part one 𑄝 part two (work in progress)
batman! sevika x catwoman! reader
synopsis: people often speak of how long a game of cat and mouse can be, but nobody speaks of the tension that builds between the two players
warnings: suggestive content, batman (batwoman)! sevika, catwoman! reader, dc comics au, she/her used on reader, superman (supernova)! vi, lois lane/journalist! caitlyn, oracle (calamity)! jinx, nightwing! ekko (NOT DICKBABS), robin! Isha, red hood! mylo, red robin! claggor, wonder woman! mel
a/n: did the pirate sev win the poll? yes, but i wanna do this
Two sides of the same coin.
Both wish to make Gotham a better place. One in which there is no need for suffering. But just because two people have the same coin does not mean that they are the same.
While one is within the shadows, the other is what the shadows themselves are made of.
One is sly and relies on her charm to get what she wants.
And the other uses her pure brute to instill fear in those around her.
Two different tactics, with similar goals. And with two upbringings that have brought them to where they are today.
After an incident that had led to the early passing of your parents, you had been thrown around in the foster care system within the horrid city you call home. During your time in the system, you had seen it all: the beautiful, the ugly, and the disturbing. And within each home, you had felt out of place.
The only person—or, living thing—that you had been able to find comfort in was the stray cats of Gotham. While you hardly had much to feed yourself, you had somehow always found a way to provide for the feline drifters of the city.
And despite you not knowing their names, and them not knowing yours, you all seemed to have an unspoken agreement of trust.
You had carried that sense of alienation with you into adulthood. Which is what motivated you to participate in your current predicament. You're typically more careful, but there seemed to be some form of a secret alarm that you hadn't caught onto.
You sneak between the shadows, the deafening alarms crammed between every space of the mansion that had the pleasure of your late-night one-person rendezvous. As you sneak through a window, the alarm's piercing sound becomes faint.
The feeling of the wind in your face as you jump from building to building is relaxing, almost, and you feel proud of the current state of the haul you've configured from your little visit. When you find yourself on the comfort of the rooftop on one of Gotham's many buildings, you finally take a breather.
"Finally," you mumble to yourself. The sound of Gotham's police department can be heard rushing to the mansion you had just visited. You giggle to yourself, their tardiness entertaining. "Idiots," you chuckle.
Before you can even search through your haul, you feel an ominous—yet, familiar—presence lingering close behind you.
“There’s my darling,” you chuckle, your mockery impossible so apparent that even a fool could hardly ignore it. “I was waiting for you.”
“Catwoman,” the figure behind you speaks, her rough voice exciting you in a way that you’ve found yourself feeling euphoric over.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, vengeance,” you giggle, turning around to finally face the shadowed figure that’s haunted your every move. “A lady like me deserves a real date.”
“I’m not in the mood for this right now,” she grumbles.
“Awe, come on Batsy,” you purr. “Loosen up a bit, hm?” The woman in front of you grabs out her infamous grapple gun, and you roll your eyes at the sight of it.
“How many times are you going to waste time using that on me—“ Your mockery gets cut short, your body quickly being dragged close towards the figure forcefully. “Look at that, you actually got me that time.”
“You need to stop doing this,” she says, her voice dropping an octave lower. “What do you gain from—“
You press a finger up to her lips. “Batwoman, when have your little lectures ever worked on me?” You giggle, wriggling free from the restraints that kept you close to her. “I’ll see you next time,” you say, blowing a kiss to the woman before seemingly disappearing from her sight.
Despite your smooth exit, you knew that Batwoman would catch up to you, and knowing that excited you in a way that was difficult to replicate. Seemingly like clockwork, as soon as you leaped from one building to the next, you were once again face-to-face with the figure.
“Your obsession with me is a little concerning, no?” You smirk, slowly stepping close towards the edge of the building. “Have a good night, Batsy.”
“Fuck,” you hear her swear beneath her breath as you swiftly move through bars of metal attached alongside a bricked wall. “Calamity, are you able to interfere?” Was the last thing you heard before managing to officially slip away from the Bat’s grip.
