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spearofheaven · 19 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR — artist! geto suguru

SUM. Going from being your lover last week to not knowing your name this week.

CONTENTS. 18+ contents, MDNI. 7k words. x fem! reader. non canon compliant/au. smut. angst. amnesia. lovers to strangers. inappropriate use of paint. 69. cunnilingus. face fucking. spanking. unprotected p in v. fingering. missionary. doggy. cum eating. creampie. switching. use of pet names.

A/N. twas truly on a geto run last year. positive comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

Almost every artist's dream is to create a piece that resembles one that stands proudly in museums, the one bewitching masterpiece that garners the attention of everyone around it. That attracts attention the way a light beckons a moth.

Or at least, that's what Suguru had been trying to achieve through the countless doodles and paintings that he'd made throughout college. Using cheap colors that he'd bought at a bargained price after working too many hours at a job that paid too little.

A number of sketchbooks stuffed into a drawer, each of them offering a glimpse into what lingered behind his subconscious. The gorgeous aspects of life that he could only hope he was able to encapsulate through his work and the more.. nasty aspects.

And now that Suguru had all the art supplies that he could dream of (and more), he couldn't bring himself to actually draw something. The cabinets in his office were filled up to the brim with different pigments, oils and watercolors, blank canvases. All just simply begging to be used as the days passed by. "I'll do it tomorrow," he assured himself every time throughout the week after when after that he passed the closed office door.

After many many tomorrows, Suguru finally decided to step into the room. His movements were slow and deliberate as he prepped his workspace, adjusting all the brushes to be lined up against each other uniformly. As if the slightest displacement of his brushes would be enough to get him to mess up the work he'd been planning to do. After rearranging for what seemed to be the hundredth time, Suguru decided to pick up one of the brushes.

Just to firmly grasp it in his hand, the plastic digging into his palm. Standing completely and utterly still.

Suguru could feel himself slowly start his descent into madness the longer that he stood in front of the empty canvas with a paintbrush in hand, his paints starting to dry out with every minute that he was still. He'd been stuck in a creative rut for the past couple weeks, wanting to put one of the many ideas that roamed freely in his head onto the canvas without actually being able to. It was like his mind went black the second he was ready.

The once bright sunlight that'd been peering in through the windows had now started to dim down, leaving behind a shadow that covered a majority of the room. A shadow that would surely ruin Suguru's work if he were to get started now. Surely. That's what he told himself when he decided to call it quits for the day, untying his apron and hanging up on the coat rack at the back of the room.

Even so, he couldn't help himself from walking back over to the canvas. Hoping that some surge of inspiration would come to him—the same inspiration that he'd sacrificed nights of sleep long ago just to be able to create a piece to his liking. The type of inspiration that deeply embedded itself into his brain, begging to be put onto the canvas. Begging to be executed. Begging to be seen.

You stood by the door, quietly making your way into the room to where he stood. "What're you up to?" You whispered, your lips hovering above his ear while your arms were wrapped around his lower stomach from behind. Suguru melted into your touch automatically, his eyes fluttering shut. You'd distracted him—that much was certain. But that seemed to be exactly what he needed right now. Allowing himself to get out of his head.

"Staring at an empty canvas and hoping it magically turns into a masterpiece. You, pretty girl?" Suguru turned to face you, his hands instinctively resting on your hips. "Staring at an artist hoping he magically makes a masterpiece."

"With you in the room, it'd be a hard task not to create a masterpiece."

"That's what I was going for. Been told I'm an excellent muse."

"My excellent muse." Your lips connected with Suguru's in a span of seconds, your eyes fluttering shut as the taste of him completely invaded your seconds. One of your hands reached back to the mess that he'd raked his fingers through countless times, holding a fistful of his hair to pull him closer to you. The exchange was something like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

And in the midst of kissing you, a lightbulb went off in Suguru's head. The first bit of inspiration that he's gotten since entering the room nearly three hours ago. "There's something in that big brain of yours?" Your question drew out a laugh from him, the small huff of air hitting the side of your neck. "Something like that, yeah. I need your help with it, pretty girl."

Suguru taped piece after piece of white paper together—completely covering the pristine brown floors of his studio. He knew damn well he wouldn't hear the end of it from you if he ended messing up the floors with the little experiment that he had in mind. You could only stare from the doorway with your arms folded, trying to decipher what he was hoping to achieve.

"Come here, please," Suguru gestured for you to join him once the pieces were secured onto each other. You joined him once the floor, watching as he slipped off his shirt with ease. Your clothes ended up on the floor in record time, watching as Suguru grabbed some acrylic paint bottles from one of the overflowing cabinets. "Normally acrylic's a pain in the ass to work with since it dries so fast but it should be fine."

"Should be fine for what, exactly?" Your head cocked to the side, watching as he took off the plastic wrap around the cap. Suguru looked over at you with a sheepish expression, hesitating before answering your question. "Just hear me out," Suguru's hands ran down your bare thighs in some half-assed attempt to soften the blow, "I was thinking we could put some paint on us and y'know.. have sex on the canvas."

Oh.

"That's it?" You retorted, having to stifle a laugh.

Suguru's hands stilled on your thighs, looking over at you with a half glare on his face, "I nearly had a heart attack trying to ask you that and you're laughing?"

"Well, yeah. I was expecting something worse, to be honest," Before the laugh you were holding it in escaped your lips, a spurt of paint landed on your stomach. A small gasp left your lips, grabbing the nearest paint bottle and aiming straight at Suguru. "Not the h-"

"Yeah, yeah, not the hair," you finished for him, covering a majority of his chest and neck in green paint. You weren't sure who even ended up winning the fight between the two of you, the two of you nearly covered from head to toe in several layers of drying paint. "Ready to admit defeat?" You prodded with a teasing smile on your face, hovering just above him.

A teasing smile that was wiped from your face within a span of what seemed to be two seconds. "I thought you were the one about to admit defeat."

Suguru rested above you, his hair tickling the sensitive skin of your neck when he lowered himself down to press sloppy kisses in whatever spots he could reach. In whatever spots he could leave a hickey only for his eyes to see. His teeth nibbled at your collarbone, his lips enclosing around the skin and sucking. Treating you like his very own canvas, painting your skin in a mix of small bites and his teeth marks.

