♫♬♪ . k i c k it

Nicks 닉스 read rules/about prior to interacting. private. selective. multi-verse/ship. mun/muse 21+ inactive

[undead-potatoes]

Someone, jokingly: Haha I kinda ship our muses

Me:

[wickedbeatboy-blog]

200crashes:

Nicks isn’t that much shorter than him, but when he opens the door, that first second, Tennyson is sure he’s staring down at a small child whose thought they lost their favourite toy. “I’m sorry,” he says without thinking, and he’s being hit. He deserves it, he was a horrible person who left the only person who’d ever really cared about him since he’d managed to outlive his entire family. Nicks is drunk and hitting him and Tenn is just standing there and taking it because he knows he deserves worse than that. Look at him, the kid’s a wreck, he fucking broke him. “I’m sorry I didn’t…” he can’t even speak, it’s not worth it, there’s no reason to. None of it mattered because Nicks’ head is on his chest and his free arm is wrapping around him, holding him close, his head nuzzling against the one buried against him. “Shh…I’m sorry, christ” And he’s already starting to cry, too. 

They’re a regular pair, look at them! Standing in the doorway blubbering at each other, where they can see. (not sure which they this time, really. Both of them. All of them.) Seems like Nicks gets the hint because they’re inside now, the door’s closed, not locked, so he puts the case down and at least does the door chain up. He’s got just enough time to do that before he’s falling onto the bed and Nicks is playing with his belt buckle, “Ah, Nicks… ye don’t have–” But then there it is, shut up. “Right.” Somehow he’s just silenced that easily, even though he wants to say he isn’t sure this is the best idea, that Nicks is crying and that he’d hurt him and they needed to deal with this like grown men, even if that meant just letting Nicks cry on the bed in Tennyson’s arms, he would do that. 

Good boy.

It’s like something rights itself and when he feels those hips buck everything goes back to normal, real, solid, firm. Nicks feels Tennyson giving him an offer of crawling up and nestling in close. Somehow he finds his feet and he’s tugging off his clothing until he’s down to a cut off t-shirt and a pair of briefs. Swallowing, he can feel cum spilling out, making a filthy mess down his chin that he wipes away and licks clean. Alcohol has his skin warm, limbs loose, and Nicks can forget about how he’d spiraled hard into not just one bottle but two before Tennyson was alive and the last forty-eight hours didn’t count at all.

Crawling up the large expanse of his body, Nicks is straddling his hips tugging and trying to unbutton Tennyson’s shirt (there’s a few buttons that go flying) before fumbling with his own. My good boy, sitting pretty and waiting, he’d say if his nerves didn’t feel on fire. Nicks feels like fracturing glass by the time he’s giving up with his shirt, knowing it doesn’t matter because those large hands can touch skin more than enough with how short it’s cut. His face feels warm, his eyes are puffy, and Tennyson’s cum is a heady taste in his mouth.

“You didn’t answer for a month.”

I thought it was you baby boy, my world shattered and I thought you were gone. The words are on his tongue, there’s no more words and he’s decided to leave Tenn’s shirt open. Fingers are twisting and gripping in thick hair, his shoulders curling in a little as he grinds forward with a quiet little huff. Sober, Nicks would’ve told Tennyson to get his dirty ass in the shower before he even contemplated doing anything but now there’s just relief and a desperate kind of need to rut and mark himself in the behemoth’s stench.

Wordlessly he has one of those large hands guided to his cock still trapped in his briefs while the other is tugged up under the thin fabric of his shirt, calloused hands running over a nipple. Nicks’ face gets hotter and he thinks back to all the filthy kinky shit he’d looked at on his phone when he’d been bored at Xander’s place. Whiskey has him letting go of those hold ups from before and he’s gripping Tennyson’s jaw between his fingers as he grinds forward with a whine on his shaking breath. “New rule,” he says, as if he hadn’t broken down crying, as if he wasn’t dangerously fragile in those large hands.

Fingers are thrusting into Tennyson’s mouth, getting slick with saliva and fucking in slow filthy thrusts to stop any interruptions.

