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Leo Valdez had faced monsters, gods, and his own death—and still, nothing had ever made him sweat the way he did the night he planned to propose.
He was seventeen. He knew that was technically too young. In any other life, he would’ve waited years. Had a college plan. A boring day job. A fixed address.
But this life? The one with dragons and curses and near-apocalypses on Tuesdays?
You learned to hold on to what you loved now.
So when she walked into Bunker Nine that evening—drawn by a soft note he’d left tucked under her pillow (“Come find me. I promise it’s not an explosion this time.”)—he was ready. Or as ready as he could be, anyway.
She stepped inside and immediately paused. Lanterns flickered gently along the walls. A picnic blanket had been laid out in the center of the floor, surrounded by scattered blueprints and half-built automaton parts like a very Leo version of ambiance. The forge was cold. The air was still.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you dying?”
“Nope,” Leo said, standing up a little too fast. “Just trying to be romantic.”
“Okay... now I’m worried.”
He laughed nervously and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Okay, uh. So. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Like, a lot. And I wanted to do it right. Not flashy. Not in front of everyone. Just... us.”
He pulled a small ring box from his pocket.
Her eyes widened.
“Leo—”
“I know we’re seventeen,” he blurted. “And I know that’s... young. Like, legally questionable in at least four states. But we’ve survived things no one else our age even has nightmares about. And I’m not saying we need to have a mortgage or pick baby names, I’m just—”
He stopped. Swallowed. Took a breath.
“I love you. More than anything I’ve ever built. And I want to spend whatever kind of future we get with you. Whether that’s ten years or ten decades. So...”
He opened the box.
Inside was a celestial bronze ring, etched with flames and stars and one tiny gear on the inside—his signature, in a way only she’d recognize.
“Will you marry me?”
Silence stretched between them.
Then she smiled—soft and stunned and shining. “Yes,” she said, voice cracking. “Of course I will.”
He barely got the ring on her finger before she was kissing him.
They lay back on the floor afterward, her hand resting on his chest, both of them dazed and grinning.
“That was either the stupidest or the most romantic thing you’ve ever done,” she murmured.
“Why not both?”
She laughed, then looked down at the ring on her hand. “What if we just... did it?”
Leo blinked. “Did what?”
“Got married. Now. Tonight.”
His mouth fell open. “You mean—actually elope?”
She nodded, suddenly serious. “Yeah. I mean, why wait? We’ve got a ring. We know a dozen gods, a few nymphs, a really sassy Oracle. One of them’s gotta be able to sign something, right?”
“You do realize we’re seventeen,” Leo said slowly.
She raised an eyebrow. “You do realize we live in a camp where people fight hydras on Tuesday afternoons?”
He stared at her. Then broke into a grin. “You are a disaster.”
“And you love me.”
“I really, really do.”
An hour later, they stood at the edge of the woods with a disgruntled dryad named Ianthe who wore sunglasses and had agreed to marry them only because she owed Leo for fixing her irrigation system last spring.
“You two are literal children,” she muttered, folding her arms. “You know that, right?”
“We’re very mature seventeen-year-olds,” Leo said.
“You forged a bronze toaster that tried to kill someone last week.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
But Ianthe went through with it anyway—half because Leo begged, half because she was a sucker for chaotic romance—and declared them married with a muttered Greek blessing and a shower of golden leaves.
They kissed again, laughing and breathless.
Then they walked back toward Camp like nothing had happened.
Will Solace spotted them as they passed the Apollo cabin the next morning, still glowing with that obnoxiously obvious “we just did something reckless and beautiful” energy.
He was halfway through asking if they wanted breakfast when he froze.
“Wait. What is that on your hand?”
Leo looked down innocently. “Hm? Oh. That?”
“Leo,” Will said slowly, “is that a wedding ring?”
Y/N tried to look casual. “...Maybe.”
“ARE YOU MARRIED?”
There was a beat.
Then Leo muttered, “...Technically.”
Annabeth was summoned via Iris-message less than five minutes later.
She showed up mid-stride, hair tied back, expression lethal. The moment she saw the rings, her mouth dropped open.
“You got married?!”
Leo raised his hands like he was facing down a harpy. “Okay, yes, but listen—”
“You’re SEVENTEEN.”
“Emotionally older—”
“YOU’RE CHILDREN.”
Y/N stepped in, calm but firm. “We know. It’s insane. It was also completely us.”
Annabeth turned to her with a look of almost physical pain. “You couldn’t even wait a year? Like, even one Camp Anniversary?”
“It wasn’t about waiting,” Y/N said. “It was about now. We’ve survived too much not to grab the good stuff when we can.”
Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something about tracking down Chiron for emergency counseling.
Then, without warning, she pulled them both into a hug.
“You idiots,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”
By sunset, the entire camp knew.
Some laughed. Some cried. Someone from Hermes cabin was collecting drachmas for a betting pool on how long it would take Annabeth to throw them a proper reception.
But Leo and Y/N didn’t care. They sat under the stars again, shoulders pressed together, wedding bands warm on their fingers.
“Still think it was crazy?” she asked.
He smiled. “Definitely.”
She leaned into him. “But still right?”
He kissed her cheek. “Completely.”