Do you write any non-magic AUs?? I like your writing a lot, by the way :D
🥹 thank you very much! 😯 i do not write many non magical aus. actually, i don't think i have ever even posted or shared one here before 😳
i have a modern spy au that i've had drafted for a long while 🤔 i hadn't decided if it was going to be non magical yet because i often naturally gravitate to magical aus when writing, but what i have so far could be written as non magic. 😊 here's what i feel comfortable sharing if you are interested
There were very few things that Harry drew the line at.
As a spy, he supposed that was part of the job. To be one required more blurred lines than Harry staring at a pinstripe suit with his glasses off—more than he ever truly felt comfortable admitting, even to Ron and Hermione. The gruesome feeling that some days were so much easier than others, some lines were so much simpler to ignore, was hard to swallow in the dark hours of early morning light. But Harry had gotten very good at shaking those feelings off; he’d had years of practice, after all.
But. There were very few things that Harry drew the line at. And though not all of them were morally motivated, they mattered to him all the same.
And one of those things was—“I’m not accepting this job,” he slapped the file back down on the desk. One glance at the location was plenty for him to decide then and there. Not happening.
McGonagall frowned. Her brows drew together, and before she could deliver Harry some bullshit about Dumbledore and how vital this mission was and how the Order needed his expertise blah blah blah, he interrupted her. “There’re rumours he’s in Italy. You know my rules.”
She sighed, “Mr Potter. I understand Malta may be closer than you’d prefer if that is the case, but Italy is a large country in comparison, and what are the odds-“
“High. The odds are extremely high.” Harry rubbed his hand up his face, jostling his glasses. “The two of us are like volatile magnets,” he groaned.
When she grimaced and gave a nearly imperceptible nod, Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or punch something. “Our intel found nothing to suggest Grindelwald’s organisation would be involved.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed, “because your intel isn’t looking out for him like I am. When was the last time the Order even knew The Alliance would be involved in a mission anyway? Every time I was sent out, it’d be like a goddamn popup book surprise.” His voice went up an octave, “Oh! We’re so sorry, Harry! We hadn’t known Grindelwald’s top assassin, who has threatened to kill you multiple times, would be there! Our bad!”
“Now, Mr Potter-“
“No. I’ve heard quite enough. You know my rules,” Harry turned to walk out of her office with a parting, “I don’t take jobs involving Tom Riddle.”
The room is too hot with all the windows shut, curtains drawn. Beads of sweat drip down the back Harry’s neck, but he keeps his face cool. Everything depends on this. He raises an eyebrow, then his hand.
“Ten thousand.”
The air is still, no movement around the table. Sharp somehow. Faces glint in the dim light, affecting calm, but he can see behind the masks. Always could. It was his special gift, if you’d like, his secret weapon. Magic helped too. And now, all he has to do is wait: the long game finally reaching its climax. It should happen any second now. Any second.
To his left, a thin man grinds his teeth. “Out.”
Mr. moustache adds a huff to it. “I’m out.”
Across the table, the flashy tosser with the smile and the name winks. “Sorry, lads. Out this round.”
Which leaves only them at it; the hunter and his prey. One narrow eyebrow arches infinitely high.
“All right, then. All in.”
There’s challenge in his tone. The only man Harry’s never been able to read. Of the shields he uses Harry knows, both magical and not, unbreakable. He bites his lip, the false tell he spent all night ascertaining: it won’t help, not here, not with him. But maybe courage will.
The pile on the table is stacked high enough to make you dizzy. Harry sucks in a groan.
“All in.”
The collective intake of breath is rank in the air, overwhelming the whiskey, firey scent. A crooked smile unveils sharp teeth. He lays the cards down, and Harry’s heart skips a beat—not because he won, but due to the cards themselves: ace of spades, ace of clubs, ace of hearts.
Ace of hearts. He did it.
Relief is heady, thick like fog, spreading through his entire body. His hands clutch the edge of his seat like he might fall in. He might, fall or fall apart, only time will tell. Around the table the commotion resumes, grimaces fixed into dark smiles, shuffles intensify into near-threats. They’ll deal with all that when they have to. There are more important things, now. Things like grey eyes and the promise they hold, of cooperation, of assent. Of trust.
He corners Malfoy after the next round, a glass of Patron in his hand, smile far more dangerous. More intoxicating. Even pushed against the wall he seems immaculate—must have drank, what, twice as much as Harry. In the dank room, damp with expectations and high stakes, not a single hair out of place. Harry wants to devour him. Instead he grins.
“Knew they’ll change your mind in the end.”
Malfoy shakes his head. “Not for them. For you.”
