Secret Identity

I love smut ୨ৎ 19

[imabrattyangel]

“my pretty girl” raw. next question.

[athenagc94]

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter 12

Tim Drake x Reader

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Chapter 12

“You have a visitor.” Minnie leaned on the filing cabinet next to your desk, a smug smile crinkling the skin around her eyes.

Fortunately, she didn’t hate you after the shit show at the Fishing Spot a few nights back. If anything, you two had grown closer because of it. You had plans to grab drinks later that week (at a more reputable establishment, this time). Never in a million years did you think you’d be on this assignment long enough to make friends, but this wasn’t your usual assignments—a fact you were slowly coming to terms with.

Over her shoulder, Tim waited on the other side of the glass doors that separated the office space from the lobby. He caught your questioning gaze and waved. A ring of keys looped around his finger.

“I didn’t see him on your calendar.”

Your eyes narrowed at him before turning your attention back to Minnie. “Because he wasn’t.” She hummed in that irritating way that implied that she didn’t believe you. “I mean it. I’m meeting with my youth emcee at one of our program centers this afternoon. He was not invited.”

“Well, it looks like he invited himself.” You shot her an unamused look that went ignored as she slapped the top of the filing cabinet. “Best not to keep him waiting. I hear he gets antsy.”

She left you with the annoying quandary in an oversized suit on the other side of the glass. He had yet to break eye contact; that tight-lipped smile pulled taut across his face. Sighing, you gathered your things and headed over.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought we could grab coffee,” he said as if that was something you two did often.

And maybe it was becoming part of the routine. As the RCP drew closer, Tim occupied more of your time. Not only did he join on your morning runs, but he was constantly dropping by the office to see you. If you weren’t with him, your thoughts wandered to him, but that was as close as you’d get to admitting that Minnie may be onto something.

Tim continued when you failed to respond, “I have a few late sponsors who reached out this morning.”

“Can’t,” you said sharply, “I have a meeting with our emcee. I’m leaving shortly.”

“Want a ride?”

You squeezed your eyes shut with the flare of your nostrils. Just once, you wanted something to go your way. “I was going to take the subway.”

“And I’m offering you a ride.” He led you toward the door, and for whatever reason, you followed him. Your lack of self-control where he was concerned was astounding. “It’ll be faster this way. I read that the lines are still a mess after Redwing’s fight with Croc. It’s a no-brainer.”

Again, a conversation you’d never thought you’d have to have, but he said it so casually. One would think you two were discussing the weather.

“Don’t you have real work to do?”

His car sat in the fire lane, cautions flashing. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He would. He opened the passenger door for you, nonplussed. “Define work.”

You slipped into the passenger seat, its smooth leather soft against your bare arms. “Anything that warrants a paycheck.”

“I don’t need a paycheck.”

Insufferable prick.

“Well, aren’t you lucky.”

Tim closed the door and joined you on the driver's side, his shades falling back over his eyes. His engine purred as he turned the key in the ignition. Nineties grunge poured through the speakers, loud enough to drown your thoughts. Tim turned the volume down until it was barely tolerable before margining seamlessly into traffic.

A chain link fence surrounded the outdoor playground connected to the program center. Children ranged from elementary to high school. The former half hung off the brightly colored playsets or drew with chalk on the asphalt. The latter loitered in small groups along the wall. A few attempted tricks on skateboards while their friends filmed. Laughter filled the air. Months had passed and this was your first time seeing the programs RAP offered.

A young woman met you at the gate. Black hair kissed the underside of her chin, strands of faded blue visible beneath. She smiled, rounding her freckled brown cheeks. A small silver piercing glistened beneath her top lip. “Hey, you must be from the office. Kimber said you’d stop by sometime this afternoon.” Opening the gate, she ushered you and Tim into the playground before locking it behind her once more.

“I’m Izzy Oritz, head counselor.”

You introduced yourself. “And this is—”

“Timothy Jackass Drake,” Izzy finished for you as she bumped fists with the jackass in question. Your expression fell as… something flared in the pit of your stomach, but you squashed it as quickly as it came. “The kids’ll be stoked to see you.”

“Pretend I’m not here,” Tim insisted. “I’m just her ride.”

“He insisted,” you deadpanned.

“I’d do anything for the children.”

Izzy snorted as she led them toward the doors. “Well, Dante is excited to meet with you. He’s never been asked to speak in front of a crowd before. When he got the script, he forced me to sit with him to practice for at least an hour. He’s inside going over it again. I always love seeing the kids get excited to talk about their experience with RAP. It does them a lot of good, and I want the rest of Gotham to see this city isn’t all doom and gloom all the time. If we’re lucky, we can sneak in before the kids—”

“Mr. Drake!”

She stopped, a wicked smile curving her lips. “Too late.”

A small group of teens approached with skateboards in hand. Tim flipped his sunglasses on top of his head and grinned, wide and toothy in the way that made him feel less like a pretentious tool. It was almost charming, not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Yo.” He met each kid with a unique handshake. “I was watching those ollies. Looking real sick.”

“You should show them how the pros do it.”

Tim shot a narrow look over his shoulder. Izzy merely shrugged, unfazed by his ire. Okay, you liked this girl.

The boys pumped their fists. “Fuck yeah!”

Izzy cleared her throat.

The one who shouted looked sheepish. “I mean, hell yeah.”

She rolled her eyes as if to say good enough and continued, “Well, are you going to show them or not?”

“Please, Mr. Drake!” One of the boys exclaimed as he offered his board.

Izzy echoed, “Yeah, Mr. Drake, please.”

You peered between Izzy and Tim in disbelief.

Why was she encouraging this? What the hell was happening? This was supposed to be a very basic meeting with a child. Tim wasn’t even supposed to be here. He seemed to sense your bewilderment and gave you what he probably assumed was a reassuring smile, but nothing about this was reassuring.

He turned back to the boys and said, “A quick demonstration and that’s it. My friend here has work to do. Not me though.” He ruffled the scruffy blonde hair of the boy closest to him. “I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

Effortless.

That was the only word that came to mind as you watched Tim navigate the board over various handmade obstacles along the chain link fence. His stunts quickly attracted the attention of others.

He planted his hand on the ground in a one-armed handstand, flipped the board in the air. Cheers ripped through the crowd as he caught it and landed back on the board. You could feel the waves smug pride rolling off him as he moved onto his next trick, and damn, if he didn’t have every right to be smug.

“You may want to pick your jaw up off the ground before he notices,” Izzy whispered in your ear. “Love the guy, but he’s insufferable enough without the boost that’ll do to his ego.”

Your jaw tightened as you forced yourself to look away. No one liked to be caught staring, least of all you. “How do you and Tim know each other? Are you friends?”

“Friends? With that loser?” Izzy chuckled. “My boyfriend lived with Bruce Wayne for a short stint back in high school? He stays in touch.” She nodded to Tim as he glided across a railing, much like a bird rode on gusts of wind. “They play FIFA most nights and D&D twice a month. He plays an undead warlock and makes his pact with a lich everyone’s problem.”

The way Izzy described it made Tim sound so… normal, likeable even. Playing games with friends, learning how to skateboard, taking time to get to know the kids he funded through RAP. It all clashed terribly with the image of the spoiled rich kid you’d crafted in your mind. You struggled to come to terms with the fact that—just maybe—you misjudged him.

“Oh.”

Tim jumped. The momentum flipped the board twice in the air before he landed once more. Another cheer and he was off. Izzy shook her head and said, “A few basic ollies usually do the trick, but he's going all out today.” She gave you a sidelong glance. “Can’t imagine why that would be.”

