luckiestboygirl

[luckiestboygirl]

[luckiestboygirl]

[luckiestboygirl]

listen negan is selfish when it comes to sex but i think making carl moan like a bitch is selfish for him. it's "i'm great at this like i am at everything" and "i get to lord this over you"

[luckiestboygirl]

KRAMPUS NEGAN!

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[luckiestboygirl]

I’m finally seeing some butch Wolverine art on screen but some of you guys aren’t going butch enough. I need butch Logan to be a whiskey-swiggin’, cigar-chewin’, card-carryin’, he/him-havin’, capital “B” Butch lesbian. Logan “The X-Man” Wolverine has an adamantium strap that makes you ugly cry while he blows cigar smoke in your face. That is the butch Wolverine we deserve.

[luckiestboygirl]

I LOVE PREDATORY WOMEN!!! I LOVE WOMEN WHO ARE PERVERTS!!! I LOVE WOMEN WITH DEPRAVED AND ‘GROSS’ KINKS!!!!

[luckiestboygirl]

D getting teen Dirk drunk and taking advantage of him for being a lightweight 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[luckiestboygirl]

d is like reigen to me

[luckiestboygirl]

The amount of inappropriate photos Alpha Dave has of Dirk is insane. We're talking several photo albums of little Dirk bent over things, spread out on his back, popsicles and lollipops in his mouth, anything vaguely sexual and it's in that photo album.

Dave refuses to part with even a single one of them.

Who needs pornhub when you can just flip through your baby brothers photo albums?

[luckiestboygirl]

[luckiestboygirl]

Alpha Dave being an absolute pervert.

He loves to film himself fucking his fans, and he's disgusting enough that it doesn't matter how young they are.

It honestly stems from the fact that he wants to molest his baby bro so bad.

Dirk would let him, but Dave would feel guilty about corrupting him.

[luckiestboygirl]

Petty Theft

Pairing: Bro Strider/Dave Strider

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Dave thinks he can keep secrets from his Bro. He's dead wrong.

There's a lot of things Dave Strider does that he shouldn't. There's also a lot of things that happen to him that shouldn't. 

It's normal for a 13 year old to try alcohol, especially when they're sneaking it from their guardians. It doesn't mean they should do it, but it's nothing that warrants anything more than a stern talking to. 

This brings up the subject of things that happen to Dave that shouldn't. 

A large bottle of whiskey had sat atop the fridge since Dave could remember. Sometimes he'd see his Bro pour a shot or two of it every now and then. For the most part the thick glass bottle collects dust, Bro prefers beer and Fourloko anyway. 

This is why Dave always thought he was being sly when he'd climb the counter, take a sip and refill the bottle with the tiniest bit of water. 

He usually snuck little drinks after a particularly bad sparring. Bro was never easy on him, and the alcohol helped make the pain feel better. 

Dave had gotten away with his little habit for over a month until one night Bro yanked him out of bed by his hair. 

He was pulling glass shards out of his arm by morning, the whiskey stinging the fresh wounds and making his blood look like watercolors. 

Just like everything else in his life, Dave learned to adapt. His habit was already holding him like a grudge and now he had to be smart about sneaking his little sips. He'd wait in agony an hour or two longer after Bro went to bed or left the apartment. 

They always had sweet tea in the fridge. A southern delicacy after all and the Striders were textbook redneck. Dave could feel the light bulb in his head flash as he poured himself a cup one night. 

The tea looked like whiskey. It'd blend perfectly, the only problem was the taste. It'd be too sweet to just mix right in. That was how Dave learned to make tea, and now he keeps a bottle of unsweet tea under his bed. Stashed away just for nights when his body won't stop aching and his wounds won't stop throbbing. 

Months passed, and Bro didn't seem to notice a bit. Dave felt like he'd finally won against his brother. 

His little habit started getting out of hand. It became a nightly thing, he'd wait for Bro's bedroom door to shut then he'd count the minutes until he felt it was safe to leave his room. 

Dave was good at sneaking, he'd learned to be light on his feet even before he started to walk on them. He knew exactly which spots on the floor to step on to avoid making them creak. He knew exactly how to open his door so hinges wouldn't squeal. His steps were mute as he carefully walked across the dingy carpet. The water bottle of tea was gripped tightly in his fist, he kept it as steady as possible to keep it from sloshing. 

There was low light coming from the bare bulb lamp in the living room, it was never turned off. No cause for alarm, it always lit the way. 

