#narnia fandom

Peter Pevensie x reader

Word count: 2246

Summary: Is there a possibility of another world? Well, according to you, there is no such possibility. Peter agrees, because there are multiple worlds.

a/n: I find it interesting that Peter was King most of his life and then became a kid again. It's a really in-depth psychology. Also, we need more Peter fanfics!

Beliefs of the World Pt.2

Stuck-up. 

That’s what Peter thought when he first saw you coming out of the gates of Saint Finbar's Boarding School. 

He was in another fight with the other boys in his grade because one of them “accidentally” pushed him in the hallway. He should have let it go; should have looked the other way, but he couldn’t. Peter was King for 15 years, and he was used to being respected—not condemned. 

So now he’s here, fighting in front of Hendon House Boarding School and its sister school. He was glad Edmund hadn't been dismissed yet, or else he too would have dealt with the repercussions. 

Then you came out, not angry, not scared, but also not amused. You went up to the boys and slowly, they started to get out of your way—all except Peter. 

He was still on the floor, a little bruised, but not harmed. He was looking up at you, so you looked down at him. 

He never experienced your presence before, sure, he met monarchs from Archenland and Calormen who are much more intimidating than you, but you don’t have to command to demand their attention. Truly he was amaze–

You raised your eyebrows, “What are you, a rug? Move.”

He blinked at that because… who were you to tell him what to do? 

Before Peter can stop himself, “And why would I do that?”

You folded your hands over your chest, “Well, unless you wanna get stepped on, I suggest you move.”

Peter stood up, “You could take any other way, why go around here?”

The boys looked at him, not a glare, but a warning. Seriously, what was the air around you contaminated with? You probably caused pollution in London, he thought. 

Your lips twitched at this, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that this area was your fighting ring and not a public area. Sorry to intrude in your area.” You emphasized with air quotes. 

He rolled eyes, “Like you said, a public area, take another route next time.”

You turned, but before you left, “Take your fights elsewhere, it would be a pity to see you lose every round.”

The boys started to laugh but they shut up as you glanced at them. Then you left. And before anyone could notice, he left too to meet with his siblings in the train station. 

“Peter! What happened to you?” Lucy said as Peter walked up to them.

Edmund and Susan turned their heads towards Peter. Susan’s eyes widened and Edmund only snorted. 

Peter glared at Edmund, “What’s so funny?”

Edmund smirked, “We all know why this happens, do we really have to ask ‘why’?”

Peter smacked Edmund’s left arm earning him an “Ow!” 

Susan shook her head, “Seriously, Peter, you shouldn’t be getting into fights, you know this.”

Peter waved dismissively, “Yeah, yeah.” 

Lucy tilted her head to examine Peter, “You don’t seem badly injured.”

Edmund’s mouth twitched, “Yeah, Lu, like that will make a difference.”

Peter sighed, “Ed—”

“No, I meant—” Lucy interrupted, “did you really get into a fight?”

Peter looked down at Lucy, “Yeah, but,”

Lucy raised her eyebrows, “But?”

Peter looked at Susan, “I think one of your classmates stopped it.”

Susan looked down, trying to think, “What is she like?”

Stuck-up, Peter thought.

He shook his head, “She’s quite silent, straight to the point, and extremely rude.”

Edmund folded his arms, “That could be anyone.”

Susan rubbed her hands together, she described your hair and eyes.

Peter nodded, “Yeah, that’s her.”

Susan gasped, “Peter! She’s my upperclassmen and the student council President.”  

Peter shrugged, “Wonder who voted for her.”

Ed muttered, “Wonder why Aslan chose you as High King.”

Peter was gonna smack him again but Susan glared at both of them, "Enough, both of you.”

All three Pevensie siblings stared at Susan, she looked at them dreamily, “She’s quite amazing, honestly. Intelligent, confident, bold, mature—”

“Seems like someone has a little crush, Susan.” Peter quipped. 

Susan scoffed, “But she keeps to herself and is not really hospitable.”

Lucy puts her hand on her mouth, “Oh! Is she the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’?”

Susan grabbed Lucy’s arm, “Lucy! No labels!”

