onthedeckmycaptainlies

[neztune]

“I try not to post late…” I’m a liar. I know I’m most productive with creative stuff at night, and I’m out here about to act like I’m getting all the good ideas early

Anyway!

I have been… so obsessed with runaway Hiccup fics

So I’ve been working on planning my own 😋 So I have a few doodles for the idea! Nothing too big… just the lil ideas (Gotta have a whole bunch of paternal angst, with Valka included this time… I have such a hard time finding fics with her)

[hiccupbutpurple]

Au where Hiccup didn’t really teach anyone else how to train dragons and just becomes Berk’s dragon boy. They just learnt to accept Hiccup hanging out with a bunch of dragons (90% of the time he’s out flying or in the forest but they’ll wait around when he’s in the forge) and Stoick gets used to them being in his house.

There was a time where Stoick tried to put a limit to the number of dragons on the island (and in the house) and Hiccup would prepare multiple long speeches to him about why he needs another dragon.

Hiccup: Just one more I swear!

Stoick (with a Terrible Terror biting his ear): Fine. But only one more. A small one.

Hiccup: Thank you!

Hiccup: *Brings back the Screaming Death* :D

[honeymilkbubbletea]

Runaway AU yapping session no one asked for ~

* Toothless was a kid from Foster Care, so he nad Hiccup had to be really careful while running away cause there definitely would be people looking for him

* Hiccups lowkey paranoid, every time he sees someone looking a bit like Stoick, he thinks it's him and that he came to take him away

* Hiccup thought about sending his mom a letter a few times but ultimatley never did it

* Valka & Stoick are divorced but after Hiccup went missing they got closer again

* Valka is definitely the type of mom to go to spirycysts for help, like she probably believes that the power of crystals will tell her where her son is

* Stoick used to tell Hiccup he's just like his mom, and only with time Hiccup realized that this wasn't ment as a compliment (yikes)

* In Hiccups head, Valka was definitely the "better parent" (she wasn't, but that's a topic for another time...)

* Toothless has a van that they live in, but when it's warm enough, they sleep outside

* Toothless is afraid to let Hiccup drive (he likes speeding)

* Hiccup & Toothless are not their real names

[frosti-moon]

sometimes I think about how Hiccup was going to leave his entire life behind to run away with Toothless even though they've known each other for a couple of weeks at most (ಥ﹏ಥ)

[hugsandchaos]

Am I the only one who thinks that Merida and Hiccup would probably make a pretty good friend duo?

I think they might get along pretty well. I’d also love to see Runaway Hiccup getting along with Fergus. Merida asks Hiccup if he’s ever argued with his mom like she did in the past (and still does, but not as often), and he hits her with the “I never knew my mother”.

I want Hiccup standing in the snow all like “Oh, this is nice weather” while Merida is in some comically large coat all like “Did the logical side of your brain get frostbite or something?! It’s fucking freezing!”. I want them teaching each other their languages to overcome the barrier.

I want Hiccup looking at the tapestry of Merida and Elinor as a bear, then making a quick sketch of him and Toothless to show Merida. It’s a bit of a misunderstanding, but the feeling is close enough to being mutual. Like “Hey, look, I have a non-human friend too!”

Or Fergus sounding like Stoick making Hiccup randomly pause, but the way he acts is so different. Fergus is a lot nicer to him as a friend. If we follow the events of the first movie instead of Runaway Hiccup or if Hiccup lost his leg in a dragon raid after he ran away, then Fergus genuinely curious about how it happened, but knows that not everyone is okay talking about it like him and doesn’t press. He’ll gladly tell the story of how he lost his own leg, though, if you recall the dinner scene from Brave.

On that account, if they ever tell him how Mor ’Du finally died, Merida and Fergus will practically brag about how Elinor showed an entirely different side and it was the first time they’d seen her that mad protecting Merida. Seriously, she took the term “mama bear” to a literal level and used those claws. You could feel the protective rage through the screen.

Another sub-topic I’d like to bring up is that you can hear one of the clan leaders sarcastically say “Maybe it was carried off by a dragon”. I love that because it hints at the idea that the kingdom doesn’t actually believe in dragons. At least not everyone. So Hiccup’s stuck between proving that they’re real and keeping up the facade.

