#vampire series

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (1997-2003)

He remembers the faint feeling of a kiss upon his shoulder, to which he returned so gently—when he still had it within him to be gentle.

BEFORE READING

prologue I. II. III. IV. V. and more

This series contains dark and mature content, including sexual themes and thoughts of death. Minors do not interact. Negative comments will be removed. Do not upload my work on here or anywhere else. © faestunna 2025.

When The Town Wakes ~ Part 2

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪᴛᴇ | 4.ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

synopsis: Sevika’s control falters as hunger and desire blur. A shared moment of blood and trust is interrupted by the arrival of a dangerous newborn vampire, forcing Sevika to protect what little she still holds dear.

tags/warnings: vampire!sevika, human!reader, vampire!silco, vampire!jinx, vampire!vi, oral, marking, strap, age gap, yearning, blood, death, fingering, nsfw

A/N: Night Crawling ~ >:)

You woke up groggy, still caught in the haze of sleep, and instinctively curled closer to Sevika beside you.

She was already awake—had been for a while—her mind restless and far from rest. When you nestled into her side, she stirred slightly, her body tensing beneath the sheets, but she didn’t pull away.

You slipped back into sleep, comforted by the fading warmth she left behind. But when you woke again, Sevika was gone.

She must have slipped from your arms sometime before dawn. The space beside you was cold, the sheets undisturbed.

You sat up slowly, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the windows, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you glanced around—still clinging to the hope you might catch a glimpse of her lingering in the quiet.

You rose from the bed, still disheveled, and made your way to the door. Padding barefoot down the long, silent halls, you noticed how bare everything was—no pictures, no posters, not even a stray nail in the wall.

It felt like no one had truly lived here in years.

As you turned a corner, your feet met the top of a staircase. You placed one foot on the first step, the wood beneath you groaning in protest, creaking like it might give way under your weight.

A shiver ran through you, but you kept going, step by careful step, until you reached the bottom.

Once there, you hesitated. The house felt unfamiliar, like a place that shifted when you weren’t looking.

You didn’t know which room was which, so you wandered—moving slowly from space to space, taking it all in, trying to understand the bones of the place she'd brought you to.

Sevika stood at the long kitchen counter, quietly making herself a cup of strong, black coffee. She didn’t need to look up to know you were near—she felt your presence before you even crossed the threshold.

You stepped into the kitchen and froze, surprised to see her moving with such calm, human ritual. Watching her pour the dark liquid into a mug, you hesitated, unsure. Could vampires even drink coffee? Or anything that wasn’t blood?

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

The memory of her fangs grazing your throat hovered just beneath the surface of your thoughts, sharp and electric.

She tensed, pausing mid-motion, then turned to look at you—eyes narrowing slightly, as if she could see the memory flickering behind your eyes, feel the fear and fascination tangled there.

She held your gaze for a moment longer, the silence stretching thin between you.

Then, without a word, she turned back to her coffee, lifting the mug to her lips. You watched, waiting for some kind of reaction—revulsion, discomfort, anything—but she drank it like it meant nothing.

Like it was just a habit she hadn't let go of. The scent of it drifted through the air—bitter, rich, grounding—and somehow, that small, mundane detail unsettled you more than the memory of her fangs ever could.

You stepped further into the room, the floor cool beneath your feet, the quiet hum of the house pressing in around you. She didn’t speak, and neither did you—not yet.

You wanted to ask where she’d gone, why she’d left the bed, but the words caught in your throat and died. Instead, your eyes were drawn to her back—the bandages loosely wrapped around her shoulder, the way the morning light traced the curves of her body, casting long shadows across the tile, as if even the sun hesitated to touch her.

She was aware of your gaze and knew you were watching.

You lingered at the edge of the kitchen, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if trying to hold something in—your breath, your questions, your fear.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly.