Lucy’s eyes sank to the floor, “Sorry, sorry. I’ve heard about her from my classmates.”

Peter smirked at this, “‘Wicked Witch’, huh?”

Edmund shoved his shoulder lightly, “Well, what do you know, we know how to slay witches, right?”

Edmund and Peter cackled at this, as Susan shook her head and Lucy smiled brightly. 

Witch, what a fitting name for the wretched woman, Peter thought.

After the encounter with Pevensie, you try to avoid the area altogether. All you wanted was to go to the library on the same path you always take, but alas, bloody happenings. 

You’ve heard about Pevensie because of the fights he used to start (or end) depending on the situation. You later found out that he was the elder brother to Susan and Lucy Pevensie. Really, how can that hotheaded pighead be related to those two?

You sighed as you entered the library. The library was your comfort place, and your favorite area is the sciences. Logic, after all, is the most powerful ideology a person can have. Not a lot of people in London have that nowadays. 

You went to where the science books are located, grabbed your favorite book, and found a table near a window. You set your things down and opened the book. 

How can one be so through and articulate with words alone? There is so much to explore about this world, and despite its atrocities, what else to explore? What else to know? Is there another world out there?

Heh, you shook your head, if all humans exist here, why would there be another world?

You were enjoying your alone time, until you spotted corn colored hair.

You raised your book to cover your head. 

Good Lord, he’s here. And to think he’s not just a delinquent—he’s a delinquent with half-a-brain!

Could you take him in a fight? Absolutely.

Realistically speaking? No. Before he could even land a hit on you, you’d collapse on the floor.

You should just leave now when you still can. Save yourself (and him) the embarrassment. As you gathered your things, you made sure that he wasn’t looking at you. Just a slight glance, you said to yourself, he wouldn’t notice.

Your eyes slowly scanned the room till you found that corn colored hair…but eyes squinting back at you. 

Jesus Christ, he observes way too well. Just ignore him and leave. Yeah, keep telling yourself that. 

As you stood up, he came to your table and tapped it, “May I join you?”

No, you may not, you spineless buffoon— “No.”

He jerked his head back and raised his eyebrows, “Pardon?”

Again, stuck-up, Peter thought.

You coughed behind your hand, “No, I was just about to leave, you can have the table.” You shifted awkwardly. 

Peter pointed at your book, “But you’re not finishing reading.”

“I like my books mysterious.” 

He scoffed and sat down, “C’mon, I won’t be a nuisance.”

Your eye twitched, sure, just like you weren’t a nuisance a few days ago.

You slowly sat down again. He’s seated across from you, book in hand. You open your book and try to focus on the words, but one thing catches your eye: his book.

“Fairytales?” You said before you can even process. You closed your eyes, ugh, remember to think first. 

He hummed, flipping through a page, “Yes, it’s about a knight defeating every and anything evil in his path, finding love, and living a peaceful life.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Isn’t that for children?”

He froze at this, but slowly smiled, albeit forcibly, “You don’t believe it?”

You shook your head, “I don’t believe in fantasy,” you tapped your chin, “I mean, what else is there more to the world, if not humans? You rely on facts and logic…that’s how you live through life.”

He laughed, like he knows something you don’t know, “For it to be facts or logic, it has to be explored, no? What if it hasn’t been explored?”

You shrugged, “Then it simply doesn’t exist.”

He tilted his head and sighed through his nose, “There’s another world out there.”

You leaned back in your chair, “How would you know that?”

“Facts and logic are sources to survive, but believing is the reason to live.”

You raised your eyebrow, “That’s…quite wise. It sounds like you’ve lived a thousand years.”

He scratched his, looking sheepish, “Thank you.” 

You’ve never noticed it before, but he has this regal likeness to him. His posture is as straight as paper, his wording choice is eloquent, and his ideology was prudent. If anything, Pevensie is like a prince.    

He stretched his hand out to you, “Peter Pevensie, by the way.”

“I know,” you shook his hand, and introduced yourself.

“I know.”

