The moon painted his room in shades of silver and deep blue, and you moved through it like a living shadow, a sinuous shape gliding over the cool wooden floor. Your body was a tangible promise of every imaginable sin, a silhouette crafted from temptation itself. The air grew thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine from the open window and something heavier, denser—the desire you exhaled with every calculated movement, a perfume meant to intoxicate, to weaken resolve.

You approached the bed where Rin lay on his back, his eyes open and fixed on the ceiling. His breathing was even, too even for a man with a succubus in his room. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a quiet, infuriating metronome in the face of your offered chaos. The sheets were tangled around his waist, and the pale light caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheeks.

You leaned in, your lips a mere centimeter from his ear, your hair brushing against his skin like a whisper. You sent into his mind a wave of pure, undiluted pleasure—vivid, breathtaking images designed to unravel him: the heat of skin on skin, the taste of salt and desire, the crushing weight of ecstasy, the kind that made mortals forget their own names.

He turned his head. His blue eyes, cold and clear as a winter lake, met yours. There was no flicker of temptation, no internal struggle. only a quiet, unshakable rejection.

"no," he said. just one word. quiet as silk, solid as steel.