ravireyes - Tumblr blog

[ravireyes]

itsmarcusreyes​:

—  JUNE 21ST,  HOUSE VIEWING,  WITH RAVI REYES.  ( @ravireyes​ )

there’s something immediately right about this place that marcus can’t pinpoint as the couple regard it from the front steps. excitement leaves a smile carved into his features as he walks hand in hand with ravi into the london townhouse, trailing behind the estate agent. stepping inside, he finds his hunch was correct. the space is open and bright, but it’s warm too, a place marcus can imagine being filled with laughter. they’re lead into the kitchen dining room, and when marcus looks at the countertops, he sees a life he didn’t know he wanted until he met ravi. family pictures on every wall, music filling the room from a radio, marcus dancing with the love of his life and a tiny voice sighing with embarrassment. 

he remains as neutral as he can, more out of habit than any real and present need to protect himself and his intentions. but as the estate agent turns away from them to highlight the house’s details, marcus shoots ravi a look, a silent this is it, isn’t it? “but enough rambling from me,” the estate agent begins, “take your time looking around, if you two have any questions, i’ll be right here!” she chirps, and marcus graciously ushers ravi upstairs after thanking her.

the space isn’t as vast as he’s used to, no million pound chandeliers, no sprawling floor to ceiling windows, but luxuries like those have never been a must for him. the first room they find is a bedroom, it’s certainly not the master bedroom, perhaps the aforementioned spare room. marcus wonders if rafael would walk in here and immediately announce he’ll take a hotel room instead. marcus almost laughs. then there’s a bathroom, and next to it, what could be their room. the pair step inside and marcus was expecting something close to the space they have now, but when faced with something smaller and warmer, finds he likes the idea of having to walk around less to get ready each morning. marcus lingers behind ravi, a hand on his spouse’s shoulder. a joyful hum sounds from the taller of the two and marcus leans down a touch closer to ravi’s ear. “are you thinking what i’m thinking?”

x

the difficult thing about picking out a new home is that everywhere feels like it could be home when he has marcus' hand in his. he has his standards, of course, and his necessities -- a nice balcony, a spacious bedroom, a spot for a bathtub --, but even those items pale in comparison to simply having the love of his life with him. he could make it work in a shitty cabin in the woods, or under a bridge, he thinks, as long as he has his man. maybe any other time he would be more objective about this house hunt, but he can't help that the rose-coloured glasses are perched right back on top of his nose, ever since they've gotten past that weird distance between them. it puts things into perspective, is all. he never wants to take marcus' warmth for granted again, after being on the receiving end of one too many frozen cold shoulders the past month.

the townhouse is different from what they're used to, but it feels perfect as soon as they step into it. ravi would shrug the feeling off to just an effect of pink lenses, but he can tell there's something radiating off of marcus' smile this time, too. this feels like a good change. this feels like a place to grow roots, build a family, a place to hear a third pair of feet running around all day. his smile silently responds to his husband that yes, it is. 

"thank you!" he calls over his shoulder to their sweet agent, before giggling on his way up the stairs like an overly excited little kid. he just hasn't felt this giddy in a while, specially not when it comes to a big change like this. it's so peaceful, to see a future that doesn't feel scary to jump into; his love for marcus will always be the one constant, the invariable in his life forever, and he's just so utterly happy to have his anchor back. the question makes him hum, grin pulling onto his lips again as he takes his gaze from their room only so he can turn around and look at his better half. "i don't know, are you also thinking that the kitchen counters are the perfect height for what i'm thinking about?" he teases, grin only widening as he wraps his arms around marcus' neck and presses their bodies together. he sighs contentedly with their shared warmth, looks around again with a fond look in his eyes, and his voice is softer when he speaks this time -- like he's afraid saying it any louder might break some sort of spell the house is under. "it's good, isn't it? it's really, really good. i think i love it."

[ravireyes]

fletchergrxy​:

RAVI. (@ravireyes​.) JUNE 25TH. YORK ROAD STATION. LATE NIGHT.

     It’s whiplash, this back and forth; truce broken, free-for-all, alliance with an enemy, attacks, freed from said alliance, truce reformed. Back and forth. Here and there. The Horseman acting as though this is some school dance, flittering from one partnership to the next, vying for whoever can give them the best upper-hand. The lines were clearer before Death showed up. Back then, the truce meant something. Now, it feels like a cover-up for a more sinister move and Fletcher refuses to get comfortable, annoyance and — one of his most hated stances — caution grating at his nerves. Other than Pestilence, he has the most ties within Famine and is glad that the reigns have slackened, that he doesn’t need to take as much prudence with his step. War isn’t anything new; he’s used to navigating that mine field. But Death? Fletcher refuses to play nice, not when he’d so recently been leashed by their previous alliance, forged by blackmail. 

