fic: i put a spell on you.
i put a spell on you.
gossip girl. blair/serena. 1193 words. She wonders when she stopped wanting to be Serena and started wanting her instead. for lesaut. I really shouldn't be writing Gossip Girl fic.
"i put a spell on you,
because you're mine.
you better stop the things you do..
no, i ain't lying;
i put a spell on you."
They start younger, younger than most, younger than should and Blair wrinkles her nose when Serena pulls her lips away and pretends that it is an experiment but Serena is first, of course, Serena is first.
In the real world, the world of dirty sheets and cheating boyfriends, that doesn't mean anything but Blair, her world is pitched with perfect lighting and black and white film.
Every scene matters.
--
Serena takes up smoking in Paris.
It's really fucking irritating because there's, you know, smoke, everywhere, in Blair's hair, in the car, the smell sticks to their clothes but Serena doesn't seem to care.
"It'll kill you, you know," Blair admonishes over their cappuccinos, her hand fluttering in front of her face as if she is trying to swat the smoke away.
She shooed it at one point. S laughed.
"We only live once, B."
"You should try and make it last."
It also draws attention to Serena's lips when she presses them down on the filter, her fingers clicking on the lighter, long smooth and the quick movement of her hands and her mouth.
Blair hates it.
--
the summer after Serena leaves, Blair gets drunk, properly drunk for the first time ever and ends up watching Breakfast at Tiffany's with her fingers curled around the neck of her father's now empty bottle of wine and realizes that she isn't really anything like Holly Golightly but Serena fucking is.
--
They have a week before Serena gets restless, one week where they trip around the boutiques and drink cocktails in their hotel room with the tv flickering on and off in the back ground (black and white i don't want to put you in a cage, i want to love you god, they are so boring and predictable black and white)and then Serena-- she doesn't come back one night and she is grinning the next morning over breakfast.
She is standing at the window, unscrewing a bottle of water and her hair is down and the sun casts this messy halo over it and she can't seem to get it open, she leans forward, the line of her neck cut against the glass--
"Maybe you should call Nate," she snaps.
Serena raises her eyebrows. "What?"
"Just saying, you know, before you get some French boy falling in love with you it might be nice to let your last victim of the hook."
"Blair, please--"
"I care about Nate is all," she says piously, buttoning up the collar of her blouse.
"Maybe yous should call him then."
They are petty and childish and twelve and Blair slams the door to round it off.
--
Once, they swam naked in the pond of a park, they'd snuck in after midnight because there was nothing better to do and they were not children, they were, you know, they were fourteen or something and she remembers their legs splashing together in the water and cold against her skin.
--
Serena dumps Jean Paul in a fortnight. Blair puts away the spoon and the ice cream.
--
In confession--
"I'm not even Catholic."
"Yes. You've mentioned. Twice."
"I just-- I'm angry all the time and I'm in love."
"That's nothing to--"
She realizes she's not going to fucking come out to a priest of all things so she mentions Chuck and his stupid uncle and swears she isn't going back again,.
--
It is their last night.
Serena's had a few.
"You didn't like Jean Paul."
"He slobbered over your breasts and took pictures. What's not to like?"
She giggles and presses a finger against Blair's nose. "You were jealous," she sings.
"Oh, please."
"I think it's cute," and her voice is this slow drawl and Blair bites her lip.
"You're drunk."
"Am not."
"I'm not playing this game, Serena," she huffs and gets off her chair and Serena's fingers close around her wrist, it is tight and bruising and fuck, she hates those cigarettes all she can taste is the smoke and the wine and Serena's fingers are long and smooth and quick and they don't make it to bed and S isn't wearing a bra; Blair wishes she weren't this sober.
--
She wonders when she stopped wanting to be Serena and started wanting her instead.
--
She wakes up the next morning and she is still sleeping, Serena looks younger with her eyes closed even with the dark liner smudged around the frame of her eyes and Blair steals one of her cigarettes and leans out the window coughing when the smoke hits her lungs.