“You text me once a week. Something simple, could be anything, but if you don’t I swear to fucking god I will find you and make you choke on more than just my fingers.” Nicks’ voice is trembling and he’s looking down at Tennyson, feeling words like shards of glass ripping at his throat. I thought I’d lost you forever. How could you leave me like that? That sadistic part of him festers up hot and fast, wanting to vent his frustration out some other way that words just can’t quite manage. Tennyson is given just long enough to get him hard, to have him breathing a little quicker and roughly pulling his fingers away only to bend down and kiss him.

It’s bordering on painful the way he devours the heat of Tennyson’s mouth, fucking it with his tongue and chewing at his lower lip. Nicks shoves him back down, fingers firm at his throat before getting up off the bed. He’s hurting and coming to terms with the fact that the asshole he’d been grieving, the one person he’d actually given a fuck about, wasn’t as dead as he’d thought.

Nicks doesn’t realize he’s halfway through tugging off Tennyson’s jeans when he hears himself talking.

“--you made me worry so much about you, bitch. All it fucking took was a text, one text.” Tennyson’s shoes are left on by some drunken miracle by the time he’s tossing the jeans to the ground and tugging down his briefs just enough to palm his own cock. “Ought t’mark up your hole, bet you’d like it if I fucking pissed in your cunt and marked you like a fucking bitch in heat.” Nicks is leaning over the sheer mass of Tennyson, licking up sweat and biting at a nipple while saliva slick fingers find the cleft of his ass only to press in, curling and thrusting shallowly. Sweat is running down the curve of his spine and his mouth is sucking and nipping sharply at the other nipple when he’s got a second finger and curls in to find that little spot where he knows it feels good.

Tennyson’s nipple is dark and swollen with a hickey by the time Nicks is swaying back just far enough to spit on his dick and line it up. “You’re mine,” he hears himself saying, meeting Tenn’s gaze in the half shadows of the shitty motel. “Mine to piss on, mark up, fuck, finger --” Nicks feels tight heat swallow up his cock and he bucks forward, brows knitting together. “Mine.” A shallow thrust and a moan is knocked free out of his lungs. His mouth is latching on at skin, breathing in sweat and the stench from god knows how long Tenn’s gone without taking a fucking shower. Either way it doesn’t stop him from bucking his hips or beginning to empty out his bladder while he fucks him messy and fast.

“Your cunt is mine,” he hisses against another hickey, as he fucks him harder, one muscled leg up over his shoulder that he grips and bites possessive little marks into while his hips grind in harder. Nicks pulls free just a moment, face flushed hot as he holds Tennyson’s leg in one arm while his other hand has his cock aimed at the bulk of his body so he can do just like he’d threatened drunkenly and piss on him. A shaking breath slips free and he palms his cock stroking it and trembling looking at the sight of Tennyson filthy and debauched.

Nicks chews at his own lip, guiding his cock back in and giving a few shallow thrust before feeling that fever hot tension snap with an uneven buck of his hips. Dizzily, he stays buried in him, hips jerking a few times as he comes, filling him up and leaving his hole messy. “Say it,” Nicks orders hoarsely, watching Tenn through lidded eyes, “Say it.”

[wickedbeatboy-blog]

200crashes:

He still hadn’t picked up after he’d redialed, and Tennyson decided to stop and get the booze now so he wouldn’t have to wait. While he was in the parking lot, he used his equipment to track where the last phone call had come from so he knew where the hell he was going (because calling and asking for an address, of course, never even crossed his mind.) Address in hand, he’s been to the city enough times, Tenn knows where it is. He doesn’t use GPS (they can track that. You know who they is.) Besides, the voice would just distract him from keeping his eyes on the road. 

Around hour five, he’s barely paying attention to the road after downing his third bottle of root beer and his second five hour energy, he’s now using one of the empty bottles so he doesn’t have to waste time pulling over to relieve himself. Because it’s much more sensible to whip his dick out at 70+ miles per hour and pee into an opening the size of a quarter instead of pulling over to pee wherever he felt like. Either way, he’s got a full case of vodka behind him, and it’s a miracle he manages to avoid rush hour traffic  in every large city he passes through. Maybe they wanted him to get to Nicks quicker (different they. Different agendas.)

