Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

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masters of none (jason todd x reader)

summary: welcome to my jason x celebrity fic, based on this headcanon. pls enjoy. 

word count: 5.2k

warnings: gun mention. food mention. 

part 2

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Unwritten Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: Writer and pen pal of Eloise Bridgerton, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had no plans to come out in society. Her family could hardly afford it after all. And she doesn’t need to marry, not when she can support herself and her family with her writing. But ever the hopeless romantic, (Y/N) embraces London society with hopes of finding inspiration for a new story. Only to find herself the subject of a love story right out of one of her favorite romance novels.

Prologue: The Letters 

Ch. 1: The Wanderer 

Ch. 2: Don Juan 

Ch. 3: Practical Education

Ch. 4: Self Control 

Ch. 5: Vanity Fair

Ch. 6 - coming soon

Ch. 7

middle of the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter one

summary:  y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye

a/n: So I saw The Batman and now I have a new hyperfixation so…here’s a fic, I guess. There will be no spoilers for the movie. In fact I’m mostly ignoring the movie in favor of my own plot. It can be read as happening after or before the events of the movie. Mostly I’m using Robert Pattinson’s portrayal of Batman as a touchstone for the fic. This is also very loosely a reader insert–my main character has a past and personality etc, but loose physical descriptions and no name. Anyways hope you enjoy it! (Or don’t. Mostly this is for me.)

word count: 2885

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after hours (chapter 2)

⯈ previous chapter : chapter one

⯈ pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x female!reader

⯈ summary: the nights in Gotham are always unforgiving, you, you strip for money, to feed your son and to forget some of your troubles. it's easy, it's simple until Vengeance appears in your night.

⯈ rating: mature (for the entire work, there will be smut people), teen for the first chapters.

⯈ tw: stripping, violence, mentions of physical abuse

⯈ word count: 3,7k

⯈ NOTE : the response has been amazing for my first imagine story ever and for the first chapter, thank you guys ❤️ enters Bruce Wayne and a lot of fluff, I really needed it for this week. ❤️ @luvmeijii @blossomedfloweroflove @deadflowerd @measure-in-pain @yuki235171 --- if you want to be tagged in the future let me know.

You do not see the Batman at the club after the incident, as you call it in your head, and frankly. you're glad. Parts of you believe you overreacted and the rest... well you suspected someone who spent his night dressed as a bat and protecting the streets of this fucking city had issues and zero manners, but you didn't do it for the money. Your job is about the money.

Helping him? Helping Vengeance? That had been something else entirely different, and he had ruined it all. Like a jerk.

Like the man that he is.

It might be for the best because for the next few days, you need to focus on things happening in the daylight. Your son's school is putting on a play and that's all he can talk about, you don't understand the plot, it makes zero sense, apparently, it's about the city and all you need to know is that your son apparently got the lead, he's playing Thomas Wayne for pretend. Of course, the Waynes are at the center of the play, after all, your son goes to a school that has the name plastered on the entrance, because the Gotham Prince, Bruce Wayne himself, finally decided to invest some of his money back.

It's a good school, a good, decent public school, which is saying a lot and while you eat your breakfast, you help your son practice his lines, you show him how to tie a tie and it's so simple, you can't help but smile. That's why you do all of this, that's why you put up with the club, that's why you found a way to shine in the night because he is everything you have and being by his side makes everything better.

He is the best thing about you.

Finally, it's time for the play, it's a lovely Saturday afternoon and if your own mother says that she is too tired to accompany you, apparently she has done enough for the day, you ignore her complaints and find your most responsible and school play appropriate dress. It's a long dark blue dress, almost black, not quite, it strapless and follows the curves of your body naturally showing a bit but not too much, you top it off with the shortest pair of heels that you can find -you can't just barge in your stripper heels, that much you know- and you top it off with a light jacket, heading for the school.

You pay the cab fair gladly and your spot a few familiar faces, a few parents, a few mothers are surprised to see you, you're not one to join in the conversation, but today you pretend. Right outside the school, you pretend to care about their mundane life, nodding and waiting for the moment when it will be time for you to go outside and see your son on stage.

"Oh... I didn't think he would show."

"Someone is playing his dad, of course, he is going to show up, it's good PR for him."

"He doesn't care about that."

"How would you know?"

There's a commotion and you follow the noise and the questioning and suddenly, a car way more expensive than the rest of the mom's vans stops in front of the school and you look, like everyone else, as Bruce Wayne himself, all dressed in black step outside the car.

