She’s your Booth — a Bones/Rizzoli & Isles crossover for falloutrevenge
As Maura Isles attempts to describe her best friend to Temperance Brennan, the forensic anthropologist can’t help but draw parallels to the one she loves most, leading her to the conclusion that Detective Jane Rizzoli is in fact Maura’s Booth.
Rocking those high-ass-heels like she owns the pavement and revealing leg muscles that I didn’t even know existed, Maura could be Jimmy Choo’s muse. Jane probably likes to trace the long curves of those pretty amazing legs. That is when they are not wrapped around the Detective’s head.
First pit-stop. The butt that will make you stutter. You remember that Spandex episode in season 4? Who am I kidding, we all do. If you have a bad day, just remember that Maura Isles has the nicest butt in Boston, or a close second to Jane Rizzoi probably but then again Jane cannot smack her own ass –or could she?
Abs and Arms
Maura is fit, Maura probably has a PhD in armporn and if Maura puts her hands in her pockets a good half of the fandom will die of a pleasant yet invalidating death.
The Rack of God
You have the right to not be interested. For all of the boobies ladies out there though, please take a seat and be sure you get the proper amount of air, for IT IS HOT IN HERE OR IS IT ME?
This stopover is the most hotly disturbing one because you respect the lady but, damn, if you could get a hand on those beauties… The collective ‘we’ appreciates boobs like any other (lesbian) citizen but these probably could receive some kind of Oscar. Congrats on your great chest architecture. Kuddos for the front aesthetics. Cheers for the hand-holders (limited to Jane’s using, obviously, otherwise this would be infinitely disprespectful).
Neck, Shoulders and Lips
Biting, kissing, nibbling, licking, playing, smelling, ghosting, touching, caressing, pecking, IS IT HOT IN HERE OR IS IT ME?
Let’s not even starts on her glorious smile and dimples, I am pretty much sure people have died from it. In a good way.
Try not to drown in them, do not trip on all the gay and have protected eye-sex.
N.B.: glasses are NOT a preventive way for eye-sex, please Sasha do not wear glasses please wear glasses you look so hot
They are the temple of the eye-sex, the universal ‘Jane Rizzoli’s dreams catcher’, the sole and only place where are spoken out loud the Five Commendements of Rizzles:
Rizzles bears no beards
Rizzles fiddles with your feels (but that’s okay)
Rizzles will make babies
Rizzles needs to be canon goddammit
Face and Hair
In general, just admire the beauty and please close the mouth you have hanging open. Hair porn is a thing.
Headcanon: Maura gets up at 3 in the morning to watch a meteor shower, quiets the alarm so she doesn’t bother Jane because she knows she’ll just grumble. Steps outside with a jacket zipped up and a star chart and binoculars around her neck. But in a few minutes Jane comes out anyway wrapped in all the bed sheets with her gun and sits down next to her just to make sure she’s safe outside in the middle of the night.
A/N: Another one, cause I felt like it :) Short and sweet, and can be considered in the same universe as the previous two chapters. Hope you enjoy!
~ ~ ~
The sound of the alarm cut through the quiet night. Maura instantly sat up, switching the thing off, before turning to look at her lover beside her. Jane, thankfully, was still fast asleep, lying on her stomach with brown locks of hair covering half her face. Her right arm was still wrapped around Maura’s stomach. The image made the doctor smile, as she leaned down to press a soft kiss to Jane’s forehead. Then she carefully crept out from under the warm sheets, and made her way over to the wardrobe.
It wasn’t really the cold weather that made them ache like this.
Besides, cold weather made it easy to hide the pain. There were gloves. There were jackets that were too long with sleeves that fell past her fingers. There were hands shoved in pockets, and rubbing them together to keep them warm, but really to dull the pain. The cold weather made it easier to pass it off as a lingering stiffness in the fingers, easier to hide how much they ached.
No, it wasn’t the cold. Or at least, not now.
It was this wretched humidity that had fallen over Boston like a blanket made of cotton balls. No breeze, no rain, no relief from this claustrophobic heat, and it was driving Jane mad.
Her hands ached.
She had kept it quiet at the start, blaming her poor dexterity on over-exertion, or lack of sleep due to the God-awful weather, or even a boxing mishap. She had worn her standard polyester-blend T-shirts for four days before surrendering to the unrelenting heat, and opting for the lighter cotton shirts Maura had somehow snuck into her closet.
In a vain attempt to keep the heat out, Jane had battened down the hatches, shutting her blinds and windows in the hopes that a dark apartment would also mean a cool apartment. Stubbornly refusing to admit she may have lost the battle on that front, she had made a habit of dressing in her darkened room before leaving for work. The T-shirts had been easy: how hard can it be to pull a top over your head? The shirts proved to be more difficult.
“Jane! What happened to your shirt?” Maura exclaimed as Jane pushed open the doors to the morgue. The first button had been done up properly, but the rest were sporadically buttoned like an amateur art project. Jane stood in front of the doors, arms hanging limp by her sides as Maura approached her.
“Got dressed in the dark.” she muttered, neglecting to mention that once she had spotted her reflection, she had stopped to rebutton her shirt. However, her hands were so sensitive from doing the job the first time, she couldn’t put two fingers together without a piercing pain shooting through her palms.
Maura reached for the unbuttoned cuffs first, but her fingers brushed against Jane’s hands, and though the brunette tried to hold it back, Maura still heard a tiny whimper of pain. She paused, watching Jane’s face, before focusing on the mismatched mess at the front of the shirt. She unbuttoned them all before starting from the top, making sure not to let her gaze linger too long on the bare skin usually hidden by the detective’s uniform tank-top.
Jane shivered slightly, though she found herself hard-pressed to blame it on the refreshingly cold temperature in the morgue. She watched Maura nimbly do what had taken her 15 minutes to accomplish this morning, and felt her shoulders sag in exhaustion. She wanted to say thank you, but it didn’t quite sum up what she wanted to tell her best friend.
When I am broken, you are there to be what I am lacking. You fill the gaps when I need you the most. You don’t belittle me. You don’t pity me. With you, I feel whole.