summary : Luke just got back from his quest and discover that there is a new girl from cabin ten. And Silena who got an ideas for matchmaking the two of you.
Show!Luke Castellan x Aphrodite!reader smau
m.list
a/n : let's just pretend that the demigods can have their phones!
also this is my first smau series and hope you guys can enjoy!
silena.b
liked by itsyourname, iamlukecastellan and others
tagged : @/itsyourname
silena.b welcome sister!!!
comments:
itsyourname thank you, silena <333
liked by author
itsyourname
liked by iamlukecastellan, silena.b and others
itsyourname trying to get a new skill 🗡
comments:
itsyourname thank you for my teacher @/iamlukecastellan
↳ iamlukecastellan you are very welcome
liked by author
silena.b 👀👀👀
↳ iamlukecastellan ???
annabeth_chase since when luke gives a private lesson?
↳ iamlukecastellan since now
perc_jackson are you sure you want to keep him as a teacher? based on my experience he's kinda grumpy
↳ itsyourname he's nice tho???
↳ iamlukecastellan don't believe him y/n, he's just sucks
Luke finds a lost boy and he shows his other side to you.
m.list
words : 2,1k
warnings : soft!luke castellan, big brother energy, lost child, emotional themes, found family, the use of y/n
a/n : My 1 am thoughts that Luke really loves children and it leads to this! hope you all can enjoy! and let me know if you want it to make a series from this
The border of Camp Half-Blood is rarely quiet, but the sound that disrupts the mid-morning training session is different from the usual monster roar. It’s a high-pitched, desperate sob that cuts through the clashing of bronze swords.
Luke is the first to hear it. He always is. He drops his sparring stance, his head snapping toward the hill. Before Chiron can even trot toward the boundary, Luke is already moving.
You follow him, your heart racing. When you reach the crest of the hill, you find Luke crouched in the tall grass just outside the magical barrier. In front of him is a tiny boy, no older than seven, his face streaked with dirt and tears. He’s clutching a tattered teddy bear to his chest as if it’s a shield, staring at the empty space where a hellhound had likely just dissolved into dust.
Luke doesn't reach for his sword. Instead, he holds his hands out, palms up, in the universal sign of peace.
"Hey there, little guy," Luke says, his voice a low, soothing melody. "You're okay now. I’ve got you. The big dogs are gone."
The boy, Leo, looks at Luke’s scar—the jagged line running down his face—and flinches. Luke doesn't look away or feel ashamed. He just smiles, a small, sad, and incredibly kind expression.
"I got this being a hero," Luke whispers, tapping the scar. "And I use it to make sure nobody gets one like it. You want to see something cool?"
With a flick of his wrist, Luke produces a small, golden drachma from behind the boy’s ear. It’s a classic Hermes trick, but in the eyes of a terrified seven-year-old, it’s pure magic. Leo’s sobbing hitches, his wide eyes fixing on the coin.
"I’m Luke," he says, gently guiding the boy across the border. "Welcome home."
For the next few hours, Luke is a man possessed. He doesn't take the boy to the Big House to be processed; he takes him straight to the Hermes cabin.
You watch from the doorway as Luke moves with a practiced, domestic grace you’ve rarely seen. He finds a camp t-shirt—the smallest size available—and helps Leo pull it over his head. It still reaches the kid's knees, making him look like he’s wearing an orange nightgown.
"Too big?" Luke asks, chuckling as he rolls up the sleeves. "Don't worry. You'll grow into it. I was a skinny little thing when I got here, too."
Luke sits Leo on his own bunk—the head counselor's bed—and begins to clean a scrape on the boy's knee. He’s so focused, so careful, as if he’s handling a piece of fragile glass. He isn't the bitter warrior who complains about the gods; he’s just a boy who knows exactly what it feels like to be small, alone, and hunted.
"Where's your mom, Luke?" Leo asks in a small, shaky voice.
Luke’s hand pauses for a fraction of a second, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he masks it with a gentle smile. "She's... she's not here, Leo. But look around. You've got about forty brothers and sisters in this room. And," he looks up, catching your eye in the doorway, "you're about to meet the most important person in camp."
He beckons you over with a tilt of his head, his eyes shining with a warmth that makes your chest ache. He looks so proud of this tiny, disheveled human he just rescued.
"Come here, anchor," he murmurs. "Leo needs to know who the real boss is."
As you walk over, Luke stands up and rests his hand on the back of the boy’s head, his fingers carding through the kid’s messy hair in a protective, rhythmic motion.
“Hi, lil guy. I’m y/n. Such a cute teddy bear.” you smile, kneeling in front of the bed so you can talk to Leo at eye level.
Leo’s grip on his teddy bear loosens just a fraction as he looks at you. He looks at Luke, as if seeking permission to trust you, and when Luke gives a small, encouraging nod, the boy finally offers you a shy, toothy grin.
“His name is Barnaby,” Leo whispers, holding the bear out slightly so you can see its missing button eye. “He’s a hero too. He didn't cry when the big dog came.”
Luke’s expression softens so much it’s almost unrecognizable. He rests a heavy, protective hand on your shoulder as you continue to talk to the boy, his thumb tracing the line of your collarbone.
"See, Leo? I told you," Luke says, his voice a low rumble of pride. "She's the best."
➽──────────────❥
Luke leads Leo down to the canoe lake, the little boy’s hand swallowed completely by his own. As they walk, Luke points out different parts of the camp, not as a counselor giving a tour, but as a big brother sharing secrets. He shows him the best place to find wild strawberries and the exact spot where the harpies usually fall asleep first at night.
By the time the three of you reach the water’s edge, Leo’s grip on Luke’s hand has loosened; the terror in his eyes has been replaced by a cautious, wide-eyed wonder.
“Alright, champion,” Luke says, crouching down in the sand next to Leo. He picks up a flat, smooth stone and presses it into the boy’s palm. “Watch y/n. She’s got the best form at camp. If you can skip it three times, I’ll let you wear my counselor’s necklace for the rest of the day.”
Leo’s jaw drops as he looks at the leather cord around Luke's neck, heavy with years of beads. To a seven-year-old, it might as well be a king’s crown.
You take your cue, throwing a perfect skip across the glassy surface of the lake. One, two, three, four. Leo cheers, his tiny voice high and bright against the afternoon air. Luke laughs, and the sound is so light, so free of his usual burdens, that it makes your throat tight.
For the next hour, the "Legendary Luke Castellan" isn't thinking about prophecies, his father, or the weight of the world. He is entirely focused on the angle of a seven-year-old’s wrist. He stands behind Leo, his large hands guiding the boy’s small arm, moving in slow motion to show him the flick of the wrist.
"There you go," Luke murmurs, his chin resting near the top of Leo’s head. "Easy does it. You’re a natural, Leo. A real pro."
When Leo finally manages a shaky double-skip, he lets out a triumphant shriek and throws his arms around Luke’s neck. Luke doesn't hesitate; he scoops the boy up into his arms, settling him on his hip with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times before.
He walks over to you, the sunlight catching the gold in his curls and the deep, satisfied curve of his smile. With his free hand, he reaches out and pulls you flush against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist.
“See?” Luke whispers to the boy, though his brown eyes are locked onto yours. “I told you she was magic.”
Leo looks between the two of you, his brow furrowed in deep, childish thought. He leans in close to Luke’s ear, whispering loud enough for you to hear. “Is she your princess, Luke?”
Luke’s breath hitches. He looks at you—really looks at you—taking in the way the sun reflects in your eyes and the way you look at him with so much belief. A slow, tender smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“No, Leo,” Luke says, his voice dropping into that low, intimate rumble that always makes your heart skip. “She’s much more important than a princess. She’s the person who keeps me from drifting away. She’s the reason I’m still here.”
He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple while Leo giggles and covers his eyes with his teddy bear.
“Come on,” Luke says, adjusting the boy on his hip and beginning the trek back toward the cabins as the dinner horn sounds in the distance. “Let’s go see if we can steal an extra dessert for the new guy. I think he’s earned it.”
As you walk back, flanked by the two of them, you realize that Luke isn't just protecting Leo. He’s healing. And as he catches your hand, squeezing it tight between his and the boy's side, you know that for as long as he has this—this small, makeshift family—he’ll never be truly lost.
➽──────────────❥
Before the evening campfire, Luke makes it his mission to integrate Leo into the family, and that starts with the person who was once exactly in Leo’s shoes.
He finds Annabeth in her usual spot by the armory, sharpening a bronze dagger with a focus that far exceeds her age. She’s very young but she’s already a fierce strategist. When she sees Luke approaching with a tiny boy tucked under his arm, her expression softens instantly.
"Annabeth," Luke calls out, his voice full of a warmth he rarely shows anyone outside of your inner circle.
Annabeth looks up, her eyes darting from Luke to the small, wide-eyed boy clinging to his orange shirt. She stands up, wiping her soot-stained hands on her jeans, her expression curious but surprisingly gentle.
Luke crouches down, setting Leo on his feet but keeping a firm, reassuring hand on the boy’s back. "Leo, I want you to meet someone very special. This is Annabeth. She’s the smartest girl in this camp, and she’s been with me since she was even smaller than you."
Leo looks at Annabeth with pure reverence, his eyes traveling up to her curls. "Is she a hero too?"
Luke smiles, reaching out to ruffle Annabeth’s hair—a gesture she only ever allows from him. "The best. Think of her as your older sister. She’s the one who’s going to show you how to find the best hiding spots and make sure the Ares kids don't steal your dessert."
Annabeth’s chest puffs out a little. She looks at Leo, seeing the same fear and wonder she once felt when Luke found her in that alleyway. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small, smoothed-out piece of sea glass, pressing it into Leo’s hand.
"Here," she says, her voice sounding much older than her years. "For luck. If anyone bothers you, you tell them you’re with Luke and me. Okay?"
Leo nods vigorously, clutching the glass as if it’s a diamond. Luke looks at the two of them—his past and his present—and then looks up at you. You see it in his eyes: a flicker of pure, untainted hope. For a moment, the bitter shadows of his fate seem to vanish.
➽──────────────❥
Later, at the campfire, Leo is sitting right between you and Luke. He’s wearing Luke’s favorite oversized gray hoodie; it’s so massive on his small frame that he looks like he’s been swallowed by a giant, soft cloud. Only his messy dark hair and wide, flickering eyes peek out from the depths of the hood, which keeps slipping down over his forehead.
As the songs wind down, a hush falls over the crowd. A shimmering, holographic light begins to glow above Leo’s head. The air turns cool, smelling of rain and fresh earth.
The symbol of a winged staff with two snakes—the Caduceus—hovers in the air, glowing a vibrant green.
"A son of Hermes," Chiron announces, his voice echoing through the silence. "Welcome, Leo, to Cabin Eleven."
The Hermes cabin erupts into cheers, but Luke’s reaction is the loudest. He doesn't just clap; he lets out a triumphant shout, pulling Leo into a massive hug that lifts the boy off the ground. He looks at you over the boy’s head, his brown eyes bright with a rare, watery relief.
"He's mine," Luke whispers, the words directed only at you as the campfire roars higher. "He's officially one of mine."
