#writers' iron chef 10
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Writers’ Iron Chef #10: The List
[PROMPT]
Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.
[TIME LIMIT]
Optional, 10 minutes prep. time
30 minutes writing time
Optional, 10 minutes editing time
Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Rating: T, flirtingggg, Marcus being way too sweet and way too smooth.
Summary: Did he really just say that?
Notes: Written for Writers’ Iron Chef Prompt 10.
This little scene (with some creative liberties taken) actually happened to me a few weeks ago, and what better Pedro boy to stand in for the rando I met than Marcus Pike. Technically there's no gendered language in here, but I wrote it with a F!Reader in mind. Enjoy a little meet cute fun!
“So your friends are the kind that are always late too?”
The question catches you off guard, head turning at the unfamiliar voice. It’s Friday night, a birthday dinner with friends, and you’re indeed waiting. You’d already gone up to the hostess stand, scanning her reservation list when she didn’t find your name immediately. Half the names on the list had already been crossed off, but yours was close to the bottom.
Your phone lights up. Only ten minutes late. You’d waited longer.
“Yeah...” you say back to the man sitting on the other end of the bench. He’s sporting some nicely fitted jeans, a gray t-shirt and leather jacket, which clash sweetly against his soft expression. Clean-shaven with short brown hair framing sparkling brown eyes, his features are eye-catching, a square jaw and curved nose over ridiculously full lips. Any clever retort you had fades to nothing in his knowing gaze.
“Mine too, I should really tell them to be here fifteen minutes early so they’ll be on time for once,” he jokes with a boyish smile. Returning the smile, you turn your phone’s screen over and tilt your head at him.
“That’s a great idea, I’ll have to borrow it for next time,” you muse, and his eyes crinkle up when he smiles just a little bit bigger. It makes your pulse flutter, which you ignore. Just pleasant conversation.
He gives you his name - Marcus - and you offer yours, enjoying the way he rolls it off his tongue.
“Have you been here before?” he asks, hands folded in his lap and ankle resting on his knee. The undivided attention makes you a little giddy, easing quickly from surprise to comraderie.
“Before it went under new management. I like what they’ve done with the place,” you reply, eyes passing over the updated decor. “You?”
“First time, my friends love it,” he says, looking at his own phone with a shake of his head. “Anything fun planned?”
“My friend’s birthday, we’re making a night of it.” You normally wouldn't divulge, but this stranger has settled comfort in your chest. “Dinner, then salsa dancing after.”
Marcus' eyebrows raise, smile mischievous. “You salsa dance?” he asks, and you halfheartedly realize how long it's been since a man has given you such rapt attention.
“Yeah, I know a few moves,” you say, and his impressed nod warms you.
“Well, it sounds like a lovely night,” he hums, twiddling his thumbs together as he looks over at you a little more coyly. “Though if it wasn’t your friend’s birthday, I’d suggest we ditch them all and go get something to eat ourselves.”
Your heartbeat hammers into high speed, heat rising up your neck. Stealing a glance back, you gauge his expression. He’s teasing on the surface, but underneath you can sense the ripple of truth in his suggestion. There’s nothing pushy about it. He’s already leaning back, making himself smaller, and you can tell he wouldn’t push if you scoffed at the suggestion.
Eyes drawn to his hands, you admire the width of his palms, the artistic fold of his fingers together, how his thumb worries at the skin of his index.
You open your mouth to speak and…
A rapid knock on the window turns your attention outside to your friends, waving through the glass. In the moment you have before they come through the door, you catch Marcus' eye. His expression is cool, resigned, pleasant. It makes you want to throw caution to the wind.
“Maybe next time?” you toss back before standing to hug the birthday girl. You miss his reaction, but you hope it’s pleased.
The dinner is excellent, filled with jokes and banter. After you were seated Marcus walked past and wished your friend a happy birthday, making you fumble with an explanation as the hostess seated him a couple tables away. As engaging as the company is, your eyes keep slipping over to him. His seat faces yours, and on more than one occasion you catch each other's eyes, exchanging exaggerated expressions or warm smiles.
It’s exciting, but you can't get ahead of yourself. No way he’s actually single, or actually thinks you're cute enough to pick up in a restaurant, or actually wants to talk to you again after that brief conversation. It's just harmless fun, and when the bill comes he’ll leave without a fuss.
The evening wraps up, most of the table leaving together for a bathroom break. You hold back, waiting for the bill to return with the wad of credit cards you apologetically foisted onto the waitress. After they’ve rounded the corner out of sight you search for Marcus' smile once more.
His table is empty.
Even with the preparation, it still twists your stomach just a little knowing the fun is done. A titillating moment, fleeting and fast. At least it will make you smile for a few days.
A person comes to your shoulder, and presuming it’s the waiter you turn to face them.
It’s Marcus, slipping a piece of folded-up receipt paper onto the table in front of you.
“For next time,” he says, a lopsided smile resplendent with dimples shining down on your dazed face. His hand brushes against the back of yours before he jaunts out to meet his friends, tossing a wink behind his back.
On the paper is his phone number, and a message:
I promise I'll be on time.
END
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#lissie's writers' iron chef#writers' iron chef 10#marcus pike x you#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x f!reader#marcus pike x female reader
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Happiness Looks Good On You
Writers’ Iron Chef #10
June Drabbles Day 21 - Karaoke
A/N: Thank you so much to @littleferal for putting together this prompt challenge! This week’s prompt really helped me start to get out of the funk I’ve been in with my writing. Its the only thing I’ve managed to write in days, and while it definitely needs a follow up (you’ll see what I mean) an isn’t really finished... I’m pretty happy with how it turned out so I hope you guys enjoy it, too! This takes place in the Third Time’s the Charm universe - very early on in Reader and Marcus’ relationship.
Word Count: 1,889
Warnings: BIG ‘OL NOTHIN.
Summary: You get to meet someone very important to Marcus - someone who you’re both nervous and excited to be introduced to.
Prompt: Half of the names have already been crossed off.
It was Wednesday night when Marcus’ phone vibrated against the cupholder in the center console, a text alert popping up as he drove you home from your dinner date. His eyes shifted down at the name on the screen, and then immediately back up to the road. “It’s Linda. Can you read that for me?”
You felt your face grow warm as you reached for the phone, his level of trust in you only adding to the overall happiness that being with him gave you. “Sure.” Using the four digit code he’d given you - for his personal device only, the one that he used for work unknown to you, which was more than fine considering what he did for a living - you unlocked the screen and swiped open his texts, finding Linda’s and opening it. I wonder what she’s… Scanning the words, your eyes widened as they sunk in. Oh.
Marcus! I’m gonna be staying 20 minutes away from you this weekend for Gabi’s shower on Saturday. Drinks Friday night?? Maybe I can meet your new girlfriend??
Blinking at the screen, your mouth dropped open, a quick breath escaping as your heartbeat quickened. That means he told his family about me. Or at least his sister.
“Everything okay?” Marcus turned momentarily towards you.
Clearing your throat, you nodded, tongue slipping out to wet your lips. “Yeah, it’s fine, everything’s okay.” She just… “She said she’s gonna be in town this weekend and then asked if you want to get drinks on Friday. And um… she-” You swallowed. “She mentioned meeting me.”
Without flinching, he titled his head in your direction. “Are you free? Friday?”
