#raymond reddington fan fic

[writingbyshiloh]

Sharp Dressed Man

AN: mutual pining with FBI's most wanted and agent! Reader has my heart idk what to tell you guys. I'll do the tag list at some point I'm just lazy

WC: 0.6k

"Where do you think you're going?" Ressler snaps at Reddington. The criminal doesn't even look phased by Ressler's attitude, instead, he just adjusts his fedora.

"Inside. That's where the criminals are, Donald." He replies, cocking his head as if to better analyze the situation. You press your lips together to hide a smile. A smile which has nothing to do with your small, schoolgirl crush on the concierge of crime. To avoid getting caught smiling, you zip up your FBI windbreaker, the only one in the group to have visible government identification.

Donald leads the way, pushing the door to Reddington. Instead of keeping with the chain, he holds the door open for you. You walk through, politely thanking him and wait in the lobby. When he follows, you allow him to walk in front of you. Having him in the middle helps keep his profile low.

To prevent Raymond from charming the receptionist, Donald leads the group, informing her why you're here (to collect files), who you represent (special FBI task force), and who the man in the suit is (a lie about how he's your supervisor). The files are only minor, nothing critical but the company's phone reception is abysmal.

You can only focus on how she smiles at Ressler, warm and slightly fascinated at what a man in a suit with an important job is telling her. You can't blame her.

"I have some files here, but most are kept in storage on the third floor." she helpfully tells the group, only glancing at you and Reddington, keeping her eyes on Donald. If he's not picking up on her hints it may be time for him to retire. She's toying with her necklace, drawing attention to her lips. Maybe you can give Ressler a shove in the right direction.

"Is anyone on the third floor?" You ask, watching her eyes draw slowly to you. Not rudely or abruptly, but in a caught-oggling way. You flash her a small smile.

"Mhmm. Lon should be up there. I can call him if you'd like." She says, reaching for her desk phone.

"You should stay here. We can go up to the third floor." You tell Donald, a slight bite in your voice so he doesn't argue. Before he can reply, slide your hand on Reddington's shoulder to get him away from the desk.

Once directly in front of you, you give his shoulders a push towards the stairs. Raymond tries to keep his breath steady as he feels you press your chest into his back. Your arms are on his shoulders, trying to move his as fast as you can. You're taking small, wide steps, being careful not to step on his shoes. He's thankful for that but in all honestly, he wouldn't mind whatever you do to him, so long as you're this close.

Once you're out of eyesight, you peel yourself off, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I saw how the receptionist was looking at him, I think she likes him."

"I understand, my dear. Something about a sharp-dressed man?" He asks, slowly acceding the stairs, with you right behind.

"Ew. He's not sharply dressed, he looks like every other FBI agent in a suit." You reply, hoping that Raymond doesn't pick up the subtext in your words, that his suits are much nicer.

He does, but for your sake keeps it to himself. Maybe he'll wear the cream one tomorrow, try and impress you.

[dandannoodl3s]

So wow this is my first fanfic. I finally completed the Blacklist (hopped on the bandwagon a little late I know) but since we all have to wait a while before Season 8 comes out next year (hopefully!) I thought I would write a short Keenler fic right after that explosive season 7 partly animated finale. It picks up straight after Liz’s confrontation with Dom in the hospital where she tells him she had chosen Katarina in her quest for the truth and that she would hurt him and Red if they came in her way. I hope you like it and since this is my first, please go easy on me *inserts puppy dog eyes* Also I would like to mention and give full credits to @alyblacklist for your Ressler GIF. I love your blog!!

Liz bursts out of the makeshift hospital they were keeping Dom in. He was stable now, but her confrontation with him lying in a coma stirred something in her that terrified her. Did she really just threaten Dom? Her very own grandfather for a woman she’s known hardly a few months? For a woman who not just tried to kill her grandfather but also posed a threat to Agnes and herself with her very presence? And Reddington, was she really willing to step out of his hold and away from his shadow in her quest to get answers about her life, her past, who he was and why she was so important to him? He may be an imposter and his constant cat and mouse games, moves and countermoves and skirting of the truth frustrated Liz to a boiling degree, but he was in all things considered, the one person who had risked his life and everything to protect her more than a handful of times.

Red was the only one who understood and forgave the dark side that had emerged after Tom’s death. But then again who Tom was and why he died at the end of the day all led back to Red. Who is she without Red? But then again who is she with Red? Could she really trust Katarina? There’s so much she wanted to know yet she felt overwhelmed by the mess and complexity that her life had become. She knew she was playing a very dangerous game where someone was bound to get hurt. And whoever that would be didn’t matter because it would all come back to hurt her in the end; she was after all Masha Rastova, whose life in the last decade or so had been a constant rainfall of bad news.

Speaking of rainfall, it was getting dark. It had been cloudy all day and suddenly Liz felt droplets of water fall on her. She wanted to scream into the night. Now more than ever she needed someone. Someone to make her feel sane, normal and loved as opposed to being tugged, prodded and manipulated for a war that she was still trying to prepare herself for. Liz got into her car, tears already falling down her cheeks as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened in the last few days and hours. And then she remembered what Ressler had said to her before their hunt for the Kazanjian brothers, “You gotta decide between the two of them and whether the fact that she rescued him tip the scales any?”

Before she knew it Liz was driving to Ressler’s apartment. They’d become closer than ever in the last few months, especially now that Liz knew he trusted her enough to be able to tell her his darkest childhood secret, something that had haunted him all his life.

“And somewhere in that FEMA disaster of a life, is a tiny island of calm”

Liz remembered what she had said to him just a few days ago. Those words had shifted their partnership forever and had made their bond the most important thing in her life after Agnes. It was pouring by now. She parked outside his apartment and wondered whether she should go and just bear her soul to him. Tell him everything. She was soaking wet. Her eyes red from having cried all the way to his apartment after having overanalyzed the precarious situation she had put herself in by siding with Katarina. Another betrayal.

She took the stairs to calm herself down but by the time she was outside his apartment she was not only drenched but also struggling to catch her breath. She was tired and emotional and didn’t know anywhere else to go. It was always like this. Ressler was the only one she found herself wanting to go to.

She knocked on the door, well aware that it was almost 11pm. After what felt like minutes, the door opened Liz looked up to see him.

“Liz, geez are you okay? What happened?”

Why couldn’t she move ?

“Liz, come here, come in”

He took her arm gently and led the way in. While she stood in the middle of his hallway, he rushed across to the bathroom to bring her a towel, along with a warm sweater and a pair of his old joggers.

“Come on, dry yourself, I’ll make us some coffee and you can tell me what’s going on”

“Ress..I..I..did it”

Ressler’s forehead furrowed in confusion

“Did what Keen?”

“I picked a side like you told me to. And god knows why but I chose her.”

And then came the tears.

Ressler swiftly made his way across to her, a look of concern washed all over his face. He wrapped his arms around her. The way he had done so many times. But this time it was different. This time they were more in sync than ever, especially after she explained why she had helped cover up the crime he and his brother had committed when they were kids. He knew there and then he was ready to fight by her side no matter who she chose.

Liz was shivering. Ressler held her for as long as she needed, while she latched on to him for comfort. Soon she broke away but her eyes latched deep into Ressler’s warm, piercing blue eyes. They held their gaze for a long time. Too long for them to just be friends anymore. A deep, monumental seven years of trust, love, hope and comfort that had been established between them since Red’s introduction of his ‘Blacklist’.

“I’ll clean up” She smiled a sad, tired smile.

Ressler’s POV

It was 2am. Liz had just finished telling him everything. And he could tell how relived she was that someone finally knew what she’s been holding in and struggling with. He had seen her life become caught in the crossfire between two lethal and dangerous criminals, whose real intentions with her remained as unclear to them as they had been since the day Raymond Reddington surrendered to the FBI.

Seated at his dining table, Liz had her legs up on the chair, curled into a blanket while he looked at her.

“You’re staring”

Huh?

“Ress, you’re staring at me” Her face slightly flushed.

Oh.

“Um... I’m just wrapping my head around all this. But I want you to know that you’re not alone in this. I’m here with you, every step of the way. I told you, I’m not planning to go anywhere, I got you.”

In that moment he swore he saw Liz’s face glow like nothing he’d ever seen before. She was beautiful and also taken aback by the forwardness of his emotions. Things had definitely changed... perhaps it was time.

She got out of her seat and made her way to him. Instinctively he got up from his own seat, his mind and heart very aware of his beautiful partner standing in front of him. Her hand was on his chest, both of them breathing deeply, looking into each others’ eyes, lost in the domesticity and naturalness of it all. She took another step forward, her eyes not leaving his for a single second. They spoke volumes of how thankful she was and how much it mattered to her that he took her side.

And in that moment he wanted nothing more than to finally kiss her and make it known that he felt the same way about her, but before he could finish his thoughts, he felt her lips against his. His arms instantly wrapped around her waist as she stood on her toes to meet his height. It was a slow, loving and deep kiss. A kiss that marked their long journey through hell, bullets, murders, comas, sociopaths and spies only for them to find a home in each other.

End

I’m open to prompts if you want some more fan fic!!!

[decieven]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Blacklist (US TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Raymond Reddington/You, Raymond Reddington/Reader Characters: Raymond Reddington, Dembe Zuma, Gender-Neutral Reader - Character Additional Tags: One Shot, Slice of Life, Fluff, No Angst, Some Humor, Reader-Insert, Platonic Relationships Summary:

You're in for an eventful, early morning - though it doesn't entirely ruin your day, you think.

[captainskyson]

It’s funny how quickly routines can be established, and how quickly they can be obliterated.

A quick little ditty I wrote after watching the S5 fall finale. So, spoilers if you haven’t seen that episode.

Fills some of that time jump gap. Lizzington if you squint.

[certainlybyitslast]

“You can’t judge a book by its cover.  But you can by its first few chapters, and certainly by its last.”  -Red

What does this last chapter tell us?

While I know we have another season to go, to watch our beloved characters mourn, change, and ultimately grow, this was the last chapter of “The Blacklist” as we know it.

This last chapter (this season) was at times: confusing, exciting, heartwarming, confounding, frustrating, and heartbreaking.  I’m still wrapping my head around it.

To the fans: I am sorry.  I got into this show this year.  I am heartbroken.  I can’t imagine what fans, who invested eight years, blogs, fics, lives, into this show must feel.  I ask myself, “do I wish I had never even seen this show at all?”  It’s easy to wish the pain away.  But when the pain dies down, something good must have come from it all, right?  It changed us in some ways - maybe confidence, maybe wardrobe choices, maybe friendships, along the way.  There were good stories in there through the years to inspire.

To the writers and producers:  In the wise words of Ron Swanson, “Don’t confuse drama with happiness.”  Don’t confuse high drama with good storytelling.  Don’t confuse the fact that the fandom is engaged and talking about that finale as if you have done a good job (the alternative being a flat, predictable end). Yes, you moved people, most to tears.  You broke their hearts.  You told a tragedy.  You also made your fans question the last eight seasons, and their role in it.  You didn’t inspire us with this last chapter.  You made us ask ourselves, “was it all a lie?”  Meaning, was our investment in this story all for naught?  I’d be willing to bet the majority of your female audience needed to see Liz Keen in their lives, needed her bravery, vulnerability, and ability to pick herself up and dust herself off and try again.  If what we ultimately get at the end of this show is Reddington’s redemption, that’s not enough.  We needed to see the female win something.  She lost.

Raymond Reddington said, “Value Loyalty Above All Else.”  What about the die hard fandom?  What did their loyalty get them in the end?  Where was the show’s loyalty to its fan base, still hanging on after all this time when others stopped watching?  One thing I came to love about this show very quickly, was how smart it was - it didn’t pander to the audience; there was no contrived, hokey crap.  Giving your fans a satisfying ending, does not mean it has to be puppy dogs and rainbows.  It doesn’t have to be a zero sum game.  The storytellers here decided to write the tragedy, because not all stories have a happy ending.  But after the year we’ll all had, a little ray of sunshine wouldn’t have been so terrible.

I came to this show this year, drawn in by Keenler.  I realized this love story was a C storyline, and would not get as much screen time as I would like (or it deserved), but week after week I craved more of it.  I jumped head first into the deep end.  The finale was heartbreaking.  I never cry.  I cried through the episode, I sobbed afterward.  I sobbed the next day and the next.  I can’t re-watch that last scene; I can’t listen to that beautiful music composed specifically for that scene.  It’s too emotional.  I can’t re-watch those beautiful Keenler scenes, like the Wing Yee dinner in the office.  Now, it’s tainted.

Individually, the characters on the show are great, but we found out this season that the spark of the show, Megan Boone as Liz Keen, is what ignited the story in each of them.  Yes, we will tune in to Season 9 to initially watch Ressler (I could watch Diego read the phone book), but it was Ressler as he related to Liz that made his character come to life.  Every look he gave Liz, every hero moment, was in relation to her, how it advanced their characters’ relationship from one of mistrust to complete trust.

I don’t think I will ever understand the business of show, the sausage making, the deals, the games they play.  I wish those nuts and bolts of the business didn’t interfere with the storytelling, but we all know they do. 

I have to thank Alyblacklist and her tumblr for EVERYTHING.  She fueled this fire for me.  I hope she gets some closure - the powers that be should recognize that.

