No one had been ready for the day that they had lost you, or for the funeral that followed.

You weren't really ready for it either, going from grinning to ghost in half a second. You had opened your eyes, expecting to see your husband Bruce next to you like he had been just a moment before, but was instead met with a moment of black. You fluttered your eyes trying to get the haze to go away, and slowly a small pinprick of light grew in your vision. Like a rollercoaster your stomach dropped through the floor, and you were sucked into the blinding light. When you blinked away the flash, you were staring at Bruce again.

He looked slightly different, his hair now out of place and sweat now beading on his forehead. With a frown your reach your hand out to tuck some hair behind his ear, but somehow all you are able to do is makes the dark strands wave deeper over his eyes. You hear him shout your name and you tilt your head in confusion, responding to him with a smile.

He calls your name again and you laugh, the absurdity of it making the uneasy feeling grow. You reach your hands out to cup his face, about to ask him why his eyes look so...terrified, when he leapt through you, crawling over the leather of the car seats for something behind you.

That was when you registered the glass over the black leather and the sirens wailing far in the distance. The hiss of steam and the sounds of cameras, people chattering and screaming outside. Well aware of your body, now cradled in Bruce's arms as he kicks open the backseat door and pulls you out.

Breath caught in your throat, you look down to your arms, the translucency of your skin and the weightless feeling that dragged in your feet.

"No," you breathed, panic settling in as you followed Bruce, who had dragged you out onto the street, head cradled in his lap. "No, no, no, no, no."

You knelt in front of Bruce in a hurry, hands over his face even though he couldn’t feel it.

"Help me," he whispered out, and for a moment you thought he could see you. Could feel you.

"I'm right here." you croak out. "Baby, I'm right here." you stress, ghostly tears welling in your eyes, undead breath hitching in your lungs.

"Help me!" he screamed out, icy blue eyes meeting yours, but not looking at you. Looking at them.

The sea of reporters that now surrounded the crash, the forming crowd of people pushing past each other to get a closer look at the T-boned limo. Flashes sparked like fireworks, cameras and phones surrounding every angle of the distressed billionaire, but not a single foot stepped forward.

"Help me, please!" he screamed again, voice cracking as he gripped your shoulders and laid you flat on the ground.

That's when you fully saw yourself.

You were still dressed in your attire from the charity ball, except the silk fabric was now splattered with drying red. Skin draining of colour, ashy tones beginning to set in around your face and lips. Your scalp was slicked red, trickling down the left side of your face and into your ear. You covered your mouth and looked away, unable to stomach the image of yourself looking so lifelessly grotesque.

Bruce had rolled his sleeves to his elbows now, dress jacket tossed aside as he locked his fingers and began doing chest compressions, hair frazzled and slick with sweat. Each lock of his lips around your own paling ones made you sob, even more so when Alfred staggered to the scene. The older man was bleeding from the head, being unconscious momentarily at the wheel. The older man's eyes watered taking the sight in for a second and you stood, hugging him even if he couldn’t feel it.

"Help him." you whisper, even if he couldn’t hear it.

You watched, hovering over the shoulder of Alfred as he knelt by Bruce, still focused on doing compressions.

"Bruce-"

"Alfred, call the ambulance, tell them to get-"

"Bruce, I'm so sorry." the older man's voice quivered softly, weathered hands coming to rest over Bruce's own.

"No, NO-"

"Yes." Alfred said, pulling Bruce off your body with silent strength. Your husband flailed against him, but eventually gave up, on his side in the middle of the street, hands covering his face as he screamed. Still the flashes went off, Alfred covering Bruce as much as he could with his torn coat. You sobbed seeing him like this, curled on his side like a child, vultures circling him, eager to document his grief in sickening detail.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your own cheeks. No. It couldn’t end like this.

You ran to your body, laying over in the same position. You tried everything, in a mess of tears. You tried closing your eyes and willing yourself back into your body, tried lying in the same position and taking a breath. Tried to give yourself CPR, like you would be sucked back in through your own lips, trying everything while silently screaming, right up until the ambulance arrived and they covered your body with that white sheet.

That had been the day they lost you.