Much to your convenience, your apartment was close by, allowing you to quickly and swiftly slip through a window. When the warmth of your apartment hits you, you hear the alerts of meowing that seem to be the only sound filling your apartment lately.
“Yes, I know,” you say. “I’ll feed you all soon, mhm?” With the adrenaline from your heist calming down, you manage to finally remove the leather mask that conceals your identity. “Talk about greedy, I had just fed you guys before I left.”
The sounds of meowing muffle as you enter your bedroom. You groan, throwing your rather obnoxious haul onto the wooden floor. "Fucking Batwoman," you mutter to yourself as you slowly unzip the leathered suit you call a uniform. "Always getting in the way—"
".. Hi there, Poro," you giggle, not even needing to turn around to understand where and who that meow had come from. "I'm coming to feed you guys, calm down. You're all going to become fat at this rate."
You slowly slip on pyjamas, the comfortability of the fabric contrasting the earlier feeling of leather against your body.
“‘Kay, c’mon,” you say as you step out of your bedroom. A storm of meows answers you instantly.
“Okay, dramatic much?” you mutter, making your way to the kitchen. You pop open cans, portioning them out as a swarm of fur weaves between your legs like you’re the main attraction in some chaotic parade.
The noise dies down once they start eating, replaced with contented little munches and the occasional territorial grumble. You lean against the counter, exhaling slowly as your eyes drift back to your room to the pile you dropped without a second thought.
“Ugh.. I should probably check that,” you mumble.
Pushing yourself upright, you head back, crouching beside the haul. You start sorting through it absentmindedly—rings, watches, loose cash. Standard. Easy to move. Nothing exciting.
“Kind of a boring night, honestly,” you mutter, flipping open a small case before tossing it aside.
Your hand brushes against something different.
You pull it free—a sleek black envelope, somehow wedged between the rest of the items like it had no business being there in the first place. Your brows knit together in confusion: “I don’t remember grabbing this..”
You turn it over in your hands. It’s pristine. Untouched. A wax seal sits neatly at the back, stamped with a sharp, unmistakable “W.”
Your lips part slightly and curiosity prickles at you as you break the seal, sliding the card out carefully. The weight of it alone screams money.
Your eyes scan the cursive lettering.
“You are cordially invited to attend the Wahi Foundation Gala.”
Then again, slower this time.
“…Tomorrow?” you whisper. A laugh slips out of you—soft at first, then growing, disbelief curling into amusement. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You sit back on your heels, staring at the invitation like it might disappear if you look away.
Full of Gotham’s richest, most powerful people.
Security, probably insane.
Valuables, definitely insane.
You tap the edge of the card against your chin, mind already racing. A place like that doesn’t just open its doors to someone like you. You push yourself up, walking over to your mirror, holding the invitation up beside your reflection.
Your usual leather wouldn’t do.
No, this required something else entirely.
“A fancy party, hm…” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. Your smile sharpens, “Guess I’ll clean up nice for once.”
From the other room, a loud, offended meow echoes.
“Relax,” you call back. “I’ll be back.” You glance back down at the card, thumb brushing over the embossed lettering. “Tomorrow night,” you repeat quietly.
You gently toss the invitation onto your bedside table, possible outfits already rushing through your mind. While your home itself had the shared dingy appearance of other Gotham apartments, your closet told a different story.
With all of the mansions that had been graced with your presence, you were able to conjure up a wardrobe curated to your expensive tastes. Its collection of expensive dresses, beautiful jewelry, and countless amounts of shoes were almost reminiscent of Barbie’s closet, while its darkened shades stayed similar to that of a vampire.
You step closer, fingertips grazing along the fabrics like you’re reacquainting yourself with old friends. Silk. Satin. Velvet. Each piece carries a memory—some from close calls, others from nights that went a little too smoothly.
“Hm… no, too loud,” you mutter, pushing aside a deep crimson dress. “And you.. ” you pull another from its hanger, holding it up to your frame, “…too much.”
You let it fall back into place, continuing your slow search. The soft hum of the city bleeds through your windows, distant sirens acting as Gotham’s lullaby. It’s almost comforting.
