As you leaned forward, hair brushing against his feverish skin, you watched the transformation take hold of him. The "Hero of Olympus" was gone, replaced by a boy who was rapidly coming undone. His head fell back against the pillows, his neck straining, the tendons standing out in sharp relief like the rigging of a ship in a storm. He was unanchored, drifting into a sea of sensation that he had no hope of navigating.

When you sank down fully, a long, high-pitched whine broke from the back of his throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. It was a pathetic, needy little noise that he would have been mortified by in any other context, but right now, he was too far gone to care about his dignity. The sound vibrated through his entire frame, a shimmering note of desperation that filled the small space between you.

"Wait, wait," he whimpered, his hips stuttering upward in an involuntary, desperate search for more of you, even as his mind screamed that he couldn't take another second. His hands moved from the sheets to your thighs, his grip bruisingly tight for a fleeting moment, then softening immediately into a trembling caress, as if he’d lost the physical strength to hold on. "Please, just... you're killing me, you're actually killing me."

You didn't stop. You picked up the pace just a fraction, grinding down with a targeted pressure that shattered what little remained of his resolve, and that was the final breaking point.

Percy’s green eyes, usually so sharp, defiant, and full of life, began to glaze over. As the pleasure reached a fever pitch, his lids fluttered, losing the battle to stay open. His eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible—a physical manifestation of a mind completely short-circuited by overwhelming sensation. He looked dazed, almost delirious, his mouth hanging open in a silent, breathless gasp before he let out another broken, whiny moan that trailed off into a sob-like hitch.

He was like putty in your hands, his body humming with a frantic, electric energy that seemed to mimic the power of a brewing hurricane. Every muscle was taut, vibrating with the effort of holding back, then suddenly loose and pliable, then taut again as another wave hit him. He was babbling now, his filter completely destroyed. Nonsense words and soft, weeping sounds of "please" and "more" spilled from his lips, his head thrashing slowly from side to side against the pillow as he tried to escape—or perhaps immerse himself further in—the white-hot haze.

"I can't... I can't think," he whispered, a tear of pure overstimulation pricking at the corner of his closed eye. He was entirely at your mercy, his movements reduced to weak, rhythmic twitches that followed your lead. The fierce warrior who had stood against the King of the Titans was reduced to a shaking, sobbing mess, his fingers feebly curling around your wrists as if to beg for either release or a permanent stay in this blissful torment.

In this moment, there was no prophecy, no monsters, and no heavy crown of god-like expectations. There was only the weight of you, the agonizing rhythm of your movement, and the way you could turn the most powerful demigod of the age into a shivering, pleading mess with nothing more than a steady, unrelenting heat and the ruthless command of your body over his. He was yours, entirely dismantled, a wreck of a hero washed up on your shore.

And when he came? Gods, it was full blown whimpering and sobbing, muttering soft 'thank yous' while burying himself deep inside of you.

you listen more than you speak. you care deeply about things that don’t show on the surface, like fairness and kindness and doing the right thing even when it’s uncomfortable.

you train harder than any of your house-mates because you want to protect people, not because you want to pose for a magazine.

percy jackson notices that.

he has noticed you since the very beginning. the way you never laugh at the cruel jokes that are directed towards the quieter bunch. the way your eyebrows furrow when clarisse finds another kid to pick on, and of course the way you ask him about how his day was as if it would actually impact you somehow.

it’s why he likes you so much.

and it’s also why he’s completely convinced you could never possibly like him back.

to percy, you’re everything he’s not. graceful, so painfully beautiful, someone people admire and not hate.

he’s often clumsy, loud, a burden, and basically lacks any confidence the aphrodite kids have.

still, you’re great friends.

you sit next to him during meals sometimes, you walk beside him after training, you brightly smile at him in a way that makes his heart pound furiously, even though you usually look away right after, like you’re embarrassed.

he tells himself it’s nothing and that he’s completely delusional for even having the thought that someone like you could be possibly flustered by him.

the night everything changes, the sun is setting and the moon begins to take its place for the night.

you’re currently heading back from the beach to your cabin alone, wrapping your arms around yourself as the air gets colder.

you hear scattered footsteps behind you.

at first, you assume it’s nothing to be worried about. camp is constantly busy, even at night.

but the footsteps get close, way too close for your liking.

when you glance back, you realize it’s one of the campers who’s been overly attentive lately, border lining on friendly and overly obsessed.

“oh,” he says when you snap your neck to glance at him, smiling cockily. “didn’t mean to startle you, sunshine.”

you slow slightly with an uneasy smile. “i’m heading back to my cabin.”

“yeah, i know,” he replies, still walking beside you. “i figured i’d come hang with you.”

“i’m really okay,” you answer softly, trying to disguise your discomfort and putting up a brave expression. “i don’t need company.”

he laughs as if you told a joke, like he doesn’t take your words of rejection seriously. “you don’t have to be a bitch, ya know? i just wanna spend some time with you, alone for once.”

your heart drops and you walk faster towards the path that leads closer to the woods, hoping for him to finally give up.

that’s when percy sees you.

he’s heading back from putting his sword away when he spots you, posture stiff and frantically walking, as if you’re trying to escape something.

he notices the guy walking real close behind you, and the way your head keeps turning back to glance at him.

something cold and dark settles in his chest.

