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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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Stargate universe fusion

(Anonymous) 2013-04-04 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
How about an AU where Finch, Reese, Carter and Fusco are members of a Stargate team? (Either based on Earth or Atlantis.) I'd love it if Reese were a human from another planet (like Teal'c or Ronon) with an angsty backstory. Gen or author's choice of pairing.

Re: Stargate universe fusion

(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 01:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Have some stories like this here:

Re: Stargate universe fusion

(Anonymous) - 2013-04-08 14:31 (UTC) - Expand
annchi: Elizabeth Shaw (Default)

FInch/Fusco - when Fusco has a bad day, he gets a call

[personal profile] annchi 2013-04-04 08:41 pm (UTC)(link)
It's takes a while for Lionel to realize that whenever he has a crap day, he gets a call from Mr. Glasses. They're usually on the "detective we need a favor" line, or a follow-up on a case, but sometimes they just talk. Etc. and so on.

Open to any interpretation of the subject line and if it's Finch/Fusco friendship, affection or smut is totally up to the filler!

Prohibition AU - Finch, Reese, Carter, Fusco

(Anonymous) 2013-04-04 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Details to be worked out by the author. I would just really, really love it if Fusco (as a wrong cop in old-school NY) and Carter (as a black woman in the 20s) feature relatively prominently.

LOST crossover

(Anonymous) 2013-04-04 09:50 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm not even sure what I want, but considering the actors for Ben and Miles and Goodwin and Charles Widmore and Jacob (and possibly some other people I've missed) are all present it seems a shame not to tangle them up in true "there are no such thing as coincidences" LOST tradition.

I would prefer that Ben and Harold not be the same person, since in my reading they're too different.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)

Re: LOST crossover, not a fill

[personal profile] hedda62 2013-04-14 12:22 pm (UTC)(link)
This isn't a fill. Since my brain is perverse it went straight to what you asked not to get and ignored the rest (which I think is a cool idea and someone should write it). This is all I have and I'm not finishing it, but for what it's worth:

It was the oddity of the Machine's forming a number from An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, and Émile, or On Education that first caught Harold's attention. Distracted and feeling indulgent and full of doughnuts, he let John track down the social's owner.

"Her name's Alexandra Rousseau," he reported. "Twenty-six. Has a PhD in history from Yale, lives in California but…" -- keys tapping -- "she's in town interviewing for a job at Columbia. Wonder if she's the victim or the perpetrator. How competitive is the academic world, Harold?"

"It can be cut-throat, Mr. Reese--" he began to say, and suddenly a hundred deaths slammed into his mind: throats cut, indeed; throats choking on poison gas; gunshots after gunshots; and the visceral sensation of stabbing one man in the chest and strangling another with a piece of rope. He staggered and clutched the desk.

"You all right, Harold?" and John was in front of him, grabbing his arms, face full of concern.

"I'm fine; I just…"

John let go and studied him a moment longer. "Do you… know this woman?"

"No," he said, but there was a face in his mind: smiling, snarling, pleading for her life. "Mr. Reese, if you would…"

"I'm on it." John slipped into his suit jacket, started for the door.

"Bring her here," Harold said, and John froze.

"What? I don't think that's--"

"Just do what I say," and another voice lurked behind his usual mild tone, a voice accustomed to command and persuasion and untruth. Not so terribly different from his own, then. "Go," and John went.

He sat for an hour waiting for them to return, staring at the face on the computer screen, remembering in flashes and then in agonizing chunks, knowing how her eyes would widen and her mouth move as she spoke to name him. "Dr. Linus!" she would say, all happiness and surprise, and then the joy would flit away and her expression alter as she remembered too.

And yeah, I also think they're very different people. But still, becoming Harold Finch would be an interesting kind of redemption.

Re: LOST crossover, not a fill

(Anonymous) - 2013-04-14 22:30 (UTC) - Expand

Re: LOST crossover, not a fill

[personal profile] hedda62 - 2013-04-14 23:10 (UTC) - Expand
rheasilvia: (Default)

Undercover!Finch as the trophy boyfriend

[personal profile] rheasilvia 2013-04-04 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
When Finch and Reese go undercover in a club / at a resort / at a billionaire get-together, Reese is not cast as Finch's armcandy. It's the other way around, with Finch being the trophy boyfriend of millionaire Reese.

