#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.

[pappydaddy]

the tales of the infatuated (o.w.)

a/n: i am back and (hopefully) ready to write lovelies!

tv show/movie: harry potter

pairing: oliver wood x fem!shy!gyffindor!reader

requested

part one - there are parallels so read this one first please!

description: tales of oliver and y/n's relationship following the events of the woes of the highly overdramatic

warning: the reader is shy and beats herself up about it (slightly). please, as a shy person myself, never think being shy is bad or wrong in any way. being shy is 100% okay!

note: reader wears a lot of scarves and uses them to kind of hide when embarrassed.

taglist: @just-here-to-escape-reality | @rottenstyx | @boxofsilentwords | @badass-yn | @onyourgoddamnleft | @rootbeerfaygo | @i-always-come-back-xoxo | @spring-picnics | @lonely-simp | @slytherinambitiouss

a line through your user means i could not tag you for whatever reason! if you possibly changed your user, let me know and i will fix it on my taglist

masterlist | taglist | navigation

-not my gif -

  The air was filled with a sort of muddy smell. The kind of smell only found enjoyable since it meant spring was attacking the bitter cold, thawing the ground and bringing life back to the rather lifeless hills of Scotland. Oliver never really noticed the beauty within the changing of the seasons, all he noticed was that one day the scenery looked one way and the next it was different. Now, as he sat there, a warm cup of tea between his large, rough hands, listening to Y/N’s soft and naturally quiet voice talk about the changes in the season, he finally realized it was more than just disappearing snow or dying leaves. 

  “And look there, you see the small buds on that tree right outside the shop,” Y/N gasped quietly, her arm shooting out to point to the tree that was once sagging under the weight of the snow. “Look how small, but in a few weeks time, those will be beautifully coloured, large leaves full of life.” She hummed, hand nestling back on her own teacup. 

  Oliver looked from the window, towards her, eyes flicking over her face as she stared out the window in sheer amazement. Suddenly, the stubborn and slightly obsessed Gryffindor Quidditch Captain that normally oozes self-confidence and never does anything at leisure, found himself slowing down and enjoying it. Enjoying the seconds ticking by when he wasn’t working on plays. Enjoying the hours he has spent just looking at nature (and Y/N) and listening to her. Her voice was a little shaky and quiet, but it was the most beautiful sound to him. Even better than the sound of the crowd cheering whenever the Gryffindor team won another game. 

  Even in the moments of silence as she just existed, sipping her tea as she basked in his company. For someone who was so used to hanging around rambunctious and loud Quidditch players, he never thought silence and stillness could be so welcoming. Sure, being friends with Percy, he found himself surrounded by silence as Percy read in his presence, but Oliver would always do his own thing. It was never silent because his head was always busy and loud. Now, with Y/N, his brain was quiet. It was kind of comforting. 

  “Reckon we should make a quick trip to Honeydukes before it gets busy?” Oliver asked gently, not to startle her as he pulled her from her thoughts. A smile stretched onto her face, soft eyes sparking at him in the late afternoon spring sun. There was a sweet spot to visit the popular candy store. He had never thought of it before, he always just went to Honeydukes. It wasn’t until their relationship hit the four month mark that he noticed. 

  They had been out strolling around Hogsmeade. It was relatively quiet along the cobblestone streets as they walked in comfortable silence, Y/N’s eyes seeming to admire the world around them in awe - as if this was her first time in Hogsmeade. Oliver found his eyes glued to the corners, watching her, his heart thumping in a way that both calmed him and scared him. The noise of the rambunctious groups pooling in and out of Honeydukes made her stutter in her steps, her body stiffening as her eyes shifted to the large crowd. 

  His own eyes shifting from her, he observed the ruckus without panic, but it was obvious she was. As they slowly sauntered closer to the mass of people, her body seemed to become more stiff, her pace slowing. “Hey, how about we just sit on this bench here? I kinda want to just sit without for a little bit.” Oliver suggested, gesturing to a bench that sat not far from them. 

  She looked at it, open-mouthed, before looking back at Oliver. “But it’s covered in snow,” She blinked up at him. Oliver shrugged, walking over to it. She followed easily, their joined hands keeping them attached. “Are you sure, Oliver? I don’t want to make you sit out in the cold.” She pointed out. She knew he was just doing it because she was nervous around crowds and the possibility of a forced conversation..  

