#malercy

I groaned. "Can we maybe wait until she's in college? Or never? Never works for me."

"Percy."

"Fine. But I'm not taking her to Olympus until she can at least hold her head up. Those gods have zero baby-proofing."

Malika laughed again, and this time it sounded more like her. Warm. Real. The laugh that made me fall for her in the first place.

"I was thinking," she said slowly, "maybe we should have a proper naming ceremony. At the beach. Introduce her to the ocean."

My heart did this weird flip-flop thing. "Like... a baptism?"

"Sort of. But more... us. Half-Blood style. With the people who matter."

I thought about it. About Thalassa's name—the sea—and how right it would feel to have her toes touch the water for the first time. To feel the power in her blood wake up. To let her know where she came from.

"I think that sounds perfect," I said. "As long as there are no prophecies. I'm putting a strict 'no prophecies until she's at least sixteen' rule in place."

"Deal." Malika yawned, finally letting exhaustion catch up. "Though knowing our luck..."

"Don't even say it," I warned, guiding her toward our bed. "Come on. Sleep. Before she realizes we're having fun without her."

As if on cue, Thalassa's eyes fluttered open—sea green, just like mine—and she made that little sound that meant the world was about to get very loud again.

I scooped her up before Malika could move. "I got her. You sleep."

Malika didn't argue, which told me just how tired she really was. She just nodded, crawled under the covers, and watched us with half-lidded eyes.

"Hey, little wave," I whispered, bouncing Thalassa gently as I walked her around the cabin. "How's it going? Ocean good? Dreams good? No monsters yet, right? Because let me tell you, you've got plenty of time for those."

She blinked up at me, serious and solemn, like she was considering whether or not to scream the roof down.

"You know," I continued, my voice low, "your mom is the bravest person I've ever met. And that's saying something, because I know some pretty brave people. But her? She's something else. And you're lucky, because you're gonna grow up with that. With her heart."

Thalassa made a little gurgle that I chose to interpret as agreement.

"And me? Well, I'm still figuring this whole dad thing out. But I promise you this—" I held her a little closer, feeling her tiny heartbeat against mine. "The sea doesn't like to be restrained. And neither will you. But no matter how far you go, or how wild you become, we'll always be your harbor. Always."

I glanced over at Malika, already asleep, her curls spilling across the pillow like ink in water.

"We'll be okay," I whispered, and for once in my chaotic, monster-hunting, world-saving life, I actually believed it.

Because we were just us.

But maybe that was enough.

I've faced down the Minotaur, bathed in the River Styx, and held up the literal sky, but nothing—and I mean NOTHING—prepared me for the absolute terror of my first diaper change.

"Percy, you look like you're about to defuse a bomb," Annabeth said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, trying not to laugh at me.

Malika was napping—her first real sleep in days—and Annabeth had volunteered to show me the ropes of baby care. You know, since I was somehow still alive after eighteen years despite my best efforts to die heroically, she figured I could handle this too.

"I mean, it kind of is a bomb," I muttered, staring down at Thalassa who was kicking her tiny legs on the changing table, looking far too pleased with herself for someone who'd just created a disaster zone in her diaper.

"You've literally fought monsters with your bare hands," Annabeth reminded me.

"Monsters don't have... girl parts," I whispered the last words like they were a secret password. "I don't want to hurt her. Or do it wrong. Or traumatize her for life."

Annabeth sighed, the way she always did when I was being particularly dense. "She's not going to remember this, Seaweed Brain. But she will definitely remember if you leave her sitting in a dirty diaper because you're too scared to change it."

"Fair point," I admitted, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Walk me through this. Step by step. Like we're disarming that bomb."

"First, get everything ready before you start," Annabeth said, suddenly all business. She'd researched this, of course. Probably read seventeen books on proper diaper-changing technique. "New diaper open and ready, wipes, cream if she needs it."

I fumbled with the supplies, dropping the wipes twice before getting everything lined up.

"Now, undo the tabs on the old diaper," she continued.

I did, wincing at what I found underneath. "Oh gods."

"Don't be dramatic. Just lift her legs by the ankles—gently—and use the front of the diaper to wipe the worst of it off."

I froze. "That's a thing? Using the diaper to wipe?"

"Yes, Percy. It's efficient. Don't waste seventeen wipes when the diaper can do the first pass."

I followed her instructions, feeling like I was performing surgery.

"Now, fold the dirty diaper under her, clean side up," Annabeth directed. "It creates a barrier between her and the changing pad while you finish cleaning."

"You're scary good at this," I muttered, doing as told.

"I like to be prepared for all contingencies."

When it came time for the actual cleaning part, I hesitated again. "So for girls... there's like... a specific way, right?"

Annabeth's expression softened. "Front to back, always. Just be gentle but thorough. Think of it like... cleaning a delicate artifact."

"That's not helping!"

"Fine. Think of it as... keeping the ocean clean. You want to avoid contamination between different areas."

That actually made more sense to my ocean-wired brain. "Got it."

I took a wipe and carefully cleaned Thalassa, who was now making gurgling noises like she found my discomfort hilarious.

"Remember to get in all the creases," Annabeth added. "Legs, behind the knees—"

"There's poop behind her KNEES? How does that even happen?" I yelped.

"Babies are magical that way," Annabeth said dryly. "Now put a thin layer of cream if there's any redness."

I dabbed on some cream, feeling slightly more confident. "Okay, new diaper time."

"Slide the clean one under her before you remove the dirty one completely," Annabeth advised. "That way if she decides to go again mid-change, you're covered."

"That can happen?" I asked, horrified.

"Percy, you have no idea what you're in for."

I slid the fresh diaper under Thalassa, who was now full-on giggling at me. I swear she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Make sure the ruffles on the legs are out, not tucked in," Annabeth continued. "That prevents leaks."

"There are ruffles? Why doesn't this thing come with instructions?" I complained, carefully pulling out the tiny frills around Thalassa's thighs.

"Now bring the front up between her legs, and fasten the tabs. Not too tight, not too loose. You should be able to fit two fingers comfortably at the waist."

I secured the tabs, then looked up at Annabeth proudly. "Did it!"

"Now check your work," she said, gesturing for me to lift Thalassa up.

I did, and to my horror, there was a gap at the back where her tiny butt wasn't fully covered. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't pull it up high enough in the back," Annabeth explained. "The diaper should cover from belly button to mid-back, basically."

I laid Thalassa down again, readjusted the diaper, and finally got it right.

"See? Not so bad," Annabeth said as I carefully lifted my daughter up, cradling her against my chest.

"Only took me twenty minutes and nearly having a heart attack," I muttered.

Thalassa reached up and patted my cheek with her tiny hand, like she was saying, "You'll get better, Dad."

Later that night, when Malika was feeding Thalassa, I proudly announced, "I changed a diaper today. All by myself."

She looked at me with those honey-amber eyes, half-amused, half-impressed. "How many wipes did you use?"

"Only like... twelve."

She laughed. "That's actually better than my first time. I used half the package."

"Really?"

"Really," she confirmed. "We're figuring this out together, remember?"

I leaned over and kissed her forehead, then Thalassa's. "Yeah. Together."

"Although," Malika added with a smirk, "you might want to practice your technique. Because I heard from Annabeth that you looked like you were trying to disarm a nuclear weapon."

I groaned. "I'm never living this down, am I?"

"Not a chance, Jackson," she said, but her smile was soft. "Not a chance."

Let me tell you something they don't put in those baby books—something that Annabeth's color-coded sticky notes definitely glossed over: having a newborn is basically relationship kryptonite.

It had been exactly three weeks since Thalassa came home to our cabin. Three weeks of sleepless nights, constant diaper changes, and approximately zero moments alone with Malika. And when I say zero, I mean I couldn't even brush my teeth without a tiny human monitor screeching like a baby harpy in the background.

Don't get me wrong—I loved our daughter with every cell in my body. But I also really, really missed my girlfriend.

It was past midnight. Thalassa had finally fallen asleep after what felt like an Olympic-level rocking session. I'd placed her carefully in her crib, backing away like she was an armed explosive (which, honestly, wasn't far off).

Malika was already in bed, her curls spilling across the pillow. But for once, she wasn't passed out from exhaustion. Her eyes were open, watching me with this look that sent electricity down my spine—the kind Zeus himself would be jealous of.

"Hey," she whispered, patting the space beside her.

"Hey yourself," I whispered back, trying to sound cool while my heart did a gymnastics routine in my chest.

I slid under the covers next to her, hyper-aware of her warmth, the scent of her skin. It had been so long since we'd been close like this—just us. No baby spit-up. No diaper discussions. Just Malika and Percy, the way it used to be.

She rolled toward me, her hand finding my chest. "I think she's actually asleep," she murmured. "Like, really asleep."

"Don't jinx it," I breathed, but I was already pulling her closer, my fingers tangling in her hair.

