All Aboard S.S. Rizzles

All things related to TNT's Rizzoli and Isles, featuring Jane and Maura.

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 6 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You're home for the holidays and despite the hustle and bustle of family gatherings, your mind is stuck on your two hot neighbours just next door. And when an opportunity for some time alone with them presents itself, how could you refuse?

-OR-

Agatha and Rio tease you relentlessly at a New Years party and you can't wait until its finished to fuck them so you sneak away

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, switch Agatha, switch Rio, Switch reader, threesome (duh), Mommy/Daddy titles, strap-ons, vibrators, fingering, oral, marking, reader has a vibrator used on them in front of other people, alcohol consumption, scissoring, light choking, maybe more? who knows, it's so long I've definitely missed something

Words: 6.4k

A/N: We're BACK baby. This was supposed to be released at the start of Jan to be seasonal but alas it is being released now. This is just shameless smut tbh

AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Masterlist

The holidays at home always blur together: long afternoons curled up on the couch, listening to old family stories, plates of food that never seem to end, and the comforting hum of familiar voices filling every corner and yet this year feels different.

The quiet warmth of home should be grounding, but instead, it leaves an ache in the pit of your stomach. Agatha and Rio are just next door. So close that if you stepped outside, you could probably hear their laughter through an open window. But proximity doesn’t mean access, and knowing they’re near without being able to touch them—to taste them—has your nerves fraying with every passing hour.

You try to focus on the holiday routine, but your mind keeps drifting, fingers itching to grab your phone. It starts with subtle messages: a teasing remark, a playful emoji, a simple ‘wish you I could be with you’. But restraint crumbles fast, and soon, the texts turn flirty.

And then—

MILFs Anonymous

Rio: You should really learn to close your curtains, cariño. You never know who’s watching ;)

Rio: *click to open image*

The moment you open it, your breath catches.

Agatha is naked in front of the window, bent over just enough to make your pulse quicken, her back arched, ass pressing into Rio’s hips. Rio’s hand grips her firmly, fingers digging into soft skin, and there’s a faint red tint blooming across Agatha’s ass—a clear sign of exactly what they’d been doing before taking this picture.

Your brain shortcircuits.

Because even though you can’t see it, you know the look on Rio’s face, the way she holds Agatha steady, the slight tilt of her hips. You’ve felt it before—been pinned beneath that same unrelenting grip, left breathless by the sharp sting of Agatha’s nails in your skin, Rio’s voice low and taunting as she urges you to take what you're given.

You swallow hard, your mind replaying flashes of memories—Agatha's gasping moans, the way Rio growled in satisfaction as she pushed deeper, the sting of Agatha’s teeth on your shoulder as she struggled to keep quiet. The way they ruined you. The way you begged them to.

But it wasn’t just the two of them in the picture. Through the window, reflected in the glass, you can see yourself wrapped in only a towel, fresh from the shower, completely unaware of what was unfolding right next door.

Oh shit. They had been fucking each other while watching you.

A fresh wave of heat rushes through you. They knew you’d see this and they knew exactly how your thoughts would spiral.

—

For the rest of the day, no matter how many people surround you, no matter how desperately you try to push the image from your mind, you can’t stop feeling the heat coiling low in your stomach, a slow, aching pulse between your thighs that refuses to fade. Every time you slip away for even a moment, closing yourself in the bathroom or lingering too long in the pantry, you try to find any sort of relief—pressing your thighs together, letting your fingers ghost over the damp heat through your underwear—but it’s never enough. The house is too busy, the walls too thin, and the risk too high.

And then it gets worse.

When you step outside that afternoon, something entirely unexpected greets you.

At first, it doesn’t make sense—a massive tent pole structure stretching across your backyard, spilling into Agatha and Rio’s. Men move around, securing ropes and hammering stakes into the ground. You frown, stepping closer to where your father stands, watching the setup unfold.

“What’s going on?” you ask, confusion evident in your voice.

Your dad turns to you with a wide, easy smile, as if the sight of an entire-ass event tent appearing in your backyard is completely normal. “Oh, the fencing between the yards was getting replaced, right? So we thought, why not take advantage of the space? We’re throwing a New Year’s Eve party with Agatha and Rio. A big one—lots of people—should be a good way for them to meet the neighbours a bit better.”

Your stomach flips. “A joint party?”

“Yep!” He seems blissfully unaware of the way you bit your lip; you’re a flirty drunk and there is no way you’ll be able to help yourself even with a house full of guests. “Just made sense, really. They only moved in a couple weeks before you went back to college so they’re still kind of new here, and it’s a great excuse for everyone to get together.”

As if summoned by your rising anxiety, your mother enters the conversation, casually slipping her phone from her pocket. “Oh, that reminds me—we have a group chat for the planning. You should be in it, too.”

Before you can protest, your phone buzzes with a new notification:

Mom added you to New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Looking at who was in the chat, you see it’s just your parents, Agatha, Rio, and now you.

You stare at your screen, the weight of the situation settling into your bones. There’s no escaping them at this party. They’ll be there, looking devastating, flirting in ways no one else will recognise, taunting you. And worse—you’ll have to pretend it doesn’t matter.

The moment you’re alone, you do the only thing that makes sense.

MILFs Anonymous.

~15:48

You: You two didn’t think to tell me about this party???

~15:51

Agatha: We thought you already knew, darling.

~16:02

Rio: Can’t wait to see your outfit ;)

You let out a groan, flopping onto your bed, heart hammering against your ribs.

—

The next couple of days blur into a frenzy of preparation. The towering pole tent in the backyard transforms into something breathtaking—a canopy of warm string lights crisscrossing above, casting a golden glow over the dance floor, lounge areas, and bar stations. Tables are filled with food and drinks; fire pits crackle steadily, promising warmth against the winter chill.

Your parents, ever the enthusiastic hosts, are in full planning mode. Your mom bombards the group chat with a steady stream of last-minute tasks, while your dad orchestrates the outdoor setup like a seasoned general.

"Can someone make sure the drinks are properly chilled?""Surfaces still need to be wiped down!""We need more ice—any volunteers?"

Between messages, you’re swept into the chaos, lugging bottles of wine to the bar, adjusting decorations, untangling fairy lights. But no matter how hectic things get, Agatha and Rio always seem to find a moment to steal you away.

It starts small.

As you carry a tray of glasses into their kitchen, Rio appears behind you, pressing in close, her breath warm against your ear.

"Mmm, darling, seeing you follow orders is doing things to me." Her fingers trail down your arm, barely touching, but enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. Before you can react, she’s gone; back to chatting with your mom like nothing happened.

Then there’s Agatha. You’re kneeling down, adjusting a set of flickering LED candles on a coffee table, when she approaches. She tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze to hers.

"Careful, sweetheart." She smirks as her thumb brushes over your lower lip. "If you stay on your knees too long, I’m going to start getting ideas."

