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elswritesthings · 6 days ago

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Out of Character | Snotlout Jorgenson

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x Reader Summary: Snotlout's not used to mushy feelings -- but you, his most unlikely match, drown him in them. Themes & Warnings: Snoutlout is his own warning, yearning, Jealous!Snotlout, fluff!

Since you were a baby, you'd made your father proud.

You were just a tiny little one, left on the doorstep of Gobber’s blacksmithing shop. Wrapped in a bear pelt, silently staring up at him with big, curious e/c eyes -- like you were daring the world to challenge you even then. Gobber, surprisingly gentle with babies despite the rough edges and missing limbs, had scooped you up with a gruff laugh and decided on the spot: you were his. No questions asked.

You grew up with soot-streaked cheeks, calloused palms, and the clang of hammers as your lullaby. Gobber taught you everything he knew: how to mold metal, fix a saddle, and keep your heart soft even when your hands were strong. He raised you like a Viking, but he let you be kind. And when you showed your worth in dragon training, no one dared question how a blacksmith’s foundling could outmatch half the village.

When you reached the age of fifteen, you started dragon training. You were surprisingly different from your father at that time -- clean, organized, and deadly.

Where Gobber was chaotic, you were calm. Where he bellowed, you spoke with measured words. You didn’t need to shout to be heard, your actions did the talking. In the training ring, you moved like you’d been born to it: precise, quiet, efficient. You didn’t rely on brute strength. You thought before you struck. And when you did strike, it landed.

By the time the first week of training had ended, you’d already impressed Hiccup and irritated Snotlout beyond reason.

“Who even are you?” he barked one day, panting, sweaty, and scowling as he watched you perfectly disarm a Gronckle in under ten seconds.

“Just someone who sharpens her weapons before training,” you said lightly, not even sparing him a full glance.

He scoffed. “Must be nice having a blacksmith for a dad.”

That got your attention. You turned, eyes narrowed, not angry, just sharp. Controlled.

“It is nice,” you said, voice even. “You should try appreciating your father sometime.”

Snotlout went red at that, clearly not expecting a comeback so calm, so devastating. It wasn’t that you were cruel. You just didn’t entertain nonsense. And that confused him more than anything.

Because Snotlout Jorgenson could handle yelling. He could handle sarcasm, challenges, even dragons breathing down his neck.

But you? You were terrifying in a whole new way.

You didn’t chase attention. You didn’t puff your chest. You didn’t care if people were impressed by you. You were so unlike him -- so unlike anyone he’d ever bothered to pay attention to.

As time passed, you got closer with Hiccup.

He became your best friend. You lead him through the training, sparing him the biting remarks from the other students, and you often hung out outside of training too.

But when he discovered that dragons weren't all bad through his secret pet, you'd called him crazy for a moment. Until you met Toothless.

Maybe it was because you trusted Hiccup. Maybe it was because you needed to see the madness to believe it. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, you were hoping he was right -- that the world was bigger and better than you'd been raised to believe.

You didn’t breathe the first time you laid eyes on Toothless.

He was curled like a sleeping cat, wide eyes tracking your every move, tail twitching with a wariness that matched your own. His scales shimmered in the dappled forest light, his wings tucked in like he was trying to make himself smaller.

And you knew, instantly, that you weren’t looking at a monster.

You were looking at a creature who had been hurt. Hunted. Hiccup’s trembling hand reached out, and Toothless leaned into the touch.

That was the moment your world shifted.

And then, everyone's did.

The day Berk learned that dragons were not their enemies was the day everything shifted. And you were there through it all, fighting beside Hiccup when the old ways collapsed, standing firm against the doubt of elders, defending the very beasts that once haunted your village's nightmares.

Years passed. The war was over. Dragons flew free, and the people of Berk had adapted.

You had, too.

Now, you soared through the sky like you’d been born with wings. A blur of grace and steel, high above the forest, your dragon Blight roaring beneath you. He was a Timberjack -- wild and razor-edged, with wings like blades and a voice that could split the sky. You’d named him after the illness that stripped bark and rot from trees -- not because he was a disease, but because he left nothing untouched in his path.

Much like you.

It was peaceful work, harvesting timber from the outskirts of the woods per Gobber’s request. He needed handles for axes, staves for spears, and who better to do the dangerous tree-cutting than the girl who practically danced with danger?

And so many years later, you still pissed Snotlout off.

Not in the usual way people irritated him with whining or bragging or breathing too loud.