When she kissed me, it felt like coming home. Like finding something I'd lost. Her lips were soft, eager, and I could feel the tension of the past three weeks melting away.

"I've missed you," she whispered against my mouth, and gods, those words nearly undid me.

"I've missed you too," I managed to say. "So much."

Her hands slid under my t-shirt, warm against my skin, and I forgot how to breathe. It had been so long since we'd touched like this—since before Thalassa was born. Before our world tilted on its axis and rebuilt itself around a tiny, demanding human.

"Are you sure?" I asked, because consent is sexy, kids. Always.

She nodded, her eyes locked on mine. "I'm sure. The doctor said it's okay now."

That was all I needed to hear. I kissed her again, deeper this time, letting my hands wander over curves I knew by heart but somehow felt new again. Her body had changed—creating and nurturing our daughter had left its marks—but gods, she was more beautiful to me than ever.

"You're amazing," I murmured against her neck. "Do you know that? You're literally the most incredible person I've ever met."

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my lips. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Jackson."

"That's the plan," I grinned, as she tugged at the hem of my shirt.

Things were heating up. Like, serious temperature rising, brain-melting levels of heat. My shirt hit the floor, followed quickly by hers. Her skin against mine felt like electricity and calm all at once. The world narrowed down to just us—our breathing, our heartbeats, the soft sounds she made when I kissed that spot just below her ear.

And then it happened.

From across the room came the sound. The dreaded sound. A whimper, then a full-throated wail that could probably be heard all the way on Olympus.

We both froze, lips still pressed together, eyes flying open.

"No," Malika groaned, dropping her forehead against my shoulder. "No, no, no."

"Maybe she'll stop?" I suggested hopefully, even as the crying intensified to what I can only describe as "banshee meets fire alarm."

We stayed frozen for about ten more seconds, clinging to the desperate hope that Thalassa would somehow, miraculously, soothe herself back to sleep.

She did not.

"I fed her an hour ago," Malika sighed, already reaching for her discarded shirt. "It's probably a diaper."

"I'll get her," I said, pressing one last kiss to her lips before rolling out of bed and grabbing my shirt.

I walked over to the crib, where Thalassa was performing her best impression of a siren. "Hey, little wave," I whispered, lifting her carefully. "Your timing is terrible. You know that, right?"

She continued to wail, her tiny face scrunched up in what I can only describe as righteous indignation.

"Yep, diaper," I confirmed, wrinkling my nose as I carried her to the changing table.

Malika flopped back on the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes. "We're never going to have sex again, are we?"

"Sure we will," I said, expertly laying Thalassa down and unfastening her onesie. "When she's in college."

Malika's laugh was half amusement, half frustration. "That's only eighteen years away."

"Seventeen years and forty-nine weeks," I corrected, carefully wiping Thalassa's bottom and securing a fresh diaper. "But who's counting?"

Once changed, Thalassa calmed down almost immediately, blinking up at me with innocent eyes like she hadn't just committed the most effective mood-killing maneuver of all time.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" I asked her, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

She gurgled in response, which I chose to interpret as "Sorry not sorry, Dad."

I brought her back to the bed, where Malika had abandoned any pretense of us resuming our earlier activities and was now sitting cross-legged in her pajamas.

"I swear she has radar," Malika said, reaching for our daughter. "Like some kind of parent-pleasure-detection system."

"Probably an Aphrodite thing," I suggested, sliding back under the covers. "Your mom making sure we don't have any siblings for her too soon."

Malika laughed, cuddling Thalassa against her chest. "My mom would definitely do that."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching our daughter's eyelids start to droop again. The moment was broken, but something else had taken its place—something just as intimate in its own way.

"Rain check?" I asked softly, brushing a curl from Malika's face.

She smiled, leaning over to kiss me gently. "Rain check. Maybe we can ask Annabeth to babysit for an hour sometime."

"An hour?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'm offended. I need at least two."

"Optimistic," she teased.

"I prefer to think of it as ambitious."

Thalassa was fully asleep again, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily. Malika carefully placed her back in the crib, and we both held our breath as she settled.

When we were sure she wasn't going to wake up again, we crawled back into bed, exhausted in more ways than one.

"For the record," I whispered, pulling Malika against me, "you're still the hottest mom at Camp Half-Blood."

"I'm the only mom at Camp Half-Blood," she pointed out.

"Exactly. No competition."

She laughed quietly, nestling into my side. "I love you, Percy Jackson. Even if our daughter is determined to keep us celibate for the next decade."

"I love you too," I said, kissing the top of her head. "And hey, there's always naptime."

"Naptime," she agreed drowsily, already half-asleep. "It's a date."

I lay awake a little longer, holding her, listening to the soft sounds of my little family breathing. Sure, our moment had been ruined. But as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help thinking that this—this messy, interrupted, exhausting life we'd created—was worth more than all the uninterrupted moments in the world.

Even if my teenage hormones vehemently disagreed.

Two months, sixteen days, and approximately forty-seven failed attempts later, it finally happened.

My mom—bless her eternal soul—had offered to take Thalassa for a whole night. A WHOLE NIGHT. Not just an hour for a quick coffee run. Not just for dinner. An entire night from sunset to sunrise.

When she suggested it, I nearly cried.

"Are you sure?" Malika had asked, bouncing our daughter on her hip. "She still wakes up at least twice a night."

"Percy woke up four times a night until he was eight months old," my mom replied with that knowing smile. "I think I can handle it."

So there we were, standing in our cabin, alone. ALONE. The silence was so thick you could practically swim in it. No baby monitor. No tiny human making dinosaur noises from the corner. Just us.

"So," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "This is weird, right?"

Malika laughed, and gods, that sound still made my heart do backflips. "Super weird. I keep thinking I hear her crying."

"Phantom baby syndrome," I nodded. "It's a thing. I looked it up."

We stood there awkwardly for another moment, and I had this bizarre realization: we'd forgotten how to be just us. For months, we'd been Mom and Dad first, Malika and Percy second. Or third. Or sometimes not at all.

"We should probably..." Malika gestured vaguely toward the bed.

"Right now?" I asked, eyes widening. "I mean, I thought maybe dinner first? Or a walk on the beach? Or—"

She cut me off with a laugh. "Percy Jackson, are you nervous?"

"What? No!" I protested, then immediately caved. "Maybe a little? It's been a while, and you're still like, the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I don't want to mess this up, and—"

This time she cut me off with a kiss, rising on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to mine in a way that effectively short-circuited my brain.

"I've missed you," she whispered against my mouth. "Just you. Just us."

And just like that, the awkwardness melted away. Because beneath the spit-up stains and dark circles and parent-brain, we were still us. Still Malika and Percy. Still in love in that ridiculous, impossible way that had somehow created Thalassa in the first place.

I pulled her closer, and the kiss deepened into something hungry, desperate. Her hands found my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. Mine slid down her back, remembering curves I'd missed exploring.

"Wait," I gasped, pulling back just enough to see her face. "Dinner. I was going to do this right. Romance you properly."

Her eyes—those honey-amber eyes that still made me forget how to breathe—sparkled with mischief. "We have all night, Jackson. Plenty of time for dinner..." She pressed a kiss to my jaw. "...after."

Well. When she put it like that.

I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to our bed—our actual bed, not the lumpy camp cot we'd been sharing next to Thalassa's crib. She laughed as we fell onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and want and pent-up everything.

"I've really, really missed you," I murmured, trailing kisses down her neck.

"Show me how much," she challenged, her hands already finding the hem of my shirt.

What happened next was, well, private. But let's just say we made excellent use of our child-free night. Twice. And then once more for good measure.

Afterward, we lay tangled in sheets, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her bare shoulder. The cabin was quiet except for our breathing, gradually slowing back to normal.

"So," I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Dinner?"

She laughed, the sound vibrating against my skin. "Now you're thinking about food?"

"Hey, heroic efforts require sustenance," I defended. "Plus, I actually had plans. Romantic ones."

Malika propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with that soft, fond expression that always made me feel ten feet tall. "Oh really? Percy Jackson had romantic plans? Do tell."

"Well," I said, tucking a curl behind her ear, "I was going to take you to that spot on the beach—you know, where we had our first real date? The little cove past the dunes?"

Her expression softened. "I remember."

"I asked the Demeter kids to help me set up a picnic there. Nothing fancy, just blankets and those little sandwiches you like, and some of that sparkling cider because, you know, technically we're still not twenty-one."

"You did all that?" she asked, surprise coloring her voice.

I nodded. "And I may have convinced some naiads to do a little water show. Nothing too showy—just some fountain action. Maybe a heart shape, if they were feeling generous."

"Percy," she breathed, and the way she said my name made me want to start all over again.

"The plan was dinner at sunset, then stargazing, then... well, this," I gestured between us. "But I guess we got the order a little mixed up."

She laughed, leaning down to kiss me softly. "I love that you planned all that."

