bug

LMAO IM SORRY! TBH I didn’t know anyone was still interested! Life update: made a club, joined a sorority, got ghosted after talking to a guy for 4 months….I swear I’ll get to writing again

Part five — V. How to: Give in

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, you’re here

Luke Castellan x daughter of aphrodite reader

6.3k New York feels like freedom: food, clothes, drinks, kisses. It’s stupid to think demigods like us get to keep normal lives, but at least I can admit the truth. I’m in love with Luke Castellan.

Tags. Inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, rom-comish, BLOOD AND INJURY, angst, suggestive, mentions of alcohol, cursing, fake dating, mutual pining

a/n. Just started new semester guys so I haven’t posted in a while but that’s because this is a big one. Idk how people feel about longer chapters but we’re already coming to the end….

V. How to: Give in

It’s strange seeing Luke in normal clothes.

Honestly, it’s strange seeing any of us in normal clothes—myself included. I don’t really have clothes. I came to camp young, and after a while your brain just accepts that bright orange is a neutral. Camp Half-Blood T-shirts stop feeling like a uniform and start feeling like a personality trait.

Still. It’s nice not to look like a traffic cone.

I make a mental note to add shopping to the list. Preferably before I convince myself that owning anything not orange counts as character development.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

We end up in the park.

Luke and I are sitting on a bench, splitting a hot dog because he bought one and immediately decided it was “too much food,” which feels fake but whatever. Percy is standing at a nearby cart, staring at the toppings like they’re written in another language. He hasn’t moved in a while.

Across the path, Annabeth has her arms crossed, watching him with the expression of someone who knows this is their fault somehow.

Luke has a folded map of New York balanced on his knee. He’s already drawn on it in Sharpie, which feels both unnecessary and very on brand. I’m half listening, half watching the trees sway overhead, when he taps my leg with the marker.

“So,” he says. “Where to, princess?”

I look at him. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

He shrugs. “Feels right.”

“I hate that answer.”

“You don’t hate the attention.”

I take another bite of the hot dog. “Do you say that to everyone, or am I special?”

He laughs. “Gods, no. Do you think I’m that bad?”

I just look at him.

He sighs. “Okay. Fine. I’ve made some choices.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But I’m not like that anymore,” he adds, quick. “I’m reformed.”

“Sure you are.”

He grins at me anyway. “You’re the only one I’m looking at.”

I don’t respond. I just roll my eyes and steal the last bite of the hot dog.

It’s not that Luke has a reputation. He doesn’t. But he’s… Luke. He’s easy with people. Confident. The kind of guy who would’ve thrived in a frat if life hadn’t gone sideways.

“Luke Castellan,” I say, flat, “you are exhausting.”

He laughs. “Start circling.”

I take the Sharpie out of his hand before he can poke me again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

We grab lunch somewhere small and loud, the kind of place where the menus are laminated and the tables wobble. Percy orders too much. Annabeth comments on the layout of the room like she can’t help herself. Luke keeps stealing fries off my plate until I threaten him with violence.

After lunch, we don’t really decide where to go.

We just… walk.

That’s kind of the problem with New York. Every time you think you’ve picked a direction, something else catches your eye. A street performer. A record store. A guy yelling that you cant make eye contact with.

Luke keeps the map folded in his back pocket now, checking it less and less. Annabeth and Percy drift ahead of us, stopping every few blocks to argue about something quietly intense. I don’t ask.

Luke and I fall into step behind them, shoulders brushing every so often. It happens enough times that neither of us comments on it anymore.

At some point, I notice it.

His shirt.

It’s not bad. Just… tired. Faded in that way clothes get when they’ve been washed a hundred times and loved through several bad decisions. The sleeves are stretched. The hem is a little warped.

I squint at it.

Luke catches me staring. “What?”

I tilt my head. “How long have you had that shirt?”

He looks down at himself. “I don’t know. A while?”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He shrugs. “Since before camp, maybe?”

I stop walking.

He takes two more steps before realizing I’m not beside him anymore. He turns back, confused. “What?”

“That shirt,” I say slowly, “has been through trauma.”

He snorts. “It’s fine.”

“It is not fine.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“Luke,” I say, “it looks like it fought in a war.”

He squints at me. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am being observant.”

Annabeth glances back. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” Luke says quickly.

Annabeth scans Luke up and down and settles on Luke’s graphic peeling t-shirt. She seems to come to the same conclusion as me. “Oh gods get rid of that thing I remember it from when i was seven”.

“I’m taking him shopping,” I say at the same time.

Percy brightens. “Oh. This I want to see.”

Luke groans. “No. Absolutely not.” He grips his shirt in his hands “what’s wrong with my shirt I like this shirt”.

I grab his wrist before he can escape. “You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For emotional damages,” I say. “And also for stealing my fries.”

“That was one time.”

“That was many times.”

I don’t let go.

He sighs like he’s being led to his execution. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

We stumble into an Urban Outfitters before Luke can find something to save himself.

He stops just inside the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, scanning the place like it might jump him. I can see him physically react at the loud pop music.

“I hate it here already,” he says.

“Relax,” I tell him, already flipping through a rack. “It’s just clothes.”

“That’s worse.”

I grab a plain cropped t-shirt and hold it up against his chest.

“No.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“It’s white.”

“So?”

“I will absolutely ruin it.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

I find him a couple of other nice shirts and jeans and shove him toward the fitting rooms before he can come up with another excuse. “Go. Try it on.”

He disappears behind the curtain, muttering something about betrayal and false pretenses.

While he’s gone, I wander.

I don’t mean to start picking things up, but I do. A tank top. Jeans that look like they belong to someone with a social life. A skirt that’s pink and very short, except I’m not at camp, and nobody here knows me as anything other than a girl killing time in a store.

It’s strange—being here. Doing this. I feel like a wooden puppet halfway through becoming real. Like I missed half my life and I have to relearn what I like and want.

I drift toward the music station, flipping through CDs and records. Names I don’t recognize. Artists I’ve never heard of. It’s weird, realizing how much of the world keeps going when you’re stuck in a bubble. If I ever left for good, I’d probably have to lie and say I grew up in another country just to explain how far behind I am.

I pick up a couple anyway, planning to show Luke later.

“Hey,” he says.

I turn.

And freeze.

It’s stupid—it’s just a shirt. But it fits him in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Clean. Sharp. And hits him right above the hip. He looks— hip? Like he belongs somewhere with sidewalks instead of training arenas.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. I hate that you might be right.” When he raises his hand the shirt lifts up revealing a happy trail that i have to pretend to not turn red at.

I smile, satisfied. “Turn around.”

He does, obedient now.

I hold up a jacket—light brown, suede. Too nice. Too expensive. Very much not camp-approved.

“This too.”

He squints at it. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m curating.”

He studies me for a second, then shrugs and slips it on.

Oh.

That was a mistake.

It suits him way too well. Percy, who has been pretending not to watch, leans over a rack.

“Wow,” he says. “You look like you have a credit score.”

Luke laughs. “I don’t like that I feel old.”

I step closer, reaching up without thinking to fix the collar. My fingers brush his neck.

We both stop.

It’s only a second, but it stretches.

“There,” I say, dropping my hand too fast. “Better.”

He doesn’t move. “You do this often?”

“Do what?”

“Decide how people should look.”

I shrug. “Only people I care about.”

That hits.

Something in his expression shifts—softer, quieter. “You’re tricky to figure out.”

I pretend to get very interested in a rack of graphic tees. “So I’ve been told”.

“Your turn,” he says suddenly.

I look up. “What?”

He plucks a skirt from my arm. “Fitting room. Go.”

I open my mouth to protest, then close it.

Fine.

Inside the fitting room, I change quickly, half-expecting it to feel wrong. It doesn’t. When I step back out, Luke is leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

He looks up.

And forgets how to talk.

It’s not dramatic. He just blinks. Then straightens.

“Oh,” he says.

“Bad oh?” I ask.

“No,” he says quickly. “Just—different.”

His eyes linger for half a second longer at the short skirt than necessary before he looks away.

“Yeah,” he adds. “Very cute”.

My face feels warm. “You’re not subtle.”

“Neither are you.”

In the end, he lets me buy everything. Or tries to protest, then gives up when I tell him my mom would be offended if I didn’t spend her money properly.

He makes it up to me by buying the CDs I was eyeing, even after I insist it’s a waste because I’ve never heard of any of them and what if they’re bad.

“Then we’ll listen to them together,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Outside, the city keeps moving.

Annabeth and Percy are already arguing again.

Luke walks beside me, jacket slung over his arm, glancing down at me every so often like he’s checking something.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

By the time the sun starts dipping low between buildings, we’re running on fumes.

We squeeze in a couple more things—nothing special. Just walking, grabbing dinner somewhere crowded and loud, feet aching in ways training never quite prepared us for. Turns out sword drills don’t translate to miles of concrete.

By the time we make it back to the hotel, Percy and Annabeth barely make it past the door before collapsing into their beds. No arguing. No commentary. Just instant, dead-to-the-world silence.

Luke and I end up alone in our room.

I’m exhausted in the way that settles into your bones, but my brain refuses to shut up. Everything feels too big, too sharp, like I’ve been living inside a closed shell and someone finally cracked it open. The world outside is louder and wider than I ever imagined, and now that I’ve seen it, I don’t know how to unsee it.

Luke’s stretched out beside me on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you feel it too?” he asks quietly.

I prop myself up on my elbows, turning toward him. “Feel what?”

“The anger,” he says. “Like… this is our parents’ fault. That we don’t get normal lives. Seeing all this just makes it worse. Seeing what we’re missing.”

I think about that for a second.

Luke has this fire in him that most people don’t notice—or pretend not to. You see it in the way he runs his hands through his hair too roughly, or chews the inside of his cheek until it’s raw. It’s always there, simmering.

It doesn’t scare me.

“Not really,” I admit.

He turns his head, surprised.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just keep thinking about how lucky I am. I mean—when else would I get to do any of this? At nineteen?”

I stare up at the ceiling. “I try not to be angry about things that already happened. I think that’s how you end up miserable forever.”

There’s a pause.

I glance over and catch him blinking hard, like he didn’t expect that. “Sorry,” I add quickly. “That got deep fast. My bad.”

He shakes his head, thoughtful, quiet for a moment longer than usual.

Then—“Let’s drink.”

I blink. “Drink? Like… alcohol?”

He sits up, already reaching for his new jacket, rolling his eyes as he nudges my shoulder. “No. Water. Yes, alcohol. Obviously.”

“I don’t even have a fake ID,” I say. “No bar is letting us in.”

He stands in front of the mirror, shrugging the jacket on and checking his reflection like he’s testing a new version of himself. “You’re an Aphrodite kid,” he says. “Charm-speak them. Like you do to me.”

“I don’t charm-speak you,” I say.

He looks back at me, and I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes from where I’m sitting on the bed.

“Huh,” he says, smirking. “Guess you just charm me, then.”

I groan, rolling my eyes so hard it almost hurts—but I’m smiling anyway.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I change into one of the new outfits I bought, skirt included. I hesitate for half a second, fingers hovering at the zipper, then pull it on anyway. If I’m going to try convincing a stranger to let two very underage demigods into a bar, I might as well look like I belong somewhere after dark.

Luke waits by the door, jacket on, pretending not to watch me get ready. He fails.

We sneak out of the hotel room quietly, even though there’s no harpies waiting to drag us into the forest or Mr. D taking away our privileges. Old habits die hard. We walk a few blocks before the city shifts everything moving like it’s in on our secret.

We pick a bar that feels right. Loud enough that conversations blur together. Dim enough that everyone already looks older than they are.

The line crawls.

My palms go clammy as we get closer to the front. Luke notices without me saying a word. He drapes an arm over my shoulders, casual, grounding. The weight of it settles my nerves instead of adding to them.

“You good?” he murmurs.

“Define good,” I say.

He smiles like that’s fair.

When it’s our turn, the bouncer doesn’t even fake a smile.

“IDs.”

I open my mouth—and stop.

He looks at us more closely now. Too closely. His eyes linger on Luke, then flick back to me.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “You two are young.”

My stomach drops.

“We just look young and want a drink,” I say, carefully. Not pushing. Not forcing. Just letting my voice soften around the edges. “We won’t stay long.”

He crosses his arms. “That’s what everyone says.”

Luke shifts beside me, tension coiling in his shoulders, but he stays quiet. Lets me handle it.

I meet the bouncer’s eyes.

Charm-speak doesn’t crash in. It hums. Low and warm and sincere, like I mean every word even if I didn’t plan them.

“It’s been a long day,” I say gently. “We’re not trouble. You can tell.”

For a second, nothing happens.

”please?”.

Then his expression wavers. Not gone—just… less certain. He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he’s arguing with himself.

“You cause problems,” he says, half-warning, half-resigned, “and you’re out.”

I smile, relief blooming in my chest. “Of course.”

He hesitates one last time then steps aside.

Luke lets out a breath he definitely wasn’t holding.

Inside, the music hits us all at once, loud and alive. Luke leans down, his mouth near my ear.

