Hiiiii!! I love your writing so so much, its oddly cosy at times if that makes sense
I’d like to request a Sevika x reader when reader is chronically nice, but once she becomes close with someone she can be a bit smart/sharp mouthed and maybe rude even though she means well/likes the person
Hope this make sense (^◇^;)
Hiii! Thank you so much, that’s such a sweet description!
I hope I interpreted this correctly! 🩷
Wife!Sevika x Reader - Smart Mouth
Summary: Sevika discovers that your version of being comfortable with someone is relentlessly teasing them. She realises she’s never loved being the target of sarcasm more.
Most people thought you were one of the nicest people they’d ever met.
You smiled at strangers. Thanked waiters. Apologised when someone stepped on your foot.
Even Sevika had assumed that’s just how you were.
Sweet.
Gentle.
The type of person who’d never intentionally say a rude thing to anyone.
Then, a few months into your relationship, she realised she’d been completely wrong.
Not because you weren’t kind.
You were.
You just apparently became a menace the second you got comfortable with someone.
The first time it happened, Sevika nearly choked laughing.
She’d spent ten minutes trying to fix a jammed cabinet door before finally yanking it open hard enough to send herself stumbling backwards.
You watched the entire thing from the couch.
“…Good fight?”
Sevika froze.
Slowly turned her head.
You were trying and failing to hide a smile behind your mug.
For a second she just stared.
Then she barked out a laugh.
A real one.
The kind that made her shoulders shake.
“Oh, you’ve got a cheeky streak, huh?”
You immediately looked horrified.
“No, no, sorry.”
“No.” Sevika pointed at you. “Do that again.”
“What?”
“Be a smartass.”
You stared, a blush creeping up your cheeks.
“I wasn’t being a smartass.”
“You absolutely were, babe.”
You tried to deny it.
The grin on your face gave you away.
After that, it only got worse.
Or better, as far as Sevika was concerned.
The more comfortable you became around her, the more the comments appeared.
She’d walk into a room and forget why she’d entered.
“I knew there was an age gap issue somewhere.”
She would spend fifteen minutes searching for something only to realise she’d been holding it the entire time.
“Good thing you’re pretty.”
She’d flop down on the bed, exhausted.
You’d nod sympathetically.
“Maybe I should’ve checked the mileage before marrying you.”
Every time she had a moment, you’d get this look on your face.
“You got something to say?” she’d grumble.
“No.”
“You absolutely do.”
And every single time, she’d end up laughing.
It became one of her favourite things.
Because nobody else got this version of you.
Around strangers, you were all soft smiles and politeness.
Around Sevika?
You’d sit beside her on the couch and casually tell her she had the survival instincts of an overconfident pigeon.
Then hand her a cup of tea and press a kiss to her cheek five seconds later.
The contrast was ridiculous.
And Sevika adored it.
One evening, the two of you were cooking dinner together.
Or attempting to.
Sevika was chopping vegetables while you hovered nearby.
At some point she reached for a pan that had just come off the stove.
Without thinking.
You smacked her hand away.
She hissed.
“What the hell?”
“It was hot.”
“I know that.”
“You were literally about to grab it.”
“I would’ve been fine.”
You looked at her.
Then at the glowing red pan.
Then back at her.
“Right.”
Sevika narrowed her eyes.
“Say it.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re thinking something.”
“I’m thinking lots of things.”
“Yeah?”
You smiled sweetly.
“Well, I just think we’ve identified the weak link in this marriage.”
Sevika tried to muster a scowl, but the retort she was about to fire back dissolved into laughter before it ever made it out.
Actual laughter.
One hand braced against the counter while you stood there trying not to laugh too.
Sevika smacked your hip lightly with the wooden spoon.
“The mouth on you,” she fake-scolded. “Careful. I can still throw you over my shoulder.”
“Is that a threat or an offer?”
Sevika snorted, rolling her eyes as a grin spread across her face.
“You are unbelievable.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
The answer came so quickly that it caught both of you off guard.
Your smile softened.
Sevika’s expression did too.
Then you tilted your head.
“Aww.” You slid your arms around her waist and drew her in, tipping your head back to look up at her from where your chin rested against her chest. The exaggerated pout and flutter of your lashes were entirely intentional.
The moment was ruined immediately.
Sevika groaned.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“Thought I lost the smartass for a second.”
You laughed.
And Sevika found herself smiling again.
Because that was the thing.
You only got like this with people you trusted.
People you loved.
Every sarcastic comment, every cheeky grin, every ridiculous little jab meant the same thing.
You were comfortable.
You felt safe.
Loved.
And if Sevika got to be one of the few people lucky enough to see that side of you, she’d happily spend the rest of her life being the target of it.
synapsis: ,,, a breakout, a teenager, and a tired woman combine.
#tags - zombie apocalypse, found family, use of bad language, teen reader is mad about everything and hates everyone, including themself, and has some minor thoughts about ending their life, sevika tries to be soft, accidental injury follows, TW blood
#a/n - i had prom and graduated yesterday... so this took WAY longer than promised... i'm sorry... anyways part three... i'm scared are you ??
