PROJECT MORPHEUS│Richard D. Grayson × Male Reader.
PART TWO│AMBITION
Summary: The downside of getting used to always being the hero of the story is that you never really learn how to apologize. But had to. He’ll lose the right to call himself one if he doesn't. Especially after receiving that injection of memories; which came with a side effect called guilt.
Warnings: Mentions (not descriptions) of Violence. Physical, mental and sexual. FTM reader but there’s no mentions of it. Mentions of loss. Very light mentions of pregnancy (you might not even notice if I don’t mention it here). Mentions of sex. Descriptions of Wounds. - Sounds so violent I swear it isn’t that bad.
Well hi. It’s me again. I know I’m posting a part two you guys must be shocked. But I made a promise so here I am. - I didn’t make you guys wait too much did I?
This chapter was harder to write than chapter one, jeez. A month working on this shi. You better love it. Also I’m very excited about other fics that I’m writing (one of them also for Grayson) that you might be seeing sooner or later. But have me patience. Anyways, enjoy this one.
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Btw, english is not my first language so there may be some errors in my writing. I’m still learning!
The night was beautiful. Sky full of stars above Gotham’s Hall of Science. - Inside, it was full of colorful lights. Champagne, soft jazz music; beautiful women in expensive dresses. A gala night. The WayneTech Innovation Gala.
Dick was the host.
The hall was full. Men, women, servants bringing food, filling half-empty glasses. And then there were the WayneTech students and associates. The real reason for all of this. Mixed in with potential sponsors; renowned scientists, millionaires, people with brains that made history.
The place was decorated with inventions by the brightest students. Ranging from simple small things to technology straight out of a science fiction movie. A small sector where humanity suddenly advanced years.
And yet Dick wondered if Bruce paid them all to be here. Because no one really cared.
Richard John Grayson-Wayne. Richard Wayne. Twenty-two years old. Young, handsome. The current face of the Wayne phenomenon. The attractive son of the billionaire philanthropist. - A feast ready to be devoured.
When the Robin suit started to get too small for Dick, Bruce decided to give him the incredible responsibility of the ‘social business.’ In a few words; he gave him the task of take out the trash. And by that he meant attending all those parties that he didn’t want to attend himself. Take out the trash.
At first, it was fun. The best alcohol, the prettiest girls, the hottest guys; waking up in a different room every morning. A distraction. But over time, the tuxedo became uncomfortable, the wine lost its flavor, and the guilt of not doing anything important came back every day after.
People in this circle being so fake didn’t help either.
No conversation felt real. No one made an effort; not even him. He learned over time that it was simply pointless. - The boy of the moment. The charming young man. The new Wayne. They saw nothing more than that. A feast ready to be devoured.
Tonight was not different; he was wheeled around all along. From one table to another, with people he didn’t even know, but they all seemed to know him more than he knew himself.
He only managed to escape when the gala was reaching its end. He walked alone, feeling a little dizzy, towards a corner. - The glass in his hand was empty. He made sure of that himself. His tie a bit tight on his neck. He needed to breathe.
He walked towards one of the columns overlooking the balcony. There were hardly any people there. He loosened his tie and leaned back against the marble. What the hell was he doing? - Years of nights saving lives, counting with a purpose, to... drink wine and have empty conversations with strangers? To laugh at jokes he didn’t find funny? Playing his part in this circus of luxury and falsehood? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his purpose, his duty. And he felt it was consuming him.
He rubbed his face and looked up. The sky was black, the stars stood out. The scent of night was calming; a quiet evening, and still, nothing was okay.—Gotham’s allure, that’s it. Dick knew well.
He quickly identified the constellations in the night sky. He remembered Alfred teaching them all for a school assignment. - One night, he took him to the balcony of the Wayne Manor and began pointing them out one by one, letting a twelve-year-old Dick identify them. He took his time, he had to admit. He was a stubborn child; never got it at the first try. - He remembered Alfred complaining of him making an old man like him bend his neck for such a long time. What a nice memory. A soothing balm for his lost mind right now.
But someone was looking at him.
He noticed, a few minutes ago. The stare was intense, coming from a corner. - It wasn’t unusual. People stared at him all the time, like he was a saucer. Dick was used to it. But, this was different. This person was really looking at him. - He turned to look. That person turned in another direction when Dick turned to look at him. Him, a boy. He looked young. A student, perhaps? Dressed in a suit of the company, holding a glass of champagne. - At first sight it seemed to be the same glass he’d been holding at the beginning of the event; a glass with no refills. Dick wondered how anyone could survive all this without alcohol.
His gaze lingered, too. It was the least he could do. And their eyes met again. Actually looking at each other. - Dick’s feet started working faster than his brain. An instinct. The need for an accomplice. To find something real amidst this circus of fake smiles and empty talk because, do you know how hard it is to find someone who doesn’t just looks at you, but truly sees you, here?