There is a pause, the conversation comes to a halt and you know you should be looking away but even you know this is a rare occurrence. He's been doing more charity work since the flood but still, that's Bruce fucking Wayne, you don't run in the same circles.

Today you do, especially when you lock eyes, it's clear that he is looking at you and for some unknown reason, he nods. As if to say hello and you find yourself nodding back, noticing how tired and pale he actually looks and how he towers over a few people. The moment is over when some school administrators start leading the Wayne inside and you realize that you should probably move.

Everyone wants a seat at the front, so you don't bother arguing and you end up sitting in the back row, not at the center but at the edge, you get rid of your jacket, put down your bag and you start moving your chair, looking for the best view of the stage. You are going to take millions of pictures and yes, you are going to be one of those annoying mothers. You're so focused on your task that you don't notice when someone approaches you, it's only when you hear someone clearing their throat, followed by a "is this seat taken?" that you turn.

Once again, facing Bruce Wayne.

"I... no, go ahead."

You're not waiting for anyone, he can sit wherever he wants, the row is completely empty, and yet he chose the seat right next to yours. He nods politely again and he is still watching you as he sits down, you watch as he takes a deep breath, his entire chest moving up and down, and slowly you turn away from him, going back to find the best angle. You find it a moment later and when you sit down, you cross your legs and you notice that your left foot is close to one of his. You should probably move, you don't, you look to your right and you find Bruce staring again. He opens his mouth once, twice, as if to start a conversation, and finally after a few seconds of what seems to be an internal debate he asks his question: "Boy or girl?"

"Boy. With too much energy if you ask me."

"I believe you... so who is he playing today?"

"Your dad."

That earns you something at least, Bruce's expression seems to soften, there's a half-smile on his face and it disappears as soon as it appears. You want to ask a question in return, you're curious, why is he here? You're sure a man like himself has better things to do with his Saturday afternoon.

"You think someone is going to play...me?" Bruce ponders the next moment.

"Hmm no, I think that's before your time, unfortunately, I'm not gonna lie, I might have helped my son practice his lines, I couldn't tell you a single thing about the plot."

"I guess I just have to see, right?"

"Right."

***

When your son appears on stage, it’s all you can see and it’s all you can focus on. You even manage to forget that you’re sitting next to Bruce Wayne because nothing else matters except your own flesh and blood, on stage, in a black suit that is slightly too big for him. Doing his best not to fumble his lines and act. You never knew you could smile so much in so little time, your cheeks hurt and you feel tears forming in your eyes and yes, it might be a bit cliché, but at least, you’re happy and it’s easy to forget the rest.

And even easier to remember that you’re doing all of this, the shitty day job, putting up with your own mother and her constant criticism, the club, the wandering hands on your body, the miserable tips some nights, the smell of alcohol, and sometimes worse into your clothes and Vengeance himself… all of this for him. For your son.

When the play ends, you are already on your feet and you’re the first one to applaud, probably too loud and if you see a few heads turn in your direction, you ignore them and you clap and soon the rest of the crowd is following you.

Soon, Bruce himself is on his two feet right next to you and he’s clapping too. And the moment your gazes meet, you can swear he is smiling. Once again, it’s brief, it’s gone as soon as it came, like a flash, as soon as you blink and you turn to the stage once more as students and teachers appear and bow. They do deserve the small standing ovation that they are getting and you see your own child with a beaming smile on his face.

You watch as your son scan the crown looking for you, and the mature and responsible thing to do would be to probably wave and that’s it, but not you, you shove two fingers into your mouth and you whistle loudly, a gesture he has seen you do so many times and when he finally spots you, his smile grows bigger. Yours does too and soon enough, the moment ends when the kids have to exit the stage and the parents the auditorium. You can’t wait to give your son the biggest hug he ever got in his entire life, and maybe you will go out to celebrate?

Definitely, you think the next second and you’re about to grab your belongings when you realize that your bag and jacket are already in the Wayne’s hands and he is handing them back to you.

“I suppose you want to go congratulate the artist,” he offers in that neutral tone of his and you nod eagerly, you whisper a thank you, and your bag ends up once more on your right shoulder, where you shove your camera inside and you grab your jacket in the other hand. You nod, he nods back and you walk out of the auditorium, looking for your son. You dare a glance back and yes… Bruce is following your every move.

You don’t know why it doesn’t really matter, you suppose he’s not used to all of this, the normalcy and the banality of having children and you join the row of parents waiting for their kids. You spot your son easily, he’s still wearing his costume, the suit a bit too big and you barely have time to scout down that he is already in your arms.

“Mum! What did you think, I was good, was I?”

