For all the husbands' her mother has ran through, Serena has gotten a brother, a sister, a boyfriend—

Never a girlfriend, though. It’s not like there’s a checklist. Serena’s not particularly into stepcestous relations; though Rufus and Lily had never stopped her and Dan. God, that familiar fluttery feeling in her chest was so addicting.

She can’t give into it. She can’t. Except, falling for that flare of her heart and zing in her blood is Serena Van Der Woodsen’s fatal flaw. It’s gotten her in trouble countless times; and this is no different.

How can she not? When she looks at you, hunched over the Van Der Woodsen’s otherwise-unused kitchen, tongue poking out adorably from your lips as you whip up something that smells like heaven. She’s not used to someone who cooks. What’s the point, when the help can do it? Sure, Rufus had made an admirable effort to, but toast-it waffles only trumped over the patisserie desserts so many times.

Serena has never so much as touched a stove a day in her life. Watching you is fascinating. Everything you do fascinates her.

Serena tends to like most everyone. Most everyone tend to like Serena (See? She’s humble enough to admit that some people might not favour her. Take that, B.)

But you? You go beyond just like. Serena adores you. It doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous. Killer bone structure. Eyes like a fawn’s. Lips like a pillow. One she’d like to cram between her Iegs and ride to oblivion.

Serena has never had good self-control. It might be one of her definitive blind spots. actually.

"Hey, you wanna go shopping today?" Serena hums, elbows on the counter. She doesn’t even mean to jut out her bottom lip so poutily, to bat at her lashes so flirtily—or to lean over and let her silken shirt fall open, scantiIy-cIad underneath. It just happens!

“Find you something cute! It’s on me. Please?” Serena flashes her bright, crinkled eyes, nobody-can-resist-me smile. Sisterly bonding never hurt.