Prompt Post 01

[the_machine_mod]

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---

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Comments

Reese/Finch, undercover in a gay bar

[(Anonymous)]

Just because it's been done 1 2 20 A LOT of times doesn't mean it's not STILL AWESOME

Reese/Finch, dystopian huddling for warmth

[(Anonymous)]

Background: civilization has been shattered by a war of artificial intelligences. Reese and Finch, protected and guided by the Machine, make their way arduously through the broken post-apocalyptic landscape trying to help the remnants of humanity survive and rebuild.

They find a snug cave and huddle in for the night. It's very cold, and they're very tired. TELL ME MORE.

Re: Reese/Finch, dystopian huddling for warmth

[(Anonymous)]

YES PLEASE TELL US MORE

Reese/Finch, Finch/other, pretend to be married

[(Anonymous)]

This time Finch has to pretend to be married/dating someone not-Reese. Reese goes quietly crazy as he watches them. (Stoic pining ftw.)

Re: Reese/Finch, Finch/other, pretend to be married

[bkwyrm]

+1!

Elias / Anthony Marconi

[(Anonymous)]

Elias seducing/corrupting Anthony away from the mob. Or alternately, just picking him up off the street after things didn't work out the way he thought they would in the Mafia.

The Machine in a Superhero universe

[(Anonymous)]

No fandom is complete without Superhero!AU's, but how difficult would it be to have the Machine in a world where secret identities have to be maintained? How easy would it be for the Machine to find out that Bruce Wayne is Batman? Would the Machine report the numbers of runaway Mutants with dangerous powers as Relevent or Irrelevent? Was this part of the reason the Government wanted it built in the first place, but Harold made the machine so it helped protect heros?

tldr: how does the Machine work in DC or Marvel universe? Does it help or hinder superheros?

Re: The Machine in a Superhero universe

[tafadhali]

In a superhero universe, the Machine is built by Oracle and John is Black Canary. Jusssssst sayin'.

(Joking aside: very cool idea.)

Reese/Zoe Morgan

[ljc]

I love their low-key interactions, the sly humour, the chemistry and how they accept one another for who and what they are but still have hopes and desires that seep there here and there. It's all grey areas and between the lines. How do they interact between numbers? Is it all strip poker and good scotch? Do they trade titbits of personal information like poker chips? What happens when things lurking below the surface come to light? Do they confront or deny?

Finch/Shaw, it's all right with me

[(Anonymous)]

Shaw figures out (before or after) that Finch is in love with Reese, but will never make a move because Reese owes him too much and couldn't say no. Basically I just want them to get enjoyably laid with no emotional attachment, which is how they both want it, or at least think they want it.

Bonus points: does Reese find out? What happens after? (Feel free to go Reese/Finch or Reese/Finch/Shaw!)

[(Anonymous)]

Carter/Reese; Finch tries to set them up in increasingly less subtle situations, finally they cave.

John buys cupcakes

[(Anonymous)]

From the FAQ:

...if a story begins, "On Monday, John went to the post office. On Tuesday, he shot some guys in the kneecaps and punched some guys in the face. On Wednesday, he bought cupcakes," and the rest of the story is about John picking out cupcakes, it would not require the [Graphic violence] label.

Now I must have the story where John buys cupcakes. Up to you whether the final story does or does not in fact require the graphic violence label. Pairing optional, would prefer Reese/Finch if you have one

FILL: John buys cupcakes

[lazulisong]

...it's been a long day/week/life so apologies for quality, but cupcakes, right.

---

On Wednesday, John bought cupcakes.

There was a little bakery on one of the routes he ran, one of the type with a depressingly twee name and a store design self-consciously and ironically based on 1950s Good Housekeeping ads. The owners were in their late twenties and aggressively interested in local foods and organic ingredients; John thought they looked like they'd spent two or three years in Portland with the other fucking hipsters and then come back to New York to use their trust fund money.

They seemed nice enough, though, always there at four am while John ran past; sweeping the sidewalk and setting up chairs by six am for the muffin crowd. The shop smelled good, too, sweet but not cloying. And John liked cupcakes, secretly, a little ashamed of himself. They were such an unnecessary thing, such a civilian thing. He'd dreamed about them a couple times overseas, and woken up almost able to taste them. In his dreams he was in grade school again, and it was someone's birthday (not his) or someone's wife had made a bunch and they'd brought them in, half shamed, half proud, to the guys at the base; he hadn't had one for five years maybe.

