#i was gonna cheekily send the prompts as an ask to myself but lol i figured that'd be a bit lame | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilkkawhat · 3 years

Text

to fall on deaf ears

[prompted by myself, using "I never ask for help because I'm not sure I know how." + "It's alright to feel broken every once and a while. And it's alright to take time to heal." off of that prompts list to expand on a vague idea I got from a dream a few months ago. read on ao3 here or continue below]

“If you got a callout tomorrow to the restaurant where you got shot and Officer Clark died, could you focus?”

He pretends that it’s just like any other restaurant that serves them up a crime scene. He ignores that even while the name of the restaurant had changed, just as he had changed his exterior style with a buzzed head, the insides were still the same. There’s still the slits of warm, golden yellow light lining the walls, radiating a gentle glow to add to the elegant, intimate atmosphere.

There’s still the brick tunnel that’s overlit with fluorescence, a segue into the kitchen where it all started.

Where it all went so horribly wrong.

He can still see the pool of blood seeping down the corridor. Spreading to the walls under an imposing shadow answering his desperate calls that fall on dead ears.

He can still smell the gunpowder.

“Could you be there for your team?”

Sara puts a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. She gives him a look and he shrugs her off, eyes fluttering and plastering on a smile to indicate he’s fine.

He gets to work.

“Would you want you backing you up right now?”

He thinks he’s okay, just one step at a time. One breath at a time. There’s no more threat, the restaurant has been cleared so they can investigate the body lying motionless on the floor.

A body lying in a pool of blood. Arms spread, eyes closed.

A discarded weapon just out of reach.

A body that doesn’t just look like him…

It is him.

A shaky laugh mingles with a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief, he thinks about pinching himself because he must be dreaming, he’ll wake up in just a minute and get his assignment to an unrelated case that doesn’t have his name written anywhere except for his signature on the field report.

But even as he falls to the floor out of a reflex—the same reflex he had in a house of a hoarder—when there’s a loud crash from the kitchen that sounds not completely, but still close enough to a gunshot, he realizes this isn’t a dream.

It’s a waking nightmare.

“Nick!” Sara calls, reaching out her arms after Nick immediately backs away, shielding his shot arm with his other. An embarrassing whimper mixes with his cry—his plea of “No!” and Sara eventually gives up as he huddles himself under a table, a small table that would seat a couple on a date that he then knocks over to protect himself with the same barricade that Ray and Papa—the real target of the mad doctor who viewed Nick as nothing but a nuisance in his way, and treated him as such when he shot him without any sort of hesitation or bargaining or empty threat of telling him to back off—which he wouldn’t have done anyway, of course, but perhaps in hindsight, in another dimension, perhaps he would find himself behind the safety of the table. Perhaps he would have been able to fire a few more shots to incapacitate the serial killer.

“Nick—” Sara starts again.

“Get down!” Nick warns her, because there’s a shadow approaching from the kitchen—he readies his gun—his finger on the trigger—

“Nick, no!”

Sara bats the gun out of Nick’s hand, but the damage is done. A shot is fired, and it’s fortunately a miss, lodging its way into the cemented wall of bricks, engulfed in the shadow cast by one of the stationed uniforms meant to babysit the CSIs as they conduct their investigation.

“Jesus Christ, Stokes! What, did you think I was a ghost or something?” the officer sneers with a red face, and Sara shoots the man a sharp glare before placing herself in front of Nick.

Any words he may have had to bite back were lost anyway to his hyperventilation, still trapped in the morbidly vivid flashback of the shooting. Clark’s shooting. His shooting.

This wasn’t just any restaurant.

This is where he was shot.

And this is where Nick Stokes almost died.

That’s his reasoning for his unfortunate reaction to what he thought was a real threat, but just as before, his call falls on deaf ears and he’s exiled from the restaurant and stripped of his defenses.

Catherine soon rolls up with the coroner, having been called immediately. Their eyes only just meet as she gets an earful from Brass, who is ranting on about how she should have known better than to send Nick there, especially not after what had happened.

Nick did have to wonder if this was some spiteful attempt to show him that no, he’s not fine. That he needs to go back to therapy. That he has a twisted definition of recovery to the point where he thinks he’s already recovered when really, there’s still blood on his hands and a hole dangerously close to his heart.

And to make matters somehow even worse, the next scene he’s sent to after a brief suspension that’s sugar coated as “mandatory vacation,” is with the good doctor himself, and across the street from the Clark family.