"hey."
S always sounds different sleepy. She never noticed that before. It's deep and kind of hot.
Blair turns around and puts it out on the sill. "I'm going back to the chateau."
"What, you're leaving?"
"I--"
"B, you can't just go. Just-- let's talk about this, figure it out."
"Maybe when we get back to New York, Serena."
"You can't just walk out of here. We can fix this, B."
Blair takes a careful breath.
"No. No, we can't. It's-- I can't talk about this, Serena."
And she can't because this is not Nate and there are no road maps and this is not Chuck and his mind games, this is Serena and and this is either everything or it is nothing.
Serena blinks her big blue eyes with the long dark lashes and when she opens them again the room is empty.
--
There are times when she wants to pull Serena's pretty little hair out.
Like now.
--
In New York, there is Columbia and Nate is in all of her classes (okay, two) and she wonders how it's possible that things weren't this awkward when they broke up but now that they've slept with the same girl (in love with the same girl) she can't really look him in the eye, except that he doesn't know and it's still, you now, awkward.
"You haven't heard from Serena, have you?" he frowns, god, those blue eyes, those two are almost incestuous with the whole blond god thing.
"No." She curls her fingers into a fist and lies. "You?"
--
Serena left a note.
"I didn't mean that. Don't want to fix anything. Call me back."
--
Eleanor asks about the missing golden girl when she can tear her eyes away from Dorota's bundle of joy.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know? I haven't seen her since you got back from Paris."
"Well, maybe she's still in Paris."
"Blair--"
"I don't know, okay. I don't know."
--
They bump into each other at one of Lily's brunches and it is odd, but also comforting, just seeing her and the smile is hesitant but it flashes there a little and Blair doesn't really know where this is going or what the fuck they're doing but they're Blair and Serena, so it'll end up somewhere, she guesses.
She reaches forward. She steals Serena's champagne and grins at her over the glass, with her mouth still pressed to the rim.
It tastes like the sparks that their fingers make when they touch.
gossip girl. blair/serena. 1193 words. She wonders when she stopped wanting to be Serena and started wanting her instead. for lesaut. I really shouldn't be writing Gossip Girl fic.
"i put a spell on you,
because you're mine.
you better stop the things you do..
no, i ain't lying;
i put a spell on you."
They start younger, younger than most, younger than should and Blair wrinkles her nose when Serena pulls her lips away and pretends that it is an experiment but Serena is first, of course, Serena is first.
In the real world, the world of dirty sheets and cheating boyfriends, that doesn't mean anything but Blair, her world is pitched with perfect lighting and black and white film.
Every scene matters.
--
Serena takes up smoking in Paris.
It's really fucking irritating because there's, you know, smoke, everywhere, in Blair's hair, in the car, the smell sticks to their clothes but Serena doesn't seem to care.
"It'll kill you, you know," Blair admonishes over their cappuccinos, her hand fluttering in front of her face as if she is trying to swat the smoke away.
She shooed it at one point. S laughed.
"We only live once, B."
"You should try and make it last."
It also draws attention to Serena's lips when she presses them down on the filter, her fingers clicking on the lighter, long smooth and the quick movement of her hands and her mouth.
Blair hates it.
--
the summer after Serena leaves, Blair gets drunk, properly drunk for the first time ever and ends up watching Breakfast at Tiffany's with her fingers curled around the neck of her father's now empty bottle of wine and realizes that she isn't really anything like Holly Golightly but Serena fucking is.
--
They have a week before Serena gets restless, one week where they trip around the boutiques and drink cocktails in their hotel room with the tv flickering on and off in the back ground (black and white i don't want to put you in a cage, i want to love you god, they are so boring and predictable black and white)and then Serena-- she doesn't come back one night and she is grinning the next morning over breakfast.
She is standing at the window, unscrewing a bottle of water and her hair is down and the sun casts this messy halo over it and she can't seem to get it open, she leans forward, the line of her neck cut against the glass--
"Maybe you should call Nate," she snaps.
