suggs444

[suggs444]

saw 11 theory: John asked Lawrence to keep tabs on Cecilia after her game. She escaped the gas room in deleted scenes so she definitely survived. Theory is she carries on the scam, and that’s when Lawrence steps in to fulfill John’s wish of trapping her again if she continues her scam. Turns out Mark escaped the bathroom and either knew that John was planning to trap Cecilia again or he learns of it. Mark obviously will want revenge on Lawrence so he goes to find Cecilia to forewarn her about Lawrence. They’ll team up.

ONLY a theory but! I can’t see Mark wanting to continue any of John’s work so. It only makes sense that he’d go after Lawrence or something.

[suggs444]

i fucking met Costas today and ognygofnrbdhdh ??????? he’s the COOLEST fucking guy and the sweetest !!!!! (he also winked at me in the line and good lord i almost screamed)

[suggs444]

Mark Hoffman X Reader: Stubborn.

You’re a Jigsaw accomplice. John and Amanda are dead but the games must go on. Mark is back from dealing with Strahm. He’s cut up from the glass coffin. You decide to put your differences aside and help him.

TW: injury and swearing. fluff ??????

Gif by dilfgifs

..

Your head was buried into your work. Mark had been gone for awhile now. To the point were your concern was growing. He had left to deal with Agent Strahm. He had been close on Mark’s trail, and not that you cared. But if he found Mark, he’d find you. That you couldn’t abide.

Strahm needed to die. This, you both agreed on for once.

Your head shoots up as soon as you hear the familiar creek of the warehouse door sliding open. Instinctively you jump up, pulling your gun. You had to accept the fact that this could be Strahm. That he had arrested Mark and you were next.

You point your gun at the hallway.

Mark comes into the view and a sigh rips from you in relief.

“Fuck,” You mutter, putting your gun down and closing your eyes for a second. You silently thanked god.

Mark shrugs his coat of with a grunt, discarding to the floor. Then one suspender hiking off his shoulder, then the other. You note he’s sweating. You also note that he seems in pain.

“Strahm’s dead.” Is all he says.

“Good,” You reply cautiously as you peer at him. “Are you alright?”

He doesn’t reply. Only walks past you and as he does you get a clear view of his back. His shirt ridden with blood, cut and torn by the glass coffin.

“Mark, your fucking back-”

“Yeah, I know.” He gruffs out, shoving his hand into the first aid and greedily grabbing whatever he could. Bandages spill out from his adamance.

You stare and consider helping him. Though you know he’d deny any help. You two are as stubborn as the other. Though you figured you’ll have to look past your differences eventually since you and him are the last ones standing.

You sigh, dropping your shoulders.

“Let me help, Mark. You won’t be able to see what you’re doing.”

“I’ve got a mirror.”

“A mirror isn’t gonna make sure that doesn’t get infected.” You reply.

He shoots a glare at you, “Since when are you a medical professional?”

You tighten your jaw. He’s hard work.

“It’ll get infected.”

He looks away from you and stares down at the desk. You can see he’s contemplating your offer.

You take that opportunity to walk over, and take hold of the antiseptic bottle in his hand. His eyes shoot to you and you look back, waiting for him to let go of it.

He looks tired.

“Please.” You say.

He continues to stare at you blankly. And eventually, he lets you take the bottle, nodding once.

“Alright.”

..

Mark hisses and jolts slightly.

“Take it easy,” he snaps.

You were removing the remaining glass from his back with some surgical tweezers. He’s shirtless, sitting backward in a chair while you work on him.

You couldn’t deny the flawlessness of his frame. How broad and stable he is. Soft skin for such a crude man.

Especially for a man you don’t like, you remind yourself.

You brush away your thoughts and blink.

“Sorry.” You reply, dropping the glass into a silver bowl next to you.

You hear him huff, no doubt hot and bothered from the pain of the wound. You couldn’t blame him. Though you had to admire the lengths he went to, to get rid of Peter Strahm. And not just for himself but for you both.

You found yourself feeling guilty, but also incredibly appreciative.

You swallow hard before seeking out another piece of glass from his back. You feel him wince.

“Thank you by the way.” You say.

“Huh?” He replies, head whipping to the side to try and see you over his shoulder.

“I said thank you.” You repeat, more clearer this time as you lift your head so he can see you.