Heat floods your body, your pulse hammering wildly. They’re relentless, playing a game you have no hope of winning. And then—because the universe isn’t done with you yet—your mom unknowingly delivers the final blow.

New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Mom: Hey! Would it be okay if Y/N stayed with you guys tonight? Aunt Carol and family are taking up all our rooms.

You don’t even think about how your mom’s making you give up your room without asking; you’re too busy staring at your phone, heart pounding.

You’re going to be staying with them again.

Excitement flutters in your chest, hot and electric. After days of teasing glances, fleeting touches, and whispered words meant to unravel you, you’re finally going to have them to yourself. No stolen moments. No interruptions. Just you, Agatha, and Rio.

But that thrill is laced with something deeper. Because if they’ve been so relentless with their flirting, not knowing when they’d next properly be with you, what the hell is going to happen now they know they get to have you all to themselves?

You swallow hard, fingers gripping your phone tighter as their responses roll in.

New Years Party 💃🥳🍾

Rio: No worries :)

Agatha: Don’t worry, we will take good care of them, just like we always do.

You choke on nothing.

Your mom, blissfully oblivious, just reacts with a thumbs-up emoji and moves on with planning. Meanwhile, you sit there, phone still in your hands, trying to process the fact that you’ve just been thrown straight into the lion’s den—and you’re not coming out unfucked unscathed.

—

You stand before your mirror, hands smoothing down the fabric of your costume.

It’s bolder than anything you’d normally wear. The cut, the way it frames your body, the teasing flashes of skin—you look hot.

After one last steadying breath, you step out of your room.

The party is already in full swing by the time you make your way downstairs. Your house, the backyards, and Agatha and Rio’s house are all packed, laughter and music spilling from every direction. Guests roam freely between the connected spaces, glasses in hand, conversations buzzing with holiday cheer. Familiar faces from high school mix with family, friends, and neighbours, the crowd a blur of movement and warmth.

But you only have eyes for them.

Rio and Agatha stand near the bar, unmistakable even from across the yard. They’re dressed as pirates and they look absolutely devastating.

Agatha’s coat fits her like a dream—dark, regal, and cinched at the waist in a way that accentuates every curve. Gold buttons gleam under the dim lights, the ruffled blouse beneath teasing glimpses of skin. Her long hair tumbles in wild waves over her shoulders, and the sharp smirk she wears makes her look utterly untouchable.

Then there’s Rio. Her deep red tunic borders on scandalous, left open just enough to reveal her cleavage. Her pants hug her hips perfectly and it makes your mouth run dry. The hat, the sharp gaze, the effortless dominance in every movement—it’s almost unfair.

—

The night blurs into a haze of warmth and music, but you barely see them. They’re the perfect hosts, moving through the party with easy charm, laughing, drinking, and acting like they aren’t slowly breaking you.

Every time they pass, they’re touching you in some way.

A lingering hand at the small of your back. Fingers skimming your wrist. A squeeze at your hip. Soft whispers against your ear, too low for anyone else to hear.

It’s torture. Slow, deliberate, intoxicating torture.

And then—

“Long time no see.”

You turn, blinking as a tall guy in a sharp tux grins at you, tilting his martini glass in greeting. You recognise him vaguely—someone from high school, back for the holidays like everyone else.

“You’re looking good,” he says, eyes dragging down your outfit before reaching out, fingers grazing the fabric. “I really like the costume.”

You arch a brow, looking him up and down. “And you’re dressed as...”

He smirks, lifting his glass again. “Bond. James Bond.”

Seriously? Could he not be bothered to put in any effort?

The conversation shifts into polite small talk—he’s studying business now, home for the break, blah blah blah. It’s easy, meaningless chatter. Until he leans in closer, voice dropping.

“You know,” he muses, “007 always gets the hottie in the end.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure whether to laugh or shut him down.

Suddenly you’re not alone. Rio and Agatha flank you, cutting off all space and oxygen.

Agatha moves first, wrapping an arm around your waist, her palm settling firmly over your ass, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

At the same time, Rio’s fingers find the back of your neck, her thumb dragging over the sensitive skin there.

The shift is instant.

Mr. Uninventive hesitates, eyes darting between the two of them. “Uh—”

“We need to steal them for a moment,” Rio interrupts smoothly, leaving no room for argument.

“Party business,” Agatha adds, amusement curling at the edges of her words.

Before you can even process what’s happening, they’re guiding you away. Through the house, up the stairs, and into their bedroom.

The door slams shut behind you.

Agatha and Rio move in tandem, running their palms over your body, mapping every inch with a reverence that makes your head spin. Lips follow—featherlight kisses pressed to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch, every whispered breath, is a deliberate act of worship.

“Look at you,” Rio breathes against your skin, voice thick with hunger. Her fingers trace the curve of your waist, slipping just under the fabric of your costume. “You have no idea what you’re doing to us, do you, baby?”

Agatha hums in agreement, her mouth warm against the shell of your ear. “You look so fucking good like this,” she murmurs.

Their words make your skin prickle, heat pooling low in your stomach. You can barely breathe with how they’re touching you, how they’re speaking to you. But just as quickly as they praise, their hands slow and then stop entirely.

“Then again,” Agatha continues, her tone turning sharper, her fingers digging into your hips, “maybe we shouldn’t be too generous with our compliments.”

You blink up at her, dizzy with need, but Rio’s grip on your chin forces your gaze toward her instead. The playful glint in her eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

“You really thought we wouldn’t notice?” She asks, tilting your head back, forcing you to hold her gaze. “Letting everyone at this party get an eyeful of you? Letting that prick downstairs get close enough to touch you?”

Your stomach twists. “I wasn’t—”

Agatha tuts, cutting you off. “Don’t even try, sweetheart.” Her grip tightens, her breath hot against your cheek. “You were practically giggling at him.”

“I was being friendly,” you argue weakly. “Just being a good host—”

“You should know who you belong to by now,” Rio interrupts, voice a low growl, her lips brushing yours. “The only people you need to be good for are us.”

Before you can stammer out a response, Agatha takes your hand in hers, guiding it lower and lower until your palm is pressed between her legs. Your breath catches, eyes going wide when you feel it.

Hard, thick, and waiting.

The heavy coat she’s wearing must have concealed it from view

Your lips part, a soft, startled noise escaping before Rio kisses it away. Then Agatha presses forward just enough to make sure you feel her, making sure you understand.

“Still want to pretend?” She teases dangerously. “Or are you ready to be good now?”

Rio doesn’t give you a chance to answer. Her fingers are suddenly slipping past the waistband of your underwear, gliding through your slick heat with ease. The first stroke has you jolting, the second has you gasping, and by the third, you’re already shaking in their hold.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Rio murmurs against your lips, dragging her fingers through your wetness before circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re so worked up. Is this all for us or do you want us to go fetch your friend from downstairs?”

