#detective Mark Hoffman x reader

[hoffmanxfurthermore]

real

[promitto-amor]

How lucky you are to have me

Pairing: Mark Hoffman X You

Summary: You save Hoffman from the bathroom and he is eager to make up for lost time.

Warning: SMUT! Swearing (Hoffman says fuck alot, it's canon), gore/death references.

Alrighty it was about time I wrote a smutty Hoffman fix while I'm still in my Saw era. And I get to write my own little 'Hoffman escapes the Bathroom', because we all know it's happening! Enjoy kittens.

You could hear his screams from down the dank corridor. They sounded hoarse, no doubt from the wildfire rage that often consumed him these days. Your footsteps echoed loudly, at every corner you thought someone may jump out and apprehend you, but the route was void of all life. All that remained was darkness and a trail of dried blood.

You press your palms against the industrial door and give it a push. It doesn’t move an inch. The Doctor had been certain that there would be no escape.

The screams from inside stop as you slot a hairpin into the lock and after a couple tries you hear that telltale click. You heave the door open only to recoil at the stench of decayed flesh and death that greets you.

Shoving your sleeve in front of your nose, you walk into a nightmare. It’s dark enough that only outlines are visible, a line of cracked mirrors, a toilet, pipes, skeletons. Fishing in your coat pocket, you shine your torch around the bathroom and it lands on a skeletal foot. You almost drop it in your haste to move away, as you venture deeper into the bathroom. Goosebumps arise on your forearms at the disconcerting sound of a chain slithering through the dark.

“Took you long enough.”

You run your torch up bare feet and a shackled ankle, continuing upwards. Mark Hoffman flinches as your torch hits his face and you lower it to his chest, “I had to be sure they’d all left.” You return, taking a glance over your shoulder. “I’m taking a colossal risk myself.”

“Then get me out quick.” He hisses, dropping his eyes to the shackle.

“What happened to your grand plan?”

Hoffman holds up a key, “New shackle. No fucking keyhole.”

You make a sympathetic noise which deepens Hoffman’s scowl, “How lucky you are to have me.”

You drop your backpack beside him and root around inside. Hoffman watches your every move. You hand him the torch, “Shine this in the bag, will you?” He does as asked, “What did you bring?”

“I wasn’t sure what I’d be facing.” You take out an angle grinder and a grin winds onto Hoffman’s face. You switch it on and the sound of the churning saw blade sounds far too loud. You glance up at Hoffman, “If I cut you, it isn’t intentional.”

Hoffman looks like he has half a mind to yank the angle grinder out of your hands, but instead he swallows and takes a measured breath, “Just do it.” You lower the saw blade and almost miss his last few words, “I trust you.”

Steeling yourself, you align the circular saw blade with the steel and keeping a firm grip, start slicing through the shackle. There’s already chaffing around his ankle, no doubt from Hoffman’s attempts to free himself in the hours before you arrived. You hardly breathe as the blade works through and then you pull the saw blade back when there is only the smallest join of steel left hanging together. “Maybe I should have just cut the chain and we deal with the shackle later?”

Hoffman seizes the shackle and gives it a brutal tug. The shackle snaps and you wonder whether it was weakness in the metal from how much you’d sawed through, or Hoffman’s adrenaline-fuelled force that gave him his freedom. You switch off the angle grinder and shove it back in your backpack as Hoffman stands. He throws the chain away from him and then he’s towering above you. His broadness always throws you off-kilter, no matter how many times you stand before him. The circle of light from the torch jumps around the bathroom as Hoffman takes a step closer. He seizes you by the back of your neck and crushes his lips to yours. You can’t move, not with the death grip he has on you. You had no chance to breathe before it happens, leaving you to make a pathetic noise for Hoffman to release you. You disconnect with a gasp and take a deep breath before yanking him in by his jacket for a second kiss. Your hands grip onto him for dear life as Hoffman secures his own round your waist.

This time he’s the one to break the moment, “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

You’re more than eager to leave the foul bathroom behind. You can’t imagine Hoffman stuck in there slowly wasting away. A man so powerful and dangerous he brought an entire police precinct to the verge of extinction. You still don’t know if fear or admiration drives your lust for him. A heady combination of both pools inside you as you loop your arm in his and the two of you make your way back through the maze of corridors as fast as you can. “We should burn it to the fucking ground.” Hoffman says as you both emerge from the trapdoor.

“Enough fires for one day.” You say, leading the way to your car parked out front. “The Doctor got paged for surgery, but his lackey’s might come back.”

“Doubt it,” Hoffman returns as you open the car door for him. “He made sure I’d die in there. He just didn’t know about you.”

You take the driver’s seat as Hoffman slides in with a grunt. You lock the doors and glance over your shoulder as you reverse out, “If it were me, I’d stake out for two, three days. Knowing your survival rate, I’d make sure you were dead.”

There’s a beat of silence, “Then I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Hoffman returns, looking out the window.

You clamp down on a smile as you head back to your own apartment. Now and then you check in your mirrors that you aren’t being followed. Your house is roughly forty five minutes away from the Nerve Gas House, but the drive goes fast. Hoffman spends the time calculating. Occasionally his eyes slip over to you and you meet his gaze. He’s just as impatient as you.

When you finally enter familiar streets, you speak up, “I was thinking Chicago.” You prompt, “Another city, lots of people to disappear in. Or Florida, no one asks questions there.”

“I don’t care where we go.” Hoffman returns, “So long as I can put Jigsaw behind me.”

You have to admit you’re relieved to hear it, “You promise that?”

Hoffman waits for you to meet his gaze. He nods, “I lost sight for a while,” He says, “But not again.” His gaze returns to the window, now streaked with rain. “I want out. He can have it all, it’s not fucking worth it.”

“It never was.”

You pull into the driveway and park, “Open the glove box.” You order and Hoffman smirks at what he finds. He holds the gun with such a practised hand, adopting a casually defensive walk as he scopes out the house. You walk in front with Hoffman backing you up, better the Detective wield the weapon than you. As soon as the door is open Hoffman is pushing you inside and slamming the door shut. He slides the lock in place as you shed your coat and hang it up. When you turn back round Hoffman’s hands are already preying at your waist. His lips descend to your neck and you let him have access to all of you.

His touch grows desperate, tugging at your shirt, “We should see to your ankle.” You say, but Hoffman silences you with his lips again.

“Later.” He commands and you let him press you into the wall besides the coat rack. You unzip his jacket and heave it off his broad shoulders, dropping it on the floor behind him. Hoffman pushes his body against you, you can feel him hard. You lift your arms obediently as your shirt is removed, which earns you a gruff, ‘good girl’ from the impatient Detective. Your hands descend to his jeans zipper as Hoffman’s hands roam over your shoulders, down to your back and then he’s got your bra dangling from one hand. He tosses it with his jacket, Hoffman’s lips travelling from your neck to your collarbone. A whine escapes you as he suckles there, adding to the bruises he left only days ago on your skin. Fuelled by your noises, Hoffman’s restraint snaps. With a couple tugs your trousers are by your ankles and Hoffman winds one of your legs around his waist.

His low groan brushes against your lips, “Bedroom.”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway and Hoffman throws you over his shoulder. The world tips upside down as a laugh escapes you. Any other time Hoffman might have slapped your ass, but tonight he’s all about urgency. The bedroom door thuds open and then you’re being dropped on the bed harsh enough that you bounce on impact. Hoffman tears his hoodie off and off with it comes the dark shirt underneath. You smirk at the sight before you, a shirtless ex-Detective, his chest heaving from the night’s ordeal. Your eyes drop to his full pecs and on catching where your stare has gone, Hoffman smirks when your eyes meet his again.

“The longer we leave that ankle the more likely it’ll get…”

Your words die when his jeans come off and in the blink of an eye, Hoffman has crawled on top of you. He pecks your lips, “Doll, shut the fuck up.” He leaves more kisses with each word, between your breasts, on your stomach and then just above where your panties rest. You suck in a breath of apprehension as Hoffman’s eyes shine with desire. He dips lower, parting your legs. You take a sharp intake of air as you feel his tongue lick a hot stripe over your clothed vagina.