You met Pevensie after that. You thought you wouldn’t be seeing him again in the library but he’s always there. In the same table, same position, but in every other time has a different fantasy book in hand. Conversations that make both of you look insane, like—

“But have you ever thought of the possibility of other worlds?”

You snapped out of your thoughts. You rubbed the end of your book, “Another world, yes. Other worlds, no.”

He flipped through the page, focusing on reading the next chapter, “I have. I mean, if there were another world, then there would be a world that counters that. And the next. And the next.”

You rubbed your shoulder and stretched it, “You seem very interested in the idea of the ‘other world’, have you been there before?” You joked. 

Peter looked away from you and looked at the shelves on his left. He sighed and continued to read his book.

Odd, you thought. Any mention of him being in another world gets him melancholic.

Peter gathered his things and stood up, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You looked at him apprehensively, “This early?”

“Yeah, my siblings will be worried sick if I don’t come home now.”

You started gathering your things as well. You stood up and followed Peter out the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow.”

You went your separate ways. Maybe you should go to the train station tomorrow, it wouldn’t be too troublesome. Peter wouldn’t mind seeing you in the morning, would he? I mean you do like spending time with him during the midday and at night. Why go to him in the morning?

Just to keep him in check, you told yourself, he’s probably gonna get into another fight.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

You heard from a fellow student from your boarding school that someone had gotten into a fight. 

Pevensie, you thought and sighed, it’s always him.

You thanked her and went off to find where Peter went. He couldn’t have gone that far, he’d probably just be with his siblings. 

But the air around you felt weird, like it was calling out to you. But you ignore it, probably the London air again. 

You spotted them sitting on a bench, by the looks of it, they looked like they’re arguing. After a beat of silence follows them, you march over to them, “Pevensie!” 

At the sound of your voice, he stood up and raised his hands to surrender, “Whatever you heard—”

You folded your hands over your chest, “Oh, I heard.”

“They started it!”

“Then don’t finish it!”

You glared at one another. It’s always like this outside the library: glares and shoves. Shoves and glares. 

Edmund snorted and Susan shushed him. Lucy came up to you, “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N)!”

What an adorable child, you smiled, nothing like Peter.

You patted her head, “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

She giggled and sat back down. Peter followed her lead. Susan looked to her side and looked back at her siblings and you. 

“Pretend you’re talking to me.” She said

“We are talking to you.” Edmund raised both his eyebrows. 

Then— “Ow! Something pinched me!” Lucy cried. 

“Hey stop pulling—” Peter shouted. 

“I’m not touching you.” Edmund looked at Peter.

The air shifted, papers going all over the place, the train passing you but it’s accelerating in speed.

“Can we all just—what is that?” Susan raised to her feet and the three Pevensies followed.

You, on the other hand, shut your eyes and covered your ears. What is happening?

You heard Lucy, “It feels like magic!”

“Quick everyone, hold hands!” Susan said.

“I’m not holding your hand!” Edmund said but everyone held onto each other. 

You stepped back, though. It’s only practical because what if you fell in the railways? 

You tried opening your eyes but what you saw was terrifying: the ceilings and walls deteriorating, lights blinking on and off; you stepped back even further. Until you saw ahead of you a sunny beach. How is that possible? London is secluded from bodies of water, how is there a beach?

Then everything changes to a cave. You breathed hard and let yourself fall on the floor.

The Pevensie siblings explored the land, but Peter stayed. He came up to you and kneeled, “Are you alright?”

Your hands started shaking, and frantically you looked around your new surroundings, “This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense! Where are we?”

Peter stood up and stretched his arm towards you,

“We’re in Narnia.”

a/n: Part 2 maybe?? If this does good, probably. More Narnia fics please!!

Title: "Winter's Son": The Chronicles of Narnia fanfiction Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Reader Male Genre: Fantasy | Romance | Hurt/Comfort | Magic | Slow Burn |Found Family Warnings: Emotional vulnerability, heat sickness / fainting (non-graphic). Summary: A winter-touched boy living under Aslan’s protection meets Peter Pevensie, whose warmth draws him in despite his fragile nature. As Peter becomes part of his world, their connection deepens in ways neither expected.