“Okay,” he says, impressed. “That was terrifying.”

I grin, adrenaline still buzzing. “You should see me when I’m actually trying.”

His arm stays around me as we melt into the crowd.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

We’re a couple drinks in when I volunteer to grab the next round.

I come back with a beer for me and some neon-colored, aggressively fruity thing I know she’ll like—mostly to balance out the shots we absolutely should not have taken back-to-back. I set them down at the booth, grinning like an idiot because my face feels warm and loose and I can’t remember the last time I felt this… light.

We drift back into our conversation from the hotel it without really meaning to.

It’s hard to know how you’re supposed to feel about the gods when you’re surrounded by their kids—when every story sounds different, and somehow everyone still ends up hurt.

She stares into her cocktail, ice clinking softly. “It’s different for me,” she says. “My mortal dad didn’t want me. He left, started a whole new family like I was a rough draft.”

I stay quiet.

“Camp,” she continues, “being with my mom and my siblings—that’s the closest I’ve ever come to feeling loved.”

Something twists in my chest.

And then, like an idiot, I open my mouth.

“Oh,” I say lightly, nodding at her glass. “Right. Mommy’s favorite.”

The second the words are out, I want to shove them back in.

She looks at me. Really looks at me.

“You’re not going to understand,” I add, trying to laugh it off.

I don’t.

Her face falls—not dramatic, not angry. Just hurt.

“Is that what you think of me?” she asks.

I swear quietly. “No—gods, no. I just—”

She shakes her head. “Everyone acts like the gods are perfect. Like being claimed fixes everything.”

That catches me off guard. Talking shit about the gods feels easier out here, away from camp, away from consequences.

“My mom’s not perfect,” she says. “And I don’t even know if I like the special treatment.”

I scoff before I can stop myself. Years of trying to matter to a dad who never looked back bubble up fast and bitter.

“I know,” I say quickly. “I know that sounded bad. I just—when you grow up being ignored, it’s hard not to resent anyone who gets… anything.”

She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. I get that.”

She hesitates, then adds, “You know my sister Victoria?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“She hates me,” she says flatly. “Ever since my mom claimed me like that. The gifts. The attention. She goes out of her way to make my life worse.”

My jaw tightens.

“I love her,” she says. “I love all of them. But once—my mom forgot her birthday. Completely. Tried to fix it the next day with this stupid teddy bear.”

She laughs softly, humorless.

“I told Victoria it didn’t mean our mom didn’t care. And she said—” Her voice drops. “She said she was going to knock me off my pedestal and take my place.”

I stare at her. “That’s… brutal.”

“I haven’t talked to her since,” she admits. “She whispers when I walk by, Laughs with her friends, spreads rumors—“.

I feel something hot and sharp rise in my chest. I can only compare it to protectiveness.

“That’s not your fault,” I say immediately. “None of it is.”

She shrugs, but it’s practiced. Like she’s been doing it a while.

I reach for her hand without thinking, thumb brushing her knuckles. She stills, then looks up at me.

“You know,” I say slowly, “I used to think hating my dad was the only thing keeping me going.”

Her eyes soften.

“I thought if I stopped being angry, it meant he won,” I continue. “Like he got to ruin me and walk away.”

“And now?” she asks quietly.

“Now I think… maybe the real win is living well anyway,” I say. “Being better than them. Not because they deserve it—but because we do.”

She lets out a breath, something easing in her shoulders.

“That’s kind of how I see it,” she says. “You either live with the hate, or you show them how little power they actually have.”

I smile, small and real. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

She lifts her glass. “To messed-up parents.”

I clink my beer against it. “And becoming something better anyway.”

The bar noise swells back in around us—sticky tables, bass rattling the walls, half-finished drinks sweating onto napkins. Somehow, sitting across from her, the anger doesn’t feel as heavy anymore. The kind I’ve carried my whole life. The kind that kept me sharp and alive and furious.

It settles.

For the first time, I’m not just thinking about surviving. I’m thinking about after. Leaving camp. Going to school. Getting a job. Wanting things that don’t end in dying young out of spite.

The drunker we get, the lighter everything feels. We stop talking much—just laughing, swaying, bumping into each other like gravity is bringing us together. Stuff I’d usually never do. Stuff I’d pretend was beneath me.

But she’s the only person I see in the room.

And it hits me, all at once, like I’ve missed something obvious. I could see something real with her. The bet doesn’t change that. It only says she has to fall in love with me. No one said I couldn’t fall first.

Fake rules anyway.

So I let myself fall. Fully. Recklessly. I’d scrub every cabin toilet at camp if it meant she’d keep looking at me like this. I know the alcohol knocked my walls down—but I also know she’s the reason I won’t put them back up. Sober or not.

She looks different now. Looser. Unselfconscious. Like she doesn’t care who’s watching. She rests her head against my chest because she knows no one is.

That familiar hunger curls in my stomach—the same one that’s been there since she sat in my car.

She’s giggling about something when I spin her around, dramatic on purpose, just to hear it again. She looks at me, smiling—and then her eyes drift past my shoulder.

I almost grab her chin to make her look back at me.

Then—

“Oh my gods,” she says. “They have a photo booth. We have to go. Please.”

She doesn’t wait for my answer. Just grabs my arm and pulls.

I wouldn’t have said no anyway. I want this moment burned into my brain.

The booth is definitely meant for one person, maybe two if they like each other. She ends up on my lap, squished close, her face pressed near mine so we fit in the frame. That hunger flares again, hotter now.

She hits the button.

First photo—we smile.

Second—the flash goes off before we’re ready.

Third—we’re looking at each other.

By the fourth, I stop pretending I have any self-control.

We’ve kissed before. At camp. Soft. Teasing. Performative. This is none of that. I pull her in, needing more, like she’s the only thing that could quiet this feeling. Her mouth tastes like ambrosia. She melts into me like she’s been waiting for it. Her hand fists in my hair, grounding herself—or me.

A needy sound tears out of my chest before I can stop it.

The flash goes off for the last photo. We don’t notice.

If we were anywhere else, I don’t think I’d stop. But somewhere in the back of my brain under the alcohol and the adrenaline—I realize I want this done right. Also, I’m not thrilled about getting arrested for public indecency because gods know I want it to go there.

She has to cup my face and push me back to actually get me to stop kissing her.

My lips feel swollen. I probably look wrecked. I can blame the alcohol later. Even though I know I’m just drunk on her.

She’s breathless when she speaks. “Castellan, I should tell you something.”

I nod like I’m listening. I’m not. I’m staring at her lips. Pink and full.

She tilts my chin up, forcing my eyes back to hers. “Yeah?”

She exhales. “Never mind.”

We finally untangle and look down at the photo strip.

Every picture’s perfect. She disagrees—points at the second one, caught off guard. “That’s a terrible angle.”

She tries to snatch it from my hand.

“You can cover it on your copy,” I say, holding it out of reach. “I’m keeping the original.”

She glares at me, half-hearted, knowing exactly how this ends. It only takes one hand to stop her from climbing all over me to get it.

The argument dies there.

I tuck the strip carefully into my pocket like it’s something precious.

Because it is.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The trip feels like it ends almost as soon as it begins. Ever since Luke and I made out in the photobooth, it’s like the floodgates have opened. Quick kisses at stoplights. Stolen ones when the kids aren’t looking. Longer ones when they definitely are. They groan every time. I savor every single kiss anyway.

Still, there’s a quiet shame burning in my chest, keeping me from fully letting go. Being drunk was one thing. This is different. I can tell now that his feelings are getting involved, and I don’t know what happens when the tenth day comes and goes.

It’s a stupid bet. I could walk away whenever I want and let my pride go with it, because whatever I’ve found with Luke feels bigger than something so silly. But what would he do if he found out? Laugh it off. Call it funny. Or hate me for making everything feel fake. I don’t know, and not knowing scares me more than monsters ever have.

Our second day in New York, we let the kids decide what to do. Museums. The aquarium. Wandering without a real plan. We make a quick stop at Coney Island before the sun dips low, then head back to pack up and return to camp.

Luke insists on winning me a massive, ugly pink teddy bear. He immediately regrets it when he’s trying and failing to shove it into the back of his car.

By the time we’re back on the road, the sun has fully set. The kids are louder than they were on the way into the city, buzzing with sugar and adrenaline. Being on a trip like this has turned us into something dangerously close to a family, and I’m grateful in a way that aches.

Luke makes me put my new CD into the radio.

Kesha — Animal starts playing.

My first instinct is embarrassment, but to my surprise, everyone’s into it. The energy in the car shifts, like the world suddenly feels ten times bigger and overdue to be explored. Percy insists we play the album again so we can all learn the words, and soon we’re yelling lyrics off-key and laughing at ourselves.

It starts as a sprinkle, then turns into a steady downpour.

Luke takes his hand off my thigh and grips the wheel with both hands, leaning forward and focusing on the road.

That’s when we hear it.

A screech.

Then a heavy thud on the roof.

Luke stiffens, probably thinking the car’s hydroplaning, until it happens again. This time sharp talons punch through the roof, ripping metal and making all of us yelp.

I glance in the rearview mirror and see a harpy clinging to the top of the car, wings beating wildly in the rain.

“Fuck my car, man,” Luke groans.

The kids scream in the backseat, and that scares me more than anything. Sure, they’re demigods. Strong. Powerful. But they’re still kids.

The giant teddy bear has taken up my spot in the trunk, and thank the gods for that. I shout at Percy to grab my sword from my duffel bag.

I have to repeat myself twice before he listens, too distracted by the way the car swerves under the added weight.

He finally pulls my longsword free and hands it to me.

Luke looks like he’s about to lose it, but the humor still slips through. “Jeez, you brought that thing? You’re lucky we didn’t fly.”

I shake my head, heart pounding in my ears. “Shut up, Castellan.”

Of course this happens now. That’s how it always goes. The second you start to feel like the world is opening up, a monster shows up to remind you it never really lets you forget what you are.

“Open the roof, Luke.”

His eyes go wide as he keeps one eye on the road. “Are you crazy? That thing’s going to grab you and eat you.”

“Luke,” I say, steady and serious. “I need you to trust me.”

He hesitates, then exhales. “Fine. My car’s already ruined. What’s some rain on the seats?”

“Halfway,” I tell him.

Then I turn to the kids, my voice sharp enough that they both straighten. “Listen. I’m going to stand on the center console. I need you to hold onto my legs and not let go. At all.”

I don’t think they’ve ever heard me sound like this.

“Unless you want me to be monster chow,” I add.

They give shaky smiles, brave ones, but I know they’re scared. So am I.

Luke lowers the convertible roof halfway, keeping the kids covered but leaving him and me exposed to the storm. The movement throws the harpy off balance, and it loses its grip just long enough.

That’s my opening.

I step onto the center console. There’s barely room. Older cars help, but not by much. Four small hands grip my legs, anchoring me in place.

Rain lashes my face, wind whipping my hair across my eyes as I raise my sword.

The harpy comes back fast, talons outstretched.

The harpy shrieks, wings beating hard enough to rock the car, and I barely have time to lift my sword before she’s on me again. Talons scrape metal, sparks flying as Luke swerves instinctively.

“Hold her steady!” Luke shouts, though I don’t think he knows who he’s talking to.

She lunges. I swing. The blade catches feathers instead of flesh, slicing through one wing and sending her careening sideways. She screams—high and furious—and slams into the side of the car hard enough to make the kids scream behind me.

I dig my feet into the console, Percy and Annabeth’s hands tightening around my calves. The rain soaks through my clothes instantly, cold and slick, but my grip on the sword stays solid.

“Again!” Annabeth yells. “She’s coming back!”

She is. Faster this time. Smarter.

The harpy hooks one talon into the roof and uses it to fling herself straight at me. I raise my sword to block—

—and miss the angle.

Pain explodes across my back, hot and blinding, like fire raked down my spine. I gasp, the sound torn out of me as the force nearly knocks me backward. Percy yelps, arms tightening desperately as I pitch forward instead of back.

“Fuck!” Luke shouts.

I don’t look at them. I don’t think. I just move.

Adrenaline floods my system, drowning everything else out. The pain dulls instantly, like someone turned the volume knob down. I twist on instinct, ignoring the way my back screams in protest, and drive my sword forward with everything I have.

The blade sinks true this time.

The harpy lets out one last shriek, wings beating wildly as her grip slips. She dissolves into dust and feathers that scatter into the rain, gone as suddenly as she appeared.

For half a second, everything is silent except for the rain pounding against the car.

Then my knees give.

“Roof!” Luke yells. “Percy, Annabeth—pull her down, now!”

Hands grab at me, clumsy and frantic, hauling me back into the seat just as Luke slams the roof shut. The inside of the car fills with the smell of rain and burnt monster dust and adrenaline.

“Did you—did you get it?” Percy asks, breathless.

I nod. “Yeah. It’s gone.”

I can tell something’s wrong by the way I can’t lean back in my seat. My body refuses to let me. I press my forehead against the dash and hunch forward, sweat breaking out cold and sudden. The adrenaline is still doing its job, keeping the pain distant and fuzzy, but I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears like a warning.

