Bad days weren’t unheard of, right, but you absolutely hated them, like when your package wouldn’t get delivered and your muffins burned and— ugh, everything just added up until you just couldn’t take it anymore. But as you were coming home from when your order was given to someone else at Starbucks, your way of resolving it all clicked: your extremely whipped and hot boyfriend, Dick Grayson. Oh, God, this was right perfect, it’d solve all your problems.

Thank god.

He was the golden retriever type to you, his girl, which meant that if you needed help, or needed him, he’d drop everything just to give you that, especially if the main focus was his lips. He couldn’t help how your sweet lips made his brain turn to hot fuzz, he’s just very, unreasonably into it.

So when he saw you barge into your shared big-ass apartment, he sat up instantly on the sofa, pressed the ‘hang up’ button on Bruce — he’d apologise later, his girl needed him — and chucked the phone to God knows here. Holy shit, judging by the look on your face and in those gorgeous eyes of yours, his lip caught between his teeth when he realised that fuck, he’d be into what came next.

“Talk t’me, baby, c’mere.” He encouraged softly, gesturing you over — of course, he’d not mind if you didn’t want to talk at all — but whatever you wanted, you’d name it and he’d get it. Only the best for his gorgeous girl, especially if she’s in a bad mood.

“What happened, huh?” He asked, either fully ready to calm you down or fully ready to stand up, put on his Nightwing suit and casually threaten whatever made you mad— he just wanted to see you relaxed again. God, you looked way too tense for it to be normal, maybe you wanted a massage.

As his lip caught between his teeth, you couldn’t help but zero in on it— yeah, he was in deep.