#Oliver Wood imagines

[redheadspark]

Fifth Floor Prt. 2

Summary - You and Oliver take full advantage of the Prefect's Bathroom

Warnings - SMUT SMUT SMUT! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, 18+ ONLY!

Part two of Fifth Floor

It surprised you: one minute you two were kissing and now you two were together in the bath on the throes of pleasure.

Both you and Oliver were not going to slow down as soon as you cast the charm along the door and walls into the Prefects Bathroom.  The pent-up feelings you two kept to yourselves over the past few years since you graduated were now pouring out to one another, like a busted open dam.  Yet it felt like it was right, stripping each other's clothes off while kissing and giggling.  The serious tones of being consumed by one another never masked the playfulness either, which was almost a reflection of your relationship with one another anywho: serious and yet light.  Of course, you were baffled when Oliver perched you on the edge of the tub that was now filled to the brim with hot water mixed with scented and enchanted bubbles.  

His boldness came through as he gently pushed your legs open and licked into your folds like he was a starving student at a Feast.

Intense hot pleasure came through you ten told as he was between your legs, thankful that you could be as loud as you wanted since no one outside the room could hear your activities together.  Yet it made Oliver persistent, listening to the cues on where to lick and where to kiss along your folds and inside your cunt.  Almost like a devoted student, taking notes and knowing what makes you come undone and what made you whimper and writhe.  You were unraveling in seconds since it's been some time since you had something like this with someone, his fingers gliding along your folds when he felt you shaking and close to orgasm.  No matter how long you tried to hold out, it was closer than you thought.  

Seeing him in front of you, his head between your shaking legs and his back muscles glistening and contracting made your head swim all the more.  All of those times practicing and playing Quidditch was showing in his muscles along his backside and his arms.  He memorized you, even with him giving gentle kitten licks along your sensitive clit.  It made you fall back against the marble floor, moving your hips and trying to prolong the orgasm that was coming so fast.  

Up right before you broke, you placed your hands in his brown tuffs of hair and felt your body move without your knowledge, rolling your hips into his face and finally feeling him suck your clit.

You fell with a howl, and Oliver thought of you as a gorgeous siren. 

After a good moment or two of you calming yourself down, of Oliver watching you with wide eyes and a small glimmer of liquid on his chin and lips, you grinned widely like a Cheshire Cat at him as you pushed yourself back up into a sitting posting.  Sinking into the water and feeling the temperature engulf your now sensitive skin, you sighed and moaned at the same time as you turned him around and made him lean against the bathtub wall.  He went willingly, you pressing a hand against his hard and toned chest as he was how against the bathtub wall with nowhere else to go.

Slowly and without breaking eye contact with him, you reached your other hand down beneath the bubbles and felt his cock.  Hard, a bit large for your hand to wrap all around, but it felt perfect in your hand as you gripped him tightly.  Oliver inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide and his breath shaking as you started stroking him off under the water.  

You never thought you would be in this kind of situation with your best friend, bringing in emended pleasure under the bubbles and water in a bathroom alone.  But it was also a dream come true, being in his arms and blissfully happy.  There would never be a right moment for something like this, Oliver reminded you of that moment before you both were in the throws of pleasure and lust like this. 

But it felt right now, getting Oliver off as he was manning and biting his lower lips with every twist of your hand and every squeeze of your fingers.  You could sense and see that he was trying not to be too loud, which seemed ironic since he made your moan crudely a moment before when he was licking into your cunt with vigor.  

It should be the same for him. 

You leaned up to kiss his neck and lick along his skin as your hand was moving a bit faster, feeling his hips shaking under the water and moving in sync with yours as his hands were gripping the sides of the tub, arms stretched out and his head thrown back.

"You can let it all out know you," You hummed against his jaw, kissing his neck once more with a bit of vigor as you pressed your bare chest against his, "No one will know we're in here, and they won't hear anything.  You sound gorgeous like this, Oli,"

"F-f-fuck!" He moaned aloud as you traced your thumb along the tip of his cock.  He was shaking, the water splashing the pair of you as you grinned wickedly and straddled one of his thighs.  The hard muscle against your still sensitive cunt made you moan against his neck as your other hand raked in his brown hair and pulled hair.  He moaned crudely, his head snapping back as you looked at his exposed neck and his trembling lips.  

He looked beyond gorgeous to you.

Before you could say anything to him to make him come undone as he did with you, he moved one of his gripped hands from the bathtub wall and placed it on your arm in a death grip, making you stop stroking him since you thought you did something wrong.  Your other hand released his hair, making his head snap back to look at you as you shot him a worried look.

"You okay?" You asked him, heading his labored breathing and how dilated his eyes were.  The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him or made this a bad experience, it would have pained you.  Maybe you were too harsh or this was too quick.  But he slowly grinned, his crimson lips and flushed cheeks should no sign of pain or uncomfortableness as you were searching his eyes.  He leaned forward, kissing you soundly and gently in the water, making you melt and release his cocked as you framed his face.

To share a gentle moment in the throws of love seemed far too much, yet not enough.  He kissed you gently and with no hint of urgency.  There was more time in the world for you two to finally have each other, to be in love with one another, and you felt like Oliver wanted to savor every second with you.  

"I don't wanna cum yet," He whispered against your lips, tracing your nose with his as you gulped, "Not when I wanna have ya here,"

That alone made your heart skip, feeling his hands go under the water and grab your hips as he too was not breaking your glance.  He moved your swiftly, having you now against the wall and him crowding you as he kissed you over and over.  His hands moved to trace and touch your breast, some bubbles slipping down your nipples and making you moan as he palmed them both while kissing down your neck and jawline.  You felt as if you were boneless under his touch, his chest against yours as his mouth moved now to lick and suckle your breast, his thighs against your own under the water to make you feel his still hard cock near your own aching core.  

It felt perfect, all of this felt perfect.  

Releasing a nipple from his mouth with a pop, your eyes were glazed over as he leaned into you again and stared into your orbs to catch his breath, "I got ya, okay?" 

You nodded your head, you two staring each other down as his spare hand reached down to take his cot in hand and guide himself into you.  You felt it all through your bones and skin, through your veins as your eyes rolled back and you felt him slowly sink himself inside of you.  The stretch felt like an ache, a good ache after being on a broom for far too long.  It felt right, almost engrained within you as his cock snugged against your walls and you moaned loudly with no sign of being restrained.  Your eyes were closing, not seeing how Oliver was watching you take him so well and how he wished he could etch this image in his mind.  You were naked, covered in water and bubble, bare and open for him and only him.

He won't forget it ever in his life.  

Oliver, once he was fully inside of you, waited for your to adjust for him as you took a long breath.  It was a bit much, almost losing your breath as your thighs trembled under the water and against his own legs.  You had to hold onto his neck for some kind of support as his hand under the water grasped one of your thighs.  His other unoccupied hand was back out of the water and bracing the wall by your head as he kissed your face over and over.

"Okay?" He asked in a raspy voice, he too was feeling the immense pleasure of your walls keeping him inside of you.  You whimpered and nodded your head as he grinned along your cheeks, "Merlin you feel fuckin' good.  So…so good."

His hips were moving slowly, with deep hard thrusts that made you moan with each push. His hips were doing most of the work, the thrusts were deep enough and hard enough for you to melt against the wall but enough to make everything shake under your skin as you were taking everything he gave you.  Oliver was not going fast, which made you wonder for a split second if he wished to.  No, you could tell in how he was going at it that he wanted this to last, not a fast fuck.

"Yes….Merlin Yes…..Oli…FUCK!" You mewled as he hit that spot inside of you, hearing him growl for a moment as he was still fucking you in the tub.  His hand that was holding your thigh was in a tight grip, not letting you sink as you clung onto his back of dear life, feeling your nails almost break the skin as your moans were getting louder and more vocal.  His rhythm was consistent, not slowing down or going too fast just to drive you insane as you felt that feeling of an intense orgasm come over you again.   

"I'm c-close, O-o-liver—" You were moaning into his neck as he huffed and stopped his thrusts.  You were about to protest at him, teetering right on the edge of that pleasurable fall when he moved swiftly once again.  Still inside of you, he leaned back a bit and scooped you in his arms, moving with ease to have his back against the wall once again and you in his lap.  With his cock still buried deep inside of you, he peered up at you and saw the state you were in.

Naked and shaking from pleasure, hair plastered to your neck and backside, eyes wide and unhinged.  He reached up, damp hand up to your neck to look at the image before you as he smiled.  Being perched over Oliver made you feel almost powerful, untouchable, and yet you were still at his mercy.  You too wished to savor this image in your mind forever, knowing you would never be the same.

His thumb traced your lower lip, his hips now moving up and down as his other hand under the water moved to touch your cunt, right over your clit.  You keened, leaning over from the shock of pleasure as he gripped your neck and watched you get that high again.  With his thumb on your clit, making sharp and small circles and his cock drilling into you, he was watching in utter fascination and wonderment.  

"Cum for me," he whispered rapidly against your lips as he kissed you boldly, "I can feel you're close, aren't ya?  I wanna feel it, all of it.  Please, cum for-"

The orgasm you felt slammed you sideways and made you scream, your body going stiff from the pleasure that was now intensified up and down your body as you rode through every second of it.  Oliver saw how your eyes shot wide, your body quivered in the still hot water, and your hands clenched onto his shoulders tight as he thrusts two more times before he too released with a loud moan.  

You felt him unload inside of you, spreading inside of you to feel that warmth along your walls and make you moan some more as you collapsed on top of him.  He wrapped you in his arms, still riding out his release as he thrust into your a few more times.

The pleasure was no long piping hot but a simmer, you both still shaking and each your breaths as Oliver gathered you in his arms and kissed you all over.  You were grateful you were still in the tub, covered in water and bubbles to get some relief.  Although he pulled out of you, he never once released you, placing you in his lap and kissing you soundly with a massive grin on his face.  