“hey,” percy calls out, already moving towards you. “is everything okay?”

the guy scoffs at the unwanted interruption. “relax, jackson. we’re just talking, go away.”

percy steps in front of you with no hesitation, putting himself between you and the creep. “she doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you.”

the guy’s smile fades into a blank stare as he gestures for percy to leave. “mind your own business, dude.”

percy doesn’t waste another second.

you hear a crack as percy’s fist meets the creeps face.

it’s messy, quite bloody, and fast. percy takes an uncomfortable impact to the wrist, but he doesn’t stop until the guy runs away, muttering curses and a face of terror before disappearing into the darkness of the woods.

the silence and severeness of the situation hits you.

percy instantly turns to you, eyes wide with concern and care. “are you okay?”

you nod, athough your hands are still shaking. “i.. i think so.”

he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a weight settling off his shoulders. “good.”

the infirmary smells the fresh scent of laundry as percy sits on a bed while a healer wraps his wrist, wincing slightly but insisting that his wrist will be fine by tomorrow. when they leave, the silence fills the room.

he’s just about to get up and head to his cabin, until the door creaks open.

it’s you.

you step inside hesitantly, glancing around the room, curls running down your shoulders, eyes still glassy as if you’d been holding back tears.

percy looks up, startled. “oh,” he says, easing as he realizes it’s just you. “hey, it’s late. you didn’t have to—”

you practically run across the room and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his neck, breathing in his safe and familiar scent, easing into the tight hug.

as if you’d been holding yourself together all evening until you could finally come see him, and let yourself go.

percy freezes for a second before his arms wrap around your frame, gentle and careful. you press your face, you hug him tighter, grounding yourself in the fact that percy’s here, and that you’re okay.

“thank you.. gods percy, thank you so much.” you whisper. “for stepping in when you did, for not letting him hurt me.. i was.. so scared.”

percy’s fingers clenched as the thought of you hurt crossed his mind, instead, he focused on the sound of your soft voice right beside his ear, his cheeks pinking. “of course,” he replies softly. “you don’t need to thank me.”

you pull back slowly, still close, gazing at his face. your hands still linger at on his chest.

“that was really brave,” you say. “and so unbelievingly kind.”

he looks away, all a sudden flustered as he lets out a shy smile. “i just did what anyone should.”

you smile, shy. “not everyone would.”

there’s a quiet silence that follows. you notice the pink spread on his cheeks, the way his eyes can’t meet yours.

“you’re blushing,” you point out gently.

he laughs nervously, frantic as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “n-no i’m not.”

you lean in and kiss his cheek.

it’s soft and affectionate. a thank you kiss more than anything else.

percy goes completely still, transforming into a complete shell of star struck, and it finally clocks to you what you had just done. you pull back, started and flustered yourself. “i— i’m sorry, i just—“

he looks at you like you had just hung up the stars.

“i like you,” you say upruptly, quietly, words tumbling out before you could stop yourself. “i have always liked how you stand up for people, and how you’re just… kind. it matters to me.”

percy swallows the lump in his throat. “you… like me?” he says confused as if he can’t even fathom the thought.

you nod, shy but so sure. “i do.”

before he can find himself overthinking it like you know he will, you lean in again and kiss him again. a soft kiss, this time closer to his lips, enough to make his breath still.

“i’ll… i’ll see you later, percy,” you whisper softly into his ear.

you leave before he could let out a response.

percy sits there, still and basking in the stillness and silence of the infirmary, the ache of his wrist forgotten, heart racing, realizing that the thought of you as his girlfriend wasn’t an impossible thought after all.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

© blairenqs 2026 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

✧ 𝑓. i just hit 300 followers !!!! 🥹🥹❤️‍🩹 ily guys so much THANK YOU!!!! this was requested !! i had so much fun writing this, plz feel free to send some more pjo requests of things you guys would like to read ! 💗 my school semester is ending and last ep of s2 is coming… i’m scared there’s gonna be so much change in a week </3 desperately need to read the books NOW.

Your mere presence had become enough to have him tense up when you walked into a space. Your taunts tested the limits of his patience each day, and fuck, the smug smirk painted on your lips whenever you gave Percy that challenging look… it made his hands twitch with the urge to wipe it clean off your face.

How did you even manage to get under his skin so easily? How did you know exactly how to push his buttons? It infuriated him just as much as the way your stupid hair glinted in the sunlight. It reminded Percy of the ocean and how it glittered when kissed by sunrays—No! No, Percy did not think of you that way. No chance. He would rather muck out the stables for the rest of the summer than admit to that.

Huffing Percy swung his sword at you in a sudden attack, but of course you managed to parry it anyway. “Shut up,” Percy gritted out through his teeth, his jaw clenched like it might break any moment now if he didn’t ease up. The only response he received from you was amused laughter and redoubled efforts to best him, as you met him head-on.

You two attacked each other continuously, neither of you giving the other much leeway, as you blocked moves and retaliated with your own damning blows. “Aw, did I hit a nerve? Is the great hero of Olympus—” Your mocking words were cut short once Percy’s sword clashed against yours and he pressed on forward. Your heels dug into the grass beneath your boots, trying to keep yourself from moving backwards as best you could, before you finished your jab with a wide grin, “not as great as everyone claims he is?”

Percy didn’t let your words affect him as he took his chance to disarm you, while you were busy running your mouth like you loved doing. What would have usually been a frustrating disappointment actually proved to work out in his favor. A swift move on Percy’s side, surprise flashing on your face for a split second, and you found yourself caged between Percy’s chest and his arm behind your back. He held your sword in one hand and his own pointed below your chin in the other.

It took less than a second for your expression to return to its default when looking at Percy; arrogant, smug, bold. It was like the sharp blade inches from your skin wasn’t even there in the first place. You didn’t acknowledge your own defeat. Didn’t care. So why the hell did you even challenge him so eagerly as soon as he stepped foot onto the training fields this morning?

