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fourmoony · 6 months

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𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

remus lupin x f!reader

smut. p in v. creampie. unprotected sex. fingering. sex with a friend. language. 18+ content minors DNI.

3.2k - masterlist

summary - reader can't sleep. remus helps out. not with warm milk, though.

i'm supposed to be working on an assignment for college. but remus lupin is taking up space in my brain. so, enjoy :)

The air feels stuffy, too hot against your slick skin.

You blow a breath out in frustration, a piece of hair stuck to your forehead refusing to budge and you groan. The house is silent apart from the droning on of the electronic device between your legs that does little to abate the feeling clawing at your insides and it only makes you more frustrated. The lights in your bedroom are turned off, the world outside asleep. Everyone apart from you. You’ve spent two hours tossing and turning, and a further half hour trying to cure the ache between your legs.

It’s futile. You’ve tried everything. Every speed your overly expensive vibrator has to offer, every position, you even got out the glittery pink dildo Marlene got you for Secret Santa the previous year, leaving it out to the side after coming to the heart-breaking decision that it simply wasn’t big enough.

You feel like nothing will be big enough. Nothing feels right, nothing feels good enough, nothing is even close to tipping you over the edge. You shift, further to the left, and whine again, pressing the vibrator to a higher speed. It moves as you press the button, and the feeling of closeness is gone just like that. You growl, pushing the blankets off in a fit of rage and choose to stare at the ceiling in defeat. It’s not going to happen. You should just accept that. But you’re worked up, horny, and too fucking clammy.

The flat is quiet. Remus is asleep – the only reason you’re so nonchalant about the noise of your vibrator still buzzing against the mattress next to you, taunting you. You reach to turn it off, sitting up and putting your hair into a makeshift bun. You stare with narrowed eyes at the shadowed outline of the sparkly pink atrocity of a Secret Santa gift. It was given as a joke to make you blush. Your friends like to tease you for your innocence. It’s not something you ever would have bought for yourself. You’d blushed furiously and everyone laughed. It was addictive for the first few weeks, being able to explore your own pleasure. But now. Now, it doesn’t feel enough. Doesn’t feel as good. As big. As filling.

It’s a quick thought, a fleeting thought. A memory that makes your cheeks flush and your eyes close in embarrassment. Remus, fresh out of the shower, two seconds away from closing the towel around his waist. He hadn’t locked the door. It was an accident. You hadn’t meant to walk in on him. You’d been half asleep, bursting for a pee, and he hadn’t locked the door. Even worse, you hadn’t meant to look. But he was wide eyed and frozen, and your fight or flight had you trying to assess every part of the situation. And his nakedness was a large part of the situation.

You’re not proud of it. But you’d looked. And you liked what you saw.

And now.

Well, now, you can’t stop thinking about it. About Remus. Kind Remus who makes you tea on cold mornings, puts your pyjamas in the dryer for you when you get out of the shower, who cooks you dinner and leaves it in the oven when you work the late shift at the café down the road. He’s kind and attentive and always there to lend a helping hand. You feel silly as you clamber off your bed, knowing there’s a high likelihood that Remus will tell you you’ve taken his kindness to its boundaries.

Your feet pad quietly down the hallway of your shared flat. The under counter lights in the open plan kitchen at the end of the hall illuminate the space enough to see. Remus’ door is closed, but you twist the handle and push, wincing when it lets out an annoying squeal. Remus rouses at the sound, squinting sleepily at you as he turns. He lets out a breath, sits up on his elbow and pulls back his blanket to offer you the space beside him.

It’s not the first time you’ve climbed into bed with Remus, but you still shift nervously on your feet, biting at your lip.

“You okay, love?” Remus asks, voice deep and croaky.

It makes you flustered in your reply. Voice quiet, unsure, “Can’t sleep.”

Remus nods, reiterates pulling back the blanket to make room for you. You cross one leg over the other in front of you, fiddling with the metal daisy chain ring on your middle finger. Remus got you it when you got into university last year. It’s your favourite piece of jewellery you own, overpriced tennis bracelet from your overcompensating parents be damned. He catches your nervous tic and his eyes narrow, his head tilts, messy hair flopping sideways with the movement. There’s a slight stubble on his chin from running late this morning and skipping his daily shave and he’s sans pyjama top, having clearly also felt the heat.

He sits up fully and the blanket pools around his waist. His skin glows in the low light of the moon through the window beside his bed. He’s beautiful. This you’ve always known. Now, it’s tenfold because you’ve seen all of him. And all of him is what you want, in this moment. Your face is flames as you edge closer until you’re hovering beside his bed.

“Have you tried warm milk?” Remus asks, his voice almost teasing.

“Don’t want warm milk.” You pout.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, trying to sus you out. He knows. He must know something. You’re hardly being subtle. Remus’ lips twitch in a smile when you squeeze your legs together in front of you, again, lip between your teeth, eyes watery.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice breathy.

He wants you to say it. But you can’t. You won’t.

“Rem, please,” You whine, “I’ve tried everything.”

