#bigbunnimal

I am a huge fan of your Scum villains fanfics on ao3, especially " Pride is not the word I'm looking for" and its related stories.

I hope it's not rude to ask this. I am wondering whether you've written professionally and have published anything else in a more official capacity?

I would love to read more of your work. The way you write original characters blows me away. I didn't think I would come to love OCs such as those in PINTWILF, but I fell for them. hard.

So, I hope it's not a rude or inconvenient question. It's really alright if you don't answer it. I just want to tell you how much I love the whole PINTWILF universe!

Thank you for sharing such amazing stories!!!

Hello and thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed my stories and my original characters for them. I had a lot of fun trying to flesh out the SVSSS world for PINTWILF.

I don't have any published original fiction at the moment, though I am interested in sitting down to properly finish one of my fantasy novel ideas someday, or else even potentially writing professionally for stage, screen, or video games. For now, my job keeps me busy and I enjoy using fanfiction to cool down at the end of the day.

Okay so I felt STUCK and unable to write, and then i opened my inbox and saw this and was like huh… yep. That would def be pretty delicious and interest. I do apologize for the lack of smut.

SUMMARY: Harold does not feel comfortable with John cleaning his guns in the library. There’s more than one reason for that.

Harold knew he had a weakness. Just one: John’s hands. Morespecifically, John’s hands when they caressed the barrels of the guns, sure andconfident, going through the motions that were basically muscle memory by now.

Okay maybe he had two weaknesses, because he couldn’t stopstaring when John pursed his lips and blew air inside the cylinder. And thefocus in John’s eyes, the intensity, was yet another weakness on its own,together with the surge of illogical jealousy that accompanied it.

Alright so maybe Harold had a competence kink. It wasn’tsurprising. He had never been someone who indulged in idle fancy. Everythinghad a purpose, and the better it served that purpose, the more valuable it was.And John, well John was competence incarnate, his every move calculated, everyword important, every muscle trained to be efficient and useful.

When you come to think of it, Harold did have only oneweakness after all, one thing that was sure to wreak havoc on Harold’s senses, distractinghim to the point until he forgot basic codes, and making him unable to doanything but be hopelessly enchanted. And that weakness was John.

So really, he wasn’t to be blamed for staring right now, asJohn expertly cleaned the guns, in the middle of the library, again. Harold hadtold him off many, many times. And only the first few times had been because ofhis discomfort at having dangerous weapons so close to him. He didn’t lie… hewasn’t exactly comfortable having John do this in the library twice a week, butthe reasons for that were not what John probably expected.

He resigned himself to not being able to work for the timeit took John to be done with his weapon maintenance, and relaxed into his seat.If he was going to waste time, he might as well enjoy it. His eyes lingered,proprietary, at the way John’s muscles flexed and bunched, the way hismovements were fluid and graceful, and he wistfully reminisced about the timewhen the sight of weapons filled him with dread. It surely was better than thelow hum of arousal that accompanied the sight these days. If he didn’t knowbetter, he would think John conditioned him like that on purpose, deliberatelyshowing off how skilled he was, how adeptat handling guns, boasting in his ear about his prowess and then proving it,over and over again. Harold was only human after all.

“See anything interesting, Finch?” John’s voice made Haroldstartle out of his day dream. He felt a blush creep up on his face and hedecidedly turned his face away, not wanting to see the smirk on John’s face atbeing caught staring.

“Nothing Mr. Reese?”

“Hmm,” John mused, and dammit, Harold could hear the smirk even without seeing it. “That’sstrange, because I could’ve bet you were appreciating the view.”

Harold looked back at him, saw the way John’s eyes wereglinting with mischief and gaped. “You! You were doing this on purpose.”

John shrugged, not denying the allegation. “What can I say?I am a man of simple pleasures.”

“And pray tell, what those might be?”

“Oh, just the way your breath hitches when I do this.” Johntook a rag and carefully, intimately, ran it down the smooth metal, making Haroldremember all the times John had caressed his skin similarly, making his breath,oh what the hell, hitch. John grinned in victory. “And the way your pupilsdilate, and your hands clench futilely when I do this…”

“That’s quite enough Mr. Reese,” Harold sighed, stoppingfurther calculated assault on his senses. “You have proved your point.”