I will continue to wrap my head around the “why” of it all.  I will tune in to Season 9 to see how they explain some things or at least talk through the hurt (at this point I don’t care anymore about the mythology - too little, too late).  I hope people continue to post good stories from the show - BTS, bloopers, actor info and news - those things act as a salve for the wounds left by the finale.

[mytinyislandofcalm]

Day 7 - Saturday July 25th - Free choice. Be creative!  Fan art, videos, edits, fics - anything you like to celebrate Keenler!

Last but not least - A Keenler FanFic! Enjoy :) @keenlerweek @aussieokie @alyblacklist

2 Days. It's been 2 days since he took her from him.

He didn't know where she was 

And he blamed himself for it. 

"Uncle Donnie, I can't sleep...!" Agnes pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Come on sweetheart I'll tuck you in." He picked her up and carried her into the bed.

"Uncle Donnie... Where is Mommy?" His heart stopped for a second. What should he tell her? Hey Agnes your mom was kidnapped because of me?

"I actually don't know Munchkin" he said "But we are trying everything to find her, I promise you she'll be back soon"

"When is she coming back.. I miss her!" 

He knew he had to change the subject

" Aha little Miss, So you don't like me, hm? I get it know!" he started tingling her

"Nooo Nooo" she started giggling "You are my favourite Uncle!"

"I most certainly hope so!" he said while looking at her

She looked just like Liz, she had her eyes, her hair and her laugh. Almost everything reminded him of her and how badly he wanted her back.

He was up all night trying to find another way to save her, bring her back to Agnes. Bring her back to him but he couldn't think clearly. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

Next Morning he dropped Agnes of at school and went to the Post Office.

When he arrived he saw Reddington arguing with Cooper.

"I have to tell him" he thought. He said No Cops but Reddington was not a cop and he was the only chance to save Liz.

"If you hear something from Elizabeth, anything- I want you to call me, I will get her out myself" Reddington said while putting his  fedora hat on.

He walked towards Ressler and noticed he had something to say.

before Ressler could say anything, Reddington pulled him in the elevator: "Not here, Donald"

"Talk "he said while approaching his Car.

Ressler took a deep breath: " There was guy a partner I worked with.

We were really good friends until I discovered that he was corrupt. He took the Money from the Myers Syndicate who we were investigating at that point of time. I reported it and we breached his apartment. He had his friends from the Kartell over and then a shooting started." 

As He looked over to Reddington, he was calm ,waiting for him to continue. 

" In that shooting his wife was killed and he blames me for it... His name is Ma-"

"Marcus Hale" Reddington sighed.

Ressler was confused,"How do you kn-"

" He is a Blacklister. Did he reach out to you?"

"Yes, he wants the List of the agents who were with me that day. I am supposed to text him on this number" He showed Reddington the number. " But I don't have access to that file."

"Thank you Donald, That’s all I need to know" he pointed at the door" You may leave now"

" You know where she is don't you?" 

" I may have a slightest idea." 

"No, No" Ressler laughed sarcastically." I'm not going anywhere. You know where she is and I am going with you, there is no Way I am leaving now, She is my partner"

"Are you sure that’s the only reason you want to come Donald?"

Ressler never wanted to admit it. Deep down he always knew, that what he felt for her was more than just friendship. Now that she is missing he is starting to see things clearly. He is in love with her, he always was and now she is kidnapped because of him.

"Donald? Donald! Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, Sorry You were saying? 

"I said text him that you have the file"

"But I don't have it"

" Oh Donald always so stiff. Have you ever heard of the Word lying? That's something you do whe-"

"Don't push it Reddington." Ressler took his phone and started typing. "What if it’s too late? „he thought. "What if they've  killed her already? „ That thought sent a shiver down his spine.

The message was sent.

"What now" Ressler asked with a shaky Voice. He hated that he was so weak.

 He hated that she made him weak. Ressler needed to be strong. for her. 

"Now ? Now we wait!" Reddington said.

Not even five minutes later his phone rang.

Ressler looked at Reddington.

"Pick up and put it on speaker"

"Ressler? He answered the phone.

" Oh Don, I knew you would make the right decision. She is quite important to you isn't she?

"Where is Elizabeth Keen?" He asked. He knew he couldn't show too much emotion.

" Bring me the file and you will get her back"

" I need to know if she is alive. Let me talk to her"

" Fine Donnie"

A few seconds later they heard a heavy breathing from the phone : " Ressler?"

Her Voice.  Hearing her voice knowing that she was alive took a little Pressure of his chest. But hearing the pain in her Voice made him want to scream.

Red and Dembe were also relieved.

" Thank God Liz!  Jesus are you alright ?! Did he hurt you?!"

" Ressler" she said. Her voice broke. " Don't give him the file. He will kill me any-"

" Uh Oh I am afraid Times up Donnie" You want to see her? BRING ME THE GODDAMN FILE" 

" But where the hell are we going to meet Marcus?"

"You will find out soon enough!" Marcus said and hung up.

"Damn it ! Damn it! DAMN ITT!" Ressler shouted.

" Calm Down Agent Ressler!" Dembe said

" Calm Down? CALM DOWN!? Did you hear her? She is going to die because of me!"

Liz had been kidnapped often before but this Time. This Time he promised he would protect her. He was her island of calm and he let her down. Reddington remained silent. He was extremely mad and afraid of losing Elizabeth, because he knew. He knew what revenge could make a person do. And Marcus Hale needed that Revenge. Badly. 

" He texted!" Ressler interrupted his thought.

" What does the Text say?" 

"It’s an address: 5483 Pickford Road. D.C at 6 pm, What are we going to do now?"

" You Donald, are going home. There is still plenty of time left." 

" And you ? What are you going to do?"

" Me? I am going to get that file. Goodbye Donald! 

At home Ressler couldn't sit tight. He picked up Agnes from school. He had to bring her someplace safe before their meeting with Hale.

"Aram Mojtabai?"

"Hey Aram ? I need a favour."

"Agent Ressler? Sure What is it?"

"Could you watch Agnes for tonight? I have an important meeting"

"Sure! I will pick her up, Uhm Agent Ressler? Is it about Agent Keen? Is she safe? did you find her? 

"Not yet. But I hope she will be soon..."

Shortly After Aram picked up Agnes.

Ressler got a phone call from Nick's Pizza.

"Donald, Its Time. I am in front of your apartment. Get there." after that he hung up.

Ressler immediately made his way to Reds car.

" Reddington, Did you get the file" 

" Of Course I did well it’s not exactly a file its an USB Stick, Dembe ? Did you call Baz, Chuck and Morgan for backup?"

"Yes Raymond I did. There are all in position." 

Ressler was a nervous wreck inside. He must have looked that way because Reddington said:   " We are going to get her out safely."

Ressler remembered the first time that he thought she was dead. His whole world broke apart back then. He didn't want to no; he couldn't lose her again.

Dembe suddenly stopped the car.

“Agent Ressler, you have to go alone from here”

“ Donald there is a listening and tracking device in the Stick, so we will be knowing what is happening and where you are going. Good Luck”

Ressler took a deep breath and went to the meeting point. After a few minutes a guy with sunglasses came towards him. “Agent Donald Ressler? Come with me.”

They went into a Warehouse. Ressler looked around and then he saw her. She was wearing a dress. A dress which looked familiar to him. There where 5 to 10 men surrounding them but he only had eyes for her.

“Liz..” he whispered again. But this Time he finally had her in his arms. He gently stroked her back. She started crying and Ressler felt so helpless but  he finally had her back. He kissed her eyes, her cheek and her forehead. A little embarrassed by his outward affection he pulled away and his eyes dropped to her dress. He couldn´t stop thinking about the dress which looked so awfully familiar.

“Donnie! My dear friend ! Long Time No see huh? “. Ressler protectively put himself in front of Liz.

“ Do you have the File? “

“ Listen Marcus. This is how its gonna go. I will hand  you the file and you will let me and Elizabeth go. You hear me?”

“Fine, and now give it to me.”

“I don´t like this. He agreed too fast . Dembe call the others we have to move.”

Marcus looked at the file. Then he nodded. Two guards came from behind and grabbed Ressler.

“ I’m sorry Don. Change of plans” he took Liz by her Arm. She would fight, but she had no power.

“GET YOUR FRICKING HANDS OF HER OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL-“

“You will what? Kill me? I think this will be a little hard in your.. Position” Marcus laughed.

“Donnie, what I have been meaning to ask you… Does this dress look familiar ?

“Take. Your Hands. Off.  Her”

“Yeah No. I am not gonna do that. But remember this dress? This is the dress, my wife wore when YOU KILLED HER! And I am going to the same thing to her what you did to my wife. What you did TO ME!

It was those words that made ressler pause. Hanging in the hair were the words that defined how he really felt for Liz. The same value of Marcus's wife.

Ressler’s Heart stopped. They were going to kill her. Another friend of his was going to take the Life of the woman he loved.

“ No. Please! Marcus! You can´t do this ! Please! Take me! She has nothing to do with this please!”

“No; No killing you will not give me the satisfaction . I want to see you suffer.”

Ressler made attempts to wriggle out of the guards’ grip. But he failed. He screamed, he shouted, he begged. But nothing helped.  Tears came out of his eyes. I realized, that this was the moment he could lose her. She couldn’t go without knowing.

“I LOVE YOU, LIZ” he said under tears. “I love you. I love you: I LOVE YOU” he repeated like his mantra.

In between her tears and struggles Liz stopped at his words. Her eyes caught Ressler's and her eyebrows furrowed. She'd never seen him like this.

Liz wanted to say something but suddenly there was a shot. One of the guards that was holding him fell to the ground. Soon after the other one went down.

Ressler reacted fast. He took the gun and shot two other guards.  As he looked back he didn’t just see Reds Team. Harold and Park were standing there backing them up. Only Marcus was left. But he held a gun on to Liz’s head.

“Well If I am going to be arrested anyway, I can still do the thing I was planning to do. Any last words; Agent Keen?”

Liz cried. Ressler had never seen her this vulnerable.

“ Ressler, I lo-“ A shot.

 Marcus fell on the ground. Dead. Liz fell on to her knees sobbing and crying. Ressler told her that he loved her. She couldn´t even say how long she wanted to hear him say that. He came over to her and hugged her. “Shhh, Its gonna be fine. I am right here.”

“ I -love..” she tried to say. “ I lo…”

“I know. I know. It’s okay.

“ Donald. There is an ambulance outside. Get her checked and drive her to your apartment. She can’t be alone tonight.”

After getting checked. Ressler drove her to his apartment.

“Where is Agnes?” Liz asked while taking her coat off.

“She is with Aram” They looked at each other. Not saying anything.

“Look what I said earlier I-“ He was interrupted by her lips. She stopped thinking in that momemt. His lips were warm and soft. She felt safe. A feeling she didn’t have for a while. Ressler was still in shock. 

Realizing what was happening, Ressler responded the kiss. His was hand was cupping her neck while his arm was pulling her as close as possible. She pulled back just to look at him again. His eyes were vulnerable, but relieved, you could see how badly he wanted her.

Ressler broke the kiss again but before Liz could start protesting, she felt his lips kissing her jawline down to her neck. Her Hands moved into his hair when she pulled him up to kiss him again.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this” Ressler said between the kisses.

But just as he said those words he realised what a long day it must have been for Liz and resisted kissing her more.

“As much I would like to continue this Liz, you have to go and rest. You can use the shower, or the bathtub.”

“Thank you."

Her face was flushed and she pulled back a lock of her hair from her face. Before she walked away she added, "Oh and Don? I love you too”

[toyfrog]

Blacklist Returning To Original Arc?