"Get on top of me, pretty girl," Suguru's hair splayed out against the canvas, the golden hue of the sunset hitting him perfectly from the window when he laid down. You were about to sit down on his lap when he cleared his throat, "Not like that. Turn around for me."

"Su-Suguru," your breath hitched when you felt his teeth bite down onto your inner thigh just as you barely adjusted, his lips wrapping around the supple skin to leave a mark on you with something other than paint. Suguru kissed his way up to your clit, giving it a chaste kiss before moving back to your inner thigh. Repeating the process until a soft groan left your lips, your hips wiggling back against his mouth.

"Doesn't this defeat the purpose of the paint all over us?" Your words came out in a breathy whisper, suddenly becoming hyperaware of the drying paint on your skin. Suguru squirted some of the paint onto his hand, bringing his hand to your ass cheek. Squeezing the flesh in between his fingers, a sharp SMACK following. Leaving a yellow handprint behind.

"Are you complaining, princess?" Suguru asked in a taunt, the tip of his tongue tracing against your folds, "Plus, we're mixing the colors together. Variety and all."

Couldn't really argue with that logic. Not that you'd even begin wanting to argue—the tip of his sharp tongue rolling against your throbbing clit.

Suguru's lips enclosed around one of your slick folds, his eyes shut in bliss as he gave it the sloppiest French kiss that you'd seen in your life. "So good, wanna stay like this forever," Just one taste of you had the man intoxicated. Suguru spat up into your cunt, his tongue mixing it in with your slick.

"Wanna fucking drown in your pussy, lemme do that. Please, please," incoherent babbles spilled from his lips, begging for.. you weren't even sure what. "Sugu, don't stop," your moans only encouraged him, your nails digging into his thighs when he pushed a thick digit inside of you. Slowly pushing it in and out of you, his tongue swirling around your clit just as slow. "F-Faster, baby. Please."

The baby was almost enough to get the last bit of his remaining composure to crumble—another one of those sweet whines escaping his lips. Even so, he was determined to tease you, "You sure you can take it?"

"Y-Yes, yes, fuck yes, faster," you felt like a bobblehead with the way you were nodding. Suguru's finger curled inside of you, hitting your g-spot when he pulled it out of you. "Since you were nice about it," Suguru's lips wrapped around your cunt, his tongue swirling against the nerves while another finger pushed inside of you. He moved the two in a scissoring motion, working your walls open slowly.

Your thumb and pointer wrapped around the tip of his cock, your other paint stained hand wrapping around the base. Just the slightest bit of contact and Suguru was already bucking his hips into your hand, a groan leaving his glistening lips. "Please, need you," he babbled, pulling away from your sensitive cunt. You simply traced one of the veins on the side with your fingertip, your touch featherlight.

"What do you mean? You have me, with my hand wrapped around your cock. Be more specific," you executed the clueless act almost perfectly, a borderline whine leaving Suguru's lips. From desperation. From need. From how much he was starting to like when you teased him like this. "Need your mouth on me, pretty. Your teasing's too much."

"Your fault for making it so easy," you drawled out, your tongue darting out. Tasting the precum that leaked out his reddening tip. Your thumb swiped against his cockhead, smearing the mixture of his pre and your spit around it like makeshift lube.

"F-Fuck, just like that," Suguru let out a groan into your cunt, the vibrations shooting up all the way up your spine. You slowly began bobbing your head, your cheeks hollowing out as you tried to take more of his thick cock in your mouth. Drool leaked from the corners of your lips, some of the paint that managed to get onto your chin dripping onto the paper underneath. "Lemme fuck your face, princess. Please, please."

"Just. Like. That," his words were punctuated with his hips snapping up into your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You were left a gagging mess, your eyes starting to water from the sting. If Suguru could see you, you were certain he'd make some stupid comment about how good you look.

And almost as if he'd read your thoughts, "B-Bet you look so pretty gagging. So so pretty taking my cock."

"And I bet you'd look better with your mouth on my pussy instead of teasing," you clicked your tongue, your lips wrapping around the sides of his cock. Slowly rubbing them against his shaft, your hand going down to his balls.

Suguru had been putty in your hands long ago—but the feeling of your hand on his balls only reaffirmed that fact. Your fingers gently rolled against his sac, each of your movements completely in tandem with your mouth. Almost like a synchronized dance. "S-shit, pretty," Suguru's moans were muffled, his nose deep inside of your cunt.

Suguru's balls started to grow heavy underneath your fingertips, strained gasps coming out of him. "S-Stop," you pulled away when you heard Suguru's words, your brows pulling together.

"You okay? We can stop if you want," you assured him, moving to get off him. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still against him. Suguru didn't move from his spot, his head laying back against the paper in some attempt to catch his breath.

"No, no, nothing like that," Suguru let out a shaky laugh, his words making relief crash over your body like a wave. "Just- You almost made me cum."

"Is that a bad thing?" While your words were innocent, you looked anything but. Looking at you was akin to looking at a succubus incarnate. A succubus that Suguru wouldn't necessarily mind submitting to if it came down to it.

"No. Just wanna do it inside of you instead."

"A true poet. You should consider that as a career," a short laugh left your lips. The sound turning into a moan when Suguru smacked your ass again—this time with red paint. The previous yellow on his hand mixed in, leaving an orangey red tint behind. "And you should consider being a comedian."

Suguru shifted the two of you, having you underneath him yet again. His hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it against your cunt and swiping his shaft up and down your folds. He looked over at you—seeing the way you bit down on your lip to keep yourself quiet. Not that it'd mattered, your pussy couldn't exactly lie the same way that you could.

Your walls clenched around pure air—your dripping pussy coating his shaft with each and every swipe. One of his hands moved to cradle your cheek, tenderly. He moved his thumb to where leftover tears remained, wiping them away with one shift motion. The action was meant to be sweet, loving—and yet it was completely betrayed by the shit-eating grin on his face.

Suguru was completely shameless in sticking his thumb in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it while he licked away your salty tears. All the while he maintained eye contact with you.

"O-Oh fuck!" Suguru reveled in the sharp gasp that left your lips when he pushed the tip of his cock inside of you, your mouth left agape. He leaned down, pressing his lips against your own. Unlike the other kisses, this one was more desperate. More needy. His teeth clashed against your own, your tongue moving against his own messily. Just needing to have him close to you.