“Yes! You were amazing! A true actor, you deserve a nomination from the academy… at the very least.”

“At the very least, right!”

You both giggle and even though he’s still a bit too big for this, you keep him in your arms as you stand up, one arm secured around his waist and your son’s hands around your neck. This is a good day you think, this is what it is all about and the only thing worth your while. If all the days were like this, you wouldn’t need to escape and disappear into the nights.

You wouldn’t need anything else.

“Hey, buddy… It’s not much but… you want to go get some pie?”

“Yes! Some blueberry pie and a hot chocolate and some cookies and…”

“Okay, okay, we’re going!”

You lead the way out of the school, your son in your arms, you don’t even bother saying goodbye to the rest of the parents, you don’t have to pretend with your son around and he knows you’re not the most sociable mother and he even thinks you’re terrible at small talk, his words not yours. So best to avoid that and grab the first cab you can stop and make your way to the café, it’s a bit far from your flat but anytime anything worthwhile happens: a good grade, the end of the school year, you and your son rush to the little coffee shop, small vestige that once upon a time, everything was right in Gotham. It’s not much, but it’s something you can do.

And you listen as he tells you that maybe he’s old enough to try coffee, still smiling and eyeing the street for a cab, clearly unprepared when someone clears their throat right behind you.

“Do you need a ride?”

You turn around, your son still glued to you, you can feel him press one of his cheeks against yours, it’s warm and comforting. He’s not always this clingy, but you don’t always get to see him like this so you suppose it’s normal. What’s unusual is Bruce Wayne, still here, clearly talking to you, once again. Before you can answer and politely decline his offer, because you are absolutely not getting a ride from the prince of Gotham himself, you hear your son gasps.

“Mr. Wayne! You showed up! My teacher said you never showed up!”

You watch as Bruce’s eyes turn to your son, how could you not notice how blue they are, or maybe they’re green, you can’t decide, for now, they might be darker because of all the black he is wearing but they fixate on your son for a moment or two and if he should be offended, he isn’t. He frowns, then smiles slightly and frowns again, as if he is deciding something.

“I guess… I need to make more of an effort… I really liked your performance, by the way, so did your mother.”

“I tried to be good playing… well playing your dad, I’m glad you liked it. I hope it wasn’t too weird for you…”

“Oh no, it wasn’t. But thank you. It was nice to see him depicted that way, I’m sure if he were here he would have loved it too.”

“My dad isn’t around either. But I’ve got mum and grandma, and it’s all good. Do you have a grandma?”

“Well, I have Alfred, does it count?”

During the whole exchange, you remain silent, you don’t know if you should say something, it’s weird, but in a good way. Your son remains polite the entire time and you know that if Bruce minded, he would have walked away. He seems to enjoy the conversation enough, he seems out of practice even, looking at your son as if he was seeing a child for the very first time and considering how to behave around him.

You know that behavior too well, it was you the first few months after giving birth, when you were handed a living and very vulnerable thing, that you had to take care of. It shifted your entire perspective, your entire world even and it suddenly didn’t matter that you were all alone, scared senseless, and with no clue as to what to do. No, he mattered, your son did, the rest kinda faded away.

You refocus on the conversation when the word pies is uttered out loud and you watch as your son invites Bruce Wayne to join you.

“They have the best pies in the entire city, even the world!”

“Baby, I’m sure Mister Wayne has better thing to do…” you try to interject and to be the responsible parent, you certainly don’t expect Bruce to shrug and reply.

“I really don’t, and I can’t say no to the best pie in the world, and please, call me Bruce. Follow me…”

And as if it was a common occurrence, he leads the way to his car, producing keys from deep within his coat and you have no choice but to follow.

***

You remain silent the entire car ride. You simply have nothing to say, everything is moving too fast and yet so slow, and you don’t know whether you should be happy about it or not.

Bruce drives himself around, no chauffeur apparently, he drives a very expensive car that you couldn’t name and he has no problem securing your son on the back seat and putting his seatbelt on. He even asks him if he is comfortable and waits for your son to actually answer before closing the door. He doesn’t let you open your own door no, he does it for you with a polite nod and the same thing happens, he waits for you to secure your seat belt, then his is put in place and after checking that all the doors are closed, he drives.

Your son is the one to give him the address, and Bruce nods, claiming that he knows the place, he didn’t know about the pies, but he knows the place and he drives quickly and efficiently through the cars. More than that, it seems that people are moving out of the way for him. As if they know who’s behind the steering wheel. You can understand how someone could get used to it, and you remain silent while your son asks Bruce who taught him to drive. Alfred apparently, Alfred's family, taught him most things he knows. You decide that Alfred is someone is definitely pays, family sure, but paid family, you don’t know whether to laugh or find that sad. But something, maybe in Bruce’s tone, indicates that it’s not just about the money and that Alfred has been around for a long time, maybe even before his parents died.

