see-the-divine

[see-the-divine]

pb&jj roommates au: the one with the bun in the oven

Summary: you've been feeling off, sue voices the obvious, and you freak out. based on this request this can be read as a standalone, but it also be a continuation of this fic.

Pairings: pb&jj x fem!reader/platonic!reader and johnny storm x fem!reader

Warning: pregnancy talk, fem!reader deals with slight morning sickness, sue storm makes a cameo, johnny being a sweetheart, dad!johnny - he's excited, talks about moving out of the pbjj apartment, pbj boys are happy, but don't want to see you and johnny leaving, fluff, langauge, fem! reader is pregnant, fem!reader is on birth control, em!reader with vague descriptions, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.

WC: 2.6K

Tagging: @wetspaghetti3

Author's Note: anon, i'm sorry this took so long! :') i hope you guys like it and as always feedback is always appreciated. you can find my masterlist here.

FALL FIC CELEBRATION REQUESTS ARE OPEN ✨please check my rules & guidlines before requesting, thank you.

You and Sue are currently on your monthly girls' day shopping trip, and she's trying to find more clothes for Franklin, who is growing rapidly.

"You and Johnny have been together for some time," Sue casually mentions as she peruses some toddler clothes. You follow close behind her, and you can't help but admire some of the baby clothes.

Every time you pass the baby shoe section, you can't help but fawn over how cute they are.

Without looking away from a pair of booties, you reply. "Yeah, we've been together for almost 3 years."

The average couple would have probably considered moving in together, but you and Johnny were roommates first, then boyfriend and girlfriend.

You had 3 other roommates, not including your boyfriend, and some might think that's a bit much, but you've grown quite close to the other three.

They were, after all, they are Johnny's best friends. You and Peter were friends freshman year, but later on in college, you met Bob, Joaquin, and Johnny.

"Have you and Johnny considered finding a place of your own? Possibly in the city?"

You can't help but grin, you know what Sue was hinting at. She wanted her little brother a little closer to her, even though Brooklyn wasn't even that far from the city.

"Johnny has mentioned it in passing. But we're happy with the way things are now."

"It doesn't get cramped at all living with three extra boys?" Sue asks and shudders slightly. At times, Reed can still piss her off in his own Reed way.

She doesn't know how you do it.

"I mean, at times, but we've all grown so used to living together. It's hard to imagine things differently."

Sue drops the subject for now, and later, you and she are back at Sue and Reed's Midtown High Rise apartment.

Sue has been trying to teach you one of Johnny's favorite childhood recipes. It's a simple chicken bake.

Once it's done, she has you taste test it. But something smells off once it's out of the oven.

A sudden wave of nausea hit you the moment she takes the baked dish out of the oven.

There's no way she could have used bad chicken or veggies. This is Sue, a world-class cook.

You try your best not to gag at the smell as Sue dishes some up for you and hands it over.

"This was Johnny's and my favorite growing up. As you already know." She adds a wink at the end.

Looking down, it looks divine, but the smell is throwing you off. Maybe you're getting sick? Taking a deep breath, you lift the forkful of food and put it in your mouth.

Something is definitely wrong. Within the first few chews, your stomach is rolling, and once you manage to swallow, it's fighting to come back up.

Dashing towards the nearest bathroom, you kneel over the toilet and proceed to throw up. Not just what you ate, but everything from that day.

A familiar hand is rubbing up and down your back, and the other is holding your hair back.

Even though it is Sue and you two are close, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed.

"Ugh, Sue. Sorry, I don't know what's wrong. Maybe I'm coming down with something? Do you think Reed can take a look at me?"

Sue is looking at you carefully and contemplating. "You've never had an issue eating that dish before. You've had it several times."

You don't get the hint. "I know. That's why I'm sick." Once you feel like your stomach has calmed down, you flush the toilet and rest against Sue.

Sue brushes the hair away from your face as you look at her. Her eyes are pensive, and she has a curious expression.

"Have you been sick any other time this week?"

How did she know that?

In fact, you had. This whole week, you were throwing up in the morning and trying to hide it from Johnny. Thankfully, he and the rest of the guys sans Bob like to hit the gym at the crack of dawn.

Bob had heard you throwing up the other day, and you had to beg him not to tell Johnny. You knew if Johnny found out, he would overreact and have you in the car, and to Reed before you could even blink.

"Where are you going with this?" Deep down, you think you know the real reason, but it can't be true. You and Johnny have been careful. You're on birth control, but even that isn't 100% effective.

"So you haven't taken a pregnancy test?"

Of course you haven't.

---

Currently, it's just you and three positive pregnancy tests hanging out in the bathroom. There are so many thoughts and emotions running through your mind and body.

The number one being fear.

Knock Knock

"Sunshine, are you okay in there?" Johnny calls from the other side, tries the door, and finds it locked.

Once you and Johnny had confirmed your relationship, there were some room swaps. You moved into Johnny's room, which was the biggest bedroom and the only one with a connecting bathroom.

Your old bedroom is currently a storage/office/a gaming room for the guys.

Johnny found it odd how you locked the bathroom door. You never locked the bathroom door.

You're trying your best not to freak out, but it's not working. The two of you have never had the baby talk, let alone the marriage talk.

Johnny has always said that when you tossed your drink at him the first time you met him, he was in love.

"You didn't fall, did you?" He lightly jokes, still jiggling the handle.

"Just give me a minute," you finally respond, your tone is off, and he can tell.

Another 20 minutes have passed, Johnny sits on the other side talking to you through the door, but about anything and everything.

A small part of you is grateful for his continuous chatter, as you're still processing that you're pregnant.

---

The door opens, and Johnny almost falls through. He jumps up and turns to you.

The pregnancy tests are hidden behind your back.

Johnny's gaze softens as he looks you over. "Have you been crying?" He gently cups the side of your face.

You didn't even realize you were tearing up. Without saying a word, you bury your face in his chest.

"Did something happen with Sue?" He feels you shake your head slightly. It's then that he feels something poking him in the back.

"Don't freak out," you mumble into his chest.

The thing Johnny will do is freak out if something is bothering you or is hurting you.

He's not usually an anxious guy, but the way you're acting has him slightly on edge.

"Baby, you can tell me anything, you know that."

Your heart melts at his sincerity and conviction in his voice.

Just do it.

"I'm pregnant," you whisper.

You feel him freeze for a second, next he's picking up off the ground, and spinning you around.

He lets out a laugh that sounds relieved. "You scared me for a second," he says breathlessly. When you give him a curious look, he continues. "Never mind, this is the best news ever!"

Before you can say anything else, he's kissing you.

---

"What about the name Reed Jr.?" You joke. "We can call him RJ for short."

"Absolutely not," Johnny says vehemently, his hand currently on your lower stomach, just admiring it. "I can't wait to see your baby bump."

Your grimace slightly. "Just wait until I actually have one."

"Hey, none of that. You'll be the cutest pregnant woman, ever."

"Don't let Sue hear you say that."

"Sue was a menace during her pregnancy."

You laugh. "Aren't most women?"

Johnny shrugs. "Even if you're the world's biggest menace, I'll still be madly in love with you, supporting you every step of the way."

It's probably too soon for pregnancy hormones, but you're already tearing up.

"What are we going to tell the guys? We can't stay here, you know."

Again, you and Johnny are back on the topic of moving out. You have an inkling that Sue has been scoping out a potential empty apartment in the same building as hers and Reed's.

Johnny looks over at you with a forlorn look. "It's gonna be weird, alright. The five of us have been living together for almost 4 years. "I guess it's time. But first, we need to break the news to the guys.

---

Over the next few weeks, Johnny has been planning different ways to tell the guys you're pregnant.

You just sit up and watch how chaotic it's going to be.

Joaquin was first since he and Johnny were frat bros. Johnny was going on about some brotherhood bond that you didn't understand.

Johnny ended up buying a onesie, wrapping it up, and giving it to Joaquin.

"For you." Johnny dramatically presents the present to a confused Joaquin mid-gaming session.

"What's this?" Joaquin shakes the back around. It feels lightweight. "I'm not falling for another prank, Johnny."

"It's perfectly harmless. Just open it."

Joaquin suspiciously looks at the bag and then at Johnny. "I dunno..."

You're getting impatient. "It's from me."

Joaquin immediately relaxes. "Oh, cool." You and Johnny watch with baited breath as Joaquin pulls out the onesie and holds it up in front of him.

He cocks his head, inspecting it, and then a huge grin spreads across his face.

"Yo, this is sick!" Joaquin gets up and starts looking for something. You and Johnny are confused. "Dude, have you seen Hank?"

"Hank?" You weakly ask.

"Yeah, you got me a onesie for him." Joaquin beams at you and holds it up. "I think it's the right size."

Johnny starts cackling. "Dude, you think it's for the cat?"

"He's my son. Who else would it be?"

"Think real hard, man.

Joaquin stares at it some more.

"It's definitely cat clothes," he finalizes.

"It's for my son!" You practically yell at him, and he almost drops the onesie.

"Or daughter," Johnny adds.

Emotions were definitely up and down for you the past few weeks.

"Wh-what?" Joaquin is gaping at you and then looking at Johnny.

"Ugh! I'm pregnant, god, I didn't think you were that dense," you snap.

Finally, it clicks, and he's rushing over to you and tightly hugging you and swinging you around the room. "No fucking way! I can't believe it took Johnny this long to knock you up."

"What the fuck? Don't say it like that!" Johnny screeches, and you just laugh. "Be careful with my pregnant girl, man."

It goes a little smoother with Peter.

"Why is there a bun in the oven?" Peter asks, holding the single bun in his hand.

You look up from your book. "It's mine."

Peter gives you a weird look and looks back at the bun as if it had offended him.

"Yeah, but it was in the oven, not even on. Who put it there?"

"I put her bun in the oven," Johnny pipes up and wiggles his eyebrows at Peter.

Peter gags and throws it at Johnny. "If that's some weird sex thing you guys have going on, keep it in the bedroom."

