#and mark hoffman being trained by jigsaw guy

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I watched it. I watched Saw V. Never cared about those movies before.

Holy fuck he was going to let him live. He was going to save him. But what then. What would happen if he did live…ok but that’s why predicting outcomes bc he had to be there to disrupt it.

Lmao.

[spiralinghours]

“Personal Assistant” Pt 4

Fandom: Saw franchise

Characters/Pairing: Mark Hoffman x fem/afab reader

Rating: R (just because of what it’s leading into for the next part)

Warnings/Tags: older man x younger woman dynamic (consensual though, obviously guys); boss x secretary relations; mild daddy kink; implication of face riding; bratty behavior; switch behavior (for both characters I reckon); mild body worship; slightly heavier with the feeding kink and fat fetishism here

Summary: You use overtime hours as an excuse to fool around in your apartment.

Author’s Notes: Same as usual—sorry for errors I guess. The dialogue feels cornier in this one but I mean, I imagine that’s how Hoffman talks when he’s not being serious. The man is a goober.

There was a debriefing in the main conference room first thing in the morning. Not necessarily related to “THE big case” (as the Jigsaw situation was often referred to as), but something slightly less significant, for the benefit of the rookies. A little training wheels bit for them.

It looked a little strange to have you of all people hovering in the corner—and you agreed. There wasn’t a need for your presence. In fact, you probably should have stayed at your station, manning any missed calls or appointments coming through for Hoffman. But the boss specifically requested you to tag along, under the guise of taking notes or something cheap and easy to write off. Something people wouldn’t question. Not that the precinct didn’t have a notion about Hoffman’s slutty nature and inclinations towards his younger assistant.

“I just wanna have your eyes on me,” Hoffman had told you beforehand with a sassy wink (usually saved for charming more pestering representatives from the public). “I gotta make sure I look good up at the podium.” He had lightly pinched your cheek before opening the door to a sea of badges and black uniforms.

And look good he did. In your opinion, at least.

Hoffman’s slow, smooth trickle of words tranquilized you, even if he was talking boring, technical shit. You chewed at the tip of your pen, corner of your lips curling up, as you noted the way his belly rolled forward against his starched gray fabric, just enough to press against the podium’s edge with a gentle bump as he shifted around. He absentmindedly scratched at the broad sides of his gut or made a gesture of adjusting how his pants rested on his waist—things he knew would catch your attention. He was cheekily doing it all on purpose. He had definitely rounded out since you had started working for him—just adding to the comfortable softness he already possessed from genetics and long hours behind his desk (feet usually propped up with a sugary coffee nearby).

As he spoke, you noticed also how gentle the curves of his face had gotten: chin ever-so-slightly chubbier, cheeks looking fuller against his plush lips and prominent cheekbones. It was cute. You ate up how a man who stalked around with such an intense and lumbering presence was really just a big fat teddy bear (one who whose lips were always sweetened by donuts and goofy flirtations towards you).

You finished fake-scribbling notes in your pad as the meeting was dismissed.

“Did I look okay?” Hoffman inquired as he shuffled beside you, making it look as if he was filling you in on some important task.

“You look so good, pookie.”

“Cool it with the ‘pookie’.”

“Sorry, Hoffy.”

“Fucking ‘Hoffy’, okay… That’s fine.” He sighed, knowing you wouldn’t relent with the babying terms. “I have to go to Sacred Heart Hospital this evening to ask about some records. I could use your help obtaining and tracking those documents, if you don’t mind.”

“What if I mind? What if I’m busy tonight?”

Hoffman leaned in with that shit-eating, stiff smile that only ever oozed out when he was frustrated. “It’s your job, darlin’. You don’t have a choice and you know it. I think you’re just being a brat again.” He pulled back, still all casual smirks.

“What’s in it for me?”

“What’s in it for you? The job you get paid to do—what’s in it for you, baby?”

“I mean, you would be keeping me after hours. What kind of overtime am I getting?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his pointed nose, and then lightly chuckled. “I’ll drive you home.”

“And stay for a drink?” you prodded.

“Sure, darlin’,” he agreed.

——

Retrieving the information Hoffman needed was so menial that he hardly needed you. Though you knew your penmanship and attention to detail was a little more experienced, you still had to wonder how he had gotten things done things before hiring you.

Back at your apartment, you hesitated with the next step—not sure whether to pull the classic “Let me change into something more comfortable”, or let your boss work his way to peeling your office clothes off. All in all, you decided to just let things take a gradual, natural course.

“You said you’d stay for a drink, right sir?” you peeped as your boss hovered around aimlessly behind you, taking in your décor and tchotchkes. He seemed lightly amused by all the little details.

“Just a small one. You know I don’t drink that much anymore, baby.”

“Yes sir.”

He had settled onto your modest couch, leaning back heavily, lap spread (and honestly inviting). You scuttled your way over, working between his legs as you often did. It was your favorite spot, after all.

You put the glass in his hand and immediately went to loosening his dark necktie… followed by undoing the buttons of his straining shirt until the flesh between his pecs was exposed.

“Didn’t realize I was getting the gold star treatment tonight,” Hoffman grinned languidly through a sip of bourbon.

“I just wanna dote on you a little. So don’t let it go to your big head. This is more for me.”

“Such a sassy little thing.”

“Takes one to know one.” You grabbed his hand, still gripping the glass, a treated yourself to a drink.

Your eyes raked over Hoffman’s big form, which remained so deliciously comfortable and pliant under you. You inspected him with your smaller hands: combing gentle black wisps of hair from his eyes, padding your thumb across his lower lip, booping his nose and giggling softly.

“See something you like?”

“Yeah, all of it,” you answered. “Everything about you is so big, so sturdy.” You knew the saccharine onslaught probably sounded ridiculous and corny (and would probably merit some teasing later) but you couldn’t help it. “Your big nose, these big, soft lips…” Your hand trailed down to the cleft between his pecs, a finger tracing over his pink scar. “This strong chest with these broad shoulders.” Your palms drifted further down, caressing his sides down to his legs. “These sturdy thighs I get to sit on… And my favorite: this big pillow.” You dug your fingers into the sides of his belly, jolting a tickled reaction out of him (which only made his belly wobble all the more under your touch).

“Oh, you’re in trouble, babydoll,” Hoffman bit, tone both playful but snide. He set the near-empty glass down by the lamp table and slammed you onto your back threateningly quick, your legs suddenly hooked through his arms. “Does this do it for you?”

He leaned down, doubled over your splayed legs, and pressed his gut against your crotch. The pressure was so heavy and warm, making you shamefully throb quicker than you cared to admit.

“Is that what you need, babydoll? A 250-pound weighted blanket?”

Your eyes flickered and went glossy at the mention of just how heavy he was. Such a hefty, cushy presence atop you, playing around with you, was all you could want. He could suffocate you with his weight and you’d be fine with it.

“You’re such a little freak, sweetheart.”

“I don’t hear you ever complaining,” you snarled back sweetly. “But I guess it’s hard to hear you at all when your mouth is full.”

“Calling me fat again, huh, baby?”

“Maybe I meant something else by it, too.”

A dull glimmer shone in Hoffman’s tired eyes, mouth catching up into an amused little grin. “Mmhm, I see. You want the best seat in the house.”

“Always.”

“Well at least let me get comfortable in your bedroom then,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh wow, bold of you to assume.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Let Daddy into the bedroom and you can do whatever you want, okay?”

“You make it hard not to be sweet on you, you know?”