"There we go, that's it," Suguru purred in your ear, studying each one of your reactions. Watching as you squirmed the further that he pushed his cock inside you. He stilled his movements, your walls tightly clenched around his cock. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn't.

"Take it so well, you were meant for me. All of you," Suguru's lips moved down to your breast, his paint-covered hands staining the skin even further. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the tip prodding against the hardening buds. "Could never get enough of you. Never want to get enough of you," his babbles served to distract you from the slight sting between your thighs, your hand intertwining in his hair. Getting paint on it despite your previous promise.

"You can move," you assured him, his hips snapping into you almost immediately. Suguru's head hung low, already getting lost in your cunt one thrust in. "So good, so perfect," He panted, his thrusts starting off slow and shallow. Getting you more and more comfortable with each one. One of his hands reached out to grab your own, calloused fingers intertwining with your own. He brought your hand to his mouth, gently pressing a kiss.

Suguru's thrusts began to grow faster—meaner. "S-So deep, Sugu," you breathed out, your nails digging into the back of his hand. "Yeah? You can take it, though. Can't you?" He repeated the same words from earlier back to you, watching your eyes glaze over with lust. Rolling back with each punishing thrust. The sound of skin against skin resounded throughout the room, paint splashing against each other.

"Take it so well, knew you could," Suguru disentangled his fingers from your own, moving his hand towards your clit. He slowly began rubbing circles against the bud, your legs starting to quiver from the overwhelming stimulation. It felt like too much, it didn't feel like it was enough. You didn't know what to ask for. "Please," you managed to get out, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

"I know, I know. I got you," and even though the ask didn't seem that coherent to you, Suguru seemed to have gotten it immediately. His fingertips sped their pace up on your clit, your walls clenching around him. Your toes curled against the paper, that all too familiar coil building up in your lower tummy. "Close, close," you chanted like a mantra. Suguru's fingers continued, pushing you towards your orgasm.

Your walls clenched around his shaft, your orgasm hitting you like a wave when you unclenched. Your release covered his shaft, your folds, and some of it managed to drip down to the canvas. Messing up the messy artwork even further. Suguru pulled his fingers away from your clit, bringing them up to his lips with your slick glistening against his digits.

And just like he'd done with your tears, Suguru completely licked his fingers clean. "Fuckkk, you're so good to me," he groaned out, the taste of you immediately infiltrating his taste buds. The only thing left when Suguru pulled his fingers out was his own spit.

"Come on, get the canvas all nice and covered," Suguru helped you get on your stomach, your back arched and your ass up in the air. Your pussy still wet from your previous orgasm. You rested your elbows onto the paper below you, supporting your weight while Suguru smacked your ass with the tip of his dick. "Got so lucky with you," He mused out loud, sounding completely entranced.

Suguru pushed his cock inside of you, filling you up inch after inch. "That's my little Picasso," he teased, watching you put some more paint onto your hands. His hands gripped your hips, his cock pushing deeper inside of you from this angle. The ridges on his shaft brushing up against your g-spot, brushing up against every right spot. All you could feel was him, him, him.

Your fingers laid across the paper, tainting the white paper below you in a mixture of colors. Drip. Drip. Drip. You weren't sure if that was the paint or your pussy at this point. Probably both. "F-Fuck Suguru, don't stop," you moan out, your cheek resting against the paper underneath. Suguru's grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier by the second.

"N-Not gonna stop until my cum's dripping out of you," Suguru practically whined, completely and utterly pussy-drunk. Your walls clenched involuntarily, something Suguru couldn't have missed even if he wanted to. "Tightened up so fucking much. That's exactly what you want, my cum filling you up?"

"Mhm, please. Fill me up," your whines sounded like a melody in his ears, a melody that he'd never grow tired of. Your tight cunt was milking his cock for everything it had, gripping around him tightly like a vice. Suguru's balls twacked against your cunt with each mean thrust, each thrust sloppier than the last. Like he just needed to be inside you—no matter how.

Ropes and ropes of cum painted your cunt white as he came, his breathing ragged. You felt so full. It was so much cum—the sticky substance dripping down your thighs. Suguru's mouth instantly went to your pussy, licking away his cum that dribbled down your folds. Pushing the remainder in with his fingers before allowing himself to lay down next to you.

The two of you laid still on the canvas with dry paint coating the two of you from your cheeks to your other set of cheeks. You'd ended up splattering more paint on each other than on the paper below you. The sun outside had set, leaving only the sound of cicadas outside and moonlight filtering in through the window. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you albeit for the sound of your quick breaths.

Suguru had been to copious amounts of art showings and galleries throughout the course of his career—seen all different kinds of things. Sculptures, oil paintings, photographs, etc. Some of them taking him a second glance to try to see the meaning while some were effortless in the way that they presented their beauty. But somehow all those paintings seemed to dim in comparison to you in this moment.

You in all your post orgasm glory—with beads of sweat dribbling down your forehead, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your inner thighs shaking from the after shocks and covered with his semen. A view that he couldn't begin to replicate even with the world's most expensive paintbrushes, the most expensive canvas.

No matter how many times you told Suguru that a painting he'd done of you was nothing short of extraordinary, he couldn't help but feel as if something was missing. As if he couldn't capture your beauty in all its essence. Whether it be that your nose ended off balance by one half-inch, one of your eyes ended up slightly more crooked than the other. Nothing seemed to really encapsulate what he wanted to portray onto the canvas.

But the work that lay below you almost expressed you in a way that he could only dream of achieving in this lifetime—expressing you in one of the rawest forms possible. In pure bliss and ecstasy. Pure bliss and ecstasy that he'd been responsible for.

Suguru was nothing short of gentle, reverent when he swiped the washcloth across your paint covered skin. Wiping away all the dry pieces that started to flake off. "Nothing short of being the perfect muse," He spoke in a way that made it seem like the words were meant just for your ears. Suguru pressed a kiss on your shoulder, his lips trailing a path down to your back.

"All I did was have sex with you on top of a piece of paper," you responded, turning around to face him. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you all that much closer to your body until you were chest to chest. "Maybe. But I've never felt this surge of inspiration before. All because of you, beautiful."

Seeing the final piece hanging up on the wall of his studio, you almost couldn't help but think that it was disorganized chaos. That it was just splatters of paint showcasing what the two of you had gotten up to just the night prior. "I know what you're thinking, but y'know how art critics are. Chances are that they'll enjoy this piece more than any of the others I've done," Suguru spoke up, standing next to you as he looked up at the painting.