You smirked up at him through your eyelashes, seeming satisfied with yourself, despite being the cornered one. Percy’s chest heaved with exertion after the back-and-forth of attacks shared between you two. After all, you weren’t a weak opponent in the slightest. Your swordsmanship was nearly as impressive as your natural talent to make Percy simultaneously want to drown you and to kiss you breathless all the same.

“Do you yield?” the question left his lips sounding less like an inquiry and more like a threat with how rough his voice had rung out. The corners of your mouth tugged up further, and Percy couldn’t stop himself in time from letting his gaze dip down to it.

Your lips looked so, so goddamn soft.

And that horrible voice in Percy’s head wondered whether or not they would taste as sweet as he had secretly caught himself thinking they would.

It wasn’t like Percy even wanted to think of your lips, gods no! Of course not. He simply couldn’t help his wandering mind when you kept biting and chewing on them any time he saw you around Camp. Apparently, it was a bad habit of yours, something you subconsciously did whenever you were lost in thought or particularly focused. And Percy took notice. Unfortunately.

He couldn’t recall when exactly it first started, but somewhere along the line the unease he felt in your presence turned into something else. Something that was messing with his head increasingly. Every roll of his eyes was meant to distract from the burning tips of his ears, and every glare turned your way posed an excuse to look at you. How could someone with a face that angelic act like such a menace?

Percy’s gaze snapped back up to your eyes upon realizing his mistake, and he could have sworn he saw something akin to pride on your face, but it vanished as quickly as he thought it emerged. Raising your hands in mock surrender, you complied with a lazy, teasing lilt, “Guess there’s more than just seaweed up there, huh?”

Percy snarled in your face, yet your words stirred up that urge to put you in your place once more. He pushed it down just as quickly as he let you off with a glare, letting your sword fall to the ground with a thud, before he stormed off.

You were such a brat.

You didn’t want to drive the raven-haired boy crazy. At least that wasn’t your intention initially. You were simply trying to tease him a little, to peg him down a notch or two. Next to all that praise and glory, even the savior of Camp Half-Blood could use a reality check every once in a while, right? But once you had realized how easy it was to get under his skin? Oh, Percy Jackson was done for.

It quickly turned into your favorite pastime, prodding at him with mockery and insults disguised as jokes. You were testing his limits anew each day, waiting for him to snap. What would be his final straw? You were sure that he was about to finally cave the other day during training, but Percy stormed off before your presumption could have come to fruition.

Now, as you sat near the campfire and laughed at an odd story one of your half-siblings was raving on about—something that had to do with wayward pegasi, or were it hippocampi? You weren’t so sure anymore—your mind was nowhere near the boy who you had been messing with for the entirety of the summer.

Unaware of Percy’s keen gaze on your laughing figure, the corners of your eyes crinkled in mirth, while he sat there across the amphitheater and cursed himself for not being able to keep his eyes to himself. You hadn’t even glanced in his direction once, and what should’ve filled him with relief left him feeling… disappointed?

The glowing embers of the campfire illuminated your face in a warm hue, and for some reason, Percy felt his heart stutter in his chest.

You were laughing, bright and genuine.

Percy hadn’t seen you like that before, so joyful, so unabashedly in the moment. In fact, he had never seen you smile, let alone laugh, like that before. For some reason, the sight cracked something open in him.

And well, when your eyes finally drifted over the busy campfire for a moment, only to meet his that were already on you, let’s just say you were surprised. In mere seconds, the soft expression on your face morphed into that wickedly playful countenance Percy swore he hated all summer. You silently raised your eyebrows, as if to ask him what exactly he was looking at. He could practically hear your voice calling him Fish Boy from the sheer number of times you had addressed him so these days.

Instead of rushing to avert his gaze like he would have usually done, Percy held your stare for just shy of half a minute. Then his feet moved on their own accord, like they had suddenly grown a mind of their own. He got up and walked over to you, his heart pounding against his ribcage in tandem with the thudding of his feet against the ground. He hadn’t even heard Grover call out to him questioningly as he made his way over to you, who seemed quite perplexed by this unusual course of action.

Your eyes widened before you got up with a taken aback chuckle. “Jackson, what’s—” The bewildered sentence, already dripping in sarcasm, wasn’t even halfway past your lips when Percy reached you and grabbed you by the arm to drag you away from the crowded campfire. “Hey! What— Where are you taking me?!” you questioned with a sharp gasp as the determined boy tugged you with him. It wasn’t like his grip was tight or painful, simply firm enough to guide you. You could have ripped yourself free from his hold on you any time, but a huge part of you was actually curious to know what had gotten into him out of the blue.

Percy, on the other hand, wasn’t even sure what he was doing, acting purely on instinct and a shitload of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Only once the two of you reached the canoe lake did Percy finally halt in his steps and let go of your arm. Rather dramatically, you began rubbing your arm where Percy had taken a hold of you, despite there not really being a bruise to be soothed, before complaining, “You know you could have just asked me to come with you, Kelp Face.”

Looking up, you saw the boy pacing for a moment, before letting out a dry laugh after your comment and turning to look at you with an incredulous face. “Kelp Face? That’s a new one, great! Gods, do you— do you even know what you’ve been doing to me?” Percy spoke in a breathy tone, seemingly unaware of how he was beginning to stumble over his words just the slightest.