Luke pulls over the second a flickering neon sign cuts through the rain ahead.

MOTEL buzzes weakly, the letters stuttering like they might give out any second. It looks like a lifeline.

“No arguing,” he says, already turning into the lot. “We’re stopping.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even as my back feels… warm. Too warm. Wrong.

Luke parks crooked, barely shuts the engine off before twisting in his seat to look at me. His eyes rake over my face in the dim light.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“That’s just the rain.” I try to sound steady. I know it’s stupid, but I’m scared, and pretending feels easier than admitting it.

Luke is out of the car in seconds. He shoves a wad of cash into Percy’s hands. “Get us a room. Now.”

Annabeth jumps out and comes straight to me. She’s practical. Grounded. The kind of person who always knows what to do. Which is why it surprises me when she wraps her arms around me like she’s afraid I might disappear.

I’m still half-slumped in the passenger seat, clothes soaked, hair plastered to my forehead with rain and sweat. She hugs me anyway.

Something in my chest cracks.

I sob before I can stop myself, clutching her back just as tightly. The comfort is overwhelming in the worst and best way, too real, too much after everything.

Luke hears it.

He’s there instantly, pulling Annabeth back. She doesn’t fight him. When she steps away, her hands are red.

My blood.

I watch the color drain from her face just as Luke says, urgent and low, “Go. Find Percy. Get the room ready.”

She runs without another word.

Luke turns back to me and reaches to lift me, and I flinch hard, terror spiking at the thought of the pain that’s been waiting for permission to hit. He freezes immediately.

“Hey,” he says softly. Too softly. Like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he’s not careful. “Come on, baby. We have to get you cleaned up.”

I can’t speak. If I try, my voice will break and I won’t stop crying. The pain and the way he says it, gentle and scared, are the only things that get me to nod.

Luke lifts me carefully out of the car. There’s no good way to hold me without brushing my back, and I can’t stop the whimpers that slip out when it happens. It hurts enough to scream, but I bite it down. The last thing we need is someone calling 911.

He moves fast across the lot, head down, slipping past the front desk and into the room. Even through the haze creeping into my vision, I can see his face.

The way his jaw is clenched.

The way his eyes won’t leave me.

And I know the sounds I’m making are breaking his heart.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Luke rushes us into the room and Percy shuts the door behind us, he slips straight into counselor mode.

Orders come fast and sharp. First aid kit. Start the shower. Iris message, now. The words blur together because by then the pain has caught up to me, crashing down all at once and stealing my breath.

Annabeth lays a towel on the floor, and Luke helps me down onto my stomach with a care that makes my chest ache. Every movement burns. I bite down hard to keep from crying out.

He pulls his switchblade from his pocket and carefully cuts my shirt away. In any other situation I would be mortified. Right now, I barely register it. He keeps murmuring apologies under his breath, and I’m not sure what he thinks he’s sorry for.

Annabeth helps him clean the wounds, hands steady even though her face is tight with worry. I grip the towel beneath me, fingers digging into the fabric as it soaks up sweat and tears. I’ve been hurt before. Every demigod has. But lying there, I know how close I came to not walking away at all.

We’re far from camp. No ambrosia. No Apollo kids. I know enough to understand what that means.

They press bandages down, trying to stop the bleeding. Luke tells Annabeth he can take it from here, his voice careful, like he’s guarding what little dignity I have left. I’m grateful for that. She squeezes my hand once before leaving to find Percy.

Luke counts under his breath as he lifts me, slow and deliberate, carrying me into the bathroom. He settles me onto the closed toilet lid and kneels in front of me, eyes level with mine. He gently turns my face, checking for anything else, anything he might have missed.

Then he stills.

He wipes his thumb beneath my eyes, brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. His hands are rough, familiar, grounding. And suddenly the realization hits me so hard it knocks the air from my lungs.

I love him.

The thought breaks something open in me. I fold forward with a sob, pressing my face into his shoulder. He hesitates for half a second, clearly afraid of hurting me, then cradles my head instead, kissing my hair softly despite the rain and blood and mess of it all.

He’s soaked too. He smells like rain and sweat and fear.

I pull back just enough to kiss him.

The guilt I’ve been carrying washes away, carried off with everything else tonight has taken from me. I know what I want now. No bet gets to touch this. No stupid rules get to take him away from me.

He kisses me like I might shatter, careful and reverent. I grip his hair to remind him I won’t. He kisses me back, deeper this time, desperate in a way that makes my chest ache. If our first kiss was playful and the second hungry, this one is survival. Shared loss. Years of it.

When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless. His eyes are glassy. I wipe a tear from his cheek, and we let out quiet, disbelieving laughs at how unreal all of this feels.

He helps me stand, staying close in case my legs give out. They don’t, thankfully. He tests the water with his hand before turning back to me, suddenly shy as he takes in the fact that I’m bare and vulnerable in front of him.

After tonight, it barely registers.

I give him a small smile and gesture toward the shower. “I’m going to need help,” I say, my voice rough.

He nods, eyes dropping as he starts to pull off his own clothes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I figured.”

…

part four — iv. How to: Take a Trip

pt1, pt2, pt3, you're here, pt5, pt6

luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite reader

4.4k My mom turns my fake-dating bet with Luke Castellan into a road trip quest, a lovers’ suite nightmare, and the uncomfortable truth that I might actually be falling for him.

tags. rom-comish, teasing, bets, light hearted, fluff (angst later??), fake dating, 18+ next pt (???), etc etc..

a/n. okay prob making this 6 parts lmao also thank you for 200 followers bless up guys. also plz lmk might make next part nsfw.... idk if everyone would like that so lmk

iv. How to: Take a Trip

I smell roses and the ocean before I see it. That very specific, unmistakable scent comes first, and then the small pink pouch tied neatly with a gold ribbon, sitting politely on my floral sheets like it belongs there.

A lot of demigods have complicated relationships with their godly parents. I have never really held a grudge against my mother. Most gods blame their absence on being “busy.” My mom says that too, but in her case, it is actually true. It would be pretty hypocritical for the goddess of love not to love her kids.

Sure, sometimes I wish she had come to my dance recitals or packed my lunches. But she does what she can. And even with that, she has done more for me than my father ever has, so I forgive her for the rest.

I like to pretend she is just busy at the office all the time.

When I reach my bed, I finally notice the wax-sealed envelope with my name written across the front in familiar, elegant script.

My mother is not innocent, of course. She has favorites and is terrible at hiding it. She loves all of us, sure. She gives gifts to every one of my siblings. Lockets. Perfumes. Roses. Lovely things. Just nothing that quite compares to the silver longsword she gave me when she claimed me.

My name was engraved into the blade. Intricate roses framed the hilt. A few of my siblings did not speak to me for several days after that.

It is not actually hard to get her attention. She loves drama. I think that is why she favors me, if I am being honest.

During my first game of capture the flag, I was pinned down by a boy twice my size and seconds away from getting absolutely wrecked. A normal person would have struggled. Tried to slip free. I bit him in the side of the neck instead.

She claimed me right after that.

I heard he still has a bite-shaped scar. He has avoided me ever since.

Actually, a lot of people avoided me after I got claimed. The pink glow. The dove. The rose. And the blood dripping down my chin. It was a very strong first impression.

I carefully open the letter, breathing in her scent, and my stomach twists with something that feels dangerously close to homesick.

My child,

I heard about your little trip. And the bet. Do not bother pretending I did not. A mother always knows.

You and Luke Castellan, running around New York together, pretending you are not fond of him. Very entertaining. Possibly concerning. I suppose I should be more responsible about this.

Camp rules tend to ruin moments like these, and I am not in the mood for that. So I am calling this a quest. Nothing dramatic. All I ask in return is the juicy details afterward. Just you, your feelings, and whatever mess you two are already walking into.

This way, no interruptions. No sneaking back into camp. Make the trip two days instead of one. My treat.

One more thing. Annabeth will be bringing Percy Jackson. I chose this. Not her. I have my reasons, and I want what I want. Do not question it.

Enjoy the trip. Take risks. Say the things you usually swallow down. Love is not neat, and neither are you, and that is why you are mine.

Make me proud. However, that ends up looking.

I left you some money for the trip. Try to be responsible. Or do not. I raised you better than that anyway.

Love, Mom

P.S. I have sent a similar letter to each of your trip mates.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

In order to make it back in time for prom, we have to leave for our trip that very night. Since the whole thing technically counts as a quest now, Mr. D and Chiron cannot say a word about it, much to their obvious irritation. I take a little joy in that.

Luke, somehow, does not mind the short notice at all. He just shrugs and says we can plan everything on the drive, like this kind of thing happens to him every week.

At this point, Im not really sure how we are getting there. I assume it involves very expensive bus tickets hut hey mommy’s money.

We meet at the border of camp, each of us carrying a packed weekender bag. When I reach Luke, he grabs mine straight off my shoulder without asking and swings it up onto his own.

His eyebrows knit together immediately.

He clearly did not expect it to weigh that much, but instead of commenting, he just adjusts his grip and pretends everything is fine. I say nothing. Growth.

We are standing around waiting when Annabeth finally shows up with her plus one. I am not surprised in the slightest to see Percy Jackson trailing behind her with his own bag.

Luke, however, looks personally offended.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, holding up a hand. “Percy, what are you doing here?”

Percy blinks. “I’m… here. For the trip?”

Luke ignores him entirely and turns to Annabeth. “I said you could bring a plus one. I thought it was implied I did not have to specify no boys.”

She rolls her eyes. “Luke, if you had actually read the letter correctly, you would know this was not my choice. It was Aphrodite’s.”

Luke scoffs and mutters something under his breath. Annabeth continues, “Trust me, I don’t want to be stuck in a car for hours with both you and Percy either, but here we are.”

Annabeth walks past him, adjusting her bag like she already knows exactly where she is going. Percy follows immediately, asking if she wants him to carry her bag.

She does not even slow down when she says no.

Unlike Annabeth, Percy clearly has no idea where we are headed and is just following her on instinct alone.

I fall into step beside Luke as we trail after them. “So,” I say casually, “how are we getting there? Because these bus tickets are going to be brutal.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, just wait. I’m actually excited to show you.”

That earns him a suspicious head tilt from me, but I keep walking.

Then I see it.

A beat-up, vintage car tucked just at the edge of the Mist. Brown, almost exactly the same shade as Luke’s hair. It is positioned perfectly, hidden from camp and from anyone else who might accidentally wander too close.

“Woah,” is all I manage.

Luke pops the trunk and starts tossing our bags in casually. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Beautiful is… generous. The paint is chipped in a few places, the windows are manual, and the whole thing looks like it has survived at least three near-death experiences. Still, for an unemployed Camp Half-Blood kid, it is undeniably impressive.

I run my hand along the side, taking it in. The top can roll down into a convertible, which immediately raises its value in my eyes. “How could you possibly afford this?”

Luke looks absurdly pleased with himself, planting his hands on his hips. It is very clearly his first time getting to show off a car to a girl. Possibly his first car ever. I briefly wonder if he even has a legal license.

“Technically,” he says, “she isn’t all mine.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“A couple summers ago, me and Chris helped out selling strawberries on the roadside.”

I blink. “I thought that money went to camp stuff.”

He flashes me a sneaky grin. “It does… usually”.

I scoff, shaking my head, unfortunately amused. “Wow, Castellan.”

He shrugs. “Hey, I hate to say it, but sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I open the car door and plop myself into the passenger seat like ive been in them before. The seats are fabric, the kind that trap smells no matter how many windows you roll down. The scent isn’t Castellan’s. It’s old dust and cigarettes, baked in by time.

Luke, on the other hand, smells like clean skin, leather, and something vaguely sandalwood. Masculine in a way that isn’t trying too hard. Familiar. Comforting. The kind of smell you don’t realize you’re going to miss until it’s gone.

I hate that I notice that now.

Luke slides into the driver’s seat, leaning over me and reaching for the glove compartment. I hold my breath without meaning to, like my body’s trying to be subtle even though my brain is absolutely not.

“Excuse me, princess.”

I cringe at the nickname, but I can’t help the tiny smile that sneaks in anyway. It rolls off his tongue too easily. Like he’s been saying it forever. He twists in his seat, spreading the map across the center console and immediately starts going over the route with Annabeth in the back.

That’s my cue to be nosy.

I pop the glove compartment open once he’s distracted. Papers and letters that clearly belonged to the previous owner spill forward. A Swiss Army knife. Some random junk that means nothing. And then, tucked underneath it all, a brand-new box of cigarettes.

Oh.

So the smell in the seats might actually be his.

I file that information away for later and close the glove box like I didn’t just uncover a secret.

Next stop, the middle console.

Luke’s elbow is resting on it, so I nudge him aside with my knee. He shifts without even looking, too focused on whatever Annabeth is saying. I flip it open and find a CD holder.

The selection… makes too much sense.

Green Day, American Idiot. Fleetwood Mac, Rumours. Tom Petty, Full Moon Fever.

