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jacksprostate · 2 months

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One of the lesser known side effects of your condo getting blown up and a lamp lancing through your car like a bullfighter's verduguillo is that when you move to the outskirts of a city and have to rely on the failing public transport system, your commute to work starts to take two hours if you're lucky. Most of the time, I'm not lucky. I leave for work an hour before sunrise and still arrive a half hour late. Coming home is worse.

Public transit could be good. Everyone says it. Tyler tells me, in the future where we've burnt civilization to the ground, we won't need transit at all since the suburban dream will have died and everything you could ever need will live right with you in the nestled bosom of a ruined city. Kudzu vines will let you climb the exposed concrete and rebar until you're twenty stories tall. Stations of gliders, made with the skins of the cattle we keep. We'll need nothing beyond flight radius. There will be streams, broken back out of the pavement and basements, rivulets to ride back home to the shore. The world will close again, small and destroyed and hurting. A seedling.

For now, I ride the bus home.

The later it takes for the bus to show up, the worse the crowd gets. A man with his hand in his pants. The growing smell of piss from another. Someone laid out along the back bench seats, two stops from death. Of course, the fifteen-odd witnesses who won't move a muscle. Avert your eyes and thoughts and path.

Sometimes, when the buses are running especially thin, mid-route the driver will get a call on his radio instructing him to take the B route through another section of downtown. There, we pick up worse.

College students. Young couples. Those nights, this night, I have plenty of young hot things sliming into each other's mouths for the rest of my trip. It's unavoidable. Surround sound. The crinkle of hands gripping through jackets and all the wet smacks mix together with the creaking and squeaking of the bus like it's a roadside motel. I am forced to look at these fresh, vacant twenty year olds and I wonder — how much could one person want to disappear?

You could bring an Armalite AR-180 carbine gas-operated semiautomatic on here. Open carry. Maybe that would make everyone stop. Sit in your seats quietly. Legs together. Follow the implicit rules. Walk home quickly and don't react to any calling. Switch sides of the street as needed to avoid the footsteps behind you, but not so much that the chase is interesting. Ignore how they speed up, you speed up, and you hear two laughs. Oh, the power of a rifle.

When I get to Paper Street, we've entered eternal twilight. The smog crests over us like a dome, blotting out the stars and lowering the atmosphere within reach. Industrial lot lights shine their way to the edges like the stars of the Truman show. Everything smells like ass.

If I called it home, Tyler would probably light it on fire. Between the asbestos and the gallons of water soaked into the house, it'd smolder for months. Our yard is littered with glass, tetanus, and leptospirosis. I've got this ache carving away at my insides, like I took Tyler to work with me and she's been tunneling out.

I open the door, set down my briefcase, and think about the fact that I have to do this tomorrow and the day after and until I die.

She's in the kitchen, in her robe. Tyler has her sunglasses on, she has to barely be able to see me with that gaze. Lit up by the lamps littered through the room like electric storm candles. She's smoking.

Tyler says, "Take off your skirt. I'm tired of seeing that thing."

Vertigo can be associated with presyncope. It feels like you're falling. It feels like you're going to vomit as the failing floorboards split apart and swallow you up.

Tyler says, "I don't know why you bother. We both know how you feel about this." She steps closer, blows smoke in my bloodless face. I wish I could take it on, I wish I could lock us both in an old fridge and infuse us with her breath. With all the soap Tyler makes, she still smells like shit. If she died I'd sleep in her corpse until it faded.

"You flatter me sometimes, psycho girl." Tyler reaches a hand past me, cages me to the door. On the other side, there's the edges of our little set, with the door closed you can't see the dollhouse way the world gives up past a hundred feet. The other hand, it trails down my side like it's made of fire, unbearable and intense. She's looking down, cigarette tugging at her lip, hooded eyes probably tracking how I twitch and jump under her fingers. I can't not look at her. The chip in her tooth. The intensity to her eyes. Her mouth. I'm too loose, I'm going to slip out of her arms and under the door and down the street.