Dave hoisted himself onto the counter and maneuvered to stand on his knees. The bottle was heavy as he picked it up, studying it carefully, remembering how full it was. He carefully wiggled the cork from the whiskey bottle, making sure it didn't pop. Dave's arms trembled as he lifted the lip to his mouth and sipped. 

Even after all this time it still burned and made his face scrunch up. His breaths came in soft yet quick bouts between sips. He finally couldn't take it anymore and filled the bottle up with tea, making sure to get it to the exact level it was before he indulged. 

He slowly slid off the counter, nimbly making his way back to his bedroom. Just like every other night. Everything had gone as planned. 

Dave felt so smug, he finally had one thing his brother didn't know about and what made it even better was that it was at Bro's expense. 

Warmth bloomed in Dave's stomach and he curled up on his mattress, ready to sleep like a baby. That warmth turned into a fever rather quickly though, and he soon heard his heartbeat roaring in his ears. 

He felt like he couldn't get enough air, and as he sat up he nearly keeled over. A low groan left his lips, the sound making him wince. Dave pulled himself up from bed, stumbling to the bedroom door. 

He'd never felt like this. Not after any beating he received, not after any amount of expired food he ate. 

Something was seriously wrong. 

Dave flicked the bathroom light on, the fluorescents blinding him. He felt his way to the sink and white knuckled the porcelain as he got a look at himself in the mirror. His irises were nowhere to be seen and he was sweating bullets. A sob caught in his throat as fear boiled inside him. 

Was he dying? 

“You think I'm stupid, boy?” 

Dave yelped as Bro's deep voice echoed off the tiles. The world spun as he whipped his head towards the door. Bro's presence was suffocating, a smug irritation radiated off of him. 

Bro took a step forward and Dave stumbled back as he tried to keep distance between them. A pathetic hum resounded from Dave, “No…” 

Bro lifted his right hand, and there clasped in his fist was the bottle of whiskey. Dave's eyes went wide and his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Steel blue eyes practically burned a hole into Dave's and he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

“Really now?” Bro uncorked the bottle and held it out to Dave, “You take a sip of that then and tell me it's straight whiskey.” 

Dave shook his head, “I don't like whiskey.” As soon as he said the words he regretted it. 

The room shook as Bro let out a belt of laughter. He didn't sound amused though, not in a light hearted way at least. 

“So you do think I'm stupid. I'll keep that in mind.” He walked further into the bathroom. Dave preemptively cowered and cried out as he lost his footing. The bath mat slipped from under him and he landed on his ass. Whatever was in his system dulled the pain, more than regular whiskey. 

“This is expensive shit.” The amber liquid sloshed as Bro swished the bottle. “300 dollars. You got 300 dollars?” 

For a moment Dave nearly argued, there's no way that bottle was 300 dollars. Maybe it was. Or maybe Bro was fucking with him as usual. It wouldn't be out of the question. 

Dave's mind reeled and he finally found his words to speak, knowing if he didn't answer the situation would get worse. “No, sir.” He sounded pathetic, just how Bro likes it.

A wicked smirk played on Bro's lips, the kind of smirk that made Dave's stomach curdle. “Then it looks like you're gonna have to work to replace it.”

The blood froze in Dave's veins, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off his skin. He knew what that meant, and at this point he'd rather be dead than go through it. 

Bro moved towards him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. The steps he took were deliberate, and Dave wished he could just melt into the tiles and cease to exist. 

He yelped as Bro gripped his hair, yanking his head back in the process. Dave winced but knew not to squirm, it would only make things worse. 

“You think you're a big boy, huh? If that's the case then I wanna see you drink the rest of this bottle.” Bro's voice was threatening, Dave didn't have a choice. 

Within seconds the lip of the bottle was being pressed to Dave's mouth and the burning liquid was choking him. He sputtered, whiskey dribbling down his chin. It soaked into his shirt and began coughing. The more alcohol that hit his stomach the worse he felt. 

The bottle was soon empty and Bro tossed it aside, the sound of the glass clattering on the tiles rattled Dave to his core. 

Bro shoved Dave back, “Get up, go to my room and strip while I get the camera ready.” 

Acrid vomit threatened to come up, and Dave wished now more than ever that he was dead. 

This was going to hurt. 

[luckiestboygirl]

Bro using Dave like an ashtray, telling him to keep still while he drops the ash onto his tongue

[luckiestboygirl]

Carl: *coughs after killing a particularly nasty walker*

Negan: oh, so you do have a gag reflex?

Rick:

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