That Wednesday he took Bear with him for his run. Finch was deep in some coding fugue state and Bear had rolled his eyes up at him in mute appeal, so they'd run a couple five miles and were cooling down when they passed the shop. The owners kept an old dog bowl, a battered metal thing, outside, and Bear made a beeline for it. John stood holding Bear's leash while Bear lapped noisily at the water, and one of the owners poked her head out and said, "Is there enough water? Let me." Bear licked at the bottom of the bowl, and the girl took the bowl away and brought out more water, so cold the sides of the bowl were dewed with it, and Bear drank about half of it all at once and then tried to lick her hand too.

"Thanks," said John. He looked in the window while the girl petted Bear and made a fuss of him, and decided quite suddenly that he wanted a cupcake. There was one with a piped fat marshmallowy looking bird that he could get for Harold, too. "I don't want to leave him, but -- could I get one of those with the bird? and a Chantilly one, with the fruit on top." He pulled out his wallet.

When he got back to the library Bear was walking funny from trying to both heel and get his nose up into the box of cupcakes and John pulled out the dog cookie the girl had thrown in and sent him off to his bed. Harold was still hunched over his monitors, and barely looked up as they walked in. "A good run, Mr Reese?" he said.

"Pretty fair," said John, setting the cupcake for Harold where he would see it when he looked up from coding again, but away from Bear's eager nose.

John's cupcake was delicious; he tasted the memory of it all day long.

Crossover with Avengers: Finch/Reese, Barton/Coulson

[(Anonymous)]

The Machine turns up Coulson's number because mumble something in his past or S.H.I.E.L.D. related, so Reese starts to follow him. Turns out, Barton is also following Coulson because he has unrequited feelings and must protect.

Reese and Finch suspect Barton, then Reese and Barton team up to protect Coulson. Huge Bonus if Reese and Barton have a history, maybe a one-night stand when Reese was an agent and Barton was in the military in Afghanistan, maybe just UST and drinking/fighting/co-mission from back then.

Somehow Team Machine and Barton save Coulson. Somehow Finch learns that Reese is gay or bi from this and makes his move. Somehow Barton makes his move on Coulson. The two couples are happy and have hot sex, or fade out before the sex if you prefer. Or a foursome, if you can make it work, but I don't really see that, because of all the feeeeeelings.

Before or after movie as you wish.

Undercover elf

[(Anonymous)]

Someone is an elf. More than one someone! Go for it.

FILL: the mightiest and fairest (Finch/Reese) [general, no warnings]

[eris]

"Well, that... definitely explains the need for a cover identity," John managed, blinking. Harold's ears did protrude at a particular angle--

"Not what you expected, I imagine," Finch sniffed. Every part of his faintly-shimmering body language communicated disdain for the proceedings except his eyes, which steadfastly avoided contact, staring to the middle distance at John's left. "Not exactly to stereotype?"

John shrugged a shoulder. "Small and pointy? Makes a hell of a cookie?"

Finch scowled, but stopped glowing altogether, and the expression was a welcome relief. "I was moreso referring to breathtaking ethereal beauty, radiant gold tresses touched with starlike silver--but please, Mr Reese, do expand the boundaries of this particular humiliation."

John's lip twitched. "I think you're pretty, Harold."

"In any case," Finch ground out, "I trust your curiosity is finally satisfied? We have a new number."

John allowed the full spread of a smile, but only for a moment, before he returned his attention to the board. Harold's ears, while only gently pointed, had most definitely gone pink.

Reese/Finch sexpollen/fuck or die

[(Anonymous)]

One of them is sexpollened. The other one really doesn't want to take advantage, but the sexpollened one is doing badly enough that he's worried for his life if he doesn't get relief.

I'd really like to read the awkward morning after, too, with both of them blaming themselves for what happened and worrying about the other one.

Finch/Reese - Logan Pierce returns

[giandujakiss]

Logan Pierce is back and trying to woo Reese (platonically or otherwise). Finch is Not Amused.

Reese as an addict

[(Anonymous)]

Reese/Finch (slash or friendship): Reese has had to go undercover for a number which included drug use of some kind (e.g. cocaine) on his side to be believabe. Afterwards, he has a hard time quitting the drugs and tries to keep it a secret. Things escalate when Finch finds out and confronts him about it.

Re: Reese as an addict

[(Anonymous)]

Yesss. Fucking want this!

Reese/Finch, Culture AU

[killalla]

(If anyone else reads Iain M. Banks...)

