#this is for that one jubal fic writer

[diver5ion]

[bullet-prooflove]

I’d love to see your version of a secret spouse/SO with any of the following

Duarte

Jubal Valentine

Jimmy Lanik

And/Or

Sam Abrams.

Feel free to write as many or as few of those as you want. You are a genius writer.

Also, why don’t you write for barba or Carisi anymore?

Jubal doesn’t tell anyone he’s seeing you. He keeps it on the downlow because he doesn’t want to jinx it. If he’s honest with himself, part of it is because he can’t actually believe that it’s finally happening, that he gets to wake up alongside of you each morning.

It stays a secret for about two months, until Scola comes knocking because he left his I.D badge on your coffee table the night before when the two of you were watching the game. He’s kissing you goodbye when he literally opens the door and sees the other man standing there. He expects it to spread after that but it doesn’t. Scola’s good at keeping secrets, he’s been keeping a lid on the way Jubal feels about you since the day you took a bullet for your partner.

It's O.A. that finds out next, the two of you are getting dinner in a tiny hole in the wall restaurant. Jubal’s just reached across the table and taken your hand when Omar appears alongside of you. He’s picking up an order for dinner with his cousins and saw the two of you sitting there.

“It’s been a long time coming.” He tells the two of you with a knowing smile.

He’s not wrong. It’s taken years to get to this point and Jubal’s grateful it’s happening now after you’ve made the shift to Counter Terrorism.

Maggie works it out when she sees you on a run. It’s six in the morning and she’s completing a second circuit of her new route when she spots the two of you at a coffee shop near the park. She notices Jubal’s wearing yesterday’s shirt, before he leans in to kiss you. She tells O.A. later on that morning and he simply gives her that shit eating grin.

“You knew.” She accuses.

“For over a month.” He tells her.

Tiffany knows that Jubal’s seeing someone, she’s known ever since she pointed out the lipstick on his cheek one morning. She just doesn’t realise who it is until you’re called in to work a case together. She realises how much your body language has changed since you used to work here, how instead of putting distance between the two of you, you’re leaning in instead.

“It’s finally happened.” She tells Scola when the case is over, and he snorts before telling her she’s three months too late.

The relationship isn’t even on Isobel’s radar, not until six months down the line. She’s leaving her office when she sees the two of you step onto the elevator together. Jubal’s hand reaches for yours, fingers entwining, and she knows she’s looking at a couple in love. She smiles to herself because out of everyone the two of you deserve it.

This plays into my Jubal work moving forward. Also the reference to Scola keeping Jubal's secret is to an upcoming fic called 'Just in Case'.

Answer to your Q:

I'm just not a fan of them anymore. I really liked what they did in the end with Rollisi, not the beginning but the way it turned out with them and in my head that's OTP. For Barba, I rewatched his eps a while ago and I just hated what they did to his character towards the end, like he became a different person. - also for me I think I was done with him after I finnished writing 'All In' I couldn't imagine him with anyone other then Jen after that.

[bluboothalassophile]

Hey blu❤️i love ur RaeX fics so much, like you have your own style of writing but still manage to have them be realistic and in character, which is amazing💫I can’t wait to read more fics!!! (also can i request an underground boxer!Jason who’s reckless towards his health and nurse!Raven who’s always worried about him) thanks for writing and have a good day❤️❤️❤️

Hello,

I have that AU somewhere at the beginning of this blog I believe. I’m slightly terrified to dig for it but I’ll post the link anyways: here.

But here’s the first meeting of that AU.

Eeyore and Deadpool…

Raven was very used to odd people; she was an ER nurse inBoston on the nightshift; it didn’t get much weirder than that.

Yes, a long ways away from the sweltering desert she’d grownup in, but she’d left that hell for New England. And somethings were nodifferent here than there, only difference now was when she cursed in hermother’s tongue; no one knew a damn thing she was saying; something for whichshe was eternally thankful for.

Anyways, it was her day off. Specifically; it was laundryday; as she was out of clothes, and that was apparent with her Eeyore sleeppants and tattered; threadbare, bright red Deadpool shirt. Pulling on her woolsocks, tossing the soap as she picked up her hair tie for a messy bun behindher head. A few strands of her black hair escaped her as she slipped on her uggsbefore walking through the November cold building. There was a tactical knifein her pocket; one she never left her apartment without and she made her way tothe basement of the building.

