#intense yearning

[asrasfanpage]

[averyamorr]

so desperate for wings I'd probably let some mad scientist do it for free.I really don't care anymore, I miss them so much arhau AUHASHDHHHH AAAAA AAAAAAAAAA this isn't even funny any more I just want to FEEL them

[romantacysblog]

Joe Goldberg | Imagine

Imagine waking up in a dimly lit room, the faint smell of coffee filling the air. You try to move, but you’re not alone.

Joe is there, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching you. His eyes are soft but intense, as though he’s memorizing every detail of your face. He doesn’t speak at first—just watches you, like he’s waiting for something. A sign. A reaction.

You stir, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and his gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic. “I just had to wait for you to see it too.”

He reaches out, his hand brushing the hair away from your face in a way that feels oddly tender, but you can sense the weight behind it. The control. The need.

“You belong here,” he says, the words heavy with possessiveness. “I knew it the moment I saw you. Everything I’ve done… it was all for this. For you.”

His thumb traces your jawline as he speaks, and you can feel the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin. It feels familiar, safe, but there’s a cold edge to it. Like you’re trapped in a story that’s been written for you long before you even knew you were a part of it.

“Do you feel it?” he asks, leaning closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “That connection. It’s not just in my head. We were meant to find each other.”

You want to pull away. To escape, to remind yourself that this isn’t normal, that he’s dangerous. But you can’t—his presence is suffocating in a way that feels almost… necessary. Like you need him to breathe.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispers, almost like a promise, as his lips brush against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Not now. Not ever.”

Joe watches you closely, his gaze never wavering, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s shrinking to just the two of you. It’s not just the way his eyes trace the curves of your body, but the way he seems to take everything in — every subtle shift, every breath you inhale, every nervous flutter of your lashes.

He’s waiting for you to react. Waiting for that tiny crack in your armor, the moment when you let yourself acknowledge what you’ve been avoiding.

The air between you thickens, and you feel the tension—the pull—growing stronger, unbearable. It’s not the same feeling you’ve had with anyone else. It’s not desire. It’s something darker. Something that feels like need.

“Don’t act like you don’t feel it,” Joe says, his voice low, a quiet command that’s both a question and an accusation. “I know you do.”

You try to look away, but his eyes follow every movement, reading you like an open book. His hand moves to rest on your thigh, just a touch at first—light, barely there, but you can feel the weight of it, like it’s the start of something inevitable.

“Stop pretending you don’t want this,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. The way your body reacts when I’m close.”

He leans in, just enough so that his breath is warm against your ear, and it makes your pulse quicken, even though you know you shouldn’t want this. Not like this. Not with him.

“Why fight it?” he breathes. “I’m all you need. I’m the only one who truly sees you.”

His lips brush against the curve of your jaw, soft, tentative, but you can feel the heat rising in him. And even though everything inside you tells you to pull away, to run, you don’t.

His fingers move just slightly, a ghost of a touch that burns through the thin fabric of your clothes, grazing the skin of your thigh like he’s claiming it. And you know it’s not a question of if he’ll push further—it’s a matter of when. When he’ll cross that line, and you won’t be able to stop it. You won’t want to.

“Tell me you want this,” Joe says, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “Tell me you want me the way I want you.”

The room feels suffocating, and yet, it’s all you’ve ever wanted in this twisted, suffocating way. He’s not the man you should crave, not the one you should let this close—but here you are, trembling under his gaze, drowning in the darkness of your desire.

And for a second, you wonder if you’re already lost.

[femmeinfullbloom]

Only a butch holding me while i fall asleep could fix me

[femmeinfullbloom]

Butches are so loved, like I literally haven't even met my future wife yet and I already adore her

[fluttershys444]

had a dream about my dr last night, LIAMMM MY LOVE AAAAAAA

[atribecalledmaya]

i love rom coms soooo much they are my bread and butter

[forsaire]

On the edge (Ghost x Soap)

Soap takes a walk to clear his head after a fight with Ghost.

Chapter 16 excerpt from Don't Let Me Go on ao3

On their way over, Soap’s thoughts had been so preoccupied with anger and shame that he had forgot to pay attention to where they were actually going. As Soap looked around, he didn’t recognize any of the buildings in the area.

Soap started making his way towards a nearby intersection in hopes that the street signs would be able to reorient him but they remained unfamiliar as well. He knew he could take out his phone and just look at a map, but decided against it.

He figured a walk might be good for him anyway.

Down the street, he saw the entrance to a small park. It was a long green space about a block in both length and width. A meandering trail running parallel to the road was visible by the yellow light of a classic, hanging streetlight. Soap thought he vaguely remembered passing that streetlight on his way here and decided to walk through the park for a change of scenery.

He wasn’t particularly worried about being lost as he knew he would eventually find something he recognized in the nearby surroundings. He also wasn’t in a rush to return to the bar.

He leisurely strolled through the darkness of the park, tall trees lining the stone pathway, before stopping to rest on a wooden bench.

Although most of his anger had dissipated, there was still a tiny bit lingering inside Soap that he kept holding on to. He was angry that he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. He was angry that the night had ended the way it did. He was angry at Ghost.

But most of all, he was angry at himself.

His body pulsated with longing he knew he could never have. For so long, he had tried to ignore these thoughts, but it was time to accept it. And it crushed his soul. He wouldn’t be able to continue like this, wouldn’t be able to stay focused on his job. If that meant leaving the team…

The thought of being withdrawn and going no contact – with everyone – made him feel sick.

But perhaps it was the only way to get over this fanciful dream. These thoughts left Soap feeling empty and drained. After wallowing in self-pity for a long time, Soap stood up and continued walking down the path.

Full chapter ao3.