for him.

You only pull away from each other when the sound of a canteen clatters on the floor.

“Apollo’s Arrows!” Rosie backs away, nearly toppling over a nearby chair, a palm clasped over her mouth, “What happened in Tartarus?”

“What the fuck, Jeon!!” Mingyu gasps.

Your head whips to your left, and the rest of the crew is standing in the doorway. Namjoon, Mina, and Mingyu are gaping at you, meaning that the entire crew witnessed the kiss.

“Surprise..?” you squeak.

Mina, daughter of the Roman goddess Venus, quite literally leaps onto the bed, enveloping you in the tightest hug she’s ever bestowed. “I knew it! I swear, my mom told me you two were designed for each other in a dream! Gods, is Jungkook the first guy you didn’t reject?”

Your cheeks flush at that.

The goddess of love herself claimed that you and Jungkook were designed for each other? Did the fates also weave this into their tapestries?

Jungkook raises a brow. “How many other guys did you reject?”

Mina squeals, “Jeon you wouldn’t believe it- I’ve got a whole list right here, lemme just pull it out-”

Namjoon walks over, placing a soft hand on Mina’s back. He looks up, addressing you and Jungkook. “I’m happy for you lovebirds, but if you’re all healed, we need you guys back up on the deck. We’re sailing into the Sea of Monsters.”

Taehyung stands, the sclera of his eyes fading from a bloodshot red to a crimson pink. He and Jungkook exchange knowing glances, and Taehyung approaches, offering Jungkook a handshake, (or a dap?), to which Jungkook obliges before Taehyung reaches into his pocket for his pen.

He puts it on display, holding it between his pointer and thumb, biting his lower lip in jubilation, a smirk spreading across his lips.

He pushes past everybody, shoots up the stairs, leaving the rest of the crew to only perceive the sound of Taehyung’s pen clicking and transforming into a sexy Celestial Bronze sword.

Jungkook stands, twisting his neck around to ease tension before he leans down to place a brief, but sweet kiss on your lips. “Gotta go babe, get some more rest.”

And with that, Jungkook disappears into the corridors, Namjoon following his lead.

Mina and Rose join you on the bed, the three of you sitting in bestie formation.

“Firstly,” Mina begins, “Are you okay? Gods Y/N, you survived fucking Tartarus.”

You nod, recalling everything that had happened in the pit, from your experiences with Lamia to deep diving into the River Phlegethon. “It hasn’t hit me yet,” you murmur, “but I guess that’ll have to wait until after we finally get rid of Gaia.”

Rose and Mina wrap you in a hug, their love and friendship seeping into you, and the feeling is tangible, so you allow yourself to melt into their embrace. A hug. A hug from your best girl friends is all you need right now.

They pull away, and with a giggle, Rose asks “So what happened with you and Jeon? Don’t tell me you lost your virginity in Tartarus-”

The sound of someone clearing their throat cuts Rosie off, and the three of you immediately whip your heads towards Mingyu, son of Jupiter, who had apparently been there the entire time.

He’s leaning against the doorway, the hilt of his Imperial Gold sword sticking up from the scabbard hooked to his belt.

“He’s been here the whole time?” Mina deadpans to which Mingyu scoffs and shakes his head, taking a seat on the wheely chair by the bed.

“Daughters of Venus, Apollo, and Hephaestus, and none of you could detect the presence of another demigod?” he teases.

“Ugh whatever,” Mina muses, “It’s just because your energy is too weak. Not much to detect anyways”.

Looks like it’s just Mingyu and the girlies.

Or one Greek demigod with three Roman demigods,

Or just four distant relatives through their godly parents just hanging around (except godly DNA wasn’t really a thing).

Mingyu dismisses her claim with a wave of his hand before rolling over to give you a side hug, “I’m glad you’re safe Y/N, and I’m happy you and Jungkook found each other. At least one good thing came from this.”

You blush, thanking Mingyu.

“That guy is like head over heels for you, he looks like he could take a giant on by himself for you,” he teases, to which Mina nods enthusiastically.

“Oh yea Y/N, anybody could tell that Jungkook had a thing for you- you were probably the only one who didn’t know,” Rose agrees.

That makes you redden. You rewind all your previous interactions with Jungkook like a cassette, regurgitating anything that could possibly be interpreted as romantic, but nope, nothing arises.

You pause, thinking back to your quest with Lamia at 14.

Jungkook was so adamant to go on that quest, and you always assumed it was because of his obsession with winning. He wanted to claim the fame and glory that came with completing a quest. He had the time of his life killing ferocious monsters and he could make his dad proud while stroking his own ego.

Quite honestly, it never occurred to you that he accompanied you on all these quests because he liked you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the wretched growls and howls of a sea monster cut you off. The upper deck shakes, rubble from the roof falling onto the ground.

You four give each other knowing looks and bolt up the stairs.

The next two weeks on ships were the most cathartic weeks of Jungkook’s life.

He takes every chance he can romance you, savoring what could have been the past five years. Needless to say, Jungkook is madly in love.

It was the middle of the night, and the sound of your alarm blared in your ears. That meant you were needed for duty on the upper deck.

All members of the crew took turns guarding the upper deck to protect the ship against sea monsters, wind spirits, and any other murder-inducing apparatuses. With a yawn you stumble towards the bathroom, quickling washing up before heading towards the stairs.

Mingyu and Namjoon are leaning against the railings of the ship, appearing like literal death after being on guard for eight hours. You nod at both of them and Namjoon gives you a brief hug before disappearing down the stairs.

You head towards the figurehead, peering at the endless sea and the large crescent moon as you let the wind blow in your face like Rose from Titanic.

Lost in your thoughts, you squeal when a hoodie-clad Jungkook sneaks up behind you and snakes his arms around your waist. He rests his head in the crook of your neck, making the gesture to sniff deeply, which gets him an elbow in the abs.

“Such a barbarian, Kook,” you murmur.

“What? I love your B.O,” he teases.

Disgusting. He’s so gross. So disgusting, and you are disgustingly in love with him.

You swirl around, leaning on the edge of the ship to face him so you can cup his face and sweetly kiss him. You love the texture of his tan skin- much more keratinized than yours- the calluses on his hands and the rough texture on his face somehow makes you feel safe in a weird dermatologist way.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t kiss back, just keeps his eyes open so he can admire you, laughing a bit when you pull away from him.

You bite your lip, crimsoning to the shade of Cupid’s bum. “What?” you pout.

Jungkook shrugs, eyes never averting from yours. “Nothing,” he replies nonchalantly, “You’re particularly lovely tonight.” And he means it.

Under the moonlight, you become more mesmerizing. The night sky and chilly breeze sets the ambiance perfectly. If Jungkook could, he would park the ship by a nearby island and take you on a picnic date by the shore.

You don’t feel lovely- you’re exhausted and quite honestly you kinda want to die but Jungkook never fails to see the beauty in your impurities.

“You should get some rest. You were on guard for like eight hours today” you respond softly. His eyes, though filled with love, are tired with dark circles beneath, and you immediately become concerned for the well being of the man.

He grins, his pupils following your every movement and you don’t realize that Jungkook is slowly inching towards you. You look worried out of your mind and he can’t even take you seriously, thinking you’re the most precious thing in the world. “Did you even sleep? And you’re on guard next,” you beckon.

He looks at you like you’re crazy, scoffing playfully with a hand on his heart. “Babygirl thinks I can’t handle being up for more than twenty four hours? ‘m not a boy anymore, I’m a grown ass man.”

“A grown ass man that needs to sleep,” you point out, gaze hardening.

Jungkook pouts at that, arms sneaking around you as he pulls you closer. “I wanna be with my girl. Send me back to Tartarus if that’s so evil.”

You rake your fingertips through his hair, shaking your head while you laugh at his comment. “And I want my handsome boyfriend to get sleep so he can be his best when he’s on guard duty.”

He lowers his head and whines into the crook of your neck, nibbling on the skin in retaliation.

“After your guard duty today,” you whisper, “Come by my room. We can spend the night together,” your voice in itself makes Jungkook freeze. You sound so alluring, and Jungkook can’t help but fall victim to your seduction.

Greek heroes were known to have fatal flaws: tragic downfalls that led to their bitter demise in all the classics. Hercules’ fatal flaw was impulsivity. Achilles' fatal flaw was his arrogance. Jungkook thinks that his fatal flaw is you. He’d burn the whole world if it meant you were okay.

He pulls away, somewhat surprised while he scans your face for any hint of unseriousness. “Okay,” Jungkook acquiesces, “But call me if you need anything.” With another brief kiss, he turns around and stalks back to his cabin.

For the past five minutes, you’ve been sitting at your desk. A sewing machine from your tool belt is placed in front of you, and you must be out of your mind because you’re actually sewing black lace lingerie.

Of course a daughter of Hephaestus can engineer and sew.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you compare the fabric with your body to ensure the lingerie looks as appealing as possible.

You think you look good but you can’t help the self conscious thoughts seeping into your mind, and thus you resist the urge to smash your head into the sewing machine.

You briefly consider throwing the scraps of fabric into the trash can and pretending this never happened, but at the very least, you should see the lingerie through before deciding to go through with it.

You don’t know what it is, but you are aware that you have some twisted fantasy in the deepest trenches of your heart about seducing your man, a sultry look in your eyes as you beckon him towards you before smothering your body in every crevice of his.

You want him to be enamored with you; you want him to be mesmerized beyond comprehension, and you want to give yourself to him completely.

Gods, this was a dark thought but you and Jungkook were on a dangerous, life-threatening quest. Who knows when either of you will meet your treacherous demise? You might as well adopt the whole fuck it, we’re going to die anyway philosophy and carry out the little silly adventures you’ve dreamt of, especially while you’re alive.

You slide the lingerie and look at yourself in the mirror- you don’t even recognize yourself.

You must be out of your mind.

Jungkook suffers through a long eight hours of waiting around on the upper deck, slaughtering sea monsters, negotiating with Greek guardians, and killing the occasional goddess.

He knows he shouldn’t be distracted during a quest, but he can’t help but visualize your face every time he closes his eyes. Jungkook’s had a crush on you ever since you were 10 and a decade later it stubbornly refused to fade.

He is alright with that.

If anything, he should be thanking Aphrodite for finally letting you and him happen because he has more of a reason to fight- more of a reason to conquer.

For you. It was all for you.

He’s pulled from his trance by the footsteps of Mina and Taehyung, meaning that it was their turn for guard duty and his shift was up. Jungkook bites his lips to hide the smile of ecstasy threatening to swallow his entire face, and he realizes he must be ass at hiding his expression because Mina eyes him with pure suspicion.

He doesn’t care.

He zooms down the stairs, whizzing through the hallways before stopping at your door. He takes a deep breath, wiping off the dust from his clothes. He probably smells, but that’s okay. What nerd even has time to shower on a quest to save the world?

Opening the door, the softest gasp leaves his lips.

His hands fumble the Celestial Bronze knife in his grasp, and it falls to the ground with a clack clack clack.

Jungkook is starstruck, and he inhales shakily before he kicks the celestial knife to the side before swiveling around, ensuring no one was peering through the cracks before he closes the door behind him.

The room is decorated with candles, and no matter how the ship heaves and hoes, the candles remain in place, their flames still shining brightly and swaying with the movement of the shop.

Thank gods he’s dating a Hephaestus girl who can do freaky things like mechanically engineer non-flammable, non-movable candles that still retain the sultry ambiance of a normal candle.

He licks his lips.

In the middle of the bed, surrounded by rose petals sits you, in sheer black lace lingerie, staring at him innocently like you haven’t a clue how you’re twisting and turning his insides.

The lingerie fits you perfectly, accentuating every line and curve on your body and Jungkook truly truly thinks that you’re more beautiful than Aphrodite herself.

“Hey, Kook,” you whisper and Jungkook thinks he’s going to have a heart attack because he’s heard your voice millions of times but still thinks it sounds so sweet, beckoning him over to you.

He gulps.

What a woman you are.

“And before you ask, I engineered the door to only open for you,” you giggle, watching Jungkook as his fingers tousle with the upper hem of his shirt, throwing it off to reveal his Greek-god build. Before he gets to the bed, he tumbles out of his sweatpants, leaving them on the floor- not even thinking. His mind is only on you.

He doesn’t say anything, and he knows damn well that a stupid door isn’t what he’s thinking about. He reaches the bed, crawls to you, and with his knees on the bed, he lifts you like you’re nothing as he holds your body from your waist as he kisses you.

He kiss kisses you, his tongue in your mouth, moaning because you taste sweeter than you usually do- and he’s not sure if it’s because of the show you’ve put on for him, or because he’s falling more in love with you everyday.

The skin to skin contact is more real than ever. You’re so close that there isn’t a gap between your stomachs. All he can feel is you and the texture of your lace lingerie, and he absolutely melts into the feeling of you.

He groans.

That night, he gives himself to you completely because he belongs to you.

He remembers the whole thing so vividly.

On top of you, his eyes were lidded and his vision was blurred from the pleasure seeping throughout his body, sending chills down his spine, but he still refused to look away from you.

He remembers how beautiful you were underneath him, moaning his name and telling him you loved him.

With every thrust of his hips, his vision became more blurred- perhaps from the pleasure or because he was crying, vision clouded by tears because he’s so in love, and he never wants to lose you. The fire from the candles seems to burn more intensely, and when he reaches climax, the dreamy haze of you- your body and face- beneath the glow of the candles is all he sees.

While the fire from that night set his heart ablaze, it was also your very flames that charred his heart to a crisp, leaving Jungkook as nothing but an empty shell of his former self.

Exactly one week later, you died.

You, Jungkook, and Mingyu soared thousands of feet above Camp Half-Blood. The claws of your mechanical dragon Pulchra tousled with the physical form of the evil Earth mother herself: Gaia. You sat on your dragon, directing her to ascend higher and higher.

Mingyu, son of Jupiter, who was equipped with handy dandy flying skills, held Jungkook as he followed in pursuit of your dragon. As he darted through the clouds, Jungkook delivered fatal blows to the Earth mother.

Since Jungkook returned from Tartarus, he and Mingyu had been preparing a strategy to kill Gaia for good.

Gaia was the mother of the Earth, so taking away from her playing field and to the skies provided Jungkook and Mingyu with an advantage.

Mingyu, harnessing the power of the tempests, would conjure a storm, disorienting Gaia with lightning and wind. Jungkook would deliver the final blow with the spear of Ares- the same spear you retrieved from the Hephaestion, and the same spear Ares used to kill Alcyeoneus in the original Titan war.

But before Mingyu had the chance to summon a gust of wind, you used your flame manipulation to morph into a ball of fire to incinerate Gaia to death, engulfing Gaia and yourself in fire before blasting away like a meteor, leaving a trail of fiery residue in your wake.