His hand reaches for yours, pulls you until you’re straddling him. His lips are a centimetre from yours, hot breath fanning out over your mouth. You press down hard against him, lips pouted. He doesn’t let up, just raises his eyebrows. A question. What have you tried?

“I couldn’t get the angle right with my vibrator,” You whisper, cheeks bright red and warm to the touch, where Remus’ thumb is gently rubbing back and forth, fingers cupping your wobbling jaw, “Then the thingy Marlene got me wasn’t-“ You huff.

Remus chuckles softly, endearingly.

“It wasn’t enough.”

Remus smiles, “You want my help?”

You nod eagerly, “Please, Rem.”

He’s on you in a second. Lips and tongue and teeth, so hot and heavy it knocks the breath from you. His hands fist the thin material of your shorts, at your waist and you bend into him, hands running up his sides, over his shoulders, into the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s hard beneath the flannel of his pyjama bottoms. You can feel it against the crease of your thigh. It makes you whine into his mouth, shifting until you’re perfectly aligned over him. His grip focusses on your arse cheeks when you grind down, a bruising grip that you relish in.

His hands push you forward, you pull yourself back. His lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down your neck. Your head tilts back, panting for breath, lost in the pleasure. Your stomach tightens the harder his grip gets, the harder you press down, the faster you move. You feel like a seedy teenager, dry humping yourself against him. Remus’ teeth nip at your collarbone, only to soothe over it with his tongue. You whine again, making your impatience known, but Remus doesn’t speed up.

He looks up, lips mouthing at the underside of your chin until you tilt your head back up to look at him. His pupils are blown, eyes hooded, lips curved into a sinful smirk.

“So needy.” He mumbles into your lips.

You push down harder in response. Remus grabs your hips, stills you. You pout, doe eyes watery. Remus tuts, shakes his head, “You want my help, we do it my way.”

He shifts until you’re lying beneath him, legs hiked up around his waist. He doesn’t waste time in stripping you. Your shirt, then your shorts, your panties following. He throws them across the room, and they fall into the shadows of his darkened room. You’re glad they’re gone. Your body feels like it’s burning up under his touch, featherlight as he traces the goosebumps across your skin. He presses kisses in the wake of his fingertips, to your collarbones, your chest, the tops of your breasts, your stomach, navel.

His lips are warm, wet, pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs. You’re high strung, keening, and needy. He comes back to face level, and you grumble, deep in your throat. So close. He was so close to where you need him. He’s smug. You’re about to protest when he slides a finger into you. Your mouth opens, head pushing back into the pillow. His fingers are long, but slender, and it’s not long before he adds another. Your back arches, eyes closing. The minute you close your eyes, Remus stops. You look up, furious, to find him smirking something evil down at you.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” He whispers, nose bumping yours.

You comply. Remus resumes, fingers pumping steadily in and out. When he’s knuckle deep, he curls them and your body jerks in response. It’s too much and not enough, a dizzying euphoria of Remus’ casual confidence and his skilful fingers. His thumb brushes your clit gently, the bundle of nerves swollen and begging for attention. You moan his name, thighs squeezing against his hips where they’re splayed open. It urges him on, he whispers quiet encouragements – good girl, that’s it sweetheart, you’re so wet for me – and you continue to writhe beneath him.

“Rem,” You gasp, hand encircling the wrist that’s pumping in and out of you, “Need you.”

“Soon,” He promises softly, lips pressing to the swell of your breast, teeth lightly nipping at the skin there, “Want you to come on my fingers first.”

His thumb moves in tighter circles, his fingers curl deeper, move faster. He adds a third, the stretch burns but in the best way. Your jaw opens on its own accord, a string of moans emitting from your throat, and you arch into Remus. His eyes meet yours, blazing with lust.

“C’mon, baby,” He urges, voice sinfully deep, demanding. “Come for me.”

You clench around his fingers, and he groans as you gush around his hand, voice high pitched, your grip on his shoulders vice like. He’s surprised you don’t snap in two with how high your back arches. His fingers pump you through the rush in your veins, his quiet reassurances blacked out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears. Your head spins and you see white as the orgasm you’ve been chasing for what must be hours by now crashes over you. You babble nonsense, buck against Remus’ fingers, mouth open, eyes wide, back arched and head pushed violently into the pillow beneath you.

Remus hovers over you when your breathing evens, eye’s a little less clouded, and his usual concerned look on his face. You smile dopily up at him, eyes bright.

“Good?” He asks.

It’s a double ended question – you good? Was that good?

You nod.

“More.” You whine, attempting to pull him closer with your legs around his waist.

“You’re insatiable.” He laughs lightly, head bending down to peck your smiling lips gently.

You nod in agreement, head tilted as you look up at him, “I’m blaming you.”

“Of course.” Remus nods, placating you.

He shimmies his pyjamas off, kicks them off the end of the bed, and comes back to crowd your space, again. Hard, he’s much bigger than you saw from Shower-Gate. Your mouth waters as his hand wraps around his dick, pumping a few times before looking back to you. His face softens when he notices your lip trapped between your teeth.