You ignored whatever she was implying. “No idea.”

Tim stopped in front of you with hands shoved in his oversized pockets. He gave you a quick once over and smirked. “Impressed?”

Your cheeks warmed. “What makes you think that?”

He lowered his voice and said, “I couldn’t help but notice you staring.”

And then there were moments like this, that made you think that maybe you were right on the mark. “Conceited much?”

“It’s hard not to stare. I’m very impressive.”

That sounded more like him. “Are you done showing off?”

“I think so. I caught your attention, so I’ll take that as a win.”

The heat on your cheeks deepened. “Wrap it up. I have other meetings today.” A lie, but whatever. Anything to get you out of this conversation.

“Sure, sure. Be right back.” He left to return the board to the kids, but not before doing another round of elaborate handshakes with each of them.

Izzy had pulled out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. You shot her a curious look. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all.” She sent her message and pocketed the phone, though the knowing smile on her face unnerved her. “How well do you know Tim? You’ve only been with RAP a few months, right?”

“He’s just my volunteer chair,” you insisted, but even you didn’t believe it. “We’ve been working closely throughout the process, but our relationship is strictly professional.”

Izzy hummed thoughtfully. “Sure.”

Clearly, she didn’t believe you either. “You’ve told me more about him than he’s told me about himself.”

“Yeah, that’s Tim for you. He hates small talk. He’d rather jump straight to the gut-wrenching trauma. It makes him real popular at parties.”

Before Izzy could continue, Tim returned, a healthy flush tinting his cheeks and his hair tousled. “Alright. I’m ready.” He slung an arm around your shoulders and led you toward the door. This close, the woody cologne on his collar nearly smothered you. “Let’s get to business.”

You weren’t sure how Tim convinced you to get food after meeting with your youth testimonial. Your lie about having other meetings quickly unraveled when he started prodding.

Why would you schedule meetings after an offsite meeting?

Seems like poor planning if you ask me.

You didn’t eat lunch, did you?

Everyone needs to eat. I need to eat. Let’s eat.

And so, you found yourself seated in a booth across from Tim in a small diner on the north edge of the Narrows. It reeked of old grease and stale coffee, but Tim didn’t seem to care as he flipped amicably through his menu. “It may not look like much, but this place has the best pancakes in Gotham. Trust.”

You simply hummed as you studied the other diners. While no one stuck out to you, there was always a chance a stranger’s quirk would be the difference between solving a job and watching it fall dead in the water. It was a bad habit, but one you’d learn to live with.

The woman in the far corner was left-handed, evidenced by the way she fumbled with her fork in her right hand as she tapped away on her phone in her other hand. The man in the booth behind Tim was balding on the crown of his head, a suspicious mole visible. He should probably get that checked out. A small group of teens occupied the largest table in the center.

You noted the matching patches decorating their bags or jacket. ‘R’ for... you weren’t exactly sure. Maybe it was the symbol of a local gang? They didn’t seem to be causing any trouble, so you decided not to dwell on it.

“Hello?” Tim waved a hand in front of your face, drawing you back.

“Sorry,” you said, though your heart wasn’t in it.

“You do that a lot, you know?”

“Do what?”

“You disassociate.”

You bristled. “I’m not disassociating. I’m people watching there’s a difference.”

“How do you figure that?”

“It’s more of a hobby, I guess. People fascinate me,” you started slowly. A bead of condensation rolled down your glass, pooling on the varnished wood. You stared at the water to avoid looking at Tim, though you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. “Humanity at its core is both uniquely complex and yet so easily understood when you see the patterns.”

Your knee bounced under the table, bumping his. His expression didn’t change, but the air sharpened with the current fluttering beneath your skin. You tucked your feet under your chair, ensuring it wouldn’t happen again.

“So, you treat people like machines?”

“It makes them easier to understand,” you admitted, though you weren’t sure why you said anything at all. Maybe because you got the sense that Tim related to the disconnect you felt when faced with regular people.

Finally, you looked at him. His bangs fell over his brow, in desperate need of a trim, but he only had eyes for you. “And what about me?”

You swallowed thickly. “What about you?”

“Am I fascinating?”

“Last I checked, you are people,” you answered, unwilling to balk twice.

His head lolled thoughtfully to one side as he swirled the contents of his glass. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I’m not in the business of stroking egos, Drake.”

“I find you fascinating.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” He sipped his drink and wet his lips. “I can see it, something in the way you carry yourself. There’s more to you than meets the eye. I just haven’t figured out what that something is.”

“Normal people ask questions when they want to know someone.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I like looking for patterns too.”

“And what patterns have you noticed?”

“I asked you first.”

Stalemate.

He leaned across the table, breeching your personal space as if he could bully the answers out of you, but you’d gotten used to his lack of personal space. Realizing his usual methods wouldn’t get him anywhere, he settled back in his chair and took another swig of his drink.

“So, what’s your favorite part about Gotham so far?”

Wait.

Was he trying to make small talk?

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You told me to ask questions, and now you’re upset when I do. I can’t win with you.” He threw up his hands, clearly fed up. Panic flared in the pit of your stomach. You thought this was all part of the game, but he looked genuinely frustrated now.

Shit.

“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just—“ This fun back and forth made this easier. As long as you both played it coy, you weren’t obligated to share too much, but you’d reached a crossroads. Playing it too coy might make him think you had something to hide, so you cracked the door for him. It was strategic, nothing more.

“I don’t have a favorite part of Gotham,” you admitted. It wasn’t the answer he wanted but it was the truth. “There’s a lot of things I don’t like, if I’m being honest. The cartoonishly evil villains for one, the fact that I can’t count on public transportation because there’s a fight between them and a bunch of masked vigilantes every other week. It’s cloudy all the time and, god, I just miss the sun. How do you live like this?” You shared more than you intended, but you’d been keeping it all in this whole time. You needed to tell someone.

Turns out, that someone was Tim.

Wild.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of leaving,” Tim said.

You blinked. “You have?”

“Of course. Everyone does, but Gotham is hard to quit. People leave, but they always find their way back eventually.” He shrugged. “I’m no different. There are days I wish I could pack my bags and get the hell out of dodge. I’ve gotten close a few times.” He fiddled absentmindedly with his watch. It was the closest you’ve ever seen him to being nervous. “But it’s never stuck.”

“What keeps you coming back?”

You knew that was the step too far the moment the question left your lips. This moment, or whatever you’d call it, ended, as Tim shook his head. “A lot of reasons. None of them all that important.”

You found that hard to believe. “Right.”

“Besides, if I left, you would have never had the pleasure of meeting me.” His mask shifted back in place, the arrogant Tim Drake returning. You relaxed, realizing you weren’t ready for that level of vulnerability with him—not yet. Probably not ever. “Admit it,” he continued with a smirk, “I’m your favorite thing about Gotham.”

You mirrored his expression. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Pokes head out of the burrow of life*

Has it been a few months already? My bad.

If you haven't heard, I bought a house. So. That's been a bit of a whirlwind and has been occupying a lot of my time and energy.

But look! I finished a chapter, which is more writing than I've done in months. I thank Supergirl for bringing back my DC excitement. Oh, and Batman Knightfall, which will give some much needed Tim Drake exposure.

