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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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Re: Keep Breathing (Finch/Reese), adult, not explicit

(Anonymous) 2013-08-11 06:57 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here, thank you that was brilliant!
astolat: lady of shalott weaving in black and white (Default)

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

[personal profile] astolat 2013-08-12 02:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Fill also posted here on the AO3! Inscribed :D

John didn't have the capacity to notice anything else until he'd cut Harold's jacket and shirt off and confirmed the bullet from the .45 had gone by instead of through. Harold had his teeth clenched; John gave him a shot of morphine and a strip of leather to bite down on while he put six neat stitches along the deep bloody gash, his hands steady even though his gut was still clenched into a knot.

"Shouldn't we — " Harold said, muzzily, while John put on a gauze pad and wrapped him up. Harold was looking past him, at the corner where Richard Dake's body was lying sprawled and face down, exit wounds out the back of the skull and the chest.

"No," John said. The rats and the cockroaches could clean Dake up. He helped Harold stand and turned him around. Harold went, docile, and John was about to drape his own jacket over Harold's shoulders when he saw it: the tattoo was decent-sized, covering nearly all of Harold's left shoulder, an odd circular design like a gear with words curving around it: We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty there that needs to be done.

John stared. He would have been less shocked to find Harold carrying a gun. Harold stood there listing slightly to one side, but after a minute of total silence he lurched forward, and John jerked himself out of confusion. He got the jacket onto Harold and guided him outside and into the car.

John took him back to his own apartment. The wound wasn't dangerous, and Harold would have told him the address of whatever safehouse he was staying in this week or month, but he fell asleep in the front seat even before John pulled out, which was all the excuse John needed. Harold didn't protest when John led him upstairs. Bear was there at the door with an anxious bark, pushing his head under Harold's hand. "Oh, I'll be just fine," Harold told Bear vaguely with a pat, and went straight for the bed without any further direction. He was asleep again instantly.

John went to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands and get a washcloth. He came out and gently cleaned up Harold's arm and back, wiping dried blood off the letters. They were smooth and faded to dark grey: ten years old and more. Harold didn't stir. Afterwards, John eased the covers out from under him and covered him up. He stood over the bed for almost half an hour, just listening to Harold's even breathing, before he turned away and went to the laptop for the source: Alan Turing, and Wikipedia gave him the picture of the rotating drums from the machine that had broken the Enigma code.

John read the rest of Turing's entry and closed the laptop. The room was dark. He looked out at the endless city lights, one for each of eight million lives. None of them would have noticed if Harold had been the one who went out tonight. John wanted to shut his eyes, but he didn't want to see it again on the inside of his eyelids: the muzzle flash, the crack of the gun, Harold going over backwards with a gasp and a spurt of blood bright red in the warehouse ceiling light.

Bear whined softly at his knee. John's hands were clenched into fists, resting on his legs. He uncurled them and stood up and looked at the couch, and then he crossed the room back to the bed. Harold was curled onto his good arm. There was plenty of room. John took off his clothes and got under the covers.

Harold stirred first in the morning, but John was awake before he opened his eyes. His mouth was drawn a little with pain. He looked at John and his face creased, puzzled.

"I like the tattoo," John said, and Harold went pink and embarrassed. And then wide-eyed when John leaned in, slow enough to give him a chance to pull back.

Harold didn't pull back. His hand drifted up to John's cheek while they kissed. "Nathan all but dared me into it," he murmured afterwards, with a wistful note. "He didn't believe I'd do it, either."

