Marcus and Oliver get into a bit of a tiff around match schedules.
The rest goes usually how their friends are used to â Wood sulks; Flint ropes in his long-suffering team.
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For the anon who asked about Yule Ball Flintwood, this is a beginning of sorts for you. This didnât turn out the way I anticipated originally when you presented the concept, so I offer this as version 1.0 with something softer to follow.
pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood
premise: Marcus shows up to the Yule Ball solo. So does Oliver. Neither one is especially pleased about it, and the reasons why are personal.
wordcount: 2,194 words.
The Yule Ball. Welcome to the distinct scent of too much teenage desperation in one room.
The snide thought belonged to Marcus Flint, whose dress robes fit just fine, thanks very much, not that the same could be said of some of the people attending. Weasley the younger, for example, looked like a cat crawled onto the front of his robes, rolled around, and then obligingly threw up a lacy hairball before departing. Marcusâ were, shockingly, not green, because Slytherins were in fact capable of wearing colours that werenât the house colours. Instead, heâd gone for navy blue, and they were tailored to fit. For now, he was leaning with his right shoulder firmly parked against a nearby wall, drink in hand (liberally spiked, courtesy of Puceyâs far too innocent face which had successfully hidden very good Firewhiskey somewhere on his person), and settling into the buzz around him.
He was razor-edged, dark hair and sharp jawline identifying him in the shadows, gaze steady still despite the warm burn of the Firewhiskey, and the growing warmth of the room. The music was alright, he supposed. He could work with this. He could especially work without being forced to find a date he didnât like just to fit in, because no one dared give him crap about it. That left him with a sour thought of a very different kind heâd already decided not to dwell on. A lot of other people were on the dancefloor, but he was good right where he was, absorbing the potential for chaos and waiting for the lights to go just a little lower and darker. That was more his speed.
Unfortunately, someone else didnât seem to care what his speed was, when they came up behind him and spoke into his ear. âYou look bored, Flint. Looking for someone?â
Marcus didnât even turn his head, simply took a sip of his drink. âHardly. You evidently were, if you spotted me back here. Shouldnât you be with your date, Wood? Iâm sure you had a list of invites to choose from.â The words were cool and more than a little antagonistic, holding the pointed hint that heâd been fine by himself, and that Wood was welcome to leave him be now.
The other boy didnât so much as take the hint, instead spoke more quietly, that hint of Glasgow burr there and gravelly in his ear. âDidnât accept an invite, so no date. You?â
A little more to drink, but then he caught a hint of Firewhiskey that distinctly wasnât from him. âSo, youâve also been in a corner drinking from whatever enchanted hipflask you and your mates in Gryffindor came up with, then,â he observed dryly. âPlease to Merlin tell me at least that itâs not one with someoneâs initials on it for when they inevitably drop and lose it later, at least.â
There was a very nearly painful silence then, and Marcus snorted, soft but still audible. âIt figures.â It really, really did. âYou know, itâs good form to at least cast a charm to hide the initials, Wood. Iâm assuming it at least doesnât belong to you.â
âYou didnât answer my question.â
Marcus usually had to shut his eyes and count to ten before he bit the offending personâs head off and told them to mind their business at this stage. The Firewhiskey mellowed him out enough that it took away the edge to some degree, but it was still there.
âGood observation skills there, Wood,â he remarked, aware of other people potentially in earshot. âItâs almost as though itâs not really any of your business. Which it isnât. But since you apparently canât let it drop, I chose to attend solo. This is like a knock-off of all the same stuff that half of us deal with on holidays anyway.â The curse of the Sacred 28, old pureblood family gatherings and traditions and parties littered every holiday throughout the year. Inevitably, they all found ways of coping with the boredom after the age of fifteen, and usually that involved finding substances or decent company (preferably both) and vanishing from the scene entirely once it was deemed polite.