You whine at her words. “No. Please, no, I want you. I only ever want you.”

Agatha hums her approval, her hands busy with your chest, kneading, pinching, and rolling your nipples between her fingers in a way that has you keening. Her mouth isn’t far behind, her lips and tongue lavishing attention along your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“You look so pretty like this,” she muses, flicking her tongue over a sensitive spot, smiling when she feels your breath hitch. “So desperate and needy. And you have the nerve to pretend you weren’t begging for us to do this?”

Rio chuckles, dragging her fingers lower before plunging two inside you without warning. The sudden stretch knocks the air from your lungs, your knees buckling as she fucks into you with deep, practiced strokes. Her free hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as your body melts between them, thighs shaking, pleasure mounting too quickly to contain.

“That’s it, baby,” she purrs, curling her fingers just right, rubbing against your g-spot in a way that has you seeing stars.

You don’t stand a chance. Between Agatha’s lips on your skin, her hands teasing and playing with your chest, and the relentless motion of Rio’s fingers, you unravel in their arms, your orgasm hitting you in waves that leave you breathless. You barely register Agatha’s arm wrapping around your waist, holding you upright as your body trembles, Rio murmuring soft praises as she strokes you through the aftershocks.

By the time you finally come down, you’re a mess—practically boneless from the pleasure they’ve wrung from you. You hadn’t even noticed how thoroughly they’d been marking you until you glance at the mirror across the room and spot angry red hickies blooming all over your neck—too dark to be ignored, too obvious to be passed off as anything else.

Rio just smirks. “You’ll figure something out,” she says, unbothered.

Then something smooth and cool is slid down the front of your underwear and then pushed inside you. It slips in without resistance; you’re not surprised by this with how hard you just came, but you still jolt at the sensation, looking down in alarm, but Agatha hushes you with a soothing stroke down your spine.

“Be a good pet,” she whispers. “And don’t take it out.”

Your stomach twists in anticipation at what they’re going to do.

Agatha opens the door, but before you can protest, Rio pats your ass and sends you on your way.

You try to focus, try to mingle, but it’s impossible. Your legs are unsteady as you make your way back down the stairs, each step a struggle as the first soft buzz hums to life between your thighs.

You bite your lip hard, fingers gripping your drink tighter than necessary, heat spreading across your face.

It’s going to be a long night.

—

Desperation eventually wins out.

The drinks, the teasing, the relentless vibrations—it’s all too much.

You don’t even think before your fingers fly over your phone screen, firing off a text to MILFs Anonymous in sheer drunken need.

You: I need you, Mommy.

The moment it sends, regret lances through you. Too much? Too needy? Too obvious?

But before you can spiral, your phone buzzes.

Agatha: We’re in our living room, baby.

You practically start sprinting to them. 

—

When you arrive, a group of guests has already settled in for a game of charades.

Rio and Agatha are perched on the couch, the picture of effortless elegance, drinks in hand, looking entirely untouched by the chaos they’ve unleashed inside you.

“Come join us, Y/N!” someone calls.

You hesitate. There are no seats left, not even an armrest to perch on.

Then Agatha smirks, tilting her head in invitation. “Oh, come here,” she says, patting her thigh. “We don’t mind squeezing in a bit.”

The breath leaves your lungs. Your body starts moving before your mind can protest, drawn like a moth to flame. The moment you lower yourself into Agatha’s lap, you feel the firm press of her strap beneath you.

Your thighs clench. A small, involuntary whimper slipping past your lips, barely audible over the chatter—except to them. The vibrations in your underwear kick up just slightly.

It’s a warning.

You shift instinctively, trying to relieve the ache, trying to grind just enough, but Agatha’s hands settle on your hips, holding you still.

“Behave,” she whispers.

The game goes on, but you are utterly useless—lost in your arousal, eyes darting desperately between them, silently begging for mercy.

And then, just as your body reaches a breaking point, they stand. Agatha lifts you from her lap, setting you onto the couch as if you weigh nothing. Rio leans in close—close enough for only you to hear.

“You should be more careful when texting,” she whispers, smirking against your ear. “Check which group chat you click on next time.”

Your blood freezes.

They walk away, leaving you scrambling to open your phone. Your stomach drops. Your message—the Mommy message—wasn’t sent to MILFs Anonymous.

It was sent to the party planning chat.

With your parents in it.

Crap.

The vibrations surge suddenly to a dizzying intensity, tearing you violently back into the moment. You slap a hand over your mouth, barely suppressing a gasp, legs clamping shut as pleasure floods through you.

Agatha and Rio glance at you from across the room, watching as you struggle.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, mind racing, body burning.

That text is going to be impossible to explain to your parents.

But right now? Right now, all you can do is bite your lip and try and survive until you’re alone with Agatha and Rio again.

—

As the party inches closer to midnight, the energy shifts—laughter growing louder, bodies pressing together as people eagerly anticipate the countdown. The air is thick with warmth, alcohol, and the unspoken anticipation of the night’s inevitable climax.

Unfortunately for you, the guy from earlier sidles up beside you, martini glass still in hand.

“Ah, there you are.”

You sigh, schooling your expression as you glance up at him. He’s grinning, slightly flushed from alcohol, his tux still crisp despite the hours of partying.

“Where’d you run off to?” he asks, taking another slow sip of his drink. “I was hoping we’d get a little more time together.”

“Been busy,” you reply, voice flat.

He chuckles like you’ve made a joke, leaning in a little too close, eyes dipping to your lips. "Y’know, it’s bad luck to not have someone to kiss at midnight. Wouldn’t want to start the new year off on the wrong foot, would you?" His tone is smooth and practiced, and though his words drip with charm, they don’t land the way he intends.

You open your mouth to shut him down, but shut it again when you hear a deep gasp from behind you.

“Oh no,” Rio drawls dramatically. “Oops.”

You barely have time to process before Rio’s drink drenches the front of his pristine tuxedo. There’s a second of pure silence. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a drunken party guest howls with laughter.

“Dude!” they wheeze, pointing at the massive stain spreading down his pants. “You look like you pissed yourself!”

Why on Earth they find it so funny, you’ll never know, but it does seem to make wannabe James Bond forget about flirting with you.

He goes stiff, face burning as he looks down at the damage. His jaw works, like he’s about to lash out for being humiliated. Instead, he mutters something under his breath, pushes past the crowd, and disappears from sight.

Rio, standing beside you, smiles sweetly, swirling the remnants of her drink round the glass. “Oops,” she says again, voice filled with mock innocence.

At that moment, the countdown begins.

“Ten!”

Agatha shifts closer.

“Nine!”

Rio sets her empty glass down, her gaze flickering to you.

“Eight!”

You feel the first brush of Agatha’s fingers along your cheek.