Walking into the laundrymat she sighed as she pulled out her book and tossed it with her phone andheadsets on the top of the counter before she claimed her machine.

He walked in rather predatory like with a canvas sack, sheassessed him before ignoring him as he walked to a different machine and got towork with his own load.

“Interesting choice,” the man said as she chose to sit on hermachine and prepare to read and relax; the boiler was humming along in the cornerwarming the tight space.

“Pardon?” she looked up from her book.

“The book, love,” he smiled a bit.

“I find it to be entertaining, not particularly well writtenbut entertaining, reminds me of my grandfather” she admitted.

“Louis L’Amour is not a particularly smiled upon writer,”the man said. He had a smirk on his lip, and it split the already bruised face.His brow was hastily sewn shut without much technique or skill, almost as if he’ddone it himself.

“Do you dare to mock one of the only competent writers ofthe west?” she deadpanned.

“He’s just not a writer,” the man shrugged as he started hisload.

“And I suppose that you favor Zane Grey for an inclinationof what the west was like?” she asked.

“Well, he’s a better writer.”

“Not disagreeing, but I’m not reading this for the writing,I’m reading it for the story. And there’s no finer story teller of the westthan Louis L’Amour,” Raven stated.

“That sounds dangerously like a declaration of passionate opinionrather than facts, love,” he mused as he grimaced and hugged his ribs a bit.

“As a woman of the west it’s a fact, not a declaration.”

“Bold statement.”

“Yes, but true,” she insisted. “And what the hell did you doto your ribs?” She sighed sliding off her machine and walking to him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tried to shoo her away from himthen.

“You’re hurt, I’m a nurse, now sit the fuck down or I’llpunch those ribs and have you sit down the hard way,” she warned.

“Feisty little bird,” the man rolled his eyes; she notedthen that he had a darkening bruise on his temple and jawline; the same side he’dobviously stitched up.

“Name’s Raven,” she offered her hand. “Raven Roth.”

“Jason Todd,” he tentatively took it and she examined thebruised knuckles.

“So what are you Jay? A bouncer, loan shark debter, or athug?” she sighed.

“Boxer and MMA fighter,” he answered.

“Really?” she stared balefully at him then; skeptism was runninga wee bit high right now.

“Really.”

“Well fuck, what the hell did you fight; a brick wall!?”

“Ah, no, this is from a friend,” he winced.

“What sort of friend does this?” she asked.

“Pissed off big brothers,” he answered flatly.

“I see well, you are in need of stiches on your scalp notjust your brow, and I can redo those,” she offered.

“It’s fine, probably deserve the pain,” Jason chuckled.

“No one deserves pain,” she countered flatly.

“You’d be surprised, little bird,” he murmured, and she sawthe tags then as she shifted his hoodie and shirt aside. The scaring, thepatterns of wounds, she’d seen things like this and she looked up at him.

“So, what makes you fancy yourself an expert in literature,Mr. Todd?” she asked primly as she examined his bruises.

“I’m working on a doctorate in literature,” he answered.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m here for MIT engineering though,” he chuckled.

“Well rounded decision there,” she mused, and she frowned ata new blossoming bruise.

“I was a medic darling, I promise I’m good,” he said.

“Forgive me if I don’t take the word of a punch drunk boxerwho holds love for Zane Grey and not Louis L’Amour,” she countered and made himfollow the eye test. “What was your brother’s and yours fight about if I canask.”

“He wants me to go home,” he answered.

��And you don’t,” she stood. “Very well, I conclude you’re inpain but not about to keel over from internal pain.”

“I could have told you that and, no, I don’t want to gohome. I don’t want to be in the family business either,” he shrugged.

“No shame in that. But there be shame in you denying thatLouis L’Amour was an excellent story teller,” she smiled.

“Love he’s a terrible writer.”

“It’s not about the writing! It’s about the story, and JubalSackette has all of that!” she insisted.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re punch drunk,” she countered.

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Liar!”

“Flipperhead!”

“What the fuck!?”

“Language!”

“What the hell is a flipperhead!”

“It’s an insult,” she shrugged.

“Then you’re a mooseknuckle,” he declared.

“Moose are majestic creatures!”

“Oh God you’re in that fandom!”

“As are you apparently.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“I have tea,” he offered.

“I have Alexander Dumas, and one more day off.”

“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship littlebird.”

“Flipperhead.”

“Mooseknuckle.”