Seeing his wide eyes, you felt uneasy with where this was going. “What, uh, what do you mean?” the words escaped your lips alongside a nervous chuckle, as you slowly began to feel like this might truly be Percy’s breaking point that you had been anticipating. Only you weren’t so sure anymore if it was something to anticipate. “You didn’t drag me all the way out here to drown me, did you, Jackson?” the joke came out too awkward to land, and yet it still made Percy laugh.

“No! Though believe me, I have thought about that too often these past couple weeks.” The playful claim would have made you laugh in any other situation. Standing by the canoe lake so late into the evening with none other than the son of Poseidon, who you had been annoying constantly though... well, it didn’t seem like the right moment to laugh. This was clearly his kind of terrain, and though you would never actually think he’d seriously harm you, you wouldn’t put it past him to take his revenge by pushing you into the lake for a little splash. Nor would you really blame him for it at this point.

“Well then, what exactly are we doing out here?” you asked him in a tone that lacked the usual snark you brought forth in conversation with him, while looking up at him with eyes curious albeit uncertain. And Percy was sure he was going crazy now, because why the hell did your face look even more angelic bathed in moonlight than it did painted in the campfire’s gleam?

Swallowing for a moment, his throat felt as dry as sandpaper and painfully unused. “You…”

A second. Another.

Silence that felt tense, suffocating even.

And then, the dam broke.

“You drive me insane! You— You insult me unprovoked, in fact it’s you who provokes me! You tease me, challenge me, call me names! And worst of all—” Percy was rambling now, lost in his emotions, as you watched him unfurl right before your eyes, while the water by the lake’s edge seemed to have turned restless too, as if it was reacting to Percy’s state.

You were glancing over your shoulder to see the crashing waves, before turning your attention back on the boy before you. You were so shocked by his outburst that you barely even acknowledged him inching closer towards you. Nothing could have prepared you for the consequences of your own actions.

Percy’s chest rose and fell at a rate that was almost concerning, before he finished his speech and looked into your eyes imploringly. “You are so goddamn pretty.”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. Like at all.

Before you could reply, or even properly digest the bomb he had dropped on you after scaring the hell out of you, he went on like an idiot, “You got these angel eyes— and I can’t— I can’t fucking keep my eyes off of you. And I tried, I really did. I hate your attitude, but fuck, it’s like there’s something wrong in the world when you don’t call me Fish Boy every other hour.”

The shock on your face ebbed away gradually the more Percy rambled on, instead being replaced by a rare, soft smile. It was actually adorably amusing to see him so distraught over… you being pretty? You were surprised by this revelation, but not unpleasantly so. You had always thought that Percy was attractive, perhaps even had a not-so-little crush on him when you were younger, but never in a million years had you intended this outcome for your little game with the young demigod.

“Shut up,” you told him mellowly, your voice almost too quiet for him to pick up on with the insistent thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears. Percy heard you, though his reaction was delayed by a second, when he froze almost comically and asked you dumbfounded, “What?”

Your smile widened in affectionate humor, before you repeated your words to him louder now, “Just— Just shut up, Fish Boy.” Grabbing him by the neck of his vibrant orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, you tugged him down and pressed your lips to his. Percy didn’t react immediately, standing still almost like his brain was short-circuiting. And right when you began to worry if you had acted too quickly, been too brash, Percy seemed to have come to his senses, practically melting into the kiss, his hands reaching up to cup your cheeks.

Gentle, tender, entirely too sweet for how pent-up and frustrated Percy had been just now.

It was the kind of kiss you wouldn’t have expected after his emotions were running so high that even the quiet lake turned rowdy. You weren’t complaining though, giving yourself over to the caring hands of Percy, who was not only kissing you, but also holding you, like you were something delicate, something precious even. Absentmindedly you let go of his shirt and threw your arms over his shoulders instead, meeting him measure for measure, as you began smiling into the kiss giddily.

Only once you were in dire need of air did you part from his mouth, looking up at him with that frisky twinkle in your eyes. You were panting quietly, yet Percy seemed like he could have gone on just like that forever. Perks of being a child of Poseidon, you supposed. It didn’t make him any less flustered though, with his face flushed pink and the look on his face being all too dazed. “You think I’m pretty?” you teased with a shit-eating grin on your face now, making Percy narrow his eyes at you in faux annoyance. You started adding onto it, sounding even more dramatic now, “Oh wait, no, it was something about angel eyes, right—”

Percy’s lips crashed against yours, shutting you up efficiently. What he lacked in tenderness now, he made up for with fiery passion that left you speechless. His hand traveled along the slope of your neck, before he buried his fingers in your hair, gripping it in a loose hold. An unexpected, yet gentle, tug at it had you gasping into his mouth, and Percy didn’t let the opportunity to slip his tongue past your sweet lips go to waste. Feeling weak in the knees, you let yourself lean further into the warm, stable embrace Percy’s sturdy body provided.

He kissed you like he was starving for it, like your lips were made of the purest of nectars and ambrosias. Unwillingly, a whimper escaped your lips from the way he was ravaging you now, and Percy believed he might have just caught a glimpse of what Elysium was like. His lips left yours for only a moment, his hot breath warm on your now swollen lips, as he looked down at you with hooded eyes that were visibly darkened by desire.

“I think I like this side of you, Angel Eyes.” His teasing timbre mimicked the one you had perfected for him almost completely. The satisfaction in his tone would have made you quip back in a millisecond any other time, but his lips were back on yours not even a full moment after he spoke. After that, you honestly couldn’t have cared less about getting the last laugh. Not when all you could think about was just how right this felt.

Percy Jackson could have died a happy man right then and there, because by the fates…

Your lips tasted just as sweet as he thought.