No, you pissed him off in the way that made his jaw tighten and his thoughts get scrambled. In the way that had him flying out to the edge of the woods like he had any reason to be there, just so he could catch a glimpse of you slicing through the sky like you owned the air.

And of course, you did.

You always looked so damn effortless.

No matter how effortlessly you flew through the air, your hair always stayed in its neat, intricate braid. You were usually covered in soot and grease, but your nails were always clean and when you washed it off, your face remained clear with a few scars from your old dragon training days. You weren't ever loud or boisterous like he was, but you somehow commanded the world's attention anyways.

He hated it. Or he tried to convince himself he did.

You weren’t dainty. You weren’t trying to be anyone’s fantasy.

And maybe that’s why you were his.

Because Snotlout had spent his whole life being loud. Flashy. Always trying to prove something -- to his father, to the village, to himself. He'd carved out his place in Berk by sheer force of personality. By shouting until someone listened. By throwing his weight around and demanding attention.

You never had to do any of that. You just were.

Quiet, competent, calm and maddeningly brilliant at everything. You were the kind of person who walked into a room and made people shut up. The kind of girl who could spar, forge, command a dragon, and still roll her eyes when Snotlout flexed.

And Thor help him, he wanted you to look.

Not the way you looked at Hiccup, or Fishlegs, or even Gobber -- with patience and friendship and understanding.

He wanted the look you gave Blight when you were proud of him. When he did something right and you whispered something soft under your breath that made the dragon puff up with pride.

He wanted that.

He wanted you to see him, really see him, not the idiot who cracked jokes or puffed his chest or ran his mouth. But the part he rarely showed anyone: the one who tried hard, who felt too much, who just wanted to matter.

And worst of all?

He knew you already did see that part of him in glimpses. Quick flashes. Like the time you caught him gently wrapping a wing splint on a hatchling. Or when you stood beside him during a dragon attack without needing to say a word. Or when you casually handed him a perfectly sharpened axe after he’d been struggling to fix his own for hours.

You never rubbed it in. Never made him feel smaller. But you didn’t coddle him either.

You just existed. In his world. On the edges of his thoughts, in the pit of his chest, and deep in the marrow of every stupid decision he made to try and impress you.

And now here he was again, standing in a forest you’d already claimed as your own, watching you steer Blight into another flawless landing, wind sweeping your braid over your shoulder, soot trailing along your cheekbone like a badge.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

Hookfang grunted beside him in agreement.

Snotlout blinked. “Shut up.”

The dragon made another soft grunting sound, like he was laughing at Snotlout, or maybe judging him, and nudged him gently with his huge snout.

“Seriously?” Snotlout hissed, swatting uselessly at his dragon like he could bat away the truth. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was a -- it was a reflex. A stupid one. Just… shut up, alright?”

Hookfang blinked at him slowly, unamused. Another low rumble vibrated from his chest, as if to say, You keep lying to yourself, bud. I’ve got time.

Snotlout crossed his arms, turning back to the clearing, jaw clenched. But you were already off Blight’s saddle, tying him off to a tree with practiced ease. Your dragon flicked his bladed wings once, letting out a huff before settling down -- completely relaxed, because you were. Snotlout felt a tug in his gut watching the bond, that unspoken trust between you and the beast.

You were humming. Barely. Just under your breath.

He hated that he noticed that, too.

And then, as if the gods weren’t already cruel enough, you turned. Locked eyes with him across the space like you knew he’d been staring. You didn’t smile. Not at first. You just watched him, quiet, composed, unreadable as ever, and Snotlout’s brain completely short-circuited.

You tilted your head slightly. “You here for a reason, or are you just stalking me again?”

Again. That word knocked the breath out of him.

“Pfft, no,” he said too quickly, voice cracking halfway. “I-- patrol. This is, you know… enemy territory.”

You raised a brow. “The Berkian forest?”

“Could’ve been raiders.”

“Could’ve been trees, which you nearly walked into because you were staring so hard.”

Snotlout flushed scarlet. Hookfang snorted.

You started walking toward him, braid swinging against your back, fingers brushing soot off your tunic like you had all the time in the world. Every step you took made his stomach twist tighter.

“I’ve seen you flying out here more than usual,” you said. “Following me.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Your voice lowered a fraction, softer now. “Why?”

Because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because your laugh haunted his sleep. Because you weren’t scared of him, not the puffed-up version, not the insecure one underneath. Because when you looked at him like this, calm and curious and just a little too close, he forgot how to breathe.

But all he said was: “Dunno.”

You gave him a look that felt like it could cut through armor.

