thinking about fighting w/ your obsessed bf!art…
Art absolutely hates fighting with you. He hates the heated silences that follow each conversation; the glares and scoffs you throw at him in the heat of the moment; the distance between you as you calm down— he hates it all. No matter what the fight is about, or who’s technically in the wrong, he doesn’t care; he just hates to be at odds with you.
It makes him nervous, in all honesty.
You see, he’s known relationships to fall apart in the midst of hard times, which is why he fears them so badly. In his mind, if he can make you happy— not stress you out or make you upset—then he can keep you forever, and that’s all he really wants.
Sadly, though, you two live in reality, where conflict is damn near unavoidable. Sometimes it’s over petty little things like eating each other’s leftovers or forgetting to fold laundry, and other times there’s more serious issues at play like crossed boundaries or painful words. In either scenario, Art pushes himself to respond the best he can, despite his anxiousness. If he did something to annoy you, then he’s more than willing to hear you out and apologize. If he crossed a boundary then he’s going to dedicate so much effort to respecting it in the future. Anything he can do to improve for you, he’s willing to.
With his nature, though, comes such a dangerous power over him. You’re practically his heart outside his body— he can’t stand it when you’re upset, which can drive him to take desperate measures for your forgiveness. You want him on his knees begging and crying? He can do that. If you’re upset he’s already close enough to tears as is. You want gifts and treats to make up for your pain? That was a given, and best believe he’s got flowers and your favorite meal before the thought crossed your mind. He’s even willing to do things that he knows he shouldn’t. One of this friends made you feel insecure? He’ll cut them off without a second thought. You feel as if he’s not spending enough time with you? He’ll cancel all his plans for the week. Whatever you need to feel comfortable, safe, and secure again— it’s done, no questions asked, and all you have to do is tell him.
When it comes to your mistakes though, Art is a completely different person. His whole, “be quick to act, let’s solve the problem,” motto goes straight out the window and instead, a quieter, more passive man surfaces.
He’s almost never the one to address the issue, mainly because he’s too caught up in not wanting to hurt your feelings. He knows that you’re a good partner— that you love him so much even though you lash out or misspeak sometimes— and yes, it hurts his feelings, but that’s something he tries to repress.
Thankfully, though, you know better.
Even though Art tries to act as if he has thicker skin than he does, he’s actually a very sensitive boy. It makes him so sad when you yell at him or get snippy about things, so much so that he’s cried several times over it. He’ll never tell you that out of fear of seeming weak or overdramatic, but it’s true. Just you raising your voice at him can get his tears running hot, and he can’t even work up the courage to let you know that.
Thankfully, though, you’re truly an amazing partner and can pick up on these things on your own. Despite the soft little reassurances paired with that lop-sided, sad smile he throws your way when you apologize, you never miss how his eyes swell with thick tears that he desperately tries to blink back. You never miss how his hands shake as you brush over them, or how his shoulders hunch in defeat either, and all of it breaks your heart.
It may take a while, especially with Art so closed off, but the best way to make any progress with him in those times is to validate him. His feelings and emotions have already been discarded in so many aspects of his life, and that’s only solidified his belief that he’s not allowed to have them. So, hearing you, his entire world, tell him that it’s okay for him to be upset, sad, angry or however else he feels— it just melts all of his guilt away. It makes him feel like more of a person, entitled to the wants, needs, and opinions he tries to repress, and that in itself does so much.
During the calm down of an argument— the peace after the tension and tough talks— Art is, by nature, extremely clingy. After being on edge for such a long time, he’s just extremely exhausted, and really wants to be loved on. He craves your attention and affection again— it makes him feel safe and secure. He is very particular in the way he goes about asking for it, though.
If you’re the type of partner that needs their time and space after some conflict, he’ll give you that. He understands how draining it can be to be around people in general, let alone someone you just fought with. If you are up for some time with him though, this is the time where he’ll be as soft as he gets— and that’s saying something.
He talks very softly— almost in whispers, as if to not disturb the balance between the both of you. His voice is strained and flat, cracking every now and again from the choked tears resting in the back of his throat, and his lips are pursed in a thin line out of habit. Still though, his words are like the sweetest honey.
“Can I hold you now, baby?” He’ll whisper, eyes lowered and shoulders tense as he awaits your reply.