One last normal chapter before shit hits the fan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List

@redhooduwu @angel-academia @bungunz @anuttellaa @dessaydoo @zfeasal @saddixies @vanillakirstein @fire126 @all-user-error @intergalactic-padawan @calico-cheriies @byzantiumhollow @hoshikomcblair @sxdie-sun

[hydrachea]

> turns on my computer

> disables a new AI feature that was turned on by default

> opens my email

> disables a new AI feature that was turned on by default

> launches a software

> disables a new AI fea

[looha]

Être Parfait Spoiler Alert: You Can’t

Chapter 4- Disillusionment

Synopsis- Cass is perfect. In every manner. At least, she tries to be. So what happens when she meets someone who is like her? Only, an average Gothamite teenager.

Notes-Another chapter published!! My deepest apologies for the long wait and short chapterrr. Taglist is open! Anyways enjoy and feel free (please) to send in ideas and requests you have for future chapters! Dividers from @anitalenia and @saradika-graphics

Content- Cassandra Cain x fem!Reader, mentions of TimKon and DicKori, angst, fluff.

Masterlist

Disillusionment (n.): Disappointment from finding out that something is not as good as expected.

The thing with perfectionists is that they are not easily impressed; the end result is not always what they wanted and that leads to disappointment and anger. They can be quick to blame these mishaps on others people, rather than identifying what went wrong, sabotaging relationships and how people view them.

—

Being ten, you made fun of a lot of people. People who slept with nightlights, who were scared of Momo…

People who were hiding from two people inside a broom closet. Of course, it was never serious; you were ten. But you could never imagine yourself in these situations. I mean—you stopped sleeping with a nightlight at five!

Clack. Clack. Clack.

You continuously bump your head on the wall.

It’s been 287 seconds since you’ve rushed in here, desperate to get away from certain someones. You groan into your hands. Why do you screw everything up?? Everything was perfect until Jonathan—

Jonathan. He’s the fucking reason for all of this. Why didn’t you clarify that you and Alvin—even thinking his name makes you gag—were not a thing anymore? You should get going, but you can’t risk running into Cassandra or him. There’s too many odds playing against you.

Looking around, you take in your surroundings. The broom closet is a bit darker than the rest of the building, but the builders didn’t make it any less sleek. The same walls and floors and lights. Modern shelves for top-tier, expensive cleaning products. Is the room getting darker or are your eyes closing?

Ah yes, consequences of all nighters. It won’t be so bad if..you just…go…take a…

Nap.

-

-

-

“What is a coward?”

Those are the words that David Cain, Cassandra’s father, once asked her many, many years ago. Unfortunately, she couldn’t answer that albeit having the answer somewhat developed in her mind; she couldn’t speak at all.

But now, Cassandra Cain has the ability to speak and answer that question. And she has one— a few, actually: people who flew from battle, have others do their dirty work,

and fools who hide in broom closets.

Yeah, imagine Cassandra’s surprise when she opens said closet to find a sleeping intern. Do people know sleeping on the job is highly unacceptable? Especially when the intern’s loud friend has begged Cassandra to find her?

She crouches down, ready to shake the intern’s shoulder awake, when she sees the name card— Y/N L/N. Oh?

Cassandra perks up a bit. So this is Lady Gotham’s hater. She must admit, she expected someone who looked more like they hunch over a laptop 24/7.

“Hey,” Cassandra mutters quietly, gently shaking your shoulder. That only gets a little nose scrunch and a frown out of you. A familiar frown. The angle of your eyebrows is also really familiar. You groan a bit, muttering something unintelligible, when Cassandra also realizes that voice also strikes up a memory.

Oh. Shit. You’re her.

That crazy Gothamite from a few days ago. Who knew you could look so innocent when your face didn’t look like you were ten seconds away from tearing someone else’s face off.

Is it a good idea to wake you up? You could possibly recognize her, yell at her, and add another bump in Cassandra’s day.

Whatever, she can handle it. What you can’t handle is possibly getting kicked out of the program for unacceptable behavior.

She shakes your shoulder a bit harder which eventually wakes you up.

As you open your eyes Cassandra can see how they shift the second you realise just who you are looking at. You scramble back and suddenly stand up, straightening your hair and clothes.

“I’m so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to pass out in here I just—“

And the rest is just white noise because Cassandra isn’t focusing on your words, she’s focusing on your body language.

Tense shoulders, avoiding eye contact, flailed hands, rushed sentences.

You’re scared.

That makes her frown. Why would you be scared? If anything, Cassandra should be the one scared of you.

“Let’s get you back to the main room. Unless there’s a reason you’re out here?” Cassandra questions without fail, a stark contrast to your frightened demeanor.

She can tell you don’t wanna tell her by the way that you instantly freeze when she asks the question. “N-no reason! Just jitters, I guess?” you hope she buys your lame excuse but your hopes are low.

And based on the unimpressed look on her face, you’d be right. “Ok. Let’s go then.”

-

-

-

It’s been about half an hour since you unfortunately had your inevitable interaction with Cassandra, who escorted you back to where the other interns were, much to your dismay.

On top of that, Jonathan tackled you into a hug, sobbing about how worried he was.

You haven’t seen Alvin since you ran away, though. But who’s complaining?

Currently, you’re taking some random papers from one room to another. Apparently this is a little quest that the employees love to give out to interns, given that you’ve ran into fellow interns with stacks of papers more times than you can count.

“Gosh, baby, it really feels like you’re avoiding me today.”

You freeze once you hear that slight Jersey accent and feel an arm around your shoulders. Turning your head, you see an approximately five foot ten inch-tall shadow swallow you up.

Ugh, Alvin found you. It was bound to happen, considering how all the interns are always near eachother.

“Why’re you ghosting me, baby? Hm?” Alvin uses the hand around your shoulder to caress your cheek with his fingers. That act would have been comforting months ago, but now it just repels you.

“I have a right to ghost you.” you hate how weak your voice sounds around him. Alvin always has had that affect on you, and not in a good way.

He frowns a bit, not in an offended way, but a mock-sympathetic way. “What are ya spewing about now, N/N?”

You stop walking, Alvin halting his steps as well.

“Are you kidding me? Have you forgotten literally everything you’ve—“ you suck in a breath and put your fingers to your temple. “Alvin look, I stopped talking to you for a reason. I’d really appreciate it if you quit—“

“You stopped calling me ‘Vi’, baby?” he pouted, “I wanna cry now.” You grit your teeth. With Alvin, everything goes in one ear and comes out the other. It’s a miracle he even landed this internship, given his lack of knowledge in, well, anything. But then again, money can do you wonders.

He’s so careless he didn’t even bother to dress properly; he’s clad in a shirt not even buttoned up all the way and pants that needed ironing.

“Is there a problem here?”

Yes! Thank the lord for Luke motherfucking Fox! No one, not even Alvin, would have the courage—or stupidity— to cause problems with him.

And you stand corrected, watching Alvin shrug his way out of this.

“Alright then, Y/N I can take those papers. You two head on back, okay?” You both let out a unison okay.

-

-

-

I’m Cassandra’s defense, you were a bit annoying the first time she met you.

Who wouldn’t want to avoid that again? Besides, you looked shaken up when she found you in that closet— why? Does she look scary? Were you just caught off guard?

Whatever, that’s a problem for another day. The problem for today, though, is the incompetence of the interns.

To sum it up, two boys got into an argument about god knows what and Jonathan tried to intervene. She doesn’t know why.

But Bruce put her in charge of taking care of matters like this so what did Cassandra do? She grabbed both by their collars, shoved their faces so they’d overlook an indoor balcony, and demanded them to make peace or else she’d drop them.

She wouldn’t actually; that was just a threat. But they don’t need to know that. Bruce heard of that and just let out a sigh. A sigh at threatening people’s lives.