"You're lucky it happened in the bedroom."

"Wait...what?" Peter blinks and then stares at the bun in Johnny's hand and then at you, back at the bun, and back at Johnny. "Ohmygod! You're pregnant! Wait, how long? Am I the first to know? How far along are you? Can I be the godfather?"

"Whoa, slow your roll there, Pete," Johnny says with a laugh. You can visibly see Peter vibrating with excitement.

He comes rushing over to you and stares at you in awe, before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

It's just you and Bob out window shopping when you give him the news.

You didn't realize how observant Bob has been with you.

"Bob, aren't these baby sneakers the cutest?" You ask and hold them up for him to inspect.

"I wouldn't get those right away," he casually says. "But, they are adorable.

You eye him, but continue on, and come across some adorable PJs for newborns.

"We should go to a thrift store for baby clothes," Bob once again casually says as he watches you comb through the PJs.

You choke on your own spit. "Wh-what?"

Bob takes the basket from you and ruffles your hair. "It saves money since newborn babies grow a lot."

You stare at him.

Bob sighs and says your name. "C'mon. I was there when you got sick in the morning...multiple mornings. Also, you've been eating my cookie stash."

"So?"

"You hate peanut butter."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Bob grins. "I was waiting to see how the other guys would react."

You throw your arms around Bob and hug him.

---

Bob is crying, you're crying, Peter looks upset, and Joaquin isn't grasping what Johnny just said.

"Wh-what do you mean you're leaving?" Bob sniffles out.

Both you and Bob are cuddled together, and Johnny is doing his best to console both of you.

"Yeah, what Bob said," Joaquin says.

"We-" You glare at Johnny, and he backtracks. "I think it's time that we move out," he finishes and gestures to you and him.

"Well, that's just stupid," Joaquin huffs out, hands on his hips.

"Yeah, why would you guys leave? You shouldn't be moving in your condition," Peter adds and looks at your nonexistent baby bump.

You give Peter a watery smile. "There's not going to be enough room when the baby comes."

"Again, what are you talking about?" Joaquin presses. "There's your old room."

You and Johnny share a look.

"Yeah, we can convert it into a baby room," Bob pipes up and gives an imploring look.

"Dude, we should go crib shopping soon," Peter says and pulls out his phone.

"Wait, wait," Johnny cuts in and stands up. "Do you hear what you guys are saying? The three of you would be okay with a baby living here?"

Bob, Peter, and Joaquin give Johnny a blank stare.

"Of course, we're okay with it. We're family," Peter replies.

"What Peter said. We're family, and you two are going to need all the help you can get," Joaquin says.

"Since I work from home, you can consider me your live-in nanny," Bob jokes.

Johnny finally looks at you, waiting for the final say.

"My old room is the perfect place for a nursery."

---

Joaquin and Johnny are sitting on the roof later that night.

"Man, look at what you've got yourself into," Joaquin jokingly says and nudges Johnny's side.

Johnny laughs and stares at the city skyline. "It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, who else would I want to share the rest of my life with if not her?"

Joaquin grins. "You're lucky she threw that drink at you."

Johnny smiles, thinking back to that moment all those years ago.

"Although I was kinda hoping you would've popped the question first before the baby," Joaquin sighs out.

Johnny pulls something from his pocket and hands it over to Joaquin.

"You still have this? I thought you gave it back to Sue."

Johnny frowns. "Of course. Why the hell would I give it back?"

Joaquin looks at the ring and then at Johnny. "So, why haven't you asked her yet? You've had it for half a year."

"Trust me, I was going to, soon. But then why the pregnancy announcement, Sue and Reed helping us plan doctor appointments, and I guess partly my nerves..."

"Johnny Storm, nervous? That's a first."

"And last, well, if she says yes," Johnny jokes. He knew you would say yes.

Joaquin rolls his eyes. "I would literally need to feel the earth move beneath my feet before I believe she would ever say no."

"You still gonna be my best man, right?"

"As long as Hank can be the ring bearer."

A/N: first time writing for pregnant reader. i hope i did okay. (:

[see-the-divine]

my recent bed time scenarios but nobody asked:

peter parker being sexy

peter parker being angsty

peter parker being super cool hero bf

thank you

[see-the-divine]

Remember when Matt Murdock was like "God, if he even exists, has forsaken me and life has no meaning. You should put me down like a dog." And then he cleared his sinuses with a Netipot and was like, "Nevermind, God is real and righteous and I'm his chosen weapon to vanquish evil. Mother, bring me someone I can beat up."

[see-the-divine]

[see-the-divine]

When I thought I found some truly emotionally abusive, psychological manipulation, personal attack angst but y/n ends up fucking forgiving them 2.5 seconds later

[see-the-divine]

𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐑𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐔: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

Summary: it's a little odd how your unexpected roommate has meshed so well into your daily routine. ghost!bob does still have some surprises up his sleeve. like what do you mean he can touch you?

Pairings: bob reynolds x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, language, living with a ghost, ghost!bob is opening up to reader, ghost!bob still likes messing with reader, reader is apprehensive of ghost!bob, friendly ghost!bob, sassy ghost!bob, little use of 60s/70s slang, pancake the cat, and ghost!bob are besties, detective!joaquin makes an appearance, vague description of bob's death- he doesn't remember, mention of murder, reader learns a bit about bob's past, brief mention of the vietnam war/draft, mentions of bob's drug addiction, bob was born in the 40s, the daily bugle is mentioned, and it's a magazine instead of newspaper for the au, fem!reader with vague descriptions, fem!reader wears makeup, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.

WC: 6.2K

Author's Note: ghost!bob has officially entered the chat is here to stay. i didn't know if i would make a part two since i still haven't finished the last part of what more could i ask for, but *sigh* here we are with my lovable ghost!bob. i hope you guys like it and feedback is always appreciated (: you can find my masterlist here

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Tagging: @badbishsblog @magicwithaknife

"Robert."

"Fraid I don't know a Robert, only Bob here," he casually replies, and continues to pretend that he's reading one of your books.

No one gave you the 411 on what ghosts are and aren't capable of.

And Bob sure as hell isn't willing to tell you either. Deep down, you know he's still getting a thrill from messing with you every now and then.

God only knows when he last had any real interaction with another living person. Bob says that the past few tenants couldn't see him, and he was afraid of giving the old lady who lived here before you a heart attack. So he refrained from touching any of her stuff.

It's been 2 weeks since you discovered Bob's existence, or as Bob likes to put it, he's "allowed" you to see him.

Overall, it's been a learning process. Mostly, you're concerned that your neighbors can hear you talking to him. And by neighbors, you mean Joaquin.

"Well, next time you see Bob, can you tell him enough is enough?"

"Sure, whatever you say, honey."

You throw a shoe at him, it goes right through him, and he laughs.

"Drop dead, you old man."

He laughs even harder.

Bob may look like he's in his late 20s or early 30s, but technically, he's in his 80s.

You found that out last week.

ONE WEEK AGO

The two of you are in the kitchen. He is at the table, and you are at the stove making dinner. It feels domestic, it feels normal.

But it's not.

He's still dead. A ghost roaming around your apartment.

Stuck.

"Bob, can I ask you something? And don't answer if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I'm dead. How much more uncomfortable can I get?" He dryly replies.

It's been a week, but at times, you forget Bob is dead. It throws you off whenever you see Bob holding a solid object or petting Pancake.

He says he can't do it for an extended time. Again, it depends on his emotions.

There have been two occasions where you've accidentally walked through Bob, or he walked through you.

You hated both times. It felt like when you're foot has fallen asleep and starts to regain feeling again.

You don't think you can ask him to his face, so you remain staring down at the pot. "Um... uh-when did you...uh d-I mean when did you ya know-"

"You mean when did I die? It's okay, it's been a long time."

Finally, you face him to see that he's already looking at you. "Yeah, you've said that before, but what does a long time mean?"

"50 years."

You gasp. "You've been stuck here for 50 years? since 1975?"

"Wow, it's been that long? Time sure flies by when you're dead."

You ignore his sarcastic remark.

"How old were you? Or are you?"

He smiles. "Uh, I was 32 or I guess still am? But if I were still alive today, I would be in my 80s."

"So an old man, huh?"

He smirks slightly. "I mean, I look pretty terrific for 80-something, don't ya think?"

You make a face at him and go back to cooking.

---

PRESENT

"So, are you like Casper the friendly ghost? Or more like a poltergeist?"

You've been bugging Bob for the past hour, asking him random questions about what it's like being a ghost.

And he's indulged you so far.

"I think I've been plenty friendly, since you've moved in."

"Ha! Yeah, right, since when is messing with my stuff friendly?"

Bob pauses for a moment to think. "What about that best friend of yours? Doesn't she mess you with?"

"Yeah, but that's different. And what's your obsession with my phone?"

It's one of those rare moments where Bob is holding your phone and scrolling through Instagram.

You're sitting on the other end of the coach, trying not to gawk at him.

Heather would think you're insane if you told her about Bob.

If it were Heather in your position, she would have had her bags packed and out the door the moment things started disappearing.

Any sane person would do the same thing.

Bob just shrugs and continues his scrolling.

"Didn't they have cell phones in the 70s?"

"Yeah, but they were still a new concept, and it's not like I could afford one."

A random thought popped into your head. "So, since you were around back then. That means you were drafted in the war?"

Bob tenses slightly. "Yep."

You can sense it's something Bob doesn't want to talk about. So you move on quickly.

"So you said you're originally from Florida. What kinda work did you do in New York?"

Bob relaxes and puts your phone down to give you his full undivided attention.

"I was a journalist."

You perk up. "No way, I went to school for journalism. I've been trying to find any kind of writing or journalist job since I got here."

"Well, I used to work at The Daily Bugle. I have no idea if it's still around. But if I could, I would put in a good word for you."

"Okay, this is getting a little creepy again. I have an interview at The Daily Bugle next week. But I don't think it's the same as it was when you worked there. It's basically a tabloid magazine now. Huge on exploiting celebrities and rich people."