[AO3] | <- chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 ->
——×— · · ─ ༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻─ · · —×——
> CHAPTER 3 Hurt Things
Wipers whine against the windshield.
Your eyes burn when they flutter open: corneas gaining damage from the bright layer of white blanketing the nature that surrounds you.
The road is lost to the eye. Can't tell where each line ends.
You stretch; fingertips grazing the matted roof of the truck, back cracking like your bones just snapped back to their place.
"Snow-?" you then croak out, blinking a tired eye towards Sevika.
She's leaning against her hand, shoulder pressed to her window.
"Yup. Bunch of it," is the short, clipped answer you receive.
Too tired to question her further, you rub your eyes and try to twist around to catch a sight of the view behind you.
It's no better than the view infront.
Miles of emptiness. No houses. No people. Snow-covered trees that just barely pass as forests.
A tumble of white dust follows the truck. The tires scrunch.
"Caroline holdin' up okay?" you joke lightly, turning back around to face ahead.
"Yeah. Fine." Sevika side-eyes you, feigning weak anger, though, a tired smirk twists at her lips. "Filled 'er tank a few miles back. You were out cold."
"I didn't get my nightly dose of sleep," you argue lightly, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Y'woke me up early, 's what you get."
"Get peace n' silence for eight hours straight?" Sevika raises an eyebrow. Throws a dry look at you, and then focuses back on the road.
You scoff. "Pfft, yeah. Eight hours, for sure," your eyes roll on their own, tone groaning as you bend down to fetch your bag from your feet — rummaging through it.
"Yeah. Eight hours," Sevika chuckles, finding amusement in your denial. "Was a peaceful day. I already miss it."
"I didn't sleep that long. It's still bright out-" you whip your head up to check. Glance around once again. Back, left, right, forward. Up at the sky.
It is indeed not that bright out.
"Okay. Whatever. Depends who you ask," you then declare, and return to going through your backpack.
Sevika grunts, first with amusement, and then with annoyance — as your digging shows no end.
"T'daylight hidden somewhere 'nthere?"
"No," you deadpan. Dig the bag some more. Throw whatever comes your way — out of your way.
A hairbrush hits Sevika in the face. Her nerves win.
Her hand reaches out to yank the bag away from you — only for you to yank it right back.
"What the fuck??" you shout.
Sevika tries to multitask driving and arguing. For whatever stubborn reason.
"Jesus, kid! Just-"
She stops the the car. Sudden. Breaks streeching.
It halts.
You're both panting; eyes wide, hands on the board, fingers shaking.
A deer stares back at you. Eyes just about as wide as yours, nose twitching.
Silence. No one moves.
Then the deer runs off. Feet clanking against the frozen road, the sound carrying itself inside the truck.
"Christ," Sevika heaves. Running a hand over her face, your bag still in her hand; only now it's down enough for you to snatch back.
"Don't make it your business to act like my mom. I have enough issues without someone trying to control everything I do," you spit — slamming the door shut with uncontainted anger, and nothing but a backpack to your name.
You then walk the side of the road, feet leaving small inprints to the snow below. Your sneakers squek.
You don't glance back. No sound follows you.
Then the truck starts again.
For a brief, sad second — you're certain Sevika's going to drive off without you. Just speed right past.
She should. That's what you want her to do.
That's what you've convinced yourself.
Then the hood of the truck appears in your field of vision. Sevika's driving it slow, one hand on the wheel — other hanging out your window.
"I'm sorry, okay? Get back in. It's fuckin' freezing," she tries.
You don't look at her when she reaches your pace.
A frustrated sigh.
"You're right. It ain't my business what you do," she presses the gas. Backs far enough to catch your eyes. "Sorry for snappin' for no reason. Someone's oughta keep you in line," she grins weakly, making a jab at her own wrongdoings.
Your steps halt. Sevika stops the truck.
You glare at her.
"I'm reeaaally sorry-" Sevika holds a hand to her chest, grinning.
It's like a melodramatic play. A modern, cheap one at that.
"You're awful."
"The worst," she agrees in a tired grumble, opening the door for you.
You don't move. Sevika catches the glimmer in your eye; one hinting at trouble.
Her head drops to hang low. "What?" she mutters, gruff. Loathing.
"You let me drive a mile."
Her head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. There's a permanent scowl on her face.
"Absolutely not. Nope. No chance."
"Yes. One mile of me handlin' Caroline and I'll let you keep your authority," you press. "And I get to smoke one cigarette. Mine are out," you add just as her mouth opens.
It closes again.
Sevika mirrors your earlier glare and reluctantly pushes the door open wider.
"You owe it to me. Snappin' for no reason!"
"Fine."
You grin in winning, eagerly climbing back into the truck.
"But- after we clear this snow. Don't wanna end up dead in a ditch," Sevika clarifies, waiting for you to settle before pressing the gas pedal once again.
"I don't see this snow vanishing anytime soon," you snicker lightly, poking her side. Just pushing the buttons you've already set off once.
Sevika scoffs and dodges the pokes, focused on the long road unfolding far into the horizon.
"Patience is a virtue."
You bite the inside of your cheek.
"... kinda hypocritical. I mean, you just lost it because i was going through my bag-"
"-patience is a virtue." Sevika repeats it, only louder than before, yet hearing you just fine.