The night ends with Luke carrying a fast-asleep Leo back to the cabin. He lays the boy down in the bunk right next to his own, tucking the tattered teddy bear under the kid’s arm. He stands there for a long moment, just watching the boy breathe, the moonlight from the window catching the scar on his face.
You step up behind him, resting your hand on the small of his back. "You're a good big brother, Luke."
He turns, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your hair, breathing you in. "I just want him to have the life I didn't," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I want him to grow up knowing he’s loved. With you and Annabeth... he actually has a chance to be happy."
He pulls back, kissing you deeply—a kiss that tastes of woodsmoke and a future he finally believes in. Tonight, the bitterness is gone. Tonight, Luke Castellan isn't a soldier of a dying age; he’s a protector, a brother, and a man who finally has a family worth keeping.
Where you need to remind someone that Luke is already yours and she doesn't have any room in Luke's heart.
m.list
words : 1,1k
contents : suggestive content, jealousy, possessive behavior, love bites, implied intimacy, pet name, flirtation from a third party, and public claiming.
a/n : I've been thinking that Luke will be the boyfriend who LOVES to show off your marks on him and finding you hot if you are jealous! and it's still related to this.
and not to mention Charlie looks so gorgeous in that picture (I'm sorry but I like his thirst trap pict)
hope you can enjoy!!!
The peace at Camp Half-Blood is briefly interrupted by the arrival of a new daughter of Iris named Lyra. She is young, barely sixteen, and undeniably striking—with hair that seems to shimmer like a prism in the sun. She has a bubbly, flirtatious energy that has half the boys in the Apollo cabin tripping over their own feet.
But Lyra only has eyes for the legendary Luke Castellan.
Despite everyone telling her that Luke is "completely, terrifyingly devoted" to you, Lyra seems to take it as a personal challenge. She begins showing up at the arena whenever Luke is training, "accidentally" dropping her water bottle near him or asking for "extra help" with her footwork.
One afternoon, as you sit on the bleachers, you watch Lyra approach Luke. He is sharpening Backbiter, his focus entirely on the blade.
"Luke," Lyra chirps, leaning over his shoulder so her hair almost brushes his face. "I was wondering if you could show me that disarming move again? I just can't seem to get the... rhythm right."
Luke doesn't even lift his head. "Go ask Travis or Connor, Lyra. I’m busy."
"But they aren't as good as you," she persists, her voice dropping into a sweet, melodic tone. She reaches out, her fingers hovering near Luke’s arm. "And I learn much better with... personal instruction."
Luke finally looks up, but his expression isn't one of flattery. It is one of pure, exhausted boredom—the look of a man who is counting the seconds until he can be back with you. "I'm not interested, Lyra. I think I’ve made that pretty clear."
He stands up, eyes immediately scanning the bleachers until they lock onto yours. The coldness in his gaze vanishes instantly, replace by that soft, "only-for-you" warmth. He doesn't say another word to Lyra as he walks straight toward you, leaving her standing there, fuming in her own rainbow-colored aura.
➽──────────────❥
That night, back in the privacy of the Head Counselor’s room, the memory of Lyra’s hands near Luke’s arm still makes your blood simmer. Luke notices it the moment he closes the door.
"You're quiet tonight, my love" he murmurs, pulling you into his arms.
"Lyra's very persistent," you say, your voice tight as you trace the line of his jaw.
Luke lets out a low, dark chuckle, his hands settling possessively on your waist. "She could be the Goddess of Beauty herself, and I wouldn't care. You know that, right?"
"I know," you whisper, pulling him down toward you.
"But maybe... I want to make sure she knows. And everyone else."
That is the night you decide to leave your mark. You aren't gentle. You claim his collarbone and his chest with a fierce, passionate intensity, leaving deep, blooming bruises that tell the world exactly who Luke Castellan belongs to. Luke doesn't protest; he only groans, his grip on you tightening, letting you mark him as much as you desire.
➽──────────────❥
The monthly Capture the Flag game is a muddy, chaotic mess, and the air is thick with the smell of wet earth and adrenaline. Lyra, the new daughter of Iris, is on the opposing Red Team, and she is making it her personal mission to stay within Luke’s orbit.
Every time they clash near the borders, she uses the proximity to "guard" him, her shimmer-blonde hair practically glowing as she tries to catch his eye even in the heat of battle.
"Rough game, Luke?" Lyra pants, blocking his path near the creek, her shield lowered just enough to be suggestive. "You look like you need someone to... help you cool down after this."
Luke doesn’t even acknowledge the comment. His face is a mask of cold, tactical focus. He simply feints left, disarms her with a sharp flick of Backbiter, and charges into the water to secure the final victory for the Blue Team.
The horn blows, signaling the end.
Soaked, muddy, and exhilarated from the win, Luke stands at the edge of the creek. Lyra is standing just a few feet away, watching him with hungry, hopeful eyes, convince that his victory is the perfect time to make another move.
"Gods, it's freezing," Luke grunts, his breath hitching from the cold water.
In one habitual, tired motion, he grips the hem of his soaked orange shirt and pulls it over his head.
The cheering stops instantly.
A heavy, stun silence ripples through the gathered campers. Lyra’s flirtatious smile freezes on her face, then slowly crumbles as her eyes widen in shock.
The bruises on his chest are impossible to miss. They are dark, fresh, and placed with an intentionality that screams possession. The marks on his collarbone and the center of his chest look like a declaration of war, stark and purple against his skin.
Luke blinks, looking at the speechless crowd, then down at his own bare chest. He sees the marks. He remembers the heat of last night in his counselor room—how you claimed him with a fierce intensity because you were tired of Lyra’s wandering hands.
A deep, brilliant crimson flush creeps up Luke’s neck, but he doesn't reach for his shirt. He doesn't try to hide. Instead, he lets out a dry, breathless laugh and shakes his head, running a hand through his wet curls.
He walks past Lyra without even a glance. He doesn't need to look at her; he only has eyes for you.
When he reaches you, he wraps a damp, bare arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his marked chest. The heat from his skin radiates against you.
"Satisfied, anchor?" he whispers into your ear, his voice a low rumble that carries just far enough for Lyra to hear.
"Very," you reply, resting your hand directly over the darkest mark on his collarbone.
Before you both turn to walk away, you shift your gaze to Lyra. You catch her eyes and give her 'that' look—a slow, hooded gaze of pure, cold triumph. It’s a silent message that needs no words:
He’s mine. Every inch of him.
Lyra’s face pales, her rainbow-aura flickering out as she finally realizes she never stood a chance.
Luke feels the tension and smirks, his grip on your waist tightening.
"I think she finally got the message," he murmurs, kissing your temple in front of everyone.
As you both walk back toward the cabins, Luke remains shirtless and proud, wearing your marks like a trophy. He doesn't care about the whispers or the stares of the other campers; he only cares about the girl at his side who holds the key to his heart—and the teeth to his skin.
Where Luke accidentally (or not) showing everyone who you belongs to
m.list
words : 1k
contents : suggestive content, heavy possessiveness, territorial behavior, jealousy tropes, marking (hickeys/biting), public displays of affection, and implied intimacy.
a/n : I can't stop thinking that Luke will be a very possessive boyfriend so I make this one. Please remember that both of them are already legal in here!
Also this is still a part of Luke x Aphrodite's daughter!reader series, but you can also read it one-shot.
Enjoy!!!
Years have passed since the incident at the Orpheus Gate, and the tension of the prophecy has long been replaced by a comfortable, domestic rhythm. Luke has grown into his role as a senior leader, his frame broader, his presence more grounded—but his devotion to you has only intensified.
That morning, the Hermes cabin is quiet. Luke is being particularly clingy before the wake-up horn, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his lips tracing the sensitive skin there with a slow, sleepy hunger. You don’t think much of the sharp pinch of his teeth or the lingering pressure of his lips—Luke is always a bit more "physical" when he is half-asleep.
Slipping you into the Hermes cabin is almost too easy for him. With a well-timed 'delivery' of sugar-filled snacks to the Stoll brothers, Luke ensures a chaotic diversion in the common room while he ushers you down the hall. He treats the whole thing like a high-stakes mission, his eyes sparkling with that old, mischievous light as he locks the door to his room, finally having you all to himself away from the prying eyes of Aphrodite’s gossip-hungry cabin.
"Luke, I have to go," you murmur, patting his messy curls. "It’s my turn to help with the strawberry harvest before the dew dries. If I don't show up, the satyrs will eat my entire share."
He lets out a low, satisfied hum, his arms tightening around your waist for one last, stubborn second before kissing the spot on your neck one last time. "See you at lunch, anchor," he whispers, a suspicious, triumphant smirk playing on his lips that you are too rushed to question.
You scramble out through the secret exit, adjust your clothes, and head straight for the fields. But as you work alongside the other campers, the morning feels... off.
It starts with the satyrs. Usually, they’re too busy stuffing their faces with berries to notice anything, but today they are pausing to snicker and nudge each other as you walk by. You frown, checking if you have juice stained on your shirt. Then, you head toward the central green, and the whispering only gets louder.
At the archery range, you see a group of Apollo girls giggling behind their hands, their arrows flying wide because they're too busy staring at you. Even Clarisse, who is sharpening her spear nearby, stops and lets out a loud, mocking whistle that echoes across the grass.
"Nice 'accessory', girl!" Clarisse yells, a wicked grin on her face. "Didn't know Castellan started marking his property like a stray dog."
You blink, confused, your hand instinctively going to your face. "What are you talking about, Clarisse? Is there mud on me?"
She just laughs, a rough, booming sound, and shakes her head. "Ask your boyfriend at lunch. If he can stop smirking long enough to answer."
➽──────────────❥
By the time you reach the dining pavilion for a quick water break, the whispering is constant. You find Luke sitting at the table, leaning back with a smug, relaxed posture, watching you approach. He looks exceptionally pleased with himself, his brown eyes tracking your every move with a predatory sort of pride.
"Luke," you say, huffing as you sit beside him. "Everyone is acting so weird today. Do I have something on my face? Is my hair messed up?"
Luke doesn't answer immediately. He just reaches out, his thumb grazing your jawline, his gaze dropping to the side of your neck. "You look perfect to me," he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling vibration.
Not long after, you hear someone calling your name. You turn to see Elias—the son of Apollo who still, after all these years, hasn't quite learned his lesson. He walks toward the table, but he stops dead in his tracks about three feet away. His eyes widen as they land on your neck.
"Whoa," Elias blurts out, fixed squarely on the spot Luke spent so much time on this morning. "That's... uh... that’s a pretty bold claim. I didn't think Luke was the type to leave a trail like that. I guess the 'Golden Boy' likes to leave his mark."
Your heart drops. Your hand flies to your neck, your fingers finding a patch of skin that feels slightly raised and warm.
"A what?" you hiss, your face turning a shade of red that would put an Ares cabin war banner to shame.
Luke doesn't even flinch. He just lets out a dark, melodic chuckle, leaning back and draping his arm over the back of your chair, pulling you closer to him.
"Problem, Elias?" Luke asks, his voice smooth but laced with that dangerous, protective edge. He doesn't look embarrassed at all; in fact, he looks like he’s ready to take a victory lap.
Elias looks at the mark—a deep, bruised purple flower blooming just below your ear—and then at Luke’s smug face. He clears his throat, mumbles an apology, and scurries away faster than he did years ago at the dock.
