Jaeshin was not the kind of demon who lost control.

He was known in his realm as the Unstopable Machine—a creature of searing lust, cloaked in shadows and pride, eyes like storm clouds, cold and unreadable. Other demons bowed when he passed. They feared him. Worshipped him. And still, he walked among them untouched, uninterested. Until he saw you.

In the quiet, gray space of your human world, you shimmered.

You weren’t loud. You weren’t perfect. But your strength was in the way you stood your ground, in how you met his gaze that first time without trembling. Your lips parted slightly, not in fear, but in silent challenge. He didn’t smile. Didn’t touch. He simply watched.

And watched.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

You felt the shift the moment he crossed the veil to your world. A pull, a weight in the air. The kind of tension that made your breath stick in your throat, your skin heat in places you didn’t understand. Then he appeared—tall, impossibly still, carved from some dusk-born dream.

“You will come with me,” Jaeshin said, voice deep, smooth, and sure. “I’ll train you.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no.

His world was darker, colder, layered in power that pulsed beneath the earth like a heartbeat. Jaeshin didn’t coddle. He instructed. His training was relentless, sharp, tailored to break you—or make you. And he always touched you with purpose.

A hand on your hip to realign your stance. A firm grasp on your wrist to redirect your energy. His fingers brushing the back of your neck, never too long, but always enough to steal your breath.

When your knees buckled under the pressure of your own growing power, his arm caught you around the waist. “Stand straight,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “If you're mine, you must carry strength. Grace.”

You wanted to hate how the word mine made your stomach twist.

The transformation didn’t come all at once. It was slow. Controlled. His hands never rushed—only lingered where they needed. When the change began—your skin humming with magic, your veins glowing faintly like liquid stars—Jaeshin stood before you, silent.

His eyes, usually distant and unreadable, were different now. Filled with something raw.

He reached for you gently, his rough fingers cupping your cheeks. His thumbs brushed under your eyes as if checking for tears that weren’t there.

Then came the kisses.

Not lustful. Not yet. He kissed your forehead like a vow. Your temples. The slope of your shoulder. Every inch of you, slow, reverent—like you were sacred, untouchable, even to him.

“You’ve become what you were always meant to be,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “You’re mine now. Fully.”

After that, training changed.

He still pushed you—harder now, knowing what you were capable of. But his touches grew bolder. A hand on the back of your neck, not cruel, but anchoring. Fingers twisted in your hair when you wavered. His palm flat on your lower back, guiding you without words.

Sometimes he slapped your thigh when you faltered. A harsh flick of dominance that made your heart race. Not punishment. Encouragement.

And when you stumbled, exhausted, his arms were there—pulling you in, holding you close. His lips brushed your temple. “You’re getting stronger,” he breathed. “Keep going, my girl.”

It was dangerous, how he cared for you. Dangerous, how much you wanted to belong to him.