"We can still go," I offered. "The night is young. The sandwiches are probably still good."

She pretended to consider it, then shook her head. "Counterproposal: we order pizza, eat it in this bed, and then maybe go for round four?"

I grinned, pulling her back down beside me. "This is why you're the brains of this operation."

She snuggled against me, and I felt that familiar sensation of home—the one I only ever felt with her. "Pizza it is. And Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

She looked up at me, and there was something in her eyes—something deep and real and a little bit vulnerable. "For still wanting me. After everything. After my body changed, after I turned into a milk machine, after you've seen me covered in every possible baby fluid..."

I kissed her, hard, before she could finish that thought. "Malika Raynor," I said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, "I will want you when we're ninety and wrinkled and probably still covered in some kind of bodily fluid, knowing our luck."

She laughed, tears shining in her eyes. "You promise?"

"On the River Styx," I said solemnly. "And on Thalassa's tiny head. And on my extensive collection of blue food."

"Well, if you're swearing on the blue food, then I know you're serious," she teased.

I was about to respond with something hopefully witty when my stomach growled. Loudly. Like, angry-Hellhound loudly.

Malika dissolved into giggles. "Pizza. Now. Before you waste away."

I reached for the phone, dialing the number I'd memorized during late-night feedings. "One large with everything for the heroic dad," I ordered, "and one medium veggie with extra olives for the most beautiful mom at Camp Half-Blood."

"Still the only mom," she reminded me, stretching languidly beneath the sheets.

"And still the most beautiful," I countered, hanging up. "Pizza in thirty minutes."

She smiled, a slow, mischievous smile that still made my breath catch. "Whatever shall we do with thirty whole minutes?"

I pulled her closer, marveling at how even after everything, she still felt like a miracle in my arms.

"I have a few ideas," I murmured.

And this time, there was no baby cry to interrupt us.

We’d just demolished the pizza—empty boxes tossed on the floor of our Camp Half-Blood cabin like the teenagers we still were—when my phone buzzed. I groaned, burying my face in Malika’s hair.

“Shit, if that’s my mom saying Thalassa needs us, I might actually lose it,” I muttered.

BUZZ. BUZZ.

Malika laughed, reaching across my chest to grab the phone, her breasts brushing against me in a way that made my breath catch. “Relax, it’s just a picture,” she said, holding it up.

It was Thalassa, completely passed out in my mom’s arms, tiny fist curled against her cheek, looking more angelic than she ever did with us at the cabin.

“How does your mom do that?” Malika asked, squinting at the screen. “She looks like an actual angel. With us she’s like a tiny vengeance demon from Tartarus.”

“Mom magic,” I said, taking the phone and typing a quick thank you. “Pretty sure it’s more powerful than Aphrodite magic at this point.”

CLINK – I tossed the phone onto the nightstand.

“She’s okay,” Malika sighed, and I heard the relief in her voice. “She’s really okay without us.”

I pulled her closer, skin against skin, her warmth seeping into me like sunlight. “Of course she is. She’s ours, isn’t she? Resilient is basically her factory setting.”

Malika snuggled against me, and I felt her body truly relax for the first time in months. The constant alert-for-baby tension melted from her shoulders. “So we really have the whole night?”

“The whole night,” I confirmed, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare skin. “No diaper changes. No midnight feedings. Just us.”

Her eyes met mine, and the look in them sent heat spiraling through my entire body. “In that case,” she murmured, her voice dropping to that low, husky tone that still made me feel like I was drowning in the best possible way, “we should make the most of it.”

She kissed me, not gentle this time, but hungry and demanding. Her hands were everywhere—in my hair, on my chest, sliding lower until she wrapped her fingers around my already hard c**k. I responded instantly, pulling her on top of me so she straddled my hips, her curls falling around us like a curtain.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” I breathed, taking in the sight of her—naked, flushed, perfect.

“Show me how much,” she challenged, grinding her wet p***y against me and making us both gasp.

RUSTLE – The sheets shifting beneath us.

I sat up, keeping her in my lap, and kissed her deeply, my tongue sliding against hers. She moaned into my mouth, a sound that went straight to my groin. My hands found her breasts, fuller now after Thalassa, and she arched into my touch as I rolled her nipples between my fingers.

“Fuck, Percy,” she gasped as my mouth replaced my fingers, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

“Careful,” I teased, my lips moving to her neck. “Last time you said that, we ended up with a baby.”

She laughed, the sound dissolving into a groan as I sucked at the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Worth it,” she managed, grinding harder against me.

I flipped us over, pinning her beneath me, and took my time exploring her body—kissing, licking, biting gently at all the places I knew drove her wild. Her skin tasted like salt and honey, familiar and intoxicating.

When I moved lower, settling between her thighs, she clutched at the sheets, her breath coming fast.

“Percy,” she whimpered as my tongue found her center, licking a long stripe through her wet folds.

GASP – Sharp intake of breath.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured against her cl*t, feeling her shudder as I circled the sensitive bud with my tongue.

I took my time, remembering exactly how she liked to be touched, the rhythm that would build her up slowly then all at once. I slipped a finger inside her, then two, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars. Her thighs trembled on either side of my head, her hands found my hair, tugging just enough to hurt in the best way.

“Oh gods, oh fuck, Percy—” Her voice broke as she peaked, her back arching off the bed, a stream of curses and my name falling from her lips like a prayer.

Before she could come down completely, I moved up her body, positioning myself at her entrance. Our eyes locked, and in that moment, it wasn’t just about sex—it was everything. All the fear, all the exhaustion, all the love we’d built in these impossible months as teen parents.

“Please,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around my waist.

I pushed into her slowly, inch by inch, both of us groaning at the sensation of finally being connected again. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” I breathed, forcing myself to hold still for a moment, giving her time to adjust to the feeling of me filling her completely.

CREAK – The bedframe protesting beneath us.

“Move,” she commanded, digging her heels into my lower back.

I did, setting a rhythm that started slow and deliberate but quickly turned desperate. The wet sounds of our bodies coming together filled the cabin, mixed with our heavy breathing and soft moans. Her nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The sounds she made—half-gasps, half-moans—drove me wild, pushing me to go deeper, harder.

“Yes, gods, right there,” she panted, her eyes half-closed, lips parted. “Harder, Percy, please—”

I shifted the angle slightly, hitting that spot inside her that I knew would send her over the edge again. Her eyes flew open, meeting mine with an intensity that nearly undid me.

“Come with me,” she gasped, and I could feel her p***y tightening around me, pulsing with her approaching orgasm.

“Always,” I promised, my rhythm faltering as we both spiraled toward release.

When it hit, it was like being struck by Zeus’s lightning bolt and swept away by Poseidon’s waves all at once. We clung to each other, riding out the storm of sensation, her name torn from my throat as I emptied myself inside her.

THUD – Headboard hitting the wall.

After, we lay tangled and sweaty, catching our breath. Malika’s head rested on my chest, her curls tickling my chin, her hand over my heart. I could feel it hammering against my ribs, like it was trying to reach for hers.

“Holy shit,” she murmured eventually.

“Yeah,” I agreed eloquently.

She propped herself up on one elbow to look at me, moonlight catching in her eyes like trapped stars. “I think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“How good we are at that,” she laughed, pressing a kiss to my chest. “Or maybe we just got better with practice.”

“Trial by fucking fire,” I agreed, running a hand down her spine. “Nothing puts pressure on your sex life like a ticking baby time bomb.”

“True,” she said, trailing her fingers down my stomach, making my muscles twitch. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s different now.”

I knew exactly what she meant. “Yeah. It’s like… I don’t know. More intense?”

“More everything,” she agreed, settling back against me. “Like, we made a whole person together. That’s…”

“Terrifying as hell?” I suggested.

“I was going to say incredible, but yeah, that too.”

We lay in comfortable silence for a while, just breathing together. I could feel sleep tugging at the edges of my consciousness, but I fought it. These moments—just us, just quiet—were too fucking rare to waste on something as mundane as sleep.

WHOOSH – Wind against the cabin windows.

“Hey,” Malika said suddenly, her voice thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder what she’ll be like? When she’s older, I mean.”

I smiled into the darkness. “All the damn time. I’m betting on your brains and my ability to find trouble in literally any situation.”

“Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance,” Malika laughed.

“I think she’ll be brave,” I said, more seriously. “And kind. And probably stubborn as Hades.”

“With our genes? Definitely stubborn,” Malika agreed. “I hope she gets your loyalty. And your heart.”

“Nah, that’s all you,” I countered, kissing her forehead. “Your compassion. Your fire.”

Malika was quiet for a moment. “Do you think we’re doing okay? As parents, I mean.”

The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. “I think we’re figuring it out,” I said honestly. “Day by day. Making shit up as we go. Maybe that’s all anyone does, you know? Even the real grown-ups.”