The whole time his brain’s going a 90 miles a second, trying to figure out how to apologise because surely he’d be expected to do so in person, too, just on the phone wasn’t good enough. And Nicks would be so cross, he was already hurting, that just made Tennyson drive faster. Somehow, he made it from just outside of Louisville to the little motel in ten hours and fifteen minutes. He’d probably broken a decent amount of laws. Whatever. Nicks needed him. The tires of the car he’d commandeered screeched into the lot (he parked relatively normal, only took up one spot, really!) and he whipped his phone out to pull up the tracking info again, able to pinpoint which room he was in without having to bang on every door and talk to other people (and probably terrify them, that was the default reaction to a giant banging on your door in the middle of the night.)

He grabbed the case of vodka, hefted it up on his shoulder and pounded up the stairs to the door with the “406” stamped on it. For some reason, he froze, just for a second, had to find his breath before he bang-bang-bang'ed “Nicks! Are ye’ in there?”

By the time he hears loud knocking he’s half through the second bottle of whiskey and only ninety percent sure it’s the police.

Until he hears the voice.

There’s a loud thud, swearing in a string of english mixed with who the fuck knows following by a few clattering slams. After a moment the door is opened, and Nicks is there bare-footed and red eyed swaying on his feet. “You--” His voice wavers, and his fingers curl clumsily in the messy sleeve of his hoodie. The loose fist meets Tennyson’s chest weakly and Nicks feels his eyes burning again, stinging with fresh tears. “You didn’t answer. And they said a driver crashed.” Another weak punch at Tennyson’s chest and he’s swaying a little on his feet. “Fucking asshole, you fuck, fucking -- fuck you,” there’s no heat to the words at all as he hits his chest again.

Relief threatens to suffocate him and his forehead is on the tall asshole’s chest. Nicks thinks he’s saying words but all that’s really coming out are broken muffled sobs coupled with half-hearted curses. He doesn’t even see the vodka, honestly he doesn’t fucking care at the moment. Tennyson’s heartbeat is fast and hard against his skin and Nicks refuses to tell him how relieved he is that he’s alive.

Tennyson is real, solid, and warm. Fingers twist roughly into the fabric of his shirt, refusing to let him go as he forces down the tears and sobs instead just dragging Tennyson inside before kicking the door shut with his bare foot. Nicks waits just long enough for the annoying box to get put aside before shoving the behemoth back onto the bed. Wiping his face, he’s tugging and fumbling with the buckle of Tenn’s belt before finally he’s got it open.

Nicks rubs away more tears roughly, scowling down at the other man.

“S-Shut up.”

Thank god he’s drunk or he’d die of embarrassment how messy he looks, how emotional Nicks has let himself get over this idiot he’s got splayed on the sheets. Tennyson reeks of sweat and who the fuck knows but in that moment he doesn’t give a fuck.

Nicks is also pretty sure he hears himself tell Tennyson as much as he tugs out the other man’s cock. Palming it slowly, he sinks down between strong thighs and folds himself over Tennyson. It’s enough to chase the news flash from the front of his mind as he messily licks over the swell of his dick unfazed by how fucking dirty Tennyson is after his cross country trip no doubt (if Nicks knows him at all). It’s because it’s Tennyson that he sinks down messy and eager, swallowing him down and suckling on his dick. Nicks feels saliva running down his chin as he bobs his head, finally taking a breath and letting his throat go lax until his nose is buried in sweat damp wiry hair.

It lets him ignore the reality, how he’d cried over Tenn, over the thought of just losing him.

Fingers twist under Tennyson’s dirty shirt, carding through thick dark hair as he pulls back just enough to take another breath before sinking back down. Eyes flutter close. He wants Tennyson to use him, to make him go numb, but for now this is good enough as that dark vicious pain eases gradually at his chest. Nicks twists his fingers into hair, letting himself drown into the musky filthy scent of Tennyson as he bobs his head, swallowing, letting the behemoth of a cock fuck his throat shallow and fast before sinking down all the way once more with a low whining plea for Tennyson to cum. Just fill him up and leave him numb, free of the heartache he’d been choking on for weeks. He doesn’t want to think about the grief coldly suffocating him that he’d tried to drown out with whiskey.

Swallowing hard, Nicks lets his head go a little dizzy as he stays with his forehead against warm skin with the idiot’s cock down his throat, suckling it like some desperate little bitch.

[wickedbeatboy-blog]

-- @200crashes

Miraculously enough, Nicks isn’t at Xander’s place. After the first night he’d debated bailing and by the end of the first week he was housed up in a shitty motel. That, of course, was after he’d stolen his fair share of blankets from Cage’s place with the shaky promise of returning them cause fuck if he was gonna trust the sheets at the local motel 6. He’s thumbing through twitter and mourning the loss of the heater when he sees the news, when his anger goes cold and the body they pull out of the river looks suspiciously like Tennyson’s own hulking frame.

