l0s3rd0wnt0wn

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Jason babysitting Cairo (he loses babysitting privileges)

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

IM GONNA NEED A LIVE REACTION TO THE ANCIENT DREAMS FIC BC WTF WAS THAT LAST CHAPTER I AM BEGGING YOUUUU!!! I NEED YOUR COMMENTARY-

my exact reaction no further explanation

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

honestly if I were wb!reader i would be raging the batfam so hard I would be put in an early grave. honestly talk shit about me behind my back I'll talk shit Infront of you

Wb!reader literally has white hairs because of the Batfam. I mean, you're gonna be rude to me, neglect me, ignore me, treat me like a child and a second-class citizen, then come back into my life like nothing happened, ruining my friendships, killing or destroying my relationships, leaving me alone, begging for attention and comfort—the need to be wanted. And the only way I can get it is by hanging out with my crazy abusers, who are the reason why I am this alone. Yeah, wb is stronger than me; they would have had to put me in a straitjacket because the crashout would be groundbreaking.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"ITS A BIRD ITS A PLANE NO THATS MY SON..."

Bio: More of baby Cairo, the son of WB!reader and Conner Kent. Based of this post

Cairo Kent Who is the cutest little boy to have ever appeared in the spotlight: 3c curls and a light tan with the biggest smile known to man. He is literally the sun, and he could light the whole room with just his presence alone. Little Cairo is a spitting image of his dad; he looks too much like Conner—his cheeky laugh, his goofy personality, and his little pout. It's like that one meme: "Nine's mouth in my stomach making me suffer just to look like your damn daddy!" But you don't mind having him look like your husband. It was cute when he was a mini version of Conner; once, Conner made a joke of calling him "Kon Jr." You were not having it; you wanted to give him a C name that matched with the Kents, and Cairo just rolled off the tongue too well.

But just like you, Cairo is kind of an introvert; and when I say “kind of,” I mean a lot. He gets really nervous and anxious around people. You remember having a parent-teacher conference with his Pre-K teacher. She said that he didn't play with the other kids and was always by himself, which made a lot of sense because that was you. He may look like his daddy, but he has your subtle awkwardness down to a tee. But don't worry, he'll get adopted by super extroverts just like you did, and those Kryptonian genes are strong. Your little boy has powers; he's prone to flying around a lot, barely using his legs for anything. You have to scare him into walking around by saying that he’ll lose his legs if he flies too much. It worked, and it also worked on Conner as well.

Whenever it's time for date night, and you and Conner are too busy to take care of your little bugger, your mom takes care of him. But you refuse to let any of the Bat family get anywhere near Cairo; you're practically hiding him away from them. I mean, who knows how they act? You don't want him to get neglected like you did—pushed to the side, ignored, seen as an outcast. You didn't want those yandere tendencies to rub off on your son. But when Bruce begged to see him, you couldn't say no, and I guess he was the center of attention—which is an understatement. Bruce couldn't keep his hands off the little man, twirling Cairo around, cooing, using a baby voice on him. You feel a smile creep up on your face; the way he treats him can't let them think you're growing soft on them. You're still their biggest hater.

At your baby shower, Damien tried to give you a present for young Cairo; it was two dual swords, and he’ll have to learn how to use them soon. At least the other gifts were more acceptable—baby clothes, little hats. Alfred absolutely adores Cairo, and now your son is starting to get a little British accent the more he hangs out with the butler. Dick and Jason are having a literal staring contest over who gets to hold him. You never really liked kids—not even babies—but when little Cairo holds his finger, his heart melts, and he succumbs to baby fever. Stephanie and Cass can't wait to dress him up in little suits, and Babs has the weirdest baby voice when talking to him, while Damien is trying to make your son into a warrior: "Soon, one day you will be covered with the blood of your enemies!" But for now, he's going to be covered in strawberry jam. Does he have dreams of being a hero? We don't really know—he's in his own world, and there's nerd starting to appear in him. Conner's genes may be strong, but the way he's wandering off to the toy aisle so fast to get a Star Wars Lego set shows that the nerd never dies.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Lowkey, hear me out:

Mer! Tim x Lion fish! Reader. Both of them trying to figure out how to kiss/hug without Tim getting hurt by Readers venomous spines

"JUST ONE KISS PLEASE???"

