a train whose eyes would linger far too long on you whenever he’d be face to face with the boys, brushing past you with deliberate tension that disguised itself as hostile, though you could feel his eyes on you as well as the soft brush of his hand on your hips before he’d whoosh away in a flash.
a train who corners you when caught off guard, his death threats woven with an underlying message that he actually wants to fuck your brains out if it meant that his cock would conquer away the communism engraved deep inside you by Butcher.
a train who grabs you while you were attempting to commit treason on Vought, throwing you unceremoniously on his bed and flicking your clit in a speed incomparable to that of a human but meager enough to not rip your cunt in half.
a train who changes his speed depending on what sounds he wants to wring out of your pretty lips, fastening his pace so you nearly reach your climax only to pull out, leaving your pussy slick and fluttering desperately onto nothing while he flashes a mean smile.
a train whose eyes narrow dangerously when the deep stands too close to you, holding onto his last ounce of restraint not to run through the bastard whenever his lewd eyes rake over your body.
Hello, darling! I just read your Klaus one-shot and now I'd love to read some Kolena smut from you, whenever you get the time to write something. So I guess you could consider this a request. 👀❤️🔥
After School Special (4x10)
Words: 3854
Read on AO3
Summary: After Rebekah compels Elena to have a heart-to-heart with Stefan about her dynamic with both brothers, she can’t help but break Stefan’s heart with the unwanted admission she’d slept with Damon because she was in love. Followed by an argument between the two while they were trapped with a werewolf, Elena is left alone in the empty hallways, lost and guilty. That is until Kol appears, offering her a better option.
For half a second, she thought he’d turn around and forgive her.
But all that remained was Stefan’s silhouette, slowly detaching itself from the heated argument and eventually from the hallways completely.
She sighed.
The sun had cast a glowy light on everyone’s faces today, beaming through the school windows with the audacity to make the worst of the monsters look domestic and utterly sophisticated.
She hated Rebekah. It was either the blonde Original she loathed so deeply or perhaps the truth that spilled out the Gilbert’s lips so easily under the spell of compulsion.
Regardless, Elena swore the truth could’ve fallen like sand, trivial and long forgotten if she’d communicated with Stefan properly. She crossed her heart and hoped to die just to prove her betrayal with his brother wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Rebekah made it out to be.
Yet guilt still clenched her heart in a tight hug, rather punishing than comforting.
“Pity about your relationship.” An imposing, British accent slid into the air. She turned around, heart thrumming at the sight of another Original, both with barely contained rage and apprehension.
“Kol.” She breathed out, attempting to regain her composure. “Aren’t you supposed to be off to wherever you’re going?”
“You mean off to a shortcut for hell on earth like you lot? I’ll pass.” He stepped closer, playing with the very stake meant for his wench of a sister, his calloused fingers tracing the white streaks. “You know, this could all be hindered. If I just killed you now, no boyfriend of yours would be trying so desperately to reach the cure.”
His eyes snapped back to her face, the one ugly emotion that is guilt etched on every crease of hers, disregarding the momentary threat he’d thrown that was ought to stir some fear.
“But you don’t want it, do you?”
“I didn’t ask for any of this.” She admitted, throwing her hands in defeat, unable to keep quiet anymore. “All I am to Stefan is a broken toy. Everyone says it’s the sirebond stirring up feelings for Damon, but…” She gulps, shaking her head. “I love him.”
“Love.” The word ricocheted back to her, averting her gaze to the Mikaelson. “Such a vague word. Believe me, I’ve lived a thousand years without ever learning the concrete definition of it.”
“There is no concrete definition.” The Gilbert corrected boldly, ignoring his eyebrows raised in interest. “When I’m with Damon… I feel free. I don’t feel like a project. Like something that needs to be fixed.” She opened her mouth again, then closed it, a croak of uncertainty stuck in her throat.
No, don’t chicken out in front of an Original now, Elena. Speak your mind.
So she continued. “Love is something you experience, not a concept you learn from the dictionary alone. Your family wouldn’t get that.”
When her bravery went unchallenged, confirmed by the silent stare received from Kol instead an unpredictable, clean slate into her chest, she turned to walk away.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have mischaracterized the wiliest brother.
The doppelgänger was met with nothing other than a hard chest, the sight of a broad frame evoking a gasp from her. Kol’s eyes narrowed like fine lines, the proximity between them taking away all the air. “Nik’s insistence not to hurt you means nothing to me anymore, so I highly recommend you don’t test me.”
The threat hung in the air and for the first time, maybe, Elena had finally grasped the gravity of the situation. There she stood, alone with an Original who’d hated her from the beginning, more rebellious than ever now.
If the sired girl had learned anything by now, it was to steer clear of one particular Original when he threatened her; Klaus. Mainly because she knew he’d mean every word, every promise of torment, every jeopardy he’d cause.
What she didn’t consider was his younger brother, twice as psychotic, half as merciful.
“You, my dove, are the one springing back and forth from good brother to bad brother, and you dare to make claims that I’m incapable of love?” He inched closer infinitesimally, his warm breath fanning over her cheeks.
“It’s hard to believe otherwise.”
“And what do you know of love, dove? You reek of desperation and Damon’s dirty, womanizing dick. Surely, that can’t be the example you’re setting.”
Her breath hitched violently. Profanity had never come so casually out of a Mikaelson’s mouth for their presence alone had always been menacing enough to make someone clam up. It felt like an unforgivable sin, the irony not lost on her. Despite such, she protested for her sire’s sake only. “Damon might have had a past,” she breathed heavily, all defenses up. “but he is not a womanizer. And he does it for me.”
“Tell me,” Kol said. “Has he made you come yet?”
Elena’s lips sealed, her eyes widening with a mien akin to shame, or perhaps quandary. “Excuse me?”
“I’m trying to figure out if he really does love you.”
“You are so disgusting.” The words are spat with venom, their shoulder brushing with deliberate hostility as she pushed past, but he caught her wrist just in time.
“Not so fast.” He pulled her back, flush against his chest before she bounced off again. “I asked you a question. And I, again, suggest you don’t test me.”
Candor didn’t find her easily, not around Kol. But the way he said it, the way the question struck a cord inside her, compelling her brain to return to the night she and Damon had sex for the first time, her anger diminished, now replaced with a pensive expression.
No. No, he hadn’t managed it. Not because he couldn’t, she pondered, but because he was too busy chasing his own high after he’d succeeded in stealing his brother’s girlfriend.
And the thought that she was yet again another project, an object of lust or a conquest made her stomach churn disgustingly.
“Tick tock, darling.” He mocked, tilting his head.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer. She could physically feel her pulse banging with its fists against the skin.
“Liar,” he replied, the whisper woven with tenderness and an undertone too mocking to be sympathy. “Plenty of other men hoping to please you the way you wish, yet this sirebond makes you defend the one who can’t.”
“Plenty of other men?” She scoffed, a sound full with ridicule. “I’ve hurt the two enough, getting back with Stefan just so he can please me is just another Mikaelson move. Forgive me for having that last shred of dignity.”
“So make them hurt for not being able to gratify you. And for the record,” He smirked, a devilish act. “I was talking about me, darling.”
It threw her off. “What?”
Kol didn’t like to admit it, but he’d always wondered what it felt like to be loved by someone as human as, well, a human. Even if the female Gilbert wasn’t such now, she still had that touch to her, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed her dignity was being stripped bare by someone as bastardizing as Damon Salvatore.
“Speaking under oath now, love, this isn’t me deceiving you to take what I want like Damon does.” His smile softened at the edges, faltering slightly when he saw the battle playing out in her brown pools. “I can help you break it. The sirebond. I can stop them from shoving the cure down your throat, spare you and your loved ones from the sacrifices everyone would be willing to make merely for you to be human again.”
“I-I can’t just…” She shook her head, detaching herself from Kol. “Maybe I don’t want to break the connection.”
“And that’s another problem I’m ready to dismantle.” Overlooking her reluctance, he mirrored her movement, for every step back of hers he stepped forward. “One chance. Only chance. And no other chances to backtrack.” He reached carefully for her face, the brush of his knuckles against her cheek a blasphemous act she was sure with bone-certainty he’d be damned for. “Do you want them to sacrifice your brother’s humanity if it means getting yours back?”
Her eyes track his every movement, every motion, every breath to detect any lies or deception to no avail. “The damage has already been done.”
“And it can be stopped.” He jabbed back. “All you have to do is say the word.”
“I can make Stefan and Damon stop on my own.” She shot back in an obvious attempt to prove independence.
Only her self-preservation skills did he doubt, never her independence. For all he knew, the girl had no sense of a single survival instinct if it slapped her right across the face. Though one of the few selfless yet stubborn things admirable about her, he couldn’t find it in himself to respect her suicide mission.
“And my darling brother, Klaus? Can you stop him without my help?”
Bingo, right on the nail. He’d gotten her, seeing as to how a brain-racking crease appeared on her forehead, her hands fidgeting each other. “I can’t trust you, Kol. I’m sorry.”
Now.
Now was his time to prove himself.
With a slow, wary motion, his arm stretched towards her, handing the white oak stake. The very weapon capable of putting him down— permanently so.
Her eyes shifted to the weapon, all opportunities playing out in her mind, then back to his dark irises. The usually disingenuous ones, now putting full, irrevocable trust in her, in this moment. Her trembling hand lifted, believing for a fleeting second he might plunge it into her heart.
But he didn’t.
All she felt was the rough wood she had wrapped her hand around, feeling heavy and surreal.
Before the words of gratitude left her mouth, he’d cut her off straight away, his lips stealing hers.
Gently. Gradually. Not the cruelty everybody was used to.
She caught it like a sudden intake of breath, all remaining air leaving her lungs. To both their surprises, she didn’t push away, she didn’t resist— she simply let it happen, her reciprocation so small on the human eye, yet significantly large for Kol. He only pulled away to grasp for the little oxygen that was left scattered somewhere amidst the plight.
“Kol—“
He didn’t let her finish. Reality snapped back to a dark classroom in an instant, the wood dropping to the floor with a neglected thud, and all the Gilbert girl could feel was another type of wood pressing against her most intimate area.
The sight of her legs wrapped around Kol’s hips was so obscene it shot a massive surge of electrical current forces into her. Along with that, she felt her heartbeat in two, very different parts of the body.
“Look at me, darling.” He insisted with a shit-eating grin, the sun casting a mean flash on the side of his face as if he weren’t the fucking devil himself. “My, my, I should have given in to the doppelgänger allure way earlier.”
His crotch snapped against hers.
A short gasp. A reaction satiable enough for the older vampire’s grin to broaden lazily.
She protested with her words, her mind weak and long yielded. “I c-can’t, Kol, I’m with Damon!”
“You’re smarter than this, dove. He only regards you as a conquest, something that can be as fucked up as him one day.” He narrowed his eyes dangerously, his hands gripping the flesh of her thighs. “Tearing brothers apart may be a Petrova trait, but it can be easily broken.” His lips lightly brush against her ear, his following words absolute and final. “If you choose a better man to take care of you.”
He dived in for her neck, leaving sloppy, wet-trails behind and savoring the desperation in her fingernails that bit deeply into his back.
“This isn’t going to break the sirebond…” The words left her mouth breathily, still holding onto her last shred of love for the older Salvatore.
He pulled back, his face half confident and half perpetually annoyed. He cocked his head. “No?” Playing with the hem of her top, his big hand slid up until it reached just millimeters from her breast.
