#marla singer x reader

[yns-world]

Fight Club Characters As Your Fans

Pairing: Fight Club Characters x Actor!GN!Reader

Context: You are a newly-debuted actor rising in the charts, you have several films to your name and you just starred in the release of a sports film. In this imagine, the Fight Club characters are your fans. 

Warnings: mentions of stalking, obsession, death, slight nsfw

Jack Moore (The Narrator)

His life was dim for months--he’s been running on autopilot before he saw one of your earlier films. This was a darker film, dealing with the psyche of an unstable person. To land that role during your debut season was astounding, but your performance even more so.

Jack was sucked in from the moment you entered the screen. He found comfort in your character and rewatched that film multiple times that same week he discovered it. 

Of course, by the time he finds your other films, that’s all he’ll watch. 

Day and night, from sunup till sundown he’ll stay glued to his couch, his eyes never once leaving your figure.

When he isn’t watching you, he’s at work constantly replaying images of you in his mind. He has this little pretend-play in his mind where he works hard at his job so that he could make you proud when he comes back home. 

You definitely didn’t help his insomnia. It got worse over time--Jack refused to sleep when he could feign a parasocial relationship with you on the screen. 

As the promos for your new sports film were circulating, that was around the same time he discovered you. He was obsessively looking up and gathering all the promotional merch--the massive posters of the film, the solo shots of you in athletic wear, even going so far as buying the unrealistically-priced athletic clothes you sponsored. Why? It’s not like he even works out, or has any penchant to. But it made him happy. 

Jack’s obsession took no time to spiral into something dangerous for him and his health--beyond the insomnia, it was clear that he was unable to tell the difference between an actor and a character.

And he was utterly ruined when he heard rumors that you were possibly dating the hunk of a co-star from your latest movie. Regardless of the hundreds of dollars he had spent collecting anything and everything related to you--in that single moment, he felt a seething betrayal plunge right into his chest.

His airways closed up, his chest tightened, he thought he was having a heart attack. He genuinely thought he was going to die.

At that moment, he knew that he had to stay away from articles in order to protect his own (in)sanity. He couldn’t afford another scare like that again. 

He’d most likely never show his face at one of your meet-up events, but he’d definitely buy out all the merch and autographs you have to offer just to hoard them in his room.

Finally, when your highly-anticipated film hits the theatres, Jack had already bought his ticket for the first possible viewing and liked to imagine that he was on a date with you. 

Despite Jack’s unsound infatuation with you, nobody knows a single thing about it. He doesn’t utter a word about you, your upcoming film, nothing. When his coworkers mention your new film as light conversation, he brushes off the topic and they think nothing of it. 

When he gets home, he’ll have a near-panic attack--he knows you’re an up-and-coming actor, both stunning and talented, but to be recognized in public by people who don’t even love you the way he loves you is blasphemous.

Jack is infatuated with you in the way he believes that you are his and he is yours--it's exhausting to live in a world that doesn’t see this truth. 

Tyler Durden

Tyler is less obsessive--at least, at the start. 

Upon stumbling on one of your films, he thought it was mediocre and only stayed because he thought you were hot. 

Definitely rubbed one out to you in that movie

He’ll rummage through your discography here and there when he’s bored when he wants to get off

As he goes through your movies and you progress into deeper, darker films, he begins to appreciate your sentiments and performances.

Unlike Jack who is more obsessed with the characters and their personalities, Tyler is more inclined to get a taste of who you truly are. Where do your morals lie? How does your brain work? What is your outlook on this damned world?

He’ll scour every inch of this planet to find interviews--published or not--search for articles, and even hunt down obscure internet posts of yours from when you were a teen to add to his ever-growing profile.

When he learns that you are more of an anarchist and nihilist than the industry would like to let on, he becomes a devout follower.

Tyler is not one to fall into the materialistic and idolistic ways of Hollywood, but he knows that there is a distinct message that you are able to bring to the world if done properly. 

Maybe you are actually trying to send a message to the world, or maybe it’s Tyler’s own delusion--regardless, Tyler has found his Messiah.

With the release of your new film, it’s easy for Tyler to find and track your movements. There is always a shadow behind you--in the bushes, across the street, hidden in the flashing crowd--and you can hire as much security as you want, but you’ll never be rid of it unless it wants to leave you.

This haunting presence will mess with your mind, ruin your sleep schedule and therefore delay production--Tyler’s very existence around you will be the first domino to fall--The Beginning of The End of Hollywood.

It’ll be up to you whether you work with him willingly or not--you will either meet a devastating death as a “young, budding actor” who “did not deserve to die”, or you and Tyler will burn down an industry, damn either of your lives or names.

Marla Singer

Marla first meets you behind a window glass for a TV shop. Your latest sports movie playing on all the box televisions--your body moving in sync across all screens, your lips mouthing words that were rendered silent.

A smirk wound itself on her lips as she exhaled smoke. You were cute. 

After that initial encounter, your presence was plastered all over billboards and advertisements. 

Marla would rather die than ever admit it but when she goes grocery shopping shoplifting, she sneaks one of the magazines by the register into her coat before leaving.

Once she gets home, she falls back on her bed and flips open the latest edition of this magazine--you posing on the front page, with the words “Behind the Screen: A Look into Y/N L/N’s Life!” boldened.

With a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth, Marla flips through the pages and actually finds herself engrossed with you. 

She’s the calmest of the three when it comes to this, and she’s also most likely to actually get a real, genuine interaction with you. 

One day, a few weeks after the release of your film, she’ll be walking around the city aimlessly and shoulder-checking a stranger that was speed-walking and not paying any sort of attention.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole!” Marla yells, as was her knee-jerk reaction, but immediately felt the blood drain from her face as the stranger turned around. 

“I’m sorry.” The stranger spoke, finally stopping and taking a good look back at Marla.

Fuck. Marla thought, her mouth agape. 

“N-no, I’m sorry. I’ve had such an insane week, I-” Marla rushed to undo her wrongs but the stranger just smiled and laughed, patting her shoulder in good faith. 

“It’s completely fine. I get it. I’d curse me out too.” The stranger outstretched their hand for Marla to take. 

“I’m Y/N. It’s been a while since I’ve been back to this city.” 

Marla hesitantly took your hand, still in a shell-shock but conscious enough to respond.

“Marla. She paused before fumbling around in her coat pocket for her pack of Marlboros. "Want a smoke?” That was Marla’s best attempt at a conversation with a stranger/flirting in general. Luckily for her, you gladly accept. 

The days when you aren’t flying around for film shoots, you’re back in the city and smoking a late-night cigarette with Marla as she fills you in on the tragedy that is this wretched town. She’s the one part of your life that isn’t controlled or connected to the industry, and you’ll credit her with saving your sanity--to which she’ll throw you a dirty look and call you insane.

She doesn’t want you to know just how much you mean to her--another gut reaction and defense mechanism from her. She puts up a front for everyone in her life, but around you she can just be a person--stupid, idiotic, addicted, flawed, but ultimately, a human being.

Over time though, the two of you will peel away your masks and fraudulent identities around each other.

Who knows, maybe she’ll even introduce you to your two biggest fanboys if you’re so inclined.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

i’m open to fight club requests!!! send in what you wish <3

my inbox and messages are always open :P

[strawbby-shortcake]

✯ Showing Fight Club Characters Memes ✯[all gn! reader]

❀ Marla ❀ You and Marla were sitting inside the laundry mat waiting for some careless person to leave their clothes behind. The two of you rarely hung out or spoke, but when you did, it was to steal jeans and sell them. Marla used the money for cigarettes and you used it for snacks. It was sort of like "bonding time" between you and her. Not that Marla would admit that- or you.