This is… this is a step. A big one. But it wasn’t as drastic a step as meeting his parents, joining him for some big family milestone event, being introduced to cousins and step uncles and so on. Marcus had told you that he and his siblings were close, so it made sense to you that he would have told them about his relationship with you. Even though we’re taking things slow. You’d been together for a month and a half, known one another for only a few weeks longer than that. But it’s not his whole family, so it’s… and it’s not like she lives right around the corner. She’s only in town for a few days and-
“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling as you stuck the phone back in place. Marcus turned onto your street, the headlights shining on the Jacobson’s bushes and then spilling over the dark asphalt. “I’m free. And I’m looking forward to meeting your sister.” I hope she likes me.
– – –
Twenty minutes after you were supposed to be meeting Linda at the bar she’d invited the two of you to, you sat staring at the brake lights ahead of you instead. Shit. We’re already late. You checked your face in the visor mirror, pressing your lips together before closing the sliding cover and flipping the hinged piece back up. She’s probably there already and-
“Hey.”
Marcus’ voice was accompanied by the weight of his right hand on your thigh, fingers squeezing gently to stop your leg from bouncing. You looked over to find him glancing sideways, a soft smile warming his eyes. Hey, yourself.
“Are you nervous? It’s gonna be fine, just relax.” He kept his hand where it was until the light that you’d been stuck at turned green, and then he brought it back to the wheel. “She’s gonna love you.”
You let out a sigh. “I hope so.”
He nodded, eyes forward as he concentrated on the road in front of him. Rain fell hard and heavy to slide down the windshield in sheets, the wiper blades set to the quickest speed. “She will. Trust me.”
“You know I do.” I trust you completely. You felt some of the anxious jitters dissipate at the way he was so certain that his sister would accept you and that the two of you would get along. “I just know how close the two of you are, and I…” I want this to go well. Because I think you’re it for me, Marcus.
The GPS app instructed him to turn left, and as he did he spoke your name. “It’s going to be fine. Linda and I are close, you’re right about that.” He flicked the turn signal off and lowered the speed on the wipers, the rain suddenly lighter and less aggressive than it had been seconds before. “But that’s exactly why she’s going to like you. Because she’s going to see how damn happy I am with you.”
At that your chest warmed and even though you were still slightly nervous about meeting such an important person in his life, you let Marcus’ assurances be enough. He means it. He wouldn’t just say that. “You think she’ll be able to see that in just a few hours at a crowded bar?”
Marcus blew out an exaggerated breath and narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely.” The automated voice on the app chimed in to alert him that the destination was approaching in a quarter mile on the right. “It would be pretty hard for her to miss.”
Oh, I think I’m… You hadn’t said it yet, and he hadn’t either. But I am. I’m falling in love with him. I… You knew that he wanted to take things slowly, and you knew - and understood - why. But I love him. Not wanting to say it too soon and ruin things, you opted for another full truth in its place as he pulled into the small lot. “You make me really damn happy, too, Marcus.”
Putting the car in park, he leaned in and pressed his smile to the corner of your mouth, leaving a small kiss there. “That-” He moved his lips to the center of yours and kissed you more fully. “-is great news.” The tip of his nose bumped against yours and then he sat back in his seat. “Now c’mon, Linda’s probably already got a table, and if I know my sister, she’s at least one beer into a pitcher.” He winked. “Let’s go catch up.”
Hand in hand, you let him lead you inside.
But within seconds, the slightly off key sound of someone’s rendition of Love Shack made you question whether or not you were in the right place. What the hell? A quick cursory glance around the bar area revealed a makeshift performance area, a small D.J. setup, and a screen that the singer was reading lyrics from.
Oh, it���s…
“Karaoke night.” Marcus’ hand tightened around yours as his unsure chuckle slid into a groan. It sure is. “Oh…kay. So, here’s the thing.” He tugged you closer, a sheepish, almost apologetic look in his eyes as he trained them on you. “We had this stupid old karaoke machine in our basement growing up and, Linda and I used it… kind of a lot. So we-” He shrugged. “We started this tradition of going to a karaoke night together whenever we’re both home or in the same city.” Shaking his head, he gave you a slight wince. “I had no idea that she was playing that card tonight. I thought since she was meeting you that… Is this… Are you okay with this? We can go somewhere else, or-”
“Marcus.” You pressed your free hand to the center of his chest, his expression relaxing as your thumb swept over his shirt. “Now who’s nervous, hmm?” His unoccupied hand found its way to your waist and you smiled. “This is fine.” You tilted your head to the side. “I’m not a good singer. At all. But…” Bouncing your head from side to side, you spread your fingers out where you touched him. “Get a beer or two in me? I’m not a good singer, but I can be a fun singer.”
At that he laughed, dropping your hand and letting his newly freed one join the other at your waist. “Well that’s a relief. If you were a good singer, I’d be worried that you’d judge me for my terrible singing.”
You scrunched your nose at him. “Weren’t you in a band?”
He held up one finger, features setting seriously. “I am a bassist, not a vocalist, okay? I’m-”
You cut him off then, unable to keep yourself from kissing away the rest of his explanation. We’re both going to make fools of ourselves and that’s fine with me. When you broke apart a few seconds later, he was wearing a slightly lopsided grin, one stubbled cheek rising higher than the other. Just like the first time you saw that look on his face - and every time since - your heart spun inside your chest. Any lingering nerves that either of you were feeling had disappeared, so you grabbed his hand again, lacing your fingers with his. “Let’s go find your sister.”
It wasn’t hard to spot her, the woman that you’d only seen glimpses of in passing when she was on a FaceTime call with Marcus standing on the rungs of her barstool to wave at the two of you as you walked deeper into the bar. “Hey! Marcus! Over here!”
You watched as she poured two pints from the pitcher that Marcus had correctly guessed she’d already ordered. He lifted his hand in greeting, letting her know that he saw her, and then he leaned over to brush his lips across your cheek before moving them closer to your ear. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.” The bar broke out in a round of overly generous applause for the singer that had just finished, the room loud around you, but as you pulled back your focus was entirely on him. “Means a lot to me. I know it’s… sooner than we said we’d do the whole meeting the families thing but-”
“As long as your sister doesn’t mercilessly mock me after this?” He chuckled and you winked. “I’m glad we’re here tonight too, Marcus.”
“Marcus!” Linda called again, both of you snapping your heads back up at her. “Hurry up! Half of the names on the list have already been crossed off.” She pointed to the board that the D.J. was using to keep track of who was singing next. Sure enough, Marcus’ name was up there along with hers… and yours. “You’re gonna be up before you know it! I signed you up for your song.”
“Your song?” You raised an eyebrow, one side of your mouth following in an amused smirk. “You have a designated karaoke song, Agent Pike?” You asked, nudging his elbow with yours. He groaned as the two of you got closer to the table she’d saved, and all you could do was laugh.
Oh this is going to be an interesting night.
– – –
On the way home from the bar, Marcus’ phone buzzed twice. “Can you check that for me?” He asked, his voice hinting at how tired he was even though there was still a touch of laughter left in it.
“Yeah,” you reached for it, a yawn breaking through your smile as you opened the message. “It’s Linda.”
He hummed. “What’s it say?”
Your chest swelled as you read the words, the screen glowing up at you as Marcus made the turn into your neighborhood.
Happiness looks good on you, big brother.
.
.
.
Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know by sending a message or filling out the form on my masterlist!
tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @prolix-yuy @littleferal @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11 @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch
#marcus pike fic#marcus pike x female reader#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x you#pedrostories#third times the charm#marcus pike#the mentalist#pedro pascal character#writers' iron chef 10#writers' iron chef#june drabbles 2022
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Stuck: Ezra x f!Reader
A/N: This is written for @littleferal ‘s Writer’s Iron Chef. The prompt was “Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.“ A chance meeting on Hanratty’s Bench may lead to better things. This is an one-shot and not connected to any of my other Prospect AUs.