I would never say this out loud, but he’s actually a lot cooler than I gave him credit for.

Then I see it. A blank disc, slightly scuffed. Written in Sharpie is just his name.

I slide it out and slip it into the CD player. I don’t press play yet. I’ll wait until we’re moving so he doesn’t have a chance to panic and eject it if it’s embarrassing.

Luke finishes folding the map and finally settles back into his seat, one hand on the wheel, shoulders looser than I’ve ever seen them. He glances back at the chaos in the backseat where Annabeth and Percy are already arguing about snacks.

“All right,” he says, voice easy, almost fond. “You animals ready to hit the road?”

And for a second, sitting here with the windows down, summer air curling through the car, music waiting to be played, it almost feels normal. Like this is what being a regular kid might look like.

Luke catches my eye and smirks, like he knows exactly how to make everything feel a little lighter.

Gods help me.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The first hour of the drive is loud in the best way. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and burnt oranges, and Percy is going on about some stupid story that keeps spiraling further off track every time Annabeth interrupts him to correct a detail.

Luke drives with one hand on the wheel, relaxed, laughing under his breath, tossing in comments just sharp enough to keep Percy going. He’s different like this. Lighter. His shoulders aren’t wound so tight, and there’s something grounding about the way he fills the space. Like everything will be fine as long as he’s driving.

Eventually, the road narrows. The trees close in. The headlights become the only real source of light, cutting two thin paths through the dark.

The backseat goes quiet.

I glance over my shoulder and have to bite back a laugh. Percy is slumped against the door, mouth slightly open, fully gone. Annabeth didn’t even try to fight it. She’s curled in on herself, notebook fallen to the floor, breathing slow and even.

They’re out cold.

The car hums softly around us, tires against asphalt, wind rushing in through the cracked windows. It feels intimate in a way that sneaks up on you. Like the world has shrunk down to just this road, this car, and the two of us.

That’s when I remember.

I tilt my head, feigning casual curiosity. “So… what do you have in here, Castellan?”

He glances at me, already suspicious. “Don’t touch anything.”

Too late.

I press play before he can stop me.

The first notes fill the car, soft and familiar, and then—

You’re just too good to be true… Can’t take my eyes off of you…

I freeze.

Oh.

This is not what I was expecting.

Luke stiffens beside me. Just for a second. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, jaw setting like he’s bracing for impact.

“…That’s not—” he starts, then stops.

I turn to look at him fully now. The passing streetlights catch his face in flashes, and I swear I see color creep up his neck.

I blink. Once. Twice.

“You have a love song mixtape?” I ask, disbelief bleeding into something softer.

He exhales through his nose, defeated. “It’s old.”

I grin, slow and dangerous. “It’s Frank Valli.”

“Don’t,” he mutters.

The chorus swells, filling the car, wrapping around us. It’s ridiculous and earnest and so painfully sincere it almost hurts.

I lean back in my seat, smiling to myself. “You know,” I say lightly, “this is kind of… adorable.”

He finally glances at me, expecting mockery.

Instead, I’m just looking at him.

Something in his expression shifts. The embarrassment eases. His shoulders relax again, just a little.

“Yeah?” he says, quieter now.

I shrug, pretending my heart didn’t just stutter. “Yeah.”

Something about not being at camp makes it easier to shed our defensive layers. Like the rules loosen the farther we get from the borders. It wouldn’t hurt to drop the dramatics for the weekend, right? It’s just two days.

That’s what I tell myself anyway.

I also tell myself it’s strategic. That doing anything dramatic enough to really piss Luke off might get me stranded on the side of the road somewhere between nowhere and worse. Totally practical reasoning. Nothing emotional about it.

As the night stretches on, we both get more comfortable. Luke is annoyingly responsible behind the wheel, eyes on the road, hands steady, posture relaxed but alert. Still, every now and then I catch him sneaking a glance at me, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still there.

I’ve turned onto my side in the seat, facing him now. My shoes are kicked off, feet tucked up under me. His hand rests on my leg like it belongs there, casual and warm. He throws his head back laughing at something dumb I say, and the sound fills the car in a way that makes my chest feel tight.

“So,” I say, pretending I haven’t been working up to this. “Castellan. Can I ask about your cigarettes?”

He groans. “God, you’re such a snoop.”

I grin. “Just so you know, I don’t date smokers.”

“Good for you,” he says dryly. “I’m not a smoker. It’s strictly recreational.”

“Hm.” I chew on that. “That… actually tracks.”

He glances at me again. “What about you? You don’t seem like the type.”

“I’m not,” I say quickly, then hesitate. “I mean. I guess sometimes. On bad nights.”

He doesn’t interrupt, so the words tumble out before I can stop them. “I get these nightmares. And I know that sounds—” I scoff at myself. “I’m sorry, that was probably—”

“No,” he cuts in gently. “I get it.”

I look at him.

“I really do,” he continues, quieter now. “They stick with you. Hard to shake, even when you’re awake.”

Something in my chest loosens.

“Yeah,” I say. “Exactly.”

He nods once, eyes back on the road. “On nights like that, I’ll have one. But I hate how the smell clings to everything. So I don’t make a habit of it.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence again. The music hums softly. The road keeps unfolding in front of us.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I end up keeping Luke company for the rest of the drive. Somewhere between the miles and the music, we both seem to realize the same slightly ridiculous truth.

We’ve been “dating” for days now and somehow still don’t know the most basic facts about each other.

So we fix it.

Favorite foods. Worst injuries. Dumb childhood habits we never quite grew out of. He admits he can’t stand olives. I confess I cry at commercials if I’m tired enough. We trade stories back and forth, the kind you only tell when the road is long and the night feels private.

The conversation carries us all the way until the dark horizon starts to glow. Streetlights bleed into the distance, buildings rising out of the night like something unreal. The city.

It hits me all at once. “Wait,” I say, sitting up a little. “Where are we even staying?”

Luke glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh. That.”

He reaches one hand off the wheel long enough to tap the dashboard. “I got a letter from your mom. Came with some gas money and two key cards.”

I blink. “Two key cards to…?”

“The Ritz-Carlton,” he says casually, like he’s talking about a roadside motel. “So I guess we’re living in luxury tonight.”

I stare at him, then laugh. “Of course she did.”

Luke chuckles. “Try not to get too used to it, princess.”

The valet barely blinks when we pull up, even though Luke’s car looks painfully out of place next to the line of sleek black sedans and luxury SUVs. If it looked charmingly beat-up at camp, here it just looks… dinky.

The valet opens Luke’s door and reaches for the keys.

Luke hesitates, then hands them over anyway. “Be careful with her,” he says seriously. “She’s sensitive.”

The valet gives him a polite nod that says I have parked cars worth more than your entire life and slips behind the wheel. Luke watches the car disappear like a worried parent sending their kid off to school.

Our bags are whisked away before I can even blink.

By the time we step into the lobby, Percy and Annabeth have fully woken up, the reality of where we are finally hitting them.

“No way,” Percy whispers loudly. “This place has chandeliers.”

Annabeth is already craning her neck, eyes sharp and calculating. “Do you know how expensive this is?”

Luke sighs like a man who knows he’s lost control of the situation. “Okay. Rules. We’re not animals. Boys in one room. Girls in another. No wandering. No switching. No arguing.”

Percy opens his mouth.

“No,” Luke says immediately.

A staff member leads us down the hallway, plush carpet muffling our footsteps. Luke walks ahead, shoulders squared, back in leader mode. He swipes a key card at the first door and pushes it open.

He freezes.

Then he slams it shut so fast it echoes.

“What?” Percy asks. “What is it?”

Luke doesn’t move. “Nothing.”

That’s never a good sign.

I step around him and open the door.

On the bed are two towels folded into swans, their necks curved together into a heart. Rose petals are scattered across the white sheets like someone went wild in a florist’s shop.

I shut the door just as fast.

“Oh my gods,” I mutter. “My mom can be so obnoxious.”

The staff member blinks, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, is there a problem? These are the correct specifications. One room with two separate beds, and the lovers’ suite, yes?”

Luke turns slowly. “The what.”

“The lovers’ suite,” the staff member repeats cheerfully.

Luke steps aside to talk to him in a low voice, gesturing vaguely at the door, at us, at the universe in general. I watch the man nod sympathetically before shaking his head.

“I’m afraid we have a strict policy,” the staff member says. “Names are assigned to rooms in advance.”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose.

Apparently, my mother had been very thorough.

And very specific.

In the end, Luke just has to suck it up.

At least my mom had the decency to give Percy and Annabeth separate beds. Luke pulls them aside anyway, drops his voice, and launches into a lecture that sounds suspiciously like something a dad would say. Full day tomorrow. No wandering. No funny business. Straight to bed.

Percy nods like this is all very serious. Annabeth just crosses her arms and waits him out.

When they finally disappear into their room, Luke mutters under his breath as we head toward ours. “Annabeth’s a smart girl. I know that. I just…”

I glance at him. “You’ve gotta trust her a little more.”

He exhales slowly. “I know. It’s just hard seeing her get older.”

That softens something in my chest, though I pretend it doesn’t.

We step back into our room, rose petals still scattered like they’re mocking us. The door clicks shut behind us, and the quiet settles in.

We both start getting ready for bed in stiff, careful silence. Shoes off. Jackets hung. Everything deliberately normal.

Then I notice it.

“Luke,” I say slowly, looking around. “Where’s the couch?”

He turns, scans the room, then groans.

Gone. Completely. No chaise. No loveseat. Nothing.

Just one very large bed and two towel swans that seem way too pleased with themselves.

Well.

Message received.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Luke huffs once, then seems to physically shake the irritation out of his shoulders like he’s brushing off sand. A second later, he flops back onto the bed like he owns the place.

“Okay,” he says, spreading out comfortably. “I’m not gonna lie. This is way nicer than the cabins.”

He’s already kicked off his shoes and peeled down to just his pajama pants. No shirt.

“I, uh,” he adds casually, stretching his arms behind his head, “forgot my pajama shirt.”

I glance toward the corner of the room, where his bag sits half open. A very visible shirt is peeking out.

I scoff. “Wow. You’re a terrible liar.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “And yet, here I am.”

I roll my eyes and climb under the covers on the opposite side of the bed, very much wearing my pajama top, thank you very much. I settle in, then pause.

“Oh. Lights.”

I start to sit up, but his hand catches my shoulder, gently tugging me back down.

“Watch this,” he says.

He claps his hands once.

The lights snap off instantly.

I blink into the darkness. “Okay. Yeah. That’s… way fancier than camp.”

Luke laughs softly beside me, the sound easy and warm,

With the lights off, we both twist and turn, the bed somehow too big and too small at the same time. The sheets are impossibly soft, the mattress cradling me in a way that makes no sense. This should be the most comfortable sleep of my life.

And yet.

I huff quietly and turn onto my side, staring into the dark.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Luke whispers.

I turn back toward him. He’s on his side too, facing me, close enough that I can make out the shape of his face in the faint glow from the city outside.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “It’s… a lot quieter than camp.”

He hums in agreement. “No creaking bunks. No snoring from the next bed over.”

“No little kids screaming at eachother,” I add.

That earns a soft laugh from him. It fades into something quieter after.

“I don’t hate this,” he admits, voice low. “The quiet, I mean.”

I hesitate, then say it anyway. “Me neither.”

There’s a pause. The kind that feels heavy, but not uncomfortable.

“I don’t really sleep much,” Luke says after a moment. “Usually.”

I don’t ask why. I just nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. I kind of figured.”

He shifts slightly, the bed dipping. “You make it easier. Sleeping, I mean.”

My chest tightens. “I do?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “You’re… grounding.”

I swallow, suddenly very aware of how close we are. “You don’t seem like the type who needs grounding.”

He lets out a quiet breath, almost a scoff. “You’d be surprised.”

We lie there like that, trading small truths. Nothing heavy enough to break us, just enough to matter. The kind of conversation that feels safe because it happens in the dark.

At some point, the space between us disappears. An arm drapes around my waist. I don’t remember deciding to move closer. I just know that suddenly his breathing evens out, warm and steady against me.

I fall asleep like that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I wake up to sunlight spilling across the room and the slow realization that I’m tangled up in Luke Castellan.

Curled into his chest. His arm secure around me like it belongs there.

I freeze.

Slowly, carefully, I keep my eyes closed.

A few seconds pass. Then he shifts.

I feel his breath hitch when he realizes where we are. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brushes his thumb lightly along my arm, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

Then, barely there, he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Don’t freak out,” he murmurs, so quiet it almost feels like a secret. “But I think you’re gonna get me in trouble.”

I stay perfectly still, heart racing, pretending I never heard a thing.

I wish we could stay like this forever, wrapped up in the quiet, the morning light just beginning to warm the room. But I can’t pretend to be asleep forever.

We have a whole day planned.

I let out a small breath and shift, just enough to give myself away. Luke’s arm tightens for half a second before he realizes I’m awake.

“Morning,” I mumble, opening my eyes.

He stiffens. “You—” He stops himself, then clears his throat. “Uh. Morning.”

