#and then i am allowed to hibernate and be Exceptionally Sad

[qvietspvce]

i have done tasks. i have many more tasks to do because i plan on using all of my solar powered brain (aka before the seasonal affective disorder kicks in to make me Depressed) to finish at least one project in my house

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

i’ll keep on waiting 🌟

Note: Ik you guys are mostly here for ‘x reader’ content but I was projecting and procrastinating and I wrote a stephcass thing.

Words: 2.2k

Steph is of the opinion that she should really hate Conner Kent. Like, loathe him, actually. Because he just has a way of making a move on everyone she has/had feelings for, and the sad fact of the matter is, he makes it look so easy.

She’s woman enough to admit that. What, with the perfect clone smile and the leather jacket and blue eyes. Of course, she can see what Tim and Cass saw. But that doesn’t mean she has to rationally like him. Yet, she can’t find it in herself to want him dead either.

She has, on occasion, thought about pulling him aside and threatening to shove a piece of Bruce’s kryptonite up his-

“Steph! Hey, how’s it going?”

And there he is, suit and tie and charming smile. She would punch him in the face if she didn’t know he was practically invincible. “Hey, Kon. Enjoying the show?”

He laughs and averts his gaze to the spectacle across the room; Tim and Cass, arms swung around each other, twin Wayne grins and immaculate posture, stealing the souls of a bevvy of old rich ladies.

“It’s creepy that they can just switch it on like that.”

“It’s even creepier when Bruce does it.”

“Bruce is always creepy to me.”

Despite her reservations, she cracks a smile at him and allows him to pull her into a debate about the last Knights versus Monarchs game.

So what if he is Cass’s ( somewhat ) ex, he’s really in the same boat she is. With the exception of the fact that he and Tim are actually dating and she and Cass are well, her and Cass.

She swears, for someone who can level her way through an army with swift and unattached efficiency, Cass is oblivious when it comes to the gigantic, hulking crush she has on her. Or maybe, Steph is just so bad at feelings that she’s the one at fault.

Either way, she has nothing to compare this yearning too. She and Tim started with a brick to the face and the coincidence of being teen vigilantes in the Hellmouth that is Gotham. They were a product of proximity and hormones and though she knows some part of her will always be in love with Tim— the way she’s a little in love with all of them—- they were better off as friends.

The conversation with Conner peters out to a comfortable silence as they watch Tim wrap up his jovial conversation. It’s early enough that Steph knows the schmoozing isn’t over yet, they're going to be at it until they milk all these rich schmucks for what their worth and have the fundraiser’s goal paid in double by the end of the night.

Cass catches her eye across the room, and mouths “You want a drink?”. She signs back, “I need it to live through this,” and feels her whole body flush when Cass laughs.

She makes her way across the room, striding as her dress trails behind her, with two champagne flutes. She and Conner exchange smiles as she approaches, which reignites Steph’s desire to deck him before he goes to take Cass’ place at Tim’s side.

Cass presses the glass into her hand, nose wrinkling in amusement as she watches Stephanie knock it back with no sense of class at all. She’s hoping the alcohol will cover the pink tinge she’s sporting— a recent development, that seems to only happen when Cass comes close to her— and she accepts the second flute and Cass’ wry amusement without complaint.

This little moment, in this little bubble, will be cut short soon when Cass has to go back to being one of the elite Wayne-angel kids. So, fueled by the champagne in her bloodstream, she works up enough courage to ask, “Do you wanna dance?”

Her heart’s hammering in her throat when Cass slips a scarred hand into hers, the other moving to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. Steph follows the movement with baited breath, and with what she hopes is a blank expression, when Tim’s voice calls out to them. And the moment, the little bubble, it bursts. Ending with Steph’s tiny glimmer of confidence crawling back into her stomach to hibernate.

“I’ll owe you,” Cass whispers, patting her hand as she slinks off again.

Steph watches her walk away and then looks back at where Conner and Tim are cuddled together, letting the feeling of longing grow and sour inside her until she’s sick of herself.