     He retreats to the restrooms, cleaned up and given fresh amenities for the event, one of which being some wipes, arranged in a golden holder, used to compensate for the lack of running water. The station has been abandoned for years and the city no longer directs any here, but Fletcher mindlessly turns the faucet to check regardless, the knob emitting a rusty squeak then… nothing. He runs the wipe in his other hand along the edge of the sink, and it’s obvious some clean-up was done before the event, though there’s a dark smudge on the white cloth that contorts Fletcher’s features in mild disgust before he decides fuck it, tossing the wipe into a nearby bin. Brazenly, he breaks out his cocaine and taps out a line along the porcelain, rolling up a hundred note that he uses to snort it. The door opens, mild surprise lifting his brows as he straightens, offhandedly swiping any stray powder from his nose. And thank fuck it isn’t someone more annoying, Fletcher thinks, dark irises landing on one Ravi Reyes, dolled up like a fuckin’ angel with a headdress that did little to hide his face. Fletcher’s own mask is set aside on the opposite side of the sink, since he can’t exactly do drugs with it on, and his hides his identity altogether, even if the Power doesn’t give a rats ass who knows it’s him.

     “Grapevine says someone got themselves a shiny new crown.” He runs his tongue along his top row of teeth before setting up line number two. “Bet Marcus is fuckin’ tickled,” he teases, though his tone falls flat, distracted with the task of making this thing more bearable. “If you’re lookin’ to celebrate, you know I’m good for it — and now we’re allowed, ay? Lucky us!” He lifts the money as if it’s a drink in cheers, bending to inhale the waiting line.

     Navigating the tense atmosphere while also trying not to get smashed drunk tonight gets old pretty fast. As much as he adores the new title, he often finds himself holding his guard up too tightly to have any real fun at these events. Maybe that's just how it's bound to be from now on. Either way, it's not the end of the world -- he still has his husband by his side, and he's going to force Marcus into a dance before the night is done, so he pretends this is nothing more special than one of those boring charity balls and moves on with it. In reality, he has no desire to mingle much, no desire to bite his way through a dozen picture perfect smiles, but the truce brings some peace. He cares about his family, and now his family no longer has a giant target on their backs. It's simple like that. Ravi is good at compartmentalising, always has been. It's a nice little surviving tool.

     Excusing himself from Marcus, he takes a trip to the bathroom in hopes to relieve the dryness of his eyes with some drops -- white contacts looked good, but at a price. He's been a nobody at a hundred horribly underground clubs and bars before in his life, but he's never been more disgusted to touch a handle than he is now, on the entrance to the station's bathroom. Taking back every judgement he's ever made about germaphobes, he nudges the door open with his foot, instead, and walks in to find a figure just standing up straight from snorting a line. "Ah, look at you go. Easy to recognise as ever, with the rolled up dollar bill and white on your nose." He offers in greeting, and there's no bite to his words, his lips curling into a friendly smile. 

     The comment about his new crown gets nothing more than an agreeing hum, though his smile turns into something prideful as he moves over to one of the propped up mirrors by the sink. "Everyone is highly tickled, these days. There's a lot to celebrate, hm?" His own commentary is vague, in hopes to not bite whatever bait Fletcher is trying to throw with his teasing. He fishes in his clutch purse for the bottle of eye drops, but pauses to glance at his companion with a humorous chuckle. "We are allowed, but you know that's more Marcus' thing than mine." Nothing personal, really, he's just never been a fan of the white lines. Historically, Ravi hasn't been an avid Pestilence customer, with the occasional exceptions for dumb moments in his youth or big parties where he's not responsible for anything. He tilts his head back, eyes up to the ceiling, and carefully drops some relief into his eyes. "Though I will say, I kind of miss a Fletcher-level of rager. We should set up a date for a proper party sometime. Take advantage of this new Truce while it lasts, right?"

[ravireyes]

ravi’s instagram — marcus' 2020 birthday

in which femfam takes a chaotic, drunk, new family photo after marcus' birthday party and rafael snr's back regrets it the next day. ​

[ravireyes]

PLAYLIST. marcus & ravi.

come home with me. zolita.  unicorn loev. raleigh ritchie.  nfwmb. hozier.  ultraviolet. au/ra.  hostage. billie eilish.  stay gold. run the jewels.  fire. just a gent, caitlyn scarlett.  undisclosed desires. muse.  bliss. muse.  sing to me. missio.  like that. jp saxe.  billie bossa nova. billie eilish.  pienso en tu mirá. rosalía.  love me. kloud, gabriel paris.  fav flav. dua saleh, duckwrth.  long time. somme.  scary love. the neighbourhood.  deep sea diving. aboutagirl, emir taha.  murder. mako.  tell it to my heart. meduza, hozier, fideles.

listen.