He catches your gaze for a second before looking back forward.

“For what?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You drop another piece of glass into the bowl. It clanks loud.

“For resolving the situation with Strahm. I know you did it to save your skin but, I benefit from it too.” You say softly, too focused on a stubborn piece of glass as you try to wriggle it out.

It eventually gives and you smile relief, adding it to the bowl.

“Yeah well, kill to birds with one stone right?” He says, turning his head over his shoulder again to look at you.

You sit back, meeting his gaze.

“You owe me.” He says, and you note the slight mockery on his face.

Is this him trying to be funny?

You smile, “I’m owing you now, jackass.”

You mock, referring to the fact you’re tending to his wounds. His smirk widens slightly, and he faces the front again.

“Then we’re even.” You hear him say.

You smile to yourself.

..

You finish your last stitch after what felt like a lifetime, finalising your treatment as you plaster up his back.

“All done,” You say, standing up from the chair and rolling your shoulders.

You hear him thank you as you walk over to a bowl of water to clean your bloody hands. You felt accomplished. Proud almost.

You couldn’t help but feel like you’d made progress with him generally. You both needed it now more than ever, especially now that it was only you two left standing.

As you turn, he’s stood too, but shirtless still and you feel your throat dry as he looks up at you from the shirt he’s holding in his hands.

“I mean it, thanks y/n.”

You offer him a small smile and nod once.

“It’s the least I can do, really.” You reassure, shrugging a shoulder. You can feel the heat on your cheeks.

He notices it too, and the slight upturn of his mouth is apparent.

“What?” You question.

“Nothing.”

He insists, gently slipping on his t shirt and begins buttoning it up. He’s still smirking.

“Okay well, try not to do too much otherwise you’ll ruin all my hard work.” You mock, referencing his stitches. He actually smiles in response, huffing a small laugh.

“No promises, alright? Not with a job as physical as ours.” He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

“No promises.”

..

part two ??????

[suggs444]

i think i’ve managed to open my questions box so pls feel free to submit any requests ! <3

[suggs444]

Snitch Part 2: Mark Hoffman x Reader

Synopsis: You know his secret. He knows you know. Erikson and Perez suspect him. What extent are you willing to go to protect him? Takes place during Saw 6.

TW: swearing, k1lling, guns, blood, violence, sexual themes.

Gif by evilvvithin

..

Strahm wasn’t the only one who had suspected Mark. Erikson and Perez are acting blatantly obvious that they suspect your partner. They were loose ends.

You and Mark were on duty when Erikson interrupted, Perez trailing beside him.

“Detectives.” He greets, nodding.

You hear Mark inhale deeply. He’s treading on thin ice.

“We’ve got news back on the Seth Baxter tape.”

“Oh?” Mark says, his tone low.

“Someone’s descrambling the tape as we speak,” Perez says, hands on her hips. You notice how she’s looking at Mark with caution. They must know.

“They’ve called us in.” She continues, looking to you. You play it cool and nod.

Erikson nods, “This is our smoking gun,” he says enthusiastically, backing up toward the door. You and Mark stand side by side.

“You guys are coming aren’t you?” He says, opening the door.

Mark stiffens. You look at him, then back at Erikson. Don’t look suspicious. You nod,

“Of course.”

..

The tension in the room was unbearable. A lady sat at a large desk trying to descramble the tape. Perez stood by the door, Erikson next to the desk. Mark was pacing. You felt ill. He was acting too obvious.

You walked to the coffee table, pouring him a cup to calm him.

This is it.

You think.

You won’t see him again. You both knew whose voice it was. It was Marks. Your partners. Your lovers.

Your heart sank low in your chest. The anxiety riveting. The thought of seeing him in cuffs. The thought of not holding him again. The idea was unbearable. You could sob if it wasn’t for the current situation.

You exhale, handing Mark the cup of steaming black coffee. No sugars, no milk. Just how he liked it.

“Thanks,” He gruffs.

You nod.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Perez starts. You clench your jaw.

“What’s that?” Mark says.

“Strahm’s motivation. We were partners for five years and he never indicated signs of psychosis.”

Mark is quiet. You can tell he’s trying to figure out what to do or say.

“You never can tell when someone’s sinking on the inside.” You speak up, coming to Marks defence. His gaze whips to you. He seems surprised that you were helping him. But his eyes are acknowledging and grateful. You stare down Perez, feeling defensive of your partner.