I would love to see a Culture AU where Finch is a combat drone, or possibly a ship mind - I'm thinking Very Fast Picket (demilitarised Rapid Offensive Unit), Inquisitor Class, but whatever you'd like. Reese works for Special Circumstances, of course, and hijinks ensue. Bonus points if they have an unduly intimate relationship by Culture standards and the term "meatfucker" is used.

Re: Reese/Finch, Culture AU

[liviapenn]

LOLOL. If Finch were a Culture ship, what would his name be?

"That Won't Work"

"Technically, It's Ethical... Technically"

"Ghost in the Machine" (considered so blatantly tacky it goes all the way back around to being post-modern and avant-garde)

Finch/Fusco, clumsy kisses

[(Anonymous)]

Whatever reason comes to mind: a hastily improvised cover, Finch got roofied again, Fusco is semi-delirious after a rescue, whatever. Just Finch and Fusco and something clumsy and sort of sweet?

Fill: Out Of It - Finch/Fusco, drugged kisses - General - No Warnings

[neery]

"Fusco! Heyyy!" Finch said happily, waving at him with one hand without seeming to notice the way it made the zip tie cut into his forearm. He was smiling widely, blinking at Fusco through unfocused eyes.

Fusco sighed. "You know, this is becoming a bit of a habit with you. What did they give you this time, huh?" He carefully cut through the ties. Finch didn't seem to be hurt, apart from being high as a kite.

"I don't know, but I liiiiiiike it," Finch told him earnestly.

Fusco snorted. "Good for you. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Finch let Fusco pull him to his feet easily enough, but he wasn't much help in keeping himself upright, and when Fusco tried to nudge him into walking, he started swaying wildly in Fusco's hold. "Oh, oh dear!" Finch said, and then he started giggling.

Fusco sighed. "Here, come on." He pulled Finch against his side, holding him tight with an arm around his waist. They staggered up the basement steps together, Fusco half guiding, half dragging Finch. Halfway up, Finch dropped his head onto Fusco's shoulder and closed his eyes. It didn't make it any easier to keep him going in a straight line, but on the other hand it meant he didn't need to see the corpses sprawled messily in the hallway, so Fusco certainly wasn't going to make him look.

He took Finch home to his place. Finch had safehouses, but right now, Fusco didn't trust him to make a good decision. The suit was still "unavailable", whatever the fuck that meant; so Fusco's crappy little apartment it was. If he'd known he was going to have Mr. Classy And Expensive over, he might have picked up the laundry from the floor. Not that Finch was in any shape to notice. He was still smiling dreamily, listing a little from side to side when Fusco propped him up against the wall.

Fusco switched on the overhead lights, and Finch abruptly stopped smiling. "Hey! Hey, you're hurt," he said, reaching out with an unsteady hand to touch the place where, oh, yeah, Fusco's jaw felt swollen and sore.

"It's nothing," Fusco said, a little more brusquely than he'd meant to. He'd been clumsy, slow, let a guy get the drop on him when he should have been paying better attention. If it had been Reese, he would have complained; just another instance of Wonder Boy's antics getting Fusco banged up. But Finch's wide-eyed sympathy was making him feel flustered.

"You got hurt saving me. It's not nothing," Finch told him earnestly. He didn't even seem to realize that his hand was still cupping Fusco's face, his thumb resting gently against the throbbing bruise.

"Yeah, yeah, come on, time to get you to bed," Fusco told him, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably. God save him from affectionate stoners.

"No, I should – Detective," Finch said. He was drawing himself up, trying hard to look serious and composed and failing completely. His eyes weren't really tracking properly. "You're very… We're. I really… appreciate… your help. You're very brave," he said, and then he darted in to kiss the corner of Fusco's mouth, off-center and clumsy but still sort of sweet, despite the fact that Fusco had to grab him halfway through to keep him from overbalancing.

Fusco gently pushed him away, hearing his own laugh echo forced and uncomfortable in the narrow hallway. "Man, you're out of it."

"No, I mean it," Finch insisted.
"You're gonna be real pissed at yourself tomorrow, buddy," Fusco told him, propelling him gently forward with a hand between his shoulder blades. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He sat Finch down in the armchair while he changed the sheets. Finch was going to be prickly and defensive tomorrow, and who the fuck could blame him; those drugs were a serious mindfuck. But Fusco had been on the receiving end of Finch's anger before, his dry, sarcastic wit, so sharp it took a while to even feel the sting. Fusco was going to have to grin and bear it, but the less he gave Finch to be politely cutting about, the better. At least Fusco wasn't going to have to hear about how he'd made Finch sleep in dirty sheets.