“Seven… six…”

Rio’s hand slides down your back, resting just above your waist.

“Five… four…”

Agatha tilts your chin up.

“Three…”

Your breath catches.

“Two…”

Your pulse pounds.

“One!”

Then, at the stroke of midnight, their lips are on you.

Agatha kisses you first, slow and languid, her tongue teasing at your lower lip before slipping into your mouth. It’s deep and possessive, and if anyone notices your neighbour kissing someone who is not her wife, they’re too caught up in their own celebrations to care.

Before you can fully process it, she pulls away, only for Rio to take her place.

Where Agatha was slow, Rio is devastating—teeth nipping at your lip, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist like she’s starving for you.

By the time she pulls back, you’re breathless, dazed, and aching.

—

The party blurs after that. There’s more drinking, more dancing, more laughter, but the tension lingers.

They don’t let you stray too far, always keeping you within reach, eyes dark with promise.

Eventually, the party begins to die down, and guests filter out toward your parents’ house to continue the fun on a smaller scale. You move to follow, but before you can take a step, a firm hand closes around your wrist.

It’s Agatha. Her grip is light, but her eyes are anything but. “Stay.”

She turns, calling out to the last stragglers near the door. “We’re gonna lock up—probably head to bed. Unfortunately, that means Y/N here is calling it a night too.”

You know she’s lying and from the way Rio is standing behind you, so close you can feel her breath against your neck, you know exactly why.

The door clicks shut.

The lock turns.

And then?

They pounce.

Rio is on you first, shoving you back against the nearest wall, her mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your knees buckle. It’s all tongue and teeth, no patience, no teasing—just raw need.

Agatha isn’t far behind. She presses up against your side, hands already tugging at your costume, lips brushing against your ear as she snarls, “I thought they’d never leave.”

You don’t get a chance to answer.

Rio’s hands are already at your waist, yanking at the fabric, desperate to get it off. “Fuck,” she mutters, cursing the layers, fingers fumbling.

Agatha’s laugh is low and wicked as she slides a hand between your legs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos. “You’re soaked.”

Heat floods your face, but you don’t get a second to feel embarrassed—because in the next breath, Rio growls in frustration and just rips your costume open.

“Rio!” you gasp, but she doesn’t care.

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes dark with want. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

She starts stripping you, hands rough and insistent. She doesn’t waste time, doesn’t go slow, just takes—pulling away fabric, tossing aside layers—until you’re left in nothing but your thoroughly wrecked underwear.

While Rio starts to undress herself, Agatha’s hands trail down your arms before gripping your wrists and pinning them against the wall.

“Look at you,” she muses, eyes dragging over your body like she’s memorising every inch. “You really let yourself get this messy at a party?”

Before you can snap back, your gaze flicks to Rio and the very, very obvious damp patch on her lacey black underwear.

Heat surges through you, and despite your situation, a smirk tugs at your lips. “I’m the messy one?” You tease, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like someone else has a problem too.”

Rio follows your gaze—then scoffs, shaking her head with a laugh. “Keep talking,” she warns, shoving her thumbs beneath the waistband of her underwear. “See what happens.”

Now Agatha starts stripping, too.

And fuck.

Your mouth goes dry as the last of their clothes hit the floor, leaving you gaping at her—completely bare, except for the harness strapped tightly around her hips, the deep purple toy attached firmly at the centre.

It makes your breath catch.

The sight of her so commanding and unapologetic aroused has your knees weak.

Rio spots your reaction immediately. Smirking, she slowly drops to her knees in front of you, dragging her palms down your trembling thighs.

"You're shaking, cariño," she murmurs, pressing a teasing kiss against your hipbone. "Been wound up all night, have you?"

Her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your soaked underwear. With a slow, deliberate drag, she peels the ruined fabric down your legs, letting it drop to the floor. And then she spots the vibrator still tucked between your slick thighs.

Her smirk widens.

"Look at this," she purrs, brushing her fingers against the damp, buzzing device. "You've been so good, keeping this in for us."

“Not like I had a chance to take it out. You guys have had me on a tight leash since midnight,” you scoff.

“A leash, you say? Now that’s a good idea,” Agatha hums from behind you, warm hands sliding up your arms before settling at your waist. She pulls you flush against her chest, letting you feel every inch of the hard length pressing against your lower back.

Rio hooks a finger around the toy and pulls it free with a wet, obscene little sound that makes your entire body jolt. Then, without breaking eye contact, she brings it to her lips.

Her tongue flicks over it first, tasting the evidence of your arousal. She hums, lashes fluttering as she takes the toy fully into her mouth, sucking it clean with slow, deliberate moans that send heat rushing straight to your core.

Your fingers dig into Agatha’s arms, a whimper slipping past your lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Rio purrs, setting it aside before leaning in, kissing and biting her way up your inner thigh.

Agatha moves at the same time, her hands skimming up your ribs before one closes firmly around your throat. She tilts your head to the side, exposing your neck, and sinks her teeth in.

The sharp pleasure-pain rips a gasp from you.

"Such a needy thing," Agatha husks against your skin, sucking another bruise into place. “We only fucked you a few hours ago and yet you’re still dripping for us.”

Rio groans in agreement, her breath hot against your thigh. Without warning, she grabs the back of your knee, hooks your leg over her shoulder, and finally presses her mouth to your pussy.

Rio’s tongue works you open with devastating precision; she is utterly relentless. Every flick and swirl sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body, making your thighs tremble around her head. The grip Agatha has around your waist tightens, holding you up as you lose yourself to the sensation, your hands grasping at anything they can touch.

You’re so close and Rio feels it. She moans against you, the vibration sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. The tension snaps all at once, a ragged cry escaping your lips as an orgasm crashes through you, stealing the air from your lungs. Your body shudders, shaking in Agatha’s steady arms as Rio eases you through it, licking up every last drop, prolonging the high until you can barely stand.

Only when your body sags completely against Agatha does Rio finally pull away, her lips slick and eyes hooded with satisfaction. But you barely get a moment to recollect yourself before Agatha is moving you both again.

She manhandles you effortlessly, flipping you over the arm of the couch with zero warning. She grips your hips and thrusts inside you in a single, smooth motion.

“Fuck—!” You arch against the cushions; the stretch is almost overwhelming, but you push back against her, wordlessly begging for more. And she gives it to you, setting a brutal pace that has your nails clawing at the couch.

There’s no hesitation and no patience left. Agatha grip is firm, fingers digging into your flesh like she owns you. The heavy press of her body against your back, the way the harness hits deep with every roll of her hips—it’s overwhelming, all-consuming, and exactly what you need.

It’s only then that you register the low, shuddering groans Agatha is making, the kind that makes it feel like your body is alive with electricity. You realise she must have a grinding pad in the harness. Every thrust she gives you is giving her something in return, dragging that firm pressure right over her clit.