“Oh wow,” Your hand rakes into Hoffman’s hair, “Please…”

You keep your eyes on the ceiling as Hoffman continues to lap at you. Tingles of pleasure spike through your system and your fingers tighten their hold. Gentle fingers slide your panties off, but you daren’t look at him. Hoffman delicately traces his tongue along your most sensitive area before close his mouth over your clit. Your back arches, sensations pinging in your synapses as he starts sucking at you. He chuckles darkly, “Always the same reaction,” He mouths, placing a kiss just above your centre and then his face is centimetres away from yours. 

“Because it always feels so good.” You reason, stroking over his scarred cheek as you try to catch your breath. You feel him hard against your thigh as Hoffman lines up with your entrance, “Already?”

“Sorry sweetheart, I can’t wait.” He murmurs, already pushing in. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders and your mouth falls open. The sting of Hoffman’s cock stretching you intensifies everything. A couple tears leak out and Hoffman’s eyes widen, “Fuck.” His head falls to your neck and with a quick thrust you cry out as he sheathes himself fully inside you. It’s like you’ve flipped a switch, your glassy eyes and sheer vulnerability pushing Hoffman into a frenzy. His hips thrust hard against yours, eager to fill you with as much of him as you can take. The bed shunts against the wall as he fucks you hard enough that it’s better to rest your head on the pillow than try to meet his eyes again. You can hear his grunts of pleasure in your ear as Hoffman swells, a litany of filth spilling from his lips. “That’s it. Fucking take me. Gonna enjoy every second.”

“Please,” You’ve lost all coherency. All you can do is let him fuck you into the bad and take what he needs. Your hands fall to either side of you and Hoffman takes advantage of your submissiveness. His big hands take a wrist each as he uses the new leverage to bend one of your knees with his leg. The deeper penetration makes you jolt as your orgasm bursts fast and staggering enough that your brain feels like it’s melting.

“That’s it.” Hoffman continues, his voice strained as he too draws nearer his finish. “My beautiful fucking wife, always there when I need you.”

“Always,” You bleat as your husband cums deep inside you. His grunts turn to laboured breaths, as Hoffman sags and gives into his exhaustion. Your hands cradle his head as you hold him close. In the afterglow of your orgasm more tears prick at your eyes. Holding him now, treasuring the stroke of luck that was on your side, despite all of Hoffman’s careful planning. You could have lost him so easily. So many scenarios could have put you in that wretched bathroom alongside him.

When your clarity returns, Hoffman is slowly pulling out and rolling onto the space beside you. You curl over so you can settle in his arms, like every night. His fingers play absently with the closest strands of hair he can find, “I mean it.” He murmurs, “I’m done. Tomorrow we’re getting out of the state, laying low.”

“How are we gonna do that?” You ask, “You’re the most wanted man in the country and me by association.”

“I know someone.” Hoffman says, placing another kiss to your forehead. “Ex-military, Iraq. He has connections and owes me for keeping quiet.”

You can’t help a sigh, but it is for the best, “So long as you put the games behind you, that’s all I ask for.”

“You and me.” He nods, “Like before, like it should have been always.” Your eyes get heavy and Hoffman drapes the blanket you both keep on the end of the bed over you both. You look up at your husband, but Hoffman is lost in thought. After a couple minutes he looks down at you, “Perhaps I can cut a deal.”

“You’d have to have something huge to barter with.”

Hoffman smirks, “I reckon I could work something out. There’s a Doctor and his little Pigheads I’m sure they’d love to hear about.” 

[whore4hotdilfs]

Something New.

prompt : You tell Mark you feel bored with your sex life during an argument. He shows you why you should never speak down on him again.

warnings : 18+ audiences. Degrading. Dom!Mark Hoffman x sub!reader. Slight edging. Daddy kink. Age gap relationship. Power dynamics. Restraints. Hair pulling. Face-slapping. Subspace is implied. Aftercare, it gets softer at the end I promise he’s not a bastard in this one after. Victim play mentioned like once. Cursing. Use of the word cunt and cock when referring to parts. Porn without plot almost. Haven’t written smut in months, bare with me. Breeding. Alludes to squirting.

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You really didn’t know exactly what had gotten yourself to this point. Didn’t know what possessed you to let such an insult slip past your mouth, even if deep down you knew you meant it. But god, you wished you didn’t. Your words got you here, your arms sealed into a knot tied to each bedpost, legs spread open and bound to stay that way, no Mark in sight.

You had no idea how long it had been until you noticed a familiar frame loom in the doorway, arms tight against his chest as a menacing chuckle escaped his lips.

“You really thought you could doubt me and get away with it, hm?” His voice is rasp. Deep. Just enough for his words to hit you in ways that it should’ve, enough to draw his point across. You didn’t answer, just looked in his direction, your eyes sparkling in fear of what he had planned to put you through.

It’s not long before he deeply sighs at the lack of any sign of response or acknowledgement of his presence, making his way over to your tortured form, a light slap stinging your cheeks. You gasp in response finally, his strong hand gripping your chin and forcing your eyes to peer up at him.

“Fucking look at me while I’m talking to you.” He spits venom from his lips, his eyes are a slick black, his pupils expanded to its max in a look that could never be mistaken as anything other than a desired hunger. He creates a stronger grip onto your jaw, shaking his head in faux disbelief at your actions. He pulls your face closer to him, his knees bent down in a laced mocking tone, as if you were nothing but a victim in that moment. “Speak when you’re spoken to, slut. We don’t have all day.”

You swallowed your pride, letting yourself morph into your permanent role. Nodding your head slowly and winced as his grip got impossibly tighter on your jaw.

“No. Use your fucking words. You can’t be that stupid.”

You could’ve sunk into a puddle of desire and need right there, practically leaking against the sheer fabric of the only material that was clung to your body. You had never seen this side before and while you were more than grateful that you managed to force this state out of him, you were all the more frightened that you pushed him to the point of no return when it came to your sex-life.

You finally brighten up the courage to open your silken lips, searching his eyes for any sign of your boyfriend’s caring nature when it came to you, but your search returned with nothing of the sorts. You swallow down a gulp that you were sure could’ve been heard due to the crisp environment.

“Yes.. daddy.” You hesitate. Not sure that that would’ve been the appropriate response. You knew that Mark had always been hesitant when it came to going out in public with you, he always thought he looked a bit too old to be with you, like a creep. But here he was in the same breath and the same mind, acting as if he was a dangerous predator stalking his prey.

Your words elicit a throated growl, black eyes continuing to peer down at you in your helpless position. He lets go of your jaw finally, letting your head fall roughly back onto the pillow without a care in his being. He himself probably had no idea in the slightest as to why he’s okay with being called daddy when he was already insecure in himself for snatching you up while he could. Maybe it was the way that anything sounded pretty coming from his angel, he’s sure that was it.

He pats your face as your reward, rubbing the soft flesh where his slip still lingered upon your face his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “Sorry, my angel.” He mouths down at you. You could tell he looked hesitant to continue seeing the handprint he left upon you but one look at your current state makes his gaze harden to its past form.

He starts to nonchalantly hum against the shell of your ear, his hand slowly making its way down your body. His pace was constant though, hand pressing firm onto your skin as he traces your helpless body. He stops once he gets close to your abdomen, smirk resting along the corner of his lips as his hand resumed slipping under the restraining lace fabric before ripping the flimsy material down the middle. His finger immediately hooks itself onto your wetness, slipping down to collect some on his finger, trailing his finger up your body again and forced it past your eager lips.

He doesn’t have to tell you what to do, you’ve seen too much of this move from him to know that you shouldn’t ignore it or freeze up when he presents himself. You wrap your lips desperately around the slick digit, using your tongue to sink it deeper into your mouth down to his knuckle.

“Fuck. You’re such a messy whore.” He belts out, his other hand swiftly taking his belt out of the confined loops, rushing his jeans past his ankles, kicking them off before his boxers fell swiftly behind. “All mine.” He grits his teeth, keeping himself tight-lipped.

He almost rips his finger from your mouth, moving slowly to crawl onto the bed and loomed over your smaller frame, sitting up on his knees as he admired you all spread out for him. He knew it would have been possible to keep your legs open for him, he naturally had that effect on you he caught on, but he figured the nature of learning a lesson would’ve been so much better and to his benefit.