The funeral was no better, except you had come to terms with the grief of dying before you had thought. You felt at peace, but looking onto the faces of your family, you could tell they were anything but. You were dressed liked you had asked in your will, clad in your wedding dress. The veil was placed over your face, hand beaded with love from Alfred. In your hair was the hairpin that Damian had bought you for your first wedding anniversary with Bruce, and on your wrist was the golden locket bracelet Tim had bought you for your birthday. Ears were dressed in princess cut blue sapphire earrings that Dick had bought you for Christmas one year, when you and he were stranded in Bludhaven. You had been cut off from the rest of the family due to the snow, so you spent Christmas Day together in his apartment. Jason's silver cross necklace hung around your neck, worn from years of rubbing. He had gifted it to you a few years into your marriage with Bruce, pressing it into your hands softly.

"It was my mothers," he had told you softly. "I want you to have it now. You remind me of her."

The flowers had been your favourites, and loving picked by Stephanie and Cass, despite how much easier it would have been to simply purchase from the florist. Barbara and Duke had helped design your headstone, the white polished marble now resting in the Wayne family plot, next to Bruce's parents.

Bruce's wedding ring, of course, was still firmly on your finger, because you vowed that even death wouldn't take you two apart.

Dick had kept his head bowed through the ceremony, fists clenched and jaw tensed. You had whispered silent reassurances to Dick, trying to get him to ease his posture and get him to feel his grief properly, and after a moment, you felt that you had succeeded as his hands unfurled. You had hugged each of them softly, pressing kisses into their hair when they cried. Stephanie had held Tim's hand the whole eulogy, and you didn't miss the way Tim squeezed back just as hard, his fingers shaking.

 Alfred's voice quivered during his speech, the old man heartbroken at losing another Wayne in his lifetime. He had blamed himself for your death, late nights spent with a candle asking your portrait in the hall for forgiveness. Tearful apologies spilling forth like if he didn't, you were going to come down and strike him like a vengeful ghost.

Damian and Jason had been silent the whole time, although following Damian after the ceremony to the gardens, you watched as he checked no one was around before crying. You sat next to him and rubbing his back as he sobbed, the young boy hurling insults at you that you knew he didn't really mean. Once his anger had simmered down, the constant asking of why you left him, he cleaned his face and walked back to the reception like nothing had happened.

Checking on your other son Jason had been harder, as he had left as soon as the ceremony was done. You eventually found him speeding recklessly on his bike, ending at his friend Roy's with a duffel bag of things. Roy had met you a few times and you had smiled and been polite, but watching the way Roy clapped him on the back and let his friend cry into his shirt without a snarky word or any 'macho man' bullshit, you wished that you had known him more when you were alive.

Peaceful, you spent your time in heaven occasionally watching your family with a light heart. It pained you sometimes that they didn’t realise you were with them always, watching them as they celebrated their birthdays and Christmas time. They left you a seat still at every event, even Sunday dinner. You sat in it every week, heart warm as you watched them recover. Slowly they began smiling again, laughing like a family again. You watched the family pull together on the anniversary of your death, making a trip out to your grave and leaving letters on your headstone, changing out the flowers in the vase.

Each one of your children took the time to talk to you, giving each other privacy as they told you about their lives, how much they missed you, their biggest fears and their biggest successes. When it came to Bruce, he just stood in front of your grave silently, pressing two fingers to his lips and then onto your gravestone before turning and leaving. Those were all the words that you needed, your cheeks beaming as you watched him walk back to the family, kicking your feet as you sat atop your headstone. The silent message you understood clearly, he still loved you.

As the years wore on, you lingered close enough to earth to still visit, knowing that there was the inevitable day that you would see them all again. The first one you were able to welcome home was Alfred. Running to the old man you grinned, kissing his cheek with a soft welcome. The old butler wept seeing you again, collapsing to his knees as the age melted from his face, apologies falling out rapid fire as you laughed.

"It was never your fault." you smiled, pearl earrings tapping against your cheek as you tilted your head down to him. "I'm so proud of you. And I have some people for you to meet." you said softly, helping him to his feet and guising him closer to the gates, where two figures waved to him, and his smile widened, eyes filling with tears once more.

"You go on ahead; I'll be in shortly. I'm waiting for everyone else first." you said, handing over the no-longer-old butler and they went on ahead to the manor beyond the gates. Kept your promise you did, waiting by the doors for the rest of your family.

When Bruce finally arrived, back straightening and looking around, your feet flew over clouds faster than you could cry. He ran towards you the moment he saw your silhouette in the distance, picking you up by the waist and spinning you around before crushing you in a hug, crying into your hair. "I missed you every single god damn day." was the first thing he said to you, breathing ragged like you'd slip through his fingers again, bleeding at the temples.

"Not even in death." you whisper softly, reciting your vows, letting your own tears slip forth at how good it felt to hold him again.

