Wednesday, September 7, 2016

An Oliver Wood Lemon -- Zero to Ten

Character: Oliver Wood

Fandom: Harry Potter

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: So the Autumn prompt for this was ghost stories.  It kind of changed course but…I really like how it came out so.  In all fairness, this idea popped into my head as I was philosophically contemplating how to best utilize Oliver Wood’s obsessive personality and naturally I was drawn to Quidditch.  But then I was like dude pro Quidditch is hotter.  So this happened and there are no ghosts.  Ah well.
Anyway Autumn requests will be open till the 12th!  After this I’m not taking any requests until my Xmas ones in December, so this is your last chance before then. :3

Oliver hates late night Quidditch matches.  For one, the darkness gets in the way of the game.  The bright lights that beam down on the pitch are too bright – almost to a point of being blinding.  He also dislikes the general mood of the audience at night.  It seems like they’re only there for dates or some such thing.  Completely irrelevant to who actually wins the game.  The day time matches always seem to have more die hard Quidditch fans, which he naturally appreciates.
There’s also the fact that by the time the match is over, he’s tired and ready to collapse in bed for a good night’s sleep…only to have to wake up early the next morning for practice.  And of course there’s the general ritual of visiting the local pub outside the Puddlemere stadium too, which he usually gets to avoid after an afternoon match, for obvious reasons. 
Of course tonight there’s no pub in the plans.  The team only likes going out when there’s something to celebrate, and the match had been an absolute disaster.  He’s still kicking himself in the head for letting that stray Quaffle through the goal right before Cladden caught the snitch.  If only he hadn’t been blinded by all those lights and had been paying more attention, they would have won.
He’s still grumbling about it when the others leave the locker rooms to head home, and despite the genial way his teammates tell him it’s not his fault, it doesn’t really help.  Which is why he ends up spending more time than usual in the showers, letting the hot water wash away the aggravation he’s been holding in all day.
That’s probably why [Name] comes looking for him.
“You know, I heard this locker room’s haunted,” her voice calls, echoing through the empty lockers with a suddenness that makes Oliver jump.  He’s just gotten out of the shower and has only just thrown a towel around his hips.  Naturally he’s surprised; she usually waits for him outside while he cleans himself up.
“Christ, [Name], you almost gave me a heart attack,” he mutters, running a hand over his short hair.  He glances at her with almost wary eyes, as if he thinks she has some kind of ulterior motive.  She doesn’t – at least, she hadn’t when she’d entered the rooms to escape the drizzle of nearly constant rain.  Of course, the sight of Oliver in just a towel changes the game a little bit, pun intended.
She shrugs, a smirk curling up the edges of her mouth.  For a moment, they just stare at each other as if they’re somehow puzzling something out.  For Oliver, it’s her sudden presence in the male locker rooms and if anyone’s seen her come in.  For her, it’s more along the lines of how-exactly-does-he-look-so-good-in-a-towel?
She’s attracted to him whatever he wears, but she’ll take what she can get.
She walks forward casually, not making any attempt at hiding the way she’s clearly checking him out.  (Seriously, those biceps could make a grandmother drool.  Actually she’s pretty sure her own grandmother has drooled over them.  Anyway - )
“Really, though.  Have you seen any ghosts since you started playing here?” she asks, half curious but mainly just joking around.  She doesn’t care about ghosts, not when he’s half naked in a gloriously empty locker room.
Oliver rolls his eyes at her and turns to his duffle bag, which is perched on one of the benches near the mirrors.
“Only one,” he mutters, and spears her with a raised-eyebrow-look that makes her scoff.  Clearly he’s talking about her and she isn’t sure if she appreciates it or just doesn’t care.
“Oh please,” she says with a wave of her hand, and takes a seat near the duffle bag.  She crosses her legs and tilts her head at him.  “It’s not like I haunt your every waking step.  I’m not clingy.” 
The cringe she gives him shows him exactly how detestable she finds the mere thought.
