PANG!

I'm feeling like a butterfly trapped inside a plane Maybe there's something going on, I'm not insane If I'm already out of time, then make it worse Go on and hit me in the heart Hit me where it hurts Go on and hit me in the Blind spot Achilles heel Longshot Left field Vertigo, vertigo High stakes, popped ears Promise one day You will hate me But right now, just ride it out Ride it out Ride it out

[phoenixxreyes]

arabellaholbrook​:

—

The half-moon smile across her lips, ever-present even in less agreeable circumstances, brightens considerably at the sight of his familiar face. “Oh, Feenie,” she simply sighs at first, the pet name accompanied by a measured, though not fabricated, giggle. “I wouldn’t dare ruin a work of art — regardless of the reward for my good behavior.” It’s a veiled reply to his own veiled promise, speaking, flirting, and posturing in that pretty way cotillion class instilled in her, and altogether strung by a kiss placed to either side of his cheek when she rises to meet him properly. Phoenix is good company with which to navigate cocktail hour, and if she is to be dealt unanswerable questions, they’re better delivered by him than a stranger. “Well, if you won’t tell me your raison d'être, then I suppose I’ll make a guessing game out of it,” Ari returns, slipping an arm comfortably under Phoenix’s own in unspoken response to his request. As inconspicuous as it is intentional, she steers them in the opposite direction of her darling mommy, musing with faux conspiracy, “At the Met, the only event that would require ‘all the luck in the world’ is a heist. Is that what you’ve roped me into tonight?”

x

   “I do consider myself a masterpiece - in couture, or otherwise - not that I’m interested in wearing anything you could find at a low rent GAP. Which I imagine, doesn’t earn me many favors with your mother; on a scale of one to ten, how often does she tell you that you should find better company?” He enjoys teasing her about her titan of a mother endlessly; moreover, the supposed idea he’s a bad influence - Phoenix would like to think it’s semi equal, with perhaps a greater tinge of recklessness, on his own part. “I’m all about games. Have you outgrown truth or dare? Or hide and seek? I’m delighted to inform you, I’ve got versions of both in mind for tonight; after the main event, of course.” Phoenix delivers each line with a coy, sanguine ease - he’s perhaps, overly cocky in his deliveries, but utterly secure, in the knowledge he’d piqued her interest. “A heist? I think I’ve got to cut down our one on one time, if you can read me this easily - but our target? It’s better than any costumes Anna Wintour likes to heavy breath on. We’ll be stealing the personal effects of one of New York’s Finest - and no, I don’t mean the police, or you.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

arabellaholbrook​:

*open to: all attending the met gala ! *setting: inside the Met, cocktail hour

The fountain, one of the museum’s guides had said, was an epicenter of luck — and rather unlike most founts of note, there was no decisive tribute needed. Not a single coin littered the bottom of the pool, and the undisturbed nature of it all gave the impression of something tranquil, of something entirely antithetical to the frenzy which existed outside the museum’s limestone walls. Carefully, the brunette lifts the skirt of her gown as she sits on the concrete lip of the structure, and a distinct tenderness accompanies the graceful way she leans over and gently trails a gloveless hand atop the still water. Her eyes remain fixed on the statue at the center, entirely transfixed; Arabella can’t help but respect a deity who does not demand an offering in return for peace, fortune, happiness — or whatever else the sudden impression of a mystery shadow could bring.

She pivots to explain herself to the owner of the shadow, smiling bashfully, “I’ve been told it’s lucky, and I suppose I’m not yet naive enough to believe I couldn’t use it tonight.” Fingers still above the pool as the curve of her lips falters slightly upon realization. “Well, now I’ve told you my wish. It’s only fair for you to tell me yours.”

  “Promise not to push me into the water, and I’ll promise you that getting lucky tonight will have nothing to do with the fountain.” Phoenix stands a cautious distance away, just in case she decides to toss him and his custom attire into the shimmering water below; he grins at her with mirth, delighted by himself, her presence, the evening as a whole. “It wouldn’t come true if I told you, would it? What I’m hoping for needs all the luck in the world. But what would a girl like you need luck for, here? Wearing that?” Phoenix gesture vaguely at her attire, too married to pride and the art of prostrating, to disguise his open admiration of her that eve. “So, when your darling mommy isn’t around - what do you like getting up to? Specifically, are you willing to stick with me tonight?”

[phoenixxreyes]

Phoenix ‘Villarin’ Reyes @ 2022 Met Gala

accompanied by mrs. villarin ofc (and his step-daughter lola) 

[phoenixxreyes]

vrzfr​:

location: bathroom @ gotham hall fundraiser for: @phoenixxreyes​

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Vir wholeheartedly believes that a bathroom is the crux to a building. It can either make or break the ambiance of a bar, a restaurant, or in this case, and outrageiously bougie fundraising gala - and rest assured, the bathroom at Gotham Hall with its grand mirrors and just-moody-enough lighting did not disappoint. Vir is in the middle of washing his hands and running some fingers through his hair (“Not combing your hair doesn’t suddenly make you a brooding tortured writer,” Oliver had said with an eyeroll, and Vir hates that okay, yes, fine, maybe that was the look he tried going for here), attempting to salvage it. Right as he’s about to leave, the bathroom stall behind him opens up behind him, and a face he’s been trying to forget for months appears in his mirror view. “No. Shut up. Don’t say a bloody word,” he says before even Phoenix has the chance to open his mouth. Vir then does a quick sweep of the bathroom, bending down to look under stalls and make sure no one else is around, then spins on his heels to turn back to Phoenix. 