“Let me ask you something,” he attempted when he was close enough. Direct, but not aggressive. Actually, Dick sounded tired. Though the alcohol in his blood made him even more straightforward than usual. “..How does someone survive an entire night here with nothing but a single glass of champagne?”
“Alcohol clouds the mind,” the other answered. Quick. No hesitation, no nervousness. - He wasn’t intimidated by Bruce Wayne’s son standing in front of him. That was unusual. “I like to keep mine awake.”
Now it was Dick who stared.
His words and the way he spoke to him snapped him out a little. Now Dick was really paying attention. - His eyes were the first thing that caught it. They were... intense. A sort of skepticism reflected in them.
“…who are you?” He asked. Really interested in knowing who this person was. - The boy noticed. Shrugged.
“I’m just an ambitious researcher.” He said, as if it was obvious. His eyes not leaving his as he took a tiny sip of his champagne. It amused Dick. Who allowed himself a smirk. The first real smile of the night.
“Ambition?” He raised an eyebrow. Playing with his empty glass. Intrigued. Watching. Trying to guess. To read his mind. “Let me guess,” he said, “You’re here to sell, aren’t you?”
“Sell?” He repeated. Almost chuckling at it. What was so funny, pretty boy? “You’re the boss’s son. If I approach to ask for something, I assume I’ll be turned away with the same diplomacy as the rest of my colleagues. Besides,” he stopped. Taking a step closer. Then two shameless eyes slid down, unhurriedly scanning Dick’s suit. As if they could see through the fabric. And then returned to their original position. As if nothing happened. “I’m just... playing the game.”
Dick exhaled. That look giving him back the life the night took from him. - He licked his lips, then smiled. Leaning in. “Playing the game?”
“This is a dance, Mr. Wayne. We must dance.” His voice was almost a whisper. And the way he looked at him—it made Dick’s cock get hard. “I have to play my cards, so here I am, waiting for the right people to get drunk enough to listen to me, not to take me to their rooms.”
Dick chuckled. Genuinely. “Alright, Ambition, you got me.” He straightened up, adjusted his suit, and returned the gaze with the same intensity. “I’m all ears,” he purred, his Wayne’s million-dollar smile there.
He received a smile in return. And a twinkle in the other’s eyes Dick couldn’t help but notice. Like a kid about to talk about his favorite hero. “I’m not like the others, Richard Wayne.” He said. Oh, yeah, Dick could tell. “I don’t want to bring extinct animals back to life, nor create climate capsules for entire cities,” his voice lowered. As if he was sharing a secret;
“I want to change the world.”
Dick chuckled in disbelief “You certainly live up to your name” The other man gave him a look, suddenly. His pretty eyes now disappointed. - As if he were speaking to a little kid that couldn’t understand. Dick didn’t like that. Regretted it immediately. And tried to fix it; “I mean, I’ll love to hear why.”
“This world is a mess, Richard.” He said, almost interrupting him. “Look around you.. this city is a reflection of it. Why do we need heroes?” He wondered, “There’s one on every corner, and still.. we always need to be saved.”
Dick’s jaw tightened just a bit then. His back straightening. He wasn’t expecting something so– personal. “People need a symbol.”
“No,” He said, and chuckled. Soft. Shaking his head. “We’re tired of cleaning blood from the streets, Richard,” he looked at him, “We don’t need a treatment, we need a cure.”
Dick stared in silence. His tightened jaw, his frown, his blue eyes betraying the conflict in him. The knot, that has just been tied uncomfortably.
The researcher looked into him then. As if he was looking for answers. That furrowed brow, focused and confused, on him. Traveling from eye to eye. Reading. Until his expression changed, and his pupils dilated. As if he just understood something.
He then sighed. In sad disappointment. And slowly took a few steps away toward the edge of the balcony. Stopping there and resting his elbows on the marble railing. - Dick felt trapped. By what he found in his eyes. And—in everything else. In him, and in that expression. In the way he looked at him like that. And followed behind without a second thought. Saw the researcher gazing into the distance. Gently resting his full champagne glass on the railing.
On his side, they remained silent for a moment.
“..I’ve been working on it for years.” He said. Soft, as if it was confession. A catharsis. - Suddenly, the conversation sounded real. Intimate. “Evil is... natural. Human. Instinctive.” He turned to look at him. Finding Dick’s eyes already on him. “It’ll take us thousands of years of evolution to eliminate that chip. We might never even manage. But.. perhaps if there were a solution, a way to.. erase it… the world could be different.”
“That’s-..” He blinked, “crazy, Ambition. For anyone. Maybe impossible–”
“I’m not seeking greatness,” he interrupted, “I-… was born with a gift. I understand things, I see things in ways others don’t. I’m here, and I have the mind, the ability to help others. To make a difference. Isn’t that then... my duty?” He said. His eyes soft, for the first time. Looking at Dick as if he was begging. And Dick-… he was already silent but still felt silenced by his words. “..I just want to help, Wayne.”