  “It’s early March, it’s starting to warm up,” He brushed her off. There was a nip in the air, but it was just enough to tinge the end of one's nose red. Part of him found this an added bonus because despite the scarf she kept nuzzling her face in, Y/N’s cheeks and nose would have that slight discoloration he loved so much. Sometimes he had to search for it, but it was there and he found it adorable. With his free hand, he brushed partially melted snow off the bench. “You can sit on my lap if you’re comfortable, I don’t want your pants to get wet.” He settled himself onto the bench, their hands still connected as she stood there apprehensively. 

  “You know, I am okay with going into Honeydukes, as long as you’re with me I can handle the crowd-” She was cut off by his hand leaving hers, his arms quickly wrapping around her waist to pull her down onto his lap. She squeaked out in shock, eyes widened. “Oliver! Warning would have been nice, you scared me!” She gasped despite the fact she seemed to melt into him. 

  “Sorry, Love,” He smiled, resting his chin on her shoulder. “But I wasn’t going to let you drag me into Honeydukes and sacrifice your comfort just because you think I am cold,” He pressed his lips to her cheek as she unburied her face from her scarf. “We’ll wait until it starts to calm down.” 

  “Well,” She hummed, trying to uncover her watch from under her coat and mittens. Oliver helped, rolling her oversized, knitted mitten down slightly, revealing the watch she always wore. “It usually calms down at forty after the hour, it’s the quietest part aside from just before close-”

  “Which isn’t an option because you don’t want the workers to think you’re ignorant coming into a shop five minutes before closing,” He finished for her. She looked into his eyes, the smile that was covered by her scarf evident through the gleam in her eyes. “We’ll wait five minutes then go in. Then, we can go to the Three Broomsticks because at that time, usually the Twins will be pulling off some sort of stunt outside of Zokos.” 

____

  Y/N never thought of the Quidditch Pitch as a sanctuary for her to escape to. It was usually always loud in some way - or she thought it was. Boy, was she wrong. Before she met Oliver, she much preferred to avoid attention and noise. it was out of her comfort zone to be in fast paced social environments - such as Quidditch games. Oftentimes, she was usually found lounging in quiet areas of Hogwarts, but obviously, since dating Oliver, she frequented the Pitch more often. Either while he was practicing (team or alone) or while he was playing. More recently, she could be spotted under Oliver’s arm while he sat in the crowd watching the other team’s games. 

  Now, even when they didn’t make appearances at other games, their usual spot was always open. It was now known as Oliver and Y/N’s spots. Oliver had scouted them out once. Situated right at the top of the bleachers, Oliver had found a sweet spot where Y/N wouldn’t feel overwhelmed by over-eager people screaming. Sitting right next to the stairs, she could quickly escape if needed. When they were practicing, she sat in the front, her book carefully balanced on the edge of the railing. 

  Right now, she sat in her normal spot, the fall breeze whispering around her. Her large eyes were locked on Oliver as his brown eyes quickly moved around the pitch, watching everything with his incredible perceptive eyes. He always amazed her with his attention to detail - most likely from being such a good keeper. He noticed everything. He could sometimes spot the snitch before any of the Seekers. 

  “Hey, Y/N,” She blinked as she was startled by someone talking to her. Eyes searching the crowd in front of her, she spotted Seamus, his face painted in Gryffindor colours, a lion’s mane around his face. “Did Oliver tell you anything about his strategy in this game? Those nasty snakes are neck and neck with us! What is going through his head?” Seamus’ Irish accent got thicker and thicker as he got riled up. 

  She squeaked, face heating up as she felt a few people looking at her - also questioning the same thing. One thing about dating the captain, people had lots of questions and were upset when they were losing or had the possibility of falling behind in the game. “I-I’m not-” She swallowed thickly, pulling the scarf she wore up around her face, trying to hide within it. “Um, I don’t really, uh-” She licked her lips, a little bit of fuzz from the scarf falling catching on her lips and tongue. “No, he didn’t.” She answered, making everybody look away from her. 

  Sinking into her seat, her back against the wall, she let out a breath. Her eyes fluttered closed as she cursed herself. ‘I couldn’t even answer a simple question! Stupid. Godric!’ She beat herself up before she let her eyes open at the sound of a shrill whistle. Instantly, her eyes met Oliver’s brown eyes. They were consumed by concern and a little bit of anger, but she knew it was directed to the people who made her uncomfortable. 

  “Gryffindor wins with Harry Potter catching the snitch! Starting off the season strong!” Lee’s voice boomed through the sound system, causing the stands to erupt in cheers (aside from the Slytherins who sneered at everyone as per usual). She could feel Oliver’s eyes on her as she stood, pulling the scarf down to show him her beaming smile. Sending him a thumbs up, she turned and made her way down the stairs. 