"Merlin's Beard…that was…." You said, still unable to talk as Oliver grinned widely.

"I was thinking the same thing," He murmured, his voice uneven himself as he pressed his forehead against yours, "And to think we could have done this sooner if we weren't thick in the head,"

That made you giggle, curling into him some more as he was keeping you close in his arms.  It was true, if you both weren't worried so much about the "what if's" and simply went with what you felt, then you would have this kind of love, this intimacy, way sooner.  But life was strange in that way of course bringing you two back together in the aftermath of an almost catastrophic war that would have erased everything you knew and loved.  

You decided then and there to live in the moment, leaning up to kiss him hotly.  

30 minutes later, you two walked out of the Prefects Bathroom, dried off, and back in your old clothes.  Heading back to the Great Hall and the Courtyard, you both walked side by side and held hands between the two of you, trying to hide the still evident flushness and blush on both of your cheeks.  

Yet neither one of two saw Professor McGonagall near the Great Hall entrance watch you two walk out together, a knowing smile on her lips as she looked at her two old students and Gryffindor Alumni.

"Took those two long enough," She replied with a soft smile.  

The End.

Tagged - @a-lumos-in-the-nox

[iconicstoner]

clothing swap

oliver wood x gn!reader

words: 538

summary: Oliver didn’t expect for someone to see him shirtless on the train, but that’s what happens after he spills his pumpkin juice all over y/n.

“Jesus Christ, did you just spill coffee on me?” Your voice jumps up as you feel the hot liquid seeping through your shirt. This is certainly not how you wanted your train ride back to Hogwarts to go.

“Well, it’s actually hot pumpkin juice.” At the sound of his rich Scottish accent, you look up to see a brunette with luminous brown eyes looking down at you. He has a small smirk, which doesn’t surprise you when you look down to see he’s wearing a Gryffindor quidditch sweater.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not.”

“Well, all my other clothes are in my trunk, so I guess I’m wearing this through dinner,” the words come out with an exasperated sigh as you push your head back.

“You can borrow my jumper.” He begins to lift his shirt, slowly revealing his toned body, clearly sculpted by hours of quidditch practice.

“Woah! You can keep your clothes on.” He smiles down at you and offers out his hand. With a hint of confusion, you accept, and he lifts you up effortlessly, which is another thing that would surprise you if it weren’t for his quidditch sweater. He quickly leads you out of your train car and towards the bathrooms.

“Where are you taking me?” He doesn’t answer your question, and instead opens the door to the bathroom. The door is somewhat jammed, and he has to lift the handle, but he clearly already knows this, and he opens it with ease. He motions for you to step into the bathroom and locks the door behind you.

“Here,” he says, his Scottish accent still enticing you, as he quickly throws off his sweater and passes it to you. You stare at him blankly, trying not to look directly at his toned body, but you can’t help yourself.

“Do you need me to leave?” He asks with a smirk, making you need a moment to compose yourself.

“No, this is fine,” you say hesitantly before slipping off your shirt, unsure of what to do with it. When you look at Oliver, his face is slightly flushed, and he’s staring right at your exposed body. He quickly clears his throat and makes eye contact with you as he grabs the shirt out of your hand.

“Wait, I’m not sure we’re the same size,” you say awkwardly as he starts to put the shirt on.

“We’re wizards. We’ve got magic to fix those kinds of issues,” he says with a small chuckle as he finishes dressing himself in your clothes. “So, are you going to continue to stand in front of me naked, or are you going to put my shirt on?”

“Oh, sorry,” you say flusteredly before quickly shoving on his shirt. He laughs softly before taking a step closer to you, his face just inches away from yours.

“I’m Wood. Oliver Wood. If you’d ever like to stand in front of me naked again, then write me an owl,” he says in a low playful voice that accentuates all the sexiness in his voice. His hot breath felt good on your neck, and you consider if you might need more time in this bathroom as he quickly unlocks the door and steps out.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Hey, I just read your Derry Girls 'your mum rang me' oliver wood one shot and was wondering if you could do like a weasley reader (maybe percys twin) and do the scene in last series in Derry Girls where erin and james kiss and Michelle is like 'this is incest!'

No problem if can't and sorry if I've spoiled!!! X

We're Not Related

Oliver Wood x Weasley!Reader 0.9k words Warnings: some kissing, potential Derry Girls spoilers Sorry this took so long! I've been in an absolute writing funk that I'm finally coming out of. Thank you for this request, I love getting to steal Derry Girls dialogue! I cackled writing this!

~

Oliver gazed down with a smile. His girlfriend- Merlin, he really got to call her his girlfriend!- was laying on his bed reading a book. The quiet, private time together made faking sick and skipping a trip to Hogsmeade worth it.

A tiny, quiet part of Oliver felt kind of guilty. As much as he tried to deny it, deep down inside he really did consider Percy Weasley a friend. Probably his best friend, oddly enough. The three of them had hung out regularly since their second year, sometimes adding Penelope Clearwater to the mix. So going behind his back and dating his twin sister was…. not something Oliver felt great about. But he wasn’t ready for whatever fallout would follow Percy finding out about them.

Instead, he watched her, her Weasley-red hair splayed out beneath her, his heart full of the affection he’d been carrying for the past three months. As if she could feel the heat of his gaze, she looked up, scrunching her freckled nose.

“You’re staring at me,” she observed with a little hum.

“And?” Oliver replied, his soft smile morphing into a smirk.

She shrugged, putting down her book. “D’you need something?”

Oliver helped her sit up and pulled her close to himself. “Nah, got everything I need right here.”

It was a cheesy line. Incredibly lame. It should have made her roll her eyes. But because it was Oliver Wood who said it, gazing at her with those honey eyes, his arms doing that flexing thing that drove her mad, it actually worked. Before she knew it, she and Oliver were locked in an embrace, lips moving in sync, hands gripping tight to wherever they landed. Just as Oliver was gently pushing her back onto the bed, the door opened-

“Oh, you sick, sick bastards.”

Percy Weasley stood in the doorway, Honeydukes package in his hand, his face even paler than usual as his wide eyes surveyed the scene before him.

His twin sister sat up, fixing her hair. “Listen, Percy-”

“This is incest!” Percy sputtered, absently tossing the chocolates onto his own bed. Chocolates he had bought in hopes that it would cheer up his supposedly sick roommate.

His definitely-not-sick roommate made a face. “No, it’s not.”

Percy nodded. “Yes, it is, Oliver.”

“We’re not related,” Oliver pointed out, gesturing between himself and the girl who should absolutely not be in the boys’ dorm, let alone on Oliver’s bed.

“Oh, and that makes it okay, I suppose?” Percy had never felt this level of disgust and abhorrence, and maybe even a little betrayal.

His sister snorted. “Well, it makes it not incest,” she mumbled.

Percy was pacing the small room at this point, his face now beginning to redden and match his smattering of freckles. “Right. Okay. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and say that Oliver had a very nasty head injury from last night’s practice, and you-” He pointed to his sister. “-drank a botched batch of Amortentia, which has caused you to think that Wood here is an appropriate snogging partner.”

She huffed, now officially tired of her brother’s nonsense. “This is none of your business, Perce.”

The prefect’s face now matched his tie. “Oh, but it is, troll face.” His resorting to childhood insults was a sure sign of his anger. “It is very much my business. This can’t happen, okay? You two can’t get together because, putting aside the face that it makes me want to hurl, if you get together, you’ll break up, and then where does that leave me, Wood?” His gaze turned to Oliver, begging his roommate to understand. “You might be my best friend, but she’s my sister, and like it or not, I’ll have to stick with her. Don’t put me in that position.”

Oliver jumped off the bed and rushed to Percy’s side, placing a hand gently on the Weasley boy’s shoulder. “I’m your best friend, Weasley?” His honey eyes were wide, full of wonder.

“Of course,” Percy scoffed. “Aren’t I yours?”

For the first time, Oliver said the words every other Gryffindor already knew: “Yeah, you’re my best friend, Percy.”

The two boys stood, smiling at each other, relieved to finally admit their fondness for one another after years of grumbling whenever someone called them anything more than roommates.

The sound of someone clearing their throats brought them out of their tender moment.

“That’s great and all,” Percy’s sister- no, Oliver’s girlfriend- murmured. “But that doesn’t solve Percy’s… issue.”

Oliver’s cheeks reddened. “Right. Right.” He turned back to his best friend. “Listen, Weasley.” He straightened himself up. “I really like your sister. And we’ve been together three months now, and I’d like to keep seeing her. But I also don’t want to keep it secret from you anymore.” He shrugged. “I dunno. If you can’t trust your best friend to treat your sister right, who can ya trust?”

Percy narrowed his eyes a moment, turning over Oliver’s words in his mind. He had a point.

“You know if you hurt her, I know plenty of spells, right? And I’m not exactly going to punish myself for breaking any rules?”

Oliver nodded earnestly. “Yeah, yeah I know.” He gave Percy a small smack on the back. “We’re good then?”

With a sigh, Percy nodded. “We’re good.” He smiled at Oliver, the two of them officially lost in their own world.

Back on the bed, there came a small sigh. “Merlin, I wish we’d just kept this a secret.”

[ari-archives]

It's Only Fair

You're sitting down doing your homework at the quidditch stands while occasionally watching a “friendly” scrimmage game between Gryffindor and your house, Ravenclaw. Although some of the spectators watching as well would say it could be a little friendlier. You preferred to do your homework outdoors rather than inside as your dorm doesn’t stay quiet long enough for you to focus because your roommates tend to go in and out, and the library, although quiet, gets too stuffy after being there for so long. So, you chose the quidditch pitch. Something about the breeze and open view calms you down if you get too stressed about your grades or an upcoming test.