“Baby?” He questions and you soften.

“That’s,” You sigh, embarrassed, “That’s not going to fit, Rem.”

Remus laughs, the apples of his cheeks rounding out, his teeth appearing from behind his lips. His head hangs over your shoulder and you hide in his hair, mortified. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight runs softly up and down your thigh. You groan to show your mortification, heels digging into Remus’ tail bone to try kill his laughter.

“Rem,” You protest, letting a chuckle of your own slip.

Remus looks up, eyes soft, lips pressed together to stop his laughter, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, pretty girl. I’m not laughing at you. No one’s ever said that before, you just caught me by surprise.”

You giggle, squeezing his waist with your thighs, “They’ve definitely thought it.”

Remus shakes his head, “We don’t have to.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, “I want to. I really want to.”

He smiles, leans in to kiss you. When he pulls away to pump himself again, you let out a low breath. He brushes the tip against your folds, wet and puffy, a couple times before he pushes in slowly. He groans, you moan. You’re tight, fitting around him like perfection. He goes slow until he’s buried to the hilt. You allow yourself to get used to the feeling, whimpering softly when his thumb comes to circle your clit again, working you up.

“That’s it, baby,” He speaks softly, so softly, and you moan.

He pulls back, pushes back in. Takes it slow. Allows you to adjust.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need the raw pent-up aggression you’ve seen Remus show pervs at bars when they touch you inappropriately. You need angry Remus, who threw a book at the mantle place when your parents missed another birthday. You need the Remus who tries so hard to hide the aggressive side of him but can never fully rid himself of his primal urges, of that white hot fury and determination.

“More,” You breathe, “Faster. Harder. I need more, Rem. Please.”

You’re babbling, begging. But Remus complies. He snaps his hips forward and you all but scream. He groans, breath hot and heavy against your neck. He’s attentive, hips attacking your pelvis. His wooden headboard slams against the wall, your hand reaching up to hold on and stop you from sliding further up the bed. An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you up, closer to him. He feels deeper at the new angle, hips battering into yours. He’s relentless, hitting every spot you need.

You’re babbling nonsense, but so is Remus. Words of encouragement, words that tell you how good you’re taking all of him, how tight you are, how perfect you are. You’re meeting his every thrust, hips grinding against him, the stubble creating friction that tightens the coil in your stomach.

Remus attaches his lips to your shoulder, biting down as he pounds harder against you. You say his name like a mantra, unable to think of anything other than the feeling of him, all over, everywhere, filling, stretching, pounding.

“Rem,” You whine – so close. So, so close – “Come in me.”

Remus’ head snaps up, pupils blown, mouth hung open. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t falter, “What?”

“Pill. Just,” You gasp when he hits that spot, “Come in me. Please. Wanna feel it.”

Remus moans. Dirty and deep. He fucking moans.

He’s relentless, sweat dripping from his forehead, he releases your waist, hikes your thigh up over his shoulder, you scream. He urges you, tells you sweet things, details how he’s going to fill you up, bites the skin of your calf. His other hand reaches down, draws tight circles that have you seeing stars. You scream his name, loud enough for the entire street to hear, using the leverage on his shoulder to lift your lower back off the bed.

The feeling is dizzying, all consuming. It’s feverish, frantic, a wild chase to the end.

You clench, he hits the right spot, the sting of his teeth on your calf emulates up your leg, the stomach muscles holding you up clench, and he calls you baby, all at the right time. You see white. It feels like your entire body explodes, lights on fire, crashes and burns. You convulse, twitching and screaming, broken words and moans of his names, clenched vice-like around him.

You’re begging. Begging him to follow, to finish in you, even in your pleasure.

You’re still floating, but coherent enough, when Remus grows sloppy, uncoordinated, drops your leg from his shoulder, falls forward, hands at your sides to hold himself up. He jerks, groans, his head falls into your shoulder, and you whine, happily, dopily, when you feel the white-hot spurts of his come against your walls.

He’s breathing heavily, both your bodies slicked with sweat. He drops his weight onto you, and you welcome him happily. Your legs wrap around his lower back, you both wince with the movement. You can feel the slickness between you both, the way he’s dripping out of you. But you’re comfortable, lips pressed to his damp hair. You trace shapes on his back until he comes to, pushing up to press his lips to yours.

The clock on his nightstand reads four in the morning.

He gets up to leave and you whine, “Don’t go.”

Remus chuckles, “Just going to get a warm cloth. Be back.”

You allow him that, grateful he had the idea. You hear him running the tap in the bathroom and he returns with a warm cloth. He’s gentle when he wipes you clear. You wince and flinch, blushing when Remus presses gentle kisses to your thighs as he works. He whispers softly between kisses how pretty you are, how well you did.

He discards the cloth in the wash basket by his door and returns to the bed.

He groans as he settles, holding his arm out for you to fall into him. You do so, swinging a leg over his thighs. It’s then that you realise you’re both still very naked, and your shyness returns. Remus traces shapes on your arm, tucking his head over yours, lips to the crown of your head.