She looks visibly irritated.

“There is an alternative,” Erikson perks up, walking to Mark. You were still staring at Perez before you snapped out of it. This was a part of you that you hadn’t realised was there. A careless part. A part that didn’t care for consequence. That would go to extents for Mark. The tension in the room was bearing down on you so strongly that you feel like you could snap.

Perez peered at you suspiciously before side stepping and drawing her attention to Mark and Erikson. You also listened in, crossing your arms. Though you kept a close eye on Perez.

“Say Strahm killed Seth Baxter specifically to set you up as an accomplice to Jigsaw.” Erikson said to Mark, approaching him.

“Okay,” Mark said, turning to place his coffee down. You could tell some weight lifted from him. You couldn’t deny that you signed of relief.

“But there’s a problem with that though.” Erikson finished.

Shit.

You saw all relief slip from Mark’s face.

Perez shifts. Your eyes snap to her, then back to Erikson. Anxiety stirring red hot in your stomach and blazing your face. It felt like an unattended adrenaline ready to burst of you.

“On further analysis of Strahm's fingerprints, it was found that the uric acid levels and the Eccrine gland residue were inconsistent for an individual with an active epidural metabolism.” He remarks and you feel yourself sweating. Your throat runs dry.

“In other words?” Mark replies, turning to pick his coffee up but quickly glancing to meet your eyes before turning back to Erikson. You took that as a heads up.

Your anxiety bubbles to it’s limit.

“In other words, when he left his fingerprints on the latest victims, Strahm was already dead!”

Right now you’re feeling helpless.

Mark’s voice comes through on the computer. Clear as day. You stumble back a bit, mouth dropping as you all turn to stare at the monitor.

“There it is!” The lady at the desk exclaims.

It’s not even a second before Mark drew his pocket knife and sliced it up the side of Erikson’s throat.

Despite being on his side, you still gasped - stumbling backward till your back hit the wall, eyes blown as you watched the scene unfold.

The man you loved was a true killer.

Your head snaps to Perez and she looks to you. She pulls her gun, but Mark turned, lashing his boiling coffee in her face. She exclaimed, stumbling backward into the wall.

Mark then grabs a screwdriver as Erikson topples over to the ground, and he stabs it into the electrical circuit - plunging the room into a deep red hue.

You try to move but the speed of Mark’s rampage stills you. Shocked by his capabilities. It isn’t till you see Perez aim her gun toward Mark that your adrenaline kicks in. You run at her and seize her wrists as you try to steer her aim. You both thrash against each other as she pulls the trigger multiple times. You look at Mark. He was using the other woman as a human fucking shield.

You sneered, eventually managing to overpower Perez as you lifted the butt of the gun to hit her in the face. Once, and then again. This allowing Mark to get close. Perez stumbled back and so did you as Mark seized her, instantly plunging his knife in her stomach.

He stabbed once, retracted the blade and then thrusted it back in with just as much force.

“Who else knows about me?” He presses, quite casually despite the atrocity he had just committed.

Perez pants helplessly. Heroic till the end, you think.

“Who else fucking knows about me?” He repeats, more aggressively and impatiently as he twists the knife causing Perez to whimper.

You can only watch.

Your eyes flickering to Erikson as he still wriggled on the ground.

“Everyone.” Perez manages to say, her voice strained through the pain.

“You lie,” Mark seethes through his teeth,

“You fucking lie.”

He stabs her once more.

You saw the life leave her eyes as she slipped down the wall. Leaving a smear of blood.

The room was silent now.

Only the heavy sounds of Mark’s pants.

You stare at him. Watching how his chest rises and falls with such ferocity. You couldn’t process what you just saw, and the fact that you actually helped. You helped.

Holy fuck. You helped him.

The revelation washes over you enormously like a tidal. So extreme and overwhelming. You lean against the wall for leverage but it’s hopeless as your legs give out beneath you, causing you to slide your back down the wall as you crumble.

Your ears ring, and your face welling with an unbearable heat.

Marks quick to your aid. At your side faster than you can blink. Cradling your face as he pulls your head up to look at him. You feel limp in his hold.

You can only stare at him.

