This Looks Like It’s From Twilight. Or An Early 2000s Romcom. Or A Wedding Catalogue.

438 words, pining idiots to slightly less idiots. Dick doesn’t know how to tell you, the person he does patrol with, the girl he’s grown from sidekick to solo hero with, that he kind of, actually, loves you. So, when he finally considers the idea of confessing, he’s a nervous wreck, and you become a nervous wreck by extension. >> No names mentioned, just soft nickname variations of 'star'. Open ending (?)?? You tell me how you want it, and I'll continue.

There’s something about how you ground him in fights. Soft tap on his shoulder as you take out a sharpshooter about to take aim. You may be wearing gloves, but it’s still your signature warmth. You know each other better than you know yourselves. So much so, that he knows all your tells and you know his.

He knows of the rare times when you need to fall to your knees and cry. You know when leadership takes its toll on him, weariness hidden behind a facade of confidence and smiles. Tonight's not much different. It's one of those strenuous patrol nights with Dick. You can tell he’s worried about something as you handcuff another pickpocket to a lamppost, eyebrows furrowing as he fiddles with his escrima sticks.

You give him a silent look, your own eyebrows raising as you stand and face him. Oh. You know that look. “Talk to me.” You plead quietly. This may be the one thing that breaks that small daydream you've had since your teenage years. That dream where you both are together.

But dreams, as you've long accepted, are still dreams. You can settle for loving him from afar. And either ways, why ruin a perfectly good dynamic? “You know I couldn’t tell you. It’d make things awkward, star.” It’s always been this way, cat and mouse, kitten and robin, whatever you want to label it.

It’s been a game of chicken, awkwardly, tooth-rotting sweet actions and words. Until one of you decides to back away. Childish squabbles have always ended with picnicking over the rooftops of Wayne Manor, a game of how to admire the view.

The familiar nickname flows from his lips, coined after your first meeting, a shooting star lighting the rooftop when you first met. It’s softer this time though. Almost gingerly said, as if he himself is unsure of his next steps. Unusual with the charming and coy boy wonder you’ve grown up with. You hum, letting it slide as you notice the sky breaking in hues of the rosy oranges and pinks. A giveaway that your nightly patrol is up. "Tell me when you can, 'kay?" You pause, tacking on carefully as you walk past him, hand on his shoulder. "I'm always here to listen, boy wonder." He simply smiles, and even if you can't see his eyes, you know that the blues of his irises are smiling with it. It's real and genuine, and it makes you feel at ease like it's always been.

"I will. See you soon, star?" He questions, a hopeful smile working its way onto both of your expressions. "Always." >> This is what happens when I get 30 minutes of a good nap accompanied by a craving to see open endings. Additionally, this is a reworked version of the asks I've sent @idyllcy. I'm still so sorry for the inbox spam WHAHAHA. Thank you as always, hope you enjoy! 💙

NOOOO (yes.) I beg of you, go easy on us all PLEASE 🙏(I want a good cry)

giggling in the corner cause i’m plotting for that vr trio angst… be afraid

389 words, angst, pre established relationship, reader is accomplished, based on the world @disneyprincemuke created.

My first real try at RPF, for the Logan Sargeant fans, I’m sorry in advance. >> Additionally, if you want me to continue, I have two endings in mind. Let me know!

part 2 here!

You win. The announcers’ voices boom over the track. Your name has never felt more foreign to Logan. Perhaps, it’s not the only unfamiliar thing, and that’s the cruelest thing to him.

You up there, on the top step, starry eyes sparkling with the flash of cameras

And where was he?

Far, far away from where you’re standing now.

Perhaps he knew for the longest time that you’d just continue to rise, fallen stars always make their way back to the sky, and he couldn’t fault you for it.

You and him through it all, you promised with a toothy grin, pinkies interlocked.

The reporters are cruel, even when he can tell they mean well. Congratulating you and your feat, female world champion and broken records.

You’re happy and that made him happy. What changed, he couldn’t bring himself to come to terms with.

He insists that he’s fine as you reach your respective motorhomes to pack up for the end of the year. (He’s not.)

And as you walk away, extra excitement in your step, and Seb ruffles your hair, he locks himself in his driver’s room.

You’re amazing. And he can’t fault you for shining.

But if you can win, succeed, then why couldn’t he?

Tears prick his waterline as it sinks in. The replays of your win sting. And it’s never been this way, but why does it hurt him now?

He snaps at you for the first time in your whole friendship, relationship now, this morning.