She finds the zipper. Tugs it down, my skirt falls around me like the goddamned Berlin wall. It lies in a limp pile around my legs; she can see my tights. My underwear. She's exposed me. The cavern in me is massive. Yawning.

Tyler stubs out her cigarette on the door and presses me into it, too.

Right by my ear, she murmurs, "You always make me take what you want." Her hands slip around me — gripping my shirt at my shoulder, slipping around to my lower back, my ass — I don't know what to do with mine. I've got them splayed out. I'm staring at the ceiling, her hair half-obscuring it.

Her lips, against my cheek. Brushing, she's making her way back and I know and I'm not ready.

Tyler bites at my lip, pulls it soft and gentle between hers with the same sincerity and focus that she's used to fracture my jaw. My heart at the derby. It's one of those horses running so hard their lungs fill with blood and their organs explode. I open my eyes, I didn't know I closed them, the lights blind me.

Her hand slides up my shoulder, my neck. She's got to feel my pulse. Pile driving. She cups my face, right where she broke it. Tyler directs me into her kiss.

She says, into my mouth she breathes and says, "Let yourself do something, why don't you?"

I know she's looking at me. My eyes fell shut again, I'm trapped in the feeling of her lips on mine but I know she's looking at me, close, half-lidded and intense. Trembling, I ache and creak and try. I try.

Tyler could be eating me, I would still try to feed myself to her.

I'm rewarded with her tongue. On my lips, in my pliant, confused mouth. Volcanic hot springs. Earthquakes, fractures, overflowing. I imagine Tyler and her tongue elsewhere. I make a noise, it's so pitiful you could take it out back and shoot it.

She leans on me, puts her whole body weight on me and the rotten wood miracle holding us up. Her hand slithers out from behind me to grab my wrist. Caught red handed, stricken, full of nothing and twitching.

Tyler slips her thigh between mine, it's pressure so impossibly hard I could cry. I am crying. I'm such a hopeless participant that when she kisses her way to the corner of my mouth and drinks up my tears, I welcome her back all the same. My thighs open up and hug her all the same. I am perpetually the beaten dog, fleeing and running back to its owner.

My other hand, my left, free hand finds its home on her nape. Tangled in her short, greasy hair. Tyler needs to kiss me until the world caves in.

She brings my hand down. A ventriloquist, she kisses me deep and my wooden fingers slip through her bathrobe. The edge of her boxers. I am crying, I am kissing Tyler Durden as she flattens me so I cannot escape this perfect misery as she brings my wooden fingers to her folds and I feel. Wet.

My fingers twitch. It's impulse. It's inverse familiarity. It's feeling, labia minora. Something more. Tyler would have the words for this. She pushes my hand against herself, the meat of my palm against her pubic mound as she devours me. She could do it all herself.

The way it feels, sliding, warm. Warm like my whole body is trapped in between Tyler's thighs. It could be my head. My tongue. My tongue curling around her clit. These images flash through me like full-body phantoms. On my knees, my hands on the sensitive meat of her inner thighs. Like I'm getting buckshot to the chest point blank. Our positions reversed. My tongue in her mouth. My leg between hers. Reload. Her hand, held by mine.

I push my hand against her.

Tyler moans into my mouth.

I push my hand against her, and slide my palm over her clit, her chest flutters against mine. God would kill for this. Tyler is all around me, my index finger is slick and wet with her and it's easy. It's pressing into melted butter.

Tyler's falling apart, Mona Lisa, she's saying nothing and burying me in her lust. There's new tears and they aren't mine. I'm tugging at her hair, she's forcing me into a single point. Singularity.

I have two fingers in Tyler, she's holding me there and I'm arching up into her when she cracks, splitting apart and all over me like an egg. Everywhere. She shoves her face into mine, foreheads together, noses, her shades are off and her mouth is open as she shudders and mixes my breath with hers.