His lips crash into yours in an instant. The blood on his face retracting onto your own skin as he does. He tastes like copper. He’s harsh and firm and it only lasts a second before he pulls away - his grip on your face merciless.

“That’s for having my back.” He gruffs, patting your cheek.

..

[suggs444]

Bad For Buisness, Part 2: William Afton/Steve Raglan x Reader.

Synopsis: Bad for buisness part two. You get bored of William’s lack of appreciation and attention toward you. You get reckless. William doesn’t like that.

TW: swearing, sexual tension, f1ngering, degrading.

authors note: loved writing this! some of william’s dialogue is from a Tarantino movie. it fitted the scene and i think it fits his character too. <33 anyways pls enjoy, i’m open for any feedback & requests !

Gif by brotherdusk

…

Being William’s coworker had it’s perks when it mattered. The secret of your sexual benefits between one another only made the job bearable. More exciting. Needless to say it was becoming more than just the intimacy, for you anyway. You thought about him more than you should. You wonder if he felt the same.

He’s a closed man. Sharp and abrupt. A man who is straight to the point and knows what he wants. Takes what he wants. Nothing goes by in the office without William’s say so. You liked that. You weren’t just fucking some guy. You were fucking the boss. Your boss. You had wondered whether he was just using you for his benefit but you quickly realised that you didn’t care. Anything from William is everything. You learnt to enjoy the scraps of attention. But god, you wanted more.

..

Your head was buried in your desk. Papers and folders relentlessly invading your space. A mess. You huff.

A tsk draws your attention upward.

It’s William. Standing over you on the other side of your desk. He’s holding a steamy mug of coffee. Probably black, no sugars. Just how he liked it.

“You know, they say the tidiness of your work space reflects your mental state.” He drawls, his tone more nasal than ever. Cockier than usual too. He always enjoys demeaning people, even you. And frankly? You like it.

But today?

You’re not in the mood.

You glare at him. This is the first time he’s spoken to you properly in days. And that is what he has to say? A prod. A tease. Such pointless information. You grind your teeth to bite back anything harsh.

Any ounce of humor slips from William’s expression as he sees you’re not reciprocating the same energy he is. You weren’t responding. Only glaring.

“Thank you for that, sir. I feel so enlightened, sir.” You bite, your tone sharp and stern. Almost as if you spoke the words through bared teeth. Irritation always gets the better of you. This felt like injustice. You’re always so good for him. Making him coffee, tending to his needs - keeping his secrets. And this is what you get?

“Though if that’s true then it’s a fucking miracle how your desk stays so tidy,” You spit, and then pause to take a breath.

“-sir.” You finish, offering a false smile.

William, shocked, stares.

His silence slowly worry’s you. You can almost feel yourself sinking from the instant guilt. He sees it plastered all over your expression. He only locks his jaw, peering sternly as he leans over your desk to you.

Dread consumes you. Regret. You gulp.

He leans right over your desk. His face inches from your own.

“My office.” Is all he says.

“Now.”

Shit.

..

You lead the way, entering his office first. He closes the door behind you as he steps in.

“Sir, I-”

“Plant yourself on that desk.” He interrupts, pointing at his desk. His expression is cold. His tone isn’t any better.

You look behind you at his desk. It was tidy. You look back at him just as fast in protest,

“Mister Afton-”

“I said plant yourself. Plants don’t talk.”

You pull a face of regret as you back up, not wanting to make him ask again. Wearily hoisting yourself up to sit on the desk. You press your legs together, tight.

He stands there for a moment. A hand on his hip and the other bringing his cup to his lips to take a gulp of hot coffee. The drink steams up his glasses for a second. You bite down hard on your lip to prevent a smile.

He notices and sighs, putting his mug down and taking off his glasses.

“Tell me, y/n,” He begins, pausing for a second as he takes his purple tie, using it to wipe the steam from his glasses.

“-why you think it’s appropriate to talk to your superior like that?”

He puts his glasses back on, scrunching his nose to push them up properly.

You gaze at him.

He cocks his head to the side, impatient and expecting. You don’t reply soon enough.

He walks up to you. His large hands falling onto your knees as he pries them apart. He settles between your legs, palms gliding up to rest on your thighs.

“Answer me when I talk to you.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“What’re you sorry for?”

“Not answering-”

“Wrong.” He cuts in.

“I’ll ask again. What’re you sorry for?”