She was getting restless waiting, and she didn't have any cigarettes on her, so she needed a distraction.

"Hey, show me something funny," Marla said, resting her head on your shoulder.

You glanced at her messy hairdo and chuckled.

"Sure," you replied.

You got out your phone and starting scrolling through your gallery. A meme that you made of Jack sleeping popped up. Marla's eyes widened and she started to laugh. She laughed for a while until she had a coughing fit.

"Maybe you should quit smoking," murmured.

"Over my dead body."

✭ Jack ✭

Jack was dozing off in his office cubicle, as usual. You were his co-worker and thought he could use a funny photo to look at while attempting to stay awake.

"Excuse me?" you whispered, gently nudging him.

"Wha-! Huh?" Jack jerked awake and looked around frantically.

"Woah, take it easy. It's just me."

Jack looked at you wearily and rolled his eyes. He was always in such a terrible mood. To be honest, he looked like he hadn't slept at all. Maybe that's why he's irritable.

You showed him a cat meme on your phone, "Here, I thought you could use a nice laugh today!"

He stared at the photo blankly, but didn't give you a response.

"Uhm... okay then, see you tomorrow," you said, quickly exiting his area.

✦ Robert "Bob" Paulson ✦ It was another full house at the testicular cancer support groups. You didn't understand why you were there. Maybe you were curious. A big man with an even bigger chest made his way towards you. His name tag said "BOB" in bold letters.

As soon as he got within two feet of you, he enveloped you in a bear hug. He smelled oddly of a mixture of sweat, perfume, and wood. You were being crushed, but patted him on the back since he was sobbing. Maybe because of his testicular cancer, or he got it removed. Either way, he was in dire need of cheering up.

"Hey, do you want to see something funny?" you asked.

Bob looked at you with teary eyes and nodded.

You showed him a meme from your gallery and he laughed slightly. You were about to put you phone away when he suddenly starting swiping from over your shoulder. Personal pictures, tax documents, the whole sha-bang. Bob saw it all. Did he care? Probably not. He just wanted to scroll.

⍟ Angel Face ⍟

You and Angel Face met at Lou's Tavern one evening. He was a simple-minded guy, seemed to be the highlight of everyone's night, and was easy-going. You two had run out of things to talk about, so you decided to show him a meme from your gallery.

"Oh, what's this?" he questioned.

"It's just a silly picture I saved."

He snatched your phone from your hands and looked at it closely. You tried to grab it back but he jumped away from you.

"What's your deal, man?" you fumed, "that's my phone."

"I'm just trying to get a better look at it!" Angel Face whined.

You sighed and shook your head, there was no use in trying to get it back at this point.

✴ Tyler Durden ✴

Tyler was working on his famous pink soap- the "yardstick of civilization," as he would call it. Lots of high end stores bought from him. He never told you the secret ingredient though.

He'd been silent for quite some time, only humming once in a while or whistling. You decided, like any good friend should, to interact with him and show him some memes.

"Tyler, hey man, wanna see something funny?" you asked.

You poked him in the shoulder a few times before he pushed your hand off.

He took his cigarette from his mouth and paused his soap making.

"What do you want?"

"I was trying to show you something, jerk face," you replied.

Tyler didn't even bothering looking up, he just continued to fiddle with glycerin. You guess that his reaction was to be suspected since he never really listened to you in the first place.

You sighed, "Whatever."

[END]

[xldioer]

I miss when Bellatrix and Helena’s other characters were more popular.

Not my gif btw but I miss her being more popular like more people start like obsessing over her fr

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ HALLOWEEN TRADITION

in which one you and reid match your outfits every year for halloween

tw: mention of shoo!ing, dea!h of an animal

contents: spencer reid x fem!reader, they're both obviously in love with each other, time skips

words: 7.5k

a year ago

“Oh, I already ordered. Caramel cappuccino, almond milk, double amount of vanilla syrup and cinnamon sprinkled on top, am I right?

“Your photographic memory is sometimes just terrifying”

“Thank you. By the way, are you still afraid to order this coffee in front of Rossi?”

“Yep. I always take regular macchiato. The last thing I need in work is his judgemental, Italian look…”

Meanwhile, as Reid let out a short laugh, you quickly took in your surroundings: the brick walls and oak tables, the decorative pumpkins by the entrance, and the menu hanging above the barista’s counter, adorned with (artificial) leaves. Just like every corner of this trashy coffee shop was trying to remind you about autumn.

 One thing about you — you were an extreme autumn lover, who unfortunately was allergic to pumpkins, so you couldn’t fit the autumn white girl stereotype completely, by ordering a pumpkin spice latte. And you would rather die than wear a sweater. All of them were scratchy. 

“So” started Reid, hitting a notebook cover with a pen. "I spent all of last evening and more than half of this morning writing down ideas for our Halloween costume this year. I made sure none of them were too similar to our last year's outfits or anything our friends have ever worn to make sure we’ll be the best-dressed people at the party”

“God, Reid, you really took it seriously this year” you raised your eyebrows, shocked and full of admiration at the same time. “And how many ideas did you find?”

“143”

“143?!” you repeated, assuming that he was just joking. Spencer was looking at you with a deadly serious face. “Are fucking crazy? How are we going to choose between 143 ideas? I can’t even choose what socks to wear in the morning…”

“144” he corrected. “When you were saying that I came with another one, Tyler and Marla from Fight Club…”

You had this tendency to forget the names of fictional characters (though, somehow, you could name every American serial killer who ever existed and everyone from your high school class. It was both funny and slightly terrifying that, in two cases, those names overlapped) so it took you a moment to realize who Reid was talking about.

“A guy with a red leather jacket? And this woman who was always smoking?”

“Their names are Tyler Durden and Marla Singer. I don't mean to sound rude, but you made me watch this movie and claimed it was one of your favorites, yet you don’t even remember the main characters' names?"

You shrugged your shoulders. You could say nothing in your defense, that was just the way you were. A subtle smile danced on your lips.

“When I started working with you” you meant the whole BAU “I couldn’t remember all of your names. About two months later I slowly started to recognize them because of how you were addressing each other but because everyone was calling Hotch by his surname I didn’t know his actual name for, like, years…”

Disbelief showed on Spencer’s face but then got replaced with amusement.

“Years?”

“Don’t you dare laugh at me because of my memory problem, mrs. I know the moon signs of everyone around me…”

He raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

“How could I dare, ms. I don’t remember my boss's name even though we’ve been working together for five years…”

“I couldn’t remember it back then! Shame on you, Reid. I shared my secret with you and you immediately started laughing…”

“And what did you want me to do? Make you an appointment with a neurologist?” 

That's what our usual conversation looked like. Like a professional ping pong game. Year after a year, month after a month, day after a day you were just becoming better and better players. 

Waitress came along your table, setting your orders on the table. You always had to smell your coffee first, cinnamon aroma ticked your nose. 

“"Not that it means anything, but my memory problems have worsened since I met you." you said, taking the first sip of a coffee. 

“What do you mean by that?“

“Well, I don’t have the need to remember anything when you remember literally everything that comes your way. You've spoiled me a bit in this regard."

Spencer smiled softly, with a little bit of pride, caused by your words. 

“ Always at your service”  he declared. Suddenly his back went straight, as he probably reminded himself about something. ”Did you call your brother today? It’s his birthday… 

“ No way” you jumped on your seat and immediately started looking for your phone to check what day it was. 14 October. “God, Reid you’re right. I completely forgot…Have I already told you how much I love you? 