Her other hand lets go, finds its way up to the other side of my face, she's still leaning on me. I'm still keeping my hand on her. I want her to drown it. I feel every shiver. She presses, synchronous, hands down my neck, my shoulders, Tyler buries her face in my hair. Right next to my ear. She bites my earlobe. She lets a hand slip up my shirt. Her hand cups me, I haven't worn a bra since moving in with her, her thumb slides over my nipple. She slips her fingers into my tights.

Her fingers on my bare skin. Tyler puts a palm on me, over the wet patch soaking through my underwear, and her fingers are stuck between my clit and her thigh.

And I wake up.

I'm on the bus.

I'm on the bus, and I'm surrounded by young couples giving each other 9-hour anniversary STDs, and I've soaked through my underwear.

When I arrive at my stop, I walk for fifteen minutes to get to Paper Street. There's a hot, heavy mist beading on my skin. Thickening my breath. It's fat with the fart smell of paper processing and rich in heavy metals.

I open our door. It barely stays in its frame, sort of opening like a twice-hinged, fully-sized, single-doored saloon.

Tyler's in the kitchen, in her robe. She's smoking.

She stares at me through her sunglasses.

I set down my briefcase. I stand there, and she still smokes.

She's looking through me. She's seeing all my stains.

Tyler expects something of me.

Her eyes track me, all the way up the stairs. all the way to my room, to my moldy mattress. They see me shower in brown-red water and scrubbing furiously on my clothes. They see me wide awake, waiting for the bus the next morning.

I am always failing Tyler.

#fight club #female fight club au #my writing #ohhhh my god #fuck #sobbing #idk what to say #i ended on the same line as another f fc ficlet i wrote. because it still applies. fuck you chuck gets to repeat things so do i idk #finishing this literally gave me a headache. i have problems #inspired by lalikeslichto's drawings

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neet-elite · 25 days

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hello! here is the kylar post written by our beloved 🐾anon. im posting this with their permission! i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i do <333!

warnings: stepbrother!kylar, pseudoincest, olderbrother!kylar, breeding, creampie

Imagine getting adopted into Kylar's family. The parents are a little absent and your new big brother is a total loser, but it really isn't all that bad at first. Sure, he's a bit cringey in how overexcited he is about having a younger sister, but maybe he's just always wanted a sibling? Surely that's the reason. The fact that he's drooling while he thinks you aren't looking is just a coincidence! It happens!

Then he starts getting clingy. At first it's just touching your hand while giving you something or brushing you with his shoulder while he sits on the couch with you. Then he's asking for hugs and insisting that you have to hold hands whenever you go out. Then he tries to guilt-trip you into giving him a smooch on the cheek. You cave almost immediately, because he looks like he's actually a second away from bursting into tears. Your big brother is a loser, and you slowly begin to accept it. He's kinda cute in how cringefail he is.

What's not cute is finding out what happens to your panties when they go missing. You think you keep misplacing them and don't worry too much about it. Then you find them back in the laundry bin, all crusty and some even sticky. Okay, that's weird. But you still give Kylar some benefit of the doubt and pretend that everything is fine. He's nice to you! He gives you ice-cream, he always lets you pick whenever you both wanna watch something, he gives you shoulder massages, and he does your chores for you. Kylar is a good brother!

That's what you keep telling yourself, even as he slowly starts getting more and more handsy, sometimes to the point where you aren't entirely sure if this still isn't considered groping. But it's fine, you can take some pervy behaviour! You're a good little sister, and Kylar keeps reminding you of that even as he's panting in your ear while hugging you and clinging to you like his life depends on it. You try not to think about what's pressing against your thigh.

It gets worse the longer it goes on, and somehow you find yourself regularly making out with your big brother because he just loves you so much :(( It's what all loving siblings do! You're doubtful, but he looks so elated every time you agree to sit on his lap or let him knead your tits that you don't have the heart to tell him no. It's so easy to make him happy, and you kind of feel good from it too, even though you don't really want to admit it. You also worry about your parents finding out and you both getting into trouble, but Kylar is strangely unbothered.

