cloaked in gucci & in scandal

[thefvrious]

breezy, 30+, est. please read my rules and muse information before interacting. discord available to mutuals, anyone may send memes.

rules | main muses | selective muses | memes | opens | wanted opposites

heavily affiliated with: @endlessfebrvary, @girlhoodgone, @blumhouses, @likeag6s, @dvstbvnnies

owed: 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬: 25 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: 0 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐮𝐞: 0 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝟎

[vindicatcs]

the unfortunate part of this interaction is that sage is going to get attached. going to chase after this feeling , maybe even try to seek it out elsewhere if malachi avoids creating this moment again. it rings in the back of his mind that this creates a very interesting , perhaps unfortunate , situation for them. but he can't stop this , can't ask now. can't even think underneath mal. thoughts consumed by want and need and the sheer idea of the future only manifests because he knows how desperate his body is going to be for this again - and they've hardly just begun.

" all night. " he breathes back , quiet agreement to devote himself to this moment as long as he can. though this wasn't quite the side of himself he wanted mal to see , he wondered if this would be the catalyst to change his mind. seeing him a moaning , begging mess underneath him might just be enough to convince the other that he isn't so bad. that he can be kissed into a man that breathes to please mal. when the others hand is on him , a low groan leaves his lips , muffed then by lips pressing into his , tongues meshing together , hips moving up in a depserate need to feel more. this was all too intoxicating. he whines when they separate , moans as the sensation builds with each touch. " i do. " he answers truthfully , and he knows he doesn't have to explain just how , because the next question makes sage wonder if mal was somehow made for him. made in hell , maybe , but still crafted for him. " i . . . " eyes are shut , head back as pleasure runs though his body. he can't focus , but he needs to. feels an urge to be so good for mal. " me. i want to be in you. like this , with you on top of me. " it's more of a request then a demand , tone gentle and needy. " please. " pathetic.

[thefvrious]

malachi doesn’t give thought to the way they dance around in each other’s circles, to the fact that travis has been one of the guy’s in sage’s group since mal’s known him. there will be no avoiding sage, even if he tries, after this because their social circles won’t allow it. he doesn’t give a thought to that or the way that either one of them might feel once they’ve had a taste. he thinks, foolishly, that this might satiate that feeling inside of him. what’s more likely to happen is that it will create a chasm – a deep, black hole ready to suck sage in.

mal’s never had someone be so pliant with his own needy, dominating side. he wants the control (can’t even relinquish it with his partner, which is probably why they’re not fucking at present), and sage is all too willing to give it over to him – shut off his brain and ride the pleasure train with malachi sitting as conductor. when mal kisses him, it’s greedily, hungrily – like he’s been stranded in the desert for three days and sage’s mouth is a blessed oasis. he’s touching sage with just enough intent to get the man aching for more but not to tip him over the edge, swallowing up those moans and groans as they’re evoked and it fuels him on. he likes the way sage looks at him when they’re not kissing, and that’s dangerous – likes hearing that sage enjoys being told what to do even more. mal kisses at sage’s collarbones while he’s deciding, pausing to look up when he answers, the most minute look of satisfaction on his features. it’s interesting how sage manages to push all his buttons, even the good ones. mal’s desire multiplies; he wants sage inside of him yesterday now. “good answer…” he breathes, and releases sage from his grasp, drags his nails down the other man’s chest. if he were home, a generous amount of saliva and some vigorous foreplay would be enough – but he doesn’t know who sage has been fucking around with. there’s a brief exchange about where to find what he seeks, and mal is gone for moments before he’s back again, putting the prophylactic on sage with practiced ease, kissing him again before either one of them loses the momentum (though he doubts, at this point, they could). he fully takes the reins, too, because sage has already given him permission. after a few lazy, lubricated strokes, he’s all over sage, on top of him, sage inside of mal as requested (met with the filthiest moan from mal). and mal’s hand slides up his body, fingers wrapping deftly around his throat, applying just a little bit of pressure. “good boy.” it becomes mal’s mantra as he works out his mountain of frustrations on sage’s willing body.