  She knew he would be waiting impatiently on the pitch right next to the tunnel he knew she would emerge from. “You won!” She exclaimed. Even in celebration, her voice was soft and quiet, but her face glowed in a way that far outweighed any form of vocalization. Without a second thought, she launched herself into his arms, legs and arms wrapping around him as his wrapped around her waist. Flush against each other, their faces buried within each other’s necks, they simply stayed like that. Oliver rocked them slightly, hands gripping each other’s clothes. They held each other in the most innocently desperate way, celebrating by feeling each other’s energies. 

  “Are you okay? They shouldn’t have been questioning you like that,” Oliver whispered into her hair, his breath tickling her neck slightly. She squealed, barely pulling away at the feeling. She could feel a slight smile stretching onto Oliver’s face at the reaction, but he turned serious a second later. “Reckon I need to make it clear that they can’t do that again.” 

  “It’s fine, Oliver-” She pulled away from him, hands coming up to cup his face. They couldn’t hear the wolf-whistles from the Weasley Twins (well, Y/N didn’t but Oliver did and instantly knew they were going to be in for a rough next practice). She took a look at his serious face, knowing she wasn’t going to convince him not to teach them a lesson. “Fine, but intimidating stares and empty threats only.” She told him sincerely. 

  “Fine by me.” He agreed, leaning in to press his lips to hers. She blushed furiously, all too aware of people looking at them, but she leaned into the kiss anyway - too desperate for a kiss to care (care enough to stop kissing him, but she knew she would be thinking about people watching once his lips left hers). 

____

  “It is blistering cold out Oliver, my fingers are about to fall off, where are we going?” Y/N questioned, her voice muffled by her scarf. He looked down at her, seeing her eyes securely behind the blindfold, both her hands gripping his arm the best they could with her oversized mittens. 

  “You will see in a minute.” He simply told her, making her huff. 

  “I don’t like surprises, Oliver.” She pouted, wiggling her face free from her scarf in order to show him the pout on her red tinged lips. She had a barely noticeable shade of lipstick on, wearing it specifically since it is her one-year anniversary with Oliver today. They were dressed nicely. Both had a pair of jeans and a warm sweater under their layers of winter wear. 

  “I know, Love, but you will like this one, I promise,” He reassured her, pressing a kiss to her hat-covered temple sweetly. She hummed, resting her head against Oliver’s bicep as he led her towards their destination, following in blindly. Looking down at her more as they slowly walked, he couldn’t help but let warmth bloom in his chest. Something about her snuggling into him as he led her to someplace, allowing him to lead her blindly. The amount of trust this showed she had in him warmed him against the bitter cold they walked in. “Okay, Love, we’re here.” 

  He could barely contain his smile as he gently pried her hands off him, walking behind her to untie the blindfold. “You took me to Greenhouse?” She questioned, eyes scanning the Greenhouse that stood in front of them.

  “Not any Greenhouse,” He exclaimed, carefully shuffling past her as they stood on a patch of ice. He pulled the small bit of cloth that covered the number on the door. Revealing the number one. “Greenhouse One! The Greenhouse I confessed my feelings to you in a year ago to this date. Even down to the hour!” He beamed as he opened the door for her. A blast of heat greeted them as he guided her into the room, a hand on her lower back to make sure she didn’t slip on the ice. 

  Her mouth fell open, looking around in amazement. The plants and tables that usually cluttered the center of the Greenhouse were pushed to the side, leaving space for a blanket and pillows to be laid out on the floor. Floating candles provided a flickering and a glowing amber light - the only light that illuminated the area aside from the winter sun that broke through the dirty windows on the Greenhouse in mini spotlights, dust swirling and dancing in them. 

  Turning around, Oliver closed the door, sealing the heat in the Greenhouse - the heating spell working brilliantly. When he turned around, he found his breath leaving him at the sight before him. She slowly walked further into the Greenhouse, eyes dancing around in amazement as she peeled her winter clothes off, starting with her hat and scarf. The golden rays hit her, illuminating her as if she were a work of art - just like they did a year ago at this time. As she pulled her mittens off, she reached out, touching the plant with the softest, most caring touch. Humming, she let the leaf of the plant go before dropping everything including her coat to the ground. 

