hey baes, I’ve gotten quite a few the wilds requests and I kinda forgot that my last two weeks of my uni semester were coming up lmao. i will get to them all after the next two weeks since i’ve got four assignments due and should be focusing on those :)) but i will get to them asap !!
summary: after saving lucy from drowning and scaring Peter, true feelings finally reach the surface level.
wc: 1.0k
content: almost drowning(ish), confession(ish), fluff
a/n: HEY. i’ve had this idea for ages but i was scared u guys would find it stupid but yolo i guess... i kinda made the river a little more dangerous to add dramatic affect yeaah i hope u enjoy baes
The current is stronger than you anticipated, your abdomen burning with the effort of clinging to Peter’s side. He's breathing heavily beside you, muscles flexing as his grip on the sword tightens. Lucy is to your left, a hand gripped in the fur of your coat and one secured around your wrist as the river hurries you along.
Saltwater licks your cheeks and stings your eyes, but you still manage a triumphant smile. You were safe, for now at least, all thanks to Peter. He glances in your direction, his smiling lips a slight tinge of blue. He was certainly no longer your childhood best friend from Finchley that you had originally fallen for. The quiet, awkward boy, who was prematurely forced into the role of his siblings father is gone, replaced with somebody stronger.
The glory of victory is short lived as you feel Lucy's grip on your wrist loosen, turning around just in time to see her get swept away in the river. A gasp falls through your cracked lips, earning a mouthful of saltwater as you let go of peter.
The current swirls you in all directions, filling your lungs with water. You cough and sputter, tears filling your eyes as the salt attacks them. You spot Lucy a little further up the stream, and begin swimming in her direction. She manages to keep herself above the water, heaving coughs sputtering into the water as she swam toward the bank.
“Lucy!” you call, your voice raw in your throat. “Hang on, I’m coming.”
“Y/n!” she calls back, struggling to keep her head surfaced.
Lucy clings to her side as you reach her, her breathing laboured as you begin to swim to the shore, feeling her shiver against your side. Fatigue settles in your bones and pushes the air from your lungs, you didn’t know how much longer it would be before the water froze your limbs, and leave the two of you stranded in the water.
You pick up your pace, grunting as you swim against the tide. Relief flutters in your stomach as you reach the icy riverside, the current seeming to calm. Lucy detaches from your side and begins to climb up onto the bank. You allow a moment to catch your breath before you hoist yourself up beside her.
“Alright?” Lucy asks, helping me up to my feet.
“Alright,” you confirm. “You?”
“Alright,” she grins. “You saved me.”
“Of course, Lu” you say softly, still chasing after lost breath. “We should go find the others, and your coat. You’re freezing.”
The two of you trudge back through the snow, holding your arms against your chests to conserve as much warmth as you can. Just up ahead, you can see Peter and Susan staring out into the water, looking rather stricken. You quickly realise that they probably think you’ve been taken by the river.
“Has anybody seen my coat?” Lucy calls, shivering.
“Lucy!” Peter calls incredulously, shoulders slumping in relief. He races over to Lucy, falling to his knees to pull her into a tight hug. “Are you okay? where’s Y/n?”
“I'm coming,” you announce.
“Y/n,” Peter says softly, looking up at you as you made your slow approach. “I thought you drowned.”
Peter climbs back to his feet, almost stumbling over them as he walks toward you. Something swarms in your stomach as he takes your hands, cupping his over them to preserve heat. His touch alone, however, could light up every inch of you.
“Don’t do that again,” he pleads, shaking his head and staring at you with a fear you didn’t recognise.
“What? Save your sister from drowning?” you laugh, desperately trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.
“No,” he chuckles. “Don’t scare me. I don't feel like losing you any time soon.”
Peter’s hands have a slight tremor as he raises them to your face, clearing your forehead of the soaked hair clinging to your skin. You inhale deeply as his gentle eyes meet yours, a chill curling around your spin as his thumb brushes the water from your cheek. Peter’s pale eyes catch the sunlight as they linger on your lips.
He appears conflicted. Unsure on what to do. The world falls away.
You grin as you lock your hands behind his neck and pull him toward you, welcoming the softness of his lips on yours. His hands instantly find your hips, holding you close against his body to deepen the kiss. If he hadn’t been holding you firmly, you’re certain that you would have fallen and melted into the snow.