You standed up, ready to leave the coffee, declaring that you’ll be back in a moment. People around were having their lunch. The whole place became too noisy for a birthday phone call with your older brother, who lived in a different state. 

“Not today” He replied shortly. 

“So, I’m telling you now, Spence. You’re the best friend I could ever imagine…”

As you were busy with dialing the right phone number and trying to wear your coat at the same time, you couldn’t see how his smile faded after the last sentence. 

a week later

“It cost me like half of my salary” You said, tossing your dark hair back so it wouldn't accidentally catch fire while lighting the candle. A damn expensive candle, as you mentioned. “Another half goes for that little shit”

With a nod, you indicated the ginger cat that had already settled comfortably next to Spencer. He didn’t take his eyes off the laptop screen, checking something with a furrowed brow. With one hand, almost automatically, he gently scratched Mr. Cinnamon Roll behind the ear.

“It’s made only with fully natural ingredients. Vegan friendly. People with migraines friendly. Almost everyone friendly, except of your wallet” You continued your speech, agitated, recalling the guy in the store who refused to sell you a simple, cheap autumn candle, explaining its poor quality, and convinced you to buy the most expensive one he had.

Finally, the wick caught fire.

“So, you’ve got something?“

It was a late evening after work when you both felt exhausted, yet you decided to meet at your apartment to search online for essentials for your Halloween costumes. The idea of going as a couple from Fight Club had won.

You were supposed to be Marla, and he was to be Tyler. You weren’t a couple or anything like that, but for the past five years, it had been your tradition to wear matching outfits for the halloween party organized by your team. Usually, various other friends would join, and having more people allowed for a best costume contest, which you nearly won every year.

“Yeah, but you probably won't like that, considering that you’ve just confessed to spending your entire paycheck”

You set the candle down on the small coffee table in your living room and joined him on the couch, almost crushing Mr. Cinnamon Ball. He didn’t look offended by that — this cat would rather be crushed than leave Spencer’s side. Somehow, he loved him more than the hand that fed him. 

Sitting so close to your friend, your head nearly touched his shoulder, but neither of you minded.You had known each other for four years. You met regularly to watch movies or just to chat, and more than once, you had fallen asleep with your head resting on his arm, that was way more comfortable than any pillow. The rest of your team sometimes joked about your close relationship, but in your opinion, it was only because you were almost the same age! And maybe a bit because you felt the most comfortable in his presence, you understood each other the best, and he made you laugh the most…

For God's sake, why did you start thinking about that at that moment? When you were so close to each other and his gentle scent was slowly enveloping you...

Okay, you’ve thought of him as more than just a friend once or twice. Like that time he stayed over at your place, and you didn’t want him to sleep on the uncomfortable couch, so you shared your bed. You felt so good waking up next to him and regretted that it was just a one-time experience…

You realized he must have said something to you, but you were too lost in thought to hear it.

Instead of repeating himself, Reid pushed the laptop closer to you. On the screen was a website featuring an auction for….the original red leather jacket from Fight Club! You almost screamed. If you had won her over, the victory would have to be yours...

Your enthusiasm faded like a blown-out candle when you saw the final bid amount. 

“What the fuck? That's more than the total of our annual salaries…” 

 "Actually, it’s twenty thousand less than..."

You both fell silent in disappointment. Then, a very silly idea came to your mind.

“Reid” you started slowly. 

“"Oh no, I know this tone. You're either about to say something extremely absurd or something inappropriate, and I don’t know which one scares me more."

 "But listen. We'll wait for the auction to end and for someone to buy that jacket. Then we’ll talk to Garcia and convince her to track down the buyer. We'll go, knock on the door, and when they open it..."

"We’ll politely ask to borrow it?"

"No, sweet boy, we’ll show our badges and say the auction was illegal, and we need to confiscate the jacket."

Spencer burst out laughing.

"Your ideas are brilliant. But how are you going to explain this to Hotch afterward?"

“He won’t find out”

“He find out”

“Okay, you’re right. He’ll probably find out”

A silence full of smiles fell between you.

Spencer closed the auction page and started browsing something else when you let out a laugh at your own thoughts. 

“Okay, I have another idea that won’t cost either of us our jobs,” you said, capturing his attention. He tore his gaze away from the laptop and focused completely on you and your trembling lips, which hinted that you weren’t going to say anything serious “The beginning of the plan sounds the same but instead of showing our badges, you’ll give him a blowjob… “

“Fuck you!” he shouted, unable to stop himself from laughing. At the sight of his expression, a wave of laughter hit you so hard that Mr. Cinnamon Roll jumped off the couch and ran away from his sick owner. “I’m not giving any random guy a blowjob in exchange for a jacket. In exchange for the original diaries of Einstein, well, I wouldn’t say no; I would think about it, but not for a jacket!”

“But it’s the jacket from Fight Club, Spence. Brad Pitt was wearing it” you encouraged him, amused. "Besides, how do you know some guy will buy it? It could be a woman.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and was ready to continue arguing on the topic, but suddenly it seemed as if he changed his mind. His expression grew more serious.

"Actually, it doesn't change much, but that's not the point. What worries me more is that I've lost my touch. Maybe you'd want to replace me in this? The buyer might not be satisfied."

He said it in a tone as if he were talking about a truly serious, real transaction, which only amused you even more. Also pretending to be serious, you patted him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry, Spence. I'm sure you'll manage just fine.'"

"Really? What makes you think that?"

You considered making a joke, but then you realized what you were talking about while studying him. After a whole day at work, he looked... surprisingly... attractive? With slightly tousled hair and two buttons of his shirt undone…

"‘Nothing,” you replied. For the first time in his presence, you felt slightly embarrassed to continue the topic. Your closeness on the couch didn’t help at all, and you regretted scaring off Mr. Cinnamon.

“No, something makes you think that” 

The tension between you escalated to the point where you weren't sure if he was still joking. You realized that in this silence, every change in your breathing would be audible, so you tried to control it. 

What makes you think that? Spencer just seemed that way. I mean, you often talked about your relationships, and you assumed that his potential partner would lack nothing.

Embarrassed, you wanted to say something when he suddenly burst out laughing.

"Jesus, we were talking about blowing somebody for a jacket. Why did you get so scared? 

You hit him on the arm so hard that he let out a groan.

"I didn't get scared! You just suddenly became so weird that I didn't know if you were joking or what” 

"‘Of course I was joking. Why would I ask you that seriously?” he asked, and you noticed that he also carried a hint of embarrassment.

"I have no idea. Maybe you wanted to know my opinion or something” You desperately tried to return to the atmosphere that had existed between you just a moment ago, one that felt more friendly.

Spencer swallowed hard. It was clear he also preferred to drop the topic. 

“I don’t know why you would have any opinion on that, but let’s get back to what we were talking about before you switched into perverted weirdo mode...’"

After his words, you had to hide your face in the sleeve of his shirt, unable to contain your laughter. He seemed surprised by your reaction.

“ What? What did I say this time?” 

“Perverted weirdo” you blurted it out, almost choking on your words.” You called me a perverted weirdo…”

“Well, considering your recent ambiguous comments…”

“I'm going to tell Emily about this. Hey girl, you know how Spencer called me last time? A perverted weirdo…Oh no, I got your shirt dirty with my makeup… “

Spencer looked at the sleeve of his shirt and shrugged, saying, "It's nothing."

"No," you shook your head, trying to rub the stain off his shirt with your fingers, but of course it didn’t work. "I spilled coffee on your pants last time. Take it off; I'll wash it today."