Oliver chuckles and shakes his head as he ruffles through his bag.  “Nah.  If you were d’you think I’d be dating you?”
[Name] buffs her nail against her shoulder.  Instead of responding, she drawls, “Out of the two of us, I think you’re the clingy one.  Hey – what are you doing?”
He’s the middle of pulling out a shirt when he glances down at her in confusion.
“I’m getting dressed?  Do you have a problem with that?” he asks.  The edges of his eyes twinkle with amusement.  Probably because he knows what a great body he has and what it does to her.
“Um, yes, actually I do,” [Name] replies, reaching forward and snatching the shirt out of his hands.  He lets her; he’s got a few extra ones in his bag anyway.  But instead of reaching for another, Oliver just hums and crosses his arms over his bare chest with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh really?  And why is that?” he questions her, though from the way he looks like he’s about to smile, it’s clear that he already knows.
[Name] scoffs and tosses his shirt over her shoulder with an arrogant purse of her mouth.  Her eyes dart down to his arms and then lower, to the way his towel seems to hang off his hips.  When her eyes catch his again, his grin has broken through.
She smirks and edges closer, shifting the duffel bag over and replacing it with herself.
“Because,” she murmurs, looking downright mischievous, “you look extremely sexy right now and I want to soak in the view.”
Oliver laughs and asks, “Is that all?  You just want to look?”
[Name] wrinkles her nose at him and his teasing.  “Of course not.  But this locker room is haunted, so I don’t want to push my luck.  Or attract any voyeurs.  Cause that’d be creepy.”
He gives her a look and says, “It’s not haunted.  I’ve been playing this stadium for two years and I’ve never seen any sign of a ghost.”
[Name] raises an eyebrow.  He immediately recognizes the mischievous look she sends him as something to be careful of and grasps onto his towel with a wary expression.  Cause he could totally she her trying to rip it off him like some kind of sex-depraved maniac.  (Which she isn’t, he makes sure of that.)
“Why Oliver, you almost sound like you want me to do more than look at you,” [Name] purrs, inching forward on the bench.  He takes a step back and glances at his duffle bag, cursing himself for not seeing this coming.  Merlin, how does this woman always catch him off guard at the most inopportune moments?
“Can’t you wait till we get home?” he asks, slightly exasperated as he throws another wary glance at the door.  Seriously.  Anyone could come waltzing in here.  They’re not exactly in a private place.
She chuckles and shrugs.  “Everyone’s already left.  Stop worrying so much.”
He grumbles at her, but she can tell it’s a little weak to be genuine.  In fact, she might even go so far as to say that there’s sincere interest in those eyes of his.  Well, she always does come up with the best ideas, after all.
She smirks and tilts her head back, knees falling open in a not-provocative-but-somehow-sexy way.  He notices.  Naturally. 
“I mean, haven’t you ever thought about having sex on this bench?” she asks casually, almost sounding a bit too idle.  He’s definitely not used to talking about sex in such a simple way and he feels his cheeks heat up with a blush.
“Or – the showers?” she asks with a smirk and a wink.  He runs a hand over his face.
She opens her mouth (no doubt to spew some other ridiculous suggestion), but he cuts her off with a swift, “No.  And I don’t intend to.”  The hard look he sends her wavers just a tiny bit when she pouts.  He should really learn how to defend himself from her expressions.
“Humph.  You’re no fun at all.  Don’t you want to work out your defeat by having angry sex on the edge of the sink?” she asks, referring to Puddlemere’s latest loss.  The reminder just makes Oliver sigh.  (He is definitely not interested in having sex against the sink, definitely not.)
“Not really.  They never clean those sinks,” Oliver tells her, slightly exaggerating just in case she gets any ideas about cornering him.  She’s got that look in her eye, so he can never be too careful.
Luckily it seems to work because [Name] makes a face and says, “Eww.  Okay.  What about in the middle of the pitch?  Have you ever thought about that?”
He stares at her with incredulous eyes.
[Name] just tilts her head curiously.
“What?” she asks.