“For me.” It feels tight in his throat. “Are we going back in? I can’t leave without Rosier.”
“Yes, yes.” Malfoy rolls his eyes, but then leans forward to plant a surprise kiss on Harry’s lips. “Here. For luck.”
Harry dives in. Not for luck, but for this, for him.
(Day 21 of @flufftober! Find all previous ficlets here, or on AO3)
After receiving incriminating evidence that Tom Riddle's bid to become Minister for Magic is not as innocent as once believed, Harry Potter, a counterintelligence officer, and Hermione Granger, an agent handler, unite to upend his plans. But birdwatchers are everywhere, spying from the shadows where love and espionage cross in the most dangerous of games.
hiiii here’s a fun thing i wrote for fleur and harry while taking a break from the horror fic :’) it’s about fleur breaking into harry’s house when she’s drunk because why the hell not???
***
Something shifts beside Harry, and terror suddenly grips his body because he’s supposed to be in bed alone. It can’t be earlier than 2 or 3 in the morning because the sun hasn’t begun to rise from behind his dark curtains. He’s absolutely tired out from the day, and sharing the bed with someone is not in his schedule. He freezes when two cold hands rest on his chest, a leg hiked up around his waist. When the person pushes their head into the crease of his neck, his heart begins to beat again, releasing a low sigh.
“Fleur,” he says, eyes closing as he feels around for her waist. “What have I said about breaking into my house?”
“‘S not breaking in because you’re my boyfriend,” she whispers, running her lips across his neck, finding a spot, and then biting down gently.
“Ow,” he mutters sleepily, pushing her head away. “Alright you vampire, quit it.”
“I was undercover at a party and…” she breaks off with a laugh. “They were drinking. A lot. I had to fit in so now I’m--”
“Drunk,” Harry finishes for her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I can tell.”
“I took a mint before I got here, asshole.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He rests his cheek on her wildly frizzy hair. He tries to take some out of his mouth. “You’re just a lot nicer when you’re drunk.”
Maybe that’s not the right thing to say to your spy girlfriend when she’s drunk and very needy.
Her head tilts up. “Are you saying I’m never nice to you?”
“No,” he says quickly. “You’re nice. But when you’re drunk, you’re extra nice.”
Yeah, that doesn’t fix anything.
She continues to stare at him, her eyes now adjusted to the darkness. “Well, that’s rude.”
“I’m not trying to be rude.” He yawns and stretches his legs.
Fleur doesn’t say anything, still watching him. His eyes have closed and his brows have untangled, face relaxed and ready to slip back into slumber. She rubs her feet against his, reaching for his hand.
“I’m nice,” she argues quietly, playing with his fingers. “Does it bother you that sometimes I’m mean? I can try to be nicer, but I really am trying.”
Harry can’t help but smile, dropping his lips to her forehead, gently running a hand over her cheek. “It doesn’t bother me. I like it.”
“You like that I’m mean?”
“No, I like that you are Fleur. Unapologetically. And besides, I know who you are. You love me.”
She looks back down at his neck and kisses his skin again. He shivers a bit. “I do love you. I missed you today.”
“That’s why you broke into my house?”
“I didn’t break in. I know your passcode.”
His eyes open. “How the hell do you know my passcode?”
For the first time since she’s gotten there, she smiles up at him, a bit timidly. “Your passcode is literally my name you dink. You should change it to something else. And no, it can’t be my last name. Talk about being a sap.”
“A sap?!”
“Okay fine. Simp.”
“What the hell, I am not a simp. You are.”
“No, I’m not. My passcode isn’t Harry. And it’s not Styles either.” Harry opens his mouth to say something. “No, it’s not Edward.” He shuts his mouth. “I’d tell you my passcode but what if you walk in on me naked or something?”
“Nothing I haven’t already seen.”
She laughs. “Yeah. And you like what you see.”
“I really do.”
“You sound sleepy.”
Harry raises his head to look at his phone. “Maybe because it’s two in the morning, you nutcase.”
She gently kisses his knuckles, dragging her lips to the inside of his wrists and then up to his tattoos. Goosebumps rise to his skin, but he hopes she doesn’t notice, too delighted by the feeling of her warm mouth on him. “Baby,” he mutters softly. “Please. Let’s sleep, okay?”
Fleur ignores him. “Next time we go undercover, let’s pair up again. Especially if we’re going to a party because I wore a dress and every time someone complimented me, I just thought about you. And maybe I fantasized about you throwing them down and hitting them--”
Harry chuckles, “Why would I do that?” He likes when she’s drunk, not because she’s nicer but because she always tells him things she’d normally never say. Mostly emotional and lovey dovey stuff.
“Because you got jealous. I looked pretty today.”