They are among the prying bystanders that flock the perimeter of the crime scene tape. He approaches them, because he feels they are owed an explanation, not just for the horrors that happened on their street, but for the horrors of the past that he never got a chance to testify to. Not to them, at least. They didn’t want to hear him.

And unsurprisingly, they don’t want to hear him now either.

The children hug around their mother, and Clark’s widowed wife spits in Nick’s face before he can even open his mouth. The nearby uniforms don’t stop try to stop the commotion, as murmurs through the crowd then break out, “is that the CSI that killed Clark?”

He knows they wouldn’t listen to the truth even if he told them.

He nods as respectfully as he can, before turning away and coiling his fist as he walks back towards Ray.

“You okay?” Ray asks in a careful voice.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Nick shakes off.

“That was Officer Clark’s family, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...Ye—” Nick stops mid sentence, losing his breath and his face contorts into a reluctant cry that he pushes back down into his chest, pressurizing the pulsing wound that stings near his heart. He shakes his head and keeps walking, not allowing himself to break down in front of his esteemed colleague, let alone the general public.

He’ll hold it in, as he always does, until he’s safe in the privacy of his own home.

But as he’ll soon come to find out, that privacy is just as much of a facade as the bravado he continues to put on in order to do his job.

So instead, he settles for the brief moments of privacy he gets in the locker room, which has always acted as a sort of sanctuary for him, dating back to his days on the football field in high school, or the baseball field in college. The time to reflect after a long and grueling game, the adrenaline having sweated out of his body and he gets a moment to think to himself before he has to either celebrate a win or mourn a loss with the rest of the team. The rest of his family.

The time to gather himself before he goes to a home that’s not a true home.

It’s a broken one.

A home where monsters spy on him. Where demons attack him.

Where he can’t sleep without fearing that the wrong move will blow it all up.

“Nicky?”

He lifts his head, and drops the shirt that he was holding in his hands.

“Were...you listening to anything I just said?” Catherine asks in a slow voice.

“Yuh-huh,” Nick smiles as he picks up the shirt, quickly putting it on to cover the scars that seem to scream out of his skin.

He hopes that she doesn’t pick it up too, and realize that it’s the same shirt he wore the day Warrick died.

“You seemed like you got lost for a minute,” she smiles sweetly at him, scratching the top of his head. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s the matter.”

“Nick. I’ve known you for over eleven years now,” Catherine sighs. “You may look like you have a healthy body, but that tired look in your eyes tells me...you don’t have a healthy mind.”

He meets her eyes, glistening with the same softness that his mother had on the night that she came home to find him sitting in the dark.

And for once, he tells the truth in a call that falls on listening ears.

“I never ask for help because I’m not sure I know how,” Nick admits, his eyes still transfixed on the shaking hands in front of him. “I just...I still feel so...so…”

Broken.

Catherine sits down next to Nick, taking one of his fidgeting hands and curling her fingers between his. She wraps her other arm around his shoulder, hugs him tight to her body.

“It’s alright to feel broken every once and a while,” she tells him. “And it’s alright to take time to heal.”

Nick nods silently, his lips quivering as he tries to stop the flood of tears by shutting his eyelids, but one still rolls down his cheek on the side of his face and onto the hand that’s holding him.

“And you will heal,” she assures him. “I promise.”

He hasn’t healed from the shooting, no matter how much he pretends that it didn’t affect him.

The ghost of Officer Clark still haunts him, as well as the souls he’s taken by his own bullets.

He hasn’t healed from being buried alive almost six years ago, his newfound claustrophobia and aversion to fire ants in particular conflicting with the longing for solitude and his new passion for entomology.

He still hears Walter Gordon’s voice telling him what’s going to happen every time he’s trapped by a green light.

Even though it was a long time ago, he hasn’t healed from the slow burning terror of being stalked. Before he moved out of the house, he would slowly discover things that Crane had moved, altered or even taken from him.

Yet he still has one of his jackets that Crane had “graciously” picked up from the dry cleaner’s.

And he’s definitely had plenty of guns shoved in his face, and with every new barrel he stares down he feels himself transforming into something hard, something that will take a lot more to damage—but he still hasn’t healed from that very first time outside of the training field.

He wonders, if Holly Gribbs hadn’t died, would he have died in her place?

“It just feels like I never will,” his voice, fully warbled in a sob that tangles his throat. “I-I haven’t f-for years.”

And he will never heal from the childhood trauma that he’s done everything he could to drown with repression, only for it to resurface with the same ease as a beach ball floating in water. Following him. Bumping into him, reminding him of what happened that night and what was taken from him.

