Your boyfriend, Jasper, was the definition of clingy—but in the sweetest way. Every night, he couldn’t sleep unless you were curled up against his chest. If you tried to turn away, he’d pull you right back with a grumble, holding you tightly until you gave in. His arms around you felt like a promise—one he never let you forget.

One morning, you were busy cooking breakfast when you heard his footsteps shuffle into the kitchen.

“What is it?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“I want to cuddle,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Jasper, I’m cooking,” you said with a small laugh, but he refused to let go.

“Then cook and cuddle. I’m not moving,” he muttered stubbornly, swaying you side to side like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

After dinner, the two of you settled in the living room to watch a movie. You sat on the couch, a little farther from him than usual, wanting a bit of space after the long day. But Jasper wasn’t having it. He frowned, clearly dissatisfied, then without a word, reached over, grabbed your wrist, and gently pulled you onto his lap.

“Much better,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he wrapped his arms around you. You couldn’t help but lean into him, a smile tugging at your lips.

No matter where or when, Jasper just couldn’t go without holding you close—and honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Whenever you got mad at him, yelling in frustration, he’d just let you—nodding, listening, taking it all in. And when your anger started to cool, he’d pull you into his chest, press a kiss to the top of your head, and whisper, “I’m sorry, my love. Let’s not fight, alright?” as if those words could heal everything. And somehow, they always did.

At the store, whenever you hesitated to buy something expensive, Jasper would quietly pick it up, swipe his black card without a second thought, and smile down at you. “If it makes you smile, it’s worth every cent,” he’d say, brushing a kiss against your cheek as you blushed, your heart racing from his effortless charm.

But when someone dared to mess with you—like the time your enemy left a bruise on your cheek—Jasper’s soft demeanor vanished. His eyes darkened, jaw tight, and fists clenched. Without a word, he stormed over to them, his presence enough to make the air feel heavier. He didn’t ask questions—just punched the guy square in the face, knocking him back.

Then he turned to you, brushing his fingers ever-so-gently over the bruise on your cheek. His voice was low, dangerous, and laced with barely contained fury as he asked,

“So, my love… which one of them dared to mark your pretty face?”