.
"She thinks she can run from me. She thinks I'll let her go."
I watch her, always watching. She's like a flame—flickering, trying to escape my grasp, but she doesn't understand that I don't burn. I consume. She's in my lungs, in my veins, and there's no way out for either of us.
The first time I made her cry, I told myself it wasn't enough. I wanted to break her, shatter her, make her beg, but then—I wanted to be the one to put her back together. The only hands that should ever touch her.
When we fought, she clawed at me like a wild thing, and I let her. I let her fight. Let her challenge me. It only made me want her more. Every push made me pull. Every scream made me lean in closer. I wanted her anger, her defiance, her damnation—because it meant she was still mine.
But she fell. Hard.
And so did I.
I told her it wasn't supposed to happen. That I don't love. That I don't surrender. But she seeped into the cracks, into the spaces I swore were empty. So I let her leave her mark on me. I inked her name into my skin, a tattoo no one else would understand. A vow. A fucking contract in blood and ink that I'll never erase.
She told me she wanted freedom. So I caged her.
She told me she didn't want to be watched. So I followed her.
She told me she needed space. So I broke into her house.
She cried in the shower that night, and I was there. Watching. Waiting. Apologizing in the only way I knew how—by refusing to leave. By taking her, owning her, making sure she never forgot who she belonged to.
I changed everything for her. Sold my favorite things, let go of my hobbies, turned the place I ruled into a shrine for her. My bar? It's no longer a playground for sin—it's a domain built for her pleasure. My pleasure. Ours.
Because she doesn't understand.
I don't just want her. I need her.
If she bleeds, I'll taste it. If she runs, I'll chase. If she breaks, I'll put her back together—my way.
Because I am his Dark Devotion.
And she is mine. Forever.
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Author note:-
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