"It's late; you’re not going to deal with washing my shirt right now. Let's get back to looking for our costumes."

You agreed and once again found comfort leaning on his shoulder. He still held the laptop on his lap, and whenever you wanted to type on the keyboard, you had to rest your elbows on his body, on the lower part of his stomach. Why were you even paying attention to that? You shaked your head and leaned over the laptop when you found the perfect shoes for Marla's costume.

In that position, you couldn't see Spencer, but you felt he was almost completely still. After a moment, however, he slowly reached for your hair, gently brushing it with his fingers as if checking its texture.

"We don't need to buy you a wig, right? Your hair will do just fine."

You murmured in agreement as he continued to play with your hair, probably unaware of how much he was distracting you. You had been staring at the picture of the shoes for five minutes and couldn’t remember what you wanted to check. Ah, the size!

"Reid, we have a problem," you said. "They don't have my size. I checked to see if a larger size would be available, since I could stuff them somehow, but the smallest is a 10!"

"Your shoe size is 7; in such large ones, you'll either look ridiculous or kill yourself before even arriving to the party…Do they have to be those specific ones? Maybe you can find some others..."

"They have to be those! They're identical to the ones Helena Bonham Carter wore."

Spencer sighed thoughtfully. His breath tickled the back of your head, which distracted you slightly once again. Anyway, this one time, you came up with a solution faster than his brilliant mind…

You turned your head toward him — after he stroked your hair you were very, very close to each other. The flame from the candle on the table reflected in his eyes, filling the area with the scent of cinnamon that had lingered for a while. When your face unexpectedly came just in front of him, he looked at you with a surprise and a gaze that he had never given you before. It was as if he were trying to stop himself from doing something, while at the same time, a voice in his ear incessantly urged him to go ahead.

You looked away to avoid doing something foolish. You could feel warmth on your neck and cheeks. Finally, you remembered what you wanted to ask.

"Spence, what’s your shoe size?"

5 years ago

 It all started when the rest of your team found out about Penelope and Morgan's Halloween tradition. Every year, the two of them held a movie marathon of the scariest films they could find, watching them until sunrise.

 "Why didn’t you invite any of us? I love watching horror movies with friends!" Prentiss exclaimed indignantly.

You were on board a private jet. You had been working with this team for only a few days —  in fact, this was your first trip with them to work in the field.

The prospect of solving the case had you feeling stressed, and you were also wondering if you would find common ground with your team. You lagged slightly behind, pretending to read a book while actually listening to all the conversations around you. You wanted to get to know everyone better. Someone sat down beside you, leaning in to read the title of your book.

 "Rebecca. Have you gotten to the part where it turns out Maxim killed his wife?"

You looked shocked at the second youngest member of the team. You had a serious problem with remembering names, so you only knew his last name. Reid was a tall man with longer hair, dressed in a vest with a shirt peeking out from underneath. Until now, you hadn't formed much of an opinion about him, but that was about to change — he had just spoiled the ending of the book for you.

“No, I haven’t gotten to this part! “

An older man in a black suit chuckled quietly to himself.

"Guys, listen up," said the brunette with bangs, wearing a tight red shirt. "It just came out that Morgan and Penelope have their own secret Halloween tradition."

The woman mentioned was present only on the laptop screen. She was working with you remotely and seemed really nice to you. 

"Sweetheart, we weren't trying to hide anything from you; it just happened that we didn’t mention it..."

"That’s exactly what hiding is," Reid added, giving you an apologetic look for spoiling the book.

"What do you say to all of us getting together this Halloween? The whole team?" asked a muscular man dressed in gray, sitting across from Prentiss with his elbow casually resting on the table. "With a special invitation for you, newbie."

Saying this, he winked at you. You were surprised, but still smiled. Are there better circumstances for getting to know your team than a party? Everyone around you approached this idea. 

a week later

You stared at your phone in fear after just ending the call. JJ said something came up and she wouldn’t be able to make it to the party. You knew her best out of the whole team and had hoped that with her there, you would feel more at ease. Most importantly, you were supposed to wear matching outfits. You realized your breath had quickened slightly. You weren't sure if anyone else besides you planned to dress up. After all, they were mostly older than you —  maybe they weren't into that anymore?

 Back in high school, you were the only one who showed up in costume, and you felt embarrassed the whole evening walking around in a zombie farmer outfit while all the other girls wore mini skirts and beautiful, subtle makeup. You didn’t want to go through that again, but making this costume had taken you a lot of time. Recently, you and JJ had been enchanted by the animated movie Corpse Bride, and you planned to dress up as the title character and her rival, Victoria. Since you loved dressing up for Halloween, you chose the more challenging costume. You bought a cheap white dress that you styled to look more tattered. You applied pale blue makeup and heavily contoured your cheekbones. You even managed to get a veil.

In fifteen minutes, you were supposed to be at Morgan's house. If you removed the makeup, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else. You contemplated what to do. Ultimately, you decided it would be a shame to waste your hard work, and soon you found yourself in the car, heading to the address you were given. As you parked, you felt stress start to take control of you.

You needed to sit in silence for a moment, so you turned off the engine and stared at the empty sidewalk in front of you. Morgan lived in a large house in a quiet neighborhood, where all the homes were spaced far enough apart to host small gatherings without bothering anyone.

Suddenly, someone appeared by the driver's window. You screamed in surprise, your thoughts racing back to all the cases when women were killed in their own cars. 

You quickly realized that it wasn't another UNSUB. That one wouldn’t have screamed alongside you.

“Damn it, Reid, you scared me!”

“You scared me too” he managed to say, placing a hand on his chest. He glanced toward the house. "Weird that Morgan hasn't come out to help yet."

“Maybe the music is too loud and he didn’t hear. There are quite a few cars. Did they invite that many people?” you wondered as you got out of the car. 

Reid glanced at your costume. He wasn’t dressed up at all, just wearing a plain dark gray blazer and a shirt.

"Is that some fashion trend, or are you dressed as a zombie bride?"

“Neither, actually,” you replied, feeling stressed about being the only one in costume. “It’s from the cartoon Corpse Bride.”

“I haven’t seen it,” he admitted as you both headed toward the entrance of the house.

“It’s a great animation,” you recommended. “You should check it out. Although, from what I’ve noticed, you prefer reading more.”

“Not entirely. I like movies too, but I rarely choose cartoons,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you replied.

A very short girl you'd never seen before opened the door. She seemed slightly tipsy, confirming your suspicions that people from outside the team had also been invited.

"Oh, you dressed up! How cute!" she said, delighted to see you both, even though she didn’t know you. "Wait, I think I even know who you are. Emily and Victor from Corpse Bride?"

She pointed at the two of you, at your dress and his gray blazer. You exchanged glances, realizing she must have mistaken his usual clothes for a costume.

"No, we’re not…" Reid began to explain.

"Actually, I was supposed to match costumes with JJ…"

But she wasn’t listening. She let you in and shouted through the whole house,

"Look at their matching outfits!"

Everyone gathered around to see you, and you endured the whistles and applause with growing embarrassment.

Penelope appeared right beside you, placing her hands on your shoulders and inspecting your makeup closely. "Oh, sweetheart, you really went all out. This must have taken you ages."

"Which is more than I can say for you," joked Prentiss, holding a beer bottle and pointing it at Reid. "You decided to keep it a secret for a better effect, I assume?"

Reid tried once more to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but you stopped him with a nudge. He looked at you, puzzled.

"Let’s go get a drink," you suggested.

Not waiting for a response, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.

"I’m not going to be the only one in costume, so you’re going to stick with me and pretend we planned this all along."