John let his hand slide over Harold's back and spread his fingers across the tattoo. He leaned forward and kissed Harold's shoulder, and drew him down to the bed.
libitina: snake across an open book (Default)

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

[personal profile] libitina 2013-08-12 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)
(obvs not OP)

I love how you took special attention filling step 2 of the prompt. \o/

Finch/Reese, POI AU, psychic!Finch, FBI!Reese, pre slash to slash

(Anonymous) 2013-08-12 07:30 pm (UTC)(link)
FBI Agent John Reese is rarely suprised, but he can't help it when his life is saved by stranger Harold Finch. Finch claims to be psychic and offers to help Reese on the quiet. Reese's time in the army taught him to keep an open mind, but he doesn't exactly believe in psychic powers. All the same, Finch's information is...uncanny. So either he is psychic or he has access to some unbelievably accurate source of intelligence. While accepting Harold's help, John resolves to find out the truth about him. While Finch wants him to or not.

Elias/Scarface, Finch/Reese, character swap

(Anonymous) 2013-08-12 07:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Elias is the traumatised son of a murdered woman, using a network of informants throughout the city to provide him with the information he and his associate need to protect people.

Harold Finch is the billionaire genius determined to avenge the people who took his friend Nathan from him, tried to kill him, and condemned his bodyguard/assassin John Reese to a life of cruelty and deprivation until Harold rescued him.

They have a grudging respect for each other, but still - they are both in each other's way.

Reese, any, Finch's obssessive admire targets John

(Anonymous) 2013-08-13 06:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch has himself an obsessive admirer (or rather one of his personas does). He wants to emulate Finch in all respects; he's rich enough, he dresses like him, eats at the same restaurants. But to really carry it off, he needs John. He can obtain copies of everything else Finch has but John is unique.

OMC doesn't know anything about the machine, or what the boys are involved in, he's just in the type of places that Finch typically goes to and John sometimes ends up at too. (He can either think John is Finch's trophy boyfriend, or PA, etc)

Finch can put up with the rest of it, but when he realises that John is at risk, he very quickly takes steps to deal with that. Up to writer what he does, but bonus if John never realises the danger he's in (maybe just thinks that Finch is being even more paranoid about him than usual).

And for a while after that Finch is ultra possessive of Reese.

Finch has abusive father, Tender!Reese, hurt/comfort

(Anonymous) 2013-08-14 08:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch's abusive father, who he hasn't seen since he ranaway from home (you can change the details) comes up as a number. Cue to moral angst for Finch as he wars with the desire to help save him or let him blow in the wind. Reese, after and/or while, helping the father, finds out about the abuse. Up to you to decide how he reacts.
Kudos for hurt/comfort from Reese.

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

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-14 08:34 pm (UTC)(link)
This is such a sweet little story and kind of a hurty one as well. Really beautifully written, thank you for sharing it.

Re: AU - Werewolves are known, Reese is one

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-14 08:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, this gave me chills. Your werewolf!John is still so John, and I love that last line.

Re: Fill: Robot AU!, Reese/Finch overtones, No Warnings

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-14 09:18 pm (UTC)(link)
I don't know that I have words enough for how much I love this.

Re: Cuffed, Reese & Finch, Reese in handcuffs, General, No Warnings

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-14 09:47 pm (UTC)(link)
I just love the protectiveness here (on both sides) and that Harold was able to get the cuffs on John at all. Sneaky Harold.


[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-14 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
This is breathtakingly painful and so in character: John's absolutely no holds barred approach to anything between him and Harold; Harold putting his hand on John's head; the way he almost seems to be trying to get them back to the library before Harold snaps out of it and it all comes back on him. And then that last line. Brilliant story.

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

(Anonymous) 2013-08-16 01:26 pm (UTC)(link)
(A/N: This might go beyond what the OP wanted, so additional content notes: there is no physical struggle or overt threat, but it's fairly clear that Reese doesn't want to have sex, and acquiesces only because he doesn't see outright refusal as an option. Additionally, it's established relationship, so there's the implication that this is a pattern for them.)

"This has got to be the nicest place I've ever killed anyone," Kara muses, wandering past John towards the bed.

He sits back on his heels, looking down at the body he just searched. "The flash drive isn't on him."

"Well, shit." She doesn't sound very concerned. "You know, I think I could come just touching these sheets."