“We are grown-ups, Percy,” she reminded me, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Says who?” I challenged, rolling us over so I was propped above her, grinning down at her surprised face. “Last I checked, grown-ups don’t do this—”

I tickled her ribs, right where I knew she was most sensitive, and she shrieked with laughter, trying to squirm away.

SQUEAL – High-pitched laughter filling the room.

“Percy Jackson!” she gasped between giggles. “Stop it right now or I swear to all the fucking gods—”

I silenced her with a kiss, which quickly turned from playful to something else entirely. Her hands slid down my back, grabbing my ass and pulling me closer, and just like that, the fire reignited.

“Again?” she whispered against my lips, feeling me harden against her thigh.

“We have the whole night,” I reminded her, trailing kisses down her throat, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my lips. “And I plan to make the most of every fucking minute.”

She smiled up at me, that smile that still made my heart skip beats even after all this time, all we’d been through. “I love you, Percy Jackson.”

“I love you too, Malika Raynor,” I whispered back. “Always.”

RUSTLE – Bodies shifting against sheets.

I kissed her deeply, then began a slow journey down her body—lingering at her breasts, her ribs, the soft curve of her stomach where stretch marks traced silvery paths. She watched me, her breath catching as I kissed each mark like they were sacred.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her skin. “Every inch of you.”

“Even these?” she asked, gesturing to the marks.

“Especially these,” I said fiercely. “Battle scars from the most important fight we’ve ever won.”

Her eyes glistened in the moonlight, and she pulled me back up to kiss me—hard and desperate and full of everything she couldn’t say.

This time, she pushed me onto my back and straddled me, taking control. I watched, mesmerized, as she positioned herself above me, slowly sinking down onto my c**k. The sight of her—head thrown back, breasts bouncing, taking her pleasure as she rode me—was almost enough to make me come right then.

“Fuck, Malika,” I groaned, gripping her hips to help guide her movements.

She leaned forward, changing the angle, her hands braced on my chest. “You like watching me like this?” she asked, voice breathy but confident.

“Gods, yes,” I managed, transfixed by the sight of my c**k disappearing inside her with each movement of her hips.

She smiled, a wicked curve of her lips that sent shivers down my spine. “Good,” she whispered, circling her hips in a way that made us both moan. “Because I love the way you feel inside me.”

MOAN – Low, throaty sounds of pleasure.

I reached between us, my thumb finding her cl*t, rubbing slow circles that made her rhythm falter. “Percy,” she gasped, her movements becoming more erratic.

“That’s it,” I encouraged, watching her face as pleasure built. “Let go for me, baby.”

When she came, it was with my name on her lips, her inner walls clenching around me in waves that pulled my own orgasm from me. I thrust up into her, holding her hips tight against mine as I pulsed inside her, both of us crying out.

THUMP – Hearts beating in sync.

She collapsed against my chest, both of us breathing hard. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as aftershocks rippled through us.

“Holy Hera,” she panted, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “That was…”

“Mind-blowing?” I suggested, running my fingers through her tangled curls.

“Something like that,” she agreed with a soft laugh.

We shifted to our sides, still tangled together, unwilling to break the connection just yet. I traced lazy patterns on her back, feeling the thin sheen of sweat cooling on her skin.

“I’ve missed this,” she murmured, her voice heavy with approaching sleep. “Just being us.”

“Me too,” I confessed, kissing her forehead. “Though I wouldn’t trade Thalassa for anything.”

“Of course not,” she agreed immediately. “But it’s nice to remember we’re not just parents. We’re still Percy and Malika.”

“Always,” I promised, pulling her closer.

We drifted into sleep, wrapped in each other and the quiet of the night.

CHIRP – Morning birds outside the cabin.

The sunlight painted Malika’s skin gold as she slept beside me, curled against my side like she belonged there (which, of course, she did). I took a moment just to look at her—really look at her—in a way I rarely had time for anymore.

The peaceful curve of her cheek. The fan of her lashes against her skin. The soft, steady rhythm of her breathing. She looked younger in sleep, reminding me that we were both still so young ourselves—just eighteen and seventeen—thrust into parenthood before we’d even graduated from Camp Half-Blood. But she was more now, too. Stronger. Braver. Mine.

I brushed a curl from her face, and her eyes fluttered open, honey-amber and still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice raspy in a way that immediately had my c**k stirring to life.

“Morning,” I whispered back, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“What time is it?”

I glanced at the clock. “Eight-thirty.”

Her eyes widened. “Eight-thirty? As in, we slept for more than three consecutive hours?”

“Apparently,” I laughed. “How does it feel?”

“Like a fucking miracle,” she sighed, stretching languidly beside me. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to not wake up every two hours in a blind panic.”

I watched her stretch, admiring the way the sheet slipped down to reveal her naked body—the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast, the flat plane of her stomach. My body responded immediately, and she caught my look with a raised eyebrow.

“Again?” she teased, noticing my obvious arousal. “After all that last night?”

I grinned, pulling her closer. “I’m making up for lost time.”

RUSTLE – Sheets sliding against skin.

She laughed, but didn’t resist when I kissed her, slow and deep. “We should probably shower before picking up Thalassa,” she murmured against my lips.

“Mmm,” I agreed, trailing kisses down her neck. “Should probably conserve water, too. Environmental responsibility and all that.”

“Very responsible,” she nodded seriously, her hand sliding between us to wrap around my already hard length. “Shower together it is.”

We barely made it to the bathroom, stumbling and laughing and kissing like the teenagers we technically still were. The hot water sluiced over us, steam rising around our bodies as we rediscovered the specific challenges and rewards of shower sex.

SPLASH – Water hitting the shower floor.

“Fuck, this is harder than I remember,” Malika gasped as I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, her back against the cold tile.

“Worth it though,” I managed, positioning myself at her entrance.

She laughed, the sound echoing in the small space. “Definitely worth it.”

I pushed into her, the water making everything slicker, more intense. Her nails dug into my shoulders, her head tipping back against the tiles. “Gods, Percy, yes—”

Her words dissolved into moans as I found the perfect angle, driving into her with a force that had us both seeing stars. I reached between us, my fingers finding her cl*t, circling it in time with my thrusts. The steam, the heat, the slick slide of our bodies—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

THUD – Bodies against tile.

“I’m close,” she gasped, her eyes locked on mine.

“Come for me,” I urged, pressing harder against her sensitive bundle of nerves.

She did, spectacularly, her entire body shuddering with the force of it, her p***y clenching around me in waves. I followed seconds later, muffling my shout against her shoulder as pleasure tore through me.

We stayed like that for a moment, still connected, breathing hard, the water turning tepid around us.

“Damn,” she finally said, unwrapping her legs as I carefully set her down. “I think we broke the hot water.”

I laughed, grabbing the shampoo. “Worth it.”

We washed each other’s hair, taking turns under the increasingly cold spray, stealing kisses between rinses. It felt like those early days in the Aphrodite cabin—before Thalassa, before everything changed—when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. But better, somehow. Deeper. More real.

SQUEAK – Water shutting off.

We dried each other off with care, stealing kisses between swipes of the towel. Malika pulled on jeans and one of my Camp Half-Blood t-shirts, her hair still damp and curling wild around her face. She caught me staring and smiled, a question in her eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, crossing to her and pulling her close. “Just thinking about how fucking lucky I am.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the pleased flush on her cheeks. “Sap.”

“Your sap,” I corrected, kissing her quickly. “Ready to go get our baby?”

Her face lit up at the mention of Thalassa, and I felt my heart swell. For all our talk of freedom and alone time, we both missed her like crazy.

“Ready,” she nodded, taking my hand.

We walked to my mom’s apartment in Manhattan, shoulders bumping, fingers entwined. The morning was bright and clear, the kind of perfect New York fall day that made everything seem possible.

HONK – Traffic noise in the distance.

“We should do this more often,” Malika said suddenly. “Not every week, obviously, but… maybe once a month? Just us?”

I squeezed her hand. “Absolutely. Date night is officially a thing.”

“Date night,” she repeated, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”

We reached my mom’s building, and as we rode the elevator up, I felt a familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety. Would Thalassa be okay? Would she have missed us? Would she hate us for leaving her?

DING – Elevator arriving at our floor.

My mom opened the door before we could even knock, Thalassa balanced on her hip, gurgling happily.

"There they are!" my mom said in that voice adults reserve for babies. "Look, Thalassa! Mommy and Daddy are here!"

Our daughter looked at us, blinked once, then broke into the biggest, toothless grin I'd ever seen. She kicked her tiny legs excitedly and let out a series of happy coos, reaching for us with grabby hands.

I froze, my entire world shifting on its axis at the sight of her recognizing us so clearly.

"She's been doing that all morning," my mom explained with a proud smile. "Every time I showed her your pictures, she'd get so excited."

SQUEAL – Baby's excited noise.

I took Thalassa from my mom's arms, holding her like she was made of glass. "Hey, little wave," I managed, my voice thick. Her tiny hand immediately grabbed my finger with surprising strength.

