I’ve always found a strange comfort in the idea of being wanted—truly wanted. Not just in passing or casually, but in a way that consumes. I crave a man who’s obsessive, who sees me as the center of his universe, willing to fight the world for me.

There’s something intoxicating about the thought of being desired to the point of madness. I want someone who can’t help but want to possess every part of me, who would get lost in my eyes and lose track of time. A man whose heart races at the thought of me, whose thoughts swirl with a mix of adoration and a hint of danger.

I fantasize about late nights filled with whispered promises and fervent declarations. The kind of love that makes you feel alive, yet keeps you on the edge of your seat. I want the thrill of knowing that he’s willing to go to any lengths to keep me safe, even if it means breaking a few rules.

I long for the wild, chaotic energy that comes with an all-consuming passion. It’s not about being controlled; it’s about surrendering to a bond so fierce that it eclipses everything else. I crave that darkness, that intensity. The idea of being cherished and desired to the point of obsession is both terrifying and exhilarating.

In a world that often feels mundane and predictable, I want someone who’ll turn my life into a thrilling, chaotic adventure. A love that’s deep, passionate, and just a little bit dangerous. Is that so wrong?