He let out a surprised laugh, thinking you were joking at first.

"Wait, seriously? So… I’m Victor now?"

"Yes, you’re Victor, and you accidentally proposed to me. By the way, I’m dead."

"Okay," he blinked, processing the information. "I definitely need to watch that movie."

You spent almost the entire evening sticking close to each other. Without you by his side, Spencer looked like he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. And without Spencer next to you, you felt a bit awkward.

A few hours later, the two of you were sitting alone in the kitchen, drinking non-alcoholic cocktails and talking about… psychology. Not exactly a party topic, but somehow that’s where your conversation about favorite sodas had ended up.

“Next year, we have to do this again. I mean, plan a costume together. On purpose this time."

Spencer nodded.

"I think I even have an idea."

And that was how your tradition began.

now

He said Halloween is for kids. 

Starting from the beginning, everyone always asks how you met Travis. Well, your story has some potential for a romantic comedy — if only you were a bit more attractive and funnier to make it more watchable on screen. And maybe if there were some breathtaking plot twist. But real life has little in common with a romantic comedy, and you didn’t meet under any crazy circumstances. You only had potential. It happened during your rehabilitation.

Perhaps we need to go back a bit further. Six months ago, Emily passed away, and you weren’t even there for the funeral because, in the rescue attempt to free her from Doyle’s hands, you were shot. Seriously wounded. You spent two weeks in a coma. That might not seem like a long time, but when you woke up, it felt like years had passed. Everyone around you seemed so distant, changed, almost as if you’d suddenly appeared in an entirely different reality.

The following weeks were even more blurred, like rain hitting fiercely against the window with such frequency that the droplets slowly merged into a single cohesive stream. You weren't accepting visitors while in the hospital; something was wrong with you. Perhaps it was due to the grief and shock from Emily's passing, along with the trauma. You didn't want to return to that job; you were too afraid of the risks. Of dying yourself or losing someone from your team and having to relive it all over again. Fortunately, you quickly received an offer for a transfer. An office job, terribly boring, but there was something in that monotony that filled you with a sense of safety. You hated it, but you were afraid to engage in anything else.

Before you took the job, you had to go through rehabilitation. It was led by Travis, eleven years older than you, which stunned your older brother when you introduced them. “You’re dating a guy older than me?” he asked, shocked. They didn’t hit it off, but you didn’t worry too much about that. Everything in your life had changed, and being in a relationship with an older, more mature guy made you feel more stable. And since so many things had changed, why not go all in? You moved in with him. Just as you were starting to climb out of the pit, another tragedy struck. Mr. Cinnamon Roll was diagnosed with stomach cancer and passed away despite treatment.

Since that moment, you almost stopped talking to your old team. You still loved them — they were like family to you, but whenever faced with life's struggles, you felt that burning need for isolation. On the day Mr. Cinnamon Roll died, you received a message from Spencer, asking how you were doing and suggesting a meeting. You stared at your phone for hours, and ultimately replied to him only the next morning with a brief, "Sorry, I didn't notice you wrote." He responded just as briefly. He was also suffering due to the circumstances and probably didn't have the energy to chase after his friend who openly refused to give him any attention.

You pushed him away because you weren’t ready to confront what you were feeling. Something had happened between you during that Halloween party, shortly before Emily's death. After that, you acted as if nothing had occurred, but both of you knew that you needed to talk about what to do with your relationship. But before you had the chance, there was Doyle, your accident, then Travis, and it seemed that everything that had ever been between you was lost. A new agent, Ashley, joined the BAU. You knew her —  you were around the same age, and sometimes you caught yourself wondering if something might blossom between her and Reid.

You thought that if you accepted the loss of your previous life, it would be easier to move on. It was the opposite. Day by day, you felt more and more depressed, empty inside. This morning, you went into a café to buy coffee. While waiting for your order, you looked at the tiny pumpkins on the counter and realized it was Halloween—the holiday you used to love so much. This moved you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of life within you. You felt like you wanted to do something. Dress up as a character from a cheap horror movie, have a few drinks. Maybe even go trick-or-treating, hiding behind a mask like kids do. You did that with Spencer two years ago, but no one wanted to give that tall guy any candy.

You shared this idea with Travis.

And he said that Halloween is for kids. 

a year ago

“How the fuck I’m suppose to walk in these….”

As soon as you saw him in a black dress that reached mid-thigh (it should have been longer, but you bought it when you still assumed you would be the one wearing it), a short fur coat of the same color, and sunglasses, you nearly choked on your laughter. And when he added black heeled ankle boots and started cursing their practicality, you fell onto the couch, unable to stand on your legs any longer.

Mr. Cinnamon Roll watched his antics with curiosity.

“Run away, little one,” Spencer advised him. “Those heels are so sharp I might accidentally kill you.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I wear shoes with higher heels every day.”

“Your spine will thank you for it in ten years.”

“Alright, mom.”

The deadly shoes landed on the floor. You were planning to leave in an hour and a half, once you finished perfecting your costumes. Until then, Spencer had no intention of risking his life by parading around in them. He lay down on the couch next to you, the dress ungracefully riding up.

“Now it’s your turn to change,” he said, pointing to the Tyler Durden costume lying on the table. “And mine to laugh.”

“First, I wanted to do makeup.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Are you kidding? What kind of Marla Singer would it be without a bold smokey eye?”

“Fine by you,” he muttered, looking at the watch on his wrist. “One hour and thirty-three minutes. Will we make it?”

“Relax. Remember, for a better impression, we need to be a little late.”

You disappeared for a moment into your bathroom, only to return with a makeup bag in hand. You had bought a new eyeshadow palette specifically for this occasion. Tilting your head to the side, you looked at your friend, wondering in which position you would be most comfortable working on him.

“Okay, lean against the couch,” you instructed, feeling like a professional makeup artist. “And don’t look at me like I’m a mad scientist trying to perform some dangerous operation on you.”

“From my perspective, that’s exactly what it looks like. A mad scientist and a dangerous operation. Just don’t accidentally poke me in the eye.”

“God, Reid, I’m not going to do this with a knife…”

You stood in front of the couch, facing him. Following your instruction, he rested his head, but as soon as you tried to apply the first product on his eyelid, you felt that you weren’t doing it precisely. You sighed.

“It’s uncomfortable for me to work this way. I have a better idea. Lie down.”

Reid looked at you with raised eyebrows but obediently lay down on the couch. You sat on a free spot next to him, leaning over his face. You were glad he closed his eyes. It would be awkward to be this close and still have to endure his sharp gaze. Your hair brushed against his neck. A gentle smile appeared on his face as soon as the brush touched his skin.

“This is quite nice,” he said.

You didn’t respond, focused on turning him into a doppelgänger for Marla Singer. You would sooner die of embarrassment than admit it out loud, but you deliberately prolonged the entire process. You felt as if you were working on a painting. Additionally, you enjoyed the awareness of having him beneath you, so defenseless and completely unaware, that you wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

You would simply press your lips together to see what would happen. There was a possibility he would push you away, but even considering that, you were ready to do it. You didn’t even try to push those thoughts away. They had completely dominated your mind, and you were just observing them from the sidelines, wondering where they came from. Throughout your years of friendship, you had never experienced them. Or rather, you had experienced them so rarely that you didn’t consider them significant. After all, everyone sometimes feels like kissing their friend. The problem was that for quite some time, the only thing you had been thinking about was his lips on yours.

Spencer opened one eye. You felt as if he had caught you doing something wrong.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

You brushed aside the one strand of his hair that had strayed onto his forehead.

“About one of my friends.”