The world returns as you break away, staring at each other with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. There were many ways that you had imagined your first kiss with Peter, and this certainly hadn’t even been considered.
Your moment is quickly stolen, however, when you look over Peter’s shoulder to see two very smug looking sisters. Peter realises this too, and releases you from his grip much to your chagrin.
“Well, about time,” Susan beams, unable to conceal her amusement.
There’s an awkward pause, filled by Lucy’s gentle giggle and the Beaver’s joint gushing. Not bearing the attention, you clear your throat, “We should get going.”
“Yeah,” Peter says sheepishly. “Yeah, let’s go.”
“Can we do something about my coat?” Lucy whines, already relieving some of the embarrassment.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing that coat anymore,” Mrs Beaver exclaims, pointing to a group of trees beginning to thaw.
Susan and Lucy break out into gasps of wonderment as they tilt their heads to the sky, examining the blossoming of colour. The White Witch’s curse is beginning to weaken, and your odds of winning Edmund back were beginning to strengthen.
A warm tug of your hand pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance up at an already grinning Peter. He slips his fingers into yours, reslishing in the way they seem to fit together perfectly. The two of you begin following the rest of the group, trying to comprehend that Peter actually liked you back. All it took was almost dying for the feelings to finally reach the surface level.
Hiiiii, I was wondering if you could do a fluffy drabble with the prompt: ❛ you’re welcome to stay, if you want. ❜ and caspian... if it's okay with you , id probs add it to my shifting script 🥰🥰🥰
a/n: i hate this kinda but i missed writing n wanted to answer your request as soon as i could so i hope u like it at least :)
Flickering embers illuminate Caspian’s otherwise dark room, shielding your bodies from the Telmarine winter. Caspian sat on the floor, his back against a velvet sofa, his most recent assigned reading from Dr. Cornelius in hand. You were sitting between his legs, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids with a plea of slumber.
You didn’t want to sleep just yet, as time alone with Caspian was decreasing as your training hours seemed to increase. Just to spend time with him, you stayed with him until the sky began to lighten the previous night, playing an old card game his father had leant him before his passing. When you arrived back to your rooms, you had just under two hours to rest before you would be expected at the training rooms.
“I should probably get going, Cas,” you say, hand resting softly on his thigh. “I’m about to fall asleep and I’ve got training tomorrow morning.”
Caspian closes his book without looking and places it beside him, a habit that seemed to bother you more than it did him. He reaches for your hand, lazily tracing the warmth of your skin as places his cheek on the crown of your head, “Must you leave so early?”
“Early?” You laugh softly. “It’s almost midnight.”
“You usually stay for longer,” Caspian argues.
“I’m not usually this tired,” you admit. “I need to actually get some sleep tonight.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay, if you want.”
“You know I shouldn’t,” You remind him. King Miraz forbade you from sleeping in Caspian’s room until you were married the moment he found out about your relationship. There are very few things you feared, and Caspian’s uncle is one of them.
Caspian sighs as you break away from him to stretch out your limbs, silently yawning in the process. “You are no fun.”
“Hey, I’m fun,” you defend. “I’ll be less fun if I’m dead.”
Caspian laughs inwardly, his dark hair falling into his face as he glances down at your entwined fingers. “Please, stay. If something happens, I’ll take the blame. I promise. I want you here.”
You soften at his words, recognising his desperation to spend time with you in yourself. “I’ll stay. Only if you let both of us take the blame.”
Caspian grins, tasting of honeyed chamomile as he leans forward to capture your lips with his. Your hands link behind his neck, pulling him closer to your body as you chase after the swirling feeling in your stomach. Caspian’s own hands slide down to your hips, smiling against your mouth as you groan softly.