I tilt my head, pretending nothing happened. “You sleep okay?”

He studies my face like he’s trying to figure out whether I heard him or not. When I don’t give him anything, he relaxes a fraction.

“Yeah,” he says. “Better than usual.”

We lie there for another beat, neither of us moving, like if we do it’ll break whatever this is.

Eventually, I sigh and roll onto my back. “If we don’t get up soon, Percy’s going to break down the door.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “True. And I don’t think the Ritz has monster-proof insurance.”

He finally releases me, stretching with a groan. “Still. For the record… I wouldn’t mind staying like this a little longer.”

I smile to myself as I sit up. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Me neither.”

And just like that, the day begins, but something about us feels different, steadier, as if we’ve crossed a line we’re not quite ready to name yet.

...

part three — iii. How to: Lose Your Dignity

Pt1, pt2, you’re here, pt4, pt5, pt6

luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite reader

3.2k Trying to get under Luke Castellan’s skin seemed simple enough—until it became a day of public humiliation and the most ridiculous counseling session ever.

tags. rom-comish, teasing, bets, light hearted, fluff (angst later??), fake dating

a/n. glad u guys are enjoying this is very self indulgment for me. again i dont write so squint while reading. planning on making this 5 ish parts idk thats what i have planned so far eek...

iii. How to: Lose Your Dignity

I really thought I was doing a good job so far. I cannot figure out what this guy’s deal is.

I have my diary open and I’m scribbling down ideas the girls are throwing my way.

“I’m surprised, really. I’ve seen Luke dump poor girls for less. I’m sure they’re just as confused as you are,” Clarisse says, munching on popcorn she’s sharing with my sister.

Tonight is girls’ night in the cabin, meaning all of our brothers are kicked out until later, leaving just us girls and the friends who were graciously invited. All of us in pink jammies and face masks.

Usually, we eat snacks and watch whatever movies someone smuggled in after leaving camp.

These days, however, have turned into me reading my diary to a group of about fifteen girls and getting feedback on how to make Luke Castellan’s life worse.

It’s honestly an awful idea to have so many people in on the bet. But when one of my sisters overheard me going over ideas with Kate, it was either keep her out of the juicy gossip and risk her telling Luke out of spite, or tell all my sisters plus a few extras and make them swear secrecy.

I’m going down the list and, honestly, I would’ve dumped my ass already.

Some of the younger campers can’t help but giggle when I start cursing.

Horrible pet names. Make him look weak in front of his friends. Make him look cheesy.

“What else do you have planned?”

“Okay,” I admit. “I have something really good planned, but I’m starting to feel a little guilty.”

A couple of girls egg me on.

“His sister Annabeth invited me to the Capture the Flag meeting tomorrow. The one they usually do with the counselors.”

“Wait, since when do you go to those?” Clarisse asks. Being Ares cabin, it’s a special interest of hers.

“Uh, I guess they figure Aphrodite cabin isn’t very interested. But Luke told her I might want to go, and I guess I’m not opposed. Besides, it’s a good chance to embarrass him in front of the other cabin counselors.”

“Why do you feel guilty, though?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t seem right about involving family. I know they aren’t related by blood, but—”

“Oh please,” Clarisse cuts me off. “That Annabeth girl is smart. I’d be surprised if she hasn’t caught on already. Why else would she give you that picture?”

The mention of the picture perks up the entire cabin, leading to a chorus of sugar- and soda-fueled girls begging to see it.

I really wish Clarisse hadn’t mentioned that. I wasn’t sure I was going to use the picture as ammo yet. She’s always had a grudge against him, and I’m sure this whole situation has made her downright giddy.

Reluctantly, I pull the photo of fourteen-year-old Luke out of my notebook and hand it to the girl next to me to pass around.

The only thing melting my guilt away is the question of why Annabeth would give this picture to me at all. If it were truly sentimental, it would be tucked away in a box under a bed somewhere, not handed to the girl her brother has been dating for four days.

The picture eventually makes its way to Kate, who practically spits out her soda.

She coughs violently from the carbonation before finally managing, “I think I have the greatest idea ever.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next morning, I make my way to the strategy meeting, subconsciously dragging my feet.

I really didn’t consider how much I’d be ruining my own reputation with this bet. I’m in too deep now, and frankly, I’m a horrible actress. Anyone with a brain bigger than Castellan’s probably already knows something’s up.

I fidget with the new heart-shaped locket resting on my chest as I join the others.

I might be a little evil, but I’m not evil enough to start pestering right away. I let them get through the important planning before stepping on Luke’s toes.

Doing this right before Capture the Flag might be mean, but I soothe my guilt with the thought that it’s payback for all the girls Luke has dumped. That helps.

The meeting drags on, and they start discussing the finer details of strategy. I make a point to offer decent input to offset the stereotype damage I’m doing to Aphrodite cabin. Mother, forgive me.

Luke is deep in discussion with an Athena kid when I decide it’s time to pounce.

I sit up from my chair and casually drape myself over his lap.

The public embarrassment is already killing me, but if I do this right, it could be the final blow to his ego.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Luke asks, forced to hold me awkwardly as I start playing with the curls on his head.

I ignore him. “You’re soooo cute when you’re focused, Lukey.”

I turn to the Athena camper, squishing my face next to Luke’s. “Don’t you think he’s sooo cute, Harry?”

Harry is fighting for his life not to laugh. His cheeks balloon as he nods. “Oh yeah, really—excuse me—yeah. Really cute. Lukey.”

He doesn’t even make it through the sentence before coughing. Fair. I would be doing the same if I weren’t the joke.

“Did you know Luke was such a cute kid?”

Luke’s brows knit together even tighter. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because, silly, I carry you everywhere I go now.”

I unclasp the locket and lean forward so Harry gets a perfect view of the picture of fourteen-year-old emo Luke glued inside.

You’d never imagine someone could be this evil on short notice. Kate photocopied the picture, borrowed one of my sister’s lockets, and glued it in with terrifying efficiency. I barely had time to protest.

Harry finally loses it, slamming his head onto the table in laughter. That gets everyone’s attention.

This is apparently the last straw. Luke’s face turns a violent red as he lifts me off his lap, grabs my wrist, and drags me outside before anyone can ask questions.

I put on an innocent act, asking what’s going on and dragging my feet, but when he shoots me a look that could kill, I shut up.

Once we’re far enough away, he still won’t look at me. He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing hard.

There’s a pit in my stomach. Luke only ever gets this mad about things he cares about. I learned that my first summer at Camp Half-Blood.

His dad. Anyone messing with his sister. His reputation.

I cross my arms, cutting myself off from the thought.

After a moment, he exhales and turns to me. “Where’d you get that?”

“Get what?”

“That picture. The damn picture around your neck. Where did you get it?”

“Lukey, I got it from your sister. I think it’s cute.”

“Give it to me.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Please.” The anger drains from his voice, but his eyes stay sharp. “Please. Just give it to me.”

I unclasp the locket and hand it over. He doesn’t even look at it before stuffing it into his khaki shorts pocket.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t think this is going to work anymore.”

Oh. My. Gods.

“What’s not going to work?”

“Us. I mean—jeez. You’re a nice girl, but this? This is too much.”

“So… we’re over?”

He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. I guess so.”

I let one perfectly placed tear slide down my cheek. “Okay…”

I turn and walk away. If I stay any longer, I won’t be able to hide the smile threatening to break across my face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You know what I didn’t know? That I’m terrible at this.

Nickname? Fine. Embarrass me in front of my friends? Fine.

I pull the locket from my pocket and open it.

Awful. Just awful.

I know I was basically homeless, but the fringe-and-beanie combo is enough to send a second wave of embarrassment up my neck. I’m chewing Annabeth out later.

The picture has to be at least five years old. I shake it off and head back inside.

Of course, everyone stares.

They’re doing a horrible job of hiding their laughs. Chris breaks first. “Dang, man. Where’s your girl, Lukey?”

I roll my eyes. Thank the gods that nickname is dead.

“It’s over.”

The mood drops, but honestly, I feel lighter. Who cares about the stupid bet? I’ll do my own chores. I’ll clean every bathroom in camp if it means avoiding that mess.

My brothers jump up immediately. One shoves another forward. “Go get him.”

They drag me outside, all talking at once, until Chris cuts in. “What do you mean it’s over? What happened?”

“Come on, man. You saw what she did. This girl is too much. You said it yourself.”

I expect Chris to back me up. Instead, he panics. “No, man. The bet. What about the bet?”

The others nod like those stupid desk birds that drink water.

“Who cares about the bet? This is my reputation. She made me look like a dork.”

“Yeah, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

He looks guilty. “Before I bet two hundred bucks you could do it.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t need this getting out. This was stupid from the start.”

“Relax. It won’t get out. You just need to get her back.”

“It’s over.”

“I’ll give you half the money.”

…Okay. Prom is coming up, and I could use some cash.

“How am I supposed to get her back? She’s going to say no.”

Four brains are supposedly better than one, but I’m convinced it takes at least five Hermes kids to screw in a light bulb.

They pace, muttering, pulling at their hair, until one snaps his fingers. “Couples counseling.”

They don’t even hear how ridiculous it sounds before all agreeing.

“Isn’t that for married people?”

“Who cares? Just do it. You’re about to make me clean toilets and lose two hundred dollars.”

Their energy is infectious. I hate that I’m catching their stupid.

They start bouncing, hyping me up like it’s a boxing match.

“Couples counseling! Okay! Okay! Couples counseling!”

She’s long gone, but I still shout her name as my brothers shove me toward Aphrodite cabin.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I have never chased a girl across camp before.

I want that on record.

I’ve chased monsters. I’ve chased people who stole from me. I’ve never chased another Hermes kid, because that would be hypocritical. This is worse. Monsters don’t look back at you like you personally ruined their afternoon.

I see her braid disappear between the columns of Aphrodite cabin and my stomach drops.

“Oh gods,” I mutter, then jog faster. “Hey! Hey, wait!”

She does not wait.

Of course she doesn’t.

I finally catch up and grab her wrist, gently, because I might be stupid but I’m not suicidal. She spins around instantly, eyes glossy, expression flat. 

“What,” she says. Just that. No emotion. No yelling. Somehow worse.

“I messed up,” I blurt, because apparently we’re skipping dignity today.

She blinks. Once.

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have ended it like that. I panicked.” I rub the back of my neck, already regretting everything. “You surprised me. And yeah, okay, you embarrassed me. But I overreacted.”

“You dragged me out of a meeting,” she says calmly. “Then dumped me.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

She stares at me like she’s deciding whether to push me into the flower bushes.

“It was bad.”

I inhale slowly. Apologize. Don’t defend yourself. Annabeth would kill me if she were here.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Actually sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

That at least gets me something. Her eyebrow lifts.

“You’re sorry.”

“Yes.”

“Like… really sorry?”

“Yes,” I say immediately. “Genuinely. Painfully. Spiritually.”

She almost smiles. Almost. Then she catches herself and crosses her arms.

“Haven’t you had enough?” she says, exasperatedly. It’s weird, really—like she has two personalities: one is the real her, and the other is what would happen if a temperamental cat suddenly wished to be human.

My chest tightens. Okay. New approach.

“What if we didn’t end it?”

She tilts her head. “Luke.”

“What if,” I rush on, “we worked on it?”

She squints at me. “Worked on what exactly?”

“Our relationship?”

There’s a long pause where she just looks at me like I’ve finally snapped.

“You dumped me less than an hour ago.”

“I know,” I say. “And that’s why I think we should do couples counseling.” I can hear how dumb I sound and it physically hurts.

The silence that follows is horrifying.

“Couples counseling,” she repeats.

“Yes.”

“With who?”

I open my mouth.

And then close it.

“…Details,” I say weakly. “We’ll figure those out later.”

She looks at me like I just suggested we consult the Oracle about our feelings.

“You think we need counseling…” she squints even harder.

“I think,” I say carefully, “that we have communication issues.”

She lets out a short laugh before stopping herself. I latch onto that.

“Look,” I say, softer now. “I like you. You’re intense. And embarrassing. And kind of terrifying.” I wince. “But I like you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s your argument?”

“I can do better,” I panic. “You’re smart. You’re funny. Everyone likes you. You make camp more interesting. And I shouldn’t have ended things without talking to you first.”

She taps her fingers against her arm like she’s thinking, but I can tell she’s enjoying this way too much.

“And what exactly would couples counseling accomplish?” she asks sweetly.

“We’d talk things out,” I say. “Set boundaries. Learn each other’s limits.”

Her smile gets dangerous.

“Like your limit for public affection?”

I grimace. “That one’s negotiable.”

“And if I say no?”

My shoulders drop. “Then I’ll respect it.”

That seems to surprise her.

She sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

I blink. “Fine?”

“I know an Apollo kid that could work wonders with you, Castellan,” she says.

“Thank you, baby, you treat me so well,” I say quickly.

“I love you, Lukey,” she sighs whistfully, “...but I don't have to like you right now”.

She walks past me toward her cabin like she didn’t just shave ten years off my life.