“The middle of the pitch?” he repeats, looking slightly shocked.
She laughs.  “Why not?”
“Why not?”  He pauses and groans, “You’re out of your mind.  Why am I with you?”
[Name] just grins wickedly and watches him unscrew the top of his water bottle.  He’s taking a gulp of it when she responds, “Probably because I can make you come in five minutes with just my tongue.”
He chokes and barely manages to swallow the water, coughing as he turns to stare at her with wide eyes that quickly narrow.
“You do not,” he refutes, knowing full well how childish he sounds.  But that was an insult to his stamina and completely untrue (he thinks).
“I totally do.  I’ve counted.”
“You counted?!”
“Yeah.  It’s more fun, that way I can set a record, you know?” she asks, and grins wickedly.  He looks slightly redder than he had a moment before and just a little more competitive.  (Which totally wasn’t her plan.  Cue the sarcasm.)
There’s this strange burning look in his eyes that has [Name] smirking wider.  He looks like he wants to throw her over his shoulder and march off right then and there.  She can’t say she’d be against it.
With a grumble, Oliver strides back to his duffle bag and mutters, “I have never finished in five minutes.”  [Name] laughs.
“Why don’t you prove me wrong then?” she challenges him, pushing her knees just a little further apart.  He glances over at her and furrows his brow, looking altogether unkempt and hesitant.  He’s still unsure about the setting, then.  She can’t entirely blame him.
But she can convince him.
With a smirk, [Name] stands up and moves forward.  Oliver shifts back but doesn’t run away like she’d almost expected him to.  There’s no way he’ll retreat now, not when she’s awakened his competitive nature.  So he turns into a brick wall as she approaches, skimming her hands over his arms like she’s been wanting to do since she first walked in on this drool-worthy sight.
She pushes him back a little, toward the slightly darker edges of the lockers where they jut out of sight.  She’s a little surprised to find that he allows her to, as if he’s been waiting for her to take the first move all this time.  Or maybe he’s just tired of denying her.  (She knows how she can get when she’s got her mind set on something.)
“Are you gonna hold onto that towel forever?” she finds herself asking as she corners him against the cold metal of the lockers.  Her fingers drift down his chest now, tracing the defined muscles before edging over the hem of the towel.  He’s still grasping onto it tightly, as if his life depends upon it.  It’s a little amusing considering how many times they’ve seen each other naked.
“I might,” he mumbles, holding it even tighter.  His knuckles are white.  A bubble of laughter springs from [Name]’s throat.
She traces his fingers with a smirk.  “You’re acting like some kind of freaky virgin right now, you know.  It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before.”
His eyebrow twitches.
“We’re in the Puddlemere locker rooms.  There’re probably still people outside.”
“So what?  This is restricted to the public,” she breezily responds, and shuffles closer.  Her body is gently pressed against his, and despite the way his hands create a barrier between them, she still feels the subtle zing of desire ring through her at his proximity.
After a moment of intense staring, [Name] sighs, “Well if you don’t want to make the first move, fine.  I’m more than happy to accommodate you.” 
He’s about to ask her what the hell that even means when she suddenly steps back and pulls her shirt over her head, tosses it to the floor, and goes for her bra.  Oliver just barely manages to stop her from unhooking the black lacy number as he jerks forward with a shocked expression, grabbing her hands to halt her movements.
It works, though at the expense of his own dignity.  His towel loosens just barely, just enough to make it seem like it’s about to drop to the ground.  He grits his teeth.
“You’re insane,” he tells her gruffly, trying to ignore the way [Name]’s eyes are now drifting over said towel with more interest than is probably appropriate.
What a dilemma he’s in.  If he releases her, she’ll no doubt go back to fiddling with her bra.  If he doesn’t, he can literally feel his towel loosen with every second that passes.  Either way Oliver is in a no-win scenario.  And what does a professional Quidditch player do in no-win scenarios?  Well, that’s about the only easy answer he’s got: they turn the tables.
