#rizzle's fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doomsday-dj · 30 days

Text

Decorative Grapes Rizzoli & Isles Rating: T Words: 3157 (This isn't any of the things that I said I was working on but I hope you all like it anyway!)

“I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling. Everytime we see her at one of these she’s with that detective of hers and she’s practically stuck on her like a stamp. They’re always touching each other.”

“Honestly. It’s blatant. ‘This is my colleague,’ and ‘have you met my friend,’ as if anyone with eyes couldn’t tell she and that guard dog of a woman are intimately acquainted.”

“Mmm. Truthfully, I certainly wouldn’t object to being familiar with her ‘colleague.’ If it were me I’d let everyone know.”

“God, you’re truly beyond hope. Regardless, whether she wants it or not, everybody does know.”

Maura hears a heavy door open and close and the sound of fading laughter. A very welcome silence follows, a signal that she’s once again alone in the bathroom. Eyes closed, body trembling, she leans back against the smooth metal wall of the stall she’s been hiding in.

Ten minutes ago, Maura’s phone had pinged with an urgent email from the governor’s office and she’d excused herself from Jane’s company to find a quiet place to respond. She’d been tapping away in the bathroom when the women had entered, her presence silent enough that they clearly thought they were alone. Neither had needed the facilities for any of their traditional uses, leaving Maura with the devastating conclusion that their only reason for coming into the bathroom was to gossip about her.

Maura tries her best not to cry. She presses a cool hand first to her throat, then her cheek, trying to relieve some of the heat that has gathered beneath her skin. She’s absolutely burning up, flushed with embarrassment and shame at what she’d just overheard.

The conversation was such a cruel confirmation of what Maura has long been fearing. She already knew she relies too much on Jane’s company at these events, but thanks to those loudmouthed women she now also knows she’s been doing a terrible job of hiding her ever growing affection for Jane.

Maura breathes in for four seconds, holds her breath for seven, and then exhales for eight. She does it again as she exits the stall to wash her hands and again as she presses a piece of damp paper towel to her still-flushed chest and neck.

When the reflection in the mirror looks sufficiently calm, if still a bit ruddy, she exits the bathroom. As Maura anxiously scopes out the event space, she realizes that the worst part is she hasn’t the first idea about which two women were talking about her.

She zeros in on Jane lingering by where a dessert buffet has been set out on one side of the ballroom. She’s easy to spot: her height and her wild hair and her suit all readily mark her as different. It’s Jane’s nicest suit, which Maura appreciates, but with the caterers in tuxedos, Jane is unquestionably the least fancy person in the room. Maura loves that. She loves her. Jane diligently comes with her to every charity auction and gallery opening, unselfconsciously rubbing shoulders with her acquaintances and serving as her social interaction sounding board and shield, and all Maura has done to repay her is get her name dragged through the mud.

Maura makes her way over quickly. Jane seems to know on instinct when Maura is close and turns to face her just as Maura makes her final approach. Jane’s warm smile, usually so effective at making Maura feel at ease, causes a lurch of guilt in her stomach.

“Oh, hey,” Jane greets her. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party. Do you think these grapes are decorative?” Jane nods her head at the selection of desserts.

“I’m—sorry?” Maura trips around the prepared apology that had been on the tip of her tongue, rehearsed several times on her way across the ballroom.

“The grapes,” Jane says. “You think they’re for eating?”

Maura blinks twice and follows Jane’s gaze to where many bunches of grapes adorn the dessert table.

“I think they’re quite clearly real grapes, Jane,” Maura says slowly.

“Yeah, genius, I know that part.” The words themselves are a little harsh but Jane’s voice is filled with that affectionate teasing that seems to be reserved just for Maura, a tone that makes it very clear that when Jane says ‘genius’ she means it. She’s still carefully examining the arrangement of grapes. “But are they decorative. They’re not even on the plates, they’re just like all around the plates. Is that something rich people do? I don’t want to look like some idiot townie who can’t tell a dessert from a garnish.”

Maura’s mouth opens and closes a few times. She’d worked up quite a head of steam on her way over and now instead she’s being called on to give expert testimony on grapes. Maura looks at the table again and takes the task seriously.

“They’re probably intended mostly as decoration,” Maura admits.

Jane weighs Maura’s perspective heavily and then shakes her head. “That’s dumb, I’m still eating them.”

Decisive as always, Jane reaches down with slender fingers and plucks a small bunch of the darkest grapes, dusty blue-purple in colour, and plops them on her plate. She tosses one in her mouth and makes a deep, satisfied noise as she nods solemnly, visibly pleased with her choice.

“Anyway, what’s up with you?” Jane says. She glances over at Maura as she slips another grape in her mouth. Maura watches it disappear before looking back into Jane’s eyes with a hint of panic. “You look stressed and you walked over here in that tight little way you do when you’ve got a test result I’m going to hate.”

“What—I do not—tight?” Maura sputters.

“Yeah, like, pinched.” Jane lifts her shoulders into a tense shrug, demonstrating. “And you walk really fast with short little steps.”

Maura scoffs in offense but resists the urge to launch into a vigorous denial. While she’d very much like to defend her honour, or at least the length of her strides, she knows that if she gets into an argument with Jane she might never get to what she really needs to say. She sighs instead.

“Jane, I have to tell you something.”

Jane’s head dips at the weight of Maura’s voice, concern shading her features. She glances around, then takes Maura by the elbow and draws her away from the dessert table, moving to a more private spot off to the side of the ballroom.

“What’s up? What happened?” Jane’s deep brown eyes search Maura’s face, her hand still holding Maura’s arm. Maura chews her lower lip nervously. She’d figured out exactly how she wanted to say this when she was crossing the ballroom but now the only thing in her head is the different varietals of grapes that are on that stupid table. She’s just going to have to wing it.

“Jane, I overheard two women gossiping about us in the bathroom. I can’t apologize enough and if I’d had any idea that…well, I’m just very sorry. But unfortunately, everyone thinks you and I are together.”

Jane’s features, which had creased with concern when Maura began talking, smooth out in relief. “Well, sure.” Jane breathes out a sigh. “Of course they do.”

Maura blinks, first confused, then frustrated. She must not have said it right. Why can’t she be better at these things?

“No, Jane,” Maura says seriously. “I mean romantically. They think we’re dating.”

Jane stares at Maura. “Right, yeah. Obviously.”

Maura is dumbfounded. Obviously? Her expression must be broadcasting her bewilderment because Jane’s face crinkles with tender concern. It’s one of Maura’s favourites from the catalog of Jane’s expressions she’s learned to recognize. While plenty of people have looked at her with concern in her life, it has almost always been the pitying or morbid kind, and Jane’s feels like the sun. Maura basks in it.

“You don’t mind?” Maura asks, eyes wide with surprise and relief.

“Maur,” Jane starts softly. Her hand is still on Maura’s elbow and her thumb rubs a soothing circle against the soft skin of Maura’s upper arm. “I do mind that they’re talking about you behind your back. That’s rude as hell. But the fact that they think we’re a couple?” Jane shrugs. “What else are they gonna think? Every single time you’re at one of these things I’m with you. We show up together, we leave together, we spend most of our time together. It’s like…girlfriend or bodyguard, those are the options people are going to come up with.”

“That’s absurd.” Maura exclaims and, although she doesn’t want to be, she knows she’s probably coming off a little frantic. Her heart started racing when Jane said ‘girlfriend’ and hasn’t stopped. “Why isn’t ‘friend’ an option? Because that’s the truth, we’re friends.”

“I dunno, I think bodyguard is a little true, too,” Jane says wryly and lets go of Maura’s arm to pop another grape in her mouth. Maura shoots her a look.

“Jane, I’m serious. Just because two people…” Maura sighs. “So we spend a lot of time together, so what? They shouldn’t leap to conclusions like that.”

Jane makes a noncommittal noise in response. She sets her plate of grapes down and stares out onto the dance floor where couples have started swaying around to the jazzy house band that began playing after dinner. After a silent moment she looks back to Maura.

“You wanna dance?” Jane asks. Maura looks at her incredulously and Jane offers another shrug in return. “I mean, they’re gonna think it either way, so you might as well get to dance. You always say how you want to.” She holds out her hand, palm up, and Maura stares at it like she’s never seen one before in her life.