"Okayyy," you titter. "Whatever you say."
Caroline's been resting on the side of the road for hours.
You're perched up near the campfire with a twig in hand, prodding at the few chumps of wood with deadly consentration; tongue peeking out the corner of your mouth.
The fire crackles — and a small ember nearly catches onto your jacket.
"Fuck!" you yell, tumbling back just to fall flat on your ass.
"Ouch..." you wince.
"Told you not to go near that."
"Fuck!!" you yell again, jumping back another few inches as Sevika's figure emerges from the darkness.
"I was just helping," you jeer, throwing your stick at her. Sevika watches it hit her chest and fall to the ground.
"Don't. More trouble than it's worth."
She kneels by the fire, rearranging the woods with a log. You follow the movement.
"Plus, you're already injured," she continues, voice a low murmur. You look down at your stitched hand and scoff.
"Don'need any more damage," she says.
You're silent for a while — watching her handle the fire. Then you perk up, voice certain. Defensive.
"I've handled campfires before. On my own. I can do it now, too."
A laugh.
"Oh, yeah?" Sevika throws you an unamused look. "How'd that turn out just now? How 'bout before?"
You furrow your brows, trying to remember anything positive to pass along about your prior experience with fire.
Nothing comes up.
Your argument falls apart.
"I... uh, burned my hand," you admit, waving around the scarred palm.
Sevika doesn't even look.
"Figured. Was stitchin' up the same arm just days ago. Hard to miss it." She gestures towards the limb, gaze finally moving to you — the fire abandoned.
"Uhh, yeah."
You awkwardly twist your feet against the snowy ground. Sevika watches.
The fire crackles and another timber flies by you — giving you enough of a reason to scoot back to sit on a tree log like Sevika already is.
It's admittedly better than the cold ground.
Sevika pokes at the fire. Wind blows just lightly; grazing treetops with a gentle sway.
"What's your favourite colour?" you break the silence.
Sevika glares at you over the fire.
"Black," she deadpans — her tone matter-of-fact.
"Oh, depressing. Nice."
"Okay, short stuff, what's yours?" she pushes.
"Short stuff?" you question, mouth dropping open.
Sevika smirks smugly. "Are you not like, what, one-four-something tall?" she teases, poking at two different fires. The camp's and yours.
"No! I'm not even-" you cut yourself off with a groan and take a deep, shaky breath. "Whatever. My favourite colour is green. But I like all the colours."
"All of 'em? Wow. How childlike."
"It's still less depressing than your answer!" you argue between chuckles, hands flailing in exaggeration.
"Fine. You win, odd child."
"You're the odd one," you mutter under your breath, mind reeling for a new question.
A new one finds its place in your mouth quickly.
"Favourite animal?"
"Wolves. Boring question, next one," Sevika demands, dry humor painting her tone.
She rummages a bag and pulls out a can of tuna to hold over by the fire.
"You're dull," you snicker. The smirk never once vanishes from Sevika's face.
You mind mulls over all its carefully stored questions and settles on another one.
"Okay," you prop yourself better on the log, facing Sevika. "How would your life be like if the breakout never happened?"
Sevika goes silent.
For long enough to scare you into thinking you crossed a boundary that should've been left alone.
Then she moves. Takes her can of tuna — and speaks.
"Lonely," comes out honest and witty. Automatically, mid-tuna-bite. "Not that different," she hums tiredly with a mouthful; voice carrying a distant, muffled weight.
"I'd have a middle-wage job in the office. Ride around with Caroline every friday, lookin' to get some company for the weekend."
You nod carefully, unsure of what to say or do. Shit, great. Good job choosing the question. Not depressing at all.
"If it makes you feel any better, i'd probably be dead," you blurt out, eyes faraway, but your voice carrying a weirdly upbeat tone.
"Like, gone for good. If not because of my dad, I would've done it myself," you blabber — unable to stop now that you've started.
"I mean- I dunno how I ever made it this far, even. I'm not really supposed to be here," you chuckle; a squeaky, nervous sound.
That's when you look up.
Sevika's staring at you in near horrification — concern etched so deep into the lines of her face that it scares you. A lot.
"I'm fine, now!" you backpedal, eyes shining.
"Are you?" Sevika questions, eyes still wide, voice unnaturally careful.
"Yeah. I mean, I'm here, aren't I?" you smile wide — attempting to push the oncoming tears away. Your knee bounces.
Sevika nods with a frown, not missing a single second of your efforts in hiding vulnerability. You're performing the act with complete profession.
Might've even fooled someone who wasn't familiar with shielding their heart, too.
It takes one to know one.
"Yeah. You're here," Sevika agrees, eyes holding a level of understanding no words can pass along.
You swallow. Thick. Raw.
"So. Eheh," you wipe at your cheek, concealing a sniffle with a weak laugh. A crack in your carefully built armor.
"My favourite animal has to be tiger," you cheerfully state, carrying on like the previous two minutes weren't apart of the conversation to begin with.
Sevika goes along.
She knows some things are better left in the past. They're not worth the trouble.
"Tigers, huh? Why?"