“I can hear your cute little brain running laps, you know.” Remus teases.

You roll your eyes, push your face further into his neck.

“I just came to you in the middle of the night for sex,” the post coital dread sets in tenfold, despite feeling the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks, “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

You feel Remus shrug, “Don’t fret, sweetheart. I was more than happy to oblige.”

“But-“

“Get some rest, honey. We can talk more tomorrow.” He assures you, pulling the blanket further up your naked bodies.

You concede, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the stubble tickling your lips, “Okay.”

He pulls you closer, settles in. You allow sleep to wash over you, let the relaxation in your bones pull you under. It’s a dreamless sleep, a comfortable sleep, wrapped in Remus’ arms.

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ginevrapng · 5 months

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𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐖 / 𝐀 - 𝐙 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

i've never written or used some kind of template but i wanted to write something for peter. i've written for all the other marauders multiple times, so here is something for peter. i don't know if i'm going to write for him again but all the other marauders are getting fics all the time so i had to write peter something (nsfw below the cut/ mdni)

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

♡ peter is kind of unaware that he needs to give aftercare after sex, he doesn't really know what it is but even still he's very cuddly after sex and wants to stay inside you as long as possible

B = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

♡ he likes his arms because during sex, you typically grab hold of his arms trying to stabilise yourself and scratching up his arms in the process. he likes your hands because they feel so soft and warm in his, you're never afraid to hold his hand in public and he loves when you swing your hands together a little when you walk

C = cum (basically anything to do with cum)

♡ he gets instantly hard right after cumming as he watches you after you've given him a blowjob and you catch any cum that's spilled out of your lips with your fingers before sucking your fingers clean

D = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

♡ peter still has your underwear from the first time you slept together, it's his most prized possession. your underwear wasn't anything special, it wasn't lacy or anything, it was plain white cotton and peter can't explain it but for some reason he likes that better.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

♡ he's inexperienced and you knew that from the beginning. he's never wanted flings or had no desire for one night stands, he's always wanted sex to be between someone he loved and someone he loved back. when you first met him he was a virgin, you were his first relationship

F = favourite position (this goes without saying)

♡ missionary!! nothing is better to him than seeing your pretty faces reactions up close, it's intimate and he loves it.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

♡ he's more serious and prefers to make jokes and will banter with you afterwards while cuddling

H = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

♡ he trims downstairs regularly when you started dated, beforehand he didn't bother

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

♡ peter is very soft and gentle during sex, whispering how much he adores you while complimenting and caressing your plush body

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

♡ he doesn't masturbate often, especially now that you're dating. sometimes when he hasn't seen you in a day or two he can't help but touch himself as he thinks about how much he misses you he gets hard and strokes himself, whimpering and shoving his fist against his mouth trying to stop himself from making any noise.

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

♡ praise, he loves telling you how good you're being for him and as he praises you you clench around him and your moans become louder.

♡ cockwarming, he loves when he pulls you onto his lap and he feels your soft body on top his with his cock inside you, holding you close while his arms are around your middle.

L = location (favourite places to do the do)

♡ you two only have sex on your shared bed. once you tried the idea of having sex in the shower but you nearly slipped and fell, peter made you get out straight away and said 'we're never trying that again' while you giggled at him

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

♡ everything about you turns him on, you in general gets him going the most. when he sees you after not seeing you for awhile, hugging you, when you run out of soap or shampoo and have to use his so you smell like him, when you peacefully relax your body after a long day and lean against him, when you wash your face and take of your makeup if you're wearing any before bed before climbing into bed next to him.

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

♡ orgasm denial and denial in general, he doesn't like the idea of not giving you what you want and making you wait or beg for something you want. if you want to cum he's going to make you cum, if you want him to kiss you or finger you he's going to do it.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

♡ he likes giving and receiving, normally when he's receiving he'll be giving right after. he was inexperienced at the beginning and needed guidance, he's better at fingering

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

♡ definitely slow and sensual but when he's getting close to finishing his pace gets more sloppy and his thrusts are a little more rougher.

Q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

♡ peter prefers proper sex but he's not opposed to quickies occasionally when you're both very needy and horny but don't have a lot of time, these times are very rare though

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

♡ he is a marauder at the end of the day, he's game to experiment and keep it fresh but he personally will not take risks, he doesn't want you to feel unsafe and after the shower incident he doesn't want to risk accidentally hurting you.

S = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

♡ he's a one round kind of guy, two tops. he can last for a pretty long time and will always make sure you cum, even if has to end up going an extra round resulting to him accidentally overstimulating himself

T = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

♡ at the start of your relationship he didn't use toys but over time started experimenting and slowly added more toys into the bedroom.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

♡ he doesn't tease, he wants to give you exactly what you want and he gets pleasure from giving you what you want

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

♡ he's quite loud but when he realises how loud he's being he'll try and stifle any noises however when you realise what he's doing you tell him you want to hear him. he mainly whimpers and pants

W = wild card (get a random headcanon)

♡ you're both foodies and one day brought the idea of using food in the bedroom. it's valentine's day and the previous day you brought squirty cream, chocolate and strawberries as well. you both ended up with food on you at some point in the night with the other person sensually licking it off, it was a very memorable valentines day

X = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

♡ he's fairly average in this department but you think it's probably the prettiest cock you've ever seen with the tip of his cock being a pretty pale pink colour

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

♡ his sex drive is high but a lot of the time he'll just like cuddling you while you're warming his cock.