Your voice barely broke the silence, but it made Sevika shift. She didn’t turn around—just nodded once, slow and deliberate.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped closer, drawn in by something heavier than curiosity. Your eyes fell again on the bandage wrapped around her shoulder—the edge of it had darkened, fresh blood seeping through. The sight made your stomach twist.

She wasn’t invincible. You knew that. But seeing her wounded stirred something primal in your chest. Protective. Angry. Afraid.

“You’re bleeding again,” you said quietly.

At that, she turned.

The morning light caught her face, illuminating the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the tired curve of her mouth. Her eyes—still crimson, though muted in the daylight—met yours. She looked worn. Not just tired, but frayed, like something had been chewing away at her from the inside.

“It’s nothing,” she murmured.

But it wasn’t.

You crossed the distance between you slowly, each barefoot step muffled by the cold tile. She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch as your fingers reached out—hovered—then gently brushed her arm.

“Let me change it.”

For a moment, she just looked at you. Not wary, not distant, just… uncertain. Like she couldn’t quite make sense of the offer. Then, with a quiet breath—resignation or surrender—you couldn’t tell—she gave a small nod.

She sat on the edge of the purple, worn velvet couch in the next room, her shirt discarded on the armrest. Her muscles were tense beneath skin marked by old scars and scattered bruises, both fresh and faded.

You knelt beside her, first aid kit in hand—the one you’d found tucked away in a cabinet the other night. You tried not to look too long at the exposed line of her collarbone, the rise and fall of her chest, the vulnerability she rarely allowed anyone to see.

Carefully, you peeled the bandage away.

Dried blood clung to the gauze—but beneath it, something worse.

The wound was deep, torn at the edges like it had been ripped rather than cut. But it wasn’t just physical. It pulsed faintly beneath your touch. The skin around it had turned a sickly shade, veins fanning outward like black roots buried in flesh.

Something unnatural. Something that didn’t want to heal.

You inhaled—and the stench of the wound hit you. Metallic and sour, sharp enough to make your stomach turn.

Sevika watched your face as you worked, her jaw clenched, her shoulder stiff beneath your touch. You could feel her resisting the urge to pull away—not from the pain, but from you.

“Why does it look like this?” you asked, your voice hushed.

She didn’t answer at first. Just stared past you, toward the window where sunlight leaked through thin curtains, falling in pale, fractured strips across the floor.

“I haven’t fed. Not human blood.”

You paused. Your hand hovered over the wound, the alcohol pad trembling between your fingers.

“That was days ago,” she said.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet. Distant.

You looked at her again. Really looked. The hollows beneath her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged just slightly under the weight of something unspoken. The exhaustion in her face wasn’t just pain—it was hunger. Restraint.

Something inside her was unraveling, thread by thread, and still, she was holding on.

“You’re starving,” you whispered.

A flicker crossed her expression—guilt, maybe. Or pride. You couldn’t quite tell.

“I didn’t want it to be you,” she said.

Your breath caught.

She didn’t need to explain.

The memory of her fangs against your skin was still there, buried just beneath the surface—sharp and electric. It hadn’t just been fear. There’d been something else. Something darker. Something you still hadn’t shaken.

“I would’ve let you,” you said, before you could think, before you could stop yourself.

Her eyes snapped to yours—sharp, startled. For the first time, her guard slipped. And in the space between one breath and the next, her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll lose control.”

Silence settled again, thick and heavy. You didn’t move, and neither did she.

The alcohol pad had gone cold in your hand—forgotten.

“I trust you,” you said finally, the words quiet but steady.

She let out a soft breath—almost a laugh—but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief, a sadness that lingered.

“You shouldn’t,” she said.

Her eyes dropped, and for a moment, she looked small—not in strength, but in spirit. Like something inside her was breaking, and she was trying to hold the pieces together with nothing but sheer will.

You reached for her—not to treat the wound this time, but just to touch, to anchor her. Your fingers found hers, and though she didn’t squeeze back, she didn’t pull away either.