Warnings: brief non-descript mention of suicide. language. references to past violence. alcohol mentions.
Every day is the same old same old, wake and scan the boards, hoping for something other than a three-day drop downworld, mining salt with a suited crew of fellow short timers, everyone hoping to make enough to buy passage damn near anywhere else, make enough over bench-scrip to C conversion. They've got you by the short and curlies unless you can get in good with a non-local outfit. There are a couple crews you know, making the circuit between here and Arlen, a simple two-sling swing, round and round about, but that would be better than here. Anything would. Get on a ship, even a small hauler and you've got more chance at something better. But you always seem to get passed by. You're starting to wonder if you're going to spend the rest of your days on this grimy bench, unloading cargo cans for just enough scrip to feed you and buy booze enough to keep you from marching yourself into the nearest airlock and hot-wiring that son of a bitch.
According to the boards a big intersystem cruiser is due to dock, the kind that travels far enough to fly under spin, to make grav enough so people can survive long term, something that can get you out of here. You set three alarms. You want to be the first to hit the boards and start spamming your credentials, such as they are. Being a janitor on an intersystemer still gets you the fuck out of Hanratty's System, and now that's all you really want. Fame and fortune and all the things you thought you wanted when you first went offworld be damned. You have to look at someplace else or you will go insane.
Your alarm trills and you are making your way down the ring and to the boards before you are even properly awake. You log yourself in.
"What the fuck? Half the names on the list are already crossed off!" You yell without meaning to, tears prick your eyes, you go about sending your info the the dwindling list of crews looking to take on another. Fuck. You won't get another chance in who knows how long? This system is not exactly prime real estate. No one is responding, no one is pinging you back. Not entirely unexpected but it still hurts. How many long-liners have to pass through this dump before you accept that you're stuck here? That you've marooned yourself? All for the promise of somewhere better?
"Excuse me, miss?" A voice soft and low over your shoulder, and you whirl on him, all the tension expending itself and he raises his hands, one flesh and one articulated metal.
"I didn't mean to scare you, but I think we may be drinking from the same trough." He is smiling and pretty, and you don't trust him. You drop your hand to the thrower on your hip.
"How so?"
"Not one to mince words are you, Birdie? If you are demanding a blunt assessment I will give it to you. You are fresh out of a well, stuck on a shit-splat of a bench with few skills and no prospects. You have the strength of your body and mind on offer. And precious little else." He shrugs theatrically. "As you can see, I am diminished. I lost much of my fine motor control when I had to lose my arm."
"You're looking for clever hands."
"I am."
"And what do I get? Besides off this miserable low g hellhole?"
"You get the whole of the Great Arm if Kevva smiles upon us."
"Liar." He grins at you.
"On occasion," he says, "Look. You want off this little patch of nowhere, and I have had difficulty finding reliable crew. I've got three drops lined up along the intersystemer's flight path. You sign on with me for those three drops and we renegotiate when we reach Puggart Bench. If you find the work not to your liking we'll part ways there. Or you can wait and see how this plays out." He gestures at the rapidly diminishing list of crew slots and offers.
"Say I sign. What's my cut?"
"Even split."
"You're trying to scam me. Or trick me. No one offers an even split." He smiles but there is a tiredness to it, a sadness.
"My days of arguing over every point on every pull are done," he says, "In the end all that gets you is crewmates willing to slit your throat in your sleep. Or leave you stranded on some Kevva forsaken rock."
"You know what it's like to be stuck."
"I do."
"Alright, I'm in," you say and offer your hand. His prosthetic hand folds stiffly around yours. "Three drops. And then we see where we stand."
"Three drops," he smiles big and bright, showing dimples in his scruffy cheeks, "I'm Ezra, by the way. Don't think I caught your name, Little Bird."
#writers' iron chef 10#writers iron chef#ezra x f!reader#ezra prospect#prospect fic#prospect#slice of life
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Writers’ Iron Chef #10
[PROMPT]
Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.
[TIME LIMIT]
Optional, 10 minutes prep. time
30 minutes writing time
Optional, 10 minutes editing time
[WHEN COMPLETED]
Please create your own post, then reblog this and add your link to it. You can reblog this post with your work if you want, but it did get messier than I had anticipated. Please link back to this prompt in your own post if you do one. Please use the tags “lissie’s writers’ iron chef” and “writers’ iron chef 10” so we can all find each other’s works :)
[COMPLETED CHALLENGES #10]
[THE IRON CHEF]
For more information on this challenge you can find the masterlist here.
The purpose of this writing exercise is to challenge yourself to write something in a limited time. What you produce doesn’t have to be a perfect, polished, piece and it doesn’t have to shared. If you take part please make it a goal to interact with at least one other piece of writing :)
[RULES]
Set a timer and stick to it. The goal is not to finish something, it’s to start something.
Outlining and brainstorming can be done in the 10 minutes prep time. You do not have to take this prep time and you don’t have to use the full 10 minutes. However, if you choose to use it make sure you stick to the time limit.
You must always work the prompt into the scene.
The additional prompt is not essential but a bonus if you can make it work.
If what you write has sections missing but you still want to share it, put what happens and is missing in [square brackets] on a separate line.
If you want to share your writing, reblog this and post whatever you write. Remember, it doesn’t have to be a finished piece - think of it as posting an excerpt.
If it makes you feel more comfortable to post please take the timed 10 minutes after to edit. You don’t have to use the full 10 minutes but be sure to not go over it - we’re not looking for perfection. Otherwise share your writing as it is.
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Detachment
Dave York ficlet | Writers’ Iron Chef #10
Words: ~560 | no warnings, (kind-of dave x reader)
[PROMPT] Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.
A/N: I’ve never tried to write under a time limit in so long! I’m fairly slow but I’ve wanted to at least try my hand at it again for lissie’s writers’ iron chef and I couldn’t let go of this one, seeing it as a way to get to write Dave for the first time! (I had way more scenes I wanted to write for this pop up in my brain, but ran out of time ofc ^_^’) Hope you enjoy!
He sat back in the office chair hearing the faint squeak of the leather protesting against the pressure of his shoulders.
"Half of the names on the list have already been crossed off."
He hummed. A noncommittal sound.
"What's our best option?"
It was a question but not exactly one that needed to be answered, but he thought it best when his team ran through things together. His mind habitually moved ahead, running down different potential avenues for what could come his way.
He had seen the potential targets profiles, read the intelligence that showed him their lives, on paper, digitally and any gaps therein. And from what was available to him and what was not they cultivated information to gain insight into their personalities, loves, hates, flaws, weaknesses, strengths, secrets…
One in particular caught his awareness.
It was a vague recollection...
When they had first started this team they had looked out for a forensic specialist. There were plenty of candidates, one in particular was fairly fresh in the job and if it had been up to him you would've been hired. Unfortunately, he wasn't the boss and his previous employer had decided that it was better to focus funds on other things.
Newer, younger people in expert positions, at least in their field of work, tended to get looked over for the more older veterans. The college graduates were either too inexperienced or too cocksure and either way that could be dangerous. Dave had seen no reason to discard your application, though, his own screening had shown that you were diligent, adaptable and had enough pragmatism and determination in both your personality and career to be responsible. Perhaps even more than this team.
(At least under its former boss.)
He supposed the only other reason it was overlooked was your connections and the fact that you were overseas. And it was the very reason you were possibly in danger right now.
Dave had a cool, detached way of working. Of thinking. It came with the job, he supposed, but he also enjoyed it. It gave him a sense of freedom.
Though he felt further and further away from being detached, recently.
After all, he had already decided to help you.