Being the best swordsman that Camp Half-Blood has seen in the last three hundred years was not an honor that Luke took lightly.

He worked for that title; countless days waking up at dawn and staying out till dusk in order to train had paid off.

Sure, he wasn’t parading around referring to himself as “the best swordsman at camp,” but it sure did boost his ego when campers would whisper to each other in awe after he demonstrated an impressive skill with his sword. Not only that, Luke always felt the need to prove himself, showing others that he was worthy of that title.

Luke was a well-respected guy at camp. People enjoyed his easygoing demeanor and his charm. But on the battlefield and in the arena? That was a different story. When Luke was in combat, campers knew to stay out of his way. He was like a man possessed.

More often than not, he was able to control himself, shoving down the merciless demigod persona that always threatened to take over him. He was always teetering on the edge of ruthlessness, but he kept himself together, playing the part of the charming counselor who simply had a penchant for sword fighting.

Nonetheless, Luke wasn’t known to take it easy on campers during training, even if he was three times as experienced. He wasn’t going to purposefully lose just to give others a sense of pride or accomplishment, they had to earn it.

Granted, he wasn’t going out of his way to injure other campers, he just thought it was better for people to learn things the hard way. His methods usually had an eighty percent success rate. The other twenty percent of those campers stayed far away from him now.

Being the Hermes counselor’s girlfriend didn’t mean that he would take it easy on you. If anything, it meant he would be even harder on you.

You didn’t mind. You preferred it, actually. Luke’s done nothing but help you improve. After being disarmed around twenty times, you sort of get the hang of the tricks he tries to teach you.

Luke’s no-nonsense, unforgiving method of sword fighting carried over into Capture the Flag as well. Typically, the Hermes cabin was on Athena’s team, considering the excellent strategizing that occurred when Annabeth and Luke were together.

They were a practically indestructible duo. Also, the Ares cabin was too hellbent on winning by force and violence to notice that Luke and Annabeth seldom changed their strategy.

This week, it was the Athena, Hermes, and Apollo cabins against Ares and everyone else.

Fortunately, Luke had an advantage this game. When Hermes, Athena, and Apollo were on the same team, they hardly lost.

Unfortunately, not much had gone in Luke’s favor the day of Capture the Flag.

He woke up with a start this morning. Connor and Travis were making a ruckus, the crowded cabin was already a mess, and he had overslept, leaving him less time to make himself appear decent before he had to go about his day.

Oh gods, this was not good. Luke had things to do! He was late meeting up with Annabeth and Lee to finalize their strategy, forcing him to miss out on breakfast and a shower.

Whatever. He shrugged it off, managing to get through the remainder of their meeting. He was supposed to meet up with you for lunch on the dock. Actually having something to look forward to, he walked with a newfound pep in his step.

Luke was grabbing his plate of food from the dining pavilion, scraping a portion into the fire when he was shoved square in the shoulder.

It was a rather harsh shove, costing him the rest of his food as he watched it pitifully incinerate in the flames. Luke looked up to see the perpetrator, eyes meeting theirs with a glare.

It was some stubby punk from the Ares cabin, looking to pick a fight and harboring a nasty scowl.

“Watch it,” said the younger Ares boy.

“Has nobody taught you manners before, kid?” Luke spat out, voice simmering with impatience.

Before the boy could say something that would make him completely lose his cool, Luke swiftly turned on his heels and headed for the lake, empty handed.

As he approached, he saw your figure growing closer to him, like a beacon of light in the midst of the shitty day he was having.

He felt his lips tug up into a small smile, walking faster until he was finally behind you.

When Luke sat down, lightly brushing your shoulder, it was like a weight had been lifted off of him.

You peered up at him with a smile, the same charming smile that always made him weak in the knees.

“Hey, Luke. I was wondering where you were,” you greeted.

He sighed, rubbing his hands on his cargo pants. “Yeah. Some Ares kid was looking for a fight. He picked the wrong guy.”

Your eyes widened slightly, already preparing to scold him for hurting a younger camper, even if the camper in question deserved it. “You didn’t… did you?”

“Nah, I didn’t. Wasn’t worth the week of extra chores I’d get if I gave him a black eye,” he admitted, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Well, I’m glad you practiced control. It takes a strong man to fight, but it takes a stronger man to walk away from one,” you praised, spouting out shallow words of wisdom you would find if you looked up “inspirational quotes.”

He grinned in thanks, eyes trailing down your body until they found the plate of food located on your lap. You caught him practically salivating.

“Where’s your lunch?” You asked.

“Didn’t get the chance to eat yet,” Luke admitted. Sighing like a disappointed but caring mother, you gave him the rest of your food, carefully placing the plate in his own lap and handing him the utensils.

“You sure, baby?” He asked, gripping the fork like a vice.

“Yes. Eat. You’ll need to have eaten something before Capture the Flag,” you firmly reassured him.

Denying you would be more offensive than refusing your offer, so he ate. It was good, insanely satisfying after the wildly inconvenient morning he had experienced.

The two of you made idle chatter as he finished the rest of your meal, savoring every last bite. When he was done, you smiled as you wiped a crumb off of his chin.

That’s why Luke really fell in love with you — the domesticity of it all. He adored being doted on. Perhaps the root of it was his difficult family life. He couldn’t deny that he loved when you took care of him, held him in your arms, making him feel stable.

You were one of the few things in life that was steady, and he was clinging to that feeling like a lifeline.

You and Luke left the docks shortly after, heading toward the armory to prepare for the impending game of Capture the Flag. The two of you made the trek hand in hand, making the most of your time together before you had to break off into your separate teams.