"LUKE CASTELLAN!" you protest, turning to him and trying to hide your neck with your hair. "You let me walk around the entire camp like this? Everyone sees!"
Luke just laughs, a genuine, boyish sound that makes his eyes crinkle. He reaches out and gently pulls your hand away from your neck, his thumb tracing the mark he made.
"I didn't hear you complaining this morning," he teases, his smirk widening. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Besides, I was tired of people like Elias forgetting who you belong to. Consider it a silent declaration of war against anyone who thinks they can look at you for too long."
"It's embarrassing!" you whisper-yell, though you can feel your heart racing at the possessive heat in his eyes.
Luke hums, kissing your cheek before leaning back again, his arm still firmly around you. "Maybe. But now everyone knows, anchor. You’re marked. And I think I’m going to make sure it stays that way for the rest of the week."
He winks at you, looking completely unapologetic, while the rest of the camp continues to whisper—now fully aware that the 'Golden Boy' of Hermes has a very, very sharp set of teeth when it comes to his girl.
After a lifetime of playing the villain and carrying the weight of the world, Luke Castellan finally finds his peace in the girl who chose him over a prophecy.
m.list
words : 3,7k
warnings : emotional slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, internal conflict, mental manipulation (Kronos), nightmare imagery, angst, established bond, protective!Luke Castellan, soft/domestic moments, moral ambiguity, healing and secret devotion, possessive behavior and jealousy tropes, and brief references to quest-related violence
song recommendation : Enchanted, Out of The Woods, You Are In Love, & Mine — Taylor Swift
a/n : can't believe that SoM era is over! but here i am already missing my man. Honestly i still freaking annoyed because what Luke did to Percy (but Oh God i still love him). So here the brighter side of Luke from my imagination. hope you can enjoy!!!
anyway i open to any request from you guys!
The air at Camp Half-Blood always smells like ripe strawberries and dust from the training arena, but that morning, everything tastes dull to Luke Castellan.
He stands on the edge of the arena stands, calloused fingers twisting the red bracelet around his left wrist over and over again. It sits tight against his skin—the one thing that, for months now, has kept him from giving in to the darkness that sometimes whispers inside his head.
Luke—messy brown curls falling into his eyes—watches you from afar.
You’re helping the new campers with their bows, laughing softly when one of Apollo’s kids misses the target entirely. Your smile is light. And to Luke—whose world has long been painted in shades of grey—you are everything he does not deserve to have.
Guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders. Still young. Already exhausted.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
The deep voice makes Luke stiffen, his shoulders lifting slightly. He clenches his jaw, already knowing who it is without turning around.
Hermes stands beside him, dressed in a silver running suit that glints under the sun. There’s no usual mischief on the god’s face—no crooked grin, no playful spark in his eyes. Just seriousness. Rare. Unsettling.
“What are you doing here, Father?” Luke snaps quietly, his voice sharp with the resentment of a trapped teenager. “I’ve been serving my punishment. I haven’t crossed the borders.”
“Zeus needs you, son,” Hermes says bluntly, his gaze steady. “The Orpheus Gate in Philadelphia has cracked. It’s one of the weak points where Tartarus bleeds into the mortal world. Something there is calling for you. Something that was once part of you.”
Luke’s fists clench. His head lowers. He knows exactly what Hermes means.
“I’m not going back to him,” Luke mutters. “I’m done with Kronos.”
“I know,” Hermes replies. “But the gate will only respond to someone who once carried the Titan’s essence. You have to seal it. Or Long Island will be overrun with monsters in a matter of days.”
Hermes’ gaze shifts to you.
“And that daughter of Aphrodite,” he adds more quietly. “She must come with you. She’s the key.”
Luke steps in front of him instantly, his lean body blocking Hermes’ line of sight to you. “No. She has nothing to do with this. I’ll go alone.”
“She has to come, Luke,” Hermes says firmly. “Her ability to read emotions is the only thing that can ensure the gate doesn’t manipulate you.”
Luke exhales sharply, biting his lower lip as he finally nods. He doesn’t know that Hermes spoke to you minutes earlier.
In your jacket pocket, the Imperial Gold dagger Hermes gave you feels impossibly heavy.
“If his aura turns gold and he can’t come back,” Hermes had whispered to you earlier, his voice echoing now in your mind while you’re helping the kids, “you must stop him before he opens the gate completely. You are Olympus’ final insurance.”
Luke must never know.
He never will.
➽──────────────❥
The journey to Philadelphia feels like a slow-walking execution.
The old train car is empty, silent. Luke sits across from you, elbows resting on his knees, brown eyes fixed on the blurred scenery outside the window. His hand never lets go of yours.
His young face looks worn. Tired. Tense.
Every time the train rattles, you feel it—his emotions seeping into the air. As a daughter of Aphrodite, feelings are never invisible to you. They are colors, vibrations, melodies.
And right now, Luke is a storm of black and grey—threaded with a soft blush of pink whenever his brown eyes flick toward you. Fear lives there. Fear of disappointing you again. Fear that you’ll finally see the monster inside him.
“You’re spacing out,” Luke murmurs, breaking the silence. His thumb brushes gently over the back of your hand. He’s still looking out the window. “What are you thinking about?”
You smile weakly, forcing your voice to stay steady. The dagger in your pocket feels like it’s burning your skin.
“Just… thinking about what we’ll do after this,” you say softly. “Maybe sit under that oak tree again? No gods. No prophecies. No… whispers.”
Luke lets out a short laugh—broken, but real. He turns to you, a small, bittersweet smile on his lips.
“I like that plan,” he says. “After this, I just want us to be… us. No fate. No betrayal.”
He lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your fingers, his brown eyes filled with both promise and quiet desperation.
And you feel like the worst traitor alive.
He loves you with what’s left of his fractured soul—while you carry a weapon meant for his heart.
➽──────────────❥
The ruins beneath Philadelphia smell like dead earth and despair. The deeper you go, the louder the whispers become.
You can’t hear them—but you can see what they do to Luke. His body stiffens. His breathing turns shallow, uneven. His steps falter, as if he has to drag himself forward.
His brown eyes begin to glimmer with thin threads of gold—fire flickering behind his pupils. He bites down hard on his lower lip, clutching his head.
“Luke?” you call, your voice echoing against the damp stones.
He doesn’t answer.
He stands before a massive stone gate carved with the screaming faces of the dead. Dark golden mist leaks from its cracks, curling around his legs like serpents, trying to pull him in.
“He was right,” Luke murmurs. But it isn’t his voice anymore.
It’s deeper. Older. Filled with hatred.
“They’ll never let me live in peace,” he snarls. “They sent you to watch me, didn’t they? They’re afraid of me.”
He turns. The boy who kissed your fingers on the train is gone.
This is the gaze of a Titan.
His hand grips Backbiter’s hilt as he steps toward the gate, intent on tearing it open.
“Luke, don’t!” you cry, rushing forward.
He flings his arm out, sending you crashing into the wall. Pain explodes across your back. And then—the dagger slips from your pocket. Imperial Gold gleams against the dark stone floor, glowing like a silent command.
Luke freezes.
His eyes snap to it. The gold in his pupils flickers, fading just enough for brown to resurface—mixed with agony and betrayal.
“That’s… an Olympian dagger,” he whispers, voice cracking. “They gave it to you? You were… ready to kill me?”
“No, Luke!” you struggle to your feet. “Listen to me!”
The golden mist thickens. A roar echoes from the depths of the Underworld. If the gate opens, the world ends.
You have two choices.
You kick the dagger away. It skids into the darkness, disappearing into the cracks of the floor.
“I won’t use it!” you scream. “I never will!”
Luke stares.
You run to him, ignoring the freezing aura burning your skin. You slam into him, arms wrapping around his body, face pressed to his chest.
“I don’t care what they say!” you sob, pouring every ounce of warmth and love you have into him. “I don’t care if Olympus is afraid of you! I choose you, Luke! I always choose you! Come back to me—please!”
Time seems to stop. Ice and warmth collide. Luke screams—one voice, then two. Titan and boy.
And then—
He slams his fist into the gate.
Not to open it.
To seal it.
BOOM.
Energy explodes outward. Silence follows. The mist vanishes.
Luke collapses to the ground, shaking, drenched in cold sweat. He looks at his hands. Then at you. His eyes are brown. Warm. Human.
“You threw it away,” he whispers. “You never meant to use it.”
“Never,” you say. “I only brought it because I was scared they wouldn’t let me come with you.”
Luke cups your face, wiping away your tears with trembling fingers. “You risked the world for me,” he whispers. “Why?”
“Because you’re mine, Luke Castellan.”
He exhales, forehead resting against yours.
“I don’t have anything to offer,” he admits. “No future. No safety. Just enemies and chains.”
He kisses your knuckles. “But if you’ll have me… I want to spend every breath protecting you.”
He swallows. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?”
You kiss him instead.
“Yes,” you whisper. “A thousand times yes.”
➽──────────────❥
When you return to camp, Luke walks with his head held high. He holds your hand openly. The campers all stop training. They whisper, eyeing Luke suspiciously, but Luke doesn't care. He continues walking, still holding your hand, letting the red bracelet on it glisten in the afternoon sun. It is a silent declaration.
Hermes stands near the main cabin, staring at both of you with an unreadable expression—perhaps relief, perhaps pride, or perhaps a little fear at the power of love that had just overcome the prophecy. Luke pauses in front of his father. He says nothing, simply holding up your intertwined hands, indicating his choice.
Then, without a word, he leads you back beneath your oak tree. Luke seats up and pulls you into his arms. He buries his face in your neck, breathing in your soothing perfume. His normally tense body feels soft, relaxing in your embrace.
"We did it," he whispers, his voice fills with relief.
"We did it," you reply.
And for the first time in his tragic life, Luke Castellan—a teenager burdened by fate but now finding hope—sleeps without a single nightmare, his anchor has brought him home.
➽──────────────❥
The sun has just begun to rise, spilling golden light across Camp Half-Blood. The scent of pine and coffee fills the air, mingling with the sharp clang of swords from the training arena. On most mornings, Luke Castellan would already be there—leading the Hermes cabin with strict discipline.
But this morning, his priorities have shifted.
You wake to the faint smell of strawberries and soap. Beside your pillow lies a freshly picked wild daisy and a polished bronze dagger, resting neatly in its leather sheath.
Luke.
He’s always like this. Small acts of service. Quiet reminders that he’s watching over you—even while you sleep.
You step out of the Aphrodite cabin, hair still slightly tousled. As you head toward the dining pavilion, you already know where to find him.
Luke no longer sits at the loud, chaotic Hermes table. His place now is at the far end of the Aphrodite table—right beside the seat he always makes sure to keep empty for you. He no longer cares about the rule that says campers must sit with their siblings.
He’s chatting casually with Piper McLean, his posture relaxed, a soft laugh escaping him every now and then—something that used to be painfully rare. He wears his usual orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms toned from years of training. The red bracelet you gave him is still wrapped tightly around his wrist, its color vivid against his skin.
When Luke sees you, his smile widens.
That smile—once sharp, bitter, or arrogant—is now warm. Genuine.