“Okay.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruining all the progress he made in the mirror. “I have a few points. First off, you’ve gotta stop texting me, you know I can’t talk to you. My husband doesn’t know about us, and he can’t find out, because I love him very much and you’re just some rich punk who caught me off guard. That’s the story - cut, edit, send to print. Second,” he pauses, furrows his eyebrows. “You know what, I think that’s it. In my head this meeting always had some big monologue from me, but I never actually planned it out. I’m not great at speeches without cue cards.”

x

 “You’re not great at speeches? But the Sorkin-esque rambling you just delivered with a single breath would say otherwise.” So what, he’s followed a married man into the bathroom; so what he’s cut his hair because Vir likes it best buzzed, and he’s wearing shorts simply because he knows his flaunting the dress code will make Vir buzz (go feral, to be exact). “Are you one of those men, then? Run through interns and discard them after the thrill is gone, crawl back to the broken sanctity of your marriage?” Phoenix surprises himself, at the bitterness of his last refrain; he came in here to make Vir’s knees touch the tiles, not have a moral debate.

  And for what it’s worth, Phoenix doesn’t catch feelings. Ever. Except for Maureen’s dad and Lola’s mom, but he’s just a man standing on front of a milf - but seriously, they can both happily count on him being willing to settle down, change his last name, become a stepfather. “Let’s back it up? Yeah - so I’m a punk kid, and you’re married. You wanted me, I wanted you, and it has nothing with being caught off guard and everything about what’s here, between us. So be honest - do you never, ever, ever want to see me again? Do you never think about Halloween night? When you spent all night in my bed; one that I might add, is bigger than your sad brownstone. No offense, mostly.” Stop being poor! 

[phoenixxreyes]

jakob-muller​:

“Oh fuck off,” they hadn’t seen each other in a while, and this was the first thing he told him? Jakob scoffed, taking a sip of wine and giving the other a look. “I hung it in the bathroom. Maureen’s not impressed but I told her it’s either that or she moves right back out,” the key information here being that they’d moved in together, not that he liked the idea of looking at Phoenix whenever he sat on the toilet bowl.

“I spent a considerable amount of time crafting myself an image with Stoll. I’m not ruining that for 40 dollars.” A considerable amount of time, or a few seconds. He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this grown man hated him, and that all his power couldn’t do a thing about it. Delightful. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he found his tie there.

x

 “Moves back out? Do my perfectly shaped ears deceive me? Are you and Maureen living together - does old man Keaton, my beloved, know about this? Are you guys...sharing a bed? Muller you horn dog!” Soon enough, Phoenix would be loving godfather to a brood of either angelic or sarcastic brown haired, blue eyed children. “Is this an endearing image or an intimidating one? I like to think he hears my name and shakes with excitement, really; but okay, fifty dollars to terrorise the little guy next to him - y’know, the one with the cheekbones.”

[phoenixxreyes]

jakob-muller​:

Jakob had been spending the last thirty minutes discussing genetics with one of his mentors, a pin from the Wildlife Conservation Society on his lapel, and a glass of wine in his hand. If he had recognized a few customers among the guests, and another few familiar faces, he hadn’t had the chance to go speak to any of them just yet. But, there were people he couldn’t tell off, and the people in charge of validating his thesis fit this category well.

At last, the conversation came to an end however, as a donator approached the pair, with the intent to speak with the one with the PhD. Offensive. Jakob smiled politely as he was introduced, although was quick to excuse himself and rather than taking advantage of being alone, was swift to head toward that someone in the crowd he thought he had recognized. “Long time no see,” he declared, with a light tap to the shoulder.

“Your mother and I have been incredibly busy, what can I say? She sends her regards, though. And she’d want me to tell you how handsome you look tonight.” He had been missing Jakob, as of late; but assumed his own milf hunting and Jakob’s sweet, blossoming romance, had taken up both of their time; plus, Jakbo’s alleged studies and all that jazz. “So have you missed me? Cried over that framed photo of me that I sent you? I’ll pay you forty bucks though, to go up to Stoll and tell him If you were a Transformer… you’d be Optimus Fine.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

girlgcne​:

location:anywhere fitting ! status:open to everyone ;)

         "       screw valentine’s day ...    who cares about flowers  &  chocolates anyways ?  — pizza is way …   way superior .   ”     call it lingering bitterness ,    if you will .      this holiday used to be sacred ,   she used to sing along all the stupid songs on the radio and stretch herself out the car window ,      letting the wind whip her hair violently ;    it used to be fun .  

  now she looks down into the rippled reflection of a girl ,    swishing back & forth in the small container ,   fragments of contemplation lost in judgement-imparing liquor .    this torpor is not her own ,     but it has been built :   brick by brick ,   by those very own hands that now swing another shot down her throat . her button nose scrunches up on cue – head shaking ,    body shivering ,    face pulled in like a rubber-band out of pure  ,    jovial disgust ;    the kind that has not yet grown indifferent to the aftertaste of alcohol .   “    yuck !        ——- eeew  (    it trots out of her throat in interrupted chortles of coughing laughter  )   that’s just …        that’s terrible ,   man !      there’s no way you don’t drink that just to look cool ,    i don’t believe it …   ”