“I…okay,” Maura says dumbly. She places her hand in Jane’s and allows herself to be led out onto the dance floor. She feels immediately like every eye in the room is on them but when she glances around she finds that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Then she’s in Jane’s arms.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jane asks at the same time that her hand slides around to the small of Maura’s back, her other hand still clasping Maura’s and raising it up. Maura can’t pretend she isn’t shocked that Jane is this confident about dancing. She stares at Jane in a daze.

“Sure, yes.” Maura swallows with some difficulty and slides her hand up Jane’s arm until it winds over her shoulder. Jane’s eyebrow twitches just slightly and the smile on her face is not one that Maura can easily identify. She’s not sure she’s seen it before. Jane begins to sway them around the floor, sweeping her gaze around the room before settling it back on Maura.

“If there was a woman who came to all of these events, each time with the same man, and she spent all her time with him and they came and left in the same car and everything we do, what would you think?”

Maura looks up into Jane’s questioning face and presses her lips into a thin line. She blushes a bit. “I get what you’re trying to say, Jane, and you’re right, I’d think they were together. But all I’m taking away from that point is that one shouldn’t make assumptions about pairs of differing genders either.”

“That probably is the right lesson,” Jane says as she spins them slowly around. Maura thinks they might be pressed even closer together than when they started. No, she’s sure of it, actually, because she can no longer look Jane in the eye without craning her neck and Jane’s lips are startling close to Maura’s ear when she starts talking again. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes.” Maura really doesn’t mean for it to come out so huskily.

“Ignoring that lesson you just learned…if you had a friend, a male best friend, and he spent all his time with you and made you come to his dive bar with him and drove to your house every morning for fancy coffee before work even though he’d happily drink instant and has a well documented hatred for getting up earlier than he has to…”

It’s not exactly a subtle beginning on Jane’s part and Maura has already lost the ability to regulate her breathing. She’s trying not to dig her fingers into Jane’s neck but she’s not quite sure how to keep upright if she doesn’t hold onto something. She feels the arm around her waist tighten just slightly before Jane continues.

“...If, hypothetically, he’d run a marathon for you, pretend to be your lover to discourage a truly disgusting mechanic he definitely warned you about, and of course fill his nights with every charitable event in the Boston elite��s social calendar… What would you think?”

Maura can’t believe what she’s hearing. She especially can’t believe Jane Rizzoli just said lover.

“Jane,” Maura exhales quietly. She wants to lean back and look Jane in the eyes, verify that all of this is really happening, convince herself that she didn’t fall and hit her head in the bathroom prompting some very vivid auditory hallucinations, but Jane’s hand slides up to the middle of her back and holds her firmly in place.

“What would you think, Maura?” Jane’s voice is low and her breath is hot against Maura’s cheek. She shivers and grips the collar of Jane’s jacket so, so tight.

“I would think he wants me.” It’s barely louder than a whisper but Maura feels like she’s shouting.

“Hm,” Jane says, sounding sage, as if she’d just uncovered some difficult mathematical proof. “I think you’d probably be right.”

This time when Maura tries to lean back, Jane lets her, her hand returning to the small of Maura’s back except a little bit lower than it was before. Jane has that same mysterious smile from earlier and now Maura’s starting to get a sense of what this one means.

She has no less than a thousand questions about this revelation but it’s not difficult to pick out the most important one.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Maura carefully searches Jane’s expression, which turns bashful. Jane looks awkward and vulnerable and it’s painfully sweet. Maura can hardly fathom that Jane is still managing to dance them around the room.

“I tried to,” Jane says a bit helplessly. “Well—I tried to show you. I’m not very good with words. Unfortunately you’re not always so good without them. But I thought…you know, all that stuff you said about the signs of attraction, I thought you’d see my eyeballs having contractions and stuff.”

“Facial muscles,” Maura murmurs.

“Whatever,” Jane says, then clears her throat. They finally come to a stop but they don’t quite disengage, their clasped hands dropping to their sides while their other arms remain around each other. Jane’s eyes dart around uncomfortably. “Well anyway, now you know. I guess that’s also why I don’t really mind if everyone mistakenly thinks we’re dating.”

“Would you mind if they weren’t mistaken?” Maura asks, slipping her hand free. She can feel Jane’s fingers twitch at the loss.

“Of course not.” Jane frowns, offended at the implication. “If you want to clear things up with everyone, of course you should. Take an ad out in the next newsletter if you need to.”

“No, I don’t—that’s not what I meant.” Maura slides her hand from around Jane's shoulder to grasp one of the lapels on Jane’s blazer, her unoccupied hand coming up to take hold of the other. “I mean, what if—”

Maura wants to finish her sentence, she really does, but when she drops her gaze from Jane’s eyes to her mouth her fingers start tugging down on the collar of Jane’s jacket and she’s just going to have to show Jane instead, like Jane had tried to show her.

And she really had, hadn’t she? There will be time later to reflect on all the signs she missed but for now, Maura kisses Jane, lightly brushing their lips together once, twice, then tilting her head and slotting her mouth confidently against Jane’s. There’s the briefest moment of shock where Jane’s whole body goes rigid and then she melts into the contact and it sparks electricity up and down Maura’s spine. The hand that isn’t wrapped around Maura’s waist finds its place at the back of Maura’s neck, resting strong and possessive.

Jane tastes like grapes and their kiss is a relief and a thrill and a confirmation. When Jane makes a quiet, hungry sound deep in her throat it nearly extinguishes any consideration for social etiquette on Maura’s part. Despite the very public circumstances of their first kiss, Maura so badly wants to bite down on Jane’s tender lower lip, lick along the seam of Jane’s closed mouth and waste no time when she opens it. She wants to press herself against Jane’s strong thigh and goad Jane until she pushes Maura up against the nearest wall. More than anything, Maura wants to give those two women something to really talk about. She does none of those things, of course, if only because Constance Isles has many friends in this room and that’s not a phone call Maura is interested in having. She does, however, prolong the kiss as long as she reasonably can before breaking off with a sharp sigh, her eyes squeezed shut. For a moment everything is still.

“Hey,” Jane says carefully, nervously. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay.” Maura opens her eyes to find Jane’s looking the softest she’s ever seen them. She thinks her heart might burst. “I just… Well. While I’m obviously no longer worried about the spreading of false gossip, I’m still upset that they think I’m trying to hide it.”

Jane scrunches her face into a skeptical expression. “Oh, I really doubt they’re going to think that after you kissed me in the middle of the dance floor.”

Maura blushes and glances around and this time she does spot a few sets of eyes looking quickly away. She probably will be getting that phone call after all. She releases her grip on Jane’s jacket, smoothing the creases away with the palms of her hands before looking up into the open, caring face of her best friend. Part of her feels like she should be reeling from a seismic change in their relationship, but the whole thing just feels so overwhelmingly correct and Maura finds she can only think about one thing.

So she gives Jane’s shoulder a small shove.

“I don’t have a pinched walk, by the way.” Maura pouts.

“Oh my god, yes you do,” Jane says, reaching for Maura’s hand and winding their fingers together again. “You can’t help it, it’s how you were raised. Let’s go home and I’ll show you my impression.”

#rizzles #rizzoli and isles #femslash #f/f fanfic #f/f #f/f romance #maura isles #jane rizzoli #rizzles fanfic #rizzoli and isles fanfiction

111 notes · View notes

ladyriot · 2 months

Text

A little snippet that was the rough opening of a rizzles dating app AU one shot

Maura's careful about this, meticulous. She reads through entire profiles instead of going by photo alone. She seeks indications of "safety,” hoping to find someone who feels as safe as Jack did. She swipes a couple of nos, one yes, and then she's looking at her best friend's face.

She drops her phone on the floor in shock, fumbling with it as she picks it up only to realize she's accidentally swiped. Accidentally swiped the wrong way.

“No, no, no, no, no," she whispers to herself as she investigates all the little buttons, finds one that looks like the undo arrow and clicks it. She hesitates only a moment before inputting her credit card information; she’d never liked the security risk. But the reward is the reopening of Jane’s profile.

Jane. She's gorgeous in the first photo, smiling at one of the events Maura'd taken her to in some beautiful dress with her lips glossed shiny and plump. Maura had stared too long that night, Jane’s eyes sparkling mirthfully at her when she could finally meet them. She thinks she might even have taken that photo, insisted on it to show her gorgeous friend just how gorgeous she was.

