Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Willow Imagine - Dodgeball

 set in season 2

Willow's bedroom is always extremely neat, so the open book on the floor by her bed immediately catches my eye. It looks painfully out of place so I plan to do her a favour and put it away. Until I see my name scrawled on the lined page. 

I quickly close the book shut but the ribbon bookmark is wedged on the page where I saw my name, calling to me. The cover is pink, decorated with cute kitten stickers and it looks suspiciously like a diary. 

A wave of different possibilities flood my brain. I either did something that upset her and she had to vent about it or I said a spectacularly funny thing she couldn't resit documenting. Actually, it could be anything and that makes it worse. I go to open it but stop myself.

If someone read my journal that stays secret under a loose floorboard in my own room, I'd be mortified. 

I clench my hand into a fist. She will be back any minute with snacks to fuel us for our study marathon. I collapse back onto her bed and stare at the moral dilemma in front of me. I should put it on her desk.

I open it.

I swear, I never would have read it if I hadn't seen my name in the neat, black ink.

I scan the page, promising not to read more than I need to quench my curiosity. 

We had gym today and I was put on Y/N's team for dodgeball. It was so stressful. I touched her hand once and I wanted to die. She has no idea that everything she does is just mesmerising.

Oh, Willow. 

At one point, she jumped up so high to catch a ball (which she did effortlessly by the way) that her shirt rode up, exposing her mid-drift and I couldn't stop thinking about it for the entire day. Mr Beaumont asked me a question in Physics and I didn't even realise until Xander nudged me! It was so embarrassing. 

I hear footsteps and snap it shut with guilt and excitement blooming in my chest. I throw it on the floor where I found it and start pulling books and pens out of my backpack. 

"A little help!" she calls from the closed door and I smile, opening it for her.

She grins gratefully, hands and arms full of popcorn, two soda cans and bags of apple slices and banana chips. She dumps them on her bed and blushes beetroot red when she sees her diary on the floor. She swoops down and stuffs it under her mattress (I pretend to busy myself with opening the apple slices). I pop one in my mouth and haul the heavy textbook onto my lap.

We study for three hours straight but I don't think one piece of information sticks in my brain because I spend the entire time thinking of the best way to ask her out.