"Even if they don't, thank you for indulging me. Don't think I could forget about this painting even if I tried," Suguru wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you, resting his head on your shoulder. You leaned back into his touch almost instinctively, staring at the painting for a bit longer. All the nonsensical shapes and splatters on the wall slowly starting to become something beautiful—something made out of love.

And enjoy it they did. Not one day passed by since Suguru submitted the painting to be hung up in several art showings where he didn't get a call with some offer. Each of them going higher and higher, each caller trying to outbid the last. Coming back to him with a bigger and better offer, all for the chance to see the painting the two of you made. Nothing at all like the days of being a starving artist, living off ramen and a dream.

Suguru's career had been built from the generous donations from coffee shops around the Tokyo area that were willing to pay for a couple of his pieces, of maintaining relationships with artists he didn't talk to for more than once in college to gain some kind of connections. It felt bizarre—having people practically want to display his work for the equivalent of a down payment on a house. Not only from the Japan area, but a couple galleries from overseas.

"I'll see you when I get back, okay? I love you," You were barely half awake, barely registering Suguru when he moved to press his lips against your forehead. He'd barely gotten of the shower from what you could tell, wet hair strands tickling your face and the smell of amber cologne filling up your nose.

"Love you too. Fly safe," you mumbled back in response, or at least you'd made the attempt to do so. Hopefully he heard. In a span of mere seconds, you'd pulled the blankets back over your body and went back to sleep.

For the second time that morning, you were woken up from your sleep. Only this time it wasn't the feeling of Suguru's lips against your skin, rather the shrill sound of your phone beside you. A rather rude awakening. You rubbed your eyes, sitting up in bed and clearing your throat in all attempt to make it sound like you didn't wake up two seconds ago. Picking your phone up, you were met with the sight of an unknown number.

You'd grown wary to answering unknown numbers—whether it be from a multitude of spam calls throughout your day or one of Suguru's fans that found your contact information. You couldn't really begin to explain it, but something, something, compelled you to answer the call at the third ring. "Hi, we're calling from Tokyo General Hospital. You were listed as Geto Suguru's emergency contact."

If you weren't awake before, that greeting was enough to wake you up. "That's me. Is everything okay?" You felt goosebumps all over your arms, a bad feeling sinking down into your very bones. The person on the other line kept talking—the words not registering inside of your head just yet. He was supposed to be on a plane, maybe on his layover. Throughout the call, you could only pick up certain words. Accident. Critical condition. Stable for now.

Rushing over to the emergency room in nothing but your pajamas and a pair of bunny slippers. "H-Hi, I got a call," you took a moment to catch your breath, your knuckles gripping the front desk. Forcing yourself to try to calm down somewhat. Trying to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Despite that every breath only seemed to be wearing you down even further.

"I'm here about Geto Suguru. You just brought him in," you managed to get out, your fingers anxiously tapping against the counter. Every second that the nurse spent typing on the computer felt like a second too long.

"He's currently in emergency surgery. The waiting room's in the fourth floor," the nurse finally spoke up after what seemed to be an eternity. "Thank you," your words came jumbled up in a rush, turning around and speed walking towards the elevator. The stench of antiseptic filled your nostrils as soon as you stepped out into the fourth floor, a grim feeling settled into every crevice of the halls.

The clock on the wall ticked by slowly, marking each second almost painfully. Each second marking someone being brought into the world, someone being taken away from the world. Marking tears of agony, dispair, joy, and relief. Your brain continued to spiral every time a doctor came out of the surgical wing—giving you the briefest glance before going over to talk to someone else.

A wisdom teeth removal without anesthesia would've been a more welcome thought than the unbearable waiting.

Despite his farewell, the next time that you saw Suguru wasn't at the airport after the art show that would make his career skyrocket. With a smile on his face when he looked at you, like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. Like you were the only thing really worth looking at. But instead, you had to settle for seeing him in a hospital bed.

You could practically see the gears turning in Suguru's head in some attempt to recognize just where exactly he knew you from, where he'd seen you before. Almost like one of the statues that were around his studio, you stood completely still. You gave him your name after a nod from the doctor and crossed your fingers in the pocket of your pajama pants, waiting for some kind of sign that he knew you.

That he remembered the hour long conversations between you, the feeling of your skin underneath his own, that he at least knew he loved you. The action was for naught, however. Panic slowly began to settle in Suguru's features, his arms straining against the needles attached. His face was cold, detached, his finger pointing towards the door. "Leave!" even with the breathing tube down his throat, you at least made out the command.

Before Suguru ended up ripping all the different IVs out of his arm, you made your way out of the room. Standing by the door, almost like a puppy who'd just been kicked out to the curb. Looking through the small window, you could see that Suguru was still on high alert. His eyes darted around the room, the two nurses attempting to restrain him starting to visibly struggle.

His shouts bled through the thin walls, "Leave! Leave!" Until the room went completely silent in a span of seconds, his panicked breathing starting to even out on the monitor. "You're free to come at another time," the doctor offered a sheepish smile, handing over a guide. How to deal with a family member with amnesia. The smiles on the front page only served to mock you even further.

You opened up the door to his side of the closet when you got home, the silence of the room almost overwhelming. It was never this quiet. You'd grown used to hearing Suguru's footsteps echo in his office while he paced around—convincing you that it got the ideas flowing (spoiler alert: it rarely did). The scent of his body wash and cologne covered the room like a thick blanket from his shower this morning.

Looking around the vast space, you could see a couple of his shirts with the color faded out with years and years of use, of wash, and of love. And with that, you noticed a couple shirts hanging up with the tags still attached to them. Shirts that he'd probably been intending to wear for future art showings. Would he even dress the same? Smell the same? The uncertainty chipped away at your composure, leaving you gripping one of his old band tees at the back of his closet.

You sprayed his cologne first thing in the morning throughout the following week, something that you could hold onto for the time being. The thought of packing up his clothes was one that persisted the longer you kept staring at the untouched articles, yet you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Every time you set out with a box on the floor—you couldn't muster to even get his shirts off the hangers.