It’s a small miracle he manages to react as poorly as he does.

So he’s got two bottles of whiskey and a bottle of vodka. One bottle lasts him through most of the day and he doesn’t hear the phone chiming next to him on the nightstand. Nicks is curled up in his hoodie, eyes swollen with tears he’ll deny shedding till hell freezes over and curls more into the pillow while he watches some shitty ass soap opera on the television. Sniffling, he finishes the bottle as a couple are dramatically reunited. “Fucking lies!” He can’t even get the goddamn whiskey bottle to break right. Nicks curls up, cradling his phone and numbly dialing the first number in his speed dial; Tennyson.

There’s a voicemail he’ll listen to later but for now he’s crying and holding the stupid bit of plastic and metal to his ear, “I’m at some shitty ass motel cause it reminds me of you and your fucking awful taste and how fucking pathetic is that huh? Sofia and James can get reunited after a fucking car crash and you -- why’d you have to leave? I just wanted to spend the weekend together, do something fucking normal cause we ain’t like that and now you --” Nicks closes his eyes tightly, sobbing and curling in on himself as the phone drops from his fingers onto the floor. He’s got his hands over his face as he cries, face full of tears and snot and body heaving with sobs.

It wasn’t real if he didn’t believe it ... right?

[wickedbeatboy-blog]

thexanderzone:

Xander knows the rumors, knows what the world’s saying about him, he just doesn’t give a shit. They’d think what they wanted, and he’d do what he felt like, as long as it kept money and power out of the pockets of assholes and boardroom billionaires. It’s not like he’d ever hidden the fact he was kinda like Robin Hood if the guy had ever gotten on a skateboard, so it wasn’t about going soft, or picking a side. He hadn’t. He’d just gotten fed up with pretending to be dead. There was only so many places to go to keep a low profile these days, after all, he’d already been so many places he’d had to buy a new map. 

Of course, that got a little harder when the world became a lot smaller pond with a lot more fish looking to chow down on him. It was just more of a challenge, now. Gibbons somehow kept a bit of the heat off them long enough to put Detroit in the rear view of the GTO. X had actually tried to keep them together for a bit, and he’d never let them know it was because he didn’t want them getting burned. They’d become his family, his crew, something he’d never really gotten to feel like he had until recently. But that was sentimental of him, and there was a small part of him that wondered if maybe those whispers had been a little bit right.

Expecially with Xiang. Whatever the fuck was going on between them was too intense for him to put a word on, but he knew that if anyone ever got their hands on him the way Marke thought she had, he’d tear down the entire world to free him from whatever hole they’d no doubt throw him in. Shit, he was getting to be like those couples in action movies, the ones that always end up together no matter who played them. Here they were, laying in bed like some old married couple or something. Of course, no married couple did the sort of things these walls had seen, none he knew of at least. X was trying to remember how to breathe properly, and his phone vibrated again. “Damn.”

It was a lot later than he’d thought. Maybe their sparring session hadn’t been the best of ideas. He didn’t know when Nicks had left, but he had a pretty good idea. “Don’t get up,” he said with a smirk, pulling on a pair of boxers and nothing else. X wasn’t going out into the cold, couldn’t pay him enough. He caught the end of the conversation with Tennyson, but he was no relationship counselor, he wasn’t going to say shit. Nicks, of course, had to open his mouth, though, he invited it. Not his fault, now. 

“She would have gone somewhere warm instead of waiting.” The cold air shocked his system, but it was gone before he could acclimate to it. “You know he’ll come back in a week or two, tail between his legs ‘cause he knew he fucked up.” Somehow, as crazy as Ten was, X could still call him one of the most predictable people he knew. When he’d ended up with Nicks at the club that night, it had all been over.

“Whatever man.”

Nicks doesn’t wait long to drop his bags in the corner and start looking around the lower levels of the warehouse. A few pillows are dragged out and he manages to find a blanket or two that’ll make the couch more bearable. He doesn’t bother with questions cause he’s already spent too long answering questions from Tennyson that he’s got a migraine threatening to swell up. This whole domestic bullshit thing was really starting to bite him in the ass if he’s honest. So he’s got his seven layers of clothing shrugged off until he’s in something resembling pajamas.