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. The anticipation is killing you. Your core throbbing. You try to close your legs. He tightens his grip on your thighs in response. One of his hands gliding further up your thigh. You tremble.

“I’m sorry for speaking to you the way i did.” You manage to whisper, your voice shaky.

He hums pitifully, “I can’t hear you, y/n. Speak the fuck up.” His palm abruptly occupies the warmth between your legs. You jolt. He sneers.

You grind into his palm, “I’m sorry for speaking to you the way I did!” You say again, louder this time.

His fingers press against your clothed folds, collecting the wetness that seeped there. You mewl, he grins.

“Yeah,” He mutters, “Is that what this is? Huh? You’re just needy?”

Your head falls slack, dazed from the overwhelming lust. You press your forehead against his shoulder. His lips ghost your ear.

You feel his stubble scratch and prick your skin. You shiver, wincing but leaning into him. Intoxicated. His fingers push aside your panties, delving into your wet folds. A squelch noise welcomes him. He groans.

“What a fucking mess.” He grits, using his spare hand to twist into your hair and yank your head back. He wants to see that pretty face.

He pushes a finger into your seeping hole. Then another, twisting them in unison as they sink into you, curling and pumping.

“There. How’s that feel, huh? Was it worth it?”

You’re in heaven. Moaning so blissfully. The pleasure so intense that you can barely compose yourself. He grimaces and pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty. The lack of makes you whine, clutching him. He brings his fingers to your mouth, pressing their way in.

“Clean them.”

You oblige, eager. Sucking them so hard as you taste yourself. He’s glaring at you, his teeth slightly bared.

“You’re gonna earn my attention, y/n. Got it?”

He tightens the grip in your hair and he moves your head up and down so it looks like you’re nodding yes. You’re mouth to busy accommodating his fingers to reply. You hum instead.

“First step,” He says, pulling his fingers from your mouth and hoisting you off his desk and onto your feet.

You look up at him.

“Clean your fucking desk:”

..

[suggs444]

Snitch: Mark Hoffman x gnReader.

Synopsis: You’re Mark Hoffman’s partner in work. He’s a closed book. Till you find out his darkest secret. You abide by the law, and seek to confront him. but the one problem? You and the detective have romantic tension. He’s your crush.

TW: swearing, degrading, sexual tension (???), manipulation, guns, kissing & hair pulling.

Gif by evilvvithin

…

You and Peter Strahm had been good friends. Distant but, there was trust. So much trust that he mailed you something before he disappeared. Everyone said he was the accomplice. But the package he left you? Well, it implied otherwise.

It was full of old newspapers, articles and police records. And it all pointed to one man. The last man you expected. Your work partner,

“Hoffman.” You muttered to yourself, slamming the folders shut, only praying this was wrong. Hoping that strahm’s lead on the case was nothing more than a delusion. Your feelings for Mark didn’t help this. It only fed the dread as your stomach stirs.

You and Mark had been assigned as partners for many years. And in those years had you not once let your feelings get in the way. You were professional. So was he. Almost too professional. A very closed man. Sharp, and clever.

Too clever.

You gulp, reluctantly reopening the files Strahm sent you.

“Boyfriend kills Detectives sister.”

You read, finger tips brushing the old article. Your head buzzing, thinking - till your eyes snap upward. Everything clicked. It made sense. But how could you guarantee it? Maybe Strahm was chasing a delusional. Or maybe he wasn’t, and your feelings for Mark were automatically defending him.

Your head throbs. You wince, and slam the folders shut, huffing.

This was ridiculous.

You slide the folders into your draw, intent on forgetting them.

Tomorrow was another day.

…

You hadn’t forgot Strahm’s folders like you had hoped. In fact, it’s all you could think about. Even now, at your work desk as you stare at the wall. So focused that you completely drowned out the sound of the office. It was busy today. Phone lines ringing, typing, chatter and the terrible hum over the overhead lights blaring down on you.

You thought about Seth Baxter. What the odds were of John Kramer targeting him of all people. You decided it was slim. It didn’t make sense.

“Look alive, y/n.”

You’re pulled from your thoughts instantly, head whirling to Mark, who stood over your desk. A hot coffee in his hand.

“You looked like you needed this.” He says.

Your throat runs dry.

Mark raises his brow at you. You can only stare at him. A sense of worry raising the hairs on your neck.