“You’ve been holding back all this time,” you murmured. “You think I haven’t noticed. You’re bleeding slow. Healing slower. You’re tired, Sevika.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Her throat worked as she swallowed whatever protest she’d been about to give.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, barely audible.

“You won’t.”

She looked up, and there was something raw in her eyes now—something unguarded, desperate.

“I’m not sure I know where the line is anymore.”

You leaned in slightly, your forehead almost brushing hers.

“Then let me help you find it,” you replied.

For a beat, the only sound was her breath—shaky, uneven. And then:

“What if I take too much?”

“Then I’ll stop you.”

She laughed again, the same broken sound.

“You say that like you could.”

You smiled faintly.

“Maybe not. But I’d still try.”

That made her pause. Her gaze softened, something flickering behind it—affection, maybe. Or fear.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she lifted your hand and pressed your wrist to her mouth—not biting, just resting it there. Her lips were cold, trembling.

And when she finally spoke, it was so soft you barely heard it:

“Don’t let me lose myself.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, each beat a reminder of the fragile thread you both were walking.

You rested your other hand gently on her cheek, feeling the cold beneath your fingertips—the faint tremor that ran through her like a warning.

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice steady even as doubt clawed beneath it.

She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as if it could ground her.

When she opened them again, a flicker of something fragile—a plea, a hope—shone in the depths of her crimson eyes.

“Promise me,” she whispered, her voice raw, “if I slip, if I fall too far, you’ll stop me. No matter what it takes.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I promise.”

Sevika pulls back your wrist, her mouth opening just enough for her fangs to catch the sunlight, glinting sharp and deadly. You can feel the thrum of your pulse—loud, uneven—and you swear to God she hears it too.

She tilts your arm just so, letting the light fall on your skin, revealing the delicate vein beneath.

Her lips brush against your wrist—soft, but cold—and for some reason, you expected them to be rough. Before your mind can catch up, with a swift, deliberate bite, her sharp fangs pierce your tender flesh.

Warm blood spills slowly between her lips as she drinks, her eyes locked on yours, unblinking. The heat of her breath contrasts with the chill of her mouth, sending a strange shiver through you.

When she finally pulls back, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding escapes in a soft exhale. Her voice follows—low, rough, and filled with hunger:

“Not many would let me taste them like this.”

For a fleeting moment, her crimson eyes soften—just a fraction—before the mask falls back into place.

The wound on her shoulder sealed shut in an instant—skin knitting smooth, blood halting mid-flow. What remained was no longer a gaping maw, but the ghost of it, a pale outline where violence had been. A scar in the making.

Still, her hand held my wrist—firm, steady, almost tender.

Her gaze dropped to the blood trailing down my wrist, and something shifted in her expression. Hunger stirred there, quiet but ravenous, as if she wanted more. All of it. As if the taste had only awakened something deeper.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t give in.

Our eyes met, locked in that fragile, dangerous space. I tried to pull back—slow, careful, unsure.

She didn’t let go.

Not yet.

She stepped into the narrow space between you, her fingers still curled around your wrist like a promise she hadn’t decided how to keep. Slowly, deliberately, she raised your arm, her eyes never leaving yours.

Then her lips parted.

Her tongue brushed against your skin, tracing the blood in a slow, deliberate line.

You shuddered—not from pain, but from the sheer intimacy of it, the heat of her mouth against your pulse, the quiet reverence in the way she tasted you like something sacred.

Something forbidden.

Her tongue lingered—slow, searching—as if she were memorizing the shape of you through taste alone. Each motion sparked beneath your skin like a current, impossible to ignore. Her breath warmed your wrist, her mouth no longer cold, and you felt the edge of her restraint stretched thin—threadbare against the moment.

She closed her eyes, and for just a heartbeat, you could almost believe she was savoring more than blood. Something quieter. Older. Like she missed what it meant to be human… to be alive.