Cassandra walks out of his office after a lecture when someone skids to a stop right in front of her. Jonathan looks like he ran two laps around the entire building in the scorching heat, my god that kid is concerningly unathletic.

“Miss Cassie!” Jonathan clings onto her shirt. Not to mention he’s pretty short for a guy in high school.

“Cassie?” Cassandra repeats. Only her family—not biological—has ever given nicknames so this is a bit strange. “Oh I wanted to thank you, Miss Cassie. Arthur and Jack are always bickering about dumb things!”

“Arthur Holmwood and Jack Seward?” she always memories names of people, even if they aren’t significant.

Jonathan nods vigorously, “yeah! They were fighting over this one girl, Lucy Westenra, from school.”

This is weird. Why would two boys get into a close to physical altercation about a girl? Was it love? Did love make you do dumb things like that all the ti—

“Anyway I see you found my bestie Y/N, thanks!” he hugs her from the side while they both are walking back. “Right, I didn’t know you two were friends.” to be honest, you guys weren’t friends. Jonathan here just came along and clung onto you.

“She’s the best, most sweetest girl I’ve ever met! And very hardworking! I don’t know why she ran off after I found her boyfriend for her.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like him,” Cass said it absentmindedly. She doesn’t mean anything, but Jonathan does.

“Ya think so?? Oh my gosh that explains it,” he looks at Cassandra, “it’s almost like you know her better than me! You guys should be friends too!”

And she just listens to him ramble on again.

“You guys would be such good friends! Ok so she likes painting an’ drawing an’ tv an’ is really really smart! Whaddya like to do, Miss Cassie?”

Cassandra’s first thought would be to just stay silent, but she decides to humor him.

“I like ballet. I do it a lot,” this is weird. She’s barely ever spoken to people about her interests. “I like running. And martial arts, and my family.”

“Yeaaah you have a big family, don’t ‘cha? Tell me more!” He looks genuinely interested in what she has to say and that gives her a boost of confidence. “My siblings and I love to have game or movie nights when they’re all in town. And uh,” she thinks about a way to vaguely sum up her vigilante life, “we like to work out. At night.” Who knew talking about what you like could make you this happy?

Jonathan, get this, literally bounces up and down in excitement. “This is so cool! You two will be best friends now! All of us! Yay!” he begins to take off running.

“Where are you going”, Cassandra shouts after him.

“To go tell Y/N all about youuuu!!”

Oh. Wait—

—

Do not copy or put my work into AI!!

[looha]

Être Parfait Spoiler Alert: You Can’t

Chapter 4- Disillusionment

Synopsis- Cass is perfect. In every manner. At least, she tries to be. So what happens when she meets someone who is like her? Only, an average Gothamite teenager.

Notes-Another chapter published!! My deepest apologies for the long wait and short chapterrr. Taglist is open! Anyways enjoy and feel free (please) to send in ideas and requests you have for future chapters! Dividers from @anitalenia and @saradika-graphics

Content- Cassandra Cain x fem!Reader, mentions of TimKon and DicKori, angst, fluff.

Masterlist

Disillusionment (n.): Disappointment from finding out that something is not as good as expected.

The thing with perfectionists is that they are not easily impressed; the end result is not always what they wanted and that leads to disappointment and anger. They can be quick to blame these mishaps on others people, rather than identifying what went wrong, sabotaging relationships and how people view them.

—

Being ten, you made fun of a lot of people. People who slept with nightlights, who were scared of Momo…

People who were hiding from two people inside a broom closet. Of course, it was never serious; you were ten. But you could never imagine yourself in these situations. I mean—you stopped sleeping with a nightlight at five!

Clack. Clack. Clack.

You continuously bump your head on the wall.

It’s been 287 seconds since you’ve rushed in here, desperate to get away from certain someones. You groan into your hands. Why do you screw everything up?? Everything was perfect until Jonathan—

Jonathan. He’s the fucking reason for all of this. Why didn’t you clarify that you and Alvin—even thinking his name makes you gag—were not a thing anymore? You should get going, but you can’t risk running into Cassandra or him. There’s too many odds playing against you.

Looking around, you take in your surroundings. The broom closet is a bit darker than the rest of the building, but the builders didn’t make it any less sleek. The same walls and floors and lights. Modern shelves for top-tier, expensive cleaning products. Is the room getting darker or are your eyes closing?

Ah yes, consequences of all nighters. It won’t be so bad if..you just…go…take a…

Nap.

-

-

-

“What is a coward?”

Those are the words that David Cain, Cassandra’s father, once asked her many, many years ago. Unfortunately, she couldn’t answer that albeit having the answer somewhat developed in her mind; she couldn’t speak at all.

But now, Cassandra Cain has the ability to speak and answer that question. And she has one— a few, actually: people who flew from battle, have others do their dirty work,

and fools who hide in broom closets.

Yeah, imagine Cassandra’s surprise when she opens said closet to find a sleeping intern. Do people know sleeping on the job is highly unacceptable? Especially when the intern’s loud friend has begged Cassandra to find her?

She crouches down, ready to shake the intern’s shoulder awake, when she sees the name card— Y/N L/N. Oh?

Cassandra perks up a bit. So this is Lady Gotham’s hater. She must admit, she expected someone who looked more like they hunch over a laptop 24/7.

“Hey,” Cassandra mutters quietly, gently shaking your shoulder. That only gets a little nose scrunch and a frown out of you. A familiar frown. The angle of your eyebrows is also really familiar. You groan a bit, muttering something unintelligible, when Cassandra also realizes that voice also strikes up a memory.

Oh. Shit. You’re her.

That crazy Gothamite from a few days ago. Who knew you could look so innocent when your face didn’t look like you were ten seconds away from tearing someone else’s face off.

Is it a good idea to wake you up? You could possibly recognize her, yell at her, and add another bump in Cassandra’s day.

Whatever, she can handle it. What you can’t handle is possibly getting kicked out of the program for unacceptable behavior.

She shakes your shoulder a bit harder which eventually wakes you up.

As you open your eyes Cassandra can see how they shift the second you realise just who you are looking at. You scramble back and suddenly stand up, straightening your hair and clothes.

“I’m so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to pass out in here I just—“

And the rest is just white noise because Cassandra isn’t focusing on your words, she’s focusing on your body language.

Tense shoulders, avoiding eye contact, flailed hands, rushed sentences.

You’re scared.

That makes her frown. Why would you be scared? If anything, Cassandra should be the one scared of you.

“Let’s get you back to the main room. Unless there’s a reason you’re out here?” Cassandra questions without fail, a stark contrast to your frightened demeanor.

She can tell you don’t wanna tell her by the way that you instantly freeze when she asks the question. “N-no reason! Just jitters, I guess?” you hope she buys your lame excuse but your hopes are low.

And based on the unimpressed look on her face, you’d be right. “Ok. Let’s go then.”

-

-

-

It’s been about half an hour since you unfortunately had your inevitable interaction with Cassandra, who escorted you back to where the other interns were, much to your dismay.

On top of that, Jonathan tackled you into a hug, sobbing about how worried he was.

You haven’t seen Alvin since you ran away, though. But who’s complaining?

Currently, you’re taking some random papers from one room to another. Apparently this is a little quest that the employees love to give out to interns, given that you’ve ran into fellow interns with stacks of papers more times than you can count.

“Gosh, baby, it really feels like you’re avoiding me today.”

You freeze once you hear that slight Jersey accent and feel an arm around your shoulders. Turning your head, you see an approximately five foot ten inch-tall shadow swallow you up.