You couldn’t deny Strahm’s theory.

Mark pulls a face at your silence,

“Okay.” He says to himself, putting your coffee on your desk. You look at it, forcing yourself to snap out of it and offer a weary smile.

“Sorry,” You begin, faking a breathy laugh.

“Long night.”

“I bet.” Mark replies, his tone dryer than ever as he looks at you questionably.

“You still up for lunch?” He says, nodding at the clock. Almost twelve. Almost lunch. which meant being alone with him. You swallow, hard.

“Sorry - I think I’ll stay behind. I was running late this morning so,” You pause, your brain stirring for a proper excuse. He’s not buying it. You can tell by his expression. It makes your breath hitch, and you look back to your computer. His eyes, far too piercing. Too intimidating. All knowing. He knew you well. Too well. Especially well to know when something wasn’t right. But he dropped it, side eyeing you as he turned to leave.

“Right.” Is all he says, his tone almost mocking you as he leaves.

A relief lifts, and you exhale, squeezing your eyes shut.

…

5 p.m rolls around. Then 6 p.m. It was getting late. But you were fully intent on staying behind. You wanted to go through police files. Just to find anything that would debunk Strahm’s theory.

You were desperate.

Mainly because despite your newfound anxiety toward Mark, your heart still leaped when you saw him. Your cheeks warmed. Your legs, unconsciously squeezing together in anticipation. It made you feel sick. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if Strahm was right.

You haven’t seen Mark since lunch. And the office was empty now. You took that as your opportunity.

Cautious, you stand. Your legs like jelly, you’d been sat for most of the day. Too head wrecked to move. Too worried to bump into Mark. Your coffee was un touched too. You had let it go cold.

Exhaustion hits you once you stand.

“Fuck,” You mutter, stretching. Your hand kneading your neck as you walk toward the office door.

You push through, looking left and right as you check the halls before stepping out. It was empty. You relaxed.

You reached the files room and entered, flicking the lights on. It was dimly lit. You walked through the isles looking for ‘B’. You decided to read more into the Seth Baxter case. Maybe you could find something. Anything. You reached the isle alphabetically listed ‘B’ and walked down it slowly, pointing your finger at the folders as you scanned for Seth’s name.

“Baxter, Baxter, Baxter …”

You whispered to yourself, reaching the folder finally.

Bingo.

“Gotcha.” You say triumphant, as you slip the file from the folder.

You lean against the shelving as you opened the file. Disappointed to find nothing but things you already knew. You huff, flicking through. The page lands on an image of Mark’s sister. You can’t help the guilt stirring in your stomach. You’d only met her once. But it was enough to know she was lovely.

“Working overtime?”

You gasp, spinning around in shock to see Mark standing there. You slam the file shut, pulling it close to your chest.

“God, Mark!” You exclaim, your heart battering.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Marks smiling. Only slightly, but it’s not a smile of amusement. It’s proud. As if he’s figured you out. It makes you gulp.

You don’t like the growing silence. The tension. You calm your breathing and your mind. Forcing a smile,

“I thought you went home.” You say, trying to compose yourself despite your legs telling you to run.

“I did. I forgot my phone,” He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a face.

“Just didn’t expect to find you still here. What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.” You reply, quick.

His eyes shoot down to the folder in your grasp. You follow his gaze.

“Doesn’t look like nothing, l/n.” He takes a few steps close, towering over you. Your dry lips part over his height. His broad chest. The way it rises and falls. He goes to take the file, but you’re clutching it still. His eyes snap to yours.

Defeated, you let go.

He sighs through his nose, his expression warning you to back down as he opens the folder. You feel your heart pounding against your chest - thrumming in your ears. Heat rising to your cheeks due to the closeness of his chest despite being petrified. You can’t find your words. No defence, no explanation. You practically accept your fate as you watch his expression harden at the folder.

“Well,” He says, harshly closing the folder over as he lifts his gaze. His lips, pouting as ever. His eyes, sharp and investigating.

Your mouth parts to speak, he cuts you off,

“You avoid me all day. And now this?” He says, shaking the file in his grip. You can’t look at him. Your eyes downward at your feet.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” He says again.

You stare at the ground.