When her eyes opened again, they were darker. The red had deepened—rich and glassy with want. But her grip never tightened. She held you like you were something fragile. Like she knew she could break you if she wasn’t careful.

Your heart pounded, loud in your chest—loud between you.

“Sevika,” you whispered.

She stilled. The sound of her name grounded her, brought her back.

Her lips slipped from your wrist, though her hand didn’t follow. A smear of crimson lingered on her mouth, catching at the corner. Her chest rose and fell—unsteady, uneven—like she was wrestling something inside her that didn’t understand mercy.

“I shouldn’t have,” she said, voice rough, barely above breath. “I didn’t mean to take that much.”

“You didn’t,” you replied, even as your legs felt weaker beneath you. “I’m still here.”

Her thumb brushed lightly over your skin, like she needed to feel it—needed to know you hadn’t vanished. Her gaze flicked down to the bite, not yet healed, then lifted to your face. There was hesitation there. Uncertainty.

“I don’t know how to want this,” she murmured. “Not without destroying it.”

You stepped closer, uncaring of the blood still seeping from your wrist. Your free hand rose, cradling her jaw, guiding her to meet your eyes.

“You haven’t destroyed me yet,” you said softly. “And I think you’re trying harder than you want to admit.”

That cracked something in her.

A breath caught. Her eyes flickered with something raw—too fast to name. Grief, maybe. Or longing. She leaned into your touch, her forehead resting against yours. Your blood still warm between you.

“You keep saying you trust me,” she whispered. “But what happens when I trust you back?”

You swallowed, hand steady against her cheek.

“I think,” you said, voice low, “that’s when we stop running from whatever this is.”

She exhaled slowly, eyes still shut, and at last, her grip on your wrist loosened. Her hand drifted downward, settling at your waist—light, almost hesitant, but steady. Her fingers spread against you, not pulling, not pressing—just resting there, like she needed the contact to convince herself this wasn’t a dream. That you were real. That she hadn’t already lost you.

Your foreheads still touching, her presence close and steady. She leans in, her breath a whisper against your lips, and you tremble—just enough for her to feel it.

She doesn’t move closer—not yet. She just hovers there, her mouth a whisper from yours, not quite a kiss—just the promise of one. Your breath stutters as her nose brushes against yours, the touch slow, deliberate, reverent. The air around you crackles—fragile, electric, humming with something far more dangerous than blood.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft you almost don’t hear it.

“I don’t know how to do this gently.”

You tilt your head, barely, just enough for your lips to almost meet hers.

“Then don’t,” you whisper.

She leans in—closer, closer—about to close the distance, her breath mingling with yours—

BANG.

The sound of the door slamming ricochets through the house like a gunshot, violent and jarring. Both of you flinch. She pulls back instantly, instincts sharpened, eyes flashing red as her body tenses.

Her hand tightens briefly at your waist before releasing you entirely.

The moment shatters like glass.

Bootsteps echo in the hallway.

Someone’s here.

She pushes you behind her in one swift motion, body tensing as she squares her shoulders, then grabs her shirt and yanks it on in one practiced motion. Every muscle coiled and ready. Her stance sharpens—alert, protective—as the sound of the door reverberates through the house.

In the shadow, someone lurks. Sevika’s eyes snap toward the source—dark, unblinking, calculating every flicker of movement.

A low growl vibrates in her throat as she shields you behind her.

Slowly, a figure steps out from the darkness and into the light—not just anyone. It’s Silco, and behind him, a girl with long, bright blue hair woven into two braids, a side bang framing her face.

Sevika exhales sharply, a breath escaping her lips. Her body relaxes just enough, and she steps forward.

Sevika’s gaze never wavers from Silco’s face—sharp, wary—but beneath her guarded exterior, something unreadable flickers.

The girl with blue hair watches silently, eyes cautious yet curious, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, a restless tension in her movements.