Though today you didn’t know that the pitch would be occupied. You don’t mind it as much as your best friend is on your house team and it's always nice to see her play. You see her gliding through the air laughing and smiling while teasing the Gryffindor team, making her lose her balance slightly, causing you to let out a scoff while shaking your head. That girl always gets distracted somehow.

Having taken a break long enough, you turn your attention back to your research on Newt Scamander, famed Magizoologist. Magical creatures aren’t really your thing as you find it quite boring. You're more in to Spells, potions, and everything in between to become a great Auror.

“WATCH OUT” you heard, taking you out of your thoughts.

Looking towards the direction of the voice, your eyes are met with a quaffle coming straight towards you. You didn’t have time to react so your best solution was to cower and cover your face with your thick book and hope for the best. Hopefully Madam Pomrey is able to put your face back together. What seemed like forever anticipating the painful hit, you were met with nothing but a gust of air. You peeked from the top of your book only to find a member of the Gryffindor team floating on his broom stick in front of you holding the quaffle that was about to dismember your face. You let out a big sigh of relief and you were beyond grateful for this stranger’s speedy reflexes.

“WATCH WHERE YOU AIM THIS THING WILL YOU?” He screamed before throwing the ball to the closest player. I see him shook his head before he turned towards me.

“You okay there lass? Sorry about that” He spoke, concern in his voice. Your eyes scanned his face trying to see if I knew his name or not. You didn’t. Although you did find him quite handsome.

“Yes.” You said, clearing your throat. “I’m okay”

He nodded, relief feeling his eyes.

“Good. Promise that won’t happen again.” He gave you a small smile before turning around ready to fly off with his teammates.

“wait!” You shouted, making him halt in his tracks. He turned to you with confusion written on his face. You stood up and walked down a few steps to get closer to him.

“What’s your name? You saved my life and I don’t even know your name.” You told him. He smiled at you, wider than the one he gave you before.

“Oliver. Oliver Wood.” He answered with a hint of pride.

“Thank you, Oliver Wood.” You smiled back at him.

“You’re very welcome.”

Sensing that the conversation is over, you gave him a nod and started heading back to your stuff.

“Seeing as you know my name,” he called after you. “I think it’s only fair I know yours.”

You looked back at him raising your eyebrows. He mimicked you tilting his head slightly, waiting for your answer.

“y/n y/l/n”

Though it didn’t seem possible, his smile widened hearing your name. You could almost see the glint in his eyes taking it in.

“y/n y/l/n” he repeated, as if it was something he wanted to remember “Beautiful name. Unfortunate we had to meet under these circumstances. Hopefully next time will be better.”

You shot him a questioning look, slightly impressed by his boldness.

“What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” You questioned, teasing him a little bit.

He let out a chuckle glancing at his surroundings before looking back at you once more.

“Oh I’m going make sure there is lass. You have my word.” He smiled at you once more before flying off and returning to the pitch, leaving you there before you could argue.

Knowing there’s no point in trying to get another word in, you headed back to your seat to gather your books. You try to ignore the blush forming on your cheeks as you put your books in your bag. There’s no way you could focus on your research paper now that the Gryffindor quidditch player has filled your mind.

You feel the heat radiating off your cheeks on the back of your hand as you walk down the stands, not even fighting the smile that’s making its way onto your face. What you didn’t see though, was that a certain quidditch player has been watching you since he returned to his post with a smile mirroring yours, ecstatic that you felt the same way about your interaction.

[justanoasisimagines]

Wrapping presents with Oliver Wood

Hey my lovelies, back with another Christmas Headcanon! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

🎁Oliver doesn't hate wrapping presents, but it's certainly not his favorite activity to do. However, he does find wrapping with you more enjoyable.

🎁The mood has to be set; Christmas music playing in the background, presents in an organized pile, everything you're going to need to the side. Oliver much prefers to wrap presents all in one go.

🎁Somehow Oliver always finds pieces of cellotape stuck to him afterwards. He doesn't know how they got there.

🎁At some point you'll both take a break to have something to eat and maybe a hot drink. Wrapping presents is a long and tiresome process. Both of you can be wrapping for hours.

🎁Oliver questioned when he brought a present. He doesn't remember what he's picked up for who sometimes. It also leads to the question if he's brought enough. If he's missed anyone out.

🎁Oliver asking you how to wrap something up because sometimes he has no idea. He also takes his time wrapping each present perfectly.

🎁Oliver would leave the buying of the wrapping paper, bows, ribbon, tags etc to you. He doesn't care what they look like and he trusts your opinion.

[i-love-oliverwood]

TV | | OLIVER WOOD

NOT MY GIF!

Inspired by the song TV by Billie Eilish

warnings- cussing, alcohol use, mentions of sex

summary- oliver and reader are best friends until he has to leave for america.

-Y/n’s pov-

I just wanna watch TV

"I don't wanna talk right now!" I yelled at Oliver, my best friend whom I'm in love with.

"You never want too." He snapped back, "You always just wanna watch TV."

"I'm avoiding you." I shrugged.

"Yeah, I get that! But why?"

"So, I don't have to watch you leave." I gulped.

His gaze softened and he sat down on the sofa next to me. "Is that what this is about? I'm so sorry, Y/n. I have to leave to America, if I want to go pro."

"But you're moving there, Ollie!" I cried, "What about the plans we made?"

He frowned, "You have other friends. And I promise I'll call you everyday. I'll miss you so so much, please don't think I won't. You're my best friend but this is my dream. Haven't you ever had a dream that you just knew you had to do whatever it takes to achieve it?"

"Yeah..." I looked away from him, keeping my eyes glued onto the TV in front of us. "But there's nothing I can do about it now."

"I'm sure that's not true, love. What's your dream?" He placed his hand on my shoulder.

"I can't tell you." I shook my head.

"Yes, you can." He nodded, placing his hand under my chin and turning my face so I was looking at him.

I took a deep breath, looking deep into his big brown eyes, "It's... you, Ollie. You're my dream."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

"I've been in denial for at least a little while." I sighed, "But I'm in love you. I always have been. I know it's you dream to go pro and that's why I have to let you go. I can't be selfish and make you stay when you don't feel that same way about me."

His eyes widened, "Why would you tell me this now!"

"I had to before you leave. I couldn't live with myself if you never knew how I felt."

"I leave tomorrow, Y/n!" He yelled, "And now this is all I'm gonna be thinking about."

"I'm sorry." I sighed, looking back at the TV.

"I should go." He stood up.

"Ollie." I jumped up and grabbed his wrist before he could walk away, "Just forget I said anything, okay? You mean too much to me and even if you don't feel the same, that's okay."

"I can't just forget about this." He shook his head, "I'm sorry but I need to go. I wish things were different.” He reached for the doorknob.

"Ollie, wait." I begged, tears falling down my cheeks, "Can't you just spend one last day with me? I'm sorry for avoiding you before but you're gonna be gone. And I'm gonna fucking miss you."

He shook his head again. Tears blurred his vision, "It will be too hard to say goodbye so I have to do it now."

"No, please!"

"Goodbye, Y/n." He yanked his wrist away from my grasp, "I love you too." He smiled through the tears and left my small and dark apartment. I stood there, my mouth agape and sobbing.

I'll never see him again.

Is he still gonna call everyday? Or did I ruin everything?

I fell to the ground, the uncontrollable sobs escaping from my mouth. He said I have other friends but I don't.

Because all my friends are missing again. That's what happens when you fall in love. You don't have the time, you leave them all behind. And you tell yourself it's fine, you're just in love.

-Oliver's Pov-

I haven't spoke or seen to Y/n since that day I left her apartment and it's been years. The amount of times, I almost picked up the phone, just to hear her voice but I stopped myself every time. It would be too hard. I wish I would have kissed her that day, just to know what it was like. I loved her so much, it hurt. And I still do. I don't think I could ever move on from her. The impact that girl left on my life is insane.

I went pro in Quidditch. I wonder if she's seen  me on TV, since she's always glued to that thing. I wonder if she's moved on. What if she forgot about me?

I've tried to get over her: countless hookups with girls that didn't matter to me, drinking constantly, and practicing Quidditch everyday. None of it works. She's still on my mind.

One night in my drunken mindset, I put in her phone number. Hopefully she didn't change her number. The rings filled my ears until I finally heard her voice. The voice that brings me so much joy.

"Hello?"

"Y/n..."

"Oliver?" She questioned.

Tears filled my eyes, "uh, I don't know where you are right now. Did you see me on TV?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Just a little teeny bit." I chuckled.

"I haven't heard from you in years! You asshole and you call me drunk? Did you ever care about me at all?" She yelled.

"Who you screaming at, princess?" I heard a man's voice coming from her end of the line.

"No one, honey. Go back to bed." She told that man.

"You're gonna wake the kids up. Please don't yell." He said.

"Kids? Princess? Honey?" I said, tears falling down at this point.

"I'm married, Oliver." She said making my heart break into a million pieces. Maybe I'm the problem.

"Married?" I yelled, "You have kids?"

"What did you expect? For me to wait by the phone for years? Hoping that one day, you'll call? You never did. After months of waiting I gave up. I ran into Theodore, and we fell in love."

"Theodore Nott?" I scoffed, "You married that prick?"

"He's not a prick! He's my husband so watch your tone." She raised her voice again.

What's the point of anything?

"Y/n, I never stopped loving you. I love you, I should of kissed you that day and I didn't. Im such an idiot."

"Why would you tell me this now?" She sighed, "You had years to tell me, Oliver. I'm sorry but I've moved on. You should too."

"I can't." I sniffled. Cringing at her calling me Oliver again. There was no sweetness in her voice like there used to be. No Ollie, just my full name.

"Maybe you should get some sleep." She said and hung up.

I've ruined everything. Oh god, what have I done?

