May I Never Be Complete - SOAPSHIPPING (NARATTOR POV)
Warnings: Intense prolly? Jealousy?
AN: Sorry if it's repetitive, I just love the narrator and his obsessive personality, I lowkey wrote this when I was dihpressed, sorry. Enjoy!
I am Jack’s inflamed sense of rejection.
When I see Tyler talking to a space monkey, a piece of Project Mayhem—some nameless pawn—I feel something vile crawl up my throat. It makes me want to tear up my own skin just to get it out.
Tyler and I made Fight Club together, and watching him slowly drift away from me was worse than taking a punch to the face. It felt like my insides were being stripped. Like I had died and they were embalming me against my will, my soul being molded away.
Tyler Durden and I were supposed to be a team, and he was throwing it away like it was nothing.
Like I was nothing.
Tyler Durden, free me from this hellhole. May I never be complete. I’ll always look for the answers from his stupid mouth and that stupid smirk. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he understood me.
He slung his strong arms around that space monkey, and I wanted to grab that little shit and destroy his warm little center. His cave. I want to shatter it, so I can have Tyler’s attention all to myself.
AN: Been a while, sorry everyone... anyways... First Tyler Durden fic, wish me luck!! Sorry, he gets a bit ooc I think... idk lmk and send in requests pls
Warnings: Cigarettes, blood kinda, poorly written
You can smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his skin before he even touches you. You know when you turn around you’ll be greeted with the sight of his busted-up face and big smile, his front tooth chipped from a recent fight.
He came in, taking a bite of a sandwich in the fridge you had been saving. You sit up as he bursts in like he owns the place, tossing off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt, and sitting on the bottom of your bed. Tyler Durden was hard to resist for anybody; you had to follow him out of curiosity. You couldn’t tell if it was that charming smirk, his well-crafted philosophical words, or the ease of his looks.
“I was saving that,” you mumble, voice rough with sleep. Moments before, you had been in a near-dead sleep. At least until you heard that familiar sound of the door creaking open and his heavy boots creaking on the floorboards. Every time Tyler was around, something in your bones ignited, and you’re suddenly so hyperaware of him. He was an illness to everyone he touched.
He slipped off his red glasses, shoving them into his pocket before shrugging. “I’ll save you a few bits then,” he replied, the muscles in his arms gleaming with sweat. He had just come back from fight club, his underground movement for corporate men with dead eyes and split knuckles, there were bodies hollowed out of all youthful spirit that had remained.
“Oh, thank god…” You grumbled irritably. He cocked an eyebrow at the new attitude. Your room was a mess, clothes scattered on the floor, makeup out of its cases, and your curtains on the floor. Recently, you moved into a new apartment. An apartment with creaky floorboards and grimy brick walls. On Saturdays, the trash was dumped, and the whole apartment would reek of it for hours. Tyler said you were wasting your time. But you didn’t want to live a squatting life in that paper street house that was crawling with rodents, bugs, and sometimes people.
He stands again, picking up your clothes from the floor, inspecting them. He picks up a ‘going out’ shirt, and smirks to himself, “Never seen this one before,” he comments, before tossing it back with the rest of your mess. “Maybe ‘cause you’re never around to see me wear it,” you said, a biting edge to your voice as you flop back down. You kept watching him, his eyebrow cocked and his face almost soured at your new attitude towards him. He had been neglecting you for Fight Club, and every time you asked he said, “Rule 1.” It drove you nuts. You knew there was more to it than fight club. He would always have some excuse, ticket stubs of trains and planes crinkled in his pocket.
He put half the sandwich back in the fridge before climbing in bed next you, the metallic smell of blood rolled off him. “God, Tyler. Can’t you go take a shower, it’s gross!” you complain. Tyler didn’t care much, moving down to kiss you, his rough stubble brushing your neck, making your nerves spike. You shoved him off. He smirks, he can tell your getting defensive, irritable—he was thriving off of it. “I hardly see gross as a way to describe it… I think it’s beautiful sweetheart. The red rivers of myself and others connecting,” he mumbled into your ear, his roughed up hands playing with you hair as he looked down at you.
“Barf. You think you’re just so cool, don’t you?” you snap, elbowing him off, gentle at first. He put his hands off, getting up and walking to your bathroom. The pipes rumbled as he turned the water on and it started to spray. You sat there and waited, pretending like none of it bothered you. In reality, you’d be devastated if he left.
When the water shut off, he came out in his boxers, using your towel to dry off his hair. “Happy?” he asks, climbing in bed next to you. “Fine,” you replied. Behind you he shifts uncomfortably before tugging a piece of clothing out from under you. “Got clothes coming out your ass… Why do you keep buying more? You wear the same ones anyways,” he complained, tossing it across the room. “Complain, complain, complain, Tyler! It’s just clothes. Why do you even care?” you ask.
He pauses, sitting up and smoking a cigarette. “Proof.” he said, gesturing to your mess. You scowl at him, “Proof of what?” He doesn’t respond at first, getting up to stub out his cigarette, leaving the rest of it on your window. Before you can open your mouth to protest, he starts again, “You think this place is temporary, that you can fix how shitty it is. You’re nesting, and people only nest when their scared.”