Caspian pulls away, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip before whispering, “It’s late, we should get to bed.”
hello my pvvnseisers, i just wanted to make a post saying that i’m not dead and I’m currently writing a pretty big one shot hehe :) i just have three (!!!!) group projects for university right now and finding time to be motivated to write is proving to be very difficult. i want to write, and i want to get this one out but god has other plans i guess lol thanks for being patient <3
request: ‘good morning sleeping beauty’ ‘is that my shirt?’ ‘keep it. it looks better on you.’ ‘nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t going to work on me this time.’ ‘how about a kiss before i go?’
thank u for ur request anon <33
sunlight streams through the window overlooking the ocean, the soft crash of the waves gently pulling you from your slumber. a frown adorns your lips, knowing that would have to leave edmund’s rooms soon otherwise you could risk getting caught.
you lazily drape your arm over edmund’s bare chest, adjusting yourself so the crown of your head rests in the crook of his neck. the king grins softly, caressing your cheek with his calloused thumb.
“good morning, sleeping beauty,” he muses, his voice still thick with sleep. “i was worried you weren’t going to wake up in time.”
you groan softly, “i don’t want to get up.”
edmund frowns, running his fingers along the exposed flesh of your midriff peeking through the shirt you were wearing. “i don’t want to either, but i’m meeting peter this morning.”
sometimes you forgot that edmund actually had kingly duties to attend to as you always seemed to spend hours of the day together. honestly, all the sneaking around seemed a little pointless. it was rather obvious there was something going on between you two, between the missed dinners and the stolen glances.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at edmund as you soften the look in your eye and pout your lips. edmund chuckles, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “nope, puppy dog eyes aren’t to work on me this time. i’ve been putting this off for weeks.”
“you suck,” you groan, flopping back onto the bed beside edmund. “couldn’t have been like... not the king?”
edmund laughs again, taking your hand in his and threading his fingers through yours. “it’ll only be until the afternoon, then i’m all yours, baby.”
silence ensues for a moment as you consider this. “okay. alright.” you push yourself up into a seated position, slowly willing yourself to get out of bed. “how about a kiss before i go?”
edmund rolls his eyes but sits up beside you, taking your face in his hands. his thumb brushes the curve of your bottom lip before he pulls you toward him, capturing your lips in a way that makes you feel intoxicated. a warmth blooms in your chest as his hand runs along your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.
as edmund pulls away, he allows his deep eyes trail across your face, tracing the outlines of your features, to the shirt that hangs loosely from your frame. he smirks, meeting your eye again. he grips the fabric in his fist, tugging you closer to kiss you again. “is that my shirt?”
a deep pink blooms across your cheeks and you begin to climb from the bed. of course, the only thing to drive you away from edmund was his ability to tease and make you feel extremely embarrassed. “i’ll give it back to you later.”
“keep it,” he amends, relishing in the way he could make you so flustered. “it looks better on you anyway.”
“i will see you later, ed,” you roll your eyes, reaching for the door handle. you turn back, grinning. “love you.”
hey besties, in the mood for writing some tooth rotting fluff :0 (when am i not), so if u guys wanted u could totally request any of the following characters with a prompt from this list :)
a trickle of sunlight peered through the green of the willow tree, contrasting the gentle breeze that weaved through the branches. peter settled a floral picnic blanket in the bed of lush grass, brushing the golden strands from his eyes as he turned for your approval. he had looked so sweet under the early afternoon sunshine, his pale cheeks a gentle pink as he caught the look of adoration in your eye.
“is this alright?” peter asks.
you nod, plush lips turning up into a grin. peter smiles back, enjoying the way warm sunlight captures every enthralling part of your being. unable to be apart from you any longer, peter stretches out his hand, his palm soft as it delicately closes around yours and pulls you toward him.
it takes a moment to settle, with peter’s back pressed into the trunk of the willow with your head resting in his lap. it takes another moment for peter to relax, to remind himself that at this moment in time, he has no Kingly responsibility to attend to.
“are you comfortable, love?” he asks, running his fingers through your hair.
you hum contentedly. “are you?”
peter grins as you reach for his hand, running your finger gently across the creases of his palm. “very. do you have my book?”
your blindly reach at your side, running your hands over the blanket until you find the hardcover of the book peter had been reading recently. you hold it up, admiring the golden accents on the maroon hardcover. he plucks it from your grip, using his free hand to remove his bookmark.
“how many hands do you need to read a book?” you ask, lacing your fingers through peter’s.