You stare up at him, your doe eyes sparkling with faux innocence as he tangled his fingers through your hair, gripping onto a healthy amount of your hair with a deep smirk. He knew he had every and all control of you and your body he already couldn’t get enough of, he was fully up to taking advantage of this one moment. He rubs his tip against your cunt, groaning at the feeling of you still being wet, maybe even more than before. You shifted against your restraints, trying to buck up your hips in a desperate attempt to force him to slip inside, your actions answered with a grip on one of your hips to force you back down against the bed.

“I set the pace, not you. Understood?”

He didn’t give you much time to answer, he didn’t need one to the question anyways, he was setting the pace of the night rather you’d like it or not. He was the one that gave permission, not you.

It didn’t take him longer to give into you, though. Maybe it was a combination of how you already looked disheveled below him and those pretty eyes of yours but he could never say no to you even for a second. He forces his length inside of your aching cunt in one swift motion, wetness covering and enveloping around him. He possessively growls once more at your heat as a lethal result.

“Always fit me so well, don’t you? Like my own personal slut.” He grits his teeth and keeps his eyes locked on yours from below, nonverbally forcing you to keep contact. You wouldn’t dare break such a thing anyways, especially if he acted like this when provoked.

“Daddy.. please move. Need you.” You whimper into the air, hands pulling against your restraints once more in an overwhelming urge to rest your hands on his back to pull him closer to your body. You always needed to touch the few times you have had sex, he knew that. He knew you itched, yearned to use any way you could to get what you wanted. Suppose that that’s why the permanent smirk on his lips spreads to a motion that’s unrecognizable.

He hums in a mocking tone, tsking at the desperation leaking out of your every pore. “I said.” He starts in a low voice, whisking at your restraints to press them harder against your wrists, you whimper at his movements, eyes flickering to his cold ones.

“I set.” He pulls himself all the way out and shoves every inch back in.

“The fucking.” Harder.

“Pace.” The last word rumbles around near the bottom of his throat, his body leaning down so his mouth was leveled near your ear, causing him to curl deeper inside of you as he snapped each thrust.

“Behave, doll.” He whispers soft against your ear, pulling your weightless body right up against him. He starts to thrust into your tight walls faster, watching in amazement at how you took him so well every single time, mesmerized by the way your cunt practically swallows him whole.

He drinks in your noises from below him, every tiny purr begs him to just go faster until his pace is near brutality. You had no choice but to take it all, desperately needing to snap your legs shit due to the friction. You had always been sensitive when it came to any form of sex with Mark, he knew exactly how to reach you to that point in a matter of seconds, with just one touch you melted in his hands, every single time. If he was honest, it’s what kept his energy so high when it came to doing anything sexual for his most prized possession.

His thumb trails down your sides to press against your throbbed clit, rubbing circles that matched with the motion of his thrusts the faster he became. Your back arches off the mattress and a high-pitched gasp tears from your lips when he hits just where you need him to, squeezing onto his cock as your body depended on his touch to survive. He drinks the angelic sight and this time lets your hips buck on their own to push back onto him and match every one of his thrusts.

He can read your mind and movements in a matter of seconds, hissing at the feeling of your walls clamping down on him. He tried to regain his composure but he can’t control how he bottoms out right there at the feeling of your warmness.

His hand wraps around your throat with a strong force in his haste to get himself back under his own control, squeezing around your neck but still careful not to bruise you quite yet.

“Hold it. You don’t cum until I do.”

You nod frantically at his demanding words, your eyes squeezing shut as you tried to keep your focus on anything other than his movements. The obscene sounds of your slick echoing at each and every thrust. His rasped groans spitting from his chest as he picks up his pace for the final time. You can tell he’s brought himself closer to the edge, using you as nothing but his own personal toy as he ruts in and out of you.

Your mind is numb at this point the more that you’re forced to hold yourself in, your hands folding into fists. Nails digging into your skin and coloring your knuckles white. Your skin is a shade lighter, your mind beginning to float away as your body slips more into a stiff-like state, like a rag doll at his disposal.

“That’s it. That’s it. So good for me. Fuck.” He rambles out nonsense, words fuzzy and sounded faint as soon as the vibrations manage to hit your ears, eyes rolling back into your head at the pressure.

Lucky for your state, it isn’t a long wait until you feel him tense, hands flying to your small hips to keep him fully inside of you, the feeling of hot painting inside of you in slow strokes. Your body gives out fully before you even have a chance to free yourself with a right mind, letting yourself go with a shake to your thighs.

Mark watches with attentive eyes, in awe at your body as it reacts in a way he’s never seen before. Your eyes are glued shut, nose scrunched up at your release. He pulls himself out of you to see the whole show, your thighs continuing to shake and your hips bucking up to chase a high that far washed over you by now. He knows what is happening, he isn’t that oblivious to think that you’re fully down to earth with him, he actually researched before he actually got rougher.

He didn’t bother bringing you down from your space just yet, he read that it was best to keep you floated for a few minutes after and not tear you down off your faux reality yet. Instead, he just preens at his pretty little angel who did so good for him, undoing the hooks around your leather cuffs, his other hand catching your elbow so your arms wouldn’t snap back to your sides. Next is your leg restraint when your thighs have finally calmed down, a swift motion throwing them to the floor.

After a few long minutes of waiting, watching closely to make sure you were okay, your eyelashes flutter opened as you look up at him with wonder. Memories rush back to your mind of the night at hand but he left you barely any time to remanence before he wraps his arms around your hips and collapsed on the side beside you on the bed.

He pulls you towards his bare chest, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thighs, just where you wouldn’t be sensitive from the motion.

“Next time, let’s not question my abilities, baby doll.”

Your silence after his words is enough to celebrate his small victory.

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a/n: repost repost come get your repost. i hope it isn’t too weird, first time writing smut in a long while :)

[staarboyyy]

a worthy test

mark hoffman x gender neutral reader

18+ scenarios / characters - minors dni

tags / warnings ; dead dove, detective!reader, kidnapping, smut, gender neutral anatomy, gags, rough sex, slapping, needles, drugging, unhealthy dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, size difference kink, age difference, creampie, big ol man tiddies YEEHAWW!!

summary ; you and your team of investigators have been after jigsaw's apprentice for months, yet waking up bound to a chair makes way for suprises more sinister than you could have imagined

word count ; 1.6k

a/n; blame this fic on @sehtoast and all of cozy corner for being such lovely encouraging folk :) anyways enough mushy shit, take the long awaited nasty stuff!

You awoke to a strange sensation. Everything in the past 18 hours had been nothing more than a blur, your eyes opening slowly, squinting in the bright light that was forcing its way through your lids. It was a struggle to recall anything, swimming through the cloudy memories to sift out the important ones. You tried turning your head, desperate for some clue as to how you'd ended up in this room, let alone bound to a cold rusty chair.

"Morning Detective."

A familiar voice breathed into the cold air, causing you to jump slightly. You blinked with a harsh squint, eyes struggling to take in the form of the man before you, still adjusting to the dim room. All the while, your heart pounded in your chest as the large silhouette revealed itself. It was Mark - You and your team had been after him for months ever since you learned of his betrayal. His piercing eyes are fixed upon you, his expression hard and emotionless.

He kept his gaze on you as panic began to surface in the flush of your cheeks, blush rushing in your ears. No. This must be a nightmare, a delusion - Anything besides the truth. You struggled for a moment with the fabric gag wrapped around your mouth and jaw, tied behind your head. You were not just desperate to speak, you wanted to scream, to demand a fucking answer for everything as the man stood in front of you, hands behind his back. Was he pleased? His expression was difficult to read, head cocking slightly off to the side as he watched you struggle before him. A smirk pushed at the corner of his full lips, eyebrows twitching slightly - He looked almost confused at your panic and desperation to understand the situation. In his eyes, you should be thankful to still be afraid enough just to worry and wonder, taking in every shuddered breath with rousing appreciation. At this, you wanted to feel sick. You wanted to.

      The cold leather of his gloved sent rolling chills over the backs of your arms, hairs on your neck at a sharp standstill. He was your colleague. He had always been cold, brutally honest for the sake of what you thought had been good. Surely there had to be something good still in the man before you, who now wore a prowling gaze like a stalking predator. Your teeth grit at the red fabric tied tightly around your head, trying to bite back the words that roared in your mind - No way in hell you'd break first.

      "Somethin' wrong?"

