❤︎ Pairings: Luke Castellan X femaleCabin10!reader
❤︎ A/N: Little short blurb while I procrastinate studying for my finals…
❤︎ Synopsis: Kidnapped from Camp Half-Blood, a daughter of Aphrodite wakes up in a luxurious suite on The Princess Andromeda, surrounded by silk sheets, roses, and reminders of her past. Luke claims he’s protecting her, but the comfort feels more like a cage.
❤︎ Warnings: Slight sexual content, manipulation, kidnapping, mentions of violence, power imbalance, illusions to stockholm syndrome.
You wake slowly. Not because you’re rested but because something feels…wrong. The air is too warm. Too sweet smelling, too…perfumed?
Your lashes flutter open, and for a disorienting second, everything is gold and pink and sunlight. The ceiling above you is painted in delicate swirls of ivory and gilt. Gauzy curtains drift in a soft breeze, framing tall windows that spill light across polished floors. The bed beneath you is vast with silk sheets tangled around your legs, the fabric whispering against your skin when you shift.
It’s beautiful. It’s wrong.
You push yourself upright, heart steady in your chest, you were softer than most demigods, others used to say. Too gentle for war.
The room looks like something from a dream you once described to him by the lake.
A vanity stands near the window. Your favorite perfumes line its surface. The crystal-backed brush you lost years ago rests neatly beside them. On the chaise lounge, folded carefully, is a dress in a soft pink color.
Your seashell necklace lies on the nightstand. You stare at it. You lost that over a year ago, you think to yourself. Your throat tightens and the ship sways beneath you. Not violently. Steady. Controlled.
The Ocean. The Princess Andromeda, realization dawns on you.
“You always did like waking up somewhere beautiful.” His voice cuts cleanly through the silence.
You don’t gasp. You don’t flinch.
You turn your head slowly. Luke leans against the doorframe like he belongs there. Like this is normal. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. Dark shirt open slightly at the collar. The faint scar beneath his eye catching the light.
He doesn’t look surprised that you’re calm. He expected it.
“You decorated,” you say softly. His gaze drags over you, like he’s assessing you in a way.
There’s no shame in his voice. No apology.
You slide your legs over the side of the bed. The silk slips down your thighs, cool and smooth. His eyes flicker before returning to your face.
“You drugged me,” you say.
“I brought you somewhere safe,” he argues with a shrug.
Your bare feet meet the plush rug. You stand slowly, smoothing the sheet away from your body. “From my home?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “From a battlefield.”
You walk past him without rushing, examining the room like you’re assessing a gift. Your fingers trail over the vanity, the brush, the carefully placed flowers.
“You remembered everything,” you murmur.
“I remember what matters.”
He pushes off the doorway and follows you, his shoes quiet against the floor. You pause at the window, looking out at endless blue water. Monsters patrol the distant deck, shadows moving beyond the glass.
“This is a cage,” you say gently.
“It’s a suite,” he corrects you.
“It’s a cage with silk sheets,” you reply quickly.
He steps closer. “You could leave the room, you’re not trapped in here. You’re a guest, not a prisoner.
“And where would I go?” You ask with a soft huff.
His silence answers. You turn to face him. The distance between you shrinks.
“You planned this,” you realize.
No hesitation. “I knew you’d need comfort,” he continues, voice lowering. “You’ve always liked beautiful things. Soft things. You never should’ve been dragged into something as ugly as this.”
Your gaze searches his. “You think I’m fragile.” Your voice is soft, almost defeated as you consider his words.
His hand lifts…it’s slow and deliberate as he brushes a loose strand of hair from your shoulder. His fingers linger there.
“I think you’re wasted on them.”
Them. Camp. The gods. You don’t step away when his hand slides from your shoulder down the length of your arm. It isn’t rough.
“You don’t belong there,” he murmurs. “You belong somewhere protected.”
“You don’t get to decide where I belong,” you snip at him. But there’s no real heat behind the words. Stubbornness, maybe.
His hand settles at your waist. The warmth of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of your nightgown.
“I’m not deciding,” he says quietly. “I’m offering.”
You tilt your head slightly, studying him. Even now, even here, there’s softness in your eyes. “You’re manipulating me,” you mumble.
A faint smile curves his mouth.
“You always did see through me.”
His thumb presses gently into your hip, pulling you closer until your body brushes his. You feel it immediately…the tension is coiling between you like the invisible string that has been tugging the two of you closer inch by inch for a long time now.
“You don’t have to fight me,” he says, voice dropping lower. “You never did.”
“You lied to me,” you point out with a slight frown.
“I protected you,” he states.
“You poisoned Thalia’s tree,” you add.
“For survival,” he argues. The two of you sound like children the way that you argue back and forth.
His other hand rises, cupping your jaw. His thumb strokes along your cheek slowly. The touch is familiar. “You loved me once,” he murmurs.
Past tense, you want to say. But you don’t. Something flashes in his eyes.
“And you think that just… disappears?”
Your breath brushes his lips now. His thumb drifts down, tracing the line of your lower lip.
“You still feel it,” he says softly.
He leans in. The first brush of his mouth against yours is slow. Testing.
The kiss deepens gradually…not rushed, not frantic, but it’s weighted and Intentional. His hand tightens at your waist, your fingers curl into his shirt. For a second, it feels like before.
Before betrayal. Before war. Before Kronos.