[way-too-addicted-to-fandoms]

Author is a sucker for validation and I am a sucker for good banter. I am a button pusher by nature (once I get comfortable) so this is so relatable to me, not to mention hilarious to read. Thank you for sharing this with us!

the one where getting under the skin of the gryffindor quidditch captain, oliver wood, is your favorite hobby.

pairing: oliver wood x fem!reader

word count: 0.7k words

rating: PG-15

content: fluff, established relationship au; ft. ravenclaw!reader, quidditch captain!reader

warning/s: none

“Unbelievable,” Oliver Wood mutters as he spots you and the whole Ravenclaw Quidditch team already flying around the pitch. The sun is only about to rise, the fog surrounding the place just starting to clear, and he’s becoming more annoyed at the fact that not only are your team stealing their time, but even managed to be here earlier than they are.

What makes it worse is that he knows that he’s the first one who reserved it for training since the match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw is fast approaching. And to further add to that, he particularly remembers reminding you that you better not take over any of the days he intends to let his team practice when he (stupidly) showed you his timetable for classes and Quidditch sessions.

“____!” He shouts your name, and upon hearing it from below, you look at him, a smirk automatically making its way on your lips.

“Let’s take a short break, everyone!” you instruct your team, flying down then and dropping down right in front of Oliver. “Good morning, Captain Wood. Fancy seeing you here.”

The formality triggers Oliver’s annoyance even more, but for the rest of the Gryffindor team who remain standing behind him, it brings them to hide their snickers and amused expressions.

After all, they—and pretty much the whole student body—are quite aware that you and Oliver have been dating for almost two years now, and this thing happening right here is just one of your schemes to playfully get on your competitive boyfriend’s nerves.

“____,” Oliver says your name again with a sigh this time, voice not daring to go a volume higher now that you’re near despite the situation, “please tell me why the bloody hell are you and your team on this pitch this morning?”

You put on your best innocent expression. “Well, we’re training, of course.”

“Yes, but I can specifically recall that I booked this pitch for the whole day. So, it’s a great wonder to me why I’m seeing you Ravenclaws here.”

“Hm, are you sure you booked it the whole day though? From the schedule that you showed me, it says there that it starts at 9AM, which is…” you glance at your wristwatch, “two hours from now. Meaning until then—”

“You have the freedom to use the pitch,” Oliver deadpans.

You grin. “Exactly, my love. You and your team can certainly wait, right? Though I’d appreciate it if you don’t hang around here while we’re playing. I might accuse you of stealing our strategy.”

“Strategy? Didn’t know you had one when we take into account the way you play.”

“Well, considering I’ve already won two games against you, maybe apparently not having a strategy might work on Gryffindor too.”

“One game was won by default.”

“And the other one?”

“Pure luck, of course.”

You laugh, and Oliver’s lips twitch, like he’s suppressing to do the same just to commit to the act he’s doing.

“Can we head to the Great Hall first for breakfast, Wood?” A Weasley twin pipes in amidst your impromptu staring contest with your boyfriend, causing Oliver to glance behind him and nod reluctantly.

“Fine. The rest of you can go get breakfast. But we meet here at exactly 9AM. Got it?”

The team says a chorus of yes and proceeds on walking back to the direction of the castle. Oliver, however, stays in his spot and raises his eyebrows at you, the mask of annoyance seen on his face a while ago seemingly gone now.

“What?” you ask, still with that teasing grin of yours.

“You promised.”

“I didn’t promise anything.”

“You told me you weren’t going to steal any of my days for Quidditch practices.”

“Technically, I’m not stealing as it is not your time yet.”

“Always such a smartass.”

“That’s what you get for dating a Ravenclaw,” you say, mounting your broom before giving him a quick kiss on the mouth and dashing back upwards where your other members are already zooming around.

Oliver shakes his head in disbelief; it’s unfair how you can get away with shenanigans that he typically would curse another team for. “I expect the pitch to be empty by 8:55, alright?” he bellows, just so you can hear him from where you’re situated.

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

gentle reminder: this author is a sucker for validation so please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts about this! ♡

[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

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[omg-imatotalmess]

I've been thinking about the type of attractive each of the boys is and I can't get it out of my head so here's this:

Draco Malfoy: Devastatingly beautiful. The kind of old world beauty that makes you feel a little wrecked when you look at him. Just sharp enough to catch your attention and just subtle enough to keep you watching.

George Weasley: Hot in the heart of gold, openly soft kind of way. The kind that makes you feel a little more gooey than you'd like to admit when he smiles at you a little too long. Sorta subtle at first, but it creeps up on you. One second he's just cute and the next he's warming every room he walks into.

Fred Weasley: Charminly cocky. Bold to a fault. The kind of hot where you can't tell how much of it is that he's really that hot and how much is confidence. He's definitely attractive all by himself but he also radiates attractiveness from somewhere within him in a way that’s just unfair.

Harry Potter: Dreamy and fantasy like. The kind of attractive that you typically only find in dreams. There's something about him that's always a touch familiar in a hazy way and unfamiliar in almost every other. It’s the kind of look that makes you want to reach out and touch him just to make sure he's real.

Neville Longbottom: Beautiful in the boy next door sort of way. The kind that’s disarming, familiar, and so subtle that makes your chest ache a little bit. He's the soft kind of beautiful that makes you stare without meaning to.

Ron Weasley: Hot in the friend’s sweet older bother way. The kind with a crooked smile, messy hair, and the general feeling that he might be teasing you a little. It’s an easy kind of attractive that you notice immediately and can't ever escape. He just gets hotter the longer you look at him even when he's being goofy. Especially then.

Oliver Wood: Hot in the kind jock from an 80’s movie way. He's so sweet and looks at you like you might solve all his problems if he can just figure out how to ask.

[rainydayathogwarts]

How they react when you tell them you're in the mood - Oliver Wood

this is a small series I’ll be uploading. I’ll post each character on its own, but the character i’ll be writing this for are: Harry, Ron, Percy, Oliver, Remus, Sirius, James.

oliver! is always ready to praise and worship your body no matter what time of the day it is, so when you come up to him after a successful Quidditch match, engulfing him in a big hug and standing on the tip of your toes so you can whisper in his ear how much you want him, he is ready to pounce.

You can barely close the door to the changing rooms before Oliver's lips are on your body, kissing every inch of skin he can reach. He's lucky the team prefers to shower in their dorms. His veiny hands are gripping your waist while he's nipping at your skin, hips grinding mercilessly into you. It's only your hands, relentlessly trying to tug his pants down his thighs that have him pulling away from you to take over the job. He strips down to nothing, but scolds you when you mimic his actions because he takes joy in taking your clothes off.

You turn away from him and teasingly bend forward when taking your panties off, and not nearly a second later, Oliver is on his knees, pulling you back onto his face as he devours your cunt. You cry out loudly, tightly gripping the lockers in the room, the thought of anyone walking in on you making you impossibly wetter. Oliver can tell when you're about to orgasm from the way your pussy clenches around his tongue so he pulls away, one hand coming up to smack your ass, eyes trained on the way it jiggles.

When you whine, starting to beg for more, Oliver wraps an arm around your wrist, pulling you along into one of the showers, where he lets the water run hot before pounding into you, his body pressing yours up against the wall. He's basically carrying you with the way one of your leg is propped up on his hip, the other trembling from the pressure. Your arms wrapped around his body keep him impossibly close to you and he grunts into the crook of your neck.

He gets sloppy with his strokes, but one hand comes down to urgently rub your clit, making sure you come before him. Your second leg gives out from under you when you finally orgasm, but his tight hold on your body keeps you up, and his hand picks your second leg up to wrap around his waist so he can use the momentum to make him go quicker, pulling a second orgasm from you while he cums inside you, hips erratically pumping into you while he whimpers quietly.

He holds you in his arms, using the wall as support while he catches him breath, pressing soft, and much less urgent kisses on your skin. He knows he can put you down when you leave a kiss on his jaw, one hand coming up to push his face closer to yours so you can kiss him properly.

After the celebratory party in the Gryffindor Tower, he pulls you up to his dorm for an inevitable round two.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

★ fluff | † angst | ‡ sad | !! suggestive

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‼️THIS MASTERLIST IS NOT GONNA BE UPDATED ANYMORE, PLEASE CHECK THE MEGALIST ↓↓↓‼️

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Isaac Garcia (mlwtwb)

playing with his hair ★

unconsciously smiling whenever she smiles ★

drunk ★

y/n(she/her) finds Isaac drunk on the front porch

(i have more of Isaac on my wattpad but i won't pot them here so u can check them out on there if you want)

Lee Garcia (mlwtwb)

teacher ★

Lee teaches y/n (she/her) how to skateboard

first kiss ★

Draco Malfoy (harry potter) +check the other masterlist too

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

too late ‡

y/n (she/her) who is in her first year at Hogwarts (11y/o) and likes Draco Malfoy who is in his 4th year (15y/o), but Draco tells her that she's too young. this happes every year until y/n turns 15 and stops trying to be with Draco and moves on but Draco realizes that he likes her but it's too late cause she already moved on.

in the shadows †

y/n (she/her) is Professor Umbridge's niece and had transfered to Hogwarts when her aunt got a job as a teacher there but what no one knew is that Umbridge is abusive towards y/n (she uses the same method she used on Harry Potter in the movie: to write something on a piece of paper and it magically engraves on the back of your hand with cuts) for a while no one noticed and thought that she was just shy but one pearson, Draco Malfoy, a fellow Slytherin, noticed her hand one day in potions class and asked to talk to her privetly in the Slytherin common room and that's when y/n opens up about the abuse and that's when she finds out that Draco had took a notice of her ever since she arrived, but she didn't notice because of her shy and scared demeanor.

in your arms ★

y/n (she/her) is Draco Malfoy 's girlfriend and one night Draco show's up at her house and he ends up spending the night there, with him cuddled up in her arms crying after he told her that he was forced to join the death eaters.