Now I much wrote off this show in S3 due to its penchant for never advancing story or completing the arc. And lying to their audience. But my mother and two Keenler supporters suggested I should watch the last four episodes. So I did, and here’s what I noticed: Dec 7, 1990 -the tape Katerina working with Alan Fitch- given. “There was so much blood...” Who murdered who’s family? Federal Hill was mentioned. The Cabal was finally mentioned after three years. Remember that plot-line? Samar brought up “Ressler’s laptop.” -Hinting S3A and what Liz should’ve discovered-Ressler slept with Samar. Is that being revealed? It has to come out to trigger Liz. Liz’ makeup and hair, and clothing like when she lived in motels is like Season 2. Almost like S4-5 we’re wiped out. And I haven’t even got to Keenler yet. Katerina takes Red to Dr. Kholer- yes for obvious reasons: fire, Cape May, the burns on Red’s back. Red rescued Liz from death. Katerina took her to Mr. Kaplan. “She knows that I once was someone else,” is different than, “she knows who I am.” So, Red at one disguised himself surgically as someone else... such as another intelligent officer? One that was a double agent that fell in love with a KGB officer? Reread that monologue. Katerina hated real Reddington. He was a bad man. The psychiatrist in the mental ward told Red he’s not. He saved her life and did not have to. “You’re an imposter” Meaning he never betrayed his country, never was treasonous, not a bad man. He was a boy scout- this is why Red has always admired Ressler- He sees himself in him. “Always wanted to be a boy scout.” I wrote four analysis’ as to why this original arc was core to the entire Red mystery. Red has always enlisted Ressler as Liz protector. Always. And this is what Ressler currently is trying to figure out- why pretend to be Raymond Reddington a criminal he could be anyone else?” “She knows I was once someone else.” And that person who he once was is the danger, the threat, the key. Red never refers to Jennifer as his child... but he does emphasize to Liz not to hate her mother and that her parents loved her very much. “She was caught between a rock and a hard place.” Katerina’s plot wasn’t to destroy “her Red”- the Cabal came after “his family” If you listen to the tape, she says, “his daughter....(Jennifer) “my daughter.” Katerina slept with a multitude of men including “the imposter.” A love child born in Russia. Everything was done to protect Masha. Now go to the episode in S 3 while Liz is pregnant and being told by Red- “your parents loved each other very much, Cold War, Russia was collapsing..” escape... time to be someone else... Raymond Reddington is a lost identity-erased then rose from the shadows as a criminal to go after those who destroyed his family. Go to the farmer parable. Alan Fitch knew who Red really was from the very beginning- Dembe knows who Red really is. “I am trying to save your soul,” Season 2 -what episode was that? The one where Ressler was held in a cage. (My memory is shot) Liz supporting him on the back of an ambulance. The pills. -go back to that episode, you’ll find clues. The parallels.. so many. The zoom angles. I lost count. The return to Ressler’s apartment. The T shirt he wore is the same one in Mako Tanida. Now keep in mind, this is all Jr Orci and Lukas Reiter “Let’s return to Season 2 arc,” example: Jennifer is Naomi’s child. Red loved Naomi, Mrs. Carla Reddington. Now “think” of the name Carla. “I’ll give you this: “he’s not who you think he is.” Anyone see the movie, “No Way Out?” Watch it especially the ending. “I drowned...I saw the other side...” “You are a dead man walking.” Yes. He always has been. Now go back to Cape May- Who is the dead man on the floor in Red’s reverie? Why was he “assisting” Katerina in torching the house? Why did red say, “a man would not let me see her.” Ressler never understood why Reddington would betray his country... -Anslo Garrick. “We become who we are.” Red never betrayed his country. He loves it. “I am innocent.” That what this has always been about. Becoming a criminal, going after the people who betrayed him- Alan Fitch was one of them. Red gets even “ Mako Tanida” what did he tell Ressler- “Go Home.” Red wanted revenge on the people who murdered his family on Christmas. “There was so much blood.” Bullets lodged inside the old house he blew up. The true identity of Red. Swan Lake. The ballet. “I know who you really are, Raymond. And I know why you did this. Does She?” Basically, the show has gone back S1-3. But it feels like the ending. “She knows I was once someone else.” She doesn’t know who he truly is. As for Keenler...”if something happened to you, I’ll never forgive myself.” “You’re just like your mother.” Yes, Liz is going to pull a Katerina to save Ressler from a perjury charge... and let’s not forget what he did for her at the end of S2- he let her go. Ressler and Liz in Cooper’s office clinking glasses- parallel to Ressler and Cooper clinking glasses over infiltrating the Cabal, getting Cooper back in charge, and Liz on the run. Ressler/Liz clinking glasses kinda like Birthday dinner but no. Ressler “girlfriend escort” plain Jane Audrey lookalike “there’s a pregnant woman in your living room,” -that dialogue although plot is significant. All the way down to Hannah’s coat. stupid moronic plot. Only inserted to show he has nothing in common with any woman but Liz, and return to Mako Tanida. Arguments sake- Ressler was supposed to be on the stand in season 3B. That got erased. And for what? Oh.... right- to push Eggold. Imagine where the story would truly be now. Honorable mention to Season 4 and The mind erase on Liz “I came to you? When?” “Two years ago.” Significant. I’m intrigued. It was like my fan fic came to life on screen. Nice build up. I’ll believe it completely if the season ends the way it’s supposed to- a replay of events from S1-S2, paralleled to now. Ressler is in trouble. Liz to the rescue. Samar’s memory will go back to S3-Cooper knows who real Reddington is-the cigar scene... and as Red said “a finger print could be lifted this DNA-Red didn’t care if Liz was his daughter or Sam’s or not. Katerina slept around she was an operative. She could be he didn’t know. Point is he loved her because he fell in love with her mother-A ballerina, who did not want to be pregnant. Did not want a child. Until she held her. Go back to S2 it’s all there.

[meetmeatthecoda]

Grifting with the Enemy: Chapter 4

Hey all! :D Here is the next chapter of GWTE! I know, I know, it’s been 84 years. I’m hoping there’s still some interest in this fic! In the coming days, I will splitting my writing time between this and Amethyst, which is Part 2 of Facets containing all my soulmate and AU prompts. Super pumped :) That said, this is a bit of a return to writing for me since it’s been a while since a substantial update cause of real life and it’s CERTAINLY been a while for an update on this fic, in particular. So, as usual, I would love any feedback you can give me, especially concerning continuity with previous chapters, flow, and pacing. I’m hoping I picked it up okay but, as always, I await your responses with baited breath :)) Anyhoo, please enjoy if you can and this will also be posted, as well as the previous 3 chapters, on my FF.net and AO3 profiles! :D Thanks guys! :) Much love! <3 

Liz walks into the restaurant, standing on her toes as she scans the room for Red. She sees many diners, all dressed in casual, mid-day finery, and paying her no mind. Liz purses her lips. Only Red would invite her to a restaurant like this knowing full well that she would be wearing a leather jacket and a blue beanie.

Typical.

Red had left a day in between their last meeting before calling again – Liz tried to ignore how happy she was that he didn’t wait a full three days like the last time – and inviting her to lunch to discuss the heist. In a public restaurant. In broad daylight.

Unbelievable.

She had assumed that he had reserved the whole stuffy restaurant or something ridiculous for the sake of privacy (that was something rich people did, right?), thinking there was no way he would discuss secret illegal plans surrounded by potentially eavesdropping diners.

She was wrong.

He apparently didn’t think anyone would care enough to listen to their heist plans or, if they did, he obviously didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He was happy to sit and enjoy what will probably be a delicious lunch – if the small portions and pristine table cloths are anything to go by – out in the open, where anyone can see him.

Except Liz, apparently.

She continues to crane her neck, struggling to find him in the busy restaurant. She sees the host spot her and start to make his way over to seat her. Great. She was hoping to slink in unnoticed, feeling very out of place in her current attire, every inch the careless, fresh-out-of-college, youth she pretended to be. She doesn’t even know what name Red gave when reserving his table and it could be anything. If she could just catch a glimpse of him –

“Hello, can I help you?”

The host interrupts her desperate search, looking at her with undisguised interest. Hm. Well, at least he’s not snobbish and rude. He is cute, after all, despite being several years younger than her, probably actually fresh out of college, as opposed to her. Oh well. Perhaps he can help.

“Um, maybe, I’m looking for a, well, he’s a, uh, he –”

But Liz is saved from struggling to describe the walking enigma that is Raymond Reddington by the sight of a fedora perched on a hat stand near the back of the restaurant. She swears it wasn’t there a second ago but, if it was, it’s no wonder she didn’t see it. He must have secured a private table if he’s all the way back there. She can’t see him but there’s no mistaking that hat, probably worth more than her monthly rent costs.

The host is still watching her hesitantly.

“Oh, never mind, I see him,” she says kindly, relieved, and flashes the young man a smile which seems to dazzle him a little. “I’ll just go and join him.”

She leaves the stuttering waiter behind, catching a quiet little “oh, okay” before she saunters out of earshot, not sorry to be going. He is sweet but much too young for her, even if an on-looker wouldn’t be able to tell. Besides, she’s not interested in a boy.

She is having lunch with a man.

(Oh, bad, Liz, bad thought.)

Liz weaves her way carefully through the tables, minding the messenger bag slung across her chest, catching a few stares from elegantly dressed man and woman with her bright blue beanie and wide rimmed glasses, as expected, before she finally rounds the corner to a table situated out of the way in a little alcove. It is still within sight and earshot of a few tables, all of which are suspiciously empty. Perhaps reserving the whole restaurant wasn’t such a far-fetched assumption, after all.

“Lizzie!”

His warm, welcoming voice washes over her, as it always does, making her feel much less out of place than she did in the open dining area. Amazing.

He sits in a fancy chair at the beautifully laid table, looking just like all the other elegant, rich diners in the outer area. She sighs.

(He’s so out of her league.)

There are only two places at the small table, all the dishes empty, save two goblets of water at each place. Both glasses contain the same amount, however, meaning that Red waited for her to arrive before eating or drinking. Somehow, she’s not surprised. He is an unfailingly polite criminal. She smothers a smile.

“Hi, Red,” she says happily, slinging her bag over the back of the vacant chair across from him. “Where’s Dembe today? Won’t he be joining us?”

Red smiles easily at her, taking a moment to watch her remove her beanie, stuff it a little self-consciously in her bag, and smooth a hand over her ponytail before answering.

“Dembe is rather a connoisseur of fine foods and he enjoys watching professionals at work. He’s in the kitchen observing.”

Liz raises her eyebrows, surprised and skeptical. She thinks it’s more likely that Dembe is watching over Red’s meal at all stages to make sure no one slips anything in it. That fits with her current profile of Red, appearing completely at ease while really going to all lengths to assuage his paranoia. Poor Dembe, being quarantined to the kitchen to watch his boss’s food, how unfair –

“I know what you’re thinking, Lizzie, and it’s nothing like that. Dembe is quite an enthusiastic chef. You should try his dishes, they’re exquisite. His mushroom ravioli with sun dried tomatoes and white wine sauce is to die for. And don’t even get me started on his desserts.”

Liz smiles, amused by Red’s gushing over Dembe. Perhaps their relationship is something deeper than it appears at first glance. She’ll be sure to observe them more closely from now on.

“I see. So, he is a willing student of the kitchen, is he?” she questions, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Very much so,” Red says happily. “I’ll tell him you were worried for him though, he’ll be touched. If you’re lucky, he may even make you his famous crème bruleé as a thank you.”

“Good, is it?”

“Positively indulgent,” Red hums, his voice deep and his eyes dark. Liz stares back at him, entranced. The air warms between them.

(Liz suddenly wonders what would happen if she took advantage of their seclusion at this private table, out of sight, alone, together –)

And then a male waiter materializes out of thin air – luckily a different young man than the one Liz talked to before – and the heated staring contest between Red and Liz comes to an abrupt end. Liz can’t help but feel both relieved and disappointed.

She reaches for her water goblet and takes a fortifying gulp.

“Are you and the young lady ready to order, Mr. Kershaw?” the man asks professionally, completely unaware of what he just interrupted. “Would you perhaps like some wine to get you started?”

“Yes, please, Walter,” Red says smoothly, turning away from Liz to address the waiter he is obviously familiar with. “I think we’ll share a bottle of ’76 Merlot, if that’s all right with you, of course, Lizzie?”

Liz, who hasn’t even glanced at the beautiful menu covered with curly writing, nods easily. “Sure, I’ll have a glass.”

“Very good, ma’am,” the waiter nods and disappears again.

Liz sighs, turning to the menu, on the hunt for something that looks good. She doesn’t even know where to begin. But she certainly doesn’t want to admit it to Red.

“If I may, Lizzie, I would recommend the chicken marsala with roasted potatoes and red wine sauce. It’s delicious, easily my favorite thing on the menu.”

Well. That sounds lovely. How convenient. But she doesn’t want to admit that either.

“Hmmm,” she hums noncommittally. “Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Liz pretends to read the rest of the menu thoroughly, already having settled on the chicken marsala. Then she thinks of a way to tease him more. She can’t resist.

“Red wine sauce, you said?”

“Yes. Why, are you not a fan of wine?”

“Oh, no, certainly, I am. I love a good glass of red before bed just as much as the next girl,” Liz smirks at him over the rim of her glasses. “I’m just sensing a theme with your suggestions here, Red. Not trying to get me drunk, are you?”

Red only grins at her, his eyes sparkling. “Perhaps I am,” he murmurs.

Another moment starts to grow between them but is quickly stopped once again by the return of their waiter with their ordered bottle of wine. Liz is starting to feel a distinct distaste for this poor server and his timing. But then he pours her a generous glass of wine and she feels a little more friendly.

“Are you perhaps ready to order?”

“Lizzie?”

“Yes, I am. But you first, please.”

“Of course,” Red agrees easily, wasting no time in ordering his preferred chicken dish.

The waiter simply nods, making no move to write the order down. Liz tries not to be impressed by that. This order will probably be the least complicated thing he serves all day. He turns to look at her expectantly.

“And I’ll have the same, please,” Liz says politely. The waiter just nods again before taking their menus and moving off.

“Well, well. You took my advice, after all,” Red says to her slyly, regaining her attention effortlessly.

“Well, you know, there’s a first time for everything,” Liz says cheekily, reaching for her wine glass.

Red smirks at her, picking up his own glass and clinking it gently with hers before she can bring it to her mouth. “Indeed,” he purrs, holding her eyes as he takes a sip from his glass.

She blushes.

(Oh, my.)

“Well, I was under the impression this was a working lunch. Am I mistaken?” Liz prompts after another long moment, struggling to break Red’s gaze long enough to form coherent words.

Red continues to stare at her for a second even after she looks away. She can feel his gaze on her, a warm, drugging thing, before he nods to himself and slips into his businessman persona.