And as he shifted back to an upright posture and addressed his team, to close up their plans he considered for the first time how quiet the house was. That was part of this change in his outlook, he supposed. Carol had taken the girls on vacation, to see her side of the family.
He admired just how much she had fit into his life. Into the cover of a family man working for the FBI. Keeping up appearnaces for both their benefit. Probably the only one to get close enough to him but not see the whole picture.
There were still the sounds of humming appliances, the whir of the fan and one of the neighbours mowing a lawn, but the absence of life in the house left a hollow feeling in his stomach.
"Sir, you might want to take a look at this."
He opened the link. Figured. "Well, looks like they're moving in faster than our predicted schedule. If everyone's clear on what they're doing and what assets they've been assigned to, let's get to work."
#dave york#dave york x reader#lissie's iron chef#writers' iron chef 10#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#dave york pit
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Lissie’s Iron Chef Challenge #10
Finish What You Started
(Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader)
Summary: Half the names on the list have already been crossed off. Your name is next.
Author’s Note: This is a bit different! This is my response to Lissie’s Writers’ Iron Chef challenge! That means I had a limit of 10 minutes prep time, 30 minutes writing time, and 10 minutes of editing time to come up with something using the prompt in purple above. It was super fun challenging myself to see what I could come up with! Huge thanks to Lissie for setting this all up! 🧡
Warnings: dark!Santiago (sorta); cat and mouse; some violence - reader trapped / restrained, a tussle, knife violence / threats and minor injury. Mentions of violence / murder. Character death. Alcohol. Blood mention. Seduction under false pretences. (It makes sense if you read it!) Reader referred to as “girl”. 18+ ONLY.
He’d seduced you.
Brought you back to his place.
You never did this. But he had seemed familiar somehow. Familiar in the way he spoke and moved.
You’d made it easy for him.
You were always looking for something to fill the hole of all you’d lost. Nothing would ever be enough to close that wound, but you would take anything which made you feel warm and wanted, even for a moment.
He made it easy for you too.
He’d flattered you. Been attentive. Touched you in a way that made you want more.
He’d brought you back to his couch and poured you each shots of watered down whiskey. Asked you to play “never have I ever”, a laugh shucking in his throat and a dance of fire in his eyes.
His brown eyes.
Amber liquid glistening on his lips and a heat burning through your middle.
“Never have I ever killed someone,” he’d said, and you had paused with the shot glass in your hand, his gaze sharp as a razor.
Your blood froze as you watched him tip the whiskey down his throat. As he wiped the stray drops away from his mouth with his sleeve, his stubble rasping against the synthetic fabric.
His knee had bumped yours, and his grin had turned on a hinge, opening up into something far less charming and far more sinister. “Drink if you have,” he’d urged, his tone dripping with dark flavour.
“No,” you insist, thrusting the glass into his palm.
Despite your urgency, he remains perfectly still and cool. The stone cold face of someone with a plan.
He’s an army man, you rationalise. He’s killed before.
But you know deep down from that gnawing in your belly that something is wrong.
You excuse yourself.
He directs you to the bathroom and you head upstairs.
You can feel his gaze at your back.
The spirit churns with the adrenalin and your head starts to throb.
You’re distracted, and you open up the wrong door.
The door to a home office, and from the top of a cabinet, a piece of paper wafts to the floor, shimmying down to the carpet at your feet.
It’s a list.
Half of the names on the list have already been crossed off.
Your name is next.
And now you’re sure that the guy downstairs isn’t who he says he is at all.
***
You walk downstairs with your heart thudding in your neck. Blood pumping in your ears.
You’d tried the windows. Of course you had, but they were all firmly locked.
The front door is locked to.
You hadn’t given it too much thought when he’d closed it behind him earlier, the broadness of his hand on your thigh and lips on your throat the only misdirection you’d needed.
He’d pocketed the keys and now you curse yourself for every red flag you’d stepped right over on the way in here.
You have no escape routes now. No escape route besides making him believe everything is okay, until you can figure this out.
You don’t have a lot left to lose but you will go down fighting.
“Feeling better?” He asks as you enter the room, and your heart sinks as you realise it’s already too late to make him believe you are buying his facade.
His demeanour has already shifted. He’s already dropped the act.
“Just feeling a little drunk,” you push out, wiping your palm over the sheen of sweat overtaking your brow.
“Want some coffee?” he asks flatly, unblinking, his whole body primed for you to bolt, you think.
But he’s unphased. He knows he has the upper hand.
“Please.”
You clench your fists together, frozen in fear as you watch him extend this bizarre play a little longer.
You watch him opening all of the cupboards in turn, searching for where the items are stored.
That’s when you almost choke on all the red flags you missed before.
The photos frames tipped face down on the mantelpiece.
The way he’d tried three keys on the way in here.
This isn’t his house.
“So…” you hear him shout from the kitchen. “You’ve never killed anyone?”
You have.
The memory of the last bloodbath lurches in your belly.
And you’d bet that’s why you’re here.
The consequences of your actions.
***
This is your chance.
It might be your last chance.
You grab your purse up from the coffee table, while he’s distracted, and you scramble around inside searching for your phone.
You stomach falls to your feet when you realise he’s taken it.
“Fuck.”
Your hands and your whole body trembling, you dart towards the hallway, quiet as a mouse.
You need to find a way out and you pick out each footstep carefully through the shadows.
“Honey. Ah ah ah!” a sing-song voice scolds right by the shell of your ear, and you Yelp as you feel the full force of his body springing out from the dark and pinning you flush to the wall. “Where do you think you’re going so soon? We haven’t even had any fun yet.”
“Fuck!”
You scream and scramble, his breath hot and wet against the back of your neck.
There is a tussle. Grunts and flailing limbs and sharp and flowering pain, but your efforts are inefffectual. He pins you again, breaths heaving and all of the fight fleeing your body as he flips a knife on you, keeping you pinned. face to face now, his weight through his free arm pinning your torso as the blade nicks against the thin skin at your neck.
Your eyes widen like prey giving up and the sob which bulges in your throat presses the silvered point deeper into your flesh.
“Let’s try this again,” he says, voice encumbered with exertion. Emotion. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
You screw your eyes shut and feel flecks of his spit spray across your face as his words spill ragged over your cheek.
“Say their names with me.”
You whimper.
“Benjamin Miller,” he says through his teeth.
“Stop!” you plead, finally finding your voice, your voice and cheeks wet.
“William Miller,” he presses on, his agitation and his volume rising until their names ring in your ears.
“Francisco Morales.”
A sob wracks your chest. “Keep his name out of your fucking mouth!”
You look your captor dead in the eyes now, rage boiling through you. For the first time, you see a flash of doubt there and you take the opportunity to shove him away from you, his back contacting the door frame.
He stumbles, and you flee into the kitchen, hoping the back door will present an escape route, but he is biting at your heels.
“I know you were there. The night they were killed. I found out about every single person who did this. And I’m going to make you all pay.”
Oh no. Oh no he doesn’t. “What? You think I did this?” He steps back in surprise, faltering again. “I didn’t kill him!” you scream. “I lost him. I loved him. And ever day I wish I hadn’t been the one to get away.”
“Bullshit!”
“Look in my purse asshole.” You point, to where the contents are now strewn across the floor as the result of the scuffle. “Just fucking look.”
You probably shouldn’t be pissing him off, but what have you got to lose now? You try the door but to no avail, and so you simply slide down it, folding your knees into your chest and crying freely, blood and snot and tears soiling you.
***
The man is quiet when he enters again, holding the tattered Polaroid of you and Frankie, all loved-up.
You jump as he approaches, but you see tears on his cheeks too now. Watch as he slowly, quietly crouches down in front of you, and hands the photo back to you, salt tracks fresh on his cheeks.