Dick clutched his empty champagne glass in his hand. - If it weren’t for the fact that only Bruce and a few others knew his secret identity, he would think the researcher wasn’t talking to Dick Grayson; but to Nightwing. - But that wasn’t possible. Which meant the researcher simply had more in common with the hero of Gotham, than with the philanthropist’s son.
And that was.. admirable.
Because Dick knew there were many ways to be a hero. That some didn’t wear suits; but lab coats. And their acts of heroism were slow, and silent. But that didn’t make them any less valuable. - Seeing him, Dick didn’t just saw ambition; but a sense of morality, a sense of duty, and a humanity that he found in himself. In the hero who did the best he could for help every night.
And Dick admired that.
But the researcher didn’t saw it. Uncomfortable by the long silence. That plea for understanding still in his eyes. Now desperate. - He tried again, unaware that he already succeeded.
“It’s called Morpheus. My project. It’s based on cobalt nanotechnology. We can change people’s minds, Dick. Eliminate what is wrong. Rewrite aggression. Do you know what that means?” He begged, but didn’t stop. “It’s a chance. Redemption for those who have hurt us. To turn the tables and play again, betting on a better world now. Dick, can you imagine that? All the lives we could save? Those of the future, and those already here? Those we thought were already lost?”
Silence remained. He tried one last time. “We don’t need heroes, Richard… We need a cure. And I have it.”
“That’s–” Dick cut himself, and chuckled. Shaking his head. - Not because he didn’t take him seriously; but because he was technically taking his job from him, and he couldn’t even be mad about it. - And he thought he couldn’t get any more attractive. “That’s fucking.. amazing, Ambition.”
“.…it is?” He said. Actually surprised. As if he wasn’t expecting him to be amazed by it. But, how couldn’t he?
“Of course it is!” Dick insisted. Taking a step closer. “It’s- fucking crazy but, if it works it’ll- it’ll change it all. We could even reform villains. Give them a second chance. Perhaps they could even recover. Get back the people they used to be. Villains would disappear. Criminals would disappear. Prisons would be empty. You could even—” he chuckled, shaking his head. Thousands of thoughts running. “I’m serious, Ambition. If you’re really working on this.. don’t let it go.”
He smiled. His surprise turning into satisfaction. Letting out a small sigh of relief. As if releasing tension in his shoulders. “I won’t.” He said. A promise. But soft. A whisper.
He took a step closer, too. His eyes finding Dick’s dreamily.
It was a second, when he looked down; to his lips. And remained there, “…You know,” he looked back up, “…you’re not like your father.”
Dick saw it in his eyes. The way he shifted, right in front of him. And how then a light filtered in from within. An electric blue that illuminated the researcher’s face and lit up his irises. Like a panther staring into his eyes. - Dick felt a shiver. “I’m not?” He asked. A bit low. The researcher attracted him like a magnet, because his back was leaning more and more towards his face. - Dick had no idea what he meant with those words but, he liked the sound of them.
“No, you’re not,” he said. God- why was he speaking like that? “He is... fearful. Of the limits he imposes on himself. But you, you are... different.”
“How?” He insisted. Gulping. But his mouth re-filled with saliva with every centimeter they got closer. - It was a provocation, but not an empty one. Dick knew he wasn’t that kind of person. And he was willing to die for the curiosity. For the satisfaction of knowing.
The researcher looked at him. Pausing for a second. “…you’ll see.” His eyes closed as he whispered the last word. Leaning forward. Dick didn’t hesitate. Closing his own eyes too and—
“Now, Mr. Richard Wayne has a breaking announcement about our new line of scholarships and initiatives!”
The researcher sighed. Eyes still closed. A breath of frustration hitting Dick’s skin. Then, he pulled away. And when he looked, Dick had a small, apologetic but amused smile on his face. He shrugged.
“You know what they say,” he said, “Duty always finds a way to reach the Waynes.” And that was it. As if that was just how things were. Just how things worked. - He didn’t meant to send a cold shiver down the researcher’s spine. “Looks like I have to go, Ambition,” he added, already stepping back.
“…Of course,” the researcher replied, offering a short, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Jaw tensed; “Duty calls.”
Dick didn’t notice. Still smiling. “Wait for me, Ambition!” He said. Giving him a wink. A final glimpse of the Golden Boy charm. And, just like that, he ran away in a second. Disappearing into the crowd, swallowed by the lights and the applause.
He watched him leave. Staying there until the black tuxedo blurred among the people and vanished. Sounds muffled.
He turned back toward the balcony then, resting his elbows on the marble. Sighing. Rubbing his face. He had no idea what he was doing. What he was getting himself into.
