Chapter Text
The moon was a perfect, silver disc in the inky black sky, so bright it seemed to mock the darkness in Percy’s heart. He was lying on the damp grass of a small, forgotten park near his mom’s apartment, staring up at it, trying to feel something—anything—other than the hollow, gaping ache in his chest. Annabeth. The name was a shard of glass in his throat. He’d found her with Malcolm. His own half-brother. The betrayal was a poison, curdling in his veins, making his own skin feel like a cage. He was a hero, a son of Poseidon, a savior of Olympus. And he was nothing. A joke. A fool.
He just wanted it to stop. He wanted a purpose. He wanted to belong to something, someone, so completely that there was no room left for this pain. He closed his eyes, a single, hot tear tracing a path down his temple, and whispered into the night, “Please. Just… take me. Give me a purpose.”
He didn’t expect an answer.
But he got one.
A soft, silver light began to coalesce in front of him, shaping itself into a form of impossible grace and power. Artemis. She stood before him, not as a distant statue on a pedestal, but as a living, breathing goddess, her expression a mixture of ancient wisdom and surprising compassion.
“You call to the moon, son of the sea,” she said, her voice like the whisper of a winter wind. “It is not often we hear such a desperate, sincere plea.”
Percy scrambled to his knees, his heart hammering against his ribs. “My lady,” he stammered, bowing his head. “I… I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You did not disturb me,” she said softly. “You intrigued me. You speak of wanting a purpose. Of wanting to be taken. Explain.”
The words, once held back by a dam of pride and pain, now came pouring out of him. He told her everything. The war, the pressure, the feeling of being a weapon for others to wield. And finally, the betrayal, the ultimate proof that he was, at his core, disposable.
“I just… I don’t want to be in charge anymore,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I don’t want to make decisions. I’m tired of being the hero. I just want to… belong. To be useful. To be… owned.”
Artemis was silent for a long moment, her silver eyes searching his. He felt completely exposed, his soul laid bare for her judgment.
“I cannot offer you a place among my Hunters,” she said finally. “That path is for maidens alone. But… I can offer you a different path. A different purpose.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “My Hunters are immortal, eternal. They carry their burdens, their pasts, their angers. They are warriors, but they are not soft. They do not have an outlet for their gentler, more… possessive instincts. They could use comfort. A companion. An offering.”
Percy’s breath hitched. He understood what she was saying. It was insane. It was terrifying. It was exactly what he wanted.
“You would be ours,” Artemis continued, her voice a low, hypnotic purr. “Not a Hunter, but a charge. A pet. A submissive. You would serve us, please us, and in return, you would have the purpose you crave. You would be cherished. Protected. You would belong to us. All of us.”
“Yes,” Percy breathed, the word a vow, a surrender. “Yes, my lady. Please.”
A rare, genuine smile touched her lips. “Then come with me, Percy Jackson. Your new life awaits.”
The camp of the Hunters of Artemis was a place of ethereal beauty and untamed wildness. Silver tents glowed under the moonlight, and the air was filled with the scent of pine and night-blooming flowers. Percy, now dressed in simple, dark grey trousers, followed Artemis into the center of the camp, where a fire was crackling. The Hunters were gathered around it, their expressions a mixture of shock and curiosity.
Zoe Nightshade was the first to her feet, her dark eyes flashing. “My lady, what is the meaning of this? Why have you brought a… a boy here?”
Artemis held up a hand. “He is here at my invitation. He has offered himself to us. To be our comfort. Our companion. Our submissive.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Thalia Grace, her electric blue eyes wide with disbelief, stepped forward. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Percy? Here?”
Bianca di Angelo, her expression gentle but firm, was beside Thalia. “Is this wise, my lady? He is a son of the Big Three. His power…”
“Is his to surrender,” Artemis finished, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We will all discuss this. He will lay bare his soul to us, and we will decide if he is worthy. And if we are willing to accept him.”
She gestured for Percy to sit on a log by the fire. He did, his hands trembling in his lap. The eyes of the Hunters were on him, a dozen different gazes, some hostile, some intrigued, some pitying.
“Speak, Percy,” Artemis commanded. “Tell them what you told me. Tell them what you offer.”
He took a shaky breath. “I offer… myself. My obedience. My service. I don’t want to be a leader or a hero anymore. I just want to please you. To make you happy. To be useful.”
Zoe snorted. “And why should we believe you? Why should we trust you?”
“Because I have nothing left,” Percy said, his voice raw with honesty. “No pride, no ego. Just this. This is all I have to give.”
He decided then to just lay it all out, to give them every last piece of him. “There’s… more,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “When I’m… when the world gets too loud, I… I regress. It’s a coping mechanism. I have two headspaces.”
He looked down at his hands. “Sometimes, I’m a dog, I need to be less than human to give up the thoughts and feelings that burden humans.
The Hunters were silent, listening intently.
“And sometimes… I’m little,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “My age range is four to ten. It’s also completely non-sexual. In that headspace, I just want to be cared for. To be read a story, to have my hair stroked, to be kept safe. I just want to be a kid again, without any of the responsibilities or the trauma.”
He looked up, his eyes pleading. “That is my safe space. My little space is for comfort, not for sex. It is sacred.”
Thalia crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “And when you’re not in that headspace?"
Percy took a deep breath. “Then… then I want to be free to use,” he said, the words sending a blush across his face. “I want to be a toy for you. A tool for your pleasure. No questions asked. No boundaries, except for the ones I’m about to give you.”
He looked at them all. “My safe word is ‘Riptide’,” he said. “If I say it, everything stops. No questions asked.”
He continued, “My hard limits are no scat, no blood play, no permanent marks, and no public humiliation. I don’t want to be shamed in front of the rest of the camp. What happens between us, stays between us.”
He had laid it all bare. His deepest vulnerabilities, his darkest desires, his desperate plea for a place to belong. He sat there, trembling, waiting for their judgment.
The Hunters were silent for a long time, just looking at him. It was Zoe who finally broke the silence. She walked over to him and knelt in front of him, her eyes searching for what he did not know. “You are being serious,” she said, not as a question, but as a statement.
He nodded.
“You are truly offering us… everything,” she murmured. She reached out and, to his surprise, gently stroked his hair. “We have never had such an offering before.”
Thalia and Bianca joined them. Thelia’s expression had softened, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “A free use hero,” she mused, a small, almost predatory smile playing on her lips. “That has… possibilities.”
Bianca placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And to be trusted with your little space… that is a sacred trust, Percy. We would not take it lightly.”
Artemis stood over them, her gaze proud. “He has given us his truth. Now we must give him ours. Do we accept his offering? Do we accept him as our own?”
Zoe looked from Percy’s hopeful face to her goddess and nodded. “I accept.”
Thalia grinned. “Oh, I’m definitely in.”
Bianca smiled softly. “I accept as well.”
One by one, the other Hunters voiced their agreement. A wave of relief so powerful it almost buckled his knees washed over Percy. He was in. He was home.
Artemis knelt down, her silver eyes locking onto his. “Then it is settled,” she said, her voice filled with a finality that was both terrifying and comforting. “You are ours, Percy Jackson. You are the Hunt’s offering. And we will take very, very good care of you.”
She leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his forehead. It was a promise. A branding. And in that moment, the hollow ache in his chest finally began to heal.