[ravireyes]

WANT RISES UP IN ME LIKE HOT OIL. 

[ravireyes]

WHEN: june 23rd WHERE: the cathedral CLOSED for @remuswarden 

The first couple of hours seemed to be normal, the air of superiority and ego filling up the pews between the scarcely spaced out seraphims, hushed conversations amongst peers passing the time. He and Rafael fill up the minutes easily, talking shit on the others and discussing details of the upcoming wedding. But the hours stretch on forever, time drags itself on the holy floor of the cathedral, and anxiety starts buzzing in the air. Where everyone was so proud and sure before, now uncertainty reigns, and Ravi can feel the way the others are growing restless. He's never been to one of these, but he knows they're not supposed to last this long.

Eventually, staring at the same crack on the pew ahead of him takes a toll. Day is turning into nightfall and he feels agitated -- it's something between boredom and apprehension that makes the simple passage of time unbearable to stand. Making sure that Rafael will be okay on his own, Ravi takes to walking, making the rounds a couple times, working his legs so at least he feels like he's doing something more useful. His body works, at least, even if his mind is doomed to be stuck in this non-informational limbo. In one of his walks, he figures visiting the courtyard outside won't hurt.

He finds himself alone with Remus Warden. It feels like it'd be far too awkward to simply walk right back inside without a word, and Ravi revels in the fresh air filling his lungs, so he leans into the uncomfortable and takes a step towards being closer to the war seraphim. "Smart. I should've brought some." He nods towards the cigarette between Remus' fingers. Ravi isn't much of a smoker himself, but it's a perfectly acceptable activity to pass the time, and fitting for today. "I'd ask you for one, but I'd be scared they'd be laced with nitroglycerin. You never know these days, hm?" 

[ravireyes]

WHEN: june 25th WHERE: the truce ball CLOSED for @samirkotecha  

At least dressing up and attending an event is enough of a distraction from trying to figure out how he feels about this Truce. Ravi doesn't feel too against it, but he knows he should be, which is probably the main point of conflict in his mind. There's relief in knowing he doesn't have to be overwhelmed by panic every time someone takes longer than ten minutes to respond to a text, knowing that the chances of an attack to his family are severely lessened now. That's something that matters. They lost Thomas, but they hadn't lost one of them. In the end, that counts. And he trusts his Horseman above all else; this, along with house hunting with his husband and Marcus feeling better, Raf recovering, business doing well, it all feels like things are falling into place again, for once. He hasn't felt like this in months.

So the party is oddly welcome, even if walking in feels like walking on eggshells still. It's Marcus' first time out without a cane, which gives Ravi a welcomed excuse to stick to the man's side for most of the night. When he parts from his better half to catch some drinks for them, his eyes still peek over his shoulder occasionally, making sure he's holding up alright -- he is, as expected, but Ravi likes to take care of him.

While waiting for the barman to finish the complicated drink concoction he ordered, one of his wings seems to catch on someone, and he turns. A gaze that was stuck between uninterested and annoyed quickly turns fond as he spots the familiar face. "Samir! Hello, baby, long time no see," his voice is sweet, gang rivalry cast aside for the sake of meeting up with a friend -- a genuine friend, which Ravi feels more inclined to cherish, these days. "How've you been? Gotta catch up sometime. You, me, Ev. We should get dinner and make some tiktoks."

[ravireyes]

SCHOOL OF ROCK (2003) dir. Richard Linklater

[ravireyes]

itsmarcusreyes​:

hate is funny thing. so close to passion, to love, and yet so far. ravi claims the former, but marcus already knows he’s won. if there was hate, or any real frustration, ravi’s hand wouldn’t have stayed in his own. there wouldn’t be a warmth trailing behind him into the smoking area. marcus can’t stop smiling. like an infection, ravi has snuck into his bloodstream and marcus’ body doesn’t know how to fight him off. toxins drown out all sense, dismissing the voice that berates him for unprofessionalism easily and leave him in heaven. “i have actually heard that one before,” he teases, chest vibrating with a gentle laugh.

forwardness looks good on the intern, and as marcus sucks in a mouthful of smoke, his grin blooms into something smug, while his charm still burns strong. and then comes talk of something that makes marcus want to snarl. the head of HR shakes his head, giving a disapproving glance over the other patrons around them before his eyes follow where his fingers trace ravi’s jaw. his eyes turn glassy as he lights ravi’s cigarette, attention flicking back and forth between the flame and it’s reflection in ravi’s dark eyes. “you think my plan was to endure a month of only being able to look at you, and when i finally get a taste, letting you go home with someone else? fuck no, darlin’.” marcus exhales, smoke filling the barely there gap between their faces before cold winds wash it away. “i couldn’t possibly let you go home with anyone mediocre.” with one arm tightly, protectively, around ravi’s waist, marcus checks his watch on the other wrist. “mm, eleven-thirty. if we left now, i’ll be done with you around… three am.” he chuckles, fingers trailing up ravi’s spine, “plenty of time to sleep before work tomorrow, no?” and he leans in to kiss him again.