Probably.

You don’t like the thought and you’re glad when you finally arrive at your destination, you don’t even wait for Bruce to be the perfect gentleman again, you open your own down, the fresh airbrush your face and you inhale loudly. Next thing you know, you’re grabbing your son’s hand and Bruce is asking for a table for three.

He’s recognized immediately but that doesn’t seem to bother him, at all, he remains polite the entire time he talks to the hostess and offers you another smile as you are being guided to a table and sits in a booth opposite you and your son. You help your son get rid of his suit jacket and fold the sleeves of the white shirt underneath, in the corner of your eyes you see Bruce get rid of his own long coat, he’s wearing a black suit underneath, that your son immediately notice and say that they look exactly the same.

They do in a way, you didn’t realize until now that they are both sporting the same black ensemble and that they both have blue eyes and long dark hair, Bruce’s hair is longer, you suspect he has to push it away from his face from times to times and if you didn’t know better, you could believe he is your son’s long lost dad.

You push that thought away as well, it’s too comforting, it’s too sad and Bruce nods, hiding momentarily behind the menu that you know by heart. You already know what you want, your son does as well and he is the one leading the conversation and the one Bruce consults for suggestions about the menu. When a waiter appears, he also settles on a blueberry pie with hot chocolate, the same as your son and you can’t help but find that cute, you order for yourself with a smile.

The conversation between the two of them does not stop there, no, while you wait, Bruce asks him about the school, his favorite subjects at the moment, and how he got involved in the play. And you didn’t raise someone shy no, your boy answers every single question with a smile on his face, tells Bruce that he wants to be a pilot someday, because he loves the idea of being in the air even if it scares you or his grandma. You don’t want to interrupt the exchange, you watch from the sidelines, watching him, watching Bruce without meaning too. You finally spot the dark circles underneath his eyes and his right index taping on the table and how his own gaze ventures from the rest of the café every so often, as if to make sure everything is okay, that you are safe.

Again, you have this feeling deep within your stomach, you think it’s hunger, especially when your order arrives and it’s time to dive in. Bruce gets his first bite before anyone else, your son waiting for his verdict, the recommendation is excellent, blueberry pie is now his favorite and you are still smiling when it’s time to criticize your own choice. There is nothing wrong with apple pie, it’s a classic for a reason, that’s your stance and your son winces but Bruce is willing to try a slice of yours and you exchange slices naturally and it’s not weird, it’s not awkward and you’re not even upset about sharing a moment with your son.

Soon enough, he has to go to the bathroom, and no he doesn’t need his mother's help, he insists to go without you and you watch him leave the table, trying not to worry.

Eventually, you turn to Bruce.

“Thank you… for indulging him, you didn’t have to do all of this. Any of this…”

“Oh no, thank you for indulging me. This is nice, he’s… he’s amazing.”

“Right? He makes everything worth it.”

“Everything?”

Bruce’s gaze is on you, you realize as you stop playing with the spoon inside your mug as he asks that simple question, more than that, it’s like he sees you. Through the shield and the make-up, the woman who’s insecure in broad daylight, who’s good at pretending she’s normal, and who can only seem to find a purpose at night, between the money and the thugs, right on that pole. Your mouth is dry all of the sudden, it’s stupid that sensation, you nod anyway, Bruce does too and the moment is over when the waiter comes with the check the next second.

“Whenever you’re ready.” You notice how the employee’s gaze lingers on Bruce like he knows he’s about to receive the biggest tip of his entire life. You roll your eyes at that, he could be less obvious and you reach for the check because you can and you will pay even if you did share a pie with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce, however, is after you and the check is already in his hands before you can even blink.

“Before you say anything, we are splitting that,” you announce with a very decisive tone, another smile on your face.

“Oh are we?”

“Yes, your last name doesn’t impress you, Mister Wayne, we are splitting that check.”

He laughs at that, an earnest and short laugh that you’re sure not many people get to hear, it’s refreshing in a way, he looks way less tired and a good few years younger. As you predicted, he pushes his hair to one side of his face afterward, a fond expression on his face.

“How about I pay today and you pay next time.”’

“Oh, so there will be a next time?”

“Hope so.”

And maybe you don’t say it out loud, but you hope so too, Bruce Wayne is way too intriguing for his own benefit.

this color scheme >>>>