Who is this man to Frankie, that he is hunting down his supposed killers like this? That he now cries with a snapshot of his joy in his hand.m?
But suddenly, you know - or, you think you do.
A man whose call sign you’d heard, but who you’d never been able to trace. Never been able to put a face to.
Taking a risk, you reach out and place your hand gently on his forearm. He winces, but bears it.
“Pope?” you venture. His eyes tick up to you with recognition and you know it’s true. “Fuck. I looked for you everywhere.”
And just like that. You are not alone: This man had loved and lost Frankie too.
He might be the only one who could understand your pain.
With clear regret, the man’s eyes flit over the wounds and scrapes on your body. “Frankie would be ashamed of me.” A gulp sinks down his neck. “Hunting his killers down like animals. Hurting his girl.”
You exhale. The sound of Frankie’s name out loud, imbued with such affection painful to hear. Then, with resolve you reach out and grip Pope’s hand in yours. “Those animals deserve everything they’ve got coming.”
His eyes fix on a point on the floor. “You not gonna tell me to stop?”
Sighing, you fumble his list out of your back pocket.
Half of the names on it are crossed out.
The other half are still out there.
Getting away with murder.
“No,” you say firmly, unfurling the paper and pressing it into his opened palm. “No - I’m gonna help you finish what you started.”
With that, he stands, his outstretched arm hoisting you up from the floor.
“What now?” he asks softly.
You reach for the bottle of whiskey on the counter, and you take a generous swig.
Pope studies you.
Brown eyes on you which feel somehow familiar.
Warmth fills your middle.
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Writers' Iron Chef #10: Dreaming of Chandeliers
[PROMPT] Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.
[TIME LIMIT] Optional, 10 minutes prep. time 30 minutes writing time Optional, 10 minutes editing time
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Summary: The interviews for the live in nanny job are a nightmare, luckily the next applicant, Frankie Morales, sweeps in to save the day.
word count: 695
a/n: written for Writers' Iron Chef prompt #10
This is my first time joining one of these and I'm so happy to join <33 While trying to come up with something this was originally going to be about a female hitman meeting frankie and them trying to navigate a relationship buuut for some reason I couldn't really find the right words and got stuck in my head so that story shifted into this one-- Enjoy!
Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.
Every interview is worse than the one before. None of the people you questioned so far seems like they can take care of an eight year old girl. You need someone fun, someone who gets along with kids. Not a teenager who’s smoked himself to the point that they can’t even form a sentence. And the others, well, they didn’t really give you that surge of relief you were hoping to get. You assume you would know the person was right just by looking at them. At least that was what you’d initially hoped for. But your search for a live-in nanny was proving to be much harder.
Eyes flickering back to the list, you observe the next name; Francisco Morales and as soon as you do, there’s a knock on the door.
When you open the door, the breath is violently sucked out of your lungs. He’s nothing like the other applicants. He’s older, handsome. There’s whites and grays mixed in his patchy beard and he’s wearing a ballcap that hides the soft brown curls. He meets your gaze, lips breaking into a sincere smile. Wow.
“Hi, I’m here for the live-in nanny job, Frankie Morales,”
“Uh, yeah, right through here,”
You lead him to the living room and gesture to the couch, “Have a seat, would you like anything? Water, coffee?”
“No, thank you,” a soft chuckle parts his lips as he sits. “By looking at you I’m assuming I’m not what you were hoping for,”
“It’s not that, I would have to interview you first to see if you’re right for the job or not. I just wasn’t expecting someone so–”
“Old?”
Your lips curve into an awkward grin, gaze focusing on the corner of his smile. You part your own lips to retaliate but he beats you to it.
“Before you say anything, I’m great with kids. Have multiple references and well, my reasoning is that kids just really make me happy,” when he notices your sole eyebrow raising, he waves his hands with panic. “Oh god, that– I didn’t mean– I’m an ex air force pilot and there aren’t a lot of job opportunities, and the jobs that I can apply to don’t really make me…feel good, if that makes sense?”
It does. But instead of voicing the thought out, you continue to observe him. A military man. That means he’s organized, and god knows that you need some stability in your life. He has nothing else going on, which means that his only focus would be on the house and your daughter. That’s a definite plus. No school, no fancy dreams.
Frankie removes the ball cap and cards his hair back, a slight tremble to his fingers. He seems to be the best candidate so far. And the fact that he’s good looking had nothing to do with it. Absolutely not. This is just that feeling you were waiting for. The feeling that others failed to give you. A feeling of security.
“Well, Frankie–” you smile in hopes to ease his nerves. “I’ll be calling your references first and after that we’ll have a week trial period to see how you get along with Margot. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah,”
“Great, I’ll call you tonight so we can discuss when you’ll be coming in. I’m not working tomorrow so if everything pans out you can come over and we can get you settled in,”
“Sounds great, thank you…” his sentence fades, you two exchange glances and you realize he’s waiting for you to give him your name.
“Miss Clementine,”
He smiles, nods and gets up, “Very nice to meet you, I’ll be waiting for your call. Have a good day,”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Mister Morales,”
When he leaves you feel giddy. Excited. Which are things you shouldn’t be feeling. With a sigh, you sit back down and pick up the paper to call his references. You’re surprised to see more than five names written down. Impressive indeed. Most of the people you talked to had their mom’s as references.
With a stuttered breath, you make the call.
#lissie’s writers’ iron chef#writers’ iron chef 10#frankie morales x you#frankie morales#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x reader#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales x you#francisco morales#francisco morales x f!reader#francisco morales x reader#triple fontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier
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The 6th Name
Writers’ Iron Chef #10 @littleferal
F assassin character x Dave York
Prompt: Half the names on the list have already been crossed off
Warnings: professional Assassins, mentions of killing and weapons
***this is a preview***read in full on A03***
Half the names on the list have been crossed off; just a few more to go. Then, she’d head to her favorite island to unplug and swim in the sea until she was needed again.
She didn’t wear rose colored glasses, or tell herself lies. Working for them meant you were useful and important, until you weren’t. Even the ones who seem untouchable, ultimately run their course and become disposable. Now, she’s one of the best, and one of her boss’ favorites. But that could change, that could change in the blink of an eye.
Maybe it was some kind of omen, or sign. But the day the 6th name, out of 10, was finally revealed, she found herself transfixed by a sign on the street as she traveled from point A to B. It read;
Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it
The boss liked to keep some mystery about things. The hit lists were never revealed in full. She was told how many, 10 in total, and as one was killed off, another name was revealed. This is how it works.
When she returned to the hotel that afternoon, after a meal in town, she received an encrypted message, one revealing the 6th name.
'Dave York'
***this is a preview***read in full on A03***
More Dave
More Iron Chef
Masterlist
#writers iron chef 10#lissie's writers' iron chef#Dave York#Dave York Drabble#Dave York x ofc#pedro pascal character fanfiction
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Okay, review time!! If you are one of the oddballs who thinks you cant be critical of something you love I suggest you stop reading now before I ruffle your feathers. Iron flame, second in the empyrean series. I am gonna start with what I was not a fan of and then go into the shit I adored.
1) what in the actual fuck was the pacing of this book?? I can tell you what, it was non existent. There was none. Where I thought there was a lot of filler in the last book there was none in this one. We got snap shots of conversations and then *boom* more plot flew at you. The timeline of this book greatly suffered for it i think bc we end only a couple weeks, if that, after threshing, which happens sometimes in October. This book was actually so wild with times.
