Annabeth gets stranded on Calypso's island. Kissing ensues.
Annabeth has many she blames.
Firstly, Calypso. Lovely Calypso, who dragged her from the storm drenched sands and into the warm confines of her cave. Who cared for her, listened without judgement to her story, weathered though her moods, and who kissed her—was currently kissing her.
"You’re doing that thing again," Calypso says after breaking their kiss.
Annabeth stares after her lips, pink and wet from their activities. The thoughts in her head slow a little when Calypso’s hands untangle themselves from her blonde hair and trail down to cup the sides of her neck. “What thing?”
"That thing you are still doing." Calypso’s tone is playful, eyes squinting in the sunlight. "Thinking."
"I’m always thinking," Annabeth says after a moment’s pause, breath uneven. Then she pulls Calypso closer to her and kisses her fiercely.
She wants to blame the gods for this.
To her mother, who sent her on a dangerous quest to begin with. Who starved her of affection and instead fed her logic and reasoning. Logic that was impossible against Calypso and her quiet island. Reasoning that was useless against a frantically beating heart and a need so great it felt endless.
To Zeus, for punishing Calypso in this way in the first place. For undoubtedly creating the storm that brought Annabeth to Ogygia. For ignoring his promise. For continuing to keep Calypso imprisoned here. For believing himself better than all others.
To Aphrodite, whose constant meddling was more dangerous than anything Gaia or Kronos could ever cook up. Who was the only one to visit her in her dreams since coming to the island, who gave her a bit of chocolate before turning her heart to ash.
"You can’t stay here," Aphrodite had said, and Annabeth’s heart had burned twice over. Once at the thought of leaving Calypso. Another for the realization that Aphrodite was right. "Your path continues elsewhere."
Annabeth feels hands trailing under her shirt, soft fingertips stroking the skin of her stomach. She groans softly and rolls Calypso beneath her, sand prickling against her bare legs and feet. “You need to behave.”
"Why?" Calypso says. She bites her lips and continues to let her hands play along Annabeth’s skin. She’s blushing, pink tinged across skin darker than Annabeth’s own, and no matter how innocent her face looks, Annabeth can see the hunger in her dark, black eyes.
Annabeth takes in a sharp breath. She’s at war with a foe she doesn’t know how to beat. What could she do against curves and breasts and long, caramel-colored hair? How could she think with such a creature below her, squirming against her, wanting her. When could she finally still the want eating at her insides, taking her over, commanding her to lower her head. To kiss at the skin of Calypso’s neck and revel in her whine.
Her friends as well. They are to blame, aren’t they? To Percy, who never set fire to her heart like Calypso had. To Piper, who stood by and watched with a strangeness in her eyes, like she knew of Annabeth’s future. To Leo, for not warning Annabeth of Calypso and this power she could wield over another. To Frank and Hazel for not getting to her in time during the storm. To Reyna, for forcing Annabeth to acknowledge her attraction to girls. To Jason for—because—
"Please," Calypso gasps, fisting her hands into Annabeth’s hair as Annabeth’s lips reach the thin cloth covering her breast. "Please, Annabeth."
She blames herself more than anyone else.
Conquered, defeated, and hopelessly in love.