The air thickens, heavy with unspoken history.

Sevika’s voice cuts through the silence—low and steady, but edged with tension.

“Why did you bring her here?”

Silco’s lips curl into a tight, knowing smile. His eyes flicker briefly to you before settling back on Sevika.

“This is Jinx,” Silco says quietly, “she’s a newborn vampire.”

Sevika tenses, stepping in front of you like a shield at the sudden revelation.

“Hey,” Jinx says, waving at both of you, her tone light but eyes watching carefully.

“Why did you bring her here?” Sevika growls, voice low and sharp.

“She’s a danger to humans,” Sevika adds, her gaze fierce.

You step forward slightly, curiosity pushing past your caution.

“What’s a newborn vampire?” you ask, still lingering close behind Sevika.

Silco turns to you, his one good eye sharp and assessing.

“A vampire recently transformed from human,” he replies.

You glance at Sevika and lean in, whispering so only she can hear,

“What does that mean?”

Her voice drops to a growl beneath her breath.

“Her emotions are raw… and she’s more drawn to blood."

You glance down at your wrist. Jinx’s eyes follow the movement, and she stirs slightly—her eyes darken, pupils dilating as she licks her lips. You tense behind Sevika, instinctively reaching for her hand. Sevika stiffens for a moment but doesn’t pull away—not yet.

She steps in front of you, sharp and unyielding. Then, without a word, she releases your hand and takes slow, measured steps toward Jinx, placing herself squarely between the two of you. Her body radiates a tense, barely contained energy, like a predator sizing up a rival.

“You don’t just bring someone like her into this house,” Sevika says, her voice low and dangerous. “Especially not without warning.” Her gaze flicks to Silco but doesn’t soften.

Jinx shifts under the weight of Sevika’s stare but doesn’t back down. Instead, a flicker of something—defiance, desperation—sparks in her bright eyes.

Sevika’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “Newborn or not, she’s unstable. Do you want her to hurt someone? Or worse—turn them?”

The tension in the room thickens, the silence heavy enough to drown in. Sevika’s chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths, but her fingers twitch as if craving control.

Then her gaze softens just a fraction—just enough to reveal the conflict beneath her hardened exterior. She isn’t just guarding against Jinx, but against what Jinx represents: an unstable force, a reminder of what Sevika herself once was, or could become again.

“Look,” Sevika says, her voice dropping to a low, almost vulnerable tone, “if you’re going to stay here, you follow my rules. No feeding on humans. No outbursts. No endangering anyone.”

Jinx’s lips twitch into a reluctant nod. “Got it.”

Sevika’s posture relaxes marginally, though the wariness never leaves her eyes. She glances at you, then back at Silco, silently warning: This is far from over.

Jinx rocks back on her heels, eyes darting between the three of you. Something fragile flickers across her face—uncertainty, maybe even fear—but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. She clasps her hands behind her back, as if trying to contain the restless energy crackling just beneath her skin.

Silco steps forward, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

“She needs stability. Control. If she doesn’t get it…”

His voice trails off, heavy with implication.

Sevika doesn’t look away from Jinx.

“Then maybe she shouldn’t be here at all.”

“That’s not your decision,” Silco says, calm but cold. “You forget—this house was built on second chances. Or did you already burn yours?”

The words land hard, but Sevika doesn’t flinch. Her jaw clenches, and a flicker of something old and raw passes through her—shame, anger—you can’t quite tell. She draws a breath, slow and deliberate, then turns slightly. Just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. as if to say

Stay close. Stay behind me. Don’t trust her. Not yet.

Jinx catches the look. Her brows tick up, and a crooked grin curls at her lips—too playful to be kind, too sharp to be safe.

“Don’t worry,” she purrs, her voice sweet as rot. “I’m not here to bite.”

“Not tonight,” Sevika mutters, stepping forward again. Closer now—close enough that if Jinx made one wrong move, she’d strike without hesitation.