     His voice was quiet, his body stilling as he walked behind you, gloved hands resting on your shoulders. The leather was cold, his thumbs digging uncomfortably hard into your back, causing you to grunt slightly.

      "You look like you've seen a ghost, sugar." 

     Mark's hands slid over your body, taking little time to savor how you felt under his hands, his fingers beginning to slowly unlatch your wrists from the chair. It wasn't hesitant, the movement was practiced - He knew his presence alone kept you pinned to the spot. No binds needed, not with the pooling arousal that now flushed your cheeks and mind, your thighs shifting uncomfortably in the rusting chair. The man's steps echoed through the dark warehouse, now facing you with a strangely bored expression, eyes darting towards your bound ankles. The detective pulled in a slow breath as your heartbeat rushed in your ears, tilting his head as he kept his gaze on your ankles.

     "You gonna be good?"

He didn't bother to look towards you as he spoke, practically speaking to himself as he slowly knelt before you. It would be so easy, you thought. To run, to push him away and fight him off. The latches came undone, and he rose to his full height once again. He shadowed over your figure, shoulders wide and dress shirt buttons straining, sleeves rolled over his thick forearms; There was no fight worth trying for, not as he pulled you like a ragdoll from the chair and pressed your cheek against the brick wall.

     Your blood ran cold. You were in over your head. You could feel Mark's grasp on your hips, thumbs rubbing over the protruding bones with a perverse hunger. His hands were able to cover your entire lower back, shamelessly palming at your ass. “Wait, just-” Your voice was silenced when one of the older man’s hands slid up your clothed back, fingers tangling in your hair for a moment, savoring the sudden sound of skin against skin. With a strangled gasp, Mark's fingers tightened on your hair, making a fist and forcing your body against his own; Somewhere in Mark’s mind, he could hear your screaming. Your abundant surprised gasps and yelps would surface over his clouded mind, as he watched you struggle helplessly, wincing at your outcries. With a clench of his jaw, he felt a proud smile prod at the corners of his lips, the thoughts brushing past him. He had just sunken half way inside, yet the strange pulling burn of being stretched open planting a growing arousal. Sweat rolled down his back in beads, bending in pools with his tensing body as he ruthlessly used you, pinned underneath him. You had been a vice on Mark's cock, suffocating your mind and body with an insatiable hunger, a chemical greed to be adequately filled and used, to be bred without gentle caresses or soft words. The man released your hair, reaching forward towards your throat and clasping his fingers tightly around it, using grip as leverage to tear through you even deeper. Every inch of your body roared in numbing desire, twitching as your senses ricocheted voraciously. You arched your back eagerly into the man above you, tears stinging your bottom lashes to fall as Mark remorselessly gripped your throat, ceasing the gasps instantly. The line between pleasure and pain began to blur as your vision did, eyes rolling shut, squeezing them closed as you endured the desperate assault, body licked and abused by unwavering flames and large animalistic hands - The smell of cologne smothered your consciousness, tears casing your flushed cheeks as strangled gasps emerged from your throat. Though you couldn't sense the words gathering in your mind, nor taste them leave your frantic lips, you could feel them in the air; The unabashed begging, pleading Mark not to stop. You sobbed bit hard onto the saliva soaked gag between your lips, aimless and muffled as Mark's pace began to slow.

     "Don't stop,"

    Mark's large hand glided over your hips, tracing down your arms to wrap over both your wrists. He gave a punctuating thrust forward, bottoming out inside of you with a strangled moan, head dipping forward as he pulled your body against his own. You were a toy to him, his hands exploring your body, groping your thighs and sliding his digits past your gag, groaning quietly at the feeling of your tongue against his gloved fingers. Your body was shaking, glazed in sweat as you stood on your tippy-toes to keep up with the man who so effortlessly pulled you into his demanding thrusts. His cock twitched as you squirmed, body wanting so badly to fight the pleasure that now threatened to spill over.

     "You're gonna be the death of me - So fuckin' tight,"

     Mark slammed his hips forward with every word, his hold on your wrists tightening, pulling you away from the wall to press impossibly deeper into you. Your body seared with pleasure and pain, rousing a euphoric heat to spark and glaze itself on your skin - It was electric, how he handled your full weight; No, not just handled it, he insisted it. He wanted you, all of you. He wanted you in tears, drool rolling down your lips as you beg for more in that precious muffled whimper. His cock pulsed inside you, thrusts becoming messy as he watched your ass push snugly against his hips, bouncing back, desperate for even more. No words could properly describe what you craved from the other, your body shaking and knees threatening to buckle underneath your weight, sweat dripping from your temples and jaw. It was a hot blinding spark, your body quaking as your scream pitched up to break, echoing throughout the abaonded warehouse. It didn't matter if you were limp, mind numb and broken as he kept your body tight against his own.

     "You're mine. Understand that?"

     You couldn't respond, hardly registering his voice until the leather palm came to slap hard against your flushed cheek. Your eyes flew open in shock, pulling in a deep gasp, only to be cut off by his hand gripping your throat.

     "Thaat's right, you're all mine - Fuck baby,"

     Marks euphoria reached it's peak, eyes glued to your body rutting shamelessly against him as his cock spilled messily into you. He fucked his cum deep, keeping ahold of you with a grasp sure enough to leave flowering bruises. He gasped sharply, eyes sliding shut as they rolled back, lips hanging open; You were his, entirely. Even as you woke from a fading haze, thighs messily stained with cum and flowered with large bruises, you were still wrapped in a thick quilt. It didn't matter where you were, your mind spinning as the cold puncture of a sedative filled needle pushed into your forearm. You would have atleast opened your eyes to see the perpetrator, but the feeling of his leather gloves against your skin had become a familar one.

     "Sleep well, detective."

[hhhhoffman]

━ February

Part two of Monthly Mark Hoffman: A NSFW Cycle

summary: february - hoffman has his way with you in a run down, dilapidated warehouse.

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

word count: 2k

rating: explicit, 18+

cw: piv sex, desk sex, rough sex, slight bdsm (dominant!hoffman), praise kink, pet names, name-calling, guns, stalking, fucking, spanking

you can also read this story on ao3.

You followed him.

You know that you shouldn't have, that it was a stupid choice to make, but your body made the decision for itself, as if on pure instinct. Recklessly impulsive, compelled by the ferocity of your own inquisitiveness.

You were unable to prevent that gnawing, exciting thrill of discovering not just any secret - but his secret - something else about him that you don't yet know, that maybe, no one else knows. Your whole body whirled at such an idea, and then you got into your car and tailed him, through the winding, empty streets until he stopped at a seemingly abandoned warehouse on the other side of town.

A strange place for him to be, all alone. It's a clear, cold night. Way too late for anyone to be out by themselves. You can see your breath pluming in the frigid winter air as you pull up into a side alley and switch the car's engine off. Your eyes flicker to the display above the steering wheel. 

February 29th. You didn't even realise that it was such a rare day today. The leap year, a time of fresh newness, the ushering in of spring. Rebirth. An omen, perhaps. Whether a good or bad one has yet to be determined. You feel like you're teetering on the edge of something, about to plummet into a void of discovery and revelation.

You get out the car, lock it. Walk quickly to the large building, and run your fingertips against the old brickwork as you survey the perimeter in darkness, wondering why on earth he has come here, of all places.

You expected...well, you didn't know what to expect. But it wasn't this. Hoffman keeps to himself, a man that goes by the book, professional, clean cut and tidy. 

How very strange. 

He disappears regularly. It was something that you noticed early on into your...flirtation. Though his job as a detective is taxing, his hours long, there are always missing moments, fleeting times that he is simply gone for seemingly no good reason. 

He has never mentioned it, and you have never asked, of course. But there is only so much unaccounted time that your curiosity could stand. And now here you are, alone in the dark.

A hard solidness is suddenly pressed into the centre of your back, and you smell him - a distinctive masculine scent of musk and mint. Then Mark's unique, weighty silence settles upon you like a blanket.

Fuck.

You should have known better, known him better, than to think you could get away with such reckless behaviour. That you could skulk about in the darkness undetected. Of course he immediately clocked your presence and registered your intent. 

He's much too competent to have not. 

"I think you're lost," he states, his voice gravelly. His breath hot on the cold skin of your neck.