"it was nice knowing you!" †

bully †

y/n (she/her) tries to take her life after Draco bullies her, but little does she know the reason of the bullying is for him to hide his actual feelings for her.

alphabet nsfw headcanons !!

lazy day headcanons ★

first kiss ★

y/n (she/her) having her first kiss with Draco

kisses ★

you don't have to go ★

y/n(she/her) stops Draco in the battle of Hogwarts

one day at a time †★

y/n(she/her) losses her mom in the battle of Hogwarts and Draco is there to help her get through the grief

wildflowers ★

i could stay here forever ★

you and Draco have been sneaking off to the library to study together, but it always ends up with him pulling you close between the dusty bookshelves, stealing kisses and making you giggle as he murmurs sweet nothings in your ear.

you have no idea how much you mean to me ★

Draco loves taking you on secret walks around the Hogwarts grounds after curfew. Under the soft glow of the moon, he wraps his arms around you, his cold demeanor melting away as he admits how much you mean to him.

but you had fun, didn't you ★

it’s winter at Hogwarts, and you’ve convinced Draco to join in a snowball fight.

well, that didn't go as planned ★

during potions class, Draco helps you brew a tricky potion, but it ends in a harmless explosion. Covered in glittering mist, he laughs for the first time in front of everyone, holding your hand under the table and whispering that it was worth it just to see you smile.

shall we? ★

Draco asks y/n(she/her) to the Yule Ball

dating Draco Malfoy headcanons ★

worth it ★

Draco is a prefect and finds you out at night

i can’t believe it ★

you tell Draco that your pregnant and you, bith, break the news to the Malfoys

kissing Draco Malfoy headcanons ★

happy valentine’s day ★

i’m beginning to feel like a rap god… ★

draco with a girlfriend who loves Eminem

see? i told you they’d love you ★

y/n(she/her) a holiday at malfoy manor and Draco's family loves her (especially lucius)

Harry Potter (harry potter)

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

bittersweet goodbye ‡

y/n (she/her) is the only friend Harry Potter had while living with the Dursleys and now they have to say goodbye because Harry is going to Hogwarts.

first snowfall ★

it's the first snow of the year at Hogwarts

Fred Weasley (harry potter) +check the other masterlist too

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

you promised, remember? †

y/n (she/her) finds Fred after the battle of Hogwarts

ridiculously in love ★

together at last ★‡

Yn had died years before Fred was even born, she died during her 7th year. So when Fred first sees her he fell in love.

second chances ★‡

after Fred’s near-death experience in the Battle of Hogwarts, y/n(she/her) struggles with the fear of losing him again

too far ★

Fred has always been the king of pranks, but one day he goes a bit too far, and he Fred spends the rest of the day trying to make it up to you with adorable gestures until you can’t help but forgive him.

the kissing booth ★

a bit down ★

after a tough day, Fred surprises you with your favorite sweets from Honeydukes and a cuddle session

you’re completely mad, you know that? ★

y/n(she/her) loves thunderstorms and the rain and always wants to go dance in the rain with Fred, but Fred is terrified of them

it’s okay to be happy, even after everything | p2 | p3 ★‡

i like you, and it scares the hell out of me | p2 ★

all of Fred's life he's hated Slytherins and has always said he would never befriend one much less date one, but reader appears and he starts falling for her while denying it and is maybe a bit of an a**hole to reader because he just doesn't believe he could ever like you, but realizes that reader isn't horrible and that not all Slytherins are monsters, and once they're together everyone teases him about how he would say he would never date a Slytherin but now reader is basically the love of his life

Cedric Diggory (harry potter)

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

first kiss ★

please wake up †‡

y/n(she/her) finds out Cedric died during the Triwizard tournament

Sirius Black (harry potter)

finding home | p2 ★‡ (platonic)

y/n(she/her) finds out that Sirius Black is her father but he didn't know that, and her mom found out after he was inprisoned, but then she was killed by Voldemort when y/n was a baby and was placed in an orphanage for wizards and witches. and he found out after the battle of Hogwarts (in which he survived) and came to find you and tell you and take you in...

Harry Potter boys headcanons (harry potter)

how the hp boys would react when they find out you have a crush on them ★

the hp boys help you calm down †

the hp boys find y/n (she/her) crying/hipper ventilating

Newt Scamander (fantastic beasts/hpu)

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

to me, you’re… everything ★

Newt showing his love to y/n(she/her)

good morning, love ★

waking up with Newt

Stiles Stilinski (teen wolf)

dance in the living room ★

Stiles starts dancing in the living room with y/n (she/her)

Tony Stark (mcu)

see? not so scary, right? ★

y/n(she/her) and Tony share their first kiss

too late †‡

Tony confesses his love for y/n(she/her), but it's too late

panic attack ★

Tony finds y/n(she/her) having a panic attack

if only... ★‡

y/n(she/her) gets injured and Tony helps her, and y/n confesses her feelings for him but she's too young

princess treatment ★

tom!Peter Parker (mcu)

i'll always be here for you ★

y/n(she/her) has a panic attack because she was attacked by a villan, but spider-man saved her and brought her home and after spider man left, peter arrived like 2 minutes later and comforted her

cute ★

Peter tries to ask y/n(she/her) out but he gets all flustered and shy and stumbles in words a lot but she thinks it's cute

i’ve never... kissed anyone before ★

both y/n(she/her) and Peter are really shy and awkward and they have their first kiss

Percy Jackson (percy jackson and the olympians) +check the other masterlist too

mornin ★

waking up in the morning, Percy is still half-asleep, his arm draped lazily over your waist

forehead kisses ★

Percy has a habit of giving you quick, gentle forehead kisses whenever he passes by you

i’m always going to protect you, no matter what ★

during a quest, Percy instinctively steps in front of you when danger arises, his protective nature shining through

i… i hate thunderstorms ★

y/n(she/her) is afraid of thunderstorms. Percy holds her close, whispering that he’ll keep her safe no matter what

even heroes need someone to stand up for them ★

y/n(she/her) gets protective when another camper tries to pick a fight with Percy, stepping in to defend him, much to his amusement

Timotheé Chalamet +check the other masterlist too

cut ★

y/n(she/her) and Timothée work on a movie together and they have to film a kiss scene

let them know ★

y/n(she/her) and Timothée's seceret relationship is outed by a paparazzo

under the weather ★

Timmy takes care of y/n(she/her) on her period

sleep well ★

y/n(she/her) takes care of Timmy after a long day

book nook ★

Timothée created a cozy reading nook just for you. Filled with fairy lights, plush cushions, and your favorite books, he surprised you with it one evening, encouraging you to pick a book while he read aloud, making the evening warm and intimate

please… don’t give up on us †‡

Timothée watched as everything he once cherished slowly crumbled around him. He saw the hurt in your eyes and knew he was the cause, but the more he tried to mend the pieces, the more it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers

Finn Wolfhard

i’m lucky to have you ★

y/n(she/her) is on the chubby side and Finn loves that about her and he wants to touch her and hold her and if at any point she is embarrassed or feels insecure about what she looks like he always reassures her and shows her how much he loves her

Tom Holland

just… a habit †★

Tom finds out that y/n(she/her) s.h. during a interview

you’re my favorite person, after all ★

you’re sitting in your favorite coffee shop, absorbed in a book, when Tom sneaks up behind you and places a cup of your favorite coffee on the table

lights, camera, love ★

y/n(she/her) and Tom go to a red carpet event together for the first time

i’ve got you ★

Tom taking care of y/n(she/her) whilst she's sick

why so shy? ★

y/n(she/her) gets shy and flustered around Tom, and he absolutely loves it

Walker Scobell +check the other masterlist too

you’re such a goof ★

y/n(she/her) and Walker share a cute momet in the park

pet names ★

Walker can't stop giving y/n(she/her) different pet names

breathe ★

Walker helps y/n(she/her) through an anxiety/panic attack

oblivious ★

y/n(she/her) has a huge crush on Walker and gives his very obvious hints but he is very oblivious

off-camera ★

y/n(she/her) and Walker have their first kiss (off camera)

i just… i like it ★

y/n(she/her) can't help but play with Walker's hair

i love you, you know that? ★

Walker loves kissing you in between takes

i’m fine ★†‡

y/n(she/her) is crying on the beach at night and Walker, Aryan, Leah, Dior and Charlie find and comfort her

you’re the best hugger i’ve ever met ★

y/n(she/her) finally meets Walker and he is, in fact, the best hugger ever

[flourish-and-blotts-bookstore]

AHHHH I'M SCREAMING AND I'M DYING AND THAT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AND POETIC THING I'VE EVER READ

And gods why doesn't Oliver Wood exist in real life?? The build up and the rivalry but their similarities and how he admired just about everything that she did or anything...every chapter was so amazing and beautifully written- I found myself hiding the blush that would sneak on my cheeks or the butterflies...

Gah I just loved it 🥺🥹🥹

- Moon (@fly-you-dam-fools)

Around the Corner (Part 8)

Oliver puts his plan into action and the Reader makes a surprising- and wonderful- discovery.

Oliver Wood x Ravenclaw!Reader

3.3k words

Part 7

Warnings: lots of fluff, dialogue taken directly from ‘You’ve Got Mail’ because Nora Ephron is the best

A/N: Here it is, the finale! Thank you so much for reading. This might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I’m really sad to be done, but I’m super excited to share this story with you 💕

~

A few more weeks passed of Oliver sending letters back and forth with Y/N. He took care to avoid the topic of meeting during that time and provided only non-committal answers to her questions.

In the meantime, he enjoyed his budding friendship with the girl he now willingly admitted he was absolutely infatuated with. The two found themselves spending a lot of time together; sometimes they talked about the pen pal situation, with Oliver coming up with more and more ridiculous explanations about who the pen pal was, but more often than not they talked about everyday things like quidditch, their classes, what they did at home during the summer. And Oliver relished every opportunity to get to talk to Y/N as himself, no hiding behind letters; just Oliver.