[encharmeds]

it is the same old story time and time again, one that has had movies and books and albums, one with sweeping ballads, produced with the same needling warning of the grass is always greener. sure, this endless boredom is something that seeps into every aspect of the lifestyle but isn't it better to maintain this reputation? she's seen how heavy that currency ties into every aspect of their lives; it makes her want to retreat inwards, locking herself into her greenhouse with some books. but that is no way to live a life in the long term, and there is some obligation to fulfill. "forever young, forever beautiful," it's a morbid joke between the two, one they both can understand as women thrust into an unforgiving platform. "wigs are often utilized," tennille has worn enough in runways to know. "and i have the experience and means. i think i will be safe." the hypothetical is just another way she can present herself to the world. it can all be prevented by fleeing from the scene with a cool haste tennille reserves for events like these. the level of aloofness she seems to exude towards those who have only ever seen and not spoken to her makes it easier to navigate with litheness and specificity. the unspoken hierarchy amongst the elite lends a lack of approachability to the brunette, and subsequently, the people she surrounds herself with. it's this ouroboros of power grabs and pretention, tennille wields it like a professional. "honesty has power here," she doesn't need to tell tiffani that. "though, there's a fine line of being honest and being a twat." it's easy to teeter on that line for the de vries' woman. "well, we've certainly all had our faux pas," tennille reaches up to tuck a dark strand of her lopped hair behind her ear. scrutiny breeds shame that tennille can't quite access most of the time. tennille has made her fair share of miscalculated decisions. "come on," a hand extends towards tiff. "keep with me. we'll find a more interesting venue."

[thefvrious]

tiffani knows how good she’s got it, wouldn’t want to be on the other side of it – even if some people have more wealth, what more is there, really, to want? as bored as she may become, and as frequently, she doesn’t wish to have someone else’s life because she understands it would come with its own set of limitations. better to be bored and rich and beautiful than have every moment packed to the gills with obligation. she smiles serenely and nods her head at this forever young, forever beautiful comment, not wanting to admit how much she wants to make it a reality, how much she fears the ticking hands of time. “i’ll keep your secrets.” she says, small smile of a different nature curving at her lips. she wouldn’t blame tennille for ripping all of her hair out – even if it was strand by strand. this life will drive you to worse.

tiffani’s eyes only glitter at the comment, her lips tugging upward, upward. “mm, and i do enjoy a bit of power.” she says coyly, laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep – and it’s genuine, reserved for very few. “and being a twat.” she watches tennille for a moment, absorbing some of that coldness she exudes. if there’s anyone tiffani would emulate, it’s tennille de vries. she doesn’t hesitate when the hand is offered, slipping her fingers into the other’s palm, hiding the giddiness it gives her as she walks along with tennille, letting this woman own the moment and lead the way.

[lithiumwolff]

Hours of walking...he hated it. Keeping his frustration and thoughts to himself until they had come to a halt. Looking up he couldn't see anything but trees overlapping each other, not able to see stars or anything of the sorts. Watching as Artemis was setting up the pit. He was just tired and homesick. Just waiting for Artemis to get him out of the device. Expected to sleep in the cage.

[thefvrious]

Artemis didn’t mind the journey. In fact, he found it quite relaxing, and, at times, forgot that he was even burdened with the presence of the werewolf. After setting the fire up, he reached into his bag and tossed some jerky and bread to Skeet, settling down with his own rations. “We’ll go find water after.”

[ivygrcws]

from the moment they met, atlas was drawn to zhenya as if he were a lighthouse and atlas was lost at sea. life was a storm, but zhenya had brought him the sun. but, atlas convinced himself he didn't deserve the sun, he didn't deserve zhenya - - and that was why he'd sent that initial text, telling zhenya to find another weed guy. and look at how that had worked out : it'd only brought zhenya closer, only made the sun shine brighter on atlas. and he's terrified.

[ sms -> zhenya ☀️ ] we'll see ;) [ sms -> zhenya ☀️ ] god, you're perfect.

atlas has never been one who's confident in his looks, would rather not be perceived at all ( but zhenya hadn't taken that hint ). though, he can't complain - - he's grown fond of hearing sweet words. and maybe - - if he's brave enough - - he'll spill all the sweet thoughts he has about zhenya to the other.

