I love it when people are like “[X] character would hate you if you’re …”
Idk why, but it’s just so funny to me that some people genuinely think that a fictional character cares about what a real life person looks like/behaves/or what their ethnicity is.
Like, I’m pretty sure Hal Jordan wouldn’t give a shit that I’m British. Neither would any other character really.
Bruce Wayne would not give a single flying fuck if you had a medical condition.
Clark Kent wouldn’t care what your body type is.
And if you’re a person who says that to people like “That character would never date someone like you” sincerely piss off. It can affect how somebody feels about themselves.
This is a very friendly blog who thinks self shipping is fine <3 (though do remember to interact with real people and keep being as healthy as you can be)
1k follower event || masterlist || based on this request
Cass notices immediately that you only smile for her. The first time it happens - a small, soft curve of your lips when she brings you coffee exactly how you like it - she freezes, then smiles back like the sun just came out. She starts collecting those smiles like treasures.
She learns your silence isn’t coldness. It’s safety. When the world is too loud, she sits with you in comfortable quiet, shoulder to shoulder, until you relax. No pressure to speak. Just presence.
Cass is tactile with you in ways she isn’t with anyone else. Gentle touches — a hand on your lower back when walking through crowds, fingers brushing yours when passing something, forehead resting against yours when words fail. Each one says “I see you.”
She starts leaving tiny gifts in your pockets or on your desk: a perfectly folded origami crane, a smooth stone she found on patrol, a note that just says “you make the quiet feel safe.” She never signs them, but you know it’s her.
When you have a bad day and your face is its usual blank mask, Cass doesn’t push. She just curls up beside you on the couch, head in your lap, and lets you run your fingers through her hair until the tension eases. Sometimes she falls asleep like that, trusting you completely.
She learns your favorite foods without asking. One night she shows up with takeout from the tiny ramen place you mentioned once in passing. When you smile — small but real — she looks proud enough to light up the whole city.
Cass is fiercely protective. If someone talks over you or makes you uncomfortable, she steps in quietly but firmly, placing herself between you and them. No words needed. Her presence alone says “mine.”
She starts practicing smiling in the mirror when she thinks you’re not looking — trying to match the one you give her. When you catch her and laugh softly, she blushes but keeps trying. She wants to give you the same warmth you give her.
On quiet nights, she teaches you basic self-defense moves, but makes it gentle and fun. Her hands on your waist, guiding your stance, voice soft as she corrects your form. Every touch lingers a second longer than necessary.
She notices when you’re overstimulated and quietly removes you from the situation — a hand on your elbow, leading you to a quieter corner or outside for fresh air. No questions. Just understanding.
Cass starts collecting things that remind her of you: a smooth black stone, a pressed flower, a page from a book with a line that made her think of your quiet strength. She keeps them in a small box under her bed.
When you finally say “I love you” — quiet, almost hesitant — she doesn’t respond with words. She just pulls you into the tightest hug, face buried in your neck, holding you like you’re the only safe thing in her chaotic world. You feel her smile against your skin.
She learns your love language is acts of service and starts doing little things without being asked: making your tea exactly right, folding your laundry, leaving the lights dim when you come home tired. Each one is her way of saying “I see you. I care.”
Cass is surprisingly playful with you. She’ll sneak up behind you just to wrap her arms around your waist and rest her chin on your shoulder, or challenge you to silly contests like who can balance a spoon on their nose longer. Your rare laugh is her favorite sound.
At the end of every day, no matter how hard it was, she curls up against you in bed and whispers, “You make the world softer.” And when you smile — just for her — she falls in love with you all over again.
a/n : this was so cute to write but formatting almost killed me 🥀
Cass comes home to you injured. This isn't a new thing, of course, but it never really gets easier to see.
words:1,607
The apartment is quiet, save for the gentle hum of your heater and the low volume of the tv. There's no muffled noise of traffic at this hour, not yet at least. Maybe in another hour or two there would be, when Gotham wakes and starts to come alive with the slowly rising sun. For now, however, you're content with this gentle almost silence.