Wood moved in front of him then, there in the corner, solidly built shoulders blocking the rest of the room, mirroring the way Marcus leaned against the wall. He didnât have any choice but to look at him then, and could only be grateful that the warm breath into his ear had stopped. If it hadnât, he might have had to think too hard about how it made him feel, and he really didnât want to right now.
âSo you didnât come with anyone.â It seemed like Wood was trying to make a point, but Marcus couldnât tell what. It was frustrating, so rather than focus on that, he looked at the boy in front of him instead. Heâd been lanky when they were younger, a bit skinny and coltish, but Quidditch had bulked him out and he was solidly built now at seventeen. And then there was the choice of dress robes; apparently he wasnât the only one who made use of a tailor for once. That was a fine outline right there.
Realising he was admiring the view and that that wouldnât do given the reason why he was in a mood in the first place, Marcus exhaled a sigh. âObviously. What do you want, Wood?â
Wood seemed to realise he only had a finite amount of patience. That was a years overdue realisation as far as Marcus was concerned. âTo dance with you.â
That made Marcus stare for a few seconds. Seeming to register that he wasnât going to get a response unless he pushed, Oliver tilted his head at him. âOne dance, Marcus. Something slow. We can stay right here in the corner for all I care, since you seem to prefer lurking in the shadows.â Then brown eyes examined him far too closely, his lips curled up into a smile that held just a hint of smirk at the edges. âPresuming youâre not too caught up in posing and sulking, of course.â
Oliver was crowding him now, just a little, and Marcus wasnât entirely certain how he felt about it yet. His immediate response was no longer to punch the other boy in the face, that had been gone for a long while, so that was progress. âYou canât hold your Firewhiskey and youâre seriously misreading things, if thatâs the best offer you can give me,â he pointed out bluntly. âSo if you donât mind, Iâll continue minding my own business right where I am. Lurking in the shadows.â That was when he leaned back and away, and took another sip of his drink. No one could see them back here. That thought made his pulse race.
Oliver (Wood, his mind stubbornly reminded him, trying to hang onto it) wasnât necessarily going to just leave him alone, though, or so it appeared. âThen come out of here with me for a minute,â he said, voice quiet but still carrying through the space between them. âI want to talk to you about something.â
Marcus sighed exasperatedly, and drained what was left in the cup. Obligingly, it vanished the moment he set it down on a nearby table, and at this point, heâd given up arguing with Oliver. âFine. You get two minutes.â
Once they did get outside, though, Marcus hadnât quite registered just how much Oliver intended to make the most of those two minutes. He found himself rapidly dragged around a corner and pressed into an alcove hidden behind a statue that he hadnât even known was there. When he went to ask what the fuck, Oliver put a hand over his mouth. âShh, someone will hear.â
Beyond annoyed and now suspecting where this was going, neither of which he enjoyed, Marcus dragged Oliverâs hand off his mouth and hissed his next words. âWhat are you doing?â
Earnest brown eyes were fixed on him then, and this time, Marcus couldnât get away or give him the cold shoulder. âAre you seriously still mad that someone tried to ask me to this thing?â
Marcus gave him a truly evil glare then. âYou mean, am I pleased that someone else asked the person Iâm not allowed to walk down the corridor with? Iâm absolutely thrilled. Someone else walks up to you and asks right where I can hear; I kiss you in dark corners and Quidditch changing rooms for three months and get ignored when convenient.â The tone was flat, but the sarcasm wasnât.
He saw Oliver wince, and then, completely annoyed and altogether done with the conversation, Marcus went to shoulder past him. Instead, he found himself pushed back into the stone, found himself being kissed, and he wasnât letting Oliver think that was the last word on it. He wasnât about to be lulled into compliance. Rather than lean into it, instead, he nipped the otherâs bottom lip sharply, just enough to make him feel it, a kiss like a warning, before he reached up and sunk his fingers into his hair.
If he couldnât have the evening, he was going to make sure Oliver went back with bruised, swollen lips, hair a mess, and every possible hallmark to show that heâd vanished with someone. Let everyone wonder who.
