𝐀 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐀 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Pairings: Peter Pevensie x Reader.

Warnings: None.

Genre: fluffy(?) A bit cliffhanger-ish.

The grand hall is quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the faint metallic clatter of Peter's armor as he strides in, weary from battle. His blonde hair clings to his forehead, sweat mingling with streaks of dirt and blood. He winces slightly as he pulls off a dented gauntlet, revealing a fresh gash along his forearm.

“Xia,” he calls softly, his voice hoarse yet commanding. “Come here.”

You step forward, heart racing as your gaze meets his intense blue eyes. He's every inch a king — regal, formidable, and breathtaking, even in his battered state.

“I need your help,” he admits reluctantly, gesturing to the wound.

“It seems I got a bit careless.”

His attempt at humor does little to mask the pain he's in. You nod, guiding him to sit by the fire. Your hands tremble slightly as you gather water, cloth, and salve from the nearby table.As you kneel before him, your fingers brushing against his skin as you clean the wound, the air between you thickens. Peter's sharp intake of breath isn't just from the sting of the salve — it's from the closeness of you, your touch both gentle and intoxicating.

“You're always so careful with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“Even when I don't deserve it.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The firelight dances across his features, casting shadows over the hard lines of his face.

“You're my king,” you whisper, voice wavering. “It's my duty.”

His hand cups your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Is that all I am to you?”

The unspoken question hangs heavy in the air, daring you to cross a line that can't be uncrossed.