That marked the final glimpse Jungkook saw of you.

Gaia’s death meant the successful completion of the quest, and Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter erupted into cheers at the demise of the evil Earth mother. Mingyu and Jungkook, on the other hand, were in shock as they remained stagnant in the atmosphere, watching the fiery residue simmer into nothingness.

Mingyu touches down softly on the earth, and Jungkook stumbles on the ground, falling to his knees. Campers from both Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter roar with excitement, welcoming both men with jubilation.

Jungkook is unable to move, palms and knees still planted onto the ground, grappling with the weight of what he just witnessed. The cheers seem distant, drowned out by the echo of your fiery departure. Jungkook, typically fierce and resilient, allows panic to infiltrate his being, and it isn’t until Rose pushes past the crowd and falls to her knees, her palms desperately shaking Jungkook’s shoulders. “Where’s Y/N? Jungkook?! Where the fuck is Y/N?”

Unable to conjure a response, Jungkook opens and closes his mouth, desperately scanning Rosie’s face for a hint of jest- like Oh! Just kidding! Y/N is right here!- but she’s not kidding, her hardened features indicative that nothing could ever be more serious.

Jungkook's agony manifests in a heart-wrenching scream, tears streaming down his face as he bangs his fists into the ground.

Rosie’s face drops and she clasps a palm over her lips. At that moment, Taehyung, Mina, and Namjoon push through the crowd, frantically scanning through the waves of people for you. Taehyung’s face turns grim at the sight of Jungkook sobbing into the ground, and Namjoon starts crying.

The cheers from the campers dwindle into silence.

"Legions, to the West! Each camper is to conduct a thorough search for Y/N. Mobilize all pegasi, airplanes, and flying apparatuses immediately!" Mingyu roars, and the camps erupt into a panic, fleeing into different directions to prepare for a comprehensive search.

After 24 hours of hunting, you never appear.

Jennie, daughter of Hades, confirms your death, and Jungkook’s heart plummets to his stomach.

The atmosphere at Camp Half-Blood is heavy with sorrow as campers of both Roman and Greek gather at the foot of Half-Blood Hill.

In the center of a clearing, a makeshift altar is erected, adorned with offerings and mementos that speak of the adventures and camaraderie you share with the camp. Symbols are scattered for each quest you successfully complete. Copies of your favorite books litter the ground, along with your favorite foods, figurines of your favorite anime characters, and prototypes of weapons and trinkets you engineer.

Each camper is presented a red bead adorned with the emblem of a flame to celebrate the daughter of Hephaestus that shines so brightly. The bead is intended to be threaded onto the necklaces worn by all Camp Half-Blood members, each bead representing a year spent at camp.

“Today, we gather not only to mourn the loss of a brave demigod but to celebrate a hero whose legacy will forever echo through the boundaries of this camp,” Chiron’s voice resonates with a mix of sadness and reverence.

As Chiron speaks, campers take turns sharing anecdotes of your courage, weaving a tapestry of memories that paint a vivid impact you have on those around you.

In Mingyu's embrace, Rose weeps openly, her tears flowing freely as Mina recollects the adventures the three girls embarked upon the quest to defeat Gaia. Tales unfold—of mastering swordplay, battling sea monsters, concocting healing potions, and dedicating free time to handcraft makeup and serums.

Mingyu is next, clearing his throat before he awkwardly retells stories of meeting you for the first time. Mingyu, son of the Roman god Jupiter, appeared at Camp Half-Blood randomly after having his memory wiped.

Most approached Mingyu with hostility while you and Namjoon welcomed him with kindness, showing him around camp and becoming his friend. Mingyu shares the tale of your and his encounter with Hercules on an island before entering Greece—a confrontation that angered Hercules and ended with him buried under a mound of macaroni (a lengthy tale). Mingyu sheds a tear before closing off, and to be quite honest, he still bears the weight of witnessing your death and not intervening. It would haunt him forever.

Jaehyun, son of Apollo and your first kiss, is up next. In a heartfelt moment, he openly declares his love for you in front of everyone, and while he has every right to mourn and grieve in a way that works for him, the few that know about you and Jungkook shift in discomfort.

No one utters a word about your blooming relationship with Jungkook, and unless Jungkook explicitly tells them to, their lips remain sealed.

Love is a beautiful thing. At times, some find themselves so enamored with another that they become compelled to openly declare and proclaim their love to the whole world. Arguably, an intimate, more private love is even more ideal. Loving someone discreetly creates an intimate connection known only to someone and their love, completely unburdened by the need for external validation, and that’s the type of love Jungkook intends to share with you.

Once Jaehyun sits down, the echo of Taehyung’s stomp captures the attention of all the campers.

“Y/N’s not dead,” Taehyung claims, “and I know she’s not.”

Namjoon eyes his friend with daggers in his pupils, but Taehyung refuses to relent.

“I’ve been best friends with Y/N since we were 12,” he seethes, “I would sense it if she were dead- so respectfully, we need to stop moping around and we have to find her.”

“Tae,” Jennie, daughter of Hades, rises and places a soothing hand on his back, “I sensed her death. I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”

Taehyung shakes his head and brushes Jennie’s hand away. “I don’t give a fuck. Y/N is alive.”

In a rage of anger, Namjoon stands up and strikes Taehyung in the face. “Taehyung! Sit down. You’re tarnishing Y/N’s image and causing more pain for everyone here with your delusions. Y/N is in Elysium, and she’s at peace. Let her rest in peace.”

Chiron clears his throat and approaches the boys. “That’s true. She served well. Y/N has been on quests since she was 11. She was a diligent soldier. She deserves rest.”

Taehyung, clutching his face where Namjoon hit him, remains calm and shakes his head. “I would agree if she were actually dead, but she’s not. Isn’t that right Jungkook? Don’t you feel it?”

Jungkook, who has maintained a solemn silence until this moment, lifts his head from his hands. His gaze sweeps over the assembly of campers, then shifts to the shrine erected in your memory, finally locking eyes with Taehyung. Despite his swollen and puffy eyes, Jungkook stands, drawing his sword. "One hour. In sixty minutes, I’m leaving on a quest to find Y/N. Join me if you want or stay if you genuinely believe she's gone. We'll reconvene here. Pack your shit. This journey may take a while."

And you would think that a quest involving the strongest Roman and Greek demigods would lead to something, but it was like you never existed- every trace of you was gone.

The crew had a small glimmer of hope when they came across a piece of scrap metal from your mechanical dragon, Pulchra, drifting in the Atlantic ocean, but it led to nothing.

Jungkook scoured the entire world, yet you were gone, gone without a trace.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, Jungkook secludes himself, grappling with the guilt and pain of not being able to save you.

He leaves Camp Half-Blood for good, moving halfway across the world to Korea to live with his mother and pursue mortal education.

Typically, the whole mantra is Demigods have to stay in Camp Half-Blood to protect themselves from monsters!1!! But Jungkook, 20 years old and the strongest Greek demigod alive, doesn’t have any issue with that. Without a moment's hesitation, he ruthlessly eliminates any monster, adversary, or demon that dares to approach him.

Once, while Jungkook is hanging up his mother’s wet clothes on a clothing line, a hydra approaches the granny neighbors living below him. He doesn’t know what the mortals see - maybe a gigantic husky - but his granny neighbors living below him are scared nonetheless, screaming while the hydra squares them up.

Jungkook encountered a hydra on the quest of the Eternal Night when he was 14 - the key was to not cut off any of the hydra’s heads because it would only grow more. Instead, he hopped down a whole story and used his celestial bronze knife, the same one you crafted, to cut the hydra from its lower calf, causing the monster to crumble into dust.

Following that incident, his granny neighbors were likely even more frightened of him than the hydra, but he truly, truly could not bring himself to care.

He no longer even enjoys killing monsters; his fiery soul and obsession with combat faded into nothing but emptiness.

Jungkook is empty. So, so empty. He hates the gods and refuses to speak to his father, despite countless attempts from Ares to reach out to him.

Instead, he immerses himself in a hedonistic mortal lifestyle. His Harley-Davidson motorcycle is still a familiar sight, roaring through the streets to bars in Seoul, clubs in Itaewon, and occasionally cruising along the coastal beaches of Busan.

It takes him some time to fully embrace the hookup culture, but one drunken night at a bar leads him down the path of one-night-stands and sneaking away in the middle of the night. The first girl, whose name he can't recall, is attractive and makes the first move. With nothing to lose, and alcohol in his system, he goes to hers.

It's okay. It isn’t anything special, but he finds himself unable to finish, and on the journey home, a sense of self-disgust washes over him.

On a chilly December night, Jungkook finds himself at Cakeshop, a nightclub in Itaewon. Around winter, Mina, who is visiting family in Japan, decides to pay Jungkook a visit and accompanies him to the club for a few drinks and a night out.

Of course, Jungkook is delighted to see an old friend, no matter how horrible his condition was the last time he saw her. He takes her out to a few meals and rents out the neighboring flat for her.

Amidst the lively chatter and laughter, the duo enjoys a few drinks, exchanging stories and catching up on the time they spent apart. As the night unfolds, they explore the different sections of the club, from the energetic dance floor to the cozy lounges, where they sit continuing their conversation.

Mina tells Jungkook stories from Camp Jupiter — how she has risen through the ranks and been promoted as Praetor of the Roman legion, and Jungkook is genuinely happy to hear it.

Gasps resonate throughout the lounge, and when Mina and Jungkook turn their heads in the direction of the commotion, their faces drop. The most facially aesthetic woman he’s ever seen gracefully maneuvers through the crowd, prompting the masses to part like the Red Sea.

Her gaze fixes on Mina and Jungkook, and without any invitation, she assertively joins them in the lounge. Seating herself directly across from them, her presence transforms the lounge into an exclusive VIP area. Security personnel, clad in sleek black suits, swiftly cordon off the lounge from public access, blocking away any crazy men and women who try to leap at her.

“Hello Mina, dear. You look lovely tonight,” the woman says, pulling lip gloss from her clutch purse and reapplying it to her lips. Mina sneers at the woman, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care because the woman immediately redirects her attention to Jungkook.

Aphrodite.

“Jungkook, dear, I need to talk to you,” she states, voice becoming rigidly serious.

Jungkook and Mina exchange looks, the disdain in her eyes appearing like she wants to leave and Jungkook nearly obliges because he certainly isn’t the biggest fan of the goddess either.

“You need to talk to your father,” she solicits, not even having the decency to look at Jungkook while she addresses him, her eyes focused on the compact mirror in her manicured hands.

Aphrodite was arguably one of the cruelest goddesses, even more so than Jungkook's father, Ares. Love and war work in tandem, but love is the subtle dagger concealed in a silk glove. Aphrodite's influence wasn't just about the sweet intoxication of romance; it was a weapon, a potent brew of desire that she skillfully wielded to manipulate the hearts of both gods and mortals.

And she won. Jungkook let Aphrodite win because he was so tired, so defeated.She allowed Jungkook to be with his love for three mere weeks before ripping her from him in the most horrific way.

“Respectfully, fuck you.” Jungkook stands, preparing to leave when a piercing glare from Aphrodite halts him in his tracks, instantly enveloping the entire room in an eerie stillness, stopping time.

“Jungkook, dear,” she repeats, her voice more menacing, "You're well aware of the consequences when demigods show disrespect to gods. It weakens us, and the delicate balance of the world hangs in jeopardy. Considering that your father, a god, is desperately trying to connect with you, you currently hold a position of advantage. I recommend you take a seat and engage in a conversation before that advantage slips away."

Jungkook grimaces, exchanging worried glances with Mina before sitting down and placing his palms on the table.

“What is it?”

“Your father wants to speak with you,” she begins, “and he’s heartbroken that you won’t give him the chance for a conversation. I can’t deal with a heartbroken boyfriend, it’s affecting our relationship.”

“Mom, that’s selfish,” Mina intervenes, “Jungkook’s been through enough, and you came all the way here just for that?”

Aphrodite’s features soften, and she looks at her daughter sadly. “That’s not all. Jungkook needs to return to Camp Half-Blood,” she adds, to which Jungkook shakes his head.

“I’ll talk to Ares, but I’m not ready to return- not yet,” he grimaces.

“Jungkook,” Aphrodite places a palm on top of Jungkook’s, “I understand how you feel. I truly do. You loved Y/N, and the way you felt for her- it was of the utmost honor. But Jungkook, your friends need you. Though Gaia is deceased, the battle isn’t over. Remnants of her children remain, and Flame Warden has overtaken my husband Hephaestus’s forge in Mount Olympus.”

Hephaestus.

Jungkook inwardly recoils at the mention of your father, Hephaestus, and he cringes that Aphrodite is claiming Hephaestus as her husband, even after her ongoing affair with Jungkook’s own father.

“Hephaestus,” Jungkook says, “Does he- does he even care that Y/N is dead?” Jungkook whispers, eyes reflecting despondency.

Aphrodite softens infinitely. “Of course he does, sweetie. As you're aware, it goes beyond the cosmic structure for gods to nurture connections with their demigod offspring. Hephaestus bears numerous regrets, and even rescuing Y/N was beyond his capacity. His disheartenment led to the infiltration of his ember forge- he hasn’t been the same since Y/N died.”

Jungkook glowers at that, pulling his hand from Aphrodite’s. “So the forge you’re referring to- is it the same forge where Celestial Bronze is created?”

Aphrodite nods. “Now that the Ember Forge has been breached, the Hermes Express faces a disruption in delivering celestial bronze to Camp Half-Blood and the Cyclops' forges. The demigods at Camp Half-Blood are currently unable to craft weapons. As we enter the Golden Era of Demigods, celestial bronze is crucial for arming ourselves and defending against the threat of monsters. As you're aware, the collaboration of a god and a demigod is essential to defeating a giant. Jungkook, your assistance is paramount; we need you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow. “The Golden Era of Demigods?”

Aphrodite acknowledges with a nod. "Your generation, my daughter Mina, and your companions are on the brink of their 20s. In Greek and Roman history, this is an extraordinary development. Typically, demigods meet their fate in their teens, yet now, the significant strength of demigods in their 20s is unprecedented. Jungkook, we stand at a unique opportunity to eradicate the menace of monsters once and for all."

Jungkook looks down, his lip caught between his teeth. "You vowed to change your ways. The gods made promises to recognize their children and to at least talk to them," Jungkook seethes, frustration evident. "Mina’s right here, and barely a word has been spoken to her. Progress won't be made unless the gods acknowledge and take responsibility for their shortcomings."

Aphrodite frowns, “Mina doesn’t want to talk to me! Isn’t it good parenting to leave your teenage daughter alone? The gods are trying their best, Jungkook. Your father is trying his best.”