Cassandra sits still as your hands work, cleaning a nasty set of cuts along her stomach with the antiseptic you always keep on hand ever since dating her. She’s quiet and calm but you can see the exhaustion in her body even if she tries to hide it. You can see the need for rest in her eyes every time you glance up at her but, despite that, she still manages to give you a small smile every time her eyes meet yours. It’s comforting, seeing her smile.
Logically, you’re very much aware that the cuts you’re cleaning and patching up on her are nothing compared to some of the other injuries she’s had. Hell, these cuts don’t even make the list of top ten injuries if you really wanted to sit and think about it. But, still, it never really gets easier seeing her hurt in any fashion. Sure, it’s her job and you’re beyond proud of the things she does for Gotham…you just wish Gotham didn’t leave its mark on her so often. Still, you count your blessings that she even lets you help patch her up when she comes to you like this. When you first started dating, she kept her injuries away from you. She’d patch them back at the Cave before coming over or lock herself up in your bathroom to tend to her wounds on her own because she didn’t want you to be more worried than you already were. It had taken a while to get her to let you help her like this, but she knows that you need this as much as she does. You need to be able to feel her, to see the wounds for yourself and assure yourself that she’s alive and okay and still came home to you. Cassandra knows this and, even if she still sort of doesn’t like seeing you worry, she knows it's what you need.
You sigh softly as you lean back a bit, eyeing the cuts across her stomach; two harsh looking cuts from a knife, she had said. The bleeding has stopped, mostly, and they definitely don't need stitches. Small miracles, you figure, as you reach for the bandages to start patching it up. You glance at her, not surprised to see her already watching you. “What is it?”
She shakes her head a little bit, her smile soft and tired, “Nothing. You just make a good medic.”
You chuckle softly, “Only because you and Alfred taught me how to do all of this.” you remind her softly, shaking your head a bit. “Definitely not adding ‘vigilante medic’ to my resume any time soon, though, that’s for sure.”
“Mm, I could be your reference,” She offers softly, leaning back a bit into the couch so you can bandage her up more properly. She holds totally still, calm as ever. If she can see the slight shake in your hands, she doesn’t bring attention to it. “Though I’d rather be the only vigilante you patch up.”
You raise an eyebrow as you glance up at her again, the soft living room lighting casting a gentle glow over her skin. “What, worried the others will steal me away for my wonderful skills?”
“More like for your bedside manner,” Cassandra admits with a quiet, barely there laugh. She tilts her head back against the back of the couch, finally letting out a sigh. “They don’t need you there. I like having you here for me.”
You smile softly to yourself, feeling that all too familiar heat rushing to your cheeks. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you bandage her up, Cassandra taking a moment to rest her eyes as you work. If you didn’t know her as well as you did, you’d almost think she could fall asleep right here and right now. But you know how she is after a patrol, especially when she has to come home bleeding and making you worry; she won’t be able to sleep without you comfortable next to her even if she’s exhausted. With that in mind, you work as fast as you can while still being careful. She doesn’t move when you finally start to pack up the med-kit and she doesn’t move when you peel off the sterile gloves and toss them into a trash bag. She doesn’t move when you stand up from the couch and move to the kitchen, washing your hands and tucking the med-kit away under the sink, one of two places you keep med-kits in for her sake.
You sigh softly, running a hand through your hair as you come back to the living room, scooping up her discarded suit from the floor. The tears from where the knife got her aren’t enough for her to need a new suit entirely, but Alfred will definitely have to spend a good amount of time fixing it back up for her. But that’s a worry for tomorrow, when the sun is up and Cassandra isn’t fighting sleep on your couch. You set the suit down on the arm of the couch before you look at her, taking in the way her head is still tilted back and her eyes closed. Her breathing is calm; a gentle rise and fall of her chest as she just…exists for a moment. No hero work. No crime or danger. Just the familiar silence of your living room as she finally lets herself decompress.
You reach out and gently run your fingers through her slightly sweat-matted hair, smiling to yourself, “You need a shower, Cass.”