"You're sure it wasn't in the suitcase?" The bed's a high four-poster, with no shadows deep enough to hide what they're looking for, and there aren't a lot of other corners it could have rolled into. He stands up to check them anyway.

"It's not in the suitcase." She's kneeling on the bed now, inspecting the headboard. "God, somebody gouged the hell out of this thing."

That stops him. "Think there's a hidden compartment?"

The look she gives him is very amused. "More like our guy had hidden depths in bed." Something must show on his face, because she rolls her eyes. "Who set fire to your ass, anyway? We didn't even think he'd get home till tomorrow, we've got plenty of time. Would it kill you to relax for once in your life?"

He goes to double-check the suitcase.

Behind him, she sighs and slides off the bed. He stills when she touches his shoulder, but he doesn't tense.

"Such a good boy," she murmurs. "Aren't you?"

His hands hover over the dead man's things, then settle on the edges of the suitcase. "The job isn't over yet."

"Isn't it?" She tangles her fingers through his hair, tugs his head back a little. "Maybe you need a little break."

He breathes in, then can't think of anything to say on the exhale. He lets the air out past the catch in his throat.

He lets her draw him back to the bed.

"Take your shoes off," she says, so he does, and puts his socks in them. When he turns, she's lying back with her skirt hitched up and her eyebrows raised. He leans in closer, gets his head between her legs before she pushes him down herself. She never wears underwear with this dress.

He noses in carefully, not sure how fast she wants to take this, but she's already hot and flushed, lips parted a little with eagerness, slick. He laps at them, tasting sweat along the outer folds, something else within, but he doesn't linger there, just licks his way up to her clit and knows by her hand on the nape of his neck that he guessed right.

Kara's always quiet when he goes down on her, now that he's learned what she likes. She just shimmies and clutches his hair, tilts her hips to get him where she wants him, maybe swears in the last instants before she comes, out of breath and almost angry past the rush of blood in his ears. He'd bring her off more than once, now, but before he can more than nurse her through the aftershocks, she's pulling him up, pushing him back on the bed.

"Your turn," she says, and reaches for his fly.

"I'm fine," he tries to say, gasping a little when she presses in with the heel of her hand.

"Are you hard yet? Then no, you aren't fine." She sits back, frowning. "You know what, take all of this off, I don't want to mess with it later."

She hasn't taken her dress off, let alone her bra. He starts on his shirt buttons.

He isn't all the way hard, but he's getting there, or was before she manhandled him. Or still is: there isn't much point in pretending that pain doesn't turn him on when half the time it's what pushes him over the edge. It's just--

"Hey hotshot, I've got the condom. Why the hell are you still wearing pants?"

"I should move the body first," he says.

"What, in case it's watching us?" She stares at him in disbelief, then flicks the condom at his head to make him flinch. "Jesus, never in my life have I known a man who griped so much about getting laid."

She does take off the dress before she blows him. He fists his hands in the sheets and tries to map out where the flash drive could be. Kara wasn't wrong. They're nice sheets.

After she figures he's ready she has him unhook her bra. Her hair smells good, and he ducks his head to press a kiss against her shoulder, once. She twitches like a horse with a fly.

"Come on, come on," she says when he's trying to slide into her slowly. "Fuck, give me all of it, it's not like--there, finally." Then when he thinks he's set up a good rhythm she digs her nails into his ass and hisses with satisfaction when his hips jerk out of control.

It's too much, and then it isn't enough, and then he's just doing his best to hold on, sweating and panting above her with his eyes pressed shut, waiting for the moment when she shudders and tightens around him and he can let go.

Except he can't ever let go. He can come so hard he feels sick afterwards, and open his eyes seeing colors like after an explosion in the dark, but he has to hold himself up until he's steady enough to pull out, and he has to pull out before he gets too soft and slips out of the condom, and 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.

He gets his face under control.