A part of him hated him. Hated his ease, his arrogance, his perfect teeth, and everything his heavy last name represented. But the other part—the part of him that was desperate—hoped. That maybe, just maybe, he would offer him the opportunity that had been denied to him before.
But, duty always finds a way to reach the Waynes. Right?
He looked away. And observed the strange beauty of Gotham. The night, the buildings, the lights. Until his eyes ended up on a glass of champagne leaning against the railing. His glass. The one left there at some point and didn’t even notice. Still full.
Duty.
His jaw tightened.
In a second, he snatched the glass. Downing its entire contents in one gulp.
When the gala ended, he waited for Richard Wayne at the entrance.
Richard never showed up.
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First thing he did was take a shower.
Cold, long. Maybe half an hour in there. Just standing under the rain. - He needed to think. Without the suit. Without the symbol on his chest.
His steps as he walked toward the medical bay were heavy. Guilt-ridden. Hands in pockets. - The mere fact of being there was already an act of disobedience. A violation of protocol. But, he knew he had to do it.
He peeked through the heavy door’s window first. [Y/N] was there. Sitting on the edge of the stretcher with a thermal blanket over his shoulders. He looked painfully human like this. And still, his eyes were the same; two embers of intelligence and resentment.
Dick wondered how he could have forgotten them.
The automatic door slid open with a hiss, and Dick stepped inside. His presence noisy compared to the silence of the room. He said nothing at first, just dragged a chair over and sat down across from him. Slowly. No mask. No suit. No secrets. Just Dick Grayson.
His body felt heavy, even in the lightest clothing. The chair hard and uncomfortable. - He was glancing sideways; [Y/N] wasn’t looking at him. He sighed. Years fighting villains and yet, this was one of the hardest things he ever did. Apologize.
“…I don’t know if it’s of any use,” Dick finally spoke. His voice wasn’t that of a hero, but that of someone asking for forgiveness without knowing how to. “..But I want you to know that I’m sorry, Ambition.”
[Y/N] finally turned to look at him. He didn’t seem moved. His eyes didn’t soften. - Dick felt compelled to continue. “..it took me a while but— I finally remembered.”
[Y/N]’s eyes remained. Quiet. As if he were deciding whether to have mercy on him or not. - Dick looked everywhere but his face. Doing it made him feel even guiltier. “…Two years,” he finally spoke, “You have a slow memory, Richard.”
“I know,” He accepted the blow with a sigh. One hand caressing the hair on the back of his neck. “And I know that nothing I say will fix the fact that I didn’t show up that night.”
“No it won’t.” He rushed to pronounce judgment. Wanting his words to sting. And they did. - Silence again. [Y/N] watched him. Dick looked small sitting in that chair. Stripped off his suit. The one of the hero, and the one of the heir.
The Dick Grayson sitting before him bore no resemblance to the Richard Wayne he met that night. As if they were two different people. No flirty smiles, no winks. This Dick didn’t even speak. Submissive. Waiting for the blows. Accepting any punishment [Y/N] decided.
But that didn’t make him feel any better; on the contrary, it made his blood boil.
Always needing to be the perfect hero, right? The one who comes and apologizes. The one who accepts the blow, the one who bows his head.
Well a part of him did want to punch him. To suffocate him. To slam him to the ground and ask him why. Ask him how dare he. Ask him how was he so cynical to come now and apologize just like that.
It made him feel stupid. It made him feel powerless.
And he would. Oh, damn right he would. Cause nothing would give him more satisfaction than punching his handsome face.
But he was… so tired.
So tired of being used.
He sighed.
“…I waited two hours.” He let out, and looked away. His voice soft, sincere. Uncomfortable. His throat tightened, as if a part of his body refused to open. But he forced it. He needed it. Because if he doesn’t spill the glass, he’ll drown in it.
“Then I understood the message. And left. Taking what was left of my dignity with me.” Jaw tightened. The weight of humiliation. A troubling memory. “…But I was always so- damn stubborn. I always needed two hard knocks to learn.” He said, “…so I tried again.”
Dick looked at him, asked gently. “..what do you mean?”
“I already had a history with the Waynes before I met you.” He said softly, matter-of-factly. Though his fingers picked nervously at the frayed edge of the thermal blanket. The weight of his history.
He’d never told anyone this before. Not like this. But Dick looked so willing to listen…
“…My career began when I solved a math problem that a university professor couldn’t solve. I was twelve,” he said, “My life has been a downward spiral ever since. Your father discovered me when I was seventeen. And he gave me a future. An education only his millions could afford. I grew up attending top universities ever since. Learning and working for WayneTech. I was a sort of... prodigy promise.”
Only then Dick raised his head to properly look at him. Surprised. Searching for truth, or falsehood, in the scientist’s eyes. When he only found truth, a horrible feeling of guilt and discomfort settled deep in his chest.