Ugh, Alvin found you. It was bound to happen, considering how all the interns are always near eachother.

“Why’re you ghosting me, baby? Hm?” Alvin uses the hand around your shoulder to caress your cheek with his fingers. That act would have been comforting months ago, but now it just repels you.

“I have a right to ghost you.” you hate how weak your voice sounds around him. Alvin always has had that affect on you, and not in a good way.

He frowns a bit, not in an offended way, but a mock-sympathetic way. “What are ya spewing about now, N/N?”

You stop walking, Alvin halting his steps as well.

“Are you kidding me? Have you forgotten literally everything you’ve—“ you suck in a breath and put your fingers to your temple. “Alvin look, I stopped talking to you for a reason. I’d really appreciate it if you quit—“

“You stopped calling me ‘Vi’, baby?” he pouted, “I wanna cry now.” You grit your teeth. With Alvin, everything goes in one ear and comes out the other. It’s a miracle he even landed this internship, given his lack of knowledge in, well, anything. But then again, money can do you wonders.

He’s so careless he didn’t even bother to dress properly; he’s clad in a shirt not even buttoned up all the way and pants that needed ironing.

“Is there a problem here?”

Yes! Thank the lord for Luke motherfucking Fox! No one, not even Alvin, would have the courage—or stupidity— to cause problems with him.

And you stand corrected, watching Alvin shrug his way out of this.

“Alright then, Y/N I can take those papers. You two head on back, okay?” You both let out a unison okay.

-

-

-

I’m Cassandra’s defense, you were a bit annoying the first time she met you.

Who wouldn’t want to avoid that again? Besides, you looked shaken up when she found you in that closet— why? Does she look scary? Were you just caught off guard?

Whatever, that’s a problem for another day. The problem for today, though, is the incompetence of the interns.

To sum it up, two boys got into an argument about god knows what and Jonathan tried to intervene. She doesn’t know why.

But Bruce put her in charge of taking care of matters like this so what did Cassandra do? She grabbed both by their collars, shoved their faces so they’d overlook an indoor balcony, and demanded them to make peace or else she’d drop them.

She wouldn’t actually; that was just a threat. But they don’t need to know that. Bruce heard of that and just let out a sigh. A sigh at threatening people’s lives.

Cassandra walks out of his office after a lecture when someone skids to a stop right in front of her. Jonathan looks like he ran two laps around the entire building in the scorching heat, my god that kid is concerningly unathletic.

“Miss Cassie!” Jonathan clings onto her shirt. Not to mention he’s pretty short for a guy in high school.

“Cassie?” Cassandra repeats. Only her family—not biological—has ever given nicknames so this is a bit strange. “Oh I wanted to thank you, Miss Cassie. Arthur and Jack are always bickering about dumb things!”

“Arthur Holmwood and Jack Seward?” she always memories names of people, even if they aren’t significant.

Jonathan nods vigorously, “yeah! They were fighting over this one girl, Lucy Westenra, from school.”

This is weird. Why would two boys get into a close to physical altercation about a girl? Was it love? Did love make you do dumb things like that all the ti—

“Anyway I see you found my bestie Y/N, thanks!” he hugs her from the side while they both are walking back. “Right, I didn’t know you two were friends.” to be honest, you guys weren’t friends. Jonathan here just came along and clung onto you.

“She’s the best, most sweetest girl I’ve ever met! And very hardworking! I don’t know why she ran off after I found her boyfriend for her.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like him,” Cass said it absentmindedly. She doesn’t mean anything, but Jonathan does.

“Ya think so?? Oh my gosh that explains it,” he looks at Cassandra, “it’s almost like you know her better than me! You guys should be friends too!”

And she just listens to him ramble on again.

“You guys would be such good friends! Ok so she likes painting an’ drawing an’ tv an’ is really really smart! Whaddya like to do, Miss Cassie?”

Cassandra’s first thought would be to just stay silent, but she decides to humor him.

“I like ballet. I do it a lot,” this is weird. She’s barely ever spoken to people about her interests. “I like running. And martial arts, and my family.”

“Yeaaah you have a big family, don’t ‘cha? Tell me more!” He looks genuinely interested in what she has to say and that gives her a boost of confidence. “My siblings and I love to have game or movie nights when they’re all in town. And uh,” she thinks about a way to vaguely sum up her vigilante life, “we like to work out. At night.” Who knew talking about what you like could make you this happy?

Jonathan, get this, literally bounces up and down in excitement. “This is so cool! You two will be best friends now! All of us! Yay!” he begins to take off running.

“Where are you going”, Cassandra shouts after him.

“To go tell Y/N all about youuuu!!”

Oh. Wait—

—

Do not copy or put my work into AI!!

[drbatsponge]

We fucking won.

ABSOLUTE CASSANDRA CAIN ONE-SHOT!!!11!!

Full art of Absolute Cass:

[hisuianserperior]

@spicy-apple-pie I need you to look at this diva!

[garabato0s]

take care baba's chair

[pissmamiii]

“my pretty girl”

RAW next question

[looha]

Être Parfait Spoiler Alert: You Can’t.

Chapter 1- Sedulous

Synopsis- Cass is perfect. In every manner. At least, she tries to be. So what happens when she meets someone who is like her? Only, an average Gothamite teenager.

Notes- This is my very first fic so please bear with me! Cass fics are so rare and as a diehard Cass fan I gotta do what I gotta do. Please keep in mind that it's final exam season so updates will be very slow! Also I tend to get into a writer's block easily. Not really proofread because I’m lazy. I used Ellipsis to write this. Divider from @anitalenia

Content- Cassandra Cain x fem!Reader, mentions of TimKon and DicKori, angst, fluff, ED.

Masterlist

Please do not read if you are sensitive to this stuff! Enjoy!

Sedulous (adj.): Working hard and never giving up.

According to many studies, perfection when forced on children has many side effects, including self-criticism. This can cause people to want to be better than others. And when that is mixed into a demanding sport such as ballet, it creates a recipe for disaster. 

—

"And that's a wrap! Good job ladies." The ballet instructor announces. "Please remember to practice Waltz of the Flowers for the performance." A chorus of faux promises decrescendos as the studio slowly began to empty out. Locker room conversations were just like any other, not that Cass cared. The thought currently occupying the space in her mind—which may or may not have something to do with a certain butler's homemade pastries—was enough for her to change out of her flats and into some sneakers and out into Gotham's familiar streets. Bzzz! A text from Steph. 

Let's do a movie night at Babs's place!

Cass pauses outside the theater to reply with a quick thumbs up then slips her phone into her duffel bag. The streets of Gotham are busy and loud; what you'd expect at 5 PM on a Friday. Everyone's going home after a long day at work. After hailing a taxi, Cass finishes some extra emails to reply to. Spams, reminders, all that stuff. Stephanie had recently set up multiple social media accounts for her, all of which sit unused. Cass’s thumb hovers over some apps. Oh, what the heck. The rides gonna be a bit, why not check out what people her age are up to? The second TikTok is open she gets bombarded with dance videos and…AI fruits fighting over a vegetable? This is what Steph says she misses out on? Just as she decides she has had enough for the day, she gets a notification that Steph just sent her a video. It's an old, one—God knows why Steph thought it would be a good idea to send it to her. It's of a drunk girl on a subway doing…drunk things. But that's not what gets Cass's attention. It's the boy behind the girl, smiling like she hung the stars. He even puts his phone away just to look at her. This was a bit unfamiliar to Cass. Yes, she had her family who she loved dearly. She’d even seen romantic relationships firsthand—Tim and Kon were always hanging out at the manor and Dick never stopped talking about Kori—but she never experienced anything like what she was currently watching. She didn't undertstand it.