Finch collapsed in a boneless sprawl as soon as Fusco let him. Fusco winced at the angle of his neck, bent at the very limit of what Finch's body would allow for. If he let him sleep like that, Finch probably wouldn't be able to get out of bed tomorrow at all. He tried to prop him up a little with pillows. Finch put up no resistance, blinking slowly up at the ceiling while Finch arranged him like a doll.

Fusco collapsed on his couch in his clothes, dragged his blanket over himself and determinedly pushed away all thoughts of what had happened tonight. People said things when they were high; it meant nothing. He could savor it now, Finch's drunken words of praise, and then let it sting tomorrow when Finch woke up regretting every single thing that had come out of his mouth; or he could go the fuck to sleep and not think about any of it ever again.

******

Fusco woke up to Finch making coffee in his kitchen, prim and buttoned up. If it hadn't been for the slight wrinkles in his clothes, you couldn't have told that anything had happened at all.

"Good morning, detective," Finch said, in his usual brisk tone, and Fusco found himself relaxing slightly. Business as usual, then. If Finch wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, that was just fine by him.

Finch stayed for breakfast, although Fusco couldn't quite figure out why. Finch didn't actually drink any of the coffee he'd brewed, and from the queasy expression that flickered over his face for a second when Fusco offered to share his toast, he was feeling the effects of last night more than he let on.

"About last night," Finch said, when Fusco had finished the last piece of toast. Fusco bit down on a sigh. So they were going to do this after all. Finch was shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Can we not?" Fusco said. "You were high, you didn't mean it, I'm gonna forget it ever happened, how's that?"

Finch actually looked tempted for a second, and then he pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders. Fusco sighed. So much for the easy out.

"I did mean it," Finch said, and that was still his usual brisk, no-nonsense tone, so ordinary it took Fusco a second to comprehend what he'd said. "All of it," Finch added, and then he took a deep breath, marched around the table like a man bracing to go to war, and pressed a quick kiss to Fusco's mouth, sober and precise this time but somehow no less clumsy.

For a moment, they were close enough that Fusco could actually hear the faint chime of Finch's earbud activating, and his quiet little breath of relief just before he said: "I have to go."

He left Fusco sitting there, staring after him in stunned silence. In the doorway Finch turned around to give him a tight, shaky smile. "Thank you, Lionel. For everything," he said, and then the door closed behind him and he was gone.

END

Joss Carter/Zoe Morgan, Highwayman AU

[(Anonymous)]

Zoe Morgan is an inane lesser noblewoman by day, a dashing highwaywoman plying the kingdom's roads by night. Joss Carter is the guardswoman sent to hunt her down and bring her to justice.

Re: Joss Carter/Zoe Morgan, Highwayman AU

[tafadhali]

+1! Oh my god, inane noblepeople who are secretly dashing highwaymen/swashbucklers are my FAVORITE.

Reese/Grace(/Finch), Grace is a number

[(Anonymous)]

The Machine gives Grace's number, Finch freaks out, Reese goes into overdrive, and things escalate from there.

Bonus if you include Carter questioning her life choices.

Re: Reese/Grace(/Finch), Grace is a number

[orockthro]

+A million
Might try to wrangle something close to a fill. We'll see.

Finch/Reese - Finch dresses down, Reese likes it

[annchi]

On a case, as part of a cover identity? Finch wears casual clothes or similar and Reese can't keep his eyes off him (or his hands to himself).

Re: Finch/Reese - Finch dresses down, Reese likes it

[dien]

+1

Reese/Finch, voice kink

[(Anonymous)]

Reese bets Finch that he can make Finch come without touching him. Plus, Finch cannot touch himself. This is ONLY using Reese's voice. Or you could switch 'em up if you're feeling adventurous.

FILL: The Rest Is Silence (Reese/Finch, voice kink, explicit, no warnings)

[hedda62]

I did switch it up, because, um. Personal preference. Fill is here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/764899

Carter/Reese. a/b/o

[(Anonymous)]

Reese is an alpha, Carter is a reluctant omega already in a relationship with Taylors dad or someone else, but the powers that be assigned them to each other. How will they work it out?

No noncon please! Would love Carter / Reese friendship.

Finch/Reese, hooker AU

[(Anonymous)]

After Ordos, with no money, no way to get a legal job to support himself, and feeling like he deserves the punishment, John starts working as a hooker in a BDSM club. He's letting himself get tied down even though he hates feeling helpless, whipped even though he doesn't enjoy the pain...