2) while it was a spectacular cliff hanger, xaden becoming venin pisses me off. Especially if Rebecca yarros isnt going to have him tell violet. Like if that small tid bit of a conversation we got wasnt him telling vi that he was venin then the entire romantic conflict of this book was rendered pointless and their going to be having the same fucking fight for the rest of the series and at rhat point I give up.
3) I understand that the revolution is trying to take down basgaith and make the world better or whatever the fuck but can someone actually formulate a real plan for me?? Because I feel like their mission is just, giving violet and xaden something to be pissed at each other about.
4) the entirety of cats character. I get that she was set up as a spin on the typical jealous ex. Like having her be bitter about xaden picking violet over her but OH WAIT it wasnt actually about the man it was about the crown, oohh not like other girls. Im a writer too I see the point. I dont care. I think it was trashy. If you wanted her to be a bitter spiteful ex then have her be a bitter spiteful ex, the whole crown thing was shallow.
OKAY haters your time is up now onto the shit that made my heart hurt with joy and sadness
1) xadens arc in this book. I really liked that he went from "transparency is never gonna happen" to losing his fucking mind over violet and giving her everything. I love feral men and he qualifies. I think his arc was really well done and i liked it.
2) I appericiate that violet stuck to her guns for this book. She wouldnt let xaden off without a fight and I loved that. She made him bow and scrape and I was eating it up. It was spectacular.
3) the throne room scene. Violet on the throne. "Im making a temporary point not a lasting vow of maschocism" xaden being feral.
4) that gets its own point actually, just xaden being completely feral this entire book healed a part of my soul.
5) andarna's little speech at the end where she was like "I waited for you violet" made me ugly cry. That was just so hopelessly good I loved it. Andarna in general heals my heart but that part was just *chefs kiss*
6) tarin being completely and utterly ready to eat people this entire book. Just, at every turn "I want lunch their pissing me off " was spectacular
7) every scene their squad was in. Rihannon, violet, sawyer and ridoc are my roman empire. Their bond is so amazing. The fact that they launched a rescue mission for violet. Rihannon being ready to kill xaden at every turn. Ridoc being so platonically and adorably in love with violet. Just- augh happy cries happy cries. I love it all. Their so special tbh.
8) I love xaden actually, just, the whole book every scene hes in lives in my brain.
9) I liked that we saw a small bit of violet being feral this book too. I hope that we get more of that in future books. I want more of violet losing her fucking mind. Hot, badass women covered in blood
10) Liam. Fucking Liam. When violet was kidnapped and Liam was there. Now, do I logically understand that he was a hallucination, yes, do i care?? No. He was a gift from Maleck I will be hearing no critiques on that. It was so fucking sweet and amazing. I love violet and Liam and Liam being dead so horribly breaks my heart. I loved Liam. Liams death lives rent free in my skull.
#i might add more to this later#please#i am begging yall#dont get weird#i am allowed to love this book and have critical opinions abt it#if i start getting threats about my fandom opinions again i might lose my mind#haters get fucked#anyways#i need the third book right now and the fact that i wont get it until next year kills me a little#i loved iron flame#i loved fourth wing#xaden riorson#violet sorrengail#violet and xaden#fourth wing#iron flame#book review#iron flame review#🪓
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
Thank you for the tag @aawrightworth!
1. How many works do you have on A03? 31!
2. What's your total A03 word count? 259,660! ...woah
3. What fandoms do you write for? Mostly Ace Attorney! Though I do have another published fic for Dungeons and Daddies, and a couple more WIPs for other fandoms in the future
4. What are your top five fics by kudos?
Woo fun!
The Things We Agree to Believe are True
Double Date
Taking the Lead (NSFW)
The Essential Guide to Avian Development
And I Will Stay with You Through Spring (NSFW)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? *Yes,* absolutely! Honestly, comments (and responding to them) are probably one of my favorite parts of actually publishing fic. I get a lot of joy from writing them, but seeing and hearing from other people that liked them too, or share the same headcanons? *chef's kiss*
6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Honestly, probably my most recent one, Her Brother's Keeper. I don't typically write "bad ending" fics, so this one was definitely a big step for me haha
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Again, most of the things I write have happy endings, so this is hard 😂
I personally really love it when "the war is over" and they can finally just get married and be CHILL so I'd have to say either "The Things We Agree to Believe are True" or "The Essential Guide to Avian Development."
8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really, thankfully! I've had a couple comments from John Phoenix here and there but I don't take it personally.
9. Do you write smut? Sometimes! I have a bad habit of writing smut that Must Have 10K Words of Prelude First, and while I am trying to "break" that habit, I actually really enjoy a story to go with it!
10. Do you write crossovers? I actually did write one for the Wright Anything Zine a few months ago! Of course, it was DnDads x Ace Attorney, and I... need to publish it lol
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Oh goodness, not to my knowledge.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No I haven't! I haven't had much of anything with that much traction though, but it would be cool in the future!
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I would love to! I was actually talking through it with a friend a while back.
14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Of course I love Narumitsu, but I don't know if it's my "all time favorite..." I'm not sure what it is off the top of my head!
15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ironically enough, it's also the first Ace Attorney fic I ever wrote! It's a farmer Phoenix AU in which Miles also has amnesia, and over the course of his recovery they of course fall in love (dawwww). I would also love to add more to the Elfworth series! I have. His whole life planned out lol
16. What are your writing strengths? To be honest, I'm not completely sure! I like to think I can come up with original plots or ideas, but I know I still have a lot of work to do.
17. What are your writing weaknesses? Sometimes I have some trouble connecting my points or writing "effective" scenes, amongst other things. (dang now these questions are making me want to keep up with this...)
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I don't do it too often! Typically if I do include it, I'll either use something that is very common knowledge or provide a translation in the author's notes. Having said that, I've written some unpublished stuff for Avian AU where Phoenix and his mother are talking, and in *that* case I just wrote the dialogue in English with a clarification that they are speaking a different language. I'm always so nervous about getting a translation wrong though lol
19. First fandom you wrote for? Ohh man. Probably My Little Pony or Minecraft to be honest. Don't ask; you'll never see them and they're written in missing notebooks anyway 😂
20. Favourite fic you've ever written? AHH THIS IS SO HARD! I love a lot of my fics just so so much. I absolutely adore Avians and the Elfworth series, just because I love writing AUs and coming up with lore and everything. I also really really enjoy Kindergarten Cop and Great Big Leaps because I love writing little kids and how they act because they make me laugh.
I think overall, though, my most favorite would have to be "The Things We Agree to Believe Are True." It was fun, experimental, and just a really euphoric way to write a new story as I was getting through my senior year. I had a blast with it, and I'm always so thankful that it got so much support, as well!
Feel free to ignore the tags if you like (I know I'm hopping on this a little late lol), but answer if you feel like it! @kbots @edwirdon (and also just a blanket tag for anyone that might feel like answering!)
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Writer's Iron Chef #1: Slow Dancing
[PROMPT] Slow Dancing
[ADDITIONAL PROMPT] “Are you flirting with me?” + "You finally noticed?”
[TIME LIMIT] Optional, 10 minutes prep. time, 30 minutes writing time, Optional, 10 minutes editing time
A/N: I REALLY wanted to partake in this challenge and then life got in the way. But I really want to commit to writing and posting more things here instead of constantly trying to be a book writing/promoting machine, and I wanted to do this challenge as a way to force myself to take a break and do some “fun writing” instead of “work writing.” Since this is QUITE late, I’m not sure if it really fits the rules of the challenge, but I am committing to writing this ONLY in the 30 minute writing time and the moment I saw this prompt I KNEW what I was going to write about.
Surprise, surprise, it’s….
Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader
Rating: T. Marcus has some mildly indecent thots.