[Name] is opening her mouth to give him some kind of quipped response when Oliver suddenly grunts and spins them around, trading places with her so quickly that she gasps and immediately shuts up.  The way he presses her into the lockers could almost be described as angry – her body is practically flung, and she has no time to grasp onto him for support before he’s pushing his lower body almost roughly against hers and trapping her between metal and him.
When she gasps again, it’s not because of his rugged movements; it’s because she can feel everything he’s got to offer beneath that towel.
The intense staring is back, but this time there’s something else lurking beneath the brown of his eyes.  [Name] rests her head against the lockers and gives him a shaky smirk, still feeling a little lost now that she’s relinquished control.  She supposes this is what she gets for riling him up, but she does love the sight of him and all his competitiveness when it’s directed at her.
“That felt like manhandling, Oliver,” she whispers, not sure what else to say.  To be honest, all her witticisms are miles behind, lost in the shards of this locker room and the fervent way he’s looking at her.
He sends her a little smile that is just mischievous enough to make her entire body feel like its combusting and strengthening all at once.  Desire pools between her legs, rushing through her so fast that all she can do is stare at him and wonder if he feels it too.  She thinks he does – the look in his eye seems to reflect a good portion of her desire, and he’s never been very good at hiding his emotions.
“Oh really?” he wonders, sounding a little too casual.  “That’s pretty much what you were just doing to me, so I think we’re even.”
Damn it.  He’s totally giving her back everything she gave him the moment she waltzed into these locker rooms. 
He leans closer and abandons his grip of her wrists, instead shifting his touch over her waist.  He squeezes it slightly, thumbing over her bare skin as he blinks down at her.  She just stares up at him, enraptured in the feeling of being pressed up against the hard metal lockers; the feeling of his towel clad lower body pinning her down; the way the skin of his abdomen is brushing against hers.
“I don’t think that’s very fair,” [Name] complains, sounding a little more breathless than she means to.  “I was just trying to be convincing.  You don’t even realize what the sight of you like this does to me.”
She sounds like it’s all his fault that she finds him ridiculously attractive.  Oliver chuckles.  He’s not really surprised that she’d try to blame him for something like that.  No, what he’s surprised at is the fact that suddenly her ideas seem a lot more appealing than they had before.  (Except the sink one, he decides.)
“I think I do,” he murmurs, leaning closer.  He’s so close that she can feel every subtle shift of his breath against her cheek.  His hands feel hot against her waist, like he’s seconds away from burning through her.  The way his eyes are blinking down at her makes [Name] think that yes, he probably does know.  She isn’t exactly the kind of person to hide her desires away, lest not from the one who is shaking them up.
“You have that look on your face,” she suddenly blurts, and then bites down on her mouth because she hadn’t really meant to say it.  He raises an eyebrow curiously and she glowers at him.
“What look?” he asks, and one of his hands shifts, curling around to her lower back and tickling over her spine. 
She shivers at the touch and breathlessly murmurs, “The one you always get when you’re about to kiss me – mmph!”
Leave it to Oliver to wait until the last possible moment and then go in for the kill.  Or in this case, the kiss.  His mouth is covering hers before her words are even out.  The force behind it is enough to make her head lurch backward, but luckily he has the sense to shift his hand up to her head and cushion her before she slams it against the metal.  It’s such a sudden, ardent kiss that [Name] forgets to breathe.
She always loves the way he kisses her.  It’s almost poetic, the way he so easily transfers his feelings through his kisses.  And right now, the desperate power behind his touch is making her extremely aroused.
She moans against him and kisses him back.  Now that her hands are freed, she shifts them over his biceps and up his shoulders.  She thinks for a moment that she’s probably the luckiest woman alive, being on the receiving end of all this voracious passion.  But the thought flies away too quickly and is replaced by the spinning heady desire for more, and she loses the coherency of everything around her.  Everything except him.