(Liz can see the change in him easily, another person sliding into place as if a switch has been flipped.)

“No, you’re absolutely right. A working lunch it is,” Red confirms, straightening in his chair. “Details are coming together well for the heist.”

“Excellent,” Liz murmurs. “Any chance you want to fill me in on those details? I’m used to running solo on gigs like this. I feel quite left in the dark.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, that’s not at all my intention,” Red frowns, leaning forward to convey his sincerity. “It’s only logistical things that I’ve been organizing. I invited you to lunch today for the very purpose of filling you in.”

“Oh, good,” Liz says easily. She doesn’t feel any animosity towards Red for the lack of information. She believes him when he says he was intending to tell her. She just wants to prod him along a little, with the heist date drawing closer every day. “So, what do I need to know?”

Red gives her a little smile of thanks for understanding and takes another sip of wine before answering her.

“We’ll rob AM&R Bank at two o’clock in the afternoon on September the twentieth.”

Liz almost chokes on her mouthful of wine.

“What? We’re robbing one of the most secure banks in D.C. in broad daylight? Are you crazy?”

“Quite possibly,” Red grins at her a little madly. “But this is a perfectly sane decision, I assure you, Lizzie.”

Liz puts down her glass and pushes it far away from her. Perhaps drinking wine at a working lunch with Raymond Reddington is not a good idea.

She crosses her arms. “Care to elaborate?” she asks primly.

“With pleasure,” Red answers happily. “As demonstrated beautifully by your response, the best time to commit any crime is when the ones who would stop you least expect it. This is especially true with a robbery. If the guards aren’t expecting a break-in, they won’t see one. The human mind is a remarkable thing, as I’m sure you’re aware, Lizzie.”

Liz purses her lips, mulling over his logic and the obvious reference to her psychology background. She has to admit he has a point. But that doesn’t mean she agrees with him.

“All right,” she says a little tersely.

Red frowns slightly. “You don’t sound completely on board.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Liz answers simply. “I admit that your logic is sound but only in theory. In reality, it simply can’t hold up.”

“And why is that?” Red challenges, seeming intrigued by her defiance and genuinely interested in her opinion.

Liz stares at him evenly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my studies of the human mind, it’s that people rarely do as they’re expected. There’s so many random variables that you’re not taking into account in this situation.”

“Like what?” he asks immediately, an odd sparkle in his eyes that pulls Liz forward in her seat, leaning towards him and lowering her voice into something more intimate.

“What if the guard on duty decides to have an extra espresso shot in his coffee that morning, making him more observant and on edge than he usually is? What if one of the cameras needs unscheduled maintenance and it’s left tilted two inches further to the left than you originally anticipated, at the perfect angle to catch our faces? What if Amos Rodfield himself decides to show up and inspect his bank that day and we’re caught? There are simply too many unknowns.”

Red nods seriously, leaning forward to match her posture, placing his forearms on the table, and looks earnestly into her eyes. “Absolutely. We need to be able to control as many factors in this situation as possible if we are to be successful in our operation.”

Liz nods, pleased. Good, she’s convinced him to see her side of things, excellent, perhaps now he’ll –

“Which is why I’ve planted a guard to be on duty that afternoon, a most trusted friend named Amilo, who, as it happens, abhors coffee. I’ll have one of my own men check the cameras and install fake feeds during the morning shift to avoid any unexpected technological mishaps. And, as far as Amos goes, I know his schedule. He’ll be on vacation with his young girlfriend Bridget in the Bahamas on the day of the heist.”

Liz blinks.

Oh.

“Do you agree with me now, Lizzie?” Red asks, a slight taunt in his voice as he leans closer conspiratorially, a dark twinkle in his eyes.

Liz stares back at him for a moment, mouth agape, entranced and in wonder at his brilliant mind, before looking down at her empty plate with a huffed little laugh. Impressive. But she can’t let him off the hook that easily.

“No,” she murmurs, looking up to catch his expression.

She sees his self-assured grin slips in an instant, the corners of his mouth pulling down in an unexpected frown.

How satisfying.

“You can only control so many factors, Red. And as impressive as all those things are, committing a robbery in the middle of the day is still a large and unnecessary risk.”

They stare at each other in silence, both sets of eyes flicking back and forth to watch the other.

(There is no anger or resentment between them, only good-natured tension and excitement, a friendly debate to see who wins. Liz loves the feeling.)

“But,” Liz suddenly breaks the silence with a careless shrug, moving abruptly to sit back in her seat, secretly lamenting the new distance between them. “It’s your heist, Red. So, I’ll show up whatever time you tell me to.”

She grins teasingly at him. She wants to make it clear that there are no hard feelings between them, at least not on her end.

Red seems to get the message, returning her smile after a searching look and a slow nod, easing back in his seat to copy her posture.

“That’s good to know,” he murmurs finally. “And, while I accept your reasons for thinking otherwise, I’d still like to perform the heist during the day.”

“All right,” Liz says easily, taking a sip of wine.

(She was right to save it. She needed her wits about her for that round.)

Red follows her lead, sipping his wine as well, observing her as he does so.

“So, you would never perform a heist during the day?” he asks, the teasing back in his voice, happy that they got through a mild disagreement without serious complications.

“Well,” Liz lilts, unable to resist playing with him a little. “Not by choice, no.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve found that I always perform best at night.”

She looks up at him coyly, making her innuendo clear, pleased to see his lips quirk and his gaze darken as he looks at her.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” he rumbles.

Liz lets out a breathy laugh and they watch each other in rapt fascination until suddenly their waiter reappears with their identical lunches.

(And she is sure that in that moment they were both contemplating a “night performance” and the thought alone heats her cheeks.)

Red turns to their waiter, making a show out of thanking him for the quick service, using no shortage of flattery as he does so. Liz, grateful for the personal moment, takes a deep breath and attempts to steady her heart rate. Who knew lunch with Raymond Reddington could be this exhilarating?

(Oh, but she is enjoying herself.)

Liz looks back up as the waiter moves off again, feeling a little more in control and ready to tackle whatever disarming looks Red may choose to throw at her next.

(And perhaps throw some of her own. She can’t let him have all the fun.)

“This smells amazing,” Liz says. And it’s true. The chicken looks perfectly done with just the right amount of sauce. Her stomach grumbles. She suddenly remembers that she’s only had some buttered toast to eat today and that was this morning.

Red smiles at her. “I hope you enjoy it,” he tells her sincerely, picking up his wine glass and holding it towards her. “Cheers.”

Liz quickly picks up her glass to clink it against his once again. “Cheers.”

They dig in, Liz starting with her potatoes and Red going right for the chicken, cutting it up into neat pieces before delicately dipping it in the sauce.

(He is a methodical eater, Liz notices, much like herself, further reinforcing her suspicion that they have similar minds, detail-oriented and organized. The thought that they have things in common thrills her.)

They eat in silence for a few comfortable minutes before Red speaks.

“So, Lizzie,” he begins.

Liz looks up from her half-empty plate with her eyebrows raised politely.

“Yes?”

“Now that work is out of the way for now, should we indulge in some pleasant meal-time conversation?”

“Certainly, if you like,” answers Liz with a grin, amused by his playfully formal attitude. “Or, we could continue to sit in companionable silence until it gets unbearably awkward from lack of speech and one of us excuses themselves to the bathroom in a desperate attempt to get away.”

Red chuckles warmly at her. “Yes, we could also do that, although I must admit I would prefer the former.”

Liz smiles back at him. “Yes, I would as well.”

(She can’t imagine even a hint of awkwardness permeating the air between them. She just suggested it to be funny. Red is simply too comfortable to be awkward. Too suave and confident and handsome –)

“So, what should we talk about?” asks Liz, out of both genuine curiosity and an effort to halt that line of thought in its tracks.

Red takes a moment to drink his wine, swishing the liquid around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, clearly pondering her question. Then, having come to a decision, he looks up at her suddenly, his gaze direct and piercing.

“I’d like to talk about you.”

Liz blinks in surprise, her fork, chicken and all, stopping halfway to her mouth. “Me?”

Red’s mouth twitches. “Yes, Lizzie. You.”

Liz puts her fork down and takes a drink before answering, a little confused. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about that you don’t already know. I’m a professional grifter. I pick locks and do brush passes and steal things. That’s about it.”

“Those are your professional qualifications, Lizzie. I know all about those. I’m talking about more personal things.”

Liz frowns. “Personal things? Are you telling me you didn’t already have your henchman look up everything little thing about me?”

This time, Red’s eye twitches instead of his mouth. Hit. “Intel, for the purposes of the heist, mind you, only tell me so much,” Red murmurs. “I want to know more about you, Lizzie, as a person, not as a grifter, impressive though that side of you may be.”

“Oh,” Liz murmurs, feeling a little touched that Red would even be interested in her that way.

(She tries to tamp down the little flutters in her stomach at words “Red” and “interested in her”.)

“Well,” she says, feeling more at ease now. “What would you like to know?”

Red smiles a kind smile, his eyes warm and attentive. “Where did you grow up?” he asks softly.

Liz smiles back. “Nebraska.”

And it goes on from there, Red asking questions and Liz providing answers, opening up more as time passes. Red is an active participant, making it a true conversation, adding comments or occasionally sharing a related story of his own.

(He is a fantastic storyteller, engaging but not overpowering, and she thinks that she could listen to him all day, would like to, in fact. But, for some reason, he’s more interested in her right now and that creates a different but equally pleasant feeling inside her.)

Liz does most of the talking, the rest of her meal going cold on her plate while Red picks a little more at his own before abandoning it completely to give her his full attention. And Liz doesn’t mind not finishing her plate; she was getting full anyway and she can have the leftovers for dinner tonight.

(And the fact that Red values what she’s saying over their delicious lunch of chicken marsala – and he was right, it is fabulous – speaks volumes to her.)

Liz isn’t sure how long they talk but she knows she never wants it to end. She’s never enjoyed talking about herself very much but with Red, she doesn’t feel like something on display to be picked at and dissected, like she does with most people. She can feel his attention on her but it is polite and courteous and interested, a warm, flattering thing. It doesn’t suffocate her or pressure her like other people’s eyes do and instead gives her just the right amount of welcome to feel safe.

(It’s a lovely feeling.)

Liz isn’t sure how long they would have sat there talking and sharing and laughing if Dembe had not suddenly appeared by Red’s elbow, staring at him meaningfully until Red finished his current story (which left Liz holding a stitch in her side from laughing so hard) and managed to tear his openly adoring gaze from her.

“Yes, Dembe?”

“We must leave now if you are to make your three o’clock meeting, Raymond,” Dembe says quietly.

Liz’s mouth falls open in shock and she quickly turns to root around in her bag for her phone, needing to see the time for herself. She manages to extract it with minimal struggle and unlocks the screen. Dembe is right, of course. It is half past two. Her and Red have been eating and talking for just over two hours.

(Time flies when you’re…well.)

Red nods, gently dismissing Dembe, and takes a moment to shift back into his business man persona. Liz watches quietly, lamenting the return of Raymond Reddington and the departure of Red.

He turns to look at her. “Well, Lizzie, I’m truly sorry to say it but I do have to be going.”

“That’s all right,” Liz says, trying not to let disappointment bleed into her voice. “I didn’t realize how long it’s been. I can’t expect to steal any more of your time.”

Red shakes his head at her. “You of all people should know, Lizzie. The word ‘theft’ implies that you took something I wasn’t offering. And that was certainly not the case.”

Liz blushes lightly at his words, feeling quite light-headed at the clear insinuation.

(And perhaps it’s best that they part ways now; she’s not sure how much more overt flirting she can take without breaking out into childish giggles. How much wine has she had anyway?)

Red raises a hand to signal their waiter, who was apparently waiting nearby, unnoticed by Liz, and he hurries towards the table.

“Yes, Mr. Kershaw?”

“Walter, could we have the rest of the young lady’s meal to go, please?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Kershaw. I’ll be right back, sir.”

Red thanks the waiter who, to Liz’s surprise, whisks her plate out from in front of her and takes it away. Well, the service in this restaurant is certainly something. At the eateries Liz frequents, they usually just toss a flimsy box in her general direction. What a change.

Liz takes a breath. “Thank you for such a lovely afternoon, Red. The meal was delicious and the company was…better.” She smiles at him, trying to make her feelings clear.

“You’re very welcome, Lizzie. I assure you it was my pleasure. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

(And Liz thinks she might hear a bit of a tremble in Red’s voice as he says this, just a hint of uncertainty. It’s so unfounded that it’s almost laughable.)

“Oh, I think so, yes,” she says with a kind smile.

He smiles back at her gratefully and they just look at one another until the waiter re-appears, placing a small take-out bag on the table in front of her. She thanks him profusely and, once he’s gone, finally moves to stand. Red follows suit.

“Well, I expect I’ll be hearing from you?” Liz inquires cheerfully.

“Oh, yes,” Red hums, looking into her eyes. “I’ll give you a call.”

“Excellent,” chirps Liz, finding it hard to pull her gaze – and body – away from Red and his magnetic presence.

(Well, she has to leave sometime, doesn’t she?)

“I’ll talk to you soon then,” she says happily, and he simply nods at her. She turns to leave.

Liz makes her way back to the front of the restaurant, weaving through the tables in same way she came in. The only difference is that this time, she can feel Red’s eyes on her back until the door closes behind her.