He taps the empty seat beside him. “Good morning, anchor,” he greets you, his voice low and slightly rough from sleep. The nickname is yours alone—a quiet reminder of the Orpheus Gate, and how you pulled him back from the dark.
Luke chuckles, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “She needed rest,” he says easily. “She saved my soul yesterday.”
You sit beside him. Piper gives you an amused smile.
“Finally, Mr. Castellan’s girl wakes up,” he teases.
His tone is casual, but his eyes linger on you—intense, grateful, remembering.
Throughout breakfast, Luke never lets his hand leave your back or shoulder. He tells you small details about what he saw at the Orpheus Gate—things he never shared with the gods. He speaks honestly, calmly, like someone who’s finally laid down every mask he’s ever worn.
After breakfast, Luke pulls you toward the training arena.
Not to train the Hermes kids.
To train you.
“Let’s see how well this Aphrodite girl can fight,” he teases, a small smile playing on his lips.
He hands you a celestial bronze sword, while he grips Backbiter—his familiar twin-bladed weapon. As training begins, Luke is gentle. Patient. He adjusts your stance, guides your grip. He stands close behind you, breath warm against your neck, the scent of forest and sweat grounding and familiar.
“Don’t rely only on your charm, anchor,” he murmurs near your ear as you nearly lose your balance. “This world is dangerous. You need to be able to protect yourself.”
You feel your cheeks warm. “For yourself?”
“For me,” he replies without hesitation, turning you to face him. He cups your face, blue eyes intense. “Because if you get hurt, I wouldn’t know how to survive it.”
He kisses your forehead—then your lips. Brief, but deep enough to make your heart stutter. In the middle of an arena usually filled with shouting and clashing steel, the two of you create your own quiet.
A loud voice shatters the moment.
“Oi, Castellan! You think you can flirt around while everyone else is training?!”
Clarisse La Rue stands at the edge of the arena, arms crossed, glaring. “You just got back from a quest with your girlfriend. Behave.”
Luke laughs softly. “Sorry,” he says easily. “First day.”
Clarisse rolls her eyes.
➽──────────────❥
Later that afternoon, you sit at your favorite place—beneath the old oak tree by the lake, feet dangling in the water. Luke sits behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting atop your head. His thumb absently traces the red bracelet on his wrist as he stares at your reflection on the calm surface.
“I still hear the whispers sometimes,” Luke admits quietly. “Not Kronos. Just my own fear. My own regret. The voice telling me I don’t deserve this.”
He lets you run your fingers through his hair, eyes closing at the softness of your touch. This is the side of him only you know—the vulnerable one. The one that longs for peace.
You turn, resting your head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
“You deserve this, Luke. More than anyone.”
“I can’t promise you the world,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise a throne. I don’t even know what tomorrow holds for me.”
He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His sea-blue eyes are full of quiet devotion.
“But I can promise this,” he says. “I’ll protect you with every breath I have. I’ll never let go of your hand. And I’ll never let you doubt that I love you more than anything.”
He kisses you—slow, sealing, sacred beneath the Camp Half-Blood sky.
And in the middle of all the uncertainty that comes with being a demigod, you know one thing for certain:
Luke Castellan—the fallen golden boy—has finally found his colours.
➽──────────────❥
Luke Castellan appears calm after the Philadelphia mission.
But there’s one thing that shatters that calm instantly—
Anyone trying to take your attention.
That afternoon, Luke is helping Chiron organize the armory, so you sit alone on the dock by the lake, reading. Or at least, you think you’re alone.
A son of Apollo—Elias, known for his excessive confidence and blinding smile—drops down beside you. He’s the type who believes he can charm anyone, even a daughter of Aphrodite who very clearly belongs to the Hermes counselor.
“You know,” Elias says casually, leaning back, “that book looks boring. You deserve better entertainment. How about the beach after dinner?”
You close your book, uneasy. “Elias, you know I’m with Luke.”
Elias chuckles, his hand lifting as if to brush your hair. “Luke’s busy with his old swords. A little friendly competition never hurts anyone, right?”
Across the camp, Luke exits the armory, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes instinctively search for you. When he sees Elias sitting too close—close enough that your knees touch—Luke stops walking.
His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. His blue eyes darken, cold as Arctic ice.
Luke doesn’t shout. He doesn’t run.
He walks—slowly. Like a predator.
“Elias,” Luke’s voice is low when he reaches you, threaded with restrained danger.
Elias flinches. His smile falters as Luke looms behind him. Luke doesn’t look at Elias at first—his gaze goes straight to you, checking that you’re okay.
Then he looks back at the Apollo kid.
“Luke! We were just… talking,” Elias says weakly.
Luke steps into your space, placing himself squarely between you and Elias. His hand settles on your shoulder—possessive, unmistakable—and squeezes gently.
“Conversation’s over,” Luke says calmly. “Don’t you have archery practice right now?”
Elias swallows, glancing at Luke’s hand on you—at the red bracelet that marks a boy who’s walked through hell for love.
Without another word, Elias stands and mutters something about “urgent business” before nearly fleeing the dock.
Silence settles.
Luke turns to you, frustration clear on his face. He drags a hand through his hair, then sits and pulls you between his legs, burying his face into your neck. His arms wrap around you tightly—as if afraid you’ll disappear.
“I hate it,” he mutters.
“Hate what?” you tease, already knowing.
“Seeing him look at you like that,” Luke exhales. “Thinking he has a chance. I know it’s selfish—but after everything… I can’t tolerate anyone trying to take you from me. Not even for a second.”
You cup his face, meeting his eyes. There’s still a trace of insecurity there—leftover scars from who he used to be.
“Luke. He doesn’t have a chance. No one does but you.”
Luke watches you for a long moment before a soft smile returns—the one meant only for you. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because if it happens again, I might challenge the entire Apollo cabin to a no-weapons duel. And I don’t think Chiron would appreciate that.”
He pulls you to your feet. “Come on. Dinner. You’re sitting at the Hermes table with me tonight.”
And he means it.
That night, Luke brings you to the Hermes table and sits you right beside him. His hand never leaves yours beneath the table. Every camper who dares glance your way receives a sharp, unmistakable warning look.
Luke Castellan has made his choice.
And he will protect it—with everything he has.
➽──────────────❥
Luke and you have been dating for months now, and by this point, the entire camp has grown used to seeing the two of you inseparable. But even after all this time, there are still moments that manage to catch everyone off guard.
The mornings at Camp Half-Blood are always a bit chaotic, especially when you’re rushing to beat the breakfast bell. That morning, in the dim light of the Aphrodite cabin, you had grabbed the first pair of clean-looking pants you found near your bed—thinking they were yours. It wasn't until you were halfway to the pavilion that you realized the hem was dragging on the grass and the waist was significantly looser than usual.
You were wearing Luke’s cargo pants. The cargo pants—the oversized, rugged ones he’d left at your cabin the night before after you both stayed up late talking on the porch.
You didn't have time to go back.
As you walk toward the dining pavilion, you notice the atmosphere change. Usually, people are focused on their breakfast, but today, heads are turning.
"Nice pants, [Y/N]!" Travis Stoll yells from the Hermes table, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Didn't know the Aphrodite cabin started a 'stolen-from-Luke' collection!"
You feel your face heat up instantly. A few other campers whisper and nudge each other as you pass. It’s like a silent signal has gone off across the camp. Everyone knows those pants. They’ve seen Luke wear them a thousand times during training.
When you finally reach the Aphrodite table, Piper is already biting back a smile. "Bold choice," she whispers as you sit down. "Does the owner know he’s missing his favorite pair of trousers?"
Before you can answer, a shadow falls over the table.
Luke has just arrived. He looks slightly disheveled, wearing a simple pair of training shorts and a clean camp tee, looking around as if he’s lost something. He walks over to you, his eyes scanning your face first, a tired but sweet smile starting to form.
"Hey," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your temple. "Have you seen my—"
His voice cuts off. His gaze travels down, landing on the oversized olive fabric swathing your legs. He blinks, his brain finally catching up with what every other camper had already realized.
A slow, deep flush creeps up Luke’s neck but it’s quickly followed by a smirk that is pure, smug satisfaction.
"Oh," Luke says, his voice dropping into a low, amused rumble. "So that's where they went."
He doesn't look annoyed at all. In fact, he looks like he just won the grand prize at the Olympic games. He slides into the seat beside you, his arm immediately hooking around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.
"You guys see something you like?" Luke calls out to the Stoll brothers, who are still snickering. His voice is casual, but there’s a protective edge to his smile that shuts them up real quick.
He turns back to you, his thumb tracing the rolled-up waistband of the pants. "You look incredibly cute in my clothes," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Though, I think everyone in camp just got the message loud and clear."
"It was an accident, Luke," you protest softly, though you’re smiling now.
"An accident?" He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans in closer, his hand resting possessively on your thigh, feeling the rough material that belongs to him. "I don't think so. I think it’s a sign. From now on, I’m leaving all my clothes at your cabin."
Throughout the rest of breakfast, Luke is in an exceptionally good mood. He keeps his hand on your knee or his arm around you, making sure that every time you move and the oversized fabric swishes, people know exactly whose pants you’re wearing.
Later, when you’re walking to the lake, you catch your reflection in the water. You look like you’re being swallowed by the fabric, but Luke is walking beside you with an extra bit of swagger, his fingers laced tightly with yours.
"You know," Luke says, glancing at a group of younger campers who are staring. "I think I prefer you in my cargo pants than in your own. It’s a good look for you. Very... mine."
He pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head. "Don't bother returning them. I’ll just find something else of yours to 'accidentally' wear tomorrow."
Between the crown of a king and the heart of a human, what will Luke Castellan choose?
m.list
words : 4,7k
warnings : redemption arc, emotional slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, internal conflict, mental manipulation (Kronos), nightmare imagery, angst, established bond, protective!Luke Castellan, soft/domestic moments, moral ambiguity, healing and secret devotion.
songs recommendation : "The Archer" by Taylor Swift, "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift (feat. The Civil Wars), and "The Prophecy" by Taylor Swift.
a/n : happy reading!!! also sorry for any mistake in spelling and grammar, English is not my first language.
It’s been months since Luke decides to offer his hand to you, choosing to stay. All of the campers know that you belong to him although he never asks you directly. You two always say that you are each other’s friend, but friends don’t hug, hold hands, nor kiss. But something has shifted in the past few days.
The nights at Camp Half-Blood have always been quiet.
Not peaceful—just quiet.
Luke notices it more now. The way the sounds thin out after curfew. The crackle of distant torches. The soft hum of insects near the woods. It leaves too much room for thoughts to echo.
He sits on the edge of his bunk, sharpening his dagger longer than necessary. The blade doesn’t need it. It hasn’t for a while. Still, he drags the whetstone along the metal, slow and methodical, like repetition might smooth something else down too.
His days are full—training, patrols, counseling the younger campers—but his nights feel heavier. Like something unfinished keeps pacing just behind his ribs.
When sleep comes, it doesn’t come gently.
He dreams of time. Not clocks. Not numbers. Just the feeling of something vast and waiting.
In the dream, he stands somewhere dark and endless, the air thick like dust that hasn’t been disturbed in centuries. There is no figure. No face. Just a presence—old, patient, observant.