Mina places a soothing hand over Jungkook’s fist.

“Jungkook, you should go,” she expresses gently, “The Ember forge…” she trails off, “Y/N would want you to do this. Her siblings in the Hephaestus cabin need the celestial bronze. Do it for her.”

Her words plunge Jungkook into a whirlwind of memories: the moments you spent forging his Celestial Bronze knife, the way he annoyed you to hide his colossal crush on you, and how he has carried that same Celestial Bronze knife ever since.

Aphrodite nods in agreement. “Do it for Y/N-”

Jungkook slams his fists on the table. “Don’t speak of her.”

Jungkook knows very well that Aphrodite could have obliterated him on the spot, but she showed mercy by smiling and nodding at Jungkook.

“Fuck it. I’m doing it. Fuck it,” Jungkook murmurs, much to Aphrodite’s delight and Mina’s satisfaction.

The quest now dubbed the Quest of the Ember Forge was triumphant, and it marked the beginning of Jungkook’s return to Camp Half-Blood.

He reimmersed himself in the camaraderie of camp life, and now that he and his friends were of age, they spent hours in the Big House drinking, reveling in their newfound adulthood.

It brought Jungkook so much joy to see Namjoon loosen up, laughing at the stupidest jokes Taehyung made while they downed shots of soju and played Mythomagic, an old card game from their childhood.

The laughter echoed through the room, mingling with the spirited discussions about the recent quest, reminiscences of past adventures, and plans for the future. They toasted to their victories and shared stories of their individual journeys during the time apart.

Even Chiron, the wise centaur, couldn't resist joining in the festivities, regaling them with tales of ancient mythology and imparting wisdom in his own humorous way.

The once-burdened weight on Jungkook's shoulders lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and connection.

For the first time in two years, Jungkook felt at peace, at home, and disallowed the plague of guilt to overwhelm him as he laughed with his friends.

Jungkook resumes sword fighting in the dueling ground, becoming the sword fighting teacher for all the cabins.

Out of all the campers, there is one kid he absolutely adores: a 13-year-old Jungwon, another sibling of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook finds himself observing Jungwon from a distance, the spark in his eyes reminiscent of a younger Jungkook. Soot covers the younger boy's face, and sweat drips from his armor like he’s been out there for hours.

“Kid!” Jungkook approaches, unsheathing his sword. He tilts his head and grins. “Care for a duel?”

Jungwon grins, raising his brows before licking his lips. If anything, Jungwon 100% emits the fiery, combat-crazed aura Jungkook is renowned for. There is no doubt in Jungkook’s mind that this kid is going to be a beast.

The dueling ground buzzes with anticipation as other campers gather to watch the showdown between the seasoned warrior and his spirited protégé. Jungkook and Jungwon circle each other, their swords catching glints of sunlight.

With a sudden burst of energy, Jungkook lunges forward, his movements swift and precise. Jungwon, fueled by determination, meets each strike with resilience beyond his years.

In a final, calculated move, Jungkook disarms Jungwon, ending the duel with a victorious flourish. The onlookers erupt into cheers, acknowledging the mastery of their esteemed sword-fighting teacher.

Jungkook stalks over to Jungwon and helps him up before tousling his hair. “They gotta send you on a quest soon. You’re more than ready.”

Jungwon’s eyes sparkle as he addresses Jungkook. “Seriously? Can you put in a good word for me to Chiron?”

Jungkook nods, but a sudden realization overtakes him.

He doesn’t want to send Jungwon on a quest.

Jungkook's not keen on the idea of sending Jungwon on a quest, at all. Quests are rough, life-altering, and there's a chance Jungwon might not make it back in one piece. The thought of putting his younger sibling through all that hardship and potential danger sews seeds of peril into his consciousness.

On one side, there's a deep desire to shield his younger brother from harm - no way in hell would he let any monsters or giants destroy the innocent twinkle in his eyes. On the other hand, he understands that quests are an inevitable part of a demigod’s journey - it’s not like he wants Jungwon to get soft.

While Jungkook is frozen at that dawning realization, he follows Jungwon’s train of vision to a familiar face in the distance.

It's Isabella, a daughter of Hephaestus, casually strolling with her friends near the dueling arena.

He doesn’t miss the twinkle in Jungwon’s eyes and the blush flushing his cheeks as he turns his head to keep his eyes on Isabella.

Jungkook throws up that night.

One year later, Jungkook visits Mina, Rose, and Mingyu at Camp Jupiter to aid the Roman legion with dueling lessons.

There, a budding romance blooms with a descendant of Apollo, Sofia.

It’s not like Jungkook means for it to happen; he had sworn off love for the rest of his life. Yet, he couldn't ignore the way Sofia's eyes lingered on him. And when she found her way into his hotel room at night, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to ask her to leave.

After that trip, Sofia visits Jungkook at Camp Half-Blood.

Sofia is now Jungkook’s girlfriend and he feels content.

Night after night, Jungkook pays a visit to the shrine dedicated to you, a ritual of remembrance and honor. Sofia, understanding and respecting his feelings, never presses him to share the details of his relationship with you.

Over time, as Jungkook finds solace in their growing connection, he starts bringing Sofia to join him in leaving offerings at your shrine. In those moments, a sense of closure and the gentle warmth of moving forward envelops Jungkook's heart. It’s time to move forward.

That is, until he runs into you.

#demigod!jungkook #demigod!bts #camp half blood au #demigod au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #heroes of olympus au #pjo au #percy jackson fanfiction #bts fanfic #demigod!enhypen

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 17 days

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𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚅. 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, flirting, fluff, angst angst angst, pining, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, Southern culture slander just for @jupiter-soups, multiple instances of violent men/situations, predatory/SA behaviors, Sad During the Holidays™, financial/emotional/physical abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 18.3k lmaoooo

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: You try to make the best of the "holiday season," and Joel tries to piece together the secret you've been keeping from him.

The shopping centers around town had all hung their plastic wreaths with bows and fake candles from the light poles that lined the increasingly crowded lots. You never understood why the accompanying flags said Happy Holidays! or Season’s Greetings! when all the decorations were clearly Christmas themed. No matter what anyone celebrated, you dreaded this time of year.

The disappointment was obvious when you were a kid and Santa didn’t come some years because you’d “ been too naughty.” You’d get a few meager gifts from your parents that were clearly an afterthought, but you were always left with the failure and profound sense of shame of not being good enough. Of not having tried hard enough. Of not proving yourself. Of not wanting it badly enough.

By the time you were a teenager, you reasoned that those years where Santa didn’t visit were probably due to the volatile, strange relationship your parents had with each other and with money. Your dad had always brought home enough pay to afford the basics and then some, always offering the allure of a financial safety net for your mom, never having to worry about missing a payment on something or not being able to afford what the neighbors could afford. He was outraged when she took up part-time work, thundering about how it belittled him and isn’t what I make good enough for you?

Your mom made awful choices, often one after the other, but you knew she couldn’t have chosen to love your dad. Who on earth would choose to love someone with such a massive inferiority complex? Someone who needed to keep you under his thumb in case his ego needed a boost or his temper needed an outlet? Someone who kept you strung along just enough to make you see what things could be – dangling the carrot on a stick – just to yank it from you because you weren’t worthy of it yet.

It was your dad’s ego and need for validation that led him to cheat on your mom. That was your best guess, anyway. It’s not like the family sat down to talk about it ever. Everyone knew, but no one was allowed to speak on it. Unless of course it was your parents screaming at each other in the middle of the night, accusations and confessions flying.

One of the times your mom had gotten it the worst from your dad is when he’d discovered her fooling around with somebody at her part-time job. After he made sure her body wouldn’t ever move again without a reminder of him, he made her quit and sign over all her remaining pay to his private account. It was probably some sort of punishment for her hard earned money to go into his personal, private account. What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine.

It never stopped her from lashing out at him, though. She always finagled her way into an account or stealing a card before blowing a bunch of money on something insignificant just to spite him. You never understood why sometimes she’d cower from him and other times openly defy him. They’d hit each other and then sometimes he’d just hit her. He always hit Calum, though.

When your mom couldn’t disrupt that dynamic, she started leaving the house more often. If she couldn’t stop it, then she didn’t want to be around to see it. The anger you carry for that still bubbles up every now and then, often when it’s least convenient to address. You and Calum were never given the option of leaving.

You were both expected to fall in line with whatever whims were being had by whichever emotionally stunted adult was home at the time. You were both expected to tune into the mood of the household and adjust yourselves accordingly.

It took a long time after your mom left for you to realize why your dad chose Calum as his main target: he was the next in line that posed an inevitable threat to his authority.

Calum had always leaned more towards the scrawny side, but a few growth spurts after age 12 had bulked him up and upped his height significantly. You can still vividly remember the first time it clicked for them both that Calum was finally a physical match for your dad. They were arguing about Calum’s grades, as if the horrible stress of your mom leaving on top of the already shitty home environment weren’t a clear source for the poor academic performance.

When your dad shoved him, he shoved back. Hard. Hard enough that your dad stumbled backwards into the wall and cracked some of it with his shoulder. The tense silence that followed felt like it went on forever. You watched on in horror, anchored to the spot and shaking. It felt far-fetched and perfectly reasonable all at once when you briefly feared that your dad might kill him.

Before he could say or do anything, Calum scurried off to his room and slammed the door shut. Your dad rounded on you and slapped you clear across the face for “just standing there watching it all.” For bearing witness to the shame of him being challenged and bested. You’d automatically apologized and ran to your room.

You didn’t have fun family holiday traditions like everyone else seemed to. You didn’t have fond memories of a cherished gift. Your parents didn’t have funny stories about the mayhem of beating out other parents to snag the hottest toy of the season for their kid. You didn’t have a favorite holiday movie. You didn’t have fun, quirky stockings or personalized ornaments or special recipes that were only brought out this time of year.

Your distaste for the holidays had grown into an outright dislike for them altogether. If it wasn’t the stress of your parents fighting or whether or not Santa would deem you a bad kid again this year or having to hear all your classmates buzzing with the excitement over break once school started back up, it was the glaring truth that you were different and had to hide because of it.

Everything was a lie. Everything was a carefully concocted and delivered story. To avoid prying questions. To ignore the hurt of what you lacked. To keep anyone from finding out about your home life and getting you and Calum separated.

You tried not to stew in it. You tried not to rain on everyone else’s parade. It wasn’t their fault you’d grown up like that, and it wasn’t your right to be angry with them because they hadn’t. Still, this was your first Christmas without Calum home. Thanksgiving had been more manageable since everyone treated it as a single day of celebration – a half week at most. But come December, it was just a month long barrage. Twenty five days straight of reminders that you were alone. You hated it.

You made sure to keep that to yourself, though. Joel had sheepishly kept the radio on a holiday station, mumbling something about how Sarah would always make him leave it on. You didn’t tease him over it, didn’t mention the obvious fact that he seemed to like the music, too, but wasn’t sure how to acknowledge it without getting grief for it. Tommy for sure would say something just to get a rise out of him. You wonder what they were like as kids at Christmastime.

You jostle in your seat as Joel takes a particularly sharp turn. The usual shopping center route he took as an office cut through was busier with cars and people with all the holidays looming. You cherish the extra 3 or 4 minutes of alone time this alternate route gives you.

It’s only a few days into the month when he strikes up a conversation about getting gifts early so he’s not scrambling at the last minute. He tells you all about how he should know better by now and how many years he spent rushing around at the last minute with Tommy sat up at the house while Sarah slept just so he could try to get his hands on what she’d asked Santa for.

You think to yourself how you wish you knew what to get him for a gift. Not that you’d do it. You barely have any money, and you don’t even know what he’d like. Plus, it’d probably be rude or look weird to not also get Tommy something. At worst, you’d get Joel something you could actually afford, and it would just be a cheap gift no matter what. You’re also not well-versed in Christmas gift exchanges considering your upbringing. It’s probably best to just avoid it altogether at this point in your life.

“You know, you could use a vacation day if you wanted. Or even a half day if you don’t need the whole day.”

You pivot in your seat from where you’d been gazing out the window at all the random, tacky decorations that popped up seemingly overnight. Calum would’ve laughed at them with you if he were here. “What?”

“Yeah, you can use some time off. You’ve already earned some.”

You blink a few times and try to figure out what he means by bringing this up. Did he not need you as much? Were you too unproductive to keep around? Was he trying to let you down easy while he told you the job wasn’t yours anymore?

“I don’t want a day off.”

“Oh. Okay. It’s nothin–”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Huh?” He tilts his head to meet your eye. He looks just as confused as you feel.

“If I made it seem like I don’t want this job, I do. I really do. And-And I can work harder, too. I can take more hours. I can take on more responsibility.” It all comes spilling out of you in a frantic rush. Whatever he needed to hear so that you didn’t lose this job. So you didn’t lose Joel.

“Sweetie, I just meant if you had Christmas shoppin’ or somethin’ like that. You could use a vacation day instead of fightin’ off the crowds on the weekends.”

Oh. Of course that’s what he meant. And of course it hadn’t occurred to you because you don’t have anyone to get gifts for. The lead brick of embarrassment knocks around your head and leaves little bruises of self-doubt at every point of contact. You could’ve just thought about it for two seconds instead of making a fool of yourself.

“You know,” he starts gently and sounds a lot like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You’re a hard worker. And a good person. And there’s nothin’ wrong with me recognizing that – or anybody else. Even you.”

Your throat feels tight and prickly, and your nose feels suspiciously like it wants to start dripping warm with sentiment. This is already embarrassing enough without you sniffling and getting all bleary eyed. You want to clam up and bury it all deep until you can act like a normal person again. But something about Joel’s earnestness and kindness pulls at the loose thread that’s keeping you from unraveling altogether.

“I thought you were firing me,” you blurt out.

Apparently this is outlandish enough that Joel has to pull over for a moment to digest it. “What in the world?! Why would I fire you?!” He doesn’t sound mad, just genuinely perplexed. “Look, if I’m givin’ you that impression, you gotta tell me because that is NOT what I wanna portray here.”

“I-It’s not you,” you assert. “I just–I get in my head sometimes.”

He softens at that and reaches out for your hand. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You grab onto his hand but can’t meet his eye, choosing to look out the window again instead. “This job–you–This job means a lot to me, and I just get scared sometimes of losing something that makes me happy.”

You feel the dip of his weight bow the bench seat as he scoots across it to nestle closer to you. You practically melt on the spot when he wraps his free arm around you. “Hey, you ain’t losin’ this, okay? I don’t want you worryin’ about that.”

You shake your head side to side like you’re trying to dispel all the disorienting thoughts. “Sometimes I just feel like I don’t do enough, like I don’t—I dunno, like I have to keep showing that I’m useful or something. It’s like that guy who has to push the rock up the hill, and it just keeps rolling down.” You fix your eyes on a spot in the distance to keep yourself distracted enough to keep talking. “I feel like it’s gonna crush me one of these days,” you confide in a strangled whisper.