Bob raises an eyebrow. "Wow, it sure has changed. It used to be a newspaper. And you said yes to an interview?"

"Hey! It was the only magazine company that got back to me. Everything is online now. They publish other articles, but the crazier the tabloid, the more money."

You scoot closer to Bob. "Hey, if I get the job, maybe I can dig up some of your old articles and-"

"No, don't," he snaps, and you flinch back. "Sorry, I-uh... I mean, they probably won't have stuff from way back then. It was all printed in the '60s and '70s."

You look at him suspiciously, but let it go for now. "So, did you use a typewriter?"

---

A few days later, something unexpected happened between you and Bob.

It was a typical Friday night, and you were trying to make a new recipe. Bob finds it highly amusing how you constantly dance back and forth between the stove and the butcher's block, where your phone was open to the recipe.

He was standing a foot away from you, watching your every move.

At first, his staring was a little nerve-racking, and you told him to knock it off during the first week of living together. The last thing you needed was some man, living or dead, hovering over you all the time.

You admit you were kind of a bitch when you told him to fuck off the first time he was breathing down your neck, and he disappeared immediately before your eyes.

At first, you were relieved, until the silence of your apartment had gotten to you, and you missed the sound of his low, calm voice.

Bob didn't reappear until two days later, and oddly enough, you missed him and told him so.

You didn't know if ghosts could blush, but he did shyly look away.

"You know I could read it to you," he suggests, and you scoff at him.

"Yeah, I don't trust you after last time," you mutter as you look at what you need to do next.

"I told you it was an accident. I got confused between tablespoon and teaspoon, an honest mistake."

You laugh and turn around just when Bob thinks it's a fun idea to block your path to the stove. Causing you to walk through him.

You can't help but shudder at the sensation.

"I hate when you do that," you whine, and he laughs.

"Sorry, honey." He doesn't sound sorry in the least bit.

You ignore the term of endearment. Bob's gotten into the habit of calling you honey or sweetheart.

Maybe it's an old-fashioned thing.

Instead, you ask. "Does it feel like anything to you?"

"Mhh... not really. Does it feel weird to you?"

"A bit," you reply as you bend down and get a cutting board. "But, I guess I'll have to get used to it."

"What a darn shame," Bob says in mock sympathy. "Hey, do you think I could move that knife and cut vegetables for you?"

You scoff. "You're a ghost, not a wizard, Bob."

He places a hand to his chest and gasps. "Are you doubting my rad skills?"

You try not to smile. "No one really says rad anymore. Unless you're a millennial."

"So, that means you say it?" He teases.

"On a rare occasion. But no knife-throwing tricks tonight."

Bob pouts. "Fine, raincheck. But I still want to try."

You think Bob has finally settled down, but he keeps on yapping about what he could potentially move as you're chopping vegetables.

"I highly doubt you could lift a car," you say through laughter. "All I've seen you move and hold are small objects."

"I'm hurt. I thought you would have more faith in me."

A comfortable silence falls between you, and for a moment, you think Bob has randomly disappeared. You glance over and see he's standing in front of the stove, just staring at the burner.

"Don't even think about it. The last thing I need is my fire alarm going off. Joaquin already thinks I'm a walking hazard."

"Oh, that cop fellow, huh?"

"He's a detective," you correct.

Bob shrugs. "Same difference. Cop, detective, at the end of the day, they're still a pig."

You pause your chopping. "Bob, that's the first negative thing I've heard you say."

"I don't like the police." His voice has a slight edge. "It reminds me of when they found my body."

You stop altogether and turn to stare at his back. "You don't have to say anything else if you don't want."

"No, it's okay. You've probably been wondering how I died. But, I really don't remember."

"What?"

That doesn't sound normal at all. But what do you know about the afterlife?

"Yeah, it's kinda like waking up from a deep sleep. I woke up back in the apartment, but it felt different. I traced my steps back to the last place I remembered being, and it was all roped off. Later, I saw the news about my death... a murder," Bob stops talking as his shoulders tense up.

Murder? Who could ever kill someone like Bob?

"That must have been really scary," you softly say.

"Yeah, well, people die every day," he crassly replies.

"Bob..."

In that moment, you wish more than anything that you can reach out to comfort him.

Hug him.

Touch him.

"Sorry for killing the mood," Bob says and walks out of the kitchen.

You just stare at the spot where he stood. All these emotions were running through you. Worry, sorrow, a little grief, and a little scared.

Is Bob's killer still out there wandering around? Or is he dead too?

You feel slightly helpless. You don't know how to comfort Bob. Maybe he doesn't want to be comforted? Should you go check on him?

You decide to give him space and go back to cutting the onions.

You blame the onions for what happens next, not the thought of Bob waking up alone and confused, not knowing what happened to him or his body.

And then to find out you were killed, but don't know anything else.

You quietly start sniffling as the tears well up in your eyes. You continue to roughly chop the onions through tears.

The knife slips and cuts your finger deep.

You gasp loudly, dropping the knife to the ground.

"Fuck," you mutter and stare at your heavily bleeding finger.

Hurried footsteps approach the kitchen, and you quickly rush to the sink.

"Hey, are you okay? What happened?"

"N-nothing," you try to keep your voice steady, but you realize you're still crying.

Great, how embarrassing.

Bob rushes over and makes an alarmed noise at the state of your finger.

"Oh, Jesus, sweetheart. Let me see."

"No," you sniffle out and continue to let it bleed under the water.

Bob notices that you're crying, and now it's his turn to feel helpless.

He says your name in a pleading tone, and you watch as his hands anxiously and awkwardly hover around you. You see that he's trying to reach out and grab your left wrist.

"Bob, it's fine. It's just a cut."

"It looks deep. Let me see," he repeats.

Apparently, you're taking too long for him, and he's suddenly reaching out and grabbing your wrist with his hand.

You both freeze at the sight of Bob's hand wrapped around your wrist.

You feel a little faint at the sensation of his skin against yours. It's comforting and warm.

"C'mon. Let me see," he quietly murmurs and gently pulls your hand closer to his face.

You, on the other hand, have forgotten the pain in your finger and continue to stare in awe at his long fingers around your hand.

Bob reaches over and grabs the dish towel and wraps it the best he can.

"How are you doing this? Touching me?"

"Dunno, maybe it's because I'm really focused."

"Here, keep your arm like this," Bob says, and raises your arm, but he doesn't let go.

He looks down at your tear-stained face. "Hurt that much?" He gently asks.

You try wiping away the rest of your tears with your free hand, but he beats you to it.

His fingertips feel slightly calloused as he gently brushes your tears away.

You finally look up at him and see he's gazing down at you with a look of wonderment.

"Thanks," you shyly say.

"Anytime."

Later, you and Bob are on the couch. Amazingly enough, he's still able to touch you, and he uses that to his advantage.

He cleans and bandages up your finger.

"You're lucky you didn't need stitches. Although I probably could have done that too."

"What?" You ask in slight astonishment.

"Army Vet, remember?"

"So you were a combat medic?"

"No, nothing fancy like that. But I knew a thing or two when it came to patching up a wound."

"Wow, a jack of all trades."

Bob laughs. "Why are you sitting so far away from me? Do I scare you now?"

He motions to how you're back in your usual spot at the end of the couch.

"No, of course not. This just feels like a dream. How are you able to touch me all of a sudden?"

"Trust me, if I could answer that, I would. Usually, when I'm able to hold something, it doesn't last too long," Bob says and pats the spot next to him.

You don't hesitate and scooch up next to him. Your thighs are touching his, and it still feels warm.

"Hey, I wanna try something," Bob says as he holds up his hand, palm facing you. "Put your hand against mine."

You do as he says, and he uses his other hand to make sure your palms are lined up. You roll your eyes as you watch him do so.

"It's clear who has the bigger hands," you sigh out.

"I know, but still," he states, his fingers overlapping yours. "Cute."

"I think you're just touch starved."

He gives you a 'duh' look. "You're the first person who can see me and touch me in 50 years. Give a dead guy a break."

"You're lucky you're cute for a dead guy."

He grins and pulls you right against his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You look up at his side profile. "Okay, tell me more about all the gruesome wounds you patched up during the war."

He throws his head back and laughs.

---

It's Monday morning, and you're frantically getting ready for your interview at The Daily Bugle.

Bob and Pancake are watching you run around like a headless chicken.

"Sweetheart, it's an interview at a magazine company. Not some CEO of some hotshot company."

"Shut up. I still want to make a good impression. Okay, what do you think about this one? Do I look like a stone-cold fox?" You ask and spin around in your casual business outfit. You're wearing a black pencil skirt, short-sleeved white blouse, and sensible heels.

Bob slowly looks you up and down. "Spin around again," he replies with a slight smirk.

You throw a hairbrush at him, and it bounces off his chest. Ever since the night you cut your finger, Bob's been able to hold things and touch things for longer.

Mostly you. He's been glued to you all weekend, and you can't blame the guy.

"Never mind, you are a perverted ghost."

"I take that as a compliment coming from a stone-cold fox."

You stand at your vanity to double-check your makeup, and you look at Bob's reflection.

He has a contented look on his face.

You're about to head out the door when Bob stops you.

"I got you something," he says, and he's hiding something behind his back.

"Oh, you didn't have to."

"It's for good luck."

Bob's holding out a pink and white peony origami bouquet.

He seriously needs to stop leaving you speechless.

A small voice in the back of your head says that you need to remember that he is a ghost.

Deceased. Passed away. Murdered. Dead.

You push those thoughts away.

"Bob, they're so pretty," you saw in awe as you take them from him.

You don't remember the last time a guy has gotten you flowers. Real or paper.

So you do the most natural thing, and you lean up and kiss his cheek.

You pull back slightly, and your eyes meet. His blue eyes drift down to your mouth before looking back up.

"Knock 'em dead."

---

J.Jonah Jameson is the epitome of a blowhard hasshole.

So far, he's ignored you for the next 10 minutes as he shouts at some poor woman over the phone. He keeps calling her his secretary.

