Quidditch Over Love

Part 1

His lips skimmed yours, teasing you, and your heart pounded a race in your chest. After what seemed like forever, he gave in and pressed his lips to yours, his tongue gliding over yours. All you want is more of him.You run your hands through his hair, mesmerized by the feel of it. He sighs your name as his lips trail down to your neck and back to your lips; he is memorizing its path.
"Y/N" he says again, louder, more clearly.
Your eyes fly open, and you softly let out a curse. Too soon. These dreams plagued your sleep, but they could never satiate your thirst. Even worse, when you woke up, reality slammed you in the chest; you could never have him.
"Y/N...?" Oliver repeats, peering at you. Um um um you think again, trying to form thoughts. You are always this breathless when you see him, your crush of five years:Oliver Wood, your best friend, and captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.
You sit up quickly and spots blur your vision, almost making you faint.
"Hey now, you took a pretty nasty hit. How do you feel?"
How do I feel? You ask yourself. I'm fine... Then, a flash of memories comes back and you almost curse again. You had been flying with the quaffle when the nasty Slytherin, Malfoy, "accidentally" hit you right into one of the metal poles (that made up one of the hoops). Somehow you always made a fool of yourself in front of Oliver.
Shaking your head, you replied, "I'm fine. It's just a small bruise."
"Seriously? Okay, well since that loss against Slytherin set us back, we'll need to double our practice times in order to make it to the finals." Oliver fretted, explaining what drills they would need to do in order to be prepared to go against Hufflepuff. Everyone saw Oliver as an quidditch- obsessed captain who cared more about the cup than for his own players. You knew that wasn't true, but you understood why others thought that, you used to.
After a particularly rough practice, you trudged up the stairs to the common room only to face Oliver. "Hey, so in order for our team to win our next match you need to improve your throws and catches. We can't have you dropping the ball again." Oliver was always giving you condescending advice, and you were done with it and its humiliation. "What is wrong with you?! Why can't you focus on yourself? You're just as cold and uncaring as Professor Binns, of not worse!" You screamed. At that moment his shoulders had sagged, his head bowed in apology. "Do you really think so?" His voice had whispered, and, still angry, you had nodded. He then told of how his Slytherin parents had seemed supportive of whatever house he had gotten into. At the sorting, he was sorted into Gryffindor. No big deal, right? But the summer after his first year it wasn't. His parents beat him and locked him in his room. He had loved them, and they had betrayed that. He couldn't let anyone know of his attachments because if they did and used it against him, he would not be able to survive it.
Instead of getting mad, you smirk. "I wouldn't dream of putting the quidditch cup at stake. Only You- Know-Who is so soulless to do that." You smack him lightly and snicker.
"I'm doing it again, aren't I?" He asks, running his hand through his hair.
"It's true though. I want the cup as much as you do. Especially to wipe that smirk off Malfoy's face."
"We'll all have to get him back for that one.I'm going to go let the rest of team know you're okay. They said that they would give us space...? No idea what that was about. Anyways, I really do hope you feel better tomorrow." He brushes a strand of your hair out of your face before he turns away. You blush wildly until he turns around.
"See you in the common room tomorrow morning?" He asks, already knowing the answer. You two were basically inseparable.
"Of course," you say somewhat miserably. You loved him, but how could you make him see that? What if he didn't like you back?