“You will, Nicky. You most definitely will. And I’ll be here, we’ll all be here for you until you do.”

She cups his head to her chest and lets him release the tangled web that’s ensnared him, only letting him go when he feels he’s ready, and helps him stand back up and take his first step into a full recovery.

#csi fic #nick stokes #catherine willows #sara sidle #ray langston #csi 10x23 #mk.fic #mk.op #i was gonna cheekily send the prompts as an ask to myself but lol i figured that'd be a bit lame #(you can actually legit send asks to yourself and not on anon)#sorry i like to see you suffer nick #nick and catherine #also i haven't written a lot of nick and cath fics

11 notes · View notes

anothers-trash-my-treasure · 5 years

Text

Pushing The Limits.

Welcome Back!

This is for the anon who requested Elliot with a Daddy Kink. Idek where this came from, I’ve never written something like this before but I’m low-key obsessed with it. Enjoy the pure sin!

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x Reader

Warnings: smut Smut SMut SMUt SMUT! Unprotected sex (use protection pls), name-calling, low key humiliation kink, choking, rougher sex. obvs daddy kink

Word count: 2550 (EXACTLY, this makes me so happy lol)

Please don’t hesitate to send me prompts or asks!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Gif is not mine*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had started with a simple text message.

Come over after? Miss you.

Very simple and straight to the point. Iconic Elliot. I smiled, deciding I wanted to rile him up a bit.

I’m off in a half hour. Miss you too, daddy ;)

I bit my bottom lip nervously before clicking send. Last time I had attempted to initiate sexting he had firmly said no, and that was the end of it. We had spent the night watching old movies instead. It’s a risky move to send a message like that, but I figure if he misses me enough he’ll act on his anger instead.

You just love to piss me off, don’t you?

I smirk at his response because at least I got one. And that tells me, he really does miss me enough to put up with my shit.

Love it just as much as you like to punish me for it.

I’m pushing my luck and I know it. But god, I can’t help it. It’s just so fun when Elliot gets riled up and in the right mood. My shift ends and I begin my trek to his apartment. I climb the stairs as fast as I can, stopping briefly to catch my breath when I reach his floor. I knock on the door lightly before trying the handle; It’s open.

“El?” I call out as I close the door behind me.

He mumbled a response and I round the corner, seeing him sitting on the end of his bed. His hoodie is pulled up over his head and a freshly rolled joint hangs from his lips. He shakes as head at me as he pulls the joint away from his mouth, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. He stares at me with unblinking eyes and I know what kind of game he wants to play.

“Am I in trouble?” I ask innocently, folding my hands in front of my body.

“What do you think?” He asks, a harsh tone to his voice as he takes another hit, “Come.” He gestures to the floor at his feet. I do what he says, he doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for me to bratty just yet. Once I’m kneeling on the floor in between his feet, I look up at him, awaiting my next instruction. He takes my chin in his hand roughly, forcing me to look at him.

“You know how I feel about this kind of shit.” He says firmly, thumb dragging across my bottom lip, “But it doesn’t look like a simple ‘no’ will stop you so,” He brings the joint up to his lips again, taking a deep drag and holding it before letting it go, “Looks like I’ll have to punish you, instead.” I let out a shuddered breath as excitement boils in my stomach. It’s been a while since daddy came out to play.

“Here are the rules.” He says darkly, “You don’t cum until I tell you.” That alone hits me like a freight train in between my legs, I’m fairly certain I could cum just hearing him talk like this, “You say red if anything gets to be too much. The rest will be discussed as we continue. As for now,” He pauses, giving me a chance to object to anything while leaning back to put the joint on the bed-side table. He glances down at his lap, “You know what to do.”

I waste no time, standing up on my knees and getting to work on his belt buckle. I work on the button and zipper of his signature black jeans before tugging them around his ankles along with his boxers. My mouth waters as I watch him spring out of the confines. I love his cock, the way it stands so proud against the black fabric of his sweater. I reach out a grab it tentatively and revel in the soft gasp he lets leave his lips. He watches me with intense eyes, leaning back on one hand as I spit in my hand before pumping it up and down his shaft, never breaking eye contact. He is not having this.

“No,” he hisses, “I want your fucking mouth.” He says as he buries his other hand in my hair and shoves his cock into my awaiting mouth. I moan around it, loving the sharp zaps of pain running through my scalp as he manoeuvres me how he pleases. “Was that so fucking hard?” He growls at me.