"Oh, fuck—so tight around me, baby. You like being used like this?" Agatha’s voice is rough and strained, and it only makes you clench tighter around her.

But you still want more.

Your fingers scramble against the cushions before reaching back, finding a handful of soft, wild hair to yank.

Rio gasps, pleasure laced into the sharp pull, and follows, letting you drag her in front of you. Her pupils are blown, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You waste no time, your hands cupping the damp lace of her underwear, feeling the evidence of how much this night has affected her.

"You act all in control, but you’re just as desperate, aren’t you? Been getting off to this the whole time?" You moan, voice thick with pleasure, as Agatha pounds into you.

Rio lets out a breathless laugh, but it dissolves into a shaky whimper as you press a little firmer. "You’re such a little brat," she whispers, but the way she rocks her hips into your touch betrays her. "Gonna make it up to me? Use that pretty little mouth of yours?"

At that, you capture her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her smirk and groaning against her lips as Agatha slams into you even harder. Your hands roam, greedy and impatient, trailing over Rio’s stomach, slipping past the waistband of her delicate lace underwear. You moan into her mouth as you feel just how wet she is, a shuddering breath leaving her as your fingers slide through the mess you’ve made of her.

Agatha grips your hips tighter. “That’s it, sweetheart,” she growls, voice vibrating with pleasure. "Fuck her like you mean it, baby—make her fall apart for us."

You thrust two fingers inside Rio with ease, curling them just right, coaxing a gorgeous whimper from her lips. She braces herself against the couch, hips bucking into your hand, her breath hitching every time your thumb brushes over her clit. Her head tips back, exposing the perfect column of her throat, and you can’t resist—you latch onto her skin, kissing and biting your way down as she unravels in your hands.

Agatha doesn’t relent for a second; her pace is relentless, her moans growing heavier, and her body pressed so tightly against yours you feel everything.

The three of you move together, bodies lost in each other, the pleasure mounting higher and higher until finally, you all break at once.

Rio’s cry is the first to ring out, her body tensing, fingers tangling in your hair as she falls apart beneath your touch. Agatha is next, hips stuttering, a rough groan tumbling from her lips as she pushes deep one final time.

You shatter between them, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning in the heat of their bodies, the grip of their hands, the sound of their pleasure mixing with yours in the dark, breathless space of the living room.

—

The three of you barely make it up the stairs, hands and lips desperate, laughter mixing with breathless moans as you stumble into the bedroom. Agatha ditches the harness the second you reach the edge of the bed, tossing it aside before Rio pushes her down onto the mattress with an eager gleam in her eye. Straddling her wife, Rio hooks one of Agatha’s legs over her own, pressing their bodies together, the heat between them instantly electrifying

Agatha smirks up at her, hands tracing over Rio’s thighs before gripping her hips, guiding her down. The first slow grind of Rio’s core against her own pulls a shuddering gasp from them both, the wetness between their bodies making the movement slick and unbearably good.

You don’t hesitate to join, slotting yourself in behind Rio, one hand slipping between your own legs while the other moves to cup her breast. You drag your lips along the curve of her shoulder, sucking marks into her skin, letting your tongue flick behind her ear just to feel the way she shudders from it.

“Fuck, look at you two,” Agatha groans, voice thick with arousal as she meets Rio’s slow, intoxicating rhythm. “You’re both so fucking gorgeous.”

Rio whimpers, grinding down harder, her pleasure clear in the way her body trembles against you. You can feel the slickness coating your fingers as you fuck yourself, matching their pace, your own moans spilling against Rio’s flushed skin.

“C’mon, Daddy,” you emphasise her title, fingers twisting her nipple just enough to make her gasp. “Let me hear you.”

Rio’s head falls back against your shoulder, her breath ragged as Agatha grips her ass, pulling her down with each roll of her hips, making sure she feels every bit of her. The pace quickens, and the heat between you all mounts unbearably fast. You can feel it building; Rio’s legs begin to tremble, Agatha’s nails dig into her skin, and your own fingers speed up, chasing that blinding pleasure.

“Oh, fuck—” Rio gasps, her body going rigid as her climax crashes over her. She grips your thigh, nails digging in as she rides it out, the sound of Agatha’s deep groan telling you she’s right there with her, lost in the overwhelming bliss. The sight of them both cumming together pushes you over the edge as well, pleasure searing through your veins as your own orgasm takes hold, your body tensing and then shuddering against Rio’s.

For a long moment, all that fills the room is the sound of panting as your bodies tremble in the aftermath. Then, as the bliss slowly fades into warmth, Agatha lets out a breathless chuckle, running a lazy hand up Rio’s side.

“Well,” she muses, voice still hoarse from pleasure, “that’s one hell of a way to start the new year.”

“Yeah, if this is any indication of how the rest of the year’s gonna go, I’d say we’re in for a good one.” Rio laughs, head still resting against your shoulder, and you can’t help but grin, pressing a soft kiss to her damp skin. 

You hum an agreement as the three of you collapse onto the mattress in a tangled, sated heap, bodies exhausted but hearts so full. Whatever the year held, one thing was certain—you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

-----

Soooooooooo how do we all feel about the return of Neighbourly Care?

Agatha and Rio are rich MILF neighbours now ig... sugar mommies for reader yay or nay?

-----

taglist: @aceday @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @sevikasleftarm25 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19 @masorciereviolette

[rizzlesforshizzles]

My new favorite fandom

[gemsandjunk]

For any relocated TikTok users

you can say sex and kill its fine

If you don't have a profile picture people will assume you're a bot

theres barely an algorithm, if you want to see cool shit reblog things instead of just liking them

follower count doesnt matter

tumblr fame gets you one thing and it is Yelled At

no one knows what the fuck the nsfw policy is

block anyone that annoys you even a little bit

And most importantly:

post cringe

[rizzlesforshizzles]

A good refresher for all returning home

[janepetras]

[rizzlesforshizzles]

I have to stop looking at L Word posts when I haven't watched all the episodes. Too many spoilers!

[multifandomficsforyou-deactivat]

A Little Push (Rizzles)

Post-Series, where Maura went on to write books, but they’re based on true feelings and events.

Word Count: 1,318

Warnings: None

“I’m not saying goodbye to you at the airport,” Jen commented offhand. Laura looked at her, her heart racing, fearing she had done something to upset her best friend. Then Jen pulled out an airline ticket. She was going with her. Laura was going to the city of love with the love of her life.

“Welcome, ladies, to LGBTQ and You. You’ve just heard the final paragraph in Dr. Maura Isles’s debut novel, Vanilla & Honey. We have the author here today to talk about her book and give us a sneak peek of the sequel. Dr. Isles, it’s nice to have you.”

“Oh, it’s really my pleasure to be here, and please, Maura is fine.”