“Oliver,” she moans, arching into him.  Her hips push against his and she can feel the strain of his desire pushing back.  She feels his hardness through the towel and can’t imagine a situation where she’s felt more aroused.  Perhaps it’s the danger of a semi-public place.  Perhaps it’s just him and the hard-to-get attitude he’d pulled on her moments before.  Perhaps it’s something that goes beyond rational understanding – all she knows is that she’s absolutely aching for him.
“Shh,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss just enough to mutter, “If we’re doing this, you need to stay quiet.”  Then he goes back in and takes her breath away again.
[Name] smiles against him and clutches his shoulders tightly.  “I guess I convinced you after all,” she says, though her words are beautifully muffled against his demanding mouth.
His tongue traces her bottom lip before ducking in to deepen their kiss.  His words are equally as muffled when he mumbles, “Guess you did.” 
She raises her hands to his head and pushes forward, curling one leg around his and tilting her head.  Their kiss is more aggressive now, tempered with a desperation that defies the logical reasoning from before.  To be honest, she’s never been overly interested in doing such things in a locker room.  (They’re kind of gross places, really.)  This is probably all Oliver’s fault.  If he hadn’t been in that towel when she’d walked in, this whole situation would never have happened.
Though she can’t really find it in herself to complain all that much either.
“Mmm…do I have your permission to take my bra off now?” she finds herself asking.  Her voice is joking, amused almost, but endlessly passionate.  It’s hard not to sound passionate when Oliver Wood is pressing her against the lockers, kissing her brains out.  She’s sure that any woman would be in the same state of mind.
Oliver chuckles.  The deep burr of his Scottish accent comes out at full force, stricken as he is in the face of all this haphazard desire.  She’s quite used to it by now, but in moments like these, it’s almost as if she’s hearing him for the first time.  Feeling him for the first time.  Everything is new and old and fresh and mature all at once.
“Go ahead,” he tells her, pulling back only a little so as to accommodate her movements.  She grins, probably looking a little giddy.  He grins back just as giddily and she reaches behind her to finally unhook her bra.
“Finally,” she complains with a laugh.  “I thought you’d never let me.” 
She drops it to the floor beside them and Oliver raises an eyebrow.  He runs his hands over her shoulders and down her chest.  When he cups her breasts in both hands, he leans forward and murmurs, “As if I’d ever tell you not to and mean it.” 
He grins and kisses her again before she can respond, thumbing over her nipples as his lips capture hers.  She moans and arches into him again, this time shifting ever so slightly (and definitely not purposefully, pft) against his lower body.  He seems to be harder than he was minutes before.  The groan that leaves his throat at the move makes [Name] melt.
“[Name],” he mumbles, sounding like he’s caught between wanting to chide her and wanting to ask her to do it again.  She goes for the latter because it’s way more fun.
She rolls her hips against him again and her eyes flutter at the intensity of what she’s feeling.  The jolt of clawing need that pushes through her is probably what makes her pull away – she really, really wants to get him naked already.
He looks a little disheveled when she breaks the kiss, as if said kiss is the only grounding factor between them and he can’t function without it.  The confusion in his eyes only makes her more excited though, and when she slowly sinks down to the floor, Oliver purses his mouth and tries to step back. 
“[Name] – “
“I thought you wanted to prove that you last longer than five minutes?” she asks, a little too innocently.  Before he can stop her, she’s grasping the towel and pulling it down.  Oliver grits his teeth but doesn’t complain, despite feeling a little out of sorts in their current position.
“We’re in a locker room, we don’t have time – “
“There’s always time for blow jobs,” [Name] quips with a laugh.  It sounds so ridiculous that Oliver groans and scrubs a hand over his face.
“You’re so – “
“Shut up and enjoy it,” she demands, and then wraps her hand around his cock and pulls it into her mouth.
What had he been about to say?  Brash?  Aggravating?  Absolutely incredible? 
The moan that spills from his mouth is surprised but pleased; a perfect contradiction that matches what he’s feeling.  Still, he can’t really bring himself to be annoyed at her little move.  It’s kind of hard to feel anything but intense pleasure when she’s sucking him off like that.