I stand there, stunned, until I realize I’m smiling.

Behind me, one of my brothers lets out a quiet cheer. I ignore him.

Because agreeing to couples counseling might be the worst decision I’ve ever made.

And that is saying something.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If there is one thing I did not expect to happen today, it was fake couples counseling in the Apollo cabin infirmary.

Yet here we are.

I’m sitting on one of the cots with the stupid crinkly paper, Luke is across from me, and Kate is standing between us, wearing glasses she has never worn a day in her life.

They’re thick. Unnecessarily thick. She keeps pushing them up her nose like she’s about to diagnose him with something incurable.

“Okay,” Kate says, clearing her throat. “As a neutral third party—”

I snort.

She shoots me a look and continues, “—this session will be conducted with honesty, vulnerability, and emotional openness.”

Luke blinks. “Isn’t this the Apollo infirmary?”

“Yes,” Kate says smoothly. “Emotional wounds count.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Kate flips open a notebook. It is upside down.

“That’ll be twenty dollars.”

Luke squints. “What?”

“For my services.”

“For… talking?”

“For healing,” she says, offended. “Do you know how rare emotional healers are?”

Luke hesitates, then sighs like a man watching his dignity leave his body. He pulls out a twenty and hands it to her.

Kate pockets it so fast I barely see it happen.

She sits on a rolling stool backwards, like she learned therapy from a movie. “Luke. Why do you struggle with commitment?”

Luke opens his mouth. Closes it. “I don’t—”

Kate holds up a finger. “I wasn’t done.”

I press my lips together.

“Luke,” she continues, peering over her glasses, “have you ever considered that the reason you can’t commit to women is because you are, in fact, gay?”

The silence is deafening.

I choke.

Luke nearly falls off the chair. “What?”

“I’m just asking questions,” Kate says calmly. “You have a long history of sabotaging relationships. You deflect intimacy. You panic when things get real. Very common.”

“I am not—”

“And,” she adds, “you are very defensive right now.”

Luke looks at me like he’s drowning. “You don’t think—”

“Oh,” I say sweetly, cutting him off. “No, please. Continue. This is fascinating.”

Kate nods at me approvingly.

Luke drags a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous.”

“Defensiveness,” Kate mutters, scribbling something. “Classic.”

I lean forward. “Actually, since we’re being honest, I have something to say.”

Kate gestures like a game show host. “The floor is yours.”

“You were flirting with the counselor,” I say.

Luke’s head snaps up. “I was not.”

“You absolutely were,” I insist. “You paid her. You made eye contact. You laughed at her jokes.”

“I did not laugh!”

Kate pushes her glasses up. “You smiled.”

“This is crazy,” Luke argues.” First, I can't commit because I'm gay, and now I'm flirting with the lady counselor?” He throws his hands up in the air in defeat.

“Suspicious,” Kate says.

Luke looks between us. “You’re both insane.”

“And yet,” I continue, warming up now, “you freaked out the second I talked to your sister.”

His jaw tightens.

“That’s not why—”

“You dragged me out of a room and dumped me,” I say. “Over a picture. Which makes it seem like you don’t want me anywhere near your real life.”

Kate gasps softly. “Fear of emotional integration.”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what that was.”

“Then what was it?” I ask. “I know what it is… youve closed me off!”

Luke straightens suddenly. “Baby! I am not closed off! Look Im so open, let's all go on a trip.”

Kate freezes.

I freeze.

“All?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” he says, gaining confidence. “You. Me. Annabeth. I'll even let her invite a friend.”

Kate looks directly at me.

I immediately shoot her a look that says absolutely not. Desperate.

She smiles.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Kate says.

My soul leaves my body.

“We could do a day trip,” Luke continues, encouraged. “New York. We can all be one happy family. All out in the open just for you, how does that sound?”

Kate nods enthusiastically. “Exposure therapy.”

I stare at her.

She avoids my eyes.

“So,” Luke says, hopeful. “What do you think?”

I think I am being betrayed in real time.

My anxiety is officially through the roof. One more blood-pressure–spiking thing, and I might actually end up in a cot for something real.

Backing out isn’t an option. I’m already regretting saying yes to couples “therapy”—just another ridiculous idea only a guy like Luke could come up with.

I smile anyway. “Sure. Sounds great.”

Luke relaxes, completely unaware of my soul quietly leaving my body. Whatever. I’m on day six of this ridiculous bet. Four more days, and Luke Castellan will be old news.

...

Lmao thank for letting me know! Tbh I write these in one sitting at 2am so I’m not surprised 😭 this is my first time writing at all so bare with my writing virginity

part two — ii. How to: Piss him off

pt1, you’re here, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6

luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite reader

3.1k I set out to embarrass Luke Castellan, testing his patience, his pride, and maybe even his heart.

tags. rom-comish, teasing, bets, light hearted, fluff (angst later??), etc etc..

a/n. ugh writing this part is hard i have so many better ideas for later chapters. so stay interested or im gonna lose steam. i think ive improved reader's personality im always scared of making it sound pick me girlish.. anyway plz like also starting a tag list ig

ii. How to: Piss him off

The alcohol from last night means that the second I hit my bed, I’m out cold.

One of the perks of Cabin Ten is the lack of siblings. Which means a bed to myself. Silky sheets. The faint smell of rose perfume. Quiet mornings.

Thunk.

…What the hell?

Thunk.

I peel my eye mask off and squint against the sunlight bleeding through my window. A hangover headache pulses behind my eyes like a warning bell.

Thunk.

Oh my gods.

Small pebbles bounce off the glass, and somewhere in the cabin, one of my siblings lets out a sleepy groan.

I fling the window open, already annoyed, and immediately regret it when a pebble smacks me square in the eye.

“OW!”

I’m officially furious.

I grab the offending rock from my floral sheets and hurl it back down blindly, eyes still squeezed shut. “GEEZ!”

I rub at my eye, then lean out the window to find my target.

Below me stands a very familiar mop of curly brown hair.

Luke Castellan is rubbing his forehead and glaring up at me like I personally declared war. I freeze, scanning the cabin behind me to make sure none of my siblings have woken up from the noise.

All clear.

When I look back down, Luke’s irritation has melted into a stupid, lopsided grin. His eyes flick to my bedhead. Then to my cartoon eye mask.

I groan and slam the window shut.

Two minutes later, I’m slipping into my pink fluffy robe and slippers, tiptoeing out the door and closing it softly behind me.

The sun is just creeping over the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange. Luke is already on the porch, fist raised, about to knock when I open the door.

We stare at each other.

“Luke,” I mutter, “what the hell are you doing here? What time is it even?”

He smirks. “Sorry, princess. Did I disturb your beauty sleep?”

“Uh. Yeah. You did.”

“It’s six o’clock,” he says. “You said you’d meet me for training today.”

“I didn’t think that meant the crack of dawn,” I snap, rubbing my temples.

He shrugs. “I can let you sleep in if you want.”

I sigh. “No. I’m already up. There’s no going back now.”

I blink at him through my hangover haze. “Wait here. Let me get ready.”

I shut the door before he can say anything else, leaning my forehead against it for a second.

Honestly, with how early it is and how terrible I feel, I almost just throw my hair up, slip on my Converse, and call it a day.

Then I remember.

How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days: Step One — take forever to get ready.

I smile to myself and turn toward my closet.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When she finally steps back outside, I stop mid-stretch.

Her hair is styled like she actually planned on being seen, lip gloss catching the early morning light. And she’s wearing her camp t-shirt with the collar cut so low it’s basically useless for sparring.

I look her over once.

Then again, because maybe I imagined it the first time.

“…You know this is sparring, right?” I say slowly.

She blinks at me, all innocence. “Yeah?”

I gesture at her, vague but pointed. “You’re wearing jewellery.”

She glances down at the thin necklace resting against her collarbone. “Oh. This old thing?”

My jaw tightens. “You also took forever.”

She squints like I personally offended her. “I took like what, five minutes?”

“Thirty.”

“Wow,” she says flatly. “Guess the day’s ruined.”

I stare at her for a long second, weighing my options. Arguing would be pointless. She looks way too pleased with herself already.

I exhale through my nose and jerk my head toward the training ring.

“Get over here,” I mutter, already suspecting this morning is not going to go the way I planned.

She playfully skips down the steps of the porch.

Yup, way too pleased with herself. Hopefully, some sparring will wipe that little knowing smirk off her face.

I put my arm around her shoulders and playfully drag her along.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I grab a spare set of training armour and gesture for her to sit on one of the benches lining the arena.

She looks at the gear, then at me. “You know I can put this on myself, right?”

“I know,” I say easily. “Humour me.”

How to make a girl fall in love, I think.

 Step one: proximity.

I start with the shoulder guards, kneeling in front of her to secure the straps. My fingers brush her arm by accident, and I don’t rush to pull away. She stiffens just a little.

Interesting.

I move on to the chestplate next, motioning for her to stand. When she turns around, I gently sweep her hair off her neck so it won’t get caught in the laces. She goes still.

I tighten the straps carefully. 

When she sits back down, I crouch to fasten the knee guards. I can feel her watching me now, then very deliberately not watching me. A faint flush creeps up her cheeks.

She clears her throat. “I can do this part myself.”

I shake my head and smile, keeping my tone light. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

She hesitates, then nods, looking off toward the arena instead.

Yeah, I think. That’s working.

Luke Castellan, you still got it.

Once I’m done, I toss her a spare hair tie. “You’ll want that out of the way.”

She takes it, shooting me a look I can’t quite read before tying her hair back. While she does, I strap on my own armour and grab two sparring swords from the rack.

I hand her one and step back, settling into my stance.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

We square off, and I roll my shoulders, loosening up. Habit. I take my stance without thinking about it, relaxed and ready. I know how this looks. People always tell me I make it look easy.

She watches me like she’s clocking every move.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She moves first.

Not flashy. Not reckless either.

Her blade comes in clean and controlled. I block on instinct, expecting her to overextend. She doesn’t. We fall into a rhythm almost immediately, and my brows knit before I can stop them.

Huh.

She nearly tags my side, close enough that I feel the air shift. I adjust at the last second.

“You’ve been keeping up with Clarisse,” I say, more statement than question.

She shoots me a look. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“No,” I say, genuinely. “It explains a lot.”

We clash again, and this time she pushes harder. Forces me to move my feet instead of letting me rely on reach and balance. That pulls a grin out of me before I can stop it.

“You’re trying to show off,” I say.

“Maybe,” she says easily. “Or maybe I just don’t like being underestimated.”

That lands closer than I expect.

My grin fades as I circle her, watching how she shifts her weight, how she’s already adjusting to my patterns.

“You know,” I say slowly, “people don’t expect much from Aphrodite kids.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I didn’t say I agreed.”

She pauses. Just half a second. Long enough.

I knock her blade aside.

“Careful,” I add lightly. “That’s how you get hit.”

She resets, but something’s changed. Not worse. Sharper.

We go again. Harder. Longer. By the time we finally break apart, she’s breathing heavy, hair falling loose around her face. I should feel smug.

Instead, I feel… impressed.

And a little annoyed about it.

I rest my sword on my shoulder and study her. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

I hesitate, then say it anyway. “You’re good. And you didn’t get ready like this by accident.”

She tilts her head. “Like what?”

“Late. Dressed up. Pushing my buttons.”

She smiles sweetly, and I don’t buy it for a second. “You think I’m doing that?”

“Yes,” I say immediately. Then, after a beat, “And I think you want me to notice.”

The space between us tightens. Charged.

She steps closer. Too close for sparring. “Well,” she says, “did it work?”

I open my mouth. Close it again. Look away first, dragging a hand through my hair.

“Yeah,” I admit. “Unfortunately.”

When I meet her eyes again, something settles in my chest. Determination. Familiar ground.

“But just so you know,” I add, I can tell she's bracing for something I can't quite place

“You're never going to be a better sword fighter than I am”.

She hums, unimpressed. “Guess we’ll see.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

We go at it like that for a while, trading blows and commentary, until the arena starts to fill. Camp always wakes up in waves. One minute it’s quiet, the next there’s the sound of armour clanking and kids dragging benches into place.

Most people know I usually help run morning training. Me and Chris. So without a word, she settles onto one of the benches at the edge of the ring, stealing a swig from my water bottle and shaking her hair loose from its ponytail like she owns the place.

I turn my attention to one of the younger campers, squaring off with him to work on his form.

“Almost,” I tell him, knocking his blade aside. “One more time. Tighter stance.”

Sparring at camp isn’t about staying clean. If you don’t walk away with at least a bruise, you’re doing something wrong. It’s part of the deal. Part of the fun.

So when I take a glancing hit to the arm, I barely register it.

I definitely don’t react.

Before I can reset, she drops my water bottle.

Actually drops it.

“Luke!” she yells, already sprinting toward me.

I don’t even have time to respond before she’s in my space, hands on my arm, turning it over like I’ve just been mortally wounded.

“I’m fine,” I start.

“Oh my gods, you’re bleeding,” she says, horrified.