“So? You live in a moldy house that overflows when it rains and not to mention that it’s probably a biohazard to your health!” you defend quickly, laying down. “If you came here to critique me then you can bum your way out of my place and do it at your own house!” you add. Tyler laughs like it wasn’t serious, he inspected the flickering kitchen light, flicking it off, then on, then off again. “I know a guy, he’ll fix that up for you, princess.” he half mocks, hiding it behind a doting devotion to you.
Tyler was good at covering up his feelings with ‘tough love’, but of course he still cared, and he couldn’t go a few days without his battered and bruised face being smushed between the confines of your chest, stomach, or crevice of your neck. “I’m sorry, nest all you want, not my money,” he said, wiggling his way into your bed again.
When you gave him no attention, he rolled you over himself, ducking down and giving you a rough kiss, before gentling it. “Don’t be like this… I’m just trying to open your mind to the center of consumerism,” he explains, nudging your arm with his nose. You relent opening your arms for him, “I get it, you are a perfect picture of a revolutionary figure.”
Tyler dives in, getting himself cozy, lying on top of you. He laughs at your comment. “I’m not trying to be famous, then I’d be like the rest of them, and—” you put a hand over his mouth. He stopped talking, playfully licking your palm, making you pull your hand away quickly. “Gross, Tyler!” you squeal.
“It’s always ‘Stop it’ or ‘gross’ and never, ‘I love you so much, Tyler!’” he said, grinning as he went in to bite at your neck, tickling you and making you squirm. “Say it,” he insists, and you relent. “I love you, Tyler! I love you!” you yell, prying his tickling hands off of you.
The night settles into a calm after that. You guys drove each other crazy, but could never quite stay away from each other.
The sheen of sweat sliding down his muscles after a gritty fight, the crowd screaming his name, watching him like he was a piece of worship.
What enraged me most is that I liked it. I liked seeing him in that dim arena light. Where every man who stepped in came out stripped raw.
Like a butterfly achieving its final stage of metamorphosis. Their old selves cracked apart like thin shells. Stone wings unfurled from their backs, and their hearts thumped with a hunger for power.
I felt that same power surge through me when I finished a fight—and when Tyler Durden caught my eye. His blue eyes burned with something untouchable. Tyler was dangerous, and I wanted every piece of him. I don’t care that I’m like his obsessed little puppy whose paws are too big for its body.
I was made to be Tyler’s sidekick. I sat right beside him perfectly. I belonged beside him, there to make him look brighter. The fight was over, and he made straight for me. My eyes travelled up to his face, the cigarette pressed between his lips. At this point, the cigarettes had become permanent.
I took a sharp breath, knowing I looked pathetic. Sad. Pitiful. The sparkle in my eye that I got for Tyler was hard to control.
I inhaled sharply, allowing him to drag me to a new location. A new challenge. The lip-shaped scar on my hand burned now, alive with the energy of the lips that had kissed it. Tyler had kissed it with such avidity that the burn had almost felt good.
If I could replay that moment, I’d catch that kiss and smash it into my lips.
fight cluv…… could you possibly write narrator x transmale!reader? 🥹🥹
"Not What?" - Jack X transmale!reader
PRE TYLER DURDEN
AN: Sorry, I really hope this is good for you, I didn't want to write it wrong. Enjoy and new fics coming for Outsiders shortly! (If you have more fight club reqs go to my side blog @pinksoap.angel)
Jack and you had come together through fight club. You stood in the crowd, adrenaline and masculinity buzzing through your chest. Each pound of your heartbeat making you feel more alive than ever before. This is how Jack found you.
Now, after a long while of dating, you both confided in each other for comfort. Some days were hard for both of you. Jack couldn’t sleep, lying in bed restless. You struggled with looking in the mirror, and Jack hated it.
Today was no different, getting ready for work, your eyes staying away from the reflection staring back. Some days, your identity felt wavy and confused, like there was an imposter in the mirror. This transition had taken a toll on you. Some days, you worried you’d never look masculine enough. Jack came up behind you as you put on a button-up. “That shirt… It suits you. Makes your shoulders look nice and makes you look… strong.” Jack’s ears turned red with embarrassment, the phrase slipping out funny, and his tongue twisted. He wasn’t good at the complimenting thing, but truly, he meant it. You gave him a small smile, adjusting the buttons and attaching a striped tie to the outfit. “Thanks. This tie good?” you asked him, turning to look at him. Jack gave you his usual smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “Yeah, it brings out your eyes,” he replies quickly, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his dress pants.
You continued to adjust the tie, each placement not right at all. Jack steps in front of you, fixing the knot and tightening it carefully. “You worry too much,” he said, giving you a pat on the shoulder. “I just… What if someone can tell?” you ask, insecure, eyes meeting Jack’s tired ones. “Tell what?” Jack tried to play off casually, his grin revealing how clever he thought he was. “That I’m not-” you hesitate, Jack cuts you off immediately. “Not what?” he asks, almost too fast. “You are a man. If I saw you walking down the street, I’d think, ‘hey, he’s cute!’” He adds, giving you a bigger smile. “Sure, sure. Very funny,” you grumble, grabbing a jacket that matched your pants.