"The cool patterns. Like permanent battle wounds," you explain. "And their face has this cool shape that only shows whenever they're hunting. I think that's cool."
Sevika chuckles, choosing to ignore the cold ache in her chest. The one that comes with fear and worry and ends in inevitable hurt.
"Not wrong there."
"Which one's are scarier, though? I think that's the real question."
"Wolves, easy. They got that howl."
"That's never once been scary. Ever in history," you argue lightly, laying down onto the log — your bag working as a pillow. An uncomfortable one.
"Never say never until you've experienced it," Sevika hums. "Sayin' works for every situation. Remember that."
You burst into tired giggles."You've heard a wolf howling?"
"Well-" Sevika's own composure breaks, a gruff laugh bubbling from her chest. "'m almost certain' it was a wolf... was a pretty loud night, I can't say f'sure-"
"Can't say for sure?" you question and laugh, gazing at the shining sky above.
A star winks back at you.
Sevika pokes at the fire, playful act hiding the lingering concern in her body.
"Never could say f'sure, kid. Never quite."
Whatever happened last night has vanished from both your memories.
Nothing was revealed. No one almost cried.
But everythings been awkward since.
And Sevika's acting different around you.
Carefully nitpicking every word and syllible before she speaks. Constantly eyeing you when she thinks you aren't looking. Tippytoeing around you in a protective cycle — both figuratively, and damn near literally.
"You sleep okay?" she asked when you two climbed the truck again, voice softer than the night prior.
"If a sore back doesn't offset a good night's sleep, then yeah," you answered.
And since then: the truck's been silent.
Repeatedly awkward, and whatever shitty country song is humming low from the speakers — is doing a terrible job at disguising that.
Sevika shatters the tension in the air, clearing her throat to catch your attention. Not like it had gone very far.
"You holdin' up okay?"
"I'm fine," you hiss, not looking at Sevika.
"Okay. That's good," she mutters.
Awkward silence once again.
You're already counting down the hours until sun sets. Sleeping is your only escape from this annoying woman and her bleak roadtrip to absolutely nowhere.
"Wouldya' look at that," Sevika let's out a shocked whistle, steering the truck left — towards an old gas station.
"Y'think there's anything worthwhile left in there?" you ask, voice blank. Bored.
"Idunno. Worth a shot, right?" she hums, parking Caroline upfront. She takes the keys, and after climbing out of the truck, she turns to you — still sitting in your seat, facing the other way.
Not looking particularly excited.
"You coming?" she asks.
No answer. Typical teenage grumpiness.
Sevika sighs.
"Maybe they got somethin' for you. A number on those magazines you carry." She gestures to your bag. "Can't have read them all, can ya?"
A second passes.
Then,
"I guess..." you agree cautiously. "I haven't."
"See? C'mon. Give it a shot." She taps the roof of the truck twice, urging you out.
You chuckle weakly, a tired smile on your face as you climb out and leave your bag beside Sevika's.
"Good, good," she hums, guiding you inside the decaying convenience store with a brief hand to your back.
You push it off and skip a few steps ahead of her just to gain some distance.
Inside, there's not much to gather up. Rows and rows of shelves, some of which have fallen down. Old food and whatever other supplies scattered in every crook and corner — none edible or of any value.
"Yikes." You gag, kicking a can across the floor.
"It... has seen better days," Sevika chuckles.
You glare at her.
"Why am I even here? It smells like death!" you exclaim, making faces and gesturing around. Dust particles float around the stale air.
"Calm down. I'm sure you'll dig up somethin' worth savin'. Go look around."
You scoff and roll your eyes, storming towards the door. "I'm going back to the truck-"
Sevika grabs your forearm — just above the sore stitches. Intentionally.
"Hey!"
You wince and halt in your steps, slowly turning to face her.
"I'm tryin' to be nice to you, but it's hard when you keep being ungrateful for every little thing. That can't make things better for either of us," she yells, frustration getting the best of her.
You stand still, numbly taking it all.
Sevika recoils. Just a little, but there's a snappy undertone in her words. "You gotta do your part, too, damnit."
You blink, chewing on your lip.
"Okay. Fine."
You twist out of her hold — sauntering straight to the back of the store.
Sevika watches in exparation, jaw clenching.
"Fine! You just sulk around! I'm sure that'll help the both of us by a lot!" she yells after you. Gets a tiny thud as an answer.
Then — silence. Again.
"Immature," Sevika mutters to herself, scouring the shelves in the search for anything withholding value.
Minutes pass. Sevika spends each one muttering bitter things under her breath, bantering with thin air.
"We've all lived rough lives," her ranting continues, "but I ain't see myself pouting just because-"
A louder crash.
A pained whimper.
"Kid?" Sevika turns around in a flash, feet already moving towards the sound of commotion.
Another smash echoes in the empty building. A collision. An echoing groan — one not of a humans. Shit.
"Kiddo? Answer me!" she shouts, sprinting now.
Between aisles — a terrifying sight greets her.
You with your thigh pierced and bleeding; trying to push off a decaying, rotten walker with it's mouth hanging open by your face.
Sevika moves.
Within seconds— she's smashing the walker in the face, knocking it out for good to step on its mushy head.