“You look worried. Can I ask why thinking about this person makes you feel that way?”

You let out a quiet laugh. You wondered if he knew you were talking about him. He should have.

“I doubt you want to hear about it,” you replied evasively. However, after a moment, you broke down and added something more. “Do you ever feel like you want to do something stupid so badly that you feel like you're physically shaking, even though you know it’s wrong?”

He frowned slightly. You accidentally applied too much eyeshadow, licking the tip of your finger to wipe away the excess product from his skin.

“Can you give a specific example of such behavior?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Kissing a friend, for example.”

He smiled gently.

“Well, in that case, yes. All the time.”

You exhaled through your nose, feeling a painful tightness in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening to you.

“Done,” you said, abruptly rising from the couch. “I need to change. We don’t have much time.”

“There’s still an hour and eighteen…”

You grabbed your costume from the table and hid in the bathroom, not hearing the end of his sentence.

one hour and eighteen minutes later

Usually, nighttime drives had a calming effect on you, but this time it was completely the opposite. You were in a small space with Spencer, with whom you had just had… let’s call it a complicated conversation. You felt every part of your body tense.

You hated yourself. You hated that you didn’t understand what you were feeling. You hated that you didn’t know what you wanted. You felt like banging your head against the steering wheel. Maybe the sound of the horn would bring you back to your senses.

Reid just stayed silent, inscrutable.

“I’m afraid we’ll be right on time,” he said after clearing his throat. “And you wanted to be a little late.”

“So what should I do now, drive around the city for the next ten minutes?” you asked, slightly irritably.

He shrugged stiffly.

“Or stop and wait. It’s a much more environmentally friendly option.”

In the end, you pulled up outside Morgan’s house, where the annual Halloween party was set to take place for the fifth year in a row. You sighed with nostalgia and turned off the engine. You might have been in the middle of an emotional crisis, but you still intended to win that contest. And that meant waiting out those ten minutes.

You adjusted the sleeves of your red leather jacket.

“Remember when we dressed up as Harry and Voldemort?” you asked suddenly. That had been your first intentional costume pairing.

Spencer let out a short laugh.

“For the next two days, I couldn’t wash off all that white paint,” he muttered, reaching into the black purse you had lent him. Spencer had been outraged that mini dresses had no pockets, leaving him with nowhere to keep his things. You frowned when you noticed he had taken out his wallet. From it, he pulled out a photo taken on that memorable day, showing the two of you standing in front of the fireplace at Morgan’s cabin. You had your arms around each other, Voldemort and Harry Potter.

“You carry our photo in your wallet?” you asked, touched, admiring the picture with delight.

Slightly embarrassed, he nodded.

“And not just ours,” he reached into his wallet again, this time pulling out a photo of Mr. Cinnamon Roll curled up on your lap. You leaned closer to Spencer to get a better look, almost forgetting about your earlier conversation.

You extended your hand, but instead of taking the photo, you just grabbed his hand. He squeezed it tightly and briefly kissed the back of it.

“It’s been ten minutes,” he announced, letting go of your hand. “We can go inside now…”

He trailed off as you suddenly grabbed a piece of his fur and pulled him as close as possible. You felt as if someone stronger had taken control of your body and finally did what you had wanted to do for a long time. You were kissing him.

At first, he froze as if spellbound, completely surrendering to the pressure of your lips. You pulled back a little, unsure if you should continue.

“Why did you stop?” he asked softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked it.”

He laughed right into your mouth and resumed the kiss in a hungry way.

“I wanted to do it earlier,” you admitted after a moment. His eyes were shining, and yours probably were too. “When I was putting on your makeup. You had your eyes closed, and it was all I could think about.”

His hand rested on your neck, his thumb gently drawing circles on your sensitive skin. You had your arms around his neck, entwined like strands of hair in a braid.

“Good thing you didn’t,” he said. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “I’d venture to guess we wouldn’t have even made it to this party.”

“Don’t get too bold with your assumptions. I wouldn’t let such good costumes go to waste…”

He kissed you one more time, pulling you close by the chin. Okay, he was right. If you’d done this earlier, you’d probably still be at your apartment, entirely wrapped up in each other. In fact, you’d lost all interest in going to that part

You spent a good few minutes smiling at each other, foreheads touching. You felt the need to talk to him — to make sure this wasn’t just a release of the tension that had been building between you recently, but something more. Before you knew it, though, you were walking arm-in-arm toward Morgan’s house.

“This year, you’ve outdone yourselves,” he commented as he finally came out of his shock at seeing Spencer in heels. He, too, was in costume. For the past four years, it was almost impossible to find anyone there without one. You could say you were the ones who started the trend.

Without letting go of his hand, you encouraged him to spin around in a circle. All evening, you wondered if people noticed that something had changed between you or if they just assumed it was all part of the act. His hand almost never leaving your waist, your conversations with faces close together, the prolonged disappearance in the bathroom under the pretense of fixing his makeup.

“Have you thought about what we’ll dress up as next year?” he asked, pinning you against the upstairs wall, his hand slipped under the fabric of your loose shirt.

You looked into his eyes thoughtfully.

“I liked the idea of Mia and Vincent from Pulp Fiction.”

“Mia and Vincent. White shirts and fake blood. Don’t you think it’s a bit too simple? We should raise the bar each year.”

You rolled your eyes.

“So, what is your suggestion?”

now

 You lay in bed next to the sleeping Travis, staring at his bare back.

Every day, he started with a run around six in the morning, so he didn’t let you drag him anywhere in the evening, despite it being Friday. You tried to fall asleep, but you knew it was useless. You’d always been a night owl. Besides, it was Halloween—your favorite holiday, and for the first time in years, you were spending it with your head on the pillow at 10 p.m.

You sighed and quietly, so as not to wake him, went to the living room to watch some show on TV and maybe have some ice cream. Sitting on the couch, you constantly felt the urge to reach out and pet Mr. Cinnamon Roll, who used to keep watch by your side. Each time, it ended with you touching the cold leather of the couch instead. You buried your face in your hands, stretching the skin on your cheeks.

You couldn’t live in this emptiness any longer.

It happened so suddenly. One moment, you were curled up on the couch, and the next, you were slipping back into the bedroom to grab one of Travis’s plain white shirts from the closet. Just regular black jeans. The only thing missing was fake blood, but you decided you’d just be a more polite version of Mia.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest as you drove. Doubts crept in, and the absurdity of your behavior caught up with you. It was highly likely that your previous team had stopped organizing those events due to circumstances. And even if they were still happening, why would you feel invited? You had limited your contact with them, almost cutting it off in recent months.

Your breath was painful as you pressed your hand against your side, where a scar from a gunshot wound marked your skin. The red light of the traffic signal turned into the flashing lights of an ambulance. You were inside, bleeding, the whole world blurring around you.

You tried to calm yourself so as not to accidentally cause an accident. However, that tragic feeling didn’t leave you even when you found yourself there again. For the fifth year in a row, on Halloween night, at Morgan’s doorstep.

Derek opened the door for you, wearing a plain t-shirt. No music was coming from inside, and no cars were gathering around. He blinked in surprise at the sight of you.

You greeted him sadly, ready to throw out some excuse, though none came to mind. You had shown up unannounced, unwelcome, when he was probably spending the evening at home working or resting. A flush of embarrassment covered your cheeks.

Before either of you could say anything more, Penelope appeared behind him. She wore a headband adorned with little pumpkin decorations.

“Morgan, we have a serious problem with picking a movie because Hotch…”

She stopped, stunned by your presence. But a moment later, she shouted your name and swept you into her embrace.

