#chained up

✧ 10 years later ✧

He didn’t BEAT THE BUZZER - so after losing his hair, Inmate I-01 now loses an hour of freedom chained up in solitary confinement!

“Where Fire meets Resistance”

⌗ :: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader (Gilbert)

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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