This takes a bit of set-up, but there are ways! For example, it could be a get-together of billionaire businessmen in the software industry, and Reese's cover identity is that of an IT tycoon who isn't actually good with the techy stuff, but did manage to woo the right boyfriend with his money and charms...? And of course, everyone at the conference ends up incredibly jealous (and lustful) after some demonstrations of Finch's mental acuity.

Or it could be some other situation entirely!


(Anonymous) 2013-04-07 08:24 am (UTC)(link)
"How did I agree to this?" Harold muttered to John as they were nodded through the conference center doors.

John bumped him and said, "What's that? Can't quite–" and then began striding forward to shake hands with the flunkie coming their way.

Harold tapped his earpiece. "I said: this is a terrible idea and we should leave immediately." He watched John's shoulders crumple a little with laughter as he introduced them both to the woman with the clipboard.

Harold had successfully avoided places like this his entire life. He looked into the hall; stations were set out in half circles, with computers in messy groups: here a group of boys crouching over laptops, there two sharp-suited women were building lego cases round about a hundred Pis and arguing about something intensely; up on the stage two figures, hidden by the crowd around them, were coding something that was projected on the huge screen. It was–he just had to get out of here, that was all. He just had to.

His earpiece pipped. John's voice came in, softly amused. "I do my best you know," he said. "But there's no way in hell I can take your cover at a hackathon." And then he was there at Harold's side as Ellie Higson (078-05-1120) from Kleiner Perkins walked straight toward him like a bee seeking honey.

--will try to come back and carry this on but if anyone wants to take up/ tag then go for it!


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killalla: (Default)

Crossover, Finch and The Lone Gunmen

[personal profile] killalla 2013-04-05 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
So, you may recall that the The Lone Gunmen and their publication were funded by unknown financial backers who supported their cause. What if one of those backers happened to be a thirtysomething IFT executive with a penchant for hacking, surveillance, geek culture and conspiracy theories?

Could be comic or deeply tragic. (Could also explain a lot!)
Edited 2013-04-05 02:25 (UTC)
laurakaye: (Default)

Re: Crossover, Finch and The Lone Gunmen

[personal profile] laurakaye 2013-04-05 05:23 am (UTC)(link)
laurakaye: (Default)

Leverage Crossover

[personal profile] laurakaye 2013-04-05 05:29 am (UTC)(link)
Going to save a number, Finch and Reese encounter the team from Leverage, also on a job in the same place (maybe even the same job but from another angle.)

Bonus points if Elliott and John bond over, like, punching techniques.

MEGA ULTRA BONUS POINTS if Hardison realizes that Harold is his nerd king and Harold knows of his hacking exploits through the techy gossip channels and they have a mutual admiration society and become adorable nerd friends.

Re: Leverage Crossover

(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)
some existing stories that may tide you over until someone fills your prompt:

Person of Leverage (by galaxysoup)

There's No Such Thing as Paranoia

Operational Expansion (jedibuttercup)

Re: Leverage Crossover

[personal profile] laurakaye - 2013-04-05 21:37 (UTC) - Expand

Reese/Finch- matchmaker Grace

(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 06:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Kind of the opposite of an earlier prompt: Grace finds out Harold isn’t dead. She’s pretty angry (like you would be) but after a while she stops being angry and decides he was probably right. She isn’t safe with him and he isn’t safe if he’s worrying if she’s safe- but she still wants him to be happy and loved and all that jazz. She concludes Reese is the obvious choice.

Cue some matchmaking Grace getting help from anywhere the writer likes. It would be especially good if she got a nice boyfriend (or better yet a nice girlfriend) out of the equation too- series character or OC, that’s up to the writer.