She inhaled deeply, tilting her head upwards to meet his gaze with equal challenge. “Try me.”
“Well that sounds like an invitation.” His grin returned before he tore the fabric from inside with arrogant swiftness, her crimson top ripped right in the middle.
Her reaction could be described as both offended and concerned by his eagerness, jaw dropped open. He could’ve sworn it was wide enough to stuff his dick inside.
His palm wrapped around her jaw to move it out of his way as he burrowed his head deep inside her neck, skin sucking and barrier-fracturing.
Elena remembered what Damon had told her once; blood sharing was personal. The first time she was offered the intimacy of it she genuinely believed it could be counted as a body, reminiscent of the time her lips ground against Damon’s bloody hand back when she couldn’t feed properly.
Someone ten times as experienced and old as Damon Salvatore certainly knew that. Right? Right. Hold on. “Are you drinking my blood?” She asked suddenly, uneasy about his following response.
“Problem, love?”
“Yes. Big problem.” A scoff rang in his ear as she shook her head in disbelief. “Damon told me it’s personal. Incredibly personal.”
At the sound of that motherfucker’s name, he rolled his eyes, visibly irritated. “My god, leniency be allowed for the fact I haven’t stripped all the memories of him out of your pretty head.”
“Do not.”
“No need to worry, darling.” He smiled, close-mouthed, dimpled and absolutely mocking. “Where’s the fun in that when I can gradually hear his name dissolve into trivia and replaced by a lovely ‘Kol’, all whiny and mewling?”
A deep crimson crept into her face, tingly and treacherous. He reveled in the look-of-surrender that hardened his groin in a matter of seconds, compelling his hands to roam over her curves as if to test they were real.
They were, to nobody’s surprise, awfully real.
Palms halted on her back, his thumb tugging at the edge of her bra and snapping the elastic band. It thwacked against her skin. His hungry eyes averted from her perky tits back to the Gilbert’s dilemmic eyes. “May I?”
The fear that speaking her cunt’s desire aloud might make it come true lingered in her mind. She didn’t want to fuck Kol. She didn’t want to be stuffed by his long, veiny cock whilst her muscles betrayed her by fluttering around his girth and she most definitely did not just imagine all of that. She merely held his gaze, scared her moistness would give away her answer.
With a soft click, he unclasped her bra, pulling it down with cruel slowness. She watched her own breasts spill out, the hard nipples that had been impatiently waiting to be sucked ever since his boyish grin surfaced to the top.
Marvelous was a word not strong enough to describe his lit up face, reclaiming that infuriating smirk of his. “Sweet Mother of Betsy.” He whispered mostly to himself, tenderly engulfing one.
Her skin pebbled in a breath, the cold of his hands warring against her heated body as did rationality and one of the seven deadly sins in her head; lust. Just as the former conquered the latter, he just had to bring her tit to his mouth to slurp it like last supper, earning himself a small whimper.
Elena wished God would punish the Original for being so disgustingly good at suckling.
He watched her face from beneath, enjoying the noise, smiling against her flesh. “Giving in so soon already? Weak.”
At that, she stubbornly bit her lips until they nearly bled, opting to not give him the satisfaction of wringing out any more noise. His mouth left her nipple with a plop, streaking up to her jaw, right beside her ear. “Suppress it all you want, darling. I can wrench out any sound I please.”
A good two minutes of one sided making out passed before he realised how hell-bent Miss Gilbert was on making him suffer. Her teeth gritted so hard they could break at any moment, whimpers bottled inside her, breathing controlled as much as was possible.
He deadpanned, pulling back.
“Persistent.” Noted with no affection, he decided he was rather tired of this tedium and the new century’s moral obligations. Back in his day, he fucked. Dirty.
Another sound of fabric tearing screamed again, this time her denim jeans split open like a yawning hymn, and instead of forcing a finger inside, he teased her with feather light touch.
That was, as Kol had always believed, the dirtiest act committed during sex, his fingers running through her slick folds without pushing past the ring muscle yet. A snort escaped him with pure mockery at the jarring state.
“Dripping wet? I haven’t even properly touched you yet.” A near moan emerged from her mouth and she could physically feel every drop leaving her hole like rain droplets. “One more sound like that, darling.” Followed by his cock springing free, her eyes grew pathetically bigger as did his length. The emptiness made her hole clench, desperate for something. Anything.
“No.” Still, she protested, her voice gravel and on edge.
He smiled. “That wasn’t a question, dear.”
Before she knew it, her hands found steadiness on his shoulders, chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon all because he continued teasing her rim. The room was filled with squelching sounds as he would push only his head and pull back when she was starting to enjoy it. “Sorry, love. You’re gonna have to beg like your cunt does. Isn’t she such an adorable slut?” Elena’s anger grew, a groan escaping when he dared to push an inch deeper than usual. “Beg.”
“Fuck you!” She managed out, drawing frantic lines on his chest. In an instant, she flew against the opposite wall and before she could be handed any mercy, two large hands scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Her back met the teacher’s desk with brutality, his frame climbing over her.
When the dizziness subsided, her fluttered eyes opened entirely, watching Kol hover above her. He had held her wrists firmly against the table, nudging her knees. “Open, sweetie.”
She felt the veins first. Pushing against her rim and, finally, plunging deep inside until his balls and her skin touched. The act was slow in such a cruel precision only he could embody. Before profanity shot back at him, he made the first friction, earning himself a girlish gasp.
Slow thrusts evolved into hip snapping, the sound of skin slapping so erotic Elena could feel her climax building like guilty pleasure. She was still trying. Trying with strenuous efforts, though futile, to keep quiet. But the more quiet she kept, the harder it became to do so. “God, Kol!” Her brows knitted in ecstasy.
“Taking the Lord’s name in vain? Naughty girl. You ought to be punished for such blasphemy.” He fastened his pace, feeling her hands struggle to overpower his. Cute.
Eventually, when she stopped fighting knowing she was doomed to fail anyway, she resorted to imploring. Sweet pleas seeping out of her. “Kol, I… you need to slow… slow down!”
Kol pretended not to hear her, leaning down with a faux sympathetic ‘hm?’. When her lips reopened without the capability to bring out any more words, he slowed down, his cock still inside her, twitching and ready to launch at any given moment. “Repeat that, baby.”
Stupidly enough, the brunette girl mistook said act as generosity. She opened her mouth to repeat, as commanded, only for him to fasten the pace again before she could speak. He loved the way her sad eyes widened at that.
More sounds she couldn’t control.
Her toes curled against nothing but her shoes, feeling his rough hands continue roaming and pinning her body down, swallowing her cries of moans like they were treats he worked hard for.
She’d be lying if she claimed he weren’t better than Damon. It was unfair to compare them, she thought, as Kol had lived for longer, thus collecting more experience. But her moans ripped free again when he held her hips in place this time, renewing his energy with animalistic pounding.
She couldn’t take it anymore. Her orgasm kept building up and she hated that he could anticipate her arrival, therefore stopping just before with the meanest smile. It had happened twice now. Two. Fucking. Times. And he finally leaned down, his British accent so soft her rage grew at the contradiction. “Third time’s the charm.”
Finally, the ebullition of anger and built-up yet unfinished orgasms hit, the sudden shift gifting her temporary power over him. His back hit the desk, followed by another thud of the school’s hole-punch that hit the ground, and she was sitting above him now, cowgirl style.
His laugh echoed through the room, surprised and absolutely turned on. “Oh, this is fascinating—“ She left his sentence unexecuted by a hard jump on his length, her cunt swallowing it full. He grunted, strained and shook, veins nearly popping out of his forehead.
She propped herself with her hands on his chest, caramel strands falling to his face as they both watched his cock disappear every new second. She humped, rough, unrelenting and absolutely perverted, large hands placed on her hips.
Her ass cheeks jiggled with every friction, every bounce and jerk. She was chasing her own high now. “Just like that, baby. Let yourself go…” The Original dragged his words into a breathy groan, head rolling back against the edge of the table, savouring this dominant side of hers. He liked to be challenged, more so by the town’s innocent girl and Christ— she had spunk.
A furious, guttural grumble erupted from the Gilbert, feeling his attempts at holding back from finishing himself. She didn’t mind, because this wasn’t about him. It was about her.
His cock dripped wet from her juice, and with a final, brutal jump, she finally reached her destination, as did he, and squirted all over his clothes, from his jeans to his shirt. Meanwhile, his balls emptied out into her womb, filling her entire belly with a sickening amount it could’ve bypassed nature’s law of vampire’s incapability to procreate. Images of their future children flashed in front of Kol’s eyes suddenly, unwilling but terrifyingly irresistible. When holding herself became difficult, she collapsed onto him, thighs trembling from constant overstimulation.
He brushed back her sweaty hair strands from her damp forehead into her roots, pressing a kiss on her head. “There, there, my dominatrix. Relax into my embrace.”
“Damon’s gonna be angry…” She tilted her head upwards until their eyes met. “I can’t trust myself not to tell him.”
He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look only at him. His pupils dilated alongside hers and again, she found herself in another hypnosis by another Original, though this time the following words were—
Okay so I just finished watching the movie ‘Obsession’ since it’s gaining popularity right now and looking back at the TikToks of men SWEARING that Bear was not the villain genuinely pisses me off right now. Sure, he killed himself at the end to stop the chaos he created, but I HIGHLY doubt he did that for Nikki mainly because he knew she’d be in so much more anguish after she snapped back?? All of her friends dead because her guy best friend wanted her to love him. The scene where she was speaking through her subconscious while the entity was asleep said a lot about how selfish Bear really was. She begs him to free her while being in god knows what kind of agony and the only thing he replies with is “How bad is it to be with me.” IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU. Genuinely the creepiest thing about this is her independence and liveliness being stripped away and guys finding a reason to criticise her. Them laughing at the SA scene doesn’t surprise me tbh.
Oooo if it’s okay (sorry for the rambling!!) can I please request a Kol x fem!reader where she’s Elena and Jeremy’s older sister who was previously lived at her collage campus but moved back home after their parents died. She is very sweet, soft, and kind hearted so her siblings and Damon and Stefan try to keep her away from all their violent supernatural plans. Like she wasn’t supposed to be home during their plan to kill Kol but she came home early and stops them from killing Kol, and he grabs her and speeds out of the Gilbert house before anyone can stop him. He’d be confused why she saved his life and is so kind to him, and he’d be drawn to her innocence and really wants to keep her with him, he’d be all flirty yet softly dominant and intimidating it’d be all beauty and the beast-like and she wouldn’t want to leave when her siblings and the Salvatore brothers find her😍
Divine Intervention
Words: 3211
Summary: After returning to Mystic Falls following the death of your parents, you’ve spent years unknowingly living amongst the supernatural secrets carefully hidden from you by Elena, Jeremy and their friends. But when you come home early and interrupt their plan to kill Kol Mikaelson, everything changes.
Tags: (no smut) holding hands, carrying, straddling, crying, angst, soft dominance, intimate touching, Stockholm syndrome (fun fact, it’s not an official mental health diagnosis)
A/N: despite writing in second person singular, I still gave the character a name (Aria) because I dislike writing Y/N, I hope it’s no problem! (also it’s a bit rushed sorry)
Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader
You didn’t unpack grief the way you did your suitcase a few years ago when news were evinced your parents had died.
A tragic death, too.
