The library was its usual oasis of calm, sunlight filtering through the high windows and casting a warm glow across the shelves. The Scoobies were gathered in their usual spots: Willow with her nose in an ancient tome, Xander balancing his chair on two legs, and Wesley flipping through notes with the seriousness of someone preparing for a lecture.
Buffy entered, sliding into a chair next to Willow. “Alright, gang. Hellmouth status report. Any new flavors of apocalypse on tap?”
Xander grinned, leaning forward. “Apocalypse? Nah, it’s more of an all-you-can-slay buffet right now. Come for the vampires, stay for the trauma.”
Buffy smirked, relaxing a little. “Sunnydale Scream Fest—50/50 chance you make it back, and you probably lose your wallet on the way.”
Wesley cleared his throat, straightening up with an air of authority. “If we’re done with the… amusement,” he began, casting a pointed look around the table, “perhaps we can focus on our new potential threat. Mayor Wilkins may be connected to something far older and more dangerous than we’d initially thought.”
Buffy hid a smirk, her tone sarcastic. “Mr. Mayor Wilkins, Evil in a Power Suit. Terrifying.” She raised an eyebrow, feigning concern. “What’s he going to do, throw in free dental with every demonic contract?”
Xander leaned in, eyes gleaming. “The guy probably gargles with the souls of the innocent every morning. That’s how he keeps those pearly whites.”
Faith strolled in just in time to hear the joke and plopped down next to Buffy. “Yeah, sounds like a classic Big Bad to me. Mayor’s got style: all smiles, creepy cheer, the works. Maybe we should crash his next ‘family values’ fundraiser and see what’s in the punch.”
Willow looked up from her book, brow furrowed. “Buffy, there’s just something about him. He’s too… Stepford. It’s like he’s hiding in plain sight, and it gives me the creeps.”
“Creepy, yes,” Xander added with a grin. “But maybe he’s just hiding his evil lair under City Hall, complete with lava pit and minions. He’s probably already got the ‘Welcome to My Evil Lair’ sign installed.”
Buffy laughed, but a faint warmth tugged at her awareness, Her eyes widened as she felt the amulet resting in her pocket. She’d tried to leave it behind, yet somehow, it returned to her. Now it was back, the weight of it warm against her hip. She brushed her hand over her pocket, feeling the slight heat, but quickly withdrew, clenching her hand in her lap.
Faith leaned in, her smirk practically a signature at this point. “Mayor’s got a soft spot for you, B. Family man on the outside, demon-summoning psycho on the inside. Real charmer.”
Buffy forced a matching smirk, even as her hand twitched—the amulet’s sudden warmth sending a faint shiver up her spine. She folded her arms, keeping her voice breezy. “Oh, totally. I’m sure next week’s apocalypse comes with a gift basket and a free mani-pedi.”
The words came out a bit breathier than she intended. Buffy quickly glanced around, hoping nobody noticed her shift in tone, but the warmth had intensified, a slow, insistent pulse.
Wesley, oblivious to Buffy’s discomfort, leaned forward with a frown, holding up a rough sketch of a symbol. “Faith and Buffy encountered this mark on a crypt last night, likely linked to a demon called Vortrekh. Ancient sources mention him as a ‘purveyor of corrupted desires,’ an influence that preys on vulnerability. But there are… contradictions in the records. Some texts suggest he’s not merely destructive but serves a larger purpose, albeit one we don’t fully understand.”
Giles adjusted his glasses, taking the sketch from Wesley for a closer look. “The contradictions might indicate different interpretations over centuries. One source describes him as an agent of chaos, capable of undermining even the strongest of wills. Another…” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “Another refers to him as a ‘fallen sentinel,’ which suggests a more… complex role. If true, it would place him outside the realm of typical demonic behavior.”
Willow tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “A fallen sentinel? Like… fallen angel vibes? Or more like someone who flunked out of Demon Academy?”
“Closer to the former, though I doubt the description is meant to flatter him,” Giles replied. “In some interpretations, ‘sentinel’ refers to beings tasked with maintaining balance across dimensions.”