"Not even in death." he echoed back, before crushing his lips to yours like a starved man. You melt into it, relishing in contact with him after years forced apart, before you grin and pull back, patting his chest.

"Come on," you say softly. "You've got quite an audience waiting."

You gesture to the gates, three figures waiting with wide smiles. Bruce freezes under your touch, eyes meeting yours. The blue you missed so much was puddled with tears, lips trembling once more. "Is that? -" he croaked out, and you nod, eyes twinkling. You take no offence as his hands slip from your waist and he dashes for the gates, throwing himself into the arms of his waiting parents like a child. He clings to them with a sob, their arms wrapping around him in an overdue hug. Martha smiles at you as you come up behind him, while Thomas strokes your crying husband’s hair. You and Alfred laugh from the sidelines when Bruce crushes Alfred in a hug, sniffling into the butler’s shoulder before pulling away with a laugh. You watch the stress and the burden melt away from your husband, and for the first time in a long time, you saw him at peace.

"Go on ahead, Alfred will show you where to go." you grin, pecking his cheek before pecking his lips. "I've got some more people to wait for, and you have a lot of catching up to do."

Dick arrived next, confused for a moment as he registered where he was. Silently you opened your arms to him and he dove in, grinning while his tears hit your shoulder. "I missed you so much." he said shakily, and you wiped his tears with your thumbs, finally able to cradle his face like you wanted. Finally achieving contact after so many years of just phasing through him.

"Oh, Dick," you chide softly with a smile as you tuck some of his hair behind his ear. "I never left you all. even for a moment."

You put your hand on his back, walking him to the gates. He gives you a quizzical look, but you shrug. "Some people are a little late." you smile, before looking further in. "Ah, never mind. here they are."

Dick's face cracks as you take his hands and join them with his parent’s outstretched ones. "Mom? Dad?' he whispers, and the two of them nod before squeezing his hand.

"They were watching over you too, you know." you say softly, bumping his shoulder. "We ran into each other watching you."

Dick crushes you in a hug before you can even say anything, whispering a soft 'thank you' into your skin. You just laugh, patting him on the back.

"They'll show you where the manor is. Bruce will be expecting you. I'm going to wait for the rest."

Your son's eyes light up mentioning Bruce, and he walks hand in hand with them across the gates, Flying Grayson’s reunited once more.

Barbara came next and you hugged her tight. She had less tears than the others, but a smile to rival all of them as you brought her to her father. "You did good Babs," you say softly as she clung to Gordon's frame, and your honorary daughter hugged you once more. "I'm so so proud of you. We all are." you say, wiping her tears.

"All?" she asks, voice shaky despite her smile.

"They're inside. Waiting at the manor. Take a rest." you grin, stressing the last word as you and Gordon laugh.

Cassandra arrived before Stephanie, the former giving you a silent yet soft hug, compared to the latter who bowled you over like she had never lost her youthful energy. You praised Cassandra for how strong she had been during her life, and all the progress she had made. You were so proud with what she had decided to do with her life, and your soft words had brought her to tears, crying on her knees at the gate as you crossed over with her. Steph had bawled the second you had just said her name, and you rocked her until she calmed down and was eager to see everyone else, grinning ear to ear as you told her who was waiting to see her at the manor.

Tim was next, sullen when he first arrived but perking up when he saw you. "Is it really you?" he asked, touching your face to confirm that you were real.

"It's real." you smile at him, before his lips trembles and he hugs you. "It's okay, Tim." you soothed as he cried, letting him process the last of his grief he never let go. You had watched him carry it around ever since the funeral, an invisible bag you wished you had been able to lift sooner.

Duke came and you helped him up, crushed against his chest in a second when he hugged you. You just beamed back and raced him to the gates of light, watching as the stress of life and living fled from him with each step, bringing back a boyish youth and a smile that rivalled the sun above both of you.

When it was time for your youngest, Damian to arrive, you waited by the gates with your arms crossed. Like all of your adopted children, they had turned into fine adults. His green eyes settled on you, and you softened, seeing how much he looked like Bruce, now both of them in their prime. Yet for all of the muscle and bulk of your youngest he collapsed into your arms like he was still that young boy you carried to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. "Mother?" he asked soft, a boyish tone escaping with a shuddered breath.

"Yeah, it's me, honey." you smile, running your hand through his dark hair, while he silently held you closer.

"Why did you go?" he croaks out, and you wipe the tears like you had done so many times before, letting them get their grief out before finally entering peace.

