possessive! art beating up our boyfriend but makes it seem like our boyfriend is the bad guy?
okay, so this one is a bit hard for me to wrap my head around because i don’t see my baby as much of a fighter.
i see that he’s moreso the type to use mental and financial manipulation against people, given that he’s from a rich family and has a kind, sweet temperament to you.
so if any physical altercation were to take place, your man definitely started it. that’s not to say he wasn’t provoked— art has his ways of getting under people’s skin— but it certainly works against him.
i mean, imagine you, out to dinner with your boyfriend, art, and a few more mutual friends. the night is going fine, and you step away to the bathroom, only to come back and find your boyfriend beating the absolute SHIT out of art.
it’s jarring— scary even. i mean, how could the man you love be capable of something like that? how could you love someone capable of that?
but you didn’t see the smug smirks art would send your boy’s way. you didn’t pick up on the subtle, but demeaning comments he’d make about your relationship. you definitely didn’t see the way he turned his head ever so slightly to check you out as you got up and walked away, either.
your boyfriend did though. he saw all of it, and after months of putting up with this shit, he was at his wittsend.
if only you had paid more attention.
instead, you broke them up through tears, or rather pulled your boyfriend away, to see art’s blooded, swollen face, and well, that was all you needed to see to kick your boyfriend to the curb.
without any consideration of his explanation or reasoning, you were done.
how could he have possibly done that to poor, sweet, passive art? the man who had done nothing but be a good friend? the man who had warned time and time about your boyfriend’s abusive behaviors? his horrible, uncontrollable temper? how could you possibly stay with him after that?
with a single altercation, you were back on the market and even further in art’s arms— right where he wanted you.
of course, you took care of him in the following days. how could you not?
you cleaned his wounds, iced his bruises, made him food when he asked— anything he needed. he was always appreciative, and said he didn’t blame you for anything, but the guilt ate away at you nonetheless.
in a way, it was bringing you closer to him.
sure, you were best friends, but i mean physically closer. hovering over him to re-evaluate his face every now again, taking his jaw in your hands as you applied medicine, running your fingers under his blacked eye every time a stray tear would fall— you never knew taking care of someone could be so intimate.
it’s not too long before you two share another kiss— cracked, broken lips against yours. it’s not too long before his hands are gripping your waist, pulling you into his steady, but damaged body like second nature. it’s not too long before your hands are in his hair, massaging and caressing his cylindrical curls in a rhythm. it’s not too long before you two bare it all and your left caged by art’s surprisingly strong arms, placing gentle kisses against the large, purple bruises that litter his chest.
looks like you ended up right where art wanted, but exactly where your boyfriend feared ;)