[Y/N] wasn’t just a boy he met at a gala now; he was part of the Wayne legacy. Found, chosen. Then funded, and educated. By the same man. Two ends of the same story. A prodigy that Bruce had hand-picked.
That was uncomfortably familiar to Dick.
[Y/N] noticed the shift in his posture, but ignored it. Leaning back against the cold metal of the stretcher, seeking support because though his voice was, as always steady and soft; his spine felt weak. “I’ve been thanking him for half of my achievements ever since. Knowing perfectly well that without his financing, I couldn’t have accomplished anything. I worshipped him, Dick. I thought he was the visionary the world claimed he was.”
He paused, his gaze lost in the sterile floor tiles. As if seeing his own memories in his mind. “I was nineteen when I started the framework for Morpheus. I was excited. I thought I would be a hero to humanity.” He snorted softly, shaking his head at his own foolishness. “..Years later, when the prototype was ready, I sent a formal proposal to Bruce Wayne. Not to the board. To him.” He reaffirmed. “I didn’t just show him my project; I showed him my ideals. My way of seeing the world. The duty that came with my gift. All– the things I wished to do… I expected a debate. A meeting. Maybe a critique on the vector delivery system. Or— I don’t know, something.” He said, then paused. “…It was my life’s project, but.. it was only worth a letter.”
He said with pity, and then looked at Dick. Who made an effort to keep eye contact, but the guilt was eating him inside. [Y/N] ignored it. And continued. Letting him live the guilt. He had to. He wanted him to. It was a lesson the hero needed to learn.
“The letter cited ‘Ethical Violations’ and ‘High Risk Protocols’. He claimed that doing this was not my position. That it was not my duty. That the only duty there was his to stop me.” He paused. As if those worlds still troubled him inside. “My purpose, the only thing I had in life, everything I worked for. Suddenly simply– vanished. The man I believed in, the one who gave me almost everything I had, turned his back on me.” He stopped. The betrayal was a wound that was still healing. “Now I had nothing. I was lost. I didn’t know what to do.” He pressed his lips together. The memory of the feeling still fresh, even after two years. “...so I attended to a gala one night. Praying for a miracle… And I thought I was heard when I ran into the boss’s son.”
He turned to look at Dick as he said it. His eyes weren’t attacking him. Neither were his words. But the lack of aggression was what made it lethal. It was just a hollow, exhausted truth.
Under that gaze, Dick felt the fabric of his own identity unraveling. For years, he had meticulously tailored his life. He had the Nightwing suit for justice, armor built to withstand any blow. He had the ‘Richard Wayne’ suit for the world, a silk mask of charm and diplomacy.
He always believed he was the good Wayne. The one who cared. The one who listened.
Bruce was a hero, but he wasn’t a perfect man. [Y/N] was proof of that. - Dick tried to be better than that his whole life.
But sitting there, in his civilian clothes, stripped of every disguise, he realized he wasn’t.
He failed [Y/N] as a hero, letting him slip through the cracks of the city he swore to protect. And he failed him as a man, giving him a promise he wasn’t sober enough to keep.
He failed him as Nightwing. He failed him as Richard Wayne. And now Dick Grayson was trying to apologize.
“…You went there looking for a raft,” Dick finally broke the silence. His voice was a jagged whisper, stripped of its usual confidence. - What kind of savior was he if his grace was only granted to those he could remember the next morning? Rejection was a wall, something you could fight against. But oblivion... oblivion was a grave. And Dick buried [Y/N] alive, without even realizing it.
He reached out, his hand hovering over the edge of the stretcher before he pulled it back. That wasn’t his position anymore. “..But I only gave you more water to drown in.”
He looked up then, meeting [Y/N]’s eyes with a raw, bleeding honesty. “I am so sorry, [Y/N]. Not as a Wayne, not as the boss’s son, and not as... whatever I am out there. Just—me. I’m sorry.”
Dick waited. He expected a shout, a snort, or perhaps for [Y/N] to tell him to get out. But the room remained silent, filled only with the rhythmic hum of the medical monitors.
[Y/N] didn’t look at him with hatred. He looked at him with a weary kind of pity that was far harder to swallow than anger. He let the silence stretch, letting Dick suffocate in the weight of his own words for a few long seconds. It was a calculated punishment; the hero wanted absolution, but the scientist wasn’t ready to give it.
But finally, [Y/N] shifted on the stretcher, the thermal blanket rustling like dry leaves.
“…that night I told you you weren’t like your father,” he murmured, his voice distant, as if he were reciting a line from a play he’d grown tired of performing. “..that’s not a lie,” [Y/N] added, finally meeting his gaze. But his eyes weren’t comforting. “You aren’t.”
He said. Knowing perfectly well that they both understood that different didn’t mean better. And Dick had no right to refuse but accept it.