It had been approximately three years since your residence in Mystic Falls, hugging your old friends goodbye at your college campus. Friends you had just recently made in a new city, only to bid farewell a few months later to return to the idyllic Southern facade of a town — Mystic Falls.
And there you had resided, taking care of the last two close family members of yours.
Despite the fact you’d been living there since childhood and, well, three years now, you weren’t aware of the creatures that roamed the town restlessly while you were asleep, or better yet, wide awake, going on about your casual day.
Therefore, it was safe to say Damon and Stefan had done a great job at concealing such dark secrets as Elena had begged them to, whether it was through compulsion or relentless insistence that you stay somewhere else while they walked into another supernatural errand.
But not anymore.
Because tonight was the night Elena and Jeremy could finally put an end to their rather vexing obstacle that’d been hindering everyone from the cure for vampirism.
Kol.
When you opened the front door, you expected nothing less than the quiet home you’d grown up in and the hooting of owls that usually signaled the nightfall.
Quiet, hushed, almost whispering secrets that weren’t meant for your ears.
Instead— pandemonium.
Your brother, the boy who used to sneak in smoke sessions in a fit of teen angst, grabbing hold of a sharp, wooden weapon.
And Elena, the usually compassionate, young girl, enabling Jeremy to do so while holding down a guy who looked pretty young.
He was struggling. Despite his simmering anger beneath, you saw the spark of fear that flashed in his eyes when the youngest Gilbert raised the weapon and—
Push.
All three were too absorbed in the quarrel to see you advancing on Jeremy, his back hitting the counter with a sudden grunt, the wooden stake falling to the ground with a sharp thud.
“Aria, no!” Elena roared, her voice raw and nerve-wrecking before a large hand engulfed that mouth of hers.
Kol’s hand found its way to Elena’s nape, twisting her head in a breath until her body dropped to the floor like the ends of a burnt cigarette.
He should’ve killed them, perhaps a generosity— no, he should have tied them up, performed medieval executions, tortured the two until they grasped at the last moment of pleasure amidst all the agony before death swallowed them whole, only for Kol to feed them back to life and do it all over again.
But he didn’t. Not when he saw their sister.
Jeremy had pushed you off in a fit of pique and desperation to continue their murder attempt, only to see nothing remaining of both the first and the second obstacle.
Before you could sit up, Kol blurs you both, trees, lamplights and houses streaking past in a flash. The world snapped back when he’d thrown you unceremoniously onto his bed, king sized with a rosewood canopy hanging over it, a Persian rug on the floor adorning its ancient living.
You exhaled, long and caught in your lungs full with disorientation and something else that hinted fear.
“What just—“ You looked up at the same man standing before you, his smile tender but not quite reaching his eyes, frame dominating yours as he towered over you.
He stepped closer to the bed, grabbing your ankles when you tried to scramble away. “No, no, darling, stay here.” He mused.
He stayed there, positioned between your legs and watched the girl underneath him, the spitting image of Elena.
Rage like nothing before built up again until he looked into your eyes again, really looked, and saw the softness that lay beneath the terror.
Perhaps you were nothing like Elena.
Your brown hair, a little lighter than your sister’s, was sprawled all over his mattress, almond irises staring back as if everything else became trivial now.
Your brows knit together, hands trembling violently, and you swallowed a thick chunk as his gaze draped over your lightly-freckled nose.
His grin didn’t waver, only grew. “Well, hello there.”
Like scuff against your windpipe, you whispered. “Where am I?”
“In my junction, sweetheart. Where brave and stupid girls come and go,” he traced your jaw, the silence electrifying. “and don’t live long enough to tell the tale.”
His hands reached for the spasms that had reached yours, interlocking them on each side of your face against the mattress and leaning down until your breaths mingled. “You saved me.”
Barely perceptible, you nodded. “I-I didn’t know what they were doing. I thought you needed my help.”
“You trust people too easily.”
“You’re not bad.”
“Darling, I am. I’m also quite surprised that there’s one person in the family without virtue signaling traits.” He sucked in a dramatic, pausing breath and continued. “See, I was initially planning on gouging their eyes out; alive.”
You flinched. He liked it.
“But then you saved me,” he dragged his finger up your arm, reaching your neck and pressing lightly on the pulse. “And how could I resist such a delicious, beautiful angel?”
Then, the question that hung between you finally fell from your lips, reluctant and stomach churning with agitation. “What are you?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He flashed a mean smirk, taunting and soft simultaneously. “I assume neither your friends nor siblings have told you. Perhaps unfairly — knowledge is power.”
You waited, chin quaking with threatening tears.
“I’m a vampire, love.” With his thumb, he caught a tear before it fell all the way, cradling the back of your head with his large hand. “And so is your sister.”
“W-what?”
“And that nuisance of a bastard, Damon with his brooding brother, Stefan. And the bimbo doll, Coraline, was it?”
“Caroline…” You tilted your head with dumbfoundedness, not looking to correct him but to confirm you were talking about the same blonde girl with whom you used to play tea parties as children. “Forbes?”
“Just about right.”
“No— no, it can’t be. You’re lying. I watched them grow up!”
You found herself clamming up again, not because you’d been interjected with a verbal explanation, but because you saw the veins appearing underneath the man’s eyes, the whites surrounding his pupils now a hot color of red.
Eyes widened like a scared kitten’s when his elongated fangs shimmered cruelly, meant to coax you into surrender.
His impish smile was all white and sharp teeth.
You should have scrambled away, every instinct buried deep within flesh and bone screamed at you to run.
A predator stood before you.
Not metaphorically, not figuratively.
A genuine monster, pulled straight from the sort of stories mothers tell children around campfires to keep them from wandering too far into the woods.
Yet your body remained rooted where it was.
Terrified. Absolutely terrified. But rooted all the same.
Your gaze remained fixed on the veins spiderwebbing beneath his eyes, on the unnatural red staining the whites, on the elongated fangs that protruded past lips far too beautiful for something so dangerous.
The realization settled inside your stomach like a stone.
You finally understood.
The impossible, the absurd, hell, the thing that should not exist.
And yet it was standing right in front of you, towering over you as your lungs struggled to draw in enough air.
The canopy above blurred slightly as tears gathered along your lash line, your gaze darting from his eyes to the fangs protruding from his mouth.
He looked pleased, and it wasn’t because you were afraid, but because he’d proven his point.
The realization only made your stomach twist harder.
You pushed yourself backward on instinct, palms pressing against the silk sheets until your shoulders met the carved headboard.
There was nowhere else to go.
Kol noticed. Of course he did.
The smile lingering on his mouth softened by a fraction. “Now then,” he mused, tilting his head. “Do you still think I’m lying?”
You swallowed hard. “No.” The word emerged small and sheepishly honest.
His grin widened. “Good.”
Your gaze dropped to his strong, dangerous hands. The same ones that had snapped Elena’s neck without a second thought.
Your pulse fluttered wildly, realization dawning on you. “You killed people.” The accusation slipped out before you could stop it.
Silence.
When you looked up again, the amusement had vanished from his face.
“I’ve killed many people.” The answer came easily, far too easily.
You should hate him. You should. Yet all you could think about was Jeremy raising that stake with active aid of Elena. About the fear you’d seen flash across Kol’s face for a split second before you’d shoved your brother away.
The memory made your chest ache. “You were going to die.”
His brows lifted suddenly. Of all the responses he could have expected, that clearly wasn’t one of them. “What?”
Back pressed firmly against the headboard, you gathered enough courage to meet his gaze. “You were trapped.” You hated the way your voice shook, but proceeded nonetheless. “They were holding you down.”
A crease appeared between his brows.
You continued before you could lose your nerve. “I’m not saying you’re a good person. I don’t know you.”
His eyes darkened with interest.
“But…” You glanced away for a moment. “I didn’t think it was right.”
The room fell quiet.
Only the crackling fire downstairs and the distant rustling of branches outside disturbed the silence.
Kol stared. You could feel it.
Feel those ancient eyes searching your face for something. Perhaps a lie, stupidity or even a hidden motive, but to no avail.
Instead, all he found was a frightened girl trying very hard not to cry.
Your thrumming pulse only intensified his hunger, but he found himself rather softened by your words rather than famished.
He couldn’t help it. He loved divine interventions, always had a knack for angels, but you had that touch of human to you no angel could compare to.
As the last resort to repel you through fear-mongering, he stepped closer and loomed over you like a sleep paralysis incarnate.
When your small hands reached to rest themselves on his chest, his stomach did a humiliating flip; god, you were beautifully innocent.
“I won’t hurt you, darling.” His whisper blew softly into your parted lips. You inhaled it like a promise. “Though hurting mortals has become rather common now.”
“But it shouldn’t be.” Your voice carried a heavy tone of pity, an emotion he’d normally abhor. “Thank you.” You whispered back, quiet and with genuine gratitude.
“I do believe you deserve to be filled in on this town’s deepest secrets.” He finally stood up, letting the oxygen that had thinned out in the proximity now return. You sighed with relief, closing your eyes for a moment before sitting up yourself.
Your tears couldn’t help but fall silently as he told you everything he knew from start to finish, guilt gnawing at your very core like maggots eating the flesh of a dead animal until only bones remain. You genuinely believed you were doing a good job protecting your younger siblings, only to be slapped in the face with something as cruel as reality.
You held your knees against your chest, fidgeting with one of his antiques in one hand as he familiarized you with the environment you yourself didn’t know you were amidst.
“Careful with that.”
Your hands instantly withdrew. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t say put it down.” His voice softened. “I merely said be careful.” After a moment, he continued. “It’s time you earn back the chunks of your memories they erased. Are you ready?”
You opened your mouth, letting out a shuddering breath, and closed it again. “I’m scared.”
“Knowledge is power, love. Surely you don’t want to stay oblivious for eternity, do you?” He scooted closer, his cold hand ascending to the nape of your neck, prickling your soft skin.
You sucked in a deep breath.
You suddenly found yourself sinking into a reverent hypnosis, your mind both numb and hyper-focused all at once, your irises widening alongside his.
“You now remember every memory your sister, Stefan, Damon or Caroline have compelled away.” He insisted, his tone leaving no place for defiance.
You blinked both in a placid and leisure manner, and snapped back to reality in a heartbeat.
Another tear fell from your eye as one particular memory returned like the last kid revealing itself at the end of hide and seek.
You inhaled, trying to pry the words out of your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Damon.” The name came out brokenly, raw against your throat. “He tried to kill me and— and Elena. She compelled me to forget!”
Your shoulders shook. Another memory surfaced.
Then another. Then another.
Every compulsion. Every lie. Every omission.
All of it crashed into you like waves determined to drag you beneath the surface. You curled inward, small and overwhelmingly fragile.
The antique clutched in your hands trembled violently. Before you could realize what was happening, another hand enclosed yours.
Large. Cold. Steady
The shaking stopped.
“Easy.” His voice cut through the storm inside your head as his thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“They lied to me.” The words broke apart as they left your mouth. “Or maybe they wanted to protect me?”
Kol scoffed, a sharp sound, bitter and immediate. “Protection.” The word dripped with contempt. “Such a fascinating excuse people use when they wish to make choices for somebody else.”
Your eyes burned. “They thought they were helping.”
“Perhaps.” His hand slid upward, fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
The gesture felt oddly intimate.
Terrifyingly tender.
“But protection should not come at the expense of your choice.” His gaze softened a sliver, almost making it seem like you deluded it. “You deserved the truth.”