It doesn’t speak at first.
It watches.
Luke shifts in his sleep, jaw tightening. His hands curl into fists. Then the voice comes—not loud, not commanding. Almost kind.
“You’ve been carrying this alone for a long time.”
Luke wakes with a sharp breath, sitting upright. His chest rises and falls too fast. The cabin is still. The other campers breathe evenly in their beds, unaware. He rubs a hand over his face.
“Just a dream,” he mutters. But the feeling lingers.
Over the next few days, the dreams return. Never the same, never clear. Always fragments. A doorway that doesn’t close. A weight lifting, just slightly. A quiet reassurance that feels dangerous precisely because it makes sense.
The voice never tells him what to do.
It doesn’t curse the gods.
It doesn’t ask for loyalty.
It only speaks when Luke’s guard is down—when he’s exhausted, frustrated, angry in ways he never says out loud.
“They should have protected you.”
Luke scoffs in his sleep. Or maybe he doesn’t. He can never remember.
During training, he hits harder than usual. His strikes are sharp, precise—controlled, but fueled by something restless. When a younger camper hesitates, Luke snaps quicker than he means to. The look on their face makes him turn away.
He hates that part of himself.
At Canoe Lake, he sits alone longer than usual. The water reflects the sky in pieces, never whole. Luke skips a stone across the surface, counting the ripples until they disappear.
Freedom. The word slips into his thoughts uninvited.
Not rebellion. Not destruction. Just… leaving.
No one would notice at first. He tells himself that. Camp is always busy. Always loud. Always moving. One person slipping away wouldn’t break it. The idea settles uncomfortably in his chest.
That night, the voice returns.
“You don’t owe them your suffering.”
Luke exhales slowly in his sleep, brow furrowing. Somewhere deep inside, something answers back—not agreement, not refusal. Just hesitation.
And hesitation, the voice seems to know, is enough to keep talking.
➽──────────────❥
You notice it in the quiet moments first.
Not when Luke is training—he’s always sharp there. Not when he’s laughing with the younger campers—he’s good at that too. You notice it in the pauses. The spaces between.
He stays up later than usual.
You see him some nights, sitting on the steps near Cabin 11 long after the lights should be out. Not doing anything. Just… there. Like he’s waiting for something to arrive, or leave.
When you greet him, he smiles. The same one as always. Easy. Familiar.
But it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to.
At breakfast, he eats less. Pushes food around his plate. Stares off toward the forest like it might answer a question he hasn’t asked yet. When someone calls his name, he reacts a second too late.
“You good?” you ask once, casual.
“Yeah,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. “Just tired.”
“It feels like you lost your colour, golden boy,” you add. “Used to be golden, but now it’s gray.”
He smiles, a fake smile. “You just imagine things.” he replies, looking at his dagger. Not looking at you.
You don’t press.
You’ve learned that Luke doesn’t respond well to being cornered. He opens doors on his own time. Still, the feeling settles in your chest—quiet, persistent.
Something is wrong.
You catch it during training one afternoon. Luke is correcting a camper’s stance, hands guiding their shoulders, voice calm. Then he stops mid-sentence. Just freezes.
His grip tightens for a moment before he steps back, jaw clenched.
“Take a break,” he tells the camper. “Water. Five minutes.”
They nod and run off, relieved. Luke turns away, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s fighting a headache that won’t go away.
You approach him slowly.
“Too much?” you ask.
He huffs a breath that might be a laugh. “Something like that.”
You sit beside him on the bench without asking. The wood is warm from the sun. The air smells like dust and sweat and summer.
“You don’t have to tell me,” you say, staring ahead instead of at him. “I just want you to know I can tell when you’re not okay.”
He’s quiet for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is lower than usual.
“Does it ever feel like,” he starts, then stops. Swallows. “Like you’re standing on the edge of something, and you don’t know if stepping forward would fix everything or ruin it?”
You don’t answer right away.
“Yes,” you say eventually. “More often than I’d like.”
That seems to ease something in him. Not solve it. Just loosen it enough to breathe. Luke exhales slowly, shoulders dropping a fraction.
“I hate that feeling,” he admits. “Feels like being pulled apart.”
You glance at him then, just briefly. “By what?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
You don’t believe that. But you don’t say it. Instead, you do what you’re best at. You stay.
Over the next few days, you find yourself adjusting without thinking. You sit closer when he’s quiet. You walk a little slower when he seems lost in thought. When he brings you water after training, you notice his hand lingers for half a second longer than usual. When you hand it back, you do the same.
Neither of you comments on it.
One evening by the campfire, Luke stares into the flames like they’re speaking a language he almost understands. You watch the fire reflect in his eyes—restless, searching.
“You ever think about leaving?” he asks suddenly.
The question isn’t casual. It lands carefully. Like he’s testing the ground. You don’t answer right away.
“Yes,” you say honestly. “But not running.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
The fire pops. Someone laughs nearby. The camp feels normal. Safe. And still, something coils quietly beneath the surface.
Later that night, as you walk back toward your cabin, you glance over your shoulder. Luke is still by the fire. Watching the flames burn down to embers. You don’t know what’s calling him. But you know this—
Whatever it is, it’s patient. And Luke is listening.
➽──────────────❥
Not nightmares. Not visions soaked in blood or fire. Just voices.
Luke wakes before dawn more often now, breath shallow, fists clenched like he’s been holding onto something that slipped away the moment his eyes opened. He never remembers the exact words—only the feeling that follows him into the morning.
Like someone has been speaking to him with certainty. Not commanding.
Convincing.
During training, his temper shortens. He snaps at a camper for a sloppy move, then immediately looks away, jaw tight, as if ashamed of himself. He pushes harder, runs longer, fights until his muscles scream.
As if exhaustion might drown the thoughts out. But it doesn’t.
You see it the clearest one night near the climbing wall. The camp is quiet, stars scattered above like they’re watching. Luke sits on the rocks below, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
“You’re going to break something if you keep doing that,” you say gently, nodding at the way his hands keep clenching and unclenching.
He glances up, startled, then relaxes when he sees you.
“Didn’t hear you,” he admits.
“Figured.” You sit beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. The air is cool. Still.
Luke exhales slowly. “Do you ever feel like the gods already decided who you are before you even got a say?”
You don’t answer right away.
“I think,” you say carefully, “they decide where you start. Not where you end.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Feels like the ending’s already written.”
You turn to him then. “Does it?” you ask. Not challenging. Just curious.
Luke hesitates. His gaze drifts toward the sea, dark and endless in the distance.
“There’s this… idea,” he says slowly. “Those things don’t have to stay like this. That someone actually sees what’s wrong. Sees how broken the system is.”
Your chest tightens—not in fear. In recognition.
“And what does that idea want from you?” you ask.
Luke looks at you sharply, like he hadn’t expected that question.
“Nothing,” he says at first. Then, quieter: “Everything.”
The word hangs between you. You don’t reach for him. You don’t argue. You don’t tell him he’s wrong. Instead, you say, “And do you trust it?”
Luke’s jaw works. “It makes sense.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Silence.
Finally, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
You nod, accepting the answer for what it is.
“That’s okay,” you say. “Not knowing is still a choice.”
He looks at you then—really looks at you. “You’re not scared?” he asks.
“Of you?” you ask softly.
He doesn’t answer.
You stand instead, brushing dirt from your hands. “I don’t think you’re cruel,” you say. “And I don’t think you’re weak.”
You pause.
“I think you’re tired of being unheard.”
Luke swallows. The words hit closer than anything else has.
Later that night, Luke stands alone near the docks. The water laps quietly against the wood. The moon reflects like a broken coin. The voice returns. Not loud. Not dramatic.
Patient.
You’ve seen the truth, it whispers. They’ll never change. Not for you.
Luke grips the railing, knuckles white.
“I’m not stupid,” he mutters under his breath. The voice doesn’t argue.
No, it agrees. That’s why you’re perfect.
Luke closes his eyes. For the first time, doubt flickers—not about the gods, not about the camp. But about what it would cost him to listen.
Somewhere across camp, a cabin light turns off. And Luke realizes something dangerous, something grounding, something terrifying all at once: that the choice he’s facing isn’t about anyone else. Not about you. Not about the camp. It’s entirely his. The weight of it presses down, and for the first time, he understands how close he is to crossing a line he might never come back from.
➽──────────────❥
The night feels heavier than it should. The camp is asleep, but Luke isn’t. He stands at the edge of Canoe Lake, backpack resting at his feet, packed neatly—too neatly—for something that’s supposed to be temporary.
He tells himself it’s just in case. Just preparation. He’s been good at preparing for exits his whole life.
The water is dark, barely reflecting the stars. Luke stares at it, jaw tight, fingers flexing like he’s bracing for impact that hasn’t come yet.
“You’re awake,” you say behind him.
He turns slowly.
You’re standing a few steps away, cardigan pulled tighter around yourself, eyes searching his face—not accusing, not surprised. Just… knowing.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.
“Me neither.” You don’t ask about the bag. That’s what gets him.
You walk closer, stopping beside him, not crowding. The lake laps quietly against the shore, filling the space where words hesitate.
“I was going to leave before sunrise,” Luke says suddenly.
There it is. You inhale, steady. “Where?”
“Does it matter?”
You think for a moment. “Only if you want it to.”
He exhales through his nose. “There’s a ship. Off the coast. I’ve known about it longer than I should have.”
Your fingers curl slightly at your side.
“And you were going to go,” you say. Not a question.
“Yes.”
Silence stretches. Luke waits for anger. For fear. For a plea.
But it doesn’t come.
“There’s someone who’s been talking to me,” he continues, voice lower now. “In my dreams. At first I thought it was just… my own thoughts.”
You turn your head to look at him. “And now?”
“Now I know it’s not.” His throat tightens. “It’s Kronos.”
The name sits between you like a held breath.
You don’t recoil. You don’t step away.
“That’s a lot to carry alone,” you say quietly.
Luke laughs, sharp and humorless. “He makes sense. That’s the worst part. He doesn’t ask me to destroy the world. He asks me to fix it.”
You nod slowly. “And does he ask what it costs you?”
Luke’s hands clench. “He says the cost is worth it.”
“Does he pay for it?” you ask. Luke doesn’t answer right away.
The lake ripples softly.
“He says the gods will never change,” Luke says. “That they’ll keep breaking kids like us and calling it destiny.”
You don’t argue. Instead, you say, “And what do you want?”
Luke turns to you, frustration flickering across his face. “I want it to stop.”
You meet his gaze, steady. “Then make sure you’re not becoming another thing that breaks people nor hurts them.”
The words land—not as judgment, but as truth. Luke looks away, jaw trembling slightly.
“I’m scared,” he admits. The words come out rough. “Not of him. Of myself.”
You step closer—not touching. Just present.
“You’re allowed to choose without proving anything,” you say. “You don’t owe the gods redemption. You don’t owe Kronos rebellion.”
You pause. “You owe yourself honesty.”
Luke closes his eyes.
For a moment, he looks young. Tired. Human.
“If I stay,” he says slowly, “it won’t fix anything.”
You nod. “Probably not.”
“If I go,” he continues, “I might become something I can’t come back from—a monster.”
“That’s possible too.”
