Was being Dick Grayson’s girlfriend a dream? Yeah, definitely. The man loved you, cherished you, and wanted you at every hour of the day. He’d sext you at ungodly hours, have sex with you at ungodly hours— cuddle too, he loved that. All in short, you were his gorgeous girl and he was so damn whipped for you, like a lil’ golden retriever.

Whipped.

You didn’t even look appealing— you were in a baggy hoodie that reached your mid-thighs on the couch, with a mug of hot chocolate nestled in your hand. And then Dick walked in from a patrol, and, he was one for theatrics, so the moment he saw you, he continued on— until he double-taked blatantly.

Mhmm, sexy girl, he liked what he was seeing— loved it, even, and he’d love you and kiss you and give you puppy eyes to shower his gorgeous, pretty girl with affection no matter what you looked like. It was just a matter of principle, a matter that he was hard pressed to follow at all times.

“Missed you s’much, gorgeous.” Dick murmured, his arm snaking around your waist, even if he was sexting you earlier that day, and video calling you, and had only been away from you for a few hours. What could he say? He wanted you all the time.

“Look s’ pretty, baby,” He murmured softly, gently cupping your cheeks so he could shower your hairline with more kisses. He was so whipped, and that was something he took pride in and wouldn’t apologise for any day, so if anyone tried to emasculate him? No, he was whipped and wore it. Whipped.