I look down. It’s a scratch. A tiny one.

“I told you not to overdo it,” she continues, loud enough that half the arena is now watching. “You promised you’d be careful.”

I did not promise that.

“I’m really okay,” I say, trying to step back.

She ignores me completely.

“Does anyone have ambrosia?” she calls out. “Or nectar? He’s hurt.”

I can feel heat crawling up my neck.

“I do not need ambrosia,” I mutter.

She cups my face like she’s checking for a fever.

Someone snorts. Someone else laughs.

“This is humiliating,” I say under my breath.

She leans in, voice sweet. “What? I’m just worried about you.”

Her eyes sparkle.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

I gently pry her hands off me and clear my throat, trying to recover some dignity. “Training’s over.”

The moment I step back, I hear Chris lose it.

“BRO,” he wheezes. “Do you need us to kiss it better too?”

I shoot him a look that promises violence.

She just smiles.

And that’s when I realise something terrible.

She’s going to drive me insane.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the day passed without incident, thank the gods. She seemed preoccupied with her own cabin duties. 

The next morning came way too early, as usual, with the sun barely brushing the treetops. I had just started getting used to the quiet after yesterday’s… outburst, when I realised it wasn’t going to last.

I grab my tray and slide into the usual spot at the pavilion next to Chris. I scan the tables… she’s not there. interesting.

And sure enough, five minutes later, she strolls in, hair loose, eyes sparkling. She plops down opposite me, casually munching on some fruit.

“You guys heard about Luke this morning?” she asks, voice loud enough to get a few nearby campers’ attention.

Chris freezes mid-bite. I tense, instantly regretting the morning’s events.

“Oh, nothing much,” she says, tilting her head innocently. “Just that Luke serenaded me at sunrise… and threw pebbles at my window. Very romantic. Totally the stuff you read about.”

I choke on my cereal. Chris starts laughing outright.

“What?” I sputter. “That’s… not even—”

“Don’t lie,” she interrupts, hands dramatically pressed to her chest. “I mean, really. The soft little rocks tapping on my window? The sunrise? Truly… swoon-worthy.”

I groan, rubbing my forehead, but I catch the glint in her eye. She’s loving this.

I glance around, trying to gauge how many people are watching. A few of my brothers are snickering. Chris is losing it.

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up. “ In my opinion, though you got lucky”.

Her jaw drops. “Wait… what?”

“Yep,” I shrug, leaning back. “I was talking about having some of the Apollo kids come with me to be a last-minute mariachi band. But… Chris talked me out of it. Said that it would scare you off”.

She blinks at me, clearly delighted, and I can’t help but grin. “Swooning yet?” I tease.

“Oh, Luke,” she sighs dramatically, waving a hand like she’s swooning on cue, “your gestures know no bounds. Truly, your heart is a delicate instrument.”

I shake my head, laughing despite myself. She’s impossible.

Chris mutters, barely holding back his laughter: “Dude, no way”

“I’m Luke Castellan,” I reply, voice casual but prideful. “If I’m going to get blamed for being romantic, I might as well take ownership of it.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Luke turns his head, I take it as my cue to finally let out the eye roll I’ve been holding in. Hasn’t this guy had enough already?

I huff, about to give up, but then a good idea hits me. One more move to seal the deal. I hop out of my seat and practically skip to the other side of the table.

I press a big, exaggerated kiss to his cheek and blow a dramatic mwahhh. “Bye, Lukey! I’ll see you later.”

I catch a flicker of heat in his cheeks and a few stifled laughs from the rest of the Hermes table.

I start to turn away, only to feel his calloused hand grab my wrist and pull me back. He tsks, tapping his cheek in mock demand for another one. Really? You’d think this guy had endured enough.

I can’t hold the eye roll back this time. I bend down and lean in to plant another kiss on his cheek.

And then he turns his head at the last second.

Our lips meet.

We’re kissing. I’m kissing Luke Castellan. In front of half the camp.

It’s gentle, sweet… and, I almost hate to admit it, I kind of enjoy it until the table erupts in loud hoots and hollers.

I slam a hand over my mouth, and now it's my turn for my face to turn a bright shade of red. I mutter something along the lines of a bye and bolt back to my cabin’s table.

I flop into my seat and bury my head in my arms with a dramatic thud.

Kate leans over, using her inside voice. “I was going to say good work for yesterday, but… looks like he outdid you this time.”

I huff, ignoring her.

I lift my head just enough to peek at the Hermes lunch table. His siblings have returned to their usual chaos, but Luke is there, catching my eye. He gives a teasing little wave.

I smack my head back down on the table.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After Luke's little stunt the other day, I knew I had to up my game. Embarrassing him had been fun, but it was not enough. This time, I wanted him to get mad, or at least noticeably irritated.

How to lose a guy in 10 days: Step 2— get into his personal life

I had seen Annabeth around camp enough to vaguely know her—she was always quiet, sharp-eyed, and impossibly focused, the kind of girl who gave off “don’t mess with me”. We’d exchanged a few nods in the pavilion, maybe a quick “hey” when passing each other on the trail, but that was about it.

This morning, though, she was sitting alone on the edge of the dock, writing something in her notebook. I had a few minutes before training, so I decided to take the chance.

“Hey,” I said, settling down on the dock a few feet from her. “Mind if I join you?”

She glanced up, raised an eyebrow, and then, to my surprise, smiled. “Sure. I could use a break.”

I smiled back, feeling like I’d passed some invisible test. We started talking about small stuff first, what cabins people were in, the weird quirks of camp meals, and how training had gone. But as the minutes stretched on, the conversation slowly drifted toward Luke. Not in a mean way, it just started with casual observations.

“I’ve noticed something,” Annabeth said, lowering her voice a little. “He… acts one way around everyone, but you can tell there’s more under the surface if you watch closely.”

I grinned, leaning back on my hands, the wood of the dock digging into my hands. “Yeah? I might have noticed that too.”

By the time training was about to start, we’d shared enough laughs and little insights that I felt like I actually knew her a bit. Enough, in fact, that when she later pulled an old photo from between the folds of her notebook, I didn’t even hesitate to lean in and inspect it with a very shit-eating grin on my face.

There he was, Luke, about four years younger, smack in the middle of an awkward phase. His jacket was oversized, making him look even smaller, his curly hair swept to one side like a makeshift emo bang, and his beanie pushed low over his eyes. The whole thing was both endearing and absolutely hilarious.

We practically laughed until we cried.

Annabeth continued talking, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the photo. The look in his eyes was… sad. Something made me wonder what he was going through. For a second, I felt a twinge of guilt laughing at it, but if even his sister could chuckle at this, surely it was fair game.

Maybe if things were different, I would ask him what his childhood was like, how he ended up at Camp Half-Blood with his little sister, who he was at fourteen. I shake the thoughts out of my head before they go any further.

What was more important was the dirt I had on him now.

Meaning: I had ammunition for later. And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

...

part one— i. How to: Make a Bet

pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6

luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite reader

3.9k Ten days. One bet. Me and Luke Castellan. What could possibly go wrong?

tags. rom-comish, teasing, bets, light hearted, fluff (angst later??), etc etc..

a/n. i havent like ever written anything before (first and last fic lmao) no canon or accurate characterization vibes only... dont make fun of my writing promise i will work more on reader's personality

i. How to: Make a Bet

Summer at camp was always the best. Besides the humid air turning my usually nicely styled hair into a frizzy mess, it meant all the kids who weren’t year-rounders were back and Camp Half-Blood felt alive again.

I’d spaced out from my friends’ conversation a long time ago, stretched out on my towel with my book open and my back to the sun. I didn’t start listening again until I rolled over, realizing my shoulders were about five minutes away from becoming bacon.

“Ugh, look at her,” someone scoffed. “Of course she’s not listening. Of all people.”

“Okay, okay — I’m listening,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows and flipping my sunglasses up to get a better look at Kate’s face.

Her eyes were glassy, mascara threatening to smudge, and there was a dramatic pout on her lips.

Third ghosting of the season.

“Let me guess,” I said carefully. “He stopped replying?”

Kate let out a humorless laugh. “Stopped replying. Stopped existing. Probably got turned into a pine tree or something.”

“That sucks,” I said honestly. “What happened this time?”

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. “Everything was fine. We went to the campfire. He held my hand. He said he’d see me tomorrow.”

She looked at me pointedly.

“And then?”

“And then tomorrow came,” she said flatly, “and now he has to spend all day training, or he suddenly has plans with his friends, or he fell into the lava wall — I don’t know. All I know is he hasn’t spoken to me in four days.”

I frowned. “Kate, that’s not on you.”

She snorted. “Easy for you to say.”

I stiffened just a little.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She gestured vaguely at me. “You’re an Aphrodite kid. Guys trip over themselves just to talk to you. You could sneeze and someone would ask you out.”

“That’s not-”

“You don’t get it,” she said quickly, then sighed. “I know you’re trying to help. I just… you don’t have the same problems I do.”

There was a beat of silence. Then I smiled, slow and dangerous.

“You really think I couldn’t get a guy to walk away?”

Kate blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” I said, sitting up fully now. “You think I’m not capable of being dumped?”

She studied me, skeptical. “I think you’ve never been dumped. Ever.”

Someone else chimed in, laughing. “I’d give it, like, three days before a guy was begging her to stay.”

I tilted my head. “Ten.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Ten what?”

“Ten days,” I said. “I bet I could make a guy break up with me in ten days.”

The stereotypes about Aphrodite kids were exhausting, that everything came easy, that we never got hurt, that love just worked for us. Part of me wanted to prove Kate wrong, to show her that being wanted was not the same as being understood.

Kate stared at you for a long moment, then let out a short laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” you said. “Ten days. I could make someone break up with me.”

One of the girls snorted. “You? Dumped? I’d pay to see that.”

Kate tilted her head, studying you. “Okay. Hypothetically. Who?”

You shrugged. “Anyone.”

“I’ll do all the mistakes girls make when they’re talking to a guy,” I said. “I’ll be clingy. Obsessive. If he doesn’t compliment me every five minutes, I’ll pout. It doesn’t matter what cabin you come from, any guy would pack his bags.”

Kate frowned. “Wait,” she said. “What’s wrong with doing that?”

I squint my eyes at her.

She laughes quickly. “I’m joking. Obviously.”

“I’ll write down all of the annoying things I do in my diary and then we can debrief at the end. Perfect excuse for sleepover”.

I rubbed one of Kate’s shoulders and leaned the side of my head against hers. I really did feel bad. If nothing else, this could get her mind off that guy, even for one night, and maybe remind her she wasn’t as unlovable as she felt.

“Hey,” I said gently. “There’s a bonfire tonight.”

She hummed, unconvinced.

“Come with me,” I added. “We’ll sit by the fire, drink cheap beer, and judge everyone’s flirting from a safe distance.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “And what about your little experiment?”

I smiled, already knowing the answer. “That’s where you come in. You help me pick.”

She leaned closer, eyes scanning the lake as if the decision had already been made. “Fine,” she said. “But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Luke’s orange camp T-shirt had been thrown aside long ago. The heat clung to his skin, sweat turning the fabric he’d worn earlier into a damp second layer he hadn’t bothered saving. Training had dissolved into laziness, his friends sprawled across the auditorium steps with half-empty water bottles, talking about absolutely nothing.

That was when he caught his name.

“Luke isn’t the type of guy to keep a girl around,” someone said. “You know that, man.”

Luke’s ears perked instantly.

He straightened, lips tugging into a lazy smirk as he shoved his training sword back into its sheath. “Is that shit-talking I hear?” he asked, strolling over and snatching the water bottle one of them offered him.

One of the Hermes kids laughed. “It’s not shit-talking if it’s true.”

Luke took a long drink, eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“C’mon,” another added. “Girls like you because you’re Luke Castellan. They flirt, they crush, they move on. You don’t exactly do… commitment.”

Luke scoffed. “That’s not my fault.”

“No,” his friend said, grinning. “But it is predictable.”

Luke lowered the bottle. “Predictable how?”

“None of them actually fall for you,” someone said. “They want you. Big difference.”

That hit harder than he expected.

“Ten days,” Luke said casually. “I could.”

The group went quiet.

“Ten days?” someone echoed. “Fall in love? Not just flirt?”

Luke shrugged, confidence settling easily into his bones. “Yeah.”

A few of them exchanged looks.

“If you pull it off, i’ll do your chores for the week”.

Luke’s interest sharpened immediately.

“And if I don’t?” Luke tilted his head. “Then what?”

“You admit,” his friend said, “that you’re all charm and no follow-through Mr.Golden Boy ”

A chorus of amused murmurs followed.

Luke smirked, pride flaring hot in his chest. “You’re on.”

Someone laughed. “So who’s the unlucky girl?”

Luke took another drink, gaze drifting toward the dummy made out of straw he left mangled in the dirt.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just needs to be someone who thinks she’s untouchable.”