A gory, bloody sight paints the tiled floor, but it isn't enough to distract Sevika from your pained cries behind her.
"Kid- fuck.." Sevika panics, taking you in.
Half a fucking metal shelf is in your thigh. halfway inside. Inside.
Blood soaks your jeans at a speed to fast for her liking — your face already paling double the way it did when your arm got busted.
That was a surface wound. Just deep enough to scare but not truly harm.
This is deep. Piercing.
"H- hurts s'much," you cry weakly, hand flailing at her, eyes hazy with growing pain.
"Oh, shit- shit, I know," Sevika heaves, trying to asses your state.
Not good.
"Fuck, just- hold onto my hand, okay? Gotta getcha up," she helps you stand — only for the metal to move inside your leg.
You cry out.
"I know, kid, I'm sorry," Sevika blabbers, hoisting you up into her arms. The jostle of it pushes another scream out of you.
"I know- fuck..."
Sevika pushes the door open with her back and strides out of the store, legs growing weak with you crying in her arms.
You look bad.
"This's gonna hurt, but i need to getcha inside, okay?" she nods down at you, desparately clinging onto eye contact. You nod back shakily.
Sevika opens the trucks door and begins to gently lay you down; trying her very best to ignore each pained sound that it earns from you.
"Easy, easy does it-..."
The metal shifts once again — now majorly enough to rip your jeans along with it.
You scream again.
Sevika shuses you, face twisted in pain. "I'm so sorry," she winces, closing your door to round the car.
Her seat feels wrong. Breathing feels tight.
She fumbles with the keys, hands shaking, heart pounding. "You still with me?" she checks in.
You hiccup a pained, "a-ha..."
The truck starts and Sevika sways it back out into the open road.
Panic threatens to pull her down with you, mind reeling for a solution to your pain. Her thoughts go blank. Every prior survival instinct disappears into thin air.
"Talk to me. Tell me about somethin'," she demands, voice cracking, shaking.
"Tigers, you like those, right? Tell me 'boutthem," she urges, refusing to let you pass out. You might not sound the part, but man, do you look it.
"T- they can climb trees," you mutter, voice trembling. It sounds cold.
The teeth clattering kind; the sudden kind.
"Climb trees? Humor me," Sevika pushes, eyes scanning the road.
Nothing, nothing, and some more of nothing for what has to be fucking miles.
"Yeah, w-... with the claws," you force out, eyelids growing heavy. "'n they eat deers."
"Deers, huh? We saw one yesterday, didn't we? Remember that?" Sevika fumbles with the glove-box; one hand on the wheel. Old cans, empty cigarette packs — but zero shit to help you with.
The truck goes over a bump. You wince.
"I remember," you whisper, silent tears trailing down the apples of your cheeks in shiny paths.
Sevika's mouth curls at the sight, something in her heart twisting. Fuck.
"Was pretty scary, wasn't it?" she swallows, sweat collecting on her forehead.
Not as scary as this, she doesn't add.
"'m cold," you whisper.
"Shit, I know," Sevika's voice cracks, tongue coming out to wet her lips, eyes never coming stopping their balling between you and the road.
"You can hold my hand," she then offers without a second thought, grabbing your small hand into hers.
It's cold, like expected. Trembling, too.
She runs her thumb over the palm of your hand; the movement meant to soothe.
"Does this hurt?" she asks to distract you.
"No. It feels nice," you hiccup tiredly.
"Good. That's good. Focus on that, yeah?"
"Y- yeah..."
Sevika gulps, foot abusing the gas pedal. The truck slides on the icy road every now and then, gliding near the edge — a risk she's willing to handle.
Your vision blurs. Motion mixes into itself around you — spit collecting in your mouth, bile rising somewhere in your throat.
A chocked sob breaks free from your mouth; followed by a series of fresh tears.
You begin to blabber things no sober being could ever understand, growing hysterical.
"Oh, kid, it's okay... deep breaths," Sevika tries to soothe you, thumb still rubbing.
"I'don' wanna die anymore," you cry.
Sevika's stunned into silence.
"I'don' wanna... I'm scared, Vika," you sob in unadultered pain, teeth clenched as another cramp bites at your leg.
"I don't want to..."
"Fuck," Sevika heaves, fear creeping at her own doorstep.
She can hear her pulse in her ears; thrumming loud.
"You're not gon' die. I swear to you. It's gonna be okay."
"Promise me," you whimper, dread burning a hole into your chest.
Your ears ring, the sound nearly drowning out Sevika's voice as she squeezes your hand.
"I promise."
Another squeeze comes from her. You almost squeeze back.
Silence follows too quick.
"Kid?" Sevika looks down — and finds your eyes closed.
"Hey! No, no, no, no-... open those eyes for me, sweet girl," she taps your cheek, truck nearly swaying off the road.
Your eyes flutter.
Blood now paints not just your clothes — but the leather seats below.
"'m scared."
"Don't be. I'm right here."
Trying to keep you awake almost makes Sevika miss the smoke rising in the distance.
Smoke.
People. A possibilty.
Hope sparks in her chest, naive in its quickness.
"Hold on f'me. Stay awake."