[ sms -> zhenya ☀️ ] shut uppp 🤭 [ sms -> zhenya ☀️ ] you'll change your mind about that…i'm sure of it. but thank you.

"of course," breath hitches, aware of zhenya closing the space between them. he sighs happily as zhenya's arms wrap around him and his own find their way around zhenya's waist - - hands splayed across his lower back as he melts into the hug. atlas doesn't know when the last time he was hugged was, but god, he needed it - - he needed it from zhenya. and he can't help but notice how the other's back muscles feel against his touch. cheeks are flushed and tickled pink as the hug parts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. teeth sink into his lower lip and he rolls his eyes fondly. "you're not going to let me live that down, are you?" and yet, atlas' tongue drags over his lower lip as gaze lingers on zhenya, "yeah, i do. you're…well, you're hot." ( gorgeous, beautiful, stunning, adorable…the list is endless ). nudges him gently, "but you know that."

[thefvrious]

the playful back and forth just has zhenya’s cheeks hurting, he’s so excited about this new door that’s opened up for both of them. and for atlas to say stuff like he’s perfect? to use such cute emojis? to clearly be reciprocating these feelings for zhenya? it makes his heart swell up like a balloon in his chest, and he threatens to float away with it.

he wears his heart on his sleeve, and that means a lot of heartache, but he walks into every new situation with hopefulness and the affirmation that it’s worth it. and atlas is no different. getting to spend any measure of time with the other man exploring any sort of new dynamic with him will be time well spent. even if it crumbles underneath them, zhenya knows he won’t ever regret it. he’ll look back on their time fondly. even if, each time, he hopes it’s the last.

he wants a great love, too.

when they’re holding each other, zhenya melts into the other man’s touch a little, breathing in the redolence of that expensive cologne and whatever product he uses in his hair. “wow, you smell so good….” he says without thinking, grinning wide and unabashedly while he pulls back just a half-step. he wants to stay in atlas’ bubble, close to him. “no… told you i wouldn’t. i’m a man of my word.” he says, nodding his head with a little laugh. “yeah? you think so? and you think i know it? c’mon, i’m humble.” he says, pressing one hand to his chest, the other one is still attached to atlas, holding him close. “you’re really gorgeous, too, ya know? i was taken by you immediately, the first time i met you.” he doesn’t even care if that sound stupid or pathetic. “do you you wanna go to my room?” he flushes at the implication, the minute desperation. “i just mean… you know, to cuddle and hold hands?”

[encharmeds]

"not i," domino has an incredibly overactive imagination. it aids them well in thinking fast, surviving, but with that, she's always feeling a level of detachment from her and those people she daydreams about. almost as if they're players, and this troupe is the one domino is contracting at, watching those transient relationships in their life play their roles. "pft, no. he was rude to me at a coffee shop. and, like, other women. so i took his engagement ring." people like that, she'll be judge, jury, and executioner -- the mischief can be anywhere from harmless to inconvenient to genuinely impactful, but not in any way it's been proven. "i can be your angel, or your devil," dom jokes, puffing on the joint. she holds the smoke in and lets it drift from her mouth into her nostril. "or, like, your freaky little goblin friend." probably mostly the latter, as someone who ascribed to their own mythologies. "what about dumplings?" of any kind. "i am really feeling dumplings. what can we do with that? play on words?"

[thefvrious]

“good baby.” jinx replies, grinning and gripping them by the jaw, pulling them in close, pressing a quick little kiss to domino’s lips before letting her go again, back to the task at hand. “ah.” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. whatever slight had occurred, jinx had not been there to witness it, could not bring down the hammer of justice on some man for being rude to her once in a coffee shop but can’t pass judgment on dom for doing what they do, either. in fact, she finds it kind of intriguing. “why not both?” she asks, looking up at dom with a grin about the freaky little goblin friend comment, shielding her face from the sun. she snaps her fingers for the aforementioned marker. “i can work with that.” when she’s given the marker, she writes, “dying for dumplings!” and draws a few dumplings with kawaii faces on them around the board.

