Buried deep in the Hamptons’ between arguing ‘perfect’ families, and spoilt teenagers, nestled in that little crook of a three story beach house, with a pool downstairs, jacuzzi in the master bedroom and an infinity pool on the terras above the third floor, is Percy Jackson, the epitome and rich teenager who’s Dad is a god, and is finally being repaid for all the shit he went through fighting gods, and titans and Gaia.

Sprawled on his L shaped grey couch, sipping his third cocktail, made by you, his experimenting girlfriend who is currently behind their mini bar, the one on the deck, shaking another new cocktail.

You’re donning a pretty pale blue bikini and a cream beach coverall untied, to cover your shoulders, even though you’re protected from the sun. Everything your wearing, he’s bought you. That shell and pearl anklet? 300 dollars from some exquisite brand in Sicily. The little silver hoops? 200 dollars something from Louis. That gorgeous silver necklace with a diamond and pearl charm? Priceless. Literally. From the depths of the ocean, Poseidon gave it to Percy, Percy gave it to you.

Yeah, his Dad liked you. Said you were a keeper.

“Baby, there’s too much mint in this one,” He calls, looking at the ornately carved crystal glass with ice, pink liquid and mint leaves before taking a slurp out of the straw and finishing it. “I know.” You call, and grab two new glasses, ones for an espresso martini. “I give you.. white chocolate and vanilla ice cream espresso martini!”

You walk over, and his gaze falls to those legs of yours that go on for days. Silky soft, and smooth, and toned enough that when he takes you and your legs are around his waist he-

You plop down beside him, and pop something cold in his mouth. Sugary, and soft. An ice cream ball? He frowns a little, a silent question whilst you shrug and smile. “The chef had them in the outdoor freezer.” He nods, and slides an arm around your shoulders, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek. His arm falls and he sighs, laying back and relaxing against the plush pillows.

You move over, going on your knees to lean over and force him to try the new cocktail. He hums, his hand rubbing your knee. “Mm. That’s nice baby.”

“You like it?” He nods, closing his eyes, and covering them with his forearm, even though he’s not in the sun. “Yeah, baby.”