Sevika takes a rough turn, truck swaying.
You don't even cry out at the harsh move — just let your head loll to the side, breaths laboured. Heavy.
"Cany' tell me more 'bout the tigers?" Sevika pleads.
No answer.
"Please, fuck," she pleads in a low whisper, hand curling harder around yours.
Nothing.
Something grey and tall sits behind a batch of trees — cloaked by the snowy branches that scrape against the trucks roof.
Sevika swallows thickly. Drives forward.
Concrete walls, shrouded by the foliage of plants just moments before, greet her with empty hellos.
But the smoke still rises somewhere inside. A light lits up near what Sevika thinks is the entrance.
She doesn't think: she moves.
"C'mon, up we go," Sevika grunts as she lifts you up and over the center console — and accidentally rolls the earlier country beat to thrum even louder.
The speakers boom behind her.
What would be a comical timing in any other situation only makes panic rise.
"We need help! She's injured!" Sevika yells the second she's out of the car, looking up at the manmade fence looming over you both.
She holds you close as you clutch at your leg in utter agony, head spinning.
Sevika's yells, even when let out right by your ear, never truly register.
They stay and they linger in the canals of your ears, ringing right back out.
"Please," Sevika pleads, voice rough. Pretent anger to lace over any true fear.
"If someone can hear us, please, just-!"
Something loud clangs. Loud enough to jolt even half-passed-out you.
The cement parts into two with great struggle; a gateway opening up in the middle.
Sevika watches it open with her mouth following tandem — not bothering to cover up her surprise for even a second.
There are people.
Before anyone can bother to introduce themselves, a man up front steps ahead.
"Is she awake? Where's the injury?"
"I- she's out, pierced thigh." Sevika fumbles over her words, the adrenaline pumping in her body partly working against her.
He dashes forward, eyes assessing not just you; pale in her arms — but Sevika, too.
"How deep?" comes out urgent.
"I- I don't know, christ- Deep enough?!"
He nods. Springs right into action.
"Follow me," he declares, running back through the concrete gates to safety.
Shock takes over Sevika's body in the form of silent observation.
Hundreds of people surrond her in every possible direction — following her steps as she runs right on the man's heels.
"Jesus, fuck," she mutters.
"It's a shocker, I know." The man weaves past someone, feet carrying him to familiar places. Sevika follows.
A tall building looms in short distance.
A drapery swings in the wind, its red cross contracting with the fabric's white.
"Halen!" the man calls out, voice carrying through the air in a pressing call.
A younger woman nursing a cigarette near the medical bay's entry turns her head — eyes going wide the second she registers the sight in front.
Two people sprinting towards her.
Someone new in clear distress.
A girl, maybe teen of age: bleeding in the other's arms — already having stained more than half of both their attire.
"Call Anye down from the fifteenth post!" the man yells, guiding Sevika through the entrance doors.
Halen nods and runs off.
Chaos continues inside. People already injured, yet none as badly as you.
Nurses abandon any non-urgent stitch-ups immediately. Shoes squek down the hallways. Something beeps in the distance, and in a split second-
You're being ripped away from Sevika's arms.
"Where are you taking her?" Sevika barks, anger holding itself stronger than fear.
"She'll be fine," the man affirms, yet doesn't answer her question. He helps someone pull on gloves, rummaging the front desk for paperwork.
Letters flash. AB's, O's, B's-
"But not if she doesn't get transfer soon."
"I can help. Let me be with her," Sevika's voice cracks. Fear finally overiding the anger.
"No. Stand back," someone commands.
They wheel you off somewhere. A room with flashing lights and windows with the drapes shut tight.
A mass of doctors, or people pretending to be the part — follow with their faces hidden behind plastic masks, hands gloved up as if to hide their shaking.
Just wearing the identity of someone better-educated without an ounce of true training.
"I need to be with her," Sevika shouts over the disarray, ignoring the two men — security, supposedly — trying to drag her out.
Your rooms door sits open.
Someone draws blood from your arm.
A young man is shouting into the phone, listing donors in the hopes that someone will answer.
Nothing, yet everything, is blooming in a noisy uproar right in front of Sevika's eyes — ranging from physical clutter, to a failing system build off of long-forgotten dreams.
She's watching it all thrive with a numbness in her chest.
So few of these people actually know what they're doing.
A cry bubbles from her mouth, weak from suspence. "She needs me there!"
No one shouts back.
Not to guide her to the lobby. Not to calm her nerves. Not to soothe her worries like doctors tend to do.
Not even to school her adult-ass out of the building.
Im working with some new brushes and lighting! Also working on learning eviromental light! If you have more ideas for more Sevika scenarios let me know >:)
Sevika beeing Silco's right-hand woman is often too busy so actually relax at the last drop but whenever she has some free time she does always end up running into a certain someone✨
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
word count: 4.0k
a/n: did the pirate sev win the poll? yes, but i wanna do this
The Dark Knight.
The Feline Fatale.
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.
Invisible almost.
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.”
Meow!
Meow!
Meow!
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—"
Meow!
".. 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.
Not metal.
Not velvet.
Paper.
You pause.
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.”
You blink.
Once.
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.