Also, there are lines in Brave hinting at the kingdom not getting along with Vikings. So imagine if in the early days, Merida handed him a viking hat to try to confirm if he really was one. She still doesn’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but the disgust on his face when he threw the helmet and the anger in his voice when he next spoke was enough to understand.

“I’m not one of them.”

Drunk Hiccup: I just miss my best friend right now. He’s outside, in the forest, and he’s not here! *proceeds to cry his eyes out*

Fergus: I… think you’ve had enough.

Elinor: Fergus.

Fergus, carrying a very confused, semi feral Hiccup: What? We’ve already got four kids, what’s one more?

Merida: Little brother or big brother?

Hiccup: Excuse me?

Merida: Are you my new little brother or big brother?

Hiccup: Wait, wait, wait am I being adopted??? What’s happening??

[honeyed-latte]

On my runaway Hiccup thing, Viggos associates absolutely assume Hiccup is a whore. They both know that and Hic isn't eager to change that thought process.

It makes them forget he's in the room when those idiots tell their big evil plans to Viggo, he's essentially invisible so long as he acts a certain way;

Swoons and sighs and lays about languidly, looking uninterested in anything except the gold Viggos counting.

(In honesty hes more focused on his lovers hands then the gold, but no one cares about THAT distinction)

[wilko222]

[ardenchambres]

Had no idea whether to let Dagur or Hiccup be a damsel in distress, so I made neither of them one

Anyways, chap 6 is titled “In Which Dagur has Better Things to Do than go Fucking Insane” in case you wanted to know

[certifiednut3]

Animation draft for a small AU. Actually it's a pretty common AU(runaway). But this one is a bit different in the fact that that our favorite night fury and his human meet a female along the way. This is still a WIP so the dragons look a bit....strange

[wholoveseggs]

Runaway

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen x TargaryenSister!Reader} As the rebellious younger sister of Daemon and King Viserys. You come with all of their impulses, stubbornness, and recklessness. But that isn't always a good thing, especially when it comes to sneaking out of the Red Keep. Fortunately, Daemon is always there to retrieve you and bring you home.

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, classic Targcest, lots of banter / sexual tension, Daemon being Daemon, drunk sex, hair pulling, fingering && valyrian dirty talk...

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer

@cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke

@deamonloverrrr @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonsleep

"Another!"

You hiccuped as you slammed your empty tankard down onto the table. The bar wench giggled at your antics before turning to the bartender. "A strong brew for the princess!"

The bartender grunted in agreement, already beginning to mix the drinks. You hummed in delight as you looked around the tavern. It was packed with people from all walks of life. Drinking, laughing, and dancing to their heart's content. A few handsome knights were already throwing you flirtatious glances.

It was the same almost every night you came to this tavern. You could only assume it was because of your status. Your looks also helped a bit. Being a Targaryen and a princess was a dangerous combination, but it did come with its perks.

The bartender placed your tankard in front of you, and you wasted no time gulping down the strong ale. It tasted awful, but the effects were well worth the horrid taste. You could feel the alcohol working its way through your system.

Just the way you liked it.

You giggled as a knight leaned into your side. He smelled of sweat and horse shit, but he had a nice smile. You could barely make out the words he was saying to you, but you found yourself nodding along anyway. You didn't know what his intentions were, but you didn't care. All you wanted to do was forget. Forget the pressure, the responsibilities, the expectations. You hated all of it.

Your family was never good at hiding their disappointment in you. The way they always scolded and punished you. How they constantly talked about what a failure you were. It made you want to scream. But this knight was a welcome distraction, the kind to worship the ground you walked on, not judge you for every little thing.

You smiled drunkenly up at him, running your hand along his bicep. The knight's face broke out into a large grin.

Suddenly, the doors to the tavern were kicked open. You groaned, you didn't have to bother looking, knowing exactly who had entered. Sure enough, the knight's expression dropped as your older brother stood there with a furious look on his face.

"Leave," Daemon commanded. His purple eyes narrowed as he glared at the man. "I need to have a word with my sister."

The knight quickly disappeared, leaving you alone with your brother. You rolled your eyes at his behavior. "Must you always scare away my friends?"

Daemon scoffed. "They are hardly friends. More like vultures," he hissed. "I'm here to take you home."

"And I refuse," you replied, already making your way back to the bar. Daemon grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him. You yelped as you crashed into his chest. You were about to protest until he wrapped his arm around your waist.