Team Machine on vacation

(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)
They all need a break. Preferably to some place with a beach and drinks with umbrellas. Bear can dig in the sand. Carter in a bikini. Finch and Fusco refusing to take off their t-shirts. Reese walking out of the water with his hair plastered down. Give me some happy fun vacation times. (I'm happy with pretty much any combination of the big four, or just friendshippy is good too, it doesn't need to be shippy.)

Reese/Finch Robot AU

(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Inspired by the fill for the previous robot AU prompt. Reese secretly knows he's a robot.

Re: Reese/Finch Robot AU

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 08:54 pm (UTC)(link)

Finch/Reese - Separation Anxiety

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
Finch needs to leave for a bit (because of Root, or even maybe Greer). Initially, Reese is fine with it and continues with the Irrelevant list like Finch told him to. But as weeks, or even months pass Reese concludes that this arrangement is a bit not good (this is an understatement). He gets super moody, and extra violent (this could be either funny or scary) and Carter and Fusco notices. Basically, a timeline of Reese's descent to madness.

+1 Established Reese/Finch relationship prior to Finch's flight
+10000 Super hot welcomeback!sex

After all, Absence makes the heart grow fonder...

Re: Finch/Reese - Separation Anxiety

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:22 pm (UTC)(link)
plus a million!

Leon + baby

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
Leon. Baby. (Preferably his and a total surprise, but it's not necessary.)

Prompt: Leon has a sister/aunt/mom/cousin who is Not Amused By All of This

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 05:22 am (UTC)(link)
I have a vision of Leon getting involved with the team again somehow, but this time a family member of his (older sister is what I see, but hey, whatever works--oh, maybe an auntie!!) is visiting her loved but loser relative, and she is unimpressed by any of them and tries to drag Leon away to safety all the time because these creeps are BAD NEWS no matter what that idiot Leon tries to say--not like he's ever been good at knowing what's good for him. . Reese and Finch are bemused that, and maybe get hit a lot with purses or umbrellas and diatribes in Chinese, and Leon whines about getting yanked around by an ear to get him to follow her as she hustles him away from them.

I may or may not have family much like this minus mafia/Aryan involvement. Mostly.

(my first time putting a prompt on any kink meme like this, and though I read the FAQ, I may have gotten something wrong--sorry if so!)

Harold/Nathan, unrequited love

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 11:28 am (UTC)(link)
Can I have some teenage yearning? And maybe straight!Nathan finding out, and being surprisingly nice about it.

The Machine starts saving numbers by itself

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 11:34 am (UTC)(link)
At some point The Machine must realize that it's actually able to research, communicate and respond faster than Reese and Finch. Maybe it finds some way to create a back door of its own, or stealthily create a baby Machine outside the servers where it's stored. To save a number, it could trap a killer in a computer-controlled elevator, make a 911 call from a potential victim's phone, mess with GPS or satellite navigation, "accidentally" cc an email to the wrong recipient... So do Reese and Finch figure it out? And what happens if they do?

Re: The Machine starts saving numbers by itself

(Anonymous) 2013-04-22 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)
I really want to read this.

John and Bear, happy and playing

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 12:04 pm (UTC)(link)
I would love some fanart of John & Bear at the park, or John throwing the ball for Bear while Harold researches in the library. (If you know of any already existing fanart of John & Bear playing, that would be great too.)

Finch/Reese, leg massage

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 03:02 pm (UTC)(link)
wanted this since "Mission Creep" back in 1st season. and in "Booked solid" Finch had to stand still at the reception desk all day long, that must've been hell.
annchi: Elizabeth Shaw (Default)

FILL: Taking His Measure [Reese/Finch] [Explicit] [CNTW]

[personal profile] annchi 2013-04-20 01:05 am (UTC)(link)
Harold is sweating and he's moving slowly. It's hard to watch and even harder not to jump up and do something to support him, but Reese stays where he is by the car. Not looking too hard. He slouches to make himself smaller.

At least Bear is there, stopping when Harold does, being so patient that Reese finds himself making a list of things to do with the dog when he takes him out. It's a short list: dog park, the other dog park that's usually too far out of his way, a few extra treats, a few sessions of bite work, which he knows Bear misses, and back to the dog park. He'll stay there until it closes at dusk if Bear wants to.

