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the_machine_mod ([personal profile] the_machine_mod) wrote in [community profile] meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm

Prompt Post 01

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astolat: lady of shalott weaving in black and white (Default)

Re: Fill: All Work (Kara/John) [Explicit] [Non-con/dub-con]

[personal profile] astolat 2013-08-24 02:24 am (UTC)(link)
This is seriously fantastic -- it makes Reese's dull misery incredibly palpable, and this sense he just can't stop. above all he has to make sure he has his face under control before he lifts his head from Kara's shoulder, because she gets a little lazy after she comes for the second time, but she never misses a thing -- yes, omg. Great.

Finch/Reese, Root, forced trust fall, Reese in danger

(Anonymous) 2013-08-24 12:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Root will never be done playing games with them. She has information they need, and in order to get it all John has to do is a trust fall. He is forced to put himself in a situation where he could get really hurt if Finch doesn't get there (handcuffed to something in a rough area of town, locked up in an abandoned building, made to take a sedative that will ultimately arrest his breathing, etc). Root thinks there's no way Harold will get there in time to rescue him so she gives John the information.

John thinks that despite everything, Root really doesn't know Harold if she thinks that. And Harold thinks Root must not know by now that anyone who poses a threat to John will be dealt with, by the machine if not by him.

Finch/Reese or Finch and Reese, protective BAMF Finch

(Anonymous) 2013-08-24 02:45 pm (UTC)(link)
I'd just like to see Harold threatening someone over John - maybe someone has hold of him, has got in his space, maybe it's Logan Pierce becoming a stalking pain in the ass. Just Harold totally making them respect and fear the the small guy in the suit and glasses because he will destroy your world.

Re: Inscribed (Finch/Reese) - no warnings, not explicit

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-25 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
I love this so much. And the tattoo bringing back memories of Nathan! *hugs Harold* He didn't believe I'd do it, either. :)
hollyberries: (Default)

Re: FILL: Ring Fence, (Finch/Reese, Reese forced to interrogate Finch)

[personal profile] hollyberries 2013-08-26 02:29 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, it's alright for this one, just add it for future fills, thank you!
callmecathy: Blue Bird (Default)

Fill: Be Still (Harold/John) [Teen] [Graphic Violence (maybe)]

[personal profile] callmecathy 2013-08-26 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
A/N: OP, I changed the details just a bit, and it occurs to me that I possibly hijacked this prompt. My apologies. But I still hope you like it. =)

"Finch, I left Jacobs with Fusco at the safe house. What about your end?"

Harold taps a key, tabbing across to a new window. "Almost done," He says, surveying the digital records of the altered books Jacobs had attempted to inform the police of. The office is abandoned, monitors powered down; the walls flicker with streetlights and headlights from two floors below. "I'll be down shortly." He says.

"I'll be there in five."

The bar flashes green. "Harrison and the rest of his associates are not going to give up. They'll keep trying to find Mr. Jacobs."

"Just get me a location."

"Bringing one up now." He uses one hand to pull the thumb drive from its port as he runs a GPS track on Harrison. "Oh."

"What's wrong?"

Because of course John can tell that something is wrong from the single syllable, they know every meaning to a hitched breath or an edged word, either given or received across the line: they have to. It's how they stay alive.

"It seems," Harold says, watching the dot converge on his own, "that they're here."

"I'm coming--"

Cold, against the side of his neck. He freezes.

"Give me your phone." A man's voice, smooth and pressed as his suit. Harold reaches into his pocket and extends it. "And your ear piece."

Harold shifts in his chair, slowly. Six men, all armed and well-dressed; shadows glance off them as traffic rolls past below. Harrison crushes the ear piece under his foot, keeps the phone in his hand.

"Where's your partner?" Harrison asks. "I'd like a word with him. He caused injury to quite a few of my associates today." His knife-- his knife?-- glints in the half-light.

Blurred noises are coming from the phone's speaker. Harrison places it on the edge of the table and shifts closer to Harold.