"I'll drag you home kicking and screaming if I have to," he said, his voice low and his warm breath fanning against your cheek. "And I don't think you want me to do that."

"You wouldn't," you replied, narrowing your eyes at him.

He grinned wickedly. "Are you sure?"

You knew your brother was stubborn and would do whatever it took to get his way. If he really wanted to, he would throw you over his shoulder and carry you out of the tavern. And knowing the reputation he had, no one would bat an eye.

"What would the king say if he knew where you were?" Daemon asked, his nose skimming the side of your face. "Out in the middle of the city. Drinking. Flirting with commoners. Do you really want our brother to know about this?"

You knew how Viserys felt about you. He was protective of his younger siblings, going on and on about what's best for you. He wanted to see you married off to some high lord and have children. But you weren't ready for any of that.

"The king," you mocked, rolling your eyes once more. "Viserys couldn't give two shits about what I do. As long as it doesn't interfere with his duties "

Daemon smirked. "You don't think this looks bad on him?" he whispered into your ear. You felt your knees go weak. "Always running away. Causing trouble and giving our guards the slip. I wonder what punishment you deserve."

You shivered, feeling yourself grow wetter by the second. Daemon was always such a tease, and you absolutely loved it.

"If you won't come willingly," Daemon began. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "I guess I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"That's only if you can catch me,” you giggled as you slipped from his grasp.

Your laughter rang through the tavern as you dashed toward the exit. Daemon followed, a wicked grin plastered on his handsome face. You reached the door and threw it open. Running out into the streets, you were met with the chilly night air.

You didn't look back, knowing that your brother would be hot on your heels. The thrill of him chasing you sent a spark of excitement throughout your body. Your blood rushed through your veins as you ran. Your laughter and his heavy footsteps echoed throughout the city.

You made a sharp turn and hid behind a nearby building. Thinking about how the night would end, hopefully with the both of you naked in bed. The thought made you shudder in anticipation. You wanted nothing more than to be his, but you knew he would never let that happen.

He was so gentle with you, it was infuriating. He even rejected a betrothal between the two of you, never explaining why. But now, it seemed that all of his careful control was slowly slipping away. You just hoped that he would continue to let it fall.

You leaned against the wall and listened as his footsteps came closer and closer. "You can't hide from me, little one," Daemon called out.

He turned the corner and spotted you. His grin widened as he made his way towards you. "Gotcha."

He had you pinned against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours. His breath was hot on your face as he leaned down.

"You should be more careful, what if it wasn't me?"

"Oh? Would you have let someone else catch me?"

His fingers curled around your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "No. I wouldn't let anyone else have you," he growled, his violet eyes darkening.

"Then why do you refuse to marry me? I would be yours and yours alone." You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Because you deserve better."

You rolled your eyes at his response. It was always the same. The same bullshit answer. You were sick and tired of hearing it.

You let out a frustrated sigh, pushing him away from you. "Fuck this," you muttered under your breath, you began to storm away from him.

He was quick to grab you by the waist, pulling you back to him. His chest rumbled against your back as he chuckled. "You can be mad at me, back inside the red keep," he whispered against your ear.

Before you could reply, he lifted you up, and slung you over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" You shouted as you tried to wiggle free.

"Not a chance, sweet sister,"

The guards were used to this by now, the sight of Daemon carrying his sister back into the red keep. They paid no attention to the commotion as the two of you passed. Some were even smirking at the scene, while others just shook their heads in amusement.

You had continued to fight against him as he carried you through the halls. He didn't seem fazed by your actions. Not once did his grip on you falter.

He kicked open the doors of your chambers and shut them with his foot. The loud slam made you flinch. Daemon was never one to be subtle. He walked over to your bed and tossed you onto it.

You immediately reached for him, your hands grabbing at his tunic. He chuckled as he pushed you away. "You're drunk."

"So?" you huffed.

Daemon shook his head. "You need to rest."

"No!" you whined, reaching for him again.

Daemon sighed, and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, "You're acting like a child," he chided.

"I don't care," you replied, kicking your legs in protest.

"Why must you always run off and cause trouble?"

"Why must you always try and stop me?" You spat back, glaring at him.

Daemon frowned, and leaned closer. "Because I worry about you."