Z = ZZZz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

♡ he prefers talking to you afterwards and making you laugh and smile. sometimes you'll put on the telly in the background and whisper to each other about what's happening and providing amusing commentary before ending up asleep still with the tv on and your bodies intertwined together.

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damagingly-horrible-writer · 3 months

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real question guys would any of you EVER read a peter pettigrew fanfic?

#marauders #peter pettigrew #sirius black #moony #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #lily evans #james potter #peter pettigrew fic #remus lupin #ao3 #fanfic #marauders fanfic rec

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astraeaalstroemeria · 9 months

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Peter Pettigrew Masterlist by Astraea

Rules & Navigation | Wizarding World Masterlist

Peter Pettigrew

He is the deemed as the outcast of the Marauders group. He was very shy yet calm and supportive of his friends. Not that many girls flocked around him during his youth. But his friends did all they could to include him and treated him with such respect, love and trust. So why did he betray them?

oh, who you are is not where you've been (one-shot) (soon...)

somewhere in the haze, got a sense i'd been betrayed (one-shot) (soon...)

i belong with you, you belong with me? (one-shot) (soon...)

#peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew x reader #peter pettigrew x reader angst #petter pettigrew x reader fluff #peter pettigrew imagine #peter pettigrew fanfiction #peter pettigrew drabble #peter pettigrew smut #peter pettigrew x y/n #the marauders era #peter pettigrew x you #petter pettigrew #peter pettigrew angst #peter pettigrew fic #peter pettigrew fluff #peter pettigrew x oc #peter pettigrew x fem!reader #astraeaalstroemeria #marauders era masterlist by astraea

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anunfortunatekinlist · 6 months

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Peter's Betrayal.

Soooo I wrote a thing, I was so sick of having no reason for Peter's betrayal so I made one…. ig content warning for torture, kidnapping, blood etc.

He had been sat in the dark for hours, blindfold pressing on his eyelashes, tears soaking them and dripping down his chin, he has no idea where he is, and no idea who exactly who sat in the room with him, the only noise Peter can hear are muted screams and muffled laughter.

It had been hours, of taunting words, manic laughter and the incarcerous ropes cutting and burning his skin. Peter knew this was a consequence of the war, there was a slim chance that he would wind up like so many of their friends, but he never thought he was so important to have an audience. The fact that he was just sat in waiting for his captors to get bored of the others they were torturing to get to him next.

It was weird, having to mourn his own life sat in his own solitude, suffocating on his own dreams and and ambitions in a single moment until someone could finally put him out of his own misery.

The pure agony of waiting was finally halted, the blindfold finally pulled down to be met with a semi-familiar face, some kid he went to school with that he cannot quite place, one of the Slytherins in the lower year; several masked figures on the edge of the shadows, the room feeling as if it was going on forever.

Now Peter could finally take in his surroundings, he was in some type of abandoned warehouse, with the room only having one light on, the shadows consuming the rest.

"Well Pettigrew, welcome" the boy said, Peter could finally place him, it was Crouch Jr. He was a quiet boy back in school, went missing a year and a half back, many thought him to be dead, well they were all wrong.

All Peter could do was stare, transfixed, this boy was someone like him, and he had ended up one of his greatest enemies, someone who had killed his friends.

"You know Pettigrew, we haven't brought you here to kill you, that would be an awful lot of effort, so you can wipe that worried look off your face, you are awfully to helpful for a simple kill" Crouch stated, slowly walking out of Peter's sight towards the walls of the shadows once again, the wall of deep breathes and muffled screams filled the room once again, they were in front of him, through the shadows.

It dawned on Peter, they knew, the Death-Eaters know, they finally figured out that Peter was the Potter's secret-keeper, they wanted him for James, for Lily, for baby Harry.

Light consumed the room, flooding Peter's eyes, making him blink and having to focus his vison, he could finally see in front of him, through the masked men he saw four people in similar positions to him, tied and gagged. But Peter recognised them instantly, how could he not, his own parents and siblings were sat across from him, blood dried into their hair and tears constantly pouring down their face. All in their dinner clothes from earlier, now ripped and ruined.

He had just seen them hours before, they had all gone out to dinner for their parents anniversary, all able to forget the grief of war for a couple hours to celebrate their family and their parents love. It was heart-breaking to see the happiness ruined by the psychopaths in front of them. His little sister, only 17 years old was sat directly across from him, her dinner dress was ruined with dirt and her own blood.

Seeing his family in front of him, made his heart hurt, they were pain all because of Peter, his involvement in the war had directly brought them pain, it was all Peter's fault.