He’s apologetic immediately but your face loses the smile that’s been honed there for a while now.

He snapped about you and your shiny, amazing, champion friends. And you took it to heart, yelling back that at least they were something.

A pin drops as you realize that you fucked up. You’re sorry, you really are. Hotheadedness and youth go hand in hand, and you never meant to hurt him.

He shakes his head stepping backward as he puts on his coat, running out of the shared apartment, running away even when he feels that you were right.

He’s just a sentence in the paragraph of your life.

You’re reassured him time and time again that he’s important to you, and that his performance would never change what you feel about him, what what if it did, he thinks.

REBLOG THIS IF YOU WANT EVERYONE TO BOOP YOU NONSTOP

70???? AND 118?????

34 and 55 notes respectively on my first two daydream writing posts. That's a literally CRAZY, thank you guys! 💙💙💙

Seeing my damian blurbs doing vastly (doubly) better than my dick blurbs is sending me. >> in case it wasn't obvious, I'm a Dick Grayson girl all the way HAHAHHAAHAH

>> You trace the familiar shoulder of the robin you’ve known for years, offering him a smile. >> I've always been a Grayson girl, but THIS has got me in my feels. Mm, he sees your vulnerable moments as only you get to see his. Such, was a pact you both made after a hard night of patrol.

There’s something about how you ground him in fights. Soft tap on his shoulder as you take out a sharpshooter about to take aim. You may be wearing gloves, but it’s still your signature warmth. You know each other so well. So much so, that he knows all your tells and you know his. He knows of the rare times when you need to fall to your knees and cry. You know when leadership takes its toll on him, weariness hidden behind a facade of confidence and smiles. >> adding to my past ask >> 🐈

STOTP!?!?!? THIS IS SO CUTE

Dick catching you before you fall, cold hands grounding you as you stare up at him on the verge of a breakdown and he lets you cry into his chest??? just like how he cries into yours?? exploding and dying

466 words, fluff, second chances, reader described as pretty, but nothing specific 🫶

for the Logan Sargeant fans, >> Additionally, if you want me to continue 💌

Partially inspired by Begin Again by Taylor Swift 🫡

Warm water splashes on your face as you wade into the calm of the sea.

You’ve long teased Logan about his eyes matching the sea-green hue, and you proved it today, albeit begrudgingly.

He pulls you into the cold water, and you flail, kicking him where it hurts the most.

Childish antics ensue, and after a few rounds of blame game, you’re back in front of the fireplace, drying off together.

An off-comment is made about how much you’ve changed. You can say the same about him, sharp jawline, and even sharper eyes.

Before you do, though, he calls the change pretty, and all your words crumble like the sandcastles you made.

You’re his childhood friend- er, ex-something, emphasis on friend. Best friends since he started karting, first everything.

Except for your first kiss, which was by your prom date, who you didn’t feel anything for. Logan walked you home that night, and you had more fun in those few minutes, than the hours before.

He kisses you for the first time on your porch, that night. And it’s the kind of kiss you write in your diary about, you can’t help but hope for a lot more to come.

It’s the same kind of kiss as he flies away to chase after his dreams of fast cars.

You’re more cynical, consigning yourself to the speeds of average life. So you let him spread his wings. Eager to watch him shine from the pixelated livestreams.

You’re invited back for a vacation catch-up with some of his friends, and it just so happens that his mother sees you in the grocery store.

Insinuations are insinuated, and you find your soft spot for the Sargeant family to be as soft as sand on the familiar beaches.

So now, you’re back again, where you were all those years ago.

You think it’s strange that he finds you pretty, after a drunken remark of how he misses you so much. Stupid boyfriends, GPs, and work keeping you apart.

You’re charmed instantly, liquid courage is the way to go. It then becomes something he says, fully sober.

It’s been a long morning for you both- and a long evening. Beer pong with the rest of the grid and past friends leave you with the greatest hangover in the history of hangovers.

Another drunken confession is made, and you can’t help but smile as you cup Logan’s face with your hands.

Fireworks reflect in your eyes as you exchange sparklers, but the real star is you, smile and glow everlasting as you bathe in the celebrations.

Youth creases your smiles with the promise of many more Fourth of July beach trips to come- Long live, America’s golden boy, who’s worth much more to you than all the riches in the world combined.

GUYS I KNOW WHOS BOOPING US

✨Sebastian Vettel propaganda hours✨

just you wait, sunshine. just you wait.