That it changed when Oliver seemed to yield, to surrender to being kissed rather than one doing the kissing didnât escape Marcus either. It wasnât until he could feel him trembling that Marcus released him, leaving him looking faintly dizzy where he stood. He smoothed out his robes then, slow and insouciant, enough to make Oliver watch the trail of his hands. âIâm not going to take whatever scraps you decide to throw me and be happy thatâs all I get,â he said, words short, making sure they landed home. This was probably one of the worst sides of him. âYou donât act like it, so you donât get to call me yours. Because Iâm not.â Wasnât that just the biggest lie heâd ever told, but it was supposed to be, because he was doing it purely to be mean and he knew it.
He lifted his thumb to the corner of his mouth then ran it along to the middle of his own lower lip, as though he could taste Oliver there. He could, Firewhiskey and everything that had become so familiar since they first crashed into trying to understand what this was. The reason he really did it, though, was to be a little bit cruel, to watch Oliverâs pupils dilate some more, to see him want to close the distance again, and then to deny him. Or at least, thatâs the intention, right up until Oliver shakes his head. âMerlin help me youâre impossible sometimes,â was the set of words bitten out. âI was trying to apologise. To tell you that I only wanted to go with you, but I also wanted to protect this because itâs ours and people are incredibly nosy. Iâm not ashamed of what weâre doing. You might not be mine, but I want you to be.â
Those were a set of words that Marcus badly wanted to be true, and it was enough to stop him cold, to make him rein in the sulking (if he was honest about what heâd been doing, that was it) and register them. The attempts to deflect hard that his feelings had actually been hurt had all ultimately proven to be unsuccessful, and he knew better than to use kissing as a weapon, it too often backfired and this was very much a case in point.
As though Oliver sensed the weakness somehow, damn him for it, the next time he was being touched was much gentler. âWe could dance right here, if you wanted.â The words were breathed between them. That was when Marcus realised that they could still hear the music from the hall.
He made a decision. âNah,â he said, not hesitating to turn down the suggestion. âCome on. Letâs go back inside.â He gave Oliver a pointed look then, and threw down the gauntlet. âTogether.â It was a ceasefire, or the closest that theyâd get, because they still needed to talk about the actual feelings involved at some point.
There was no phasing a Gryffindor with that kind of challenge, though, so Oliver didnât even bat an eyelid. Show them anything like a bet you canât and they immediately decided that not only could they, but screw you who says I canât. The only reply Marcus got was a hand in his. It turned out he did want to kiss Oliver softly then, so it still took a few minutes longer for them to get back to the hall. When they did, the night sky that illuminated the ceiling had darkened to hold a spill of stars, and the lights had gone down to something far lower and barely there.
Oliver got his one dance. What he also got was a truth in his ear. âIâm only yours if youâre mine. Non-negotiable. What about it?â
summary:Â an angel and a demon walk into a garden, and the rest is literally ancient history
note: this is fluff and humour with a teeny bit of angst if u squint but pls read it anyways UwU
excerpt:Â
"I didn't force her to eat the apple."
It's a weak argument, pathetic, really, but it's enough for Oliver Wood to look at Marcus incredulously, his mouth snapping open and closed in an attempt to say something, anything.
"All I did was encourage her a bit." Marcus attempts again, and Oliver's frustrated shrieks are muffled by his own wings, his fists clenched and his feathers quivering.
"Do you know how much trouble she's going to be in?" Oliver finally snaps, looking heavenward for strength. Marcus snickers.
"Eve's a big girl, she can handle it." Marcus studies his own fingernails idly, his own dark wings folded and hidden, preening under the eyes of Oliver Wood.
Thereâs a new Flint-Wood in town, and this one accomplished something that his star older siblings canât put on their resume.
Ian Flint-Wood, Chaser for the Wigtown Wanderers and younger brother of current Ballycastle Beater Terry Flint-Wood and Tutshill Tornados Keeper Landon Flint-Wood, led the Wanderers to the biggest upset this quidditch season.