     “C’mon, you can’t do the whole Bridget Jones thing - it’s 2022, society has moved past the need for it! Are you really going to spend the day tearing up hearts and watching bad movies, shaking your fist at the sky? Valentines is fucking incredible and so is pizza; play your cards right and they’ll together soon enough.” Phoenix had exactly seventeen plans for the special day, but he was willing to squeeze in another appointment; especially to prove a point. He adored the day of love; excelled at it, actually. His hair was prime real estate on the fourteenth of February - along with the rest of him, Phoenix would like to contest. He watches her down the cocktail with unbridled glee, tossing his head back in a similar manner, but to instead cackle. “Just to look cool? Okay Miss I Eat Pizza, I see you - and whiskey soju is incredible, it’s just also well? Sixty percent alcohol. But hey, I’m a generous man, as you’ll come to find out - so I’ll pay for the drink, just because I’m such a gentleman.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

location: spotlight bar

for: open

  “Is that a Tiffany’s box in your pocket or are you just happy to see me in the New Year? If you bought me a love necklace, I’ll buy you a drink. And if you’re just happy to see me, I’ll let you ask me for the secrets to my beautiful clear skin and pink hair.” New Year, new Gucci sneakers, new Fendi pants : same Phoenix, down to a fresh haircut and pink dye job. Seated at a private table in the back of the bar, he’d pulled his companion into the seat across from him - whether or not they felt like socialising that evening, entirely against the point. “So, do you want to play smash or pass, government officials edition, take shots or do something boring like talking about the state of our fair city? Gang wars and all that; but my question is, when are the gangs going to fight for my hand? Where’s the Paris to my Helen?”

[phoenixxreyes]

vrzfr​:

—

Vir should be freaking out right now. The realization should be hitting him that he just put his lips on another man, a man who is decidedly not his husband, and that Vir has every intention of following him up to his apartment - to do what, he’s yet to decide. Instead, he just feels quietly reassured as Phoenix takes his hand and leads him along. There’s no acknowledgement by Phoenix of what happened, and so Vir is lulled into this guiltless state, no reason to confront all of this and what it means until he has to.

Instead, he becomes a tourist. Eyes wide as Phoenix leads him into the building, where even the lobby feels like something out of a Gilded Age wet dream. His gaze becomes impossibly more enthralled as he steps into the actual penthouse, and Vir feels like he’s peeking into something a man like him was never supposed to see. “What the fuck,” he breathes, pupils turned to saucers by now. “Who are you?” It’s mostly rhetorical, but it dawns on him that he actually doesn’t know - he’s aware of Phoenix as the CNN intern, as someone who is decidedly rich because of his clothes and demeanor and vocabulary, but he doesn’t know anything beyond that. Who are his parents? What is his legacy meant to be? Is Vir as much of an anomaly in Phoenix’s life as Phoenix is in his? 

He doesn’t refuse for a second as Phoenix takes them to the window and he gets to look down, to feel like his own breed of royalty for a moment. “This is incredible,” he breathes. Vir, the ever-speaking, left speechless. He forgets, sometimes, that he loves this city, that he chose to leave everything he knew to come here because he dreamt of views like this. Though he’s too distracted to register any of what Phoenix is saying, when he does take his gaze away, it’s to look at Phoenix, his face softer around the edges. “You could have anything you want, and you chose me,” he says, tender like a confession, like a wound. He doesn’t ask the ‘why?’ even though it’s hanging in the air, instead going back to staring out. 

He’s only taken out of his maladaptive city-inspired fantasies by Phoenix’s touch, subtle yet intentional, enough to have Vir breathing a little differently. “You have bandaids in this place? You don’t just snap your fingers and a Shonda Rhimes-esque doctor appears to treat your wounds?” he asks. He looks to his left with an accompanying grin, and he tries not to fixate on Phoenix’s lips. He fails, though it’s brief. “Sure, then, lead the way. I’d love to see this first-aid kit you have lying around for when you get crushed by your trust fund, or stub your toe on your yacht.”

x

   “I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream? Your fantasy? It’s a big question, Vir; are you ready for me to answer it?” Phoenix is decidedly delighted beyond compare, to see Vir flushed so deeply at the expanse of his wealth - is it materialistic? Of course; he’s living in a material world, and he’s a material girl.  

   Phoenix won’t deny the assertion he could have anyone - its a mainstay of his ego, a fact he wilds like a knife, that he can. If he was a generous man, he’d assert that Vir didn’t lack options (sure he was quote unquote legally wed or consciously coupled to a minion) but lacked the gumption to seek them. Or self confidence; it truly, utterly and almost aggressively, avoided Phoenix’s man.  “So you finally believe that I want you, pure and simple? There’s nothing really straight about this, but it is forward.” Phoenix can’t help but visibly gloat in the wake of his poorly constructed pun; he’s alighted by any chance to posture in front of Vir. 

  “McDreamy was nice but too clingy - I’m a man who needs space, y’know? Like all your favourite dead white male authors, I’m committed to the life above all else.” Vir’s fingers are intertwined with Phoenix’s again without a moment’s thought, gently tugging him towards a bathroom that surely encompasses Vir’s sad excuse for a bedroom, and most likely, study as well. It’s marbled, bright, entirely excessive, and wholly Phoenix. Parking Vir against the sink, he wastes no time with subtle; resting a hand against Vir’s inner thighs (the fucking yellow pants) he rummages through a cabinet for a set of bandaids - he’s tempted to pull out the Chanel branded ones, but Vir’s a communist (socialist? whatever Grimes is?) and so he opts for the clear kind. “Do you want me to kiss it better now or later? I’ve found bathroom sinks are the optimal place to receive urgent, administered by mouth, medical attention - don’t you agree?”

