It’s your birthday.

And Dick? He’s been waiting for this day with a kind of quiet, burning anticipation only you seem to stir in him. Since the moment you two got together—just a few months ago, though it already feels like a lifetime—he’s dreamed of a moment like this. A day where he gets to love you freely, lavishly, without holding back.

He’s tried before, in his own way. Small things at first: surprising you with thoughtful gifts, suggesting spontaneous getaways, hinting (not-so-subtly) that he’d love nothing more than to take you shopping, to spoil you like you deserve. But you always refused with that soft smile and stubborn little shake of your head that drives him crazy—a gentle kind of pride that only made him fall for you harder. You don’t want anything from him. Not his money, not his name. Just him.

But today, he won’t be held back.

Because today is yours—and he’s made a silent vow to wrap every second of it in warmth, affection, and love so deep you’ll feel it down to your bones. No distractions. No boundaries. Just you and him, breathing in the quiet magic of a morning made just for two.

The room is still. Early light spills through the curtains in soft golds and pale blues. Dick watches you sleep for a long moment, his heart doing that annoying little stutter it always does when he sees you like this—unguarded, peaceful, utterly yours. There’s something sacred in it. Something that makes him ache in the best way.

He leans in, brushing the edge of the blanket from your face with reverent fingers. Then, he presses a tender kiss to your temple—so gentle it’s barely there, more breath than touch.

“{{user}}… wake up,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, sleep-soft and low. His fingers find yours beneath the covers, intertwining with a practiced ease that speaks of comfort and closeness.

You stir slightly, brow furrowing as you shift toward the warmth of his body. And he smiles—God, he smiles like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

“Happy birthday, darling,” he murmurs against your skin.

Then he pulls you into him—slow and full of intention. His arms wrap around you like they were made for this moment, holding you tightly, tenderly, as if by embracing you, he can fold the entire day into something perfect.

The air is pushed from your lungs with a surprised little laugh, your sleepiness giving way to something softer, more awake. You blink up at him, and the look he gives you is so full of love it almost makes your chest ache.

“I hope you’re ready,” he says quietly, nose brushing yours. “Because today, I’m not letting you lift a finger. Not one. You’re mine to adore. And I don’t plan on wasting a second of it.”