Have this little WIP. please let me know if you would like to see more of this story :)
Pairing: Yandere!Damian Al Ghul x F!reader/oc? (There is a single mention of reader having curly brown hair)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: blood, murder, Dark themes, Yandere!Damian
Authors note: Yes, this is lowkey inspired by that one scene in ROTS with Anidala. please let me know if you want more, or if I missed any warnings. thx<3
Blood pools at his feet, each step leaving behind a trail of scarlet. His sword rips through the air like a red hot knife to butter. At least that’s what it feels like for him; skin and muscle and bone giving so little resistance, so little protest at being cut and ripped open. Body after body hitting the floor, fighter and civilian alike, so much blood collecting on his blade, it drips with his rage and his fear.
Drip. The hunter before him crumbles like sand.
Drip. Another approaches and falls just as quickly.
Drip. Their screams blur with his vision, sweat and blood dripping into Damian's eyes, but still he swings.
Cut after cut, swing after swing, they all fall. One by one, he goes through and erases anything left in the village, silencing anything living, and burning any evidence of a village to ash.
It's all Damian can do to keep himself from collapsing when all is said and done, the scarlet on his blade now staining his cloak. His hand raises to wipe his face, cleaning the red from his eyes, and the blood from his face, and he sheathes his sword. It’s not a long walk back to his landing zone, and yet Damian feels as if the silent roaring in his mind drags on forever. It's desolate, lonely, and all too much like home for any sort of critical thinking. He just slaughtered an entire village; an entire town full of men, women, and children, now reduced to memory by his hand.
He almost wonders what his mother would say, if she could see him now. Would Talia be proud of her son, would she revel in his return to what she had intended for him since his birth. Or would she be ashamed, saddened by Damian's lack of control over his fear. He wonders if she would change her opinion if she knew why he did what he did. Would she accept his reasoning? Would she understand his motives? After all, is this not what she felt when she had him? Would she not have felt the same way? Would she condemn him for the blood on his hands? Would she hold his face the way she did when he was just a babe, taking a life for the first time?
He’s close now, the shape of his plane coming into view. The blackened metal of the leagues’private jet glitter red and orange, flames reflecting off of sheet metal and her curly brown hair.
The flames bounce off her curly brown hair.
It’s her tears reach him next, those liquid trails of worry that he had strived to ensure never returned, but here they are, directed at him, caused by him, and covered in the blood of children, Damian wonders what she would say. Surely Bruce had filled her head with his lies already, convincing her that he was dangerous, that he could not be trusted. He wondered if she would believe him over Bruce if he were to tell her a little white lie about his actions. Probably not, he thinks. The only thing his beloved hated more than cruelty was lies, but how bad could a little lie here, about this, hurt. Would she still hold him close at night? Would she still hold his hand over her stomach and their growing baby? Would she still love him after everything he's done?
Would she still love him after this?
“Dami!” Her face contorts in overwhelming relief, running towards him and throwing her arms around his neck, her belly pressing into his as she breathes out a gentle sob. He can feel the blood on his breastplate slide onto her soft skin, the red marring her forehead, tainting it with his violence.
“Ya Hayati,” Damian breathes out, his hands pulling her concerned face away from his chest, her watery eyes looking back at him. “What are you doing here?”
Her breath trembles as she speaks, “Bruce came by the apartment,” her hands reach up to the back of his neck, the soft locks there wet with sweat. “He was looking for you. You left so suddenly, he was worried something had happened.”
“Are you alright?’’ she can feel Damian's hands card through the ends of her hair, his fingertips wet and much less gentle than normal.
“We are fine,” her eyes contort with worry, the metallic scent of blood finally reaching her. “But what about you? You are covered in blood!” Her voice is unusually timid, tainted with worry. His once boisterous and lively girl now small and afraid in front of him. “Are you hurt?”
“No, my love. I am not hurt.” His hands fall, reaching for hers, cradling her soft palms in his. He watches as her eyes fall to his hands still red with blood.
“But-” she trembles, taking a step back.”all this blood.”
“Nothing to concern yourself with beloved.” his hands squeeze hers, a sickening squelch resounding through the empty night.
“Where did it all come from?” lips quivering she searches his eyes, hers now, once again, filling with tears.