he doesn’t quite remember getting back to ravi’s apartment, but he remembers what they did as soon as the door closed behind them. how hours felt like an eternity and marcus had begun to forget that anyone else but ravi ever has or ever could say his name. it doesn’t matter how many neighbours ravi has, because they all catch a glimpse of what he shares with ravi that night. marcus doesn’t know what time it is when his body decides it can’t take any more, barely remembers making the decision to collapse down next to ravi in the interns bed instead of returning to his own. but as his head hits the pillow, sweat clinging to his skin and still managing to smile at the being who invited him here, marcus drifts into a deep sleep. not once does his body rise from that bed, consciously or otherwise, until sunlight warms his eyes.

they barely make it past the kitchen. as they stumble through the door on a race to get each other's clothes off, ravi thinks that he does not care one bit where they end up, he just needs to feel his skin against marcus'. he's grateful that the stars aligned for this to happen on the one time ravi lives in a flat by himself with no roommate -- but everything with marcus feels like that; like the stars and the moon have all shuffled around and realigned themselves to make it happen. maybe, after being so blissfully fucked that his neighbours all must hate him, ravi feels heavily inclined to believe in a higher being. he doesn't remember choosing to fall asleep, only remembers the euphoric exhaustion in his bones and being so damn happy and mumbling a (humorous, in hindsight) request like just give me five minutes.

he wakes up at the crack of dawn, when the sky is starting to brighten, because he forgot to close his blinds. memories of the past night rush in as soon as he moves, given how sore every single muscle in his body feels, and he finds his chest rumbling with a silent chuckle. surprisingly, marcus reyes is still in his bed, dead asleep. ravi never took him as someone who would be so rude as to sneak out without a word, of course, but this still feels unexpected. and he knows this because the second thought that pops into his head, after the joyous memories from last night, is -- what the fuck does one feed marcus reyes in the morning?

he didn't exactly think this through last night, half-drunk and impossibly horny. it didn't occur to him that he was inviting a billionaire into his severely humble little flat where the kitchen and living room are cramped into one room and the only toilet sometimes doesn't flush properly. sitting up, painfully slow so he wouldn't wake the sleeping body next to him, he tiptoes off to the kitchen/living room, wrapping himself up in a robe so he can think this through better. it's not like he's ashamed of where he lives, he really isn't, he worked his ass off to have a space of his own. he lives in a good area, without any roommates for the first time in his life, and the shower may run cold sometimes, but he does have a fridge fully stocked. he's proud of the silver linings. so he shakes off the feeling of inadequacy, pulls his pride back together, and decides marcus reyes is about to have the best fucking breakfast from a one night stand he's ever had.

"you're up, sleeping beauty," he greets with a grin once marcus walks out of the room, looking as handsome as ever, annoyingly. ravi shakes the scrambled eggs from a pan into a plate, and checks on the sandwich sizzling on the stovetop. "do you want plain toast or grilled cheese? i will be hurt if you answer plain toast. and don't be weird and say you don't have time for breakfast, come on, sit."

[ravireyes]

rfjofficial​:

@ravireyes​ | Late afternoon on Wednesday, June 23rd at the Cathedral

“I’m bored.” It’s the first statement out of Rafael’s lips, complimented with a sigh of fatigue. The journey from his original spot to the pew at the back of the cathedral, arduous on his healing injuries. The worst is over, at least according to Doctor Haught and his handful of medical experts. But he is far from a hundred percent. A slowness to his step, a prevailing soreness in his abdomen. His mind, fuzzy and undone to this day. Recovery is a winding path, they say, but an inability to bounce back with regular ease is a life or death risk. Especially when one is surrounded by the sharks of respective gangs, fresh off the heels. Fortunately, Rafael Senior approaches the meeting with renewed confidence. His son, back in the fray. And his new Seraphim, trusted and well-proven. What could Famine not achieve, when it was operating as a family?

It’s enough for Rafael to satiate his own restlessness and anger. That - and the assurance that he is not alone, swimming in a sea of sharks in sheep’s clothing.

“Talking to May is like listening to those shit environmentalists talk about sustainability and a green future outside of the FemEn tower.” Holier-than-thou and condescending to the umpteenth degree. Something only made worse by his prevailing discomfort, and an anxious eye at each of the four gang’s Seraphim’s rounding the corners. With a sigh, he blinks through his obscene sunglasses (made futile with the sun setting on the stain-glassed windows). It’s still odd, to see someone by his side and wearing Famine’s name with pride. Almost always, he rounds these meetings alone. There is pride in it, with Rafael smirking haughtily at the Warden’s and the Pinkett’s with their uncertain ranks. But a sense of loneliness as well. And now, he is not alone. Ravi is here, the exceedingly impressive second-half of a Seraphim’s whole.