The silence between them settles like a living thing—tense, watchful.

Then, reluctantly, Sevika steps back. She doesn’t look at Jinx again—only at Silco.

“She slips once,” she warns, voice like iron. “You deal with it. Or I will.”

Silco nods once. His agreement is wordless, but it lands just as heavily.

Jinx’s gaze lingers on you, curious.

“What’s your name?” she asks, her tone featherlight.

You hesitate. Before you can answer, Sevika cuts in—quiet, firm.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jinx smirks, head tilting just slightly.

“Right. Guess we’re not friends yet.”

With that, she turns and strolls deeper into the house, as if she owns the place—like the floorboards were laid just for her.

But beside you, Sevika stays tense. Her breath is steady, but shallow. She’s tracking every step Jinx takes.

You reach for Sevika’s hand again.

This time, she takes it.

Tightly.

And doesn’t let go.

Her grip is steady, but there’s something fierce beneath it—like she’s holding on not just to you, but to her control. Like you’re the thing keeping her from coming undone. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles once, slow and deliberate.

A silent reassurance.

Or a warning.

Jinx vanishes around the corner, her footsteps soft but purposeful, echoing faintly through the hall.

Still, her presence lingers—like static in the air, sharp and waiting.

Silco doesn’t follow right away. He stands there instead, gaze pinned to you both with that cold, precise stare.

“She’s not like us,” Sevika says, her voice low, meant only for you and Silco. “She doesn’t care what she destroys, as long as she feels something.”

Silco’s face doesn’t shift.

“Then teach her to care.”

Sevika lets out a bitter scoff.

“I’m not a fucking babysitter.”

He watches her—long and slow, gaze unreadable. Then, without another word, he turns and follows Jinx down the corridor, his footsteps silent, final. The quiet that settles in his wake is suffocating, thick as smoke.

Sevika exhales. Long. Controlled. Her hand still clasped around yours like a tether. The silence stretches—thin as glass, and just as breakable.

“I don’t like this,” she mutters. “She’s unstable. Half-wild. Like holding a lit match near dry kindling.”

You tilt your head up to look at her.

“Then why let her stay?”

Her jaw ticks. The question cuts too close. She takes a few steps toward the hallway, shoulders tight, eyes narrowed.

“It’s not my call,” she says finally. “Silco sees something in her. That alone makes her dangerous.”

She turns back to face you. Her eyes are darker now—grave.

“So you don’t go near her. Not alone. Not ever.”

You nod, but something in you twists—tight and sharp.

Curiosity.

Or maybe something colder.

Sevika steps in again, voice dropping to a breath against your ear. Her fangs graze the edge of your skin—barely there.

“She’ll smile. She’ll act sweet. But that thing inside her?” Her voice hardens. “It’s hungry. And it likes the taste of fear.”

A shiver skates down your spine.

Sevika leans in closer, her forehead almost brushing yours.

“She slips,” she whispers, “I’ll stop her. No hesitation.”

Her hand squeezes yours—tight and protective.

You believe her.

You absolutely believe her.

And somehow, that terrifies you more than Jinx ever could.

Hell of a Night

Vampire!Javy "Coyote" Machado x Female!Reader

Summary: Good wine and a good fuck. Those were your primary motives for venturing into the bar that evening. San Diego was still reeling from the latest killing in a spate of horrific Dagger murders; it was reckless for you to venture beyond the safety of your family home at all. Was it fate that caused you to cross paths with Javy Machado? Or something more sinister? Either way, you were in for one hell of a night…

Author’s Note: Sooooo this has been almost a year in the making... oops? Thank you to anyone new that takes a chance on this fic and thank you to anyone that has stuck around this long!

Part 5

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Swearing, explicit sexual references, references to violence, religious themes, reader has an odd obsession with death...

Disclaimers: Lines in red are lyrics from Easier Than Lying by Halsey