“Alright Maura, so tell us, what’s next for Jen and Laura?”

“Well I’m not even a hundred percent certain yet, but I can tell you that you’ll see some of their adventures in Paris, and what coming home changes for them.”

“Well I personally can’t wait. I’d like to see them end up together. Laura has struggled so much with her unspoken feelings toward Jen. Do you think we’ll get to see any of Jen’s thoughts in book two?”

“We’ll see. I really love the narrative from Laura’s point of view. And I sort of like the mystery in not knowing Jen’s thoughts. It may even ruin the book if we did.”

“True. We don’t know for sure if Jen has the same feelings for Laura. Though I have to say, I think she does. What do you think, ladies?”

The group cheered loudly as Maura smiled out at them, then asking them a question. “Really, you all think Jen’s in love with Laura too?” Another loud cheer of support came from the women in the audience. Maura even heard a couple of them chanting ‘Jaura’ which she assumed was Jen and Laura’s names put together. Maura’s smile grew.

“One last thing, if I may, Maura.”

“Of course,” she replied, her attention back on her interviewer.

“We know at the end of the book Jen and Laura are preparing to leave for Paris. You actually just came back from Paris not too long ago, is this correct?”

“Yes I did. It’s a wonderful city.”

“Would you share with us what you were doing there? Research for the sequel perhaps?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Well there you have it. Thank you for joining us today Maura. We’re looking forward to Jen and Laura’s next chapter. Let’s give her a hand, girls. If you have any further questions or comments, go see her at the book signing.”

Maura walked over to the table where the signing would take place, a hoard of women already at her heels. A haphazard line came into formation, nearly reaching out the doors as Maura prepared to greet her fans. Many of the women gave her pleasant comments about how they loved her book and couldn’t wait for the next one.

Then, one woman in particular, the last one in line, caught her off guard. Though nearly everyone else had left, this woman still leaned in close to Maura and whispered. “I don’t know who your 'Jen’ is, but she loves you too. Why else would she have dropped everything and gone to Paris with you?”

Maura hid the slight blush that crept to her cheeks. Maura tried to dismiss the idea. “They’re just characters. There’s no 'Jen’. It’s fiction.” She could feel the hives starting to break out at her lie. Luckily she had prepared and wore her one and only turtleneck.

The woman smiled politely and waited for Maura to sign her book. Maura scribbled down her name in a rush, and handed the book back. There was a moment when Maura’s hand was on one end of the book and the other woman’s was on the opposite end. The woman held eye contact with her. “Tell her,” she said earnestly. Maura then averted her eyes and let go of the book. And the woman left.

When Maura got home, Jane was there waiting for her. “How’d it go,” she asked.

“It was great,” Maura replied, able to sound mostly sincere.

“You gonna tell me about the book now?”

“No,” Maura answered, taking off her heels and carrying them as she went to take a shower. And with a roll of Jane’s eyes, the conversation was over.

Jane had left by the time Maura had gotten out of the shower. With Jane gone, Maura went back to work on book two. She felt a little guilty that she never told Jane what her book was about, but how could she?

One year later…

“Please welcome back Dr. Maura Isles to talk about her sequel to Vanilla & Honey. Vanilla & Honey: To Paris And Back!” The crowd roared, and Maura gave a shy wave at seeing how many more women had showed up to this than last time. “It’s nice to have you back, Maura. You’ve gathered quite a fan base.” There was a gesture to the crowd in front of them.

“Yes, I see that.”

“I think I can speak for all of us when I say I was thrilled when Jen and Laura finally got together. Am I right, ladies?” Another deafening cheer of support came from the women.

“Anyways, Maura, I hear you have a surprise for us today? Maybe an announcement about a third book?”

Maura smiled sweetly. “Yes I do, but it’s not plans for a third book just yet.” There was an audible groan of disappointment among the audience. Then Maura added, “But I think you’ll like it.” Maura turned back to the interviewer and spoke just to her. “If you’ll excuse me just a second.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Maura got up and dismissed herself, going out into the hallway. She let out a breath. “It’s time,” she said, and went back in. As she made her way back to the front, the crowd murmured and speculated. When she reached her place, she looked to the door. She cracked a smile when it opened. The audience then turned to look in that direction. In walked Jane. Looking nervously around the room, she hastily made her way to Maura.

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Vanilla & Honey’s Jen. My Jane.” Maura searched for Jane’s hand and Jane clasped their hands together and squeezed to show Maura her support. Maura waited for her fans to stop cheering to continue. “Everything in books one and two were based on actual events. My real feelings were put down on paper, and I made it into a novel, changing our names and confessing my love for my best friend, Jane. Today, I’m happy to announce that we are a couple.” More cheers erupted and Maura could see tears in some of the women’s eyes.

Later, at the book signing, Jane sat next to Maura and most of the women gushed over what a wonderful couple they made. Some even asked them to kiss, and they complied. And, once again, the last woman in line, the same one that Maura talked to at the first book signing, came up to the table. “And you tried to tell me there was no 'Jen’,” she said.

“I did, but you were right. I listened to your advice that day, and as you can see, and actually as you’ve probably read as well, I told her. I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. I may never have done it if it weren’t for you.”

“Well I’m happy for you. I don’t want to claim any credit, but hey, if my advice got a happy ending for Jen and Laura, I’m glad. I’m even happier it gave a happy ending to Jane and Maura.”

Maura smiled, and then leaned over to kiss Jane. Then Maura signed her book and bid the woman farewell. A happy ending indeed.

Tagging: @youareinmyfantasy, @thistableforone, @love-sleep-ship, @luckypenguinbuddy, @wishicouldrun4eva, @salmch21, @sadisticlover86, @sjwnjal, @unorthodox-mistress, @puke-and-nutballs, @jobassfriday, @forever-endlessly-in-love, @gentleshygal, @ccecilis, @the-lazy-resi, @lazy-resi, @mj1028, @briiighteyes, @aliensintacos, @mentalistfan, @esther84, @high-heels-and-scalpels, @rizzles-fanfic, @thepriceismegatron, @here4rizzles, @sashaalexander1, @crazy-for-rizzles, @rizzles-blog-blog, @secretlyunadulteratedwonderland, @rizzlesforshizzles @j-deering

[prettythoughts-plasticlove]

TELL ME

The story of when you saw the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. I’ll start by telling you mine.

When I was in eighth grade, I was the plain girl. Unassuming and quiet. People often disregarded me entirely and went about their business as if I wasn’t there, making me privy to things other people wouldn’t notice. There was this one girl who I had been in the same class since sixth grade. We talked occasionally because of our close proximity, but we were in complete separate groups. I was the tomboy who wore surfing t-shirts and the same black Chuck Taylor’s every day. I tamed my curls by wearing a messy bun and did little to no cosmetic to myself except spray three pumps of my apricot perfume on my neck and wrists. Megan was part of the popular group; the rich kids who lived in houses that had their own zip code, and threw parties that only the elite pre-teens were invited to. I had never been invited to one, but my few friends were. Every year. I didn’t care, though. I wasn’t much for parties. I’d rather spend my Friday night in my room reading or writing.