It felt wrong, in a sense. To almost be mourning him despite that he was well in the hospital. Doing better than expected, even. You couldn't help but feel like you've lost him completely, though. That Suguru Geto was completely gone after that accident. You recognized his body, the one who'd held your own during cold nights. But you weren't sure who he was, not like you used to. You didn't know who he was going to become.

You willed yourself to keep the same enthusiasm as the doctors had been trying to instill, deciding to pack a couple of his essentials in a bag before visiting him. If he was anything like the Suguru you knew, he was probably desperate to wash his hair with something other than cheap travel sized shampoo.

After days and days of avoidance, Suguru finally stood in front of the mirror and looked into it. At first, all he could see was just how weak he looked. How sickly pale he looked against the bright fluorescent lights, how sunken his cheekbones were, how tired he looked. Even if he didn't know who he was supposed to be—the sight was anything but welcome.

And then Suguru looked at the mirror. Really looked into it. Desperately seeking for some kind of hint of the person that people were expecting him to be. The one he'd seen various art critics write about in overlooked magazines that were around the hospital lobby. Only to come up completely and totally empty. With not one single recollection of what happened before the car accident.

Staring at himself in the mirror was like staring at a hollow shell of himself—a corpse with his face, his body, his hair, his voice, that held no memory of the person that he was used to be. A body without a brain. Who and what was he supposed to be acting like? As much as Suguru stared at himself in the mirror, he couldn't find the answer that he so desperately craved.

The canvas and paint set that you'd left behind nearly a week ago remained untouched in the hospital bed stand, still in their original package. Suguru reluctantly pulled it out, setting it down on his lap. "Stupid thing," he muttered to himself, prying open the plastic and looking over at the palette of colors. After facing the same four grey walls of the hospital room, he found himself staring at them for more than necessary.

But even while Suguru held the paintbrush in his hand, the thought that he was even doing that wrong lingered in the back of his brain like a plague. Every line that was sprawled onto the canvas felt like a mistake, the smallest divergence in between the two points almost made him throw out the canvas out the damn hospital window and never paint again. Everything that he was supposed to be, he simply was not.

A deep breath left his lips, forcing himself to calm down before he went through another spiral in less than ten minutes. Suguru's grip on the paintbrush was unsteady, unpracticed, each of his strokes either coming out too wet or too dry. Lighter colors were starting to mix with the darker colors, turning into a shade of mud brown. And yet, this was the calmest he's felt in a while. The calmest without any sedatives, anyways.

The painting didn't come out to be anything significant—anything that he deemed worth putting into an art museum. But the process of making his splotch of colors was an escape from trying to force himself to be someone he wasn't sure he could ever return to. The one time he didn't feel like he was disappointing someone since waking up. The short moment of bliss was broken when Suguru heard the door knob jiggle, his eyes darting around the room.

Looking for any place where he could hide the canvas. Anyplace where the poor excuse of his work couldn't be found—where he wouldn't get someone's hopes up. Opening up the drawer next to him, he decided that was a decent enough hiding spot. Suguru turned the canvas to face down, the paint smearing down onto the scratched wood when he placed it down. Completely ruining the worthless piece.

"You can come in," Suguru called out, watching as you came in with the grocery bag in tow. Looking at you was nothing less than looking at another stranger—nothing different than one of the nurses who came in to poke more needles into his arm.

"Hey Suguru," you popped your head in through the door, almost expecting for him to have that sudden moment like they did in telenovelas. That just one look, one kiss, one touch would bring back the man that you loved. Waiting for a moment that didn't come no matter how much or how many times you wished for it. He gave a nod, simply just acknowledging your presence.

Everyday that Suguru didn't recognize you just felt like one more stab to your bleeding heart. You could see the way that he slightly inched away from you whenever you got too close. Conversations didn't flow the way they used to—you'd learn to measure your words so you wouldn't upset him. To only ask about how he was feeling, what he ate for lunch even if the nurse gave you the report earlier.

"Can you tell me some things about me?" Suguru broke the silence after you'd taken a seat, his attention solely on you. How would you even begin to address that can of worms? What even was the best way to begin describing him without sounding like a romance novel?

"As I'm sure you're probably aware by now, you were an artist. You were dedicated, not just in that, but in everything that you did," you started off, your fingers tapping against the side of your leg. "Your perspective on the world was interesting, a bit nihilistic though."

"You keep saying were. You don't have the same hopes as the doctors?" Suguru asked almost immediately after you finished speaking. Leaving you completely and utterly speechless. You refused to look over at him, staring at the floor with a newfound interest. Without saying anything, you essentially confirmed the question that lingered in the air.

"Can I see some of the works, then?" Suguru tried his luck with that question next. The tension disappeared from your body almost immediately, a breath leaving your lips. "You're free to look around at a couple of the pictures on there," you handed your phone over. Most of them were just off-guards you'd captured when he was sleeping or cooking, really. A couple of his works thrown in between.

Suguru scrolled through your phone for a bit, bringing one specific work to your attention. The last work the two of you had made before he landed in a hospital bed. "Looks like a bunch of paint thrown on there. What made me do that?" The same piece that he swore to never forget was the same one he was criticizing now.

"You made that piece with me," you had to will yourself to blink back a couple tears that were threatening to spill, keeping your voice steady. "I guess you can just call it a product of love. We basically just covered ourselves in paint and had sex on the canvas." The explanation definitely sounded better in your head. Suguru simply looked at you with his mouth slightly agape, probably trying to figure out how.

"Was.. that comfortable?" A tamer question than you'd been expecting.

"As comfortable as the floor can get. It was messy in the end.. but it was pretty fun," you willed your voice to remain steady as you spoke, only to have the smallest of cracks at the end. You'd never expected the painting you once thought of as nothing but a splatter of paint would be making you this sentimental. Suguru had more questions, if his expression was anything to go by.

But you didn't get the chance to elaborate more on the painting when the door hinges creaked, the door swinging wide open.

"Oh good, you're here," the doctor you'd seen on your first night here greeted you, a clipboard resting on his arm, "So, we have the latest results from Geto's scan and they show no improvement. While he does seem to be recovering without any problems, chances are that the damage can be permanent." The rest of the doctor's words dimmed down into a ringing noise in the background.

You forced yourself to nod along when you deemed fitting—forced yourself to pretend like your hopes weren't just killed within two minutes. "Well, let me know if you have any questions," the doctor finished up, looking between the two of you. "Nothing here," you responded, glancing over at Suguru. When the doctor received nothing in response, he simply nodded and left the room.