"Oh, honey." you say softly, palm against cheek. "I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to stay, I really, really did. If I could have been there to watch you all grow up, I would have."

"I was just a kid." he rasps out, shaking his head and his tears well up for another round. "I didn't want you to go. I loved you."

"I know, and I'm sorry," you say, frowning for once. "Do you forgive me?"

He nods violently against your shoulder, while you feel a warm palm rest against your back. Looking up you see the smiling figure of your husband, wedding band firm on his finger still. "I thought it was today." he said softly with a smile, causing Damian to look up.

"Father?"

Bruce nods and takes Damian off you, hugging his son. "Come with me. Everyone's waiting back at the manor." he says, pecking you on the cheek before beginning to lead Damian past the gate.

"Aren't you coming?" Damian calls, a flash of fear going through his forest green eyes like a hurricane.

"Your mother's waiting for someone," Bruce says softly, eyes flicking to you with a smile. "The last one. She'll be in soon." he says and you nod, finally enough to convince Damian to go over to the other side.

You waited years and years of human time, sitting by the gilded stairs while you waited for the last. You had searched earth for him, knowing his soul had already passed on. You had greeted Roy and Kori, even Artemis as they passed through, but you had yet to find your son Jason. His friends were surprised he wasn't already in there, apparently passing before they did.

"Tell him to hurry up and find us, will ya?" Roy had said, just before crossing over. "I don't know where he is, but he needs to stop shitting around. I haven't waited this long just for him to mess up our reunion."

The comment had made you laugh, and he gave you a two-finger salute as he entered the gates. "Thanks for everything, Mrs Wayne."

Then one fateful day, your son finally came to you.

On his knees, eyes clenched shut, hands covering his head. You had walked to him softly, placing a hand on his back as you called out to him.

"Jason?"

He snaps his head up like he's been shocked awake. Shaking his head, his eyes water, lips trembling. "Mama?" he calls out, like a broken child instead of a grown man. "Is that-"

"It's me, Jaybird." you smile, pushing hair away from his forehead with a cool palm. "I've been waiting a while. What took you so long? Roy even beat you here." you try to joke, head tilting and your silver cross necklace falling in front of you. His eyes widen as they take it in, flicking back to your face.

"Why am I here?" he asks softly, voice broken. your eyes furrow in confusion.

"Because you’re dead." you soothe softly, but he shakes it off.

"No, no, I know that." he interrupts, sniffling. "But why am I here? Is this heaven?"

You nod and worry pangs in your heart as he doubles forward, fists clenched as he sobs into the ground. "B-but the pit-" he chokes out. "I was sure that I was going to...that I was going to hell." he sobs, making your heart split open.

"Jason, no, honey, that's not how it works, you wouldn't have-"

"I wasn’t a good person." he bites back, eyes screwed up as he cries, hiding his face from you. "I hurt people. I even killed. I was brought back to life like some monster, so I just...I never wanted to go to hell." he whimpers. You rub his back softly, letting him wail into the formless fog below him. "I was so scared." he whimpers, and you finally manage to pull him into your lap. he sobs into the fabric, and you stroke his hair. "I was so scared mama, I didn't want to go, I didn't want to have to face it." he rasps. "I thought that when I went, it meant I'd never get to see you again. I wouldn't get to go where everyone else did, that I'd pay for it forever. So, I-"

"So, you stayed in limbo." you finished for him. "You chose to never move on."

He nods in your lap. "When I finally decided it was time to repent, to pay the price..."

You shake your head, sighing through your nose with a smile. "You ended up here."

You help him to his feet; his head still bowed in shame. "Come on." you say softly. "Everyone’s inside. We've all been waiting for you, for a long, long time."

And finally, your feet cross over the gate, with your son beside you.

The manor is filled with light, dining table finally full in the manor as everyone settled in for diner together. You husband greets you at the door, holding it open for you with a kiss as payment, hugging Jason with a smile before guiding him forward, where he is consequently mobbed by the rest of his siblings and Roy, sporting a shit eating grin as he claps him on the back and helps him find a seat. You pull your own seat back, settling into the spot that they had always reserved for you at family dinners, at anniversaries and Christmas time.

Except now, as you joined hands with Bruce under the table and Alfred brought out dinner, you were all reunited once more.

“And where are my favorite nephew and his nanny heading off to?”

“The park!” Franklin beamed as you finished buttoning up his coat.

Johnny couldn’t help but smile back, “The park! That’s awesome, have fun buddy.”

