i wanna see jealous oliver wood please!!! 😭
𝐒𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐎𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝
Summary: Oliver gets jealous when he see’s you and the twins messing around. More specifically, when they have their hands on you.
taglist: @pyncthugger @iluvhrj
Fred Weasley had just smacked you with a snowball to the side of the head. A wet, cold splat echoed across the courtyard, followed by your shriek and his cackling laughter as you stumbled back in the snow.
“I knew you weren’t watching your left!” he cheered triumphantly.
George raised his arms. “To be fair, love, we’ve been telling you all week—never turn your back on a Weasley.”
You pointed a gloved finger at the both of them, cheeks pink with cold and barely concealed revenge. “You two are actual menaces,” you warned, brushing snow out of your hair. “Dead. The both of you. Done for. No one’s safe.”
Fred clutched his chest. “She threatens us like this and yet we still adore her.”
George leaned against his brother dramatically. “We must be mad.”
They were full of it, obviously, and you couldn’t help but grin even as your boots squelched through snow. You’d always been close with the twins, teasing and playful, your trio often the loudest in any common room or corridor. It was harmless. Comfortable. They were like brothers—infuriating brothers who stole your books and hexed your quill to write backwards, sure—but still, brothers.
But Oliver Wood didn’t see it that way.
From across the courtyard, his dark eyes had been tracking the three of you for minutes now, his broomstick resting against his shoulder, scarf loose around his neck. He’d been finishing up strategy notes with Alicia and Angelina near the pitch, but ever since George had ruffled your hair and Fred had slung his arm around your shoulders with an offhand “What would we do without our favorite girl?”—Oliver hadn’t looked away.
You didn’t notice it until you turned to meet his eyes, grinning through your red cheeks and wet mittens, ready to wave him over.
His brows were furrowed. Jaw clenched. And he started walking—purposefully.
“Uh oh,” George muttered, catching the shift first. “Incoming Wood.”
Fred whistled low. “He looks like he’s about to give someone detention, and he doesn’t even have that authority.”
You blinked. “What’s wrong with—”
“Oi.” Oliver’s voice cut through, low and taut.
Fred took a subtle step away from you.
George, of course, didn’t. “Evening, Captain,” he said innocently.
Oliver’s eyes didn’t even flick to him. They were locked on you, stormy and sharp.
“You got a minute?” he asked.
It wasn’t really a question.
Fred clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Should we give them a moment?”
“Probably,” George muttered.
“Definitely,” you said with a smirk, brushing snow off your cloak.
As the twins retreated—snickering, of course—you padded over to Oliver with a knowing grin.
“Jealous?” you asked sweetly.
You tilted your head. “Really? Because you’re doing that thing with your jaw. You know, the ‘I’m pretending I’m not angry but I’m very much angry’ thing.”
He crossed his arms. “They were all over you.”
“They were not,” you said, still grinning. “That was light snow-based combat at best.”
Oliver didn’t look amused. “Fred had his arm around you.”
“Oh no,” you gasped playfully, hand to your chest. “An arm? I’ll never recover.”
“George touched your waist.”
“I’m practically married to him now,” you deadpanned.
His eyes narrowed. “Not funny.”
You stepped closer, hands slipping into his scarf, tugging him down gently until your noses almost brushed.
“It’s a little funny,” you whispered.
He looked at you, frustrated and completely besotted. “I don’t like them touching you like that.”
“You don’t like anyone touching me,” you pointed out.
You giggled, brushing some melting snow from his hair. “So grumpy. So broody. So possessive.”
“Do I need to start wearing a sign?” you teased. “‘Property of Oliver Wood. Touch at your own risk.’”
He actually looked like he was considering it.
You laughed again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But you’re mine.”
“Yours,” you agreed with a teasing lilt, rising on your toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Always.”
He kissed you again, a little more firmly this time, hands gripping your waist like he still needed to prove something.
From across the courtyard, Fred’s voice rang out, loud and unhelpful:
“Oi, Wood! If you’re gonna maul her, at least buy her dinner first!”
George followed it with a wolf whistle.
You pulled back, biting your lip to keep from laughing as Oliver groaned and pressed his forehead against yours.
“They’re the worst,” he muttered.
“They’re the best,” you corrected. “But you’re my favorite.”
“…Even if they’re funnier than me?”
He tugged you closer. “Careful, love. You keep teasing and I’ll start throwing snowballs myself.”
“Oh no,” you whispered, eyes wide with mock horror. “Whatever will I do?”
Oliver grinned for the first time since walking over, and in one smooth movement, he scooped you up—snowy boots and all—and kissed you again, right in full view of the twins and the whole courtyard.
Fred hollered. George applauded.
You were sure Oliver regretted nothing.