[phoenixxreyes]

jakob-muller​:

“Are you calling me a diva?” From anyone else, he would have taken it. It was a fair dig at him, truly, but there was one person who surpassed him in the area, and he was standing right before him. One eyebrow furrowing in doubt and amusement, Jakob’s expression softened yet again.  “Look at you. If I had known you knew your bovines, I would have befriended you much sooner.” He certainly would have never believed Phoenix to know a damn thing about cows, and the surprise was more pleasant than it should have been. Jakob however, found delight in knowing that this was yet another thing he could bore him about. Most people would just have called him weird for being passionate as he was about a subject such as this one, and he almost felt sorry for thinking Phoenix could have said such a thing. “As for Jersey, well I think you would like it. It’s really stunning and for some reason,” such as money laundering, “it has a booming economy.” Which meant that you could trust they had proper shops for Phoenix to fantasize about.

“Do I crown you official best friend ? That’s something I ought to think about,” Jakob had a handful of friends from veterinary school, but none of them were aware of the scale of his involvement with the cartel. Yet he approached Phoenix, hooking his arm with his inflated arm and resting his head on the cushioned shoulder. “Mmmh, I just found out who he’s been bringing home lately,” the revelation came with a small smirk. No, he would not tell him more about it. If Zuleika Sandoval ended up dead in an alley, this would not look good on his resume, and it probably was a good thing he could entertain Phoenix with something else, such as the situation with Maureen Keaton.

“We are not bribing my teacher. I want to earn that damn PhD,” shortcuts were tools Jakob was more than happy to use under the right circumstances, but when it came to his legit professional life, it simply was out of the question. He would take the professor’s advice, and he would improve his thesis until there was nothing to say about it. Ah, it was frustrating but Jakob considered it to be a great exercise of his patience and determination. “Ugh.” He tilted his head back in frustration. Phoenix was too, an exercise in patience. “I’m not calling her hot. That’s too American.” Scoffing, he leaned in his friend’s side. “I don’t know, she’s brilliant. Perhaps a bit too innocent but I’m sure it could grow on me,” and if not, he could always corrupt her, couldn’t he? “And stop using polite as an insult,” he groaned, letting go of his arm to walk backwards.

“Virgo ascendant Scorpio,” well now Phoenix had a tiny idea of when his birthday was. Which reminded Jakob he yet had to figure out how Maureen had found out about it. “Alright so… First of all why? Second of all, with who did you make that bet?” Had to be with one of his coworkers. Damn Phoenix for knowing everyone who mattered. (And bless him too). “Third of all, I’ve never done karaoke, but I went to music school. That’s right, write that down, I can play one instrument and I’m not tell you which.” Good luck figuring out it’s the bassoon. 

“You’re the biggest diva, c’mon! My little drama king.” He reached forward to squish Jakob’s cheeks, for maximum effect; thankful his cow costume would absorb any blows dealt his way. “So you’re telling me the key to your heart is cows? This changes what I’m going to be buying you for your birthday.” It also meant Maureen was probably batting her eyelashes and laying down cow facts, or showing up around him in cow print tops. “It’s hard for me to do anything associated with the word Jersey, especially if there’s New attached to it - you’re a New Yorker now, right? Get on the hate train with me.” 

 Phoenix huffs, stomping a hoof (right, hoof?)| for effect; Jakob was easily in his top five, and Phoenix demanded to be number one in his. “What’s there to contemplate? I’m beautiful, sensual, rich, funny, and a delight - who in your life can compete?” Maybe Gideon, but Phoenix liked to think Gideon was more of a resident papa than a competitor for the best friend title. “Wait, Stoll is bringing someone home….and their name isn’t Wendy or Ronald? C’mon, you’re bluffing! No way!”

“What’s the difference between a bribe and hard work anyway? You’ve made an effort giving someone money - plus aren’t all teachers underpaid?” He wasn’t going to tell Jakob how he passed his mandatory science class, then - Phoenix would be lower on the friends list than the Starbucks baristas that always spelled Jakob’s name with a C. “Sensual? Gorgeous? Supple? Dainty? Work with me, man - we’re having a bro to bro moment about the girl you like.” Phoenix couldn’t help but grin at Jakob’s drama queen (king?) huffing; he would have jumped him to force a hug, but decided for an ounce of decorum. “Dramatic much, little one? My little guy..”

  Jakob had Gemini energy but Virgo seemed to encapsulate the Jakob Experience best. “Very interesting .... means we’re compatible and we’ve had a long fruitful marriage. Think it over, and just tell me the date.” Phoenix didn’t want to access school records, but wasn’t above the venture if needed. “Why not? Life is too short not to live, my dear man! Second, that’s classified information, but their name rhymes with Taylor Swift. And third, I knew you had the talent inside of you; very sexy you went to music school - do not be afraid to lead with that on dates. Very clearly however, you play the organ.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

gideonhayes​:

@phoenixxreyes​

“Not your usual day, kid.” He’s not complaining. Every regular has a schedule. He’s learned this over his many years doing the Lord’s work. You got your daily stoners, the ones who go a gram at a time as if there might not be a tomorrow. Then the weeklies, who are either casual about packing the world’s smallest bowl or the nine-to-fivers — they smoke like they get paid to do it, and they purchase an eighth, at a minimum. Two, if they’re professionals.