You double checked that his shoes were tied, because they always somehow magically came undone in the span of five minutes, and gave him a thumbs up, “You ready to go?” Franklin gave you a thumbs up as well, “Alright.”

“Can Uncle Johnny come with us to the park?” Franklin pulled at the hem of your shirt and looked up at you with those sweet little eyes of his.

“I don’t know, you’d have to ask him.”

Franklin happily waddled over to Johnny and gave him the same look he had given you, “Uncle Johnny, will you come to the park with us?”

Those cute little eyes and squishy baby face were dangerous; Franklin had practically everyone wrapped around his little finger.

Johnny sighed, “How can I say no to that face.”

“Yay!” Franklin took hold of his uncle’s hand, then yours, and pulled the two of you out the door.

~

Days like this were what you loved most about your job. Getting to be out in the crisp autumn air, giggling and playing with Franklin. And it was an added bonus that Johnny was giggling and playing alongside you as well. You liked him, a lot, and what wasn’t to like? Johnny was kind, smart, funny, and incredibly handsome. At times you felt like he might like you too, but he was such a flirt, you weren’t entirely sure if he was actually interested, and you were too chicken to find out. So, you settled for sending him longing glances and imagining what could be.

You watched Johnny push Franklin on the swings, pretending he was in a rocket ship and travelling through outer space. It amazed you how good he was with Franklin. You wouldn’t have figured him to be good with kids, but he was a natural. It helped that he had no issue being goofy in public.

“Uncle Johnny, watch me go down the slide next!”

Johnny helped the swing come to a halt and the two of you watched Franklin run over to the slide.

“Be careful, Franklin, use walking feet.” You shouted after him, chuckling when Franklin slowed down as much as his excitement would let him.

“So,” Johnny crossed his arms over his chest, “how’s the most beautiful nanny in all of New York doing this fine afternoon?”

His flirtations always sent a flutter through your chest, but you would roll your eyes playfully to hide any sign of being flustered, “All of New York? Really?”

“Well, I could say the whole world, but that seems a bit much for a Wednesday afternoon, doesn’t it?”

“And if it weren’t a Wednesday afternoon?” You glanced at him and felt your knees buckle slightly when he smiled at you.

“Of course, then you’d be the most beautiful nanny in the whole universe.” He paired that knee buckling smile with a wink, and you wanted to melt.

“Are you watching?” Franklin shouted from the top of the slide.

Johnny turned to face him, “Yup! Go for it, buddy.”

Franklin’s giggle as he went down the slide was infectious, filled with such joy and merriment. When he reached the bottom of the slide you and Johnny jogged over to him, and each gave him a high five.

“Great job, Franklin,” you checked the time, “we can play for another five minutes, and then it’s time to go home, okay?”

“Okay!”

A raindrop landed on your cheek, then another on your sleeve, soon enough the sky opened up and all three of you were getting soaked. You picked up Franklin as Johnny scoped out a spot to wait out the rain. The closest thing with a roof was the small castle structure on the playground, so Johnny ushered you towards it. It was a bit cramped, but you hoped you wouldn’t have to wait too long.

“Does this mean no more playtime?” Franklin asked with a pout.

 “Yeah, sorry, Franklin, we’re gonna wait until the rain lets up and then head home,” you set him down and held his hand, “but maybe we can go out again tomorrow.”

“Can Uncle Johnny come with us again?”

You smiled, “If he wants to, I don’t see why not.”

“He will.” Franklin’s tone was so matter of fact it made you and Johnny chuckle.

“Such confidence from such a little guy.” Johnny mussed Franklin’s hair.

Franklin looked up at you, “Uncle Johnny says that he wants to go out with you all the time, so that means he’ll come out with us again tomorrow!”

Both you and Johnny stared at Franklin with wide eyes, yours in surprise, and Johnny’s in embarrassment.

“Uncle Johnny says what all the time?” You posed the question more to Johnny than to Franklin, but Johnny refused to make eye contact with you.

Franklin answered, “He tells mommy all the time that he wants to go out with you.”

A pink blush spread from his neck to the tips of his ears, “You know the rain is looking a bit lighter, maybe we should just head back now.”

“Alright,” you picked Franklin up again and started walking, “does Uncle Johnny say anything else about me?”

An exasperated sigh fell from Johnny’s lip as you tried to contain your smile.

“Oh yeah, I heard him tell Uncle Ben that you were really, really pretty and that he likes you.”