“Tomorrow,” She murmurs softly. Her eyes slowly flutter open, landing on you almost immediately. She reaches up to catch your hand, holding it in her own as she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m tired.”
“I know,” You murmur, squeezing her hand gently before giving it a small tug. “C’mon, then. Let’s go to bed. We can worry about cleaning you up when the sun’s up and the city is alive again.”
Cassandra hums softly but she lets you tug her up. She doesn’t wince or anything, no sign that the movement tugs at her injury, but you still glance down just to be sure. No sudden bleeding beneath the bandages. Nothing that looks out of sorts. Just your exhausted girlfriend in her underwear and a tank top, with bandages around her stomach to hide where someone had tried to hurt her. You shouldn’t dwell on it, and you won’t, but its still never any easier to come to terms with the fact that she’ll always come home with evidence of someone trying to hurt her in some way. No matter how good she is at what she does, no matter how much back up she has out there…
“Hey,” Cassandra’s voice is soft as she steps closer to you, her free hand finding your chin to lift it gently. She waits until your eyes meet hers, watching you for a long moment before she shakes her head slowly. “I’m okay.”
“I know,” You murmur softly, letting out a soft and tired breath. Your own free hand gestures to her vaguely. “I just worry about you, Cass, that’s all. I’m…glad you’re okay tonight.”
The rest goes unsaid. That you’re happy she came home to you again. That you’re happy she’s not coming home with broken bones or internal damage. You’re happy you’re not sitting in the Batcave, feeling useless as Alfred and Bruce race to close wounds or stop internal bleeding. That you’re just so glad to have her when her job means there’s always a chance she might not come home at all.
The kiss she presses to your forehead pulls you out of your thoughts, making you blink a couple of times before you laugh softly. “Sorry, sorry. Bed. We both clearly need it.”
“Yes. Very much so,” Cassandra agrees softly.
She lets you lead her to your bedroom, a path she’s so familiar with she could traverse it with her eyes closed. Your room is already dark but the both of you manage to find your way to bed without any issue; Cassandra could move around your apartment even if she were blind, that’s how well she knows it by now. The second you slide under the covers her hands are on you, tugging you close to herself so she can bury her face in your neck. Only then does she finally let out a soft sigh of content, pressing a feather light kiss to your throat. “Perfect. My girl.”
You smile softly and shift just enough so that you can wrap an arm around her, your other hand grabbing the blankets and pulling them up and over the both of you. You don’t think about the sweat that’s probably dried on her skin. You don’t think about her suit lying on your couch, needing to be taken to Alfred tomorrow. You don’t think about what the knife that cut her might have looked like. For now, you just think about how it feels to have her lying in your arms again and how it feels to feel her lips pressing soft, barely there kisses to your throat until she finally falls asleep.
Divider by: @/saradika-graphics
Please do not reupload or copy my works to other sites
Cassandra walks into the apartment like a shadow returning to its source.
The air is still, moonlight spills through the half-open curtains in ribbons, silvering the hardwood floor and painting everything in soft, forgiving light. The night outside is humming— city pulse, distant sirens, someone laughing too loudly down the block.
But in here, there is only silence.
She closes the door soundlessly and removes her boots, her suit is flecked with ash and dirt from a rooftop fight she didn’t want to be in. Her knuckles are sore. Her muscles ache with the kind of fatigue that only comes when the world’s noise has pushed too long against her quiet.
She breathes differently when she sees you.
Curled on the couch like something sacred, limbs tangled in a blanket too big for one person but not quite big enough for two. Your breathing is deep, your mouth slightly parted. One hand tucked beneath your cheek like it’s holding a dream in place.
Cass watches you.
She always watches you like this.. the way artists admire sculptures, or warriors admire stillness. Like a thing she never knew she needed until she was standing right in front of it. Until she could hear the soft, sleeping proof that something in her world remained untouched by violence.
You, a civilian.
You’d laughed when she called you that once . You teased her, said you weren’t that boring. She didn’t mean it like that. Cassandra doesn’t use words carelessly. To her, “civilian” meant not broken.
