FIC: only a game, blaise zabini
Title: only a game
Character(s): blaise, pansy
Prompt: if you wanted honesty
Rating: G
Word Count: 400, 500-ish
Summary: He doesn't love her, that much is sure.
Author's Notes: Pansy's POV. Because somehow, I don't think this would work out if Blaise was telling the story. Written to satisfy my newfound, rabid craving for Blaise/Pansy.
Pansy, in the midst of all that is Blaise Zabini, often stops to wonder what it is about her that is apparently so attractive that Blaise has dropped all his other women to come to her.
She makes tea in the middle of the night, sipping it by the window where just weeks before she used to see him sneak out of the dorms and meet up with one, two, three women, all of the slim and beautiful variety. She would look into her cup on those nights and then at her not-so-long legs and her chest that could be bigger and her hands that could be less rough, and she would wonder if Blaise could ever look her way, ever drop his hormones enough to see beyond flashy tights and shiny skin. But now, as she stirs the sugar, she does not see Blaise leave, does not have to critique her already-beautiful body, because he is on her bed, sleeping peacefully.
He doesn't love her, that much is sure, but if he says it enough Pansy can force herself to forget that she actually loves him; she can fabricate the lie that yes, she is playing the game too, she is planning to take the consolation prize. There is nothing in this. It is all a ploy.
"Pansy, come to bed," she hears him say: a lyrical, soft voice that penetrates men, women, animals, the stars. She blinks at her now-empty cup and does not look up.
After a moment she hears him stir to sit up and look at her, but she keeps her eyes lowered. "Pansy?"
Finally she puts her cup down and comes to him, curls into his outstretched arms. He kisses her softly and says I love you, sweet even though he really doesn't, and Pansy closes her eyes. She shuts them, and forgets she is in love with the most promiscuous man in the school, forgets that women everywhere would kill to be where she is now. Because it is a game. It is a game, and only Blaise gets to hold the controls.
Character(s): blaise, pansy
Prompt: if you wanted honesty
Rating: G
Word Count: 400, 500-ish
Summary: He doesn't love her, that much is sure.
Author's Notes: Pansy's POV. Because somehow, I don't think this would work out if Blaise was telling the story. Written to satisfy my newfound, rabid craving for Blaise/Pansy.
Pansy, in the midst of all that is Blaise Zabini, often stops to wonder what it is about her that is apparently so attractive that Blaise has dropped all his other women to come to her.
She makes tea in the middle of the night, sipping it by the window where just weeks before she used to see him sneak out of the dorms and meet up with one, two, three women, all of the slim and beautiful variety. She would look into her cup on those nights and then at her not-so-long legs and her chest that could be bigger and her hands that could be less rough, and she would wonder if Blaise could ever look her way, ever drop his hormones enough to see beyond flashy tights and shiny skin. But now, as she stirs the sugar, she does not see Blaise leave, does not have to critique her already-beautiful body, because he is on her bed, sleeping peacefully.
He doesn't love her, that much is sure, but if he says it enough Pansy can force herself to forget that she actually loves him; she can fabricate the lie that yes, she is playing the game too, she is planning to take the consolation prize. There is nothing in this. It is all a ploy.
"Pansy, come to bed," she hears him say: a lyrical, soft voice that penetrates men, women, animals, the stars. She blinks at her now-empty cup and does not look up.
After a moment she hears him stir to sit up and look at her, but she keeps her eyes lowered. "Pansy?"
Finally she puts her cup down and comes to him, curls into his outstretched arms. He kisses her softly and says I love you, sweet even though he really doesn't, and Pansy closes her eyes. She shuts them, and forgets she is in love with the most promiscuous man in the school, forgets that women everywhere would kill to be where she is now. Because it is a game. It is a game, and only Blaise gets to hold the controls.