── .✦ picture-perfect college couple by day. soft glances, shared earbuds, late-night convenience store runs. by night, she's the city's shadowy batgirl, and you're the elusive catgirl she’s chased across rooftops for two years. every pursuit ends in a near-miss… until the night she finally catches you, unmasks you, and discovers the girl she comes home to every evening has been her rival all along.
┃batgirl!kim minjeong × catgirl!fem reader
── .✦ fluff, romcom, light action, identity reveal, mutual pining turned mutual chaos, happy ending yey
🪶 - im back madafakas, also requested by @c6keded sorry for the longg delay baby
the city breathed different at night. sharper edges, louder silences, streets that emptied like water down a drain. rooftops became highways. shadows stretched long and useful. this was when the real versions came out.
batgirl moved like she owned the dark. cape caught wind in slow, deliberate arcs. grapnel line hissed when she fired it. clean, precise, never wasted. she patrolled the same grid every night: gangnam’s glass spines first, then jongno’s old hanok roofs, down to the han river where bridges glowed like silver veins.
she stopped muggings in alleys, intercepted shipments at docks, broke into corporate servers when warrants took too long. no one paid her. no one thanked her. she didn’t need it. the work was the point.
catgirl moved like the city owed her something. tail balanced her on razor-thin ledges. claws clicked softly against brick when she climbed. she didn’t patrol, she hunted. corrupt officials’ safes, black-market servers, private vaults holding things too dangerous or too ugly to stay locked away. she took what mattered, left calling cards shaped like claw marks scratched into metal. sometimes she sold the haul for cash she funneled to shelters and underground clinics. sometimes she just destroyed it. either way, the city’s worst people woke up lighter.
they met the first time over the han river bridge. catgirl had just lifted a goryeo celadon bowl, pale green, thousand years old. from a collector’s penthouse. she sprinted across the upper walkway, bowl wrapped tight against her ribs. wind tore at her suit. then a grapnel line sang through the air. batgirl landed ten meters ahead, boots silent on concrete. white lenses locked on her.
catgirl tilted her head, ears flicking. “make me.”
she bolted. batgirl pursued. catgirl leaped support beam to support beam, body low and fluid. batgirl glided after her, forcing sharp zig-zags across the skyline. they crossed half the city before catgirl dove into a construction site, vanishing among swaying scaffolding and tarps. batgirl searched for twenty minutes. found nothing. except a thin cut on her own glove where a claw had grazed. she stared at it, then at the empty night. something about the chase felt alive in a way patrols rarely did.
the second time was myeongdong at midnight. catgirl had taken encrypted drives from a real-estate tycoon laundering money through fake charities.
she darted across rooftops strung with laundry lines, neon signs buzzing below like angry bees. batgirl dropped from a giant advertisement screen, cape flaring. “you again.”
catgirl laughed, short, bright. “miss me?”
they ran. catgirl vaulted vendor stalls, used alley walls as springboards. batgirl matched her stride for stride, batons whistling close enough to part hair. catgirl slipped into subway maintenance tunnels, lost her in the echo of trains. but batgirl’s grapple caught the edge of her cape once, yanking her off-balance. she recovered, but the bruise on her hip lasted a week.
the pattern set. spring turned to summer. chases grew longer, sharper. gangnam towers in pouring rain. catgirl stole a diamond that funded arms deals, batgirl tackled her onto a wet helipad. they rolled, traded blows, separated breathless. itaewon’s crowded rooftops during a music festival. catgirl lifted a ledger naming traffickers, batgirl cut her off mid-leap, voice low: “this ends tonight.” catgirl escaped through smoke and strobe lights, but batgirl’s fist clipped her jaw hard enough to split skin.
winter brought snow. rooftops iced over. footing treacherous. they chased across yongsan park anyway. catgirl had a prototype surveillance drone in her pack—tech that could turn every phone into a listening post. batgirl ambushed her near the lake. they fought on frozen grass, breath clouding white. catgirl slipped away into underbrush. batgirl stood there afterward, staring at the ripples she’d left in the snow. she didn’t know why the pursuit felt less like duty and more like gravity.
spring again. cherry blossoms. rooftops dusted pink. catgirl took ledgers from a cartel safehouse near seoul tower. batgirl was waiting. they ran cables and antennae, leaping between steel girders high above the city. batgirl’s voice carried over wind: “you’re good. but i’m better.” catgirl grinned behind the mask. “keep telling yourself that.”
two years of this. two years of near-misses, close calls, bruises hidden under civilian clothes. batgirl never spoke of the catgirl chases to anyone. catgirl never mentioned the relentless shadow that always seemed one step behind. the city didn’t know their names. only that something electric happened in the dark whenever they crossed paths.
the chip changed everything.
han corp’s cleanroom sat thirty floors up in a tower of smoked glass and steel, the kind of place that smelled like filtered air and money nobody asked questions about. at 2:17 a.m., the vault door hissed open under your claws and a bypassed biometric lock. the quantum decryption core rested on black velvet inside a temperature-controlled case—palm-sized, matte black, humming with quiet menace. you lifted it, felt the faint vibration against your glove like it was alive. alarms shattered the silence three seconds later.
down service corridors, through HVAC ducts, out a maintenance hatch onto the roof. wind hit like a slap. you sprinted the length of the building, launched off the edge, grapnel line snapping taut to swing you toward the next district. behind you, security floodlights swept uselessly across empty sky.
batgirl was already in motion miles away.
she’d been tracking han corp chatter for weeks—whispers of a sale, buyers circling like sharks. when the breach alert pinged her cowl’s HUD, she rerouted mid-patrol, thermal imaging painting your escape path in ghostly white across her lenses. no hesitation. no second-guessing. she fired her line, swung low over traffic, gained altitude with every arc. tonight wasn’t about justice in the abstract. tonight was personal, even if she couldn’t name why yet.