Megan was in my homeroom in eighth grade. There was about thirteen people in our homeroom. They’d talk sports or gossip as cell phones weren’t allowed and I’d draw on the Dry-Erase board. Occasionally the class would join in when I set up a hangman. One winter day after an intense game of hangman, I sat on top of one of the desk, my chuck taylor’s crossed at the ankles, drumming two golden pencils on the desk next to me. 

“Sammy,”

Megan called to me. Her fleece jacket was zipped all the way up at her neck, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She wore the same small diamond earrings and a matching bracelet every day. Her grandmother had given it to her she said.  Her blue eyes were framed by thick lashes and her lips spread into a warm smile. She was the first person to get her braces off and smiled every eleven seconds. 


“How come you never wear makeup?”



“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just not into that.”



I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and she just smiled, tilting her head to the side, sizing me up and down.



“I think your eyes would you look even prettier with mascara. Up against your brown eyes, and skin—you’d look so pretty.”


Her cheeks flushed and she batted her lashes, twisting the diamond bracelet on her wrist.


“Not that you aren’t pretty now. Because you are. I think you are very pretty. Everyone thinks so.”



“Megan—”



I warned with a laugh, but she was quick to cut me off.



“I’m not just saying that! All the girls always talk about how you are able to look pretty without anything. Us…we have…enhancements. It’s not natural, so we don’t really count.”


“Well I like mascara on you—”



I changed the subject, flinching at the topic of conversation. I was never one to take praise well.



“—your eyes remind me of Lake Moraine.”



A small sound escaped her lips and she tucked a blonde strand of hair behind her reddened ear. She parted her lips to say something but the bell rang. I grabbed my binder before flashing my braces at her and left for class.

The days passed and I found myself sneaking in my older sister’s room to grab a mascara stick. There were several. I picked up the one titled “Better Than Sex”. The title enthralled me.

The following week I put on a few coats on my eyelashes. At school, it felt like I had glued my eyelashes together. They itched. My friends had complimented me on the look but the itch was too much and I vehemently rubbed my eyes when I got to my locker. I sighed in relief after putting my lunchbox up.



“What the hell happened?”



My friend, Beka said to me once I closed my locker shut.



“What do you mean?”



“Christ, you look like a raccoon!”



“Oh jeez!”



I put my hands up to my eyes and ran as quick as I could to the girls’ bathroom. I took several minutes to get all of the mascara off my eyes as Better Than Sex was “Waterproof!”

My eyes were now clear of any formaldehyde (that’s what my mother had told me was in mascara) and I felt silly for even trying to wear it in the first place. No mascara was the way to go!

Megan’s birthday was a few weeks later. She had invited me to go, but none of my friends (there was only three) were invited. I was immediately apprehensive given the situation. A party with all the popular kids and then me. I pictured a dim lit living room with colored lights and me standing in the left corner, subtly tapping my sneaker to the music. I was almost correct. We were outside though, my hand was wrapped tightly around a mug of apple cider, and I was in the right corner, not the left. Megan was surrounded by two guys laughing about something. She flipped her hair and sauntered through the the different groups throughout the night. We had made eye contact briefly when I first arrived. She smiled and waved softly before her mother called her attention. 

I left before the chocolate cake was cut. There was a section to drop off her gifts in the house and I discreetly placed my gift next to all the wrapped gifts before leaving. 


The following week in the mail I received an envelope, and inside there was a blue folded card.

Dearest Sam,


Thank you so much for my Bloomingdale’s gift card. I can’t believe you remembered me saying that I loved their chiffon hair clips and backpacks. I hope you enjoyed yourself at my party. So glad you were able to come.



With Love, 
Megan

I laughed as I ran my thumb across her blue inked handwriting. Of course she would send out thank you cards. How Megan of her.

Over the years, Megan ended up going to Wales Academy, an independent college preparatory high school while I went to Oxford High. Sure, we were friends on social media but after eighth grade, we did not interact with each other. Even after all the Facebook reminders I received on February 8 to wish her a Happy Birthday and the ones she received on July 22. I saw her post photos on Instagram going to various parties, traveling around the world with friends and church groups. She had a few modeling contracts so most of the pictures were from photoshoots. I never really posted on social media, if I did it was of nature photos. 


I went to college on a track and field scholarship. I lived in the athletic apartments off campus that were across the street from the Engineering and Business school. Parking was a pain as I was twenty minutes from the university so I always took the bus. My sophomore year, after a long day of workouts I grabbed a California Club, steamed vegetables and broccoli soup for dinner and walked back to my apartment with my workout uniform still on. The trainers and coaches had whined at me to take it off so they could wash it but I was just so tired, I did not want to. My sliders scraped the pavement as I got off the bus. Some curls stuck to the nape of my neck while some had fallen from my loose bun on the sides of my face in the front. I clutched my bag with my dinner in it to my side as my muscles flexed with each step. I winced in pain and a bead of sweat fell into the crease of my eyebrows. I was walking to the bus stop when the revolving doors to the Business School spun and Megan stepped out. She was taller, 5’6 if I had to guess and wore dress shorts and a pink blouse. Her long blonde locks had been cut into short beach waves that accented her countenance so well. The wind caught in her hair and blouse. She looked more like a goddess than she did any other day. And here I was sweating, with my uniform on. I don’t know why I panicked, but I did and my heart sped up and I clutched my bag so tight, I was positive my broccoli soup was beginning to leak at the bottom. The bus pulled up and I saw her walking towards it. I needed to get on it as well to take me to the library which was the stop in front of my apartment complex, but I ducked behind the bus and sped walk through the garden and street to get to the library before the bus did. By the time I got there, there was no bus in sight. I wasn’t sure if the bus had came and left already or not. I walked into the library where I saw Megan take the elevator upstairs. 



“Shit!”



I yelled and earned a couple of stares from the security guards. I sprinted up the steps, skipping every other one and thanked God for my incredible speed and endurance. I made it up the the second floor just as the elevator light turned green. I heard the doors swing open and walked briskly to the back exit of the library. I could feel Megan on my heels. All I had to do was exit. She would never recognize me from behind. I had grown out of my ugly stage as well as grown four inches. When I finally got outside I turned around and looked in the window to see her walk towards the computer area. Blowing out a a sigh of relief, I turned and tiredly walked to my apartment. By the time I got to my floor, my broccoli soup had soaked the bottom of my brown paper bag so much that it had fallen out somewhere between the library and my apartment much to my dismay. I sat in my apartment and ate my sandwich and began writing this because I know at some point Megan and I will run into each other again but this time I wasn’t ready and I hate myself for it.