***

Harper is laughing at her.

She’d stumped her big toe on the foot of their shitty couch and went down on the floor between the living room and the kitchen, arms and legs akimbo and dignity nowhere to be found. That was ten minutes ago, and Harper is still laughing at her, manically. Cullen, who was in his room until his sister started imitating a hyena, takes pity on her. He gives her face one sure look and places a tub of ice cream and a spoon near her head. She takes it with a pathetic wave of thanks and holds it close to her stomach, while she waits for the sweet release of death. She texts this to Damian, telling him he has free reign on offing her. He replies with the middle finger emoji and that gif of Judge Judy rolling her eyes.

“My God, Brown. You really are a mess aren’t you?”

“Physically, mentally or emotionally?” she snorts. “Yes to all of them.”

Harper knows what this is truly about. Because Harper has a way of knowing everything sometimes. She can see right through all of Stephanie’s walls when she really wants too, it makes her brand of tough love pretty great to have around. Except, she isn’t going to offer to fix this one for Steph. Her pining could be easily solved with one conversation, and if Steph is too much of a stubborn brat to have it, she isn’t going to go to Cass and say ‘Hey, my friend is in love with you. You should date her.’ That’s too middle school and she’s sure Cass won’t appreciate it.

“Are you just going to keep lying there? Polluting the apartment with your teen angst bullshit?”

“I’m no longer a teen. And yes. Yes, I am. I’m not moving until I die.”

“ Stephanie .”

“What?”

Harper sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. “How long am I going to have to put up with this?”

“Put up with what?” Her mouth is full of ice cream now, she waves the spoon around as she talks. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just here. Suffering. When will the universe give me a break?”

“Maybe you should stop waiting on the universe and just talk to her.”

“To who? The universe? I’m not really-”

“No, you dumbass .” She flings a throw pillow at her. “To Cassandra. About all of your feelings. And then you can put the rest of us out of our misery.”

Steph drops her hands flat to her sides and nudges the ice cream container away as she thinks. “Nope.”

Harper throws another pillow.

***

She gets into a pissing contest with Damian and Jason on Friday’s patrol. Ideally, she should have known better than to take on their combined force by herself; not when their both cut from the same cloth of anger, violence and ruthlessness that has much to do with Talia Al-Ghul.

They're playing a game of ‘How many criminals can you take down before midnight’, which under usual circumstances, Steph was exceptionally good at. And for the first few hours of patrol, she was. Until Tim informed her through the comms that he and Cass were rooting for her as they watched from the CCTV footage in the cave. It then went from beating Jason and Damian’s sorry asses to look cool, look effortless, look badass because Cass is watching.

Obviously, because sometimes the universe is a tepid bitch that likes watching her suffer, she knocks out two guys with quick jabs and follows the third down a fire escape by attempting to grapple to the ground before he descends the stairs, only to get her wire tangled. Which results in her smacking into the side of the building like George of the jungle. At least, that’s what Tim tells her she looked like as he checks her for a concussion. She’s fine, because she’s tougher than she looks honestly, and all she has to worry about is the sore bruise across her forehead that gets her barred from patrol for the rest of the weekend.

Damian and Jason, the sentimental little pricks, project their guilt into treating her nicer than they usually would. Jason sends her a flurry of blackmail pictures of Dick’s questionable fashion moments over the years that she’s sure he got off of Roy. Damian brings her waffles from an expensive cafe across town and spends most of his Saturday on her couch, watching trashy reality shows. Before he leaves, he fixes her with a look that’s somewhere above his usual range of disdain to indifferent. It’s close to pity, but not quite and it makes him look so much like Bruce for a moment that she finds herself sitting up, paying closer attention.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

He rolls his eyes at her near-confusion, looking years above his age as he says, “You have feelings for my sister. Yes?”

She’s taken aback and almost ready to deny it when she remembers that she isn’t exactly subtle and the only person that really doesn’t know about her crush on Cass, is Cass herself.  “Yes,” she answers, surely this time.