He opens his eyes, searching your face. “You’re not telling me what to do.”
“No,” you say softly. “I’m reminding you that whatever you choose—it’s yours.”
The voice stirs in the back of his mind, impatient now. Promising certainty. Power. Purpose.
Luke looks at the bag at his feet. Then at the lake. Then at you.
“I don’t want to be controlled,” he says quietly. “Not by them. Not by him.”
You feel something in your chest loosen—not relief. Recognition. Luke takes a deep breath, letting his hands rest at his sides. He looks out over the lake, the water dark and still, reflecting the stars above.
He grabs his bag, preparing to leave the Lake. But you can feel it, he seems more relaxed. Not as complicated as before, and not as dark as before.
“Luke,” you call him. “Take this.”
You give him a bracelet—a prayer-blessed red silk bracelet with a small amethyst.
“To soothe away nightmares. Have a good night.” you add and leave him, clenching at the bracelet.
➽──────────────❥
The dream is quiet.
Luke stands somewhere vast and endless, the ground beneath him cracked like dried earth. There is no sky, only a dull, colorless expanse that feels heavier the longer he looks at it.
He knows where he is.
She’s standing in our way, the voice says again—closer now, smoother. Don’t mind her.
Luke clenches his jaw. “You don’t get to talk about her.” A low, amused sound echoes around him.
Interesting, Kronos murmurs. You deny the gods their power over you, yet you bristle when I acknowledge hers.
Luke looks down at his wrist. The red silk bracelet is there. Unburned. Untouched. The amethyst catches faint light, pulsing softly. Kronos goes quiet.
Ah, he says at last. She gives you comfort.
“She gave me a choice,” Luke snaps. “You hate that.”
The air shifts, pressure closing in like a slow tide.
I hate inefficiency, Kronos corrects calmly. Fear works. Rage works. Love… is unreliable.
Luke laughs bitterly. “Funny. You’re the one whispering in my head every night.”
Because no one else ever did, Kronos replies. Not angry. Just factual. Not when it mattered.
The ground beneath Luke fractures further, cracks spreading like veins.
They used you, Kronos continues. They praised your loyalty, your skill, your sacrifice—right up until you became inconvenient.
Images flash: Hermes’ cabin overflowing. Luke standing alone. Promises never kept. Luke’s chest tightens.
“You think I don’t know that?” he says.
I think you know it better than anyone, Kronos says gently. That’s why I chose you.
Luke’s fingers curl around the bracelet.
“You didn’t choose me,” he says. “You found me when I was angry.”
A pause. Then, softer: And were you wrong to be?
The question hangs, insidious. Luke swallows.
“No,” he admits.
Exactly. The voice warms. She soothes your dreams. I offer you the truth.
The darkness shifts, forming something almost like a presence before him—not a body, not a face. Just weight. Time. Patience.
She wants you to sleep peacefully, Kronos says. I want you to wake up.
Luke looks down at the amethyst again. He feels its steady calm, like a hand on his back, grounding him.
“And what do you want me to become?” Luke asks.
The silence stretches.
Free, Kronos answers. Luke exhales sharply. “That’s not an answer.” A low chuckle ripples through the void.
You fear becoming a monster, Kronos says. But tell me, Luke Castellan—how many monsters were created by Olympus before me?
Luke’s heart pounds. He thinks of children sent on quests they never came back from. Of gods who watched and did nothing. Of himself, standing at the edge of leaving.
“I won’t be controlled,” Luke says again, voice steadier now. “Not by them. Not by you.”
The bracelet pulses once—warm. For the first time, Kronos sounds… displeased.
Be careful, he warns softly. You stand between eras. Between comfort and consequence.
Luke lifts his head. “Then I’ll stand there until I decide.”
Silence.
Then, retreating—not defeated, but waiting:
Enjoy your peace while it lasts, Kronos whispers. I will be here when the doubts return.
Luke wakes with a sharp inhale, sitting upright in his bunk. The cabin is dark. The bracelet is still on his wrist. And for the first time since the dreams began, the voice is gone.
➽──────────────❥
Morning comes too quietly. The camp wakes in fragments—soft footsteps on gravel, the distant clang of weapons being set down, a breeze moving through the trees like nothing is wrong.
Everything is wrong.
Luke finds you near the edge of the training field, sunlight just brushing the tops of the trees. He hesitates for a moment, then steps closer. “I need to see Chiron,” he says quietly. “Will you come with me?” You nod.
Luke walks beside you toward the Big House, his pace steady but deliberate, like if he stops moving he might reconsider. He didn’t sleep much. Neither did you. The bracelet is still on his wrist. He hasn’t taken it off.
Chiron is already waiting. He stands on the porch in his wheelchair form, hands folded, expression unreadable but eyes sharp in the way that makes it impossible to lie convincingly. As if he knew this moment was coming long before either of you did.
“You asked to see me,” Chiron says.
Luke nods. “Yes, sir.”
Chiron’s gaze shifts briefly to you. Not suspicious. Not disapproving. Acknowledging.
“Walk with me,” Chiron says, turning toward the strawberry fields. Luke follows. You do too.
For a moment, none of you speak. The strawberries glisten with dew, bright and deceptively peaceful.
Luke breaks first.
“I was going to leave,” he says plainly. No dramatics. No softening the truth. “There’s a ship. Princess Andromeda. I knew about it. I almost went.”
Chiron doesn’t stop walking. “And what stopped you?” he asks.
Luke exhales. “I did.”
Chiron’s eyebrows lift slightly—not in disbelief. I'm interested.
“There’s been a voice,” Luke continues. “In my dreams. Kronos. He’s been trying to convince me for a while now. About the gods. About how broken everything is.”
Chiron finally stops. He turns slowly, meeting Luke’s eyes.
“And do you believe him?” he asks.
Luke’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer immediately.
“I believe the gods failed us,” he says at last. “I believe they keep doing it. I believe they won’t change just because we want them to.”
Your chest tightens.
“But,” Luke adds, quieter, “I don’t believe Kronos is the answer.”
Chiron studies him for a long moment.
“You understand the weight of what you’re admitting,” Chiron says. “The danger.”
“I do,” Luke replies. “That’s why I came. I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen. And I don’t want to be alone with it anymore.”
Chiron looks at you now. “You knew?” he asks gently.
You nod. “I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know everything. Not at first.”
“That was enough,” Luke says quickly. “She didn’t push. She didn’t choose for me. She just… reminded me I still could.”
Silence settles again. Chiron closes his eyes briefly, like someone weighing multiple futures at once.
“You’ve done the hardest thing,” he says finally. “You stopped before the fall.”
Luke swallows. “Does that make any difference?”
Chiron opens his eyes. “It makes all the difference,” he says. “But not without consequence.”
Luke nods. He expected that. “I’m not asking to be forgiven,” he says. “I’m asking to be honest.”
Chiron turns toward the Big House again. “Then come inside,” he says. “There are gods who need to hear this. And they will not all be kind.”
Luke looks at you. Not for reassurance. Just to make sure you’re still there.
You are.
You fall into step beside him as you walk toward the porch, toward judgment, toward something uncertain but real. And for the first time, Luke doesn’t feel like he’s running toward or away from anything.
He’s standing.
➽──────────────❥
The Big House feels different from the inside. The air is heavier. Charged. Like a storm being held back by nothing but restraint. Chiron asks you to wait near the doorway as Luke steps further inside. You don’t argue. You don’t need to be close to hear what happens next.
The temperature drops. Lightning cracks somewhere far above the roof.
“You knew,” Zeus’ voice booms, unseen but unmistakable. It reverberates through the walls, through your bones. “You heard him. You considered him.”
Luke doesn’t flinch. “Yes,” he says clearly.
A pause. Dangerous. Tense.
“And you dare stand here,” Zeus continues, “after conspiring with a Titan, and ask for mercy?”
Luke’s fists clench at his sides. “I’m not asking for mercy.”
Silence.
“I’m asking to take responsibility,” Luke says. “Before it was too late.”
A sharp laugh echoes. Cold. Unforgiving.
“Too late?” Zeus scoffs. “You think intent does not matter? You think proximity to treason absolves you?”
The pressure in the room intensifies. You feel it even from where you stand. Then another presence shifts the air.
“Enough.” Hermes’ voice is calmer, but no less powerful.
“He came to you,” Hermes says. “He didn’t run. He didn’t hide. He didn’t cross the line.”
Another presence joins—warm, almost soothing, cutting through the tension like silk through steel.
“Aphrodite,” Zeus says sharply. “This does not concern you.”
“It concerns me when a child of mine is involved,” she replies smoothly. “And when love—true love, not obsession or manipulation—pulls someone back from ruin.”
You feel it then. Not a hand on your shoulder. But something protective. Steady.
Luke’s head lifts slightly.
“I didn’t stay for her,” he says quickly, as if afraid of cheapening the truth. “She didn’t ask me to. She didn’t promise me anything.”
Aphrodite hums thoughtfully. “Exactly.”
Zeus’ silence is thunderous. “You still hate us,” Zeus says to Luke at last.
Luke meets the unseen gaze. “Yes.” The honesty hangs in the air like a blade.
“And yet you chose not to betray us,” Zeus says slowly.
Luke swallows. “I chose not to become him.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Finally, Zeus speaks.
“You will not leave Camp Half-Blood,” he declares. “Not for quests. Not for holidays. Not for comfort.”
Luke nods once.
“You will remain,” Zeus continues, “as penance. As proof. You will train the new campers. Especially those of Hermes’ cabin.”
Hermes exhales quietly—not relief, but acceptance.
“You will watch others receive what you believe you were denied,” Zeus finishes. “And you will not interfere with fate again.”
The pressure lifts. Not forgiveness. But survival.
Chiron clears his throat gently. “The council has spoken.”
The presence fades. The air warms. The house feels… normal again.
Luke steps back toward you. He looks exhausted. But grounded. “I’m still here,” he says quietly.
“I know.” you nod, giving him a hug. A hug that feels like home where he wants to stay with. He deepens his head on the crock of your shoulder, drowning in your warm.
Outside, the camp goes on. Kids laugh. Weapons clash. Life continues—unaware of how close it came to losing him. Luke doesn’t smile. But when he walks past you, his shoulder brushes yours—intentional, grounding.
And for the first time since the dreams began, the future doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels like a sentence. One he chose to serve.
➽──────────────❥
The camp learns quickly. Not the reasons. Not the truth. Only the shape of it.
Luke stops leaving. He’s always there now—by the training field, near the cabins, at the edge of conversations that go quiet when he passes. The punishment is never announced, but it’s visible. Routine becomes his sentence.
And you become part of it.
In the afternoons, when the sun leans low and the camp exhales, Luke trains the new campers beneath the trees bordering the arena. Especially the Hermes kids. He’s patient with them in a way that surprises everyone. Correcting grips. Adjusting stances. Letting them fail without letting them fall.
You sit nearby, usually under the same oak, back against the bark, book forgotten in your lap. Sometimes Luke glances over between drills. Just to check.
The tree is old. Its roots twist above the soil like something that refused to stay buried. You think he likes that.
Percy and Annabeth don’t come closer. They watch from a distance sometimes, faces unreadable. Suspicion lingers. Hurt doesn’t evaporate just because the danger passed. Luke doesn’t try to explain. He doesn’t look at them when they turn away.