"Please [name]," Tim's hands are clasped together as if he's praying to some goddess, the goddess in question being you. To everyone in the Kingdom, he's not a very touchy person, dodging hugs and kisses whenever he can. But around you, it's a whole different story. "Just one kiss," he begs. You're obviously swimming away from him. What if the kiss lasts too long? What if you get excited? And what if you poke him with one of your spines? He could go into an epileptic shock and die. Yeah, there's no way you're getting anywhere near him. You love him, of course; he's everything to you, but you can't bear the thought of hurting him. You're in a deep depression, and you would die for a kiss, but you can't stand and watch him get hurt. Poisoning him would make a puffer fish jealous.

"Tim, for the umpteenth time, no! I could hurt you!" you say, practically dodging any hug from this man. He does not give up. "What if I hurt you?" "I have tough skin," he replies, which is a lie. He felt stuck in a sea urchin, and he practically cried to you about it, which is why he has a small blue scar on his tail that he calls a "war scar."

"I'm serious, we can't touch! If I do, you'll get stunted!" you warn, but he doesn't seem to care, swimming after you at speeds that could make a tiger shark jealous. But with a quick swish of your tail, you avoid him just in time. "Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne, you cannot touch me, or else you'll—" Then another swish, and he manages to get you, making you tumble on the ocean floor.

"Do you have any shame?" you ask, a small eyebrow raised. "Never around you," he responds, and you can feel your spines prickle. "That's so sweet, but if you get any closer, I will be the cause of your every untimely demise." He finally pulls away.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

WRITING ON THE WALL

BIO: NEGLECTED MALE WB!READER THE WANYE FAMILY RECOMABLE ARTIST

Art was never some silly hobby or pastime, like people like to think it is. It's your whole life, your whole identity. Being an artist has been something you've been doing ever since you were a kid—sketching, drawing, finger painting—all that stuff is something that grounds you, that connects you to deep fulfillment. Once you finish a piece, you feel anger when you mess up a sketch; fear touching a paintbrush to a canvas. It makes you feel human, makes you feel real, makes you feel alive. Each stroke, each splash, each mixture—it's something that's very concise. It's like doing chemistry, mixing all the elements together to find something new.

But ever since you reached the manor, you've been going through this crazy amount of art block, and it's not like you. You usually create almost every single day, once a week if you're being realistic, but for some reason, you haven't been able to pick up a brush or pencil or even go through your sketchbook. You feel so disinterested and disorganized. It’s not like you—it's never like you. You've never been the one who would draw or paint or create for praise or for someone to pat you on the back and say, "Good job." But you sure as hell wanted that feeling. You wanted to be patted on the back and hear a "Good job" thrown at you once in a while. But your younger brother gets all of it—the little hellspawn who just picked up a brush one day and called himself an artist. He is still a beginner; he sounds horrible. It's trashing on your little brother, but honestly, the second he picked up a pencil, they think he's Picasso. He’s been drawing since you were in the womb, but when he does it, it's like a revolutionary thing. But he made the paintbrush—it's just not fair.

You get jealous of a 14-year-old. You're acting like a child, but you are an adult. Before you ever became a child, you took care of yourself, did everything yourself, made a path for yourself, creating a legacy that doesn't have to deal with your father—you are your own person, and you don't have to bear the burden of being Wayne. Sometimes you want to be like a child, patted on the back. You want to get a small high five, an "attaboy," but you're getting too old for that stuff, and to be honest, it's kind of lame. Everything is so lame, but hearing your father praise Damian like he's his prized possession, like he's the sun, and you're just one of the many planets that revolve around him, is excruciating. Richard is boasting about him; he never did that with you. All they do is brag. Why can't you be the center of attention? Why can't you be the one being seen? It’s not like you're invisible; you're there, you're obviously there. Do you have to make your voice known? Do you have to shout from the top of your lungs? Do you have to break a canvas to show that you are an artist too?