Something inside your chest cracked.
Not painfully, but relievingly, like a wound finally being cleaned.
“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” With an effortless tug, he pulled you closer until your bodies touched, your knees on each side of his hips, straddling him. You sniffled softly into the crook of his neck, warm, hopeless tears clinging to his skin.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you even realized what you were doing. One could say it was instinct, or even exhaustion.
Or maybe your world had simply fractured too many times in a single evening and your mind no longer possessed the strength to hold itself together.
Whatever the reason, you didn’t pull away when his arms settled around your waist.
The room remained steeped in silence, disturbed only by the distant groan of old wood settling somewhere within the house and the occasional whispers of wind against the windows.
Your forehead rested against the curve of his shoulder.
Safe wasn’t the right word, not when you knew exactly what he was. Not when the memory of crimson eyes and sharpened fangs still lingered fresh in your mind.
Yet neither was danger.
You felt his hand move, slowly smoothing over your back as though soothing a startled animal that might bolt at any moment.
Across from you, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting amber light across ancient furniture and older secrets. Shadows stretched across the walls, climbing over paintings and bookshelves alike until they reached the bed where the two of you sat suspended in an uneasy sort of peace.
When you finally lifted your head, your eyes met his.
Neither of you spoke.
There was something unexpectedly gentle in his expression, hidden beneath centuries of arrogance and cruelty, visible only for a fleeting moment before it vanished again.
His gaze drifted briefly to the tear tracks still staining your cheeks.
Then to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.
The corner of his lips twitched upward, the moment lingering, as fragile as glass.
Just as his eyes flickered down to your lips, unashamed and leaning in to take what is now his, Klaus’ voice filled the air, blaring and resonating from downstairs into the room. “Dear brother Kol, the Little-Rescue-Committee wants the girl back!”
You felt him tense up, an ebullition of angry vengeance boiling like hot water inside him. “It’s okay.” You murmured, reassuring and careful, before he lashed out. You took his hand in yours, standing up with him. “Let’s go.”
When the two of you descended the stairs, Kol led the path, asserting dominance in some way. You didn’t fight it— instead, you felt safe like that, secured behind him as he stared daggers at anybody or anything that came your way.
You saw Damon’s repulsed and bitter mien first, gaze snapping from the youngest Mikaelson to you. Then came Stefan standing right beside his brother, worried and sensible than his usual brooding self, then finally, Elena.
She looked like a mess, the whirlwind mind of hers perceptible in every way possible. Her demeanor appeared concerned with a twinge of guilt, as much as she tried to come off as commanding.
“He’s compelled her.” With the confidence — or arrogance — that is entirely Damon’s, he presumed.
“Like you three?” You, the oldest Gilbert, interfered instantly, your voice wavering but firm with a message. “Yeah, I know about that. I know about everything.”
“Aria— it’s not like that.” Elena tried before Kol stepped closer, his tone steady with a dangerous touch.
“Save it, you wench. I would have been ash if it weren’t for your sister.”
The nickname made you physically recoil; however, reminiscing about the atrocities the others had committed, the profanity quickly became the least of your worries at that moment.
“Well, this is getting rather amusing.” Klaus leaned against the wall, watching with no other emotions other than entertainment. “Go on, reprieve me of my tedious evening! I’m bored.”
Everybody ignored him, Elena’s voice cutting through the thick air. “Aria, you need to get away from Kol. He’s not who you think he is! He tried to amputate Jeremy—“
“Damon killed Jeremy, Elena.” That exact sentence let the room fall into silence, except for the sound of one particular hybrid, laughing under his breath. You continued. “Damon nearly killed me.”
“Aria…”
“I’m staying with Kol.” The admission hung in the air, sharp and as convicted as one could be. Elena’s eyes dropped to her sister’s hand, intertwined with the sociopathic vampire’s. The sight made Elena visibly pale.
Klaus wheezed, louder this time. “Goodness gracious, I’m in awe of this circus!”
“Shut up, Niklaus.” Kol averted his gaze to his brother, then back to the three standing on their porch. “You heard the lady. Now, if you don’t mind, I advise you leave as soon as possible before I change my mind and hunt down all three of you and the rest of your pathetic friends.”
What felt like eons finally passed when the ricocheting conversation ended, the squad having long given up despite Elena’s usual dedicated self and the two sycophants by her side doing everything they’re told to by her.
Summary: It’s the 1700s, Klaus and Countess Julia Stewart meet properly at a festival after her father had mysteriously died.
warnings: non-con elements, loss of virginity, animalistic pounding, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, semi-public sex, dryhumping
Read on AO3
In order to gain immense power, you must first never have it to begin with.
Fully convinced of this, Klaus prowls the night with an ego that is entirely his and with murderous stunts too carelessly executed to call a mission.
He, after all the abuse he had endured by the hands of his father, has now become the predator, turning minor inconveniences into a bloodbath when he feels like it. Snapping necks when his pawns dare to talk back, feeding one dry the moment his stomach grumbles.
What nags him for even a fleeting moment, he bites bone-deep until the nuisance learns its place— under him, paying homage, dead or alive.
Everyone is a means to an end eventually.
But it is not as such now when he crosses paths with his intellectual equal— a challenge, the one and only Countess Julia Stewart. A title bestowed through inheritance in the reigned monarchy the eighteen year old lives in.
She is the soon to be English queen as promised by her future husband James Williams, the King of England.
The year is 1761 and the mundane normalcy for Klaus— run, reside, and eventually be found by his bastard of a father, Mikael. And the cycle repeats. Despite having done this for nearly eight centuries by now, the adrenaline rush still hits him every time, his jagged heart whirring like a hummingbird when he had to bear hearing the cruel words — you are not my son.
In the midst of the tedious festival, the chandeliers above them hang like outgrown flowers on a tree, the visitors' voices buzzing through the palace. The kindled flames and lights imitating the warmth of a sun cast a cozy atmosphere, warm tones clinging to one's skin.
Sitting on a crimson chair next to the throne, she eyes the fine man nipping at the silver rim of his goblet, the amber liquid swirling as he talks with his older brother with intention and a smile too playful to look professional. Well, appears more like taunting, seeing as to how his brunette brother draws in a deep, exasperated sigh, despite his usually maintained composure.
"Julia, dear. Eyes straight forward." Her mother reminds her.
She sighs, but complies.
It's the same repeating mantra she's heard the entire evening long, consisting full of reprimand whenever her mother catches her daughter staring at the handsome guy who has been a fair benefactor since the death of Julia’s father. Her father was known as the strict, traditional man that expected no less than perfection from everyone.
He was feared, thus respected. That’s what he used to tell Julia. Be charming enough to keep people around, but frightening enough to remind the masses of their place. Below them.
When he died, she became Countess. Her fragile authority was shamed upon as a young, unmarried woman, therefore the rush to marry the king a decade older than her. The funeral was held with despondent black clothing, people’s cries and half-ass condolences. Klaus Mikaelson, the known yet cryptic man, has been crucial support with his donations.
The female Stewart knows her mum doesn’t want to admit it, but they needed aid with the funeral expenses. To their convenience, the Mikaelsons were more than welcome to help.
Against Julia’s best will, her eyes shift to the male figure again. She memorizes his face by now. Blonde hair in loose waves, tied in a carelessly perfect, low ponytail. Plump lips. And eyes dangerously blue whenever he catches her gawking.
He’s looking at her now. Holding eye contact.
Her stomach does a small flip, but she doesn’t back down, nor does she look away. Only when a smirk tugs on his lips as a reaction to her stubbornness, do her eyes drift elsewhere. Not that it brings much, seeing as to how he is already making his way towards her.
He stands there in front her like a jester would before a performance, beckoning with his index finger to Widow Stewart. Klaus whispers something in her mum's ear that makes her look at her daughter with a curt nod.
"Julia, my dear. Lord Klaus would like a brief tour around the estate, for accommodating purposes only." Her mother informs in a requesting manner, but Julia knows she wouldn't accept any rebuttals anyway. She stands up from her chair and descends the two stairs, clearing her path with a tug of her dress.
"Hello, love." He takes her hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. "Klaus Mikaelson at your service."
She breathes deeply, vexation etched lightly on her face. "Countess Julia Stewart. Call me Julia, my lord." It takes a small amount of effort to pull her hand away from his grasp, but not an impossible amount. "And with all due respect, I am the one at your service. Follow me." The warning glare she receives from her mother goes unbothered as she walks outside, Klaus falling into step beside her with an unwavering smile.
When the cool air swallows them whole, the hybrid talks again. "I'd be careful with a tongue so sharp, you could cut yourself with it, love."
"Who gave you permission to speak to me in such a bold manner?” She interjects almost immediately, all pretenses dropped. “I am the soon to be queen of England."
"Do not pretend you cannot await it, love. I see the long faces you pull at the mention of the despotic king you are soon to be wed with."
"I am here to show you around, not to humor you with the tragic turn of events that is my life. Now, if you would excuse yourself—" Just as she is about to go further into the night tour, she is halted by a sudden clasp of cold hands around her wrist.
"I marvel at your fire, really." He nods to his admission, his eyes zeroing in on her with an intensity meant to see through her. "So, if I shall excuse myself, I will. Condolences to your father has been sent, I know what it’s like to lose someone.” He states, sounding rather disingenuous as though he were hiding something deeper behind the revelation.
She fights back an eye roll, yet clicks her teeth.“Condolences have been sent by half the town square,” His grasp falls gently from her wrist, letting her lead the way. “perhaps you are not remotely as original as you think you are.”
At that, he smiles a genuine smile, dimples adorning his cheeks. “Oh, but you’re mistaken. I am original.”
“Well, rest assured that even if you did send it with sincerity, it does not interest me in the slightest. My father was not a man worthy of grief.”
The door creaks a loud cry when she opens it, the path leading downstairs into a dark abyss. Down the pathway, dust lingers in the air along with echoes that doesn't belong to the living, a cool breeze hugging them both.
“Spooky.” He comments, the British accent just sliding from the edge of his lips like velvet.
“It is my father’s collectives.”
"So why not burn it to the ground if you carried such a paternal baggage?"
"Because it could be to good use." She explains vaguely. He falls into step behind her, following her trail. "You see, my father always used to tell me to look before I leap. To not get close to the very people I'm acquainted with for there could always be a chance I don't know them at all."
"Forgive my improprieties," Klaus lets out a low, derisive huff of laughter "but your father had always been quite dramatic." His tone carries a deeper octave, meant to convince her of the same thought.
"He was right." She objects in a stern manner, grabbing a lantern from the spotty windowsill.
Klaus, the hybrid with super hearing, can't help but direct his attention to her adorable, thrumming heart. If she didn't have the capability to display such a jarring state, a composed mien despite the nerve bundle building up inside her, he wouldn't be so intrigued by what might come next.
The lantern flickered for a moment as a symbol for the anticipation that gnawed at the brunette girl's guts, Klaus’ eyes narrowing as she opens her mouth just to clam up again. Then, she admits—
"I know."
He blinks. "Little vague."
"About you." She breathes out as the lantern casts dramatic shadows on her face, changing its angle with every spasm. "I know what you are."
Her lips stay parted, drawing in deep breaths even as he watches the tremor that has long reached her fingertips. She doesn't dare look at him, only when he steps closer, looming over her like a shadow. Regardless of such, she stands her ground, exhaling into the cold air and repeating her mother's mantra. Eyes straight forward, Julia.