  “This is beautiful, Oliver. I love it,” She whispered, looking back at him, eyes meeting his eyes in a zing like jolt, bringing him from his daze. He wanted to say the cliche line of ‘breathtakingly beautiful’ as he looked at her, but he was too taken by her standing there. All he could really do was stride towards her. ““Um, Oliver,” She whispered in a shaky voice as he didn’t say anything back to her, but his eyes were set with intent. “A-are you going to say something-” 

  She was cut off by his lips falling upon hers, his hands resting on her waist. They stumbled slightly from the force of his lips, but his hands gripped onto her waist, steadying them as her hands reached up to cup his cheeks, her lips moving with his in a sweet kiss. All their kisses were sweet. Innocent but rough (that thanks to Oliver’s need to show her how much he loved her). They stood there, lips locked in among the variety of beautifully growing plants, the smell of fresh soil and the fragrant tropical plants in the back corner of the Greenhouse - absorbed each other’s energies like the leaves of a plant absorbing sunlight; warm and energising. 

  “I love you.” He spoke against her lips before connecting their lips together. He was shocked when her hands were pushing his face away from hers, unable to pull herself away from the kiss due to him holding her flush against him, her back arching slightly.

  “I love you too, Oliver. So much.” She confessed to him, her wide eyes staring into his eyes, sparks exploding in her stomach as their eyes whispered heartwarming love between each other. And just like that, they both knew that the tales they would be telling until their last breaths would be tales of the infatuated, but Percy probably already knew that when he told Oliver everything that day.

[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.

[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]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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

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[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]

A rivalry and romance in one??

This dynamic was so smooth and entertaining, I loved how the reader was just as informed about Quidditch (if not possibly more) than Oliver.

It was so sweet throughout and I loved the little buildups before the final showdown….and the little blurb at the end with just the cutest fluff imaginable

(This is Moon, @fly-you-dam-fools on my ficrec blog!)

Sugarplums (Oliver Wood x Female!Reader)

A/N: This is dedicated to @thegirlwhowritesfics​ and @juniperjane​. No particular reason. None at all. It’s not like they were the ones to anonymously request this! This is just a random dedication of my love to them! 

Prompt: “Are you humming the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” Word Count: 1.9K words Playlist: Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy - Tchaikovsky [Spotify] [YouTube] Warnings: None

“Statistically speaking, that’s impossible!” Her statement rang across several tables in the Great Hall.

She hadn’t yelled, but her voice carried. All the chatter and buzz came to an immediate halt, nothing but the sound of a bench scraping across the floor. She didn’t even bother looking up from the paper in her hand. She ducked her head down, rolling her lips together to hide the smirk growing. She chuckled to herself as she heard the collection of whispers make their way up the aisles between the tables.

He’d been arguing his point for weeks now, and while she appreciated his enthusiasm, it needed to end somewhere. Everyone knew it was impossible, himself included. Today seemed like a fine day to really rile him up. The final day of classes before Christmas hols, it was the perfect storm. It also helped that he was halfway there on his own anyway. His voice had been climbing up over the chatter from the Gryffindor table. She knew they were on his side. True to their namesake, the pride of lions always stuck together.

Keep reading

[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

[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.

[iwantedtoforgetyou]

A VARIETY OF IMAGINES

How the Gryffindor boys would react if you offer your help during difficult situations.

HARRY POTTER

Harry had maintained a quiet demeanor over the past couple of days. He exited the main room early and walked through the hallways with a downcast gaze.

Everyone seemed unaware, except for you.

On one evening, as you both made your way back to the Gryffindor dorms, Harry suddenly dropped to his knees.

Without hesitation, you were by his side, urgently asking, "Are you alright, Harry?" in a worried tone.

His head hung low, and he remained still except for his eyes, which darted back and forth.

Instinctively, you gently held his face with your hands, bringing your forehead to his. In that position, the two of you stayed pressed together for a while.

Gradually, your breaths synchronized, and his head began to move.

Summoning a smile, you delicately ran your fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.

He spoke only a few words for the remainder of the night, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "Thank you."

RON WEASLEY

Ron's stress-eating habits were hard to miss. His bed was a sea of wrappers, half-eaten candies, and scattered boxes, some of which had even found their way to the floor. With the owls less than a week away, the pressure was clearly taking its toll on him.

You cautiously pushed open the door to his dorm room, spotting him sprawled across his bed. His head faced the entrance, and his legs were propped up against the wall. A book rested on his face.

Stepping quietly, you moved further into the room, stopping just at the foot of his bed. It was evident he wasn't sleeping; the absence of snoring gave it away. Something was amiss.

Gently lifting the book from his face, you revealed flushed cheeks and reddened eyes. He had been crying.

Your expression faltered, and Ron hastily began offering explanations. "I've just been yawning, this material can be really exhausting, you know?!"

Rolling your eyes, you uttered his name, prompting him to gaze directly up at you.