Itâs only been a few months since Gryffindor Chaser/team Captain Ian Flint-Wood graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but he already has his eyes on the next prize: his first season in the British and Irish Quidditch League.
In his first Interview with Seeker Weekly correspondent Demelza Robbins
âEveryone wants to win the League Cup, but in my rookie season, I would love to earn a starting position that can give me the opportunity to be Rookie of the Year,â says Ian. And heâs no stranger to achieving high goals. One of the first of this yearâs draft pick for the League.
flintwood â step out into the wild / there's a beautiful storm in your eyes / we're perfectly intertwined / and if it's quite alright / you could be my way of life //
time and tide may change (but darling we are forever) - Chapter 7
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Chapter Summary: Nothing like a few injuries to bring people together
Words: 1443
A/N: welp back on my bullshit
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Marcus is very rarely around the house.
Ben hadnât noticed at first because of his active avoidance, but now, he realizes he only sees Marcus every few days at most. Finally, he strikes up the courage to ask someone where Marcus has gone off to and they try to explain it as best they can. He finds out Marcus is a double agent, working for the Dark Lord as well as the Order. Ben doesnât understand how anyone could trust him like that and says as much.
âYou told us we should,â is all Kingsley Shacklebolt responds with and raises his eyebrows at Ben.
By the time Kingley is done explaining everything, Ben is overwhelmed and wonders how Oliver got wound up in all of this in the first place. At any rate, he thinks he understands why Marcus is gone and doesnât question it again. After all, heâd hate to admit that he found Marcusâ actions brave and admirable.
Ben worries though. Worries about everyoneâs safety, if there will be nights when Marcus may not come back or if any of the Order might not for that matter. He listens for the telltale cracks and pops in the late night, rushing to the door as people bustle in. More often than not, itâs just news about the wizarding world, the impending war, a boy named Harry, but injuries are not an uncommon occurrence either. Ben doesnât know how Molly works her magic so well, but heâs thankful that she hasnât had to deal with anything too serious.
This particular night is foreboding as Ben managed to overhear the meeting from earlier that a life-or-death mission was to happen. Molly picked up immediately that Ben knew once everyone had left, doing her best to reassure him. The pit was already growing in his stomach and he had waited in his room in order not to stress out Molly anymore.
A harsh crack rips through the night and Ben doesnât even hesitate, sprinting down to the first floor. He stops himself on the last steps, seeing Molly already waiting in the living room.
âAre they back?â Ben asks, despite already knowing the answer. He grips onto the railing, the worst already running through his mind. It had been a big night for Marcus, at least thatâs what others had said. All Ben hopes is that Marcus is alive.
When the door flies open, Benâs stomach drops at the sight. Marcusâs face is covered with blood and he can barely support himself as heâs carried over to the couch by members of the Order followed by Arthur.
âMarcus,â Ben breathes out and rushes over to where the man has been laid. âWhat happened?â
âAmbush,â Arthur shakes his head. âMarcus tried to warn us but it all happened too quickly.â
Swallowing, Ben crouches down and finds himself running his hand through Marcusâs hair. The man almost looks peaceful if it wasnât for the blood.
âHeâs unconscious. As for his injuries...â
Arthur pauses as Ben stares at him with widening eyes.
âNo, no, theyâll heal. Our magic can handle that. I just canât say how long the recovery will take,â Arthur quickly corrects himself.
Both Ben and Arthur let out a sigh of relief just as Molly comes bursting into the room again.
âOut of the way,â Molly pushes through before anything else can be said. She tends to Marcusâ wounds, having to shoo Ben out of the way every so often because of him trying to hold onto Marcusâ hand.
Ben is wrought with emotion, despite the small part of hostility he still holds towards Marcus. Itâs as if another part of him has taken over and all he wants is Marcus to be okay.
The wounds are wrapped up quickly and Ben is moved out of the way again as Marcus is brought up to his room. Ben trails behind, trying to keep an eye on Marcus through the few blocking bodies in his way.