Reese flinches when Harold stumbles but Bear is there again, braced under him while he rights himself.

He didn't fall. At least he didn't fall. Reese won't say anything unless Harold brings it up, and if he does Reese will make a joke about it being a controlled fall into the dog, and nothing to do with his pain or his unsteadiness. His disability. Which they don't mention often, if at all, even when Harold has a very Bad Day, or during the weeks leading up to Bear getting his -- A little unethical, isn't it Finch? -- bright yellow service vest.

Reese comes around to the passenger side of the sedan and makes a fuss about getting Bear settled while Harold uses Reese's elbow and shoulder for support as he lowers himself into the car. He grunts a couple of times, stifled cries of pain, and by the time dog and master are safely inside Reese is sweating too.

Harold isn't driving. Another bad sign, because despite inconvenient city traffic Harold loves to drive. Harold speeds, too. Likes to try out different kinds of cars and SUVs, and Norman Burdett has a couple of friends with taxi medallions who don't mind if he takes their cabs out when they feel like a day off. It's a good cover, Harold told him the first time he picked up Reese in one of the cabs. So useful when we need innocuous transport.

Sure, Reese had said, and something warm settled in his chest while Harold hummed to himself and navigated the city streets. Harold had smiled, bright and pleased, when he finally got the radio to pick up a baseball game, and for a few hours after they took care of the number Harold just drove them around. And it was the ease of driving, the relative freedom it represented, not the novelty of the vehicle or the game or the clear lassitude of the day, that brightened Harold's mood. He wasn't a different man, but he was lighter, unfocused -- that first time in a cab with Harold was one of their best days.

Today is a Bad Day. The number is safe, they have both earned their rest. But after hours of standing and having to climb up one too many fire escapes Harold wants to go back to the library.

Reese would rather take him home -- well, to one of Harold's homes. Or to Reese's own apartment, as they have on occasion done. But he knows not to argue. If he argues on a Bad Day, a quiet but infuriated Harold might exit the car at the next intersection and disappear slowly into traffic.

Want to pick up some food, he asks, and Harold grunts a soft affirmative.

I'll go after I drop you off, he adds. Because watching Bear and Harold pick their slow, agonizing way up the library steps to the first floor elevator will do Reese in, he knows it will. Harold hums a yes that says he knows it too, and the sudden hand on Reese's knee, the brief pressure and caress, is a gift that Reese will carry with him to and from Tandoori Kitchen.

It's a gift he asked for a long time ago, the sort that keeps on giving.

I need to know if the pain is serious, Reese said once. You know your limits and I trust you, but if you need help you have to promise to tell me, Finch.

That he said it while looking out a window instead of at Harold didn't signify. The fact that Harold said, Of course, Mr. Reese, to his bank of monitors hadn't mattered either.

It was how they did things, sometimes.

A promise is a promise, Mr. Reese.

Harold never said it, not like that, but the words echo in Reese's head when he jogs back from Tandoori Kitchen. He feels them in his accelerated heartbeat, and in the ghost of recent pressure on his knee.

He'll tell me. He will tell me. If he needs me, he'll say.

They eat and Reese watches Harold from under his lashes while pretending not to feed Bear under the table. Bear is good about it, still patient, and he's watching Harold too, when he's not licking Reese's fingers clean of rice and spicy sauce, like the dog knows the rules of the game.

Have you finished, Harold asks. I think Bear's had enough in any case. We don't want a repeat of the butter chicken incident, John.

Reese smirks and looks at Bear. The BCI lives in infamy in each of their memories.

I'm done but I'd like to sit a while, he says, and finds it's true: he's in the mood to be lazy, to sit, but he also wants to DO something. Because Harold barely touched his food and there's a tremor, faint but still there, arcing his right hand off the table.

Tiny blips of adrenaline. The brain pings the muscles after any exertion that could exacerbate the pain associated with or the extent of an injury. Reese remembers it from his own PT.