Liz kicks the door of her apartment shut with a sigh, heading right for the kitchen to drop her bag of leftovers off in the fridge. As it happens, she’s not hungry, even after a full day of errands and shopping after leaving Red at the restaurant. It’s early evening now and she can always eat later.

She turns on some lights as she makes her way through her apartment, growing dim in the evening light, and tosses her bag on its usual chair, somehow managing not to stub her toe on any furniture as she goes. Amazing.

Liz enters the kitchen and sets the bag of leftovers on the counter, reaching in and feeling around for what should be a small box of chicken marsala, only to be confronted with what feels distinctly like two boxes.

She frowns.

Liz pulls out both boxes and sets them on the counter, squinting at them in confusion. After a moment’s deliberation, she opens the box on the left to reveal her entrée. So, then what is in the other box? Did the waiter perhaps give her Red’s leftovers as well? No, Red’s plate was still on the table when she left. So, what –

She carefully opens the mystery box and gasps aloud. A huge slice of tiramisu sits there, looking absolutely delicious. The scent of coffee meets her nose seconds later and her mouth waters. Liz loves tiramisu. How did Red –

Ring, ring.

Liz jumps, a little startled, and goes running for her discarded bag, her phone’s muffled ring tone luckily still audible from inside. After a brief struggle involving her car keys, a pair of earbuds, and her lockpicks, Liz finally manages to extract her phone and glance at the screen before pressing accept.

Unknown.

Her heart flips in her chest.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie.”

“Red,” she breathes, not realizing how she sighs his name until she’s already done it.

“Is this a good time?”

Liz can’t help but smile. Polite criminal. “Yes, perfect actually, I just got home.”

“Wonderful,” Red says and she’s sure she can hear a smile in his voice. “Did you, uh, get a chance to get settled?”

“If you mean look in my bag of leftovers and find the tiramisu, then yes, I did,” Liz can’t help but get straight to the point.

“Ah, yes, that’s rather what I meant,” he sounds a little hesitant, though Liz can’t imagine why. “Did you, uh, are you, well, do you –”

It takes a second for Liz to understand what he’s trying to ask. “Oh, yes, I love tiramisu!” she hurries to reassure him. “Yes, I could hardly believe it, it’s my favorite, how did you do it?”

Red gives a relieved chuckle, so deep she thinks that her phone might have warmed a little in her hand. “It was just a lucky guess. I know you’re a fan of coffee, at least in the morning, since I had some with you in your apartment last week, so I figured it was a safe bet that you’d like tiramisu. And I just slipped a note to Walter when you weren’t looking, that’s all. I’m surprised you didn’t catch me, to be honest.”

“So am I,” murmurs Liz, truly impressed that Red managed to perform what was basically a brush pass right in front of her without her noticing. “Well, thank you very much, I can’t wait to dig in.”

“You’re very welcome, Lizzie, and I’ll let you get to it in just a moment. I was just calling to see if you’d like to practice a little tomorrow.”

Liz frowns to herself. “Practice?”

“Yes, for the heist,” he answers, excitement now clear in his voice. “I was just thinking it might be a good idea to see how we work together under pressure before the big day. Just to be safe, you know.”

Liz has to admit it’s a good idea. She hasn’t done too many joint gigs – since she definitely prefers to work alone – but with the few partners she’s had, it’s never quite worked out.

(She has a funny feeling that Red is different though. In more ways than one.)

But, it can’t hurt to practice, as Red says.

“All right,” she agrees eagerly. “Do you have anywhere specific in mind?”

“Not really,” he says idly. “I figured I’d get your opinion on that since you’re no doubt more experienced in the field than I am. Of course, we could always meet at outside your apartment and wander until we find an appropriate location to steal a little something. Or is that too spur-of-the-moment for you?”

He sounds genuinely concerned that this won’t be to her liking, apparently oblivious to the fact that that’s exactly the sort of thing Liz had so much fun doing with her friends in high school. Besides, what better way to test themselves as a team than not planning a thing, all the while knowing that the actual heist will be planned down to the last detail?

“No, no, that’s fine,” Liz assures him. “Spontaneous crime is my favorite kind of crime, as it happens, however did you guess?” she quirks her mouth up in a teasing grin even though he can’t see her.

“I seem to be on a winning streak today,” he hums.

Liz presses her phone close to her ear. “One could almost say you’re getting lucky.”

Red’s delighted chuckle at her innuendo fills her whole body and she laughs breathily along with him.

“One can only hope,” he murmurs, making her smirk. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Liz says, happy at the prospect of seeing him again so soon. “Does nine-ish sound okay?”

“It’s a date,” he murmurs.

“Excellent,” she hums. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good night, Lizzie. Enjoy your dessert.”

“Good night, Red, and thank you again.”

Liz hangs up, breathless and tingly, and does nothing but stand stupidly in her kitchen for a second, a ridiculous grin on her face.

Oh, Red.

Then she gets another whiff of the tiramisu and snaps out of it, turning to grab a fork from the drawer next to the sink. She wastes no more time digging into the tiramisu, spearing a generous forkful and putting it in her mouth, closing her eyes with a tiny moan as the coffee flavor explodes on her tongue. As she swallows, already helping herself to another bite, she catches herself having the oddest thought.

She wishes Red was here to share dessert with her.

Oh.

Oh, she’s got it bad.

[writingbyshiloh]

Part 6

Parts 1-5

CW: Reader gets injured on the job!,(TBH it could be either hand as long as you have a weird handshake),Making out in a closet. Flashbacks to when Ressler walked in on R and Red having sex (part 2) and Liz and the earring (part 3)

WC: 2.3 (!!!!)

AN: Reader did work with a mob team, Flashback to when Ressler slept with Samar in season 4. I’ve never broken a bone so I tried to google as best as I could :) It ends a but abrutly, but I tried for an hour to work out a better ending and nada

Thank you to everyone who read the series, esp those who provided kind comments/feedback/let me bounce ideas off of them!! Whether you read just half of a chapter or all 6 I truly appreciate it. 7 months later we are done!!! 

“And how is the happy couple doing?” Reddington asks, sliding up next to you at the bar. 

“Oh, you know. Hopefully going to get into a huge argument in 10 minutes,” you reply. 

The task force was undercover at a cocktail party, to which a known member of the Blacklist was invited. Red and Liz are paired up, same with you and Ressler, while Samar and Aram are in the van, monitoring everyone. 

The first part of the plan was for Reddington and you to point out the mob member - Sonny Someone or other. Raymond knew them through business, while you knew him from trying to take him down while on a mob squad. 

Part two was you and your “husband” of the evening get into a fight, giving a reasonable excuse to not be mingling with others hoping to let Ressler bond with some of the other criminals. 

Currently, it's part three. You’re slinking around the halls of the event while not being outed as an FBI agent. Your bigger task is making sure you and Reddington are safe from any mob-connected individuals who may want him dead.

You’re both out of sight, being tucked into a storage room with your back uncomfortable against a shelf with a first aid kit next to you, while his hands gently squeeze your hips.

“We shouldn’t. Everyone here is suspicious!” you hiss, weakly protesting his advances, knowing you’re going to give in. He looks too good and you haven’t spent any time with him in the past two weeks outside of work.  

“Personally, I’ve always found the threat of death an aphrodisiac. Don’t you?” 

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. What do you possibly say to that? You let out a small snort of laughter.

His lips dropped to your neck, kissing any exposed skin. You sigh, not daring to make a louder noise. Your arms, however, pulled him closer. 

Dipping your head, you tried to catch his lips with your own. He understands and brings his lips to yours, gently tugging your bottom lip with his teeth as a suggestion of you opening your mouth.

The squeaking of hurried dress shoes caused you to break apart, both leaning closer to the door to hear what's happening. 

You can hear Ressler's voice, strained as if he is jogging, saying, “They said they’re going down this hall, I just don’t see them!” 

On instinct, you flinch back, knocking the first aid kit off the shelf. You wince hearing the dull smack of the kit hitting the floor, then wince harder at the steps before the door. 

You barely hear the end of Donald's phone call, the opening of the door distracting you. Raymond positions his body in front of you, in case of the possibility that it's not Ressler on the other side of the door, but an attacker. 

“What the fuck.” is the only thing Donald can manage. 

You understand how bad the situation looks, Raymond Reddington looking flushed, and you standing behind. You see emotions flit across his face, not quite sure what to say. You squeeze past Reddington to go closer to Ressler. 

Your motion spurs Ressler into action. 

“Are you out of your mind? He's a criminal!” Ressler hisses at you, trying to keep his voice down. 

Reddington wants to correct him, pointing out that he is one of the most wanted criminals but the look you shoot at him makes him close his mouth. 

“It's not that bad!” you protest trying to save face. 

“It is!” 

“It's not!” 

“Does Cooper know?” Ressler lets out a small huff of a laugh “Does Liz know?”

“NO! You’re the first to know. But you can’t tell anyone. Please.” you beg.

“What's stopping me?” 

“I never told a soul about you sleeping with a subordinate! I planned to take that shit to the grave!” 

“A subordinate? I never knew you had it in you, Donald.” Reddington chimes in from behind.

A new voice around the corner makes you all freeze. You’re certain it's Sonny from listening to his voice through surveillance plans. 

Ressler’s comments and discovery have your nerves set ablaze but you still have enough sense to get your work weapon out and ready. You see Ressler do the same. 

Catching Reddington's eye, you jerk your head to the side, trying to get him to go behind you and Donald. He returns with a bewildered look as if you thought he’d willingly place you in danger. 

All three of you are pressed against the wall, trying to figure out what to do next. Ressler is in front of you, Reddington close behind. 

The voice is nearer, talking but no one is answering. Ressler uses his free hand to make the sign of a phone using his thumb and pinky. You nod in agreement. 

Your stress-addled brain tells you this is the best time to get your man. 

Rounding the l-shaped corner you smack into Sonny, trying to come across as a distracted and drunk partygoer, not an FBI agent on the verge of losing their job. 

“I’m sorry! I should watch where I’m going.” You apologize, trying to buy some time for Ressler and Reddington to understand your plan. 

“It is okay. Sonny.” He introduces himself. His hand is extended for a handshake but you would know him without the introduction. You spent months trying to get a lead on the racketeering he's done. 

You take his hand without thinking, glad he doesn’t recognize you. His left hand is on your right, patting your hand. You want to pull your arm away but can’t, wanting to stay in partygoer character. 

It's too fast for you to react until your index and middle fingers are bent back and you're gasping out in pain. 

Your surprise shouting alerts the two men behind you. With your half-baked plan ruined, they round the corner to come and find you and Sonny. 

With the mob member gone, you hold your hand in shock, telling Ressler to go after the mob guy. Instead of following your order, Ressler communicates with Samar and Aram in the van, telling them that Sonny ran towards the exit. 

The combined adrenaline of undercover, being found out, and having at least one finger broken is what keeps you from crying. Or at least what you tell yourself. 

 ----

Hospitals are never your favourite place, but it's exceptionally awkward now. Reddington is off doing something (he sent someone from his team to pay the leftover medical bills) to save some face. You have two broken fingers and want nothing more than to go home. 

Ressler is keeping you company (you suspect he's also the reason a nurse has checked in on you twice in the past 15 minutes). He only left briefly for Cooper to call you to say you’re not fired, but one out of the three weeks off (suggested by the doctor) was a suspension. Inappropriate relationship with a CI. But with the black site, nothing will stay on your file. 

Outside the room, you hear the voices from your team, most of them hushed, one angry. 

Aram being on the verge of tears is not what you expected to see when. You expected anger, or arguing, but not this level of upset from your close friend. Knowing Aram’s tendency to talk when nervous you’re sure he's going to tell you what's going on. 

“Why would you cheat on Dembe with Mr. Reddington?” The hurt in his voice is obvious. 

You can't control the way your jaw drops in shock or the way that your eyes widen. The doctor only gave you regular painkillers, but now you’re wondering if they’re making you loopy. You make eye contact with Ressler, who slowly shakes his head, not wanting to be part of this. 

“Cheat? On Dembe! What does Dembe have to do with this?” you can only hope that no one else can hear the conversation. 

“Dembe! Your boyfriend?” Aram fills you in.

“My who?”

“You’re dating Dembe. The evidence adds up.” Samar chips in. 

“What evidence do you even have?” 

“What about the earrings you left at the safe house? You and Dembe kept looking at each other and the earrings.” Liz supplies.

“Who remembers things like that?” Fucking profilers apparently. 

“What about how you light up when Dembe comes into the post office?” 

Okay. Maybe you’re not as subtle as you think you are. In your defence, however, that would be because he walks in with Raymond. 

“It's even more messed up that it’s with his boss!” 

You suppose it is a good thing your coworkers are so sharp, trying to tease information from your personal life to fit into their theory. 

“What if I told you I’m not actually dating Dembe. So your theory sucks.” 

Maybe you are getting a bit worked up. You watch the wheels spin in their head, trying to figure out. 

Aram is the first to put the pieces together “Mr. Reddington? He's like 60!” 

“That's why you dropped your coffee when Aram asked how things are with Mr. Right! You heard Mr. R and jumped to the conclusion. ” Liz supplies. It takes everything in you not to ask if this is the hospital where her ex-fiancé works. 