With the tip of his index, he tilts her head until she is facing him, sinking no other way but in the blue pools that are his irises. "Pray tell, love, was that smart of you to disclose?"
"I," she swallows a thick chunk of saliva, clasping her lips shut. "I can surmise a libel."
"Surmise," he repeats back to her as a reminder. "Meaning you would suppose that something is true without having evidence to confirm it."
"What makes you think I don't obtain evidence?"
"Because dead people do not obtain anything." He muses with a menacing, cozy smile, and because he can see her building up into proper fear, he adds pressure on her chin.
"Perhaps," he traces her jaw with a jarring, soft touch. "such foolishness is inherited from your father."
He searches her eyes for any sign of understanding. The tug of his malicious smirk acts as a catalyst that compels her to grasp the gravity of the situation and at her quick realization, his smile broadens lazily.
“You murdered my father.”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to.
Silence alone has always provided more than words could, Julia believes, and now she wonders if she regrets anything before her dad died.
That being said, she racks her brain trying to think which memory lane normal children would hop scotch down.
Would it be the one where her father slapped her around for not meeting his expectations?
Or likely the memory lane, she ponders, where he labeled her as a harlot for reciprocating a brief smile a man had flashed at her?
She should be scared. Hell, she should be furious, yet she is incapable of finding even a twinge of said sentiments. “Why?”
“Clairvoyance has always been my strongest suit, dove. Fortunately, you did not bother putting effort in hiding your anguish.” With a deep breath, he steps closer, then shifts his eyes from the floor back to her pained eyes. “I’ve done you a favor.”
“You cannot just…” a tear, not particularly one from somber, falls from her eye, chin wobbling before she clams up again. “Thank you.”
“Ah, enough with the gratitude. I mostly did it for my own pleasure. My father,” He purses his lips before continuing. “was similiar to yours.”
“High expectations?”
“Oh, brutal.” He laughs a genuine guffaw, though at the very core, she notes, his pain gnaws at the same scar over and over again. She would know.
“He abhorred me even more when he found out what I was.” The atmosphere is conquered by a buzzing sound she hasn’t heard before, the air taking over a cooler one. Because the climate of gloom has now grasped her, he adds— “A beast.”
A sad smile reaches her lips. “Harlot, my father used to call me.”
“Are you?”
“The same way you’re a beast.” She sniffles and at his physical recoil, the uncertainty of whether she believes the label or not, she sinks her head slightly and replies. “No, my lord.”
He nods slowly, stepping an inch closer. His hand find its way to the crook of her neck, holding it in place. With his thumb, he tilts her head, purring. “Judging by your response, you’re surely not upset with me, are you?”
A second passes. Her lips stay sealed.
Then, a shook of her head.
He smiles, a lazy thing, and praises. “Splendid. Your heart is hammering.”
The provocative add-on does nothing to help her whirring heart calm down, the proximity being the main factor for such inconvenience.
“It’s not just fear though, is it?” He adds.
He knows. Of course he knows, what else should she expect? Someone with high senses could tell whether the spike in her blood came from terror or something else entirely.
“This is highly inappropriate, my lord.” But her body betrays her when she takes his hand, opting to take it off her flushed skin to no avail. Not that he forces himself upon her, quite on the contrary, she doesn’t resist it. Her hands stay there, over his, warm and stuck.
She tries again. “I am soon to be espoused.”
“I know.”
“Then stop this nonsense.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Say the word.”
Silence stretches like space, a near perfect vacuum. Once he confirms that none of her following words contain any refusal, he dives in— deep. His lips clash with hers, a picture frame of her father falling to the ground as he pushes her against the wall.
What starts as a brutal advance now transforms into a slow, deep, endless motion, finding her tongue even as she attempts to dominate back.
Adorable, if not ineffective.
Her hands find his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, something to hold onto in case her knees buckle. She can’t trust her own fragility.
And she is proven not to do so as his knee pries open her thighs, pressing against her most intimate area and evokes a shuddering whimper out of her.
“One more sound like that, sweetheart.” He coaxes, then circles her clit with his knee.
Her knees buckle, a low, uneven growl scraping against her throat. Klaus smells the desperation that she can’t form with her own words and decides to throw her legs around his hips, pressing his prominent bulge against the wet spot.
“One more.” He whispers, his lips brushing against her ear. He grinds, hard and short to wring another sweet noise.
“Klaus!” she breathes out a moan, her face etched with pure pleasure.
“Good girl,” He coos. “Just like that.”
Another moan escapes her, more erotic than the previous one, the sound of it alone echoing through Klaus’ entire system.
He doesn’t hesitate.
With a quick swift, he rips her panties open underneath her dress, her pussy exposed helplessly to the cold air. Her breath hitches violently, wide eyes looking up at him.
His fingers finds her state to be slick, wet and criminally sexy. He doesn’t push inside yet, instead teasing the rim, fingers running through the wet folds.
She shudders, her thighs trembling even at such a small gesture. “Gentle.” She whispers, nearly imploring.
“Gentle?” He sing songs, sympathetic in a mocking manner. “You’re untouched, are you not?”
She nods, a sheepish action that paints her face in a deep crimson. “I have never done this before.” She murmurs, her voice raw and quiet.
This just makes it all the more sweeter for Klaus. Untouched, but fiery. She is basically asking to be unraveled, beckoning the big bad hybrid to hunt and eat her alive.
“Not to worry, love. I will go gentle. Slow.” He leans into her ear again. “Deep.”
She whimpers at his dark sweet whispers alone before he pushes inside with his finger, her breath catching somewhere between her chest and throat.
Another finger.
She’s tensing up, her walls gripping his fingers like nothing before. He scissors her pussy to help it accommodate to the unfamiliar fullness, pressing spots she never could before.
Once he’s certain she’s enjoying it, as confirmed by the flutter of her walls and juice that drips down his hand, he mimics the motion of sex, pushing in and out.
Her legs tightens around his hip, seeking for more pressure, more friction. Her hips buckle against his fingers, back arching deeply. “More.” She whimpers softly.
“Desperate little thing.” His breath fans against her throat, pebbling her skin, piercing enough to draw blood. The air leaves her lungs and he adds— “Beg.” He pulls back enough to look into her eyes, wide and pleading, her eyelashes clumpy with tears coaxed from ecstasy. “Go on, beg for it, love.”
“Please.” She whines, the blood on her neck untouched and oozing out like supper in preparation.
The attempt is nearly laughable, but he contains himself, flashing only a mean smirk.“Come on, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that.”
“Please, give me more, my lord. I—I’d do anything you please.” The eagerness spills like glaze out of her lips, parted as though she was waiting — yearning — for his lips to meet hers like water splashes against rock, dancing with her tongue in a heated tango.
His large hands hugs her ribs, his thumbs stroking just under her breasts. Her fingers curl tighter against his chest, trying to pull him impossibly closer. He lets her.
He kisses her like there’s all the time left in the world, which is mainly true on his side, and grinds against her pussy with a cruel slowness that draws her moans into the hallow room, only to swallow her noises again with his mouth.
Her thighs tightens its grip around him, humping him like a cat in heat before eliciting a low growl from the hybrid. He doesn’t dive in for a gentle smooch anymore, instead licking the warm, long forgotten liquid bleeding out the two punctures of her neck all the way back to its place.
He sinks his fangs into the same points again, precise and fast.
“Ah!” She mewls, a whiny moan escaping her lips as he chuckles against her delicate skin, sending vibrations down her bone marrow. “Can you please…”
Klaus hums, still leaving wet trails, speaking against her skin. “Mhm, go on, love, tell me exactly what you need. I have had enough time to learn how to perfect it.” He traces a circular pattern on her thigh, almost intimate instead of purely physical on his part.
“I want your cock.” She whispers brokenly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Inside me.”
He stops for a moment, then continues to circle her skin. “Look at me.” He commands, low and steady. She surrenders, reluctantly, but does it. “Now say it again.”
“I…” her heart pounds like gunshots to his ear. “I want your cock… inside me.”
“Say no less, love.”
The cotton of his pants nearly tears in his hand when he pulls it down, his girth springing free— veins in strange patterns with a slight curve, perfect for hitting the g spot as if it was carved for that purpose entirely.
Despite her darling insistence to go gentle, the entry is brutal. Her cry rives free, raw and high.
“Shh, quiet now.” He croons like a father, his pace turning unrelenting and primal. “Take it.”
She makes a face at the sudden change from tenderness to raw, animalistic energy. Her mind, a whirlwind and unable to function, cannot tell which side she prefers, eyes rolling back in more pain than pleasure that comes with the penetration.
“No, it hurts!” Her tears, pretty and delicious, cling to her skin, trickles down to mix with her blood, filtering the mahogany into a pink stream.
In a breath, the Mikaelson plunges his fangs into the fusion like a starving man, savoring copper and salt like fine wine.
The renewed energy heightens his urges, fucking her against the wall like she’s a sex doll, a whore, a harlot— the same thing her father used to call her.
Perhaps he was right.
“Klaus!” She struggles against him with futility, but his grip is iron, bruises blooming under his touch.
“Not now, princess.”
Her legs flail helplessly behind him, attempting to close her legs to no avail. He digs in buried and brutally crushing, wringing out any sounds he pleases. Guttural cries, whiny mewls, toe-curling groans.
With a final grunt, he cream-pies her, deep and filling with a bitter aftertaste. Blood mixes with his cum, leaving her trembling and weeping like a beautiful girl would— brokenly, absolutely demolished.
He pulls back enough to admire his artwork, grinning cruelly. “Ravishing.”
Then, he lets go, his touch only a ghost now. She slumps onto the floor like cutting off the strings of a marionette, vulnerable and pathetic.
“Now, about that libel.” He kneels down and wraps his hand around her throat, the single touch enough to make her heart flutter.
The lack of self-dignity — he thinks, laughing derisively inside.
“As I’ve said. Dead people don’t obtain anything,” he squeezes harder until her face turns red and terrorized, her breathing hoarse with short intakes. “and you, my love, do not obtain any evidence.”
Snap.
He stands up, watching her lifeless body with an unreadable expression, her head twisted in an ugly angle.
“Disappointing.”
And again, he bit the nuisance bone-deep until she learned her place— below him, paying homage.
“But then the sun came up and reality set in.” - E
“Trust me, Elena. Some things are best left buried.” - K
Kol Mikaelson x Elena Gilbert
Word count: 3451
Summary: Elena plans to awaken a family member of Klaus after he had killed her aunt, Jenna Sommers, in the hybrid sacrifice. Despite knowing that neither Stefan nor Damon would approve of such, she independently makes herself on the way to find Kol Mikaelson and seek revenge.
Read on AO3
Klaus was not a beast meant to be tamed.
The night Aunt Jenna had died confirmed that and every other belief Elena had cultivated over the years. Creatures of the night were trouble that followed your footsteps the moment they smelled weakness, or leverage.
She usually tended to be leverage.
They took, then reveled in your ruin perpetuated by their very own hands.
Elena was so tired. Tired beyond words.
But most of all, she was tired of playing Mary Sue, like she would not even allow herself to enter grey zone. Sick of getting reduced to a pathetic, crying mortal who still believed in good.
When she placed a single rose on her aunt’s grave, her fingers started tracing the engraving with feather-light touch as if she feared it would fall apart like everything else did. Her life. Her family. Her future.