The walk back was filled with Franklin recounting all the different things he’d overheard Johnny say about you. By the time you got to the Baxter Building, Johnny was red, how he looked when he used his powers but without the flames.

Once you set foot in the living room, Sue and Reed were there and Franklin went running to his parents to tell them about his day. You said a quick goodbye to them, gave Franklin a hug, and headed for the door. Johnny passed you on your way out, and you turned around to grab his arm.

“Hey, Johnny?”

“Yeah?” He still couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

At that he looked up at you, “N-no.”

“Good, would you like to get dinner together?”

You felt a rush of heat flow through his arm, “After everything Franklin told you, do you really think you need to ask?”

the thought cuts into Art, and so do his teeth. A desperate and feeble attempt at distraction.

“Oh,” the sound is soft; your eyes are gentle and warm. You crouch down in front of him and cup his quivering jaw as though he's something fragile, something worth holding.

“Im not mad.” your brows curve upward, weighted with guilt for making Art feel so small. His fingers worry the seam of your skirt, twisting and folding the fabric in his trembling hands. 

“Darling, so what if you lost?” you murmur, thumbs stroking his damp cheeks. “There's always another tournament.” Your tone is so forgiving and patient.

“Im useless,” he croaks. “i call myself a tennis player but i cant even play tennis”

“Art.” you look at him in an attempt to tell him wordlessly that's a stupid thing to say. "I've watched every single one of your matches. You can play tennis. You play amazing tennis” 

his eyes are trained onto the carpet, too ashamed to meet yours.

Your fingers gently find his hands, squeezing them, reminding Art that you're here. A sob ripples from his chest and he lets out a shaking exhale. 

“Youre more than a match. You don't have to win for me to love you.” Your words are gentle and grounding. Your hands are back on his face, trying to make him look up at you instead of searching for patterns in the carpet.

His chest heaves again, involuntarily.

“Awh. Shh, it's okay.”

 Art's head falls onto your shoulder, and you immediately feel the warm dampness of his tears soaking through your shirt. You pet the soft golden locks on the nape of Art's neck, listening guiltily to his rough, dry sobs.

“You're alright. breathe” 

Art sobs slow into soft whimpers as you cradle him. The warmth of being wrapped up in your body heat calms him down. 

It reminds him of when he was little, and he'd fall over while chasing Patrick around the playground. He'd limp up to his mum, crying and showing her his grazed knee– she'd hold him in her lap and cradle him until he stopped crying, whispering in his ear that he was going to be okay.

His chest slows, and he stops heaving into your shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest now match the rhythm of your hand petting his golden curls. Your touch grounds him. He's forgotten why he was so worked up in the first place.

You tenderly press your lips into the crown of his hair. The only sounds that can be heard in your dorm are the steadiness of your breath and the slowing of Arts. 

His shoulders drop. His breath hitches once in relief, and he leans into your touch, welcoming the orange-gold warmth he feels sinking in.

His hips roll messily against your lap. “Art, what are yo–”

Oh.

You can feel Arts hard-on bulging against your thigh. He's achingly hard. Poor baby– he was probably so whiney and upset because he needs you to make him cum. 

You reach down, undoing the strings on Arts tennis shorts. Art leans back on his hands and lifts his hips, letting you pull down his shorts and underwear in one swift movement.

Art's tip is flushed a bruising red, a pearly bead of pre forming at his slit. Your thumb swipes across his head and you watch the tension melt from his body. He hadn't noticed the tightness in his shoulders or the ache in his back until it faded completely. 

You ball up your hands and squeeze the base of his cock slightly, drawing a whine from the back of his throat. Your grip moves up his length slowly, pulling broken cries from Art. 

Sloppy and desperate, his hips buck into your fist, chasing anything you give him. Raw, hot tears retrace the dampness on his cheeks, and he's crying again, but this time out of pleasure.

Your hand speeds up when you feel Art getting closer to finishing. His face is flushed, his cheeks are damp, and his lips are rosy and raw from his teeth. 

Art's body aches with pleasure. His forearms twitch from holding him up for so long, and he can taste metallic tang of blood in his mouth from biting his lip too hard. 

You watch as Art's body tenses. His breath hitches and a broken cry erupts from the back of his throat. His cum spurts onto your hand and his thighs.

 Art sighs and slumps onto your shoulder, mindlessly sucking the flesh above your collarbone.

“Need you-” Art murmurs, pawing at the hem of your shirt.

a/n: i could add more to this but then it would be late. soooooo...