But if it's attention you want, then just go on Instagram and post your art. Get clicks or views or whatever. Yeah, it doesn't feel as good as being hugged and being told that you’re the best at what you do, that you're good, that you're great, that you're astounding. Your mind is something scientists want to deconstruct and pick at—the blood son of Bruce Wayne, firstborn dark shadow, Damian is the artist of the family. So what are you? The bad copy and paste? Get your own person, with your own dreams and your own accord, your own wants, your own ideas. You draw too, you know, but every time you say that, it’s like you’re trying to take the spotlight away from Damian, trying to make things about you when it never really was about you. But does it hurt to have this one piece of recognition, to be seen for a second, for a minute? But now you’re more of a background character than anything.

This art block is like a heavyweight tied to your back, and you can barely be seen. You can’t even pick up a brush, but you want to make things—you really do. So you find part of the manor, an empty notebook, shelves, no furniture—maybe a chair and a couple of windows, some cobwebs here and there. You don't think Alfred even remembers this room, but this was the first one you saw when you came to the manor—the first room that you will decorate your existence. Picking up your brush, you start to paint, sketch the walls. You take your brush and paint, and you paint and you paint until your fingers cramp. You paint until your eyes go blurry, paint until there are little calluses on your hands.

On the wall of your new canvas, you keep on going. You haven't eaten in the past hour, but you keep it up. You feel this pressure; you can't let it go to waste. You just might pass out, but you paint and you paint until the fatigue hits you, and it’s the most disgusting picture you’ve ever seen. You want to vomit. It's your worst piece of work ever. You leave the room, discouraged, disappointed, embarrassed. You're not the artist of the family; you make a simple mural. Can you call yourself a creator? But when you look at the other side of the painting that is dipped with some of your blood, you realize just how important you are. You are the artist of the family; you always have been, and you always will be.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Happy Juneteenth to all my fellow Black Readers and Writers!!!

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR YAN BATFAM X BLACK READER STORYS SOOOO I HAVE A LIL REQUEST I WAS WONDERING IF YOU CAN DO A CELESTIA LUDENBERG ONE WITH THE YAN BATFAM PLEASE (make sure your taking good care of yourself😋)

THE ACE UP MY SELVES

Platonic yandere!batfam x Celestia Ludenberg!Reader

Bio: The gambling bat who spends her time in Gotham's underworld, even though she is the richest girl in the world.

You've always been a gambler. Ever since you were in kindergarten, you gambled kids out of their fruit snacks, Pokémon cards, and maybe little toys and trinkets. It was just a simple game of tic-tac-toe or rock-paper-scissors that you beat them at. You always managed to win and would tell them they could try again next time, make the bets higher, and make the beatings better, but they always managed to lose. You're not cheating, of course; just a better hand. But you're older now, playing for Gotham's underworld at the Iceberg Lounge, destroying mob bosses in games of poker, taking all the chips you can get. They would shoot you down—better not to hurt Gotham, sweetheart. The innocent and most delicate [Name] Wayne, they wouldn't dare pull the trigger because they've already wasted their life savings on this one bet, or they're going to waste their lives in prison. You think not to give a cute little smile as you take the wad of cash away, the money in your hands in your mind, a game won easily. The slot machines hate to see you coming because you manage to get a seven out of seven. It's a lucky number, right? Gotham's crooks and goons every Saturday night see if they can have a chance to beat you, but they never get the heads up because the higher the stakes, the more fun it is, and the more they lose, and the more money you win. I mean, why would a single father go gambling? You should get a nine-to-five. You gamble against a fifteen-year-old, always spoiling your friends with your betting wins, and you always have cash on you because gambling games are what everyone brings. One time, your five-dollar bill had some blood on it. The cashier, just a poor little idiot, believed you. The next game you were playing with Jack always made you giggle, having a royal flush without any trouble. You grabbed all the chips off the deck when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Oh no, you didn't know the bats were going to be patrolling today, and you didn't know your brothers were on shift at Gotham's loveliest casino. "So is this what girls' night out means?" Dick said. You could feel his face scrunch up under his domino mask. Jason had his pistols against the goon's forehead, cold and ready to burn, Tim is asking questions while Damian was trying to take the winnings out of your hands. "I just wanted to have some fun." You put on the biggest baby face, trying to act all innocent, when really you just stole somebody's inheritance. It was their fault for gambling in the first place. They dragged you out of the casino, and Bruce, while in his bat costume, had a stern talking to with you. Someone managed to take a video, and now it's on the news: "Gotham's greatest gambler [Name] Wayne was caught on another one of her escapades. She's now being apprehended by none other than Batman, who seems to have a fatherly affection for this young girl." How have they not figured out the truth yet? Forget it. You're no longer allowed to go anywhere at night—no more underground casinos or Iceberg Lounge. You have to play Saturday night games with your family. Monopoly isn't as fun when there isn't real money around, but you do have a time stealing your brother's railroads. "It's just a game, boys. You're lucky I didn't steal your inheritance." This was a real match for money, so here you are, flaunting the fake dollars you'll get back on your grind, though. The higher the stakes, the more fun.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