He looks at his own hands instead of at Harold's. There's orange sauce in the bed of one fingernail. Reese contemplates his tikka masala and dog-drool covered fingers and decides he's had enough.

I'm not tired, he says.

And that's another signal, another part of the game. After a case, sometimes they're tired. Sometimes not.

A win for a client on a Bad Day, though. It could go either way.

Reese waits.

Oh, Harold says. Nor am I.

Reese gets up from the table, washes up at the sink.

Harold, moving around behind him, says, You'll be happy to know we have clean linen.

Oh, good, he says, and almost smiles.

It's still new enough to trouble Reese sometimes, to make him hesitate, think he has to sneak up on it. Hide around a metaphorical corner.

Reese goes to a small space off the main room that Harold has outfitted as a crash room and first aid station. He strips as he goes, folding his clothes over one arm with care.

The room was used as a copy room or as storage for microfiche when the library was a real library. Harold told him all about it first time they used it for something other than its newly repurposed purpose, but Reese forgets which it was. The fact fell out of his head the instant he heard it, the first time Harold reached for him with intent.

There's a full-sized bed that looks like an oversized, serviceable cot, but the mattress, though thin, is soft and firm and plush. Memory foam that remembers them both well enough.

He drops his clothes on the room's only chair and smiles again when the lights dim around him.

Pendant lights and vintage sconces, all with amber-tinted glass that makes the room seem smaller in the physical sense and larger in Reese's imagination. He sighs and stretches out on top of the cool sheets. There are no corners and there is nothing to fear. He could be anywhere. In a hotel or a house, on an empty beach or deep inside a cave.

Harold is moving around in the outer room, tidying and straightening. Maybe planning his approach. But Reese won't have to wait long.

A promise is a promise.

When he arrives Harold is already missing tie and waistcoat. Shirttails untucked, he's trying to see to his left cufflink but lacks, momentarily, the normal dexterity of his right hand.

Reese takes that hand in his own and, once the cufflinks are set aside, works gently to free Harold from the rest of his clothes.

Bear's settled, Harold says, already breathless. Reese nods and slides Harold's glasses from his face and puts them next to the cufflinks.

The footlocker they use as a bedside table is a mini armory: inside are two disassembled rifles, ammunition, and teargas grenades zip tied together in packs of three. On top there is a small bottle of lotion. Scentless, expensive. A brand that Harold likes.

Harold's hips are shaking. His right leg is a mass of tremors and doesn't want to support him, so Reese does, hands hot on Harold's hips to steady him and pull him in.

They kiss for a long time.

The flicker of light from the half dozen screensavers spinning lazily in the other room could be from anything at all. A hearth, Reese believes tonight, a fire. A fire painting cave paintings on their cave wall.

Reese guides Harold carefully onto his back and props himself up beside him, letting his own right side mold to Harold's left to warm them both. Harold touches Reese's temple, the outside of one shoulder, and a sore spot above his ribs. The look on his face is more stern than tender.

Reese knows he's a mass of bruises. Today's case was simple but did involve a lot of running, and falling down.

We should be more careful, Harold says.

It always looks worse than it is, Reese says, and brings his body closer to Harold's.

He kisses Harold's temple and lets his hands wander. They're both hard, have been for a while, but they're so good at this now. Between one breath and another time slows to a crawl. It takes seconds for Reese to uncap the bottle of lotion and pour some into his hands to take away the chill, but it might be more than a dozen breaths before his hands are back on Harold.

With a few long strokes Reese slicks them both and lines them up, cock to cock, shoulder to shoulder. It shouldn't feel this good. It should be awkward, but the relief that comes with the sudden surge of heat between them is incredible. Harold smiles and mutters something nonsensical, and Reese closes his eyes and transfers more of his weight onto Harold -- That's enough, John that's just right -- and starts a slow grind that's like a charged, rhythmic kiss between their bodies.

Reese puts his free hand on Harold's thigh and begins to stroke gently. He can feel the powerful play of muscles there. His caress turns hard and sharp with every third or fourth stroke, when he works on the muscle knots.

