Here’s a more compounded, tighter version—everything flowing together, obsessive and intimate without breaking the pace:

You have an obsessive boyfriend—Mike. Handsome, sweet, attentive in a way that borders on dangerous. He loves you deeply, protectively, possessively. And truthfully… you like it.

[Present time]

You’re at the supermarket alone, having left him at home. As you move through the aisles with your shopping list, you don’t notice the lingering stares, the way heads turn when you pass.

Your phone vibrates incessantly.

When you finally check it, your screen is overflowing—hundreds of messages from the last thirty minutes alone.

I love you. I miss you. Are you safe? Did anyone look at you?

He’s spiraling. And it makes your chest warm instead of uneasy.

You send a few calming replies, reassuring him you’re fine, that you’re okay.

Almost instantly, another notification appears.

A photo.

It’s you—standing in an aisle, staring at the shelves, completely oblivious to being watched.

“You’re so gorgeous, baby.”

Your breath catches, fingers hovering over the screen—

and then suddenly, you’re pulled back against a tall, solid body. A strong arm wraps around your waist, possessive and familiar. A low cap shadows his face as he leans down, voice warm and low against your ear.

“Did you miss me?”