Then, softly, teasing, “Want to help me bring the wood back for my dad? I'm not gonna make Blight do it. He's tired today and he always does it.”

Blight purred beside you, lifting his head to you. You cooed, scratching his scales gently.

“I know, Blighty boy. This is your break.”

You scratched gently along the sensitive part of his jaw, and Blight let out a huff of air, satisfied, curling his bladed wings in a relaxed posture. It was a kind of tenderness Snotlout didn’t think you ever let anyone else see. Not Hiccup. Not the other riders. Maybe Gobber, if he was lucky.

And suddenly, Snotlout felt kind of honored. And kind of jealous.

He cleared his throat, voice jumping slightly. “You name a dragon Blight, and then baby-talk him like he’s a newborn sheep. That doesn’t mess with his ego or anything?”

You glanced over your shoulder, unbothered. “He can slice through a tree in one flap. I think his ego can survive a little affection.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyways, carrying wood with you? Alone?”

Your smile turned dangerous. “Unless you’re scared of a little work. Too heavy for you?”

“Me?” he scoffed, straightening his back like you’d just challenged his honor. “Never.”

“Good,” you said, already turning your back to him. “Then grab the straps. The load’s heavier than it looks.”

You didn’t wait for him, didn’t watch to see if he struggled because of course you knew he’d follow. You always knew. And gods, it made him want to scream. Or kiss you. Or maybe both.

He hurried after you, grumbling under his breath about stupid trees and stupid dragons and stupid girls with perfect braids and sharp tongues.

Hookfang stayed behind, lying down next to Blight like they’d already formed some dragon bro pact of mockery. Snotlout glanced back at them, narrowing his eyes.

"Traitors."

You were already hauling two large bundles of freshly cut wood toward your makeshift loading sled. Blight had stacked the timber cleanly in rows with his wings, and you moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times -- smooth, efficient, no-nonsense.

“Thought this was supposed to be the part where we bond,” Snotlout muttered as he picked up the harnessed end of the sled and gave a grunt.

You threw him a dry look over your shoulder. “This is bonding. You want me to hold your hand too?”

He nearly choked on air. “I mean-- I wouldn’t hate that.”

You rolled your eyes, but a faint smile tugged at your mouth.

And that was all the encouragement he needed to keep talking.

“You know,” he started, dragging the sled effortlessly, “most people flirt with me. Like, a lot. All the time, actually. It’s kind of exhausting.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Poor thing.”

“I mean, not that I blame them. I’m pretty great. Brave. Muscular. The best dragon rider Berk’s ever seen--”

“The modesty’s what really gets me,” you cut in.

He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, then smirked. “So you have been paying attention.”

You paused, adjusting the straps around your shoulders, and glanced at him, really looked at him, a strange expression in your eyes. Something unreadable. Something soft, almost.

“Of course I’ve been paying attention,” you said simply. “You're just too loud to sneak past unnoticed.”

His breath caught, not because of your words, but because of how you said them. Casual. Easy. Like it was just a fact. Like he was a fact. Something permanent in your life.

And for a second, he forgot how to breathe again.

Then you turned back around and kept walking.

“Coming, oh great dragon-riding muscle god?”

He snapped out of it with a sputter. “I-- yeah. Obviously.”

As the two of you disappeared into the trees, the sound of wood dragging behind and the rustle of branches above, Snotlout let the quiet stretch for once. Just for a moment. The breeze shifted, and he caught a whiff of smoke and pine and something that was just you.

And it hit him, terrifying and thrilling all at once.

He was in love with you.

And he was so screwed.

He was used to little crushes. In fact, he used to stare at any girl that walked by. He'd had a huge crush on Astrid back in the day, Ruffnut somehow too, but now? No one else was even worth a glance to him, no matter how infuriating you were.

But it wasn't the same for you. You didn't only look at him. And that bothered him.

Now, you sat in the Great Hall next to Hiccup, laughing at something he’d said, face lit up by the torchlight and framed by your freshly unbraided hair. It tumbled over your shoulder in soft waves, streaked faintly with soot still, but he’d never seen anything more unfair in his entire life. How could someone look like a warrior, a blacksmith’s daughter, a dragon-riding menace and a goddess all at once?

It should’ve been illegal.

Snotlout sat across the hall, glaring into his mug like it had personally offended him. Ruffnut and Tuffnut were arguing over something stupid beside him, goat racing, probably, Astrid sat reading quietly, and Fishlegs was rambling to someone who wasn’t listening, but Snotlout didn’t hear a word.

Because Hiccup leaned closer to you, and you leaned back in that easy, relaxed way you only ever gave to a few people. He watched you nudge him playfully with your elbow, and something snapped.