Eventually, your hand stills.
Black, of course—but not the kind that swallows light. This one plays with it. A sleek, form-fitting gown with a slit high enough to be dangerous, subtle shimmer woven into the fabric like starlight caught in motion.
“Perfect,” you say to yourself.
You pull it free, draping it over your arm before glancing at your reflection. For a moment, the room is quiet. No teasing smirk. No cocky tilt of your head.
The rest of the night drifts by slower than usual.
You clean up, stash what needs stashing, and make mental notes of what can be fenced later. The cats eventually settle, curling into their usual spots like nothing in the world could ever touch them. You envy that.
But not without interruption.
Because somewhere in the depths of the night, just as your body finally begins to relax, you feel it. That presence.
Your eyes snap open, staring at the ceiling. Silence fills the apartment, thick and unmoving. You sit up slightly, gaze drifting toward the window. You feel as if those eyes are on you, eyes that you’re unable to match with your own.
A slow exhale leaves your lips as you fall back against the mattress, one arm draped over your eyes.
Morning comes too quickly. Or maybe you just didn’t sleep enough to notice the difference.
Sunlight bleeds through your curtains in thin, unimpressive streaks. Gotham never really has bright mornings. You groan softly, rolling onto your side as a familiar weight settles against your hip.
“Poro…” you mumble. A soft, satisfied meow answers you. “Yeah, yeah… I’m up.”
But eventually, the day drags you along anyway.
Time passes in fragments.
Coffee that tastes like nothing but does its job. You keep busy. Not because you need to, but because your mind refuses to sit still. Every thought loops back to the same place.
Night falls again, draping Gotham in its natural state.
You stand in front of your mirror once more, but this time, it’s different.
The dress hugs you perfectly, like it was made with you in mind. Every line intentional. Every detail sharp. Your usual gear is nowhere in sight, replaced with something far more refined.
Your fingers work carefully, adjusting the final touches such as earrings, a delicate pearl necklace, rings that don’t look stolen—even if they are. Your hair falls just right, your makeup subtle, but deliberate. You barely look like the same person.
You tilt your head slightly, studying yourself, “.. hm.” A slow smile forms, and from behind you there’s a quiet:
You glance down, spotting a pair of curious eyes watching you from the doorway.
“Don’t look at me like that, Rio,” you say, grabbing a small clutch from your dresser. “I clean up nice.”
You snort, “I know I could just sneak in, but you try infiltrating a high-society gala in leather.” You move toward the window, pausing just before stepping out. “Plus, it’s nice to dress up a little every now and then, no?” The city stretches before you, glittering in that artificial, expensive way that only Gotham can manage.
Your grip tightens slightly around the edge of the frame. Excitement hums beneath your skin. “Alright,” you whisper to yourself. “It’s time to go—“
Yet another meow. This one being rather needy.
“Yes, I’m feeding you guys before I leave, my goodness,” you sigh.
You leave the dark corners of your bedroom, and enter the kitchen. The moonlight seeps through the ripped holes from your curtains—majority of those holes coming from Rio and her incessant need to scratch whatever she can get her paws on.
You pop open a few cans—the food supply for the cats residing in your apartment had always been noticeably maintained better than your own. The meowing, again, only calming down once the food fill up the bowls laid out across the floor.
“I’ll be home soon,” you leave, your heels clacking against the wooden panels. “I’ll see you all later,” you blow a kiss and shut the door. Before leaving, you double check to make sure that your door is locked. While your apartment is dingy and wouldn’t seem to be a target for robberies, Gotham always holds surprises for its citizens, whether it be good or bad.
You walk down the concrete stairs, heels echoing throughout the stairwell. Every thought once again loops and threads in your mind and you can practically feel the riches that’ll surround you by the end of night.
When you step outside, the cold air of Gotham bites at your skin. “Fuck,” you mumble. “I should’ve brought a coat.” You watch as filled up cabs pass by you, your frustration seeping during the full five minutes of your wait until a cab arrives.