You meet Samar’s eye and she frowns in a way that says not too bad. You make a mental note to ask her what the fuck that means. 

“Does Cooper know?” 

“Do I know what?” The man himself asks, entering your hospital room, a bottle of juice from the vending machine for you tucked under his arm. 

If it didn't make you want to crawl into a hole, his timing would be comedic. His appearance still makes you pleased, he can't be that mad if he is visiting you, and bringing you a gift.

“Yes! Can we stop talking about it now?” you plead. 

Your idea is shot down to a chorus of “no!”s. 

“Hand me my drink, I will answer one question each. Choose wisely.” You say. Might as well get something out of this situation. 

---

“If you clench your jaw any harder we'll have to turn back.” you joke to Ressler, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping the steering wheel. It was nice of him to drive you home, but his anger for you is coming and going in waves.

“You know, it's a shame how you never managed to catch Reddington before the task force started.” you notice his back stiffen at the mention of the FBI most wanted. You pretend to study your splint before continuing. “And do you remember when you wanted to drop off the files at my apartment? At literally the worst possible time?” 

For the first time since being in the car, he looks at you. 

“I bet you're the first FBI agent to walk in on the most wanted having s-” 

“Stop talking.”

---

It's a rarity to see Reddington unsure of himself. Even when you’re alone with him, he carries himself with confidence. Now he looks torn between making sure you’re okay and leaving you alone. 

“You can ask, you know,” you say, putting down your phone. The news about your fingers has spread to non-FBI friends, but typing with one hand is getting exhausting. 

“How did it go?” He’s sitting next to you, as close as he dared reading his newspaper. 

“Better than expected. No more broken limbs, everyone still talking to me, I’m still employed.” 

You shift the bag of frozen strawberries on your hand to get more of the cold. 

“Cooper called me on the way to the hospital, I was slapped with inappropriate relationships with a CI, much better than with a wanted criminal.” You smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Cooper also said he wouldn’t tell the team if he didn't want me to.” 

“But you did. Liz called, and let's just say your friends care about you.” 

Your chest feels warm at the idea of your friends fighting on your behalf. 

“I didn’t, they figured it out. I think all Ressler told them was he found us in a closet. It's whatever. I don’t think I could figure out another reason why it's so funny when he offs to beat up the mystery man.” 

“Yes, he always is a real go-getter, isn't he?” Raymond agrees. 

You press your lips together to hide your guilty expression. Reddington notices and his hand creeps up to the back of your neck, trying to be reassuring. You lean your body weight into him trying to get comfortable. 

“The next time you see Ressler one-on-one” at least you hope he respects you enough to not talk about your sex life with everyone “he's going to have some choice words.” 

You twist your head to look at Reddington's face, eyebrows raised slightly, tongue between his teeth as he tries to understand what you’re going to say. 

“I may have brought up how he, um, interrupted us one time,” you say. Now is not the time to bring up what other sexy details you shared with the team while he was unnamed. 

“Is that why he ran as soon as your door opened?” 

“Yeah, I think I traumatized him in the car.” 

 “He’s a strong man, he’ll live.” 

[writingbyshiloh]

Dirty Little Secret

MDNI

HAUNTED HOEDOWN DAY ONE: taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." Raymond Reddington x Reader 

WC: 1.5k

AN: literally my third time writing smut for tumblr so pls be nice. About 1000 words of background/buildup and 500 smut lol, no beta so expect a few mistakes

CW: FEM! Reader, Prisoner reader, SMUT, dub con (just to be safe, Red explicitly says he was never going to kill reader but still), fingering, sex in a shipping crate, possibly OOC Red 

Sometimes you think that you’re smart. You’ve made a small name for yourself, stealing paintings and priceless works of art, without getting caught. You could get into almost any place and leave without anyone knowing, stolen items are the only mark of your presence. Selling stolen works is more risky. Getting shot over someone not wanting to pay, making sure that transportation is undetected without any damages occurring to the objects you're trying to fence. Still, you think you’re pretty good at it.

Victim choice is where your intelligence falls short. You were advised to be extra careful by the buyers with this one. Stealing from any criminal is dangerous, but stealing from someone on the most wanted list, nay, the number one on the most wanted list is absurd. The payoff is great though. The man who hired you had a wife who was intimately involved with Raymond Reddington. You don’t blame her, he is handsome.

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting. 

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth. 

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover. 

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place. 

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight. 

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting. 

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth. 

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover. 

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place. 

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight. 

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting. 

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth. 

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover. 

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place. 

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight. 

You figure you’re in a safe room in some safe house. He apologized while a bag was pulled over your head and someone led you into it. It's large, with a couch, and a few chairs on a rug in the center. A large bar takes up one wall complete with a sink and a fridge. Directly across from the bar is the only door. It locked, but you’re sure you could figure it out. 

He can tell you’re nervous. He's directly across from you on a couch, while you’re in a plush chair pretending to read a book he offered. Something about a bounty hunter in New Jersey. You’ve stopped hiding your body language since it's just the two of you. Leg bouncing while your gaze flicks between the fancy liquor in glass bottles in the bar, Reddington, and the main door. 

You’re not cuffed to anything and have been treated well. Treated supremely better than the man who hired you. You watched Reddington kill him in front of you, keeping you alive as a prisoner for over a week. No torture, water whenever you want, occasional offerings of tea and coffee. Plus the food he's been giving you has been incredible. 

On your millionth round of bar-Reddington-door, he catches your eye.

“I know you’re not going to flee, dear.” 

“Why,” you ask. You still think if you needed to you could pretend to get him a drink, knock him out with a bottle and then flee. There is no one else with the two of you.

“I want to show you something.” He stands, and gestures for you to follow him. You do, rising obediently out of your chair. 

He opens the large door and you’re hit in the face with wind, carrying the ocean breeze. Reddington's hand moves to the small of your back, to stabilize you in case you lose your balance. Thankfully the wind is blowing your skirt against your front, so you don’t have to worry about flashing anyone. Shielding your eyes with your hand you get a better look. 

You’re in a shipping crate, on a boat in the middle of the fucking ocean. There's no way you can escape this. 

Stepping back into the makeshift safe house, you wonder how much time is left in the journey. 

“We still have another two days on the boat, you can play nice for that duration right?” he asks rhetorically while pulling the door shut. 

You turn to go back to your seat, maybe finally being able to start the book. He follows, standing in front of you. 

“Do you know why I’m keeping you alive?” he asks, voice quiet. 

You truthfully have no idea, but decide to venture a guess. 

“You want me to be your dirty little secret? Is that what you're into?”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind having sex once more before he decides if he is going to kill you and he is attractive. More of a gentleman than other crime bosses you've met. 

You can tell your words piqued his interest. He tilts his head to the side as if to observe you. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. 

“Are you offering sex so I don’t kill you?” he asks. 

“More like trying to have sex before you kill me.” You already put it out in the open, you can’t turn it back on now. 

He’s closer to you now, and you start to back up to give him room. 

“I wasn’t planning on killing you. I actually need your skills to lift a fabergé egg. But your idea.” He pauses while your back hits the bar counter. You didn't even realize he was trapping you until it was too late. 

“Your idea sounds more fun.” 

Placing your hands behind you, you hop up on the bar, legs splaying open, causing your skirt to bunch around your hips. The whole situation is messed up. You’re a prisoner of the FBI’s most wanted criminal. The same man who is kissing your neck, as his hands push your skirt up further to give him more room. 

You dip your head trying to catch his lips. He ignores you, instead fingers ghosting over your underwear, making you choke on your breath. You rock your hips off the counter to assist in him removing the garment before he tosses it on the floor. 

He moves slowly, his hand tracing lines in one of your inner thighs before skipping to the other ignoring where you want him the most. You shift, trying to get friction from anything to relieve the aching feeling between your legs. 

“I thought art thieves were supposed to be patient. God knows you must have staked out my safe house for weeks,” he says, clearly amused that he has you in this position. 

“Yeah, but I did-.” You’re cut off from saying more by his hand slowly drawing tight circles on your clit. 

You press your forehead against his suit-clad shoulder to hide some of your moans. He places a chaste kiss on top of your head contrasting how his finger speeds up as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“You were saying?” he asks. 

“Mhh, yes patient. And, uh, skill of course…” You kept babbling, anything heist-related you could manage to think of in case he decides to stop. You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands and trying to ramble that you gasp when his other hand teases over your pussy. 

The gasp turns into a moan as you feel his two fingers enter slowly. You savour the stretch and the feeling of being full. All you can do is go slack jaw as you feel him slowly curl his fingers, prodding for what feels best. 

You let out a sharp gasp, when he finds it, your hand grabbing Reddington’s wrist to keep him close.

“Apologies sweetheart, you were saying?”

Your train of thought is abandoned as you chase your high, hips grinding to build a steady rhythm. You know you’re not going to last long. The pleasure keeps building in your lower abdomen. 

“Raymond, I…” you cut yourself off to pull your head off his shoulder. You make a move to kiss him, but it's sloppy, and your lips land off-center. Neither care, you can hardly focus on kissing him, just moaning into his mouth. 

He can feel you tightening around his fingers and moves to nip at your jaw. The feeling of his teeth grazing under your jaw does it. You feel your orgasm build and crest over you, leaving pleasure in its wake. Your nails dig into his arm as you moan. 

Reddington gives you a few moments for you to catch your breath before removing his hands from you, one palm moving to slowly rub your back as your breathing goes back to normal.

“Now my dear, are you ready to discuss the fabergé egg?” Reddington asks, his voice low in your ear. You feel your lips curve into a smile. 

You grab his belt loops and pull him close.  

“Hmm, not yet.”

[writingbyshiloh]

Part 5. Aram

Series Masterlist 

AN: The 1 (maybe 2) people who read my MVDG and Red fics are EATING this week. This is definitely a new record. Last time R and Red almost get caught!!!! Sry Aram, ILY but I needed part 5 to be done. I have more Red fic ideas BUT I have to finish this first. If u were tagged twice that is my mistake

CW: Food,  swearing, FBI! Reader. Editing this was surprisingly fast so be scared (of grammar mistakes)

Slowly but surely, Raymond Reddington has been leaving things at your apartment. The first was a now empty suitcase. He asked you to take it because he needed to move out of one safe house and wouldn’t be able to get into the next one for the whole day. Nursing your massive crush on him, you agreed, but not before going through the suitcase in front of him to make sure it was just clothes and nothing illegal. 

As your relationship evolved, so have the items he leaves at yours. He’s left a few white T-shirts in case he stays over, munis the one you took for yourself. There is a full suit perpetually hanging in the back of your closet, tucked away in its own bag. He even left a French press in your kitchen so he can enjoy his coffee at yours. You’re also gifted with an endless supply of drop phones with one or two numbers pre-programmed into them. 

----

 You’ve been to this restaurant before, but that was when you went as an ordinary customer. It was loud, a mix of chatter from customers, the kitchen, and the random playlist of background music. 

Tonight was much quieter, the only customers being the two of you. You could hear the music more clearly even though it was at a lower volume. That’s the perks you get when dating someone who everyone seems to owe. 

You could hear him even if you were sitting across, but he immediately took the seat next to you. His watch reflects the light as he trails your fingers up and down your arm. 

You try not to squirm under his gaze but it's hard. He’s been gone for a month and you’re just dying to get him into your bed. You didn't even glance at the menus, wanting to have your whole attention on Reddington.

“We can go somewhere. Anywhere you want.” He suggests pulling you back to the conversation. 

“Oh, is my apartment not good enough for you?” you tease, trying to deflect.

“Not that I don’t love your view of the parking lot, sweetheart, but how about a change? We could get as far as Finland for breakfast.” 

You’re saved by a shrill ringing from your bag. It also makes your heart drop into your stomach. Not wanting to be interrupted you only brought your work phone. 

“Shit, shit. I’m so sorry I have to take this.” your words are frantic and you pull the phone out to see who is on the caller ID. 

Reddington nodded, understanding but you could also see the disappointment on his face. 

You push your seat out while standing, needing to pace while on the phone. 

“I know you’re on a date, and you were really looking forward to it, but we need you. The calls are too much for one person and uhh….” Aram’s voice trails off as the line goes mute. 

You know that you’re going to ditch your date to go to work, but you can still feel bad about it. You spin on your feet to face Reddington and tell him the bad news but catch sight of Dembe striding across the restaurant with his phone in hand. 

Aram rejoined your phone call. “And Rickey’s dead.” 

Rickey is someone low in Reddington's criminal operation, who is also working with someone on the blacklist, selling secrets to them. Reddington was feeding Ricky false information in hopes it would draw out the blacklister. 

“He's dead?!” you repeat, before putting your phone on mute to fill Reddington in. 

“Your man Ricky’s dead!” You tell him, still in disbelief.

Both Dembe and Reddington look at you like you grew a second head. 

“He's not dead, he has been arrested,” Dembe informs you. 

Now it was your turn to stare at them. 

“Hello? Are you still there? Helloooo.” Aram's voice got your attention. You unmute him. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m on my way.” You reply before handing up the call. The restaurant was close to the Post Office, it would be faster to walk than to try and get your coat and have Reddington drive you. 