Thick silence weighed in the room—the realization that Suguru would never get back to who he was, to what he enjoyed doing, slowly starting to settle in.

Just a week ago, Suguru was scheduled to go to the biggest art show of his career and now he was looking up at you like you held all the answers in the world. And maybe, in his opinion, you did. The only guide that he had through the unknown. Tears of sheer desperation dribbled down his red stricken eyes, tainting his pale cheeks as he babbled, "I don't know how to be who you want and need me to be. I'm sorry."

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animeredhead101 · 1 year ago

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Al Ghul Siblings DP x DC Crossover

Complete(Twins)

The Lost One by DizzlyPuzzled :

Danny never wanted to meet his real parents for a good reason. And now all of Amity Park is in the crossfire.

Word Count: 36,427

Reaching for a New Light by ghostly_frogly :

In the safety of his room, he would look at the other side of the room where Danyal’s bed was once placed. Everything that could have hinted at his existence was wiped away. Not even the encyclopedias about the stars and all their legends were safe. Damian would look but never stare, only quick glances. Grief would be seen as a weakness and like Danyal weakness would be wiped away. or Danny and Damian were separated when they were young and one of them thinks the other is dead, he's only half right. An unsuspected gala is just what they need to meet once again. or or The obligated twin AU that every DPxDC fanfic writer has to write Word Count: 8,510

Twin Stars by CrescentCyan :

After making fun of the galas Sam is forced to attend one too many times, Danny is dragged to a Wayne Gala to experience just how awful they are to attend.

Danny would have gone willingly if he knew who was there.

Word Count: 13,377

You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost by ShootingFromAfar :

"The runes are wrong.""What does that mean for us?"?" Tim hisses over the beginnings of a dozen voices rising in chant."Nothing good." Jason states grimly, frantically racking his brain for any way out. Whatever entity is about to come out of this circle is going to be baring a fate worse than death.Jason would know. He’s been dead.…Actually speaking of being dead. Jason does know someone from the Ghost Zone with enough sheer audacity to help him fight what very well could be an actual demon.With a mental ‘fuck it’, Jason begins to chant.AKA: Jason and Danny became friends in the Ghost Zone. This is about to be everyone’s problem. Batman just wants to know who this illusive teenager is. Because he’s a meta. Obviously. Not for adoption reasons. No siree, not him. Word Count: 37,602

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by HalfBlackWolfDemon :

A collection of prompts for DP x DC Week 2022.

Danny reconnects with his twin brother, Damian! It's a long read. Please enjoy this!

Some are fun, others are pretty angsty, some are meh. Enjoy

Word Count: 18,261

A Crown Without Jewels by Rottenest :

27 people had a lot of blood; what could he say? “Danyal?” Damian asked, his voice faux-confident. Danny knew that voice, though. Damian spoke in it every time Danny came back from training, his eyes still burning green.Danny sighed. He dropped the katana, hearing it clatter to the floor. Damian carefully, suspiciously, lowered his arm. He still kept his own katana tight in his hands. Both of them knew Danny didn’t go rabid with the red; he could still plot and be deceitful. He didn’t get that blinding Pit Rage. ---OR--- Some 8 years after Danny ran away from the League after his own sort-of experience with the Pits, he and his brother happen to reunite in some less than stellar circumstances. Meaning right after Danny fought and heavily injured roughly 27 assassins. Not-- not the best.TL;DR - Demon twins AU with Pit influenced!Danny Word Count: 10,738

Displacement / Replacement by halfgone (milkywxy) :

Damian has a twin. Damian has never told anyone about said twin. And with a lie, comes its consequence.

Word Count: 11,814

the continuous death of us by sundaze (LegaciesandMemories) :

Damian opened his mouth, but all his usual words failed him. “You’re dead,” he said instead, far hoarser than he expected. At that, the other teenagers tensed. The surprised grin fell from the boy’s face like it had never been there in the first place, his arm falling from Danyal’s shoulder.Danyal smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” With the careless, yet precise way it’s uttered, it sounded like one of Drake’s incessant references. Damian swallowed, but his throat was as dry as the Katpana.Damian and Dick go shopping for Steph's birthday. They find a key piece of Damian's past in the process. Word Count: 2,960

The Fenton Twins by AceFace98 :

The Demon Twins are unique in the League of Assassins, being the only children. With no precedent to guide their tutors, it's recommended that they have a mission together before their first solo ones.

Jasmine Fenton finds two amnesiac boys in a park, not one. This changes the timeline irreparably.

Now the pair are just fourteen, and a suspicious car accident has taken their adoptive parents from them. But Damian Fenton has a secret; his memory had returned to him several months prior, when Danyal had his accident in the ghost portal. With his knowledge, the twins and their adopted - but very important, very close, deeply protected - sister decide to make the trek to Gotham in the hope that Batman is willing to take them in.

That's not the only thing to hope for, of course. Going to Gotham means they may be spotted. And neither twin wants to think about what might befall them if their mother - or grandfather - discovers they're alive.

Or, well, mostly alive.

Word Count: 15,151

Socialization of the Demon Twins by pastistoday :

When not one but two trained assassin children show up on Bruce's doorstep claiming to be his sons, well, what is he to do but welcome them in and try to minimize the chaos.Danyal Al Ghul had known for a while that their grandfather was a manipulative old fool who didn't really care for them. It had taken work but he had managed to convince the League of Shadows to let both him and his twin go to their father promising that whoever will not be heir to the bat will return. Of course he's never planning to go back, but he'll need help breaking Damian free of his misplaced loyalty. Word Count: 23,242

Runaway Assassin by DizzlyPuzzled :

Danyal had been sent to be a mole in Bruce's care, but while they were heading though Blüdhaven, Chemo attacked destroying the city. Danyal hadn't been in the city like he was supposed to be and therefore survived. He'd never wanted to play double agent with the that was his father. He ran, and never looked back. Several years and ghost powers later, Vlad Masters has decided that the students need some self-defense lessons, so he hires an organization that specializes in just that.

Written for Invisobang 2023!!