Seeing her on this app means she's open, right? They wouldn't show her someone that didn't input an interest for women. Right? Maura wants to pause to look it up. To seek information, data. But she's scared to lose the profile again. How come Jane never told her she was looking to date again? She scrolls further.

Her bio makes Maura laugh. It's sweet and cute. And there are more photos, Jane alone, pulling faces in her work chair. Jane with her brothers. With Frost. She notices there's not one with her. Maura had been careful not to select any with Jane in them either. Because she could see in her own expression... could Jane's reasons be similar? Maura flushes, stares hard at the profile for a very long time, almost risking her screen going dark.

She gulps down her wine. And then swipes right, indicating her interest. She lets out a deep sigh and shuts off the app altogether. She might come to regret that. But she hopes she won't have to.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #rizzoli and isles fanfiction #rizzles snippets feb 2024 #you'll probably find little mistakes! forgive them. I have no intentions to return to this one

44 notes · View notes

broodpuff · 3 months

Text

most angsty fic you’ve ever read, GO

#send them to me if their the following #clexa #swan queen #rizzles #wenclair #faberry #bechloe #ronance #supercorp #villaneve #fan fiction #fanfiction #ao3 #angst fic #idk what to tag to reach the masses lol #reblogging would be great to reach other people and i want them ALL #THEYRE* omg im gonna throw up

41 notes · View notes

unhingedicedlatte · 9 months

Text

"Rizzoli & Isles: Season 8" - a brilliant fanfic for everyone who wants Rizzles endgame!

Title of Fic: "Rizzoli & Isles: Season 8"

Author: SilenceintheLibrary13

Fandom/Pairing: "Rizzoli & Isles", Maura Isles and Jane Rizzoli ("Rizzles")

TW: /

Rating: M

Synopsis: This story is set as a continuation of the series, but with the ending we all hoped for with every fibre of our being and still didn't get! And the best thing is that we get to read about their month in Paris together - where they finally admit their true feelings for each other and enjoy a romantic first vacation as a couple. Yay!

The characters are written really well here and while it's not a slow burn, their development as a romantic couple is depicted in a very convincing way. The plot itself needs to be praised, too: We get some sexy times, but also heartfelt conversation and a glimpse into their domestic life together, yet the author did not shy away from adding some good ol' suspense: When Maura and Jane decide to get married, they receive threatening anonymous messages to call the event off! Someone definitely does not want to grant them their well-deserved "Happily ever after" but who could that mystery person be? Someone holding a grudge against those two for professional or personal reasons?

This storyline has everything a really good fanfiction needs and was Winner of the 2018 Rizzles Award of Distinction for Best Canon Storyline!

It is one of those fanfics you can read again and again when you are in the mood for something that is light but not shallow, romantic but not *too* dramatic, neither slow-burn nor sloppily done. It's one of the stories to go back to again and again because of its perfect combo of romance, fluff, smu*t, suspense and character development.

#rizzles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzoli and isles #wlw ship #fanfiction #rizzles is canon #fanfiction.net

39 notes · View notes

anthrofreshtodeath · 1 year

Text

Crossover Angst

Find previous rizzles/bones crossover work here.

—

When Booth hops out of the Sequioia and opens Brennan’s door, it’s already kinda late. He’s an in-bed-early, wake-up-even-earlier sort of guy, and this Boston team… They burn the candle at both ends. All ends. Hell, they even strike a match under the middle. He’s tired, and he’s hungry, and he needs a couple hours away from the mania to talk things over with his partner.

Who just so happens to be the woman he’s madly in love with. Christ.

“What is this place?” Brennan asks, rousing him out of his exhausted musing. They amble toward a little storefront on Prince Street, which has seen its tourists exit for the day, leaving locals to patronize the restaurants, the butcher shops, the bakeries, during their last few hours of operation. Angelina’s.

“Little Italian joint, Bones,” says Booth, pulling open the door. The heavy, wooden frame squeals as it swings out, and he licks his lips in some relief. “Hear that? Means the food’s gonna be good.”

Brennan is only inches ahead of him, and she turns with a little disbelief. “The squeaky door?” she chuckles, “how could that possibly relate to the quality of food?”

“Don’t know how to explain it; don’t need to,” he tells her. “There’s mostly Sicilian fare but apparently they’ve got a puttanesca that rivals your own.”

“Your favorite,” Brennan chides. “The whore sauce.”

“The whore sauce,” Booth affirms. “But it comes from my neck of the woods, from Rome. So hey, can’t go wrong, right? Anyway, Rizzoli said they had some good vegetarian options.”

“Ah, Jane recommended it,” Brennan draws out. She takes off her trench coat and hangs it over the back of an old wooden chair when the waiter pointed them toward a table toward the windowfront. “That’s why we’re here.”

Booth knots his eyebrows together. He’s good at reading Brennan, probably better than anyone else, but he’s stumped here. That jumble of words usually signals jealousy, especially in girls - women - but Bones looks pleased. Humored. “That a problem?” he asks, searching for more. He needs more.

“Not at all,” Brennan answers. She does this thing where she shrugs and scoots her chair in at the same time, but the movements are fluid. There is no waste, no excess in the motion of her body. This enthralls him; it always had, though he hadn’t realized it until his love for her crashed down on him in a particularly painful, sweet revelation. Smitten had felt like an apt descriptor, but when Jane told him about the Sicilian thunderbolt, that punch of lightning, that felt perfect. And painful. It’s painful to watch her move, but also exhilarating, like he’s just stuck a fork in a socket. “You respect her.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. She’s good people,” Booth says. He takes the menu given to him by the waiter, and nods toward the middle of the page, where all the red wines are named. “Give us a bottle of the Sangiovese, huh? You’re gonna love this one,” he tells Brennan when the waiter nods and turns their wine glasses right side up before going back for the wine. “It’s bold. Real hearty, velvety Italian flavor.”

“Sounds like we’re still talking about Jane,” Brennan teases. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at him, and she offers him one of her signature, garish winks.

Booth turns dour. He crosses his arms, his crisp white shirt rolled up just under his elbows on either side. “What?” he demands.

Brennan registers the change in mood, and he thinks about lightening up because he can tell she doesn’t know what she’s said, what she’s done, but dammit if he isn’t tired of the games. “Well, I… I wasn’t being very serious, Booth.”

“You weren’t, huh?” He prods.

“No, but, what would be the issue if I were? She’s attractive, you’re attractive, and you’re both single. You seem to suit each other. At least, superficially,” Brennan reasons aloud. She leans forward, puts her elbows on the tablecloth. She believes she’s making sense.

And maybe, in any other world, she would be. Maybe, in another world where she and Booth are just partners, just coworkers who collaborate to bring murderers to justice, just colleagues who sometimes grab after-work drinks, this argument would make sense. Rizzoli is… well, Rizzoli looks like a supermodel and she drinks some of his old army buddies under the table. She’s loud and to the point and kind of grumpy, but he can be, too. He thinks back to that early morning last week, when they’d held hands in mass while the priest ushered them through Eucharistic prayer. After all night at the scene of the first fresh crime they’d encountered in their time together, blood and brain matter and torn flesh seared in their consciousness, they’d agreed together that only the blood of Christ would wash it all away. So they’d dropped their scientists at their respective abodes and trudged into St. Joseph’s just after sunrise. And they’d touched because they needed the intimacy, the spirituality, without all the goddamn battle.

Rizzoli’s perfect on paper.

There’s just, y’know, the problem of both of them being in love with someone else. That thought, of yet another opportunity crushed under the weight of Bones’ magnetism, under the way she expands so as to push anything else out of the room, leaving nothing but the two of them and his annoying heart, angers Booth. He turns his eyes toward the flow of wine out of the bottle and into their glasses. He concentrates only on that so that he can speak without raising his voice. “Why you gotta do that? Why- why you gotta try to hook me up with people?”

“Booth, I was just-”

“No! No,” He shudders when he hears his volume the first time, like he’s gunshy of himself. He quiets down, a fist going into his hand when he props his elbows up on the table like she had. “You… I laid my heart out for ya, Bones. I told you I was in love with you. And god help me, I think you feel the same way. But for whatever reason, you didn’t… you can’t go there with me. And I’m tryin’ to be respectful of that. But this? Tryin’ to get me to go out with other people when you know I’m not even thinkin’ about anyone else right now is…”

“Alright, alright,” Brennan puts up her hand just so he’ll stop. “I… I won’t. I won’t anymore. I just… I care about you, Booth,” she confesses, her blue eyes screwed up and watery like she’s in pain, like she has any right to be in pain when she’s done all the pushing. “You deserve to be happy.”