You looked away, not wanting him to see the effect his words had on you. He let go of your wrists, and you pulled him close again, so that his lips were barely brushing against yours.

"I'm sorry," you murmured. "I... I just wish to see the world, to experience everything it has to offer," you continued, your voice cracking. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life locked away in the Red Keep."

Daemon's expression softened, his hands moving down to cup your cheeks. "You don't have to live like that," he whispered. "I'll take you anywhere you want, show you anything you desire. As long as you're safe."

"Anything?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, he always knew what you were thinking. "Within reason," he added.

You grinned, and pulled him down for a kiss. It was sweet, and slow. His lips were warm and soft, just the way you imagined they would be. You savored the taste of him, committing it to memory.  You felt him smile against your mouth, and you knew that he had been thinking the same thing. When you pulled away, you were out of breath, your lips plump and red from the kiss.

Daemon brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. "What do you want?"

"Nyke jaelagon ao {I want you}" you replied. "Mērī ao {Only you}"

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. But all he found was the love and adoration you had for him. He kissed you, this time harder and more urgent.

You reached up and began to undo the laces of his tunic, quickly pulling it off of him. You then went to work on his breeches, desperate to see all of him. He broke the kiss, his hands moving to your hips, stilling your movements.

"Paez ilagon, dōna mandia {Slow down, sweet sister}" he purred, his accent thick with lust.

You pouted, and he smirked at your reaction as he slowly pulled at the ribbons on the front of your dress. His fingers trailed along your exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Once your dress was open, he pushed the fabric to the side, exposing your breasts. He lowered his head, taking a nipple between his lips, and gently sucked.

You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. The feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced. You felt like your whole body was on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure.

He moved his mouth to your other breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple, before giving it a soft bite. You yelped in surprise, your hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations causing another moan to escape your lips.

Daemon leaned back, pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling suddenly shy. His hands moved to your waist, squeezing gently, slowly pulling your dress up over your head.

You bit your lip, trying not to squirm under his gaze. He had never seen you completely bare before, and the feeling was almost too much. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, hiding from his stare.

He hummed in amusement, his fingers tracing along the curve of your spine. The feeling of his bare skin against yours made your heart race. You pressed closer, needing to feel him.

"Lyka? {Shy?}" He teased, his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded, feeling the blush spread across your cheeks.

"Issa sȳz hāedar {My good girl}" he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, his fingertips brushing against your warm center. You gasped at the sudden contact, your hips instinctively moving towards his hand. He grinned, finding a spot that made your toes curl.

He began to rub small circles over the sensitive nub. You clung to his shoulders, your eyes locked with his. He watched as your breathing became ragged, and your eyes fluttered shut.

"D-Daemon," you whimpered, your legs trembling.

He smiled, pressing his middle finger against your entrance. You let out a soft cry, your nails digging into his skin. He slowly eased his finger inside of you, watching the way your lips parted.

He began to move his finger, pushing it in and out of you. Your head fell back, and your hips rocked in rhythm with his movements. His name left your lips over and over again, your voice growing louder each time.

"Gaomagon ao jaelagon syt se tolie naejot rȳbagon? {Do you wish for the guards to hear?}" He asked, his lips ghosting across your jaw.

You bit your lip, nodding your head. He chuckled, his hand moving in a slow, steady rhythm, making your entire body tremble. You could feel the tension building inside of you, the pressure rising.

He watched you closely, his eyes filled with hunger before capturing your lips with his own. The kiss was deep, and passionate, making your head spin. He broke the kiss, his fingers curling within you, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips, waves of pleasure crashing over you.

Your body arched, clenching around his fingers. Your eyes closed as you rode out the high. Your chest was heaving, and your cheeks flushed.

Daemon withdrew his hand, bringing his wet finger to his lips. His eyes darkened as he licked it clean, humming in satisfaction.

You grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his mouth in shock. "Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona {Don't do that}," you hissed, embarrassed by his actions.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk, then he pushed you onto the bed. Your back was against the soft furs, and his body pressed against yours. His cock was hard against your stomach, and you could feel his hot breath against your skin.

He leaned down, kissing along your collarbone. He sucked gently, leaving little marks along your skin.

You felt his hand slide under your hips, pulling them upwards, spreading your legs. He settled between them, his cock resting against your entrance, looking down at you. His eyes were filled with love and lust, and he gazed at you with such intensity, it made your heart skip a beat.