This new normal led to a Saturday morning sitting by the lake, enjoying the bright sunshine and no impending quidditch matches or tests. Oliver had set down his sweatshirt on the grass for Y/N to sit on and laid himself down on his back, propped on his elbows. He glanced up at Y/N, pretending that he wasn’t soaking in every drop of her beauty.

“Alright, what’d he say?”

A smile spread across Y/N’s face as she unfolded her latest letter. “Read for yourself.”

Pretending he had not just written this exact letter, Oliver skimmed the parchment quickly. “This afternoon?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t too obvious in his acting. Y/N nodded enthusiastically as Oliver handed the letter back to her. “On the quidditch field. How romantic.”

“He knows it’s pretty much my favorite place on the grounds,” she explained, folding the note back up and sticking it in her jeans pocket.

Oliver gazed at her, admiring the slight flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eye, thinking about how he’d grown to love so much about her these last few weeks; the way the stuck her tongue out slightly when she was deep in thought, her knack for just the right trivia fact or book reference to sprinkle into a conversation, the head tilt she swore she did not do when she was focused on whatever task was at hand. Then there was her confidence, whether on the quidditch pitch, in the classroom, or just goofing around in front of her friends; her bold kindness, not soft or gentle like other people Oliver knew, but an aggressive love she showed to the people she cared about; and of course, her physical beauty, which he’d always begrudgingly admitted to noticing, but now fully basked in. All these things combined into one incredible person that Oliver wished he had known all these years. Merlin, he’d wasted too much time.

As he studied her, Oliver began to wonder. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Hmm?” She looked down at Oliver, smiling what he now thought of as a dazzling smile. “What’s up?”

He thought a moment, choosing his words with care. “D’you ever think, if you weren’t you, and I wasn’t me, if things hadn’t been broken for so long…” He trailed off with a shrug, looking up into her eyes, seeing the same pondering expression he knew his held.

She hummed thoughtfully and turned her gaze to the lake. “We would’ve been friends sooner,” she supposed. “Best friends, probably.” With a shrug, she looked back down at Oliver.

Oliver sat up now, nodding. “Best friends,” he echoed. He met her eyes, searching them for a reaction as he continued. “And one day, I would’ve looked at you, and something in my head would just click.” He snapped his fingers. “And I’d ask you out for a butterbeer, or ice cream, or dinner… and I wouldn’t have been able to wait until the end of the date to lean in for that first kiss.”

There it was, the very thing he was hoping for: a deep flush in her cheeks, her eyes widening slightly with each word out of his mouth.

“Oliver…” she sighed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear; a nervous habit of hers, Oliver had discovered. She let out the smallest chuckle, clearly lost for words.

He continued. “And we would’ve never been at war, we’d never played those stupid pranks on each other, or said a cruel word to one another. The only thing we’d fight about would be whose common room to hang out in on a Friday night.”

A tiny smile formed on those lips Oliver found himself staring at far too often. “Now, who fights about a silly thing like that?” she asked quietly.

Oliver shook his head gently. “Some people. Not us.”

“We would never,” she agreed.

“If only,” he sighed, almost too quiet to hear.

A pause filled the air, along with the electricity between the two of them. Somewhere in the distance they could hear the sounds of people chattering and hanging out, but in this moment, they were in a world of their own. Oliver almost wished he could freeze this moment, where they were on the same page, both wishing they could somehow turn back time and do things differently. Do things right.

She cleared her throat, starting to get up. “I… I should go, er, get ready-”

Oliver took her hand, urging her to sit back down. “Well, let me ask you something.” Y/N resumed her seat, her cheeks still deep red. Oliver took a breath before continuing. “How can you forgive this guy for standing you up, and not forgive me for this tiny little thing… of making your life miserable since we were twelve?” His hand reached up to gently touch her cheek, which was just as soft as he expected it to be, if not a bit warm. He dipped his head, looking up at her through his lashes. “Oh, how I wish you would.”

They stared at each other, Oliver’s hand still on her cheek. He could see the rapid calculations going on behind her eyes, the same way she would look around the quidditch pitch to find an open teammate to pass to. He could almost swear he saw some tears there, too.

She swallowed hard. “I really have to go,” she finally whispered.

Oliver let go. “Yeah. You don’t want to be late.”

When Y/N stood up, Oliver could see her legs shaking slightly. She bent down and picked up Oliver’s hoodie, handing it to him. “I’ll see you later?” It was more question than statement.

“Of course,” Oliver answered with a small smile, taking the balled up sweatshirt. “I want to hear all about your meeting.”

The tension in Y/N’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Really?”

Oliver nodded. “Absolutely. Believe me, Y/N, I want you to be happy.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” She turned and walked away briskly, her head down, arms crossed. About halfway across the grass, she turned and looked back at Oliver, who offered a tiny wave.

Once she turned back around and continued towards the castle, Oliver checked the watch on his wrist. He jumped up; he had somewhere to be as well.

~

“I have nothing to wear,” I grumbled as I dug through my trunk, poking through various pairs of jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters that were tucked in among my uniforms, undoing the house-elves’ meticulous folding.

“Want to borrow something of mine?” Penelope distractedly offered from her spot on her bed, where she copied notes from a textbook, watching my panic with only vague interest.

I shook my head. “You don’t have anything to wear either.” Closing my eyes, I paused my search and turned to face Penelope. “Crap. I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t mean-”

She waved me off, unbothered. “You’re fine,” she chuckled. “You’re nervous.”

“Very,” I admitted, turning my attention back to my trunk. “Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why do I have such rubbish taste in clothes?”

“Okay, okay, I’m here to rescue you.” Maggie stood in the doorway, hands behind her back. “Wear. This.” With a flourish, she revealed the same little blue dress I’d worn to the party in the Gryffindor common room.

The tip of my nose grew warm just thinking of that party. “I dunno Maggie…”

She shoved the dress at me. “You look great in it. I remember the look on Wood’s face when you were wearing that thing. And he wasn’t the only guy looking. I promise, you’re gonna knock this boy’s socks off.”

I stared down at the dress in my hands. It was a cute dress. And there was no denying, especially after this morning, that Oliver had clearly liked the way I looked in it; shouldn’t this guy like it too?

“Fine, fine,” I grumbled, suppressing a grin. “I’ll wear the dress.”

About fifteen minutes later, I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to help admiring how I looked. The dress was even more flattering that I remembered, I’d put on a touch of makeup, and Penelope had done something miraculous to my hair. I slipped on a pair of sneakers, which Maggie assured me was just cute and casual enough.

I gave a quick twirl in front of my friends. “What do we think?”

“Approved,” Maggie declared, giving a thumbs up.

“Very cute,” Penelope agreed, a smile on her face.

With a deep breath and a wave to the girls, I walked out the door and began what I knew would be a long walk to the quidditch pitch.

~

Oliver sat on his bed, parchment in hand. Of all the letters he and Y/N had exchanged, this was the one that mattered the most. He’d read it so many times he lost count; but he just had to read it once more.

Dear Oliver-

I’ve got to tell you before I explode: I’m mad about you. Absolutely over the moon.

You’re the best-looking boy in our year, by far. You have the most beautiful eyes, and your smile lights up any room. When you look at me, I feel like I could melt. And when you talk to me, I feel like my heart is about to jump out of my chest.

I’ve liked you since our very first day of Hogwarts. I don’t think you remember the first time we saw each other, but I remember it clear as day. You were looking for a seat on the train, and our eyes locked for a brief moment. You didn’t sit with me, but I wish you had.

I don’t know if you like me back, but I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re amazing Oliver. And I know you’re going to be a famous quidditch player in the future. I can’t wait to watch you play in the Quidditch World Cup someday.

I’m not going to tell you who I am- yet. Maybe someday I will. And maybe someday you’ll like me as much as I like you.

-Your Secret Admirer

Oliver smoothed the parchment carefully, letting the words wash over him. She’d liked him so much. It was painfully clear looking back; that little twelve-year-old girl used to talk to him every chance she got, asked him questions she definitely already knew the answer to, and he’d caught her staring at him on more than one occasion. He remembered now how, after he’d cruelly read the letter in front of everyone, she stopped talking to him. When he tried to tease her the way he often did, she’d snapped at him. He then decided she was a stuck-up snob, and thus their war began.

But there it was, in his hands, proof that, at least for a moment in time, she had been desperately in love with him. And Oliver was ready to find out if she could be again.

~

Has the pitch always been this far? I asked myself as I walked. Somehow, in my quidditch robes with my teammates, it had always seemed like a short stroll from Ravenclaw tower or the Great Hall. But now? I felt like I was hiking across the country.

On my way I saw some people out and about, enjoying the day; I ignored the curious glances from some classmates who were clearly thrown off by my not-so-typical outfit choice. In the distance, I could see the familiar stands and hoops, so I focused my attention there instead of the looks on people’s faces.

Despite the excruciatingly long walk, I stood before the entrance to the pitch much sooner than I had anticipated. My palms became wet as my face warmed up. Would he be there this time? Or was I about to be disappointed all over again?

For the millionth time in the last few weeks, my thoughts tiptoed away from my pen pal to Oliver Wood. He was the first boy I’d ever written a love letter to, after all. Part of me wondered if I’d done the right thing by the lake, choosing this meeting over him. I shoved down the queasy feeling in my stomach, willing myself to ignore the question.

Instead, I walked boldly onto the field, eyes scanning the green for any sign of life. I was a bit surprised to find that no one was hanging out in the stands and that none of the teams took advantage of the free day to practice; in the back of my head I supposed that only Oliver and I were that excessive.

It felt strange to walk around an empty pitch, but I couldn’t help but enjoy the quiet moment, the calm before the- no, not storm. Something better. Much better, I hoped.