You slip into the backseat, the leather of the car squeaking slightly beneath you. “Good evening,” you greet the driver, before bombarding him with the address from your invitation. The address slips off your tongue naturally, as if you had been there before.
The city lights of Gotham flash by in a blur as you move through the streets to your destination. "We're here, ma'am," the driver says, his voice cutting into the silence of the air.
"Thank you." You smile softly. As you step out of the car, you feel the cold air biting at your skin. Chatter surrounds you, and your heels clack against the concrete.
The building before you looks less like a gala venue and more like something ripped straight from a billionaire’s fantasy.
Gold accents catch every flicker of light spilling from the chandeliers inside. Valets move like clockwork at the front entrance while Gotham’s elite pour out of luxury cars, dressed in fabrics worth more than most people’s rent. Laughter drifts through the air, artificial and polished.
You hate how good it smells out here.
Money has a scent, and this part of Gotham reeks of it.
Your eyes drift upward, tracing the architecture carefully. Cameras tucked into corners. Security near every entrance. Armed guards hidden in plain sight beneath tailored suits.
A few heads turn your way as you approach the staircase leading toward the entrance. Not enough to cause concern—just enough to notice you. Your dress does exactly what it’s supposed to.
Command attention all at once.
You step onto the red-carpeted stairs, posture relaxed despite the way your instincts scream at you to locate every exit point immediately. Two guards stand by the main doors, broad shoulders and earpieces making them look more intimidating than they probably are.
One of them extends a hand.
You offer him a sweet smile, slipping the black envelope from your clutch. “Of course.” The guard takes it, scanning the embossed seal before opening the card inside. His expression doesn’t change, but you catch the subtle shift in his posture.
Recognition. Interesting.
“Miss Vanderbilt,” he says after a moment.
The second guard steps aside immediately. “Welcome to the Wahi Foundation Gala. Enjoy your evening.” Suspicion coils tightly in your stomach. Still, you smile.
The doors open. Warmth spills over you instantly alongside music, conversation, and the overwhelming glow of excess.
Crystal chandeliers hang high above the ballroom like frozen stars. Servers glide across the room carrying champagne and tiny foods that somehow manage to look expensive despite being the size of cat treats.
Your gaze sweeps the room carefully.
Politicians. CEOs. Socialites. Predators disguised in silk and diamonds. And somewhere in this sea of wealth sits the reason your invitation found its way into your stolen haul.
You descend the staircase slowly, heels clicking softly against polished marble. No one stops you. No one questions you. That bothers you more than it should.
A waiter passes, and you smoothly take a glass of champagne from his tray without breaking stride. Your eyes flick toward nearby display cases positioned throughout the ballroom.
Jewelry. Auction items. Rare artifacts.
But, as your eyes linger through the room, a pair of silver eyes catch your attention.
Sevika Wahi; the woman of the hour.
Her family was known for their influence on Gotham, as well as their wealth.
Which probably shouldn't be something you should hold against her—after all, children can't choose who theri parents are—but, it's something you can't seem to not care about entirely.
It seems that your shared attention, however, had managed to alert the woman.
Despite the amount of magazine covers, photoshoots, advertisements, and whatever else was used to plaster Sevika's likeness, you had been unprepared for the broadness of her build.
"Good evening," she says, the deepness of her voice sending an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.
"Good evening," you smile, "rather extravagant interior you have."
"I try," she chuckles, taking a sip of her champagne.
"Well, your efforts clearly weren't in vain," you say, trying to hold your disdain down.
"Hm," Sevika replies, her silver eyes moving down to your pearl necklace.
"Oh? Jealous of this beautiful piece of mine, Mrs. Wahi?" You smile, your blinks slowing like a cat's.
"Ms. I am not married, nor am I engaged yet," she says.
"Yet? Is there maybe a woman in the picture for you?" You tease her, hoping to break past the clear playboy personality she has held up.
You two converse for the remainder of your stay—which doesn't last long. As soon as you had the opportunity to leave, however, you immediately strayed away. The feeling of being surrounded by such corrupt people makes you sick.
