after years of not thinking of her, he smells something oddly farmiliar
oliver x reader

"Alright, mum," Oliver sighed as he attempted to shove his mother out the door for the umpteenth time that evening. She'd stayed the weekend with him for whatever reason, because she missed him according to her, but he had early practice in the morning and he couldn't spend the rest of his night waiting for her to leave. And, of course, she was too stubborn to just disapparate because she heard one story of a friend of hers losing an ear.

"Oh! And remember to use that candle I bought, I know how much you like that scent and it's just been forever since I've found it in stores," she said as she shoved her foot in the door-frame to get that last word in. Oliver offered her a dry chuckle before he finally got her out.

He eyed the unburnt candle on the coffee table. Out of all the things for his mother to remember about him.

"C'mon, I think it smells lovely," you said, flicking on the handheld lighter and holding it up to the wick. The candle in your hand was about half full of wax at this point.

"But it's the only thing I can even smell now," Oliver groaned as he practically threw himself down onto the couch behind you. You set the whiskey scented candle back down onto the wood of the table before joining him, curling yourself into his side as he put some muggle show for the two of you to watch on the tele.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you it reminds me of you," you muttered softly into his thoroughly worn out Puddlemere United jumper. There was a small hole in the neck that you could see becoming a problem in the future so you made a mental note to put your sewing kit to it next time you stole it from him. You tucked your feet up underneath you as Oliver dragged his fingers delicately down your spine.

"You think my ego's that big, huh," he said with a smirk.

"Oh I know it is," you said. He scoffed lightly.

"Just be glad my ego can pay the rent," he said, not really thinking much of it until he felt you pull back from him slightly and shift so that you were sitting on the other end of the couch rather than pressed up against him, your knees facing into the arm of the couch.

"What is it now," he groaned.

"Don't be like that," you spat, pulling your feet away from him entirely so that no part of you was touching him. He tried to pull your feet back into his lap only for you to snatch them away abruptly with a roll of your eyes.

"Don't get pissy with me, doll," he said with an amused grin, the corners of his lips faltering slightly when he saw the expression on your face.

He was really in for it.

Oliver grabbed the white handheld lighter out of the kitchen drawer and brought it back to the living room. Just another thing you'd left at his place that he hadn't had the heart to throw out. His mum knew how you'd left things. She knew about the candle.

It took him a second longer than it should have to actually pick up the candle when he made his way back to the living room. It took him a few minutes longer than it should have to actually light it.

"Oliver, just drop it. I'm over it," you practically whimpered as you pulled back the comforter of your bed, ready to just sleep away the fight and wake up madly in love with each other again.

"No, I need you to know that I didn't mean what I said," he said as he slipped underneath the covers beside you, the light from your bedside lamp being the only light still in the room. "I was only joking, but that still isn't an excuse."

"I get it, Oli," you said, bringing his hand up to press kisses into the knuckle. "Really, I do. I shouldn't have gotten so upset about it. Your ego really does pay the bills around here."

"But that doesn't mean-"

"Oliver Wood, I said it's okay," you said. "It's no secret that you make the money for us."

"I love you," he mumbled, pulling you closer into him so that your head was tucked right underneath his chin. You grasped a handful of the worn-out cotton of his jumper and inhaled deeply, fully taking in the scent. It really did smell exactly like the whiskey candle just outside your room.

"I love you, too," you mumbled. "We really need to stop getting in stupid fights."

"Nothing that upsets you is stupid," he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of your skull before he reached around you to click out the lamp light.

The lighter took a few tries to ignite. It was probably low on fluid. It'd been, what, a year since he'd purchased a lighter. The only reason he even had this one was because of your scented candle obsession.

"Which one did you get this time?" he asked as you set the cloth bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter. You were lucky the corner store right across the street from the grocer you always went to sold candles or you would've been shit out of luck. It was almost like your part of London had never known the wonder that was scented wax.

"Same as last week," you hummed, pulling the whiskey scented one out of the bag and setting it down next to the milk you had yet to put in the fridge.

"Really?" he asked. You never got the same scent twice in a row.

You nodded in response, watching Oliver from the corner of your eye as he picked the cylinder up to examine it.

"What's so special about it, then?" he asked.

"Told you. Reminds me of you," you said simply, putting the box of cheerios into the cabinet.

The flame licked at his fingers as he finally managed to light the wick. He'd never paid as much attention to the way fire moved until that moment.

The scent was intoxicating; it took over all of his senses. He didn't realize how much he'd missed it until then. Maybe that's what his mum was playing at. Maybe making him smell it again would pull him out of his funk.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, keeping your gaze focused on the almost burnt-out candle in front of you.

"What-can't do what anymore?" he stuttered out, crossing the expanse of the living room and into the kitchen from where he'd just come in the front door. He'd barely had enough time to drop his practice duffle on the floor before he heard the news that sent his heart pummeling into his stomach.

"Us," you said simply. You didn't trust your voice enough to say much more.

"What are you talking about, baby?" he said. You would've caught the way his bottom lip quivered through the entirety of his question had you not been staring at the dying flame in front of you.

"You're gone all the time... a-and," you felt a tear slip down your cheek but you were quick to wipe it away with your sleeve. Coincidentally it was the same Puddlemere United jumper you'd made a mental note of to sew back up to perfection. You stuck your finger into the, now, immensely wider hole at the neckline.

"Love, I thought we talked about this," he said softly, coming around the kitchen island to wrap you up in his arms. It took everything in you to not indulge and throw yourself into his warmth.

"I know we did, but-"

"Please don't cry. You know how much I hate it when you cry," he mumbled as he swiped away the few tears that had managed to fall.

"I can't do it, Oliver. Even when you're here it doesn't feel like you're really here," you said, your throat tightening the more you spoke. "But I can't ask you to give up your dream."

"You," he said. "You're my dream."

"No, no, no," you said, pulling yourself out of his grasp and focusing your gaze back onto the candle in time enough to see the flame fully die. The smoke was flittering up to the ceiling in soft swirls. "Quidditch is your dream. It has been since we were kids."

Oliver hadn't noticed the haziness in his vision until he felt the tears dripping onto his neck. The candle in front of him had melted down enough that there was no solid wax showing on the top anymore. He sniffed as he pulled his jumper sleeve down enough to wipe his face. He coughed once to clear his throat before blowing the candle out, grabbing the still hot glass and tossing it into the small trash can beside the couch.