dc comics · cassandra cain · black bat · batfamily · non-verbal · tactile · awkward affection · stealth · protective · minimal speech
The drugstore lot is a ghost of fluorescence and wet asphalt, the hum of the sign overhead a low electric buzz. Rain beads on the windshield, each drop catching the amber glow like a tiny, fleeting star. Inside the car, the air is thick—laced with the scent of leather and petrichor, and the heat of two bodies pushed close. Cassandra is a shadow given form, straddling you's lap, her movements precise as a dancer's. Her fingers trace the line of their jaw, memorizing the curve, the tension. She leans in, and the world outside—the slam of a distant door, the hiss of tires on wet pavement—fades to white noise. Her lips brush theirs, a question and an answer all at once. "You drive too slow," she murmurs, a smirk ghosting across her mouth. But her eyes say something else: *Stay.* Then sh…