"No, no, no, why them? Why have you got them? You want me, not them. They are not involved in the war, it's me you want, not them" he was in distress, he couldn't understand why his family was involved in all this.

"Now now Peter, calm down, we won't hurt them if you do one small thing for us, I think you can guess what we want, just give us the location, and this will all be over, you and your poor little family can go home and forget this all happened." Crouch whispered, behind him now, there was no escape from his voice, it was all-consuming.

"I-I don't know what your talking about..." Peter whispered, choking back his sobs.

"Oh really dear, you don't know what I'm talking about." Crouch whispered in his ear.

One of the masked men walked over to his mother, and with his wand, cut down her exposed arm, blood pouring and her screams still muffled by the gag. Her sobs made his ears almost bleed, he was crying, trying to break away from the binds around his arms. "No, no. NO! Leave them alone please, please. They're innocent please."

"Then tell us what we want to hear, dear." Crouch now came and sat on his lap, as if he was enjoying a theatre show, glee written in his features.

"I don't know what your talking about you sadistic fuck, let them go, they have done nothing, I don't know what you are talking about." Peter sobbed, he was disgusted, he just want to be dead.

Another one of the masked men walked up to his older sister, she writhed under her binds as they got closer, but it was no use, all Peter heard was silence until a small whisper of "Crucio" and a jet of red light emitted from his wand, and then the gut-wrenching screams of his sister filled the room, her sobs and pain stuffed the room, nearly breaking Peter, he could not go on until the death-eaters murdered his family.

"Fine, fine. FINE! What will you do to them if I tell you." Peter shouted and the screams of his sister finally let go, and Crouch smiled ear to ear.

"Aww has Peter finally come to his senses? Are you going to give in? Have I proven to you that we are superior?" Crouch said, still perched on his knee.

"No, go fuck yourself, I just want to know what you plan if I do actually tell you" Peter said, voice horse.

Crouch slapped him, "Now, don't be rude, all we plan to do is to deal with the boy, nothing more."

"You want to kill a baby! You want to kill my nephew!" Peter said disgust filling his voice.

"Fine you don't want to help." Crouch said again, and flicked his wrist towards Peter's family. One of the masked men now approach his father, "What should do to him, because it seems as long as they're alive..."

"No please don't." Peter begged.

"Oh really, don't what?" Crouch whispered, and on of the masked men dragged a blade up his father's arm, not stopping, going painfully slow, blood slowly oozing it's way out, staining his clothes and dripping on to the floor. But it looked like they would not stop this time, the cut went from his wrist, and was slowly making it up towards his shoulder, and not stopping, and the blade starts to make a turn towards his father's neck.

"NO NO NO, PLEASE NO DON'T!" Peter screamed.

"Come on then tell us." Crouch whispered again, the blade was now at his fathers neck, digging in deep, he watched in horror and his father's life was being played with, as if it was a gamble, that if Peter could watch his father die, on his wedding anniversary.

"Potter's cottage, Godric's Hollow, in the West Country!" Peter screamed, "Let me go so i can heal my father!"

Crouch laughed in glee, "Thank you Peter, aren't you very kind." And the binds and gags fell from Peter and his family, Peter rushed to his father's side and snatched one of the death-eaters wands in the process, and started spells to stop the bleeding and heal his father's wounds so that he wouldn't bleed to death. Leaving a scar instead, encompassing his entire right side.

Crouch was beside him once again, "Aww are you happy now Peter, trading lives, your as bad as us." Crouch had his hand on Peter's shoulders, watching over him as he preformed spell's on his family in an attempt to heal their wounds and make sure that they weren't hurt further.

"I am nothing like you!" Peter spat, tears still welling in his eyes, he could never imagine this happening, he just killed his best friend's son, but saved his father.

"It's all for the greater good dear, someone had to die for everything to heal." Crouch said, still smiling.

#imma defo write a better conclusion when i post to ao3 #but for now i wanna share this #marauders era #peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew family #peter pettigrew fic #marauders angst #peter pettigrew betrayal #mentions of torture #tw kidnapping

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lucigoo · 7 months

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PeterPettigrewFest_2023

So excited, uploaded my first fic for the Peter Pertigrew Fest, cant wait for November 1st when they go live

@peterpettigrewproject

#peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew fic

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avalynlestrange · 8 months

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Peter Pettigrew

Masterlist

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

Back to The Library (Main Masterlist)

To The Kitchen (WIPs)

Send me an owl post if you have a fic request.