He slams the phone door, leans back in his chair, and proceeds to pull out a cigar.

"What did ya say your name was, again?" He finally addresses you as he lights the end.

You repeat your name again, and he just stares at you. "Yeah, and why are you here?"

Right now you're regretting saying yes to the interview, but you suck it up and put on your best charming smile.

He looks unimpressed.

"I'm here for the open journalist position. If you look over my resume, you would see-"

"Yeah, yeah," he waves you off, and props his feet on his desk, still puffing away on the cigar. "Not very impressive. I need WOW."

"Uh... well, I have written for-"

"Yeah, again, I saw your resume," he interrupts and points to a file underneath his feet. "That's what I think about your writing."

Ouch.

He finally sits up, stubs out his cigar, and gets a good look at you.

"But, I can smell desperation from a mile away."

"Um-"

"I can't give you a writing position until you prove yourself to me and this company."

He's throwing you a rope, and you're debating if you want to cut it.

"How about an intern position? Charlene, one of my editors, is going on maternity leave soon. I can have her shadow her for the next couple of weeks, and then we'll see if you got what it takes to work here."

---

You left The Daily Bugle feeling more drained than when you entered.

You're standing in line at the corner bodega near your apartment when you spot a familiar face walking out of the store.

You quickly pay for your items and rush after him.

"Hey, Joaquin," you say once you've caught up with him.

"Oh, hi," he replies and grins at you, "I feel like we're always missing each other."

"Says the detective who works odd hours."

"Overnights are killing me. What have you been up to? Find a job yet?"

You nod. "Kinda, it's an intern position at The Daily Bugle."

"What a coincidence. I have a friend who works there. He's a photographer, Eddie Brock. Maybe you'll work with him."

You and Joaquin make small talk as you walk back to the apartment building.

You know you shouldn't ask. It feels like you're overstepping, but you can't help yourself. You're curious, and you're trying to help a friend.

A dead one, but still.

You stop Joaquin before he can unlock the first door. "Hey, um, are you a homicide detective?"

Joaquin stares at you for a moment before answering. "Yeah, why?"

How ironic that he deals with death daily, and he can't even see Bob.

You carefully word your question before you speak. "Do you deal with cold cases?"

Joaquin looks taken aback and crosses his arms. "Not very many. Again, why are you asking?"

You quickly backtrack. "Oh, no reason. I'm a big fan of cop shows, so I was just wondering how accurate they are. Thanks for answering my questions."

"You're a terrible liar," he replies, "Seriously, why are you asking me if I deal with cold cases? Didn't you say you're new to New York?"

You regret opening your mouth, and now Joaquin is getting suspicious.

He steps closer with a concerned expression. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"God no. I was asking for uh...friend."

"Oh, okay. Well, did the crime happen here in New York?"

"Yeah."

"A missing person?"

You wince before answering. "Not exactly. Never mind, I shouldn't even be asking. They're more of an acquaintance than a friend."

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

---

"I saw you talking with that cop, fellow," Bob says the moment you walk through the door.

Wait, could he also hear you?

"Yeah, he's nice."

Bob scoffs. "Whatever." He goes back to people watching.

"Okay, Mr. Attitude. Aren't you going to ask me how my interview went?"

"Sorry, how did it go?"

"I got it! Well, kinda, it's an intern position." You beam at him.

Bob crosses the room in a few long strides. He's scooping you up in a hug, and your feet briefly leave the ground.

"I knew you would get the job," he says into your ear. He sets you back on the ground and smiles down at you.

You glance away from his intense stare. "Yeah, well, it's all thanks to you, good luck bouquet."

"Nah, it's all you, sweetheart."

Your heart skips a beat. This isn't good, and you know it's not going to end well.

For either of you.

He's dead, you're not.

The night you found out Bob was murdered, you made up your mind that you would help Bob figure out what happened to him. Who killed him, because it's what he deserves.

Bob shouldn't be stuck here any longer than he has.

Bob surprises you again that evening when he says he's going out. This time, it's you following him around the apartment.

"Where are you going? Do you need me to go with you?" You ask.

Bob laughs and turns to you. "I'm perfectly fine going for a nighttime stroll through the park."

"Yeah, but don't you want company?"

"Now, who's the clingy one?" He teases and pokes your cheek. "I would love for you to come with me, but I'm meeting a friend."

"A friend?!"

"It's when two people bond over shared-"

You shove his shoulder. "I know what a friend is. I didn't think you had one. You said no one can see you."

"Right, living," he emphasizes the last word, and your eyes widen.

"Bob, why didn't you say there were other ghosts around?"

"I thought it was obvious," he replies with his signature eyeroll.

"So, who's your friend?"

"He's more like a mentor. He found me soon after I died, and I was wandering around the city late at night."

"How long has he been stuck here for?"

"I dunno, a hundred years or so, but he chose to stay."

You frown. "What do you mean he chose to stay?"

"He had a chance to move on, but he didn't want to. Something about how he doesn't want to see his family."

"That's kinda sad and strange."

Bob shrugs. "It's his choice."

You finally ask the question that has been on your mind since you met Bob. "And you've never gotten the chance to move on?"

"Nope."

"Don't you miss your family?"

Bob looks away from your face and glances at the clock on the wall.

"I'm gonna be late. Family questions are for another time," he hastily says and presses a kiss to your forehead before walking through the door.

Now that Bob is gone for the night, you take this as an opportunity to Google him.

There has to be something about his death on the internet. A few hours of scouring the internet and you've come up with basically nothing.

You managed to find a few articles that Bob had written in 1973. He had written all those with someone named Andrew Fields.

You're about to give up when you decide to Google Andrew Fields, and not much comes up about him.

Except for one thing that sticks out to you.

He was interviewed in early 1976, and he was retelling a mugging that went wrong back in the Winter of 1975. You skim the article, but he doesn't mention a name. He just tells the reporter that the person who died was an old co-worker of his.

What if he was talking about Bob?

But it's not enough to go on.

---

You must have fallen asleep on the couch, because when you wake up, you see Bob sitting next to you with your laptop.

You cautiously sit up. "How was your night?"

He ignores your question and gets straight to the point. "Why were you Googling me?" He shows you the screen that you still have up, and it's one of his articles that he had written back in '73.

He doesn't sound mad.

"I was just curious what kind of writer you were."

It's partly true.

You continue. "You never said you were an investigative journalist."

"It's not as exciting as it sounds," he replies and looks over at you.

You decide to approach the following question very cautiously.

"Bob, aren't you lonely?"

He gives her a perplexed look. "No, not anymore. You're here."

You sigh. "I mean, I know you said you're one friend doesn't want to cross over for personal reasons. Do you feel the same?"

"I don't know. A short while after my death, I kind of did want to move on to the afterlife, but couldn't, and still can't. And, now I'm fine being stuck here." He sounds sincere.

"It might be cliché, but from what I've read and seen in movies. When a spirit can't move on, it's because they have unfinished business left in the living world. Do you think that's the case for you?"

"Maybe, like I said, for a while I was trying to figure out who killed me, but kinda gave up."

You glance back at the article on the screen. All you can zero in on is Andrew Fields's name.

"What if I said I could help you find out?"

He frowns. "How? Don't tell me you're going to that cop."

"Times have changed. Yeah, cops aren't perfect, but I think Joaquin is diff-"

"No," Bob interjects, standing up.

"Bob, please, why not? Don't you want your unsolved murder solved?"

He snaps. "Why do you care all of a sudden? You want me gone or something?"

You stand up too. "Of course not. I'm just trying to help you."

He scoffs. "Yeah, for me to move on to the afterlife and get out of your hair."

"I don't mean it like that."

"Well, it sure as hell sounds like it."

You try reaching out for one of his hands, but he pulls away.

"All I'm saying is I want to help you find out who murdered you. Who knows if that's the reason why you're still stuck here. And if it is, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Bob hesitates and looks at your pleading expression. "You're not trying to get rid of me on purpose?" He asks and sounds like a little kid.

And it breaks your heart. "Never."

He narrows his eyes at you. "And if my murder is solved and I still can't move on?"

"Then, I guess I'm stuck with you forever."

Suddenly, he's pulling you into a hug, and you wrap your arms around his waist as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

"Good," he says.

An aching feeling seeps through your body.

Even if you're able to help solve his murder, and he can move on, you want him to.

Bob claims he isn't lonely, but you know that's not the whole truth.

Although he's holding you right now, you already miss him.

He feels real, but deep down, you know that the two of you can't live in this bubble forever. You're head is against his chest, but there's no heartbeat.

A few days later, Bob agrees and says you can help him solve his murder, but no cops.

You roll your eyes behind his back, because like hell you can just go snooping around all by yourself.

And you still don't have enough information about his death.

You'll just have to be extra sneaky when it comes to meeting up with Joaquin.

---

You text Joaquin to meet you during your lunch break.

He barely has a chance to sit down when you blurt out what you need help with.

"I need your help in solving a murder back in 1975. Can you do that?" You ask in a rush.

He's stunned to say the least, and he's blinking rapidly, trying to understand what you just said.

"I'm sorry, did you say murder?"

"Yeah, so can you?"

"Whoa, whoa, back up. How are you involved in a murder case? Is this for work? Or for that friend?"

You groan. "Yeah, kinda both."

"Okay, I'm going to need a little more than that."

You watch as he pulls out a notepad and pen.

"So, you're saying you can help me?"

"I'll have to run it by my captain first. We're short-staffed, so I highly doubt he'll be okay if I go off on my own with this."

You bite your lip. "Can it be off the books?"

Joaquin says your name in a warning tone. It was silly of you to ask.

"Okay, sorry. Can you run a name through your database system or whatever?"

He gives you a long, hard stare. "Does this person have a record?"

"No, he's dead. He died in '75."

He shakes his head and taps his pen on the pad. "Doesn't matter, he could still have a prior."

"Robert Reynolds."

You watch as he scribbles Bob's name down.

"Date of birth?"

"Uh...I don't know."

He looks up at you. "Well, can you find out?"

"Sure."

