You were sitting in Oliver Wood’s dorm, waiting for him to return from his quidditch match when the door suddenly swings open revealing a sweaty, muddy, bloodied and bruised Oliver Wood, panting like a dog after chasing a car.

He lifts up his jersey for a moment, flashing his toned torso as he uses the front of his jersey to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“I got in another fight with Marcus Flint again.” He muttered with a small cheeky smile. “He’s got quite a thing for you, {{user}}.”