Oliver wood imagine's

Your Pushin Yer Luck

You weren't planning to start anything that afternoon.

Honestly, you were just trying to study in peace. You'd been sitting on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room, legs tucked under you, quill in hand. The fire crackled softly. Students chatted in the background. Everything was normal.

Then Oliver dropped onto the cushion beside you with a dramatic sigh, throwing his head back like he'd just run from a dragon.

"They've put me on prefect duty again tonight," he groaned.

You smiled sympathetically. "Aww. Poor baby."

He opened one eye. "Don't you start."

You lifted your book, all innocent. "I'm just comforting you."

"Aye," he said, rubbing his palms over his face, "comfort would be nice. What I'm gettin' is cheek."

You shrugged, still pretending to read. "I could give you a hug."

He perked instantly, leaning closer. "Really?"

You nodded sweetly. Then, deadpan, you repeated his words back at him in an exaggeratedly thick accent:

"'Aye, comfort would be nice,'" you said, adding an extra roll to the r for good measure.

Oliver froze.

Very. Slowly.

He turned his head toward you.

"Yer mockin' me again," he said, voice flat.

You flashed him your best innocent smile. "Me? Nooo."

"Mhm." He narrowed his eyes. "Do it again."

"No."

"Do it."

"I'm busy."

"I'll tickle ye."

You snapped your gaze toward him. "You wouldn't dare."

He raised a brow — bold, confident, dangerous. "Keep mockin' me and see what happens."

You couldn't help it — you laughed, covering your mouth.

He leaned in, elbows resting on his knees, staring at you with that intense, laser-focused look he usually has before big matches.

"You're enjoyin' this," he said.

"Of course I am," you replied. "Your accent is adorable. It's like—like warm bread."

His eyebrows shot up. "Warm bread?"

"Yes. It's cozy. And soft."

"It's not soft," he muttered. "It's rugged. Masculine."

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. "Oliver... your accent is one small sheep away from a farm."

He gasped. Loudly. Dramatically.

"Take that back."

"No."

"Take. It. Back."

Instead, you grinned and said in your worst impression yet:

"'Och aye, lass, I'm a big strong lad from the Highlands!'"

Oliver's jaw dropped.

"You're dead," he whispered.

Before you could escape, he moved.

In one smooth, terrifyingly graceful motion, Oliver scooped an arm around your waist, hauled you toward him, and pinned you sideways across his lap. His hands settled firmly on your hips, holding you in place as you shrieked with startled laughter.

"OLIVER—!"

"Mock my accent again," he warned, voice right in your ear, "and I'll toss ye over my back like I'm transportin' firewood."

You squirmed, face burning, heart pounding in your throat. "Let me go!"

"No."
He sounded entirely too smug. "Not until you apologize."

"For what?!"

"For this—" He exaggerated your earlier words in a dramatic falsetto:
"'Och aye, lass, I'm from the Highlands!'"

You dissolved into helpless giggles. "I did NOT sound like that!"

"Oh, but ye did." He poked your side, making you jolt. "Do ye apologize?"

You hesitated for exactly one second too long.

Oliver shifted, tightening his hold around your waist. "Last chance, love."

You tried to sound serious. You tried to behave.

But instead, you smirked.

And whispered, perfectly, deliberately:

"Aye, laddie."

Oliver inhaled sharply. "Right. That's it."

You didn't even get a second to breathe before he scooped you fully off the couch, lifting you effortlessly into the air. You squealed, clinging to his shoulders as laughter burst out of you.

Everyone in the common room turned.

A few whistled.

Oliver didn't care. He carried you toward the stairs like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Where are you taking me?!" you demanded between laughs.

"To lecture you," he said proudly. "In private."

"And if I say no?"

He grinned — wicked, triumphant, gorgeous.

"Then I'll use my rugged, masculine Scottish accent until you behave."

Your knees nearly gave out.

He noticed.

And he smirked like he'd won a war.