Sighing and closing out of the app, she closes her eyes to reorganize her thoughts. Well, she does for about 8 seconds until the driver shrieks and hits the breaks, throwing both him and Cass forward. The sudden jolt surprises Cass, who looks up and in front of the car is…no one. Just a large, surprised crowd. The driver immedietly gets out and crouches in front of the car and out of her sight then comes back up with a very angry you, who seems to be yelling at the poor taxi driver. She steps out of the car and the second she does, she can hear your screams. 

"Are you fucking blind?! I could have died! What the hell is that damn license for, huh!? Do you even have one?!" Cass slightly winces at your tone, pitying the underpaid taxi driver. "I've had a long fucking day and you just decided to add the cherry on top!" When you start to get physical—'physical' as in smacking the man with your palm on the arm with each syllable that escapes your mouth—she decides it's time for intervention. Carefully approaching, she gets a better look at you. [Your choice] hair, [your choice] eyes, [your choice] skin, [your choice] height. Tense, but could be easily taken down. She can't prevent these observations. After all, they were drilled into her by her parents. "Excuse me, miss," you whirl your head around. "You're excused, now shoo. I'm busy." She sighs. What did she expect? For you to drop the scary act and be polite? "I'm sorry, miss!" Both of your heads turned. The driver, sporting 50 shades of red, spoke up. "But you must understand that you ran across the rode! You’re lucky that I reacted in time!" A frown made its way to Cass's face. So this wasn't his fault. Just another petulant Gothamite.

—

After that fiasco—which may or may not have ended in your friend dragging you away while apologizing to Cass and the driver—she got a text from Bruce. 

Hey kiddo, mind coming to WE tomorrow? We need someone to help sort out the interns.

Ah, internship season. Summer break was approaching and of course Wayne Enterprises was the company to get the most registrations. Cass had thought about applying, but also didn't want to take chances away from people who actually needed the position. Once again, she sent her infamous thumbs-up emoji and got back into the taxi for an awkward car ride. But not before stopping at a convenience store to buy snacks for movie night at Babs's.

If only she knew the ride she was in for the next day.

[heartkaji]

Everyone talks about popular anime they like. What’s a popular anime you HATE.

fastest way to piss me off

[yayacyan]

Poor thing, she's dying from cringe 😔

I can't leave comments because of some network error

[magikcheese3]

This is the Jason Todd I think about when writing yall

[looha]

Être Parfait Spoiler Alert: You Can’t

Chapter 2: Emulous

Synopsis- Cass is perfect. In every manner. At least, she tries to be. So what happens when she meets someone who is like her? Only, an average Gothamite teenager.

Notes I FINALLY UPDATED!! And as an apology, I made this chapter significantly longer than the last one. Masterlist will come out soon. Sorry for the long update I finally exam season and my AP exam is close! Not proofread. Divider from @anitalenia

Content- Cassandra Cain x fem!Reader, mentions of TimKon and DicKori, angst, fluff, ED.

Masterlist

Please do not read if you are sensitive to this stuff! Enjoy!

Emulous (adj.): Wanting to be better than others.

There is a grey line between perfection and obsession. It's subtle—unnoticeable at first. Others don't notice it, but the person affected will. Cross that line and you get OCD. But what's rarely ever spoken about is the torturous area where you hover near the grey line; neither perfect or imperfect. 

- 

Today was shit. And no, I don't mean the dog shit you stepped into on your way to the library. 

Was it the way your sister got up on the wrong side of the bed? No.

Was it your mom yelling at her not-so-secret-boyfriend through the phone? No.

Was it how you were almost run over? Close, but no.

It wasn't said dog shit. 

It was what you saw when you opened your inbox.

Dear miss L/N, 

Thank you so much for signing up for the Wayne Enterprises Summer Internship program! After a long week of decisions, we regret to inform you that you have been wait listed. This does not mean you are rejected, though! Have a great summer.

Sincerely, 

Caroline Crown. Secretary at Wayne Enterprises.

"Wait listed." Those words ring in your ears. That was what made your day feel like shit. This wasn't the plan. Y'know when your brain goes down a slippery slope? Like if you don't do something then it will lead to another then another bad thing? Yeah, this was it. If you didn't get the internship, colleges wouldn't take you seriously. You wouldn't get into a good school in New York and get out of this godforsaken city. You'd end up rotting in corruption and dying by a drunk driver or Scarecrow. And what wasn't making it better was your boyfriend spamming your phone. Was he even your boyfriend anymore? Last time you checked, he was only with you for sex. As if you were gonna give that to him anymore. Besides, he's the one to blame for you almost getting flattened by a taxi. If your memory served you right—which it did—you were trying to get the hell away from him after he moved his hand a bit too close to the hem of your shorts. Before that psycho almost ran you over. Before that weird girl who tried to intervene.

Who even was she? You swore you saw her somewhere. Whatever, that doesn't matter. All the sabotaging others' GPA and working yourself to the bone for this position didn't work. What now? Make the other candidates look bad? You remember one of the girls signing up is the daughter of a worker in the red light district of Gotham. Yeah…

Yeahhhh…that will work. Now how will you get people to believe you?

.

.

.

What happens when your father is the CEO of a multi billion-dollar company and all of your useless brothers are "too busy" to help out with paperwork? You get stuck doing it. 

Knock knock knock!

Cass looks up from the loading screen as Bruce walks in, tall with an expression screaming 'no nonsense' that disappears as soon as he sees his daughter. "Here already?" If an employee was in this room they'd think they were dreaming because it was deemed impossible for Bruce Wayne to be this soft-spoken. Smiling back, Cass replies, "yeah, I wanted to get it done early." Bruce places a quick peck on her forehead. "Good work, now get those papers to the—" "room four doors down, I know," Cass interrupts. He gives her a knowing but amused look before heading out of the room. He pauses and pivots to face her again. "By the way, we have about 16 wait listers. Just pick a few randoms, yeah?" 

"But I don't know a thing about these candidates, maybe you or an actual employee should do this." "Nonsense," Bruce waves off her concerns. "You have good intuition, plus I read through them. Pretty much the same." Oh boy. If there was one thing Bruce was bad at, it was relating to the people who were not in the top 10%. He had a good heart but didn't grasp things like how important internships were. With a firm nod and quick 'you can do this' smile, he leaves the room. That's when her demeanor shifted. Cracking her knuckles, Cass begins to look through all the wait listers and their applications. 

Hi, my name is … and this is why I should be…

Hello! I'm …. and I know a thing or two about…

Sigh. Bruce was right, they are pretty much the same thing. After 15 applicants and 50 minutes later, Cass lands on the last one. L/N, Y/N.

My name is Y/N and this is why Gotham sucks.

Woah, wait. That gets her attention. Is this what english teachers call a "hook"? After reading more, Cass begins to understand—and agree—with the whole application. Honestly this person made total sense. Why would people really want to stay in Gotham? Her better older sister, New York City, was a state away. Maybe it was understandable why you would be wait listed, though. Gothamites, despite how bad it is, never let anyone smack talk their city. But this Y/N had Cass's attention. 

Printing all the new candidates took no more than a good 2 minutes and Cass takes them to the room 4 doors down. The nice lady takes them, from her and places them in a folder as Cass leaves the room. 

Best of luck, Y/N L/N.

Ding! A text from Bruce. 

You don't mind helping out on the first day, do you?