"It's on speaker," Harrison says, toying with the knife. "He can hear you. Call to your partner."

Harold has his fingers clenched tight around the edge of the swivel chair. His eyes flick to the phone, then off.

It's fast, the switchblade flashing and the pain, spiking through his shoulder, warm spread of heat and blood. Harold is too shocked to cry out.

"Call to him," Harrison tells Harold, "call to your friend," and the blade twists. Harold chokes back a moan. The man closes in, closer than the distance of the blade in his shoulder. Harrison presses the phone into his hand. "I know it hurts." He says, hand settling back onto the handle of the blade. "Call for your partner."

"He doesn't have to." John's voice is barely above a whisper, but Finch hears it. The men turn in one swift motion and then Reese is moving, except moving is barely the right word, not when he's blurring past the tables with that predator's grace, one hand on a gun and the other reaching for the nearest man, twisting him in front of himself, using him as a shield.

The bullets plow into Harrison's man. John drops him, spinning behind a cabinet. "Down, Finch." John shouts, and Harold dives to the floor.

It hurts.

His elbow slams into the swivel chair a moment before Harrison hits the ground, clawing at his shoulder-- which Harold might put to ironic coincidence, except it's John, so of course it isn't. Harrison still has his gun. He rolls, aiming it as John ducks a blow from another man. Harold latches onto the chair and shoves it forward, over Harrison's hand; he's rewarded with a yell of pain when John's next shots takes Harrison twice in the other shoulder.

Harold knows the second shot is redundant.

The last man darts out of cover, gun arcing up. John turns, not fast enough. The four bullets hit John in the chest.

"Reese!" Harold shouts, and John squeezes off two shots as he falls, behind the line of monitors. "John--" Harold pulls himself to his feet, can barely even feel the pain under the tight raging void of no in his head, scrambles around the tables and drops to his knees. John's still, on his side. Blood seeps through his shirt. "John, J--"

He rolls over, coughing. "Relax, Finch. It's just a graze." A grimace as he probes at his ribs. "Good thing I put on a vest this morning."

Harold crumples the excess of John's shirt in his hands. "Good thing they didn't aim for your head." He hisses.

"You're shoulder." He says, reaching out, coming away with blood; the knife is gone, must have been jostled out in the fall, which explains the pain. "It's not too deep. Messy." He blinks, like a wince.

There are sirens wailing, far-off.

"I called Carter." John comments. "In case I didn't make it out, you'd have back-up."

Harold looks at him, because those words-- unacceptable, they are simply unacceptable. His hands are still fisted in John's shirt and he's hanging on to him; he's been doing so long enough now that there's no way not to notice.

There's a stirring there in John's eyes, something Harold thinks he already has decoded. But the sirens are still in the air and then John has his hand girded around Harold's arm, angling himself so Harold can barely see the men and the blood on the floor past John's figure. He knows what John's doing. He lets him anyway. They leave the office, reach the street.

"Must have lost my keys back there." John says, patting his pockets as they stand under the streetlight. He fishes out a wire-- apparently he carries mangled coat hangers around with him, which is amusing if not alarming-- and presses it against the lock.

Harold sighs and produces a key from his coat. They have copies to each other's cars, to apartments, to safe houses: yet more precautions.

John holds his hand out.

Harold glares at him. "You're not driving. You were shot, Mr. Reese."

"Your shoulder's worse." Which is probably true. But it's the ease with which he writes off his injuries that irks Harold.

John shrugs, under lamplight and shadows, and Harold's skin aches with want. Possibly need. When exactly those two words became equivalent expressions is a dangerous uncertainty. "Unless it actually penetrates skin," John continues, "I'm not sure it can be counted as shot--"

Harold grabs John's coat by the lapels and pulls him close, kisses him hard. And it tastes frantic and desperate and afraid, because in their line of work, maybe fear replaces ardor. And Harold hates that. He really, really hates that. It occurs to him that he's made an uncertain move, which is something he does exactly right next to never-- but it's too late to backpedal now, he can see it in John's eyes: a dozen things clicking into place like a lock, or maybe they're locks being opened. A ragged noise emerges from John's throat. He leans in, winding his arms around Harold's shoulders and waist and pulling him forward, impossibly closer.