You inhale a sharp breath as you feel that pressure at your back increase, and realise that it's his gun pressed against your spine.

Before you can reply, a gloved hand covers your mouth, and it's then that you understand just how foolish you have been.

A sudden thrill unfurls inside of you. You've never seen his fury up close and personal, never had his wrath directed towards you.

Perhaps tonight is a night of firsts afterall. 

Your heart races as he maneuvers you towards a set of doors, roughly pushes you through them and then locks them behind you. You hear him holster his gun, and your fear slightly lessens. Your excitement, however, does not. 

The dark inside is total black, pitch, and then you hear him flick on a switch and a sudden brightness of harsh fluorescent lights momentarily blinds you. You squint, and cringe away.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He demands, his eyes as dark as the night,  his tone serious as death. He always  emphasises when he cusses, spits the word out like a stone. Your stomach dances with lightness, the way his lips release such expletives and foul language has always been a weakness of yours. It suits his voice.

When you don't reply, he strides up to you, grips your wrist robustly and gets in your face, his strong nose almost touching yours, grazing it.

You look up at him, eyes wide with coy innocence, a smile ghosting on your lips. You can't help yourself, not when he's so close, holding you so tight.

You see a tease of a smirk, the muscle of his jaw tensing - and then he's shaking his head. 

"Pretty girl," he whispers, pitiful, his eyes glazing down your face. "You're lost."

He grabs you again, twists you around to face the room. It's a lot to take in, confusing: a large space, filled with...junk. Scrap metal, rusted structures, screens and desks and all sorts of old shit littering the room. 

"What the fuck," you finally mutter, eyes unable to truly make sense of what you're seeing. 

His hand is at the back of your neck then, grasping tightly, his hot large lips ghosting the shell of your ear. 

"Who the fuck do you think you are, hm? Following me?"

He pushes you across to a work bench close to your right, brutally bends you over it. His hand fists your hair for a moment, and he pulls your head back up to his.

"You're so desperate for me to fuck you that you get in your car and tail me across the city? You can't wait one fucking hour?"

He drops your hair, and you fall forward, limp, suddenly too worked up to be scared or apprehensive or confused. Your face is flushed, your chest heaving, eyes watering. Your loins aching with want at his harsh display of dominance. 

"This is what you want? To be treated like the little fucking slut you are?"

A moan falls out of you at his words, the swift change of pace and degradation sending a sluicing rush of pure heat throbbing between your thighs. 

"Fuck," you whine, your legs beginning to spread of their own accord. 

His palm presses into your face, holding your cheek against the cold metal of whatever workbench or desk he has you bent over. 

"Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me." 

He says the pet-name like an insult, spitting it at you with fury and disgust. It makes the moment all the more hot and loaded, his rage fuelling your desire even further.

You feel him behind you, his erection straining against the material of his pants, hard and pressing, rubbing brazenly against your ass. 

"Yes," you cry out as he ruts into you. "Yes, yes, fuck, I need you, please."

"Please what?" 

"Have me, use me. Take me. Christ, Hoffman just - fuck me."

He pulls down your pants and underwear effortlessly in a strong and breezy tug, exposing your bare ass to the cold air of whatever kind of fucking crack house you're in. His gloved hand lands a sharp smack on your ass, the sound of it echoing in the large space, the hot burn of it titillating.

"You asked for it, you bad fucking girl."

He spanks you again and again, and your moans are unbridled and braying, the ache in your cunt almost too much to bear now, the need for him overpowering and raw. You hear a clinking, his belt being undone, and then he's pressing himself into you and -

He thrusts in deep, hard. In to the hilt, his girth stretching you open with a decadent soreness. You whine, gripping the desk until your knuckles are white. 

He smacks your ass again, the pain sudden but sweet. "Shut the fuck up. Can you do that? Can you fucking do as you're told and behave?" 

You force your lips together, holding in your screams and cries of pleasure as he begins to have his way with you, rough from the start. You take him gladly, reverently, and as he fucks you hard and fast, his large gloved hands paw at the soft flesh of your hips, waist and ass. 

Your eyes stream tears of hot bliss as you hold your mouth shut, covering your lips with your palm, desperate to prove to him that you can do what he says, that you can take him in anyway that he desires.

You can hear him panting and groaning, can feel the brutality of his thrusts increase as he loses himself in your wet heat. The heaviness of his broad hips rutting into you.

A particularly rough string of pounding leads you to mewl through your hand, and then his fingers are around your throat, pulling your face to his lips.

"Shhhh," he hushes you, planting a surprisingly delicate kiss at your temple. "Be quiet. Control yourself. Let me see how good you can be. Can you do that for me?"

His soft tone and gentle kisses gives you a strange sense of whiplash, and then you're nodding, crying, grinning like a fucking mad woman - and he's thrusting, ramming into you with unapologetic abandon, his moans loud, one of his hands now at your waist, the other on the back of your neck as he holds you down.

He begins to praise you in streams of degrading, gorgeous words, and you can feel the promise of an orgasm prickling down your spine. 

"Good girl," he says, finally. "What a fucking beautiful little whore, what a perfect girl. Fuck, taking me so well, letting me fuck you like this."

His mumbled groans of pleasure stoke the fire within your loins, and it begins, that build up, that straining, rich heat...

"This is what bad girls get, hm?" he slurs, his voice drunk with lust. "Bad girls like you, getting fucked until they behave. You're doing so well, you're doing so perfectly. Take it, you beautiful, perfect girl."

His words are like a hot knife slicing though butter - he cuts deep into your very being, into your fantasies and desires and your wet, stretched cunt. His treatment of you tonight, so surprisingly brutal and sudden, so good and so fucking hot, and then oh god, it happens - white hot pleasure snapping, the tightening of muscles around him, the cry you cannot keep from roaring out of you, and his hushing, his praise, his fingers in your hair. A climax from the fucking heavens.

"My girl," you hear him grunt, and then he fucks you with no real rhythm, just pure primal instinct, rutting and pounding until he finishes deep inside of you, with a gratifying, rumbling growl.

Then you're both panting hard, the sounds of your breathing breaking the silence of the night - the only other noise you can hear is the frantic beating of your own heart. 

"Clean yourself up," he says after a moment, cooly putting himself away and buckling up his belt. 

You stand and do as he says, turning around to watch him push some unruly strands of hair away from his face. He runs his eyes down you, slow and purposeful, smirking at your disheveled state. You blink, unable to predict his next move, unable to fathom how you got to this point. 

Then he saunters over to you, closing the space between you, and pulls you in for a kiss. It's deep and possessive, and you can taste his sweat on your tongue. 

"Wait in the car," he mutters into your lips. "I have work to do."

You roll your eyes dramatically. He tuts and says, "do as you're told, and maybe I'll let you suck my cock on the way home, bad girl."

He taps your chin and then you grin at him, kissing his bottom lip one last time before you turn on your heel and head back into the cold of the night. 

Wherever the fuck he is, whatever the fuck he's doing: let him have his secrets. As long as you can have him, it doesn't matter. 

Nothing else matters. 

-

[rigg647]

hi!! May I request h/c’s for Peter strahm and mark Hoffman with s/o’s who are really clingy? Thank you so much and have a good day!

STRAHM AND HOFFMAN WITH A CLINGY S/O! ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

A/N; as a clingy s/o and in love with both, i’d LOVE to write these! i hope you have an even greater day 🩷

requests; open!

PETER STRAHM ʚɞ

SUCH A SWEETHEART!

he is a workaholic but he tries so hard to be home as much as he can

he definitely loves it when you run into his arms when he gets home

LIKE LOVES IT.

if you’re so clingy that you can’t let go of him

he most definitely would carry you around the house

i can vision him making dinner or something and you just straddling him

he also loves that

MARK HOFFMAN ʚɞ

unlike strahm, he’d definitely tease you about it

when he gets home he’ll definitely say something like-

‘waiting by the door for me again?’

he’s also a workaholic though so he’s barely home too

although he doesn’t mind your clinginess

he isn’t strahm level in love with it

don’t get me wrong he finds it absolutely adorable though

[ilovebuthatemen]

Aftercare

prompt : Mark giving reader aftercare. (Reupload)

A/N : if you think you saw this somewhere.. you definitely did, pookie. I’m combining my blogs into one so it doesn’t get too overwhelming for me anymore. I didn’t steal this work from @whore4hotdilfs considering that’s me ! 🫂 If you’re a new reader, welcome beautiful:) Enjoy.

warnings : 18+ mature content. Fluff. I made Mark a softie.