Cass hums as she sends a thumbs up. Bruce had a lot on his plate lately, with Killer Croc escaping Arkham and the internships. It was the least she could do. I mean, it was a couple nervous kids her age. How hard could it be?

.

.

.

If there was a god you best believe you were thanking every single version of him. Getting an acceptance letter from Wayne Enterprises was the last thing you'd expect, but hey, you definitely were not complaining. And today? Today was the morning of your first day. Orientation a week ago was amazing. Everyone there looks professional and you get a look at what you called 'the competition'. You're dressed like a picture perfect profesh (professional, but shortened words are cute). A white tank top underneath a black cardigan paired with dark trousers with a brown leather belt, short black pumps, and to top it all off, a cute cream-colored headband. Super cute. As you fix your headband for what seemed to be the hundredth time, you catch a glimpse of a picture in the lobby of the Wayne Tower where your internship would be. 

It's a group of people—a family. The plating under it reads The Wayne Family with names reading left to right. Wow, so this is Bruce Wayne's infamous family. It is hard to tell that most of them are adopted, they all look so similar to Bruce. They look so amazing, so put together, so…

…Wait a damn minute. 

That girl...she's standing to the right of a boy with olive skin and green eyes, and looks super familiar. You read the plating. Left to right; Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain-Wayne…

Huh. Cassandra….Cain…Wayne. Dark hair, dark eyes, appears to be wasian…

…

Shit. 

Way to fucking go, genius. You yelled at a fucking Wayne. And for what? Because she tried to clear up a misunderstanding? You groan and crouch down, burying your face in your hands. Your internship is over before it even started. One look at you and she'll complain to her daddy who will kick you out and make sure you can never get into another program or college and you'll be stuck here. Either dying from, again, a drunk driver or Scarecrow. You probably wouldn't have gotten up had a random hand not tapped your shoulder hesitantly. You look up and it's a random boy. He smiles, "you ok?" You're pretty sure your face is on fire as you return the smile. "Yeah, just jitters." He hums and holds out his hand. "Yeah, people get that sometimes. But don't let the big building fool you, this thing's light work." Taking his hand and getting to your feet, you can't hide your surprise. "Really," you ask. "No." "Oh." 

He laughs. "Sorry, I'm messing with you. Name's Luke." "Y/N," you respond. "Well Y/N, let me take you to the room with all the newbies. It's not far." 

As you follow Luke, you can't help but marvel at the expensive and modern feel of the building. Pictures of philanthropic work adorn the white walls reminding you of the good behind the Wayne name. It also might be the same thing all companies do to feel good about themselves, but you digress; Wayne Industries opened the Wayne Foundation, which was a non-profit helping those in need. You finally reach a room and Luke gives you one last pat on the shoulder. "Good luck, and don't worry. The big man isn't that scary," and he walks off. The 'big man'? 

Oh. Bruce Wayne. Yeah, right. You take a deep breath and push the doors open. In there, you're met with several other kids your age, dressed like you—way to be original—all sitting on their phones, waiting for 'the big man' to walk in. You snicker to yourself at the nickname causing a few nosy heads to look up at you only to apparently not give a shit and go back to what they were doing. Embarrassed, for the second time today, you sit next to a random boy and pull out your phone. He looks up for a second, then, "do I know you?" 

"What?" You didn't expect anyone here to actually talk to you, much less be the first to strike up a conversation. "What middle school do you go to?" He narrows his eyes. "Gotham City Middle," you say like it's the most obvious answer ever—which it is; most of the population went to that middle school. He pouts a bit at your sass. 

Then smiles a bit. "Yeahh, I knew I recognized you! You're Alvin's girl!" 

Ugh. Of course your not-so-boyfriend made his way into the conversation. "Heh, yeah, I guess." You say, trying to give off the hint that you're done socializing. He doesn't take it, only keeps egging on. "You remember me? 8th grade history?" A blank stare. "Jonathan? Jonathan Harker?….No? Okay, cool, cool." 

A few beats pass.

"I was also on the wait list. It's worse than getting rejected! Like—even when the letters come out, I'm still on edge!"

Aaaand there he goes. Yeah, you remember Jonathan. Just didn't want to converse with him because of, well, this. 

The wait time is grueling. Apparently Wayne likes to be fashionably late. 

Just when you think your ears are going to fall off because of Jonathan talking about a mysterious rash on his leg (ew) the doors open. But as soon as excitement arises in you, it diminishes when you see the person who walks through the door— the big man followed by Cassandra Cain.

Karma is a funny thing, really. You never expect it, and it can be expressed it the most ridiculous of ways. 

In your case, it takes the form of the girl you yelled at who has the power to absolutely ruin your career and your grandchildren’s. You sink back into your seat, praying to every god of every religion out there that she won’t spot you. 

“Nervous? Yeah, me too.” Jonathan snorts, “those two really intimidate me. Reminds me of that one time last summer when—“ 

“Jonathan, please shut up,” you wave the hand that’s not covering your face. Of course, he completely ignores your brusque manner and continues to speak, only whispering. Somehow it’s even more irritating than if he had been yelling in your ear. 

Bruce walks up to the see-through dais and adjusts the microphone. The clerisy suddenly sat up straight with people riding their hair and clothes. “Welcome to the Wayne Industries summer internship program. I am so proud of all of you for getting in.” A small applause flowed through the crowd. You sink deeper into your chair. Jonathan keeps whispering about his rash and how that weakly correlates to Bruce’s speech about hard work. 

You look through a gap between your fingers from where they cover your face. Cassandra stands next to Bruce, perfecting the look of a Wayne.  

Her eyes sweep over the crowd and she sees some familiar faces—people from the dance studio, school, et cetera.

But her gaze lands on a strange sight—a girl slouching in her seat with her face covered and a boy next to her mouthing words at a concerning amount of speed. Cassandra’s eyebrows knit together and her eyes narrow. 

Ah, shit. You end up doing the exact opposite of what you were trying not to do—grab her attention. You’re not even paying attention to what Bruce is saying; Cassandra’s gaze has your attention locked onto her and not for a good reason.

[looha]

Être Parfait Spoiler Alert: You Can’t

(Masterlist)

Synopsis- Cass is perfect. In every manner. At least, she tries to be. So what happens when she meets someone who is like her? Only, an average Gothamite teenager.

Chapter 1- Sedulous

Chapter 2: Emulous

Chapter 3: Tenaciousness

[looha]

Être Parfait Spoiler Alert: You Can’t

Chapter 3: Tenaciousness

Synopsis- Cass is perfect. In every manner. At least, she tries to be. So what happens when she meets someone who is like her? Only, an average Gothamite teenager.

Notes AYYY this update was faster than the last! This chapters kinda rushed because my AP exam is 11 days away…but I’ll still deliver. Also remember that this story’s not fully developed and I’m kinda making things up during the day in my head. Also, TAGLIST IS NOW OPEN! Not proofread. Divider from @anitalenia

Content- Cassandra Cain x fem!Reader, mentions of TimKon and DicKori, angst, fluff, ED.

Masterlist

Please do not read if you are sensitive to this stuff! Enjoy!

Tenaciousness (n.): Strong and persistent determination.

Perfection often comes with determination. While that is a good thing, the repetition of this hard work can sometimes have a sort of ad nauseum effect, exhausting someone.

-

“You didn’t listen to that speech either, did ya?”

There’s a couple words you can use to describe Jonathan Harker—extroverted, friendly, optimistic—but there’s one perfect word to describe him right now.

Exhausting. 