You don’t protest when Joel wraps his other arm around you and pulls you snug against him. It’s an awkward sort of embrace in the confines of the truck, and your tired, pliant body isn’t helping things much.

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?”

It’s not a demanding question at all, but it certainly feels that way with how trapped you are in your own secrets. Joel couldn’t possibly know what he’s asking you to divulge.

“It’s my dad,” you confess quietly.

You feel Joel’s body stiffen against you. How much had he already pieced together? You couldn’t tell him like this. He didn’t deserve to have this shoved onto his plate. He’d just been so happy talking to you about all his good memories from this time of year, and you’d gone and ruined it like you always do. You backtrack a little. A half-truth. A half-lie.

“Ever since Calum left, it’s just been harder, you know?”

His body relaxes slightly. “Your brother? Is that why you’ve been on edge? And your dad?”

You clock the relief in his voice. He must’ve been thinking it was something worse. He must’ve been too close to realizing the truth.

“I miss him,” you sniff. “I know him and my dad were never going to get along, but I just wish somehow he could’ve stayed.”

He holds you close, and you angle yourself to fit right into the crook of him. You’ll allow yourself this comfort, just this once. You know from now on you’re going to have to keep a tighter lock on things. This wasn’t anyone’s problem but your own.

“He didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving?”

You shake your head against his shoulder. “No. Probably for the best, though. I always just end up getting caught up in the middle of them.”

“That sounds really hard.”

When you let out a shaky breath in reply, Joel rubs your back and shushes against your temple. “You been dealin’ with this by yourself?” He doesn’t wait for your response. He already knows. “You shoulda come to me, sweetheart. You could’ve, you know?”

“I know,” you sniff.

He pulls back just enough to see your face.

“You come to me if you have somethin’ you wanna talk about, okay? No judgment here. Hell, I won’t even offer advice or say anything if you don’t want. I can just listen if that’s what you need.”

Your bottom lip quivers, and you tug it into your teeth to keep it still. You nod and drift into another hug from Joel.

He’d recognized the shift in you. Something had been even more off since Thanksgiving. You’d said it was a nice day, just a lowkey event. As always, there was the presence of something unspoken just in the periphery of the conversation, but Joel knew better than to ask or to push you for more information. He’d been worried about your notably quieter and somber mood, though. He found himself worrying about you a lot these days. He got the distinct feeling you needed something – someone, maybe – and it drove him crazy that he couldn’t seem to flush the answer out of the reeds.

And then finally, finally, you’d said something that made things clearer. Your brother up and leaving all those months ago was the missing piece. It made so much more sense now. Your dad’s prickly, on edge demeanor. His overbearing worrying about your comings and goings. Maybe the whole bank account thing was just him trying to hold onto the one kid he still had left at home. It wasn’t the healthiest approach, but Joel couldn’t really blame a parent for doing anything in their power to keep their kid in their life. The misdirected upset at you was still irksome, though. You didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of your dad’s unresolved issues about your brother leaving.

Joel painstakingly replayed the conversation over and over again in his head, trying to piece together all the crumbs of information you’d left here and there.

You and your brother got along well enough that his absence weighed heavily on you.

He and your dad didn’t get along at all.

You were always caught in the middle of it.

Your brother left because he and your dad couldn’t work things out.

Did you blame yourself for not being able to keep their relationship intact? Did they still put you in the middle or make you choose sides? Were you still acting as referee to their disagreement?

As many questions as your admission had answered, many more took their place.

“You okay with your bonus bein’ in cash, too?”

He always asked even though he knew the answer by this point. You wonder if he wanted you to say no and just get paid like everyone else did. “Oh, I didn’t know I was getting a bonus.”

“You’re an employee, aren’t ya? Employees get a holiday bonus.” He says it like it’s obvious, and for once you appreciate the finality of the conversation. You didn’t have to wrestle with yourself over whether or not you deserved it because Joel and Tommy were going to give it to you regardless, just like every other employee.

“Thank you,” you say politely in a small voice.

He hums in reply and looks over at you. His jaw slides back and forth a few times in thought before his eyes are on the road again.

“You did good this mornin’.”

You snort and roll your eyes, face angled at him to emphasize your amusement. “I didn’t even do anything. Like, a few laps in a completely empty parking lot isn’t really anything to write home about.”

He smiles softly. “Progress is progress, ain’t it?” he contends. “One successful driving lesson under your belt is plenty enough to celebrate as far as I’m concerned.”

Your cheeks warm at his praise and insistence that something you did deserved to be acknowledged and commended. “I dunno, I think my instructor is a bit of a softie,” you tease. “Feel like I could’ve driven his truck straight into a ditch and he still would’ve found something nice to say.”

Joel chuckles and shakes his head. “Now I don’t know about that one, ya little weasel.”

“Weasel?!” you laugh. “Okay, that’s a new one.”

He laughs louder now and fake pinches your side. “Well it’s the first time you’ve suggested driving my truck into a ditch and gettin’ away with it. Had to bring out the big guns on that one.”

You giggle and jerk out of his reach when he goes to fake pinch you again. “Surprised you didn’t put some weird southern spin on it like usual. ‘Cheesy wheezy weasel goober doober’ or some shit,” you laugh. “Constantly making up words. Real country bumpkin shit, Joel.”

He breathes out a laugh and rolls his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“I dunno, Goober Doober. What am I gonna do with you?”

“If I’m Goober Doober, you’re Plucky Duck,” he challenges.

You both burst into a fit of cackles at the ridiculous nickname threats. The laughter dies down eventually, and the usually unbearable lilt of Judy Garland crooning from now on, our troubles will be miles away in the background feels almost cozy in the confines of the truck.

For once, when she serenades with through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow, you aren’t thinking about your broken family, your broken home, and all the broken, splintered things that could’ve been. You’re thinking about Joel and all the overwhelming urges to be closer to him and keep him with you as long as possible.

The pull of whatever this is that you share is undeniable. Your fingers reach out to him almost without your permission, body reacting and acting in spite of your brain trying to keep things rooted in professional, neutral territory. Your retaliatory pinch ends up as more of a greedy grab to his soft middle.

“Goob,” you huff.

“Pluck,” he shoots back as he grabs your hand.

You pull it back slowly and place both hands in your lap, smiling like an idiot still. Your brain has entered the picture again and is furious with your autopilot heart for constantly pushing the boundaries. The click of Joel’s blinker and the subsequent honk from another car wrench you from your self-chiding.

He jerks the truck back into the lane before laying on his horn and yelling, “Jackass!”

Your hand grips your chest from where it flew up in fright from the sudden maneuver. “Jesus christ! Where’d that guy come from!?”

“Was speedin’ over that hill back there. Can’t see what’s past it until you’re already on top of it. S’why the speed limit changes about four times on this stupid road,” he grumbles. “Hate takin’ it because of that very reason. Fuckin’ hardware store is over this way, though.”

“Fuck I thought he was gonna hit us!”

“Just about did. Fuckin’ idiot drivers. Honked at me like it’s my fault he ain’t followin’ the signs,” he huffs. He glances over at you, arm still clutched across your chest. “You okay?”

You nod and adjust in your seat. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Just scared me a little. Are you okay?”

“I’m good, sweetie.”

It’s a quieter drive to the hardware store where Joel checks on you one more time before leaving the engine running for you while he pops inside for a minute. “Just gotta grab another set of these brackets real quick.”

You sit patiently and listen to the not-so-grating-anymore Christmas music that plays in a low hum on the radio. A lively rendition of Jingle Bells spurs a completely forgotten memory of the year Calum sang the Batman parody version of it over and over again until you were both just about peeing your pants trying to keep your laughter down. You grin and mumble-sing what you can until it all comes back to you.

Jingle bells Batman smells Robin laid an egg The Batmobile lost a wheel And The Joker got away

You giggle and scoot closer to the driver’s side to turn the radio up more. Maybe you did have a happy holiday memory after all.

The nostalgia is cut short when the driver’s door flies open to reveal a surly looking man shooting daggers at you. You scream and reach to shut the door, but he hops onto the truck step and blocks you. He crowds into the frame of the door, not quite entering the truck, but effectively blocking a main exit. You start to scramble for the passenger side but think Joel’s truck getting stolen would be worse than you getting hurt by some psycho. You inch backwards and put your hands up in a placating show of submission.

“Hey, you fuckin’ bitch! You almost made us wreck back there!” he shouts. It’s so much louder in the cabin of the truck.

You shake your head, eyes bugging out wildly at the baffling charge.

“Back on Beaufort? Just over the hill? You’re really gonna act like you didn’t almost make me hit you when you came into my lane?!” he seethes.

It dawns on you that this is the driver of the car that had come hurtling over the hill and honked at Joel a few minutes ago. You hadn’t even noticed him going this same direction. Had he followed you? Obviously not too closely otherwise he would’ve seen that it was Joel who’d gotten out of the driver’s side. Unsure of what to do, you go with your tried and true default: apologize even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I-I’m sorry,” you warble.

“Sorry? Oh, you’re SORRY? Well I guess that fixes everything, huh?” he barks. “Sorry ain’t gonna fix all of us getting pancaked in a pileup just because some girl thinks she can run around in a big pick up truck and keep up with the guys. You need to learn to stay in your fuckin’ lane – literally and figuratively!”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a quieter voice.

He leans into the truck and demands to see your ID card and insurance so he can “make a report.” You don’t even know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Please, I’m really sorry!”

He yells again, and you flinch. Had this been 5 seconds or 5 minutes? It was all a blur. The adrenaline is coursing through you and making it hard to hear over the pounding in your ears. He looks at you expectantly. He must’ve asked a question and you missed it. You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. He laughs, completely devoid of amusement, and shoves a pointed finger in your face. You don’t even hear what he’s screaming at you. You can just make out the furious twitch and pull of his expression, spit flying as he berates you.

And then, he’s gone. Like a giant cane pulling an act off stage, he launches backwards and out of the truck. You shrink onto the floor of the passenger seat and huddle down. The shrill whistle in your ear eases up, and you hear Joel shouting something. There’s someone else shouting, too, but it sounds pained and pitched. Surely that wasn’t the same man who’d just been in the doorframe screaming at you. It sounded so distressed. The loud roar of an engine and then tires peeling against concrete erupt from somewhere behind the truck. It’s quieter again.

The passenger door swings open to reveal a panting, panicked Joel. His eyes lock on yours, and you’re no sooner scrambling up to grab hold of him with your entire body. His arms wrap tight around you as you hitch yourself to him, clawing and hooking your limbs around his shoulders and hips.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m right here,” he says over and over. You slump into him, your body melding against his however gravity sees fit, and breathe in the grounding scent of him. His arm is braced against your back and locking you against him. He shuffles forward to rest you on the edge of the seat so he can look you over for any signs of injury. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head side to side, fat tears spilling over with the movement, and pull a shuddering inhale that catches a few times before it takes. “No, h-he was just p-pointing in my face and yell-yelling.”

“Fuckin’ monster,” he hisses under his breath.

A few beats pass as you steady yourself. The abrupt hostility of it was most upsetting, and you tell yourself over and over again in your head that the threat has passed. Joel switches between looking you over for injuries and pulling you against him and rubbing your back.

“And to a fuckin’ woman, too. Goddamn coward ain’t no man.”

Joel’s unwavering, southern gentleman trope come to life commentary makes you giggle despite the circumstances. It catches him off guard as much as it does you. You sniff and brush your arm across your eyes. “Just, like… s-something about you being equally offended that he did th-that but also that he d-did it to a wom-woman is funny to me. S-Sorry.”

Your lopsided smile makes the drying tracks of your tears crinkle on your skin. Joel’s head inches back a little, bewildered and amused at the sharp turn in mood, and smiles a laugh. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m-I’m okay, I think. Just shook me up a little,” you say in a firmer tone.

He sizes you up for a moment and nods, satisfied with whatever clarifying bit of information he’d pulled from your demeanor. “I mean, it is worse that he’s a man doin’ that to a lady,” he emphasizes as though you weren’t entirely understanding where he was coming from.

You close your eyes and grin. “Joel, you’re just, like, the epitome of southern gentleman no matter what. It just struck me as funny. That’s all I meant.”

“I don’t think women are inferior,” he insists with a pleading look in his eye.

“No, I know that. Look, you– this conversation is going sideways. I know you don’t. I-I like how you are with m–how you are with women,” you quickly correct.

He smiles tenderly at the quick switch, obviously catching your original, unfiltered thought. “Just think some things should be taken care of, is all. Nothin’ manly about treatin’ a lady bad. Drives me up a fuckin’ wall.”

You sniff and hug yourself a little closer as the adrenaline starts to fade. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to th—”

“I know. I want to,” you interject. “So, thank you.”

He sighs and rubs a few circles on your knee where it’s bent against the edge of the seat. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Anytime. M’just sorry it happened at all.”

“Not your fault.” You shrug and poke at the side of his thigh as he drifts closer to you again. “Besides, you showed up in time. You came to my rescue, right?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He peers off at nothing in particular in the distance before fixing you with an earnest look. “You know if you needed somebody to show up for you, I’d show up for you. Right?”

You swallow down the wave of warmth budding from your chest and nod. “Yes.”

“Good. ‘Cause I need to know you understand that.”

“I do.”

He considers you again like he’s making sure you’re not just saying all this to appease him. He looks over his shoulder and leans back. “Alright, you ready to get outta here?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

He makes sure you’re situated in your seat and shuts the door for you before climbing into the driver side and pulling out of the lot.

It made him sick to his stomach every time he thought about how frightened you’d been. You were jumpy in the truck for a few days after but had settled down since. He hated to think what could’ve happened to you if he hadn’t been walking out at that moment. It makes his chest tight to imagine if he’d decided to just walk around the store for a minute to look for something else rather than just going in to pick up what he needed and heading right back out like he had.

He’s sure it was driving you crazy to have him constantly checking in on you, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know you were alright. He hadn’t planned on telling you that he’d always show up for you, but it was so compelling in the moment he couldn’t stop himself. You looked like you believed him. God, he needed you to believe him. To understand how fucking deep this went because he was awash in all of it without any understanding of how it’d happened so fast.

He hadn’t known you long enough to justify this sense of duty and devotion he had for you. This innate need to protect and care for you. You were plenty grown enough to take care of yourself, and you didn’t need some old man inserting himself into your life. But he just couldn’t stop.

At first he told himself he was simply showing you gratitude for helping out in the work bind Jenn had left Miller Contracting in. But you’d been around for a few months now, and his sustained level of interest and appreciation felt less and less appropriate for somebody just showing thanks to a new employee who’d stepped up when the company needed it.