At night, when the camp quiets and the fireflies replace torches, Luke walks the perimeter of the woods. Always the same path. Always ends at Thalia’s pine.
You don’t follow him every time. But when you do, he doesn’t act surprised.
The tree hums faintly with magic, needles whispering in the wind. Luke stops a few steps away, hands in his pockets.
“She chose to stand,” he says once, voice low. “Even when it hurts.”
You stand beside him. Close enough that your sleeves brush. “Yeah,” you say. “She did.”
He doesn’t look at you. But his shoulder shifts, settling. Like he’s anchoring himself. The bracelet glints faintly in the moonlight.
He still wears it.
➽──────────────❥
Weeks pass. Luke’s name becomes quieter at camp. Less accusation. More fact. He’s there. He stays. He teaches. He doesn’t leave.
One evening, you find him beneath the oak again, sitting this time instead of standing guard over the world. His back rests against the trunk. He looks tired in a way that isn’t hopeless.
You sit beside him without asking. For a while, neither of you speak.
Then Luke says, softly, “I used to think staying meant losing.”
You tilt your head. Listen.
“Turns out,” he continues, “it just means choosing the same place every day.”
His hand rests on the ground between you.
Open.
Yours settles there too, fingers brushing dirt, roots, his knuckles.
He doesn’t look down. He just lets his hand turn, slow and certain, until your fingers fit.
Above you, the leaves shift. The tree holds.
And for the first time in a long while, Luke doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for something to break.
a/n : been obsessed with Luke and Charlie for this past weeks! hope you can enjoy this fic ;)
It’s been a week since your first step at the Camp Half-Blood and you still live in the Cabin 11—not claimed yet. You are sword training with other campers for today’s activity.
“Ow,” you hear someone to your left shout in pain, having been scratched by a sword.
Instinct takes over as you run to her and check on her. The training comes to a halt, and the other campers form a loose circle around you. You quickly grab a bottle of water, wash away the blood, and wrap the wound with a clean cloth from your pocket.
“You should go to the infirmary soon,” you say.
When you stand back up, a warm breeze sweeps past, carrying a faint scent of roses. Suddenly, the water you used to wash the blood rises into the air—slowly but surely—lifting above your head and forming a symbol: a seashell.
“The goddess Aphrodite has claimed her daughter,” Chiron says, nodding to you in acknowledgment.
“She fits. Welcome, honey,” the counselor from Cabin 10—children of Aphrodite—walks to you while welcoming you.
Training is called off for the day as the other campers help the injured girl to the infirmary.
➽──────────────❥
The next day, you wake up early, your body still not used to the new cabin. You decide to get some fresh air—maybe take a walk or go for a morning run. The camp is still quiet, everyone still in their bed. You walk slowly, then jog, sometimes stopping for a moment to enjoy the peaceful morning. Eventually, you rest near Canoe Lake, admiring the scenery.
Ten minutes later, you hear someone running towards the lake. You glance up and see Luke Castellan, your former counselor.
“You wake up early. Can’t sleep?” he approaches you and sits near you.
“Yeah, still getting used in the new cabin,” you say. He nods.
Silence wraps between you as you both enjoy the quiet camp. You aren’t close, but the air feels comfortable.
“I need to go back. See you around, I guess?” Luke says, breaking the silence.
“See you around,” you answer, offering him a small smile.
➽──────────────❥
Later that afternoon, you join the others for archery training.
“What the hell is she doing in here?”
“A daughter of Aphrodite in the training field?”
“Ain’t no way she’s still here after the claiming,’
You hear whispers behind you, but you try to ignore them. Instead, you focus on your bow and the target ahead. You take a deep breath and release the arrow. Unfortunately, it misses the mark. A few people laugh behind your back.
“Need a hand?” a voice startles you.
You turn around and find Luke standing there.
“Yes, if you don’t mind,” you reply.
He adjusts your stance, correcting the position of your legs and hands.
“Take a deep breath. Focus on the center,” he guides you.
“Relax,” he whispers, noticing your trembling hands.
You close your eyes, steadying yourself. Then you inhale deeply and draw the bow again. This time, the arrow flies straight into the center of the target, drawing gasps from the others.
You look back at Luke as he gives you a smile.
“Thanks,” you whisper.
He nods before returning to his friends.
➽──────────────❥
It’s been a few days since your first encounter with Luke in the morning run. And it’s been a routine for you to wake up early and do the morning run. You feel refreshed every time you enjoy the quiet camp. So does Luke. He feels surprisingly comfortable enjoying the Canoe Lake every morning with you. You two just sit, enjoying the scenery.
Later in the evening you sit near the campfire, waiting for dinner.
“Hey,” Luke greets, sitting beside you.
“Hey.” you reply.
He brings a pomegranate in his hand, tossing it around before opening it.
“Where did you get this?” you ask.
“Someone left it. Want some?” he offers the red fruit.
You hesitate, just for a second, before taking it.
“Sure,”
You pull a few seeds free and eat them. Sweet. Slightly bitter.
The noise around the campfire softens, a few conversations pause. Someone near you glances over, then quickly looks away. Luke doesn’t seem to notice, so do you. He eats a few seeds himself.
“Guess it’s better shared.” he says lightly.
You nod, unsure why your chest feels warm all of a sudden. Neither of you says anything else about it.
When you stand to leave, you catch someone from Cabin 10 watching you carefully. An Athena camper nearby lowers her voice mid-sentence.
No one laughs.
No one comments.
Later, as you walk away from the campfire, you realize your hands are still faintly stained red. You try to ignore the stares, walking to the pavilion for dinner.
The evening continues. But the air feels…shifted. You catch some people whispering while looking at you and Luke. But no one talks to you, neither your siblings in table for Cabin 10. They stay silent, but steal some glances at you.
The pavilion slowly empties after dinner. People leave in small groups. Some laugh. Some talk quietly. When you walk past them, a few conversations lower in volume—not stopping, just adjusting.
You hear fragments as you pass.
“Did you see–”
“Yeah.”
“They shared it.”
You keep walking.
Your fingers still feel faintly sticky. You wipe them on your pants, noticing the red stain that hasn’t fully faded.
The camp feels normal. And not at the same time.
➽──────────────❥
Cabin 10 is quiet when you enter.
The lights are dimmer now, softer. A few campers sit on their beds, pretending not to listen. The counselor waits near the mirror-lined wall.
She gestures for you to sit.
“Did you eat dinner?” she asks.
“Yes,” you answer.
She nods once.
“Do you remember what you did in the campfire before dinner?’
You hesitate, “Sharing a fruit?”
She exhales slowly—not annoyed, not angry.
“It’s not just ‘a fruit’. Did you know what it meant? The pomegranate?”
“No,” you say. “I thought it was just fruit.”
She studies your face for a moment.
“In mythology,” she says calmly, “it’s never just fruit.”
You stay quiet.
“Sharing a pomegranate in front of others is a symbolic act,” she continues. “It’s not a proposal. It’s not a vow.” She pauses. “It’s acceptance.”
“Acceptance of what?” Your throat tightens.
“A connection,” she says. “One that doesn’t ask permission.”
You look down at your hands.
“And if he didn’t know?”
The counselor’s expression softens slightly.
“The gods don’t care about intent,” she says. “But people do.”
She places a hand lightly on your shoulder.
“You’re not bound. Not completely.” then, quieter: “But something has started.”
She steps back, giving you space.
“Get some rest,” she says. “Tomorrow will feel different.”
You don’t know why—but you believe her.
➽──────────────❥
Luke stands by Canoe Lake long after curfew. The camp is quiet now. The water is still. He stares at his hands. There’s no red on them anymore, but he can still remember it—sticky, dark, red, real.
He hears footsteps on the grass behind him.
“You’re avoiding the cabins,” Annabeth says.
Luke doesn’t turn. “Am I?”
She stops beside him, arms crossed. “You gave a pomegranate to a daughter of Aphrodite,” she says flatly. “In the campfire.”
Luke sighs. “I shared fruit.”
“You shared a symbol.” Annabeth looks at him.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”He rubs the back of his neck.
“I know,” she says.
That makes him pause.
“Then why does it feel like I messed something up?” he asks.
Annabeth looks out over the lake.
“Because something shifted,” she says. “And you felt it.”
Luke swallows.
“It feels like there’s something pulling right here,” he says, pressing a hand lightly to his chest. “Not bad. Just… there.”
Annabeth studies him for a moment. “That’s usually how it starts,” she says.
“Great.” Luke lets out a quiet laugh.
She doesn’t smile. “You didn’t doom yourself,” Annabeth adds. “But you didn’t walk away untouched either.”
Silence settles between them. Luke looks back at the lake.
“I’m not sorry,” he says finally.
“I didn’t think you were.” Annabeth nods.
They stand there a little longer, watching the water. Some things don’t need to be named yet.
➽──────────────❥
You are standing back to back with someone, a thin red thread wrapped around both of your wrists. Not pulling. Not tying. But every time one of you moves, the thread tightens a little. You don’t know who the person behind you is, but you know that if you pull, you will feel it.
You try to turn your head to take a peek. But before you can see anything, you open your eyes—panting, sweat streaming down your body.
“Was that a dream? What does it mean?” you whisper.
Later that morning, you approach your counselor, still trying to make sense of your dream.
She is sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair slowly. When she notices you, she gestures for you to sit.
“You look tired,” she says.
“I had a dream,” you reply. “And I don’t know what to make of it.”
She sets the brush down. “What kind of dream?”
You hesitate for a moment, then speak.
“There was a red thread. Tied to my wrist. And someone else’s.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but her attention sharpens.
“It wasn’t tight,” you continue. “But every time one of us moved, it pulled.”
Your counselor leans back slightly.
“Did you see who it was?” she asks.
“No,” you answer. “I woke up before I could.”
She nods once, as if that confirms something.
“Dreams from our mother don’t always show faces,” she says. “They show choices.”
“So… what does it mean?” You frown.
She considers her words carefully.
“It means a connection has been acknowledged,” she says. “Not forced. Not sealed.” She meets your eyes. “But no longer invisible.”
You look down at your wrist, half-expecting to see the thread again.
“Can I stop it?” you ask quietly.
Your counselor’s voice softens. “You can ignore it,” she says. “You can walk away.”
She pauses.
“But you will feel it every time you do.”
Silence settles between you.
“Get some rest,” she adds. “And don’t rush to name it.” You nod.
Some things, you realize, don’t need answers yet.
➽──────────────❥
The next few days continue as usual, but feel different. You realize that you and Luke often are in the same place, without an appointment. One day you find Luke chatting with his friends at the campfire bench while you sit near him, making a bracelet. Another day Luke finds you at the archery field, seeing you practice archery while he picks up the bow that he had been left behind. And now you find Luke entering the infirmary to treat his small—according to him—wound.
“Hey, no one else here besides you two?” he greets.
“Yeah, it's just us. She cuts her finger and I help her out,” you explain.
“I see. Where is Will?” Luke glances around the infirmary.
“Guess he’s busy,” you answer.
“I will wait then,” he says. He moves to sit on the empty cot, careful but clearly unconcerned. You finish wrapping the camper’s finger, tie the cloth neatly, and send her off with a reminder to take it easy.