Malika was at my side in an instant, her eyes shining with tears. "Has she been good?" she asked my mom, her hand on Thalassa's back.

"An absolute angel," Mom confirmed. "She's starting to track objects with her eyes so well now, and she rolled from her back to her side twice!"

Thalassa cooed again, her eyes locked on my face as she made a series of bubbling sounds, drool running down her chin.

I looked at Malika, saw the pure love in her expression as she watched our daughter, and pulled her close with my free arm.

"She's missed us," I said softly.

WHY ARE Y'ALL LEAVING CHOICE UP TO ME THIS IS JUST SO RUDE. *pouts*

"I fell in love with you, not them." + Malcolm/Percy

--

Percy was confused. His alpha had been behaving weirdly. Every time Percy came to camp and tried to spend time with his boyfriend, Malcolm would dodge him. Tell him he was busy with camp counselor duties – now that Annabeth had left New York to go to college in New Rome – or had to study for his high school finals. At first, Percy had dismissed it, because yeah he knew how busy camp-life could get. The more often it happened, the more suspicious he got.

“Mal, do you wanna go to the lake with me?” asked Percy with a grin.

“I'm sorry I'm busy,” replied Malcolm shortly.

With a frown and determination did Percy grab the book in Malcolm's hand and take it away, putting it aside. When Malcolm looked up displeased, Percy just climbed into his lap, putting his knees on either side of Malcolm's thighs. Then, he wrapped his arms around Malcolm's neck.

“Nope,” declared Percy, his fingers playing with the soft little curls in the nape of his alpha's neck. “I'm done being ignored by my boyfriend. You will have to explain yourself to me, because I am not going to move away from this very, very comfy spot until you explain why you're avoiding me.”

The alpha made a face, his hands on Percy's hips as though he wanted to lift Percy off. How cute of him. Percy adjusted his position so he could wrap his legs around Malcolm's waist. The blonde always commented on how much he loved Percy's strong thighs. Right now, they were keeping him from lifting the omega off and putting him aside. That only made Malcolm glare harder.

“Please, Percy, it's nothing, just-” Malcolm grunted in frustration.

“Just go away?” finished Percy for him. “No. If you want to break up with me, then break up with me. Tell me you don't like me anymore. But this? I can't deal with this.”

The alpha beneath him faltered and averted his eyes. “It's not... I love you, Percy. I love you a lot. I just... I'm... You shouldn't love me. You're the savior of Olympus, the hero of two wars.”

“So what?” Percy blinked confused, nuzzling his alpha's neck.

“You are like the most desired unmated omega of our generation. And...” Malcolm paused, averting his eyes. “We went to New Rome, to look at the college together last month, remember? And every Roman we met... they were all so startled and confused that an omega like you would pick some random alpha like me. I'm no one. I was a foot soldier. I was... no one... So I thought... Maybe it's time you find an alpha more... deserving of you. There are so many.”

Read if ur bored ig.

This idea was mine do not steal it, I’ve been working on this since 9am and been planning if, if you see any post like this please make sure it’s nobody copying me.

Here…

NSFW IN PART 2…

Okay, so, like, things have been INSANE lately. And not the "fighting-monsters-in-Central-Park-at-3am" kind of insane, which, let's be honest, is pretty much Tuesday for me. This is a whole different level of pants-wetting, soul-searching, "I-think-I-might-actually-vomit-rainbows" insane.

It all started, predictably, with Malika.

Malika Rainey Raynor. Daughter of Aphrodite. December baby. My girlfriend. My everything. And, okay, maybe I'm a little biased, but she's the goddess-level gorgeous. Like, stop-traffic, make-Poseidon-jealous-of-my-good-fortune gorgeous. We’ve been together for, jeez, almost two years now? Time flies when you're dating a Demigod. Esp the one who can make u drool in a second.

And yeah, sure, being Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, I’ve seen some things. I’ve fought Titans, walked through Tartarus (don't ask), and generally had a childhood that would give any therapist a permanent case of the shakes. But NOTHING prepared me for this.

I walk into our cabin at Camp Half-Blood (yeah, we have one together now, sue me, I’m a sap) and the air is thick. Not with humidity, which is usually the case in Long Island in August. No, this is thick with emotion. The kind of emotion that hits you like a tidal wave, leaves you sputtering and wondering what the heck just happened.

Malika’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to me. Usually, she greets me with like, the world's biggest smile, or a running jump hug that almost knocks me over. It's usually her favorite thing to do. Today? Nothing. Just this stiff, tense posture.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual, like I haven't been mentally fighting off a rogue hellhound all afternoon. "What's up?"

Silence.

I creep closer. She’s got her hands clasped in her lap, and I can see her shoulders shaking a little. Okay, this is officially Code Red.

"Malika?" I ask, my voice dropping to a whisper. I reach out and gently touch her shoulder. She flinches.

Then, she turns.

Her eyes. Dude, her eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying for hours. And in her hand? She’s clutching something. Something small, white, and plastic.

I recognize it instantly.

A pregnancy test.

My stomach does a slow roll. Like, ocean-liner-turning-in-the-middle-of-the-Atlantic slow roll.

My birthday was just last week. I turned eighteen. Malika's still seventeen, a few months shy of blowing out the candles. Eighteen is young enough as is, but she is still a baby.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. The cabin walls feel like they're closing in. The posters of the ocean I put up (because, you know, themes) are mocking me. The scent of saltwater from the sea breeze coming through the window suddenly feels suffocating.

She doesn't say anything. She just looks at me, her beautiful face etched with a mixture of fear and… is that hope? I can't tell. I'm too busy trying to process the fact that the universe might just have thrown me the mother of all curveballs.

I swallow, trying to find my voice. "Malika… is that…" I can't even finish the sentence.

She nods, once. Her lower lip trembles.

"I… I took it this morning," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "It… it was positive."

Positive.

Like, two pink lines levels of positive.

Positive as in, holy-Poseidon-I-think-I'm-going-to-faint positive.

The room starts to spin. I feel like I'm underwater, everything muffled and distorted. My ears are ringing. I can feel my face burning.

Me? A dad? Malika, still a kid herself, a mom?

This is not how I pictured my post-monster-fighting life. This is not how she pictured her life. We were supposed to graduate, go to college (maybe), figure out what we wanted to do with our lives. Not… this.

I look at Malika, really look at her. Through the tears, through the fear, I see something else. A vulnerability that cracks me right open. She's scared. More scared than I've ever seen her. And I realize, in that moment, that my own fear doesn't matter.

She's the one holding the weight of this. She's the one whose body is changing. She's the one who's going to have to make some seriously tough choices.

And I? I'm going to be there. No matter what.

I kneel down in front of her, take her hands in mine. Her skin is ice-cold.

"Hey," I say, my voice still shaky, but stronger now. "Hey, look at me."

She meets my gaze, her eyes swimming with tears.

"It's going to be okay," I say, and God, I hope I'm right. "We're going to figure this out. Together."

I pull her into a hug, hold her tight. She sobs against my chest, and I just hold her, letting her cry. For now, that's all I can do.

But in the back of my mind, a million thoughts are racing. How are we going to tell our parents? What about school? What about everything?

But beneath the fear, beneath the panic, something else is stirring. A protectiveness. A sense of responsibility. And, dare I even think it? A tiny flicker of… excitement?

This is insane. Utterly, completely insane.

But it's our insane.

And somehow, I know, we'll get through it.

Together.

I just hope Poseidon's got my back on this one. Because I think I'm going to need all the help I can get.

The next morning, I wake up before her. She’s curled up beside me, her lashes wet from crying herself to sleep, face half-hidden in the pillow, hair like a storm of midnight tumbling across her back and down to her thighs. I can see the slope of her shoulder, the way the early light touches her skin—olive-gold, like sunlight over sand.

And I swear to the gods, I’ve never loved her more.

There’s a weight pressing against my chest. Not fear this time. Not really. It’s more like awe. Like standing at the edge of the ocean and realizing just how deep it goes. She’s here. She’s real. And inside her, maybe—maybe—someone else is, too.

That thought makes my head spin again, but not in the same way. Not the panic spiral from last night. Something softer now. Warming. Expanding.

I reach out, brushing my thumb along her jaw. Her lips part a little, like she knows it’s me. I think of all the nights we laid here, tangled up in each other, laughing about the future like we could outpace it.

Guess it caught up.

And now?

Now she might be carrying my kid.

My throat closes. I think of Mom, of Paul, of how they looked at me with this mix of pride and eternal worry. I think of Poseidon, the dad who literally left me in a cradle at the top of an apartment building and dipped. And I think—I can’t do that. I won’t.

If this is happening… I’ll be better. I’ll be here.

Malika stirs. Her eyes flutter open, those honey-colored orbs catching the light like literal magic. She blinks up at me like she’s still dreaming.