Please come, I begged internally as I walked in a circle in the middle of the field. Don’t let me down again.

As I turned around, I spotted a figure strolling through the entrance of the pitch. My heart nearly stopped as I paused mid-step. With a deep breath, I steadied myself and tried to make out the figure walking towards me. After a moment, I saw them perfectly.

“Oliver!” I called with a laugh. “Come on, get out of here.”

As he got closer, I recognized the expression on his face. It was the one he wore when he had something serious to do; a quidditch match, a big test, asking Professor McGonagall to get the twins out of Saturday detention so they could play. And now he wore it as he approached me, one hand behind his back.

When he stood in front of me, I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing-

“Your favorite holiday is Christmas,” he began slowly. “George Harrison is your favorite Beatle because you think ‘Here Comes the Sun’ is the most beautiful song of all time. You make your mum send you photos of your dog every week because you miss him so much. You played football from the time you could walk, and you and your dad go see a match together every summer.”

“What are you-?”

Before I could finish my question, he pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing the library’s copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You’ve read all of Jane Austen’s novels, and you’ve read this one every year since you were twelve,” he continued. “And you laugh out loud at Mr. Collins’ stupid comments at dinner and you think ‘I send no compliments to your mother’ is the greatest insult of all time and you cry every time Mr. Darcy says-” He took a deep breath. “‘If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.’”

My body was frozen as he gazed at me expectantly. This recital of facts were all things I had told my pen pal in my letters.

My pen pal.

With a gasp, my hands flew to my mouth as realization dawned on me. For once in my life, I was standing in front of Oliver Wood, speechless. He gave a deep nod as he saw the understanding in my eyes and reached into the book for a piece of parchment.

“And you wrote me this letter in our second year,” he explained slowly, his eyes searching mine for a reaction as he held up the parchment. “A letter I obviously didn’t deserve. And I was cruel, and I hurt you. And you understandably hated me.” He let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “So, now I’m standing in front of you, half agony, half hope, wondering if we could, at the very least, be friends? Because you’ve become one of the most important people in my life, and I dunno what I’d do if- if you stopped talking to me.” He took a deep breath, now finished with his speech. Waiting for my answer.

Before my thoughts could even begin to settle, I lifted myself onto tiptoe to wrap my arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. My twelve-year-old self was dancing in circles as Oliver’s lips met mine and his hands found my waist, pulling me closer. His lips were soft against mine, the way I always knew they would be. He let out a small hum into the kiss, the vibration from his chest sending a chill down my spine. He pulled back, planted one more peck on my lips, and smiled at me.

“So you’re not mad?” he asked, leaning his forehead against mine.

“A bit annoyed at myself for not realizing it sooner,” I admitted, laughing. “When did you know it was me?”

“That day at the Three Broomsticks,” he explained. “I saw it was you and… well I almost ran away honestly. But Percy scolded me into going inside.” He bit his lip. “But I was still too cowardly to tell you who I was. ‘m sorry about that.”

I shook my head, which was still reeling. “I don’t blame you,” I assured him. “We… we were awful to each other. It’s like you said this morning, if only things hadn’t been so broken…”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just means we have some lost time to make up for.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m game if you are.”

“Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge, Wood?”

Oliver laughed and let go of me, throwing his arm around my shoulders as he led me off the pitch, the book in his free hand at his side. “Come on then. I think I still owe you a drink at the Three Broomsticks.”

We strolled across the green grass and out of the pitch, both of us smiling, breathy chuckles escaping every time we looked at each other- which was a lot. His arm felt good wrapped around me, as if it belonged there.

“Y’know, I’ve got about a million questions,” I informed Oliver as I leaned my head on his shoulder.

“And you know I’ll answer all of ’em,” he assured me, planting a kiss on the top of my head, ignoring the gawking stares of everyone we passed by. I knew it would be a while before those stares died down.

“That was a very pretty speech back there,” I teased.

He chuckled as we made our way towards the familiar path to Hogsmeade. “Thanks. Been practicing it all week.”

“Yeah, I especially liked… oh what was it you said?” I feigned thinking for a moment. “‘Half agony, half hope’?” I asked with a smirk. “You also read Persuasion, eh?”

Oliver laughed and pulled me closer. “What can I say? You’ve turned me into a Jane Austen fan. I’m tackling Northanger Abbey next.”

“I told you she’s the best,” I said with a dreamy sigh.

Oliver stopped, wrapping his arms around me like he had on the quidditch pitch. “Yeah, but I think you’re my favorite writer.” He kissed me again; I wondered if I’d ever get used to the fireworks I felt when our lips met. “Promise you’ll still write me love letters?”

“Promise.”

[ari-archives]

Win and Lose Pt. 2

Oliver finally got back to him room after a long night of practice. He and the new starter was just working on some drills. Since she’s new, Oliver thought to show her a little more attention to prepare her for the upcoming quidditch championship coming up. This year is the last chance to fulfill his dream of winning the quidditch cup for his house.

The practice went great, and Alicia got the hang of it quickly. Oliver felt good about the championship game. He can’t wait to tell you all about it later. After he showered, he changed into his pajamas and got into bed with the biggest smile on his face. He’s missed you a lot lately because he’s been busy with the team but, he knows he’s going to make it up to you after he wins. He’s going to shower you with so much affection you’ll be sick of him.

-

Oliver woke up with excitement in his whole body. He jumped out of bed and headed straight to his closet. He opened to find a suit with parchment attached to it. It red “One-year anniversary! Astronomy tower – 8PM. Don’t forget the bracelet!!” Oliver’s eyes widened. He forgot. HE FORGOT HIS ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY DATE.

He opened his side drawer and grabbed the bracelet he was supposed to gift to you last night. He rushed out the door nearly bumping into the twins. He didn’t miss the looks they gave each other before looking back at him. You must have come to the Gryffindor dorm to look for him. His heart aches just imagining how hurt you must’ve felt when he didn’t show up. He had to get to you. And fast.

He ran down the hallways not caring about the weird stairs he got. All he cared about was you. He was turning the corner to head to the Ravenclaw dorm when he almost bumped into you.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hi Oliver.” You replied in a sad tone. His heart broke at the sound of it.

“Can we please talk?” Oliver begged.

“Yeah, I think we should.”

“Thank you! You don’t know how sorry I am the I forgot our annivers-“ The quidditch captain started.

“Let’s end it here Oliver.” You interrupted.

Oliver froze. Like his body and mind was unable to process what you just said.

“What?” He finally let out. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to repeat it.

“Look, I think our own priorities don’t align with each other. I prioritized you and our relationship, and you prioritized…Quidditich.” You explained. “I think it’s for the best.”

You tried to pass him and walk away but he grabbed your wrist to stop you. You finally looked into his eyes and saw tears threatening to fall. Yours mirror his in the process. It almost made you want to hug him and forget yesterday never happened. Almost.

“Y/N please. You know that’s not true. I love-“

“Do you know what I saw Oliver?” You said, not being able to hold back anymore. “I saw you having the time of your life, smiling and laughing at the Quidditch pitch with another girl. You spent our anniversary with someone else Oliver. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“Leannan, you know she doesn’t mean anything. She’s just the new starter and I wanted to train her to be better for the championship.” Oliver tried to explain.

“That’s not the point Oliver!” You yelled ignoring the shocking faces of everyone around them. Whispers started going around as Hogwarts always deemed you and Oliver the perfect couple. Voted most likely to get married after graduating.

“The point is that you chose Quidditch over me... again. For the past month, you have been cutting our dates short or simply just ditching me whenever we get anytime together. But I have been so understanding because I know how much this game means to you. Because I love you and I’m willing to compromise one little month of my needs for you to achieve your dreams.” You blurted out, not planning on stopping there.

“I just asked you for one night Oliver. One stinking night for you to take a break and just enjoy the time we have spent together this past year. But you couldn’t even give me that. Instead, you stayed and played Quidditch and spent our anniversary with someone else.” You said defeated.

“I went to the pitch and planned to yell and scream at you for the whole Hogwarts to hear. But I saw that you had the biggest smile on your face doing what you love to do. I saw that there was no thought of me that night. No thought of your love for me. I deserve better than that Oliver. You broke my heart.” You pointed, tears streaming down her face at this point.

“Yes, you do Y/N. and I will give that to you. Please just give me another chance.” Oliver pleading, grabbing a hold of your hands. You pulled your hands, shaking your head.

Oliver can feel this is the end. He doesn’t want to believe it. He won’t believe it. You and him were supposed to be forever.

“I love you Y/N. More than anything in the world. You know this. I get that I messed up and I will make it up for you as long as it takes. Believe me Y/N, I love you.” Oliver expressed with his heart on his sleeve.

“That’s the thing Oliver. I don’t know if I believe that anymore.” You said, sadness pouring out in every word. “You can win your Quidditch cup now. You just lost me along the way.”

You didn’t let Oliver another word in before turning and walking away. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. But you had to put herself first. You loved Oliver, you just weren’t sure if he loved you the same way you loved him.

As for Oliver, he couldn’t help but just let the love of his life walk away from him. He messed up. He knows that. But so, help him he will get her back no matter how long it takes. He just has to prove to her that she is his number one priority. He made that mistake once, and he will never make that mistake again. Even if it means losing the quidditch cup.

[star-girl-05]

Score for Gryffindor

Oliver Wood x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

SLYTHERIN WINS… the whole of Slytherin erupts with cheers while Oliver lands the rest of the Gryffindor team falling close behind. They watch Oliver closely; he's fuming there's smoke coming out of his ears. They've learned through the years that it's best to leave him alone when he's in a mood like this. 

Then they see her, the Slytherin captain and Oliver woods nemesis. She's constantly teasing him, messing with him trying to get in his head before any games even if it's not against Slytherin. Oliver always gets pissy after they talk, usually taking it out his frustrations on the team. That's the last thing they need right now, not when he's already about to explode. 