“just one,” peter answers, grateful that you couldn’t see and tease him for the lovesick expression that adorns his features.
summary: when peter is confronted with an undesirable proposal, his best friend seren jumps in to save the day. well, sort of. she announces to a court of suitors that her and the king have been dating and are eagerly awaiting marriage. however, this is only a temporary fix to a much larger problem and the two friends must divide real feelings from fake in time for the royal wedding of the millennium.
a/n: hello :) welcome to my new series ‘a star’s deception’. i am super excited for this bc i’m a very big fake dating enjoyer. before u start reading i just want to say that i’m looking for a small handful of beta readers for this story. this prologue took me about two weeks to draft and perfect, and unfortunately I just don’t have the time to go over these with as much attention to detail as i would like. so if you’re interesting in offering feedback/slight editing help message me and we can discuss further details. ANYWAY thank u so much and enjoy the prologue :))) p.s. i suck at writing synopses. helpppp
Castor turns to look at me, he’s suspicious but I know the look in his eye. It’s the kind of look the promise of safety can give you after it only being a dream for so long. The look of hope.
I flinch as my bedroom door opens, every muscle turning to stone as I clench my fist over the two pills. However, it’s Castor who enters and not my father, a swirl of blue and purple blooming across his cheek. The question forms on my lips, but the words die in my throat as I already know the answer. At least my father has some sort of consistency in his life.
Castor limps over to my bed, his dark eyes are distant, the faded pink scar under his lip curling with his frown. Anger burns in my chest as he lowers himself onto the end of my bed, groaning softly with the effort. Silence stretches between us as I contemplate comforting him but I eventually decide against it. Somehow, it only angers him more.
Instead, I open my palm to reveal the sleeping pills I’d stolen from my friend’s bathroom cabinet earlier today. Castor stares at them incredulously, an unfamiliar light igniting across his face.
“Are they…” Castor’s voice trails off, glancing at my closed bedroom door. “Are those really sleeping pills?”
I nod, not bothering to fight the excitement out of my voice, “The bottle recommended one but I took two just to be sure.”
“Seren,” He exhales, scooping the pills into his own hand. “Seren, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, knowing that getting the pills is the easy part of this escape.
Castor nods, understanding. “Get the bags ready.”
“Be careful,” I warn, unsure if the nausea in my stomach is from anxiety or excitement.
Castor slips back out into the hallway just as the house begins to fill up with the all too familiar stench of cigar smoke. I scramble from my bed and drag my desk chair over to my wardrobe. The chair rocks as I climb onto it, and I reach into the top shelf of my wardrobe, pulling out the two duffle bags Castor had made me pack a few months ago. The bruise on my ribs screams with the effort of dropping the first heavy bag to the floor, but I’m too elated to care.
I can’t help but fantasize about what is to come, about the possibility of a brighter future. If all goes accordingly, we’ll be on a train to France, far from our wasted life here in London. Soon, our wounds will heal and the threat of new ones will no longer be a worry. Castor would turn eighteen next week, go to university in the fall, live the life he deserves. I’ll go to a new school, and nobody will have to question why I’m wearing our winter blouse in the blazing summer’s heat.
“What the hell are you doing, boy?”
My heart stops. The fantasy I have created fades into a dark abyss as I spill out into the hallway. I step over a few dirty clothes and an empty Chinese food container as I enter the kitchen, where our father has found Castor crushing up the sleeping pills. Castor’s gaze flits over my father’s shoulder to me, reminding me of how much I hate seeing him scared.
“I’m getting you a drink like you asked,” Castor defends weakly, putting the knife down next to the bottle of whiskey.
My father takes Castor by the arm and slams him against the fridge, causing an unopened bottle of Brandy to fall and smash into pieces. A dark liquid pools around Castor’s feet, a mixture of alcohol and blood. The scene blurs as tears stain my cheeks and shaking palms hovering over my mouth. “Who do you take me for? Huh? Huh?!”
“I take you for nothing,” Castor spits. “You’re nothing but a shitty dad and a sad, old drunk whose wife fucking left him.”
I don’t flinch the way I used to when the first punch lands with a crack on Castor’s nose, nor do I cower as a velvety liquid splutters down his chin and stains his white button down . Rather, I step over the mess of Brandy and shards of glass and tear my father away from Castor before he can go in for seconds. His eyes are glazed over, but are alight with a certain rage I don’t recognise. He is drunker than I expected.