He tilts his head back to expose his throat when she kisses up to his ear. “You always look pretty, Fleur.”
She shakes her head. “But today I looked really good. I wore a black dress and my hair was pinned up and I wore heels.”
“And jewelry?”
“Yes. Jane gave me some of her rings and necklaces.”
“You should dress up for me, baby.”
“Mmm,” she hums, climbing a bit onto him, grabbing his face to connect their mouths together. He places a hand on the back of her neck and firmly keeps her there, kissing her deeply. She pulls away and kisses him again, letting out a soft noise in between kisses when she tries to catch her breath, and it’s all lovely until she gently rubs up against him. His free hand then grabs her waist and pushes her off.
“What?” she whispers against his mouth. “I’m not wearing the dress. All you have to do is take my sweatpants down--”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re drunk,” he informs her, holding an arm out to stop her from climbing back onto him like she’s a wild dog. She grabs his wrist and gently opens his fingers up, laying his hand around her neck.
“So? I’m sobering up with each kiss.”
He gently squeezes her neck and her hand falls away, tilting her head against the pillow in case he squeezes again, but he doesn’t.
“That’s not true. Besides, you know I don’t like to have sex when one of us is drunk.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not right. You’re not in the right headspace and quite frankly,” he looks down at his crotch, “I’m way too tired to get hard right now.”
She snakes a hand up his thigh, resting it there. “That’s not fair.”
He catches her hand before it travels some more. “I know, baby, but it is what it is.”
Fleur sighs and rests her head back against his neck, breathing deeply, enjoying the scent of his body wash. “Tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow,” he confirms, kissing her temple. “I promise.”
She closes her eyes and lets him rub her back gently, her breathing matching his. The fire between her legs is very much apparent, but when sleep begins to claw at her eyes, she decides she needs to get her priorities straight. He’s so tired, he nearly falls asleep as soon as she shuts up, pulling her in closer and getting comfortable. Right before he slips into a deep slumber, he says, “I love you, Fleur. No more breaking into my house, okay?”
To which she whispers against his skin: “I can’t promise that. Love you.”
hii, do you maybe have a list of spy/assassin/secret agent aus? preferably with louis as the spy/assassin/secret agent or anything like that but it doesn’t really matter much who’s what, thank u! :D
Here you go!
👑 Mr & Mr. Tomlinson: Mission Failed (7k)
👑 The Continental (9k)
👑 You Only Live Twice (hope the second bullet doesn't kill you) (17k)
👑 When You Know (18k)
👑 Die Another Day (hope you live to see it) (19k)
👑 It's hard to stay away (you keep me calling on you) (19k)
👑 The Ballad Of An Assassin (19k)
👑 Too good to be bad (24k)
👑 The Things You Hide (27k)
👑 my heart, in deadly rythm (42k)
HAPPY READING! and please remember to leave kudos/a nice comment to the authors! ✨
Hi, looking for an old fic where Harry and Ginny are spies. They have a history but Ginny married some European big shot. They work together a lot and the chemistry is still there. I believe there were two or three stories in the series, the last where Harry has to take a rookie under his wing. At the end, Harry fakes his death by having Ginny AK Him, and they elope. It's driving me crazy!! Many thanks for any help xx
(2/2) I requested a story about spy Ginny and Harry recently, but I found it. It's Hopscotch by Mirloc on SIYE
I love that you found the answer, cause i certainly had never read it. I thought i’d better post this anyway since many might find it interesting.
6. Favorite character you ever created. Winnie Ophelia James, she has my whole heart
20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.
“Fuck, yeh got wetter kitten,” he crooned as he moistened his fingers before pulling back and running your essence across his cock. “Practically drippin’ on my feet.” - from a little thing that may or may not have to do with Kiwis
47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story? Um I think I usually get a plot idea first and then the main character kind of sprouts from there. Like with my spy au coming up, I had an idea of what Harry would be like as a spy, running around in a three piece suit all sexy with his hair pushed back. And then what if he were captured with his partner. And she was real annoyed with him because it’s his fault. And from there her personality has kind of grown.
Shoot First, Fall in Love Later by how_about_no 5/5 (14k)
“I’m gunna go wash this blood off me.” Harry declares before getting up and heading into the en-suite.
“Does he scare any of you?” Niall asks with a faux shiver.
“Adorable yet deadly,” Zayn laments before smiling at Niall, “J'adore ça.”
Niall snorts and Louis really wishes he knew French.
Or
The one where Louis is a dick with feelings, Harry is sweet but secretly a bad ass, Niall loves everything to a point, Liam is a computer nerd, and Zayn speaks french when he's emotional.