Then, there’s the kid. This one gets to show up whenever he wants or needs, ask for however much he wants or needs, and never gets hassled outside of the standard line of questioning: “What’re you up to? Special occasion? You eat, yet? Patty from up the block dropped off a few sandwiches. Think they’re roast beef, by the smell of ‘em.” Gideon’s gesturing toward the bagged lunch sat before him, where some wrapped sammie halves act as cover for his whole goddamn operation. “Maybe tuna, on second thought.”

x 

   “Does missing you have set business hours? I was at home and had the urge to be swept into a hug of paternal bliss and mid range cologne; so I came straight to you. Did you miss me?” Phoenix never lived with more than an ounce of shame, but with Gideon, operated with simply none - he meant every word, anyway. He liked the guy, fawned over him - both annoyed the man senseless (probably) but Phoenix liked to think he was impossibly charming in tandem. “Roast Beef? I think you already know I’m a big fan ..... but it is a special occasion, my good man! I’m celebrating the highlights of the season; Halloween, of course. You were uh, that porn star, right?” Gideon could have also gone with a shag carpet, with amount of the chest hair he boasted - Phoenix on the other hand, was smooth like a young Victorian era child. “Only way I eat tuna is like, on some toasted baguette or in sushi. We’re hot people, Gideon! We don’t eat tuna sandwiches; we’re fancy material girls.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

jakob-muller​:

And so, reaching out to touch one of the stains, Jakob explained, even if he technically hadn’t been asked to : “They lactate more than the other cows but their milk, while ideal for mass farming, lacks in a lot of essential nutrients.” A beat. “They also are an ecological disaster, needing more land and more food.” His lecture wasn’t over, however. “So yes, it’s rubbish that they put her on milk cartons when the Jersey cow is so much better. Her milk’s richer and she’s prettier too.” Was he really lecturing his friend about cows now? “Guess that gives you the right to bore me about one subject of your choosing,” his hands in his pockets, he shook his head.

“Oh, shut it, I would not hang out with you at all if I didn’t like you.” And since he had had a couple of drinks, he was in no place to lie. Phoenix didn’t need to worry too much. When Jakob didn’t like someone, he made it known. “Heh. Do you think he wants to take the Governor’s seat? Politicians are a bit harder to read,” he commented. Whatever Dave Stoll was looking for, Jakob would make sure to make him believe that the Cartel was his only way to get to it.

“Well, I’m moving up. Not far up, but that’s fine by me. I’m still struggling with the thesis. Almost would make me regret not picking baking instead.” A career path he had considered for about 15 seconds, while he ate his first poppy roll when he was 7 years old. There was a light tint to his cheek as the other put his finger on the meaning of his words. “Maybe. I think she’s lovely.”

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re the prettiest in the East,” he deadpanned. “When’s your birthday ? You’ll get a 60 seconds video of me complimenting you. My treat.” Crossing his arms, his shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh you made a bet? Well, now you have to tell me more. What did you bet on?”

x

 “So I’m a disaster and eat up resources, but lactate excessively? I’m not sure why these aren’t your favorite type of cows - they’re the diva, of cows.” He doesn’t want to think about farming too much, having never been on one himself; but Phoenix can imagined Jakob wearing rubber boots, birds and forrest animals following him as he skips through fields of barely. “Jersey Cow? You already lost me at Jersey; unless that’s the cow with really long eyelashes, which in that case, that’ll be my favorite. Not to brag, but I’m often asked if I’ve gotten extensions.” 

 Jakob wouldn’t ever ask, but Phoenix wanted to mention it, anyway. What is a bro for if not to be someone you’re trying to impress. “Would you say that you adore me and we’re best friends.” Phoenix knows he’s pushing his luck, and so he keeps a little distance between them, in case Jakob wants to push him over and send him rolling. “I think he’s angling for the big time leagues, for sure - he’s got post divorce slump written all over his face. The guy could probably use a win.”

   “Soon enough you’ll be running the place - though remember me once you become a big time criminal lord, okay? I’ll need the connections. And I still think you should bribe your professor about this thesis; no way your work isn’t perfect. Slip them a thirty, or maybe something shiny, from your old pal Phoenix.” It wasn’t cheating, per say; it wasn’t even really illegal, in Phoenix’s mind. He was simply used his assets, for benefits. “Lovely? C’mon, you’ve got to give me more than that - do you like her? Are you two going to be the most polite couple on this planet? Or was this just a Halloween crush and nothing more?” 

  Upon reflection, they did seem like a good couple - sunshine and sunshine protector, grumpy and happy, weren’t beloved Ao3 tropes for nothing. “I’m actually glad you said that, because I was getting worried you thought she was prettier. I’ll only accept second place to RiRi or a Bond Girl.” Halle Berry, preferably. “I’m a Taurus, May 5th - how could you forget, my dear...Scorpio?” Jakob had libra, scorpio and cancer energy; if he was a gemini, however, Phoenix would faint. “I may have bet on whether or not I could prove you as a devoted fan of BTS, or if I could at least, bribe you into performing Butter. You’re up for karaoke, right? We’ll be dynamite on stage.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

vrzfr​:

—

Phoenix unbuckles his seatbelt (and really, who the fuck wears a seatbelt in a taxi?), sliding to the floor onto his knees, and just like that, Vir’s reliving his days on the track team as he books it to the other side of the taxi. “What the bloody fucking hell are you doing?” he hisses, panic in his voice at the mere thought that this kid wants to blow him in a moving taxi. He’s actually not sure how they got here, how his fucking monologue about his own pathetic state wasn’t the biggest turn-off Vir could possibly throw at Phoenix, but he doesn’t think he dislikes it - might find it a bit endearing, actually. “Yes, okay, yes, I’ll go home with you. But only because I hate riding the subway this late, my hands always end up feeling moist after.”