His lips move against yours with growing hunger and months of distance collapsing into heat. He tilts his head, pulling you closer, your body flush against his. The ship sways gently around you.
You melt, just enough to remind him you could. Then you pull back. His lips chase yours before he catches himself. Your foreheads press together, breaths uneven.
“You can’t kiss me into choosing you,” you whisper.
“You’re trying to make this feel like love.”
“It is love,” he urges you. His hand slides from your waist up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades.
“Choose me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Choose the world that survives,” he adds. Your palm rests over his heart again. You feel how fast it’s beating.
“You’re afraid,” you say softly.
His jaw tightens. “I’m realistic.”
“You’re afraid of losing.”
His grip tightens, just slightly. “I won’t lose you.”There it is. Not the world.
You step back slowly, breaking the contact. The air feels colder without him.
“I’m not some prize in your war,” you say gently. His composure hardens and it’s smooth and dangerous again.
“You’re the only thing in this war I refuse to sacrifice.” The words land heavy. He steps away first this time, giving you space…or at least giving you the illusion of it.
“You’re free to walk the ship,” he says calmly. “No one will touch you.” A pause. “They know you’re…under my protection.”
The unspoken word lingers.
You hold his gaze, steady despite the warmth from his lips still lingering on yours. “You can fill a room with everything I love,” you say quietly. “But that doesn’t make it home.”
Something flickers in his expression, something almost human. He nods in agreement, then shrugs. “We have time,” he says. He stands there for a beat too long, like he’s waiting.
Like he expects you to call him back.
The ship sways gently beneath your feet. The silk sheets behind you are still warm from where you’d been sitting. The scent of roses feels thicker now, almost suffocating.
You should let him leave. But instead…
“Luke.” His name slips out softer than you intend.
He pauses in the doorway but doesn’t turn right away. “Yes?”
The singular word is controlled. Too controlled.
You step closer, bare feet silent against the carpeted floor. The distance between you shrinks again, not because he moves this time. But because you do.
“You don’t get to act like you’re patient,” you say quietly. “You dragged me onto your ship.”
Slowly, he turns. His eyes drop to your mouth before lifting back to your gaze. “I told you,” he replies evenly. “You’re not locked in.” He points out with a sigh.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”
The honesty hangs between you. You stop just in front of him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough that you remember exactly how it felt to be wrapped up in it.
“You think I’ll come to you,” you whisper.
His jaw tightens. “I know you.”
“You knew me,” you correct him.
His hand rises again, slower this time. He doesn’t touch you immediately. He lets his knuckles hover near your waist first, giving you space to step back.
His fingers slide along your side. Barely there, then settle at your hip. “You don’t belong in this war,” he repeats his earlier words quietly.
“And you don’t get to decide that for me.”
His other hand comes up, brushing lightly along your collarbone, tracing the thin strap of silk there. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “You’re not made for blood and destruction.”
His gaze sharpens. “I can survive it,” he insists.
He steps closer, backing you up without force until your calves brush the edge of the bed. “I think,” he says lowly, “that you feel everything.”His thumb presses just beneath your ribs…right over your heart. “And that’s what’s going to get you killed.” His voice lowers, his brows furrowing.
Your pulse betrays you under his touch. His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you forward so your body aligns with his.
“You still fit here,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
Your fingers press against his chest, not pushing him away. Just feeling.
“You don’t get to pretend this is just about protection.”
The admission is quiet. His hand moves higher along your spine, fingers spreading, anchoring you closer. His lips hover just beside yours again. But he waits
“You think if you remind me how this feels,” you whisper, “I’ll forget what you did.”
“I think,” he says softly, “that you already have.”
Your breath catches. He closes the distance first this time. The kiss is slower than before. Not desperate. Not rushed.
His mouth moves against yours with steady pressure, like he’s testing how much you’ll allow. His hand tightens at your back, guiding you down onto the edge of the bed without breaking contact.
The silk shifts beneath you. He stands between your knees now. Your hands slide up his arms. Muscle and warmth and memory. He kisses you deeper, tilting your chin slightly. His thumb brushes along the side of your neck, feeling the flutter of your pulse.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against your lips.
A faint, breathless huff of something like a laugh escapes him. His mouth trails down from your lips to your jaw, slower now, grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. His hand slips from your back to your waist, fingers curling lightly into the silk at your side.
“You could stay,” he whispers against your skin. “Right here. With me.”
Your breath stutters when his lips move lower along your neck, warm and deliberate.
“You’re still asking me to choose,” you say softly.
There’s no manipulation in that moment. Just truth. His hands slide over your hips, steadying you, thumbs brushing slow arcs over warm skin beneath the fabric. The ship sways again. You press your palms flat against his chest. He stills instantly.His forehead rests against yours, breath uneven now.
“You think I’ll break,” you whisper.
“I think,” he replies quietly, “that you need to rest.” He clears his throat, pulling away from you reluctantly.
The loss of touch is immediate, and cold. You’re still sitting on the edge of the bed. Still warm. Still breathless. Still wanting. The scent of roses hangs thick in the air. He pauses at the doorway. For a fraction of a second, it looks like he might say something else.
The door closes softly behind him. Now you’re left alone with silk sheets and the unsettling realization that the most dangerous thing about Luke Castellan…
is that he almost makes you believe he’s protecting you.
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