————————————————————————

“Princess, come back to me. I’m here.” You hear a familiar voice faintly among your ears. Your eyes are still glued shut from the high you had just experienced only moments ago, your hair sprawled out messily over the pillow below you, legs squeezed shut due to the previous overstimulation scene.

His hand raises up to cup your jaw, careful of your current state, with his thumb caressing your cheekbone in an attempt to sooth you back to him. “C’mon lemme see those pretty eyes.” He coos. For a man who presented himself in a way that made everyone around him think he was nothing but a hard ass, he always handled you with pure love and soft intentions in his being.

Your eyes slowly start to flutter open. The lights were already dimmed to a more calming setting, a better one for you to adjust to as you came back. You had told Mark previous the little things that mattered to you as you were to inevitably come down from your space, and he picked up every tiny detail. How you needed the lights to be near off to let your eyes adjust to your surroundings, how you needed touched as if you were his delicate flower, how he needed to focus his upmost patience when it came down to everything.

“There’s my little princess.” He preens at the sight of your eyes fully focusing on what’s present, training on him as a sweet smile crept onto your lips. His thumb presses lightly up against the top of your cheekbone, rubbing down until he stops at your jawline.

You can’t find exactly coherent words from your throat yet. You’re already cleaned off, new laced material adorns your body, topped off with one of his normal tshirts drooped snug against your body. All you could find the strength for is raising your arms out towards his sitting frame, your eyes sparkling up at him where you still laid still.

Mark nods his head, he knows you got extremely clingy after any form of your scenes, he thought it was definitely the cutest thing he’s ever seen. And, the fact he’d never pass up spoiling his flower at any cost, his heart always swelled at the sight of you in your happiest form with him. Ironically, you felt safe in his arms and he was more than determined to keep it that way.

He wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you from off the bed for just a swift moment making you squeal from the impact. It isn’t long until he lays slowly back down in the middle of the bed so you were laying on top of his bare chest. His hand tangled itself in your mess of your hair, smoothing out the mop softly and twirled tiny strands around his fingers.

He looks down at you with nothing but adoration laced in his eyes, a bit of guilt from keeping such a big part of his life away from you. He wanted to tell you, but he always hesitated himself because of moments like this. Moments where you feel safe, so secure in his arms, that he always choked himself up. He doesn’t think he could deal with the idea of you possibly never trusting him again. His little angel looking at him any different than your safest place.

“I love you.” You smile faintly up at him. He can tell you’re exhausted, your eyes were puffy from the stimulation, barely fighting to stay open. He tried his best not to stiffen up once again that night because oh, how desirable you looked still, adjusting himself accordingly in hopes you wouldn’t wrap your brain to notice that in your tired state.

Before he knew it, his small movement proved a lot more effective than he originally thought. Your body went stiff, relaxing in his arms, one hand laying softly on his chest right above where his heart swelled with nothing but love for his baby. He couldn’t help that smile that bursted onto his lips at the sound of your small snores that were faint against him.

Oh, how he was going to spoil you the best he could when you woke up.

————————————————————————

A/N : it’s not one of my best blurbs but it’s something sweet 🫂

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

Traps || A Mark Hoffman x f!reader SMUT

Summary: Mark Hoffman and (Y/N) hate each other , but what happens when tinkering on traps in the same workshop leads leads to spicy tension?

Warnings: NSFW, hate sex, degrading/explicit language, only one partner being fully nude , Mark Hoffman’s temper

Note: Hello my fellow Big Bad Hoffman enthusiasts, this is my very first smut piece (as in ever) and I really hope it’s not too bad. I’ve read over it a couple of times and hope there aren’t any major mistakes.

Have fun reading ✨

“What do you want?” the deep grumble of Mark Hoffman’s voice vibrates through the room of the warehouse, as (Y/N) enters the room. “Certainly nothing from you.” She rolls her eyes, already annoyed by the man’s presence, as she walks over to the shelves across the table that Hoffman is working at. “I was in the middle of something important.” the man grumbles, looking up from the contraption he was currently tinkering on. She huffs, ignoring the man as she roams through the shelf in front of her. “Have you seen my blueprints anywhere?” Not lifting his gaze from the piece of metal he was currently securing, he gestures to the shelves. “Check your bloody work area. I’m not your secretary.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, the woman pauses her movements. “You know, if you’d answer me like a fucking decent human being, I’d be out of your way much quicker.” (Y/N) grumbles, shoving a box of scrap metal aside.

A few moments pass, before (Y/N) spots her blueprints on the very top of the shelf, leading her to mutter a string of curse words under her breath. The young woman turns around, pointing to the chair next to Hoffman. “Do you need that?” Mark pauses for a moment and shrugs his shoulders before he mutters a simple “Suit yourself.” Stepping over to the table, she wordlessly grabs the chair and drags it back to the shelf before climbing onto it in order to reach for her blueprints. “I’m gonna kill whoever put those up here,” she mutters, struggling to pull one of the prints out from underneath a box. A spark of amusement twinkles in Mark’s otherwise deadpan expression as he watches his fellow apprentice struggling to get what she wants. Cold, hungry eyes travelling up and down her body as she stretches to reach the blueprints, Hoffman suddenly finds himself grateful for whoever has moved her stuff to the top shelf, enjoying the view in front of him.

Feeling his gaze on her (Y/N) looks over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at the man, before turning back around and opening one of the blueprints in order to inspect it. Hoffman decides to wait a moment before speaking in a mocking tone “Your temper is rather volatile.” Keeping her focus on the blueprint she murmurs “Thanks asshole.” “No problem, love.” the detective replies in a snarky tone, before picking up his tools again to continue working on his trap.

Ignoring the man and the feeling caused by the petname, she steps down from the chair, spreading the prints on top of the table to get a better overview of them. God, she couldn’t stand Mark Hoffman.

“You know, “ his voice interrupts the silence “It’s rude to ignore someone.” Looking up from her blueprint of a hand-trap, she meets Mark’s arrogant, smug expression. “Rude? No. Actually ignoring you is a really REALLY blissful experience.” she hums. “Is that so?” the mocking tone in his voice is as prominent as ever “Is it also a blissful experience being a fucking brat all the time?” he snarks.

“I don’t know, tell me about it.” (Y/N) shrugs nonchalantly, grabbing a pen to make some corrective notes on her design. “You’re an insufferable bitch. Maybe Kramer will realise that and kill you off first.” The detective snarks back at her.

“I hope your death will be swift and painful,” he remarks to himself under his breath. “Oh, believe me” (Y/N) retorts as she gathers some mechanical pieces from the shelf behind her. “Nothing could ever be more painful than having to share a workspace with you.” Mark Hoffman’s eyes watch the young woman like a wolf hunting for prey, his fist clenching around the screwdriver in his hand, as his frustration with her builds up. “God you’re infuriating…” He continues working on his contraption and mutters something. “...annoying little slut” being the only words she catches.

Tired of the man’s antics, (Y/N) slams her equipment down onto the table, looking over at Hoffman with fury burning in her eyes. “You're unbelievable, you know that?" (Y/N) seethes, gaze burning into Mark Hoffman's figure. "You can't just go around hurling insults like that and expect me to take it lying down." Hoffman meets her gaze with a mixture of frustration and amusement. "Oh, I'm well aware of what I can and can't do," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "But it's not like you make it easy to get along with you, behaving like such a bitch all the time."(Y/N) takes a deep breath, trying to calm her rising anger. She knows that she should just ignore him, focus on her work, and get through this collaboration without any more unnecessary drama. But something about Detective Mark Hoffman just gets under her skin like no one else.

"Look," she says, her tone somewhat calmer but still laced with irritation, "we're stuck here together, whether we like it or not. We both work for Kramer and in doing so we have somewhat of a mutual understanding. Can we at least try and be somewhat civil, so he doesn’t come for our heads?"