[Y/N] continued narrating,
“The morning after the gala, while you were probably waking up with a hangover, I was in the lobby of Wayne Tower demanding a meeting.” He said. And sighed. A mixture of anger and sadness for his own past self. - Desperate, in a rented suit, his future hanging by a thread. It was his last resort. [Y/N] [L/N] had run out of options. “He received me. Five minutes. It was the closest I’d been to him in years.”
“…what did he said?”
“He called me dangerous.” [Y/N] spat the word out like poison. Furious, offended. “He said my intellect made me arrogant. That trying to alter brain chemistry was a ‘violation of human will.’ He looked at me with that moral superiority you Waynes wear like perfume and told me that if I went ahead with the project, he’d take everything from me.”
His voice was full of hatred. But deep in his eyes, there was sadness. Dick noticed. His heart clenched.
“And he kept his word,” [Y/N] continued. “At the end of the day, my accounts were frozen. My access to WayneTech’s labs was revoked. He cut me out of the industry, Dick. He left me out on the street with a prototype that no one wanted to touch for fear of his last name.” He looked down at his own hands, “I was a ghost. A ghost with a weapon I still believed was a cure. I spent weeks in a cheap motel, watching the news, seeing your face at charities, seeing your father’s face on skyscrapers. I was starving, Dick. Not just for food, but for someone—anyone—to tell me I wasn’t the monster Bruce said I was.”
He took a ragged breath, the atmosphere in the room turning colder as a shadow started to loom over the story.
“…then he found me. In a diner near the Narrows, over a cup of coffee I couldn’t afford. He didn’t have a name then. Just a smile that felt... honest. He didn’t look at my project as an ‘ethical violation’.” He paused, eyes lost somewhere. “…He looked at it as a masterpiece.”
[Y/N]’s eyes changed. Suddenly he was no longer the outspoken scientist, nor the lost researcher, nor the embodiment of ambition. Instead, he was just the weak person sitting on a stretcher. Covered in bruises, with a cast on his ankle, and resigned. Used.
“He gave me everything Bruce had given me, and more. He gave me money, resources, a lab, and... the freedom.” He said, “He was good with words. He flattered me. He told me my mind was amazing. That my ideas were revolutionary. We started working together. And, over time, we started to get…. closer.”
“Closer?” Dick asked, as if he hadn’t heard something he heard perfectly well. Tensing up at what that could mean. A feeling of strange discomfort settled in his chest and soon traveled to his hands, which became fists against his thighs.
“…intimate.”
The air in the medical bay turned frigid. And Dick—stopped. Breathing, thinking. It was like a direct blow on his stomach. Frozen. He wasn’t existing for a second. And then—revulsion. It felt wrong. Almost morally. He shook his head. Denying it. Like a child who didn’t want to believe.
“[Y/N]—”
“Don’t say anything.” [Y/N] turned away. His face was red. But his eyes looked as if they were about to cry. “The person I met was nothing like the criminal you know.” He let out a shaky breath, his hands clutching the thermal blanket so hard his knuckles looked like white stones. “He was charming at first. In a twisted, brilliant way. He–.. I thought I knew him.” He said, and sighed. Wondering how he could have been so innocent. “..I discovered who he really was when he started steering my project to something darker. It took me months to realize he was using me to create his weapon.” He said, “When I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just.. laughed.” He took a breath. Long and shaky. “I did tried to refuse. To do what he wanted. Being part of his plan.”
“Why didn’t you run?” Dick asked. His eyebrows arched in concern. He had the reflex to take [Y/N]’s hands in his own, but he didn’t. “Why didn’t you come to us? To the police? To—”
“To you?” [Y/N] interrupted, a sharp, bitter edge returning to his voice. “I was already deep in the chemical vats by then. He told me that if I left, he’d use Morpheus on the city—not to cure it, but to lobotomize every single person in Gotham. He turned my life’s work into a leash.” He said, but his sharp edge didn’t last long, as his eyes softened again in a sad sigh. “...I was always stubborn. Even then. I did tried to escape. To stand up to him. That’s when the torture began. Mental, and physical. Even so, I didn’t give in.” [Y/N] said. Dick knew he was strong from the moment he saw him in the corner of that cell. Still standing, after all.
“..it might sound heroic, but it wasn’t. After weeks of torture, he understood that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted that way. And he wasn’t going to kill me either, cause he needed me alive. So—” He cut himself out. Clenching his teeth. But not out of anger; but out of fear for the memory. “..He decided to play his last card. To make me lose what little control I had left over my–.. body.” One of his hands tightened around the hem of his shirt. Tight, helpless. As if his body hurt, remembered. Dick noticed. His stomach lurched. [Y/N] continued, hoping to spit that scum out of my mouth. “…Torture was daily. My body—it wasn’t in condition. So…” he didn’t finish. Looking away. Hiding his tears from Dick.