The Wahi Foundation.
A gala.
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.
Something elegant.
Something deceptive.
“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.
You snort softly.
“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.
Almost.
Eventually, your hand stills.
There it is.
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.
Just you.
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.
Sleep comes eventually.
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.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
But there.
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.”
You’re not.
Not yet.
But eventually, the day drags you along anyway.
Time passes in fragments.
Feeding cats.
Quick shower.
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.
The gala.
The people.
The opportunity.
Night falls again, draping Gotham in its natural state.
Alive.
Dangerous.
Yours.
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:
Meow.
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.”
Another meow. Judgy.
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.
Towering glass.
Black marble.
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.
“Cute,” you murmur.
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.
Distract.
Blend in.
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.
“Invitation.”
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.
“Oh, I plan to."
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.
"Who knows?"
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.
Focused.
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.
Your brows lift.
“Well hello, gorgeous.” You crouch beside the display carefully, beginning work on the security casing. "You'd look great on my bedside table."
Almost there.
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.
God, she’s dramatic.
“You know,” you hum, resting your chin lightly against your palm, “most women just ask for my number instead of stalking me across rooftops.”
“I’m serious.”
“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.
“I know," she sighs.
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.
“Don’t," she sneers.
“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.”
Then you twist free.
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.
Hii pls can I request a shy/nervous loser sevika x reader she has a crush on
I hope I understood this correctly and that you did mean Sevika as the shy one! If not, I can do it the other way around, just let me know! (Or I can just do Loser!Reader anyway if anyone wants) 🩷
Loser!Sevika Headcanons & Fic - Pretty Girl
Summary: Sevika can handle fights, threats, and pressure just fine. A pretty girl being nice to her? She’s done for.
• Sevika develops a crush quietly and catastrophically. One compliment from you and she’s replaying it in her head three days later while staring at the ceiling trying not to smile.
• You start calling Sevika pet names long before either of you are even together. Completely naturally, too. “Thanks, honey.” “Move over, sweetheart.” “You okay, pretty girl?” Like it means nothing.
• Meanwhile it means everything to Sevika.
• The first time you call her “baby,” she genuinely loses her train of thought mid-sentence.
“Could you pass me that thing over there, baby?”
Sevika stares at you for a full second too long before nearly fumbling it into your lap.
• You do not realise the effect it has on her at first because she hides it terribly but silently. Slightly pink ears. Looking away. Suddenly very interested in literally anything except your face.
• Pet names from you feel strangely intimate to Sevika. She isn’t used to softness being directed at her so casually. You say them so easily, like affection towards her is the most natural thing in the world.
• Sometimes you use them absentmindedly while focused on something else, which somehow affects Sevika even more.
“Hold this for me, sweetheart.”
And now she’s standing there holding three bags and completely in love with you.
• Once she finally works up the nerve to call you one back, it comes out painfully awkward.
“Careful, uh… doll.”
You smile at her so warmly she spends the next hour avoiding eye contact.
• Her favourite is “pretty.” Especially because you say it so sincerely every single time.
“There’s my pretty girl.”
Sevika has to physically look away to survive it.
• If someone else teased her for getting flustered over pet names, Sevika would deny it immediately.
Then you’d walk in and say, “Hi, honey,” and she’d nearly walk into a wall.
• Everyone else notices before either of you do. Especially because Sevika acts completely normal and level-headed around everyone else, but around you she suddenly forgets how words work.
• You are painfully good at making her feel included. Sliding into the seat beside her. Saving her a drink without asking. Talking to her like she’s already important to you.
• She never knows what to do with your affection. If you touch her arm while laughing, her brain fully short-circuits for a second.
• You mistake her awkwardness for disinterest at first because she’s so stiff and quiet around you. Meanwhile Sevika goes home internally screaming because you smiled at her for too long.
• Sevika is the type to rehearse conversations beforehand and still mess them up.
“Hey.”
“Hi, Sev!”
“Yes… Good.”
She thinks about it for the next six business days.
• You think her nervousness is adorable. Not in a patronising way. Just because she’s this intimidating-looking woman who suddenly turns shy when you look at her too directly.
• She loves listening to you talk. Loves it. You’ll go off on a tangent about something tiny and she’ll just sit there watching you with this soft, dazed expression she hopes you don’t notice.
• You absolutely notice.
• Sevika gets jealous easily, but mostly because she genuinely cannot imagine someone like you choosing her. If someone flirts with you, she immediately withdraws and assumes she already lost.
• Which means you end up having to be the brave one most of the time.
• You’re the first person who makes Sevika feel wanted instead of merely tolerated.
• Her love language becomes quiet acts of care before she even realises what she’s doing. Carrying your belongings. Remembering your favourite snacks. Fixing little things for you without mentioning it. Giving you her cape the moment it gets even slightly cold.
• The first time you hug her properly, she freezes for a full second before melting into it so completely it nearly breaks your heart.
• Sevika’s flirting attempts are tragic.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you, honey!”
“…Yeah.”
She has to leave the room afterwards.
• Once you start dating, she gets clingier than anyone expected. She just always seems to drift toward you naturally. A hand at your waist. Knees touching under tables. Kisses on the forehead. Sitting impossibly close. Constant, blatant staring.