Oliver braces himself against the lockers and looks down at her, moving one hand to shift her hair out of the way.  It’s a bit dark over here but he can still see enough, and the sight of his erection disappearing and reappearing around those lips makes him groan and push his forehead against the cool metal in front of him.
“Are you counting?” he asks, grasping her hair tightly and trying to distract himself from how badly he wants to just buck forward and fuck her mouth until her throat is raw.  He’s always prided himself on his control but when she does this to him…well, all bets are off.
[Name]’s eyes fill with mischief and she hums, hoping to convey agreement.  She doesn’t want to pull away just to answer his question and it serves a duel purpose anyway.  The vibrations of her response travel up his cock and Oliver’s reaction is downright sinful.
“[Name],” he gasps, hips shuttering forward just a fraction before her hands stop him.  She holds him tightly, sucking him harder.  Her tongue drifts over the underside of his length, tracing the vein from base to tip.  When she gets there, she settles her lips around said tip and gives him a generous suck that has him gasping again as uncontrolled shivers threaten to make him fall.  His legs feel boneless.
He’s not sure how long it’s been – five minutes or more – but to be honest, the thought of enduring any more of this pleasant torture makes Oliver pull away.  He looks down in time to watch the way his cock drags out of her mouth and nearly groans again at the sight.  He might’ve allowed her to finish him off like this but he really, really wants to feel her heat around him.
She seems to understand without him having to say anything and stands up.  She doesn’t say anything at all, in fact.  All she does is bring her fingers to her jeans to undo them.
Oliver steps forward quickly to jerk them down her hips, not wasting any time at all in removing the fabric.  [Name]’s only a little surprised; mostly she’s just ridiculously turned on and ready to have him inside her.  But first…
“So where will it be?  The benches or the sink?” she asks with a smirk.  A little teasing doesn’t do any harm.  Oliver just purses his lips and takes a step forward, closing her in again.
He utterly takes her off guard when he suddenly grabs her thighs and lifts her up, pushing her rather roughly into the lockers for the second time tonight.
She gapes at him.  “Like this?  Are you – “
“What, you don’t like it?” he asks, but doesn’t exactly give her time to refute him before he’s guiding himself to her entrance and sinking inside her.
The stretch and the full feel of him and the fact that she’s been waiting for this – it makes all the complaints die on her tongue.  Instead, all [Name] can do is arch and moan and grapple at his shoulders, curling her legs tight around his waist as she sinks down on his cock.  Her gravity pulls at her and she’s not sure she’s ever felt him so completely before.  It’s kind of amazing.
“I think you like it,” he murmurs at her ear, nearly growling.  His hands hold her waist firmly, pushing her up into the wall as his hips buck forward.  With every thrust he seems to fill her more than the last, and [Name] can only moan and press her head against the lockers and watch him.  He looks utterly glorious.
“I think this is exactly what you wanted,” Oliver mutters, practically pushing her against the lockers as his hips rock forward.  Every thrust is tempered with a shivering gasp that drives him crazy and makes him go faster. 
[Name] moans, biting her lip to stop the noise from becoming too loud.  She peers up at him with hot, messy eyes full of quilted desire and breathless responds, “Yeah, it’s perfect, Oliver.  Fuck me harder – oh!”
He bucks his hips roughly into hers and she swears she can feel him reach places he’s never been before.  He usually shies away from such dirty language, but tonight it seems as if it’s only spurring him on that much more.  Well she can be accommodating in that regard, as long as he keeps this ridiculously erotic tempo.
She’s never been overly fond of the idea of rough sex, but then again this is Oliver.  He’s never been overly fond of it either and yet he’s being rather rough with her now.  It’s probably the hottest thing imaginable.
She curls her body up as if she’s climbing a tree, pulling her arms around his neck to press hot kisses over his shoulder and up his jaw.  She hears his harsh, ragged breathing in her ear.  It sounds shredded, like he can’t inhale fast enough before he needs more air.  She probably sounds the same, maybe even more ruined, because every time he thrusts into her she lets out a little breathless keen that seems to drive him faster.