You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. He always made you feel so safe, and protected. It was a feeling you never wanted to lose.

"Daemon," you whispered.

"Kessa {Yes}?"

"Sagon gentle lēda nyke {Be gentle with me}"

He smiled, his hand running along the side of your face. "Always," he replied, his voice soft.

You held onto him tightly, your fingers digging into his skin. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, and slowly entered you. Your body tensed, and a soft whimper escaped from your lips.

"I-it's okay," you breathed, trying to reassure him.

Daemon nodded, his hips rolling, easing himself further inside of you. The pain was soon replaced with pleasure, and your muscles relaxed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you.

He moaned, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closed. His hips began to move, setting a slow, gentle rhythm, holding you close.

His lips found yours once more, and he kissed you deeply, his tongue slipping past your parted lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growled, and his pace increased, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

Your eyes met his, his expression full of desire, and something else, something more. He held your gaze, his fingers intertwined with yours, pinning your hands next to your head. You felt yourself getting close, the pressure building within you, then your whole body tensed as you reached your peak.

Your hips rose to meet his, meeting his every movement and your name tumbled from his lips, a broken moan leaving him. His grip tightened, his head falling forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He let out a low groan, his hips bucking, his body shuddering, and you felt him fill you with his seed.

His thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of you, panting heavily. He collapsed next to you and you rolled onto your side, snuggling into his chest, a lazy smile spreading across your face.

You sighed happily, basking in the afterglow, and the warmth of his body. His arm wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you closer, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"Viserys will kill us if he finds out," Daemon murmured, his voice muffled by your hair.

"Let him," you giggled.

He chuckled, and his arm tightened around you, holding you close. "I'm serious," he replied, his tone softening. "He'll have both our heads."

You shrugged, nuzzling his neck. "Then we better marry before he does."

Daemon laughed, his chest rumbling against yours. "I guess I have no choice, do I?"

"No," you replied, looking up at him. "Not really," you teased.

He smiled, and placed a kiss on your nose. "Alright, then," he whispered.

You kissed him deeply, and pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. The thought of being his wife filled you with excitement. You had never loved anyone as much as you loved Daemon. You would never have to seek out adventure, or trouble. You had everything you needed right here.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆!

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 dating two vigilante’s is already a mouthful, so much so, you’re not too shocked when you and jason give dick a little treat during his patrol ~♡

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ JASON TODD & DICK GRAYSON X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader, open relationship [dick grayson], cuckholding, phone sex, facetime, masterbation, some degradation, cumshot, jason is a hoe and dick is a shameless cuck.

[・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ went off the rails with this one ngl, was kicking my feet the whole time too (*ﾉωﾉ) if willing, i’ll make a pt 2 for yall <3

still nothing yet.

dick grayson sat on the edge of the Wayne Industries building, gazing upon Gothem from an eagle’s eye. seemed like the criminals he usually decends upon decided to take it easy tonight, barely making a peep besides the typical bar fights and runaway children rebelling against their parents.

but it didn’t bother him much, after all, his patrol was nearly over with bruce and cass already out ‘n about the streets. dick will finally go home, to you and his stubborn brother jason fuckin’ todd.

none of you had any clue how the things went so off the rails, starting when you suggested to your boyfriend that you wanted to try and open the relationship. dick, while hesitant at first, decided to give it a go. surprisingly, it went pretty smooth. dick went off seeing other people just like you were, yet always coming home to each other just like before.

until, someone decided to take his golden opportunity.

it wasn’t a secret that jason had the hots for you, always taking the chances to talk to you while dick couldn’t grab his attention for shit as the vigilante was too lost in his conversation with you. “dick’s a lucky one alright..” he’d say so shamelessly.

so lucky, jason hops on your ass the moment he got a hint of your open relationship. you didn’t even stop the man and niether did dick, as things quickly escalated between you and the red hood. tonight being no exception.

rinnggg! rinnggg! dick’s phone jingles to you calling to facetime him, he picks up expecting to see your pretty face greeting him. and he did!

“hey prin!—“ “oh..oh fuck!”

there you were, on your back with cum already splattered all over your stomach, you’re whole body rocking up whatever soft surface you laid on from the unseen stranger’s cock pistoning in and out of your soaked cunt.