When they draw back, John's expression is one that Harold has only ever been able to classify as his "spade for a spade" look: a tilt of the head and half-raised eyebrows. "Okay," John says, resolved, and then kisses him again, draws him deeper, as the fear plows in strong as a riptide-- but it's more than that this time, Harold was right: it's past want. He knows he needs to stop. He needs to simplify this equation. Except he has loved and learned and lost, and he knows that there is no simplifying this.

The sirens drift through the night and John breaks away, snagging the keys out of Harold's hand on an giddy hitch of a breath, and swings the door open for him. Harold climbs in; his hands are shaking hard enough that he doubts he could drive if he tried.

They park six blocks from the safe house, Harold insists. "Predictability is vulnerability", and he has a clenching, dreadful feeling that he has just began a vulnerability that surpasses all others. Or perhaps, Harold thinks, as John brushes against his uninjured shoulder, it's been a predictability, all along.

The first aid kit is within easy reach. John lays out disinfectant and gauze and a needle and a bag rattles as Harold fixes an ice pack; they pull up two chairs and sit in front of each other, knees to knees.

Harold hands John the ice. The graze arcs wide enough to require stitches; Harold runs the needle through the sub-dermal layers, fingers sure and disconcertingly practiced at this point-- he's learned how to do a lot of things since their venture started. He's relearned just as many or more.

John patches up his shoulder, nimble and careful; more Lidocaine, he asks, and Harold shakes his head. They've done this, far too many times. But suddenly every lingering touch that had been passed off as accidental before means infinitely more now: John's fingers brushing against Harold's collarbone as he moves away from his shoulder, Harold's hands flitting along John's side as he deals with the graze, and what have I done is just an voidless little regret that isn't. It should be, and it isn't.

They clean up quietly. John bins the bloody bandages and gauze and Harold slowly, as slowly as he reasonably can, returns the first aid kit to its original state. The kitchen hums with silence.

Harold latches the kit, a sharp final snap through the room. He stares at it; John is looking at him: he can feel the graveness of it, the waiting eyes. Harold raises his head. "This is exceedingly unadvisable."

He meets his gaze with a terrible, terrible acceptance. "Yeah," John agrees, "I figured." and turns and heads towards the bedroom.

They are tight rope walkers living on the decision to never look down.

He's waiting for Harold at the doorway.

Harold is stepping inside when he stops, places the flats of his palms against John's chest: pushing him away, needing him close. One last-ditch effort to keep the night from upending. Because it makes no sense: to love, only to lose; except that makes no sense either, it's the same as saying there's no point in living, just to die. But knowing and logic and reason are nothing, those are data and circuitry, the easy parts. It's John who makes him feel all too alive.

He envelops Harold's wrists in his hands. "I can't offer you four years," John says, "but I can give you tonight."

Harold's throat is so tight that it hurts. "Never took you for a man who opted for one-night stands."

A flicker of a smile. "For as many as we have."

The room is spare; there are neither calendars on the walls or planners in the drawers. Harold isn't sure he believes in such things anymore. He isn't sure he believes in anything but "now".

He lets one of his hands slide down to tangle around John's, and then Harold pulls them towards the bed.
Edited 2013-08-26 16:13 (UTC)

Re: Fill: Be Still (Harold/John) [Teen] [Graphic Violence (maybe)]

(Anonymous) 2013-08-26 04:24 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here - just home from work, hard day and then there is this and I would very much like to hug you right now.

Because it makes no sense: to love, only to lose; except that makes no sense either, it's the same as saying there's no point in living, just to die. But knowing and logic and reason are nothing, those are data and circuitry, the easy parts. It's John who makes him feel all too alive.

*snuffles* You can hijack any of my prompts, whenever.