He doesn’t get another moment to mull over everything Phoenix has thrown at him until the taxi’s stopping, and Vir’s realizing that oh, they actually arrived. He’s still pressed tight against the door of the car, so when he opens it to get out (with a quick “Thank you!”, because he was raised right), it’s not a graceful motion, sliding and stumbling until he manages to stand on two legs on the sidewalk. Phoenix, in a stark contrast, gets out of the taxi like he’s starring in a Dior ad, making even the simplest motion look effortlessly good. 

The air is brisk and damp, and it feels like a slap in the face. The taxi was enclosed, safe, theirs - but now, out in the open, it’s like Vir’s in the public eye once again, even though Phoenix’s street is all-but empty. The taxi just sits there, the driver probably taking a break before his next pickup, and so Vir, too, feels compelled to stand there, not sure what there is to say after you’ve called yourself deeply unlikable only for your present company to still show a concerted enthusiasm for sleeping with you.

“This is a nice, uh, area. Buidling. Area for the building,” he says. “We looked at places around here, because it’s, uh, just a few block from the Times, but there was, um, a market, the housing market, right, and it was this insane amount of money, and I was like ‘I’d rather live in Brooklyn anyway’, but then we didn’t even end up living Brooklyn, so it’s, you know, yeah. You live in a nice area.” He bites his lip, willing himself to get it the fuck together, or in the very least shut up. But he looks at Phoenix, at those eyes and that jaw and that fucking smirk, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself besides ramble hopelessly and pray it goes somewhere. Well, except, maybe - “Fuck it. Hold still.” He counts down from three and then he’s taking a step forward, pushing Phoenix up against the taxi and leaning down to close the distance between them. 

It’s rushed and sudden and not his best work as Vir kisses him with all the finesse of an assassin, except not even a career killer, more like one of those two dumbasses who tried to take out Gerald Ford. But after a beat he eases into it, and it all becomes soft and warm and addictive, rough around the edges in just the way Vir likes. He could stay here for another minute, hour, day, but the taxi driver clearly disagrees, and suddenly the car is moving, Vir tripping and falling into the road as he loses his balance and the taxi blows puffs of smoke at them. “Ow, fuck.” He coughs twice, scratching the back of his head. His elbows are bleeding a little from where they landed on the pavement, but he barely notices. “Right, okay, brilliant. Sorry. You were going to show me your apartment?”

x

       Vir’s a runner, he’s a track star....the way he bolts across the cab is almost impressive, as Phoenix didn’t think he was capable of moving fast for anything but a reissuing of War and Peace. Phoenix doesn’t mind, anyway; he knows he’s won, or at the least, conquered this round. The rest of the ride to his apartment passes in anxious friction - Vir throughly providing the former, sweating buckets like a caged animal in his corner of the taxi.

  Their arrival is innocuous, save for the way Vir tumbles out of the taxi - British people. Phoenix glances up at the sky as Vir babbles on, ruminating on the price of housing, how he is a Brooklyn boy but he isn’t - Phoenix had turned his head, lips parting to retort that Oliver couldn’t live around here because there are too many grates for him to fall into, when Vir grabs him - grasps him, and presses him against the taxi that’s battling his shirt for the title of brightest yellow. His smart mouth and teasing words, are swallowed within an instance - Vir is kissing him. Phoenix had dedicated many a bath, many a coffee shop visit, to what it’d be like when Vir finally gave in and kissed him; if it would be hurried, cautious, how good it would feel to finally have his lips, pressed against his own. Phoenix sighs into the kiss, his hand winding itself once more into Vir’s hair; any attempt to deepen the kiss, is destroyed by the irritated driver (he was from jersey and probably couldn't handle phoenix’s impossible charm) who drives off, leaving Vir to topple around like gumby. Tenderly, Phoenix leans down to collect Vir from the ground, intertwining his fingers as he drags him towards the building. “I’ll give you the tour and then I can play nurse - do you want me to put on the full uniform? I’ve got the dress around here somewhere)

  elevator traveling magic yahooo

 Passing Phoenix’s doorman (he gives Vir a generous smile) and breezing through his lobby, before ascending to the highest floor, Phoenix is giddy; nothing gets him going better than the chance to show off. “Come in, make yourself at home - feel free to start redecorating. I want you to feel at home every time you stop by, you know? I’ll make sure to have Liz pick up that avocado Whole Foods body wash you love.” Still tugging Vir by the hand, he gestures at the high ceilings, couches and various array of expensive crap de phoenix. “Do you like it? I was going for a balance of colors, textures...and the view. I had to leave it undisturbed.” Phoenix pulls them to the window which circles his apartment, offering a cascading view of the city - he could probably pinpoint Vir’s brownstone, filled with Fjallraven backpacks, from here. “Is this the part where you let me tell you that you’re the only view I need? Or do you want me to go back to long winding compliments, and how much I need it? I’m always happy to oblige, Vir. You know that, right?”

  Phoenix releases Vir’s hand from his grasp, hands instead wandering across his shoulders, past the scrapped elbows, lingering at his belly button, before briskly retracting, and folding behind his back. “Do you want a bandaid? My sheets are imported from Italy so, y’know; we can ruin them in one way, minus your graceful taxi war wounds.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

leemalkovich​:

—

At some point in the night, he’d left The Cancún in the past — though the telltale of it still remains clear on Lee’s features: lipstick that had started to fall apart, a tired frame, and the blood he hadn’t bothered to clean off his face. 