• You call her beautiful casually one day and she genuinely stops functioning for a moment.
• Sevika falls hard. The kind of hard where she looks at you and quietly starts imagining a future before she even realises it.
-
Sevika had spent the last twenty minutes pretending to read the same page.
Not even reading it, really. Just staring at it while being painfully aware of you two tables over.
You laughed at something someone said, bright and warm and easy, and Sevika immediately looked down again before you could catch her staring.
Too late.
“Sevika!”
Her shoulders tensed as you approached. Of course you were approaching. Of course. Her brain immediately abandoned her.
You stopped beside her table with that familiar smile that always made her chest feel weirdly tight.
“There you are. I thought you left.”
“Nope,” she answered.
A pause.
Then, because apparently humiliation built character, she added, “Still existing.”
Smooth.
Your smile twitched like you were trying not to laugh, but not in a mean way. Never mean.
“Mind if I sit?”
Sevika nearly said no out of pure panic.
Instead she jerked her head in what she hoped looked like a casual gesture. “Yeah. Sure.”
You sat across from her, resting your chin in your hand. “You always come here?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you always look this stressed?”
That startled an actual laugh out of her. Short and rough around the edges, but real.
“Do I?”
“A little.”
“Sorry.”
Your expression softened instantly. “Why are you apologising?”
Sevika opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Because how was she supposed to explain that being around you made her feel like every thought in her head was tripping over itself?
You tilted your head slightly, eyes soft but inquisitive. “You know, I used to think you hated me.”
“Hated you?” Sevika repeated, horrified.
“Well, yeah. You barely talked to me.”
Because if Sevika talked to you for too long she risked spontaneously combusting.
Instead she muttered, “Not great at talking.”
“I noticed, hun.”
There was that smile again. Warm enough to melt steel.
Sevika looked down at the table before she embarrassed herself.
“You make me nervous,” she admitted quietly, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Silence.
Then:
“Oh.”
Sevika wanted to launch herself directly into the sun.
“Not in a bad way,” she rushed out immediately. “Just… you’re pretty and kind and- I don’t know. My brain kind of doesn’t know what to do with that and shuts down.”
Your face went pink so fast it nearly distracted her from her own humiliation.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Sevika stared at you like she’d just asked whether water was wet.
“Obviously.”
You laughed softly, looking suddenly shy yourself as you ducked your head.
That alone gave Sevika enough hope to keep breathing.
“You make me nervous too,” you admitted.
“No I don’t.”
“You really do.”
“How?”
You looked at her for a long moment, smiling a little.
“I also think you’re pretty. Like- really pretty. And you… you look at me like I’m important.”
And that-
That hit Sevika so hard she forgot every coherent thought she’d ever had. The words landed somewhere deep in Sevika’s chest. For a second, all she could do was stare at you.
Her mouth opened slightly. Closed again.
You laughed under your breath. “See? There’s that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one where you stop functioning for a second.”
Sevika groaned quietly and covered part of her face with one hand while you laughed properly this time.
Not mocking.
Fond.
Way too fond.
And when your fingers brushed against hers on the table, Sevika realised with sudden, terrifying clarity that if anyone was ever going to slip past every wall she’d built around herself and make a home somewhere deep in her heart, it would be you.
Drawing my favourite ship, they're always in my heart❤️🩹
Hello guys, i haven't been posted my art on Tumblr.. I've been working on commissions and having busy work irl
These drawings are from January to April, i was thinking about Sevika is a butch and Ran is Goth Punk as Japanese punk fashion in modern au🤭 i hope y'all like it
Brothel worker x Sevika WIP!! Idk if i should make the suit light grey or a dark plum color....but whatever, I was kinda artblocked for the past month but I´m managing it :D
Contains: Sevika with both arms (before the incident).
Sometimes, in the early morning, when the sun is beginning to rise and when Sevika has to get ready for the day, you'll catch her peacefully laid beside you on the bed.
She's got an arm bent under her head with the other holding the cigar to her lips. You don't usually wake up alongside her, but when you do, it's calm, quiet. You don't find that often in Zaun, so it's a bittersweet feeling. Her legs are covered by the blanket but you can tell they're crossed. You can't tell what she's thinking but she zoned out, staring at the ceiling, her breathing's slow as she holds the smoke inside her lungs before letting it free. You admire her for a minute, maybe two, before brushing your fingers through her hair. Sevika turns her head to you, her eyes lidded and tired. She sucks at the cigar before blowing the smoke in your face.
"Good morning," she smiles warmly, watching you wave your hand to clear the haze.
"Rude."
"It's not, you would've been giggling if you did it to me."
"And I'd only do it for revenge."
"Then do it." She hands you the cigar, her once warm smile now replaced with a smug one.
You inhale, cheeks puffed before you blow the smoke in her face. Just as she did you. But the thing with Sevika is that she's not bothered, she never is. She doesn't react, just chuckles and lifts herself up onto you. Her head dug at the side of your neck, she bites teasingly. It's a ticklish feeling on your part, one you're now laughing at. Hands against the woman's shoulder trying to push her off, thought there's no real force applied.