Fusco/Reese, PTSD, angry protective!Fusco, dub-con, needy!Reese

(Anonymous) 2013-08-26 05:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch gets hurt - minor but he's out of commission for a few days and he asks Fusco to take on a special mission.

He wants him to follow John.

Fusco is reluctant - Wonder Boy practically has eyes in the back of his head and if he catches him on his tail, Lionel expects to get thrown through a wall. But he can tell Finch is worried, so he agrees.

What he finds horrifies him - Reese tied up, thick length of material tied over his mouth, while some guy basically molests him. Fusco jumps in to save him and beats the guy up. It's only when he threatens to call Finch that Reese snaps out of it and tells him it's not what it looks like, and Finch is not going to know anything about this.

Fusco avoids them for a few days, realising that Reese let himself be put in that situation. Then after a close call John shows up at his door, desperate and Fusco can't turn him away. Fusco basically dominating John but in a caring way, determined to show him he can get what he needs without putting himself in the dubious care of strangers. He forces a promise from John that he won't go to anyone else for this from now on.

Finch doesn't find out what was going on but accepts Fusco's assurance that it's dealt with.
giandujakiss: (poi)

Re: Fill: Be Still (Harold/John) [Teen] [Graphic Violence (maybe)]

[personal profile] giandujakiss 2013-08-26 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, I love the way you depict their relationship.

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-26 10:41 pm (UTC)(link)
This kind of went its own way so isn't exactly a fill for the prompt. But . . . it was inspired by, so, here tis . . .


“Sir?”

His second’s eyes were flat, face unnaturally still.

“What is it, Anthony?”

Anthony stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “Talked to Halland at the 8th Precinct. He said his cut was three hundred short.”

Elias took off his glasses and set them on the desk. “Louis?”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright.”

Anthony hovered by the doorway, waiting for instructions.

“David Rosario gave an interview yesterday,” Elias said eventually. He nodded toward the creased newspaper on the side table. “He’s considering a run for City Council.”

Anthony nodded. Rosario’s father was heavy in real estate in the city. Over the years, Elias’s crew had worked a few deals with him for prime waterfront property. The kind of property required for discreet import and export.

“I was thinking we would make a donation,” Elias said. “Do you know where Rosario’s people like to go?”

Anthony thought for a moment. “The Forty, in Chelsea. It’s not far from his city office.”

Elias shook his head, and Anthony grinned back at him, scar crinkling. The Forty. Not exactly discreet. “Reserve a table. Get Louis the money and a photo of Rosario’s PR guy. Twenty thousand, mixed hundreds and fifties. Drop is tonight, nine o’clock.”

No sense waiting around.

Anthony nodded. “You want me to go?”

“No,” Elias said. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll put Matty and Vic on the corner.” Anthony was gone before he could respond.



It was early August, and the evening sun was still hot and bright at 8pm. The fading brim of an old Yankees ball cap shielded his eyes – and his face – as Elias stepped off the baking sidewalk, past a massive bouncer, and into the cool interior of the club.

The Forty was over the top, but the service was exquisite. The hostess ignored his casual dress and smiled, glamorous and warm. As if she knew him from Adam. “Good evening, sir. Would you like a seat at the bar?”

“I’ve reserved a booth, actually. Charlie Burton?”

She led him past two gleaming glass bars, crowded with the after work crowd, and toward the intimate collection of tables and booths in the rear. The room was cavernous. High chandeliers and recessed bulbs threw just enough light to make the pale marble floors and white leather seating gleam. Men in designer suits and brand name sports jerseys leaned into slender young women tucked into impossibly fitted dresses. They clustered into circles, laughing and watching and drinking. A few couples were plastered together on a vaguely defined dance floor, moving to the sly beat of trendy club music.

Charlie Burton slipped into his booth, ordered a soda and lime, and settled in to wait.

Not ten minutes later little Jamie Arena slid into the opposite side of the booth, smiling nervously when Elias looked up from his drink. Little Jamie probably wasn’t old enough to be legal in this club, but he was well over six feet these days, and his dark button-down shirt stretched uncomfortably over broad shoulders. He rested his big hands – a dockworker’s hands, just like his father’s – on the table.