“Just breathe, Luke,” you reminded him. With those parting words, he pressed a kiss to your temple and the two of you split apart.

Then, it was back to the regularly scheduled programming (AKA, utter chaos). Two of his campers had their armor on backwards, one had it on upside down, somehow.

After a few narrowly dodged elbows to the face, some that landed, and improper sword technique from younger campers that left Luke dangerously close to receiving another scar, the game of Capture the Flag was about to begin.

He glanced at Annabeth, giving her a nod, and then at Lee. Then the conch shell blew. He raced through the trees, his Hermes given speed and agility making him a difficult target.

The plan was simple. Luke was a decoy. An Apollo camper would ambush from the trees, stealing the Red Team’s flag while he dealt with those stationed around the flag.

The wind whipped around him as he cut through the air, right up until he saw the red flag. It was straight ahead, appearing smaller than it actually was due to his distance from the flag.

Luke crept closer, careful to not make too much noise that it was obvious, but just enough to still be a good diversion.

From the trees, two campers jumped out from behind them. There were more campers stationed in the distance, closer to the flag, but these two idiots landed right in front of him.

It was the same repugnant Ares kid from earlier and his red-faced friend.

“Hey, Luke,” the former seethed, mocking him as he unsheathed his sword. Luke didn’t respond. “You were too much of a coward to talk to me earlier, so I thought I’d bring the fight to you.”

Luke just rolled his eyes. “Right. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.” Assuming his fighting stance, Luke stood defensively as the pair lunged toward him.

They were good fighters, a trait inherited from their father, but not better than Luke (or Clarrise, for that matter). He blocked their reckless attacks effortlessly, and began throwing some of his own.

The two menaces were cursing at him, throwing out mindless insults to get to his head. To Luke’s dismay, it was working. Though, not in their favor.

Their insults, intended to dampen his ego, only fueled his rage. Luke was losing it, control was slipping through his fingers and his ruthlessness was starting to consume him.

He just saw red. He was so fed up with his day, that he just lost control. Luke didn’t even notice the other campers that had joined in to take him on, leaving their flag unattended.

Even surrounded by armed campers, Luke held his own, as always. From an outsiders perspective, it even looked like he was winning the fight.

In the heat of the moment, Luke didn’t realize that you were apart of the group of campers surrounding him.

The “no maiming” rule vanished from his mind in that instant. He couldn’t tell who he was slashing at, but it deemed successful. The attackers backed away in surrender.

And then he felt his sword make impact with something. More specifically, someone. He felt the tip of his weapon slice through their pants, where no armor was there to protect from injury.

Luke knew he messed up. Instantly, he dropped his sword, his fighting persona fled. He would probably get a mountain load of extra chores next week, and his image would also be tarnished. He also just felt bad for hurting somebody.

Turning his head, he looked to see who his poor victim was.

Gods, he was in for it now.

He froze when he saw his victim was you, clutching your leg in pain as blood seeped through the fabric of your pants.

Luke didn’t feel ruthless anymore, he just felt reckless. He felt like such a jerk.

The campers who had witnessed it gasped. Some whispered, and a few ran to get Chiron, calling out his name.

Luke sunk to the floor where you had just kneeled down. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wincing as your shaking hand tried to apply pressure on the long wound.

Your cabin’s counselor, as well as Clarisse, the Red Team’s self-appointed leader, approached the scene, pushing younger campers out of their way to get to you.

Luke began to take his shirt off, intending to use it as a tourniquet over your wound. “Here, let me help —“

“You’ve done enough, Luke,” Clarisse growled put, supporting your weight by your shoulders, leaning you up against her.

The boy was immensely stressed. He had physically injured the person he cared the most about, and that seemed to be the worst possible outcome of his rage.

You wouldn’t even look at him, or rather, you simply couldn’t. Your eyes were screwed shut in pain. Clarisse and the other counselor helped you up, leading you further and further away from Luke.

He would have followed, but the mass of campers blocked him from doing so. Instead, he buried his head in his hands, internally yelling at himself for causing you pain.

The hours following passed by in a blur. You were on Luke’s mind at every moment, making it nearly impossible to think about other things. Due to the severity of your injury, and the absence of your team’s captain, Chiron postponed the game. Luke trudged back to his cabin, defeated. Some of his siblings gave him pitying glances, while others simply cringed at the crestfallen look on his face.

Your wound was just past the point of shallow, making it barely deep enough to keep you overnight in the infirmary. Your counselor advised the working healers to refuse to let Luke see you. It was a cruel punishment he was forced to endure.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning, guilt eating him alive. By dawn, Luke had hardly gotten a wink of sleep, but he slipped out of bed nonetheless with one mission on his mind: to see you, and beg for your forgiveness.

Tiptoeing past sleeping campers, he quickly made his way to the infirmary, slipping past the unattended doors to where you were sleeping.

“Baby?” Luke whispered softly, taking a tentative step closer to your resting form to see if you’d wake. Seeing as you didn’t stir, he sighed. Curiously, he very carefully peeled off the covers, trying to get a better look at your injury.

Your pant leg was missing, having been cut off when you arrived so that the healers could tend to it quickly. Luke cringed. You liked those pants, you wore them a lot. That was one more reason you had to be mad at him.

Now exposed to the cool air, and sensing a new presence by your side, you started to wake up. Luke quickly placed the covers back over you in hopes that you’d be more comfortable and not immediately lunge at him when you gained consciousness.

Your eyelids fluttered open, squinting as rays of light flooded in from the windows, casting shadows over the boy who was standing at your bedside.

