𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Galatians 5:17 }

No song yet...

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{ " For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want." }
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Hands firmly grabbing onto the decorative cards while the person's eyes analyze the deck in front of them. The atmosphere in the study room fills up with tension and concentration. Eventually, their attention shifts over to the man ahead, who's also analyzing his assigned stack.

The person simply spreads a small grin upon their features, although the cards cover their playfulness. Immediately, they launch their cards to the center of the table, giggling at the abrupt news in their cards.

"I proclaim myself as Alexander the Great because I just conquered your game." They ridicule their prompt triumph in the game the other person has played for centuries. Their body automatically lifts themselves off of the deftly crafted dark mahogany chair and onto their feet.

Their arms shoot up high in the sky as their grin alternates into a massive smile plaster upon their features. However, instead of their opponent whining about their defeat, the man endeavor to conceal his jovial emotions from the oblivious teenager.

Still euphoric from their victory, they notice their foe is cowering away in his chair. His left arm is propped up to support their skull, his pale hands covering his irrelevant mood whilst his head is pivoted to the left side of him.

"Vinny, it's not that solemn to cry about it. Yet again, this is my first time playing this." The victorious person aka Y/n recommends him. The elation within their opponent's body simply generates warm giddy feelings to summon in his stomach. Although in his futile attempts to hide his amused emotion, his body exhibits a subtle shake and stifled waves of laughter accidentally slipping out of his mouth.

This automatically clicks into the teenager's head that her opponent wasn't crying. This only baffles the once excited female who leisurely transforms into an insecure inquisitive teenager. Desiring to discover why he's displaying such insolence towards her. "I demand to know what you are cackling about?"

"Ye demand me? Oh, ma devil. Ye mortals are hysterical." He mocks her.

"Okay, so what is it?" She repeats herself seeming as if she has echolalia because of the demon's disruptive laughter blanketing over her questions. Y/n instantly props her elbows onto the table and settles her hands underneath her s/c chin, impatiently waiting for a response.

"Apologies for burstin' yer precious bubble, lass, regardless I won." He declares the correct victor of their card game. A tad indignant at the reversal position, she blurts out her opinion without giving it any time or thought to it. "You did not!" She denounces. The annoyance finally makes its presence known to the demon, who simply has a grin etched onto his countenance.

"I've been playin' this game for centuries therefore implyin' an amateur like ye willna win against me." He advises her. Subconsciously, his hands begin to gather the scattered cards on the dark mahogany table.

Of course, Y/n rolls her eyes at his supercilious, prideful remarks. "But you swore you would go easy on me—" She shortens her sentence. "Okay, fine, so you won." Y/n nonchalantly congratulates him. The lethargy and bitterness gradually accumulates in the protagonist's body. Pondering why she decided to chance her luck with him, even though he informed her that he would play it ineptly. Currently, she wishes to wipe that complacent grin off his face.

The teenager lifts her body out of her chair to desert the demon and his foolish game. Obstinate to create a statement, she's leaving to go to her mother's shop, so he can drive himself insane for setting her up like that.

"Nae, ye stay there." Vincent utters. Despite her vengeful plans, an assertive force pressures her body to collapse right down in the same chair. This produced the teenager to whip her head in all four directions to catch what spirit was strong enough to shove her down.

"Did you feel tha—" In mid-sentence, she interrupts herself to deeply investigate the touch. Nonetheless, in her attempts to search for it, there's nothing and it irks her because she knows she's not loony.

Her eyes shift over to the now-moving Vincent. His body slowly saunters over to where she is. His index finger glides across the table as his movements resemble a predator stalking his prey. "Ye once inquired on whit type of demon am I?" Vincent reminds her of a question from five years ago. A response that was extremely useless to her because she isn't proficient in demonology.

"Yeah, you stated you were an incubus." She answers him, having no luck or intimation as to what that was. All she knows is every demon is the same, hence why would she attempt to indulge herself in the realm of demons? When she already accepted her childhood friend and left it at that.

"Hmm, but do ye ken whit we do?... How...we feed?" His voice suddenly lowers in a soothing manner. The elocution is promptly more alluring and compelling compared to earlier. Something about his voice has a sufficient amount of hush and temptation inside it.

She abruptly discovers her body wanting to be lured into his aura. The more he moved closer, the more she desires to become tangled with his magnetic presence. Regardless, she brushes off the tingling sensation in her body and begins to generate soft mirthful sounds within her mouth.

As if it was an absurd question, she throws her hands up responding: "Presumably by feeding on people and incubi do—" Y/n cuts herself briefly once she recognizes the question was trickier than it truly was. Her mind immediately engulfs her present self in her consciousness, her thoughts chasing one another, attempting to search for the one answer she could easily reply to if she recalls it.

Memories after memories, she reaches a dead end and she's left in her bewildered state. Once done, she snaps her attention back to her current reality. Finally realizing, Vincent is in front of her, towering over her sitting figure. In this position, she genuinely feels as if she is his prey ultimately getting caught by her hunter.

His intense eyes stares down upon her in a way she wanted to cower away from him. Those golden eyes of his burn with alienated and demented emotions she's unfamiliar to. Emotions that provoke her stomach to turn and churn by the sudden focus on her.

"The prize I want is yer energy." He eventually informs her. Immediately, the teenager begins to produce the same delightful sound to slip out of her mouth. Contrary to the giggles, nothing is amusing to her. She habitually attempts to lighten up the mood by this gesture. Albeit, Vincent doesn't budge. "Well..." She mutters out. Their eyes are connected and no one risks breaking free of their grasp on one another.

Gradually, Vincent lowers his body down to his knees, meeting at eye level with her. She continues to be left stupefied by his actions and his right-hand lifts one of her hands to his lips.

Instinctively, her body is overwhelmed by this foreign sensation permeating throughout her form. The bothering warmth begins to rush over to her sensitive parts. Her face instantly becomes flush and red from the overwhelming emotions racing to their designed destinations.

Her pupils expand and fill themselves with this unknown energy surging through her. It makes her legs automatically rub together to make the tingling sensation defer the motions in her lower region. Her breasts ache for something to relieve the overwhelming pangs in her. She needs something or someone to alleviate the pleasurable pain out of her pure body.

However, the sensation momentarily dissipates once Vincent takes his lips off her overheated palm. The woman stares at the demon below because this phenomenon merely reminds her of her ninth birthday when she accidentally touched Vincent.

'So....that's your ability to make people intoxicated with desire? Frankly, I do not yearn to indulge in it.' She ponders, despite, her protest deep down her body craves more of this capricious feeling.