[thetenthman]

Normally, Scott doesn't go to these things alone. Normally, Scott doesn't do them mid-season when he had a game the night before and another one tomorrow. But he happens to be in D.C. and the deal happens to be a good one, and his lawyer has already looked over everything, hashed out the details and done ... all that stuff. All that's needed is Scott's tight, spidery scrawl, and this is easier than getting it by courier the following week.

And, being perfectly honest, Scott is not upset he's without his entourage. He doesn't love the idea of any lawyer's office - it's so boring - but at least three of his teammates had attempted to come along. They wanted to do lunch after. Scott was afraid they'd be loud and boisterous (they would have), especially Vaughny, especially after a win, and Scott was nursing a sore shoulder, an overextended knee and, oh yeah, the fact the lawyer was stunning.

Like beautiful. The lines of his face were strong, great bone structure, but the softness of his lips made the back of Scott's neck heat up. Especially how close they were. Especially how good the other man smelled. So much of Scott's life is lived wrapped in cotton batting - Scott trying his damndest to pretend his attraction to men wasn't there, trying to hold back anything that might be considered longing, or lustful.

But they're alone. They're alone and he's right there, and so Scott lets himself live a little. They won last night. Everyone else went out and got drunk, but all Scott does is lean toward this gorgeous, good-smelling, far too appealing man, nodding. Nodding too much. Until he realizes he's nodding when he should be shaking his head no because, "Uh, no, sorry." Scott reaches for that pen, allows their fingers to brush, tries not to shudder at the contact. "I uh, no," there's a tight laugh. "No," he repeats again, almost to himself. "I do not have any questions."

[thefvrious]

It feels like fate to get to have Scott here, in the conference room, all alone. He’s hotter than he is on TV, hotter than Bear’s ever been able to make out from the ice, and he cleans up alright, too. But Bear’s more curious about what he looks like without all those clothes on.

And Barrett’s not stupid, he’s perceptive to the way Scott’s eyes drag over him in a way that no straight man ever would. It ignites something in him, and he decides right then and there that he’s going to chase it, consequences be damned. What’s the worst that can happen?

Bear chuckles when Scott’s nodding but not saying anything, his delight dancing in hazel eyes when he flips it, says no, he does not have any questions. “Fantastic! Then we can get this over with, I’m sure you’re a very busy man…” He flips to the first of many signature pages, each one highlighted carefully by one of Bear’s assistants. He leans in, back pressing against Scott’s shoulder. “Here…” He says, his voice a ghost of a touch against the shell of the other man’s ear. “And down here…” He slides his finger down the page, and so it goes until all the signature boxes are filled.

Bear grins but makes no move to get out of Hunter’s bubble. “How are you finding D.C.?” He asks, “What hotel are you at?”

[encharmeds]

this experience, while new in this context, with this information, is something marin has had some contact with in the past. she approaches people with empathy, even if she is headstrong, understanding that these experiences in life shape the now. even if that means dredging through what is and isn't reality -- our brains are an interesting hardware. she's here to piece it together, not explain the why. "i'm real," marin says, firmly. she tentatively holds out a hand to them, keeping her space, but allowing alune to confirm if they must. she's tangible. solid. "i'm real." the angel comparison -- it trips her up. there's no world in which that is something she'd consider herself, regardless of her lack of belief beyond that. she's not about to reveal that and jar the other. "do you see other angels? is it just me?"

[thefvrious]

alune could follow this floaty feeling all the way down to its sticky bottom, lose themself again. but something’s keeping them rooted here, grasping at the edges of reality while the filters of their delusion creep in at their peripherals. they don’t know where one ends and the other begins, and so it’s been since they’ve been separated (forcibly) from their brother. their brother. “aphelios.” they say, like it makes any sense at all. they look at that hand reaching out toward them, cocking their head curiously as they reach out, too, but stop short, fingers curling in on their own palm before they retract like they’ve been burnt. they’re too afraid to ruin the illusion, burst the bubble. “just you.” there’s a moment of lucidity, they blink. “where am i?”