“Oh, why didn’t anyone tell me you were coming!”

Over her shoulder, you could see Derek’s gentle smile.

“We went back to basics, and instead of throwing a party, we’re just watching movies,” he explained, eyeing you closely. “But costumes are always welcome. You’re not even the only one who thought to dress up.”

Both of them pulled you into the living room, where the rest of the team was arguing about which movie to watch. As all eyes turned to you, you felt like someone had forcefully shoved you onto a stage and blinded you with a spotlight aimed directly at you. Lost, you didn’t know what to say.

Then your gaze landed on that one person sitting alone in an armchair. Dressed in an identical white shirt and a black blazer draped over the arm of the chair.

You managed to smile at your Vincent.

[hotpinkboots]

I already write with:

Red Harrington Bellatrix Lestrange Emily Madame Thenardier Rose Weil Julia Hoffman The Red Queen (Iracebeth) Mrs. Lovett

So you can request with any of them, but I'm looking to add new Helena characters in.

Note: If you select the "other" option, make sure you tell me in the comments/message me what character you want, otherwise your vote won't have helped me out.

[esouliie]

have you watched fight club? because I really have this idea in my head a Wanda x reader fic, but unfortunately I am not talented enough to write it...just imagine...

The Narrator is Wanda, Marla Singer is the Reader and, Tyler Durden is the Scarlet Witch.....also the Narrator in the movie had done some things that is so(kinda?) Wanda coded... Also the ending of the movie is Wanda and Reader coded....

'where is my mind' by the Pixies could literally be Wanda's theme song....

naurr i’ve not seen fight club unfortunately :(( but omg i’ve listened to where is my mind and yes that so could be her theme song!

[carters-coffee]

Imagine Marla staying at a nice house for the first time

Word Count: 325

"Is this supposed to be your coffee maker?" Marla asked, curiously poking at the machine. It beeped a few times and she jerked her hand back.

"Uh, yea." You answered distractedly. You were busy at the stove making breakfast.

"It looks like something out of a damn sci-fi movie." She started to light a cigarette, but you quickly plucked it out of her mouth.

"Not inside." You lightly scolded.

She cocked her eyebrow at you, then turned to look around the kitchen. "Yea, I suppose it'd be a shame to stink up a place like this."

'A place like this' happened to be your house. You had brought her here last night after finding her on the side of the street, rambling about how she had been evicted from her apartment. She had clearly taken something, maybe one too many prescription meds,and you practically had to drag her to your place. By the time you got through the door, she had all but fallen asleep on your shoulder. You had ran a cold bath for her and sat with her in bed until morning, so she was only just now really seeing what your house looked like. She almost reminded you of a child, roaming around and fidgeting with things here and there. Looking in your fridge. Tracing her fingers along the counter.

"I haven't stepped foot in a house this nice in a long time."

You glanced over at her, unruly hair and thrifted dress slung over her frail figure. She looked out of place in your sleek and shiny kitchen.

"Well you're welcome to stay here as long as you like." You offered, placing a plate of food on the table.

She paused her fiddling and looked over at you in surprise. "Stay here?"

"Yea. At least until you get on your feet again." You nodded towards the plate, indicating that it was for her. She took a seat.

"Thank you."

****

For anon

[yns-world]

fight club masterlist

narrator

not everything that glitters....

fight club characters as your fans

tyler durden

fight club characters as your fans

marla singer

fight club characters as your fans

[strawbby-shortcake]

"What Animal Do You Think You Could Take in a Fight?" ✧˚ · . [all gn! reader]

☽｡⋆ JACK/THE NARRATOR You and Jack were sitting outside at a quiet cafe and there were little to no civilians passing by. He looked up towards the sky with his black shades and sighed. He seemed to be bored.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face and his gaze met yours. Well, you weren't actually sure if he was looking at you. You couldn't tell where his eyes were, only that he tilted his head.

"What," Jack mumbled.

Someone's cranky today. As he is, like, literally every day.

"What animal do you think you could take in a fight?" you asked.

Jack scoffed and shook his head, "Oh my god. How much time do you have?"

You shrugged and checked your imaginary watch.

"According to my calculations... all day."

He took off his sunglasses and stared at you intensely.

"Honestly speaking, maybe an armadillo."

ੈ✩‧₊˚ MARLA

You coughed as Marla blew cigarette smoke in your face. She never did stop smoking, even though every time you saw her, she promised to quit.

"I'll quit smoking forever next week, okay?" she teased, knowing full well she won't.

"Hell will freeze over before that ever happens," you laughed.

She playfully swatted your shoulder, and you threatened to take her cigarettes as payback. She quickly hid the carton to protect them from you.

"Hey, Marla, what animal do you think you could take in a fight?"

Marla glanced at you and smiled. You could see her sharp cheekbones clearly.

"You," she replied, blowing another puff of smoke at you.

Your eyes watered as you resisted the urge to cough. Fanning away the cloud with your hand, you gave her a "seriously?" look.

She simply cocked her head like a puppy and grinned.

シ TYLER DURDEN

Tyler was getting his waiter outfit on for his late night shift, and you were fixing his bowtie. He didn't know how to tie it correctly around his neck.

"What animal do you think you could take in a fight?" you asked, tightening the bow.

Tyler adjusted his sleeves and pondered for a moment. Before answering, he took a deep breath and placed both hands on your shoulders.

"That's a very good question. In fact, I'm glad that you asked. See, I think I'm strong enough to take any animal in a fight- especially gorillas. The whole point of fighting the animal is not to win, but to become the animal yourself. This is how you achieve great results, and scars. I've never fought any animals before. I think I should try it someday. Actually, this gives me an idea. We could release all the animals out of the public zoos! We could form an animal fight club. Instead of them eating stale peanuts, they'll finally taste sweet revenge against those that ridicule them. And let's not forget..."

You zoned out for a couple minutes while he was ranting. Maybe you shouldn't have asked Tyler that question right before he had to leave.

"...and what an amazing question that was! Thank you, truly. I know what my next objective is now. While I'm gone, I need you to search 'how to help animals escape from the zoo without anyone seeing.' Okay? Wonderful," he concluded.

He quickly left the house with a task assigned for you. You guess that there was no other choice than to complete it. In Tyler We Trust.

ʚɞ ROBERT "BOB" PAULSON

You and Bob were sitting on a park bench watching birds fly around, peck at the ground, and chirp. He seemed focused on them for some reason.

"Psst, Bob," you whispered, nudging his arm with your elbow.

"Hm? Yes? Oh, what do you need?" he asked, turning his attention to you.

He's got a serious case of sweaty pits.

"What animal do you think you could take in a fight?"

Bob's eyebrows furrowed as he tapped his chin like an enlightenment thinker. Talk about using brain power.

He raised one finger in the air and declared, "I choose peace."

"That wasn't the question, Bob," you chuckled.

"Doesn't matter, I choose peace. I love the animal kingdom. I would never hurt a fly nor an alligator."

He had a point; he couldn't harm a fly even if he tried. And he did try once, but poor Bob burst into tears before swatting it.

What a sweetheart.

[END]

[strawbby-shortcake]

"Welcome, what would you like?" ✰ X GN READER! ✰

[♡ Marla, Tyler, and Jack order at a cafe you work at. ♡]

✧.* Marla ✧.*

You never expected to receive any customers since it was an awfully slow day. The cafe was dimly lit with a few chairs and a table in one corner, and a broken record player in the other. You stood around fiddling with one of the bleached coffee filters until the door chimed and a sliver of sunlight creeped into the building for a split second.

A skinny, disheveled woman walked up to the counter and glanced at the menu, then you, then the menu again, and then back to you.