He was wrestling with himself even now as his hand hovered over the send button. He shouldn’t be texting you like this. He shouldn’t be pushing for more than what was necessary for work. Even Tommy had picked up on it and given him a little talk about “just being careful with it” as if Joel was some idiot teenager who let his dick do all the thinking.

Joel hated it even more because Tommy was justified with everything he’d said. How you were younger – a lot younger than Joel. How things were weird because he was the boss and you were under him. How even if everything was above board and two consenting adults were venturing into something romantic, there was still the optics of “fucking the secretary.” Joel had winced when Tommy put it in those terms, but he understood why he’d phrased it so harshly.

There were so many things that screamed this isn’t smart, but Joel couldn’t ever find anything to convince himself to turn away from you. It felt like he was hurtling towards the sun and accepting the burn if it meant a moment of warmth.

He sighs and hits send. Your text bubble pops up almost immediately.

Joel: What would it take to convince you to help me wrap these Christmas presents?

You: idk how big are the gifts

Joel: Normal sized? I dunno. There’s hot chocolate in it for you.

You: do you even have hot chocolate lol

Joel: I could if that’s what it would take to convince you.

You: haha you’re actually so ridiculous You: be there in a min

And there it was. The reason he couldn’t stop himself. You gravitated to him, too. He knew you felt it, too. He didn’t know if you felt it as deeply as he did, but there was no denying it existed for both sides. And as much as you liked to poke fun at his traditional southern gentleman tendencies, you sure seemed okay with being looked after that way.

He hoped you understood where it came from. It wasn’t ever about sticking to gender norms or playing a part. It was just expressing an intention of care and devotion to someone that deserved it, to honor a beautiful, strong woman with the sort of reverence she inherently deserved.

At least, that’s how he’d been raised. It was hard to shake when it felt so good to take care of somebody, to offer protection and something solid and strong to someone who maybe wanted to lay their defenses down for a little while. To be the safe space for someone to not have to keep those walls up all the time. And in return let him be soft and attentive and competent and strong.

It felt good to be someone a woman could trust, especially in a world as fucked as this one. And when it was more than just being friends, it felt special to be that sort of man for a woman in all those ways, too.

He waits by the window for you like some sort of creep, unable to miss out on the way you glide up to his house on that old bike of yours. He should really get you a new one. He wonders how much of a fuss you’d make over it before just accepting the gift. He meets you at the door and doesn’t even chastise himself over appearing too eager to see you again after wishing you a goodbye and a good weekend not even 20 hours ago.

“Hey, Goob,” you greet with a wry smile.

“Pluck,” he greets back with matched energy.

His heart beats faster and swells with joy when you let yourself in. You felt comfortable here. You felt comfortable with him. An odd sense of pride takes root in him knowing you feel safe with him and recognize even in a subconscious way that you belong here with him. Together.

He grips his thigh from the inside of his jean pocket in an effort to keep his mind from wandering into such ridiculous avenues. He had no business with those sorts of possessive feelings on top of everything else he felt for you. You said something to him, but he had to ask you to repeat it because he was so fucking distracted.

“I said, were you just planning on kicking back and watching TV while I did all the wrapping?”

You point to the TV playing some random, old Christmas movie he can’t even remember the name of. “Oh, no. Just had that on. Was too quiet around here, you know? Good to have some noise.”

Why was he so flustered today? Where had his cool, collected back and forth with you gone? It was like this attraction to you was making his brain rot with it the longer he held it in.

You seem almost flattered that you being here was helping it not be so quiet, like you felt honored in some strange way that you were being asked to be present and just exist as yourself in a space. That impression is further enforced when he asks about what sort of movies or shows you’d like to watch instead.

“Oh, I don’t really watch too much stuff, honestly.” You lift and sag your shoulders so loosely it’s obvious you’re trying to be flippant about it. “My dad sort of prefers the quiet. Work gets him stressed or whatever. Just likes things to be quiet unless he’s got something on.”

“You don’t watch anything together? Y’all don’t like the same stuff?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess we just like different stuff.” It’s a stiff delivery, and you busy yourself with searching for the tape and scissors in the box of wrapping supplies Joel had brought down. He hadn’t even really intended for you to wrap anything. He would’ve been happy to just sit on the couch together and shoot the shit over some schmaltzy Christmas classic in the background. You seemed like you invited the distraction of it, though – something to blame for your diverted attention away from the curious things you were sharing about your homelife.

“Well, d’ya think you’d like watchin’ more movies? Or TV or whatever?”

He can’t ask the things he really wants to, like why on earth you aren’t allowed to watch the TV in your own damn house or why you have to exist in silence just because your dad calls for it. If he ever tried to pull that with Sarah, she’d laugh in his face and tell him to get a grip.

“I dunno. Maybe. Probably.” You sit for a moment and pick at the ribbons. “Yeah. I think it could be nice.”

He wants things to be nice for you, and he wants to be the one to make them happen. It should be done right. You deserve that much. He can do things right for you. He can do right by you.

Christmas morning is just like any other morning, except it’s a weekday and you don’t get to see Joel. Not a great start. Then of course your dad had sprung the news on you yesterday that Denise and her two young kids were going to be coming over, so the house needed to be “presentable.” He’d been spending more and more time with them, and you could only imagine the sort of lines he was feeding her. It wouldn’t be any use trying to warn her about his true colors, though. She was decidedly frosty towards you for some reason. You didn’t much care to have a relationship with her or her kids, anyway.

Your dad is awake and dressed in a nice sweater, mulling around the kitchen and straightening things that didn’t need it. “You look nice,” you offer up in a show of keeping the peace for the day.

His eyes glide over to you and give you a once over. “Wish I could say the same. Can’t you put something else on?” His nose wrinkles at your sweats and tshirt.

“I’m still in pajamas, dad. I’m gonna change,” you explain.

He snorts and goes back to his pointless tidying. “Maybe it should be a bit of a wakeup call that I can’t tell the difference between your pajamas and your regular clothes.”

You don’t rise to the bait. “Maybe.”

You just shrug your shoulders and mosey towards the fridge to look for something to nibble on before you have to fake your way through the day. You eye your dad’s perfunctory inspection and correction of your work from yesterday and bite back the nasty comment you wish you were brave enough to make. He’d of course been missing the entire afternoon as you swept and scrubbed and cleaned. All to put on some show for his girlfriend and her kids.

Deciding it might be best to know what the schedule was for the day so you could play your part, you ask if there’s any sort of itinerary. He must have some nervous energy he’s looking for an excuse to take out on you because he scoffs and throws a demeaning scowl in your direction. “What do you think they’re coming over to do? What do people do on Christmas, genius?”

You once again swallow down the urge to scream in his face. How were you supposed to know what people were “supposed to do” on Christmas when you’d never had a “normal” one in your entire life? Keeping your calm as you chew a small bite of food, you finish and deliver a neutral response. “Unwrap gifts? Eat something?”

“Always knew you were brilliant,” he snorts sarcastically. It’s derisive and upsetting – just as he intended.

You wander into the living room and stop in your tracks when you see the shiny pile of presents under the sparsely decorated tree. You scold yourself for the flash of hope that tears through you, thinking and wishing that maybe there was something under there for you. But you hadn’t gotten your dad anything. What if he’d gotten you something, but you didn’t get him anything? He’d be upset, wouldn’t he? That would be selfish. Even though you weren’t supposed to exchange gifts. That just wasn’t something your family did.

“Don’t touch them,” he snips from behind you. You jump, unaware that he’d followed you. “Don’t want you getting crumbs and fingerprints all over them.”

The subtext there was of course that these gifts were not intended for you. Your heart sinks, and you want to admonish yourself for even being stupid enough to hope for a moment that anything your dad put effort into would ever be for you.

Something spiteful and angry brews in your stomach. All those sparkling, shiny gifts for two kids that weren’t even his. Hell, they weren’t even his step-children. You and Calum had never had a Christmas that looked like this. Your bitterness bubbles over when you consider that your dad never had a reason to lovebomb you both when you were already stuck with him anyway.

“Lots of presents for two kids,” you remark before you can talk yourself out of it. It’s a mistake to voice anything akin to negativity, though. You should know better by now, but the hurt of having to watch two other children live out the sort of childhood you’d never had was just too much.

“They’re good kids,” he snipes back pointedly. “And you better not say a fucking thing, either. I already told Denise we don’t exchange gifts like that, so nobody is gonna listen to your little pity party over no gifts. Got a damn roof over your head for free and you still find something to bitch about.”

“I wasn’t complaining! I was just saying it looked like a lot!”

“You need to quit running that mouth of yours, little girl,” he warns.

“Dad, I’m trying to say that if you got them more than Denise got them, it might make her feel bad,” you lie and clarify in an attempt to smooth things over.

He fixes you with a nasty smile and gestures to the gifts. “Guess what, genius? They’re from me AND Denise. Christ, you’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, you know that?”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. There’s no way you would’ve known that, but you still somehow feel stupid anyway. The embarrassment quickly bleeds into resentment. “So, what? I’m supposed to sit here and watch two kids I don’t even know open gifts from people that aren’t me? That’s so weird, dad. Come on,” you huff.

You know this surge of indignation is only going to land you in hot water, but you can’t seem to stop your mouth from running a mile a minute. Perhaps you were bolstered by the fact that somewhere in your subconscious you knew he wouldn’t do anything - not today, at least - with their impending arrival. A wrecked house and a wounded daughter weren’t exactly what you wanted when you were trying to sell a fairytale to some woman.

“They’re going to be here within the hour. You have 20 minutes to get the fuck out of the house and stay gone until I tell you that you can come home. Do you understand?”

“What?! It’s Christmas! Everywhere is closed! Where am I supposed to go for half the day?!” you stammer

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“I’ll stay in my room, okay? I’ll shut the door, and they won’t even know that I’m—”

“No. You should’ve thought about that before being disrespectful and showing how fucking selfish you really are. You were too busy running your mouth instead of rubbing two brain cells you’ve got left in that heard of yours together to form a singular, smart choice. All I know is that I’m not gonna have you ruining this just like you ruin everything else. Get your shit and get out.”

He turns on his heel and stomps back to the kitchen. You scramble to your room to collect your wallet, your phones, your keys, a hoodie…. You grab whatever you think you might need that doesn’t weigh your backpack down too much.

You change into whatever clean pair of jeans and t-shirt you can scrounge up. You’re out the back door before your dad decides you shouldn’t come back until tomorrow or some other harsher punishment.

You don’t know where to go except for the office, and the entire bike ride there gives your mind nothing but time to whip itself into even more of a frenzy. Why couldn’t you just shut up this morning? Why did you let yourself be so surprised over his shitty attitude and hurtful words? Why hadn’t you just played along and kept the peace?

Your thoughts are a full-blown whirlwind by the time you get to the office. You punch in the wrong code at first and set off the alarm because of course you do. A new wave of panic slams into you when you remember that the system sends alerts to Joel’s phone and will call him to verify a false alarm. You get it together long enough to push in the right passcode, but you aren’t sure if the alert has already gone to Joel’s phone. You scurry inside and fish your work phone from your bag.

You: hey if you get an alert about the security system at the office it’s just me 🤦‍♀️ You: punched in the wrong code like an idiot You: merry xmas 😬

Your stomach drops when his contact picture takes up the whole screen.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” you groan.

“The hell are you doin’ up at the office? How the hell’d you even get there?” He sounds concerned and befuddled at the odd situation.

Your brain is fried from everything that’s already transpired thus far today, and you contrive some story about forgetting a gift at the office and trying to sneak out of the house and grab it real quick before anybody noticed you were missing.

“You biked all the way up there?” he sputters. “You shoulda called me, sweetheart. I woulda drove you!”

“Joel, it’s Christmas. I’m sure you’ve got stuff going on with your family just like I do with mine,” you lie.

“Not until later, but that don’t matter anyway. What’re you doin’ takin’ your bike that far? That’s not safe.” He sounds like he’s actually upset with you for once, and you can’t take it. Not today.

“Look, I’m extra careful, okay? Besides, I’m just popping in to get the gift and heading back out. It’s a quick trip.”

You hear keys jangling and the scoot of something against hardwood over the receiver. “You stay put. I’m comin’ to get you.”

“Nope, already on my way back out,” you lie again. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. I promise I’ll call you the next time, alright?” He doesn’t respond, and bile starts to lick up your throat. “Joel, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you. I’m just ignorin’ that ridiculous statement like I’m gonna let you bike all the way back home.”

“Joel, I’m in a rush! I gotta get this gift back home, alright? I’ve already got everything packed up and am heading out now. I appreciate the offer and everything, but I gotta go,” you assert in as firm a voice as you can manage. Your hands are shaking with the effort of keeping your nerves in check.

He grumbles something that doesn’t sound much like he approves before speaking clearly again. “Fine. You better text me when you get home safely, you hear me? I mean it. The second you get home.”

You hold back a sigh of relief and promise to text him when you get home. You practically crumple to the floor when the call ends, anxiety overwrought and mind going so fast it might as well be empty. You estimate how long it would take to bike home and text Joel once the window closes.

You: made it home You: sorry again about the alarm

Joel: It’s fine. Glad you made it home safely. Please don’t ever do that again! Call me next time!

You: ok ok I won’t! 😳

Joel: Good. See you in a couple of days. Joel: Merry Christmas, Pluck. Joel: 💚❤️

You: happy xmas Goob ❤️

Your limbs feel like they’re strapped to concrete blocks as you plod towards the back of the building to Joel’s office. His jacket hangs from the hook just inside the doorway. You pull it down and take it with you as you cuddle up in one of his plushier chairs. You bury your face in the smell of him until you’re able to drift off and forget about your life for a little while.

Sleep had been elusive over the past couple of nights, most hours spent tossing and turning with the events of Christmas playing on loop in your head. It was the cherry on top of the shit sundae to come home later that evening and learn that your dad had proposed to Denise with a big, flashy ring. Just another way of making it clear that you weren’t worthy of his resources and attention and that he was steadily building a new life. A life without you. A life that left you behind, just like everyone else always did.

You push away the nagging thought that money from your account was put towards the ring as you sit waiting for Joel to pick you up. You look awful, no doubt about it. He wouldn’t say anything, but you were sure he’d notice.

You’d never felt like it was work to be around Joel, but keeping all of these disruptive changes to yourself felt like a unique sort of agony. He grew more attuned to your moods and feelings the more time you spent together, and, while that had once felt like a breath of fresh air to not have to explain every single little thing to someone for once, it now feels like a cloud over your head that you have to duck to avoid.