“That doesn’t sound like you stoppin’,” he grumbles.

“I can’t give you what you want. I… don’t know how to be what you need,” Brennan whispers. She cries openly now, and Booth waves the waiter away as a kindness.

But he still seethes. “Easy, Bones. Just be you,” he says, low and full of spite.

“But it’s not that easy. Of course it’s not that easy. I’ve been me with you for years now and I still… I’m still…”

“Afraid?” He mocks, and when she nods because it doesn’t register with her, because she doesn't see the way he has intended to hurt her. “I just… I don’t get it. Help me understand, here, Bones, because you don’t seem to have trouble bein’ what other guys need. Jerks like Stires, Wexler, oh and god, Mark. Remember Mark?”

“I don’t appreciate-” Brennan’s face drops, she sniffles, and her brow furrows, but Booth pushes right through.

“So it’s me, right? Because you have no problem giving them the time of day, and I’m right here. I’m right here and I’m better. So it must just be that I don’t do it for you. I’m not enough of an asshole,” He is quiet and severe, leaning in to make his point.

She looks toward her glass of wine, thinks about throwing it in his face. And Booth knows he’d deserve it. But the bell over the door rings, and whatever, whoever Brennan sees, makes her put her hand down. “I’m leaving. This isn’t the time, or the place. If you want to have a discussion about this like an adult, give me a call.” She rises, snatches her coat from her chair, and glares at him for good measure.

“Oh? And where’re you goin’, huh?” Booth demands.

She aims to hurt him because she puts her face in his. She only does that when she spits fire. “I’m going to Jane’s. She invited me over to watch the game.”

“Oh yeah? Do you even know which game?!” Booth calls when she starts to walk away. He guesses that Jane’s invite was probably for the C’s game, which is currently just underway, and he guesses that Bones had originally turned it down.

“Doesn’t matter!” She shouts back. She’s right. Really doesn’t matter.

___

“Hmm,” Maura holds Jane’s face as they kiss, soft and sweet in the low candlelight illuminating Jane’s small bedroom. Jane is on top of her, they’re under the covers naked, and god it feels good. Like eating cake with your hands or pouring a second glass of rosé when you said you’d just have one. “Hey.”

Jane groans because talking breaks the kiss open. She writhes closer, deepens the post-coital, sweaty embrace between them in hopes that she can erase all language.

Maura must deny her. She offers Jane one last kiss, but then she tilts her head so Jane’s lips shift to her chin, across her jaw, down her neck. “Hey, hey…” she tries again. “I saw you stuffing down that Powerbar on the way back from Amherst this morning. Was that the last thing you ate?”

At the mention of the Powerbar, Jane’s stomach grumbles on Maura’s own. “What’s it to you?” Jane snarks. There is no bite in it, or rather, no power, because Jane currently bites on the mark she’s already left on Maura’s collarbone.

Maura hates that she doesn’t hate it. That she won’t hate walking in public with it on, she won’t hate people seeing it and wondering. Or knowing that it was Jane. “That was almost twelve hours ago. Let me feed you.”

“You already did,” Jane snarks, teeth still out and nipping.

“Jane,” Maura warns. “I’ll go to Angelina’s. Pick something up and bring it back. Eat with me?”

“Angelina’s, huh?” asks Jane, rolling over onto her back so that her shoulder touches Maura’s. Maura kisses it. “Sounds good. I told Booth about it a few days ago. Thought it might be a good place for him to take Doctor B.”

Maura stops mid-smooch, lips pursed and frozen against Jane’s still-warm skin. “And how are things between you and Doctor Brennan?” she finally asks when she regains her thoughts.

“Uh, normal? Things have been a lot less heated,” Jane says. “Uh, well, maybe that’s not the right word. Things are a lot less acrimonious.”

“But still heated?” Maura prods.

Jane chuckles. “Hey, don’t put words in my mouth when I specifically took ‘em out. But I mean, I’m tryin’, honey. I really am. I invited her over to watch the Celtics and Lakers tonight. Teach her the rules of basketball so she, I dunno, can make it a whole game without embarrassing Booth.”

“And she said no?” Maura turns her head at the exact moment Jane turns hers, and they gaze into each other’s eyes. Jane won’t be able to turn away.

“She said no,” Jane affirmed. “But at least she knows I am attempting friendliness after last week.”

Maura pauses for a long time. Then she inches forward to kiss Jane. She injects it with lust, with luscious and wet intent as she rows their swollen, dusky lips together. “Jane?”

“Yeah?” Jane sighs.

“Don’t fuck that woman,” Maura threatens.

Jane smirks, and immediately Maura knows she’s shown Jane a weakness. But there’s no way she can take it back. She hardly cares about her exposed desperation. “Which one?” asks Jane. “Abby in payroll? She’s been wanting me to ask her out for years,” she teases. And god, she’s right. Abby wants Jane, pines for Jane even now. Even if Jane is full of shit. Maura frowns. Jane laughs, then quiets. “Or the Chief Medical Examiner? I heard she’s a real ice queen but I think she likes me.”

Maura softens at that, and shakes her head. This time, it’s her teeth that sink into Jane. Both soft and hard, and into Jane’s shoulder. “Don’t. Fuck. Her.” she reiterates.

There is no room for discussion.

“You got it,” Jane kisses Maura’s forehead with kindness when Maura latches onto her with possession. “You really gonna go get food? Because I could go for that Brasat’.”

“Beef, hmm? You’re quite hungry,” Maura muses, but she does sit up and look for the jeans she put on to come here.

“I just burned an NBA game’s worth of calories!” Jane answers back, But she blushes when Maura looks back from over her shoulder and smirks. They lock eyes, and certainly, the same scene, where Jane grips the corner of the bed while she drives into Maura from on top, crying out when Maura scratches long red lines down her back, runs through both their minds. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“I am going to get food, yes. I’ll even get an appetizer for us to share. But you have to get up now,” Maura orders. She stands, her pants on, and she shuffles around until she finds her bra. After that’s on, she shrugs her blouse over her shoulders. Jane continues to lay, and her eyes flutter shut. “I mean it, Jane. I’m not ordering all that food just for you to be too sleepy to eat. Get up. Get dressed. Turn on the game - find a way to stay awake.” Maura says. Then she throws a decorative pillow in Jane’s face.

“Ouch, fuck! Alright, alright, I’m gettin’ up,” grouses Jane.

She does indeed sit, and Maura rewards her with a kiss to the lips. “Good. I’ll be back. Set the table.”

“Yup,” says Jane.

Maura slips on her sandals, and lingers in the bedroom doorway. She doesn’t say anything, but catches Jane’s eye one more time and nods. Then she leaves.

Her car is close; Jane had given up her parking spot for Maura and put the unmarked around the corner. Maura had hidden the giddy, bubbly smile the gesture inspired and opened her legs instead.

She really, really needs to stop doing that. At least, long enough to give her some time to think. Cases like this were always hard, and up until now, Maura had medicated by sliding Jane into place on top of her and blanching her brain. Well, now appears to be more of the same, but then, they’d been married, and it had been… allowed.

She trots down the stairs and out the side exit of the building, straight into the parking area. She gets in her car, turns on the engine, and sighs. They’re grown adults. They can sleep with whomever they please, including each other. But something about all of this feels forbidden, and Maura wonders if that’s why she likes it. That’s the part that she needs to slow down on. The part she needs to figure out. The part that feels like using, as she’d confessed to Jane some nights ago.

Angelina’s is not far from Jane’s place, maybe a ten, fifteen minute drive, so Maura calls in her order before she pulls out of her spot. Maura also contemplates all these things as she maneuvers there, and mourns the Maura who had put down some of the best boundaries of her life at the start of her divorce. Where is that Maura? When she pulls up to the neighborhood, Jane’s old neighborhood, she finds a spot on Hanover Street and makes the short trek over to the storefront, resolving to worry about boundaries after she gets food into Jane’s belly.