Elias hadn’t expected company. But he wasn’t overly surprised by it, either.

“Hello, Jamie.”

“Hello sir.”

“Anthony tell you to come out here tonight?”

“Yes sir.”

Elias nodded. “Do you know who we’re looking for?”

“Mr. Marconi showed me a picture. But I’ve never met him before.”

“Good.” Elias shifted farther into the booth, so his own face wasn’t so visible from the entrance. His eyes swept the back half of the club. “Let me – ”

Something caught his attention. Niggled at him.

A profile, familiar but not.

“Sir?”

His eyes wandered back over the club, over the dance floor, searching the crowd, studying, discarding. And then he saw it.

It was John’s body, he realized. John’s loose suit.

He considered calling if off, for a split second. And then he relaxed.

It couldn’t be John. A body double, sure. But his face was hidden in the neck of the woman he was pressed against, and the body was totally lax, boneless. Oblivious to everything and everyone around him. And that wasn't John.

Still Elias stared.

“Sir?”

“Let me know when Louis comes in.”

James nodded and sank back into the booth, dividing his attention between the women and the door.

Another man approached the couple on the dance floor, weaving surely through the cluster of people. Dark neat hair, round face, expensive charcoal shirt and tie. He was a little shorter than the John look-a-like, but confident, smirking as he walked up to them and leaned close into the other man’s broad back, reaching past him to caress the woman’s hips. She laughed and pressed forward. Elias watched them idly. It never failed to amaze him, what some people were willing to exhibit. They didn’t seem to realize what they gave away. How absolutely vulnerable they were, to any predator who cared to watch them.

The man’s hand smoothed from her hip up the taller man’s arm. Over his shoulder, into his hair, his fingers curled, and pulled. John’s face came up from the woman’s neck.

It was John.

Re: FILL: Total Knee Arthroplasty [Hospital Staff, Reese] [Teen] [Swearing, Kneecapping]

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 02:25 am (UTC)(link)
Funny and clever and convincing - thanks for this!

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 05:40 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here! Ooooohh John what have you gotten into? Can't wait for the next part!

Reese/Finch: Reese gets himself arrested, Finch bails him out

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 06:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese is in a bad mood, either over a case that's gone bad, or he's reminded of something in his past, any reason that gets him down is good.
His way of dealing with it is to let off some steam. He gets drunk and gets into a fight on purpose, holding back because he 'deserves the pain'. He gets arrested.

It's a Friday night so he'll have to stay in jail for the weekend if nobody comes to bail him out. He knows that Finch would come for him in a heartbeat but doesn't want to call him and would rather stay in jail for the time being so he won't have the chance to hurt anyone else. He figures he can still think about it on Monday.

Little does he know that Finch was worried about him already so he knows exactly where Reese is and comes to get him anyway. Reese is surprised and doesn't want to talk about it, Finch thinks that's not healthy, yadda yadda.

I'd prefer Reese/Finch friendship.

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 2/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
The man behind him mouthed at his throat and John turned his head, eyes sliding carelessly over the room, even glancing over Elias’s booth. John said something into the ear of the man behind him and shifted between them, movement weirdly slow. Sensuous. The man behind him caught John at the hips and ground forward provocatively. John’s head tilted down again, as if gravity was too much for him. The woman pulled at his shirt and ran her lips along his jaw. The man behind him caught John around the waist and they drifted toward a booth, staggering, leaning into each other.

Elias looked back down at his table, letting the brim of his cap cover his face, and gave himself a minute to think it through.

If John was working, if he was at the club to intercept Louis or Elias, then he wouldn’t be drunk. Simple as that. He wouldn’t let himself be so preoccupied, either, or so noticeable. Elias wasn’t the only one watching that show. Women all over the room were glued to it.

John’s business here must be personal – the fact that Elias’s crew was running an operation in the same club, on the same night, was just colossal bad luck.