“Yknow I don’t give a fuck if he does come back or not, that fucker left me stranded in fucking Tahoe by myself cause of some conspiracy that there was a missile or some shit. Can you fucking believe it? White suburbia is somehow Soviet Russia.” Nicks is digging through his bags and finally manages to tug free a few different brown paper bags before turning and kicking off his shoes. Barefoot and irritable he shoves both of the bags at Xander. “Yeah I know you and Kim Chi upstairs are fucking and I don’t care, neither does Ten really, so we bought you some shit before I told him to fuck off for ruining a perfectly good vacation.” It’s some new snow gear and stupid touristy stuff like a snow globe and other shit.

Nicks shrugs and turns back to his things, pulling on an oversized sweater and glaring at his phone that’s ringing again. Answering it, he doesn’t even bother listening as he shouts angrily in a sharp string of korean, chinese, and broken english. Ending the call, Nicks scarcely keeps from throwing the phone across the warehouse and inevitably drops onto the couch, nesting in and scowling at the string of illegible text messages.

“Gibbons better have a mission or something soon, shit, I don’t know how much longer I can stand this restless bullshit. I just wanna party and maybe fuck a lil but no, it’s just one big plot to destroy the world and the government is always behind it so obviously no one can be trusted.” Nicks tugs the collar of his sweater up, covering his face and the angry flush that’s on his face as he drags the blankets closer around his body. “I ain’t even mad that you and Kim Chi apparently cracked the code to this domestic bullshit but fuck man.” His phone is buzzing between his fingers, the text messages are getting close to ten now and stubbornly he refuses to read them.

Like hell Nicks will admit he misses Tennyson.

“So what? Middle of winter and you two idiots are just camped out fucking like rabbits till spring?”

[wickedbeatboy-blog]

-- this just in i am a slut for midnighter on all my blogs regardless of fandom oops.

[wickedbeatboy-blog]

►►► @thexanderzone​

There’s been whispers, rumors, Cage has gone soft. Cage has gone legit. Course he thinks it’s all shit but Nicks is a creature that has his ear to the pulse of the underground. He’s sitting waiting like a dumb ass with his hoodie making him look too small in the half shadows of the shit hole Xander is hiding out in calling a home. He’s chewing his nails, eyes dancing around the shithole neighborhood almost definitely sure that he’s going to get shot if he looks just a little more white than he already does curled up checking his phone. Xander doesn’t choose the Ritz that’s for fucking sure.

So maybe he’s a little paranoid since they’d all put their names into the fucking incinerator. Tennyson is in the wind, paranoid piece of shit that he is, and the rest of their team? Nicks doesn’t know cause the world doesn’t give a shit about people like him. Nah, they’ve got hard-ons for the big fish like Xiang and Xander (speaking of Xiang he’s pretty sure he’s going crazy when he looks up at the tall warehouse and imagines he sees those feral eyes peeking out).

Nicks pulls his jacket tighter around his body and mutters out a string of irritable curse words. Of course Xander is too busy getting his dick wet, asshole was always weak where tail was concerned. Nicks just didn’t think it’d be Xiang that Cage was hounding after like a dog in heat. So maybe he’s focusing on his phone just a little harder and puffing out a breath of annoyance while he continues to play FlappyBird because no one, no one, was going to beat his high score.

The mobile rings and he answers it as he hears the warehouse door creak open, “Man, stop being such a bitch.” Nicks scoffs and listens to the man on the other end. “Nah man, you need to stop with your government bullshit and come back down to Earth,” a pause and he’s rolling his eyes as he gets to his feet swearing again about the cold, “Yeah Ten it’s fucking cold and you ain’t here to do shit so stop bitching. Yeah whatever, bye.” Pocketing his phone, he jogs the rest of the way and shoulders past Xander with a scowl.

“Yknow, you’re lucky I ain’t Adele or some shit cause she’d have shot both y’alls balls off for making her wait outside in the fucking cold like some stray dog.”

[dazzlingkai]

I’ve been lookin’ for a reason to have you in my arms, where you wanna be. Talking till the mornin’ we don’t need any sleep, i hate it when you go to work. Kris Wu - JULY ( 2016 )