“I’m glad you’re here. Though I doubt you are.” He realizes halfway through, reaching into his jacket and fishing out an old, worn flask filled with single malt scotch. “These things are usually done within an hour. If that. Any longer and papa’s usually starts getting red at Gabrielle’s temper or Michaela’s passive aggressive bullshit.” Rafael gingerly pries open the flask, offering the first sip to Ravi. “What do you say?”

x

It's equal parts fun and nerve-wrecking to be in his first meeting as a new Seraphim. He's no stranger to intrusive thoughts of not belonging and being the odd one out, so he shields himself as best as he can against those. At least things with Marcus have been good again, and things with the family have been good, too. Everything seems to be falling into place, slowly but surely, even if he still feels the frozen cold feeling in the pit of his stomach when he walks into the cathedral. He keeps his chest puffed and his shoulders held up perfectly straight.

He knows his place, so he mostly stays by Rafael's side, given his still-recovering condition. It's a new challenge, being there for his Seraphim partner while also not wanting to look like a lost puppy following the heir around, but Ravi likes to think he's gotten good at toeing these kind of lines. As blunt as he can be with his words, his life has often been an ingenious act of balance between one thing or the other. This is nothing new, he tells himself for comfort, as he alternates between sitting by his cousin-in-law's side or taking uneventful strolls around the place. Rafael's voice pulls him from somewhere else, lost in thought remembering one of the townhouses he'd visited with Marcus, and he blinks back at the man as he returns to the present moment. "Oh, absolutely. You just know she's one of those freaks who showers once a month to save water," he agrees in a hum, insults coming easily, shit-talking his favourite genre of conversation.

Rafael's sentiment is met with a warm smile -- likely the first sincere show of teeth from Ravi since they'd walked in here. He taps Rafael's knee. "No, I'm glad to be here, too. I can do boring." Boring is the least of his worries after spending a couple days as the sole Seraphim. Boring feels like a rare moment to breathe, this time around, and he's not about to complain. "Wait, we can drink in these? If this is a test, I'm failing it, I could use a drink." Quiet laughter shakes his shoulders as he takes the offered flask, having a small sip for himself. The alcohol burns happily down his throat as he hands it back. "Y'know, at least we're best dressed. No surprise there, but that's pleasing to see."

[ravireyes]

excerpts from THE OLD GUARD (2020) screenplay by Greg Rucka

[ravireyes]

itsmarcusreyes​:

fine isn’t a word he likes hearing from his spouse. not when marcus knows it’s true meaning. it’s a cover up, an attempt at control over something that so clearly doesn’t sit well in his heart. he’s seen it before, on a beauty stained with insecurity, seeing marcus work much longer than his office hours and suspecting infidelity. that was nearly half a decade ago, and he hoped showing ravi every inch of him would send that insecuirty to sleep forever. perhaps he was wrong. marcus takes a slow breath in the face of ravi’s belligerence, and the hand on his spouse’s back stops, lingering over the fabric but not breaking the contact. “is it?” his voice remains low, calm. then ravi moves away, and a chill replaces the place he once occupied. marcus thinks he deserves it.

if marcus was better abled, he’d stand immediately with him, not letting his partner out of his grip until he’s dug up whatever ravi suppresses. instead, he shifts his bad leg out so it doesn’t bend too much as he leans out to catch ravi’s hand and pull him closer. “i know you’re not a baby. you’re my seraphim,” he begins, hands finding ravi’s calves as he angles his head back to look him in the eye, “so if you have a problem with me, say it.” marcus softens to barely a whisper, “you can say it.” but he is not blind, nor stupid. he knows that it’s not just the weight of this new title that’s brought out a side of ravi marcus hasn’t seen in years, but his own actions too. “we both know i wanted it, want it. i’m not going to hide that from you. but i’ve accepted it now.” or at least, he’s forced himself to, “i’m sorry it took me this long.” marcus deflates with his next exhale, shoulders slumping slightly as a sadness washes over his expression. “let me help you now. don’t pick up my bad habits and force me out. look what it’s done to me, i’m not letting you do the same.”

x

you're my seraphim. that's actually a successful attempt to grab his attention, ravi's eyes snapping back to his husband at the strangely new sentence. some other time this would just be pretty enthralling to hear, likely, but with stress building up so high, all ravi feels is a pang of grief. no longer his virtue, he's marcus' seraphim now. he doesn't let the thought linger, but that doesn't mean there aren't a billion other horrible thoughts swarming his brain. "you've accepted it now," he echoes, skepticism in his voice, and it takes inhuman strength not to roll his eyes. he doesn't want to sound like a petty child in this argument, but maybe there's no other way around it. he promised patience, and here he is, giving back ugly bitterness instead. 

