#sangiusd3vil

something started popping open in his chest—trigger-happy guns with no safety switch. his heart pounded like samba drums in a shootout as it thundered away in violence.

roberto hid, the worry-lines etched across his face half-swallowed, by cigar smoke and low light. posted up like scarface, dangerously mellow, minus an explosion of white girl across his nose. the cuban cigar wasn't his thing—he hated the taste, honestly—but the ritual gave him something to do with his hands. and tonight, he needed something.

the weight in the chest felt old. as old as boyhood. yeah, that damn far back! too close to some world-changing dormant truth he wasn't quite ready to set his world ablaze with. not yet.

boys like them could destroy nations.

so a vice, even a temporary one, was a decent mask. the refuge of a shy shell, calcifying by the second. he tipped his head back, let the smoke billow from his nostrils. matt's cologne was cutting through it anyway, sweet and dangerous, like a church boy with blood on his hands.

he didn't mean to look at mattheus like that. didn't mean to feel the sting of all the things he'd never have.

he'd never have his children.

a tinge of regret there.

bobby smiled as schoolboy would his first crush. but in the immature, and wicked way a schoolboy would hide it. ❝ oi meu deus. i might need you to hold my shoes, ❞ he muttered, eyes glassy and red like xmas lights. ❝ because i'm about to cry rivers of blood, and i'll be damned if i ruin a good pair of stefan cookes over you. ❞

he bent forward to gesture dramatically, using the excuse to eye matt up like eve eying the apple. he assessed how the rest of the outfit accentuated matt's figure while pretending to figure out who was the horrible designer. his fingers brushed along the lines of matt's jacket. ❝ who's dressing you, hein? i should sue. ❞

he may have been fooling matt, but he wasn't fooling himself. in reality, the fit was nice.

he sighed, tsking, palm rising slowly to matt's check, sympathetically planted against the warm skin. would he catch a whiff of bel à versailles emanating off his wrist? he wore it with purpose. always did when he didn't want to be touched but craved to be wanted.

he didn't mean to be a beautiful cruel thing. silence was a slow suicide, but right now, smiling felt easier. brazilian-born, sure. but his love was an american one. and that was the problem.

single man problems.

❝ brother to brother? ❞ a label that'll have to do. an appropriate one. ❝ et te amo. but this...? ❞

i want to dress you myself.

❝ tomorrow, ❞ he decided, straightening. ❝ tomorrow, we ball. we taking you shopping. tonight? ❞ a hollywood grin split his face. ❝ tonight, we own the night. i brought you out here for a good time. plus, there's no other man i would think is better at seizing with other than the devil himself. ❞

his gaze slid sideways to a slim brown-skinned beauty gliding past, balancing a wine tray. his hand slipped from matt's check to snatch a glass without asking. he downed it in one go, then raised the glass toward the woman in thanks. he didn't need to say anything; the wink he gave her said enough. her own flirtatious smile said it was okay. naturally, he might've flirted harder, but not with matt here. wouldn't be fair. suspecting that nothing further would come from him, the woman turned and he watched the woman sashay away.

mmm!

in his mind, she tasted better than this wine, but he pushed such lewd thoughts aside and turned back to matt, laughter crinkling the corner of his eyes as he flashed him a fun smile.

❝ you ready? ❞ he slung an arm around matt's neck, puling him close. they look good close like this. when the show gets starting, sunspot had every attention on stealing the limelight. ❝ rio waits for no man—not even the devil himself. ❞

and just like that, the dashing mutant and the devil's favorite advocate disappeared off into the crowd.

something about a hawkeye and daredevil dynamic always appeals to me , like here is a guy who is on the avengers and fighting not to feel like a failure because nothing he ever does will be enough so he returns to vigilante level when he can but how do you reconcile being an avenger and being street level all at once ? and here is a guy who is completely about fighting to protect his part of the world and , from clint's perspective , doing an incredible job at it . also ! on a less like , thoughtful level , I always want lawyer matt and dumbass client clint trying to successfully navigate the legal process without killing each other .

maybe it's because of the daredevil born again episode he was in but i want more subway rat punisher bothering the fuck out of daredevil , haunting hell's kitchen and biding his time to make his reappearance . in the meantime we get a punisher strolling around with non lethal weapons so to not draw attention and a wall of weird only growing larger in his safe house . thinking about these two having to team up .

i know it isn't everyone's cup of tea , but i really love the idea of a spider-man and daredevil dynamic where peter parker who is having to learn how to be a vigilante with no resources for the first time since he was fourteen is figuring out the streets again , now with no back up and very little support system . just a tired fucking grad student trying to refind his place in the city accidentally trampling over into the wrong corner of manhattan ?

this one is so out there but personally I do think often about incredibly poor kid's who grew up in the boxing circles of hell's kitchen , matt murdock and happy hogan . admittedly , happy boxed in his teens and didn't open his gym until he was like , a fully grown man , but there could be some crossover there .

⭑ Sam's head turned , ear tilting towards the voice ; it was city smoke and something rough tearing the sounds at the edges . A near unnoticeable accent wove against the tone and softened all of it just a little . His lip curled in a grimace , an ache to stop hearing it all . The disappointment of his mentor , the traffic that roared below , the people four blocks over who couldn't stop arguing over whoever's turn it was to argue . Everything hurt , made him feel like something breakable trying not to trip over the lip of the step into the bedroom that he had lived in for two years and shatter on splintered floors .

' I can't , ' he whispered , listened to the thunder of an ipod left on and the faint wash of fresh hair dye permeating the air and emanating from his sister's empty bedroom . It was coming across childish , like he was refusing to eat because his mom had yelled at him again , all venom and sharp eyes . The kitchen though , that had been safe for him . Cooking had washed him clean of any sins , let him provide for his family even when they hadn't been speaking . The smell of it as well , milk thick and too sweet in the air , just a day past its expiration roiled his stomach more than it had before .

' How do you do anything ? ' Sam asked and tried not be bothered by the grate of his own slippers on the ground .

@sangiusd3vil asked: " it won't happen again. " / prompt.

a huff signifies a chuckle, muffled by the mask as head tilts backwards, delighted. " so good. " fingers curl excitedly into fists at his sides. this is it! this is what everyone invests in. the delusion, the story, the idealism! he would clap, he really would, like a child at a show. he wonders what other delicious one-liners daredevil has in his verbal pocket. is giddy at the thought of it.

he's always enjoyed watching the man's pursuits from afar, inspired by his obnoxious optimism and inevitably perplexed by his compassion and devotion to the public. but to be in the fight, hand-to-hand, face to face... he'd had so much to think about since their last confrontation. with his lair unveiled to the cops, his place of peace stolen from him — oh ho ho, daredevil would pay for peeking behind the curtain. no one gets to see the beginnings of his work, not even his idols. tongue emphatically licks at lips and his head drops back down so his gaze is focused on the other.

you really hate to have to do this - it feels like begging and you never beg ( if anything it's the other way round ). two times already you've crossed paths in the span of a week and albeit it's almost always a pleasure to see an old acquaintance, this one is beginning to look a lot like it's getting in your way on purpose.

"please don't be so difficult," if there's an annoyed edge in your tone it's well concealed, tight lipped smile plastered upon lips. there's always something about truth, lies and your heartbeat that sounds different - all valid concerns surely but definitely not the right place to talk about these matters ( best time would be never, though he's never so kind to not pretend tonot have caught the drift )