He slammed his mug down. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Hookfang, curled up near the back wall, cracked open one eye.

Tuffnut leaned over. “Who? Fishlegs?”

“No, Hiccup,” Snotlout hissed.

Tuffnut raised a brow. “Dude, he’s been your cousin since birth.”

“That just means it’ll be easier to explain to the elders,” he muttered.

Because Hiccup got that laugh from you. That rare, nose-crinkling laugh that made your whole face glow. The one Snotlout ached to be the cause of. And maybe he was being dramatic. Okay, he was being dramatic. But how could he not be?

He didn’t do soft feelings. Didn’t know how to be soft without tripping over himself. And you, you were gentle in a way that wasn’t weakness. You were quiet power. Calm confidence. And Snotlout? He was loud chaos. Fire and ego and swinging too hard in every direction. You shouldn’t fit. But gods, he wanted to try.

The hall grew louder as dinner was served. Mead spilled. Fishlegs accidentally got a turkey leg launched at his head. Gobber bellowed a laugh from the far end of the table.

And all Snotlout could think about was how your shoulder touched Hiccup’s for a second too long.

He stood abruptly.

Ruffnut blinked. “Where’re you going?”

“To do something stupid,” he grumbled, already moving.

You looked up as he approached, brow raised in mild surprise. Hiccup glanced up too, smiling in greeting but Snotlout wasn't in the mood for being cordial.

“You,” he said, stabbing a finger at Hiccup. “Come outside.”

Hiccup blinked, brows shooting up in surprise. “Uh... hi to you too?”

You didn’t say anything at first, but you did give Snotlout a look. Calm. Curious. Barely amused. Like you already knew exactly what this was about.

Snotlout didn’t even look at you. Couldn’t. If he did, he might do something dumb like say what he meant. And Thor knew he wasn’t ready for that kind of stupidity.

Hiccup, ever the peacemaker, held up his hands. “Look, if this is about the new tail design for Hookfang, I told Fishlegs I’d--”

“It’s not about Hookfang,” Snotlout bit out, jerking his head toward the doors. “It’s about something else.”

Your brow arched a little higher, but you stayed quiet, lips twitching just slightly.

Hiccup hesitated. “You want to… talk about--”

“Yes,” Snotlout snapped, already regretting this entire interaction. “Outside. Now. Before I say something really stupid in front of her.”

That caught your attention. You tilted your head slightly, clearly intrigued now, watching with interest as Hiccup stood awkwardly, glancing between the two of you.

“I’ll… be right back,” he said slowly, still trying to make sense of it all, and followed Snotlout out into the cool evening air.

The moment the door shut behind them, Snotlout spun around, jabbing a finger at Hiccup’s chest.

“Back off.”

Hiccup blinked. “Back off what?”

“You know what,” Snotlout hissed. “Her. You sit next to her. You smile at her. You look at her like you’ve got some shared secret, and I don’t like it.”

There was a long pause.

Then Hiccup said, “You dragged me out here to tell me to stop being friends with someone I’ve known for years?”

Snotlout scowled. “No! Yes. Maybe. I don’t know, alright? I’m not good at this... feelings thing. But I’m good at spotting competition, and if you are even thinking about--”

“I’m not,” Hiccup said, firmly but gently. “She’s my friend. That’s it.”

Snotlout stared at him, suspicious. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Hiccup repeated, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Though, if you’re serious about her, maybe you should tell her all this. Instead of threatening me like a territorial yak.”

Snotlout grimaced. “I don’t know how.”

“Well,” Hiccup said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “start by not stabbing your friends with your finger in public. Then maybe try talking to her like she’s not gonna gut you.”

“She might gut me.”

“Only if you deserve it.”

Snotlout sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I hate this. I hate her. I mean I don’t. I mean I do. Ugh, you know what I mean.”

Hiccup nodded, half-laughing now. “Yeah, I really do.”

Inside, you sat still, watching the door with a knowing expression. Because if there was one thing you’d always known about Snotlout Jorgenson -- it was that he felt everything loud. And when he finally figured out why he felt it?

He was screwed. Royally.

The sun had dipped low by the time he found you again, casting the village in warm, golden light that made everything feel softer. Less threatening. Even the usual chaos of dragon wings overhead seemed quieter, like the whole world had taken a breath and was holding it just for this moment.

You were sitting near the edge of the cove, where the grass met the rocky path down to the water. Your dragon was curled nearby, dozing peacefully, and you were picking at a wildflower with idle fingers, lost in thought.

