Mor has always gotten under Nesta's skin, and Nesta has the same effect on Mor. That's all there is to it; there's nothing else going on.
Or: five times Nesta lied to herself + the one time she didn't
written for @sjmsapphic day 1. there is mutual pining if you squint. but also mutual loathing. it's toxic yuri time >:)
thank you to @olenvasynyt for beta reading she saved my life!!
snippet below; read it on ao3 here
Nesta scans the room for her next conquest. A few familiar faces make to catch her eye, but she turns away quickly. She prefers to avoid repeats. But Velaris, no matter its size, is an isolated city; there are never travelers passing through to entice for a single forgettable night. The pool of prospects has begun to ebb.
When she catches glimpse of a head of sun-gold hair, she finishes her drink. The color is one of a kind, just as the faint scent of citrus and cinnamon that wafts amongst the must and sweat and old, stale beer soaked into the floorboards.
Recklessly, she pushes her way through the crowd.
"Morrigan," Nesta says with mock sweetness, flashing her teeth as she approaches. It's too pretty a name for someone so unpleasant. "I didn't think this was your sort of tavern."
"It isn't." Morrigan's nose wrinkles, the long curve of it pinching with disdain.
"Following me around now, are you?" Nesta asks, not caring that the words slur together as they tumble out of her mouth.
Morrigan says nothing, only looks at Nesta down her nose. She's always looking at Nesta like that—like an annoyance she'd rather not put up with. Like something inferior.
She's dressed, as usual, in bright red. Something tight and low-cut that hugs every curve of her body, leaving little to the imagination. Scandalous in a way that's hard to look away from.
"If you were trying to go unnoticed, this"—she gestures to Morrigan's dress—"was an odd choice."
"Maybe I wanted you to notice me," she says, her voice sensuous as silk, a long nail tracing the rim of her drink.
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