Joaquin leans back in his chair, and he has a teasing grin on his face. "You're such a weird girl."

"Hey! I'm not that weird. You should hear my upstairs neighbor."

He laughs. "Every time I run into you, there's something new going on with you."

"What can I say. I like to keep people on their toes."

You glance at your phone and internally groan. It's time to get back to that hellhole.

So far, all you've done is been an errand girl and coffee runner. Charlene, bless her heart, has been trying to show you the ropes, but Jonah has been running her ragged since she'll be leaving in a few weeks.

Joaquin walks you to the building of The Daily Bugle.

"Hey, are you free this weekend?"

You hesitate before answering. "Depends. I have a very clingy and needy fat cat at home. He pines for me if I'm gone for too long."

Joaquin grins. "Well, can he spare a few hours Saturday?"

"Possibly."

"Are you a fan of musicals?" He asks.

"Depends on the musical."

"Well, my partner and his wife got sick, so they can't use their tickets to see Chicago."

You excitedly gasp. "I love that movie."

"Great! So is that a yes?"

The only thought running through your mind is seeing Cell Block Tango live.

"Yes," you immediately say.

"Great, I'll pick you up at 7 sharp on Saturday." He gives you a brief hug before walking off.

It's Saturday morning and you still haven't told Bob about going to the theatre with Joaquin.

You're anxiously biting your lip as Bob is playing with Pancake in the living room.

"Have you ever been to a play?" You ask.

He looks up at you. "We're in New York. Of course I have. Why?"

Here goes nothing. Just rip the band-aid off. "I'm going with Joaquin to see Chicago tonight.

Dead silence.

Bob goes back to playing with Pancake. Completely ignoring what you said, and you're a bit hurt. You didn't think you would take it that bad. Or at least react in some way.

You're about to leave the room when he says your name, and you turn back.

"Have fun."

Somehow, that doesn't make you feel better. You still feel slightly guilty, but you haven't had a chance to see the nightlife since you moved here.

---

"It's so a date," Heather gloats through the phone as you try to get ready.

"It's not. He's my neighbor."

"Very hot. Very sexy neighbor," she says a little too loudly, and you hope Bob isn't in the apartment.

"Ugh, don't tell me you stalked him on social media."

"Of course I did. I needed to know who was taking my bestie out. You should wear that red dress I got you."

"Absolutely not. We're going to a play, not clubbing."

She blows a raspberry. "It's classy and sexy. Don't you want to get laid?"

"Heather!" You quickly close your bedroom door. "No, and even if it was a date, it's still a no."

"Fine, what are you going to wear?"

"Probably my black dress."

"Good choice, even though I still say-"

"Yeah, I know."

You get off the phone with Heather before getting dressed.

The dress is a simple lace-trim black number with thin spaghetti straps.

You're putting the final touches of your makeup on when Bob calls your name from the other side of the door.

"Are you decent?" He calls out.

Instead, you walk over and throw the door open.

"Oh, so now you're talking to me?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

Bob, who was looking down at the ground, slowly drags his gaze up. His eyes linger on your collarbones.

"Did you need something? Joaquin's going to be here any second." You ask.

"I just wanted to apologize for my attitude earlier today, and say that you look beautiful."

It's hard to pretend to be annoyed at him. "You smooth talker. I bet you were quite the ladies' man back in the day." You grab your heels as Bob follows you out of the room.

"Quite the opposite."

Once you reach the front door, you turn and face him. "Mhh, I dunno. Those blue eyes say otherwise."

You catch a smirk as you're slipping on your heels.

Knock knock

You open the door, and there stands Joaquin in a suit and tie.

"Well, don't you clean up nice," you remark.

Joaquin looks you up and down. "I should say the same. Very pretty."

Bob loudly scoffs from right next to you, and it takes everything in you not to react.

"I do believe I called you beautiful," Bob says and crosses his arms as he looks Joaquin up and down.

You clear your throat loudly. "Well, shall?"

Joaquin beams and holds out an arm for you, and from the corner of your eye, you see Bob rolling his eyes.

"Okay, bye, Pancake," You say and close the door in Bob's face.

---

"Well, what did you think?" Joaquin asks you as you're slowly making your way back to the train station.

"Amazing! I can't believe we had such good seats."

Joaquin grins. "I'll pass the thanks on to my partner. Hey, do you think your cat will kill you if we stop for a slice?"

"I suppose not."

The two of you at one of Joaquin's favorite places. He claims once you've had their pizza, your whole life is changed.

He's partly right. You're busy stuffing your face when he finally drops a bomb on you.

"So, you lied to me," he says.

You almost choke on your slice of pizza. "I-I did what?"

"Robert Reynolds."

You tense. "Okay, and?"

Joaquin leans over the table and lowers his voice. "He has a record."

Your heart plummets. "Wh-what are you sure?"

"Yeah, I didn't think I would find anything, and since you didn't give me a date of birth. But he popped up."

"Can you tell me what for?"

"Drug charges, cocaine, heroine, you get the gist."

You lean back in your chair. Your head is spinning with everything Joaquin is saying. It can't be true, right? There could be more than one Robert Reynolds living in New York at the same time.

Joaquin continues. "I do have his date of birth. It's 01/25/43, does that sound right?"

"Uh..yeah," you lie. It can't be true. There's no way it's Bob.

"Was there more than one Robert Reynolds that popped up?" You ask, picking at your pizza.

"A few, but you said he died in '75, right? Well then, it's him."

"You don't happen to have a printed copy of his record, do you?"

Joaquin says your name. "You know I can't show you that. Just double-check the birthday with your boss at work, and see if it's the right Robert Reynolds. We'll go from there. I shouldn't even be telling you this."

"I swear I won't tell anyone. But just one last thing, and you can just nod or shake your head."

"Fine, one last question."

"Did he do time?"

Joaquin hesitates and then nods.

A/N: this was supposed to be a light-hearted and fluffy fic, and now it's turned into a murder mystery. honestly, i wasn't planning on it at all. but more ideas came to me, and this is the first time i've actually planned a story from beginning to end. i already know how the fic is going to end, and yes, there will be multiple parts. i wasn't planning on starting another bob series, but here we are. Read Part One Here

[see-the-divine]

[see-the-divine]

“steve had no right to break jonathan’s camera!”

right so if i found out a dude i didn’t fucking know had snuck onto my property late at night to take pictures of my girlfriend and i getting at it, the camera wouldn’t be the only thing getting broken LMAO

[see-the-divine]

Jon Bernthal at Steel City Con on August 10, 2025

[see-the-divine]

I mean, they were never going to film Frank eating Karen out in the streets of NYC. So. I’m fine.

[see-the-divine]

Uhm excuse me, what he so caked up for?

[see-the-divine]

TO FALL FROM GRACE - MATT MURDOCK

Four - Home

tags: @see-the-divine @fallingfavourites // prev // next

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Livia Yersova

Word Count: 6,510

Summary: What is ‘ home’ anymore? Livia’s mind remains in a different place than those around her, leading to a constant sense of displacement.

Matt finished cooking soon after Livia and June arrived. Thankfully, there was no time where it was just up to them and Heather to conversate. As it stood, she had no real issues with Heather. She hadn’t talked to her enough - or ever - to really have problems with the woman. She seemed smart enough, honest, and cared for Matt. Matt seemed happy so Livia was willing to give the woman a shot.

June, however, was not as easily convinced. She was firmly stuck on the idea of Livia and Matt getting back together. It was a ship she was willing to go down on. The way things were seeming, she would have to.

“Where is it?” June mumbled, rummaging around in Matt’s kitchen.

“What are you looking for?” Livia had to laugh, especially when there was a suspicious thud and a loud yelp.

“The usual celebration.” June’s muffled voice answered.

“Usual?” Heather chimed in.

“Wait.” Livia looked to Matt. She smiled softly. “We still do that?”

“Yeah.” He smiled back. “He always insisted.”

“Found it!” June’s hand shot up from where she was crouched behind the counter, a liquor bottle in hand.

“You don’t even like it.” Matt teased and took the bottle.

“What is it?” Heather asked with a gentle, enamoured smile.

“When my old partner and I were fresh out of law school, we were so broke but we pulled just about everything we had together for an office bottle of O’Melveny’s. We only broke it open when we won.” He explained. 

“That first bottle lasted quite a while.” Livia teased, reaching to take two glasses. She handed one off to June as she came to sit beside her.

“Thank you for that addition.” He said sarcastically and Livia raised her glass in acknowledgment. “Moreso, it’s just a nice reminder that, once in a while, the system works.”

Livia didn’t miss the pointed look in her direction. She refrained from rolling her eyes. The love-hate relationship she maintained with the system was not going to go away just because the one wholly good person in Hell’s Kitchen believed in it.

“You’re talking about your friend, Foggy Nelson, right?” Heather asked kindly. There was no malice or cruel intentions behind her question. It came from, what Livia could tell was, a place of genuine interest. It was still, and probably always would be, a knife in her chest.

The comment made June grow tense beside her. No doubt June was thinking back to that night outside of Josie’s. If Livia carried the weight and trauma of that night in her heart, she could only imagine how heavy it was for June. Having to be at his side, his blood running through her fingers, watching him die…

Something Livia could only explain as primal began to gnaw at her stomach. She looped an arm through June’s and felt June lean against her.

“Yeah…” Matt answered quietly.

“I was starting to wonder when you would.” Heather turned towards Livia. “He was your friend, too, right?”

“Mhmm.” Livia nodded. She wanted to be polite, if only for Matt’s sake, but the woman was pushing buttons not even someone close to Livia would dare to push.

“It’s not easy.” Matt continued, likely sensing Livia’s unease. “He always knew how to enjoy the good moments when they came.”

“Then here’s to a man who cooks.” Heather lifted her own glass. “A well-won case. And Foggy Nelson.”

