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Summary
No one understood.
Yes, James was tall, fit, and a Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was handsome and extremely popular, it was just always the wrong sort of attention he desired. He knew he gave off those fuckboy vibes. One look at James, and he was clearly ready to pummel them into the ground. And that's precisely what he did, again and again, but it wasn't enough. It never would be. No one looked at James and thought, 'Damn, I'd love to wreck that arse.'
Once. Just once. Was that too much to bloody ask?!
OR
James Potter just wants to be bred.