Luke quickly cleared his throat as you started to sit up. “Hey. Good morning,” he greeted awkwardly.

“Luke?” you yawned. “What time is it?” He had no clue, scanning the walls for a clock.

“Uhm… early,” the tense counselor offered.

“Listen, Y/N, I just wanted to apologize. They wouldn’t let me see you yesterday, and I just feel like total shit. I should have been more careful. I was a reckless, inconsiderate idiot. I’m sorry. If you need space now, I understand, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Luke was rambling. He could feel it, but he couldn’t help himself. He was up all night trying to come up with a sufficient apology, but all that came out now was closer to word vomit. Still, you listened to him attentively, not showing any outwards judgement. You always seemed to turn him into a blabbering idiot, just by existing.

When Luke had finished, he inhaled deeply, waiting for you to scold him or break up with him or just tell him off, but the biting words never came. Because you were you.

“It’s okay, Luke, really.” His shoulders dropped from their tense position almost immediately.

“Please, Y/N, I’ll do anything to make you forgive me— wait, really? No way, I deserve way worse than that,” he countered.

“It was just a scratch, I’ve been hurt worse!” Lies. He saw the cut, he felt how deep the tip of his sword went. They didn’t keep you cooped up in here all night for nothing. Typical, sweet you, downplaying your troubles to make things easier for the people around you.

“That’s not— It was a bad gash, don’t lie,” Luke scolded, leaning in closer to you.

“Would you rather I not forgive you?” You asked rhetorically, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Of course not! But don’t downplay your injury to make me feel better. I hurt you, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” he promised, going as far as to take your hand in his.

“You apologized, that’s all I need. I know it was an accident, Luke. Plus, I know Chiron probably has a punishment in store already. Just… don’t be so reckless next time. Don’t let those kids get the best of you.” Now it was your turn to scold him, which was what he had been anticipating initially.

“I know. I’ll try not to… Gods, it’s just my luck that the one person I end up maiming is my girlfriend.” Luke winced at the thought. Out of all the campers that had been surrounding him, he had accidentally hurt you of all people, the least deserving person of his wrath.

You laughed softly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Really, I’m fine. You of all people should know that demigods heal fast. I’ll be up in no time. Besides, would you really be this apologetic if you had accidentally hurt any camper other than me?” You countered.

Maybe he did treat you differently than the other campers he trained. Fine, you were his girlfriend, you were different.

Taking his silence as an answer, you continued to make your point. “Exactly, Luke. You’d tell them to walk it off. I’ll be okay.”

Luke sighed for the nth time in the last twenty-four hours. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do. I love you.”

“I love you, too. And again, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re lucky you caught me when I just woke up. Who knows what I’ll ask from you later today? Just wait, you’ll be buying me apology gifts all summer.” You joked, but Luke knew that it had some semblance of truth to it, and he wouldn’t complain about it at all.

No one was surprised, really.

When the best swordsman in all Camp had completely fallen for a daughter of Aphrodite, no one really wondered why.

She was drop–dead gorgeous. Many murmured that she looked like the carbon copy of her mother. But then again, did one know exactly how Aphrodite looked? Her appearance shifted to match the ideal of beauty in the eyes of the person looking at her. Therefore, saying she resembled the Goddess of love, was not correct.

That, however, did not discredit her beauty. She still was one of the most beautiful girls in Camp Half–Blood, second only to Silena Beauregard.

Campers were, in spite of that, left speechless when said Aphrodite camper had approached Luke Castellan himself to teach her the art of sword fighting. It was a rather unusual sight. Children of the Goddess of Beauty did not preoccupy themselves with Camp activities that didn't include Art and Crafts or volleyball matches. They were more the type to sit in the Arena, often found giggling and staring shamelessly at particularly attractive boys training in combat.

Luke had agreed to help almost immediately, a proud grin overtaking his features, softening his face and scar.

That is how he had found himself waiting for her in the Arena, two swords laying ready by his side, tightening and fixing his combat gear for what seemed an eternity. In the time span in which Luke had been waiting for her, he had run his hand through his hair at least ten times and kicked the same rock to the point he had lost count of how many times he'd done it.

What was holding her? What was making her late? He had been waiting for a good hour!

‘Fucking finally’, he had muttered under his breath when he spotted her figure approaching the Arena as calmly as she could. He narrowed his eyes, catching sight of her… Perhaps not so appropriate outfit? She was wearing combat boots, a skirt, and a white tank top.

“You sure about the skirt, lovely?”, he called while eyeing her entering the ground, a slight smirk pulling on his lips. “Bit impractical, no?”.

“Man of little faith”, she huffed when she got to him. “It is impractical if you're not a skirt–super–expert”, she said while crossing her arms over chest, in an obvious tone.

“A what, now?”, he looked at her incredulously. Gods, she was gorgeous, and apparently even witty. He's so down bad.

“A skirt–super–expert”, she repeated another time. “See, Castellan, you don't even know of this term because you're not one!”

“Yeah, right”, he rolled his eyes affectionately. He sighed and threw a leather chest piece at her. “Put it on, super–duper–girlie”, he nodded at her.

“Yes, sir!”, she smiled up brightly at him, tying up the laces behind her back. “So… You often give extra lessons to girls, Hermes boy?”

“Only to the ones I'm interested in”, he replied, grinning lightly and got behind her, helping her with the task at hand.

“Oi! I'm capable of doing it on my own, you know?”, she protested playfully.

“Yeah, but then I couldn't have been this close to you, no?”, he made a last knot and rested his hands on her waist for a few seconds before stepping away and picking up the swords, passing her one.