you felt the difference immediately.
usually there was space—room to breathe, to taunt, to vanish. tonight the distance shrank too fast. her swings cut sharper angles. her landings hit closer. you pushed: wider leaps across alley chasms, claws digging deeper into brick for traction, scaling a sheer curtain-wall of office windows faster than you ever had. she matched. then overtook.
itaewon’s neon haze blurred beneath you. then jongno’s tiled roofs, lanterns swaying in the dark. mapo’s bridges flashed past, river black and glittering. your lungs burned raw. muscles screamed. still you ran.
you vaulted onto the flat roof of an abandoned textile factory near the han—rusted vents like broken teeth, skylights shattered years ago, moonlight slicing through in pale blades. boots skidded on loose gravel. you spun, back to the river, claws sliding free with a soft metallic snick.
no sound except the faint rustle of her cape settling.
just presence—heavy, inevitable.
you faced her. “back off tonight.”
she stepped forward. voice low, steady. “not happening.”
you lunged first—claws raking across her armored chest plate. sparks flared, bright and brief, no penetration. she caught your right wrist mid-swing, twisted hard enough to make joints pop. you dropped low, swept her legs; she jumped the kick, came down with a knee toward your ribs. you rolled sideways, gravel biting palms through gloves. she pursued. you flipped up, drove an elbow toward her jaw—she blocked, countered with a palm strike to your sternum that knocked air from your lungs.
you traded blows across the roof like a storm breaking. fists glanced off armor. knees connected with softer targets. you raked claws along her thigh plating—another shower of sparks. she grabbed your forearm, yanked you forward, used your momentum to spin you toward the edge. you planted a boot, reversed direction, slammed your shoulder into her midsection. she grunted, staggered half a step. you both went down hard.
gravel scraped your back as you wrestled. she rolled on top, knees pinning your hips, hands clamping your shoulders. you bucked once—twice—almost threw her. she adjusted weight, pressed harder. her breathing came fast, controlled. yours ragged.
you bared teeth behind the mask. “no.”
her right hand moved to the side of your face. you jerked away. “don’t—”
fingers found the seam anyway.
you thrashed—head whipping side to side, shoulders straining against her grip. she didn’t flinch. didn’t force. just peeled the mask away inch by inch, like unwrapping something fragile she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.
cool night air washed over your cheeks, your nose, your mouth.
your real ears—soft black fur, twitching—flattened against your skull.
her lenses stayed locked on your face for three full heartbeats.
then they retracted with a faint mechanical click.
brown eyes—wide, stunned, almost frightened—stared down.
the name hit like a dropped weight.
you blinked up at her. pulse roaring in your ears. gravel pressed sharp points into your spine. her knee still rested heavy on your chest.
you swallowed once. voice came out small. “minjeong.”
wind moved instead—tugging at the edges of her cape, stirring loose strands of dark hair that had escaped her cowl. your tail lashed once against the roof, then curled tight against your leg.
seconds stretched. gravel dug deeper. neither of you blinked.
minjeong exhaled—shaky, like the air had been trapped too long.
you nodded once. throat tight enough to hurt. “and you’re batgirl.”
her hands loosened on your shoulders. not sudden. gradual. fingers uncurling like she was afraid sudden movement would break something. she shifted back, still straddling your hips but no longer pinning. hands settled on her own thighs. she stared—really stared—like she was reassembling a puzzle she hadn’t known was missing pieces.
you and minjeong had been dating for seven months.
it started in the campus library during finals week last semester. she had accidentally knocked your iced americano onto your open notebook; you had laughed instead of getting mad. she bought you a new one. then another. then she started waiting for you after your evening seminar even though her dorm was on the opposite side of campus. somewhere between shared earbuds and late-night convenience store runs, the word "girlfriend" slipped out naturally, like it had always been waiting.
"you free tonight?" minjeong asked that afternoon, leaning against the brick wall outside the humanities building while you shoved books into your bag.
you glanced up, heart doing the stupid little flip it always did when she looked at you like that — eyes crinkled, mouth curved just enough to show the tiny dimple on her left cheek.
"study group until nine," you lied smoothly. "group project deadline. you know how it is."
she nodded, pushing off the wall to walk you to the bus stop. "same. prof park wants the final model renderings by tomorrow morning. i'm probably pulling an all-nighter in the studio."
you bumped her shoulder lightly. "don't forget to eat something that isn't instant ramen."
"only if you promise not to live on coffee and spite."
she kissed you quick — soft lips, mint chapstick, the faintest taste of the strawberry milk she liked — before jogging backward with a grin. "text me when you're home safe, okay?"
you watched her disappear around the corner, then turned toward the east gate instead of the bus stop.
she leaned her forehead against yours. breathing hard. cape still fluttering in the wind behind her.
"i've been chasing you for two years," she murmured. "i kept letting you go because... i don't know. part of me liked it. the chase. the game. but mostly because i couldn't stand the thought of actually catching you and having to turn you in."
you closed your eyes. "i kept running because i didn't want you to hate me when you found out."
"i could never hate you."
you opened your eyes again. her gaze was soft. unguarded. the same look she gave you when you fell asleep on her shoulder during movie nights.
she smiled — small, real, the minjeong smile you knew better than your own reflection.
not soft like in daylight. not careful.
this was teeth and desperation and two years of almosts finally colliding. you kissed her back like you were making up for every rooftop you'd fled from. hands in her hair, tugging the cowl back so you could feel her properly. she made a small sound against your mouth — half groan, half relief.
you both leaped off the roof together — her gliding, you bounding, moving in sync for the first time.
somewhere below, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white.
for once, neither of you were running away.
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