Faith leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Balance? That doesn’t exactly scream ‘big bad.’ Sounds more like a demon who forgot which team he’s on.”
“Balance doesn’t mean benevolence,” Wesley interjected, his tone crisp. “If Vortrekh is a ‘fallen sentinel,’ his actions might align with his own goals, not ours. And if those goals include exploiting desire and vulnerability, it’s still dangerous. Especially for those who aren’t aware of his influence.” His gaze flicked briefly to Buffy, who forced herself to meet it without flinching.
Willow frowned, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. “So, the Mayor’s teaming up with an ancient demon who moonlights as a chaos therapist? Figures. Why stab your enemies when you can make them stab themselves?”
Faith smirked, tapping the sketch with a finger. “Vortrekh, huh? Guy sounds like trouble wrapped in ugly. If he’s batting cleanup for the Mayor, we’re gonna need more than stakes and snappy comebacks to take him down.”
Buffy nodded tightly, her voice steadier than she felt. “Totally. So, what’s our next move?”
Wesley adjusted his glasses, looking slightly impatient. “We need to gather more information. The symbol on the crypt is our only link to Vortrekh right now. If we can understand how his influence operates, we might find a way to counter it.”
Giles leaned over the books piled on the table, his brow furrowed. “The texts suggest his influence doesn’t manifest overtly. Instead, he cultivates… fractures in the psyche. Fear, longing, doubt—emotions that undermine resolve. If this amulet you discovered is tied to him, it’s likely amplifying such effects.”
Willow chewed her lip, her tone thoughtful. “So, he’s more subtle than smash-and-grab demons. He gets inside people’s heads, makes them face stuff they don’t want to deal with.” She glanced at Buffy, her brow creasing. “That’s… kind of scary.”
“Scary, yeah,” Faith said, a touch of mockery in her voice, though her smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But let’s not overthink it. At the end of the day, demons bleed, and we’re good at making that happen.”
Buffy forced a smile, though her fingers clenched under the table. “Right. We’ve got this.”
Wesley cleared his throat, oblivious to the tension simmering just beneath the surface. “It’s not just about bloodshed, Faith. If Vortrekh’s true goal involves undermining Sunnydale’s protectors—us—then simply fighting him won’t be enough. We need to find a way to shield ourselves from his influence.”
“And how does he even do that?” Buffy asked, her voice a touch too sharp. The warmth from the amulet spread in waves, tugging at her focus as she fought to keep her composure.
Wesley adjusted his glasses again, his brow furrowing. “Accounts are inconsistent, but they agree on one point: Vortrekh thrives on inner turmoil, exploiting suppressed desires and weaknesses. He doesn’t implant thoughts or feelings; he draws out what’s already there. Amplifies it.”
Faith raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “So, what—you’re saying he’s like a truth serum? But for feelings?”
“In a sense,” Giles said, his voice grave. “But far more dangerous. If he’s been summoned here, his presence could destabilize even the most steadfast of minds. We must tread carefully.”
Buffy swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the table as the amulet pulsed insistently at her side. “Careful. Got it.”
Buffy shifted in her chair, her gaze flicking briefly to Faith, who was watching her with that trademark smirk—like she could sense the tension radiating off her.
“Y’know, B,” Faith drawled, leaning back casually but with a glint in her eye. “If anyone can handle a demon that pokes at your deep, dark secrets, it’s you. Slayer with nerves of steel, right?”
Buffy opened her mouth to respond, but the heat in her pocket flared again, sharp and insistent, making her breath catch. She shot to her feet, her voice coming out too bright, too high. “Yep! Air. Definitely need some air.”
Everyone turned to stare, the silence prickling. Wesley frowned, his concern breaking through his usual reserve. “Miss Summers, are you feeling quite alright? Perhaps you should—”
“I’m fine!” Buffy interrupted, plastering on a tight smile. “Really. Just Slayer jitters. Too much coffee or something. Be right back!”