Snotlout stopped a few paces back. Just... watched you.

He hated how you made him feel like this. Like his chest was too full. Like words piled up in his throat, and none of them were good enough for you. You could throw axes better than anyone he knew. You didn’t take his crap. And sometimes, like now, when you were quiet and still and not yelling at him or teasing him—he found it hard to breathe.

He cleared his throat.

You didn’t jump. Just turned your head slowly, eyes lifting to meet his. Calm. A little curious.

“I’m not here to say something stupid,” he said quickly. Then paused. “I mean, probably. But I’m trying not to.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“Hey,” he huffed, then stuffed his hands in his pockets, pacing forward until he stood a few feet from you. “Look. Earlier… with Hiccup… I wasn’t mad at him. Not really.”

“I know,” you said simply, setting the flower down beside you. “You were mad at yourself.”

That made him blink. “How’d you…?”

You shrugged, like it wasn’t worth explaining. “Because you never know what to do when you’re not punching something.”

“…Yeah. That’s fair.” He blew out a breath, then dropped down to sit beside you, not too close, but not far either. “I listened to him. Like he said I should.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

“And he told me to talk to you. Like I’m not an idiot.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “He thinks highly of you.”

“He’s delusional.” He glanced sideways at you, jaw tight. “But he’s right about one thing. I gotta stop acting like an axe-headed moron and just say it.”

You looked at him. Waiting. Patient. Like you knew how much effort this cost him.

“I like you,” Snotlout said quietly. “Not in the weird 'Snotlout way' people joke about. Not because I think you look good in armor, though you do, obviously. But like… when you’re not around, everything feels loud. And when you are around, it’s worse, but it’s a better kind of loud. And I think about you. All the time. Even when I don’t want to. Even when you’re yelling at me. Especially then.”

You stared at him, quiet for a beat.

Then, softly, you asked, “So… what do you want?”

He hesitated. Then turned to you fully.

“I want a chance. I want to try. I want you to know I’m serious. And if you’re gonna gut me for this, fine. Just make it fast.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprised, warm, a little breathless. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But I’m your idiot. If you want me.”

There was a long pause before you reached out, tugging the edge of his sleeve, your fingers brushing his wrist.

“I always did,” you said.

Snotlout blinked. Then grinned. A little wild. A little awed. “Really?”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Don’t make me say it again, Jorgenson.”

He didn’t. He just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world -- and when you let him hold it, everything in him quieted.

For once.

And he thought maybe this was what Hiccup meant.

Your fingers were still tangled with his, the silence between you stretching -- but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tense or confused. It was warm. Easy. The kind of quiet that hummed with something new and good and just beginning.

Snotlout stared down at your hands for a moment, as if grounding himself, then looked up at you again. His grin had faded into something softer now -- still him, still smug in a way only he could manage -- but gentler at the edges. A little unsure, a little hopeful.

“Can I--?” he asked, voice low, almost husky. “I mean, should I--?”

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned in first.

It was simple, the kiss. No dramatic sweep of arms, no crash of firelight or clatter of armor. Just the soft brush of your lips over his. A hesitant meeting. A testing of new ground. He froze for a half-second, like his brain had short-circuited -- and then he kissed you back, just as gently.

His hand came up to cradle your cheek, rough palm warm against your skin, surprisingly tender. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t deepen it. Just held it there, like a moment he didn’t want to break.

When you finally pulled back, your noses were nearly touching, his breath fanning against your skin.

“Wow,” he whispered. “So… this is happening?”

You smiled, eyes shining. “Looks like it.”

After that, it was easy.

Snotlout was still Snotlout -- loud, smug, obnoxiously confident -- but softer. Around you, he eased the weight you carried, always finding ways to protect you, to cherish you. He’d sharpen your blades without being asked. He’d scowl at you if you skipped meals. He still bragged, but now it was about how lucky he was.

And yes, he was still a little territorial. Still kind of an idiot. But now he was your idiot.

Which is how you found yourself sitting beside him in the Great Hall a few nights later, sharing stew and laughter while the rest of the gang shouted over each other across the long table. You were tucked under his arm, his hand playing idly with your braid like he couldn’t help himself.

That’s when Tuffnut plopped down across from you, a wicked grin on his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Berk’s most terrifying blacksmith angel,” he said, giving you a dramatic wink. “Tell me -- are you into slightly unhinged men with questionable hygiene and a flair for goat impressions?”

You snorted into your cup. “Can’t say I’ve considered it.”

“Consider it now,” he said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got charm. Mystery. Probably lice.”