Word Count: 86,884

The Winning Son by Derp_Interpreter :

The 16-year-old Ghost King is summoned to Gotham only to find his "sacrifices" are the Batfamily, including the brother who betrayed and killed him. Bitter and depressed, Danny lashes out at Damian only for his revenge to backfire. In the presence of volatile emotions and certain triggers, ghosts are often compelled to act out their own deaths. Word Count: 4,742

On-going(Twins)

Life, Death, and In Between by SaturdayNightFrights :

Injured, alone, and terrified, Danny flees to an unfamiliar city. He’s hoping to disappear amongst the high percentage of homeless youth. Become just one face in the crowd, heal in the anonymity Gotham provides.

He doesn’t expect to be found.

______________________________________________________________ OR another DP/DC fanfic where Danny and Damian are long lost twins. Danny suffers, Damian is angry, and Bruce adds to the Wayne family. Hey! It doesn’t count as adoption if they’re your blood son!

Word Count: 88,804

Shoot Suspected Ghosts First, Ask Questions Never by yastaghr :

Danny is in over his head and he knows it. He's feeling overwhelmed with trying to stop a war between the Realms and Earth, and he doesn't have a lot of good options. He makes a desperate attempt to keep as many people alive as he can, and it goes both horribly right and horribly wrong. Word Count: 169,508

my starlight by hollowgast1 :

Damian and Danyal al Ghul have always been connected. That connection should've broken when Damian returned to Nanda Parbat and Danyal didn't, because death is the end, isn't it? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damian doesn't care how inhuman his brother may be. He's going to find his little brother, take him home, and destroy anyone who dares get in his way - and he knows a few birds and bats that won't hesitate to help him.

or: dick has a new little brother who really, really needs some cuddles

Word Count: 57,762

Phantom Assassin by Kanereader765 :

Danny used to be Talia Al Ghul's son, until he failed in his mission and Ra's Al Ghul made every assassin in the League turn their blades on Danyal.Now he's in Amity, adopted by a red-headed girl a few years older than him, and attempting to keep a low profile. Hard enough without becoming half-dead in a portal accident that leads to the source of the Lazarus pits themselves. Word Count: 68,905

Schrodinger's Danny by Die_Erlkonigin6083 :

Faking his death after a solo mission goes wrong, Danny flees into the Ghost Zone, leaving his twin to mourn his passing. Years later, a pair of meddling kids re-activate the portal in the wreckage of the Fenton household. Since no one else is stepping up to the plate, it looks like it's up to Danny to stop the ghosts from invading Amity Park and protect them from the ghost hunters who seek to research them. He was trained to fight, and his father was Batman afterall, so why not?

Word Count: 81,204

I can be both even if it's hard (and it's hard) by mulit_fandomfreak :

Sam and Tucker ran to get Jazz and didn't see Danny come out of the portal. By the time they return Danny has transformed back.This changes things. Word Count: 48,349

Lost and Found by Nanenna :

It's summer break and Danny is having the most stressful vacation of his half life. Can someone please explain what is going on? Maybe one of the many weirdos following them around Gotham could actually approach and start the interrogation, at least then Danny would know WHY he's currently collecting tails like Pokémon. Wait… is that one from the League? Oh ancients!

Word Count: 7,596

Unfair by ForElisLost :

Danny knew Damian would be there — he'd kept track of his twin's public persona (and vigilante life).He'd been doing a great job of not interacting and keeping from being spotted by Damian.Now, Damian was trying to convince him to leave the League. "Daniyah, there is another way.""I know there is another way. Except I told you about it for years and you never listened.OR: Demon Twins AU in which the Fenton's accidentally transe Danny's gender Word Count: 28,919

Green Never Looked So Sad Before I Lost You. by Rin_may_1103 :

His blood turned cold, his stomach twisting in dread, his tired mind pulling up all of his fears. He doesn’t kill, at least not on purpose anymore. Did she find out? Did she know about his past? Or is this something else?

Had he somehow inadvertently gotten someone hurt? Killed? He didn’t like where this was going. Especially since he still couldn’t spot Jack. Gritting his teeth as his knee burned he took a moment to steady himself before he finally asked the crucial question, “Who?”

or:

Danny and Damian are twins, Something happens, and Danny acquires a lot of uncles.

Constantine is very done with everything.

Word Count: 172,411

Twin, Where Have You Been? by mimi_kc_i :

When Danyal, now Danny, met the eyes of his brother- of Damian, he was unsure of the reaction he was expected to have.Did they expect a tearful reunion? He could do that. Was he meant to shake his brother’s hand, and move on to whatever was next? He could do it, any of it, he just needed to know what they wanted from him.Damian made the decision for him. He looked at him for half a second, and Danny knew those eyes. He felt himself tense, but Damian only scoffed lowly, turned on his heel, and walked away. OR Demon Twin AU where both of them have barely started healing and both believe the other is the superior twin. Shenanigans and healing ensue. Word Count: 65,183

Welcome Home by Nanenna :

When Danny accidentally catches his parents plotting against him he does the only thing he can think of: flee to the birth family he's been intentionally avoiding. Now he's got to balance getting to know them and reconnecting with his lost twin while keeping his own secrets from a family of detectives.

Word Count: 34,410

Leave All Your Longing Behind by DisillusionedDanny :

After the Fentons discover that Danny is a halfa, he finds himself heading to Gotham in search of a family he knows nothing about.Along the way he opens up a psychic shop, starts helping the Bats solve murders in the city, make friends with the local rogues, and catches the attention of the Wayne family.Now if only he can find the family that Clockwork told him was waiting for him in Gotham.updates every thursday. Word Count: 33,362

Complete(Brothers)

Ah, Sunflower by DisillusionedDanny :

Danyal Al Ghul faked his death to give his younger brother a better life and to give himself the life that he always wanted.

Damian Al Ghul was happy to learn his older brother was dead. No longer did he have to live under his shadow.

As the years go by, though, this changes for both of them.

Danny Fenton never got the life he always wanted.

Damian Wayne has realized he will never see his brother again.

That is, until the bats summon the Ghost King and soon two sunflowers finally start to grow the way they were meant to.