John put down the guns then, and stood up, a predator inevery sense. Harold should not find it as attractive as he did. “I likeflustering you. I like knowing I am more interesting than your code, knowingthat I can distract you away from it.” John stalked towards him, and Harold’smouth ran dry, his heartrate spiking. “It’s a heady rush.”

“And still you focus on your… ammunition… instead of takingadvantage of your carefully orchestrated distraction.” Harold was not going topout, he wasn’t, but he had been bewitched by this routine far too many times tonot feel cheated.

“Are you jealous of my guns, Harold?”

“No!” And he was totally pouting, against his will. He stoodup as John approached, trying to balance out the height as to not feel like aprey being hunted, but it only allowed John to corner him against the desk moreeasily.

“You are,” John chuckled delightedly, and Harold felt hisface heat up. “You are jealous of the way I handle my guns.”

“So what if I am? Is it so wrong to begrudge the way you arepractically fondling and…and-molesting- your equipment.”

John smirked, and the action promised so many sinful thingsthat Harold’s knees quivered. John bent closer, practically whispering in hisear now. “I wonder, if you’re upset because I am molesting the guns, or becauseI am not molesting you.”

Harold swallowed heavily, knowing that was a rhetoricalquestion. John knew the answer to that. John’s other hand came to rest onHarold’s neck, fingers stroking, caressing, making liquid heat bloom just underHarold’s kin, pool in his stomach. He whimpered. “That’s what I thought.” Johnmurmured, annoyingly smug.

He pulled away, despite the whine of protest that leftHarold’s throat, and Harold tried to be annoyed at the way there was tease andmischief written even in the curve of John’s eyebrow, for heaven’s sake. Hewished he had enough functioning brain cells to come up with a clever retort,but they had all overloaded and fried while he watched John expertly dismantlethe guns, before turning his skills at dismantling Harold’s composure. The twothings were more interlinked than Harold cared to admit.

“We can’t have that, can we? Don’t you think it’s about timeI paid attention to my lover, properly, so he would not stop doing absurdthings, like being jealous of mere weaponry?” John’s fingers were on thebuttons of his waistcoat now, playing with them, and Harold really should shutup.

“You like your weaponry.” He pointed out.

“I do.” John glanced up, something bashful in his gaze peekingfrom behind the mischief, “but I like you more.”

Well, earnest John, Harold found out, he was utterlydefenseless again. So it was entirely John’s fault that Harold muffled a moanagainst John’s lips at that, pulling him closer and pouring his want into thekiss John eagerly returned.

And John, excellent lover that he was, spent the next fewhours showing Harold exactly how skilled he was with his hands, with histouches and strokes. How adept, at taking apart the things he cherished andputting them back together.

I love you and please know that you are very important to me. Not just because you liked my tags, but also because you are so very kind and treat them as if they are meaningful things. And for that, I owe you a million thanks!

Rating: T Fandom: Person of Interest (TV) Relationship: Harold Finch/John Reese Words: 3513

Summary: “Harold,” John laughed. “Do you really think I don’t find you attractive?" Or the one where Harold has some doubts about their relationship and John lets him know how ridiculous they are.

Quite rarely, do you meet a person and think that right there is light incarnate. And you reach out to take some of it for yourself. Only to be burned. Because what shines bright also scorches.

But once in a while you come across the exception. Someone who is dazzling like the stars and doesn't wait for you to reach out. They scatter their light like seeds in the soil and watch with pride, as glowing little seedlings sprout because of it. Because of them.

The World (version 1)

John is sprawled lazily on a chair, reading. It’s a quiet day with no numbers yet, so they have settled in the library, enjoying the calm. Finch has been typing away all morning. John realizes he hasn’t heard the clicking of keys for a while now, and looks up.

Harold is sitting, both his hands cradling his face, and staring at the monitor. There’s something like awe on his face and John feels vaguely jealous. He watches Harold watch the screen for many long minutes, waiting for him to get back to typing. Instead, Harold seems transfixed.