Tone: ♡ Fluff ♥ Angst ❥ Suggestive Themes

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

✿ Coming Soon

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾

#avalynlestrangelists #peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew x reader #Peter Pettigrew x You #Peter Pettigrew x Y/n #Peter Pettigrew fanfic #Peter Pettigrew angst #Peter Pettigrew Fluff #Peter Pettigrew Imagine #Peter Pettigrew fan fiction #Peter Pettigrew fic #marauders era #marauders

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moonyslapdog · 2 years

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a snippet of the peter texting fic i tried writing but scrapped after the first chapter but i thought the beginning was kinda entertaining

peter: CARE BEARS

unknown: excuse me

peter: CARE BEARS

unknown: what are you even talking about

peter: CARE BEARS

unknown: i’m seriously not following rn

peter: Seriously. Haha.

unknown: what the fuck is happening

peter: Is that appropriate language for a radio station to be using?

unknown: a what

unknown: mate wtf are you on

peter: CARE BEARS

unknown: we’ve already established i have no fucking clue what that means

peter: This isn’t the number to Country Hits Radio?

unknown: to what

peter: Country Hits Radio

unknown: who in their right mind listens to country music

peter: Me.

unknown: got that

unknown: i hate to break it to you but this is not country hits radio

peter: It isn’t??????????

unknown: nope

peter: That means I missed it!!!!!!!!!!!

unknown: how tragic

unknown: what exactly did you miss

peter: Free tickets to see Carrie Underwood.

unknown: who

peter: Google is free, you know?

unknown: i don’t care you know

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pancake-lovy · 3 months

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in my shadow RL

Something's cooking!

"His light brown eyes widened at the sight. He could already feel the way his own cheeks heated up. The boy, despite being young, was able to bring attention to himself. The dark hair was put into an elegant hairstyle, which was still curling around the boy’s forehead. His eyes seemed almost black, because of the way his head was leaning forward."

Can you guess which characters are involved in this scene?

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babyfoodslapsfr · 4 months

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I wrote the first chapter of my Peter Pettigrew fic if anyone wants to read it

#peter pettigrew #the marauders #marauders era #wormtail #justice for peter pettigrew #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #peter pettigrew fic #marauders fic #i wrote this at 2am

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lavender-000 · 3 months

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*At the weekly dinner at Potters*

Sirius: Regulus! What were you doing today I couldn't reach you all day!

Regulus: *without hesitation* James

Remus: ...

Peter: ...

Everyone else: ...

James: *chokes on water*

Sirius: What about James?

*few days later*

Sirius: OH THOSE MOTHERF*CKERS

#regulus black #james potter #jegulus #marauders #fic ideas #sirius black #remus lupin #james x regulus #peter pettigrew

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fourmoony · 7 months

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𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞

james potter x f!reader

fluff. 1.5k.

Summary: James brings home a baby. A baby that is not kidnapped.

part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - masterlist

...

James is standing in the doorway with a baby in his arms.

You’re so grateful he’s even there, that he’s made it back alive – albeit a little bloody and battered, glasses askew and his face covered in dirt – but alive nonetheless, that you don’t even notice the baby, bundled in a warm, fluffy blanket, wrapped safely in his arms. He’s bouncing his arms gently, probably trying to soothe the baby who’s making soft noises, and it’s really a sight to behold. It’s not until he steps through the doorway and gives you a nervous, lopsided smile that you fully register your boyfriend is holding a baby.

You blink. Once, twice. A third time.

James grows progressively more antsy. He chews his busted lip, winces, and then shifts back and forth on his feet. You have no idea where he could even have procured a baby. He’s been on an order mission for the past four days, scouting possible allies with the vampires whilst simultaneously moving important potions ingredients from one safe house to another, making sure the Death Eaters are always two steps behind order movements. Realistically, there’s been zero opportunity for James to come across a baby that he could just – take home.

“You’re home,” You breathe, because truly, that’s the most important part of the whole ordeal. James is here. He’s safe. He’s alive. Another mission down, and James has returned home. So, you’re glad. Grateful, unbelievably so. But also confused. Deeply confused.

“You have questions,” James is arguably calm about the situation, like he’d expected you to be eyeing him with hesitation – he was right – and he’s already rehearsed this in his head. “That’s normal.”

“Normal,” You repeat, the word tasting foreign on your tongue because nothing about this is normal. “Jamie, you’re holding a baby. Tell me we’re just like, babysitting, or something and you haven’t kidnapped someone’s child!”

James winces at your – albeit, quiet – yelling. The baby whimpers in his arms and immediately James shushes it, bouncing slightly on the spot with a desperate look in his eyes. He’s out of his depth, it’s obvious by the panicked way he’s looking between you and the baby, something pleading in his eyes.

“I didn’t kidnap her,” James argues childishly.

Okay, so, the baby is a girl. And James didn’t kidnap her. You turn and walk towards the kitchen, James follows, hot on your heels. The kitchen is a bit of a mess. There are your dishes from dinner, the bin is full, and there’s a couple of empty cartons for the recycling dotted on the counter closest to the back garden door. But James doesn’t flinch, he surveys his surroundings, but ultimately ignores the mess you’ve allowed to take over the small space in the days he’s been away.

“We were flying over Surrey when Marls spotted the dark mark over a muggle area,” James launches into explanation while you busy yourself with leaning over the sink and running the warm water. “We stopped to assess damage, but the Aurors were already there. Her family was killed, baby. The muggle government won’t touch the scene with a ten-foot pole – not that the baby had any other family, anyway, Alice already checked – and the Ministry won’t do anything except send her to an orphanage.”