“Percy,” she whispers.

I kiss her forehead. “Yeah, baby.”

There’s a pause.

“Did you sleep?”

“Barely,” I say. “You?”

She shakes her head. “My head won’t shut up.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Another pause. She looks down. “I don’t know where to start.”

My fingers find hers beneath the blankets. “Start with this: I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip quivers again. I see that flash of pain behind her eyes, that fear she’s too proud to name.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m scared,” she admits.

And it breaks me. It breaks me.

I pull her close, like I could shield her from the whole world with just my arms. “You don’t have to do this alone. Whatever happens… whatever you decide… I’ve got you. Always.”

Tears spill from her eyes, silent and shining. But she nods, presses her face into my chest like she’s breathing in the promise.

And maybe for the first time since all this started, I feel like we might actually be okay.

Because it’s not just about gods or fate or monster blood anymore.

It’s about her. Us. This tiny, terrifying thing we might be building. A life.

And I swear on the River Styx—I’ll fight the whole damn world to keep it safe.

Even if that means fighting myself.

For the first time in years, I actually felt like maybe I couldn’t breathe underwater.

I mean, not literally. Physically I was fine. But mentally?

I was drowning.

I left the cabin to give Malika space. She said she needed a minute, and I nodded, but the second I stepped outside, the air felt too sharp, too real. The camp was normal. Kids were laughing by the armory, some Apollo kid was tuning his guitar on the porch, and there I was—Percy Jackson, breathing disaster in human form.

I couldn’t talk to Chiron. I couldn’t talk to Annabeth.

I couldn’t even look at the water.

What if I screw this up? What if I already have?

What if she decides she can’t do this with me?

What if this kid never gets to have a dad who knows what he’s doing?

I end up pacing the beach until my feet are buried in sand and my heart’s racing like I’ve been chased by a hydra. It’s not even been twenty-four hours and already my brain’s throwing every worst-case scenario at me like it's trying to break me.

And it’s working.

I sit down hard, head in my hands, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart when—

“Percy?”

I look up.

Sally.

My mom. Somehow, impossibly, standing right there in the sand like a miracle or a threat or maybe both.

“Chiron called me,” she says gently, crouching down beside me. “Said you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

I laugh—sharp, bitter. “Worse.”

She brushes hair from my forehead, just like she used to when I was little. “Tell me.”

And I do. Everything. I don’t even mean to, it just spills. The test. Malika. Her tears. The weight I feel like I’m too young to carry. The fear that I’ll never be enough. That I’ll become my father.

I can’t even look at her when I finish.

But she doesn’t speak right away. She pulls me into a hug instead—tight, warm, mom—and I cry. I haven’t cried like this in years. Maybe not since I came back from Tartarus. And even then, it didn’t feel like this.

“I don’t know what to do,” I choke out. “She’s seventeen. She’s scared. I’m scared. What if I ruin this?”

She pulls back just enough to look me in the eye.

“Sweetheart,” she says, voice soft but steady, “you won’t ruin anything if you love her. If you show up. Every single day. You’re not your father, Percy. You’ve already broken that cycle.”

“But what if I mess up?”

“You will. You’re human. That’s how we learn. But love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real.”

I nod, but it barely sinks in. Until she says:

“Does Malika know you love her? That you want this baby, even if it’s terrifying?”

And the truth is—

I haven’t said it. Not in those words.

Because I’ve been too busy panicking to realize it’s already true.

I do want this.

I want them.

All of it.

That night, I go back to the cabin.

She’s lying on the bed, facing the wall. Her hair spills over the pillow like ink in water, and she’s curled in on herself like she’s trying to disappear.

“Malika,” I say, voice shaking.

She doesn’t move.

I walk over, sit on the edge of the bed, and for a second I just watch her. Breathe.

“I talked to my mom,” I say. “And I… I think I’ve been trying so hard to not fall apart, I forgot to tell you the truth.”

Slowly, she turns to face me.

Her eyes—red again. Quiet.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so much it actually hurts, and I want this with you. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s ours.”

She blinks. “Percy…”

“I don’t care how young we are, or how scared I am. I will fight monsters, prophecies, gods—anything—for you. And for this kid. You’re not alone. Not for a single second.”

She doesn’t cry this time.

She launches herself into my arms.

And the way she sobs into my shirt? It’s not broken. It’s relieved. Like she’s been holding her breath for hours and can finally exhale.

We stay like that for minutes. Hours. I don’t know.

But I know this:

When she finally pulls back, hands resting on her flat stomach, and whispers, “They’re really in there, huh?”—I press my hand over hers and smile.

“Yeah,” I say. “They really are.”

She laughs, all soft and cracked and beautiful.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, the fear fades.

Because we’re not just kids anymore.

We’re a family.

———

The waiting room is too quiet.

Like, eerie-quest-silence-before-a-monster-jumps-out quiet. Which is wild, because we’re not in a dungeon. We’re in a prenatal clinic.

A real one. With real fluorescent lights, and tiny potted plants, and a water cooler that hums like it’s mocking me. There’s a stack of parenting magazines on the table in front of us. One of them says “10 Signs You’re Ready For Baby!” in big cheerful letters.

I nearly throw it across the room.

Because I’m not ready.

Neither of us are.

Malika’s beside me, legs crossed, her fingers twitching against her thigh. She’s wearing one of my hoodies—it swallows her whole, and I want to tell her how cute she looks, how even when she’s nervous she still looks like someone carved her from sunlight and rose petals. But I don’t. Because she’s staring at the floor like if she moves, she might shatter.

Instead, I slide my hand into hers.

She doesn’t look at me. Just squeezes. Hard.

The nurse finally calls her name, and she flinches.

And then we’re moving. Down this hallway with too-bright lights and posters about folic acid. Into a room that smells like antiseptic and cotton.

“Hop up on the table,” the tech says, way too chipper for my taste. “We’ll take a peek at the little peanut, okay?”

Peanut.

Oh gods.

That’s our kid she’s talking about.

Malika lies back, her shirt pulled up to reveal a still-flat belly. The tech puts cold gel on her stomach, and she gasps. I squeeze her hand tighter. She doesn’t let go.

And then—there’s this static noise. Like radio fuzz. The screen next to to us flickers to life.

And there.

There.

A shape.

A tiny, fluttering, real shape.

My throat closes up.

The tech moves the probe a little. Adjusts the screen. And suddenly—there it is.

This tiny bean, floating in a world of shadows. No face yet. No real features.

But it’s moving.

And it has a heartbeat.

A heartbeat.

The sound fills the room—fast, galloping, alive. Like a drum against the quiet. Like the world telling me, This is real. This is happening. This is yours.

Malika gasps. Her other hand flies to her mouth.

She starts crying.

And I—I’m already crying.

Because that sound? That sound is the most powerful thing I’ve ever heard. Louder than Zeus’s thunder, deeper than Poseidon’s waves. It’s ours.

And suddenly I get it.

Why people change their lives for this. Why they sacrifice everything.

Because in that moment, watching that little flicker of a person on the screen, I would have sworn to Olympus itself I’d burn down the world for them.

Malika turns to me, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“I didn’t think I’d feel it like this,” she whispers. “It’s like… they’re real now.”

I nod. I can’t even speak. I just rest my forehead against hers and breathe.

And for once, the world outside stops spinning.

There’s no war.

No monsters.

No gods watching from above.

Just us.

Two scared kids.

And the tiniest heartbeat that already owns us both…

Month Two.

Malika throws up every morning like clockwork.

It’s not cute. It’s violent. Like her body is still protesting the idea of being a home to someone else.

She curls up on the bathroom floor afterward, clutching my hand with clammy fingers, hair stuck to her face. “This is the worst, Percy,” she groans, tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes.

And all I can do is sit there with her, back against the wall, brushing her hair out of her face, whispering, “I know, baby. I know,” and feeling completely useless.

I start learning things. Real, human things. Like how ginger helps nausea. That she suddenly hates the smell of strawberries even though they used to be her favorite. That she likes her grilled cheese burnt now. That her body isn’t just hers anymore, and I have to relearn it with her—gently. Without fear.

I tell no one. Not yet.

Because she’s not ready.

Because it’s hers to tell.

Month Three.

We tell Chiron.

He’s quiet for a long time. His eyebrows knit together like he’s trying to calculate a prophecy we don’t know about yet.

“You’re both very young,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” I say. “But we’re in it. All the way.”

Malika holds my hand the whole time. Doesn’t speak. But afterward, when we’re walking away from the Big House, she says in the smallest voice:

“Do you think he’s disappointed?”

“No,” I say. “I think he’s scared. Just like we are.”

But we both know he’ll still go to bat for us. He’s Chiron. He doesn’t stop believing in kids—especially the reckless ones.

Month Four.

Her bump starts to show.

Barely. But I notice.

And so does Clarisse.

She’s the first camper to say anything out loud, of course.

