It's a craving, not a crush.

Selina's said it before that this little "game" of cat-and-mouse you're playing together isn't trivial, but that it's real. She knew that she wanted you from the moment you sat in her table section at the Iceberg Lounge; all soft and pretty in that low-cut dress and those impossibly-tall stiletto heels that nearly rivaled the height of her own.

A Gothamite princess in your own right— right up in the big leagues with the likes of Bruce Wayne— and she'd somehow lucked out being the one to bring you cocktails all night (and to bring you home when she clocked out). No, you really could be the one. Selina's had her fair share of Gotham's best and its worst, but no one's made her feel like this. She just can't get enough.

But you won't believe her. If you're the headlights, she's the deer; caught in your blinding glow even if it screams heartbreak. The most recent tabloids have countless shots of you all over the lap of some guy at the Lounge, and while you're not exclusive it still stings. That should be her lap that you're sprawled across, not some nepo baby blowing all his father's money on Oz's dancers and expensive drinks. Selina has half a mind to sneak into his family's mansion and clean them out for all they're worth, but she won't. You'd know.

"I'm interested in more than just being your friend," she whispers in your ear one night, pointed nails lightly tracing over your skin. Your chest's still heaving from earlier. He couldn't have you this breathless, she's certain.

"You gotta believe me, baby. I'm all in. Leave the boy behind— what's he got that I don't?"

Money, maybe, but that's never been an issue you two have had. Similar backgrounds, perhaps, but you're surprisingly grounded for a girl who grew up with everything. An extra extremity, sure, but you don't complain about hers being silicone.

It shouldn't be the end of the world to add girl in front of friend; you just gotta give a little, is all.

Do you know how to bend?