It fills your heart with hatred that is far too familiar for you.
As you motion for another taxi, you decide on an unplanned heist for the night. While you'd usually plan them out, you hadn't expected to leave so early—especially without any sort of reward on your part.
The taxi comes quicker than the last, and your ride home feels the same. When you get home, you're immediately bombarded with meows.
"Not right now, Rio." You rush into your wardrobe, grabbing your leather costume and slipping it on the same way you always have. You slip through your apartment window once more, and slip into the shadows of Gotham.
You slip into a nearby alley without hesitation and within minutes, you’re scaling the neighbouring fire escape. The city stretches endlessly beneath you, alive and dangerous in the way only Gotham can be.
By the time you reach the penthouse balcony, your pulse is steady.
The glass door gives way embarrassingly easily beneath your tools.“Rich people really think money replaces common sense,” you mutter.
The penthouse itself is obscene; with its modern art, rare sculptures, and a wine collection worth more than most people’s yearly salaries.
You move through the shadows silently, fingertips trailing lazily across polished marble countertops as your eyes scan for anything worthwhile.
Then you see it. A private display room tucked behind a biometric lock. Your grin sharpens. "it'll be a little treat for me." The lock takes less than two minutes to bypass. Inside, soft lighting illuminates rows of jewelry, watches, rare collectibles and one very large emerald sitting beneath glass.
“Well hello, gorgeous.” You crouch beside the display carefully, beginning work on the security casing. "You'd look great on my bedside table."
A low voice cuts through the darkness behind you. “You really can’t help yourself.”
Your eyes flutter shut briefly. “There she is.”
You turn slowly, smirk already curling onto your lips as Batwoman emerges from the shadows near the doorway. Rainwater glistens across parts of her armoured suit, cape hanging heavily behind her.
“You know,” you hum, resting your chin lightly against your palm, “most women just ask for my number instead of stalking me across rooftops.”
“So am I.” Your smile widens. “You’re making this feel very relationship-coded, darling.”
Batwoman steps closer slowly. “This penthouse belongs to one of Wahi’s financial partners.”
That catches your attention.
Your playful expression dims slightly. “Interesting.”
“There’s movement happening tonight,” she continues. “Money transfers. Weapons. Something bigger than theft.”
You lean back against the display lazily despite the alertness creeping into your spine. “And here I thought Gotham’s rich were just boringly evil.” A laugh escapes you softly.
Then, before either of you can say anything else, the penthouse alarms suddenly scream to life. Red lights flood the room instantly. You blink, and Batwoman sighs deeply.
“That wasn’t me,” you say immediately.
Heavy footsteps thunder somewhere outside the room.
Security. A lot of security. You glance toward the emerald. Then toward Batwoman. Then back toward the emerald.
“Hm,” you grin, smashing the glass case instantly and snatching the jewel, “yes.”
“Catwoman—” You dart past her before she can grab you, laughter spilling from your lips as guards storm the penthouse seconds too late. Chaos erupts beautifully behind you.
You sprint through the luxurious penthouse effortlessly while Batwoman barrels after you, taking down armed guards along the way with brutal efficiency.
And you’re starting to think she enjoys this almost as much as you do.
“Little busy for a lecture right now!” you call over your shoulder.
“You’re impossible," she grumbles.
“And yet you keep chasing me!” You yell back,
You leap over a collapsing table, slide beneath a guard’s outstretched arm, and crash shoulder-first through the balcony doors. Cold air slams into you immediately. Without slowing down, you lock your eyes onto an adjacent rooftop.
Batwoman catches your wrist just before you jump, and the sudden force spins you backward directly into her chest. For half a second, neither of you moves.
The city roars beneath you. Her grip is firm against your leather costume.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she growls.
"Aw." Your breath catches embarrassingly for a moment before your grin returns, “You say the sweetest things, darling.”
And suddenly you’re flying through Gotham night air again, laughing while guards' bullets and shouting fade into the distance behind you. By the time you finally slip back through your apartment window, your feet ache, and your adrenaline is beginning to wear off.
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