“I’m so sorry, I need to go, Aram thinks he's dead, but needs help figuring out where, or why or something.” You ramble on trying to get your brain to catch up. 

“Can I at least offer a ride?” Reddington asks. He knows he won’t be able to talk you back into continuing the date.

You wave him off. 

“It's faster if I walk. I’m so sorry” you apologize for the third time. 

“Sweetheart, it's raining, please.” He implores.

“I gotta go.”  

With your phone in your hand, you blindly felt around under the table for your bag. 

“It's raining.” 

“It’s just water,” you argued back. 

“At least take the jacket, please.”

You reached out to take the cream suit jacket from him and shrugged it over your shoulders. At least your hair will stay dry.  

---

“That's a nice jacket. Looks like something Reddington would wear.” The first words out of Aram's mouth had you on edge. 

Your laugh sounded fake, even to your own ears as you move to hide the jacket in your shared office. 

“Yeah, guess I spend too much time here” you joke, settling into the chair Aram put out for you at his desk.

“Okay. I know you got pulled away from your date, and I’m sorry. But did you get the pasta with the mushroom cream sauce?” 

“Aram -” 

“Oh, or maybe the gnocchi?” 

You make an exaggerated frown. “We didn’t even order.” 

Aram's face drops. It’s sweet how invested he is. When Reddington told you the restaurants he wanted to take you to, Aram helped you decide which one to go to you think. 

---

The Ricky hunt was not going well. No one had a clear lead, and with you taking hospital and morgues, Aram calling police stations, even Reddington (sans suit jacket) and Dembe came into call any criminal contacts who may know. 

Aram was blessed with the winning phone call. Ricky was indeed arrested and then bailed out by the blacklister, giving the team a lead. More importantly, it gave you the freedom to salvage what was left of your date. 

Dembe already left to start the car but to also give you and Red some space. 

“You look lovely tonight. Any special occasion?” He asked while following you to one of the hallways in the post office. 

You press your lips together in an effort not to smile. 

“I actually had a hot date.” 

“Think it's salvageable?” 

You pretended to think it over while the elevator doors closed. 

“I don’t know. He told me my apartment’s not as nice for breakfast compared to anywhere in Europe?” you tease him. 

“He sounds wise. Are you going to forgive him?” Reddington purses his lips as if he was actually going to weigh in on the drama.

You bump your shoulder against him. 

“Depends on how he treats me tonight.” 

[writingbyshiloh]

Scary Coincidence

AN: Reader is dressed as Colombia from Rocky Horror Picture Show with the shiny hat. Going to a Halloween party tonight and I’m shaking w excitement. Some of this got messed up when pasting

CW: Drinking, (finally) non-FBI reader, probably should have been putting age gap was a CW bc he's like 50+ in the show, no beta brace yourself

WC: 0.5k

The pub your friends picked was definitely an old man's pub, just somewhere to drink and pass the time before the club you planned to go to opens. You got a few odd looks, with your group's costumes far from a classic Dracula or superheroes. Instead, the looks you got were probably from the amount of exposed skin, and how your specific costume was full of bright colours which, stood out against everyone else dark pallet. You just had to be Colombia, covered in a rainbow of sparkles, from your gold top hat to your feet.  

While some patrons stared at you like you had come from a different planet (which makes your costumes feel even better) no one has made any rude or even borderline comments. You tip well and stay close to each other dishing out workplace gossip. A few of you you sitting on stools by the bar, the rest standing in a semi-circle. , everyone idly keeps an eye on their phones to keep checking the time. 

Hat too hot and itchy you take it off, setting it on the least sticky part of the bar, slightly to your side. The pub is pretty empty so you don't feel too bad about your hat just sitting there. It's not until you go to leave that you notice your hat is gone and in its place is a sleek black fedora. While not the highlight of your costume, it did take you ages to sequins on top and you want it back.  

Scanning the other patrons you look for anyone wearing your hat and hopefully the owner of the black you’re sporting. You told your friends to go ahead without you, you can catch up. It takes you a few walk-throughs, but you spot your tophat sitting on a booth table, surrounded by a few men in various costumes. Finishing the drink in your hand you walk over. 

“Excuse me,” you say, watching everyone in the booth turn to face you “I think you have my hat.” 

The short man dressed as a cop sitting on the outside opens his mouth, probably to tell you to get lost, but the man next to him interjects over him. 

“Would you look at that? I think I do.” he replies, voice smooth and deep. The hat you’re holding certainly matches the dark suit he's wearing. You smile, reaching to swap the hats. He’s older than you but handsome nonetheless while he returns your smile. 

“Please. Allow me to buy you an apology drink.” he says to you, quietly telling the fake policeman next to him “Glenn, move.” 

You step back from the table to give the fake cop - Glenn apparently - space to stand, and for your hat thief to move out of the booth. He unfolds, one hand held out for you to shake. You grab it, probably shaking it a bit too hard. 

“I’m Raymond, and you’re... Columbia?” He asks, gesturing to your costume. He tips his head while gauging your reaction. You huff out a laugh before telling him your actual name. You like how he sounds repeating it. 

“Now, how 'bout that apology drink?” you ask, letting him guide you towards the bar. "And what are you supposed to be?"

"I'm dressed as Raymond Reddington, the FBI's most wanted. My friend there, Glenn, is a cop. Purley his idea, my dear."

"But your real first name is also Raymond?" 

"Lifes full of happy coincidences, like how your hat ended up at my table." 

You can't help the smile on your face, trying to discreetly text your friends you're going to be very very late. 

[writingbyshiloh]

Uno

AN: can be read as either mutual pining or dating. I wrote and posted in a rush (expect mistakes) bc I had this inspo but also need to be asleep in 10 minutes

Summary: Reddington is really good at Uno. 

You flip a yellow eight card on the growing stack in front of you. 

“Uno,” you say, in a rush to win. If you succeed it will be your first win. You stopped counting Reddington’s wins after his seventh. 

But this is your round. You can feel it. You called uno, you have a yellow card left in your hand. Reddington has four cards left in his. The suspect you're waiting to walk by is nowhere to be seen but that's fine with you. More time to try and win. 

“Sorry, my dear.” 

You frown at his words, and your mouth drops open as he places a pick-up four card. You reluctantly take your four cards, mind running with ideas on how you can still win. Until he places a pick up two. You take two more, carefully watching his two remaining cards, compared to your newfound seven. 

The rest happens in a blur. 

He places a skip-your-turn card, calls uno, and plays his final card. 

You fan out your remaining cards, showing him the shitshow he gave you before placing them in the deck. 

Reddington knows he should be the gentleman and let you win at least one round but he thinks you look cute when you frown. He also likes the look you give him that says the fuck was that  when you disapprove of his playing strategy.

You shift on the wooden bench, your back hurting from being twisted sideways. You shuffle the cards, not letting him near the shuffling or dealing since his third win. 

“Are you cheating?” Your tone is light and less accusatory than you feel. 

“Come closer.”

Reddington makes a show of craning his neck to look over his shoulder before leaning forward to check over yours as if he's about to expose one of his secrets that could stop the world. 

You lean in eager to learn. 

“I can see the reflection of your cards in your sunglasses.”

[writingbyshiloh]

Part 4. Cooper

Series Masterlist

CW: domestic red I think? (possibly) OOC Cooper, FBI!Reader 

AN: I pictured the show to be Euphoria, but no specific details so it can be any show with a drug dealer character. IDK Cooper's official rank and I am scared of spoilers so we just went with the assistant director. Just realized that if you read all the parts back 2 back then they are very similar but also ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. No beta

------

Reddington in the post office is a scene that never fails to surprise you. In the early days of the task force, he seems to be there frequently. As the years went, he saw less and less of the walls inside.  He never goes to the post office if he can help it, and you don’t blame him. 

You see Dembe nudge Reddington, a silent indicator for him to start talking about what he needs the team to do this week. 

As Reddington lectures, Liz interrupts and Aram pulls up the supporting documents and photos. Red usually tells Liz the details, and she tells the rest of the team.

You knew a tiny bit. He left shipping documents on his kitchen table a few nights ago while he went to the bathroom. He wouldn’t just leave documents lying around if he didn’t have a reason for you to see them. 

To keep yourself sane you set boundaries. If you're not working, or if someone isn't in immediate danger it is not your problem what Reddington is doing. This came after a series of him dropping clues and waiting for you to put the details together. 

You still listen, minus a few instances where you zone out thinking about Reddington's suit, waiting for the shipping documents to make some sense to you, but nothing yet. 

“Liz, you go with Reddington to the shipping docks. You two” Cooper points at you and Ressler “see what you can find with -” 

“I’ll go Ressler” Elizabeth cut in. 

Everyone turns to look at Liz. 

“I’ll go with Reddington” you suggest, pronunciation wobbly. You’re so used to Red, the “ington” feels off. 

“That was fast on the jump” Red notes, once you were out of the earshot of the group, preparing to go to the docks. 

You shrug. “It's so nice out. And I can not get caught in a fight between you two.” 

Red and Liz fighting always makes you feel like you’re in the middle. Liz would sometimes rant to you about Reddington, which never fails to make you feel like a bad friend.  On the other hand, Red keeps his thoughts about Elizabeth to himself in times like these. 

---

“Do you understand it yet?” Reddington asks. 

You frown. You both have been walking around the docks for an hour, trying to find something on this week's blacklist. Technically, you’re looking for clues, Reddington is watching you, trying to see the exact moment you put the pieces together. 

You admire how he pushes you to do your best, to get better at both your job and thinking like him, but now it’s on your nerves. Having elected to ignore him, you exaggerate checking the number on the shipping container. 

“My god, you agents are so meticulous. You don’t need every number from every crate.” Red observes. 

“I’m not taking every number, just what I think is important.” 

“That seems to be the majority, dear.” 

You shoot him a look over your shoulder due to the use of the pet name in the field. 

He puts his hands up in surrender, but he is smiling. 

You’re saved from a reply by your phone, Aram calling with no doubt some important information. 

---

 That night, Reddington visits you. He says he can't spend the entire night but has a few free hours. You don't know what he has to do before or after your time together, but it's not your problem. 

“Do you watch this every week?” Reddington asks, glancing at your television.

“Yeah. We talk about it at work,” you respond, placing your water on the table, and settling onto your couch next to him. 

“Who’s everyone?” 

“It started as me ‘nd Aram but then Samar started watching with him. I think Liz is in season one. Dembe too maybe?”

You tip your head against his shoulder, feet propped up on your coffee table as the show started playing the introduction. He had one of your pens (technically a pen you took from work) in his hand while he mulls over one of his crossword puzzles? Sudoku? Sudoku with words? Red showed you once how it works and once was enough. 

---

“That's no way to run a drug business!” 

You turned your head to the side to look at him, now sitting on the edge of your seat watching the show. 

“I thought you weren't watching.” 

“I wasn’t, but this is ridiculous!” he huffs. “He's not even marking up the price at all? And his storage? I mean it is ridiculous! No wonder the police were called.” 

“He's just a minor character” 

“For running a business like that he should be!” 

“Just watch the show.” 

---

You were happy to go into the post office today, if only for a chance to talk to Aram about the show.  

“Did you see the new episode?” Aram’s words hit you before you even left the elevator. 

“Of course! I didn't see the big arrest coming. And that fight?!” 

Aram walks with you to the central part of the floor, the rest of the team waiting, both you and Aram dying to talk about yesterday's episode. You catch Reddington in the office out of the corner of your eye and can’t resist winding him up. 

“I can’t believe the arrest! Forgot the rest of the prom, I thought he was going to keep dealing drugs for the whole show,” you exclaim, slightly too loud to make sure Red can hear. 

‘My god, he was the worst drug dealer I've ever seen. Ressler would do better!” Reddington jokes. Aram's head snaps to him. 

“Mr. Reddington, I didn’t know you watched the show!” 

“How far along are you?” you chime in. 

“My beloved watches it. I caught a few minutes.” Red smoothly deflects.

You freeze, never hearing him call you that before, but you like it. 

“Do you want to join our text chain?” Aram eagerly asks. 

Cooper saves Reddington from telling the task force that he doesn’t know how to use a cell phone. 

The assistant director launches into some of the information that the team rounded up yesterday. Numbers you took note of pop up and you make a mental note to tell Red “I told you so”, no doubt knowing that he wants to tell you the same, for taking too many numbers. 

Once everyone is back up to speed and assignments are dolled out, Cooper catches you at your desk. “I need to speak to you in my office.” 

You nod and follow him while you feel anxiety roll in your stomach. It could be good news but you can’t think of anything good. More bad news flashes through your mind as you climb the stairs. You could be suspended, fired, or anything else due to Reddington. And there was that one time you made a questionable decision in the field which could be coming back to bite you. 

“Close the door, please,” Cooper asks quietly. 

You nod, the door firmly shut as you sit, forcing body language to act neutral and calm. 

“I wanted to talk to you about fieldwork.” Cooper starts. You force yourself to make eye contact and not start fiddling with anything on his desk. 

“You’ve been going into the field with Reddington more. Any reason?” 

“Can I be honest?” you ask, trying to come up with something to say. 

“Please.” Cooper leans forward in his chair, awaiting your response. 

“It makes me uncomfortable when Agent Keen and Reddington fight. I felt that if I go with him yesterday, then they could cool off.” 