“sorry big bro, couldn’t wait another—shit!—second for ya..”

jason’s voice rasped into the speaker, drowning out your moans. dick stared, jaw agape and pants tighter then he remembered. despite listening to your hookups, he never actually watched you get your back blown out by another man. a high pitched whine snapped him back into reality, now you’re staring right at the camara with teary eyes and swollen, wet lips.

“nghh..dick..p-pwease come home! need you to..”

another harsh snap of jason’s hips knocked a moan out of you, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your face back towards the camara. towards dick. “need him to what? c’mon [name], sing it for dickie!”

he mocked as dick already shuffled his way into the staircase, frantically fishing his leaking cock out as you clenched around jay’s girth.

“fuckkk..jason you son of a—“ dick hissed, fucking his fist to the sight of your squirming in orgasm. your knees threatening to snap together, your face flushed in embarrassment yet arousal and those syrupy, pathetic eyes staring back at his. a sight straight out of some fucked up porn for a guy with a cucking fetish.

“woah there! look at that dick..i think you’re little boyfriend’s into this, right? you brazen little minx?!”

jason’s breathy laugh of amusement harmonized with your hiccups and sobs as you creamed all over the red hood’s cock, his girth wet and coated in white as he slowed his thrusts down. dick, turned on yet aggravated that another man made you cum, threw his head back against the wall as he reached his own orgasm.

“[name], baby..look at me, please, look at me while i cum..! shit!”

dick let out a broken groan as ropes of white landed on his phone screen and onto the floor, yet he still was hard as a fucking rock. what didn’t help was that when he looked back at the facetime, you were already on all fours, ass up with your leaking pussy ready to be fucked once again.

“you might wanna hurry up, or i’ll fuck him raw again.”

jason chuckled as dick sprinted through the dark sky, already around the corner to get some well deserved payback. see who’s laughing still once you’re stuffed full of your man’s cock with the paramour watching.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[hiccupbutpurple]

I plan to get drunk and write Day 1 of vigcup week since I changed my initial day 1 to day 7

[honeymilkbubbletea]

If Jack "not boyfriend"

Then why wear Jack hoodie???

Hmmmm??? 🤨

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone. 

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night. 

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash. 

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up. 

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods. 

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain. 

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches. 

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.” 

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow. 

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed. 

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall. 

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor. 

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood. 

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression. 

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale. 

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.” 

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years. 

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.” 

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood. 

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten. 

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal. 

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest. 

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin. 

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art. 

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons. 

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling. 

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out. 

You ease at that. 

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.” 

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?” 

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips. 

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding. 

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap. 

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs. 

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?” 

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in. 

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door. 

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside. 

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches. 

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides. 

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs. 

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.” 

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly. 

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.” 

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.” 

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb. 

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver. 

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all. 

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him. 

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth. 

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it. 

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut. 

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger. 

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.” 

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all. 

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off. 

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material. 

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows. 

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head. 

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing. 

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him. 

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man. 

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into. 

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.” 

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display. 

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important. 

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern. 

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet. 

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids. 

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.” 

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh. 

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure. 

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?” 

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek. 

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord. 

That was really all that matted. 

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night. 

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug. 

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward. 

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?” 

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree. 

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes. 

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger. 

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

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[hugsandchaos]

Runaway! Hiccup reunion

So basically some of the dragons Hiccup rescues and helps try to adopt him (and Toothless probably) sometimes, so he’s by now used to being picked up and dropped in a nest. Fishlegs isn’t. So he helps this little dragon when no one’s looking and their mother decides to thank him by inviting him for dinner. Or rather kidnapping him for dinner. Not to eat. While he’s trying to frantically explain he was only helping, he hears a strangely familiar voice go “First time?” And looks over to see Hiccup either without the mask or with it just sitting there.

[honeyed-latte]

In my Runaway AU

Hiccup definitely has Viggo and Toothless's names tattooed on his body.

Viggo, himself, lovingly etched each rune into that soft, freckled skin.

Toothless's name sits under Hiccups collarbone on the left side- Viggo's name sits at the top of his right thigh, just before his hip. He's the only person thats ever been allowed to not only see Hiccups bare leg, but touch it as well.