Wretched Little Angels III
Masterlist
Gif credit: Not Mine.
Warnings:
Non!Con/Dub!Con
Abduction
A/N: This chapter includes Sigurd. Neither gif is mine. Also, if I missed you in tags please just tell me by responding to this!
It was like being a child.
Playing tag and looking for a base to call when things got too risky. Bjorn was your base. This was the one place where you could be safe: on the couch, laying upon his chest and pretending that you were asleep. Of course that didn’t really escape Ubbe who lazily took up a roll of bread and pushed himself off of the dining room table where the brothers played a lazy game of cards. The sway in his step bounced creaky floorboards, alerting you that someone was coming closer.
“What is it?” Hvitserk laughs smoothly. A small pressure against your strands of hair says that Ubbe’s pulling on your strands. You feign a little sleep kissed moan.
“She’s pretending.” Ubbe whispers-- and sweat could have run down your back in fear of what he might do.
“So what if she is? What are you so afraid of?” Ivar reclines back onto his with a solid creak of his chair. Ubbe’s hand relinquishes its tight grip on your hair.
“She’ll try to run.” Ubbe grunts. Then his attention wavers. “Who is staying up tonight?” He pulls away from your side. His large, lingering presence thankfully slips away. Ivar straightens as if to say he will when Sigurd interrupts him.
“I’ll do it.” He shuffles the card with a rippling slap.
Ivar shifts within his chair. “You aren’t going to lose her again?” He picks.
“I’ll be fine.”
You knew that Sigurd and Ivar were a pair you shouldn’t be alone with from that instant forward. At some point, you fell asleep. You weren’t sure if it was before or after the point Sigurd accused Ivar of cheating or the food flinging across the dining room table, but you had. When you awoke, the cabin was thickly dark. Hvitserk had fallen asleep on a smaller couch-- and you kind of wonder how he could sleep with his neck crooked on the leather armrest. Ubbe and Ivar were nowhere to be seen. Besides the large living room and tucked away kitchen, there were other rooms that you had yet to explore.
“Restless?” The blonde boy says. His nappy blonde hair is messy with braids. More than anything, he looks like a fluff ball. He must have caught you peeping up to see if the coast was clear. Sigurd, you thought Hvitserk had called him, seemed to be a wildcard. He certainly didn’t look scary but looks could be very deceiving.
“A little.” You murmur sliding off your place on Bjorn. “Tired?”
He folds his arms one over another, skeptical of the reason you were asking him such a thing. Obviously it was to coerce him to go to bed. He says nothing at first, but as you muster the courage to stand up, his attention falls to the dirty skirt and hoodie. You pull the bottom of your skirt over your ass, following Sigurd’s eyes glazing at the hem of your skirt.
“No.” He answers at last. “Are you?”
Always.
“It’s a little suffocating in here.” You murmur, looking about the dark planks that covered the walls. It was definitely aged as if it had stood here for years. Sigurd’s chair scratches the floor as he stands up. His boots carry him to the door.
“It always is.” He responds just as aptly, pulling it wide apart.
Fresh air wafts into the room smelling as sweet as the fresh sweet bread that Aethelred used to bring you home from the bakery. The forest is lively, the animals brought to life by the change of light to dark and you-- feel freedom creep closer and closer to your fingers.
“You want to go outside.” Sigurd says, pushing open the screen. You feel as if it’s a trap and don’t advance any further. After all… if it is a trap, he would expect you to go for it. Sigurd offers out his hand toward you after popping the lock.
“Do you want to stay with Ubbe?” He suggests.
Fuck if you don’t want to trust him. He looks… trustable. Despite your better judgement, you take his hand. Because anything is better than staying with the hunter-- or the wolf. Sigurd leads you forward into the room before following out of the enclosed space. The car has moved; you’re not sure where.
“What is this place?” You ask.
Sigurd holds a hard look in his eyes. “My father’s cabin.”