I look up at him with wide, innocent eyes that I know he loves as my mouth is dragged up and down his cock. All the while he’s moving my head, my tongue is rolling along the underside. His eyes are half-lidded, his breathing laboured as he uses me. I love it.

He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, hand gripping my hair tighter, “Take it all, slut.” He grunts, forcing me to take his right to the base, past my gag reflex. I can feel him at the back of my throat and body instinctively tries to swallow. His eyes roll back as my throat constricts around him.

“Fuck, baby girl. Look at you,” he moans, “taking my cock like a fucking champ.” He pulls out briefly, rubbing the tips against my parted lips, “what are you?”

I suck on the head, slurping sloppily because I know he loves that, “I’m your cock slut, daddy.” I say, my voice already raspy. He growls at my response.

“Yes, my beautiful little cock slut.” he moans, pushing past my lips again before starting to steadily fuck my throat. I can tell he’s getting close, his trusts getting sloppy, head thrown back and mouth open wide. I love knowing that I’m the one who makes him feel this way. It’s my mouth who makes him lose his mind. He shoves in deep again, holding there for a few seconds. A shudder racks his body and he moans loudly. He pulls my head away, breathing heavily, “fuck, too close..” he moans.

All I can think, at this moment is how badly I want his cum shooting down my throat. I whine, “Daddy, please give me your cum.” I kiss the top of his head softly, “Please daddy, want it so bad.”

His eyes roll back and he moans, defeated, “Fuck, shit, shit, shit, shit.” He puts the tip in my mouth just as he starts to cum, his hand working the base, moaning loudly. I moan happily, I dirty talked him over the edge. “You, fucking, minx.” He moans, gasping in between words as he finishes.

Once he pulls out, he grabs my jaw, “Show me.” he demands. I happily open my mouth, showing him the mess he made inside my mouth before closing, swallowing and opening again to show him just how badly I wanted it.

He moans again, throwing his hoodie off and flopping back on the bed. I stay in my position, knowing it’s far from over.

“Did I do good, daddy?” I ask cheekily after a moment, knowing full well he’s pissed.

“No,” he says simply, standing up and pulling me with him, “I was going to be nice to you. But for that little stunt, you’ve earned yourself a real treat tonight.”

He pushes me back on the bed, “take off your shirt.” he demands as he starts working on my jeans. Soon enough, I laying fully exposed on the bed for him. He crawls on top of me, kissing me harshly and moving my hands above my head.

“Keep your hands there, don’t move.” He says, manoeuvring his body down in between my legs, “and remember, you don’t cum until I say so, understood?”

I grip the pillow above my head, mentally preparing myself for whatever he has planned, “Yes, daddy.”

He wastes no time, immediately attaching his lips to my clit and sucking hard. I throw my head back and my arms flex with the effort of keeping them still. His hands are gripping my thighs in a near death grip as he goes to town on me. He moves his tongue from my clit to dipping it in and out of my wet core, fucking me with it at a leisurely pace.

“Fuck! El- Daddy, feels so good,” I moan loudly. I’m close already, his talented tongue sending me racing for the edge. My hips instinctively buck up against his face and he pulls away. I whine, looking at him quizzically.

“I told you not to move,” He says lowly, nipping at my inner thigh, “Besides, you think I don’t know when you’re close?” He smiles devilishly as I pout down at him.

“But-”

“You think I’d let you off the hook that easy?” He asks, returning to ever so softly dragging the tip of his tongue over my cunt. He chuckles darkly as the soft moan I let out, “baby girl, we’re just getting started.”

He moves my legs over his shoulder so he can slide his middle finger into my heat. But only just up to the second knuckle, so he’s just barely brushing against my g-spot. I whine breathlessly, biting my lip and gripping the pillow tightly and his thrusts his finger in and out of my shallowly. It takes everything I have in me to not grind my hips against his sinful mouth. He’s moaning and tugging on my clit as he adds a second finger, stretching me out in the most delish way.

“Daddy, please.” I whine, “I need more.” I meet his eyes, giving him a pleading look.

He detached his mouth from my pussy, “more?” he asks, I nod desperately, “Like this?” and with that, he’s shoving his fingers as far as they’ll go, rubbing my clit with his thumb is soft circles. I see stars.

“Fuck!” I moan, “daddy yes! So good, fuck I’m gonna-” Before I can finish my sentence he’s detached himself from me fully. I whine in frustration, twisting the pillow fabric between my hands as he sucks his fingers clean. He moves up my body, attaching his lips to one of my nipples while his hand plays with the other. His eyes don’t leave mine. When he pulls away I’m sensitive and begging, “Please, let me cum.”