When she pulls open the old wooden door and steps inside the entryway, her sandals scrape against the mosaic-style tile until she stops where she stands. “D… Doctor Brennan?” she sputters when the woman herself stands up from her table. Brennan says something to Booth, Maura can tell him by his shoulders, hulking and sad. And then, Brennan makes her way to the door. Toward Maura.

She’s angry. Maura reads the microexpressions and stands aside, while offering a half-smile and a look in that direction. No eye contact, that would make the both of them too uncomfortable. “Doctor Isles,” Brennan says, just before she pushes toward the door. “Have a great night.”

“Are you-? Where-?” Maura is still shocked to see the both of them here, she feels as though she should say more, that they should have a perfunctory conversation at least; her Brahmin upbringing vibrates within her. But Brennan is already gone.

The door swings and rattles in its frame and there are a few head turns from other patrons, but that settles quickly enough as Brennan’s form retreats into the North End evening. Maura walks up to the counter, hands over her card, and in less than a minute or two, both it and her boxes of food are brought out to her, tied up nicely in a plastic bag.

She is about to leave, to abandon the awkward situation she just messily dove into, until she turns and sees Booth’s face - well, she should revise. She doesn’t see his face, because it’s in his large hands, the heels of which press into his cheeks. She shakes her head, and then she crosses the few short feet to get to him. “Sangiovese is one of my favorites,” Maura tells him. He jolts, just a bit, and squints when he looks at her.

“Doctor Isles, hey, how are ya,” He says. There is no conviction in it.

“I’m just fine,” she starts. Then, she puts her bag of food on the table. “I’m picking up dinner for my ex-wife when I know I should not be. I’m very confused. All the time.”

He chuckles once, bitterly. “Yeah? Me too. Join the party,” he says. Then, he shrugs, like the assholishness is something he can remove like a coat. “I’m sorry, y’know. That you and Rizzoli are such a mess.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through your own mess,” Maura nods toward the door. “Is she alright?”

Booth sighs, and leans back into his chair, his glossy eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t think so. I think I made the mess. And right now she’s, agh. Well, apparently she’s over to your guys’ place to catch…” he slides his watch around, “well, I’m assuming Celtics/Lakers.”

“She’s… she’s going to Jane’s?” Maura asks. Her head pounds, and she squeezes her hands together. She sucks her teeth.

And Booth, of course he reads that. He quirks a brow. “You didn’t know?”

“I thought she said no,” Maura’s acrimony leaks through the veneer, but she pulls it back as soon as it trickles forward. “You didn’t even get to eat?”

Booth chuckles. “No, no we didn’t.”

Maura pats the top of her bag. “Well, let’s eat this, shall we? It’s warm. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

Booth leans forward, rubs his hands together. “What about Jane?”

“She ate,” Maura snaps, pink suffusing her cheeks. Vengeance is a dish best not served at all. Her own words ring hollow and mocking in her head - do not fuck that woman. “And if she gets hungry enough she can have some cereal. We’re here, we should enjoy the cuisine while it’s fresh.”

“You know what I really wanna do?” says Booth. He downs the rest of the glass of wine in front of him. “I wanna go over to that bar next door. Screw the food.”

Maura hangs her head and she laughs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Booth. Now that he thinks about it, he’s sure of it. He drops enough cash on the table to cover the bottle of wine and then some, and then he stands up and shrugs his blazer on. “They’re havin’ their fun, why don’t we?”

“Ok,” replies Maura. She stands, too, and smirks when she sees her package on the table. “Screw the food. They have a scrumptious Amarone that I think you’ll like.”

“I will, huh?” asks Booth, holding open the door as they step into the cool spring air. He holds out his elbow and she takes it, even though the walk isn’t long.

“If you’re like me and the Sangiovese is also one of your favorites, yes,” Maura tells him. She gets the door of the next establishment, and she ushers him in with a hand to the small of his back, like Jane is moving through her.

He is surprised by it, but his smile is warm. Not bitter like it had been when she first saw him in Angelina’s. “Well you got me there, it is.”

They take their place at the bar, just a few other drinkers along its edge, and Booth insists that Maura order for them. She does, and he compliments her taste in reds. The dance floor is old, the lights swooping over it reminiscent of a high school dance, but he wags his brows when the music shifts. “Ole Blue Eyes,” he says when Frank Sinatra begins to croon. “My favorite.”

Maura sips the exceptional drink in her glass before setting it down. She pulls her lips back and stares at the napkin under her fingers. “Jane is partial to Dean Martin.”

“Well, can’t go wrong with the Rat Pack,” Booth says. “Hey, did you uh, did you tell her where you were? Tell her you weren’t comin’ back with her food?”

Maura’s face crumples when she shakes her head. She hides from him, and then she lifts her face up so that her tears don’t ruin what little makeup she has on.

Booth shuffles on his feet. Shit. “Uh, hey, Maura, hey. C’mon. You, you wanna go dance? No talkin’. We can just move a little.”

She looks up, and he looks down, and she can tell he has surprised the both of them with his offer. But, what the hell. She takes her drink, then he takes his, and she leads them over to the floor. They are by far the youngest couple currently dancing, the rest of the people their age at various tables, and they aren’t even a couple. They shouldn’t dance.

But Booth stands there, wide angles, gallant masculinity, open arms, and Maura folds into him. She puts her head on his shoulder and the hand he’s not using to hold his wine at his side goes between her own shoulder blades. Nice. Easy. Safe. He sways her, and she is content to be swayed by him - no expectations or rules.

It is the most comfortable she’s felt with a man wrapped around her - when he is devastated by his love for someone else. When her love for someone else keeps her heart far away from his. “I’m sorry,” she tells him.

“Hey no,” he assures her. “Tell me what you’re thinkin’.” Frankie sings and he holds her close, and fuck. This may be the saddest he’s ever been. He prays she doesn’t ask him the same question.

“I’m thinking that I’m here with the wrong Italian, Seeley,” Maura whispers, turning so that it bounces on the cavern of his chest. “You are so unbelievably kind. But wrong. But I can’t stop hurting her.”

“You know, I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” he says. She’s unburdened him with that confession. So hell, maybe, even though it feels like digging a hot poker into his belly, he should just confess, too. “I was thinkin’ that I’m here with the wrong scientist. But she, oh god,” he inhales without exhaling, a ragged breath that cuts into the air around them. He catches her tears like a virus, but his don’t fall. “She can’t stop hurting me. What a pair, huh?”

Maura wraps her arms around his waist despite her drink, as though she’s forgotten it and knows only the shape of the glass in her hand. She squeezes him because he is warm and if she closes her eyes he feels like Jane. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I feel like I’m looking at myself from the outside, unable to get her to stop.”

Maura doesn’t feel like Bones at all. But Maura needs him. Needs him to lie, needs him to hold her, needs him to ride out this slow dance and maybe a few more glasses of wine. “Things are… things are gonna be just fine, Maura. They’re gonna be just fine.”

She doesn’t say it back to him.

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #lauren writes crossover fiction too #god this was a little sadder than I intended #it will help you if you read the last piece for *sports context*#I imagine the very next scene to be Jane opening the door in her lounge clothes and a bowl of cereal hoping to see maura on the other side #but it ain’t maura #also don’t worry we’re not and nor will we ever be mixing ships here #b&b and rizzles are too in love with their respective partners to do that

29 notes · View notes

phantomstatistician · 2 years

Text

Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles

Sample Size: 1,771 stories

Source: AO3

#jane rizzoli #maura isles #emma swan #regina mills #nina holiday #frankie rizzoli #casey jones #gabrielle #xena #rizzoli & isles #once upon a time #ouat #xena warrior princess #xwp #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician #rizzles

126 notes · View notes

saphoerus · 4 months

Text

#rizzles #fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

misless · 6 months

Text

Extrañas por Naturaleza - Strangers by Nature

A prequel to "You and Me." (Rizzles) where Constance and Ella are side characters. Strangers by Nature is the story of how Constance and Ella met.

**A/N: I've rarely seen Constance's character being used in a positive light in Rizzle's fanfiction, let alone having her as a main character. So I'm giving it a try

Original version in Spanish

Translation in English

#rizzoli and isles #maura isles #jane rizzoli #Constance Isles #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fanfic #wattpad #rizzles #original character #originally inspired by tdwp

3 notes · View notes

kmwoodson · 1 year

Text

Want a story catered specifically to you?! Whether it's an original short story or a personalized FanFic, DM me now to discuss the details!