Written for Writers’ Iron Chef Prompt 4. / Writers’ Iron Chef Masterlist
He was going to lose his head.
This was not the proper situation to lose one’s head, but here he was. Losing it.
Marcus Pike nervously adjusted the bow tie on his rented tux as he exited the car and approached you. He had felt stiff and unsure in the overly-formal attire, but you–oh, you–the evening gown fit you like a glove, hugging the curves of your body and displaying an enticing amount of leg with a slit up the side.
Marcus was sweating as he approached, but steeled his expression into something more befitting of the situation. You were his partner. You were at this black-tie gala to track down the thief of a few very high-profile thefts from an art auction. Marcus’s crush would, as always, have to wait.
You were a picture of elegance, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the grand steps to the building, waiting for him. Then, you took a few lurching, unsteady steps forward, and Marcus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
“Shut it, Pike. You try wearing these things.”
“Not a heels person, huh?” Marcus asked with a wry smile.
You scoffed. “Have you ever seen me in high heels?”
“I’ve never seen you in anything other than standard-issue work boots,” Marcus replied with an easy smile. He extended his arm, intending to guide you up the stairs, but you raised one eyebrow and stared at him in consternation.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking you up the stairs. We’re together, remember? A couple?” Marcus reminded you.
“Oh.” You gave him a shaky laugh. “Right.”
“Plus,” Marcus added. “Looks like you’re having some trouble there, Miss Congeniality.”
“I’m going to stab you with my stiletto.”
“Speaking of concealed weapons,” Marcus murmured in your ear. “Please don’t take offense to this, but you do have your badge and gun… somewhere, right?” It was a valid question–In that dress, he could hardly imagine where you’d have room for them.
“Thigh holster,” you confirmed, and Marcus smiled.
You were fidgeting when the two of you entered the grand ballroom. You toyed with the hem of your dress and played with the clasp on your clutch over and over–popping the little clasp open and shut, open and shut. You were uncomfortable. Marcus knew all the signs. He knew everything about you, something he wished he could erase from his brain. He couldn’t help it–you were whip-smart, attractive (in the evening gown, yes, but even more so in your standard FBI uniform with your hair neatly pulled back), and you could fire off witty banter and your sidearm with practiced ease.
Marcus had had a crush on you from the very beginning.
You were going to blow your cover, the way you were squirming, so Marcus pulled you further into the room as a distraction, taking one of your hands and lifting it to his shoulder, then clasping the other one gently with his own. Your eyes searched his in confusion as he wound his other arm around your waist and pulled you closer. It was only when he started to lead you in a slowly-revolving circle that your eyes went wide with understanding.
“Wh-what are you doing?” you asked suspiciously. Were you… breathless? No, that was just his imagination.
“Dancing,” Marcus answered. “You looked too nervous, back there. This was a distraction.”
“This isn’t a distraction,” you replied–and Marcus realized your lips were trembling slightly, and your gaze couldn’t quite meet his.
“It’s not?” Marcus asked, a hint of teasing slipping into his tone.
“I can’t–I can’t… think straight when you’re–when I’m this–um. When I’m dancing, I mean,” you finished awkwardly.
It was now or never. Confessing his feelings at an undercover stakeout might be bad timing, but Marcus had never been known for having good timing.
“I can’t think straight when you’re wearing that dress,” Marcus said emphatically. “You’re wearing that dress and you’re this close to me, and my arms are around you like I’ve always wanted–”
“Are you flirting with me?” you pulled back to stare at him in question.
Marcus chuckled. “You finally noticed?”
“I didn’t–I thought you were just oblivious or you didn’t feel anything back, I–”
“I wasn’t oblivious, believe me. I just couldn’t let myself make a move and get burned again. Not until I was sure.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, and your eyelashes fluttered as you stared up at him.
Marcus was about to answer, when your eyes suddenly went from wide and vulnerable to sharp and narrow. Your lips–which had been parted attractively–pursed together as you looked over his shoulder.
Marcus gracefully turned the two of you in a half circle so that he could follow your gaze without looking too conspicuous.
“That’s him,” you murmured, but Marcus had already clocked the thief’s profile across the room.
“I want to keep talking about this,” Marcus said softly in your ear. “But let’s catch this guy first, hmm?”
#marcus pike#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x f!reader#marcus pike x you#marcus pike fanfiction#the mentalist fanfic#the mentalist#pedro pascal
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Writers' Iron Chef #13: Lovesick
[PROMPT] Patching up a wound
[ADDITIONAL PROMPT] “Why would you put yourself through something like that?”
[TIME LIMIT]
Optional, 10 minutes prep. time
30 minutes writing time
Optional, 10 minutes editing time
Pairing: Joel Miller x GN!Reader
Rating: M, descriptions of wound care and blood, allusions to dubcon due to drinking and drug use. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.
Summary: You've been greedy for Joel for too long.
Notes: Written for Writers’ Iron Chef Prompt 13
I've had a Joel story idea bouncing around in my head for several months now, but it's not much more than disconnected scenes and a vibe, you know? I decided to try and exorcise a part with this prompt. This was imspired by a scene in the movie Foe with Saoirse Ronan and Paul Mescal (which was excellent, btw) that got the creative juices flowing.
Thanks to @writersironchef for always giving the best prompts!
The blood that runs into the sink isn’t yours, but it is Joel Miller’s and that’s hardly better.
Laying the needle and scissors beside the sink, you dry your hands on a towel that doesn’t make you feel much cleaner. There’s probably still blood under your nails, half moons of frenzied memories you can look back on when you’re in bed tonight.
“Joel, what the fuck?”
“I need…”
He didn’t have to say much more, and your stomach sours for it. Joel could say he needed you to balance on the edge of a razor and you’d do it just for the fact that he needed you. Pitiful, lovesick, desperate you.
He’d shredded his back coming back into the QZ scrambling away from patrol lights. Tess split off from him, trades to be made and deals best done without her loyal attack dog. So he’d stumbled back to his apartment, stopping just long enough to knock at yours across the hall.
“Jesus Christ, how did you fuck yourself up this badly?”
“FEDRA’s patrolling our usual spots, think they’re onto us…fuck!”
You salved his wounds with apologies as you cleaned grit from long scrapes and worried at the beads of blood that melted across your fingers. The worst was a gash you had to close, infection too present a worry. Hardening your gut, you tried to disassociate how much like sewing leather it felt. Joel bit down on his belt and stuffed his face in a pillow, but fists still slammed on walls around you at his ruckus.
“I’m done, I’m done, it’s finished.”
“Jesus ‘n Mary, there ain’t much left for you to piece back together at this rate.”
Walking back to the bed, he’s disheveled but alive. He asks for booze, which you find in a high cabinet. He asks for pills, reluctantly revealed to live in a false drawer bottom. You don’t have to say he can trust you with these secrets. Vices were too expensive for you most days. Once he downs both he lays back, injury padded with the cleanest cloths you could find. His breathing hitches, pants in pain, then slows as the drugs and drink take effect.
And then it’s just you, sitting next to your neighbor as his body releases.
You should go. Tess would be back any time now and you didn’t want her to see your longing. There are whispers about if Joel is hers, and while you know they belong to each other in a way drenched in darkness, you’ve never been sure if the claim is on their hearts as well. It’s just vague enough of a partnership that when Joel has a good day and shares an extra ration card, your heart flutters.
But it’s too dangerous. He’s too dangerous, the both of them. You can’t get mixed up in whatever they have going on. Why would you put yourself through something like that?
It’s not the first time he’s come home bloodied, and not the first time you’ve pulled him back together. There’s trust there, but also foolish hope that life could march on and a man could desire you again. Maybe even care for you enough to break teeth and bones.