DON'T LOOK AT ME!!!

Bio: Part two of the art of disappearing! Since people begged me to make another. Part one

Going to a gala to keep up appearances, like usual. You wouldn't want anyone to know the Great Dane family is a bunch of masked weirdos running around Gotham fighting mentally ill people. You laugh at your own joke as you stand in the far corner, visible from all the rest, creating a little force field just to make sure that no one gets any closer. But then you feel a pair of eyes on you, which is weird because no one can see you unless someone can, and he's staring right at you. The Superboy, LexCorp's new and improved product, is staring right at you. He's not looking at the chandelier or the painting you're standing next to or the statue that you're in front of; no, he's looking right at you, those crisp blue eyes staring into your soul. You feel yourself shrink. How can he see you? It's impossible, but both of you are making full-on eye contact. You don't like it, not one bit. He's slowly, very slowly, approaching you. You can't move because if you move, he'll see the shift in the light, and he'll know that you're moving, and he'll know that you're there. So you stand there. He doesn't sense a single thing, but he's getting closer now, and closer, and closer. You close your eyes, hoping that he'll just disappear. Then you feel a tug on your braid. How did he pass through your force field? How's he touching you right now? How is he seeing you right now? You feel yourself getting embarrassed, and when you get embarrassed, you lose control of your powers, and just like that, you turn back to normal. He can see your flushed face and your wide eyes. He sees you and your little braid stuck between his stomach and index finger; he's twirling it around gently. You try to cover your face with your hands, but both of them—"you're not supposed to see me," you whisper. "But I see you all the time," he answers.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

HERE ME OUT!!!!!!!!!! black reader who has a hard name to say. If your poc you have a unique or ethnic names and that leads to a lot of mispronunciation from mostly white folks. Hell sometimes we already have the nicknames for ourselves so we don't have to go through the hassle of having to correct people. So when our love interest in question meet us for the first time they can actually say our name correctly, instant attraction. Or more importantly our so called love interest had been yandere from the beginning and practiced saying our names a million times over in order to impress us