[encharmeds]

it is not necessarily a secret that service employees will sometimes utilize their natural charms in order to up their tips. that's like rule number one of waiting tables for him, butter them up. for this reason, avery's a hit with middle aged housewives, mostly, but it's quite easy to fall into it with bowie in this moment. beyond the voice he has (because obviously, despite his lack of immediate recognition, he's heard him) and being easy on the eyes, he seems ... sweet. normal -- for a famous person, however oxymoronic that may be. can anybody maintain that level of normalcy when you're a household name? the thought makes him spiral. bowie blushes, and that's endearing to the waiter, who at this point is semi-ignoring his other responsibilities to linger at the bar. he wonders if this gravitational pull is the origin of his fame, or the result. plenty of celebrities choose to be asshats. he doesn't. "i should've caught on when she was giggling with one of busboys," avery's head is loud enough without the ambience of his coworkers. they're always on some topic that avery is two steps behind on at any given time -- sometimes he feels like an elderly man the way he can't keep up with social media. it can be incidentally funny and more than frustrating. he sort of detests how much he needs social media for any sort of success he wants nowadays, and he can't usually communicate that in a way that doesn't leave him sounding like he's from a generation before sliced bread. "maybe we just get you something less conspicuous." or his own booth, he's in the restaurant enough at this point that there should be some protocol, right? a blackout curtain? "i definitely do not complain." he's a known hater, at least amongst his peers, so the switch up elicits some teasing, partially because some of them don't get to serve the popstar. but avery plays it cool, he's tapping the pen he keeps on him to remember orders against his leg to keep himself grounded. his makeshift metronome. "are we? you have the unique perspective of having a billion people thinking you're one thing or another," the thought of that much perception sends a shiver down his spine. "hey, that's a cop out, i know i'm all those things already," avery begins with a laugh, one that quickly fades as bowie continues on. the public eye is a brutal place. "can't imagine how exhausting that is," he's brushing it off as something casual, every day -- he's not about to contribute to that chaos. "so ... i'm happy to help. even in some way, i guess.

[thefvrious]

a part of bowie knows that a lot of this has to be avery just leaning into his job, securing his bag, if you will. and he’s alright with that, doesn’t mind paying for a few more moments of this handsome man’s time. it makes him feel normal, and that’s worth all the money in the word, he thinks. and bowie works hard to maintain any modicum of normalcy. he can’t begin to explain how strange his life is as one of the most famous people alive, a fucking billionaire with over 100 top 40 hits across his career.

people are drawn to bowie for a multitude of reasons, but he’s been like this his whole life. there’s a reason he’s exponentially more famous than his twin sister. he exudes warmth, shining like the most precious metal – no matter the bullshit he endures. he remains america’s sweetheart, not a smudge on his record, and that’s saying something for a man pushing thirty with ties to the disney corporation. (the shit he’s seen and endured might break someone else). “i think she did it to spite me.” he can’t help but take things personally, the automatic assumption being that the hostess is not a bowie hyde fan. there seems to be no middle ground. you’re either a diehard stan or you hate him. avery’s proof it’s not quite so black and white, but bowie’s got his own delusions and neuroses.

“i’m fine with sitting here. or anywhere. that’s not right by a window.” he says, because he’s not entitled or demanding or even fussy where one might assume he would be. he’s smiling again, “well… that’s something.” he says and his gaze travels over avery’s face, drinking in the details with a reserved fondness. “i’m still just a person – no more or less than you or anybody else.” he says this with a finality that is earnest and true to him. never mind the fact that everyone has an opinion about him or some preconceived notion. “is it? ego.” he clicks his tongue, giggling lightly. “you’ve got a good energy about you, i’m attracted to your aura. between you and me, i don’t keep coming back for the shellfish.” he flushes with the confession, pauses to consider what he’s going to say (or do) next in the face of avery’s words. “would you consider hanging out with me outside of work?”

[thefvrious]

@dcgtown for nico based on this prompt

hooking up with another musician just made sense, even zion was incapable of navigating intimacy without getting feelings involved. nico doesn't need to know that. until it starts becoming habitual, those lines blurring -- zion doesn't know where he stands, what nico wants, what this means for either of them.

he stares at the other guy, working up all the courage in the world to open up his pathetic mouth and say something. when he does, finally, he hates himself for what he asks. "do you like me?"