“Yo, Jackson,” she snorts, “you knocked her up? Way to break the stereotype of dumb sea spawn.”

I see red.

Before I can even open my mouth, Malika beats me to it. Calm. Sharp. So venomous she could’ve been a daughter of Ares.

“You should really be more worried about your own bloodline, Clarisse. Don’t you have a tradition to uphold? Like, dying tragically and alone?”

Clarisse shuts up.

That night, I kiss Malika so hard she forgets what she was mad about. And when I rest my hand on the small swell of her belly, she whispers, “They kicked today.”

And I feel it.

Just the faintest flutter beneath her skin.

It feels like hope.

Month Five.

We find out it’s a girl.

She laughs and cries at the same time. The nurse gives us a little printout of the sonogram, and she tapes it to the inside of her journal like it’s sacred.

I catch her talking to her bump sometimes. Soft, giggly whispers about how the world is wild, but she’s gonna have the best dad ever, even if he smells like ocean and danger.

And I? I cry when I’m alone.

Not out of fear this time.

But because I already love her. This tiny girl I’ve never met. I want to be her ocean. Her anchor. Her dumb, protective dad with a sword and a six-pack of Capri Suns in a cooler bag.

I want to build her a world where she’s safe.

Month Six.

She gets scared.

There’s a moment. A bad nightmare. She wakes up screaming, gasping, clutching her stomach and sobbing, “I can’t do this—I can’t lose her.”

And I hold her, all night, whispering, “She’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And I mean it.

I would raze Olympus for her.

For both of them.

Month Seven.

Camp finds out.

Not from us. Some Hermes kid overheard. It spreads like fire.

And suddenly, we’re talked about. Stared at. Half the camp is sympathetic. Half whispers behind our backs.

But then Annabeth walks right into the pavilion, throws her arm around Malika’s shoulders and says, “She’s going to be the best mom to a girl who’s going to make the gods tremble.”

And just like that, it changes.

They start to root for us.

Start to help.

Even Clarisse brings her protein bars and says, “Babies need muscle too.”

I watch Malika glow—not the Aphrodite kind of glow, but the real, earthy, human kind. The kind of glow you get from surviving storms and still being soft.

Month Eight.

We dance.

There’s a bonfire at camp. It’s late. Everyone’s laughing, but we’re slow dancing off to the side. No music. Just the sound of waves.

My hand on her belly. Her hand on my heart.

She whispers, “We’re so young.”

And I whisper back, “Yeah. But we’ve already lived a thousand lives.”

She laughs. “Do you think she’ll have your eyes?”

“I hope she has your heart.”

She leans in. Kisses me slow.

“I hope she never has to fight monsters.”

“I hope she never fights alone.”.

Part 6:

We had a plan.

Not, like, a great plan—we're teenagers, let’s not get wild—but there was a plan.

Month nine. Maybe a midwife at camp. Maybe Sally drives us to the hospital. Maybe a name by then. Maybe time.

But the universe has always had other ideas for me.

It’s two in the morning when I feel Malika sit bolt upright next to me. I’m out before I’m even awake—sword half-summoned, heart hammering like I’m about to fight a chimera in my boxers.

But it’s not a monster.

It’s her.

And she’s shaking.

“Percy,” she whispers. Her voice cracks. “Percy, I think—something’s happening. I—”

Then she gasps. A real gasp. Not pain. Not yet.

Just wetness.

She looks down. Eyes wide. Horror-struck.

“Oh my gods.”

And that’s when I realize.

It’s not sweat. It’s not a nightmare.

Her water just broke.

Eight and a half months.

Too early.

“Okay, okay,” I’m saying, too fast, grabbing her hands, grabbing the bag we prepped but never zipped because we didn’t think it’d happen yet. “Okay. Hospital. Sally. Chiron. Do we call someone? Should I carry you? Gods, should I get Annabeth?!”

“Percy.” Her voice is sharp.

I stop.

She’s breathing like a soldier. Hands gripping her thighs. “It’s too early.”

“I know,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of her. “But we’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. She’s just—impatient. She gets it from you.”

“Percy.”

And then the pain hits.

She doubles over, groaning through gritted teeth, and I feel helpless in a way I never have before. I’d rather face a dozen hydras. At least I can fight those.

But this?

All I can do is hold her.

And get her to the car.

Sally’s driving. Like, driving. My mom’s always been the definition of calm in chaos—but tonight? She’s tearing down the highway with one hand on the wheel and the other dialing the hospital.

Malika’s in the back seat. Her head’s in my lap. She’s not crying—but gods, she’s close.

I’m stroking her hair, whispering anything I can think of: sea metaphors, inside jokes, promises I hope I can keep.

She’s whispering something back.

“I don’t want her to be small,” she says, over and over. “I don’t want her lungs to be weak. Percy, what if she can’t—what if she doesn’t make it—what if I’m not enough?”

“Hey,” I say, my hand finding hers. “You’re everything. You are home. And she’s gonna feel that. From the second she breathes.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “But it’s too soon.”

“I know,” I say. “But she’s not alone. She’s got you. And me. And the whole damn ocean if she needs it.”

Sally swerves into the ER like a hero with a minivan.

The hospital is too bright. Too sterile. Too fast.

Malika’s wheeled away.

I’m given scrubs. My hands shake as I tie the knot.

They ask me if I want to be in the room.

I say, “There’s no place else I’d ever be.”

I walk in and she’s already sweating, clinging to the rails of the hospital bed like it’s the only thing anchoring her to this world. A nurse is telling her to breathe. A doctor is checking numbers on a screen that mean everything and nothing to me.

I walk to her. Take her hand.

“I’m here.”

Her eyes flutter open. She gives me this look.

“I love you,” she says, voice hoarse. “If I don’t—if she doesn’t—”

“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t say it. She will. You will.”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too,” I whisper. “But I’ve never believed in anything like I believe in you.”

She sobs. But she holds on.

To me. To the moment. To life.

The rest is chaos.

Sweat. Screams. Nurses. Beeps. My heart in my throat, waiting for any sign that things are okay.

And then—

Then there’s this sound.

A cry.

High and sharp and furious.

Like thunder in a quiet sky.

Like she’s yelling I’m here.

And just like that—

I’m crying.

Malika’s crying.

And our daughter?

Our daughter is alive.

They place her on Malika’s chest and she looks so small. So breakable. But her cry? It’s strong.

Stronger than anything.

She curls her fingers, tiny and perfect, against Malika’s skin.

And I lose it.

Because she’s real.

Because we made it.

Because somehow, through fear and chaos and blood and storms—we brought life into this world.

And it’s ours.

It started at 2:12 a.m.

By 2:30, we were at the hospital.

By 2:45, Malika was in a room, strapped to a monitor, in a thin blue gown that looked so wrong on someone like her—someone golden, radiant, my girl. She looked smaller than I’d ever seen her. Paler. Her curls frizzed with sweat, sticking to her face. Her lips trembling.

She grabbed my wrist when the nurse asked if she wanted the epidural. Hard. Like, bruise-in-the-shape-of-her-thumb hard.

"Do I do it?" she whispered, like it was a secret, like it mattered more than anything. "Is it weak?"

“Are you kidding?” I said, brushing hair from her forehead. “You’ve fought monsters. You get to choose softness this time.”

So she nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I want it.”

They came in with the needle.

I held her shoulders, forehead pressed to hers. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Don’t leave.”

I didn’t.

Not for a second.

4:40 a.m.

The epidural kicked in.

Her breathing slowed. Her hands stopped shaking. She looked at me with these glassy, exhausted eyes and whispered, “Percy, I don’t feel my legs. Is that normal?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re doing it, Malika.”

She smiled. Sleepy. Dazed. But beautiful.

I held her hand while the hours ticked by.

6:15 a.m.

She was five centimeters.

The nurse checked and said, “Still a while to go.”

Malika groaned. “I don’t want to wait. I want her out.”

“You’re literally a goddess,” I said, half-laughing. “Even your impatience is pretty.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I can’t feel my legs.”

8:00 a.m.

Sally brought us food we couldn’t eat. Sat in the corner like this anchor of calm.

She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re doing good, Percy.”

I nodded. Didn’t believe it. My hands felt useless. My heart was a punching bag.

9:24 a.m.

She was eight centimeters.

The contractions started cutting through the meds a little. Her hands clenched the rails. Her breaths turned ragged.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do it.”

“You are doing it,” I said, forehead against hers again, tears stinging behind my eyes. “You’ve done impossible things. You don’t stop.”

And then her eyes. Those honey-amber eyes, wet and terrified and brave as hell. “You better name her something strong, Jackson.”

“I will,” I promised. “I already have.”

10:11 a.m.

It was time.

The nurse smiled, said, “You’re ten centimeters.”

Malika blinked like she didn’t believe her. Like that couldn’t be real.

And then the room was a flurry—lights on, doctors walking in, me in her ear saying “You got this” over and over like a prayer, her hands finding mine like she’d fall without them.