She crosses the room on bare feet, every step reverent.
Cass kneels beside the couch. Her gloved hand hesitates in the air, hovers over your shoulder, then lowers to gently brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. You stir only slightly, like a flower turning toward sun and then relax again.
Then, with care that doesn’t match the way she throws herself off rooftops for a living, she slips onto the couch behind you. It’s awkward at first— there’s not much space. But you make room even in your sleep, sighing contentedly as you shift just enough for her to tuck her body around yours like armor laid down.
Her arm drapes over your waist. Her forehead presses to the back of your neck. And she breathes.
This— this is what home feels like.
You smell like lavender and clean cotton. She lets herself melt into it, feel the rise and fall of your chest beneath her palm like a lullaby she’s still learning the words to.
Cassandra doesn’t dream often. Sleep comes in fits, rest is rare.
But in this moment, wrapped around you, she understands peace in a way the world never taught her. You murmur something half-coherent in your sleep, her name, she thinks, or something close to it— and your hand finds hers, fingers curling instinctively around her own.
She nearly breaks.
She nestles closer. Her nose presses to your shoulder blade. Her hand tightens around yours.
She doesn’t need words.
But if she did, she might say:
I’ve walked through storms to find you.
In the stillness of your shared quiet, Cassandra finally lets herself believe in weightless things— love, rest, the idea that she doesn’t have to fight everything to deserve something good.
You sigh again, deeper this time, and shift closer in sleep, as if even unconsciously, you know she’s there.
Her life changed a lot since she escaped her father grasp. She learned how to read, how to talk. She learned how to feel.
She will forever be grateful for Barbara and Bruce to have taken care of her.
Life as a vigilante aren't always perfect, hell there's a lot of bad things but to Cass? It felt good being able to bring good to people life instead of having to take it away from them. It felt good to finally know the meaning of a family.
Despite how good theses are, it is far from her favorite thing now.
Hugs.
Cassandra never knew what affection was as a kid. She was teached how to kill but not how to love. The first time someone hugged her, all of her problems seemed to have vanished for this short instant.
A gentle and safe touch, what her parents should have provided to her.
What Cass loved even more, are hugs with you. She never totally got how loving someone was until she mets you and she never wanted to lose that, lose you. To her eyes, you are so perfect and so understanding and she's grateful of loving and being loved by you.
----------------
After spending the night patrolling the city of Gotham's street and stopping minors crimes, she headed back home.
Cassandra was tired and quick to change her batgirl suit into a comfortable pajama. A smile immediately went to her face when you welcomed her with a hug and a soft kiss.
"Hello, I hope I didn't woke you up?"
You were quick to reassure her as you guided her to bed to make sure she gets a well deserved break.
You both laid in bed, limbs intertwined as she rested her head against your neck. She took a deep breath. The moment she felt the most safe and relaxed was in your arms.
"I love you"
The words quietly left her lips as she fell asleep, her mind at peace because you were with her.
Why did no one tell me how fun it is to read anything Cassandra Cain is in?? I LOVE when she's pointing out the small body languages, I love her inner thoughts, I love everything about this queen.
If theres anything I crave in fiction is reactions. Whether it's someones secret power or identity revealed or like some emotional drama, I just love seeing a character interact with their situation.
Cass does it so perfectly with her analyzes I wanna know more everytime.
It's a damn SHAME theres no fanfics on her. Yall make me SICK I've been fixating through the assassins; first Talia al Ghul, then Jade Nguyen, and now Cassandra and NONE have any x readers. Like I am dehydrated rn, I can't even write it myself because my writing is fucking ass.
summary: couple tiktoks I've seen on douyin with the batboys
𓅫. running off mid-proposal to buy a ring - Bruce Wayne
"So, will you please marry me?" Opening the ring box, Bruce looks up at you.
You blink owlishly at Bruce, pursing your lips as you hold your hand up. Bruce tilts his head at you in confusion as you rush off, and your friends and his kids all pause to process what the hell just happened.
"Father, I believe this is a no." Damian stares at your retreating figure.