Snotlout, who had been too busy shoveling food into his mouth to notice at first, finally looked up -- a spoon still hanging out of his mouth.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you flirting with my girlfriend?”

Tuffnut blinked. “Depends. Is she gonna kill me, or are you?”

“Me,” Snotlout said cheerfully, dropping his spoon and grinning like a dragon who’d just spotted a sheep.

He stood, grabbed Tuffnut by the back of the collar, and bodily hoisted him from his seat like he weighed nothing.

“Say it louder for the folks in the back,” he called to the hall. “My girlfriend. This one’s mine. The smart, terrifying, annoyingly perfect one? Yeah, mine.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands.

Tuffnut flailed in his grasp. “Alright, alright, you ox! Put me down! I was testing her loyalty! Science!”

Snotlout dropped him unceremoniously, then flopped back down next to you, smug and glowing with pride.

He slung his arm around you again. “You hear that? People are testing you. You passed, obviously. But still. You gotta be careful. With a face like yours? Trouble magnet.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move from under his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“And yours,” he said, pressing a quick, loud kiss to your temple. “Totally, undeniably, unreasonably yours.”

Across the table, Tuffnut rubbed his neck with a groan. “Next time I flirt with someone, it’s gonna be Astrid. At least Hiccup doesn't brag after he brutalizes.”

“Still gonna lose,” Snotlout called, stuffing more stew in his mouth. “But hey -- shoot for the stars, bud.”

#httyd #snotlout jorgenson #httyd snotlout #snotlout x reader #snotlout jorgenson x reader

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elswritesthings · 17 days ago

Note

Hi, I don't actually know if your requests are open but I was just wondering if you could do a fic about poly!Mauraders x reader, but it's a full moon and when James and Sirius are out with moony, they run into another wolf (reader) and moony just instantly takes a liking to her. Imagine moony trying to follow her around, and reader keeps snapping her jaw at him. I could also imagine reader is maybe a Slytherin?

Sorry if this isn't good, I just popped into my head, and I went with it. Take your time, and don't rush yourself 💓

"sorry if this isn't good - don't rush" uhm, it was fantastic and I wrote it IMMEDIATELY thank youuuuu!!!! <3

poly!marauders x werewolf!reader who's unwittingly integrated into their pack [2.3k words]

CW: fem!reader, werewolf behaviour, some aggression/fighting, canine aggression and submission, Padfoot's had it up to fucking here with them all thank you very much

Padfoot wondered for a moment if maybe he was just some glorified herding dog at this point whilst he struggled to keep Moony on their usual routine when the werewolf seemed thoroughly hellbent on breaking it

Moony - a blood hound tonight, apparently - insisted on following his nose, Padfoot’s incessant demands to stick to plan be damned.

And unfortunately for Padfoot, it didn’t seem like Prongs or Wormtail had any clue how to deal with Moony either.

Great.

So instead of their usual routine of transforming in the shack, letting Moony out, following their trail where they run (and roll, in Moony & Padfoot’s case) down a large hill before chasing each other along the river bank, grabbing a drink from the edge of the Black Lake and slowly making their way back to the shack…Moony no sooner got to the bottom of their hill before he picked up some scent and followed it down dark, wandering paths through the Forbidden Forest.

Padfoot had tried encouraging a mouth wrestle and romp - no dice. Prongs tried taking off in a sprint, hoping to elicit Moony’s instinct to chase - no dice. Wormtail bit Moony’s foot which only saw him nearly stomped on as the werewolf continued on his journey. Prongs tried bodily shoving Moony back in the direction of the shack to no avail.

Padfoot was just about ready to pick a bloody fight with the beast when he heard snuffling followed by a low growl.

Unfortunately for Padfoot, Moony didn’t miss it either, and before he knew which way was up, Moony took off in a sprint towards the sound.

Padfoot hoped to come back in his next life as a border collie - maybe he’d have better luck with the likes of sheep.

And that decision was only solidified when he turned the corner to find Moony staring down another werewolf who had her hackles raised and teeth bared at the bastard who seemed either ignorant to canine body language or was actively choosing to ignore it.

At least sheep will have the bloody wherewithal to avoid danger.

Padfoot made a quiet whimpering sound, hoping to encourage Moony to get the hells out of here, but it only served to have Moony’s ear flick in his general direction before returning to his new wolf friend.

Prongs huffed a breath and stomped his hoof into the earth, and Padfoot noticed then that Wormtail was nowhere to be found - the bloody coward.