His truck rumbles up the driveway and comes to a stop. He’s out the door and opening yours before you make it down the front steps. You misjudge his body language and go in for a hug. It’s clear you’d misread it with all your inner thoughts flying every which way when he lets out a surprised little exhale. He quickly recovers, though, and wraps his arms around you with a quick, smoothing pass of his palm against your back. It’s like your subconscious needed this, needed the closeness and stability of him, and puppetted you into his broad, solid frame.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he hums.

“Morning.” You step back and rub a nervous hand along the nape of your neck and climb into the truck.

His mood feels buoyant and light, like the interior of the truck is five times bigger just from trying to contain such a vibrant air in such a small space. You latch onto it and siphon as much as you can into your own mood.

“So, did ya get anything good?” he asks, eyes glittery with something eager.

“Oh, mostly gift cards,” you bluff. “I’m sort of hard to buy for I guess.”

His eyes slide over to you in a dubious slant, but he doesn’t comment. “Hm, so whatcha gonna get yourself?”

You weren’t expecting the question, and it makes you hesitate. “Oh. Um. Not sure yet.”

“Hm.”

“Um, did you get anything good?”

“S’gonna sound cheesy, but the best thing I got was just gettin’ to spend some down time with family. Got to see Sarah and Ben for a little bit longer than I expected, so that was real nice.”

You’re aware of your rapid, unnatural blinking, but your brain feels like it’s short circuited a bit. You aren’t sure how much more you can handle talking about family right now, especially if it was the warm and fuzzy kind of bond.

“That’s cool,” you offer up weakly.

Joel’s face flickers confusion, but again he doesn’t remark on your reserved conversation. “So, what did ya have to bike back with anyway?”

“What?”

“The gift? You went up to the office to get a gift, but you never said what it was. I was hopin’ it wasn’t too big for you to lug back since, you know, somebody wouldn’t let me drive them home.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. The fake gift for your dad. The dregs of your mental fluidity and deftness weren’t producing a convincing answer like they so often did when you found yourself in need of some believable excuse or story.

“Book,” you blurt out.

“A book?”

“No. Um. A few books. A series,” you stutter.

You suddenly feel wide awake now and on edge at the flimsy alibi that just tumbled from your mouth. Even a series of books could’ve been hidden at your own house. There’s no reason to have them stored at the office. You’ll just have to say you forgot it.

Wait, isn’t that what you’d already told him? You’d told him something already when he spoke with you on the phone that day. Had you said you were storing it there on purpose and had just forgotten it? What lie had you already fed him?

Joel sits in a contemplative silence as he drives you to the office. “What’s the series called?”

It’s an unassuming question, but you feel the probing connotation beneath it. He was fishing for something. He was suspicious. You weren’t lying well enough.

“Um, The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.”

You don’t know why your brain went with a Western that you vaguely remember watching as a young kid, but now you’re stuck with it.

His lips purse, and he clicks his tongue softly as he turns into the parking lot. “Never knew they were books.”

“Oh, yeah. The movies are from the books. John Wayne was a huge fan of them. I’m pretty sure that’s why he got involved with the movies. Turned out to be a pretty good move, I think. Launched him into fame for sure. Staple cowboy from then on.”

“Well aren’t you just a trivia trove,” he chuckles.

You shrug and force a smile. Your heart stops pounding so hard when it seems like he’s moving away from the topic. You can’t believe you managed to remember so many details about the series. Conversation shifts into easy small talk as you both head inside. You just about descend into a panic again when Joel asks you to step into his office for a minute. Had you left his jacket out? Had you not put the furniture back the right way? You’d been so careful when you were leaving to make sure nothing was out of place.

“Is everything okay? Did I do some–”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the shiny blue bike propped against Joel’s desk. He’s beaming and holding his arms out like he’s presenting a prize on a gameshow. He adds a little tah-dah! for good measure.

“What is that?”

“Merry Christmas.” His smile is impossibly wider. “It’s a few days late, but, yeah. Little Miss I’m Too Hard To Shop For. Pppfffftttt. Think I did pretty good, huh?��

Your mouth doesn’t work. Your tongue isn’t cooperating. Your lungs are taut and fixed.

“Are you serious? This is–Is this for me?” you breathe.

“Yep,” he replies plainly with an emphasized pop on the P. “D’ya like it?”

You inch towards it and don’t even want to mess it up by touching it. “This is too mu–”

“We ain’t doin’ all that, so you can cut that short,” he interrupts.

You’re shaking your head when he grabs something from his desk. “Sorry it’s not wrapped.”

Your eyes bug out at the small box of bluetooth headphones he handed you.

“Sarah said it should connect with the work phone, and once we get some apps on there you can use my password. I don’t got all of ‘em, but I think there’s a pretty good selection.”

“What?” you ask a little breathlessly.

“Streaming apps or whatever. You know, movies. You said you wanna watch more movies, so you can just pop the headphones on and watch it from the phone this way. Won’t be too loud and all that for your house. Figure between the two of us we can figure out how to get all of it set up.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet before leaning against the desk. Your mouth feels like you’ve been chewing sandpaper. “But… I.. didn’t get you anything?”

“So?”

“I didn’t get you anything. And-And you got me something, though.”

“Yeah, I got you somethin’ because I wanted to. Don’t need anything in return. And I’m the boss, so I’m callin’ it boss privilege that you can’t feel bad about it. It’s against the rules.” He folds his arms across his chest and grins at you, all boyish and clearly pleased with himself.

You’re still shaking your head when he stands upright again and pokes at your side. “C’mon. Let’s see you take a spin on this thing before everybody else gets here. I’ll load it up in the truck after so we can get it home today.”

You’re stunned into silence at his persistence that you enjoy this – just let it feel good for once. He walks the bike out of the office and calls over his shoulder to you. “Give you five bucks if you can pop a wheelie on this thing!”

His goofy challenge spurs a laugh to bubble out of you. You feel lighter, like each breathy laugh had expelled part of the weight you’d been shouldering lately. You jog to catch up with him. “Make it ten and you’ve got a deal,” you bargain.

He smiles wide at you and agrees.

“Are you sure you can’t walk in the sparkly ones?” Kenzie asks for the fifth time.

“I dunno, Kenzie. Do you want to deal with me spraining my ankle or falling on my ass halfway through this thing?” you lob back at her pointedly. “Besides, the tights have rhinestones all over them. That’s plenty of sparkles.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine. Just saying they would be a lot cuter.”

You’re well aware that the almost flat “heel” of hers you’d decided on wasn’t the most sexy pair of shoes to go with the staticky, clingy dress you’d picked from her closet, but you didn’t want to spend your entire New Year’s Eve worrying about looking like a newborn giraffe every time you had to walk. Then again, this event was sure to have plenty of stumbling drunk people, so maybe if you did wobble here and there you’d fit in just fine.

“What was the theme again?”

“I think Monte Carlo or Casino Royale or something. I dunno. It’s not even real gambling since that’s illegal in Texas or whatever, so it’s just like you can earn chips to put towards a raffle or something. I have no idea. I just know we’re gonna be with the Double Phoenix setup most of the night,” she explains.

She applied a heavy swipe of glittery shadow to her lids and leaned back to assess her work. Seeming pleased with it, she started on the other.

“I’m not even planning on drinking to be honest since this is sorta like a work thing. I mean, I’m not, like, technically with the company or this account, but I could be. It’s sort of weird with the whole internship thing. I think it’s like a test or something, so we gotta make sure we’re paying attention.”

“And Double Phoenix is the name of the company?” you clarify.

You wanted to get this right for her. It wasn’t often that you were invited out for things like this. Turns out your more sober tendencies were perfect for something like this since Kenzie was approaching it as a networking opportunity rather than a wild night of partying on somebody else’s dime.

“I don’t know what the parent company is called, but the vodka is called Double Phoenix. I guess after Logan and Charlie – that’s who we’re gonna be with most of the night. It’s their first alcohol brand or whatever. Just coasting off the success of Trial By Fire to be honest, but don’t tell them I said that.”

You don’t even know enough about Trial By Fire – the dating game reality show Logan and Charlie had been on that saw them rise to fame quickly as fan favorite “loveable bad boys” – to even say anything about it, but, regardless, you assure Kenzie that you won’t tell them all the disparaging remarks she’s made about them. You busy yourself with putting your hair back in a few glittery clips while she finishes up her makeup. You opted for as little as possible so you wouldn’t accidentally rub your eyes or lips and smudge all of her hard work.

You mess around with your hair for a little bit until you get the half up half down look presentable enough. You turn your head to catch the light on the sparkly claw clip Kenzie insisted you had to wear. The little dangly fringe pieces glittered in the light whenever you moved your head, much like the little crystal dangly bow earrings she’d shoved into your ears. “It ties together with the bow shoes you picked,” she’d said. You inspect the black velvet slingback pumps and their neat little bow on the back of your heel.

You take the opportunity to assess the entire look in the full length mirror when Kenzie wanders into her bathroom for god knows what. She was smaller than you, but the black cinched dress had a little bit of give.

“Is there, like, a fancy cardigan or something that goes with this?” you ask. “I feel like I’m gonna get cold.”

Based on Kenzie’s reaction, you would’ve thought you’d just asked her to name every single pope in chronological order while jump roping to the beat of deli meat going through a slicer. Her mouth is hanging open in what you think is disgust but might also be a heavy dose of disbelief.

“A cardigan?” she chokes.

“Can you not?” you half-heartedly snip. “It’s not outrageous to just wanna be warm, Kenzie.”

She sighs and shakes her head, hands raised to the side like she’s doing a quick meditation for the distress you’d put her in.

“Babe. Babe,” she starts. She takes a deep breath and looks at you as if she’s trying to reason with some wild animal who’s stumbled upon her picnic in the woods.

“What keeps us warm are the thoughts of how bomb we’re gonna look in the pics, okay?” she says slowly and clearly like she’s explaining a difficult math problem. “No cardigans. This isn’t study hall, babes. We’re gonna work with nothing but these cute as hell ‘fits, okay?”

“Oh my god,” you grumble under your breath. It was bad enough this dress didn’t have pockets, which meant you had to carry a tiny purse (called a clutch for some reason), but now you were gonna be cold, too.

“It’s one night of sacrifice for an eternity of hot pics, okay? When you’re, like, 87 you’ll be able to look back and say ‘thank you, god, for giving me a friend like Kenzie who didn’t let me ruin my Hot Girl Outfit with a librarian’s jacket’,” she proclaims like she’s the Shaman of Thirst Traps.

You snort and roll your eyes but can’t hide the emerging grin on your face. “Yeah yeah. Fine. You’re the expert.”

She claps her hands together victoriously and lets out a dramatic exhale. “Ugh, yes. Finally, you get it. Let me be your guide, okay? Besides, I bet you won’t be complaining when you send Joel a little pic and get his reaction.”

“Um, no?” you sputter. “I’m not sending Joel of picture of myself in all this. He’s gonna know it’s all borrowed, anyway. I would never have the nerve to buy or wear something like this on my own.”

“Um, yes?” she argues back. “Ain’t nothing borrowed about you in that outfit, okay? It’s giving very much ‘I own this’ energy, okay?”

Your chest feels warm and light at the genuine compliments, and you can’t help but agree with her a little. You do feel pretty cute even though you’re not really used to dressing up and going out like this. It felt nice to do nothing but primp and preen yourself for the past couple of hours.

Even Kenzie had an air of excitement about it since this was her first time venturing into a dressy work event. You’d seen plenty of pictures of her “in her heyday” with strappy, tight dresses that showed every bit of glistening skin that was legal to have on display. She looked incredible in all of them, of course, but it wasn’t exactly what came to mind when you thought about career networking.

“You picked really nice outfits.” You shoot her a warm smile that grows wider when she returns the gesture.

“Okay, I was totally freaking out about it, too. Like, obviously I am gonna look good no matter what, but I was so worried that I was gonna end up looking like an Amish lady or something,” she laments.

You can’t help the abrupt guffaw that fills the entire room. “You’re literally wearing a brown sequin minidress with poofy sleeves, Kenzie. I don’t really know how you could be worried about looking Amish in that.”

“First of all, it’s chocolate burgundy. Secondly, they’re ostrich feathers,” she corrects with pretend insolence. “And last of all, I didn’t even have to search through my underwear drawer to find a pair that wouldn’t show in this dress, so that’s basically Amish for me.”

You both crack up at her ridiculous parallels as you check yourselves in the mirror side by side. You might not be as glitzy as she is, but you both go together somehow in a nice little balanced image.

“Okay, let’s go to the backyard to get some pics,” she announces as she snatches your work phone and her phone and prances out the door.

You indulge all the stylized, practiced poses that Kenzie makes as you have a mini photoshoot for her. You smile every time she switches into a new angle and posture. It’s so silly for her to do so many different ones when she looks good in every single picture. She’d argue with you over that, of course. When she declares that it’s your turn to take pictures, you oblige with a few standard poses, which she immediately rejects and insists that you “loosen up a little bit.”

She does manage to get you to genuinely laugh when she retells the story about how your old boss Jeremy most definitely had a lover’s quarrel in the middle of the cereal aisle with what could only be a friend of his grandmother’s or a sugar grandmomma. He’d been so embarrassed even though you both wouldn’t have had anything nasty or negative to say about it. A few “eat me out, sonny boy” jokes between yourselves, sure, but nothing to his face.

“Okay, just a few more.”

She fiddles with the settings on your phone, explaining to you how your flash exposure wasn’t set right and other jargon you don’t fully understand, and takes a few more photos once she’s made the necessary adjustments.

“AAAAnnndddd, done!”

“I don’t even post anywhere, Kenz. I don’t know why I need so many pics,” you protest.

She just shrugs and sports a shit eating grin, which you don’t understand until you receive a notification on your phone that Joel has texted you. The mortification takes hold the second you open to the text thread and see that Kenzie had sent him several of the photos she’d taken of you.

Joel: WOW! Joel: 🤯 Joel: Where are you going dressed to the nines like that?

You: omg I am SO SORRY my stupid friend sent those to you like an idiot You: she’s such a moron sorry You: idek who she was trying to send those to

Joel: I like the pictures. They’re really nice. 👍 Joel: You look like you’re already having a good time. Joel: You have a ride set up for tonight? Lots of dangerous drivers on NYE.

You: we’re not drinking but also Kenz ordered us an Uber

Joel: Okay well please text or call if you need a ride. I’ll be up. Joel: Be safe and have a fun time! Joel: 🪩🥳🥂💃🕺

You smile down at your phone and giggle. You’ll remember to be upset at Kenzie in a minute.

You: I will 🫡 You: are you staying home the whole night?

Joel: Yep. Tommy is probably gonna come around for a bit, but otherwise I’ll just be watching TV or something. Too old to be out there partying. Might throw my back out if I tried to dance to the popular stuff.

You: lol I would pay so much money to see that

Joel: I bet you would, ya little punk.