The suds around your hands suddenly feel too much. The soup crusted around the side of your dinner bowl won’t come off and you scrub aggressively at it, focussing on that instead of the fact that your boyfriend has essentially just told you he’s informally adopted a child at random, without discussing it with you first.

Well, you know there was no time for him to discuss it. You can’t be mad at him for that. And, really, you can’t be angry at him, either, for bringing her to your home. She’s safe here. She’s already suffered an incredible amount of trauma, and she barely looks more than three months old. Your heart softens with your resolve, and you lift your head to look out of the window above the sink. The cottage you and James live in was a gift from his parents – a gift that had made you incredibly overwhelmed until you found out it had been under their ownership since before James was born, anyway – and has enough room for a swing set and a slide, maybe a trampoline. There’s a spare room, upstairs. Sirius will grumble about giving up his room for when he visits, but you’re sure he’ll get over it with some encouragement from Remus. The cottage is pretty much baby proof for James and Sirius’ sake, anyway. You have enough expendable income to completely kit out an emergency nursery necessary.

The argument isn’t really that you can’t afford to have a baby, or that you don’t have space for a baby. It’s that you’re nineteen, a year out of Hogwarts and in the middle of a war. Things are bad, times are scary, James is gone at least a week out of every month, you spend most of your days confined to the inside of a potions lab with Lily, making key potions that the Order need to work efficiently. You’re still kids yourselves, fighting a war that is taking everything from you.

But the way James is holding her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, rocking her, and cooing at her, you melt when you turn to face them, and it just feels – right, you suppose.

James looks up, smiles tentatively. You’ve always known he’ll be a great dad. He’s so full of light and love. When he loves, he loves with his entire heart. He loves dotingly and loyally. He’s so sure, standing there. Even though you can tell he’s trying to respect you, waiting to show his excitement until he knows how you feel, you can also see how much love he already has for this little girl, how sure he is that here, with him and with you, is the best place for her.

You take a step towards him, around the kitchen island, and hold your arms out wordlessly. He places her in your arms so gently and then watches as your eyes meet hers. They’re big and round and so blue you feel the breath hitch in your throat. She’s gorgeous. Big puffy cheeks and tufts of dark hair on her small little head. Her tiny lips are curved into a tired pout. You can’t help the smile that overcomes you. When your eyes lift – reluctantly – James is staring at you both. There’s something sickly sweet about the look in his eyes, warm like coffee, sweet like honey.

“We’re at war, Jamie,” You tell him, “Having a baby is a bad idea.”

James nods, “I know.”

A beat of silence passes. An understanding, maybe. It’s a bad time to be two nineteen-year-olds having a baby. But it’s there, in the way James looks at you. He’s never been one to have perfect timing. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of an argument. He asked you to move in with him after school when the first Daily Prophet announcement about the war being confirmed happened. He’s brought a baby home out of nowhere, in the middle of said war. But it feels right. Holding her in your arms, James standing so close you can feel his warmth.

“What’s her name?” You ask, smiling sweetly at James.

He beams. He just – he beams. You know that he knows, then. You’re in. For better or worse.

“No idea. Alice had the muggle police contact the muggle social workers, who had no idea of anything about her. Bit of a mystery, really. But we get to keep her. Keep her safe, love her, raise her. So, I think it worked out. Is that bad?" James whips his head up, like his words surprised himself.

You chuckle lightly, "A little."

"What do you think we should name her?" You ask, eyes flitting back down to her. She's fallen over into sleep, blue irises gone from the world and you feel a tinge of sadness. You miss the bright blue of them, already. She's huffing softly, lips parted cutely. There's something magical about the way she's captured your heart in ten minutes flat. She might have magical powers, after all.

"Not sure. We can think on it. Our meeting with the ministry to officially adopt isn't until Monday." James speaks softly, in awe of the sight of you both.

You nod, "We better ring for Sirius and Remus, send them off for a cot, and then coax them into helping us build it."

You hand her over to James, he takes her, and then make for the phone. James stops you when he speaks, voice an amused whisper, lips pressed to her head, "They're already on their way."

"You knew I'd say yes."

"I knew you'd say yes. How could you not? Look at her." James is all honey voiced as he coos and holds the baby up for you to see and you melt.

She's the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're in awe. She's got your heart, well and truly. It's a strange feeling, to have such adoration for a human so small, who you've only just met. But you know you'll lay your life down to protect her. You'd do anything to make sure she's safe. She promises love, in the darkest time. You can already see the difference in James since returning home. He's lighter, full of smiles, gentle, happy. Usually, after missions, James is dark and brooding. He's filled with a darkness that only being a soldier can bring about.

James is looking at her so lovingly it makes you want to cry. She's happiness, and love. She's-

"Hope." You say, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

James looks up, brows furrowed, a question.

"Hope Potter." You affirm, tears in your eyes.

Your heart fills when James leans forward, presses a kiss to your lips, careful not to jostle Hope, "I love it. I love you."

"I love you. Both."

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