Serena raises her eyebrows. "What?"
"Just saying, you know, before you get some French boy falling in love with you it might be nice to let your last victim of the hook."
"Blair, please--"
"I care about Nate is all," she says piously, buttoning up the collar of her blouse.
"Maybe yous should call him then."
They are petty and childish and twelve and Blair slams the door to round it off.
--
Once, they swam naked in the pond of a park, they'd snuck in after midnight because there was nothing better to do and they were not children, they were, you know, they were fourteen or something and she remembers their legs splashing together in the water and cold against her skin.
--
Serena dumps Jean Paul in a fortnight. Blair puts away the spoon and the ice cream.
--
In confession--
"I'm not even Catholic."
"Yes. You've mentioned. Twice."
"I just-- I'm angry all the time and I'm in love."
"That's nothing to--"
She realizes she's not going to fucking come out to a priest of all things so she mentions Chuck and his stupid uncle and swears she isn't going back again,.
--
It is their last night.
Serena's had a few.
"You didn't like Jean Paul."
"He slobbered over your breasts and took pictures. What's not to like?"
She giggles and presses a finger against Blair's nose. "You were jealous," she sings.
"Oh, please."
"I think it's cute," and her voice is this slow drawl and Blair bites her lip.
"You're drunk."
"Am not."
"I'm not playing this game, Serena," she huffs and gets off her chair and Serena's fingers close around her wrist, it is tight and bruising and fuck, she hates those cigarettes all she can taste is the smoke and the wine and Serena's fingers are long and smooth and quick and they don't make it to bed and S isn't wearing a bra; Blair wishes she weren't this sober.
--
She wonders when she stopped wanting to be Serena and started wanting her instead.
--
She wakes up the next morning and she is still sleeping, Serena looks younger with her eyes closed even with the dark liner smudged around the frame of her eyes and Blair steals one of her cigarettes and leans out the window coughing when the smoke hits her lungs.
"hey."
S always sounds different sleepy. She never noticed that before. It's deep and kind of hot.
Blair turns around and puts it out on the sill. "I'm going back to the chateau."
"What, you're leaving?"
"I--"
"B, you can't just go. Just-- let's talk about this, figure it out."
"Maybe when we get back to New York, Serena."
"You can't just walk out of here. We can fix this, B."
Blair takes a careful breath.
"No. No, we can't. It's-- I can't talk about this, Serena."
And she can't because this is not Nate and there are no road maps and this is not Chuck and his mind games, this is Serena and and this is either everything or it is nothing.
Serena blinks her big blue eyes with the long dark lashes and when she opens them again the room is empty.
--
There are times when she wants to pull Serena's pretty little hair out.
Like now.
--
In New York, there is Columbia and Nate is in all of her classes (okay, two) and she wonders how it's possible that things weren't this awkward when they broke up but now that they've slept with the same girl (in love with the same girl) she can't really look him in the eye, except that he doesn't know and it's still, you now, awkward.
"You haven't heard from Serena, have you?" he frowns, god, those blue eyes, those two are almost incestuous with the whole blond god thing.
"No." She curls her fingers into a fist and lies. "You?"
--
Serena left a note.
"I didn't mean that. Don't want to fix anything. Call me back."
--
Eleanor asks about the missing golden girl when she can tear her eyes away from Dorota's bundle of joy.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know? I haven't seen her since you got back from Paris."
"Well, maybe she's still in Paris."
"Blair--"
"I don't know, okay. I don't know."
--
They bump into each other at one of Lily's brunches and it is odd, but also comforting, just seeing her and the smile is hesitant but it flashes there a little and Blair doesn't really know where this is going or what the fuck they're doing but they're Blair and Serena, so it'll end up somewhere, she guesses.
She reaches forward. She steals Serena's champagne and grins at her over the glass, with her mouth still pressed to the rim.
It tastes like the sparks that their fingers make when they touch.