You hear him huff as he puts the file back. “Go home, y/n. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

You hear him turn and begin to walk away. The space from him allows you to breathe, as you watch him begin to leave. Something in you clicks. A confidence. You remember your job. A server of the law. You push away your feelings for him and take two steps after him.

“I know who you are, Mark.” You announce boldly. His shoes scuff as he halts, his back still to you.

You straighten your back in some attempt to feel in charge.

His head whips over his shoulder, “Huh?”

You point your chin at him. “You heard me, Mark.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he turns to you, “Really?” His voice is low and smooth, like honey. You found it hard to dislike.

“Enlighten me then.” He says, putting his hands out to express his words as if offering you the stage before putting them on his hips.

You glare at him.

“You’re a detective aren’t you? Do your job. Detect.” He pushes, his tone mocking you. You tried not to feel small or discouraged.

“You’re an accomplice to Jigsaw.” You state.

“Oh yeah? How’d you reach that conclusion? We’ve been partners for -”

“Stop, Mark. Strahm left me everything. All the evidence. You killed Seth, you blamed Jigsaw and now he’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

He’s quiet, his expression fierce as he watches you unravel.

“Hasn’t he?”

“You trust Peter Strahm over me?”

“I trust my instincts.”

“Well your instincts are wrong.”

“They’ve got me this far.” You snap.

He shakes his head, visibly clenching his jaw as his cheek flexes.

“You’ve crossed a line, y/n.” He bites, turning on his heel to leave, “I’m taking this up with Erikson.”

You pull your gun.

“Stop.”

You don’t know what came over you. You didn’t want this. At all. It hurt to even point your gun at him. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. Your hand shakes.

You hear him sigh and turn back to you yet again, “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

You swallow hard. You’re shaking. He notices. His eyes racking over you. He takes it as an opportunity to step closer.

You adjust your grip on the gun.

Closer, he creeps before his chest is pressing against the gun.

You look at him with glossy eyes. You can’t do it.

“The safety’s on.” He says.

You unleash a breath. Shit.

His hand comes to the gun. You let him take it,

“There you go.” He hums, shoving the gun into his belt.

Your eyes close. You’re exhausted as you heave a heavy sigh.

“You’re very clever, detective.” You hear, opening your eyes upward to him.

He’s confessing?

But ..

“I’m right?” You softly say.

He takes another step, backing you up until your back hits the wall. You feel tiny. Helpless. So close you can smell his cologne. The coffee on his breath. One of his arms cages you as he splays his hand on the wall behind you.

“Mhm. And you’re not gonna say a word, are you?”

You gawk at him. He tilts his head, “Are you?”

You want to push him away. But you can’t help it. You can’t help how your legs waver - the rising heat in your face. You’re trembling.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, Mark.”

He hums, satisfied. He can see the lust in your eyes.

“You’re gonna have to prove it, sweetheart.”

You blink at him as his free hand comes to clutch your jaw - slowly tilting your head backward.

“Open up now, C’mon. Be good.”

You press your legs together, and you can’t help a whine as it slips out as you open your mouth. God.

You felt helpless in all the best ways.

He sneers, edging close till he’s inches from your open mouth. Softly, he dips his tongue into your mouth. You moan, melting into him as you both press into an open mouthed kiss.

Your hands find his broad chest - clutching his blazer and pulling him closer to you. He obliges, groaning as a hand tangles tight into your hair - curling then pulling you away from the kiss.

You gasp, keeping close to him. Wanting more as you push up against him. He chuckles.

“You were ready to shoot me a few minutes ago. Look at you now, huh.” He mutters against your lips, snarling. His tone harsh and degrading. He gives your hair another yank. You whimper sweetly against his lips.

“You’re mine.” He growls. “Say it,” He demands.

“I’m yours.”

…

AUTHORS NOTE: i LOVED writing this ?????? lmk if you want more mark fics or a part two ???? 🙈🙈

[suggs444]

Bad For Buisness:

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Reader

Sypnopsis: You find out your boss, Steve, who is also your secret lover, has a false identity. As well as an unknown history. You attempt to be reasonable, to set things right, but your boss .. well, he knows you all too well.

TW: swearing, degrading, manipulating, implied sexual actions.

Authors note: Hi, Suggs here. So this is my first x reader that I’ve written in a long long time. And it’s my first ever William Afton based one too. I literally saw the movie and I was 🙈🙈 whenever peepaw was on screen. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy and lmk if you want more / a part two. Thanks for reading !! <33

Gif by brotherdusk

..