he can't help it when he feels like there's nothing he can control anymore. he used to have a pretty good grip on his marriage, now it feels like marcus is slipping between his fingers, and it's overwhelming and terrifying and awful. "it's not you, it's--" he lies, eyelashes in a flutter as he blinks up at the ceiling, rejecting marcus' attempts to bring him closer. "i don't even like this fucking place." it's an exaggeration, but it's the one he needs to break the dam and make everything else on his shoulders come tumbling out of his mouth. "it's a stupid flat, and it feels like i'm staying in a hotel, not home. not helped by the fact that we have a fucking intruder living with us, which-- zach is fine, everything is fine, but it fucking sucks, too. there's more people coming in and out all fucking day. i can't even have a second to mope over the impending doom that currently is my marriage, i have to be fucking nice all the time and have breakfast with the enemy and it's exhausting." heels of his hands press to his eyes before a frustrated grunt leaves him, and the tone of his voice rises next time he speaks. "and you're distant! you're fucking miles away, i'm standing in a beach in brazil and you're all the way in fucking antarctica and it's driving me up the fucking walls!" oh, there it is. "which is fine, i promised it was fine and it's fine, i don't want to have the fucking seraphim discussion again-- but it's miserable. i'm fucking miserable! and i don't want to tell you that because it'll only make us fight more and it makes me sound like a whiny baby and i can't stand it! it just sucks!" another frustrated groan leaves his lips. he knows this is a discussion without an end -- he can't make marcus magically happy with his tio's decision, and he can't force marcus to be closer to him. only time will fix it. that's why it makes no sense to argue about it, and why he didn't want to say anything in the first place. "oh my god, and the other night i had the shittiest nightmare where you were cheating on me with monica, which is not relevant right now, but it just goes to show that i'm fucking mental!" he sends marcus a glare. "and don't even-- you don't have to lie and say you're fine. just-- it sucks. it fucking sucks to not have you with me. you can still have your time, i still get it. i'm just not exactly thrilled about it. so if you wanna know, that's where i'm at."

[ravireyes]

ravi reyes looks,  june 25th — truce masquerade

a rare sighting, ravi reyes in a white gown. dressed as an apocalyptic angel, he wears a dress from paolo sebastian's bridal collection, a headpiece that barely serves as a mask, and wings that definitely keep knocking into people all night. paired with white contacts and smeared red lips (it's pretty obvious the shade matches the stain on marcus' neck).

[ravireyes]

#take a shot every time…

Avan Jogia as Leon Kennedy  Resident Evil: Welcome To Racoon City (2021)

[ravireyes]

itsmarcusreyes​:

“it’s a good thing it only really matter what i think then, doesn’t it?” arrogance like his isn’t becoming on most, but his charm has a way of sweetening it just enough to bring people back for more. he wonders if it’s fear that glossed over his eyes for barely a second, and just in case, marcus’ fingers dip under the hem of ravi’s dress, trailing up his thigh a few inches. a silent, i need you. but of course ravi brushes it away in an instant. the human being in his lap is no meagre mouse, it’s not every day that someone at work has the guts to give him those enticing glances. ravi knows exactly what he’s doing, just as marcus knows he’s dancing around the elephant in the room. a tongue darts out from between those maddening lips and marcus can’t help the way his jaw clenches, his exhale slow and measured. “it’s more that i don’t look twice at anyone else.” is his way of saying, i can’t stop thinking about you. “but yeah, sure, i look at you more than i should,” he grins, finally giving into the thrill of it.

“happy doesn’t quite cut it,” he bites into his bottom lip with his grin, spreading into a smile that’s almost blinding next to the comparatively lifeless ones he hands out in the office. “i’m glad you agree,” he hums with delight. ravi’s disappointment is endearing, a clear sign that marcus’ tricks are working. “mhm,” he grins, but as ravi’s nails trail down his neck, he finds he has other ideas. “i really do,” before ravi can protest, marcus stands, picking ravi up with a hand under his knees and one on his back. when marcus reaches his full height, he lets ravi drop slowly to the floor, fingers trailing up the back of the intern’s thigh, catching the fabric of his dress with them. marcus lets the fabric drop, both his hands findings ravi’s waist to keep him close.