No matter. Louis’s takedown would be smooth, and Anthony had padded the club – hell, half the neighborhood – with more than enough backup to handle any contingency. Even John.

James sat forward. “He’s here . . . He’s at the bar.”

Finally. Elias glanced at his watch. Ten to nine. “Have a bag with him?”

A nod.

“Let me know when he moves somewhere more private.”

Jamie’s eyes dutifully rested on the bar. Elias swirled the soda water in front of him. It was long since flat and warm.

He thought about John’s preternatural calm on the day he’d guided Charlie Burton to safety. John’s almost inhuman self-control in the yard at Riker’s, shrugging off Elias’s protection, letting a mob beat the shit out of him. Just to protect the Man in the Suit’s anonymity. Just to keep his little game with Mr. Crane going.

Elias glanced again at the booth across the room, where John now slumped into the man next to him, so drunk he was practically catatonic. They’d ordered drinks, shots, and John reached clumsily forward to grip his glass, barely managing the coordination required to throw it back. The man with him gripped him by the hair and kissed him wetly. John hardly noticed.

“He’s moving to a booth.” Jamie nodded across the room, to a point behind Elias. “He’s there.”

Elias stood.

“Wait here,” he said.

He hesitated. But really, any new leverage on John and Crane would be worth exposing his own presence. At the moment he had no leverage. No information at all. And that was dangerous, given the power Crane seemed to wield in this city, the sheer mass of information he was apparently able to collect about Elias himself. “Jamie, the two guys in the booth behind you, a shirt and tie and a suit. You see them?”

James turned a bit, nonchalant, like he was looking for a waitress. “The homos?”

“Let me know if the suit goes anywhere. You come get me.”

Elias turned away from Jamie then, from John, and the novelty of John. It was time to work.

Louis looked surprised when Elias slipped into the booth across from him, but not overly concerned. He’d never been the sharpest tool in Elias’s belt.

“Hello, Louis.”

“Hey, Boss. What’re you doing here?

Elias smiled. “I’m here to see you, Louis.”

Some slight awareness crept into Louis’ eyes. He was no strategist, but he had the uncanny instincts of a wild animal, and those instincts were obviously speaking to him now.

He cocked his head and looked back at Elias, bold and curious. “Me? What about?”

“I’m told some of your drops are coming up short, Louis.”

“Me? No.”

“Yes Louis, you.” Elias raised an eyebrow. “Unless I’ve been told wrong?”

Louis shrugged. “If my drops are short, they’re short. But I’m not skimming it.”

“Okay. Well, put the bag on the table, Louis, and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Elias unzipped the bag and counted the stacks he’s put there a few hours before. Three clips of $100 bills, fifty bills to a clip. Two clips of $50 bills, fifty bills to a clip. Just like he’d packed.

Elias smiled at Louis and reached in to count the first clip. He counted out loud, and got to forty-nine. He moved to the second clip, got to fort-nine. And the third, and the forth. Louis was sweating at that point, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. He wasn't that bright, was a cheat and a liar, but he was a professional through and through.

Elias zipped the bag closed. “You having money problems, Louis?”

“No, Boss. I’m not skimming.”

“If you’re having trouble paying your bills, you should go to your boss, ask for a raise. Reduce expenses or maybe get a new job, take on some extra work. Stealing your boss’s money, though. That’s not a smart move, Louis. That makes you untrustworthy. Inspires resentment among your colleagues.”

“Boss, I - ”

“I packed this bag myself, Louis. I watched Anthony give it to you. Now,” Elias leaned in a little, smiled, “it’s missing four hundred dollars. Where’s the rest of the money, Louis?”

Louis leaned in too. “I don’t have it. I didn’t take it! Boss, I – ”

“We’re done, Louis. I’m not your boss anymore. If you don’t have my money, get out of my sight.” Elias nodded toward the door.

“Look, I swear I – ”

“Your word doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, Louis, and we’re done. I’m not going to see you again.”

A long moment, indecision, and then Louis stood up. He was sweating and angry now, looming over Elias.