Warmth. That was the one enemy you had never been able to fight. Most creatures in Narnia loved the sun, the soft grass, the summer wind carrying the smell of green fields. But your body reacted differently. Heat made your breath thin, your skin sore, your head heavy until you could barely stand. Even spring sunlight left you dizzy. You had been born with winter in your blood. White hair. Icy blue-white eyes. A pulse that beat slower in warmth and steadier in cold. But your heart—everyone said your heart was warmer than anything else in Narnia. Aslan said it first. And because he believed it, you believed it too.

----

You lived on the warm side of Narnia, by choice. Because that was where Aslan remained most of the time. And you refused to be away from him. He saw your loyalty, your stubborn devotion, and your fragile body struggling against the heat of the forest. So Aslan created something only for you: A small circle of land, no wider than a meadow, where winter never left. Snow fell gently without storm. Ice shimmered in delicate lace across branches. A cozy cottage—warm in spirit but cool in temperature—rested at the center. It was perfect. It let you stay close to Aslan without burning yourself alive. The Lion visited you often. He spoke to you in that deep, ancient rumble that vibrated through your bones. He would lower his massive head into your lap and let you braid little strings of snow-silk flowers into his mane. You would talk for hours. He treated you as a son. And you loved him like a father.

----

The day the Pevensies arrived, you knew before Aslan even said a word. You heard the footsteps. The sound of warm-blooded beings crunching through snow where they shouldn’t. You stepped outside your cottage and the sun hit your skin—the tiny bit of warm air at the edge of your boundary. It made your head spin instantly. You gripped the doorframe, breath trembling. Aslan padded toward you from the treeline, golden and bright. “Easy, my child,” he murmured. “Do not push beyond what your body allows.” “I’m fine,” you said—lying, as always. Behind him stood four humans. Smallest to tallest. You recognized nothing about them except the way Aslan’s gaze softened when it swept across their faces. “These are the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve,” Aslan said. “They will help heal this land.” You bowed in respect, though the movement made your vision blur. And then your eyes landed on him. Peter. Golden-brown hair, blue eyes, posture rigid with courage he clearly hadn’t always had. His gaze caught on you instantly—and did not move. Your white hair flickered in the cold wind. Snowflakes clung to your lashes. Your skin glowed faintly blue in the frostlight. Peter stared like you were something carved from starlight. You stared back like he was something carved from warmth you’d never dared to touch. Aslan noticed. Of course he noticed. He huffed a very small, very knowing sound.

----

Aslan guided them toward you. “This is Y/N,” he said. “He dwells here under my protection.” Peter stepped closer—too close. Past the line where your sanctuary ended. The warm air from his side hit you like a wall. Your breath caught. A wave of heat rolled into your chest. Your knees buckled. “Y/N!” Peter lunged forward, catching you before you hit the snow. His arms were warm. Too warm. Fire raced under your skin and you hissed in pain, curling involuntarily against him. “Sorry—!” Peter panicked and immediately tried to lower you, but you grabbed the front of his coat with shaking hands. “It’s… okay,” you forced out through clenched teeth. “Just… too hot.” Peter flushed scarlet, guilt flooding his features. “I didn’t know—I’m so sorry—” Aslan stepped beside you both, huge and calm. “He is not harmed,” Aslan said gently. “Only overwhelmed. Y/N’s body is not made for warmth. Even the heat of another person can distress him.” Peter looked devastated by that knowledge. You touched his sleeve—your fingers, cold as ice, brushing his warm arm. “It’s all right,” you whispered. “You didn’t hurt me. Don’t look like that.” His breath hitched. He looked at you like you were something delicate and precious. You realized you were still holding onto him. Neither of you let go.

