slytherin boys react

blaise zabini: finding what they wrote in their diary about you

the room is quiet, the only noise coming from his muffled footsteps. you sit alone on his bed, waiting for him to come back. you look around the unfamiliar surroundings, feeling a mix of curiosity and nervousness. then you feel something beneath you, something firm and rectangular. you shift your weight, and whatever it is shifts with you. curiosity piqued, you reach under the covers and pull out a small notebook.

you open the cover and see scribbles of words and rough sketches, the pages filled with notes and thoughts. it seems personal, private. you want to put it back, but your curiosity gets the best of you. flipping through the pages, you see your name mentioned multiple times.

the mentions are detailed and intense, describing your every move, your every word. you can't believe what you're reading. as you continue paging through, the contents get more and more concerning.

the sound of footsteps approaching cuts through the silence, and the door opens abruptly. he walks in, holding a glass of water in his hand. he pauses and looks at you sitting on his bed with the notebook in your hand.

his eyes widen, realizing what you have in your possession. he sets the water down on a nearby table and walks towards you, his expression a mix of shock and unease.

"what are you doing with that?" he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, but there's a hint of panic in his tone.

"i found it on your bed," you reply, holding up the notebook as if it's proof of something. he fidgets, his fingers twitching as if itching to take it back from you.

"it's personal," he says, reaching out for the notebook, but you hold it away from him, not letting him take it back just yet. "why do you have a notebook filled with thoughts about me?" you question him, flipping the pages to confirm its contents.

he realizes there's no way to deny it as he fidgets awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "i'm just... interested in you," he mumbles, the answer sounding lame even to his own ears.

you raise an eyebrow, not satisfied with the explanation. "this isn't just normal interest. these entries are obsessively detailed," you say, flipping through some of the pages, reading aloud some of the more concerning paragraphs.

his face flushes deeper, realizing how much he's written about you. "okay, i'll admit, i may have an intense interest in you," he mumbles, his voice low and almost guilty sounding.

"an intense interest? this goes beyond that. it's almost creepy," you respond, your tone firm. you shut the book and set it aside, focusing your full attention on him.

the sudden change in his expression tells you he's desperate. he walks closer towards you, getting on his knees until he's eye level with you. he looks up at you with pleading eyes. "please, don't think i'm a creep," he pleads, his voice shaky. "i can't- i can't help it, i'm just so obsessed with you."

"you're just- i need- you need- i mean, i can give you what you deserve," he stammers.

he reaches up to grab your hands, holding them tightly in his own. his grip is surprisingly strong, as if he's afraid you will leave if he lets go. "you don't understand, i've never felt this way about anyone before," he continues, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

"i can give you anything you need," he says, desperation seeping into his voice. "attention, gifts, anything." he's willing to do anything to keep you in his life, to keep your presence close to him.

he pulls your hands closer, almost to the point of hurting you. "please, just don't think i'm a creep," he repeats, his head falling to rest against your lap. he presses his face against the fabric of your clothes, as if trying to memorize your scent.

"i'm not some weird stalker," he protests, his voice muffled against your lap. "i just can't help but be fixated on you." he lifts his face up to look at you, his eyes wide and filled with an almost pitiful desperation. "i'll do anything, just don't... don't hate me for this."

he reaches up again, his hands gently caressing your face, his touch almost reverent. "you're just..." he trails off, struggling to find the right words to describe you. "you're just so perfect, so beautiful, i can't help but want to keep you all to myself."

he moves closer, his face inches away from yours. he's breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if trying to control himself. "i know i sound creepy, but i swear i'm not a stalker," he says, his voice shaking. "i just can't help how i feel about you." he brings your hands to his chest, pressing them against the rapid beating of his heart. "just feel how you make me feel."