“Good game Wood” they were not expecting that, there was no teasing in your tone you were being genuine. For a moment they think that someone must have drunk a polyjuice potion and replaced you.

Oliver on the other hand knew you were still messing with him as soon as the words left your mouth he felt something snap inside him. You’ve always been bitchy to him, teasing him not only during quidditch. You’d stop him before he heads to the pitch for practice and rile him up even during classes, you always find a way to bother him. 

“Shove it, L/n”

“Don’t be that way, I’m just being friendly” You reach out placing a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture it would seem. Oliver didn't take it that way, no you couldn't be friendly. Everything you did had an alternative meaning, and right now he had no patience for it. In a second he's shoving you against the closet wall getting right in your face. 

George is the first to speak telling Oliver to calm down; they never expected their captain to get violent. He gets very passionate about quidditch but he's never done anything like this. 

“Shut your mouth before I shut if for you” Olivers' words are filled with venom. Instead of being intimidated though, you seem pleased, excited even. 

“Please do” your voice is just above a whisper but the team still caught it. Their eyes widened dramatically. No way the ice cold Slytherin captain just said that, and no way is there captain Oliver Wood snogging them.  None of them knew what to do till Oliver pulled away from you leading you away from the pitch.

“Guess Woods going to be scoring on Slytherin after all” 

[sleepyremu]

being the significant other of people on the quidditch team

summary // short little headcannons of what it would be like to be the s/o of golden trio era quidditch players

warnings // mentions of celebratory sex 😝 i can make a more nsfw version y’all like this 🤭

authors note // hi i’m gonna be active again!! i will def post a marauders era version of this too

golden era:

harry potter

harry likes inviting you to watch him practice while you do your homework, especially when it’s warmer out

he swears he does better at practice when you’re there

you love seeing his concentrated face when oliver is giving him pointers on maneuvering his broom in new ways to be faster when he spots the snitch

you love the crinkle in his nose that he has when he’s spotted the wings and is trying to figure out where it has gone next

he’s got to be so cute when he wins

like seeing you in the stands after he catches the snitch?? UGH!!!

i feel like he would have a little signal or motion or something he would do during a game when he sees you to let you know that he’s thinking of you

think like blowing a kiss or something of the sort

he would do it right before the whistle is blown and maybe even when he’d catch the snitch to let you know that he won for you

i don’t think he’d ever let you forget that he LOVES when you’re beaming at him from the stands, even when all of gryffindor is cheering for him, all he can think of is your smile and laugh

he would love celebratory one-on-one time. harry is NOT a super big partier after every single game, he’d rather spend quiet time with you in the common room just enjoying how you feel in his arms

the greatest prize for him is just time with the person he loves the most

i get this headcannon a lot with james, and i think harry has it too where he LOVES seeing you in his jersey 🫢

he’d find you so hot beautiful wearing his name plastered on his back

fred weasley

fred loves to make a total show out on the field for you

he winks at you every time he smacks a beater into that guy from slytherin who just won’t take the hint that you’re his girl

he loves impressing you on his broom, doing tricks and goofing off just to make you smile

this guy is the total opposite of harry when it comes to how he likes to spend time after winning

fred is the life of the party. he’s so hyper and excited when he wins and he loves to take it out on you

if he can catch your hand after gryffindor rushes out onto the field, he’ll whisper something about meeting him near the bathroom in 15 minutes

if we’re talking celebratory sex, fred weasley is the king

he relishes in winning and getting your kind reassurances that he did a good job and that you’re proud of him

“freddie, let me give you a proper celebration, hm?”

“say no more, darling.”

fred loves to celebrate not only with you, but with everyone in gryffindor

he is so cocky and full of himself but in the most charming and sexy way

he knows he deserves the attention

he would be dragging you to parties after games and making you take shots to celebrate his victory

“cmon, love, just one drink f’me? i did so well on the field for you, let me get my pretty girl all hot and bothered like i was lookin at her in the stands…”

george weasley

george has never really showed off during practice than when you happen to walk by the quidditch pitch when you first started dating

some feeling took over him when he saw you in your cute scarf and hands in your pockets, grinning at him with a scrunched nose

he just had an instinct to speed up and down the pitch, spinning on his broom towards you and hard stopping right next to you to peck you on the cheek

he didn’t have to look behind him as he went to join the rest of his team to know your cheeks had flushed and you had frozen in place

that was the first form of pda between you two and you knew he only did it because he just couldn’t help himself

he somehow always finds a way of twisting his own victory into celebrating you

he’d find a reason to buy YOU a gift because HE won his match

this sick twisted adorable little game of his always has you preemptively trying to avoid getting presents from him

“george, why are you buying ME a necklace when YOU won your match?”

“just think of it as my reward for doing such a good job, hm? i get to see my princess wearing jewelry a winner got for her. just makes me wanna keep making her proud.”

george is a happy mix of celebrating with just you and with the entire house of gyffindor

he can get behind a massive function after a well deserved win (aka any time gyffindor beats slytherin)

unlike fred, he doesn’t have all that energy built up needing to be released right after a game

he lets his victory deep into him all the way before he celebrates with sex

he’s so sweet and intimate normally, but some sort of switch turns on when he is successful in a match

he takes his time basking in a victory, and slow and loving sex turns him on so much

draco malfoy

he’s very nonchalant when you pass by him during practice, he knows he doesn’t need to impress you and boy does he have fun being a cocky son of a bitch about it

“darling, i could do tricks for you on the pitch, but you know i don’t need to do anything except look at you to get your heart all funny.”

he likes that you give him his space when he plays because he lets you in on every other part of his life, and he appreciates that you understand he likes having something that is reserved just for him

draco is a very possessive boyfriend (it’s not new information, i know)

he thinks it’s so hot when you wear his jersey to his game

you’d surprise him in his dorm, just the two of you, before he heads to his game, wearing his name on your back and smiling and he’d just freeze

you would get scared for a moment, thinking you did something wrong and that it was too much too soon

but that fear would dissipate in a few seconds as he cracked a stupid grin and peppered kisses all over your face and neck, telling you how good you looked

he’ll pull you into his arms after his game when everyone is on the pitch and says lowly in your ear

“merlin, you have no idea what you’re in for when none of these people are watching us. you were such a distraction, baby.”

draco isn’t a very clingy person, and typically he’s not very grandiose about your relationship

so when slytherin is partying after a victory, he’s not all over you the whole night

he’ll let you talk to your friends and you let him celebrate with his team

but he never loses his manners

i bet his mama taught him that

he’ll come up to you offering to refill your drink, asking if you need anything, firmly holding your hips to his when he talks to you and promising he’ll check up on you in 20 minutes before he gives you a departing squeeze to your hand

he knows the two of you had your fun right after the game in the locker room and will probably mess around a little more after the party to celebrate his win

oliver wood

quidditch is life for him. you know how important the sport is and you respect how seriously he takes it

it doesn’t go unnoticed whatsoever

he can see you trying your best to keep up with his rants and intently listening to his words, even if you weren’t quite sure what all of them meant

he never gave up the chance to rant to you about a recent match he watched or an idea for a new play

he appreciated that you attempted to absorb his words, and just knowing that you were happy to sit and listen to him talk for ages sent a sweet tightening feeling to his chest

oliver would be the type to try and teach you how to ride a broom and tell you that you were amazing at flying even if it was terribly obvious you and a broomstick was a disaster waiting to happen

“you’re a natural, y/n!”

“oliver, i love you, but please don’t lie like that to my face.”

“but you look so adorable after you’ve fallen into the mud- ow! don’t pinch me! this is my scoring arm.”

oliver shamelessly invited you to come to every single practice he held so you could see him in his element

he always had the cheekiest grin on his face when he won, and it kept with him when he met back up with you

he had the most incredibly stupid little victory dance and you thought it was so cute

once, for christmas, you bought him golden snitch boxers you thought were so funny that you could have sworn he’d thrown away

he genuinely wore them because they were from you (and also they were surprisingly soft and stretchy)

you knew he actually wore them because on laundry days, you would see them pretty frequently in the freshly done basket of laundry

“y/n, they’re my lucky underwear.”

oh come on guys how could we deny that oliver wood loves to be called “captain” after he wins a match?

he’d like taking you semi-publicly, like in the locker room, and you calling him “captain” or “sir” just stirred something in him that made him even more fiery than he usually was after winning a game

[stanathanxoox]

Tense

gif not mine

Tensing up jaw/body - Oliver Wood x reader

Your jaw was clenched, body rigid as you tried to fight back the tears that were threatening to come. You weren’t sad or upset. You were frustrated and humiliated. Of course you were. When you had been out on the quidditch pitch earlier, practicing someone had come into the changing rooms and stolen your clothes, refilling it with something else. Only you hadn’t noticed. You’d grabbed your bag and gone straight to the shower, having washed yourself off you opened your bag to find it fill with a couple of stones and nothing else.

“What the hell?” you screamed frustratedly, a knock is heard on the bathroom door and your body tenses. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realise that you don’t even have a towel to wrap around your body as you hear 

“I’m coming in”. It was Oliver. You begin to shake, and as you do, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around you

“Oh my sweet Y/N, what happened?” he asks

“Someone stole my clothes, and I’m assuming my towel and replaced them with stones” you tell him through gritted teeth.

“Oh sweet girl. It’s okay. Here” he says, taking off his jumper and holding it out to you. Before he rifles through his own bag to find a pair of spare pants

“They may be a bit big but they will have to do till we get back to the castle I’m afraid” he says and you nod. Pulling the sweat pants on and tying them up. When he places a kiss on your forehead he says

“I am going to be reporting this to Madam Hooch and to Professor McGonagall, whoever did this is obviously in our house and knows our training schedule” he says.

“Oli, please. Not the whole house. Just the team” you say having a fair idea about who had done this to you.

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