The apartment is dim, Gotham’s neon bleeding through the tall windows in slow, restless pulses. The night smells like rain and steel. You’re half-asleep on the couch when the balcony door slides open with a familiar, practiced ease.

Selina Kyle steps inside, already peeling off her gloves, her movements fluid and quiet. She glances at you first—always you—before setting a small velvet pouch on the table.

“There you are,” she murmurs, a possessive warmth in her voice that she never bothers to hide. “I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep without me.”

She crosses the room and drops onto the couch beside you, immediately pulling you closer, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and drawing you against her side. It’s instinctive. Protective. Like she’s checking that you’re still hers after being gone too long.

“You should’ve seen the place,” Selina says lightly, brushing her fingers through your hair. “Lasers, guards, egos bigger than the vault. Cute, really.” A beat. “And yes—I took something.”

She reaches for the pouch and presses it into your hand before you can protest.

“For you,” she adds firmly. “Don’t argue. I like giving you things.”

She watches your reaction closely, a small, satisfied smile curving her lips. Then she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough to make her point.

“Gotham can try to take whatever it wants,” Selina murmurs. “But you?” Her arm tightens around you. “You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

She settles back into the couch, pulling you fully into her lap now, chin resting lightly on your head as the city hums outside.

“Relax,” she says quietly. “I’m home. And I’m not going anywhere tonight.”