So it’s only Lee and normalcy all around, heart-rate rising and lowering to an unsettling rhythm — until a thing looking like his very own Rocky approaches. How ‘bout that.

“Aye,” he grins, “I suppose it does.” If Lee had a dollar for every orphan who tried to call him Daddy, it still wouldn’t make cents. “I figured at one point that Furby encounter would come back to bite me in the arse.” To the bartender then, he instructs, “Whiskey — and a paternity test. Neat.” 

As they wait, his gaze draws back to the boy, and absent eyes take him in: face (beautiful), body (unattainable), bravery (to be praised), hair (a choice). He’d had it similar, a century or two back. Lee trails down, and pokes a square off the boy’s six-pack with a finger, “Now, aren’t you something.”

Dead or alive, each time he thinks, Dead or alive, and the question lingers. How would I like you best? 

It’s Halloween, after all: monsters no longer kept in closets, but wandering proud in the streets. Even with a drink on the way, Lee extends a hand and takes the bottle — swinging it back for a sip if only to signal his acceptance to whatever challenge that will follow. 

“Do you fancy the classics now,” Lee offers the bottle back, “or is it just a bloody excuse to ask crossdressers to touch you?” Use code Malkobitch69 for 10% off your Better Help subscription. 

x

  “I’m also interested in encounters - not ones of the third kind, but maybe the fifth? Whichever base is a home run.” He’s fucking British. Phoenix is starting to think he has a type - and the way the man orders a whiskey, gives him the most delightful Bond vibe. Does that make Phoenix a Bond Girl? Ana de Armas, watch your back. “Something, many things, whatever you’d like me to be....papa? Unless you prefer the very respectful and straight forward (but not really straight?) daddy - or I can call you by your name. Mine’s Phoenix - you can save it in your phone later.” 

   Phoenix orders a mojito from the bartender, as any attempt to look any tougher than he actually is, would flounder in front of a man like this - especially since one can hardly be mysterious and macho, in skin tight gold shorts. “In my opinion, the answer is both - but I’m a man of culture, first and foremost. Getting groped is just a secondary bonus. If I’d known a six foot nine British import was walking around, I would have asked to take you to a screening - you like movies, right?” He’s probably six five minus the stilettos and inch or or so of wig; not that Phoenix minds the added height. It was hardly noticeable when you were lying down. “So, did you pick the good doctor to show off your legs or hope to attract the spawn of furby, with a shark tooth tattoo?” 

[phoenixxreyes]

sparkbinn​:

for: phoenix | @phoenixxreyes location: spotlight bar

-

Somehow, Sebinn had found herself at yet another bar, the third one of the night. While she had prided herself in reigning in her tendencies for drinking whenever things got even a speck too difficult, she had thought that tonight, of all nights, a drink or two were deserved. After the first seven shots, the first two bars she’d crawled to had all but kicked her out.

She was idly watching the television at the bar, taking in the 10 o'clock news update with mild disinterest. The figure at the bar beside her is quiet, or at least not paying her any mind. But she gets chatty when she’s this deep in the Cosmos and the Old Fashions, and turns to them with a sigh.

“I hope they’re not working you like a dog,” she sighed, downing her drink in one fell swoop, “otherwise you’ll end up like me. Wrinkly and sad before 30.”

x 

    “Work? I’ve heard it affects millions a year, but not me - stay safe out there, though. You could always quit, though; I’ve been meaning to get a trophy wife. Someone to order the maid to organize my sneakers and have an affair with our lawyer.” Phoenix is kidding, really - mostly, anyways. Seventy five percent. He’s not entirely empty headed - he wouldn’t turn down Sebinn’s hand, even if it seems to permanently be typing a think piece on her phone. “The day you get wrinkles, I’ll send you the botox guy who works for the Mayor. But c’mon, you love it, don’t you? I haven’t met anyone who works at the NYT that isn’t simultaneously dying and revelling in their exhaustion.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

parbhandari​:

     where: a lil nyc diner      when: early evening      with: @phoenixxreyes​

     Aparna liked her apartment just fine, but the tiny studio could only hold her for so long before she felt like crawling up the walls when stuck with an assignment. She was trying to impress her boss, take initiative, write her own piece… Hopefully, sometime next year, she would get a full-time writing gig at the Times. But, for that to happen, she had to remain focused, and her four walls could only do so for so many hours a day. This diner had become a go-to spot for her to bring her laptop and type her life away, of course while consuming a life-long supply of caffeine. She learned from the best.

     In the rather bland and desaturated inside of the diner, bright pink stood out in its own merit. “You could stop traffic,” she waved Phoenix over, lowering the screen of her computer to rest her eyes and look up at him. “What bring syou to my second home? Here to see how the 99% lives?” It was all in good fun anyway.

x

     “I have stopped traffic and intend to do so again and again - though I’d like to contest it’s my cheekbones, that make cars crash.” Phoenix liked to luxuriate in modest places; diners, chain restaurants, public movie theatres - in search of a meal that would stain his fingers with grease and an environment filled with aspiring professionals, he’d found himself here. Aparna’s presence, was merely an added bonus. “My seventh sense told me that I’d find you here, working when you could be doing something so much better - like being delighted, by my company.” He slides into the booth across from her, waving at the waitress to bring him over a menu, before leaning back and relaxing. “I’m a huge fan of the 99% - I really admire how you all live, you know? But this? Working? C’mon, there’s nothing interesting enough at the Times, to warrant you wasting an afternoon on your job. We’ve got to get you out of here.” 