"We should divide the house into sections," he says later, when he's putting his shoes back on. "Do you want this floor, or--"

"What are you talking about?" Kara says, like she's actually kind of interested.

He turns. "The flash drive. You said--"

It's not in the suitcase.

Kara's still lounging on those sheets, still naked, her hair a little dark with sweat. There's a gleam in her eyes he should have noticed before.

He says, "It's not in the suitcase anymore because you put it in your purse."

She smiles.

"See," she says, climbing down the bed, "this is what happens when you work too hard." He tries to twist in place to track her, but she leans against his back, tucks her head next to his and winds her arms around him. "You lose your edge," she says against his ear.

"But don't worry," she adds, releasing him abruptly. "I'll find ways to keep you sharp."

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

(Anonymous) 2013-08-19 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
Except he can't ever let go. He can come so hard he feels sick afterwards

This is so compelling in a disturbing way. Or disturbing in a compelling way? I DON'T KNOW

Reese/Finch: You've Got Mail AU

(Anonymous) 2013-08-19 09:52 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm thinking of a You've Got Mail AU with Reese and Finch (and Bear, of course!). Obviously, they both have to be using some kind of online chat, perhaps even online dating, but without giving away who they are. Maybe they have become curious after protecting Maxine...

They are still working the numbers together and at some point one of them picks up on the other's identity.

I would love if it's not all lovey-dovey. Their work may become a problem, like Reese won't answer mails for a few days when he's out on a stake-out, or it's just that they have to make up things and don't keep track of what they said or something like that.

I think it would work with both of them as the one who finds out about the other's true identity:
a) Finch finds out and thinks that he can't actually have feelings for Reese and doesn't reply anymore at first, or
b) Reese finds out and thinks that he can't ever tell Finch because he wouldn't want him anyway...

That's basically it. I'm absolutely open for different ideas though :)
callmecathy: Blue Bird (Default)

Fill: Dead Men Don't Date (Reee/Finch) [General] [No meme warnings apply]

[personal profile] callmecathy 2013-08-20 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
A/N: Oh, damn you, for making me need to write this. 8D