9 notes · View notes

scullsliciously · 1 year

Link

With all the refound Rizzoli and Isles love, here’s the fluffy little fic I wrote the other day

#Rizzoli and Isles #Rizzles #Fanfiction #My Fics

16 notes · View notes

harleychick91 · 6 months

Text

Hello, all!

Thanks for checking out my page. I’m an avid reader and caffeine fueled ADHDer. I write fanfics for SwanQueen, Bering & Wells, SuperCorp, and many others. If you’d like to check out my work, I’m Harleychick91 on AO3 and FFN. So my page is full of book recommendations, fanfiction, and other ship related posts. Feel free to follow if that’s your thing!

If there’s a story you can’t get out or your head, I’m always open to fic requests. Send me a message if you’d like to brainstorm. I always give idea credit.

Thanks!

I’m slowly working on playlists for my top ships.

SuperCorp: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4H7N2mSASybjX9t0lO6YiW?si=louZbePYSDKWOdyG4w3JUQ&pi=u-ucaJsMivRma4

SwanQueen:

Bering and Wells:

5 notes · View notes

doomsday-dj · 2 months

Text

I wrote all day and here this is: Desire Is No Light Thing

Rizzoli & isles Rating: Mature Words: 4822

Maura has had enough.

She parks her car in front of the professor’s house and leans forward so she can see the upstairs windows. The bedroom light is still on, its warm glow leaking out around the edges of the drapes, alerting her to the fact that Jane is still up. If the light alone doesn’t suffice, Maura watches as the curtain flutters and the light from inside flashes brighter just for a moment, surely a result of Jane’s sixth sense reliably alerting her to an unexpected presence. Something flutters inside Maura’s chest too, a flame grows then wanes.

There’s no turning back now.

Or is there? If Maura just drove away, would Jane inquire about it? She definitely would have, once. In fact, there would not be any need to follow up. A couple years ago Maura’s phone would already be ringing; Jane’s wiry frame, her explosion of hair, would already be silhouetted in the opened door of the house.

Tonight, the door remains shut. The only light on is still the one in the bedroom.

So, okay. Maybe for Jane this can still be forgotten. But for Maura, there’s no turning back now.

The moment she’d left Jane’s sublet, Maura’s gut started twisting itself into knots over the conversation they’d had. She’d driven all the way home, parked, and got as far as putting her hand on the door handle before she was starting the car back up and pulling out.

Jane had worried out loud that everyone was moving on and she was still the same. Maura had reassured Jane that Jane was changing too and she was—Jane was unquestionably different from the woman with whom Maura had first become friends. But ‘change’ is value neutral and as soon as Maura stepped out onto the street her mind started hammering away on whether the cumulative differences in Jane truly amounted to change for the better.

So now she’s back. Maura steels herself with a deep, fortifying breath and steps out of the car. Before she can knock, the door opens and the hallway light comes on at the same time. Jane had crept downstairs without turning on any lights. Maura winces a little at the unexpected brightness.

“Maura.” Jane’s tone isn’t exactly questioning, but she does sound puzzled. She says Maura’s name like it’s an unexpected piece of evidence in an ongoing investigation.

“Jane.” Maura makes sure her own tone is firm. She looks Jane over quickly. Jane has since gotten ready for bed, now clad in well-worn pajama pants and a thin white tank top, that stupid fake tattoo standing out starkly around and beneath it. Maura knows it’s not possible, but the bruise on Jane’s forehead somehow looks worse than it did half an hour ago. It all softens Jane and Maura isn’t sure if this will make things easier or harder.

“Did you forget something?” Jane asks, not yet moving out of the doorway. She looks over her shoulder, scanning the kitchen and small living room for any reason Maura might have returned.

“No. Well—yes. Can I come in, please?”

Jane turns back to Maura in surprise. She looks down at her own socked feet, set in a wide stance and blocking the path into the house, as if shocked to find herself barricading the entrance. She backs off quickly, hand still on the doorknob.

“Yeah, sorry, of course,” Jane says. Maura passes quickly through and Jane shuts the door behind her. “Uh, so you forgot—”

“You have changed,” Maura says, whirling around on her heels to face Jane. Jane looks only increasingly perplexed.

“Yeah, you said so earlier.” Jane speaks slowly, wheels turning as she tries to figure out what’s going on. “And I appreciate—”

“I’m just not sure if all of it’s good.” Maura exhales sharply, almost triumphantly, as she blows past the point of no return.

There’s a flash of annoyance on Jane’s face first, likely a result of being interrupted for a second time, but it quickly shifts into confusion as she processes what Maura has said. A flicker of hurt and then Jane’s expression goes hard. Her back straightens and she stalks closer to Maura. In their everyday life this often has an intimidating effect, but with Maura in heels and Jane without shoes at all it only draws Jane up to Maura’s full height. Maura looks on defiantly.

“What did you say?” Jane says.

“I think I’ve made a mistake, Jane. I’m just not sure if it’s one big one or many cumulative ones.” Maura turns away from Jane and walks over to the kitchen counter where their half-drunk bottle of red still stands. She pours herself a generous serving before turning back.

Jane blinks. “You’ve made a—sorry, I’m stuck on the ‘changed for the worst’ implication. Could you possibly, uh, elaborate?” Jane’s irritation is present in her voice but there’s something else colouring the edges and Maura’s pretty sure it’s fear.

“I think your relationship with your mother has improved. Though, for the record, I think it’s because she’s put a lot of work into becoming her own person as much as it’s anything you’ve done,” Maura says and Jane draws her head back like she’s being attacked.

“Maura, what the hell. Where is this coming from?”

“You’ve been withdrawing from everyone, Jane. From everyone , but especially from me. I think I first really noticed it after your apartment burned down and I told myself that when we caught Alice, you’d return to me—to us.”

Jane’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Shoot. Maura might have shown her hand a little. She plows ahead.

“But you didn’t. You got worse, in fact. And when I started to really think about it, I realized the roots of this go back much further, way before Alice, though I’m not exactly sure how far. I think maybe around the time of the bridge.”

Jane scoffs loudly. “Maura, I’m just trying to have boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” Maura’s tone is skeptical.

“Yeah, boundaries.” Jane hits the ‘b’ loudly and snaps off each word. “I realized everything was a little too entwined and I’m trying to change that.”

“You realized this after the bridge?” Maura speaks calmly and from the way Jane relaxes just slightly, Maura knows the detective is about to walk into her trap.

“Yeah, after the bridge.”

“Let me get this straight, then.” Maura takes a slow sip of her wine. “You jumped off a bridge, and then, in your estimation, everyone was a little too concerned you may have drowned in the fucking Atlantic ocean?” Maura’s voice starts off quiet but she’s nearly yelling at the end of it. Jane’s eyes bug out when Maura swears. It takes Jane a moment to collect herself before she can speak.

“My family needs—”

“No, stop.” Maura holds her hand up. Jane’s jaw clenches.

“I swear to god, Maura, if you interrupt me one more—”

“You’ll what?” Maura does it on purpose, with relish. Jane’s eyes narrow dangerously but both women know that whatever Jane was going to finish with would only be an empty threat. Jane doesn’t continue, so Maura does.

“I don’t want to talk about your family, Jane. I think you’re withdrawing from them too, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t actually care about that right now. I want to talk about us.”

“Us?” Jane says it so skeptically, like the concept of an ‘us’ composed of her and Maura is a foreign concept. The nerve of it is astounding. Static roars in Maura’s ears and a war begins inside of her, one between nature and nurture. Every drop of Southie blood circulating through her system wants to grab Jane, maybe hit Jane, while her Boston Brahmin upbringing urges her to cut with ice. She pulls a long breath in through her nose and throws her shoulders back, forcing her features into impassive lines. It doesn’t exactly settle the age-old debate, Maura just knows Jane well enough that she's certain which will hurt more.

“Yes, Jane. Us. We were best friends.” Jane’s face twitches at the use of the past tense and Maura makes sure she doesn’t betray any of the satisfaction she feels.

“We were too close,” Jane says dismissively and Maura gains another edge because unlike Jane, she doesn’t react when cut.

“According to whom?” Maura asks coolly.

“Being close to me is how people get hurt, Maura. You kept getting hurt.” Jane shrugs.