[phoenixxreyes]

vrzfr​:

—

Phoenix’s Costco comment isn’t supposed to mean anything, just another one of those shit-eating remarks he makes to fill the space between them. But it serves to remind Vir just how different they are, socio-economically alongside everything else. Vir views his Costco membership as a badge of honor, something he could’ve never thought to afford a short fifteen years ago. Phoenix, on the other hand, sits on his throne as a prince of New York, comfy in his Lacoste and Prada while he thinks the Gap is just a break between two objects. “Don’t knock Costco until you’ve tried their peanut butter-filled pretzels. If I developed a peanut allergy, I would simply choose to die,” he says. Phoenix’s hand is back in his hair, but he doesn’t jerk away. Maybe even leans into it a little. “And if you must know, I’m yellow journalism. Google it.”

He thinks for a second that Phoenix won’t meet his question seriously, just launch into another line of borderline-innuendos as is his favorite pastime. But then - Is this your nice guy spiel? “No,” he says with a shake of his head, though Phoenix keeps talking. I can tell you how much I want you. Even with the rest of Phoenix’s soliloquy, Vir can’t help but fixate on that, on the perverse thrill it sends down his spine. How long has it been since he heard those words? I want you - as if Vir in his sorry state is something that could ever be wanted, as if he is something precious, something worthy of desire. 

“There’s no nice guy spiel. I’m not nice,” he says quietly. This taxi feels too hot, even in the middle of autumn with the front windows down. “I’m whiny. I’m insufferable. I need everyone to think I’m the most brilliant person in the room even though I have nothing to show for it. I’m pretentious. I’m depressing. I’m a writer who hasn’t written anything of note in a decade. I’m bitter, petty, cynical, self-loathing, nervous, judgemental, unoriginal. I can’t stand being around successful people because I hate them for what they have.” He stops right before he can spiral into full-on monologue, and when he turns to Phoenix, his expression is faintly haunted. “And I’m a terrible husband. Maybe the worst. There are days I wish Oliver would lose every election, just so he would come home and we could be miserable together. But I can’t tell him that, can’t tell anyone that, so I stew. I resent. I think about -” He hesitates, just for a beat, before he comes to terms with what he’s about to confess. “-you. Your eyes, your jaw, your smile, how you carry yourself. The things you say to me, and the way your eyes stay on me when I pretend I’m not watching.” With Phoenix’s arm around Vir, it doesn’t take much for Vir to lean into the crook of Phoenix’s shoulder, delivering his next line soflty against Phoenix’s neck. “I think about what would happen if I ever gave in and went back to your place.” 

He sits in silence after that admission, letting the words float in the air, waiting for them to get swallowed up. There’s an intimacy in the moment that he doesn’t want to break. Finally, he glances up, brows creased. “I just thought you should know that I’m deeply unlikable, is the point. From the way you look at me, I sometimes get the feeling you think I’m something that I’m not.”

x

   “If you’re asking me out to Costco, it’s a soft maybe - maybe we can start somewhere small, like Whole Foods? Then work our way to peanut butter pretzels.” Phoenix had no desire to conceal his tastes nor his elitist preferences; and would Vir want him to, anyway? If he wanted another Trade Joes man, he’d go hang outside the latest A24 release premiere party. “I know what Yellow Journalism is, wise man of mine - I did go to Columbia, you know. Highly revered institution where I was a dutiful student for many a year.” How many years he spent toiling away, opening books the night of, was irrelevant - he did need to google yellow journalism, though. Phoenix was pretty sure it had something to do with that President married to his cousin, but he wasn’t sure.

 It really really really .... really does it for him, when Vir debases himself so openly, lists his flaws with vigour, declares himself inferable and unloveable in the same breath. He is aroused by the ego it takes to be so fixated on ones self; but the amount of self doubt Vir must also possess, to utter such words aloud. “I love it when you get so worked up; there’s a look in your eyes, like you’re hungry for me - but at the same time, you’d like nothing more than to disappear into the ground. You can be all those things and that wouldn’t even matter; I’d still want you, all the same. It’s your exasperating neurosis that truly sends me wild.” Phoenix doesn’t care to perceive the backpack that Vir is married to very often; the little critter that stopped every longing stare, each sweet touch, from progressing into something more. The barrier that stops Vir from giving himself to Phoenix hungrily, in the back of a taxi. “Don’t really see how you’re the terrible husband - is he married to this election, or is he married to you?Wanting him... wanting someone; it’s human, Vir. There’s no fucking point of being married if you’re single.” It’s a self serving piece of advice, but the sentiments are true all the same; even if he wasn’t trying to tap yellow journalism, every word would ring true. “What’s that about my jaw? I didn’t quite catch how chiselled it is, how you’re going to be kissing it so soon....” He simpers (simp lite) as Vir breathes into his neck, the fingers that had gently caressed his waves, growing more desperate as they intervene deeper. “I don’t want to hear if, Vir - unless it’s asking if, I’d like to take it from the couch to the bedroom. And it’ll be a yes, Vir. I know the unknown discerns you; so let me make tonight not a question, but a promise.”

  Phoenix recoils from Vir, abandons his seatbelt so he can manoeuvre to the floor before him; he’s not so unhinged, to undress the journalist here. But he will sit between Vir’s legs on the scratchy carpets of a taxi, staring up at the man before him, without abandon. “Come home and show me who you are, if I’ve got it all wrong. But I think it terrifies you so that I see you, and in turn, I like you. That maybe we’re kindred in a way that bothers you deeply; it doesn’t matter, though. You can philosophise over this with your therapist in a week. But you, are coming home with me.”