"It's alright to feel worried," you whispered, leaning down and hovering over his face. "You'll excel, I'm sure."

Tenderly, you placed your lips on his, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

As you pulled back, Ron shot upright, grabbing textbooks and spreading them out. "I've got this!"

A smile tugged at your lips. "Yes, you absolutely do."

FRED WEASLEY

The first party of the year was a disaster. Shouts echoed through the air, discarded drinks cluttered the surroundings, and the crowd seemed to grow uncontrollably.

True to their nature, the Weasley twins had orchestrated something, and as expected, it had spiraled out of control. Amidst the chaos, George was conspicuously absent, while Fred sat before you with a split upper lip and emerging bruises on his cheeks.

You kept a watchful eye on him as you dampened a paper towel under the faucet, afraid he might bolt. Yet, he remained still, not even lifting his gaze.

Shutting off the water, you walked over to his side, clutching the wet paper towel in your hands.

"Look at me," you murmured, your fingers grazing just beneath his chin. "Please."

Reluctantly, he lifted his head, but his eyes avoided meeting yours.

In the quietness, you meticulously tended to his injuries, though he let out occasional groans of discomfort.

"It wasn't your fault," you interjected, shattering the silence. "Fred?"

His eyes shut, and you could swear you saw them glisten with tears.

Your heart clenched.

Setting aside the paper towel, you tenderly guided him closer, enfolding him in your arms and pressing him against your chest.

Almost instinctively, his arms wound around your back, and he buried his face in your embrace, tears soaking into your clothing.

For what seemed like an eternity, you held him there, both of you unmoving.

“I'm sorry," his voice quivered against your chest. "I'm so sorry."

GEORGE WEASLEY

George, though usually reserved in his emotional expression, held his pain within him.

He'd rather endure a bitten lip until it bled than reveal his feelings. However, his demeanor shifted entirely when he was with you. 

After your two-hour class, you returned to the Gryffindor dorms with treats from the commons. Upon entering your room, you were taken aback to find George lying on your bed.

While his presence in your room was a common occurrence, him skipping class was not. You approached the bed and set the bag of sweets on the bedside table.

It didn't take long to notice his tear-streaked face and reddened eyes. Without hesitation, you climbed into bed, cradling his head in your lap.

Neither of you spoke; instead, you shared a moment of silence as your fingers softly traced through his hair.

Eventually, he must have drifted off to sleep, as he became still. Just before you closed your own eyes, he whispered, "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, Y/N."

A smile graced your lips, and that smile accompanied you through your slumber.

OLVER WOOD

Gryffindor's first match of the season ended in defeat, leading the entire school to turn against them.

Exiting the locker room, the team scattered down the hallway while you waited, overhearing the comments from others.

Amidst this, Oliver was absent.

Upon asking a passing teammate about his whereabouts, they nodded toward the locker room.

Acting on impulse, you opened the door and entered the locker room.

The atmosphere inside was both warm and quiet.

After wandering a bit, you discovered Oliver seated by himself on a bench, his head buried in his hands, still clad in his quidditch uniform.

Approaching cautiously, you knelt in front of him.

Despite his hands still covering his face, you gently took hold of his wrists. "Oliver," you spoke, coaxing his arms away from his face, "you performed admirably out there."

He glanced up briefly, offering a sorrowful smile. "Thank you," he replied.

You responded with a hum, soothingly rubbing your thumb across his arms. "Let's leave this place," you suggested, getting to your feet while still holding onto his arms. With a sigh, he rose as well and met your gaze. "I'd appreciate that," he said, a smile gracing his lips.

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM

The greenhouse served as Neville's personal sanctuary.

Hours upon hours were spent there, immersed in plant-related activities that he had come to cherish and defend over time.

Besides you, he never shared the secret of the greenhouse with anyone.

One evening, when Neville was absent from the common room, you embarked on a search for him. Arriving at the greenhouse, you discovered the door slightly ajar and faint, muffled cries emanating from within.

Gently pushing the door open, you slipped inside and observed Neville, huddled over a garden pot, tears flowing silently.

Quietly approaching him, you stood by his side and placed your hand on his back, a gesture that seemed to intensify his tears.

Speaking softly, you asked, "What's wrong?" as you observed his tears dropping into the pot.

He took a deep breath and admitted, "I don't know," clutching his chest.

Tilting your head slightly, you covered his other hand with yours. "Just breathe," you whispered, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“You're alright." Gradually, his breathing began to steady, and he shifted beneath your touch.

In a sudden and unanticipated move, he embraced you tightly. With genuine gratitude, he murmured, "Thank you... Thank you."