Livia simply raised her glass. If she opened her mouth, no doubt she’d start a fight. June mimicked the action, likely thinking the same thing. Livia knew June was very protective of her family. That was a given, considering everything she had gone through. So hearing a woman who knew probably the bare minimum, if that, about her family offering a toast to a dead man she never knew, Livia didn’t need her ability to know June hated Heather the most she ever had in that moment. It likely solidified the fact that she never would like Heather, and the irony was that Heather brought it upon herself.

“You know you can’t pass that off to anyone here, right?” Matt raised his brows at June, teasing her to break the tension.

June pulled a face before looking down at the glass. “I’ll be fine.” She frowned to herself.

“Hang on.” Livia faced her roommate. “You would hand your glass off?”

“Of course not!” June defended.

“You snuck it to Karen every chance you got!” Matt countered, earning a laugh from Heather and Livia.

Livia had the sudden urge to say something relatively rude to Heather, but that wasn’t fair. Heather was allowed to laugh when Matt teased June. June didn’t agree, considering she glared at the other woman until Livia kicked at her shin.

“Bud'te vezhlivy.” Livia hissed. (Be nice.)

“Ona ne smeyetsya nado mnoy!” June countered in the same low tone. (She doesn’t get to laugh at me!)

“YA vam obeshchayu, chto eto ne tak.” Matt said gently. (I promise you she wasn’t.)

“What is that, Russian?” Heather asked, genuinely curious. “I didn’t know you all spoke it.”

“My first language, actually.” Livia nodded politely. June simply shrugged. “I taught Matt a little before the Snap.”

Livia thought that saying ‘I taught him while we were together’ was inappropriate. She was tempted, but she wasn’t looking forward to a new fight with Matt, considering she wasn’t sure if Heather knew they had ever dated. If she was going to start something against him, it’d be worth something more than his girlfriend.

“You grew up in Russia?” Heather continued. “What brought you to the States then?”

“My mom was Russian, actually. I grew up in an orphanage. I came to New York for school and it was always a place for immigrants anyways.” Livia shrugged.

“Right, right.” She nodded. Livia raised a suspicious brow and Heather shook her head in resignation. “Matt mentioned you two went to school together, is all. He never said anything about your childhood.”

“Why would he?” June mocked.

Matt frowned in response but Heather seemed to take it in stride.

“What about you?” Heather leaned forward to see June.

“Also an orphan.” June said flatly. “I’ve heard my parents could’ve been Sokovian but…” She shrugged. The cool sensation hitting Livia on the side told her what she already suspected, that June wasn’t happy or comfortable with the line of conversation. She patted June’s leg softly and the general feeling lessened but didn’t fully disappear.

“Sokovia? That’s pretty cool.”

Livia noticed Heather's attention shift, her eyes flicking to June’s hands. June’s gloved hands. Livia could read the question on her face. The woman was almost dripping in curiosity, an unspoken desire to uncover something deeper that maybe - just maybe - she could help June with. Heather wanted a way to connect with June because June was special to Matt. Livia didn’t know exactly how Matt explained his relationship to the younger woman, but whatever it was, it made Heather want to bond with her.

If there was one thing besides her lineage that June wouldn’t discuss with a woman she didn’t like, it was going to be her gloves.

“Little help here.” Livia mumbled into her glass. She turned her eyes to Matt and he gave her a quick nod.

“June, how’s everything with Joaquin?” Matt offered with a grin.

Livia nearly choked on her liquor. She looked over and saw June’s cheeks flush a deep pink. She dropped her eyes and quickly whipped out her phone.

“Have you met him yet?” Livia asked Matt. “Closest I’ve gotten was seeing the guy on her Facetime.”

“All I got was a ‘Hi Mr. Murdock!’ from a phone call once.” Matt answered.

“At least you know he knows your name.” Livia continued, feeling her phone in her pocket.

“He knows all of your names, okay?” June defended. “He knows your names and your pictures and all about you two. Happy?”

“Yes, actually.” Matt grinned.

“It’s a start.” Livia agreed as she pulled her phone.

junebug✨ - can we just go???

Livia frowned to herself before typing a quick response.

- we can’t up and leave now, itd look rude 😕-

- i actually do not gaf - June’s response was almost immediate.

Livia simply rolled her eyes and tucked her phone away. That didn’t stop June from sending text after text after text. Livia looked over and met June’s deadpan expression as she continued to send messages. Livia was willing to bet it was just one single angry emoji in each.

“Oh, Livia!” Heather said suddenly, as if remembering something. Instinctively, she shifted in her seat to ensure June was behind her. “You know about Daredevil and the Punisher and all of the, um, vigilantes-“ Livia scrunched her nose at how Heather said the word, as if it was an insult. “- in town. Right?”

“Yeah.” She answered carefully. “I mean, who doesn’t?”

“Well, I’m thinking about my next book and-”

“You’re published?” Livia interjected. “Sorry, that probably came off rude.”

“Not rude enough.” June mumbled.

“June.” Matt scolded gently.

“Um, not at all.” Heather gave a small shake of her head. “But yes, I am. It’s relatively recent. I can get you a copy if you’d like.”

Livia glanced and caught Matt giving her an almost pleading expression.

“Yeah, sure. That’d be great.” Livia offered what she hoped came off as a genuine smile. She’d skim it and then let June do whatever with it. Probably burn it. “But you were talking about your next one. What does it have to do with vigilantes?”

“Right, yes. I don’t know, I’m still drafting, but I was thinking something along the lines of the masks we wear and why vigilantes feel the need to do what they do.”

“And that has to do with me because…”

“I’d love to maybe have a sit down and talk about your perspective on things when I get closer to writing it. You’ve interacted with the Punisher as his lawyer, the pseudo-Daredevil that worked for Wilson Fisk. Maybe even the real Daredevil or Exodus or the younger girl?” Her eyes were wide with question, hoping for confirmation that you knew the vigilante trio.

June stood at that point.

“I don’t feel good. Liv, can we go home?” June announced in the most monotonous and robotic tone Livia had ever heard. She had to run her hand down her face to hide her smile.

“Of course.” Livia agreed and stood. She threw back the rest of her liquor before taking both June’s and her own glass to the sink. “Heather, it was nice to meet you. Maybe we can talk about your next book some other time?”

“Sure.” She gave a polite, arguably fake, smile. “You can get my number from Matt whenever you have a chance.”

“I’ll walk you two out.” Matt gestured for the women to start walking.

As Livia passed him at the door, she leaned in close.

“What did you tell her about me?” She whispered.

“Nothing.” Matt answered in the same quiet tone.

“So she just conveniently asked me about the vigilantes I knew? C’mon, Matt.”

“Livia, I’d never tell anyone.”

“He’s not lying.” June confirmed quietly. “Can we go now?” The younger woman was basically squirming.

“Everything okay, Junebug?” Matt turned to June.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” She sighed. “I just want to go. Livia, please.”

“Yeah, okay.” Livia nodded. “Thanks for having us, and sorry to interrupt your date.”

“You didn’t interrupt.” He smiled softly before Livia let June pull her away.

“Now you, missy.” Livia threw her arm around June’s shoulders. “What has your panties in a bunch?”

“Ew.” June groaned. “Don’t say panties.”

“Should I say undies? Chonies? Unmentionables?”

“Liv!” June laughed.

“Okay, okay.” Livia conceded. “What’s seriously going on though, something with Joaquin?”

“No. Well, not no. There’s something he might be dealing with that could- Okay, whatever. It’s not about him.”

“So then what is it?”

“Can we go check on Hector?”

“Hector Ayala? Why?”

“I just have a bad feeling…”

“Okay.” Livia nodded carefully. “We’ll go right now.”

“Maybe we should change?” June gestured vaguely to her face.

“Hey.” Livia pulled June to a stop. “You really think we need to?”

“I do.” June nodded.

Livia saw the concern reflected in June’s eyes. Whatever June was expecting, it wasn’t going to be easy or maybe even kind. Livia simply nodded. She took them home, allowed five minutes to dawn suits and cover ups, then headed straight to Hector’s neighborhood.

They stuck to shadows, having left Livia’s car a few blocks back, but it didn’t matter. They were down the alley across from Hector, too far away to stop anything. It was as if Livia was watching it all play out in slow motion. She knew she wouldn’t have time to get close enough to stop anything. She couldn’t pull her gun or throw a blade quick enough. Yelling would do nothing and she couldn’t utilize her ability with enough accuracy.

All she could do was keep June from seeing it.

She quickly ducked into a shadow as she grabbed June’s arm and spun her so they were face to face. June looked at Livia with wide, confused eyes. Behind June’s face shield, Livia assumed she was frowning at her. Livia wasn’t looking at June though, just holding her firmly in place. Livia was focused over June’s shoulder.

“What are you-” June began to ask, her voice slightly muffled behind the protection of her mask.

The familiar sound of a gunshot cut off her words. June went absolutely rigid. Livia watched the shooter for only a moment,hoping to catch something identifying, but they were smart. They kept their head down and their hood drawn, but her blood ran cold when she caught sight of the symbol they flaunted.

Frank’s white skull, the ‘memento mori’ as David Lieberman had called it.

She swallowed hard as she met June’s eyes finally. Livia knew without a doubt that it was one of those cops. Frank would never shoot a man that he wasn’t facing. It was a coward’s kill, plain and simple.

“He’s dead.” June said flatly.

“Let’s get home.” Livia answered.

They returned home in silence. When they were back in the apartment, all boots and accessories discarded, they sat together in the living room. Livia had a spiked lemonade in her glass while June had… Well, Livia didn’t see what June had pulled from the fridge.

“We could’ve done something.” June said suddenly. “If we had left Matt’s place when I first said wanted to…”

“What-if’s will kill you same as a bullet, June.” Livia answered calmly. The sound of the gunshot echoed in her head, bringing up old memories.

Ray Nadeem. Billy Russo. Jasper Evans.

“Why didn’t you just listen to me?”

“How was I supposed to know what you meant? For all I knew, you just wanted to get away from Heather.”

“Oh, please.” June scoffed. “Because you wanted to spend all night watching her make googoo eyes at Matt and try to psychoanalyze everything either of us say?”