After basically merging yourself with your seat while Bruce Wayne was giving his speech, Jonathan here long moved on from his disgusting rash and is now expressing his deep admiration for the big man and his daughter. And you don’t wanna listen to him now. Not when Bruce announces that Cassandra—and Luke, thank God—will take you all on a tour of the building. The last thing you need is to be near her. 

As the group of 20-something students starts to get clustered and the duo rounds you all up, you scoot to the side Luke is on to steer clear of Cassandra. Much to your distain, Jonathan follows. Fortunately he decides to torture Luke with his never ending words. 

The tour is long. You don’t know how long; you’ve been zoning out for the nth time, thinking about how to avoid Cassandra during, well, the entirety of your internship. You know she spends time here—Jonathan was the one who told you. 

That’s going to make it way harder to execute the plan. 

The Plan:

1.) Perform amazingly during internship.

2.) Get Bruce’s attention.

3.) Become his favorite so he writes tons of recommendation letters.

4.) Get into college.

5.) Move the hell outta here.

Yeah, that’s the plan. Simple and ea—

“Y/N, are you paying attention?” You snap out of it when you hear Luke’s voice. “Yeah, sorry,” you mutter.

“Anyways, welcome to the third floor. This is where most of your time will be spend during your internship.” Just like the first two floors, the third is the same; floor to ceiling glass windows, white walls, plants here and there…it’s modern but not cold.

.

.

.

Cassandra walks into the building library, looking back on her day, remembering the short boy who trailed next to her during the second half of the tour. Gosh, he was like a machine—was it possible for someone to actually talk that fast? He asked questions left and right about every square inch of the building and while Cassandra tried to answer them all, it was a bit overwhelming. She wasn’t even in charge of the tour! Luke was the one giving out all the information and answering everyone else’s questions. 

But the day was actually nice, save for the boy who she learned was named Jonathan Harker. 

Cassandra got a really good look at what kids her age—who weren’t raised by unforgiving assassins and spent their nights dressed as a bat hunting down criminals—acted. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. 

Ding! 

“Hm?”

Bruce: Hey kiddo—we’re a bit short on staff for people to help with the interns. Everyone’s busy these days. I know it’s a lot to ask, but is it ok if you’d assist us these next few days?

Cassandra thinks for a minute. She doesn’t really have much to do during the days besides ballet and some volunteering, so she sends a thumbs up. Just then Luke walks in, groaning while running a hand down his face. 

“Gosh, never speak to the little blond dude. He held me back for 20 minutes talking about the types of disinfectant wipes we use in the building.” Cassandra could only let out a little laugh at that, “why?” “Said he ‘didnt disapprove of the lemony scent’.” 

After a good while of laughing at the unique interns, Cassandra remembers the text Bruce sent her. “Um Luke?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Dad texted me ten minutes ago. He said that most employees here are too busy to aid with the interns.” Luke sighed at the reminder, “yea, we are,” he paused, then, “it’s crazy, you’d think more people would be free in the summertime.”

“Yeah, about that. He asked if I was available for the next few days to assist you. Watch over them, guide them, all that.” 

Luke’s face almost instantly lights up, his shoulders wagging with relief. “Really?? Oh my—Cass this is great! Oh, thank you so much!” He pulls her into a bear hug. “You’re welcome,” Cassandra can’t fight her smile. “Well come on, we gotta do a bit more work for today.” She nods and follows him out of the room.

This will be easy. Cassandra Cain doesn’t get distracted or lets things slip from her mind.

.

.

.

“…and lastly, you get your own desks.”

You get your own desks. 

You get your own desks!

For most people, this sentence would sound pretty normal—they’re desks. At an internship, what else would you expect? Well, for this group of nerds disguised as prim and proper interns, this is great news. 

You walk over to your desk and, like everyone else, try to hide your giddiness with a poker face. The room is big and you don’t get your own office (damn). The group was split into two and just your luck, Jonathan was with you. He made this known by putting his hands on your shoulders from behind, jumping—he used your shoulders fora boost—and yelling out your name and a plethora of other things.

Thankfully, the universe decided to take mercy on you and let you both be placed on the opposite sides of the room. 

Unfortunately, the universe also decided that act was too kind. You find that out when Cassandra walks into the room, handing out papers to everyone one by one while a random assistant who looks more than pleased to be here talks about the internship program. 

“Thank you,” says a person six seats ahead of you. “Thank you,” five seats.

“Thanks”, four seats…three…two…one…

Think!! What would Blair Waldorf do????

Apparently, Blair Waldorf would start rubbing her eyes with her entire hand even though she has two layers of mascara on. 

Cassandra looks at you in mild concern. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Totally, just..something. In my eye.” Play it cool. Nonchalant. “In…both of them? I can take a look yknow. It’s not good to rub your eyes that hard.” 

Goddamn it, you’re almost mad at how nice she is. You know your mascara is smudging badly. Dear God, why will she not move on?? 

“I know it’s—it’s all good ma’am…uhh miss. Girl. You can move on.” She gives you a little look before moving on. 

You check your compact mirror and holy crap. You look like a raccoon. Thankfully, you were smart enough to pack some makeup wipes with you so you avoid any weird looks from other people. 

It’s lunchtime and you were planning on sitting by yourself but of course, sweet, sweet Jonathan had other plans. So here you are, standing with him in the cafeteria while you look for a place to eat. 

“Y/NNN, pick a placeee I’m legs are tireddd.” What a delight. You sigh and count backwards slowly from 10—a trick you learned from Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood—to make sure you don’t blow up in his face. “Jonathan, why don’t you go and get yourself some ice cream, yea? They have mint chocolate chip.” His whole face lights up at the mention of the atrocious flavor and he makes a beeline to the ice cream bar.

Sighing in relief, you walk over to the salad bar on the opposite side of the cafeteria. Hm. You ate a chocolate muffin last night, so you really need to cancel that out with a run and something healthy. So you get a few veggies, beans, and croutons and make your way to get some water. Atleast, you would, but lo and behold—Cassandra fucking Cain decides it’s the right time to refill her glass. 

You try to quietly inch away from her as fast as possible. Yes, yes it’s working. Just a few more—

“Y/NN!!!” You whip your head around to find Jonathan waving dramatically at you, catching the attention of a few people. Looking the same few shades like that taxi driver a few days ago, you speed walk over to him and give him a look that says ‘shut. Up.’ He takes the hint and does so.

“What do you want?” If he screamed your name out and risked getting Cassandra’s attention for nothing, you were going to strangle him. “Guess who’s here,” he practically vibrates with joy. “I don’t like guessing games, Jonathan. Who?”

Pleasedontbewaynepleasedontbewayneplea—

“Hey, angel.”

[tobiosty]

General useful stuff!

Guides

How to make Crumbl Cookies!

How to bookbind!

How to pirate movies/shows

How to make frog plushies

How to make a Go-bag for emergencies

How to repair clothing

How to make different a03 kudos!

How to download videos/pictures/gifs from a website

How to make various chocolate desserts!

Tips and Tricks!

A03 formatting

Back stretches!

Depression tips

Adult cheat sheet

How to regulate and understand your emotions better

Disabling Windows 11 web search in search bar

Resources

Horror game recs!

Dca fic recs!

Hand references

Free Adobe photoshop

Artist resources

Free spotify

Pirating sites

Artist resources pt 2

Helpful random sites

Homemaking, gardening, sustainability

Free libraries!

Making stuff and doing things (free book pdf)

Healthcare (medicine discount websites, guide on how to pay hospital bills)

Alternative stuff to mega corporations

[metropolis-city-citizen]

How i felt opening tumblr to find basically 0 lesbian x reader DC fics