Word Count: 63,812

Noise and Light by TheWrittingOwl :

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the Ghost Zone. Just there and back before anyone could question why Danny needed to go see Frostbite alone in the first place. However, Vlad just had to bother him with his usual bullshit. While being chased through the Zone, Danny quickly found himself slamming into some weird Ghost Zone nonsense and turning back into a child. Scared and confused, he tries to find the one person who had always kept him safe when he was younger.Damian hadn't seen his baby brother since the day their grandfather had so cruelly killed him. He wasn't sure how Danyal's body had disappeared when Mother had brought him to the pits, but all Damian knew was that he'd never see his baby brother again. Imagine his surprise when eight years later, his six-year-old brother came back, clawing his way out of the pits and reaching out for him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Based on this tumblr prompt: https://www.tumblr.com/bluerosefox/715375918201421824/i-this-came-to-me-as-om-making-dinner-so-ill Word Count: 35,811

I Chose to Close My Eyes by TheWrittingOwl :

Damian is the only son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne.

This is a fact he carries with pride. He is the only heir to Ra's al Ghul. The one who will take over the league, or if he so chooses continue his father's legacy in becoming the next Batman. There is no need to fight for his position as it has been given to him by his mere birth.

So what then, is this wrinkly creature his mother is calling his sibling?

AKA

5 Times Damian said he would kill Danny, and the one time he said he wouldn't.

Word Count: 3,102

But I will hold on hope, and I won't let you choke by ghostly_frogly :

After the destruction of his hometown and being hunted by the GIW at the age of 14 Danny didn’t know what to do. He debated going to the Ghost Zone and living the rest of his life and afterlife there when he encountered a group of ninjas. The details of how and why are still lost to him but in the moment he fought. He fought and let out as much anger, frustration, and sorrow as possible. His eyes turned green and his fists were shaking and bruised from the fight.Surprisingly, or maybe not with the life he lives, this isn’t the last time the ninjas come after him. He fights more and more off until he meets the man sending the ninjas his way. He is offered training by a man named Ra’s Al Ghul. Danny jumps at the chance, thinking how he could finally run away from his problems or fully die trying. or Danny runs away from everything he's ever known when it is all taken from him. Seeing no better option he joins a cult-like group of assassins. What could go wrong? Word Count; 6,521

Cain and Abel Wept by Katlover98 :

Based on this prompt

https://www.tumblr.com/yetanothergreyjedi/706901334951149568/a-dp-x-dc-crossover-danny-fenton-and-damian-wayne

When Danny was ten, he tried to get his six-year-old brother out of the League, not knowing the betrayal he would receive.

Seven years later, the Fentons are on the run from the GIW while trying to find ways to dismantle the government-funded organization. They end up in Gotham where Danny sees a familiar face

Word Count: 31,354

Summons by DizzlyPuzzled :

Phantom was next in line for the throne of the Ghost Zone, however, he was still underage. He wouldn't be king for some time, yet when they summon the Ghost King now, someone still has to show up. Word Count: 17,295

On-going(Brothers)

Off With [the Demon's] Head by halfgone (milkywxy) for satoshy12 :

As it turns out, Damian is not Talia's firstborn. Not her first child, not her first son. This would not be so horrible if Talia's actual firstborn hadn't been stolen from her as a babe. But he's alive. And he's not alone. As it turns out, Talia is a grandmother. She takes this news surprisingly well. If only Damian did the same. Word Count: 62,181

regular boy: daniel wayne by diamond_rozie :

“Reporting live from Gotham City, here at the scene of the crime. Dr. Collin Kilye, renowned geneticist, has shot himself and has been declared dead by the paramedics. Dr. Kilye is suspected to be responsible for the purposeful switching of newborns between families under his care, where an known over 500 babies have been swapped in the last 20 years of his employment here. Based on the information provided to the Gotham PD by Nightwing and Batman, we are led to believe that Nightwing has been investigating this case after an anonymous tipoff. After a month and a half of investigating, Nightwing-” Dick had learned that people never know a situation as well as they assume they did. Dick had always assumed that he wouldn’t be one of those people. He was a detective, a Bat, the first Robin.The case file in front of him glared tauntingly. He should've known better to assume anything. Danny Fenton; Birth Parents: Bruce Wayne (father) and Clarissa King (mother). Status: Alive Word Count: 100,571

Some Kind of Miraculous Bind by Saitrised :

Damian Wayne is the heir to the Bat, the Blood Son. Except, he wasn't always the only blood son. There was another, younger heir once, before Damian had left the league and his brother hadn't had the chance to join him. There was one alive heir to the Bat, and a second one, secret to all but him, that was gone. Danny Fenton is already tired of being the Ghost King. Not even six months into his reign, and he's having to deal with ectoplasmic leaking past Amity's borders and new, unknown threats against his people. And the fact that Gotham, the one city that he had mentally marked as off limits, seems to be where most of the problems are isn't helping. ---This is an upload of a heavily edited version of the previously posted chapter 14--- Word Count: 126,392

Broken Bonds by SleepingDead (PolarBearSeals) :

Severely injured, Danny escapes the GIW and latches onto the first ghost that called to him who offered protection and rest. Danny regrets it when he learns he's in the city of the brother who'd killed him.And it appears he can't leave. Word Count: 123,699

Prodigal of Lazarus by sherashalala :

Damian looks at him, a million things going on in his head. “The Heir.” That’s not… technically true. He looks at Talia, sending her a look. She looks back with a ‘do not tell him.’ He could understand why. They’re trying something new with Damian, something they couldn’t get to do to Danyal who was already the first born. They’re trying to get him to strive for something. And Danny does exactly the opposite. “No, not anymore– but I am more than that now.” he slowly takes Damian’s hand. “I am your brother, your protector.” He grips Damian’s hand with conviction. “I am your family.” He says with finality. OR The al Ghul heir died, which is how Damian al Ghul inherits the title of heir. By technicality, he gets to keep that title even if the eldest son is revived two years later. Some things happens, and eventually Danny is tasked to escort his younger brother, the heir, to their father. They didn't... exactly tell him he's also to be delivered to Bruce Wayne. To be fair, they could really work with their method of communication! (OR OR The adventures of Danny as he traverses to and from Gotham as the technically-not-heir of al Ghul.) Word Count: 86,324

Ghosts of Our Pasts by yetanothergreyjedi :

Seven years ago, Danyal Al Ghul tried to smuggle his little brother away from the assassins. He… he should've explained it better, but to be fair he wasn't expecting a knife in the back. Now, a class trip to Gotham and he meets eyes with his brother. He runs. Word Count: 24,102

#danny phantom #ao3 fanfic #crossover fanfiction #dc universe #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #damian wayne #al ghul family #demon twins

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