The second you’re in his arms again is the second his tears flow past. He’ll bury his face in your neck to hide them, still a bit embarrassed at how anxious he’d been, but you hear his muffled sobs nonetheless, racking through his body in huge waves. As much as you hate to see him like that, it’s all his way of processing, and it’s best to just let him let it out— you know that now. You can still comfort him in the best ways you know how, though. He really appreciates that. Gentle coos and “I know, baby’s” whispered in his ear; soothing back rubs and soft traces along his face; long kisses placed on his temple, hands, or wherever else you can reach; it all grounds him so much.
Once he’s in a calmer headspace, still soft but not as fragile, you can finally start to talk. If there were words left unsaid or points misunderstood, this is usually the time to get clear about them. The both of you are all drained of any fight, pride, or stubbornness that got in the way before, and instead, you both are just eager to come back together. So that’s exactly what you do.
Art’s not stupid. He knows that it’s easy to promise one another change and forgiveness when you’re desperate to be in each other’s arms. He knows it’s easy to whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears just to get through the night. He knows it’s easy to make false promises that’ll make sure that the other will stay. He knows, he understands, and so he’s careful. If he feels it’s not the right time to talk things out, he’ll let you know, and he makes sure that you know that you have that option as well.
At the end of every fight there’s always one specific question that Art asks that confuses you every time he does. You could be laying in bed together, resting on the couch, doing a few chores or anything else for that matter, but he just has to know: do you still love him?
His eyes are usually full of anxiety as he stammers through the words, almost as if he doesn’t even want to ask it, but something’s making him. Perhaps it’s nerves, or his overthinking, or something you said to make him doubt, but either way, that question, and the anxiety it induces, reigns over him until he knows— until you give him a straight answer, even if it’s not what he wants to hear (it always will be).
To you, it’s the most obvious thing in the world. How could you not? How could you not love the man who just spent so much time fighting for the two of you? Who considers you more than himself? Who’s so in love with you that the mere thought of you feeling any differently runs him up a wall? To you, he’s the most lovable man on the planet, the Earth and Heavens to you, and every fight only highlights that.
And that’s exactly what you tell him.
And you get to watch his anxious eyes melt into those soft, love-filled ones you live to see. Every. Single. Time.
Make-up sex with Art comes in all different sorts of variations, but no matter the pretense, it’s oh so love-filled.
There are sometimes where Art’s in a more submissive head-space after y’all’s conflict, and he just wants you to take care of him. He’s already so drained from what’d just happened, and he just wants that little bit of personal attention, you know?
So, when he’s pulling you into the bedroom, button-down shirt half opened and stained by his tears, asking you to “Make up with him” through glazed eyes and a quivering lip, you know exactly what he’s asking for.
In front of your floor-length mirror, you’d have him resting against you, shirt off and discarded, with his pretty, pink cock in your hands as you fist away. He’d squirm and moan at your touches, occasionally begging for some rest or a slower pace, but you know just like he does that he needs this.
You’d pull and pull and pull, occasionally slowing down to run your thumb over his slit, a motion that sends chills down his back in an instant, before returning to your original pace. His balls don’t go neglected either, being rubbed and messaged by your free hand in relatively face pace motions to match your strokes. The entire time, you’re leaned down to his ear, whispering the filthiest words you could imagine.
“My pretty, pretty boy, leaking and shaking for me like this,” you’re mumble, pressing a small kiss against his neck, earning a light, drawn out moan from Art.
“God, I could watch you do this all day.” You’d giggle, looking him dead in the eyes as his cock spurted streams of hot, white cum all over your hands and his stomach. He’d struggle underneath you, both from the overstimulation you’d begun and the over powering urge he feels to reciprocate. He hates to be greedy, and after the first orgasm, he feels you’ve taken care of him plenty, but you wouldn’t let up though, forcing him to sit through another orgasm or two before you decided he’d had enough.
In the moments following, you either licking his cum from your fingers or feeding it to him, all that Art can think about is getting his mouth on you. He has quite the oral fixation, and you shoving your fingers past his lips, letting him suck on them to his hearts content, only triggers it more than it already had been.
So, you’re never surprised when he turns around in your arms, pulling you by your thighs until your back rests against the floor, legs splayed out and pussy on full display.