[Name] melts against him.  She clings to his shoulder tightly, pressing her lips over his skin.  When she reaches his ear she pulls the lobe into her mouth and drags her teeth over it.  The dirty things she whispers against his skin is clearly making Oliver more than a little crazed.
Her hips are probably going to be bruised but she doesn’t care.  He’s moving so fast now that all she can do is hang on for the ride.  Just the thought of him taking her like this is arousing enough, but all the additional feelings and sounds are quickly making her spiral to her finish.  She can already feel it pumping through her, so intoxicating that the entire world seems to dim down in an ethereal way. 
She moans against his shoulder and it sounds almost like a sob because he’s making her feel so good.  Oliver goes half insane at the sound she makes and groans, “Merlin, [Name] – “
It’s almost too much.  But what really gets to him is the way she comes – the suddenness of it all as her body arches into him and she sobs again, mumbling incoherently into his skin.  Her muscles spasm around his cock and he pumps into her hard, enjoying every single second of her tight, wet heat as if surrounds him and sends him rearing towards his own finish.
“Ol…Oliver, fuck yes, yes – “
He groans and doesn’t even try to stop the rush of his orgasm from splitting over him.  It’s like a thunderbolt.  Electricity blazing through.  His heart feels like it’s beating right out of his chest and every thrust feels suddenly beautiful, like he’s obtained some strange level of heavenly perfection.
It’s all very poetic.
“Christ,” [Name] murmurs, laying her head on his broad shoulder.
He somehow finds the strength to chuckle, and she kisses his neck.
“So…should we try the pitch next?” she jokes with a laugh, squeezing his arm playfully and waiting for him to come down from the high.
He does after a few moments, but they don’t move from their positions.  Despite the way the metal lockers jut into her skin, [Name]’s never felt more comfortable.
“Nah.  I’m going to take you home and make you dinner,” Oliver whispers, pressing his lips to her temple and sighing out.
She pulls back to smile at him.  “That’s a little backwards, don’t you think?”
As she scrambles off of him and they start cleaning themselves up, Oliver shrugs, “You’ll need the strength.  I have a lot of aggravation over losing that game.  I need to work it out, remember?”  He gives her a boyish grin.
[Name] makes an amused sound.  She grabs the towel from the floor and playfully teases, “Well I think we’d better get going then, cause you lost big time.”
The reminder makes Oliver pause and put his determined face on.  It’s the face that tells her he’s thinking about Quidditich.  His obsessed captain’s expression from their Hogwarts days.  Merlin.
“Actually maybe I should come up with some new tactics instead.  We need to crush those bastards next time or we’ll never live it down – “
“Oliver.  Are you a man or not?”
His eyebrows jut upwards in surprise and he turns to her, his shirt half on and his trousers still undone.  “What?  Obviously I’m a man.”  He gives her a weird look.
[Name] wrinkles her nose at him.  “So why are you talking about Quidditch when you could be dragging me off and having your wicked way with me?”
He pauses, then rolls his eyes.
“Who says I can’t do both?” he questions, stuffing everything into his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder.  He grabs his broom, then [Name], and gives her a grin that makes her legs turn into jelly. 
“I’m very good at multitasking,” he tells her with a smirk.
She knows he is, but that doesn’t stop him from proving it to her several times over that night.



  1. That was awesome!! I'm so happy to see that you came back and posted this. The ending was great! I could totally see Oliver's determined face about quidditch haha

    I hope your fall is less stressful then your summer! Good luck in your classes!!!

  2. That was really amazing. But there was a question in the air, had Oliver lasted more or less than five minutes?

    1. I suppose that's up for your own interpretation ;)

  3. Am suddenly swooning over Oliver Wood like dear Lord what treasure I have found today--need help--squeee! O///O

    Seriously though why have I not found this site sooner it's so wonderful >.<

    (On another note at least now Oliver knows better--he can't deny Reader-Chan hehehe