All gone.
And so, she gave up on her last shred of hope. Hope that all could be good with a mere olive branch. It couldn’t.
She had to fight back. Unethically, immorally, in the grey zone— she did not care. What now mattered, after all, was her. Self-preservation kicked in last moment, but she was thankful it kicked in at all before her foolish suicide mission had succeeded.
It took longer than expected. Finding someone on Klaus’ level. Old entries from witches and other supernatural creatures were scattered around her room, piling up like questions whether this was a good idea or not. She ignored her doubts, having long since come up with an excuse— it was the angel on her shoulder playing tricks on her, whispering sweet promises that if she ceased this change of heart, peace would reign on its own. The angel who used to conquer all other senses, now using the last of its strength to stay seated where it once belonged.
It all came down to one name; Kol Mikaelson
This must be it. It had to be.
She read an entry from an unknown person, presumably a witch from his time, with brain-racking scrutiny. Once the Gilbert had decoded the overly cursive handwriting on the crumpled piece of paper, the story became clear.
It circled back to 1914. A weapon strong enough to put Klaus down. Required witches. And the emissaries were instructed by someone called, as mentioned before, Kol Mikaelson.
She jotted down the notes quickly, underlining the name twice.
Truth be told, she was petrified of what she would be met with. The only person she had told about this reckless scheme of hers was her best-friend, Bonnie. Bonnie, the one who had helped her with the entries and with finding the coffins, thanks to her location spell, Elena still refused any help when it came to the expedition. Partly because she wanted to prove she could be independent. That Lewis could have done it without Clark.
It was an underground facility when she entered the unfamiliar territory. The lights dimmed a heavy warm tone, some brighter than the others. She reached into her pocket to take one last look at the picture of what seemed to be a family gathering of the dysfunctional family that is the Mikaelsons back in the 20th century.
One might think his face would've been plastered in her mind with the amount of times she tucked her head behind the paper with torn edges, eyes zeroing in on the youngest brother. But her mind continuously replaced his face with Elijah’s, the shared features on their faces misleading her.
Her eyes seemed to burn through the soulless, thick sheet, like they were glued onto it as the thought of everything bad that would come crashing onto her passed like a warning.
She ignored it.
The click of her boots echoed through the hollow place, taking in the scene before realizing she stood before a coffin. Breathe, Elena. Breathe. With the last output of air, she reached the edge with trembling hand, hovering there for a moment. To her fortune —or misfortune — it was the right one. On the first try as well, as though fate had already sealed itself with no chances to backtrack.
He looked desiccated, no sugarcoating that. Lack of saturation and his dry, statue-like skin confirmed her prejudice. He looked the same as he did in the picture.
Same suit. Same perfectly styled hair, glued back like a traditional man. Like a younger version of Elijah.
A soft smile tugged on her lips at the similarity before her gaze drifted to the dagger, plunged right in the young man’s chest. She had undaggered the noble Original before, odds put aside, so why was she scared now? Her heart thumped against her ribs like a bird begging to be set free from a cage and the angel whispered in her ear again, the coo woven with honey and faux benevolence. Come on, Elena. We both know this is anything but a good idea. Let's go home.
Her palm closed in around the dagger, the sound sharp and resonating across the entire room as she drew it out. Then, she put it aside hastily as the strip of her backpack slipped from her one shoulder, supported by her thigh. Her nerves were all over the place, yet it didn’t stop her from managing to take out a blood bag and remove the cover.
She jumped when his eyes snapped open.
Focus on the mission, Elena.
Her right hand cupped his face aside from the fact it shook violently against his stone-hard cheek, feeding him blood with the other hand firmly squeezing the bag.
The blood painted color to his face, trailing deeper his body just the way an artist would bring unfinished art to life. With a grip as tight as a vice, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer until he was certain she is what he hoped for — fresh blood, foolish girl.
“Wait.” She breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to help.”
The scene changed abruptly, the Gilbert now pressed against a wall while Kol held her around the throat. Not enough to cut off all air, but to bruise. “If it isn’t Katherine Pierce.” He growled, his anger simmering beneath those ancient irises.
“No—No, I’m Elena Gilbert.” She choked out, her plea scraping against her throat. “A descendant. Doppelgänger.”
Kol, the paranoid vampire he had a proclivity to be, wasn’t so easily convinced by her half-assed explanation. Until instincts flared when the sweet smell of human blood dominated his senses, his eyes darkening with hunger. He parted his lips enough so Elena would catch a glimpse of his elongated fangs. Then—
“Interesting.” He muttered quietly before reclaiming his usual arrogant tone. “I personally have never given in to the doppelgänger allure, but this is bloody interesting.”
A relieved sigh evaded Elena’s lips when he loosened his grip, his tall frame still looming over her shivering body. “Are you Kol Mikaelson?”
“In the flesh. Now why, pray tell, have I been undaggered by an uncanny resemblance of the infamous Petrova line?”
“I… I need your help.”
He hummed non-committally, stepping closer to budge her to a more precise elaboration.
Warily, she reproached. “Do… do you mind telling me what you last remember? Anything to do with Klaus?“
“My bastard of a brother plunging a dagger in my chest with active aid of another one.” He smirked devilishly, a tender sin. His mirth cold from afar but the quiet rage boiling inside with a promise that if you leaned in close enough, it would burn you.
“Right. Yes— I’ve read the entries. 1914, was it? Wow, I… it’s been a century. Almost.”
“Cut to the chase, love.” He demanded softly.
“I need your help putting Klaus down. I know you had a weapon potent enough.” She breathed heavily, her imploring eyes searching for his as if they would provide the answers she needed.
“A century, you say?”
“It’s 2011.”
“Bloody hell.” He snapped his head sideways and hissed, keeping his teeth gritted. Slowly, he averted his gaze to her. Unreadable. His eyes narrowed, too suspicious to be mere amusement. “And why do you think I would help you, darling?”
“Please.” She breathed out, tears threatening to fall. She shook her head, stammering. “It will end his tyranny once and for all.”
He looked at her with a derisive gaze. “You want to be reprieved of his incessant torment, is what you are implying?”
“Reprieved— yes.” She sniffed.
“That’s naive of you.”
“Optimistic and naive are not synonymous.” She swallowed the witty comment instantly with a regrettable expression, waiting for his reaction. Even the air seemed to lean towards them, eager to witness his response.
He smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Lead the way, mortal.”
The walk back home wasn’t how she’d expected it at all. Neither did it correspond to his expectations. It was the usual, for Kol, consisting of terms of endearment, flirty remarks and a mutual vengeance for Niklaus. Kol listened intently when Elena, the initially shaking-in-her-boots human now softening to his presence, told him about her incentive to her Modus operandi, though judging by first glance, wasn’t a very characteristic MO of her. He had gathered the essence of it, which was her reaching her absolute limit with vampires sneaking into her life and sashaying away after bringing it agonizingly slow to its ruin.
“Well, I suppose that makes me an exception.” He concluded, still in step beside her.
“You might be the first vampire I ushered into my life instead of sneaking inside yourself.” She agreed, a small smile tugging on her lips. “You know, you look a lot like your brother, Elijah.”
“He and I never really had much in common besides our dashing good looks. He’d much rather make a false pretense of being virtuous, only to assist the beast of our family to put me in a slumber.”
“For a century.” She murmured, sinking her gaze. He noticed the way she tensed. And she knew he noticed. If she were to be honest, she felt a little guilty she saw the most good in Elijah out of all the others, so much so that she’d always trusted him enough to be the first Original undaggered by her. Another procedure she’d gone through without the Salvatores’ permission. Another treason she committed for an Original. She was now a self-proclaimed connoisseur in this invented domain of hers.
“For a century.” He reaffirmed, watching her closely for any advances she would dare make. Not that she would succeed in them, but a guy had to be careful. Or paranoid, as others would describe it. He opened his hand suddenly.
“What?” She looked at his open hand, then back to his face.
“Can’t figure it out on your own, love? I’ve been daggered for a century, surely you have another blood bag in there.”
She sighed, stopping in her tracks and sliding the straps down her shoulders. “No offense, but this is your seventh bag.” She looked at him while zipping the backpack open.
“I’m an insatiable creature. Rest assured you’ll get used to it.” He grabbed the blood bag from her, bringing it to his lips. As they fell into steps again, she observed—
“You’re saying that as if we’re going to work together.”
“Aren’t we?” He threw the empty plastic bag away in the woods, evoking an exasperated sigh from the human girl. His almost-smirk made a scandalous comeback when she bent over to pick it up.
“Not long enough to get used to a vampire’s tendencies, I hope.” She held his gaze, steady and with a warning. Keep your eyes to yourself. “Eyes on the path, Mikaelson.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And there is this thing called recycling.”
“I’ll adapt to this century later. For now, we’re Lewis and Clark.”
She let out a mirthful sound, something between a scoff and a chuckle. How ironic, the comparison.
Days bled into weeks, and yet no trace of a particularly psychotic Original and the it-girl of Mystic Falls roaming the night together lingered. Not because they were careful not to awaken the night with their hushed, planned-out approach to impale his brother with a perfectly fabricated and potent dagger, but mainly because no one suspected such treachery. Neither from Elena nor from someone who is supposed to be dead— well, asleep.
Elena had told Bonnie the operation was a dead end and made her believe the usually dedicated doppelgänger had long given up. In the meantime, Elena’s friends used the last of their blood, sweat and tears to find a weapon against the hybrid, unaware that she was already two steps ahead.
The two hovered over a table in Kol's shady hotel room he had rented for a few days, only to eventually compel the scrawny man at the register to extend his stay with no further questions or complaints. Of course, a creature like him with abilities like mind control could have compelled himself a mansion built in the span of three days, but Kol was not a moron.
Currently, he had resided, even if temporarily, in a small, backwater town where his brother, who believed Kol was locked in a coffin, could visit anytime. Klaus outperformed his younger brother in the domain that is paranoia, and Kol could not afford risking another dagger in his heart when Klaus' intuition stirred an uneasy feeling that the newest doppelgänger stupidly awakened the wily Mikaelson.
"You look like you're in dire need of sleep, darling." The Mikaelson assumed with the usual swagger that is entirely his.
Elena nodded clinically and bit her lower lip, the kind of manners, as Kol had observed, she displayed whenever something has been bothering her. "It's not like my ex boyfriend is running about somewhere with your psycho of a brother and Damon has practically given up on saving Stefan." She listed the problems that had been gnawing at the very core of her being for some time now. "And it's not like I have to sneak out of my house every second night just to plan a futile assasination." She added with hesitation.
He sighed softly at that, eyes darting the New Orleans map. "Don't be pessimistic now, love. I have found a witch that can help us. And as for the place," He paused, stepping beside her. "I'm being careful, as you wished."
"A witch? A Clarice witch?" She asked and tilted her head to lock eyes with his, her brows furrowed with a dumbfounded manner. The transformation from desperation to hope flickering through her eyes made something stir in him.
"Claire," he corrected "and yes. I have found a Claire witch, capable of putting down a common enemy." His smirk broadened like it always did— lazily, drawling.
"Way to rekindle the flame." She smiled, soft and grounded, though her heart danced excitedly at the promise of payback.
"Are you the flame?" He cocked an eyebrow, eyes glinting with mischief.
"I'm not falling for your trap, you have a tendency to twist my words and use them as a cue to flirt without shame."