There’s no other distinguishing information. You aren’t sure what of good you’ve heard of Ragnar Lothbrok. Only that he was a witty man that evaded Ecbert, Aelle and most irritatingly to your father-- him.
Rounding the back of the cabin and into the loud woods, you find that the chrome of Bjorn’s car glistens just slightly. Less so when your cheek hit the deep indigo of the truck with a forceful slam, billowing pain through your arteries. There’s a harsh shuffling behind you with Sigurd’s hand deep in your hair.
“You made a fool of me.” Sigurd’s long braids and frizzy waves fall over his shoulder as he leans over you. Dread, pure unadulterated anguish fills you when you hear an unraveling of plastic that causes you to thrash-- hard under his hips that cement you against the truck. He wrenches your panties down your sore thighs in one fluid motion
“I was just trying to get away!” You exclaim. The blond doesn’t respond and in the place of words, you feel the lubrication feeding off of the thin, plastic covering burning inside of your well abused walls.
Another Ragnarsson-- you punch out the ache on the truck, scrambling against its paint with your nails clenching tight. His scruffy, itchy blonde facial hair rubs at your neck as his teeth sink into your nape, a hand shifting under your dirty hoodie to grasp at your lacy bra. Smoothly he thrusts forward and not so smoothly, you wail another shout. Your cunt squeezes and squeezes as if trying to push him out of your warm walls.
“It wasn’t on purpose!”
Moans stream from his lips. There was nothing you could do but protest his fingers rolling your nipple between his fingers, or weakly tug at the hand that had slipped in between the junction of your legs to your smooth mound. Sigurd’s thick fingers clumsily massage down your slit, the sear of his erection pumping in to hilt time after time.
“It doesn’t matter.” He huffs over your neck. “You ran.”
He hilts deep, pausing long enough to push your hair away from your face. His lips stroke against beads of rolling tears. “Now,” He withdraws-- pumping straight back in with his static words. “After we're done with you, I might just keep you.”
Gods, no. If you thought the most quiet of the boys was safe-- what would men like… Ubbe be? His thick girth presses deep within your cunt, milking him of his sweet seed with every stroke of his hips. It won’t be long, and yet, he forces an orgasm out of your fingers with his thick rolling digits. He shoves you into the grill, smooth fluid slipping from your clenching cunt by the mere pressure of his body in yours.
It wasn’t you, you think. This was nature. A pure, mechanical response to a curved cock that smoothed over the best of places. His fingers like dark oil to a creaking machine. He mangles out a hard shout, thick ropes of his seed pushing out of the plastic covering that once covered his silken tip.
“Hm, so the condom might have popped.” Sigurd pulls his cock out of your clenching walls that beg him to stay-- dripping pearly seed from your lips. “That isn’t the only thing that popped. Did you cum on Bjorn’s car?” He’s laughing, hand harsh on the middle of your back.
Another Ragnarsson’s seed is slipping down your thighs. Your father… what would he have said? Done? You feel shamefully thick with guilt. Father always said that these men were from the devil-- and you had taken their seed twice by the spasms of your sweet cunt.
Their hips, the harshness of their fingers… the pleasure and pain that came with this horror. It was sweetly made. That horrified you and despite Sigurd’s planning for a harsh response, he hadn’t expected you to fight him again. You snap the hold on his back with all the force you could muster, jabbing him in the temple with your elbow so harshly he staggers off to the side for just moments, tucking away his cock with a ‘fuck!’ that rumbles through the forest.
When he recovers, its all curses. You slip under the car, crawling underneath to reemerge on the other side. Sigurd paces one way-- then another, trying to locate which line of bushes you slipped into. Somewhere along the line, your panties were abandoned. I lost her! Against a strong oak you hear the boots against soaked leaves. Your toes curl in their thin socks against muddy forest floor.
“I know. I’ll find her.”
A deep rumble. The hunter. Ubbe.
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