On your way out you sneak a quick peck on Jack’s lips, catching him by surprise. “Bye,” you say quickly. “Hey!” he protests, making you stop dead in your tracks. “You look good.” Jack reminds, his face serious. Your breath quivered as you inhaled slowly, “I know…” you reply.
Jack watched you leave through the apartment doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes before mumbling to himself, “You really do.”
Author's Note: This is PRE Tyler... okay guys? Anyway, I luvvv Edward Norton, he's so cutie and the narrator is so cute!!! I know this isn't Outsiders, but a girl must indulge in all fixations, right? Also, I figured out how to fix photos, hold me back!! Kinda short, sorry! Enjoy <3
Jack had always lived a mediocre life. That was why he was thirty years old, unmarried, and obsessed with the little things in his apartment. It distracted him from the dull ache that his life was an eternal return—go to bed, wake up, do it all over again. Until he met you. He had never been the most attractive, but he was a lover, ready for the right girl to come along. That girl was you.
You always stroked his hair on the roughest nights, when sleep deprivation plagued him, and he could bury his face into your soft skin, inhale your light scent, and drift off for once. You hadn’t expected him to be as affectionate as he was; he seemed inexperienced with women, and you thought maybe you’d have to do the guiding. But you were wrong. He melted into your arms, craving your love and attention. He needed it, like a skinny street cat who had been brought inside, finally. After a few months of living with you, the bags from his eyes faded, his smiles were brighter, and that sick desperation in his laugh had vanished.
Today, he came in the front door, his suit coat draped over his arm, and his briefcase in the other. Jack was home late. He took time to hang them up, put them away properly—he always kept his things neat—before greeting you. A slight slouch in his posture, his eyes hooded with drowsiness. He kissed you on the forehead. “How was work?” you ask, taking him into his arms, where he sighed, his face pressing into your chest. A safe, warm place for him to relax. You found it endearing. “Long. Felt like many days were morphing into one…” he mumbles. Jack’s arms flew around your waist, clinging onto you tightly, like you might vanish“I made you dinner,” you say quietly, giving his back a quick rub before guiding him to the small circular table in his apartment. Something from IKEA—cheap, but sturdy. He sat at it carelessly, like the table had meant nothing to him, digging into a plate of food. He watched you clean up the last of the kitchen. “What’d you do all day?” he asks, his eyes raising in question. As he chewed, he rested his hands together between his legs, his attention fully on you. His eyebrows were so expressive that they always made you smile. “I worked a diner shift… got some groceries, so you don’t starve, all the fun adult stuff,” you reply, using your fingers to list. “You don’t have to buy me food!” he squeaked quickly, his light eyes pinned on you. “I want to! Plus, you buy me stuff,” you counter, patting his shoulder in passing, the bathroom door shutting in the background. He turned in his seat, looking at the closed door. Jack didn’t deserve a woman like you. He shook his head at how stubborn you could be; it’s something he was never. Jack often felt like a pushover, just letting everyone walk on him. With you around, that rarely happened anymore.
When it was finally time for him to climb into bed, he gave you a small smile that reached his dimples, the smile lines on his cheeks presenting themselves. “Go to sleep, you’ve been working too hard lately, and I don’t need you to burn out on me,” you say, tucking him in like a little kid rather than your boyfriend. You ran a hand down his chest, the fabric of his white t-shirt rough and worn under the pads of your fingers. He looks up at you with his puppy eyes, following your face closely. You kissed his forehead before climbing under the covers and enveloping yourself in Jack’s armpit. He reciprocated an awkward kiss on your hair, and it only took moments before he was out like a light. Sleeping like a baby.
AN: First post… enjoy. This is based off @tall-willows drawing. It was so good that I wanted to write a lil blurb! ENJOY 💋
How I got here, I'm not sure. Tyler's roughed-up hands tug at the hair on the nape of my neck while he kisses the wounds there, dried blood from my nose had crusted against my skin. The metallic smell of blood trickling down my neck makes me feel inhumane. The cigarette between his fingers makes my hair reek of smoke and something vile. I feel disgusting and complete all at once.
My reeling obsession with Tyler Durden has finally been fed. He makes me feel complete in a sick, twisted way. Tyler had a way of doing that to people. His beam of attention is enough to temporarily heal any wound.
After a particularly rough fight, a man twice my size slammed my head into the cold concrete of that basement floor until I finally tapped at the fourth hit. My face was wrecked, but Tyler was proud. If Tyler was proud then I could be too.
Proud of the monster he has created out of me.
Before I met him, I was weak. Nothing. Now I’m carved out of wood, running fight club alongside him.
The first time I had a romantic thought about Tyler, I felt insane. Why would I ruin something so good?
The next time I saw him, I could tell he knew. Like he’d crawled inside my head and read every thought written there. It unnerved me.
At least until now.
His hand releases my hair as his mouth leaves my neck, kissing me with a kind of passion that makes me ache.