But the hero didn’t hesitate for a second. The guilt, the shame; none of it longer mattered. - He stood up from his chair, sat on the stretcher next to [Y/N], and for the first time took his hands in his. Covering them with his own. Squeezing. They were cold. “[Y/N],” he said. So soft. Leaning down to [Y/N]’s lowered face. Trying to catch his eyes. “[Y/N], hey… I’m— god, I’m so sorry.” He said. “You– You have no idea what I would do to go back to that night and not leave you on that balcony, I’m–”
[Y/N] sniffled. And looked up at him. His eyes were teary, but that annoyed expression was still on his face. Brows frowned, lips tight. So stubborn. So him, despite all. - Honestly Dick found relief on that. “I don’t want your pity Richard.” He spat. But didn’t move his hands off Dick’s. They remained. Twitching against Dick’s palm. - The hero’s were warm.
“It’s not pity,” Dick countered, his voice firming up. He didn’t back down; he leaned in closer, invading [Y/N]’s personal space until their foreheads almost brushed. - [Y/N] could feel Dick’s hair against his skin. “It’s a debt. And I intend to pay it.”
[Y/N] let out a shaky, almost amused breath. “With what?” He looked at him, “Money? More apologies? A room in your tower?”
“A laboratory.”
[Y/N] froze then. Probably the only answer that could shut him. - They both knew what that entailed.
“My father was wrong about you, [Y/N]. He was wrong about Morpheus,” Dick continued. [Y/N]’s lip twitched. The words bringing a relief in him he didn’t know Richard could give him. Almost felt like freedom. - Dick’s hands never left his. “I have a facility here. State-of-the-art. No board of directors, no ethics committees, and no Bruce Wayne. Just you. I want you to finish it, Ambition. Not the weapon—the cure. Find the inhibitor. Fix what the Joker twisted.”
[Y/N]’s eyes searched Dick’s, looking for the lie, the trap, the ‘Wayne’ catch. But he only found that same blinding, sincere light from the gala. “…your father will kill you.” He said. Almost a whisper. As if a part of him didn’t want the Batman to hear. Dick chuckled.
“Well, what a great moment to have a no-killing rule then.” He said. Smiling. A strange, reckless heat rising in his chest. Almost as childish nervousness and- excitement. - Then leaned in. Eyes softening impossibly. Sincere. “I’m tired of doing what’s expected. I want to do what’s right.”
The silence that followed was heavy with two years of what ifs. [Y/N] was looking at Dick in a way he never did before. - His eyebrows weren’t furrowed, but soft on his forehead. His eyes glistened with tears from a moment ago, but there was no sadness now. No grief. Instead, they simply gazed at him, saw him, with deep, dilated pupils that transported Dick back to that night. - He gulped,
“…You know, Ambition..” His voice abandoned the safety of firmness, choosing the intimacy of a whisper instead. A bit shaky. - He looked down at his hands disappearing [Y/N]’s. And then back up. He was sure he was embarrassing himself. He could feel his mouth filling with saliva, and the way he was arching in a weird way to be eye-level leaned to the scientist. And he was also nervous. Like a kid about to give his first kiss. But, he didn’t want to stop. He wanted this. For a while. And so damn bad.
He stopped a second to look into those irises. [Y/N]’s eyes were on his. Until they weren’t anymore. Looking down. To his lips. — Dick sighed a shiver.
“…I think you and I have some unfinished bus—”
It was embarrassing, really. Cause he’s been proud of his reflexes his whole life. He had boasted about that throughout his entire teens. But, apparently all those years of training just disappeared when in a split second [Y/N] grabbed the collar of his shirt. Tight. And planted him in a kiss that almost made him moan.
It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t slow; it was almost cannibal. [Y/N] clung to Dick’s clothes so hard Dick was actually surprised how strong he was.
He didn’t play hard to get. Burying his hand on [Y/N]’s hair. Closed it. And tugged. Getting a soft gasp. Lips parting. And he didn’t lose the opportunity to take a taste. Tongues saying hello as he ate his mouth whole.
[Y/N] kissed him as if he was mad. Hands abandoning Dick’s shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin. And did. On Dick’s neck, shoulders, jaw. Skin so soft, muscles so firm. So strong. - He was eating him with his hands.
But Dick’s patience was short. And the blood in his veins ran with fury. - He realized it was better to stop when his hand on [Y/N]’s waist burned to bring him in. To his lap.
A point of no return.
Dick never did anything as hard as pulling away from that mouth.
The breathing was rapid. Hot, on the other’s wet lips. - Dick still had [Y/N]’s flavor on his mouth. He swallowed. “Rest.. we’ll start tomorrow.”
The corridors of the Batcave were not graceful. They were plane, empty, and cold. A breeze with no apparent source always ran in them. That cold air now beat against Dick’s still-hot body.
He walked them, feeling his face burning. Hands buried in his pockets. - The silence allowed him to hear the sound of his own heart, which was racing as if it were filled with gasoline.