[thefvrious]

@coeurdefoudre for noah

we hooked up once on a dare and agreed to never talk about it again but now we keep running into each other at every social event

his early days in la are laced with regret and bad decisions (that he's likely to repeat), but it feels like karmic retribution to run into noah again. for, like, the fourth time this month. instead of ignoring her, like he's done the last three times, he decides to step firmly into the door that fate has opened for him.

"seems really unlikely you'd be at an event like this." he confesses, looking at her curiously. "who's your date?"

[thefvrious]

@endlessfebrvary for zayd

Tiziano drops down beside Zayd with an effortless matched by few who've known him for such a short period of time. It's like he sees a kindred spirit in the other musician, knows that there's that same untamed wildness inside of him that lives in Tiz and thrives off of being in like company. He's not worried about catching teeth.

"Brought you a beer." He says with an easy smile, offering the bottle over, thinking about the way Zion had drunkenly confessed how down bad he was for the singer of the other band. The thought of it makes him grin, something devious in his expression. "When you gonna introduce me to Nikau?"

[faustique]

just a reminder in case your mind is playing tricks on you today, you matter. you're important. you're loved. and your presence on this earth makes a difference whether you see it or not.

[thefvrious]

@endlessfebrvary for zayd

There's a sense of wonder that overtakes Zion any time he's in the same room as Zayd. He wonders if the other man knows the kind of energy he exudes? The way he sucks everything into him like he's got the strongest gravitational pull.

He's inspiring. Zion's been a fan for so, so long, and he's taken influence from the band at large. But there's something truly exceptional about Zayd, and Zion still can't believe that he saw something special in their band... in him.

Being alone with him is like being alone with one of the greats, he thinks. And he feels so fucking out of place, like he doesn't deserve to stand in the same room, even if it is in Zayd's shadow, but Zayd's looking at him, and there's something expectant in his expression. Does Zayd know that Zion's a little bit in love with him?

He opens his mouth to say something, hoping something profound will slip out but he just finds himself awkwardly shutting his trap again, small and bashful smile on his face. How can he squander having this attention on him? Where's Tiz when you need him? "I'm really fucking nervous." He confesses. "How do you stay so cool?"

[thefvrious]

@hellrisings for sawyer based on this prompt

things are shifting between them, but bear refuses to face it. this is what happens. it's what always happens when he signs a new guy up for his never-ending roster. eventually, they wind up catching feelings for him. because barrett ripley is not a jerk. he's a lot of things, but he's not a jerk.

he's likeable. he's handsome and funny and charming and successful. an attentive lover with a bright future. what's not to like? except those commitment issues.

he lights a cigarette in the quiet dark that's settled between them like a post-orgasm shame. he's too afraid to ask what the other man is thinking, so he just stares at him for a long time. "how's work?" coward.

[thefvrious]

@hellrisings based on this prompt

being thrust into fame has been anything but what tiziano expected. he's still reeling from it, still finding his footing, but it seems to suit alden in the most graceful way. like he was the one, out of all four of them, that was made for this. he realizes with a sudden and jarring finality that all those feelings he thought he'd squashed back in high school were really just carefully packed away. now? they've been knocked off the shelf, spilling out into the void for him to re-examine all over again.

his gaze drags over alden as they sit, side-by-side, at somebody's party high up in the hollywood hills. "you look like you belong here." he says with a half-grin, admiration in his features even as he feels wrong in his own skin.

[thefvrious]

@nopartyinvitations for finn based one of your wanted prompts

when did you get hot?

two lifelong friends who have always seen each other as platonic suddenly notice sparks. what was once familiarity turns into an awkward, thrilling tension as they both wrestle with the terrifying question: risk the friendship, or ignore the chemistry?

when bear went off to college, there was less time for finnegan -- which made sense. people grow up and move on, right? but coming back home opened the door for their friendship to continue. and, lately, it feels like they've been seeing more and more of each other, barrett drawn in for one reason or another and finn just the same.

sitting next to him now, bear can't help the way his gaze drags down the other man like appreciating him for the first time. the energy between them feels different, too, and he's left wondering if finn's always been this attractive... and if finn feels that tension, too.

"what's on your mind over there?" he risks asking, even turning in toward the other man, angling their bodies together.