“Push when we say.”

She did.

Gods, she pushed.

She screamed. I cried. She sobbed. I whispered everything I knew—about stars and seafoam and how proud I was of her.

It went on.

Forty-five minutes.

It felt like eternity.

She begged. She broke. She swore she couldn’t do it.

And then—

Then the world cracked open.

And there she was.

A scream.

A cry.

Our daughter.

Bloodied and tiny and fighting. Wrinkled and real and loud as thunder.

They laid her on Malika’s chest.

And I—

I couldn’t move.

I just stared.

Because I’d fought gods. Crossed Tartarus. Faced the end of the world.

But this?

This was the most powerful thing I’d ever seen.

Malika was sobbing. Laughing. Holding our girl like she was made of sunlight.

“She’s here,” she whispered. “Percy. She’s here.”

And I lost it.

Completely.

I dropped to my knees beside the bed, head in my arms, just crying. Ugly, grateful, full-body sobs.

Because she made it.

They both did.

Because love brought us here.

Because somehow, the most broken pieces of us built something whole.

They cleaned her up. Wrapped her in soft pink cotton. Handed her to me.

And I—my arms shook.

She looked so small.

But she looked at me. Right at me.

With this scrunched little face and a frown that already said, “You’re not gonna be able to tell me no, are you?”

And I whispered:

“Hi, baby girl.”

She blinked.

Malika looked over, half-asleep, half-alive. “You said you already had a name?”

I nodded.

My throat was dry.

“I… I wanted something that meant strength. That meant love. Something that made me think of you—of both of you. And also… something soft. Like a lullaby.”

I looked down at the baby in my arms, and I said:

“Her name is Thalassa Rayne Jackson.”

Malika blinked. “Thalassa?”

“It means the sea,” I said, voice thick. “But it’s more than that. It’s… it’s the spirit of the ocean. Old and deep and wild. Like her mom. And Rayne—like rain, but spelled your way. Because you’re the storm and the calm.”

Malika started crying again. “Percy.”

I kissed her forehead. Kissed my daughter’s. Held them both like they were oxygen.

And I thought—

This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

And I would do it a thousand times again.

11:17 a.m.

Thalassa Rayne Jackson was officially one hour and six minutes old. Which, in newborn time, I think makes her some kind of ancient sea wizard, because she’d already figured out how to wrap me around her tiny, wrinkly pinkie.

Malika had fallen asleep. Not the soft, Disney-princess kind of sleep, but the deep, bone-deep kind that says I just performed a miracle and now I need ten naps stacked on top of each other.
Her curls were still damp, her face blotchy from tears and effort and glory. And I just sat there beside her, baby in my arms, heart somewhere in my throat, trying not to mess this up.

Thalassa blinked up at me like she could see all the way through me. And maybe she could. I mean, this kid was bornstaring down chaos. Her entrance into the world made every monster battle I’d ever fought look like light cardio.

She hiccuped once. Loud. Then made this little grunt like, Yeah, that’s right. I’m here. Try me.

Gods. I loved her.

Outside the window, the sky was just starting to turn that golden post-dawn blue. It looked like Camp Half-Blood summer mornings—when the storms have passed, the sea’s gone glassy, and you can breathe again. That kind of quiet that hums like a prophecy.

I reached out—real gentle—and touched her cheek with my finger. She leaned into it like she knew me. Like we’d already been through some stuff together.

“Hey, Thalassa,” I whispered, “I know the world’s big and messy and kind of terrifying. But you’ve got the best mom ever. And I’m here too. I don’t know if I’m gonna be great at this, but I promise I’ll try. I’ll protect you. Teach you to swim. Teach you to fight monsters—only if you want. And I’ll tell you all the stories. Even the ones where I messed up. Especially those ones.”

Her tiny fingers curled around mine. I nearly lost it again.

I looked back at Malika. At the rise and fall of her chest. At the woman who could summon lightning with her voice and bring me to my knees with a look. And I thought—how the Hades did I get lucky enough to deserve this life?

We’d been through war. Through death. Through loss that cracked us open.
But here we were.
Still standing. Still breathing.

And now… we had her.

Thalassa shifted a little, made this squeaky sound that I swear translated to feed me, mortal, and I chuckled. Gently passed her back to Malika as she blinked awake, still groggy but smiling like sunlight.

“I think she’s hungry,” I said.

Malika cradled her like she was part of her soul—and maybe she was. Probably she was.

“Hey, little one,” Malika murmured. “You ready for this world?”

Thalassa made another noise. Something between a snort and a sigh.

Malika looked at me. “We really made her, huh?”

I nodded, leaning in, kissing both of them again. Couldn’t stop.

“We did,” I whispered. “And she’s perfect.”

So yeah. That’s the story. Not the end of anything.

Just the beginning.
Of Thalassa Rayne.
Of us.

I stared down at this tiny bundle wrapped in hospital-issued blankets, wondering how something so small could make the entire universe shift on its axis. We'd been parents for exactly three days, and I was already convinced Thalassa had inherited both my ability to cause chaos and Malika's gift for making everyone fall in love with her. Seriously, even Ares kids were sending pink stuffed animals to our cabin.

"She has your eyes," Malika whispered, leaning against my shoulder as we watched our daughter sleep in the makeshift crib Hephaestus cabin had welded together as a "congratulations on not dying during childbirth" gift. It was reinforced with celestial bronze, because, you know, demigod baby problems.

"Poor kid," I said, but I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. "Let's hope that's all she got from me. Your everything else would be better."

Malika rolled her eyes, a gesture I'd grown to love more than the ocean itself. "Please. I'm hoping she gets your loyalty. Your courage. Your ability to annoy gods and somehow still be alive."

"That last one's definitely a survival skill," I admitted, wrapping my arm around her waist.

Thalassa made this tiny squeaking sound in her sleep, like she was already dreaming of adventures. Or maybe just milk. It was hard to tell with three-day-old sea wizards.

We were supposed to be sleeping when she slept—that's what all the parenting books said, the ones Annabeth had stacked in our cabin with color-coded sticky notes. But neither of us could stop staring at her. Like, if we looked away, she might vanish. Or worse, start crying again.

Gods, the crying. No monster had ever made a sound that could tear me apart faster than Thalassa's 2 AM wailing.

"We should probably rest," Malika murmured, but she made no move to leave our daughter's side.

"Yeah," I agreed, also not moving.

"Percy?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you scared?" Her voice was soft, almost fragile. Nothing like the Malika who would charge into battle with nothing but her dagger and a very convincing death stare.

I looked at her—really looked—and saw the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders curved inward just slightly. Like she was carrying a weight she wasn't sure she could hold.

"Terrified," I admitted. "Like, underworld-looks-like-a-beach-vacation terrified."

She laughed, but it was shaky. "Me too."

I pulled her closer. "But you know what's weird? I've spent my whole life being afraid of, like, dying horribly or watching the world end or disappointing my dad who's literally a god. But this?" I gestured to Thalassa. "Being afraid for her feels... different. Better, somehow."

"Because it's not about us anymore," Malika said, her fingers intertwining with mine. "It's about her."

"Yeah," I nodded. "And that makes me want to be better. At everything."

"Even changing diapers?" She raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Okay, let's not get crazy. That's definitely still Tartarus-level awful."

We both laughed, quiet enough not to wake the baby. Then she leaned her head against my chest, and I felt her relax, just a little.

"Your mom's coming tomorrow," she reminded me.

"With Paul," I added. "And probably enough baby supplies to stock a small army of drooling demigods."

"I love your mom," Malika sighed. "She doesn't look at me like... you know."

I did know. Because even at Camp Half-Blood, where weird was basically the status quo, being teenage parents still earned us looks. Some pitying, some judgmental, some just confused—like we'd failed some cosmic quest no one had told us about.

"Mom says we're just accelerated adults," I said, kissing the top of her head. "Like, we've already done the impossible stuff. This is just... the next impossible thing."

Thalassa's tiny fist escaped her blanket cocoon, and I reached out, letting her grab my finger. Her grip was surprisingly strong. Like she was saying, Don't worry, Dad. I got this. We got this.

These are only for romantic pairings, not platonic.

The ships in the polls are the twelve (12) most popular ships for each character based on the number of fics on AO3.

F.A.Q.

hey my lovelies, my name is Malika, or again people call me by “Lika” “Mal” or “𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈”

I only speak English and a bit of Greek and French, Spanish, ETC im a polyglot in training 🌺🤦🏻‍♀️ some of them are just native languages, but yeah! On with about me!

So, would you like a vote on the matter? Then leave a comment on this post, or a note in the reblog of it, or send me an ask with your vote, or a private message with it, anything just tell me if you’d really love to read one of the following ships again for a change!

Jason/Percy

Octavian/Percy

Will/Percy

Malcolm/Percy

Apollo/Percy