“Her job is to try and understand people to fix them. Of course she’s going to ask us questions. We’re as fucked as they come.”

“Yeah, well, she’s nosy.”

“She was just trying to be nice and get along with us. I doubt she likes or really cares about either of us all that much, kid.”

“Good! I hate her!”

“You hate her because what?” Livia finally looked over at June. “Because she’s dating Matt? He’s happy with her. If you believe anyone on that, believe me.”

It pained Livia to admit but she knew better than anyone that he was happy. There was a general lightness to him once they got together, an almost physical weight lifted. Her ability exposed that to her without asking and it’s been in her peripherals ever since. It was also relatively obvious when she found they didn’t argue quite as much. At first, she attributed it to her own distance but instead, it was also in part to Matt’s focus being diverted to a new lover.

“We can’t fault either of them for that.” Livia dropped her eyes, a new chill settling under her skin.

“You’re pivoting.” June frowned. “We’re heroes, Liv. We’re supposed to save people!”

“We’re not heroes.” Livia’s eyes snapped back to June. “We’re vigilantes. In a literal and legal aspect, we’re criminals. We help people, yes, but they’re not going to build a team around us or put up statues in our honor. The best we can hope for is Jameson putting out some slander in the Bugle.”

“Criminals…” June repeated quietly. She looked at Livia as if she had struck her. “How could you say that?”

“Whatever Joaquin’s been telling you-”

“This has nothing to do with him!”

“Fine.” Livia said firmly, pushing to stand. June discreetly shrunk into herself, so subtle no one else would’ve noticed. 

Livia swallowed an apology.

“People die, June. You know that. There’s nothing we could’ve done.” Livia said. Her voice was so devoid of emotion.

June said nothing, just gathered her equipment and stormed to her room. The door slamming was the only response Livia got.

Livia just wanted to scream.

June went with Matt to see the coroner the next morning. Livia decided not to. She thought a little distance from anything regarding the Ayalas would be better. Matt reminded her about some bank meetings coming up and that was it. She kept some distance, helped Kirsten with some cases, and tried to pretend she didn’t see the bullet pierce Hector’s skull.

She failed him. She knew that, just as she had failed so many people before. People that looked to her for help, for safety, for support. If she had gone with them, if she had to face Hector’s niece or his wife, that guilt would stick to her like everything else.

For her own sanity, she had to let all of it go. So with a whispered apology, that was exactly what she did.

Except June didn’t let it stay that way for long.

“Come on.” June told her, barging into Livia’s room one night.

“Excuse me?” Livia’s brows raised as she tilted her laptop screen down to see her visitor clearly.

“We’re going to where Hector died. Matt’s meeting us there.”

“Why?”

“Cause the casing wasn’t found.”

“The shooter didn’t pick it up, not unless they went back.” Livia thought out loud as she tried to find her shoes. “But they wouldn’t go back. It’s too risky.”

“Unless the shooter was a cop.” June added. “Or friends with a cop that could pick it up for them.”

“The shooter had Frank’s symbol.”

“Then we need to visit Uncle Frank, too.”

“You know where to find him?” Livia was tugging her shoes on now.

“I might…”

Livia and June returned to the scene, showing up just before Matt did. He smiled slightly at the two of them and Livia stood awkwardly, hands in her back pockets as she looked around.

“June told me you guys were here.” Matt said casually.

“Did she?” Livia asked absently, focusing more on the ground. The casing should’ve been around somewhere so she was looking for something to reflect the light.

“Did you see anything?”

“Nothing helpful.”

“Guys.” June said, her head slightly cocked as she examined something. “Am I crazy or is this sloped?” She pointed to the pathway ahead of her.

Matt hummed in interest before extending his cane. He swiped it at a small liquor bottle, sending it rolling away.

“Good catch.” Livia patted June’s arm, causing her to smile proudly.

The bottle rolled and rolled before finally dropping down a drainage hole. The three went to it but Matt knelt down to reach in. He came back with a small, shiny object. He ran his fingers over it and then frowned before passing it to Livia. June reached for it but Matt pulled away.

She frowned and reached again, to which Matt swatted her hands away and offered it to Livia again.

“Anything look familiar?” Matt asked, annoyance plain in his words.

She took it and rolled it between her fingers, looking at the casing. She sighed heavily and looked over at June.

“Where’s your uncle?”

June led them without complaint. She held Matt’s arm while he tapped away with his cane. Their steps fell into sync and Livia briefly wondered if it was on purpose or just an old habit of June’s. She decided not to ask.

The walk was quiet. No one said much of anything. June, usually the chatterbox of the three, just kept her eyes forward. Whether she was still thinking about her recent spat with Livia or something else would be anyone’s guess. Matt’s train of thought was always a gamble. It could be about their little investigation. It could be about Heather. It could be about something she knew nothing about.

The downside to isolating herself is that there was a lot Livia didn’t know.

When they finally got to Frank’s place, Livia was oddly reminded of Lieberman’s old hideout. She smiled slightly at the thought.

Livia had only a second to react. She only caught the glimpse of a weapon in hand as someone charged towards them.

Livia had to yank June aside, which caused the blonde to yelp in surprise. She positioned herself in front and pulled the switchblade from her back pocket. The blade clicked out, just in time for her to realize what was happening.

The assailant was just Frank and he currently had Matt pinned to a set of lockers.

Livia couldn’t help but laugh.

She looked over her shoulder and saw June staring with wide eyes. She froze in the middle of removing her gloves. When she saw Livia’s look, she smiled in quiet relief and repositioned her accessory.

“You’re lucky.” Livia said, the smile obvious in her words. Frank looked over with a small scowl. “I was about to stick you like a dart board.”

“That’s what you do now, huh? Barge into people’s places and stab ‘em?” Frank scoffed.

“You slam all your visitors into those lockers?” She challenged, tucking away the blade. “A people person like you, I’d expect more dents.”

“Eh, fuck off.” He waved her away.

“Good to see you, too.” She laughed.

“Whatever. And I see you back there, Junebug.”

“Hi.” June waved.

“You brought the whole gang, Princess.” Frank announced, crossing the room for something.

Livia ignored Frank for a moment. She walked to Matt’s side instead, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He patted her hand without a word.

“What do you want?” Frank asked.

“Liv.” June whispered while Matt answered. Livia looked over and saw June’s brows furrowed in concern. “Chto eto za tabletki?” (What are those pills?)

Livia glanced over but frowned. She couldn’t read the label that far away.

“Podoydite poblizhe i uznayte.” Livia winked. (Get closer and find out.)

June practically lit up at the suggestion.

Livia paid attention to men again and found they were instigating each other. No surprise. She actually found it comforting to know that those two were the same.

“I do not have time for your candy-ass hero shit.” Frank yelled. “Is that clear?”

“Yeah, loud and clear.” Matt conceded. “Liv, June, let’s go.”

Matt took Livia’s arm and she took a few backwards steps.

“You think I came here to see whatever you’ve turned into?” Livia asked. Matt sighed but released her arm. “Kinda wish I didn’t, by the way. Cause this-“ She gestured to him. “This isn’t the man I know.”

“I don’t think you came here for my help.” Frank shook his head. Livia didn’t miss how he wasn’t yelling at her the way he was at Matt just moments before. “I think you want my permission.”

Livia took a few steps closer, shrugging her shoulders as she crossed her arms. In her peripherals, she watched June creep around the room.

“I never needed it before.” Livia countered.

“Nah.” Frank pulled a face before pointing over her shoulder. “Him.”

Matt simply scoffed.

“Wanna get your hands on somebody, huh? Wanna hurt ‘em. He’s a little scared, isn’t he, Liv? Scared of what it means.”

“That’s an interesting take. I like it.” Matt mocked. Livia turned, intrigued by the new feeling from him.

She was busy trying to remember what it felt like for Matt to be scared that she didn’t even listen to what they began talking about. She had learned a long time ago that being scared and being afraid were very similar but felt very different. Fear was primal, something she could exploit, something she brandished as deadly as any weapon. But being scared, that was much more vulnerable. It was uncertainty. It was something she hadn’t gotten from Matt before.

“How ‘bout that friend of yours? You save his life?” Frank’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

Her head whipped to face him and she saw, a few feet behind him, that June had froze. She had the pill bottle in her hand but she wasn’t looking at it. June’s eyes were wide and even with the distance. Livia recognized the glisten of fresh collecting tears.

“You lost him, didn’t you?” Frank continued.

“Don’t.” Livia warned. Her voice was quieter than she expected but the firmness of her tone made up for it. Frank’s eyes met hers.

“It’s not about him.” Matt said simply but the sadness in his voice sent a chill down her spine.

“Then say his name.” Frank challenged.

“It’s not about him.” Matt repeated. “It’s not.”

“For Christ’s sake, say his name, you coward!” Frank called out to Matt before a step closer to Livia. “Say his name.”

“What do you want me to say?” Livia stepped forward, now toe to toe with Frank. “You tell me, Frank. What the hell was I supposed to do? I didn’t even see him coming!”

“Did you do something about it? Did you get him back for it?”

“Just stop.” Livia shook her head, using all her will power to keep her tears away.

The worst part of that question was that Livia knew her answer was no. She didn’t get Poindexter back for it. She had the chance, had him exactly where she needed him to be, but that soft spot in her chest for the man she knew locked her arm in place. It didn’t let her kill him, didn’t let her drive a knife through his chest or put a bullet in his head or do any of the cruel things she wanted. Because when she looked him in the eyes, when she asked for a reason why, she saw the slightest hint of the man she knew, and it was a whole new knife in her chest.

Leave it Frank to know exactly what knife to twist.

“What about you?” Frank pushed past Livia to challenge Matt.

Livia let out a shaky breath as tears spilled down her cheeks. A gentle hand was on her arm and she didn’t need to look to know it was June. She just patted the hand and kept her eyes on the floor.

“Pain meds.” June explained, shaking the pill bottle.

“Voz'mite ikh s soboy.” Livia sniffled, wiping a hand quickly across her eyes. (Take them with us.)