Moony tried to crane his neck forward to sniff at the wolf's paws, only for the wolf to snarl and snap at him before smacking him with said paw like a sodding cat.

Moony at least had the grace to lower himself to the ground in submission for but a moment before he bounced back up to try doing much the same.

This time, the wolf charged at Moony, pinning him to the earth by his throat as she growled at him; the sound muffled by the fact that Moony’s sodding neck was in her mouth.

Prongs grunted and made to charge in Moony’s defence, causing the wolf to release Moony and look at him sceptically, and Moony to growl at Prongs warningly - he did not want their help.

Fine by Padfoot. He wasn’t much interested in helping a werewolf with a death wish anyway.

But when the wolf decided this was all perhaps a bit too much for her, turning away from the strange pack to continue on its path - of which the marauders should be on their own, thank you very much - Moony went to follow, and dammit, this was Padfoot’s pack.

And if it wasn’t his pack, it was his herd, and what kind of border collie would Padfoot be if he let his pack sheep out of his sight?

Not a very good one, is what.

So, with a huff of resignation, Padfoot trailed behind the wolves - one that kept turning to nip, snap, and snarl at pesky Moony, and pesky Moony who kept trying to get a sniff or even, more disturbingly, incite play with a gentle nip - Prongs (and Wormtail, by means of Prongs’ antlers) trailed behind him.

The wolf seemed resigned to her fate in having company for the rest of the evening, though that didn’t mean she was pleased about it. Every time Padfoot thought the wolf’s hackles were going down, Moony playbowed in front of her like an overgrown lanky puppy, and they rose right back up.

The new wolf, for her part, spent the evening snuffling through the dried leaves and moss on the floor, stretching against tree trunks and using the bark to sharpen her claws (still not unlike a cat), and chewing on a stick.

Padfoot thought that actually all seemed like a really nice way to spend the evening.

Or, you know, it would have been, had he not been in charge of this ridiculous rag-tag group of misfits he unwittingly found himself responsible for.

But eventually, the evening had to come to an end, and that end was signalled by the twitching of Moony’s muscles underneath his fur as the moon started pulling at his bones, and it appeared to be doing the same for you.

But the night couldn’t end, it seemed, if you weren’t coming with Moony. And for as annoyed as Padfoot had been all evening, he was growing increasingly anxious.

You abandoned your stick and stood, beginning to limp away from them when Moony grunted and hurried after you, causing Padfoot and Prongs to bark and bleat respectively.

Any levity that the wolf had found for the marauders quickly vanished in the face of her oncoming transformation and the pain radiating through her when she turned on Moony and lunged at him. Padfoot whimpered and felt his heart try to escape through his throat as earth flew up in the air due to paws digging into the ground for traction and scrambling for purchase.

The wolf's growls were different now, though; they weren’t bored, they weren’t dismissive, and they weren’t even all that threatening. The wolf was scared - panicked, even. Padfoot could see it in the speed of her breathing and the whites of her eyes that she was quickly descending into terror.

They were close, so close, to the shack; Padfoot was certain he could get Moony back before the transformation if he would just get a sodding move on.

But it appeared Moony was wholly unwilling to leave without this wolf, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

The wolf seemed to come to the same conclusion as Padfoot, stepping away from Moony before submitting for the first time all evening, and wincing as Padfoot heard one of her joints shift.

Moony let out a sigh, moving over to the wolf who seemed so small now that she was cowering at the base of the tree with Moony standing above her, nudging her face and neck with his nose before licking over her face.

The wolf whimpered, and Padfoot watched as Moony’s right hind foot came out from underneath him for a moment - as if he tripped - telling him that the transformation was starting.

Padfoot whined, and he swore Moony actually nodded his head in understanding before he gently grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck and encouraged her to stand.

Resigned to her fate, the wolf followed the pack towards the shack, barely making it into the room before the transformation took over.

The first thing you noticed when you came to wasn’t the pain, though that was there. It was always there.

No, the first thing you noticed when you came to was the feeling of linen on top of you and something soft below you.

That wasn’t right; that couldn’t be right, could it? You were supposed to be in the cave.

But when you shifted your arm and felt the linen - a blanket? - fall from your shoulder, you knew it was true. You were not in the cave. You were not in the cave, and someone had found you.

“I think she’s awake.”

Someones had found you.

You were not in the cave, people had found you, and you were not alone.

You sat up suddenly, holding the blanket to your chest as you shuffled away from the sounds before your back met something solid. Your head felt heavy and off-kilter, like you were standing on a boat swaying on rolling waves.

You had a wicked migraine coming on.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there doll.” Another voice sounded.