Maura scoffs and drains the rest of the wine in one go. She slowly licks her lips and watches as Jane’s eyes dart away from her own for just the briefest moment. It’s all Maura needs to be sure of her next move.

“So I think it’s both,” Maura says. Jane is immediately confused. Maura lets her sit in that confusion as she sets her glass down and takes a few slow steps over to Jane. “I think I’ve made one big mistake but I’ve also made many cumulative mistakes.”

“You don’t really make mistakes, Maur.” Jane’s voice has softened and she is scared, Maura realizes. The nickname, in the heat of battle, is a dead giveaway. Jane is trying to thaw the ice, soften Maura’s edges. Maura refuses to be made docile.

“Professionally, no. Almost none. Personally? Romantically? A litany.” Maura watches Jane swallow harshly at ‘romantically.’

“Let me tell you about some of the ones specific to you, Jane. The first one isn’t really my fault, I don’t think. You were the first best friend that I had so I made the mistake of believing that the way we were around each other was how friends behaved. I believed that friends touched as much as we did, slept together as much as we did. I made the mistake of thinking that the way I came to feel was my fault, because nothing about how we interacted was unusual.”

Maura watches as Jane’s nostrils flare slightly, giving away Jane’s need for a deep, steadying breath.

“Another mistake, Jane, is that in the last few years I’ve made myself small for you. Everywhere else in my life I’ve blossomed and I won’t be so cruel as to deny that a lot of that is to your credit. I have friendships that are independent of you. I’ve stood up for myself with my odd assortment of parents. I have cultivated, I think, a pretty good sense of humour. I’ve come to know what I truly want out of life.”

Maura looks Jane right in the eyes and takes a deep breath.

“But while I grew big everywhere else I’ve let you push me away and I’ve let you put me in a box. I’ve supported you every time you’ve come to me for help and I’ve asked almost nothing in return. I thought, perhaps, you were on a journey to greater self-awareness, that the distance would allow you to see better, but you’ve just decided to keep running.” Maura lets her words breathe for a moment, then finishes with an uppercut.

“And my big mistake, Jane, is that I thought you were brave. But you’re actually a coward.”

Jane reacts like she’s been shot and Maura knows that for a fact, since she’s seen it happen. The accusation pulls all the oxygen out of Jane’s lungs and she fills them with hot air, ready to defend herself against the truth.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jane’s yelling now. “Pulling away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but it was the only thing I could do. I had to protect you.” Jane had stood stock still while Maura spoke but now her limbs fly everywhere as she gestures grandly. “Every bad thing that happens to you is because we’re too close and being in my orbit was going to get you killed eventually. Hell, before you got here I was on the phone with Agent Davies, asking about a job at Quantico. That way you’re safe and everyone else doesn’t have to worry about me.”

Jane drops her little revelation about the FBI like it’s checkmate and, not for the first time, Maura wonders if she’s actually any good at chess.

“No, Jane,” Maura says derisively. “Every bad thing that happened to me is because we weren’t close enough. If you want to run off to Virginia to protect yourself , be my guest, but don’t pretend that I’ve ever benefited from any distance between us.”

“What?” Jane exclaims. “Maura, please be real.”

“I’m being very fucking real, Jane. For the first time, perhaps. I’ve been so, so happy to have you in my life and for a long time I wasn’t willing to risk anything by rocking the boat. But now, apparently, I’m going to lose you anyway so there’s nothing to risk.”

Jane’s eyes flash in warning as Maura comes right up to the edge. She doesn’t care.

“I’ve let you pretend you don’t want me, Jane. I’ve let you be so deep in denial that I think sometimes you genuinely believe you don’t. I’ve denied those feelings in myself, I’ve denied their existence to others. And everyone in our lives has played along with it. Everyone ignores it, for your sake. But turns out, the evil people in our lives have no reason to do you the courtesy of ignoring it, so they manipulate it.

“Every person that gets close enough to hurt me is able to do so because you’re pretending I’m not your weak point, but everyone knows. Everyone can see it. Hoyt saw it.”

Maura has seen Jane angrier than she is now, but never before has it been directed at Maura. She gets right up in Maura’s face and somehow manages to make herself seem taller, even in her socked feet. Despite all the fury, maybe because of it, a fire ignites between Maura’s hips.

“You’re trying to tell me that if we—” Jane cuts herself off, still unwilling to put it into words. “You’re saying you wouldn’t have been in the infirmary with me?”

“Of course I would have been there, but maybe we would have seen it coming. I’m certain we would have realized that given his modus operandi, I was at risk.”

Jane glares, unconvinced. That’s fine. Maura’s trump card is her next one. She closes the last few inches of distance between them, her chest brushing up against Jane’s and their breath mingling. She dares Jane to be the one that backs off and she can feel the detective rock back on her heels for a moment before refusing to budge further.

Good.

“Alice Sands could see it, too, Jane,” Maura says coldly, right in Jane’s face. “All the way from prison, she could see what I meant to you, she could see how it would hurt you, and because you so badly wanted to pretend otherwise, convinced yourself otherwise, you thought it had to be Angela. So Joe Harris kidnapped me. You think that happens—” A deep breath, a redirection. She’s not going to ask a question, she’s going to state a fact. “If you have me how you want me, if we’re together like we should be, he never gets close enough.”

Jane’s mouth falls open in shock. For a moment, Maura thinks she got through to Jane and she can feel the water rising inside her, threatening to spill. But then Jane’s jaw snaps shut, she takes two long strides away from Maura and the tide recedes.

“None of it happens if I don’t care about you, Maura. If I’d never cared about you, if we never got close, no one could use it against me.”

“Sure, Jane, but it’s a fait accompli. ”

Jane turns around to look at her. She’s still angry, but there’s the bare hint of confusion on her features. Maura presses her lips together in a thin line and tries to come up with an idiom she’s sure she won’t mess up.

“You can’t unscramble that egg,” Maura says, privately a little pleased with herself when it’s clear she got it right.

Jane makes a dismissive noise, arms folding across her chest. “Based on our conversation it sounds like I have been.”

Maura rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you think that. I’m sure over the past two years you looked at the distance between us and thought that translated into some kind of progress, believed that you’ve gotten over me. I think I probably made that easy for you, pretending I didn’t see the way you look at me. I’m about to make it easier yet because you’re going to get your wish, Jane. I’m going to walk out of here and I’m going to let you leave for Virginia. I’ll take care of your family and I’ll see you for Christmas, but I will forget you in the way that matters. It will never be what it was again, just how you want it.”

Maura is dying inside but it’s an angry death. It’s much better than the slow one that has thus far been forced upon her. If she can’t have the passion they both deserve she will have this righteous fury as she buries what could have been.

Maura’s going to be the meteor strike and Jane can suffer the ice age that follows.

With everything laid bare, Maura heads for the door but pauses to look around for her bag. It takes only a second for her to visualize it on the passenger seat and remember it’s still in her car but it’s enough time for Jane to make her move. Maura feels those long fingers, the subject of more than one late night fantasy, wrap around her wrist and yank her back. It’s not gentle. She is turned around roughly, teeters precariously on the thin points of her heels, then stumbles into Jane’s chest.

If this were a movie, Jane would kiss her. She glares angrily instead, her grip on Maura’s wrist unyielding, holding it against her chest, pinning both their arms between them.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Jane’s voice is nearly a growl and between the heat of it and their proximity Maura has to clear her throat to suppress a moan. She leans just her head back, unwilling to move her body because of how it’ll react if Jane uses force to keep her in place.

“I’m leaving, Jane. Whatever this has been, it’s over. You win.” Maura stares icily.

Jane sneers. “Is that right? So what, I try to get over you for years and I can’t, but you’re just going to make up your mind and do it?” Her tone is deeply incredulous.

A part of Maura’s brain registers that this is, in fact, Jane’s first admission of a non-platonic feeling. This moment was supposed to be a lot more fun.

“Correct,” Maura says plainly, like she’s confirming her phone number, and tries to pull her wrist away. Jane’s fingers tighten their hold and Maura wonders if her parting gift from their years long entanglement is going to be a bruise.

“Good luck.” Jane tilts her chin up in challenge and speaks slowly, enunciating each word. Her expression has grown smug. “Good fucking luck. You don’t fool me. I might have been in denial but now it’s your turn.” She leans in close, too close, and there’s a cruel edge to her voice that Maura has never heard. “Because I’m in your fucking blood, Maur.”