“Pochemu?” (Why?)

Livia simply shrugged. She didn’t really have a reason other than spite. She let out another uneven breath, finding enough control to steady her heartbeat. Any feelings about the last conversation were dulled, muted to the vaguest tingles of sensations.

June gasped and grabbed onto Livia’s sleeve. Livia looked just in time to see the end of Matt hitting Frank.

She thought Frank deserved it.

Livia nodded for June to go first, and the younger woman went to Matt. She went to his side and Livia put herself

in front of Frank. She gave him a slight shove and the man moved a few steps back.

“First honest thing you did, Red.” Frank shot over Livia’s shoulder.

“What does this prove?” Livia asked sharply.

“He talks to you, doesn’t he?” Frank spoke through Livia. “You hear his voice?”

Every word Frank said 

“He got life!” Matt yelled.

The words slammed Livia with a sensation so cold, Livia shivered. June looked between Livia and Matt, hesitated, then pocketed the pill bottle as she went to Matt’s side. She took his hand gently, but Livia could still see how they shook.

“What about ol’ Foggy? He get life?” Frank pressed.

Matt’s response was muffled. Livia’s own sadness and regret built in her head.

Foggy didn’t get life. He lost his, because Livia couldn’t kill Poindexter in the penthouse years ago. She couldn’t kill Poindexter when she was face to face with him on the rooftop. The knife she put between his ribs wasn’t intended as the killing blow. She had still wanted answers from him after all.

“And to know you didn’t do anything about it?”

Livia came back to the present when Frank’s finger jammed into her chest. “Not as surprising as you’d think.”

Livia bit her tongue.

“Nah, you couldn’t even finish off Billy.” He stepped away, waving a dismissive hand. “I remember coming in, you two talking like nothing happened.”

“That wasn’t my life to take.” Livia said tightly.

“After everything he did to you?”

“Yeah, well, I liked him more than Poindexter.”

“Then why did you kill him?” Frank yelled.

“That’s enough.” June said firmly. “You don’t have to be such a dick, Frank.”

Livia wanted to say Frank was right. She should’ve killed Poindexter. She knew that. But how could she explain why she didn’t? Why she couldn’t.

Livia felt June tug on her sleeve so she silently followed.

“Y’know, this little family of yours...” Frank commented as soon as Livia turned away.

She froze, hands in tight fists. The only acknowledgment she gave was a tilt of her head.

“It falls apart the second you leave.”

“What the hell does that mean?” She finally turned.

“Let’s go, Livia.” Matt tried. He grabbed her hand, gave her a light tug. The mistake was the contact. In the touch, she felt a surge of emotions.

Concern. Worry. Even regret.

“What is he talking about?” Livia asked Matt, firmly planting her feet.

“They never told you about what happened. Did they, Princess?” Frank called as Livia turned back to face him.

“What are you talking about?” She asked.

“Junebug and Red.” He answered, pointedly saying each nickname in turn. “They tell you about what happened during your little disappearing act?”

“Don’t.” June protested.

Livia squinted at June but she dropped her eyes in… shame?

Livia turned to face Frank again, now curious and a bit scared.

“What happened?” She asked.

Frank chuckled. “Nah, of course they didn’t. He wasn’t man enough!” Frank gestured to Matt, who only shook his head with a scoff. 

“Give it a rest, Frank.” Matt complained. “You want to do this? Is this really how you want seeing her again to go?”

“Someone tell me what is going on or I will start cutting answers out!” Livia announced as she pulled her switchblade from her pocket.

“He sent her away!” Frank yelled and the entire room fell silent. “He couldn’t stand it so he sent her away.”

“That’s not what happened.” June argued.

“What?” Livia spun towards Matt, the accusation burning in her chest. “You sent her away?”

“I…” Matt tried.

“It wasn’t Nat that reached out to check on her.” Livia realized the story she knew was a lie. And it hit her chest like a train. “She wasn’t worried about June. You sent June to Nat. How did you even know how to get ahold of her?”

“That’s not how it went.” Matt argued.

“Why should I believe you?” Livia yelled. “And you.” She turned to June, who took a step back.  “You couldn’t tell me the truth either?”

“We thought it was for the best…” June’s eyes fell to the ground.

“We?”

“I reminded him too much of you and I felt bad. Was I supposed to just let him suffer? Was I supposed to suffer? Liv, it was best for both of us, I swear.”

“Lying to me is one thing but planning to lie to me? I can’t believe either of you.”

“Yeah, not so high and mighty now, huh Red?” Frank added.

“Shut the fuck up, Frank.” Livia pointed an angry finger at him. “What did you do, while these two were off doing whatever the fuck? Were you being a good uncle, looking after June? Were you hiding out here and pretending the outside world doesn’t affect you?”

“Uncle.” He scoffed. “I’m not her uncle.”

“You’re my brother!” She yelled. “Closest thing to it I have.”

Her fists were clenched tightly to her side. If she released any of the tension in her arms, she’d throw the closest thing right at Frank’s head, which was the switchblade digging into her palm. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on her too!”

“She. Is. Not. My.  Responsibility!”

“Neither was I.” Livia snapped in frustration. She could feel the prick of tears behind her eyes, the manifestation of careful control slipping away, but she didn’t care to reel it in. She didn’t care to leash it. She was ready - and willing - to lash out, to release everything that’d been living in her chest and eating away at her for a year.

“Neither was Amy.” Livia pressed, one angry footstep after another. “Neither was Dinah. Or John’s boys. David’s family. But you took care of all of them, saved all of them… But you didn’t bat an eye when she left?”

Frank said nothing, just offered an expression that asked ‘Are you done yet?’ but Livia wasn’t. Not quite.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks that she made no effort to stop.

“At least now I know that I can’t count on you for anything.” She said sharply. “That what all this was about?”

Frank said nothing. He simply dropped into his chair and made a vague wave of a gesture.

Livia took that as her cue to leave. She scoffed as she put her blade back into her pocket and shouldered past both Matt and June.

The pair was smart enough not to chase or call after her.

Her hands were shaking as she walked the streets, but at least the tears were gone. Her regret in regards to Poindexter took a backseat to the betrayal burning in her veins. For Matt to keep it a secret, that wasn’t a surprise. He hid Daredevil from her for a while. But for June to hide it? That cut deeper than anything.

And for Frank to throw it in her face like that? She didn’t understand what he could gain from that. It just felt like a stab to her chest, a betrayal by the only three people that could cut her like that.

She didn’t go home that night. Instead, she called up Bucky to rant while she wandered her neighborhood. He was on his campaign trail for Congress, of all things, but he still answered and listened.

“You have every right to be mad.” Bucky agreed.

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” Livia rolled her eyes slightly.

“But you’ve gotta cut the kid some slack. She was alone and scared.”

“I get that, I do. It just…”

“Hey, I get it, Liv. It’s hard to know they lied to you. I can’t explain Murdock cause I don’t know the guy, but I do know June. I’d bet she did it cause she thought it’d spare your relationship with Murdock.”

“Your speech writers come up with that?” She teased.

“Ha ha.” He said sarcastically. “Here, put her on. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m not home.”

“Where are you?”

“Taking a walk.”

“Jesus, Alivia.”

“Don’t Alivia me. I’m the scariest thing out here.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

“Oh my- Alright, fine. Where are you? I’ll come get you and take you home.”

“I’m not going home tonight.”

“What, as a punishment for June?”

“I-“ Livia stopped in her tracks, offended by the accusation. “No. I just need some space.”

Bucky sighed aggressively. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I…”

“You don’t want to go home. You can’t go to Murdock’s. You can’t go to - Who was it? - Frank… Where are you gonna go, Liv?”

“I’ll get a room somewhere for the night.” She patted her pockets but came up empty. She frowned to herself as she reconsidered. 

“If you can stand the fire of potential rumors, my hotel room has a pull-out couch.” He offered. 

She sighed to herself. “The last thing your campaign needs is a romance scandal… I appreciate the offer, though.”

“So…”

“So I’ll go home.” She shrugged and headed towards her apartment. “Thanks for the chat.”

“Yeah, sounded like you needed it.”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Shoot.”

“If there was someone who did something to hurt you, to hurt several people you cared about, and you had the chance to hurt them back but you didn’t, does that make you just as bad?”

Livia didn’t know why she asked Bucky the question. He would have no idea what she was talking about. She never mentioned Poindexter to anyone who didn’t already know him or know of him. But she wanted someone to tell her, hopefully objectively, that she was a good person.

“I like to think it makes you better.” Bucky said kindly. “Sometimes being the better person isn’t easy, but it’s better.”

“Should put that on a t-shirt.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah… Night, Buck.”

“Night, Liv.”

When Livia did arrive home, she had been gone for a few hours. Her feet were achy from the walking. Her hand hurt from having to punch some guy trying to snatch her phone from her hand. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. She was so damned confused and feeling everything while feeling nothing.

She was so lost, so drained.

She expected to come back to a quiet apartment. Living room TV off, June’s laptop off. Maybe the vague sounds of a phone call with Joaquin.

Instead, as soon as she stepped into the living room, a pair of arms wrapped around her like a vice.

It was June.

The poor girl was shaking, shoulders shuddering with uneven breaths as Livia felt tears through her shirt.

“I was scared you weren’t gonna come back.” June mumbled against Livia.

Livia realized just how right Bucky had been about how her staying away would be a punishment for June.

“I just wanted to think, is all.” Livia answered gently.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” June leaned away and Livia got a good look at her face.

The expression broke her heart.

Blood shot baby blue eyes, brimming with tears, not even considering the tears staining her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered. She sniffled. She gripped the material of Livia’s shirt tighter.

“Yeah… I promise.”

[see-the-divine]

matthew murdock backflipping into getting kicked in the face will never not be hilarious to me

[see-the-divine]

Dinah Madani and Karen Page in THE PUNISHER (2017-2019)

[see-the-divine]

My ovaries have exploded

[see-the-divine]

☆

[see-the-divine]

bob in front, bob in back 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️