Elias looked up at him seriously. “Good-bye, Louis. Good luck.”

Louis stalked away, headed out through the front door, and Elias got up and carried the bag back to Jamie. “We’re done here tonight, son. You can go on home.”

Jamie stood, towering over Elias awkwardly, glancing at the bag. “Anthony said to stay with you. Till you got back.”

“Alright then, Jamie, let’s head back.”

He looked toward John’s booth, but the club was darker now than it had been, louder and more crowded. It was hard to see. “Our friend in the suit still here?”

“Yeah, nobody left that booth, Boss.”

Elias hitched the bag over his shoulder and pushed through the crowd, heading for John.

Finch / Reese, or Finch and Reese, possessive!machine, potentially dark?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch taught the machine to learn. He never taught it to stop. And so it watches Finch. It evaluates the reasons for everything he does and pays particular attention to how he behaves towards, and handles, the asset John Reese.

It learns how to be possessive of Reese, from Finch, when Finch doesn't even know he does that. Until he realises the machine has started to view John not just as an asset but something they both own - and share a responsibility for since sometimes John shows none for himself.

Now he has this information, what will he do about it? Try to dissuade the machine? Come around to its way of thinking and without John being aware, gradually enforce ownership without John realising?

Just how far will they go?

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 07:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Wow, I wasn't sure anyone would come back and see this, since it was posted awhile ago. Cool. Story is crawling ahead at slow pace. Don't know why that is - John and Harold's level of efficient, I am not.

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 2/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 08:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Somebody's about to take a kicking. *settles down to watch*

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 08:41 pm (UTC)(link)
You're doing brill, I'm loving this, can't wait to see where it goes!

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 1/?

(Anonymous) 2013-08-27 08:51 pm (UTC)(link)
You're doing great, can't wait for the next part!

Genderbent!Undercover!Reese, Reese/Elias, even if just implied. Dub/noncon.

[personal profile] msunlucky 2013-08-28 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
I am DYING for more Elias/Reese, so take this prompt with a grain of salt and go where your muse takes you...

So (Jane?) Reese goes undercover as some big time gun dealer and ends up running into Elias unexpectedly. Elias goes along with her cover, but it comes with a price. Elias vouches for her credibility, but only by implying to Reese's desired target that they are in a relationship. To deny Elias would definitely set her target off, so Reese goes along with it.

Elias keeps touching/sitting too close/caressing Reese, and she has to put up with it or blow her cover.

Bonus -- Would die if Elias gets her alone somehow for a quickie.

Re: Reese/Elias in prison

[personal profile] msunlucky 2013-08-28 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
Seconding so hard.

Re: Fill: Be Still (Harold/John) [Teen] [Graphic Violence (maybe)]

(Anonymous) 2013-08-28 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)
"He doesn't have to."

-> cue John's action theme from the soundtrack playing in my head :-) Great.

And it tastes frantic and desperate and afraid, because in their line of work, maybe fear replaces ardor. And Harold hates that. He really, really hates that.

Love this, great observation.

Finch/Reese, dragon!Finch, POI AU

(Anonymous) 2013-08-30 04:37 pm (UTC)(link)
The reason Finch is so paranoid? He told Nathan and Nathan walked away from him - so he hasn't told anyone else, but he's actually a dragon (I'm thinking like Toothless myself). He didn't intend to tell John, but John knows something is going on. When Finch has to change into his other form to save John, he fears John will leave him as well.

John works hard at proving to Harold he is not going anywhere.

Re: Finch/Reese, dragon!Finch, POI AU

(Anonymous) 2013-08-30 04:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Katica Locke wrote dragon POI AU. I don't think it's actually what you're looking for at all but I thought I'd mention it.

http://katicalockefanfic.wordpress.com/fanfiction-r-nc-17/here-be-dragons/

http://katicalockefanfic.wordpress.com/fanfiction-r-nc-17/be-my-scaly-valentine/

Re: Finch/Reese, dragon!Finch, POI AU

(Anonymous) 2013-08-30 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Thank you *runs to read* :)