The image, the sensations, kept replaying in his head. [Y/N], sitting on the stretcher. Lips Swollen. As red as his cheeks. And his chest rising and falling violently. - The moment they both realized they just jumped into the abyss. Together.
He could almost still feel way his fingers slid off [Y/N]’s soft hair. And how his legs felt like jelly as he stepped out of the medical bay. As if the gravity in the Batcave had suddenly shifted. - Fleeing before giving in to the impulse to kiss him again.
He was in the middle of the corridor when he stopped dead in his tracks. And leaned against a wall. Letting the cave’s chill seep through his shirt to try and quell the burning sensation in his skin. His pulse pounded in his ears, and a painful, persistent pressure in his groin made him feel ridiculously exposed.
Pressed his back against the wall, and let himself lower to the ground. Groaning. Running a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes hard. His fingers still smelled of [Y/N]—that trace of cheap soap and the metallic scent of cobalt.
“What the hell are you doing, Dick Grayson?” He whispered. As if talking to himself served as scolding.
He fucked up. He fucked up really big this time.
He basically just let a wolf into his house. A big ass Trojan horse. And he opened the door wide for it. And he kinda had no idea what he was doing when he did.
He didn’t just break his promise to Batman—again—but also made out with the man who was not only a collaborator of the Joker but also the creator of the weapon that could destroy the city AND of course the hostage Batman clearly told him to stay away.
Yeah… he was in trouble.
And the worst part was that he knew perfectly well that he would do it again a thousand times.
Okay that was.. a lot of information. And I wrote that.
Anyways DID YOU GUYS LIKED THAT SHI??? You better. The THINGS I do for you. And you’re not even able to comment how much you like it. The hells wrong with you? Comment right the fuck now.
It took me longer to write this chapter than chapter one. Why? Well, cause chapter one was the catcher. The one who catches your interest, your attention. The one who gives you all the questions. Chapter two is the one who has to answer all the questions I gave you before (or maybe I’m just a slow writer lol). - Which also means, chapter three is probably going to be a smoother one to write. Or, I hope so.
You know what inspires me? Reading. If I’m not reading, I’m hardly writing. So, I’ve been trying to read some Bat Family x MLE RDR and, there’s barely any content?? And, most of the content is just SMUT????
Like of course, everybody wants to read horny shit from time to time. I posted Smut too. But, don’t you sometimes want to read something more than just Sex or a little OneShot? Don’t you sometimes want to read some drama? Some plot? Some development? Something that catches your interest? CAUSE I DO! And I can barely find any. The hell’s wrong with you, Male Reader Writers???
Anyways, I’ve been writing a lot. Grayson is definitely there (another long story is waiting for him). Maybe a few OneShots from DC but they’re not my priority for now. Clark, I have plans for you too. And, do you guys like Wolverine?
Also, OC’S!! Would you guys like to read about my OC? He’s a sweetheart 🥰 have two stories for him (one half-written already) but I’m prioritizing Dick ones for now.
Also, CDB. If you guys thought I forgot about it of course I didn’t. When I’ve progressed a bit further with this story and the others, I’ll return to that AU, don’t worry. I’m not abandoning CDB.
I love reading you guys so don’t be afraid to comment (Ask something, share theories, wtv.)
Stay safe ✌🏻
- CDA
AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
@ael-ly I didn’t forget about you :)
@cassielyssandre @gsco000 @evilscientistwithevilintentions @yjhseas @pope-of-the-snail-church @0n1yh3re4u @k1w1th3s1r3n
Are you still writing this? Cus holy fuck this is good
Hey there. Well as you can see I haven’t really posted anything since March (😭). I haven’t stopped writing, I still do, but I’m writing full, more ‘serious’ stories (to put it in a way).
I mostly just posted little reader inserts oneshots here, but idk what got to me now that I’m writing long term stories (like Caza de Brujas, that I’ve posted on Ao3. Which isn’t a reader insert). Always said to myself that I was going to finish writing this story someday because there was people that liked it (and so many other reader-inserts that I have planned posting and never wrote/finished writing!).
This account is kind of abandoned but it’s NOT. Like, I tend to disappear but I ALWAYS come BACK (lol). And I’m here though I’m not posting. And never ever stopped writing.
I’ll just said that I’ll be checking on this account more often. Because I still have my ideas and projects I want to finish here. And I’ll be checking on this story too. Also I miss writing in English 😭😭.
I’m glad you liked it, btw ❤️!! I still love Dih Grayson of course (I literally have him on my phone case), and I still wanna write about him and other characters but ugggh I have so many things to dooo aahaaassdfa (and so many stories to finish 🔫).
I PROMISE I’LL BE BACK.
Drink water, sleep, eat nice yummy food and… idk, read my stuff. Hehe. Bye!! ✌🏻😘
-CDA.