[rizzlesforshizzles]

Someone find an update on this!

[put-honey-when-you-write]

I love when girlfriends answer their phone saying “Rizzoli” and “Isles” and then smiling to each other.

[multifandomficsforyou-deactivat]

How about #3 for Rizzoli and Isles?^^ Think that would be adorable. Either in Maura kitchen or office. Food fight or something similar would be hilarious x3

“Come on, Maur, aren’t you done yet,” Jane whined, laying her head on Maura’s shoulder.

“Well, Jane, I’d be done much faster if you’d help,” Maura said matter of factly.

Jane pouted and let her arms slink around Maura’s waist. “You know I hate doing dishes.”

“Oh, and I must love the job?” Jane appreciated Maura’s use of sarcasm. She had taught her well.

Jane rolled her eyes and let go of Maura. “Fine, I’ll help.” Though she couldn’t see it, she knew Maura had a smug grin on her face.

They shared the space at the sink, but all Jane wanted to do is play with the bubbles. She took a handful and ran them up Maura’s arm, leaving a trail of suds in her wake. Maura turned to her and tilted her head giving her a look that said, “Really?”

Jane gave her an apologetic look back, though really she thought it had been fun. Then, as they went back to work, she got a surprise when Maura decided to splash her a little. Jane jumped back instinctively, then looked at Maura. She was grinning ear to ear. Oh yeah, Jane thought, I’ll show you.

Jane went back to the sink, picked up some bubbles and blew them in Maura’s direction. A bunch stuck in her hair and a couple landed on her nose. Maura shook her head, trying to get the bubbles off, but the ones in her hair still stuck. Maura then dipped her hands back into the water and pulled out more bubbles than Jane had. Before Jane could dodge them, Maura had wound up getting them all over part of her hair and her shirt.

Jane was ready to get even. A few drops of water fell off the end of her hair as she went between Maura and the sink, reaching for more bubbles. Armed with another large handful of soap bubbles, Jane advanced toward Maura. Maura backed up until she ran into the kitchen island. Now, she was trapped.

Maura hopped up so she was sitting on the counter, and Jane paused. What was Maura up to, she wondered. Her pause was long enough for Maura to reach out and grab her hand. The hand that was holding all of the bubbles. The bubbles squished and popped in between their hands as Maura laced their fingers together.

The laughter that had come with the soap bubble war had now quieted. As the last of the bubbles were popping, Maura and Jane never broke eye contact. Jane stood there, one hand holding Maura’s, the other resting on Maura’s knee. Almost in a trance, neither of them acknowledged the sound of Maura’s door opening. They may not have even heard it at all.

Only a few inches apart, their fixation was broken by the sound of a voice. One Jane quickly realized belonged to her mother. “Get a room, you guys.” Jane shot her a quick look. “Alright, I’m going. I’m going. Sorry.”

When she had gone, Maura let out a small giggle, then leaned in to kiss Jane. Her mother’s brief distraction soon left her head. All her attention went back to Maura. The last of the bubbles had disappeared by now, and had been replaced by sparks.

[jobethdalloway]

Prompt: we’re both prefects and we broke up a food fight in the great hall, but it got messy and dungbombs were involved, and now we’re both disgusting and in immediate need of a bath, and it’s okay, we can both use the prefects’ bathroom at the same time, i promise i won’t look

(btw, heads-up for a Brooklyn Nine Nine reference!)

“What the hell…?”

“Rizzoli!”

“Isles!”

“Get your house in order!”

“Don’t tell me what to do! Get YOUR damn house in order!”

Maura dodged a large spoonful of mashed potatoes from one of the Weasley twins, which wound up smacking Vincent Crabbe square in the face. Jane saw a mischievous glint flash through the anger in Maura’s eyes, and Jane flared up.

Keep reading

[moriarty]

when you find an author that writes your otp with the ideal dynamic

[youareinmyfantasy]

two women fell in love. 

with each other?

yes. and no-one noticed.

[the-reason-captainkidd-can-fly]

Ill read Rizzles smut all night, thank you very fucking much.

[iwatchforher]

Sasha Alexander, actual ray of sunshine

She breaks when talking about the friendships the show and her character have fostered… We’re so lucky to have her <3

[rizzlesforshizzles]

Sasha Alexander=cinnamon roll

[gayzzoli-and-is-lez]

(Not mine found on internet. If it is yours let me know)

[iwatchforher]

That lil breath Maura takes before saying “Hi” sounds like “have you told her yet?” and I won’t budge on that…

[captainlivbenson]

Rizzles + help-mywife posts

[saltyalexander]

from beginning to end

a/n: an ending I’d be happy with.

A drink at The Robber leads to a shared bottle of wine and a few too many beers at Maura’s house, resulting in an impromptu sleepover in her guest room.

Jane always sleeps better here.

Usually. She usually sleeps better here. But after the phone call from days prior, the Skype call from earlier in the day and the look Maura gave her when she told her the news… Jane can’t stop the endless stream of thoughts that keep her from sleep. She is about to pull a pillow over her head and scream in frustration when a quiet knock on the door distracts her, finally, from her racing thoughts. A soft, “Jane?” follows.

“Come in,” Jane answers. She sits up to turn on the bedside lamp, offering just enough light to see Maura take a tentative step into the room. Fresh-faced and glowing in a lilac silk nightgown, Maura asks, “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

“Of course not.” Jane pats the space on the bed next to her.

With the detective’s permission, Maura tiptoes her way into the room, swaying slightly from too much wine. As she reaches the edge of the bed, Jane asks if she’s alright.

Maura nods. “I didn’t want to be alone,” she admits as she slips beneath the sheets. Jane gives her a knowing look, one of genuine understanding. She herself has had plenty of these nights. It was unavoidable in their line of work.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, no,” Maura replies. Honest as always. She curls onto her side to look at Jane. “Comfortable?” Maura’s eyes trail over Jane’s form atop the covers.

“Yeah, yeah. Just a little warm from the wine.”

“Ah.”

“We’re getting too old to drink that much.”

“Speak for yourself, detective,” Maura teases with a playful poke to Jane’s side.

They both laugh; drift into a long, comfortable silence.

Maura tugs at Jane’s right hand, cradling it between her own. Jane flinches at the contact; she tries not to moan as Maura presses her thumb against her scar and massages it gently.

“They’ve been bothering you lately,” Maura observes. “More so than usual.” She pauses to examine the scarring beneath her fingertips. “I can’t remember the last time they were this red and irritated.” Her thumb presses into Jane’s palm with slightly more pressure, causing Jane to inhale deeply. A small noise escapes her lips.

Instantly, Maura pulls away, letting Jane’s hand collapse in the space between them. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Jane shakes her head and rolls onto her side to face Maura. “Don’t stop.”

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