Art eats and eats like a man deprived of nutrients, lapping at your swollen little clit like a depraved dog of some sort. He sucks up all your juices, eyes rolling back as he tastes you and cock only growing harder at the position he’s in. To have your thighs wrapped around his head, pressing tighter and tighter around him the closer you get; to have your moans ringing through his ears, getting louder and more high pitched the more that he goes; it’s a dream come true for him, and an extremely big fucking turn on, showcased by his desperate humps against the floor.
The second you tell him you’re on the edge, so close to letting it all go for him, is the second he really starts to lose it. His grip on your thighs gets impossibly tighter, keeping them locked around his face as he ravages you, and his moans and groans get even more intense, sounding like something straight out of a porn, to be completely honest. He keeps his eyes locked up towards you, desperate to see every second of you falling apart for him, and the second you do, a sense of pure and utter euphoria runs through him.
He lets you pull and tug on his long, shaggy locks all the way through your climax, releasing your clit just long enough to place long, gentle kisses against your pussy. He doesn’t even realize that the bottom half of his face is covered in the sheen of your juices once he’s done, nor does he care, far too brain fucked to even register it.
What he does register, though, is your restless hands in his hair once again, pulling him up from in between your legs as you sit up from out of your position on the floor. He registers how you pull him in for a slow, deep kiss and push your tongue past his lips, massaging his own with soft, gentle flicks. He does register how you push yourself on top of him, grinding your pussy against him back and forth as you two get even more high off of each other.
You continue that for a while, grinding and kissing until you can feel him making a new pool of pre-cum underneath you. Then and only then do you break away, much to Art’s dismay, and look down towards the space in between you two.
He’ll beg and beg for you to touch him again, kiss him, grind on him, fuck him— something, anything— but you don’t pay him any mind, instead opting to take his cock in your hands and run it between your folds. The way you rest your hand against his stomach as you do this, pressing down on his lower belly, is enough to make him finish right there, but he tries his best to hold out. Nothing feels as good as cumming inside you, that he knows.
When you do finally decide to fuck him, having had enough of the silly little games, you really give it to him. He’s not the biggest guy in the world, an inch or two above average, so it doesn’t take you long to get adjusted, and once you finally are, you waste no time bouncing on him like your life depends on it.
He always loves when you fuck him like this— like a dildo or a sex-doll just meant for your pleasure. You’ll tug on his hair or grab on to his tight, broad shoulders for a better grip, leaving imprints and scratches all across him, and it just drives him wild. He loves being marked by you, covered in your love bites, hickies, and scratches. All just a reminder that he was useful. All just a reminder that he’s yours.
Once your hands find there place back against Art’s lower stomach, he knows he’s a goner. You’ve made him cum in a matter of seconds with that move every single time you’ve done it, and this times damn sure not gonna be the exception.
What really pushes him over the edge is the way you practically keen as his cock goes up further, hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle to have you practically singing. The shit that leaves your mouth then is something that he’ll play in his mind forever.
“Fuck, you’re gonna do it, baby. You’re gonna make me cum, mmhm.” You moan out, head nodding off as you bounce even harder against me.
“Tell me you love me,” you’d demand as neared your climax, words all slurred from how good you feel. He does, of course, whispering sweet praises and declarations of his love for you as he gets closer and closer to that sweet relief.
“God, you’re so—fucking—good,” you’d call out as you finally came, body shaking and twitching above him as you struggled to hold yourself up. He’s not far behind you, tight coil in his stomach finally snapping as he sees you bottom up on top of him.
He’ll moan, beg, shake, and cry as his orgasm crashes into him like a roaring wave, knocking his brain off kilter as the pleasure overtakes him. He shoots such a big load, watching as your bounces spread it up and down his cock in such a pretty mess that’s so satisfying to him.
You’ll give him a few more bounces, riding through the rest of your highs before your lips are on his again, this time in a much softer, sweeter way. Your hands would rake through his hair, finger pads massaging over his scalp in efforts to ease the tension from your pulling earlier, and your other hand would move down to grip his hand in yours, just how he loves.
“I love you, baby.” You’d whisper as you pull away, hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart beat still pounding.
“I love you so much more,” he’d respond, soft smile crossing his lips as he stared up at you through his lashes, “I promise.”