“You know the basics, right?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Of course! Timing, distance, caution blah blah blah. Can we get to the sparring part already?”, she huffed impatiently.

Luke sized her up for a few seconds, eventually surrendering and nodding. “As you wish, my pretty lady”

He got into a fighting stance, watching her mimicking him, holding her sword confidently in front of her face.

“Ready?”, she asked bubbly.

“Born ready, lovely”

Sounds of swords clashing could be heard from a mile away.

Luke had to admit she was good. Better than he'd ever thought. She was able to stand her ground, however wobbly and imprecise her moves were.

That, though, didn't mean he was having a hard time blocking her attacks. He was almost playing it safe, as if not to hurt her feelings by disarming her within the first second of the combat.

He had already figured out what was wrong in her style, and was dying to let her know it.

As soon as he saw an opportunity, he slashed her sword, twisting it out of her hand, disarming her impressively easily and pointing his at her neck, a smug look reigned over his face.

“Not a super–sword–expert, are you?”, he muttered while leaning closer, breath fanning over her face.

“Oh, shut up”, she rolled her eyes, despite the ever–growing grin painting her lipgloss coated lips. She took a few steps back and went to retrieve back her scattered sword, pushing away from her face some stray strands of hair that managed to escape her tail.

However, Luke's eyes didn't waver. They were still on her. Picking up on every little quirk and way of hers. Dreaming of touching her hair, holding her close to him, being the one she'd come to for her problems or her favourite things. Did all that make him a lovesick fool? Everyone at Camp who knew of his blatant attraction called him that nowadays. Was it necessarily a negative thing?

“While you were studying the blade, I was studying you, lovely”, he spoke up. Eyes trained on her, dark hair imperceptibly damp from the efforts of fighting, the scar across his face looking more like an award than a burden.

She turned to him, tilting her head slightly as her face brightened almost immediately. “That's so out of the blue, Castellan”, she teased.

“You're weak on your left side, and your footwork could use improvement”, he continued speaking, sword still tightly held in his right hand.

Her smile widened, eyes shining a tad more as he corrected her form. “Great. I'll make sure to work on tha–”

“–Also, I think I've fallen in love with you”, he interrupted her mid–sentence. Not caring if he had been too straightforward with his confession. Well, he had already been very clear with his feelings, right? He had flirted with her for the whole duration of the combat.

Despite all that, his words had taken her by surprise. She was staring right back at him, lips slightly agape in what could be confused for shock, and arms by her side.

A few seconds later, she was back to herself, beaming like her father had just gifted her designer clothes.

“You think so?”

“Indeed, lovely”, he replied with a genuine smile taking over his features.

“If that's the case…”, she stepped closer to him, and rested her hand on his shoulder, proceeding to leave a quick peck on his lips before dropping the sword on the ground. She flashed him a last smile before definitely turning and walking away, probably headed to her cabin to tell her siblings of the events.

Luke, having made sure she was far away enough, threw his sword in celebration. The clashing sound only adding to the myriads of emotions and sounds occupying his mind.

“Yep. Down bad”, piped up Percy from behind him, holding Riptide in one hand and a bag of blue gummies in the other.

“Indeed, buddy. Indeed”, had confirmed Luke, a new confident air around him.

Percy stared at him for a while before nodding to his bag of gummies, “want one?”

"hey." he says, words muffled as he squishes his face into the fabric, arms tightening around you when he lifts his head to look at you, blue eyes shimmering as he looks at you.

"hi." you whisper, carding a hand through those pretty blond tresses of his. he's let his hair grow out a bit in the last few months, and you'd be lying if you said you don't love it. it suits him well, the touch of wildness that it gives him. "you okay?"

"missed you." he murmurs, half rolling so he can lie on his back and face you properly. you put your notebook down to the side, and he smiles, knowing he has your full attention.

you prod at his cheek, gentle, affectionate, and it makes his smile widen. "someone's clingy today, hm?" you say, softly teasing, and he laughs.

"not complaining, are you?"

"never." you say, caressing his face - he leans into it, and you brush your thumb over his cheekbones, with a softness he was unfamiliar with before you.

then, he's hoisting himself to sit up on the bed, and before you can protest, he pulls you on to his lap, making you let out a little squeak in surprise. you wrap your legs around his waist, your hands gripping firmly on those broad shoulders of his as you steady yourself. he holds on to your waist, hands sliding up and down your sides in soothing, mindless motions as he just looks at you, takes in the sight he loves most.

then, he's kissing you. his lips find yours, warm and a little rough from a day outside working hard, as his fingers grip a little harder at your hips. then he pulls back to plant a kiss on your left cheek, and then a couple more, before he moves to your other cheek, kissing you softly along your cheekbone. then, he presses his lips to your forehead, working all the way down the bridge of your nose before coming back to your lips, kissing you properly then, a little rougher than the last. his lips are a little redder than before, a little swollen too when he pulls away - you doubt you're in any better state.

"what was that about, huh?" you tease, grinning as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest.

"had to. you're too cute." he says, seriously, almost, as if in explanation, his hands rubbing up and down your back in soothing motions.

"that so?"

"mhm." he hums affirmatively, nodding into the crook of your neck. "too cute. have to kiss you. legally binding." he pauses, then, lips soft against your skin as he kisses you once again. "i love you, baby." he murmurs.

you hum, the sound permeating his senses and warming his heart.

"i love you too, jason." you whisper, your chin slotted into the curve of his shoulder like you belong there.

(you do. it's exactly where you belong - with him.)