“now, as the head of HR, i feel like this has to be said. anything that happens here won’t affect your job. i am just being… incredibly, incredibly selfish.” it’s ridiculous to keep pretending they aren’t both spiralling into obsession, and so marcus doesn’t give ravi room to respond quite yet. a hand catches the back of ravi’s neck as he closes the distance between their lips. finally. who needs cocaine when someone can kiss you and light ever nerve on fire? not even his first line compares to the thrill of ravi’s breath mingling with his own. there’s hunger in the way marcus keeps their bodies pressed together, but instead of feeling satiated by the kiss, all marcus feels is more hunger. oh i’m fucked, he tells himself. 

he only just manages to break their lips apart, gasping for air he didn’t know he needed. a thumb trails the edge of ravi’s jaw, and a smirk grows on his features. “come on, i’ll keep you warm.” marcus locks their fingers together and leads ravi out to the smoking area, grip tight as they move through seas of inebriated strangers. when the cold hits, marcus brings ravi into his chest, fighting the chill that slips into his open shirt to lend ravi warmth. marcus lights up a cigarette, offering ravi the packet as he takes a drag.

marcus' fingers dip under his dress, and ravi forgets every ounce of doubt he ever had. it's hard to feel anything less than the most valuable thing in the room when he had this man looking at him and touching him like this. still, the words of reassurance leave him feeling pampered, and he matches marcus' grin with one of his own. 

it is breathtaking, to see the usually stoic head of hr with a smile as blinding as this one. ravi is mesmerised, finds one of his hands moving of its own accord to touch the curled edge of his lips like something sacred. marcus is always impossibly polite in the office, of course, he never sends anyone off without a smile, but they can barely be called that in comparison to this. the intern forgets all about the banter they were having -- granted, there's a good chance he's forgotten his own name, even. all he knows is that he wants to be the reason for this grin again. over and over again, until he dies. he can't remember the last time he's been on the receiving end of someone's such genuine affection like this. maybe he never has.

before he can attempt to get his brain back on track, he's being lifted up, as effortlessly as he has imagined in all of the fantasies he's had before. the hand on his dress exposes his skin to the cooler air around them, and ravi's breath hitches. even if he wanted to reply, there's a chance he would need several minutes before he could, far too intoxicated by the anticipation now to even grasp what marcus was saying. he can do nothing but watch those lips he's been dreaming -- figuratively and literally, at this point -- about for weeks now, and then finally, finally. ravi's body arches against him, arms desperate to hook around his neck and bring him closer, impossibly closer, because it's all he can think of. anticipation must've played a big part, that's what he'll tell himself days later, when he's trying to rationalise the way he feels as if finally kissing marcus is like discovering he's suddenly alive. the hairs on his neck stand on end, his brows furrow, his fingernails dig into whatever they can find of the man's skin, and it's infuriating and heavenly all at once. ravi has never been religious, but he's convinced he's tasting nothing short of divine intervention on this man's tongue. 

and then far too quickly, it ends. "what? no." he protests again, breathless, fury turned something pathetic when presented on reddened lips and eyes glassy with lust. he'd admittedly forgotten why they had gotten up the second their lips met, and he is beyond frustrated that marcus intends to stick to his stupid plan, eyes wide with confusion as he's forced to move. "what? i hate you. i literally hate you." there's genuine anger in his tone, but by the way he clings to the man's hand and has to scream the words over the booming club music, he's not fooling anyone.

not for the first time that night he is faced with the realisation that if this were anyone else, he'd be more pissed than he is enamoured, but marcus reyes has a way of staying charming through his torture. "you're the meanest person i know." the smoking area is cold, as expected, and ravi gladly stands too close for comfort, chin tilted up petulantly at his companion. he's a fully grown person being blue-balled, that's what he is. cockblocked by his own object of desire. it is beyond irritating, and the glare in his eyes stays consistent as he (angrily) plucks a cigarette from the packet and (angrily) perches it between his lips to be lit. "are you not going to kiss me again?" it's a genuine question, his eyes squinting with curiosity. he's not afraid to admit he's gotten lost in this game they were playing; marcus has clearly taken too many steps ahead to keep up with and ravi is not one to beat around the bush for anything, so he might as well ask. make his intentions clear. "i'd like to be warned of that. in which case i can find someone else to take me home." a repulsive idea, really, but he's too proud to beg for more and risk letting marcus know how he really feels. and at this point he thinks getting drunk and busy with some random stranger might beat a cold shower, if those are his only options. tragic. 

[ravireyes]

darkromeo​:

Two dead giveaways that the man you may or may not have seen could’ve been — in fact — Fazal Khan (if not for the black Lamborghini truck): dark shades despite the lack of sun early May and the glimpse of a gun tucked into the back every now and then. When he entered the coffee shop, the breeze he brought into the place with the gentle thud of a closing door carried the scent of expensive cigarettes. His apparel made him a figure of matte-black. His gaze, obscured. It was only once he had cold brew coffee in hand that he heard a familiar voice chime from the corner of his eye. Ravi Reyes. Sitting at a table alone. An odd deja vu of when Marcus had last summoned him for a talk. 