THIS IS PERFECT!!!(thought this would be perfect with Kaldur

Have you ever had a nickname from childhood that just stuck, like you practically wrote that nickname on everything—even on certificates that ask for your name? You write your nickname next to your last name instead of your actual name. Well, that's because not many people can say your name. Sadly, reporters are constantly spelling it wrong, adding an extra letter when there's no need. Substitute teachers are constantly calling you the wrong name or mixing up your name with another person who even has the same name as you. How do they get Michaela mixed up with yours? Your name doesn't even have an "m" in it! But you don't make a fuss about it. You used to, though, but it's not worth it. You don't want people to think you're some stuck-up little rich kid who wants others to pronounce their very unique name correctly, so you just stick with the nickname, and it's been with you ever since. You don't really mind the nickname; you think it's cute, but only your family calls you by your full name, and you like that it's important. Sadly, your adoptive family can't even call you by your name; those jerks never bothered to learn. Kaldur can relate to you—he has to shorten his name because, well, no one can pronounce Kaldur'ahm correctly. The two of you kind of share that in common: long names that are shortened because people can't seem to get the words right. You remember one time you shared your name with him— not your nickname, your full name, complete with all its letters, and then your last name, not your father's but your mother's, because you aren't Wayne. Plus, her surname has a little ring to it that you like. Kaldur pretends to say your name incorrectly just so he can hear it over and over again, memorized of course, but he likes to hear you say it. Then the two of you pronounce it together, your name on the tip of his tongue until he gets it right. He's always known your name since the moment you walked into Young Justice. Is it weird? Sometimes he writes your name in the sand on the ocean floor; he doesn't want it to get washed away. At the beach, he sometimes writes your name on his skin with permanent marker just so it won't rub off. He's practiced many times and times before—he didn't have to, but he wanted to. And he'll make you practice his name, every single syllable, until it's the only thing that leaves your mouth.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

WB!READER AND THEIR SUPER BABIES

Bio: Something silly I wanted to do nothing much really

You and Conner have a pretty energetic son; he's always flying and floating around. You remember how both you and Conner would find little Cairo flying out of his crib and into both your rooms in the middle of the night. You'd wake to see the one-month-old floating above you with his hand in his mouth. And now that he's a toddler, well, it's worse. Conner joked about having to put a leash on your kid until you both actually had to get a leash for Cairo, since a toddler with super speed is a hazard. Conner is literally getting dragged by his own son at the park, and heat vision causes lots of problems. He tried to defrost his Pop-Tart and burnt his little hands. "No, Cairo, only Daddy can do that trick... when you're older, buddy," Conner says, gently patting his curly black hair.

You and Bart's speedster baby, Nina, cannot sit still. She's like the Road Runner, letting out little "meep meeps" while dashing away from Bart when it's bath time. You don't know how much furniture and vases they break just by running around. Don't give the little girl sugar; she goes insane, bouncing around like a basketball. But when it's nap time, she gets knocked out instantly. Your cute little princess loves bright colors and once tried to put glitter in her goldfish bowl. Time-out is a very regular occurrence.

Bart: So how much time did they give you?

Nina: 20 minutes

Bart: No fair, they gave me an hour.

Kaldur and the little ocean twins like to make mini waves during bath time, splashing both him and you. The twins love playing in water. One time, while at the mall, you took your eyes off River and Rain for a second, and they were playing in Gotham's Mall's famous water fountain, making a mess. Little nickels and pennies flew everywhere. Now they're both leash babies, with Nemo-style leashes.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Just thought abt violet parr!reader

She would definitely turn invisible or put up a force field when she doesn’t wanna put up the batfam’s bs😋

"THE ART OF DISAPPEARING"

Bruce Wayne has a metahuman daughter; at least that's what the press claims. Bruce Wayne does have a daughter, but no one knows who she is—not even her own classmates. The press hates her so much because they can't even get a good picture of her; it's always like she can sense a camera lens zooming in, and then she poof disappears into thin air. The pictures of her are mid-fading out or translucent—pictures of a girl in a pretty black dress. She's completely gone.

If you ever see a pretty little wallflower standing alone at a gala, off to the side with a glass of champagne untouched, you may try to flirt with her, but the second you get too close, she disappears. It's not her fault, really; she just doesn't know how to handle people. When you're invisible to your very own family, you become invisible to the world.

And what's the big deal with being seen anyway? No one's eyes need to be focused on you; no one needs to understand you, see you, or hear you. You'd rather just fade into the darkness like you usually do; it's better that way. It's better to disappear than to get hurt by your peers.