When Marcus is laid down on his bed, Ben pulls over a chair and sits by Marcusâ side. A few people filter in and out of the room to check on Marcus, but once heâs alone, itâs only then that Ben cups Marcusâ face in one of his hands. Looking down at the man, Ben canât help the feeling of wanting to hold him close. Instead, he lets his hand trail from Marcusâ face down to his chest where he can feel his heartbeat.
Ben swallows down the lump forming in his throat and simply stares at Marcus. This is where heâs meant to be, he thinks.
~
Molly had said Marcusâs recovery would take a few days, but Ben couldnât help checking on the man every moment he had. Heâs not sure what heâs expecting as the fourth day rolls by, lingering at Marcusâs bedside yet again. Benâs only thankful that everyone in the house is at the very least humoring him.
As he sits in his chair, Ben concentrates on Marcusâ uncharacteristic quiet. Asleep, there is a softness to the man that Ben simply hadnât noticed before. He wonders if this is the same face Oliver gazed upon in early mornings and his body becomes numb. He wants this. He wants Marcus.
Ben lets his eyes trail down from Marcusâ face to the rest of his body, stopping at the hands, laid perfectly next to his side. There is a comfort Ben finds in them and his fingers twitch in hesitation. Lifting his hand, Ben reaches for Marcusâs own and then stops himself. He feels the turmoil in his mind, the one that feels he should still hate Marcus and the other that wants nothing more to embrace him fully.
Ben curses and takes to leaning back in the chair next to Marcusâ bed in attempt to straighten out his thoughts. He needs to make a decision, he canât keep changing his mind every time something emotional happens.
Heâs scared though. If Marcus is to be his, he wants to be accepted as Ben, not as who he used to be. Oliver might never come back and Ben fears he will be tossed aside when everyone realizes this. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales heavily. Then again, they wouldâve gotten rid of him already if they truly did not care.
Movement catches his eye and Ben scoots back, eyeing Marcus as the man starts to move, his eyes slowly opening. Ben waits as Marcus collects himself and holds his breath when Marcus turns his head in his direction. Itâs a stalemate of whoâll look away first before Marcus opens his mouth.
âWhat...happened?â Marcus asks, his voice hoarse and weak.
âAmbush. You were knocked off your broom,â Ben replies as he grabs a cup of water and helps Marcus lift his head to take a drink.
Marcus grimaces but a small portion of his strength seems to come back as he swallows and he attempts to sit up. Ben immediately goes to help him, trying to ignore Marcusâ curious gaze.
âHow long have I been out?â
âJust a few days,â Ben attempts to say in a casual tone, but the tension has risen in the room and he feels stifled.
âHave you been with me the entire time?â
Ben hates how Marcus seems to ask the exact question he hopes to not answer. With a few glances out the windows, Ben half-heartedly shakes his head and is unable to stop his response of, âYes.â
Glancing down at his hands still on Marcus, Ben pulls away to leave, but Marcus grabbing his arm stops him. Ben doesnât want to fight, so he stands, waiting for Marcus to take the first move.
âWhy?â
âI needed to make sure youâd be okay, that youâdââ Ben automatically answers and then clamps his mouth shut, embarrassed that he let his emotions slip.
Marcusâ hand squeezes his arm and Ben finally turns to him. âI am. Thank you for staying with me.â
Ben tries to hide the sigh that leaves his body, but Marcus has already noticed, giving Ben a small smile. âWhen Iâm better, Iâll take you flying, alright?â
Flying. Benâs heart soars at this and he can barely contain his excitement. He had forgotten until now but flying the remembrance of flying had filled so many of his sleepless nights before all of this. It was the only thing that felt real in both worlds.
Benâs pulled from his haze by Marcusâ small laugh and he blushes. Itâs wonderful to have Marcus back. Itâs as if any stress Ben had from earlier has vanished and all that matters is Marcus.