He kisses his way up my neck, kissing and sucking before he reaches my ear, tugging on it lightly before, “Not. Yet.”

He moves back down and continues to tease me. Sucking and playing with my clit while he fingers me slowly, every now and then moving them in a ‘come hither’ motion. He keeps his eyes trained on my face, never letting up from his ministrations just dangling me over the edge. He knows my body so well, knows how to keep me right where he wants me; on the edge of insanity. He edges me a few more times before tears start to prick at my eyes. I’ve lost track of how many times he’s denied me at this point.

He pulls away once more and I let out a sob, “Please!” I cry, “pleasepleaseplease.”

He sits up on his knees, grabbing his once again hard cock in his hand, pumping it steadily as he looks at me, “Fuck, look at you.” he groans, “Crying for my cock, you want it that bad?”

I nod desperately, my hands twitching where they lay beside my head. I want to touch him so bad, but I don’t want to risk moving without permission, “Want your cock so bad, daddy” I whine, biting my lip in an attempt to ground myself.

He moves in between my legs, rubbing himself in between my wet folds, “Think you deserve my cock?” He asks in a low growl, “Have you learned your lesson?”

I nod again, squeezing my eyes shut, “Yes, yes, I’ll be good. Won’t do it ever again daddy, promise.”

He takes pity on me and finally sinks into my heat, letting out a soft moan as he down so. I moan loudly in relief as he fills me. One of his hands comes up to grab at my throat, placing his mouth by my ear, “You still can’t cum until I tell you.” He reminds me before pulling his hips back and snapping them back against mine harshly.

His free hand goes up to wrap around my wrists, pinning me to the bed effectively as his hips continue their merciless attack. I throw my head back, leaning into his grip on my throat. His lips are attached to my jawline, sucking and biting at my skin, leaving it peppered with hickeys. He grunts softly against my skin, murmuring praise softly.

“Such a good girl for me, taking your punishment so well baby.” He moans sweetly and them almost immediately switching roles, “Such a good fucking whore. My little slut, huh?”

I scream my agreement, losing myself in the pleasure. My head is swimming with the lack of oxygen, arms numb from being held tightly and hips bruising from the force of his thrusts. I’m obsessed with this feeling, only he can make me feel this way.

I can feel myself nearing the edge once more and I arch my back, “Elliot, please.” I moan, “Daddy, please let me cum, I’m so close.” I whine.

He sinks his teeth into my lip, removing his hands from my throat and wrists, and moving one of my legs over his shoulder, “not yet.”

I groan, holding on the last bit of control I have, my hands flying to his biceps and digging my nails in harshly, “pleee-easseee,” I moan, “God, fuck, daddy, please!”

“Not fucking yet.” He growls, bunching his eyebrows and concentrating, glancing down and watching where our bodies meet intensely, slowing down to tease me more, “you’re lucky I’m letting you cum at all tonight. You can wait a little longer”

At this point, tears are streaming down my face as I bask in the pleasure, unable to let myself disappoint him again tonight. I’m so sensitive and everything feels too good. I focus on him. Sweat running down his abdomen as it flexes beautifully. He’s thrusting slowly now, mouth hung open as he watches himself disappear in my tight, wet heat. He looks so good and I wonder for a moment what I did to deserve him.

Suddenly he moans, speeding up again, “fuck baby,” He takes both my legs and shoves them up near my head, “So good for daddy.” He moans, snapping his hips roughly again, chasing his orgasm, “c’mon then. Cum for me, you deserve it baby girl.”

Something inside me snaps, my back arching off the bed, head thrown back as pleasure envelopes my body. I can barely register my own moans, nearly screams and the sound of the headboard banging against the wall.

“Shit,” he moans, shoving in one final time, “God yes baby, fucck!” He moans lowly, releasing inside of me. He hangs his head and thrusts shallowly as he rides out his orgasm, both of us breathing heavily. He collapses beside me. I can feel him dripping out of me, my legs shaking from the aftershocks.

“Learn your lesson?” He asks, glancing over at me, smiling crookedly.

“If I didn’t, what are you going to do about it?”

#rami malek #rami malek smut #elliot alderson #elliot alderson x reader #rami malek x reader #snafu #mr robot #buster #finn need for speed #need for speed #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #josh washington #until dawn #absolute filth

611 notes · View notes