"No, I think they'd at least give B the courtesy of a rejection." Steph mumbles.
"This... dumbass!" Your friend curses, clicking on her phone violently as she dials again, your phone sending her to voicemail. "Let's just go back."
"No." Bruce frowns. "Just a little longer."
It eats him alive. Bruce isn't even sure if you'll run back or come back, but he has an inkling of a suspicion that you wouldn't just leave him like that. You've never just run away from him like that— not even when he showed up in front of you half-dead as Batman. You didn't just run away like that. You never have.
"Really, Bruce, I think—"
"I'm back!" You yell from the distance, Tiffany bag in tow as you run to Bruce, fumbling to get the box out, smiling at him stupidly as you show him the ring. "Will you marry me?"
Bruce laughs, a sound coming from his chest as you grin at him, smile lopsided.
"Only if you marry me."
"Deal." You grin, and Bruce presses his lips to yours.
Yes. Always.
𓅫. are you ready, mr. styles? - Dick Grayson
The flood of tiktok notifications comes one morning way before Dick gets out of bed— still sprawled out on your shared bed, and you squint at your phone screen, sleep still all over your face.
"... I'm sleeping on the highway tonight?" You click open the notification, blinking as you notice Dick's username, scrolling to the second photo as you listen to the audio.
...Dick made a tiktok about you again. Right.
..oh.
You smile as you notice the photo, a familiar one, a photo that Dick had insisted on taking while the two of you were out for dinner a couple of days ago. You click through the audio and confirm your thoughts. Dick posted you to a couple audio again.
The news gives you butterflies as you lean down to press a kiss to Dick's temple, yelping as he yanks you down instead, pulling you on top of him as he smiles.
"G' morning, gorgeous."
"'morning." You smile. "I saw your tiktok."
"Did you?"
"Yeah." You hum. "Were you planning on telling me?"
"No." He mumbles, pressing your head to his heart as you listen to it beat. "Love you."
"Love you too."
𓅫. shopping in his arms - Jason Todd
"Which one?"
"Mm..." You purse your lips, grimacing. "I want the regular."
Jason adjusts you in his arms, mumbling for you to tighten your arms. You listen, craning your neck to try and look behind you at the product. You don't know what prompted him to ask you to do this, but you aren't complaining. You like it (even if your arms don't)
"I figured." He hums, reaching for the carton as your arms tighten around his neck.
"I'm not going to drop you, you know?"
"Shopping like this is really inconvenient." You grumble. "Let me down?"
"Mm... no." He grins. "We're only here for this, no?"
"We could've just gotten this from the regular market..."
"You love this."
You can't deny that.
"Can we get batburgers later?"
"Of course."
𓅫. handcrafting a hairpin for you - Cass Cain
"I have a gift for you." Cass squeezes you gently as she holds the gift bag to the side. "I hope you like it."
"I'll like anything you give me." You smile. "What is it?"
"I'm taking woodworking, right?"
"Yeah?" You take the bag from her, leading her to the couch.
"You can open it."
You blink at the Chinese written on the wood, tilting your head. "I'm pulling out google translate for this." You fish for your phone.
"It's from the song." She mumbles. "my affection is genuine, my love is real, the moon represents my heart."
"CASSSS!!!" You sob, throwing your arms around her as you press your cheek to hers. "I love you. I'm love you. I'm in love with you."
"I love you too." She smiles. "Open it."
You open the box, a sob breaking past your lips as you stare at the hairpin, picking it up as you notice the phoenix and lotus flowers. Your lips pull downward as you stare at Cass, tears forming in your eyes.
"Awwh, I love you too, baby," She presses your head to her chest. "Do you like it?"
"I love it. I hope they bury me with this." You mumble in tears.
Cass laughs.
𓅫. Cause all of the small things that you do - Tim Drake
"...what are these?" Tim looks up from his laptop, noticing the giant bundles in your arm.
"Okay, so there's this trend going around Tiktok right now to this song where couples will show off matching blankets, and I got a set for us!" You grin. "Also because you need a new blanket to swap out when your old one smells nasty."