Jane lets go of her wrist and Maura stumbles back. She’s not sure what the worst part is—if it’s the tone of Jane’s voice, the words themselves, or the ruthless deployment of her nickname. Maybe it’s the literal truth of it, the memory of Jane’s blood being mixed into her own when Hoyt cut into them in quick succession. Whichever it is, it all tumbles together into a ball of hurt the likes of which Maura can’t remember.

She hauls back and slaps Jane across the face. Southie wins.

At the very moment of impact, Maura realizes that she’s striking Jane on the already-injured side of her face. Jane staggers backwards, swearing loudly, her hand flying up to cover her cheek. She stares at Maura with wild eyes.

Maura never meant for things to get this bad. Her palm stings. She sighs, exasperated more than she is contrite.

“Jane, I’m sorry, I—”

The rest of her apology dies in her throat because Jane lunges forward like a cobra strike and now they’re kissing. Jane’s momentum drives them both into the hallway and Maura cries out as her back hits the wall. Jane takes the opportunity to slip inside her mouth and the kissing is rough and angry and all teeth. They crudely jostle for position, and Jane bites Maura tongue while Maura retaliates by sinking her incisors into Jane’s lower lip.

It’s the hottest moment of Maura’s entire life. They’re both slapping at each other’s hands as each fights to be the one to first undress the other, Maura’s advantage being that Jane’s barely wearing anything, and Jane’s advantage being that she’s stronger. Try as she might, Maura can’t get the tank top off of Jane because Jane’s arms are wrapped around her, trying to drag the zipper of her dress down while Maura presses back firmly, trapping Jane’s hand between Maura’s body and the wall.

Maura considers just jamming her hand down the front of Jane’s pajama pants, certain she could have Jane speaking in tongues before she gets any further on Maura’s zipper, but instead Maura wriggles both her palms up to Jane’s chest and pushes her away, hard.

Jane grunts as she’s propelled back a few steps and now suddenly everything is very still. Maura squeezes her thighs together and Jane sees it, eyes dark and hungry.

“What are we doing, Jane?”

Jane’s gaze flick up from Maura’s legs to her face.

“We’re having a big fight and we’re going to fuck about it,” Jane says matter-of-factly. It makes Maura furious all over again. Seven years of putting up with Jane being too scared to name it and now she’s throwing around phrases like that.

“Great, I’m looking forward to it,” Maura says dryly and it takes the wind out of Jane’s sails just enough. “I just need to know whether we’re coming or going?” Jane looks confused, and also like she briefly considers making a joke about ‘coming’, which would be just about the only thing that could derail this night. Maura rolls her eyes and tries again. “Is this hello or goodbye, Jane? I need to know beforehand.”

“Why?” Jane asks. She looks uncomfortable and Maura pieces it together. Sex is fine, it’s the feelings that are still the problem. She thinks she should have seen that coming.

“Jane, I’m going to let you fuck me either way,” Maura says it casually and Jane’s eyebrows jump. Maura smooths a hand down the front of her dress, like there’s some decorum to be had, like it isn’t half undone and about to come off anyway. She levels Jane with a hard stare. “I just need to know if I’m giving you a little bit or if I’m giving you everything.”

“Which one is which?” Jane asks humourlessly.

Okay, maybe there are two things Jane could say to derail this night. Maura exhales noisily.

“Jane—”

“It’s hello.” Jane’s voice is quiet but it’s firm. Maura is caught off guard because it’s not the answer she was expecting. She was sure that this was going to be a long, sweaty goodbye and she just needed Jane to know that as good as it was going to be, it had nothing on what she’d passed on.

Maura takes Jane in. Her hands are tightly clenched at her sides and her shoulders are back. Her dark eyes are almost flint black and she watches Maura with an unwavering intensity. Maura swallows hard.

“If you’re lying to me, Jane…”

“I’m not.” Jane moves forward, gets back into Maura’s space, but she doesn’t touch her yet. “You’re right about everything. I love you. I’ve loved you for years.”

Oh shit. Tears prick at Maura’s eyes and she’s not quite ready to lose her edge like this, isn’t quite sure what to do with a declaration of love that comes so soon after she violently struck Jane in the face. She places her hands against Jane’s chest again, pushing back weakly.

“Wait, hold on.” She can’t stand how wet her voice sounds. Jane presses herself into Maura’s palms, her own hands coming up to rest against the wall, bracketing Maura’s shoulders.

“Let me love you, Maura,” Jane murmurs, her face hovering close.

A broken sob escapes from deep in Maura’s chest. Jane doesn’t interrupt it, skipping Maura’s lips and diverting instead to her neck. The kisses are tender and exploratory and Maura’s whole body is coming online.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” Jane says softly, her breath hot and damp against Maura’s jaw. She presses a kiss just below her ear. “But I think you should give it to me anyway.”

Maura folds like a house of cards. She grabs Jane’s face, mindful of the now twice injured side, and brings their lips together. The first kiss was all hard edges and anger and this one is too soft and overly wet with Maura’s tears. She a little bit hates it but there’s currently no alternative and she has to take Jane at her word that there will be future opportunities to do this with less weeping.

Every few moments Maura has to break them apart to draw in a raspy breath or sniffle loudly.

Jane is undeterred. She guides Maura’s arms so they’re wrapped firmly around her neck and hikes her dress up. Her hand slips into Maura’s panties and Maura cries out softly as Jane parts her quickly, two fingers circling her clit before traveling further south. Maura feels Jane hesitate and she urgently bucks her hips into Jane’s hand. Maura doesn’t want Jane to ask, doesn’t want Jane to say anything about how she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She just wants Jane to take her. She wants Jane to take care of her.

Jane, thankfully, understands. Two fingers slide easily into Maura and she moans and lets her head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud. Jane presses her lips against Maura’s throat.

“You’re perfect,” Jane groans. “You feel…” Jane doesn’t finish, possibly she can’t, and she just mouths at Maura’s neck, biting and sucking gently, her tongue alternating between pointed and flat and Maura can think of only one thing. Jane fucks her gently to start, her hand moving smoothly, finger curling, hooking against almost the exact right spot. Maura’s about to chalk it up to Jane’s incredible intuition but she realizes that Jane is likely just doing to Maura what she personally enjoys and that idea is somehow better.

Maura realizes she’s stopped crying.

“More,” Maura breathes. Jane looks up.

“Harder?”

“Both.” Maura kisses her firmly, running her tongue along Jane’s teeth.

Jane withdraws two fingers and goes about redoubling her efforts with three, Maura’s shoulders knocking back against the wall with every thrust.

Everything about this is wrong. Not the fact that they’re fucking of course, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this—sloppily, against a wall, after a fight. Jane isn’t supposed to have a neck tattoo and Maura isn’t supposed to be worried about how much mucus she’s producing.

It feels exquisite.

Maura shamelessly wipes her face against Jane’s tank top and Jane’s shoulders shake with a quiet laugh and that above all else is the moment when Maura realizes this really is hello. Before she can ask for it, Jane presses her thumb against her clit and Maura’s whole world constricts down to the space between her legs.

“You’re so pretty,” Jane says breathlessly and that’s all it takes. Maura comes hard around Jane’s three fingers, rolling her hips into her hand, dropping her own hand to Jane’s wrist to keep her where she is, to teach Jane right away what Maura needs to rides out her climax. Jane keeps fucking her, slowing down gradually, replacing the thumb on Maura’s clit with her palm and rocking her hand gently, all the while murmuring soft praise.

Maura’s body wilts. It’s only Jane’s quick reaction that keeps her from sliding down to the floor and Jane holds her firmly upright as Maura finally kicks herself out of the heels she somehow still had on. Reduced to their usual height difference, Maura curls herself into Jane’s chest.

“You’ll stay?” Jane asks, as if there’s any chance that Maura could return home in the state she’s in. But Maura plays along, nods against Jane’s chest.

“I will.” Maura breathes deeply and pulls back to look Jane in the eyes. “And you’ll stay?”

Jane nods without hesitation.

“I will.”

#rizzles #rizzoli and isles #femslash #f/f fanfic #f/f #f/f romance #maura isles #jane rizzoli #rizzles fanfic #rizzoli and isles fanfiction #one shot #smut #angst with a happy ending #f/f smut

79 notes · View notes