"I realize my knowledge of firearms may be limited, but is there really a point in cleaning one four times?"
Reese rubs the rag through the inside of the barrel. Smell of gun oil, sound of typing; he's sprawled on the floor and Finch is huddled behind his monitors, the blue off the storm just past the windows giving the room a thin, wobbly quality. Reese throws Finch a sideways glance.
He spreads his hands. "Boredom-produced productivity being what it is..."
An oxymoronic phrase, likely, except Reese has found Finch very good at consolidating opposites. It's only a matter of time before they are.
"Want to be ready when the next number comes in." Reese says.
Three days. No numbers.
"I'm sure there'll be one soon." Finch says. And it sounds like a prayer.
Maybe it is.
The chair screeches as Finch stands, carefully shrugging into his coat. "Hier, Bear." The service vest goes on without fuss, Bear wagging his tail eagerly: all it takes is a quick scratch behind the ears, a slyly passed treat (we need to put him on a diet, Finch).
Reese shifts his legs out of the way, snagging an umbrella leaning against the wall. He extends it. "Where are you going?"
He takes it. "Out, Mr. Reese."
Reese listens to his footsteps, arrhythmic against the rain; the door clangs below. He waits for the echoes to fade before dropping the rag and following.
Reese's best guess? Maybe a hardware run or a day spent at one of his cover identities; possibly a visit to one of his safe houses. Any of his other undetermined activities, not all of which Reese knows (he wants to), since Finch knows how to lose a tail.
The rain should make it harder this time. It isn't. Reese manages to maintain a thirty-foot distance behind Finch's car, parking against the curb on the street.
The wind gusts, lifting his coat, slanting the rain sideways. Water is thick in the gutters and slick on the street, drafts batter in on both sides and Finch slips, twice.
Each time, Bear presses against his legs.
Each time, Reese feels his shoulders tensing up.
He flips his umbrella open, casing for computer stores or business firms. Instead, Finch heads towards the theater. Cinema Village, it says; Vintage Throwback, the board reads.
Finch stops several feet from the overhang. He's not reading the board-- his neck isn't tilted back far enough; he's waiting, for some reason, possibly in indecision over which movie to see or even more likely whether to see a movie. Bear's leash is wrapped tight around one hand and the umbrella is fighting to get loose in the other.
A hard skid of wind comes through. The umbrella tears out of Finch's hand: tumbling over the roof of a car, cart-wheeling past a couple hurrying past. Finch and Bear are giving it matching soaked looks when Reese reaches them.
"Mine's better anyway." Reese says, dangling it over them. "Big enough for two."
"Three, actually." Finch says, glancing at Bear. He revolves towards Reese. Water speckles his glasses; a droplet runs down the side of his neck.
Reese fights the urge to lick his lips. Rain drums against the umbrella.
"What do you think about Rashomon?" Finch asks.
The ease with which Reese had tailed him. The wait outside the theater. His non-surprise.
"Is this a date, Finch?"
"How's your Japanese?"
"Won't there be subtitles?"
He reaches around Finch and holds the door open.
Reese can't remember the last time he's been in a movie theater-- years, probably. But the smell of butter and salt and popcorn and warmth, the slick floors and the bright yellow lights: he's forgotten the small precious treasure of civilian things.
Without the umbrella only one of Finch's hands is being occupied and the other is free to (be held) pull out his wallet. He counts twelve dollars.
Reese digs into his pocket and fans out six, half the fare.
"Really, Mr. Reese?" Finch says, affronted. He turns towards the ticket counter.
Reese shrugs, tucking the money back. "I'll buy the popcorn. You know," He adds, "compromise is critical in a relationship." leaving Finch sputtering long enough to saunter towards the concession counter.
"Do you have any idea how many artificial flavorings are in there?" Finch asks him, as they hand their tickets to the attendant.
The corridors are thin, claustrophobic, carpeted and muffled; Reese thinks that the most secure of the theaters is the one flanking the left corner, the best one to assault would be the last one on the right near the exit doors. He locks the thoughts away for another place and a different time. (He'd like to push them into another life, just for two hours, but even he isn't that good at compartmentalizing).
The theater is mostly empty, only a few weekday strays scattered across the seats. Candy, rattling in boxes. A low murmur of conversation. It's dim and it's stifling, and it's cozy; what it would be like, Reese thinks, to have normal.
Finch starts to take an aisle seat. Reese weaves in front of him, a neat little step that has his foot hedged against Finch's, placing them face to face. The aisle presses in, two feet across and formed by the rows of seats.
It occurs to Reese that in the dim and the gloom under the backlight of the screen, no one would see if--; he wouldn't even have to lean in, he's already close enough to--.
"I prefer aisle seats." Finch tells him, sternly, which is really the same thing as declaring proximity issues.
"I prefer to be able to protect you." Reese responds, and they're sharing the same breath.
Finch slides into the seat beside the aisle one.
It's black and white, of course, Reese wouldn't have expected anything less. A third of the way into the movie and juxtaposed against an undertone comment about the harms of diacetyl Finch skims a few kernels off the top.
It's a win.
And if Reese's hand brushes Finch's once or twice, that's okay; neither of them mention it, but neither of them need to. If Reese drapes his arm across the back of Finch's seat, that's also okay; because Finch leans back, and Reese cups his hand over the round warm point of Finch's shoulder.
Thunder rumbles as they leave the theater.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to wait and see what Stanton's employers have in mind for the future." Finch says, under the drumbeat of rain.
A payphone rings, to the right. He shadows Finch, listening to disjointed voices and feedback humming through the speaker.
"Nice of the Machine." Reese comments, as they walk away. "Letting us finish."
Finch stops. "The Machine does not have the capability to be nice. Nor can it differentiate between dates or otherwise."
Reese tilts his head. "So it is a date?"
Finch smirks, somewhere between pleased and surprised. "Never said it wasn't." He starts moving down the street.
Reese's long steps quickly return him to Finch's side.
Three days, a number. And this-- this is Reese's proof of normal. He lifts the umbrella, sheltering them from the rain.
Edited 2013-08-20 06:05 (UTC)