"Hello, what would you like?" you asked, giving her a small smile.

She took a long drag of her cigarette while looking around the cafe. You noticed that she had messy, black hair, slept-in makeup, and a silk night gown of sorts on.

"Something dark, like my soul," she said with a scratchy voice. Probably from the smoking, you guessed.

You simply nodded at the woman and grabbed a cup and a marker.

"Your name?"

"Why the hell do you need my name? It's emptier in here than it is on Paper Street at midnight," she croaked.

You stared at her, your eyebags mirroring hers, and didn't respond.

"Marla. Marla Singer."

You wrote her name on the cup in thick, black letters. Getting her order correct wouldn't be a hard task at all. You brewed a fresh cup of the strongest coffee you could find and gave it to her.

She glanced at your handwriting on the cup. "I'm not paying for this, but here," she said as she laid a torn piece of paper and two quarters on the counter. "...thanks," you responded, grabbing the items and pocketing them.

Marla hurried out of the cafe like an alley cat, not glancing back at you even once.

✰ ✰ ✰ Tyler ✰ ✰ ✰

The record player in the cafe was attempting to play a Pixies vinyl, but it was so scratched up that it sounded more like nails on a chalkboard that it did music. A few customers came and went, the usual cappuccino or grande latte.

The bell that was tied loosely onto the door handle chimed and fell with a sad clank as a tall, nicely-tanned man walked in. He didn't even bother picking up the bell. The man strolled and leaned over with one elbow resting on the countertop and the other on his waist.

Upon closer inspection, he had multiple cuts and bruises on his face and mid-section (which was clearly visible since he was wearing a crop top). Was he even wearing underwear? You didn't ask questions, because frankly, you don't get paid enough to.

He slid his red glasses to the tip of his nose and stared into your eyes. He had a faint black eye. Maybe from fighting, or falling down the stairs.

"Hello, what would you like?"

The man gave you a wide grin, but you noticed there was dried blood on his lips.

"Just your heart, gorgeous," he said with a wink.

You looked at him and furrowed your eyebrows. Who even is this guy?

"Yeah, not happening," you said.

He clicked his tongue and placed both hands on the counter, looming over you.

"You sure I can't convince you?" he whispered lowly.

He leaned in and parted his lips, causing you to place a muffin into his mouth. He jolted in surprise and looked bewildered.

The man scoffed and made his way out of the cafe. He took the muffin with him though. He threw a card onto the floor and kicked the door open with his foot.

After he was no longer in sight, you went over and picked the card off the floor. It was a business card that said: "Paper Street Soap Co. All Natural. Handmade. (288) 555-0153. Tyler Durden. 537 Paper Street • Bradford • 19808."

"Tyler Durden." Interesting.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Jack (The Narrator) ੈ✩‧₊˚

A man dressed in a suit and black shades has been sitting in the cafe for the whole afternoon. Not once has he gotten up to order anything. He just sits there reading his newspaper, sometimes dozing off for a few minutes, or mumbling about some club.

You decide to walk up to him and make small talk, or at least offer him a coffee. There was no one else here, so you didn't see the harm in letting him stay a little longer.

"Hello," you said as you stood in front of the table he was sitting at.

The man looked up at you, acknowledged your presence with a "hmm," and went back to reading his paper.

"Do you want any coffee or anything? What would you like?" you tried again.

The man placed his newspaper on the table firmly and stared at you menacingly. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept for days, some light stubble, and a mole on the bottom of his right cheek.

You stepped back from the table and shrugged.

"Oh well, I tried," you sighed.

The man got up and left his newspaper behind. He left the cafe with a low "see you."

You grabbed the newspaper and noticed a "HELLO my name is: JACK" label that was stuck onto one of the pages. You kept the newspaper in case he ever came back again.

[END]

[strawbby-shortcake]

★ COMFORT HEADCANONS (part 1)! ★ [with the fight club characters!]

: ̗̀➛ how they would treat you when you're sick

☁︎ TYLER DURDEN

Tyler would be there for you literally 24/7. You want something to eat? He'll get it for you. Tired? He'll make the bed nice and comfy for you to lay on. He's literally the definition of "acts of service."

He's not a germaphobe. There's no way. He digs into liposuction dumpsters, so a little sickness isn't going to freak him out. He'll be glued by your side and even let you sleep on him.

If you refuse his kisses because you don't want to get him sick, he'll just kiss your cheek or your forehead all the time.

He's the type to hold your hair or rub your back if you start throwing up. He won't look at you, tease you, or make jokes. Even though it's in his nature to be a bit of a jackass, he's super kind in those moments.

While he believes rest is important, he'll make you get out of bed and get some sunshine. It doesn't have to be for long, but you have to at least go outside for fresh air.

He most definitely told the Fight Club members/Space Monkeys to leave him the fuck alone while he was gone taking care of you.

☁︎ JACK (THE NARRATOR)

This poor baby doesn't really know what to do at first since he's never really taken care of someone before. He tries his best though! However, he'll panic if you start coughing a lot because he thinks you're dying.

Once he's got the hang of it, he's a really good caretaker! He'll offer you tissues, blankets, and any other essentials you need. He will also offer to sit with you and put on your favorite show or read to you.

Unlike Tyler, this guy is a bit of a germaphobe, but that's because his immune system is so weak since he doesn't get enough sleep. He won't really kiss you or hug you for long periods of time, but he won't ignore you either. Maybe you'll get a quick forehead or knuckle kiss.

He'll take time off from his job and Fight Club to be at home with you. You're more important to him than anything else.

He will cry if you throw up. And he'll probably gag and throw up too. Just saying.

If you find yourself unable to sleep comfortably, he'll eventually snuggle with you. A week later, you'll be the one taking care of him because he got sick.

☁︎ MARLA SINGER

Marla doesn't realize that you're sick until a few days later. You know her, she's a bit sporadic at times. When she eventually gets home and sees you pale and coughing, her mothering nature kicks in.

She makes sure you're fed, hydrated, and well rested. She won't leave you alone- not even for 10 minutes. If she has to run out to get something though, she makes you promise that you'll stay in bed.

Marla only cares about you getting better, so she ignores everyone else. She'll have like 15 missed calls, but she doesn't mind. They could wait.

Under her care and supervision, you get better within a week! Marla knows how to take care of people, so it's only natural that she knew how to take care of you.

She does ask for a pack of cigarettes as a "thanks." That's all she wants- oh, and Twizzlers.

She tells you to wear your sweater wherever you go so you don't catch a cold again.

☁︎ ROBERT "BOB" PAULSON

He always has cough drops in his pockets, so he'll offer some to you. There's a variety of flavors to choose from. (His personal favorite is vanilla honey.)

Bob is the type of person to carry you to and from bed, place cold/hot washcloths on your forehead, and attend to your every need.

He'll let you cry in his shirt if you feel extremely sick. He might cry too, but that's just Bob being Bob.

He makes the BEST chicken noodle soup, there's no doubt about it. You'll be having a bowl of it at least twice a day.

He might bring you to the support groups while you're sick so that you get to experience the meditation part of it.

Probably spoon feeds you too.

☁︎ ANGEL FACE

He writes you a "get well soon" card and leaves it on your nightstand.

An extreme germaphobe. He won't go anywhere near you.

Okay so maybe he goes to check on you ONCE...or twice...okay maybe he's really worried about you so now he won't stop checking on you.

Holds your hand and pouts because you're not well enough to give him attention.

Gives you strawberry-flavored cough medicine.

Gets "sick" after you recover because he wants to be taken care of.