"It appears we have worked long enough together for you to grow used to my tendencies." The edge of his curved lips softened just a tiny sliver, and yet it caused a humiliating flip in Elena Gilbert's stomach that had nothing to do with elation for revenge. "I promise you, darling, we'll plot our next moves in your room. Spare you the danger of walking alone at night."
She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Too intimate." But there was no real bite to the rejection. “Damon will catch us.”
"Then let us be damned."
The night the sky painted beautiful hues of midnight blue and the stars were as clear as diamonds, the female Gilbert stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a lilac tank top and shorts.
Without looking clearly, she let out a weary huff. “I’m tired, Damon.” She iterated while picking up discarded socks from the day before.
A British accent suddenly dominated the small room, her heart rate picking up at the melody. “You wound me, darling.”
She stood upright, put the socks in the basket and stepped closer to the window. “Kol— it’s you. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy lately.” Her hands slid the window door open, the cold breeze taking over the atmosphere.
“Not to worry, love. I have learned to contribute more when it comes to putting Klaus down. May I come inside?”
“Right, yeah. Come in.” She nodded, stepping aside as he entered in the manner that belonged to him only. Elegant, but not too pretentious. Effortless. “What’s in your hand?”
“Patience, love.” He stepped forward, their chests almost touching. “Close your eyes.”
“Right.” She crossed her arms, nodding incredulously. “And how do I know you’re not gonna put a dagger inside me?”
“Because there are better things I can put inside you.” He smirked like the devil he is. “But for now, close your eyes. I want to be a gentleman.”
“Bold. Really bold.” She blushed a deep crimson, letting out a scoff full with ridicule. When she closed her eyes, her heart rate turned steady, almost comfortable. Naturally, the unknown tended to agitate her. What would come next was always a question of life or death. But here? With Kol? As inane as the admission was, she felt safe. Safe that had very little to do with the fact he was weapon against Klaus, and very much with the fact he was now enveloping something cold and metallic around her neck.
His hands lingered on her back, his rough hands turning into soft caresses. An oxymoron. When he leaned in close enough to whisper in her ear, Elena shuddered at the warm air assaulting her neck. “Open your eyes, Elena.”
Lights seemed to have altered to an intimate glow when her eyelids fluttered open. She touched the necklace with the ancient patterned pendant, a hot, mahogany color, the liquid moving in waves. “It’s beautiful.”
“Happy birthday.” He cooed just above her shoulder, watching her reaction intently and smiling triumphantly when her heartbeat sounded like gunshots. “The outer shell is vervained. Inside is my blood.”
“Your blood?”
“Keeps you safer than a fragile vervain necklace, darling.”
The silence stretched, a self-deprecating smile reached her lips as her soft hand engulfed the gift that is now hers. “Thank you.” She sniffed.
“Hey,” his boyish grin faltered at the sight of her tears. She had pursed her lips in an attempt to withhold them, but ostensibly without success. Without further explanation, her head burrowed in the crook of his neck, warm tears clinging to his skin. “Shh. I’ve got you.”
“It hurts, Kol. It will never be over. Stefan leaving a trail of dead bodies. Damon… hiding it from me.”
He kissed the top of her head, cradling her head into his chest. “I will take care of it, love. I will make my brother rot if you wish.”
“I just want it to be over.” She breathed out, pressing impossibly closer to him.
Kol stayed with her. What was initially supposed to be a quick visit turned into a long night with the Gilbert girl by his side, both figuratively and literally. He didn’t sleep much. For the last few centuries at least, he had discovered that sleep evaded him more often than not.
When the birds welcomed their glorious sun with chirpy notes, the wily Mikaelson considered leaving. It would have been a bit cold of him, he judged, but wasn’t that his whole persona? Spend a night with a girl, whispering sweet nothings only to brush her off the next day as if all was casual.
But they weren’t sweet nothings, what he whispered. It was more of a heart-to-heart, a conversation concerning both their past and future. The two had a mutual connection with the latter. An understanding that neither believed they would get their happy ending, that it was a mirage always slipping through their grasp whenever they dared to reach for it.
Trust, Kol pondered, could be a gift. If only you had someone to share its vulnerability with. He marveled at the thing he had never dared to dream of— not the Juliet to his Romeo, no, that was too cliché for his liking and too shallow for their bond he now realized they had scratched the surface of. Lewis and Clark was too platonic, which should have scared him. Bonnie and Clyde too gruesome for someone as benign as her.
Perhaps, and just perhaps, nothing could really compare to the bond they shared.
Perhaps when all this was over, they could become their own notorious duo.
Elena and Kol.
A/N: I have gotten a few requests I still need to work on, but here’s a short kolena, aka my fav rare pair, fic. I hope you enjoyed it.
A-Train only getting caught and killed by Homelander because he made the decision to run past the woman who was right in front of him so she wouldn’t die. The character development he went through will never cease to amaze me.
Summary: There was only one way to lure your foolish siblings back in to town after their attempt to stake the youngest original brother had failed. As overlooked as you already were, them not fleeing with you had crossed a new line— and was a big mistake, for that matter. Enjoy being held captive by the least merciful Mikaelson, ‘darling’.
Drawing in ragged breaths, your eyes slowly fluttered open like a beaming sunlight on a spring morning. But nothing here felt close to that time of the year — an oxymoron, to be precise, seeing as to how your skin had already prickled with goosebumps given the frigid atmosphere. Something was painfully pulling your arms above your head and simultaneously supporting your slumped body, holding your wrists so tightly they could’ve fallen off any passing moment now. With a weary, small sweep of your right foot, you managed to stabilise yourself on your one heel, then finally upholded your entire body with both your heels. The strained pain in your arms subsided only ever so slightly before a small, breathy moan escaped your lips.
“Fuck.” You hissed, registering the throbbing ache on your head that followed up with a warm liquid. A ringing sound lingered in your ears, making you squeeze your eyes shut.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Is that your temple pulsating, or the sound of footsteps? You couldn't tell.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
- - - -
You let out an irritated sigh, finally pressing the phone to your ear. Not even after the first ring had buzzed, Elena’s panicked voice already vibrated through your ear.
“Verena?” Your name on her tongue made her breath hitch. “Verena, you need to tell me where you are right now!”
Rolling your eyes, you answer calmly with a hint of vexation. “I was just training again, Elena. I’m on my way home—“
“Do not go home, do you hear me?”
You immediately stop in your tracks, the sense of urgency in her voice repelling you from moving your body towards the house that was already within close range. You watched the swing on your porch oscillate eerily, only a block away. The Gilbert house was silent. Too silent for your liking.
“What happened.” It was rather a demand for an answer than a question. You never had a knack for saccharine manners, nor did you ever care to sound adequately courteous, yet one could still hear the fear that lay under your feigned stoicism.
“It’s Kol—” Not long before your older sister finalized her sentence, someone clasped your throat without wasting a second to throw you on the coarse ground. Not carefully, not strategically— just with pure rage. You could feel it even after the dizziness that came from the impact of the strike.
Something cracked. Could it have been your skull?
An original vampire — your head grasped the gravity of the situation. Death be upon you, but you wouldn’t let one win; and you never have.
The void gradually swallowed you into unconsciousness, until it didn't. Until you resisted the pressure that kept you down to climb out of the unfathomable abyss. To your misfortune, your resilience was futile with a Mikaelson. They revel in that fact.
One kick, one guttural cry. Two kicks, two guttural cries. He loved this. Although your life isn’t known for standing a chance against kismet, the kicks didn’t happen to be rough enough to fracture your ribs. Or perhaps he was doing it deliberately.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your heartbeat quickened by the second. No— you felt the pulsating sensation on the left side of your head, right where your forehead met your hair. Only then did the warm liquid trickle into your orb, making you squeeze your eyes shut.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
- - - -
Your eyes snapped open and a sharp intake of breath filled in your lungs, like a trap springing shut as the adrenal glands released the last bits of its hormones directly into your bloodstream. An adrenaline rush. Despite being in a fight-or-flight mode, you could barely move with the chains holding your arms above your head. Looking around, the concrete walls appeared to be caging in on you almost with a mocking quietness, along with the sunlight beaming through the window like an imitation of unreachable hope.
But then you heard it, and this time you knew it wasn’t your hammering head.
It was echoes of footsteps — slow and deliberate as if the darkness would kneel before him.
Thanks to the release of adrenaline, your pupils were dilated, giving you a clearer vision. His smirk didn't quite reach his eyes this time as he narrowed them, watching your vulnerable state with an obvious incentive and something else; appreciation, perhaps?
He wasn’t looking at your face, no, his gaze was lowered until it met your bare midriff. ‘Shit’ you thought to yourself. Did you just have to be ambushed at that exact moment, after training?
“What a sight for sore eyes,” his signature grin only widened as a reaction to your hostility— It was palpable. You didn’t enough care to hide it. “the women in my time were much more modest.” He adds.
“Spare me the history lesson, Mikaelson.” You manage to spit out, your tone laced with venom. “What do you want from me.”
“Perhaps I should’ve noted what a spitfire I’d encounter. But then again,” His eyes stayed fixed on you as he stepped closer; so close you could feel his breath fanning on your face. “it makes the breaking point so much more satisfying.” Both the rasp and the low octave in his voice were meant to send shivers down your spine, instead it made you angrier. Your knee met with his groin, meant to be unexpected because you knew otherwise you wouldn’t have stood a chance against him.
It didn't do much — he hardly doubled over, a low growl escaping his throat. When his eyes met yours again, they were blazing with fury but to your surprise, his rage seemed to diminish gradually. Or maybe he was just masking it for a greater doom predestined for you.
"For someone so eager to prove her strength, you sure are foolish. But let me make one thing clear, darling." His fingers tenderly traced your light abs as if he were trying to memorize them, that is what sent shivers down your spine. You were helpless. Completely and utterly helpless with the only Mikaelson lacking more leniency than his bastard of a brother, Klaus.
"I have watched empires fall and rise, massacred villages for less than your impropriety and I am currently standing before a phony warrior, on the brink of ripping your throat out. Sweetheart." He adds the name of endearment merely for great measure. "Look before you leap."
Overcoming the pathetic emotion named fear was a skill you had cultivated a long time ago when you first killed a vampire, a stake right in their callous heart. Now the infamous Kol Mikaelson managed to wash that pathetic emotion all over your face without strenuous efforts, and the worst thing? He knew his power. He loved his power. "Don't fret." He tapped your nose playfully.
"Why am I here." You asked monotonously with a hint of strain hiding behind your question. He tilted his head, all playfulness leaving his face, now replaced with a cold gaze.
"Your lovely siblings attempted to kill me. You're leverage." He simply stated.
He saw it. The way your expression faltered, exposing a flicker of nudity underneath that tough exterior. The way your eyes betrayed your innate hatred towards the creatures of the night that were never deserving of such sympathy. But it disappeared, a talent of yours you were thankful for. "I don't believe you."
He narrowed his eyes, rather frustrated than bemused. His fingers stopped their dance on your abdomen, staying there just to remind — he didn't even feel like responding. His eyes expected something more than an elaboration.
You surrendered by giving him exactly that.
"Impulse is your biggest weakness." You started "if you truly wanted revenge, you'd kill them. Maybe me. But somehow we're all standing. Strange."
The silence stretched for what felt like eons. For a second, you thought you were deluding that sadistic gleam in his eyes when he realized how uneasy the dead calm made you, no matter how impenetrable you passed your walls off as. You either weren't trying hard enough, or you couldn't — no inbetween.