It's a simple trick but Harold never calls him on it. The one time he made the offer, plain and simple, Harold was furious.

You're not my physical therapist, Mr. Reese, or my caregiver.

He waited three days for Harold to meet him again in person.

Reese opens his eyes and smiles because Harold's eyes are glassy, he might be far away.

Here, Harold says. Please, John. Please.

Reese can't go three days without seeing Harold now. Three hours is difficult enough.

The thought makes him feel helpless, hopeless, and their rhythm stutters until Harold grips Reese's hips, hard, working the blunt strength of his fingers into Reese's tense low back, and starts them up again.

Never get close enough, Reese pants, never can, and he pulls them over suddenly onto their sides.

One of Reese's arms is pinned but it doesn't matter. He takes them both in hand and strokes hard and Harold moans, drags Reese's mouth back to his own and steals all the breath from his body. Like that, light-headed, pinned, and panting, they come wet and hot and loud together.

Reese's vision goes white and gray in the aftermath, and Harold says something that makes Reese's eyes sting, an unexpected gift on a Bad Day that thrills and frightens him and puts him under.

When he comes back to himself, Harold is looking at him. The glow from the monitors and the amber half-light paints Harold's face with strange colors. He doesn't look like the man from an hour ago and the sweat on his body is good sweat, the product of pleasure rather than a symptom of pain.

What are you thinking about, Harold asks.

Reese traces the light and touches the new, good sweat on Harold's face.

My back feels better, he says.

Harold stokes up and down Reese's back once, twice, then grips low where the tension was and hums a kiss into his shoulder. Harold's voice in the dark is a sweet whisper.

I noticed it was bothering you when you got up from the table, John. You should know by now that you can't hide from me.

What Reese says next he says with his breath and his body. His voice isn't necessary. Not here, where Harold can hear what's in his head when they are skin to skin.


I hope the OP isn't too disappointed that this wasn't a leg massage that led to sex -- if it helps that's what I intended when I started! -- and I hope the lack of quotation marks/formatting wasn't too jarring, it just seemed right for the fic.

hotel room

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese and Finch have to share a hotel room and a bed.

1. Awkward, unacknowledged humping in the night
2. They throw off all pretense in the morning and fuck face to face while Reese cries with happiness


Re: hotel room

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)


Hopefully lots of Reese angst after the unacknowledged humping? *eats up with spoon*

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Re: hotel room

[personal profile] eyeus - 2013-07-29 22:00 (UTC) - Expand

prompt: Reese/Finch dating happiness

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)

they've been dating for a while - they have their Sundays on a different day every week of course but they have it anyway - they read the papers, they walk the dog, they eat breakfast in some diner or sometimes Harold orders a Fresh Direct and Reese makes pancakes and eggs just like Harold likes them with black pepper and butter on top and it's all good

prompt: barebacking kink

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese/Finch, barebacking as trustplay / proxy for total commitment

There's no one else for either of them any more, ever again.
(deleted comment)

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)

+1 this prompt

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reese/finch shower sex

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:13 pm (UTC)(link)
The dirt and the blood runs down into the plughole and they press their bodies together desperately, hungrily

Prompt: Reese is pining and playing matchmaker (Reese/Finch)

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese is Enkidu an angst ridden mess over his attraction to Finch due to feelings of unworthiness and the "certainty" that to be involved with him practically guarantees the death of his loved one -- Jessica wasn't the first or the last.

In Reese's self-sacrificing bid to encourage Finch to have a relationship with Grace, Monica and/or someone else he overplays his hand and reveals his feelings to Finch.

I would love you forever if this turned out to be Finch/Reese but writer's choice of course as you might like even more angst than I do.

Re: Prompt: Reese is pining and playing matchmaker (Reese/Finch)

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)

Nathan Ingram POV

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Nathan Ingram, during the years when they build the machine.

Finch/Reese soul bond

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 09:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch/Reese are soul bonded to each other - they don't know how it happened, but they know when it did: it starts with Finch seeing himself naked.