The infirmary falls quiet.
You turn back to Luke.
“So,” you say. “What happened?”
“Training. Nothing serious.” He shrugs.
He rolls up his sleeve anyway. There’s a shallow cut along his forearm—already healing, but still red.
“Sit still,” you say.
He does.
You clean the wound gently, your movements practiced. Luke watches you for a moment, then looks away, jaw tightening slightly—not in pain, but something else.
“You’ve done this a lot,” he says.
“More than I expected.” You nod.
You wrap the bandage around his arm, careful not to pull too tight. Your fingers brush his skin. Neither of you comment on it.
“Too tight?” you ask.
“No,” he says quickly. “It’s fine.”
The door creaks open behind you.
Will Solace steps inside, sunlight catching in his hair. He stops when he takes in the scene—Luke on the cot, you standing close, your hands still at his arm.
He doesn’t say anything. He just watches for a moment longer than necessary. You finish tying the bandage and step back.
Luke flexes his arm once, testing it.
“Thanks,” he says.
Will finally clears his throat.
“You didn’t need ambrosia,” he says calmly.
Luke looks over. “Didn’t think so.”
Will nods, his gaze shifting briefly between the two of you.
“Good,” he says. “Try not to reopen it.”
He walks past, already reaching for a tray of supplies, as if nothing unusual just happened.
But when Luke slides off the cot and you turn to leave, you can feel it—Will is still watching. And somehow, that makes the quiet between you and Luke feel heavier than before.
➽──────────────❥
Luke began to realize that his days were divided into two parts: the days he saw you, and the days he didn’t. It wasn’t written down. It wasn’t planned. It simply existed in his head. On the days he saw you, everything felt lighter, faster. On the days he didn’t, something felt off. But he blamed it on training, or the weather, or the general mood of the camp.
He always carried two bottles of water during training—one of them for you—long before he ever checked whether you were on the field or not. One day, you didn’t show up, yet he still brought two. The second bottle remained cold the entire time. He didn’t drink it. Somewhere along the way, it had become a habit.
Today, he hasn’t seen you yet.
Luke walks around the cabins, aimless. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. In truth, his eyes keep searching for a familiar presence—you. When he finally spots you, a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before he can stop it.
Then he notices the guy standing beside you.
You look comfortable, laughing softly at whatever he’s saying. Close. Too close, Luke thinks before he can correct himself.
He approaches anyway, offering a brief nod in greeting. Nothing more. But when he stops beside you, he stands just a little closer than necessary. The space between you shrinks without either of you acknowledging it.
The other camper seems to sense the shift in the air. He clears his throat, steps back, and mutters a quick goodbye before leaving.
“Hey,” Luke says, voice casual.
“Back from training?” you ask.
He nods. “Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of you says anything else. The silence isn’t awkward—just familiar. Luke glances down at a hair tie in his hand, then holds it out without thinking.
“You forgot this yesterday,” he says.
You take it, brows knitting slightly. “I didn’t even realize.”
“Yeah,” he replies, shrugging. “You usually do.”
The words linger between you longer than they should.
Luke looks away first, gaze drifting toward the cabins. He feels it again—that subtle shift in his chest. Not sharp. Not overwhelming. Just… there. Like something settling into place without asking permission.
Suddenly, one of your siblings calls you out.
“Guess I need to leave,” you say.
“I’m going to rest, then,” he replies.
“Have a good rest,” you say your goodbye to him as he smiles and nods.
➽──────────────❥
It’s almost eight at night, the campers have already had their dinner. Some still in the pavilion, some in the campfire and some already in their cabin. You walk around the cabins, seeing Luke sitting near his cabin.
“You look tired,” you approach him.
Luke nods at your words.
“Yeah,” he says. “Long day.”
You hum softly, sitting down to the bench. The night air feels cold. You shivered a bit from the wind. Luke sees it, noticing your trembling hands and how your cheeks turn a bit pink.
“It’s cold. I’ll walk you back,” he says. It doesn’t sound like a question.
You glance at him, then nod. “Okay.”
The path to Cabin 10 is quiet at this hour. Campers pass by in pairs or small groups, but no one lingers. Gravel crunches beneath your shoes, your steps falling into an easy rhythm beside his.
Not close.
Not far.
Just… together.
Neither of you speaks at first.
Luke’s hands are tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed like he always is after training. You can hear his breathing—steady, familiar. It’s strange how natural this feels. Like something you’ve done before, even though you haven’t.
“So,” he says eventually, breaking the silence, “you settling in okay?”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Cabin 10 is… quieter than I expected.”
He snorts softly.
“Give it time.”
You smile.
Another stretch of silence follows. Not awkward. Just full.
You notice it then—how Luke slows his pace without realizing, matching yours when you lag behind. How he angles his body slightly toward you when you speak, even when you’re not saying anything important.
When Cabin 10 finally comes into view, you stop.
“This is me,” you say.
Luke stops too.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The lantern light spills softly over the porch, catching on the pale walls of the cabin, the faint glow reflecting in his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something. You feel it—like a held breath between you.
Instead, he just nods.
“Good night,” he says.
“Good night.”
You turn to step up onto the porch, until a voice holds you.
“Hey.”
You pause and look back.
Luke hesitates. Just for a second.
“…Get some rest,” he says.
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“You too.” as you open the door and step inside
You feel it. That strange, quiet shift in your chest.
Outside, Luke doesn’t leave right away. He stands there a moment longer than necessary, staring at the closed door like he’s waiting for something else to happen. When it doesn’t, he exhales through his nose and turns away. He tells himself it’s nothing.
But as he walks back down the path alone, he can’t shake the thought—
When did walking someone back start to feel like something he didn’t want to end?
➽──────────────❥
It happens on a day that shouldn’t matter. No prophecy. No warning. Just training that runs longer than it should.
The sun is already low when the horn sounds, signaling the end. Campers begin to disperse, laughing, complaining, already moving on.
You don’t.
Your shoulder aches—nothing serious, but enough to make you slow. You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ve had worse. You don’t notice Luke at first.
He notices you.
He always does.
“Hey,” he says, jogging over. “You good?”
You nod automatically. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t believe you. Luke’s eyes flick to your shoulder, the way your arm hangs just a little too still. His jaw tightens—not in anger, but something sharper.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
He exhales, slow and controlled.
“That’s what everyone says right before it becomes something.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already stepping closer.
“Come on,” he says. “Infirmary.”
“I can walk.”
“I know.” he still stays beside you.
Inside the infirmary, the lights are dim. Will isn’t there—probably off helping someone else. The room smells faintly of nectar and clean linen. Luke guides you to sit.
Careful. Too careful.
He reaches for supplies like he’s done this before, like his hands remember even if his mouth doesn’t say anything. You watch him clean the scrape, wrap the bandage. His touch is steady, but you can feel it—something restrained beneath it.
“You don’t have to do this,” you say quietly.
He pauses.
Then, just as quietly: “I know.”
He finishes tying the bandage and doesn’t pull away right away. His hand lingers at your wrist. Not holding. Not leaving.
“Luke,” you say, not accusing. Just… honest.
He looks at you.
Really looks.
And something in his expression shifts—not fear, not regret—but recognition.
“I don’t think,” he says slowly, “I can keep pretending this is nothing.”
The words hang between you. You don’t rush to fill the space. Instead, you nod.
“Me neither.”
No grand declarations. No promises. Just the truth, finally allowed to exist.
Luke steps back—not away, just enough to breathe.
“Okay,” he says.
It’s not relief.
It’s not certainty.
It’s acceptance.
Outside, the sky has darkened completely. You walk side by side toward the cabins, closer than before, shoulders brushing once. Neither of you pulls away. For the first time, the thread between you doesn’t tighten painfully. It settles. And somehow, that’s scarier than denial ever was.
➽──────────────❥
The choice comes quietly. No gods intervene. No signs in the sky. Just a conversation that wasn’t supposed to matter.
It happens near Canoe Lake, the same place where silence has always felt heavier than words. The water is calm, reflecting the dimming sky. You sit at the edge, feet brushing the surface.
Luke stands a few steps away, arms crossed—not closed off, just thinking.
“I might leave,” he says.
The words don’t land like a threat. They land like a fact.
You don’t look at him right away.
“Where?”
“Anywhere,” he answers. “Nowhere specific.”
You nod, fingers trailing through the water. It’s cold. Grounding.
“You always could,” you say.
“You’re not asking me to stay.” he watches you carefully.
You finally look up at him. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
The air shifts. Luke exhales, slow and deliberate. He sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
“I’ve had chances before,” he says. “To walk away. To stop choosing this place.”
You wait.
“I thought staying meant being stuck,” he continues. “Like I didn’t have a choice.”
You turn toward him fully now. “And now?”
“Now I know I do.” he meets your gaze.
Silence settles between you—not empty, but full. The kind that only exists when nothing important is being avoided anymore.
“I could go,” Luke says. “No one’s stopping me.”
You nod again. “I know.”
Another pause.
“But if I stay,” he adds, voice quieter, “it wouldn’t be because I have to.”
Your chest tightens—not painfully. Just real.
“It would be because of you.”
The words aren’t dramatic. They don’t echo. They simply exist.
You don’t reach for him. You don’t promise anything back. Instead, you say the truth that matches his.
“I wouldn’t ask you to choose me over yourself.”
He smiles then—not sharp, not smug. Soft. Certain.
That’s why I am.”
The lake ripples gently, as if agreeing. Luke stands first, offering you his hand—not pulling, just there. You take it. The contact is warm and steady.
As you walk back together, you realize something simple and terrifying:
a/n : this is my first fanfic and i'm very happy for any feedback! Happy Reading!
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It was around seven in the morning on Monday, the first day of the week. The city was starting to get busy, and so was Luke Castellan. He looked like he was in a hurry, with earbuds in and too many things in his hands, yet still stopped at his favourite coffee shop—one of his must-go places every morning.
“Iced americano, no sugar,” is what he said to the cashier.
Not long after, two names were called by the barista. With his earbuds still on, Luke picked up one of the cups without checking the name on it. When he took a sip, one of his eyebrows raised.
“Sweet, too sweet for an americano,” he thought.
He looked up to complain, but instead his eye met a girl who gave him a confused face.
“Uhh… I think that’s my drink,” you said, pointing at the cup in his hand. He froze for a moment, looking at you— someone in a simple yet beautiful hoodie, smiling gently at him. When it finally clicked, he panicked slightly.
“Sorry, that’s on me,” he said.
He quickly paid for another cup, with the same menu as her and handed the cup that he had already taken a sip to her.
“Take both. I clearly messed up,”
You laughed softly. “You are either really nice…or really bad at mornings,”
Luke didn’t realize but a small smile formed on his face.
While waiting for your new drink, you two sat down for a while. Conversation came easily—something that surprised him. He felt strange, but in a good way. It felt like you had known each other for a long time. Luke felt calm—too calm. Calm enough that he didn’t want time to move too fast. You felt comfortable around him. When the drink was ready, you both said your goodbyes.
“Thanks for the coffee…and the honesty,” you gave him a smile.
“Same time tomorrow?” Luke asked without thinking.
You nodded, “Yea, if you promise to check the name on the cup.”
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