“And what do you intend to do about it?”

“Is this a shovel talk? Are you...are you really about to warn me?” she cackles despite his murderous little face, “You never did this when I was with Tim.”

“You and Drake were a mess, it wasn’t necessary,” he waves a hand in her direction, dismissing the thought. “And no, Brown. I do not need to warn you about what will happen if you screw up, you already know who I am. I’m merely... offering some advice.”

“Which is what?”

“If you wish to have a relationship with Cassandra, you’re going to have to swallow your stupidity and your fear and tell her that yourself. She will not come to you with a proposal, no matter how much you mope.”

With that he exits out the window, leaving her feeling like an open wound. The treads that she’s bound herself together by threaten to unravel on her living room floor, so she retreats to her bedroom and locks the door behind her.

Steph was a smart girl, she knew her friends were right. She knew the only way out of this sick hole of self-pity was to pick herself up and do what needed to be done. But rejection was just a cliff waiting for her to tumble over, and she wasn’t quite sure how she would ever be able to survive the fall.

She took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror. Breathed in her dishevelled hair, Dick’s old Gotham academy sweatshirt that she bummed from Tim after he stole it off Damian, and the stained sweatpants that she took from Harper’s clean laundry pile because she hadn’t gotten around to her own. She felt weird. Floaty. Like she was on the cusp of grief but she was being strong-armed by something else entirely, something delirious. It’s the flitting hope and anchor of lovesickness that had her sticking her ear pods in, music cranked up to full base as she twirled aimlessly around her bedroom. It was a cliched attempt at willing away the tightness of worry in her spine. It works, after a few songs. She sinks into it, almost gratefully, goes completely zen.

She doesn’t notice Cass until she stumbles into her. The window’s cracked open, letting in the cool night breeze of the city. Cass has her hands on Steph’s shoulders, righting her as she sways, a pretty smile tugging at her mouth. Even in her full Black Bat gear, hood pulled back, Cass looks like an unearthly thing, something good, something angelic.

“You’re sad?” she hums, swiping a hand up to Steph’s cheek, and if she had to die right there she’d be fine with that.

“No,” she lies, leaning into the offered comfort. “I’m fine.”

Cass presses a kiss to the sore bump on her forehead, tentatively, like she doesn’t know Steph is incapable of ever moving out of this moment. She takes the earbuds out Steph’s ears, plucking the phone out of her hands and taps until the music fills the room.

“I do owe you a dance,” she says, tugging Steph into a vague waltz.

She lets Cass manoeuvre her, hoping and praying that this is her salvation, finally. That the waiting will pay off, the waiting that she hadn’t even realized she was doing, will culminate into spilled feelings and she’d finally be able to look at Cass with the love-sick smile Tim saves for Kon, Bruce for Selina.

“I have to tell you something,” she inhales deeply, lungs filling with the smell of Cass’s favourite shower gel, sweat and leather. She’s giddy, as she says, “I should have told you sooner.”

“What is it?”

Cass’s forehead is pressed to hers, there’s a hand on her waist, a palm curved into her own and they're own personal, circle of moonlight haloing them. The words fill Steph’s mouth like bundled cotton, she hears Damian’s voice in her head—   “She will not come with a proposal,”— and remembers that Cass’ cornerstone of communication is tactile contact. She leans in, knowing fully well that of this advance was not wanted she’d be on her ass by now, and with as much grace as she can muster, presses a soft kiss into her mouth.

There’s a brief moment, not of shock but perhaps a beat to ground herself, before Cass is tugging her closer, flush against her and weaving a hand into her hair to keep her in place. Bitterly (and pettily) she thinks ‘Suck on that Conner Kent’ before her brain complete shorts out by Cass’ tongue slipping into her mouth. Her heart thuds away wildly against her ribs as Cass gathers her up in her arms.

It feels like days have passed when they finally break for air, noses brushing and lips bitten pink.

“I like you so much,” she admits, finally.

“Really?” Cass teases, soothing her hands down her spine. “I didn’t even notice.”