“You little bitch, how dare you?” He fumes, gripping my shoulders firmly.
His fist is hard and cruel against my stomach and his surprising strength sends me to my knees, gasping for air. I brace myself for another hit, tightening the msucles in my stomach just as Castor had taught me. However, the pain never reaches me. Reluctantly, I open my eyes to see him on the floor, clutching his stomach.
Castor stands above him, a tremor to his hand as he drops a bloody knife to the floor. My father slumps against the kitchen cabinet, eyes wide and mouth agape. His breath comes in short, uneven intervals as he slowly brings his blood-soaked fingers into view, fully grasping his soon demise.
“Cas,” I say softly, helping myself to my feet. Castor doesn’t register my voice and doesn’t look away from our dying father. My hand wraps around his wrist, “Cas. Come on.”
“I,” He stammers, swallowing thickly. “I didn't mean to.”
“I know,” I reassure. “But we need to go. Right now.”
“We can’t just leave him!” He argues, wrangling his wrist from my grip. “He’ll die!”
“Isn’t that what we’ve wanted this whole time?”
Castor softens at my words, finally understanding what this is. It isn’t a murder, but an opportuinty for freedom. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”
We both trail back to my bedroom, and for the first time, I don’t close the door behind me. Castor is already on the other side, heaving open my window. A frigid breeze fills my room as he manages to open the window, revealing a snowstorm that must have begun brewing only minutes before.
I briefly consider grabbing our winter coats from my closet, but Castor has already pushed my halfway outside as the thought crosses my mind. I almost slip on the sleet that coats the overhang, but I manage to steady myself. The air bites at my exposed flesh, and my entire body trembles as I latch onto the downspout and brace myself for the fall. Castor climbs out, shutting the window behind him and catching my gaze. We smile at each. Even though we’re hurting and cold, we share a moment of triumph. Halfway out of this bullshit.
I take the bags and dump them off the roof into our front garden, although I can hardly see where they land through the snowfall. Despite the pain that lingers as a ghost in this house’s hall, I find it hard to let go of the downspout. There’s still time, I could save my father and maybe he’ll see what he’s done to this family. But I know better than to think any of this is salvageable.
Castor lands a hand on my arm, offering an expression that tells me he knows what I’m thinking but I have to let go. So I do. I don’t look back as I turn and jump from the ledge, everything falls with me in slow motion as I hit the ground. I dig my fingers into the… grass?
Instead of a pillowy bed of snow, I’ve landed in a patch of the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. Grass that London’s winters could never accommodate that’s for sure. I stand and dust the dirt from my pleated skirt, trying to comprehend the fact that I hadn’t landed in my front garden, but the middle of the woods, not an inch of snow in sight.
“What the hell?” Castor exclaims, coming to stand next to me. “Tell me this isn’t some kind of sick dream.”
“How many fingers are on your hands?” I ask, checking mine. Ten.
“What?”
“How many fingers are on your hands?” I echo, tilting my chin to meet his gaze. Castor looks at me puzzled. “If you’re dreaming, you’ll have more than ten fingers.”
Castor raises his bloodied palms to his face, before returning his attention to me. “If we aren’t dreaming then where are we?”
I open my mouth to answer, but it seems as though I don’t need to.
“Narnia,” A voice says from behind us.
We both turn to face a boy with golden blonde hair, perhaps a year older than I, sitting on the back of a dark brown stallion.
“Narni-what?” Castor repeats.
The boy laughs and slides effortlessly from his saddle, “Narnia.”
“Okay, but we were just at our house a minute ago,” I say, desperately trying to make sense of this situation. I don’t want this to be a dream. This can’t be a dream.
“And now you’re here,” He replies. “What are your names?”
“I’m Seren and this is Cast-”
“Who are you?” Castor interrupts, taking a step forward.
“I’m Peter, one of the Kings,” He explains and I almost scoff. He’s just a boy, how could he be King? “My brother should be around here somewhere. When he gets back we’ll take you to the Cair and explain everything over tea.” Peter pauses, perhaps taking a moment to observe the state of us. “But you’re safe here, that I promise.”
Castor turns to look at me, clearly suspicious but I know the look in his eye. It’s the kind of look the promise of safety can give you after it only being a dream for so long. The look of hope.
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