And what's so fun about being on TV? It's just TV. You don't need millions of people watching you, and you don't need the attention at all. You're fine with just you and yourself. So why can't others understand that? It feels like every day you're getting chased down just so people can know what you really look like—just so people can see the face of the “invisible girl.”

You put up a force field so the reporters can't get any closer. You disappear before the camera can click, and you hide before the footage really rolls. But there's someone out there who can see the real you, and he's always staring. He can read your heat signatures, can hear your soft breaths and the small pitter-pats of your heartbeat. He knows you're there, and he can read you like a book that you find yourself holding. But unlike the cameras, it's a full-scale view of you.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

COOLEY COUNTINE TO FEED US OLIVER QUEEN FANFIC/ANYTHING RELATED TO HIM AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!!

LMAO OK!!! I'LL GIVE YALL A SMALL HEADCANON

Oliver's getting older, so he can't do all the things he used to, like useless back flips or crazy tricks. So, one day you and he are hanging out—a little playdate watching old Disney movies. He's getting up to refill the popcorn; all of a sudden, his back cracks, and it shocks you. He hisses, telling you it's nothing. The next day, you're helping him clean up the arrow cave, and you hear a crack when he bends his legs. Tears are literally coming out of your eyes, and you're running toward him, hoping he's okay. During a Justice League meeting, he's constantly cracking his neck or fingers, and you're seriously getting worried about him. One time, you see hair dye in the bathroom, looking at the books—it's to hide gray hairs; he's aging! And it's all because of you! You're causing him to age! You're stressing him out and you're making him tired and giving him gray hairs. It was definitely that one stunt you did on the mission that's why. You might cry, "Ollie, am I stressing you out?" You were in his bedroom, standing in the dark; he probably gained another gray hair just from that. But he promises you that he's doing all right and that he's just getting older. But you don't want him to get older; you want your mentor to stay the very same, never aging like the action figures in your room. But as long as you make him eat healthy and exercise every day, he'll be just fine, and you'll totally help him dye his hair back to its hay blonde color.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Hi, I would like to ask permission to do a piece of work inspired by your WB Reader series, if that's okay.

It would be a South American female reader, who could be light or dark skinned, shy, "nerdy" and maybe neurodivergent (a little self-insertion to be honest). I picked music, games, books and other "nerdy" or "alternative" stuff from South American creators (most of them would be from my home country, but I'm looking for other countries too).

That's it. I really like your WB Reader or Caribbean Reader works, even though I'm a light-skinned latina. I hope you have a good day ♥︎

OF COURSE POOKIE BUT YOU BETTER TAG ME IN YOUR WORKS CUZ IM GONNA EAT EM UP!!!(plus fanfic needs more poc in there and girls

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

So image like you have a wash day right

You were doing your hair since Alfred couldn't do our hair texture (I'm thinking afro or really thick curls) and duke just come pass the bathroom door and seen us over the bathtub with our hair in the water,

Later we were doing his hair with his head in our lap while he give him cornrows or braids

And the others get jealous

AWE THIS IS SO CUTE *Screams in for 4c hair*

"Alfred, are you sure you can do this?" you said, the mirror held up to your face, then held higher so the old butler could be in view. Your afro was practically covering the old man's face; dark black curls took up half the mirror and your face, plus his. "I've done all the young masters' heads for as long as they've lived under this house. I can surely do this," he announced with a confident voice, his British accent heightening. "Well, you've never had my hair..." you mumbled, taking your hair pick right out of your head, hoping that would make it easier for the man your mom used to help you with almost all the time. But living in the manor meant no mom, and you weren't a big fan of barbershops. You did your hair at salons with a bunch of Black women styling your hair into cute braids. Your mom never wanted you to cut your hair, so it was salons for you. Even if she wanted a haircut from you, then salons were the way to go. You wanted to go to a salon for wash day since you usually had your mom's help, but you didn't know any good salons in Gotham, so all you had was Pennyworth and a YouTube video.