"Are you saying I smell?"
"I'm not saying you don't." You smile innocently. "Go shower."
"I need to finish—"
"You're no fashion king while looking like a rat. You're like that one audio. How does it go? claimed he wasn't the rat king but one night you followed him into the sewers and he sat on a makeshift throne and a bunch of rats surrounded him and he definitely said "I am the rat king."" You pause. "The ex-boyfriends audio."
"When I finish this case."
"You solved your last one two minutes ago when I walked in. Go shower while I unwrap our blankets." You wave him off.
"Boo."
Tim gets up, stretching his arms as the old blanket falls off his shoulders, and he presses a kiss to the crinkle of your eye, humming. "Can I see the blanket before I shower?"
You pull one out, showing him one side, and then the other.
"I love it. Thank you, pretty bird."
𓅫. paper rings - Steph Brown
"Steph, pretty girl!!" You land on the couch next to her, cuddling up to her as you show her the new photos you put into a capcut template.
"Wait this is—" She shows you her phone screen, and you laugh. It's the same template, your face plastered on it instead.
"You wanna marry me with paper rings?" You poke her cheek, grinning.
"Says the one who does." She rolls her eyes playfully.
"Yeah, I do." You stick your tongue out. "I'll marry you with grass rings if I have to."
"Okay, that's not necessary. Worst comes to worst, we rob Bruce."
You feign a gasp. "You're evil."
"You love me."
"I do." You sigh blissfully, kicking your legs. "I'd marry you with ring pops too."
"Oh, that's such a steal." She mumbles. "Let's get ring pops for our wedding rings."
"Hell yes."
𓅫. hauling a can of water to Duke after sports day - Duke Thomas
"Did you know Duke was so handsome?" one of the girls in class gush. "I'm going to give him water after the event. Surely he'll be sweaty and stuff."
"What makes you think he's going to take your water over mine?" Her friend shoves her playfully, grabbing a bottle of her own, running off as your mouth hands open.
You blink at the text message Duke sent you beforehand, and then at the emptied shelves in the store on campus.
... they're out of bottles. shit.
Your eyes wander to the ground as you spot sealed water cans.
That'll do, you suppose.
Duke finishes the game relatively quickly. You've grown used to his speed, so when all the girls flock around him to hand him a bottle of water, you settle with calling for Duke instead, waving your hand as you point at the can on the bench next to you.
He bursts into laughter as he jogs over to you.
"Did they take all of them?" He lifts it effortlessly, cracking the can open as he starts drinking.
"You don't know how awful it was." You grimace. "Curse your good genetics."
"Honored." He smiles. "So?"
"Good game." You grumble, looking to the side, cheeks flushed.
"Thank you."
𓅫. the olive theory - Damian Wayne
"I was telling her about it, so she was—" You pick out the olive from your pizza, placing it on Damian's plate. "— talking about how her friend had somehow hooked up with her boyfriend. So now they're trying to break up."
Damian nods slowly as you continue.
"Now the girl who hooked up with my friend's boyfriend is crying to me about how I need to tell her to calm down. I mean, what was she expecting? Gothamites are insane." You mumble, picking out another olive.
"What is your friend planning?"
"Arson, but you didn't hear that from me."
"Sounds relatively tame. Is she native?"
"Not quite. She moved here when she turned ten." You mumble, picking another out, grimacing. "How many olives did they put on this?"
"Two more." He hums, reaching over to pick them out for you, popping them into his mouth. "That's why. Todd used to joke about how native gothamites just use their connections to ruin someone's life."
"If it were me... I'd just send Tim over."
"Not Todd?"
"I think, arguably, Tim has committed more war crimes than Jason." You finally bite into your pizza. "If you do the math."
Damian pauses to think. "Yes. That checks out."
"Thank you, by the way." You mumble. "Maybe next time I'll just make it so that half of the pizza doesn't have olives."
"I do not mind, habibi." He looks at you, eyes gentle. "Now, tell me. Did the boyfriend get kicked?"
"Oh, he definitely did—"