Luke told himself it was all about pride. About proving his friends wrong. That was the story he would tell anyone who asked. But beneath that there was something else, one he did not like to admit even to himself. He had spent years being the camp’s golden boy, the one everyone admired, the one everyone assumed could do no wrong. Girls liked him for his charm, for the thrill of being near someone dangerous, someone exciting, but none of them ever stayed. He could only keep his mask on for so long, and it was easier to let everyone chalk it up to him being a playboy or too busy being the best swordsman than to risk showing who he really was.

He was scared that if anyone actually got close, they would see the part of him he hid, the part that was vulnerable, and they might not love it. That truth had hollowed something out of him without him realizing it.

Even as he said the words and grinned at his friends, a small, uneasy part of him couldn’t help wondering how this would actually play out. Something told him this one might not be as easy as the others.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The usual nightly campfire had long since died out, which meant the older campers quietly dispersed and then reappeared by the lake with a smaller fire, cheap beer, and shooters that were clearly going to make at least one girl run and puke over the dock later. The glow of the flames reflected off the water and laughter drifted across the sand. It was loud, messy, and exactly the kind of distraction Kate needed.

I nudge her with my shoulder on the log that we are both sharing as a seat. “Alright,” I said, smirking. “So… who’s on the menu tonight?”

Kate squinted at the crowd, scanning the campers like she had a spreadsheet in her head. “Let’s see… maybe Noah from Ares?”

I wrinkled my nose. “No. Too blah. Can’t really imagine him doing anything impressive besides lifting his sword and yelling.”

She shook her head, lips curling. “True. What about Carter from Apollo? He’s cute, but… way too cocky.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s not helpful. This is supposed to be a challenge, remember?”

Kate’s eyes drifted toward the other side of the fire. Then she froze and grinned. “Luke Castellan.”

I froze too, my stomach doing that ridiculous little flip it always did when I tried not to notice him. “Wait,” I said quickly. “No. Absolutely not. He’s… he’s way out of my league.”

Kate gave me a sideways look. “You’re an Aphrodite girl. That should be enough to make him notice you.”

I waved her off, trying to sound casual. “Sure, but everyone knows Luke. He’s… well, he’s the golden boy of camp. Tough to reel in, too many girls already after him, and honestly? I don’t want him.”

Kate laughed. “Oh, come on. A challenge is a challenge. And a bet’s a bet.”

I bit my lip, looking across the fire where Luke was talking to a group of friends, laughing, and somehow making it look effortless. My heart ticked in my chest, and I had to shake my head. Don’t like him. Don’t like him. He’s too… I exhaled. Big of a fish. Too many other girls. You’re making it harder on yourself for no reason.

But part of me couldn’t deny the pull. Even as an Aphrodite kid, everyone knew Luke was a large fish to fry. And here I was, about to cast the line.

Kate nudged me. “Well?”

I glanced at the crowd again, scanning all the possibilities, all the ‘safer’ choices, and then my eyes landed on him. I tried to control the blush on my cheeks as his scar contorted around his full smile.

“Fine,” I said, pretending to sigh. “Luke it is. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kate clapped her hands together. “Perfect. This is going to be fun. And remember, a bet’s a bet.”

I gave her a half-grin, half-eye-roll, my mind already racing. I throw my head back and throw back the bitter mixed drink that Kate had concocted that was more vodka than cranberry. When im finished shaking off the burning feeling the drink leaves sliding down my throat. Luke is already looking at me.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Luke sat on a log leaning over his half finished beer, half-listening to his friends argue over which cabin had the worst chance of winning the next sparring match. It was supposed to be a slow night, but the combination of the strong liquor and fire only inches away warmed his blood. He already felt the familiar buzz in his head.

“Alright, so let’s pick your target,” one of his Hermes brothers said, nudging him with a smirk. “Who’s the lucky girl for our little ten-day bet?”

Luke raised an eyebrow, leaning back casually. “I haven’t picked anyone yet. Calm down.”

“Easy,” another said. “If you pick a girl from Aphrodite cabin, you’re set. She’ll probably swoon over you just by looking at her.”

Luke scowled slightly, flicking the neck of his beer. “They arent all like that”. 

His friend laughed. “Sure, sure. But c’mon, man, they’re kind of… predictable.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been glancing toward the other side of the fire until his friends nudged him. That’s when he saw her — sat causally with her friends, laughing, round eyes scanning the small group. And then their eyes met. His chest tightened a little.

“Whoa,” one friend whispered. “Dude… look at her.”

Luke turned, frowning slightly, quickly averting his eyes.

“You were definitely checking her out,” another said, grinning. “That’s your bet girl?”

Luke laughed softly, a little defensive. “Hey, stop. Don’t assume that. I barely know her. And I wasn’t-”

…Confident, sweet, sharp she wasn’t like anyone else he’d noticed. He remembered hearing somewhere that people tend to forget Aphrodite isn’t just the goddess of love, but also war. That explained the way she moved, the way she carried herself. She wasn’t half bad at sword fighting either; he'd caught a glimpse of that first hand last week, and it had stuck with him. And then their eyes met. His chest tightened a little.

His friends exchanged glances, Luke wasnt the type to hesitate.

“Ohhh, I see,” one said slyly, leaning closer. “You’re already defending her. That’s our girl then. She’s the bet.”

Luke scowled, trying to hide it. “I’m not defending her. I’m just saying she’s… not what you’re making her out to be.”

“Uh-huh,” another teased, smirking. “Sure. Totally not defending her. Let’s go with her and see how this plays out.”

Luke sighed, running a hand through his curly hair, a little flustered. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “She’s it. But don’t start thinking you know anything about her.”

His friends high-fived each other, laughing and slapping him on the shoulder. Luke’s eyes drifted back to her across the fire, the flickering light catching in her hair, the tiniest mischievous curve of her smile, and for the first time in a long time, he realized maybe this bet wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Kate had been trying to convince me to get up and talk to him for ten minutes, but it felt like the sand under my feet had turned into tar. Sure, I was all bark and no bite or whatever you wanted to call it. I was at level two drunk and needed to be at least a solid level five just to think about stepping over there and making some ridiculous attempt at flirting with Luke Castellan in front of a group of teenage boys. Ugh. Yeah. No thanks.

I forced my eyes up toward where he’d been sitting. My chest sank when I realized the spot was empty. My heart eased slightly. Maybe I wouldn’t have to go through with this stupid bet after all. I could just grab Kate by the arm, distract her, and forget the whole thing ever existed.

“Mind if I steal her off you for a second?”

Kate snickered beside me, nudging my shoulder. “By all means, be my guest.”

My eyes felt like lead as I dragged them up to meet his — Luke Castellan, leaning casually with his hand half tucked into the pocket of his denim jeans. If he raised his arm just the right way you could make out the band of his calvin klein underwear.

“You look thirsty. Mind if I help you out?” he said, extending a hand, he tilts his head when I donr immediately respond.

I freeze for a second, my brain refuses to respond. That’s when Kate jumps in, blurting, “Oh, she’s beyonddd thirsty.” Her tone snapped me out of my daze and reminds me: if I was going to go through with this bet, it had to be now. Which also meant I was going to have to kick in the charm.

I rolled my eyes at Kate, then took his hand, trying to look casual while i screamed at myself to not screw this up. “Thanks. I guess I could use a drink… or, you know, moral support,” I said with a shrug, giving him the tiniest smirk I could manage.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Moral support, huh? I think I can manage that.”

As we walked away from the fire, I tried to ignore the way the butterflies in my stomach woke up from their 1000 year slumber. Focus. But already, the sound of his laugh behind me pulled me out of my thoughts.

I looked over my shoulder. “What?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nothing. Nothing.”

We made our way to the fold-out table that hosted only the most exotic selection of alcohol a teen with a fake ID could afford: vodka, cranberry juice, beer, and Red Bull.

Luke grabbed two plastic shot glasses, pouring them to the top with vodka. He tossed one back with ease before handing the second to me. “Here. You look nervous.”

I took the shot from his hand. The smell alone made me regret it, but I took a deep breath and threw it back anyway. He laughed, smooth as honey, before cracking open the Red Bull and handing it to me as my chaser.

“Look at you, girl. Look at you like a champ.”

I squint my eyes at his obvious flirting and clear my thoat.

I squinted at his obvious flirting and cleared my throat. “Yeah… unfortunately I’m the type that needs liquid courage.” I offered an easy smile. The alcohol was kicking in, and I was starting to feel a little bolder.

He took a swig of his own can before lazily guiding me toward the lake shore. I grimaced at the sound of the aforementioned girl on the dock yacking her guts out.

“You didn’t seem like the type, if I’m honest,” he said, taking a seat on the sand and leaving the space next to him open. I plopped down right beside him, making sure our knees touched.

You know what? Luke wasn’t a bad pick. If I had to spend ten days making a guy miserable, at least make it one with cute hair and a good smile, am I right?

“So,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “what’s your name, really? I don’t think we’ve actually… talked.”

I say my name shrugging. “And you are… the infamous Luke Castellan, I presume?”

He laughed. “Infamous is one word for it. Golden boy of camp is what people usually call me.” He gave me a playful glance. “So, tell me something about yourself. Something interesting.”

I smirked. “Hmm… I’m not half bad at sword fighting.” I gestured vaguely with my hands. “And people tend to forget Aphrodite’s not just all about looks, apparently.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? I think I saw you sparring the other day. Not bad at all. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“My friend Clarisse taught me a few things,” I said casually, shrugging. “But honestly, I just pick up on it fast.”

Luke grinned, nudging me lightly with his shoulder. “You’re good. But… not half as good as me.” He winked. “Come on, let me give you some pointers tomorrow. Might be fun.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Oh, I’m sure I could keep up… maybe.”

“Maybe?” he said, smirking. “We’ll see. Don’t make me go easy on you.”

And just like that, what started as a plan to annoy him and win a bet was turning into… something more complicated. But I couldn’t tell if that scared me or thrilled me more.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The night had gone on way longer than I’d intended. Kate had long since left with the rest of our friends, leaving just Luke and me by the lake, a few stragglers huddled around what was left of the fire, now just a small pile of embers.

We traded our seats in the sand for lying down side by side, staring at the stars. It was a shame, really, seeing yourself here with a guy like Luke, if maybe the circumstances were different.

My tipsy brain was starting to convince me that a nap right here on the sand sounded like a brilliant idea. The thought of getting up and walking all the way back to my cabin felt like too much effort.

I didn’t even notice my eyes fluttering shut until Luke shifted beside me. He brushed a piece of hair out of my face, sitting quietly, probably thinking. If I weren’t already tipsy and half-floating in my own cozy haze, I’d probably be bright red. But instead, I just let my eyes stay closed, enjoying the quiet.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now. You’re going to leave me out here all alone?” His voice was soft, with a playful whine.

I huffed mockingly, halfway opening one eye to glare at him. “Oh, I’m sure you can handle yourself just fine.”

“And I know you’re strong enough to take care of yourself,” he said, his tone serious for a moment, “but it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly if I left you on the ground to sleep with the fishes when the tide comes in, would it?”

I whined, flopping dramatically in sand and throwing my arms up in mock outrage. “I’ve worked hard on my hole in the sand thank you very much!”.

He sat up, brushing sand off his denim, and chuckled at my tantrum before holding out a hand. “Come on, Miss Sloppy Drunk. Let’s get you to bed.”

I groaned but let him loop his arm over my shoulders, steadying me as we started walking through the forest path toward the cabins.

The quiet between us wasn’t awkward it was comfortable. My tipsy confidence made me reckless in the best way. I nudged him lightly. “You know that scar on your cheek… It suits you. Makes you look… cuter.”

Luke froze for a split second, then blinked at me, clearly thrown off. “Cuter?” he echoed. “Everyone else just said it made me look… scary after that quest. dangerous, not cute.”

I shrugged, grinning. “Well, I guess I’m an exception. Don’t fight me on it.”

For the first time, I caught a flicker of something softer in his eyes, and I could tell he was actually processing what I’d said.

I step onto the porch of Cabin Ten and turn to face Luke before opening the pink door.

“So,” I say lightly, rocking back on my heels, “still on for giving me some sparring tips tomorrow?” I try to hide the mischievous smile tugging at my mouth.

“You know it,” he replies without hesitation.

I let my alcohol‑fueled confidence take the wheel for one last move. I put on my most innocent smile, glance to the side, then turn my head and tap my cheek three times.

Luke huffs, clearly flustered. “You’re going to give me a run for my money,” he mutters, shaking his head, though he’s smiling now.

I expect a quick, awkward peck. Something rushed and prideful, the kind that lets a guy like him retreat with his dignity intact. Instead, he leans in and presses a soft, unhurried kiss to my cheek. Gentle enough that it leaves me blinking for a second after he pulls away.

My cheeks are still warm when he turns to head toward his own cabin.

I open the door, then pause and glance back. He’s already looking at me from a distance. He lifts a hand in a small wave, saying something under his breath that I can’t quite hear.

I wave back, then blow him a kiss, murmuring my own quiet promise under my breath.

“Oh, Luke Castellan,” I whisper, smiling to myself, “I’m going to make you wish you were dead.”

Hijacked Peeta redraw from last year 😨