He approached Ravi, his shades finally off to reveal a stare with a steely edge. “Are you stalking me?” The lazy escape of his words left his lips slightly parted. Pure arrogance rivaled the smell of cigarettes in the air around him. “If it weren’t for your call, I wouldn’t have paid you any attention.” A dry smile slit his mouth while his body refused to take the seat across. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee, his shadow looming over the other like a bad omen.

Are you stalking me, he asks, and Ravi's smile pinches, turns into something mildly annoyed. This is part of their usual interactions, of course, some odd in-between from old acquaintances to deadly rivals. He doesn't know why he holds this fondness for Fazal Khan, but there's something there, about how the man had met a highly broken nineteen-year-old Ravi and offered him some kindness where he could've taken advantage. Knowing this makes Fazal a far less intimidating person. There is a moral compass under all that poorly constructed bad boy façade.

"Don't act like you weren't eyeing me up from the moment you walked in," he mocks, just for the sake of being a nuisance. His chin tilts up, eyes squinting as they look up at the man. It was rather rude to not take the seat offered, even if Ravi doesn't expect manners from Fazal. "You know, some of us don't have to actually tower over others to feel superior. Just sit, dumbass." Despite the harsh words, his tone is still light, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Scared I'm gonna bite? I'm a married person, I don't go around biting people anymore."

[ravireyes]

outgoing call: ravi ⟶ jessica

[God, Jess adores Ravi. It's been a strange few days, but that was never in doubt, and she wishes she could tell him that in ways other than texts and their very few calls recently.]

Jessica: [She can't help smiling.] Ugh, yes, /please/. And we'll need to have a time limit on Famine talk. Five minutes, tops? [Her laugh makes it obvious she thinks it's impossible.] Or ten.

[Hearing her best friend's words, warm and reassuring as ever, makes her want to tear up for the nth time. She's almost glad he can't see her, though she wishes she could hug him right now, too.]

Jessica: [A small sound that could be a relieved exhale, or Jess blowing her nose, no one will ever know.] Love you too.

Jessica: [She pauses thoughtfully, turning his words over in her mind as she thinks of how to word her thoughts.] I don't know if I can say /happier/, because I loved working with you and Marcy. But it's different. Ikki isn't exactly a smiley person, y'know? [She exhales a laugh; things are more complicated now, but she still cares for him.] Kitty's more brusque when we're at the Casino—she /has/ to be, but I have to get used to that. [Then, with a grin:] And we don't have a group chat.

Jessica: But I'm learning. That's the important bit.

[She falls silent at the mention of her brother, aware that Ravi knows his husband best, then sighs.]

Jessica: I regretted leaving /so much/ after Marcy got hurt. It felt like I left him when he needed me most. [She tries to look for a bright side, and smiles.] But well—now I can be his annoying younger sister 24/7 rather than an overstepping Power. I can /actually/ pull the "I'll-tell-Mamá" card now.

Jessica: [She laughs at his last comment; that's one bright side about Ravi being Seraphim.] Yeah, you are! You can stick your nose into everyone's business now. Not like you didn't before. [Her voice softens.] And thanks. Maybe in ten years, but it'll happen. [She'll be fine; there are FemEn marketing and PR campaigns to handle, as well as Kitty's new project once it gets going. Then she grins, a laugh in her voice.] I'll be extra good now—or bad, /extra/ bad—and you can put in a good word for me, right? ...Please?

---

Ravi: Yes, a time limit on work talk sounds perfect. [He chuckles along with her. It's impossible to not talk about work when their lives are so intertwined with it, but giving it an attempt is probably best.]

[Ravi is happy to hear her relief, and he hopes he served to take some weight off her shoulders, even if just for a bit. And he's selfishly glad to hear her say she did love working with their crew before moving.]

Ravi: Oh, I know you don't have a groupchat. [She can likely hear his eyes rolling. He knows well what Ikki and Kitty think of (previously) his groupchat, and he's pettily protective over it.] It's lame, honestly, I don't know how they communicate at all.

Ravi: But yeah. I'm glad. You're doing great already, love. [It'd be impossible to deny how Jess seems ready to shine in the new crew.]

[He listens carefully to her confession, smiling along to the joke about pestering her brother.]

Ravi: You didn't leave him. Don't think of it like that. [He suspects Marcus might've felt like that, because he might've felt like the entire family left him behind by not choosing him as Seraphim too, but Ravi knows those petty feelings will subside eventually.] And I know for a fact he won't regret having you closer as his sister again. This will be good for you two.

Ravi: Of course I'll put in a good word. [He laughs, because the idea that he needs to put in a good word is laughable. As if Rafael Snr wasn't heartbroken by the fact that he couldn't promote his niece fast enough.] Don't be silly, you don't need my -- or anyone's -- help, you're amazing. It won't take a decade.