Oliver Wood Imagines

Mr. July

"For the love of God, Y/N, please." Oliver pleaded with you, exasperated. You didn't hear him though, since you were on the floor laughing.

He, still sitting at the kitchen table where he had broke the news to you was bewildered by your reaction. Burying his head in his hands,"They made me do it. It was for a charity fundraiser," he argued.

Still, you were laughing too hard to comprehend this. Upon understanding, your legs simply could not bear the weight of your body and you dropped to the floor. But in your laughing induced euphoria you had no recollection of your sudden descent hurting in the slightest. You were too giddy to feel pain. And it just kept getting funnier the more you thought about it. What you held in your hand was not necessarily funny by intent, but Oliver being involved made it absolutely hilarious.

The nexts moments were completely silent, besides your pathetic attempts to stop laughing, still lying on the floor.

With an exasperated sigh, Oliver stood up from his place at the table. Offering  you his hands which you took with a chuckle, still gripping the item in your right hand as he hoisted you back to your feet.

"You good now?" He asked, in a bothered tone. Obviously still not finding a shred of humor in this situation.

You nodded barely able to look him in the eye, yet soon you shook your head and started grinning like an idiot once more.
"Ugh, Y/N!" He groans, dropping his head into the crook of your shoulder.
"Y-you did a calendar shoot." You declared, breathlessly, lightheaded from all of your laughter. The smile on your face threatened to split your head in two.

Puddlemere United had done a calendar shoot of their male players to raise money for the new Children's Ward of St. Mungo's. Oliver, much to his distain, was included in this shoot.

How Oliver wished he could have been a woman in that one instance. The women of Puddlemere opted to hold a fundraising dinner/auction to keep a hold of their dignity. And he would have done just about anything to be involved in that rather than this.

Looking back to the photo, you couldn't comprehend how utterly basic this was. All those years of training at Hogwarts and countless hours of strategizing what would impress team scouts and this is what it got him. This was apparently what he had been working so hard for. Of course from your perspective you just saw it as a bit of fun, but you knew he didn't see it like that. Being just a reserve player was torment enough for him, but being degraded like this? He would never give up professional Quidditch, it was his lifelong dream. But by golly they weren't making it easy for him.

You knew the other (male) players would just be eating this up. The other players, as was common with professional athletes, had massive egos. They were just itching to flaunt their washboard abs and killer biceps. But with Oliver the situation was quite the opposite. Hidden behind his naturally photogenic appearance, you can see the discomfort in his expression in his photo. Yet you can attribute this catch of yours to your several years studying his expressions, the untrained eye would not be able to catch his subconsciously hidden message. Of course they had picked Oliver, Oliver's face (no matter how uncomfortable he may look) was easy on the eyes and his overall appearance continued that trend. He never would understand his physical appeal. That was something he had yet to embrace, the flaming egotistical attitude that came with being a part of professional Quidditch.

Looking at the photos once more you were quite excited for when summer rolls around this year, specifically 31 days of it in fact.
"Well look on the bright side Ollie, the fact that they included you means they know you exist."

"I am the only reserve player included." He mumbled shyly, his face still slumped in your shoulder, admitting to have thought of the remark as well.

"See?" You exclaimed, shrugging him off and placing the photo mere centimeters from his nose. "This is the picture of progress." Your radiant smile shining again, a giggle threatening to escape your throat.

"Put it down," he scolded, a faint smile on his lips. "You're too close to the window, what if someone sees?"

Sees what? Oliver in his swim trunks and sunglasses laying on a beach chair with his broom next to him on the sand of the Quidditch Pitch?

You shrug. "No can do, Mr. July, I'm buying at minimum 5 copies. The first one I'm sending to your Mum. Wouldn't she appreciate what all of those years of practice have gotten you in life?"

"Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNN"

Now you were actively counting down the days until summer, but not for the reasons most people were. You also made a mental note to check for what years you can reuse this calendar. Forget the Deathly Hallows, this would be the ultimate family heirloom.