Hoffman seems to consider her words for a moment, and then he lets out a begrudging sigh. "Fine," he mutters, finally releasing the screwdriver he'd been clutching. "I suggest you start working on your trap. I don’t want to be around you for much longer." (Y/N) smirks, satisfied that she's at least made a small dent in his armour of arrogance. "Likewise," she replies, turning back to her blueprint and resuming her work. As the tension between the two persists, the air in the dimly lit workshop crackles with a strange energy.

Their exchanges alternate between moments of begrudging cooperation and stinging sarcasm. The attraction they feel toward each other simmers just below the surface, an unspoken truth neither is willing to acknowledge. However, the more they try to fight it, the more it intensifies. It's a dangerous game they're playing, one that could lead to unforeseen consequences.

Hours pass, and the traps they've been designing near completion. Hoffman’s rugged confidence and the air of danger that surrounds him ignite a forbidden curiosity in (Y/N). She can’t help but steal glances at him when she thinks he’s not looking, admiring the way his muscles flex as he handles the tools. His hands move with precision as he assembles the final components, and for a brief moment, she finds herself captivated by his expertise. She despises herself for being attracted to someone so incredibly insufferable.

Hoffman, on the other hand, can't deny the way (Y/N)'s dedication to her work is both impressive and alluring. He's never met anyone who can infuriate him to this extent yet simultaneously arouse his curiosity. Her intelligence and determination draw him in, even as her stubbornness drives him mad, it awakens something deep inside him, something he thought he’d buried long ago. He’s drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Putting the tools in his hands back into the tool box with a loud clang, Hoffman suddenly leans over the table, his voice low and dangerously close to (Y/N)’s ear as he examines her contraption. “You know,” he begins, the low rumble of his voice and the feeling of his breath on her skin sending shivers down her spine, “you have a way of pushing people’s buttons.”

(Y/N) grits her teeth, trying to ignore the effect his proximity has on her. “I could say the same about you.” she retorts, her voice equally low. Hoffman smirks at that. “I find this never-ending game of cat and mouse rather….exciting.” There is a dangerous glint in his eyes. (Y/N) scoffs but can’t deny the truth in his words. “Exciting, huh?” she raises her brow “More like infuriating.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching” he whispers, voice laced with arrogance, lips dangerously close to her ear. “Yeah keep dreaming, Hoffman.” she glares at him, eyes filled with anger and something else she refuses to admit. “This is ridiculous,” Hoffman mutters, this time with a different tone in his voice.

Before (Y/N) can ask what he means, Mark has rounded the table in a sudden urgency, yanking her head towards him by the neck and slamming his lips onto hers in a heated kiss. (Y/N) responds instinctively, her anger melting into desire as their mouths battle for dominance that neither is willing to concede. (Y/N) can feel the edge of the table pressing into her back as Mark traps her beneath his body, making her bend backwards onto the cold metal. The sheer sight of her body trapped beneath his seems to fuel Hoffman’s desire even further, a dark look of hunger in his gaze, as his hand grabs her throat, roughly pushing her down onto the table. His eyes focusing on her chest, as her breasts bounce with the movement. A surprised moan escapes her mouth at the action, her back arching as it gets pressed into the cold metal, making Hoffman’s eyes snap back up at her. “Fuck, you look so good with my hand around your throat.” the dangerously low grumble of his voice making her feel the heat pool in her abdomen, leading her to clench her thighs together. Noticing her arousal Hoffman squeezes her throat a little tighter, whilst his other hand sneaks under her shirt, groping at her breast. “God, you’re such a filthy slut. Coming in here in those tight clothes , showing your curves off to me like an attention whore.” Hoffman’s hand yanks (Y/N)’s shirt up, a low, animalistic grunt leaving his throat as he sees her nipples stiffening through her bra.

“Took you long enough to do something about it.” (Y/N) smirks, seeing his the outline of his erection through his pants, she decides to play a dangerous game. Opening her mouth and lowering her jaw a little, she lets her tongue trace over the thumb resting on her jawline as Hoffman’s is still gripping her throat, before sucking on it gently, all the while looking up at him through her lashes. “Fuck.” the detective grunts as his dark gaze watches her mesmerized. Noticing Hoffman’s mesmerized state, (Y/N) dares to make her move, fingers travelling up and down his hand which had previously groped her breast, before swiftly yanking it to the side.

The metallic click echoing through the room, breaks Hoffman out of his daze, furious eyes snapping to his right hand which he now finds to be locked into the trap, (Y/N) had been working on all night long. “You fucking bitch.” he bellows, voice seething with fury. “I’ve decided it’s my turn now” she smirks at the man, sitting up on the table. “Don’t worry.” her voice is low and seductive as she whispers into Hoffman’s ear. “I don’t think it’s fully functioning yet.” she playfully bites his earlobe, before pushing him backwards into the chair behind him. “Your a worthless brat.” he hisses, his free hand trying to pull the other out of the glove-like metal contraption,on the table.

“Hmm.” (Y/N) hums , taking off her shirt painfully slow “Does big bad Hoffman suddenly not like to play games anymore?” Her hand wanders up the trapped arm, before wandering to his chest, as she gets off of the table and straddles the detective’s lap. “And here I thought we were finally having fun working together.” She purposefully rocks her hips, feeling his hardened cock underneath her. Another low growl leaves Hoffman, as his free hand grabs a fist full of her hair, yanking her head back before attacking her exposed neck with his mouth.Sloppy kisses trailing up and down the soft flesh. He singlehandedly opens her bra with expertise, ripping the garment off her body. “I fucking hate you, little brat.” Mark snarls , hungrily sucking one of her breasts into his mouth, twirling her nipple with his tongue, whilst his free arm encircles her waist, holding her against him. “You’re such a bastard, Mark Hoffman.” she moans, hand gripping his hair, as she presses his face further into her chest. With her other hand (Y/N) reaches down to unbuckle his belt, earning a bite from the man.

"Bastard" she repeats again, trying to sound angry but failing miserably as arousal floods her body. She bites her lip as her hand slides into his pants, feeling the size of his erection. Pulling her body from his hungry mouth, (Y/N) slides from his lap, positioning herself on her knees between his legs. Her mouth already watering at the thought of what she is about to do. (Y/N) looks up at Mark’s eyes and smirks, taking control. Slowly, she moves closer, licking and kissing her way down his throbbing shaft. Each gentle touch sending vibrations through her body. As she takes him deeper into her mouth, Mark groans loudly, unable to hold back. His hand clenching the back of her head, desperately wanting more.”Why don’t you use those perfect tits of yours?” Mark grunts out between pants, pulling (Y/N)’s head back a little to look her in the eyes, before his intense gaze follows the string of salvia, running down from her swollen lips onto her chin. Enjoying the feeling of dominance over the detective, (Y/N) doesn't allow him to take over though, pulling out of his grasp suddenly. Leaving him on edge.

“You don’t always get everything you want.” she purrs, leaning back in to lick the length of his erection in a painfully slow manner.

When suddenly Hoffman’s hand forcefully grips her hair again, yanking her head back once more. Mark’s voice is dangerously low as he speaks, leaning down towards her “See, this is where you’re wrong, princess.” The name leaves his mouth in a threatening hiss when suddenly he pulls his trapped hand free and yanks (Y/N) upwards. He had figured out how to escape the trap way earlier, but the sight of his competitor taking him into her mouth tempted him to hang on and play pretend for just a little longer. Enjoying the sight of her trying to dominate him. “Seems as if that little trap of yours does indeed still need improvements. If you behave like a good girl, I might teach you a trick or two.” The detective’s arrogant gaze shamelessly travels up and down her body.

“And why would I behave like a good girl for you?” (Y/N)’s snarl is mixed with arousal as she glares back up at him, feeling the increasing wetness between her thighs as Mark’s eyes roam her naked form. “Because, “ the man shoves a hand between her legs, calloused fingers pushing her panties aside and boldly slipping into her entrance, making the woman let out a strangled moan, “I always get what I want.” he states matter-of-factly, pulling his fingers out of her and examining them. “God, look how fucking wet you are already. You’re such a whore.”

Before (Y/N) can open her mouth for a witty comeback, the detective has already

spun her around and bent over the table. Pinning her wrists on the small of her back. Hoffman wastes no time as he rips her panties off, lining his cock up with her entrance without hesitation. (Y/N)’s breath becomes shaky as she arches her back and pushes her ass up in anticipation, her tits pressing further into the cold metal table. His tip shortly teases her entrance, before he forcefully slams into her. “Fuck, Marks-” she blurts before a filthy moan interrupts her own phrase, as Mark fully pulls out of her dripping cunt only to roughly plunge into her again. All control leaves Mark's body when he hears his name coming from her lips over the wet sounds of her pussy and her lustful moans. His hips slam into hers, and the sound of skin hitting skin fills the cold, dimly lit workshop.