“Uncomfortable how?” 

You sigh. 

“Like, he killed Sam, and then she faked her death to get away from him, and no one knows how or if they’re related…” You train off, not enjoying thinking of reasons Red and Liz fight, but more than happy to if you can keep your job. 

Cooper nods, understanding. There's an unspoken feeling in the post office when they fight. 

“And do you mind? Going into the field with Reddington.” 

“Not as much as the fighting.” 

Cooper nods again, posture more relaxed before he continues. “I noticed you’ve been working less.” 

Your face reacts before you could try to stay neutral. Of course, Cooper would notice. You’ve lost track of the number of times he turned off the lights at the post office before he leaves late at night and you had to scramble in the dark to turn them back on again. 

“I’m sorry, I can start staying later again.” You say, trying to fumble your way through apologizing. 

Assistant Director Cooper holds up his palms for you to slow down. 

“Your hours are fine. Is everything okay with you?” 

The question shouldn’t take you by surprise. Things are more fun with Reddington as part of your life, but there's more stress. The stress of hiding the relationship mostly, especially from Liz.

“I, uh, started seeing a guy recently? So I have a reason to spend time outside the post office?” you want to speak in sentences but you’re nervous in case this is a leadup to something else.

He nods like he understands. 

“I’m happy for you. Now we just need to get Ressler a girl.” 

You both share a smile, while you silently thank your lucky stars. 

“Is there anything else, sir?” you ask, arms ready to push you up and out of your chair. 

“No, that's all. Thank you.” 

You nod and get up. “Do you want me to leave the door open?” 

“You can close it. Thanks.” 

You pull the door shut behind you and glance down at the post office. Does Red also get hit with this stuff? You wonder. You’ll have to tell him later, once the case concludes. 

---

Tag list: @soraya-daydreams, @horrorqueen22, @wild-rose-35, @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek, @zombieskullxz, @rhepworth, @fanficismydrug, @btsjiminsthings, @emilynissangtr, @navs-bhat, @thatonerandomsimpinthecorner

[writingbyshiloh]

Part 3. Elizabeth

5+1 masterlist

CW: Drinking, established relationship, ummm fluff? Implied smut, reader wears jewelry. No beta

AN: Yes hes looking at Liz in the gif but the chapter is also about her. The chapter hinges on the reader wearing earrings, I’M SORRY. IDK what season this is among, Liz and Tom are together but so are Aram and Samar so take that as you will. I also watched so much Euphoria while editing

Everything was going well. The team knew that you were seeing someone and it's almost become a running gag about the biker story. Ressler told Liz who ended up telling Aram. You told Samar yourself, omitting a few key details, knowing she would find it funny. 

They just didn't know you were seeing one of the most wanted men in the world. You hesitated to say ‘dating’ because most romantic relationships don’t have the power to end your career and possibly get you arrested. It's not like you could update your Facebook profile with the information. 

Cooper even noticed that you were picking up less overtime and leaving closer to the typical end of the work day. You didn't fully stop your overworking habits, partly because it was something you always had done but also subconsciously to show Reddington that you're not going to throw your job away for him. That you were an agent first (even if you are not the poster child for fidelity or integrity). 

Alternatively, Reddington was also dropping hints - not names - that he was seeing someone. The first time you felt a spark of jealousy. Obviously, he was drawing on someone from his past and putting them in the current timeline, but it still stung. You still agreed with his partner in his retelling, before realizing that he was talking about you, and you were agreeing with your own opinions.

With you not wanting to slow your overtime, and him “keeping up criminal appearances” you hardly saw him outside of FBI business. Not for lack of trying. You tried to  He frequently invited you to wherever in the world he was, and you declined due to time reasons. It never stopped him from bringing you back a postcard. Always delivered in person, in case someone in the US Postal Service noticed the pattern. 

Tonight was different. The office air felt stiff and the pile of forms felt endless. It wasn’t even closely connected with the blacklist case and was boring. Plus the description of his safe house for the next few days seemed like a dream. Large windows overlooking waterways and lush green plants were how he described it to Liz, directly outside your shared office. 

----

You triple-checked you had the address right before knocking. Reddington told you to come straight from work, that you could shower at his safe house. With time being so rare between you both, you hastily agreed, taking your spare change of clothes you kept in your office. 

The door swung inward, Reddington's arm sweeping you inside. Once the door was fully shut and locked, his hand moved to the small of your back guiding you into the apartment. 

“Agent! You made it!” You could tell that he had a glass or two of wine from the strong enunciation. You made a face at the name, something he loved to call you.

“Don’t call me that, I’m off the clock.” You heave a sigh allowing him to show you to the kitchen. “I brought you a gift.” You push the bottle of wine out awkwardly for him to take it. 

You hear him quietly read the name, pronunciation much better than anything you could have attempted. 

“You didn’t need to. This is more expensive than what you drink” 

“Well, there was a betting pool at the office. And I won.” 

Reddington raises an eyebrow for you to continue. 

“The betting was about you. And if you were seeing someone. I may have used insider knowledge to win.” You try to be sly but you can't help but smile. 

Moving closer to get the bottle, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“I didn’t start the pool.” you continue, not wanting him to think you scammed your coworkers. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.” 

Ever the gentleman, he pulls out a stool from the kitchen island for you, before sliding a full wine glass towards you. 

It was flattering in a way. Out of all the constant security threats, deals, and thinking, he had a drink for you, signalling that he was eagerly waiting for your appearance. 

You rest the cool glass against your cheek, while he manoeuvres in front of the island to the stove, some sauce cooking slowly simmers. You take the time to study his outfit, the cool browns of the suit jacket that's resting on the back of the bar stool, the umber colour vest and the crisp white dress shirt. The piece du resistance was the apron he tied in the back. 

----

When spending the night with Reddington, you either had him when you went to sleep or when you woke up. Given his constant travelling and busy schedule it made sense that he hardly had a normal sleep schedule. You got him last night, leaving you to wake up to your alarm in a new bed, confused at the unfamiliar setting. 

“You look nice.” 

The post office didn't seem to have a dress code. Red wore a three-piece suit most days, Ressler was in a dressed-down version of that. Samar was the most casual, either a tank top or tee-short tucked into jeans. You tried to hit the middle of the Samar and Donald dress spectrum. 

“Thank you. I feel like I’m missing something though.” You shift your weight side to side to see if he notices anything.

He also looks at you, trying to figure out what is off, but not being able to come up with anything.

You pass Dembe in the door. as you left Reddingtons, making a joke about how Dembe was now covering for the day shift. 

---

The feeling that you were missing something or forgot something dragged during your commute. You thought it was your phone or maybe your keys but you had both with you in the car. 

As if to prove a point, your phone’s ringtone jolted you out of your thoughts.

You hit answer, saying your last name when the connection went through before the other person had a chance to speak. 

“Hey, it's Keen. Are you at the office?” 

“I’m like, ten minutes out.” 

“Can you pick me up? My car battery died, and Tom is out with Agness.” 

You switch lanes before turning into a parking lot to put Liz's address in your GPS. 

“Yeah, sure! I’ll be there in 15 maybe?” 

“Where are you? I’m not that far from your place.”

Shit. 

“Do you not switch up your routine? In case someone is following you?” It sounded like bullshit but you could always play up the paranoid angle later. “Before I joined the task force, my old team would -” 

“I’m sorry I asked. I’ll see you in 15,” Liz said cutting you off. 

----

While waiting for Liz you realized what you were missing. Jewelry. You took it off to shower and ended up - in his words - “distracting” Reddington before you got a chance to dry off and put it back on. Rooting around in your wallet while waiting you found a spare pair of earrings that were work appropriate. 

You spy Liz talking on the phone, coming down the steps to her apartment building and you preemptively unlock the passenger door. 

“Hey, do you mind making another stop?” Liz said in lieu of a greeting.  

“Sure, where?”

“Reddington called. He said for us to meet at his safe house.” 

Of course. 

“I can direct you, Dembe told me where it was” she continued. 

----

You glance at the apartment door numbers for the second time in 24 hours. Only this time, Dembe will be the one letting you in (probably less enthusiastically than Red did, but you don't hold that against him). 

“Good morning, Lizzy” Red greets her as you all make your way to the main space, Liz leading the group, you behind her and Dembe taking up the rear. 

“Oh, you brought company! Good morning, Agent.” Clearly, Liz didn’t tell him about your morning car ride. 

“Liz is having car trouble. I picked her up,” you explain, secretly enjoying the fact that you were able to catch him off guard. 

Quickly, Reddington and Liz are diving into the newest name on the blacklist. You’re half listening, eyes scanning the room to see if your jewelry is in sight. 

You spy your earrings and ring on a bookshelf. You didn't leave them there, but knowing Red he probably moved them there to remember to give you. Debating if you could sneak them into your pocket, you catch Dembes eye. 

He gives his head a small shake, letting you know it's dumb to take them. 

By now, Liz and Reddington are starting to argue as she moves around the room. Your strategy for these arguments is to avoid them as long as you can.  If it's something that affects you doing your job you voice your opinion, but there is so much messy history between them you try to stay out of it. 

As she moves closer, you start to worry. You don’t wear your ring at work so that is safe from identification. The earrings are simple, probably she won't connect them to you. However, she is a profiler. And a good one at that. It is possible she’ll pick up on some obscure motion of gesture and put everything together. 

You watch her eyes skim the bookshelf probably looking for something to bring up in the argument. 

Shitshitshit. 

She sees it. 

“Had a guest over?” 

“I’m a gentleman, I don't kiss and tell.” Red deflects. Bullshit, you think while trying to remain calm. 

“Don’t you have a pair like these?” Liz directly asks you. You can see her eyes shift to see if you're wearing earrings. 

You lean in, pretending to examine them. 

“Yeah, me and practically every other working professional.” 

Her eyes flicked to your earrings, thankfully buying your excuse. You probably needed to hide them forever now. 

Not going to let you suffer on your own, Reddington chimed in with another “fun” fact about the blacklister, drawing everyone's attention to a book on the self, away from your earrings. 

It was close. It was too close for comfort. You were sloppy. But you also couldn't dwell. Liz would pick up on the change in behaviour. All you could do was focus on your job and hope Liz brushes it off. 

---

Red taglist (dm to be added/removed): @soraya-daydreams, @horrorqueen22, @wild-rose-35, @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek, @zombieskullxz, @rhepworth, @fanficismydrug, @btsjiminsthings, @emilynissangtr, @navs-bhat,

[writingbyshiloh]

Hi Shiloh ☺️

Everytime I get to type a message/request for you I smile like an idiot.But anyways can I request prompt 2 for Red

Please and Thank You in advance love❤️

ANYTHING FOR YOU SORAYA!!!! Request any Reddington content u wish!!!! Tagged all the Reddington fans at the bottom

CW: Flying, Pilot!Reader. All pilot references/knowledge is from Google so may not be accurate. Not beted. It took me almost 3 hours to write this so I lost all motivation to edit.

Prompt: 2. Giving them a shoulder message when they won’t leave whatever they’re working on

You kept looking at the digital clock in the cockpit. For flights longer than 10 hours, Dembe steps in to give you a break. You had 8 hours on then Dembe would cover you for 4 hours before you took over the final four hours of the flight. You were alert the whole time you were in the pilot seat, able to shower and sleep once on land in whatever destination Reddington wanted. Dembe got to keep his flight skills sharp. 

“Go on break.” A soft vogue cuts through your thoughts. You nod, shifting in your seat to stand and stretch, filling Dembe in on any important notes during your time in the air so far. 

“How is he?” you didn't need to specify who you were talking about. It is only the three of you on board. 

“Stressed.” 

You nod in understanding before going to the cabin of the jet. On break you try to nap, stretch out your limbs, and watch some TV if time permitted. Another chunk of your time is filled with Reddington asking you about what you watching and listening to you in earnest. Sometimes lightheartedly poking holes in the plot or pointing out the setups for plot twists. 

You place your hands on the back of the seats keeping your balance as you make your way to the small couch. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Reddingtons deep voice caught your attention before you reached your destination. 

“Hey!” You moved a bit quicker down the seats.

“How are the skies?” 

You place your hand on the back of his seat, trying to sneak a peak from the windows, met with more gray. The table in front of him is covered with pieces of paper, pens, a phone, and a drink, while his suit jacket was on the chair across the aisle. 

“Cloudy, but better weather when we land.” 

Trying to get more of a view from the windows, you move your hand further on the seat in front of you landing on Reddington's shoulder. 

You expect him to freeze or gently remove your hand. What you don't expect is for him to lean into your touch, head tipped back on the seat, eyes closed. 

Now standing fully behind his set, you adjust your hands to get a better grip on his shoulder. Thumbs pressed deep into his upper shoulders before moving closer to his neck, and back again. You didn't really know what you were doing, basing your moves on his responses rather than any actual knowledge. 

The jet was comfortable, but if he was hunched over a table for eight hours you could understand the pain. 

“You may have chosen the wrong career.” He says voice soft. You try not to laugh. 

“I’m sure I’m a better pilot than a masseuse.” 

His head was tipped back to look at you.

“Are you saying I’m naturally gifted at giving massages, or I’m an awful pilot?” you tease. 

“The former. Although there was that one landing, in Switzerland?” 

You remove your hands from his shoulders. 

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

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