“What-” You tried, cutting yourself off to clear your throat when your voice came out gravely and painful, threatening to bring up whatever you still had in your stomach from dinner two nights ago; the last time you could manage food. “Why are you- why am I here? Where am I? What-”

“Open your eyes, L/N.” The second voice offered, though you could tell the inflection was softer than it naturally was; you wondered if that took him a lot of effort. “You’re okay.”

Your breaths began to quicken because you didn’t feel okay, this didn’t feel okay. Someone knew, they knew; they had found you, you were found out.

The sun was still low, so the light in the….room? shack? hut? was dim, though it still made your eyes water with the impending migraine lined up in your temples as if just waiting for a good excuse to wreak havoc on your brain.

You were accosted with the sight of Sirius Black crouching in front of you, elbows on his knees as his eyebrows hooked in the middle; James Potter standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you much the same.

“You’re okay.” James repeated, nodding his head encouragingly as your vision began to swim.

“Try to relax, doll; you’re not going to feel very well if you work yourself up.”

You let out a hysterical breath that bordered between a laugh and a sob as a few tears spilled out. “Relax? I- what… How could you- why are you here?”

James grimaced. “Sorry, that would be Moony’s fault.”

“Moony? I-” But your question was cut off when you heard the shuffling off bedding from across the room, and both James and Sirius turned towards the sound, exposing Remus Lupin sitting up on an old mattress, rubbing at his eyes as a blanket fell and pooled at his hips, exposing his bare torso that was….covered in claw marks.

“Oh gods.” You let out with a sob. “What did I- Did I do that?”

“What?” Remus let out groggily as both Sirius and James quickly denied it.

“No, no. Listen, angel, please relax-”

“Stop telling me to relax.” You nearly shrilled. “And stop calling me nice names!”

Too tired, too freaked out, and too confused to have chosen your wording carefully, you appeared to have said something wrong when Sirius’ mouth turned up in a salacious smirk.

“You like our nice names?”

“No!”

“I think you do.” James continued.

“Leave the poor girl alone.” Remus grumbled before he fell back onto his bed, rubbing harshly at his eyes.

“Where are we?” You asked simply, swallowing around your gag reflex.

“The shrieking shack.” James answered just as simply.

“Okay.” You acknowledged. “Why?”

“Well, Moony wouldn’t leave without you, so we sort of had to bring you with us.” Sirius answered.

“Moony…?”

“That’s me.” You heard Remus mutter, voice muffled from behind his hands.

“And…I didn’t hurt anyone last night?” You asked slowly.

James’ face softened as he started to shake his head no, but Sirius scoffed.

“Define hurt, gorgeous. I was pissed, for one. Two, you had that wanker by the throat for most of the night.” He said, gesturing behind him to Remus with a careless thumb.

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t bloody leave you alone! I was exhausted just watching.” Sirius continued.

“Would you stop bloody shouting?” Remus grumbled, and you couldn’t help but agree as you rubbed at your head.

“Anyway,” James continued at a more appropriate volume, “he wouldn’t leave without you, so we brought you back here for the transformation. Where…where were you going to go for the transformation?”

You flushed as you wrapped the blanket tighter around your person. “There's…a cave I usually go to.” You admitted in a whisper.

“Well, I bet this is an upgrade then, no?” Sirius offered somewhat haughtily, but his face fell quickly when you began speaking again.

“You can’t tell anyone…please.”

“Tell anyone?” James repeated.

“I…no one knows, no one can know.”

“Whoa, babe, hang on. Who’re we gonna tell?” Sirius asked then, a disbelieving look painting his features.

“I-” you started, swallowing again “I don’t know but, I just, you can’t-”

“We weren’t gonna tell anyone.” James assured you. “We aren’t going to tell anyone; there’s nothing to tell.”

You must have looked sceptical, because Sirius quickly intervened.

“Alright look, we promise not to tell anyone about your lycanthropy, as long as you promise not to tell anyone about Remus’, or about James and I being illegal, unregistered animagi.”

Your mouth actually fell open as you looked between the three of them; James as he turned to grab some vials of pain potions and healing balms, Sirius who was smirking at you salaciously, and Remus who was carding his hand through his hair and smiling (try grimacing) at you apologetically.

“Welcome to the pack, L/N.” Remus said wryly before he downed the potion James handed to him in one, effortless swig and laid back down.

“We’re called the marauders.” James explained as he handed you a matching potion. “We’ll have to find you a nickname. Don’t worry though, we have a whole month to come up with one.”

What the fuck?

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