You: 😇

Joel: Okay, angel. And you never said where you were going.

You: here 📍

You attach a link to the venue where Kenzie said the event was being held. You explain the circumstances of it because it’s a lot nicer of a place than most twenty somethings would probably go, especially for such a big party night like New Year’s Eve.

Joel: Pretty nice place. Looked it up on Facebook. Says it’s a charity casino night. Invite only. 😵💰🎰

You: yeah idk we’re just gonna be there with this vodka brand from Kenzie’s work You: she does this marketing internship thing and this vodka is a client

Joel: Fancy. Already sounds like y’all are some high rollers. 😎

You: lol maybe Kenz is. im just the plus one You: you should see her outfit then maybe you’d know what i mean 💀

Joel: Nah, you got sparkle tights. That’s the winner right there.

You: wow a fashionista too is there anything can’t you do?

Joel: Yeah, I already told you. Dance ha ha. Joel: 👴🏼

You: i highly doubt that but ok You: we gotta leave in a few but ill text if i need anything

You punch in a heart emoji but hesitate for a split second before throwing caution to the wind and sending it anyway. Your entire body warms at his reply.

You: 💖 Joel: 🥰❤️ Joel: I’ll be thinking about you. Joel: Be safe. ❤️

You: i will 💖 You: happy new years in case i don’t see you sooner

Joel: Happy New Year’s, and I hope you see me sooner rather than later. Want to start my year off right. ❤️

You’re too giddy from texting with Joel to truly be upset with Kenzie, a fact she relishes in the entire Uber ride to the venue. You still feel light as air as you make your way to the Double Phoenix display area and meet the two guys associated with it — Charlie and Logan.

You quickly see why Kenzie hadn’t had a lot of positive things to say about them both even though they weren’t patently terrible right off the bat. Maybe to most people the plastered smiles and forced carefree attitudes would distract long enough to hide the truth of their actual personalities, but you were a little more used to getting a quick grasp on people.

Charlie was younger, but you wouldn’t have known that from all the cosmetic procedures he’d had done. His face didn’t even match with the version featured in all the promotional materials with their images on them. An unnaturally chiseled jaw, lips that seemed plumped and deflated all at once, a marshmallowy cheekbone, and eyebrows that didn’t move enough. It all combined into some strange, plasticine version of a man.

Logan had leaned into the rugged and handsome look quite well, but his teeth were remarkably white to the point that it contrasted with the rest of his visuals. You wanted to laugh at how forced it all was. You knew rugged and handsome well. Joel Miller was the end all, be all to rugged and handsome in your humblest of opinions, and he actually had the life experience that made it authentic. Men hadn’t ever really been much of your “type” - especially not the overtly masculine ones - but of course that had changed fairly recently.

You were grateful that they both zeroed in on Kenzie’s attention and left you to wander close by for a few minutes. The glowing neon and sleek black everything made the entire venue hum with a sort of subdued electricity. You’re sure once the event actually begins and people start showing up that it’ll take on a life of its own as the background to a perfect night of revelry.

You lost track of time for a while as you meandered through the various setups. You can’t begin to guess how much all of this costs to produce and put on. You know without a doubt that you could never afford to get in. With Kenzie’s borrowed outfit, you don’t appear too out of place, and you try to work with the feigned confidence of someone who belonged here. By the time you make it back to the Double Phoenix setup, Kenzie is shooting you where the fuck have you been?! eyes, and you give her an apologetic grimace.

“Ah, there she is!” Charlie booms. He sounded like he’d been sampling the goods, and the stack of empty shot glasses scattered around the tables only lent to that hypothesis. A few frantic looking waitstaff scurried around with rags and fresh glasses. “You wanna do a shot?”

Your face scrunched, reluctant and put off. “No thanks, I’m good for right now. Maybe later.”

“Oh, come onnnnnnn,” he huffs. “It’s fuckin’ New Years! Live a little! Come on, just do a shot.” He starts spinning in almost comedic half-circles in search of shot glasses and liquor. Kenzie is looking a lot like she’s got a headache brewing – but not from any bottom shelf vodka shots. “Tell your friend to knock the sand outta her vagina and take a fuckin’ shot, Kenny!”

“It’s Kenzie, and that’s not a very—”

Logan, who appeared just as sober as when you’d left them all, stepped up with a crooked grin and patted his friend’s shoulder. “Definitely just getting the night started, right? No need to rush a good time, Tank.” He glances over to you and winks, and you think he means to convey that he’s stepping in between you and his rude, pushy friend.

Charlie snorts and taps Logan’s face with a loose, goofy smile. “You’re right, man. Just so fuckin’ PUMPED for this brand, dude!”

Kenzie scoots around to you and guides you away from the front of the setup so you can speak more privately. “This guy is an asshole!” she hisses.

“Yeah, is he seriously already drunk?” you scoff. You note the heavy smell of alcohol on her breath and raise an eyebrow. “Exactly how many shots did y’all even have? You don’t even do shots of vodka, do you?” The last part of the question is up several octaves in uncertainty. Maybe you weren’t a big drinker, but you knew enough that downing shots of vodka was sort of an “alcoholic activity.”

She rolls her eyes and grips onto your elbows. “It tastes so bad,” she groans. “It’s supposed to be ‘so good you don’t need to mix it.’ I honestly underestimated how good of an actor Logan is because he barely even made a face when we were all taking a shot for their Instagram Story. And Charlie? I don’t even think he cares to be honest. He would probably drink hand sanitizer if it gave him a buzz.”

“That’s really sad,” you reply in a low, gloomy tone.

She responds in kind with a cheerless shrug and nod. “I told Logan that we could do a few more shots with some of the bigger local names so they could put it on their socials, but I said we should definitely be cutting Charlie’s shots with water. He was surprisingly cool with it and thanked me for looking out for him.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” you agree. “How many did you do already? How many are you going to do? I thought you weren’t planning on drinking?”

You try to keep the nerves from creeping into your questions, but a tremor or two slip through. You really, really didn’t want to end up the sole sober person in a room full of rowdy, drunk partygoers. It was more of an upscale setting, but that was never a guarantee that things wouldn’t get sloppy.

“I’ve only had two, don’t sweat it,” she assures you. “I’m totally good to take a few more, especially if they’re spread out.”

“Okay, just be careful. That Charlie guy seems a little aggressive.”

“I think he just likes to party.” She shrugs and eyes the two men who don’t seem to have noticed your side conversation yet. “C’mon, let’s get back before they see we’ve snuck off.”

Kenzie wrangles Charlie into doing a few staged photos around the setup – you assume before he gets even more drunk and won’t photograph well – and Logan strikes up some easy conversation with passersby before wandering back over to you. He shoots you another apologetic grin and holds a hand up in an awkward wave.

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry about Tank. He gets a little nervous for these types of events sometimes and hits the bottle a little early and a little too heavy,” he explains.

“Tank? Why’s he called ‘Tank’?”

He flushes with a sheepish grin and admits it’s from “one crazy weekend” where he repeatedly wound up in a “drunk tank.”

Your nose scrunches and pulls against your unimpressed frown. “Charming. Sort of goes with the whole telling women they have sand in their private parts thing he’s got going on.”

He squints and grimaces. “That was totally out of line. I’m really sorry.”

You sigh and let your shoulders slink down. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding them so high and tight. “I guess it’s not your fault he’s got a problem.”

“No, it’s not my fault, but I should probably do a better job of stepping in before he goes around disrespecting women.”

He scratches the back of his neck and looks off. He mindlessly watches the crowds of people walking by the setup and waves to a few before turning back to you.

“Well, uh, I’m Logan. Just in case you didn’t– um, you know, didn’t catch it before. And I, uh, hope you have a good time with Double Phoenix tonight even if it started out a little rocky.”

He sounds genuinely embarrassed by his friend. Maybe you’d misjudged him at first. You give him the benefit of the doubt and a small smile. He flushes again and busies himself with chatting up some local DJ who stopped by to do a promo shot with the brand.

It’s much the same for the next hour and a half, except you notice that Logan and Kenzie both have taken several shots with numerous local celebrities. Logan at least has enough sense to remind everyone to drink water in between and munch on something. He goes around and checks on the waitstaff to make sure everything is running smoothly. You think without his legitimate interest in this brand, Kenzie would be running in circles trying to keep things on track.

You pull your work phone from your clutch. It’s somehow only 9:00pm. You suppose you had arrived before the event even started, so it’d been at least 3 hours of this. You can’t imagine another 3, but you’ll push through it for Kenzie’s sake. You’re about to tap on the messaging app to see if Joel had sent anything when a shadow passes over the screen. You look up to see a more lax Logan smiling down at you.

“Event's that boring huh?” Yeah, he’s definitely a little drunker than when you’d last talked.

You look around for Kenzie and spot her talking animatedly to some random woman in the brightest neon green dress you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, I was just checking the time to make sure Kenzie was still on track,” you bluff.

“Gotcha, gotcha.” He nods and runs a hand through his hair. “So, uh, you want a drink or anything? I can just get you a soda or something if you didn’t want to try the vodka.”

Something about the way he says it sounds like he’s already disappointed at what he thinks your answer will be. You feel bad, but you don’t know why.

“Listen, I know it’s not, like, the bestest there is, but I think we did a pretty good job of it. I’d love to hear what you think of it,” he hedges.

One shot won’t kill you you remind yourself. You shrug and agree to a single shot with a sugary chaser. He beams like a golden retriever and lopes off to grab your drinks. You smile at his back as he runs off. It’s sort of cute how excited he seems. Maybe he really did give a shit about all this and had to deal with a business partner who didn’t do much of the legwork. He’s back shortly with a canned soda and two double shots for each of you.

“Whoa, that’s way too much!”

He stares blankly at you for a second and then shakes his head like he realizes he’d gotten double shots. “Shit, that’s my bad. Hold on, I can—” He turns to look for somewhere to dump part of your shot out.

“Look, I’ll just have half, okay? You can have the rest or throw it out or whatever. Or give it to Charlie. I dunno.”

He laughs at that and gives you a cheers. You swallow down a little more than half by accident, and you think it must’ve been the shock at how god awful the taste is. Whatever Kenzie had said, it was ten times worse. You choke your one and a half shots down and grab for the canned soda, snapping the tab open and chugging down several large gulps. The sting of the vodka still burns as you watch Logan down your half shot as well as his two doubles. Your eyebrows shoot into your hairline at the amount he’s downing in one go.

“Aren’t you gonna get sick?” you sputter.

He giggles a bit and takes the soda from your hand, downing the rest of it. “Eh, I’ve done all the brand commitment stuff. I’m sort of off the clock now.”

You blink at him and wonder how the hell that’s supposed to explain how he’s not going to be throwing up in about 15 minutes.

“You make me nervous,” he giggles.

He leans in a little, only to list backwards and wave a hand in the air. He erupts into a fit of laughter and covers his face with his hands.

“Christ, I’m so sorry. I’ve been wanting to tell you all night how beautiful you look, but I didn’t really feel like there was a good opening after, you know, Charlie went and talked about your sandy vagina.”

His eyes bug out like he realizes what he’s said, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. It might be the alcohol surging into your bloodstream, but you laugh at how ridiculous it all is. He chortles behind his hand and flushes a million shades of red.

“Fuck, I am so fucking sorry,” he gasps. “I just wanted to tell you you’re beautiful, and then I just said sandy vagina and I’m really really sorry, and I’m, like, very sure your vagina is probably perfectly fine and doesn’t have any sand in it.”

You giggle even harder at his distressed stream of consciousness. “I-Well, thanks and all, but I’m – I don’t really mix business and personal, you know?”

He nods like he perfectly understands your position. He puts his hands up in surrender and gives you a sort of bow before kissing your hand. “I’m– I understand. Definitely. No worries at all. And thanks for trying the vodka even though it’s shitty.”

You laugh loudly at that and wave him off. He chuckles to himself and strolls over to the bar area. You take your time walking to Kenzie, who jumps up and down when she sees you. Not wasted, but definitely not sober.

“That vodka tastes fucking awful!”

She grabs your forearm like you’d just said the most profound thing she’s ever heard. “Yesssssssss ohmygod.”

You hug onto her for support as she whispers in your ear about how she’s got a really good feeling about the impression she’s made with the brand and how this could be a huge opportunity for her. You commiserate together how nasty the taste is but both agree that she sort of had to do shots for social media unless she wanted it to look like she didn’t enjoy it. She snorts and rolls her eyes when you relay the flirty, drunken conversation that Logan tried to have.

“He probably isn’t used to being turned down,” she posits. “S'prolly good for him to hear 'no' every once in a while.”

You giggle and lean against the counter for more support. You felt very warm now – cardigan debate all but forgotten – and a bit like you need to pee. Knowing the extra effort it’s going to take for you to get the tights down enough to use the bathroom, you excuse yourself sooner rather than later.

Everything is a lively haze of big energy as you make your way to the bathrooms. One of the main raffles is taking place, so you don’t even have to wait in line. You eye yourself in the mirror and think you still look pretty good. The little bit of alcohol you had is in full effect now, and you hope it starts to ebb soon.

You make your way out of the restroom and stumble when you hear the excited cheers from the main dancehall. Someone must’ve won something big. You lean against the wall for a minute until you feel more certain these shoes won’t cause any issues.

“Sneaky, sneaky thing,” Logan giggles from beside you.

You jump at the sudden voice coming from the dimly lit hallway. “Jesus christ you scared me,” you hiss.

“Sorry sorry. Just had to take a leak and then had to sit down for a minute. Mighta had too much.”

He seems bigger somehow even though he’s slanted to one side. Maybe the alcohol making him so loose was also making him seem unrestrained, too. “Soooooo, you coulda just asked me to follow ya know?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he saunters closer.

“Huh?”

“Earlier? You said you weren’t interested, but-but- and then I see you sneaking off to the bathrooms. Coulda just asked me to follow you, and I woulda.”

“No thanks,” you exhale.

“C’mon you don’t gotta put up a front, 'kay? Your friend won’t get jealous if she doesn’t see us, right?”

“What are you talking about?” you groan.

His body is up against yours, pressing you into the wall. “Let’s mix up a little business with a little pleasure,” he purrs. Your entire body freezes up, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “It’ll feel real good I promise.”

“Logan, there’s been a misunderstanding,” you insist. “M’not interested in–”

“Ssshhhhh,” he coos. “You can quit pretending. Be good 'n I’ll let you take a pic during to show all your friends, 'kay?”

“Get off me, you creep!” you hiss with a shove, but his body doesn’t budge. Another round of applause and cheering comes from the main hall.