"Oh dear..." You didn't like the sound of the brush in your hair. You felt your head yanked back into his chest, almost falling out of your chair. "Hold on, Master [Name]!" He brushed one more time, and you felt your face pulled with your hair. "I just need to get the brush out!" he shouted. "Alfie, maybe you should use the blue magic?" Then another yank, and then...SNAP! You looked up to see half a brush lodged in your head, the handle in the poor butler's hand. You let out a soft sigh. "Thanks, Alfie..." you sighed. "But young master...?" You sat up, plucking the brush out of your head and tossing it to the ground. "It's okay, Al, you're tired," you said, giving him a small smile.

Now your head is stuck in the sink, shampoo and conditioner on standby as you tried to detangle your hair. All on your own, the dry way was not the right way, so let’s try the right way. But your neck hurts and your hands are cramped. Just then, a pair of hands touched your head. Your head shot up, and you let out the most girliest scream you could muster. "Dude, it's just me!" Duke laughed, watching you look like a wet dog. He burst out into a fit of laughter. "That's not funny, man..." you grumbled. "You look like a chick from The Ring," he chuckled, making you click your tongue at him. "Man, shut up! You don't scare people like that. I could've gotten a heart attack and died, and my body would be in the water; I would drown." Duke rolled his eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me, boy," you said, pointing at him, or more at the door since your hair was covering your eyes. "Oh, can you tell? You can barely see! Plus, I'm older than you!" You shoved him away, but you almost fell instead of pushing him. "Just let me help, man. Your arms look like they're about to shrivel away, and your fingers are all wrinkly," you groaned. "Fine, just watch the YouTube video," Duke laughed. "No need; I got this." And got this he did. Duke gently massaged your head, stroking it. It felt nice, really nice, and he was doing a good job—a really good job. You felt safe in his hands. You'll never say that aloud, never. He placed a towel on your head and gently lifted up your chin. You weren't close enough to hug him, so you dabbed him up as a small gesture to say "Thank you," but not out loud.

A few weeks later, you get a bag of beauty supply products. "Mind if you do me a favor, lil bro?" Lil bro? Who does he think he is? Then boom, his head was in between your legs, and his durag was off; messy braids said hello to you. "I hate you so fucking much," you huffed, opening the bag of beauty supply combs, brushes, and gels. "Yeah, yeah, get to work, lil man," you slapped his head. "Don't make me mess your shit up," you shouted, only for him to chuckle. "So what do you want me to do?" you said, slowly unbraiding his hair. "Cornrows, please, good sir," he shouted with some finger guns. "Whatever, man," and you got to work, gently unbraiding and re-braiding his hair, sometimes moving his head forcefully just to mess with him. But you stopped, gently putting his head on your knee. "Here, you're done." He held a mirror near his face. "Decant, decant, decant!" he chuckled, then saw a little curve on the side of his head. "Did you do my baby hairs?" he muttered, gently touching the little edges. "I didn't know what to do with them, so I slicked them back," you shrugged, holding the mirror over your shoulder. "You know what? I look good if I were a girl," he mumbled, making you snort. You finally laughed at one of his jokes. "You would look ugly as fuck," leaving you both laughing. And let's just say the other boys are pissed; why didn't you do their hair?

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Hear me out on this one.

Have you ever watched the youtuber/tiktoker ailaughatmyownjokes she does a couple of harry potter series but the one that I have in mind is her If I went to Hogwarts series I have a feeling that how Silvia acts in that series is how WB! reader would act if she got accepted to Hogwarts and this is totally not a request for a WB! reader gets accepted to Hogwarts series, totally... (also I love your work it's amazing)

Lol this might be my next project just have to finished all my other ones OMG GOD!!!

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Wb!reader is the type of nerd girl to wear superhero panties of her favorite supes, like cute little Wonder Woman panties or Flash ones. Conner caught you wearing Superman panties to sleep; he’s stealing them the next day. You found cute Invincible panties and wanted to show them off to Mark. Yeah, they're getting ripped off you. (Thank you for your time)