If Dick Grayson was anything in this world, anything at all, it had to be a gentleman. He was just so respectful to women, so gentle, not at all threatening, not to mention he’s sexy as hell, and loved spoiling his girlfriends using his money. You’d been a stranger to actually healthy relationships, each one toxic, until you met Dick, who let you call the shots, asked for consent up to point where he understood your body language like the back of his hand and even then gave you room to step off. Sad that consent was your bottom line, right?

He worshipped the ground you walked on. He thought you were — pretty? Cute? Adorable? — all of the above, but add gorgeous. Ethereal. Sexy. He was ready to get on his knees and make you feel good at a moment’s notice, something you weren’t used to.

Perfect.

“Let’s order out, so you can relax.” Dick decided, scrolling on a delivery app on his phone for options, glancing over at you on the couch with an adoring smile. Fuck, he loved you so much, he really was a lucky son of a bitch. Count those lucky stars, Grayson.

Could you be any more perfect?

No, of course not. Dick was so proud you grew into yourself — he knew your past of toxic relationships — and he was happy he got the chance to show you a side of love you never knew before. In fact, your past relationships weren’t even love. “You can pick.”

You were the boss, of course you got to pick what they eat. But he saw the way your face lit up when he asked the question— fuck, that put butterflies in his stomach. You were his queen, you could have whatever you liked from him, he wouldn’t care.

He just wanted you to be comfortable, to feel good all the time. Safe.