"You sound so much like her." He tapped your abdomen. "You look so much like her. It's quite uncanny." His British accent vibrated along the edge of his lips and his gaze metamorphosed into a thoughtful one, as if he were hopscotching down memory lane.
“What?”
“You want the truth, little minx? You’re not the only doppelgänger running about. Ask my dear Elizabeth, not quite sure she has plenty to say anymore, though.”
“And who the hell might she be.”
“My woman.”
You blink, trying to process this new information. An original vampire, capable of loving someone? A doppelgänger that doesn't resemble your sister, but you? All this time you thought your siblings and their squad always had a way of trapping you in their beacon of supernatural mishaps, turns out it was your fate all along— they just sped up the process. No, you call his bluff. Lies stacking upon lies. Contradictions contradicting themselves.
“Woman.” You repeat incredulously. “Your woman.” A humorless laugh burst out your mouth. He didn’t react.
“Past tense.” He mirrored your previous monotone voice. “She used to be my woman.”
Your laugh dies down. “Semantics. I call bluff.”
With a tilt of his head, he stepped impossibly closer until he was certain you could grasp the gravity of his savage climate radiating off of him, daring you to defy the force that was to be reckoned with. “Bluff?” His hand found the path to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair before he roughly yanked your head back. You hissed, forced to look him in the eyes that lacked mischief — once in a blue moon occurrence for someone like him.
He was about to say something, but his lips found themselves clamming up again in an uncertain manner. The eye contact was held much more intensely than you could find yourself capable of reciprocating, his other hand reaching into his pocket to draw something out. Glinting keys dangled in his hand provocatively, reminding you of the imitation of hope yet again. The sun, its light rays beautifully changing the placement on the surface of the keys.
“How old?” He asked. A breath you didn't know you were holding in evaded the moment his grip on your hair loosened, but found itself swallowed back into your lungs when his tender fingers maneuvered your back with clinical precision.
He tugged at the edge of your bra and snapped the elastic band, thwacking against your back. You flinched.
"How. Old. Are. You." He reiterated firmly.
"Why? You want to know if you still possess any shred of morality?" You replied, bravery wrapped around agitation.
"I believe I asked you a question."
You swallowed. It was a vulnerable, sheepish action, even more so when the both of you were aware he could hear it. Feel your fear, even.
"Sixteen." You submitted.
A low whistle made a beeline to your face— So. Fucking. Aggravating. If it weren't for the restraints, your fingernails would be digging into his eyeballs just to see his shit-eating grin morph into an agonizing scream. You knew you couldn't get your knickers in a twist yet. What you were known to be well at was regaining composure. Maintaining it, though? That's a different story.
"Sweet sixteen. Not to worry, love, I might just find a shred of morality if you wish." He reclaimed his infamous grin yet again, then took a deep breath. "Under one condition."
"No."
"Careful, I don't like being tested. I've murdered ladies younger than you."
A shiver ran down your spine at the casual mention of his reputation. You didn't get it. You knew what he had done, even this was just a simplified version of his barbaric procedures throughout centuries. "What's the condition."
His grimace widened lazily at the sweet sound of surrender.
"Patience, love. I'm still debating." He narrowed his eyes, feigning consideration.
"How about this." His right arm closed around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your heart hammered against your ribs, begging to be set free. "I will free you and in return you hand me over something that is very precious to you." He whispered against your hair, pulling back enough to look at your face.
Embarrassed, unwilling... a sliver of quandary. Anger aimed at something else entirely— something you could not control.
"I want to know about her." You demand.
"No can do. Only tit for tat."
"You free me, I give you something and then you tell me about her."
"That's not how it works, sweetheart. Otherwise you're not getting unchained, ergo— severe swelling, nerve damage, difficulty breathing and last but not least, my favorite. Death."
A second passes. Then another. You thought about how tedious and torturous time has been here, the dried blood on your head, the numb ache that has long reached your fingertips. Perhaps self-preservation did include submission after all. You abhorred that conclusion.
"That's what I thought." With a swift move, he managed to unlock the chains with the key. Your small whimper of relief echoed through the hollow room as you fell into his large frame, your arms limp at your sides. Your eyes fluttered shut. Warmth washed over your entire body like silken sheets, his arms wrapped around you serving just the satiable amount of comfort you needed.
"Shh, easy now, little warrior." His voice vibrated against your hair, pressing soft kisses on your forehead. The coo was braided with condescension and comfort, opposites that somehow fit perfectly when it was dripping from his lips. You didn’t mean to burrow your head deeper into his chest, yet it still happened. It felt right. The nocuous thought suppressed itself out of pure instinct, killing anything that showed a sliver of affection with an abominable creature. He wasn’t supposed to be warm.
“Get off.” You breathed out, eyes still shut and cheek pressed against his collarbone. His deep rumble of a chuckle vibrated against you, reminding you of the proximity yet again.
“I’m comfortable right where I am, darling. Certain it’s a mutual feeling.” Taking a dramatic inhale of breath, he started speaking in a tone akin to conspiracy. “Now about that precious thing I need from you.” He taps your chin gently, tilting it upwards until you surrendered to his nonverbal insistence to look into his brown irises — the way they pooled with ancient mystery and darkness. Your half-lidded eyes did little to prove your fight, instead signaling your quiet defeat and the sound that hummed in the basement air when your profanity evolved into uneven breathing. “Tell me, how bad do you want to live?”
“I don’t want to die.” The unexpected softness in your voice, mingled with automatic fear, undid him. He knew it finally registered in your mind who he is— what he is. You could either die in his hands, or live with his hands on you. You chose the latter.
“What would you do to live, my dove?” He asked, brows knitting with faux sympathy.
“Anything.”
“Anything?” He repeated before his signature grin returned wickedly slow. “This darling, this is the breaking point I was waiting for.” He worked his hand into your damp hair clinging to your scalp, cradling your head to inch you closer until your breaths mingled. “Very well,” he said. “Kiss me.”
Kol expected your actions to rearrange around the sentence. That was how things usually worked when he spoke—expected the small, messy miracle of obedience to bloom at once.
Yet, the millisecond of your reluctance made his eye twitch. It was the momentary squinting of eyes he always did when things didn’t go his way. When girls resisted the irresistible. “I will not hesitate to rip your siblings’ hearts out.” The threat came out casually, his flat tone enough to make you shiver once more.
With burnt out energy, you set a clumsy palm on his chest and fisted his shirt. With both your hands now clinging onto him, you brought yourself higher until eye-to-nose level, your big, imploringly pathetic eyes fixed on his. Ironically enough, you waited for his initiative. He didn’t disappoint.
Contrary to him, the kiss was nothing but gentle. A soft brush against your lips, slow and reverent and nearly hypnotizing you. His heartbeat was steady against yours, fast and sharp that it hurt.
It was a kiss that confessed its treachery with involuntary wanting and sincere, yet long conquered, ire. You couldn’t even tell if it was the last resort to save yourself or a temptation you were eager to give in to, sins be forgiven.
Curious to know how your spunk tasted like when kissed to its ruin, you reciprocated despite your inexperience.
“My beautiful, little girl.” He broke the kiss, humming in satisfaction. “I could keep you like this forever. Soft. Ruined.” He murmured, voice sweet with ridicule.
Your eyes searched his, as if looking for virtue. Then, you remembered. “Elizabeth.” The name came out scraped against your throat. “Tit for tat. Your words.”
He feigned consideration, humming a sweet sound of an empty promise. “No.”
“No?”
“Love, reducing you to an adorable, pathetic mortal with a mere kiss was gratifying. But I’m an insatiable creature.”
You shook your head, trying to regain your previous resistance. “I’m not doing anything beyond kissing.”
“I believe you don’t have a choice.”
“You— You can’t do that. That’s coercion, you shit.”
“Do you reckon me as someone standing on a moral high ground?” His snort echoed in the space, full with derision. “You’re getting more adorable by the second.”
The sudden sound of glass breaking lingered in the air, coming from above the basement. Once you heard your name shouted by an annoying, yet familiar voice, a hopeful smile tugged on your lips.
Elena. Her Scooby Doo gang.
Kol, on the other hand, appeared rather vexed. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shifting his gaze from the source of the sound, back to you. “A shame. Now I’ve got to kill your precious friends, too.”
“Wait— no.”
“Are you bargaining, love?”
Your grip on his shirt tightened in an attempt to stand on your own, his eyes tracking your every move made you flush with embarrassment. “You don’t have to do this, I can help you. I know about the cure,”
You nearly jumped when his eyes snapped to your face, all trace of mischief gone. “But this is a two way road. I want to know about her,” you continued, then, reluctantly— “please.”
“Verena?” The door flew against the opposite wall with full force, too loud against the heavy stillness, and when instincts flared, you held yourself closer to Kol as a protection shield.
Bad, bad idea.
Damon and Caroline stood there, the blonde’s mouth agape with an insinuating look. She was not the type to hold back when it came to judgement, and frankly, you couldn’t blame her.
At least not in this case.
“Kol.” Damon sneered, his eyes scrutinizing the scene with pure, unadulterated disgust. “Elena, we found her! Hand over the girl, Original Sin.”
The Original watched the scene unfold with amusement, his lips curled at Damon’s ineffective wit. “Ah, Damon. A pleasure to see you again. How’s Jeremy?” He taunted, reminiscing about the time he compelled the older Salvatore to murder him in cold blood not a few days ago.
“Verena, what did I tell you about vervain?” Caroline interjected, reprimand lying underneath her high pitched voice.
“I took the fucking vervain, Care.”
With a rough, merciless push inflicted by a large hand on your back, you fell in front of the two standing by the door, bruises already forming on your knees. “Shit, Verena!”
“I’m fine.” You push yourself upright, limping behind the two younger vampires. The walk upstairs alone felt like climbing Mount Everest. It took you every ounce of strength, and, in the end, some help from your sister.
"Easy, Verena..."
You ignored her, not deliberately, but as a background noise unsuccessfully ameliorating your mood. When the both of you reached the door, she put a hand on your wrist and blurted out— "I'm sorry."
"For what."
"For forgetting you."
Your heart clenched at that. For some reason unbeknownst to you, it hurt more when the admission was uttered out loud. Maybe because you finally stepped into the confrontation part— a zone that made your stomach churn and you usually retreat from.
"I can handle myself, 'Lena." The respond sounded almost too defensive for your liking.
"That's the problem. You've forged that belief in your head so hard, it's engraved there. And in mine and Jeremy's which shouldn't have—"
"Spare me your concern for someone who might actually care."
Elena flinched.
A satiable amount of hurt which immediately signaled you to clam up.
You weren't sorry, though.
Rightfully so. This was a matter concerning life and death, which alone was an understatement when it came to the least virtuous Original.
With a dismissive shook of your arm, her hand fell from your wrist like the ends of a burnt cigarette, her gaze sunken with shame and guilt.
The sun finally shone on your face, the hope no longer an imitation— but real. Despite its blazing sensation, it confirmed one important thing. You were free of the shackles engineered by the bloody hands of Kol Mikaelson.
Or so you thought.
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Part two? Lies in the hands of readers. I'd rather put an open end to this because if I continue writing, I might grow attached to it. I don't like feeling sentimental. As you can tell, I was gradually getting bored of this story and needed to finish it ASAP. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this.