Re: Fill: Dead Men Don't Date (Reee/Finch) [General] [No meme warnings apply]

(Anonymous) 2013-08-20 11:39 am (UTC)(link)
Not OP but this is very beautiful.
Finch has a peculiar way of asking Reese out on a date, but it's a very fitting one.
I seem to love all your stories so far.

Reese/Finch or Reese + Finch, protective!Finch to the rescue (attempted non con)

(Anonymous) 2013-08-20 09:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese ends up tied by somebody with less than noble intentions. Finch knows his asset is in trouble and arrives in time to see the guy stroking his hand down Reese's chest, kissing his throat, everything to try and make Reese feel vulnerable.

And Finch goes nuts in a typically Finch like manner. But it's afterwards, not just that day or the next, that has Reese looking at Finch funny. Because all of a sudden he is ultra possessive. To the point where it's starting to get awkward. Clearly, he and Finch need to have a talk...

Where that leads is up to nonny!

Finch, Fusco - working a case without John, hurt!John has to rescue them anyway

(Anonymous) 2013-08-20 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)
John gets sick and Finch refuses to let him run around chasing people and fighting with a high temperature. But they have a number, so Finch persuades Fusco to step up. And Carter to keep an eye on John and make sure he doesn't try to get involved anyway. Fusco ends up having to play the rich playboy and he is so awful at it that John and Carter watch the video feed and listen in with increasing horror. Finch's suggestions aren't helping, and it's no surprise when it all goes wrong and John has to go save them anyway.

And no they are never letting Fusco live this down.

Finch/Reese, POI AU, first time, hurt!Boys

(Anonymous) 2013-08-20 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch is the most overworked ADA in the prosecutors' department, and the most successful although he always manages to keep anybody from noticing. He prefers to keep to the shadows.

Detective John Reese in homicide notices, though, when Finch helps him save one of his cases after a dirty cop almost ruins it. It's the start of a friendship that could be more if they can both get over their trust issues.

Bonus if Reese gets hurt on a case and Finch goes to pick him up from the ER which surprise Reese because he hadn't expected anybody to come for him.

Fusco, Reese, hurt/comfort, Fusco caring for Reese

(Anonymous) 2013-08-21 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
Finch can't get to the safehouse where Fusco has Reese, who seems to have been drugged. Finch tries to give Fusco instructions over the comm, but Fusco knows what he's doing thank you very much. He strips Reese, firstly checking for an injection site which he finds and then so he can get him into a cold bath to bring his temperature down. Reese fights him on instinct (maybe letting slip in his delirium that the last time someone shoved him into a cold bath it was not with the best of intentions) but Fusco can handle him when he's hurt like this. Reese eventually comes around having been dried off, put in sleep pants and tucked in bed. Fusco puts it down to Reese still being out of it that he sees him there, and still goes back to sleep.

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

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-21 03:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Hope you enjoy!

Ring Fence
hollyberries: (Default)

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

[personal profile] hollyberries 2013-08-21 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Hi, if you could indicate the pairing (or lack of one), warnings, and rating on the subject line on your future fills, that would be very much appreciated!

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

[personal profile] huggle 2013-08-22 11:19 am (UTC)(link)
Whoops, sorry. I don't think I can edit the post, but I can delete and repost if you like?

Finch/Reese - competence kink

(Anonymous) 2013-08-22 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese is turned on by Finch's big ... brain. (Yeah, okay, that's the show, but still.)