Actually, he grows downright brazen. He begins feeling you up while your parents are in the room, he doesn't even attempt to hide the leering gazes he sends your way, he even slaps your ass one day while the whole family is together! Your parents just laugh it off, and continue like nothing happened. You aren't sure if you should feel relieved or mortified. You realise it's the latter when Kylar begins rutting into your ass, rubbing his clothed cock against you and whimpering in your ear while your parents are literally three steps away and yet they say nothing. At first you think they are somehow not noticing their son's actions, but then they start laughing and playfully discussing how nice it would be to have grandkids. And your brother fucking moans into your ear, not even trying to hide how turned on he is by the idea of breeding you.

Everything goes to shit from there. Apparently, your parents realised that the only way Kylar will ever get laid is if he is allowed to fuck you, so they just... Let him. In fact, they seem almost into the idea, with your mother complimenting your figure and making comments on how it's perfect for motherhood. Your father offhandedly mentions that it'd be nice to build a crib yourselves, and that he should buy the materials for some woodworking. Kylar is relentless now that he's got your parents' blessing and not-so-implicit approval. Groping and making out turns into you waking up with his head between your thighs, eagerly lapping at your cunt and looking at you like an overeager puppy, begging you to let him do more. He might jerk off and cum all over your face while you sleep, but he holds off on slipping his dick inside you without your permission. He really, really wants to! And he tells you about it in detail while he suckles on your tits and bites your nipples as if that'll somehow make you lactate. Kylar holds off on just taking you like he's been wanting for so long, instead eating you out daily while he waits for your permission to finally fill your womb with his cum. He waits, because he's such a nice and caring lover. He's constantly all over you, and you can't even bring up the "we're family!" argument because your entire family is more than happy to let your big brother knock you up.

When you finally break and let Kylar fuck you, he all but cums right into his pants right on the spot once he hears your words. Your big brother immediately pounces on you, pawing at your clothes in an attempt to expose as much of your body as he can without bothering to actually undress you. He moves with the urgency of someone who's afraid that you will change your mind, so he's stuffing you full of his cock in record time. Thankfully, all these evenings spent with him fingering your cunt over and over again have prepared you. The fact that you are already wet enough for him to easily slide in is something you refuse to think about. Of course, your big brother immediately begins to fuck you like a dog in heat, drooling all over you while he literally cries from how happy he is to finally fuck you raw. And god, he's so loud. There's no way your parents can't hear his desperate whimpers and how he babbles on and on about making you a mommy and giving you lots and lots of babies, and about how good your pussy feels. He's cumming within a few minutes of sloppy thrusting, but simply keeps going while furiously rubbing your clit. He's more than happy to overstimulate himself to the point of sobbing if it means he'll get to stuff you with his seed a few more times, and hopefully knock you up on the very first time.

You come down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water after your big brother finally passes out from the exhaustion of fucking you and giving you creampies over and over again. Your hair is a mess, your neck and tits are covered in hickeys and bite marks and you've got his drool all over you. The worst of the mess is between your trembling legs, where cum keeps dripping out of your tender pussy, overstimulated and tired from being used so much. You walk into the kitchen while looking like that, and your parents are absolutely beaming. Your mother is talking about how they've been coming up with baby names lately and that you should definitely check the list she's written for you and Kylar to pick from. And your father, looking like he's announcing that he has won a lottery, hits you with the revelation of them going on a vacation in a few days. Apparently, it will take a while for them to come home. But they aren't worried about anything bad happening while they're gone for so long! After all, you'll be left in the care of your loving big brother!

You are fucked. So, so fucked. In every way possible. But hey! Kylar promised to take you shopping for baby clothes as an apology for the mess he made out of your neck! So really, it's all good. It's nice to have such a caring big brother and supportive parents, isn't it <3

#dol smut #degrees of lewdity smut #kylar the loner smut #🐾anon #ohhhh my god #🐾anon my love.... this is so sexy ughhhhh #tysm for sharing <3 !!!!

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