A brush against your arm turns you back to Joel, eyes half-lidded but trained hazily on you. One large hand skims over your shoulder, down your arm and lands heavily in your lap.
“Joel?” you ask, looking down at his thick fingers splayed across your thighs. He hums, low and rumbly as his lips part.
He’s surely too far gone to know you’re even here. It would be best to slip out unnoticed, talk to Tess tomorrow about checking his injury for infection.
But you don’t. You’re frozen as the calloused skin of his thumb catches on the worn fibers of your jeans. It’s a caress you haven’t known for years.
He doesn’t know it’s you.
“Joel,” you say again, and enough courage bolsters you to slide your hand into his palm, the other circling his wrist. He’s so warm, thick-skinned against your fingers. You start to lift from the bed, intending to place his hand where you sat, when it makes a drunken path to cup your chin. Pressure against your jaw turns your face to him spread out on the bed beside you. His chest is bare, light perspiration beading along the cut of his collarbone. He licks his lips slowly, the slip of tongue drawing an ache up from the deepest well.
“Hey there,” he drawls, and god, you could shatter from it. Tears build in your eyes but you can’t move, his hands drawing you down to him.
“Joel, it’s…I’m not…” you choke out. It’s a final defense. He’ll hate you tomorrow, but you’ll have said something. His lip quirks, not quite a smile.
“I know,” he husks before leading your lips to meet his.
You’re not sure he does, but you’re too greedy to say more.
END
#lissie’s writers’ iron chef#writers’ iron chef 13#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x gn!reader#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fic#prolix fics
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things i would like to know about my fellow writers!
tagged by @dwarfsized thank u beloved !! i will tag @sweetsuke and @caspercryptid !!
Last book I read:
currently reading howl's moving castle and war and peace, but the last book i finished was The Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao, highly recommend if u support womens wrongs and trope reversal!
Greatest Literary Inspiration:
to be basic and gay, richard siken and shakespeare, but also maggie stiefvater. mwah.
Things in my current fandom I want to read but don't want to write:
@the-neon-pineapple's regency fic is fucking stellar but i would fail at the amount of research it needs. could not be assed to look up a houppelade. but god damn if spencer doesnt do it so so good
Things in my current fandoms I want to write but I think nobody would be interested in them but me:
i like leetle feel this abt. all my work! too much oc lore in my current project n afraid no one will give a fuck lmao
but i have been rapidly toying with bg3 the bear au. let me put astarion as a failed michelin star chef. im cooking i promise. pun intended.
You can recognize my writing by:
overuse of italics, character lore dumps, too many "and yet", too many "almost", and a gross misuse of spaces
My most controversial take (current fandom):
if you want a sweet husband of a lover you should have romanced wyll not astarion!
Current writing mood (10 – super motivated and churning out words like crazy, 0 – in a complete rut):
about a 3! brain soup.
Top three favourite tropes:
your trauma did not make you kind, it made you cruel (or vice versa)
enemies to lovers (i am not immune)
blue gay/red gay
Share a random frustration:
IF I COULD JUST HAVE EVERY COMPANION'S SPEECH RHYTHM MEMORIZED WITHOUT SECOND GUESSING MYSELF AND WATCHING 3 HOURS OF THEIR DIALOGUE BEFORE WRITING THAT WOULD BE SO EPIC
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Finally finished NATLA. Thoughts:
They ruined Yue's character. Why would a princess be helping casually in the kitchen. Why would a princess display 0 manners around someone she just met. personality completely different.
They had Yue faint repeatedly just to magically sit back up when they needed an exposition dump, then faint again.
They made Hahn a good person? Why is Yue suddenly a waterbender and traipsing around the spirit world? It doesnt add anything and feels out of place.
The interactions between Pakku and Katara were stilted and forced. In the cartoon she had a training period and earned his trust, but here it was just instantly granted that she was the person to report to during battle, yet she doesnt know AQa's defense layout or anything else because she just arrived.
battle pacing in Agna Qel'a is weird. too much standing around talking.
The dialogue is so Marvelized. quip quip quip quip quip.
Aang is joyless and talking like Iron Man. (not the actor's fault.)
Zuko is perfect, 11/10. Every change they made is perfect.
Combining arc beats (e.g. Jet + mechanist) worked surprisingly well.
They made Bumi into an asshole and his dialogue was repetitive, that arc dragged out way too long.
Wasn't atmospheric enough. everything felt like a set.
How did Momo, half the size of a housecat, push that girl out of the way? physics are not mathing.
Why did they take Momo to the spirit oasis to heal but not any of the battle participants or injured civilians. Scene ate too much screen time and sapped urgency from the battle. Makes AQ'a look stupid.
Jet was perfect.
Multiple issues with logic, too long to post. Writing is shallow.
Azula is snarking to her father too much considering she just watched her brother get half his face melted off for one instance of disrespect.
Pecs. 🙏
not enough in-series justification for why Ozai wanted Zuko out of the way in favor of Azula. We know why, but they aren't standing on their own for this beat and have to lean on the cartoon.
Katara and Sokka getting btfo by Koh felt... really strange. they were just there to job and create stakes.
Kuruk and Kyoshi were great inclusions.
Jee/the 41st was a great detail, best part of series.
Azula being the puppetmaster behind Zhao is strange. She knows things by magic I guess, they made a 14 year old girl not just plausibly cunning but straight up omniscient. Logic breaking keikaku doori with her and Ozai.
Ozai using AQ'a as a distraction to take Omashu makes zero logical sense and I don't want to write an essay so just think about this for 5 minutes. I almost screamed.
bf's contribution: "this feels like it was written during the writer's strike."
Visually it was beautiful and the scenery and costumes were great. Other than Yue and Pakku the actors were all fine. Zuko's actor was beyond perfect and his firebending was next level gorgeous.
Sokka's new backstory was a good inclusion. Sokka got a lot of great scenes and the actor is a perfect fit.
Gyatso was also astonishingly perfect. chef's kiss to the actor, his performance was beautiful.
Very much noticing the Kataang scenes were all removed and we got some Zutara allusions. I ship that so yay.
The Sokka/Suki scenes were spicy. However she removed her makeup in 3 seconds flat and that broke my immersion. Please ask a woman next time. otherwise yes I ship that. Just kiss already!
I like the beautiful older lady they put in charge of Kyoshi Island. Nice to see more females in leadership positions.
The lack of the Azula chime is criminal. Her using feminine charm to lure rebels into a trap was a great scene to introduce her. Glad to see rebels, it makes it feel more politically realistic.
The opening scene in ep 1 had Mulan's opening scene vibes in a good way.
Overall: enjoyable with a few caveats but writing quality falls apart upon critical inspection. Much better than I expected, rewatch-worthy. 8/10.
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Lissie’s Writers’ Iron Chef #10 Masterlist
[PROMPT]
Half the names on the list have already been crossed off.
Prompt here
Completed challenges below. If I have missed your post please don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll add you on :)
@pix-writes
dave york, kind of dave york x reader, here
@the-blind-assassin-12
marcus pike x f!reader, here
@insomniamamma
ezra x f!reader, here
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Writers' Iron Chef #18
[PROMPT]
"H-how long have you been standing there?"
[TIME LIMIT]
Optional, 10 minutes prep. time
30 minutes writing time
Optional, 10 minutes editing time
[WHEN COMPLETED]
Please create your own post, and link back to this post. Tag me if you want your post reblogged to this page. Please use the tags “lissie’s writers’ iron chef” and “writers’ iron chef 18” so we can all find each other’s works :)
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