----

Over the next days, the Pevensies accompanied Aslan as he prepared for the coming war. And Peter… Peter kept finding excuses to visit your cottage. Sometimes he brought questions about Narnia. Sometimes about strategy. Sometimes he brought nothing but his presence. And every time he crossed into your winter sanctuary, he shivered pleasantly, adjusting to the cold. “It’s always so beautiful in here,” he murmured, brushing frost from his coat. “It’s just snow,” you said. “No,” Peter corrected softly. “It’s… you.” You froze—not from your element, but from the way his voice dipped, warm and earnest. He stepped closer. His breath misted between you. “Can I…?” he whispered. You tilted your head. “Can you what?” Peter reached out slowly, giving you every chance to move away. His fingers brushed your white hair, sweeping a strand behind your ear. “You have snow in your hair all the time,” he murmured. “It suits you.” Your cheeks warmed—not from heat, but from him. “You shouldn’t get too close,” you breathed. “I don’t want you cold.” Peter gave a small smile, something soft and almost shy. “I don’t mind a little cold,” he said. “Not if it means being near you.” Your heart stuttered. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” you whispered. “Why not?” he asked, stepping closer still, blue eyes fixed on yours. “Because…” Your throat tightened. “Because I’ll start believing them.” Peter’s breath faltered. “I think I want you to,” he said.

----

One afternoon, Peter convinced you to step outside your sanctuary—just for a moment—to show him a lake he couldn’t find on his own. You tried. Truly. But the moment the warm air hit you, your skin flushed painfully. Your lungs burned. Sweat dampened your forehead. You stumbled, gripping a tree as your vision blurred to white. “Y/N?” Peter’s voice sharpened with fear. “Hey—look at me—look at me—” “I—I can’t—too hot—Peter—” you gasped. He caught you in his arms again, but this time he didn’t panic. He held you gently, firmly, lifting you against his chest. “Hold on,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.” You curled against him helplessly. Your body trembled in fever, but Peter kept whispering, voice low and soothing. “I’m here. You’re going to be all right. Don’t you dare pass out on me.” He carried you all the way back, not caring how the cold bit at him once he crossed into your sanctuary. Aslan met you at the door of your cottage. His golden eyes softened with deep worry. “Peter,” Aslan rumbled, “lay him down.” Peter didn’t hesitate. He placed you gently onto your bed, brushing cold hair from your face. Aslan’s massive head bowed beside you. “You pushed yourself too hard, little one,” the Lion murmured. You blinked up weakly, voice cracked. “I wanted… to help…” Peter swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize— I didn’t mean to—” You caught his wrist with trembling fingers. “It’s not your fault,” you whispered, weak but sincere. “I’d follow you anywhere. Maybe I… shouldn’t.” Peter’s face broke—soft, aching, full of emotion. Aslan watched him carefully, then spoke in a low, rumbling tone. “Peter,” Aslan said, “he trusts you. And I believe you may be the one person his heart listens to even more than mine.” Peter’s eyes widened, stunned. Aslan nudged his great head toward you. “Stay with him.” Peter sat beside you instantly. You reached for him blindly, and he took your hand, pressing it to his chest. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t— I can’t lose you.” Your breath caught. “Peter,” you whispered. “Why do you care so much?” His fingers brushed your cheek, cool from the sanctuary’s air. “Because I’ve never…” His voice cracked. He tried again. “I’ve never met anyone like you. And I don’t want to.” Your heart pounded weakly, but you managed a small, soft smile. “You’re warm,” you said. Peter leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “Is that a bad thing?” he whispered. “No,” you whispered back. “Not when it’s you.” His lips brushed yours—gentle, hesitant, full of the warmth you could feel safely. You kissed him back. Slow. Careful. Beautiful. You felt his breath tremble. When the kiss broke, Peter rested his forehead against yours. “You are winter,” he murmured. “And I want to stay in your cold forever if it means I can be the one who warms your heart.” Your eyes stung with emotion. Aslan watched with a soft, knowing smile. “My son,” the Lion rumbled softly, “you have found your warmth at last.” You squeezed Peter’s hand. “No,” you whispered. “My warmth found me.” Peter kissed your forehead gently. “I’m not leaving,” he promised. “Not tonight. Not ever.” And for the first time, warmth didn’t hurt. It healed.

───

“To the radiant Southern Sun, Queen Susan the Gentle”☀️✨

Peter: I have a plan. Susan: We're going to die. Lucy: I believe in you, Peter! Edmund: *leaves*