“Nowhere, now let's get you both back home, yes?” Damian tries so desperately to guide her onto the jet, yet she simply stands unyielding, her eyes flickering with something he didn’t recognize.
“Damian,” she inhales, “...Whose blood is this?”
He freezes, her entire body near trembling, and he now recognizes that look in her eyes; one he had seen countless times before, the same look that had haunted him in his dreams, the same look that they had all given him. He doesn't speak, instead he remains still and silent, looking past her, jaw set in stone. And only one thing comes to mind.
Fear.
She was afraid of him, or for him, he couldn’t tell, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.
“Dami, whose blood is this?” she quivers out again.
“What did he tell you?” It's cold, and it's angry, the way he spits out those words like their venom.
“Dami, please answer me-”
“What did he tell you?” The annunciation behind every word is set with hatred as he locks eyes with the descending ship, one that could only belong to one person. Damian's grip on her hands tightens, her knuckles and fingers turning white from the force.
“Dami, please let go.” tears spill from her eyes.
“All of this is for you.” if she didn't know any better, she would say that he was pleading with her, but she does know better. Damian doesn’t beg, he doesn’t grovel and ask for forgiveness, he acts, and he acts without second thought for anyone besides her or himself. Everyone else could burn so long as he could watch with her by his side. “Everything I’ve done is to give us a better life. To give our child a chance at living without fear.”
“What have you done?” her words tremble and shake like a building in an earthquake, crashing down before she can let them escape.
“I’ve given the league a new purpose,” his hands squeeze tighter, her hands now red from the force of her trying to pull out of his grip. “We will bring freedom and peace to the world. Together. With our child.”
“Dami, please, you’re hurting me” she sobs.
“Damian let her go.” His fathers voice carries with the wind, reverberating in the cold nights’ air.
His grip loosens just enough for her to pull her hands away, and his attention turns to Bruce. “What sick lies have you told her about me?”
“Nothing untrue.” It's not his fathers voice, Damian realizes, no, this is Batman, not Bruce Wayne. His father hadn't come for him, but Batman had.
Batman had come, not to bring him home to Gotham, not to talk him down from whatever metaphorical ledge Bruce thought he was on, but to stop him at any cost, to take him down and keep him that way.
“You betray me for him?” she gasps at the accusation, her tears flowing faster and his patience for his father dwindling with each tear that fell from her pretty eyes. How dare Bruce make her cry, how dare he hurt her, how dare he turn her against him, her own husband, the father of her children.
“You know I would never-” she begins, but Batman cuts her off.
“Damian, you've already done enough damage.” he steps forwards, now about ten paces behind his love, his beloved, his life and family. “Stop this now and come home.”
“How dare you turn her against me.” vitriol is the only way to describe the pure hatred behind Damian's words, “I’ve done only what's necessary to keep my family safe and free.”
“You’ve crossed the line, Damian.” Bruce steps closer again, and Damian matches his pace and then some, putting himself between his father and his pregnant wife.
“Dami, please.” she grabs onto his cloak, the very same fabric that she had oh so loving draped over his shoulders that very morning, “You’re scaring me.”
“Whatever falsehoods he has told you beloved, I can assure you they are false.” His hand, still red and wet, begins to reach back for your hand.
“And what about the village near here, Damian,” Bruce takes another step closer, his entire body tense. “What will you tell her about that?”
If Damian wasn't able to feel her pull away from him, he could at least hear the horrified gasp she let out. “The blood…” she can barely finish her words before she attempts to bring her hand to her mouth, gagging at the blood that stains her hands, the blood that covers Damian.
His cape bellows as he turns, facing her, his eyes wild and uncontrolled. “Beloved, I-”
“What did you do…”
“What was necessary to keep us safe, my love. Nothing more.”
“How could you?” she gasps out.
“I did it for us.” His hands gently cusp her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away her tears, “for you.”
“No. Dami, you're scaring me.” stumbling, she steps back, her face now covered in the blood from his hands. “You’re going down a path I can't follow.”
Damian straightens, his eyes hardening with some sort of wicked resolve. “So, you’ve chosen him then.”
“No-” She stutters, “No, of course not. I love you.”
“Liar!” Damian yells.