“Let'sssssee,” he slurs. His thigh parts your legs just as his hands go underneath the sides of your skirt to grope your ass. “What kinda panties you got on?” He starts to lift your skirt above your hips when you knee his groin with as much force as you can. He doubles over and staggers backward. He chokes out bitch! a few times before vomiting all over the floor. You hurry away to find Keznzie, heart beating a million times a minute. She’s at the bar doing yet another stupid shot.

Between her drunkenness and your flustering, it takes several agonizing moments before she grasps what you’re saying – that you’ve been assaulted by somebody and left him on the ground near the restrooms. She’s looking around for security and asking you what the guy looks like. You tell her again it was Logan. Her body stops mid-movement like some sort of eerie robot that’s been unplugged. She blinks a few times like she misheard you.

“Logan? Logan Logan?”

“Yes!” you practically shriek.

She’s hesitating now, no longer hellbent on finding security, and you can’t figure out why. Where had all her urgency gone? Why had her entire mood just shifted? Why wasn’t she comforting you?

Then her eyes meet yours, and you see it. The reluctance to make a fuss over it because of who it was. The mental math to calculate that it wasn’t right what he’d done but that it hadn’t “gone too far” and he hadn’t “gone all the way” with it. The hesitation to hold off on involving security if this all sounded like a drunken misunderstanding between two people that didn’t need to be escalated. The sort of “mistake” that could be fixed with a few sober apologies.

“Kenzie…..," you whisper.

Like she’s on a sinking ship that’s quickly taking on too much water, she shakes her head and grabs your upper arms to pull you closer. “This will blow all my chances with this brand and maybe even the job.”

Her eyes are pleading for you to understand the position she’s in, what all she has to lose by taking up for you in this moment, and the gut wrenching realization that you’re not worth it to her begins to sink in. She sways a little on the spot and hiccups.

“He’s–He’s prolly so drunk he doesn’t even know what he was doing,” she pleads.

“You sure you’re not so drunk you don’t know what you’re saying?” you snap back. “Because I’m pretty sure a bad friend would tell you to drop it when somebody just had their hands all on you.”

Her nostrils flare at the accusation. “Well maybe a bad friend would make her best friend lose her whole future just because some guy felt up her butt, like that doesn’t happen all the time on the bus and in clubs and, and, and everywhere!”

“All you care about is yourself!” you hurl at her.

You turn on your heel and stomp your way to the exit. Tears blur the edges of your vision, but you’re enough of a mess that people sort of make way for you until you emerge from the building and into the cool night air.

You’re shaking. Your brain is a soupy mess as the alcohol starts to wear off. You pull out your work phone from your clutch. It flashes 9:48. How on earth had so much gone so wrong so quickly?

You fumble through some of the apps and end up downloading several rideshare apps, but they’re all crazy expensive because of the holiday. You can’t risk that large of a transaction showing up and your dad seeing it. You’re not even sure how far of a walk it would be to get home, but you don’t want to go home, either. Your dad was probably out, but you didn't want to risk it.

You shiver and stare at the homescreen.

If you needed someone to show up, I’d show up.

That’s what Joel had said after that guy confronted you in the parking lot. And then tonight he’d said to call if you needed a ride or anything. You don’t have much of a choice, but even if you did, you’d still choose Joel.

You find his contact and hit call.

The influx of pictures of you all dressy and smiles was the perfect distraction. He’d been mulling over the lies he’d caught you in, and it was making his head buzz.

You’d lied about the gift for your dad. Clint Eastwood — not John Wayne, like you’d claimed - had starred in The Dollars Trilogy. A Fistful of Dollars, A Few Dollars More, and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. All screenplays, never books. He’d grown up watching enough Westerns to know that much.

That was plenty of proof that you weren’t being entirely upfront with him, but he didn’t understand why. When he went into the security system profile and checked Christmas day, his heart sunk when it showed you hadn’t left when you claimed and in fact didn’t set the alarm again until several hours later.

He tries not to take it personally that you were lying through your teeth over very strange things, but it was hurtful and made him feel a little foolish for some reason. He knew in his gut that you were an honest person, so he could only assume the only other thing that made sense was that you didn’t trust him, which stung in a particularly painful way.

At this rate, he didn’t believe that you even got any gift cards. You didn’t give the impression that you gave much thought to your own wants and needs. It’s like it’s been drilled into your head to put yourself last every time.

He sighed and flipped through the pictures you’d sent — or, rather, your friend had sent on your behalf. The one where you were smiling the biggest was a little blurry, but it was his favorite nonetheless. He’d set it as his homescreen background without a second thought.

He was letting himself get lost in how stunning you looked in the photos when a call popped up. It was you. After the surprise of receiving a call from you wore off, he hit answer and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Um,” you sniff. “N-Not really.”

His whole body goes rigid at the sound of your trembling voice. “What happened? Where are you?”

“Um, I’m still at that same place I sent earlier. Do you— Can you come get me?”

He’s snatching up his keys and starting his truck in a flash. He stays on the line with you until his headlights reflect and sparkle across the glitter on your tights. He hops out and gives you a quick once over, looking for some sort of hurt. He draws you up into a hug and helps you into the truck.

“What happened?” he breathes.

“Just, um, had a fight with my friend.”

“Is she okay in there? Does she have a ride home? Is she hurt?”

As honorable as his concern for Kenzie’s safety and wellbeing was, something about it irked you. She hadn’t given you any support, so why on earth did she deserve any? Maybe being drunk and left to deal with those jerks on her own would change her perspective. Maybe Logan would hurt her, too, and then she’d have a different opinion on what constituted a big enough violation to be addressed. You instantly feel guilty for thinking it, but the anger doesn’t entirely subside.

“She’s fine,” you grumble. “I don’t really wanna talk about it if that’s okay.”

“Sure, of course,” he soothes. “Let’s just get you home, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t hafta go home. You can come stay with me, alright? Is that okay?”

You nod. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. Of course ya can,” he insists.

The drive to his house is quiet, and he keeps stealing glances your direction. You keep your eyes fixed on the road, fearing that looking him directly in the eye again will crumble all your resolve and you’ll fall into a million pieces and tell him everything – all the rotting, ugly truths of your secret life.

He pulls into the drive and helps you out of the truck and into the house. You let him lead you as you walk unevenly in your heels. He guides you to the living room couch and slips your shoes off. He gives your feet a firm, kneading rub when you wince.

“Feet hurt?”

“Yeah.”

He massages them for a few beats, and you realize it probably hurts his knees to be bent on the floor like that.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

He leads you upstairs and shows you the guest bedroom — Sarah’s old room that still had a lot of her personal decorations and items throughout. He leaves you for a moment and returns from his room with a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a button up flannel. He asks if you need anything for a shower, and, despite feeling utterly drained, the thought of washing this day off you is too appealing to turn down.

He digs around the hallway bathroom, which you learn was Sarah’s once upon a time, and pulls various toiletry items out from the cabinet. While there aren’t any shower specific items, there is a bottle of cosmetics remover and a roll of cotton pads, and you gather them up alongside the borrowed pajamas to take with you to Joel’s bathroom.

He gives you a quick rundown on how the shower works and leaves it running before slipping out the door to give you privacy. His heavy footsteps descend the stairs, and you’re struck by how alone you suddenly feel. You carefully extract yourself from Kenzie’s dress and tights and set them on the vanity. You strip away your undergarments and toss them into a pile near the corner.

You don’t bother adjusting the temperature of the water. You leave it just how he’d left it running for you, and it beats down onto your itchy, too tight skin with a purging heat. You lather in his soaps and shampoo and feel like you can breathe easier with it fogging up around you. It felt safe. Your hands dip to your hips, groin, and backside, and you hesitate for a moment before rushing through the area. You can still feel Logan’s insistent hands on you.

You rinse off and drip dry for a few seconds. The dry, fluffy towels wrapped around you make things feel normal again for a fleeting moment. The cosmetics remover and cotton pads clear away the streaking mascara and flecks of makeup left behind. You look in the mirror at your naked body and feel like you should be able to see the traces of unwelcomed touches painted onto your skin in bright, blood red. Your bare form reflects back to you, and you force your attention away and to Joel’s clean clothes he’d left for you.

The sweatpants are cozy and worn down. The flannel is soft like it’s been worn a million times. You roll the cuffs on the flannel and do the same to the sweatpants a few times, giving the strings a pull to cinch them on tighter, until your feet and hands aren’t flooded in fabric. The smell of him on the clothes only heightens as your body heat warms the fabric.

Wanting to be lost in the scent of the real thing, you head downstairs and find Joel in the kitchen with a tall glass of water and freshly made sandwich. He opens his mouth to say something but falls short as he eyes you. He swallows thickly and meets your eye again.

“Clothes alright? I know the sizing is a bit off.”

“They feel really good.”

“Good. Good.” He clasps his hands together and moves aside to gesture towards the food.

He gives you the option of sitting at the table or sitting in front of the TV while you eat. You opt for the latter and start on your sandwich as Joel flips through the channels until it lands on the Ball Drop Countdown. You sit quietly together, but you can sense the weight of unasked questions emanating from him.

“Guest bedroom look alright? Everything you need in there?” He’s being sincere, but you can tell he’s trying to fill the silence with something.

“It’s really pretty in there. Sarah has really cute taste.”

“She does,” he agrees with a crooked grin. “Kept up the girly stuff for way longer’n I thought she would. I always had a soft spot for that kinda thing, I guess. Kinda made it feel like my little girl wasn’t busy growin’ up and gettin’ ready to head out into the world without me.”

“Do you… Does she see you a lot?”

You aren’t sure why you’re asking or why you want to know. Some part of you is maybe just a glutton for punishment to hear about families who don’t hate each other. Or maybe just confirmation that such a thing was possible.

“Not nearly as much as I’d like, but I shouldn’t complain. She calls all the time, and that helps. Video calls and all that, too. Makes the distance feel shorter, you know?”

You nod like you do know, but you’d never had such an experience. You would kill for a video call with Calum. You weren’t going to think about that right now, though. Not on top of everything else that happened tonight.

As if he could sense the direction of your thoughts, Joel carefully asks if you want to talk about what happened. You think for a minute and then shake your head no.

“That’s okay,” he reassures you. “No pressure. Just wanted to ask in case you… I dunno why. In case you needed m–needed someone to talk to.”

You hold back a smile at his near slip. In case you needed me. And, you do very much need him.

He takes your empty plate and glass without asking, double checking that you’ve had enough before taking it to the kitchen and then settling back onto the couch with you. Without the task of eating and the personal space required to do so, the distance between you both felt infinitely larger than before he left. Your hunger is sated with the food he’d made, but something still stirs in your gut.

The memory of tonight still clings to you. Logan’s mask slipping to reveal the devil beneath. Kenzie deciding that you weren’t worth the risk of jeopardizing her future career, even if it was with men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

You can still feel the ghost of Logan gripping your flesh and turning up your clothing, the stench of his alcohol laden breath clouding your nostrils and making you want to choke. You want to erase it. You want your body to forget the sensation and experience of it. Maybe you can replace it with a different sensation, a new experience. Something to take the place of Logan’s shadow lingering on you.

“Joel?”

He turns to look at you, mouth all pouty and parted with concern. You want to lick into it so badly. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something weird? A weird favor?”

“Of course ya can,” he urges. He angles his body to give you more of his attention. “I’m sure it ain’t weird. What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m–Can I just—” You falter as you try to figure out how you can ask him to act as a prop in your recreation of tonight just so your body can be tricked into believing it never happened. “If I ask you to–to hold me a certain way, could you do that?”

His brow knits together like the hesitant phrasing of your question betrays its innocuous veneer. “I can do whatever ya need me to do, sweetheart, but it might help if I knew what exactly—”

“Please?” you ask so quiet you’re surprised he caught it.

His lips purse, and his body relaxes in defeat. “Of course.”

You wordlessly crawl along the couch until you’re almost on top of him and swing a leg between his. You ignore the way your crotch feels hot and needy against his warm thigh. You gently guide his hands to your hips and backside, urging his fingers to splay wide enough to engulf the globe of your ass and meat of your hip. He tenses like he’s going to ask if you’re okay or if you’re sure about what you’re doing or if this is a good idea, but you don’t let him get to it.

“Please,” you breathe – beg.

He relaxes again.

You slump your body against his and nestle your forehead against the crook of his neck. He feels so impossibly large beneath you, all warmth and brawn and safety. Under different circumstances you’d probably be dripping with arousal by now, but instead your body starts to succumb to the enveloping cradle of his hold. Your breathing evens out, and you think somehow this might actually be working. You can pluck the rotting seed of tonight straight out of your body’s scorecard and plant something that won’t devastate the soil and overtake the sparse sprouts that already exist.

The loud snap! and boom! of fireworks jolt you awake. Joel snorts an inhale and opens his eyes comically wide before blinking quickly. His hands are still on you. Your body is still on him. You’re still safe.

“Nodded off,” he mutters almost to himself, voice thick with sleep. He glances lazily out the window as neighboring houses send off fireworks that probably aren’t street legal. “Damn things are loud.” His head lolls back to face you, and he’s sporting a tired, goofy grin. “Happy New Year’s, I guess, huh?”

You fist the collar of his shirt and crash your mouths together. You’ve been awake for less than 30 seconds, and all your brain can churn out is to take take take.

You meant to take it slow, or maybe you didn’t. You aren’t even sure as you rock your body against his until he comes alive beneath you, hands flying up from your hips to brace against your back and pull you closer against him. His tongue is warm and wet against yours, taking his time to explore you and taste you. He swallows down your hitched moan, groaning in response with a hand coming to cradle the back of your head.

It’s over just as soon as it began when a particularly loud boom breaks the magnetic spell that took over you both. You slowly pull back and release the hold on his shirt. He’s staring like a deer in headlights, and you’re sure you aren’t much different.

What the fuck just happened? Why did you do that? What compelled you to do it like that?

“Um, well. Um. Happy New Year’s. And, um, I guess I’ll – I’m shou–I should be getting to bed, I guess. So–” You awkwardly extricate yourself from the couch and give an awkward wave. Joel just stares back at you dumbfounded.

You wave again like an idiot. “Okay. Um. Happy New Year’s. Um. Goodnight.” You force yourself to walk normally up the stairs and not slam the door to the guest bedroom. You can still taste him on your lips, all echoes of Logan faded into nothingness.

Thank y'all for waiting on this one. The first draft was much shorter, but I just felt like I wanted to flesh it out significantly more than what I had originally written. It feels right now, and I hope you have the same feeling after reading it.

tagging:

@survivingandenduring @bizarrelove-triangle @cumberpegg @verybigvag @koshkaj-blog @pastelpinkflowerlife @toomanystoriessolittletime @walw1017 @tuquoquebrute @confusedpuffin @reneerocks3617 @ellenmunn @electriclasso @pastelnap @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @copperhalfcent

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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