She spun on her heel and hurried out, her pace quickening as she put distance between herself and the others. The second she reached the bathroom, she shoved the door shut, leaning her full weight against it as she let out a shaky breath.
The amulet’s heat surged within her, a fiery wave that ignited every nerve ending. Buffy stumbled to the sink, gripping the cool edge of the porcelain as the pulsing warmth intensified, a sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating. Her heart raced, and her knees felt weak, but even in the midst of this powerful rush, she was acutely aware of her own desires.
With her eyes squeezed shut, she took a deep breath, trying to ground herself amidst the intensity. The amulet was amplifying feelings she already possessed—feelings she had always been drawn to but had kept at bay. Whatever power it held was undeniable, yet she felt a spark of clarity within the chaos. This was her choice to explore these sensations; the amulet merely heightened what was already there.
Buffy’s breathing grew heavier as the heat between her legs intensified, a familiar ache that stirred her senses. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her purse, rummaging through its contents with a mix of urgency and anticipation. She craved release from the building tension, a way to satisfy the throbbing emptiness that pulsed in time with her racing heart.
As her fingers brushed against a smooth, hard object, she realized it was one of her stakes. The blunt end pressed against her palm, igniting a daring and tantalizing idea—one that felt both wicked and irresistible given her current state. Really, Buffy? she thought to herself. You’re actually considering this?
She glanced at the locked bathroom door, feeling a rush of excitement and mischief. With a determined breath, she unbuttoned her jeans with shaking hands, shimmying them down to mid-thigh. This was her choice, her moment to embrace the thrill coursing through her.
She leaned back against the cool tiles of the shower wall, spreading her legs wider for access. With a whimper, she pressed the smooth wood against her clothed sex, gasping at the first point of contact. The damp fabric provided a barrier as she began to rub herself with the stake, seeking any friction to ease this maddening ache.
Murmuring incoherently, Buffy increased pressure and speed, moving the stake in quick circles over the fabric now soaked through clinging to her pussy. Her other hand fumbled with her panties, shoving them out of the way completely. The cool air kissed her heated flesh before she returned the stake to her bare folds, now slick with arousal.
“Oh god…” Buffy panted, eyes fluttering shut as she finally felt some relief. The blunt end slid between her swollen lips and pressed against her entrance teasingly. Biting her lip hard, Buffy began to penetrate herself with the stake, inch by inch. Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure radiating through her core.
Lost in a haze of lust, she picked up speed, fucking herself harder on the makeshift dildo as wet sounds filled the bathroom. Her muscles clenched around the invading stake, desperate for more as obscene noises spilled from her pussy lips. Pressure built rapidly at the base of her spine – an intense, white-hot feeling that consumed every cell.
With a sharp cry muffled against her own forearm, Buffy came undone. Her body convulsed around the stake buried deep inside as gushes of liquid heat flooded out, splattering obscenely on the bathroom floor. The force of her orgasm left her seeing stars, every nerve ending alight with raw ecstasy.
As aftershocks gradually subsided, a wave of mortified shame crashed over Buffy. Eyes wide, she looked down at the puddle of her own arousal glistening on the tiles before frantically grabbing for tissue to clean herself up. The stake clattered to the floor as she hastily wiped at her dripping thighs and fingers.
Buffy’s face burned with humiliation at what she’d just done – in a school bathroom, no less! She couldn’t believe how far gone she had been, so desperate for release that she resorted to using one of her own weapons as a dildo. She hastily scrubbed the evidence away, hands shaking from residual shame and lingering pleasure.
After tossing the stake into her purse, Buffy washed up at the sink on trembling legs. She avoided her reflection in the mirror above it, unable to stomach the sight of herself after such a brazen act. Sniffling quietly, she straightened her clothes with fumbling fingers before unlocking the stall door and slipping out – desperate to escape this mortifying situation that made her feel like the world’s biggest slut.
Yet even as Buffy fled down the hall, the traitorous heat of the amulet continued to pulse against her skin though now far more subdued than before. The lingering aches between her thighs served as a reminder that no matter how ashamed she was, she couldn’t deny the dark pleasure it promised.