“I should tell everyone!”

You protest, boldly, standing on the other side of Afton’s desk. Your arms cross in an attempt to assert your dominance in this situation - which is rare. William was usually the one with the upper hand. You were foolish to think otherwise, even now.

There he sat with his sunken frame, slouched in his office chair, hands loosely intertwined in his lap. Brows raised in mocking surprise, almost expecting, as if waiting for you to come to your senses. He stares, and you find yourself stuck for words.

You gulp, hard. Frozen in his icy gaze.

“I mean — you’re lying to our consumers! To your staff - to me! Your names not Steve Raglan ..” Your words drift off, lacking much defence and reason.

“It’s bad for business.”

You continue, proudly, pointing your chin upward. As though that sentence completely justified your debate.

William’s head tilts slightly,

“Since when do you care about business quality, y/n?”

You didn’t care. He knew it, and he knew you all too well. Well enough to know you didn’t give a shit about the business, or anyone else. You were upset about not knowing every little detail about him. You’re obsessed. Needy, he knows. Only the two of you mattered. The secret of your intimacy. The sneaking off, the inappropriate relationship. Now, that? That was bad for business.

“Hm?” He presses, condescendingly, brows raising more while waiting for an answer as he sits forward out of his slouch. His exposed forearms coming to lean against the table.

You’re quiet, already. Defeated.

He sucks on his teeth.

“That’s what I thought.”

He leans back into his chair with an exhale, shaking his head.

“I’ve done some things, y/n.” He confesses, “-bad things.”

You can only stare at him.

He pushes himself out of his chair, eyes remaining pinned to yours. You knew your boss wasn’t a good man, fuck, maybe that’s what drew you to him, but you hadn’t expected this.

“What things?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He cuts you off, stern. Stern enough that you know not to push it any more. You bite your tongue, suddenly feeling small by his towering height. William wasn’t a necessarily attractive man, or at least not for everyone. He was older than you. Much older. But clever, so very clever - and wise. Something about his stability, the way he carried himself. The reassurance he gave you and the praise. You could hardly resist him.

“Had to cover my tracks. Tie up loose ends, do you understand? That’s my business, it’s need to know and you don’t.” His voice, a nasal drawl as he slowly rounded the desk, the pads of his fingers drawing along the old wood as he reached you.

“And I certainly don’t need you,” he pauses, pressing his torso against your back. You can feel the heat of his breath on your neck, his scent, a mix of cheap cologne and tobacco.

“-running your sweet mouth and spilling my secrets.” He continues. You melt against him despite the firmness of his tone. You were a slave to your desires. Only he could make the meanest things sound so indulging.

You hum at the closeness. Trying to remain strong headed despite your vision clouding from the intensity of the lustful haze you had for this man. You weren’t weak, just devoted.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You do.

“Do you understand?”

You nod stubbornly. He tuts,

“Use your words, y/n.”

“I understand.”

He shoots you a unsatisfied look.

You sigh, “I understand, sir.”

He smiles then, cockily, knowing he had won this time. His eyes creasing beneath his glasses.

“That’s my girl.” He coos, a warm hand coming to cup your cheek. Your eyes close, savouring the action, leaning into his palm. He was always so busy, so intimacy came slim. A rarity. You learnt to enjoy the small gestures.

The warmth was gone the next second. Opening your eyes to find him returning to his seat. You whined softly, turning to him as he settled back in his chair - instantly going back to his paperwork.

“That’s it?” You plead.

His eyes shot up to you over his glasses. Almost surprised you were still there. He sighs through his nose.

“Tell you what,” he lifts his head to give you his full attention.

“You’ve got the rest of this week to prove you can keep your mouth shut. I wanna trust you, y/n. I can do that, can’t I?”

You nod, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mr Afto-“ You stop yourself, realising you’re using his real name, his secret name. He’s glaring.

“-Mr Raglan.” You correct yourself, smiling wearily.

“Much better. Keep that up, and I’ll make up for lost time. I’ll give you what you need.”

You sigh sweetly, nodding. The mere thought of that making your knees weak.

“I won’t let you down, I promise.”

You reassure, shooting him one last smile as you turn and leave.

The week can’t end soon enough.