When he meets Harold, he's expecting more of the same, but somehow Harold can read him in a way no one else ever has, and he's paying attention to John's signals, and he manages to actually make John feel something in a way no one has in years. But John's not going to let himself become some millionaire's spoiled pet. He doesn't deserve that sort of life, after what he's done.

Of course, Harold's not quite who he thinks he is, and that's not all he wants from John...

Re: Finch/Reese, hooker AU

[(Anonymous)]

Great idea!

Finch/Reese self harm

[(Anonymous)]

Let's face it, Reese has issues. He deals with them in a not very healthy way and harms himself (or holds back during fights with the perpetrators to get hurt)

Re: Finch/Reese self harm

[(Anonymous)]

Please nonnies, fill!

Finch/Reese: torture during captivity

[(Anonymous)]

They are both held captive and one is forced to hurt the other while their captors watch. Afterwards their relationship is strained because of what happened and the guilt they feel.

John/Zoe

[(Anonymous)]

John/Zoe (friendship preferred): John is injured and because he doesn't want Harold to worry he goes to Zoe for help.

Fill: John/Zoe

[orockthro]

It’s midnight when her driver drops her off, earlier than she usually calls it a night in the city that never sleeps, but her clients have been quiet lately. If she were younger, more inexperienced, the lull would worry her, but she’s seen the cycle before. When the turf wars start, when the plays for power get a little more intentional, her business will be booming again. It’s feast or famine in the information world, and Zoe never starves.

Her door is unlocked. It’s shut; whoever forced it was a pro and the lock is intact. She swings it open and turns on the light. “Mind telling me what you’re doing in my...” It’s not a client or even a two bit burglar. John sits on her black leather sofa, his shoes left politely on the welcome mat a few feet away. “Well, this is a new development for us. Can’t say I mind, though.” She closes the door behind her and lets her heels (Devour, red, and worth every penny) drop off and land next to his black ones.

“Zoe,” he says. John is a man of few words, and while Zoe appreciates that about him, it is not without its frustrations.

“Did you at least bring wine?” She’s hungry but her fridge is empty so she settles for tin of peanuts stuffed in the back of a cupboard. They say ‘best before 2013’ and she decides ‘before 2013 ends’ is close enough. She looks back at him. There’s no wine bottle in his hands, but there is something red.

“Jesus.” The peanuts are forgotten on the countertop and she’s kneeling in front of him. “What happened?”

He looks fine, flushed if anything, and Zoe’s reminds herself to breathe. “Switchblade,” he says. He says it like a normal person would say ‘a vase of tulips’ or ‘raspberry tea’ and Zoe’s heart is back up in her throat. “Just a graze, but,” he nods towards the phone on the table next to them. She hadn’t noticed it before. The battery and sim card are pulled out and laid next to it in a careful row.

“You didn’t want him to worry about you.” Half of how she stays on top of her game in the information trade is networking, contacts she cultivated through years and years of hard work. The other half is intuition.

He smiles. “Something like that.”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “You’re eating the peanuts and drinking plenty of water,” she says, and he’s smart enough not to argue, and she gets her well-stocked first aid kit from the bathroom.
The gash turns out to be shallow, but the shirt is a lost cause. John refuses to take it off so they work around it. He fights her on the neosporin (she wins), but he wins the decision to leave the cut exposed, save for two small pink and purple band aids that keep the edges lined up. It makes his ribs look like a smiling cheshire cat.

“I know your last therapist turned out to be a crazy murdering kidnapper,” she says, and John shoots her a panicked look. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen his eyes open quite that wide. She knows bringing up Finch’s kidnapping is a risk. “But you should see someone, or at the very least talk with Harold.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She puts the first aid kit away and makes a mental note to restock. “You hiked all the way across town to use me as a safe house. You could have raided a pharmacy and done this yourself in a hotel, but you came to me because you wanted company.” She knows she’s right when she sinks down on the sofa next to him and he doesn’t move away. “And since I like your company it’s not a problem.”

It’s midnight and she’s still hungry and there’s still no wine so she lets the words keep falling. “Avoiding Harold is.”

John doesn’t look at her, just stares at the door he hasn’t turned his back to yet. “It’s... complicated.”

The phone is closest to her on the coffee table. She slips the back off and slides the sim card in first and then the battery and presses it into his hands. “Call him and tell him you’re spending the night. He won’t ask and he won’t worry.”

She slides off the sofa. Her legs itch under her nylons and her feet hurt. “You’re taking the sofa. There’s bedding in the closet. I like eggs in the morning.” She smiles at him, melts into her bedroom, and turns off the light.