"You always come here thinking you're better than I am or that you can play games with me, but now look at you letting me fuck you completely exposed on a table and not even being able to form coherent sentences because you've never been fucked by a man's cock like you are by mine.” Hoffman's voice sounds almost animalistic next to her ear as he presses into her back, groaning against her skin. (Y/N)’s eyes roll back as her walls flutter around his cock in response to his words, she finds herself at a complete loss for words, overwhelmed and almost drooling by the sensation of the detective burring himself balls-deep into her dripping cunt.

“Fuck,” Mark rasps out, beads of sweat rolling down his temples “Do you know how many times I’ve fucked myself to the thought of seeing you all desperate for me like this?”

(Y/N) whimpers as she pushes her hips back into him, enticing another lewd groan from Hoffman. He was still hunched over her back, grunting near her ear, as his cock hits all the deepest spots inside her. “Make me cum, Hoffman.” she breathes, the friction in her cunt becoming almost unbearable. “Only because you behaved so well, princess.” Hoffman husks, straightening himself, his thrusts picking up in pace. “Oh fuck Mark!” (Y/N) cries out in loud ecstasy, her jaw almost going slack as her climax takes over, eyes rolling to the back of her head and knees almost buckling as her body spasms and she continues to moan in sheer pleasure. Mark makes a strangled sound, the sight of (Y/N) cumming with him inside her making his cock throb.

His hand rears back slapping her ass, as her sensitive cunt clenches around him. He keeps ramming into her mercilessly as she rides out her high, murmuring incoherent slurs behind gritted teeth. (Y/N) was sure that her upper body would leave an imprint on the metal table if Mark kept up the force of his thrusts any longer. With a primal grunt and stuttered breath, the detective reaches his climax, thrusts becoming more sloppy as he releases inside her.

For a moment both of them are silently trying to catch their breath before Mark pulls out of (Y/N), smirking at the sight of his cum dripping down her thighs.

The sound of a zipper and belt buckle snaps (Y/N) out of their dizzy state. She straightens up, her eyes wandering over the sweaty print left on the table as a testament to Hoffman's and her little escapade.

Collecting her clothes, she turns to Mark as she begins to dress herself. “This changes nothing.” The man raises a brow at her. “I still hate you.” she states, grabbing a piece of cloth from the shelf behind him to wipe down the table.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from a brat like you.” Mark answers nonchalantly as he pulls a screwdriver from the toolbox "Now let me show you how to improve that pathetic trap of yours."

(Y/N) couldn't help but smirk at Mark's retort. As Mark began to work on the trap, he explained his modifications in detail, his hands deftly moving as he made adjustments. The woman watched him intently, despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference. She couldn’t deny that their rivalry had a strange way of bringing them together.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Rewarding Good Behaviour." Mark Hoffman X AFAB! Reader. NSFW.

SO! I don't got a boner for Hoffman, but I wrote this for @eggsandbeer's birthday! The things one does for love and to be a good gift giver, you know? Anyway, the birthday girl in question gave me the go ahead to post this. Don't be expecting any more of this, so enjoy this one bit, eh?

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2K. Mark Hoffman X AFAB! Police Record Clerk Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Banter. Public Sex. So Much Cunnilingus. Vaginal Fingering. Hold The Moan. Mild Overstim.

---

You’ve always taken a bit of extra time getting ready for work, you took pride in your appearance and liked to look good on the job. You felt like any job worth doing, was worth doing cute, there was no reason to not in your opinion. Lately, you have been putting in some extra effort, mostly because there was someone you were trying to impress, so you focused intently when you were putting on your eyeliner, you used a very cute tinted and flavoured lip product as opposed to plain old chapstick. Standing in front of the mirror, you did your best to keep your hair looking silky and touchable in that simple hope that maybe he would touch it. 

A small bounce in your step on your way out the door, swinging your keys on your pointer finger around and around, hopeful today you’d see him, it had been a while. 

Most of your late shift had flitted by without comment, some reorganization, pulling files when asked, casual conversation, reading over lunch and then, while working on a crossword in the paper that someone had left at your station, he arrives. 

For a man so large, with such a commanding presence, he sure can sneak up on you. It isn’t until he knocks on the desk you are leaning on that you realize he is right in front of you, staring down at you with those shockingly blue eyes. You straighten up, dropping your pencil with fumbling fingers as you greet him, “Hello, Detective Hoffman.”

You notice the twitch of his lips as he fights off a smile at how adorably flustered you are in front of him but doesn’t comment on it, instead just saying, “Hello.” 

He doesn’t waste time, but that is usual for him, seems he is always busy, he asks you, “Did you complete what I asked?”

Your hand was already on the cross-referenced file that you had tucked in one of the cubbies under the counter, you had gripped it and pulled it out in short order, placing it on the counter top, sliding it across to him. “I sure did.”

You caught how his eyebrows moved up very slightly, he reached out and picked up the file, opening it flipping through, lips pursing slightly as he looked over your work. You shifted the weight from one foot to the other, waiting for another shift in expression that might tell you non-verbally that he was happy with your work. He made you work for it.

He closed the file and his eyes were on you, a small smile as he tapped the spine of the file folder into his open leather glove clad palm, a beat before he finally says, “I’m impressed.” 

Yes! Those two words set your nerves alight, the grin that overtakes your face is automatic, your fingers drum on the lacquered wood as you ask, “Yeah?” 

He seems amused as he repeats what you said, confirming it as his own smile broadens, “Yeah.”

“So uh…How impressed are you?” You asked with a half shrug that you hoped came across as casual. 

He expresses just how impressed he is with you a few short minutes later when he is on the other side of the counter with you. He had your pants and underwear totally off and crumpled on the ground by your now sock clad feed, shoes having been hastily untied and discarded messily, you had one leg over a strong shoulder, his hands gripping your hips and his tongue running eagerly up through the soaked folds of your cunt.

So was it the smartest thing getting involved with what you suspected to be Hoffman’s less than legal activities? Probably not. But when you did well, the way he rewarded you made your worries melt faster than a creamsicle on hot pavement. Maybe it was stupid, but you would seriously do anything he asked to feel like this, the incredible spike of pleasure from his insanely broad and flat tongue running up from your hole and over your throbbing clit steals your breath and makes your back arch. The one leg you are standing on is trembling, you lean back harder on the counter, your fingers digging into the wood, head tipping back and spine arching. The fact he wanted to do this right here, so out in the open, sure the counter sits at waist height and covers what is going on, but it wouldn’t take much for someone to lean over and see Detective Hoffman on his knees and eating you out. He was always so messy with it, the slurping sounds, combined with your poor stifled moans, could so easily clue people into what was going on, not to mention your body language wasn’t exactly casual or relaxed. 

You need to try and stay quiet, keep it down, but fuck you wanted to look, maybe if you brace yourself than you can steal a glance. You steady yourself with a few deep breaths, biting your bottom lip you turn your head downwards to see the dark hair falling in his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, plush and pretty pink lips locked on your straining clit, you can’t stop yourself, mouth falling open in a gasp as you move your hips, grinding yourself on his tongue. His glove clad hands are kneading your ass, drawing you closer, he hummed, and the vibration threatened to make your leg give out from underneath you, thankfully the counter will prevent such a fate. 

Getting lost in the sensation of what he was doing was as natural as breathing. One of his hands slides off of your ass and between your legs, one finger traces your drooling hole, teasing it before starting to slide in, your body tenses further as his efforts increase, pressing himself closer, sucking your swollen flesh into his mouth, enveloping it in the wet heat of his mouth before his tongue laves over it. You shiver and whine out on an exhalation, “Oh my Godddd-”

He gives you no chance to adjust, a second finger joins the first and begins to pump in and out, you groan from the slightly burning stretch, it is almost too much, a bit too painful, until he crooks his fingers and touches a spot that makes you yelp what starts to sound like his name until it breaks off. 

Your mind swims, soaked in a heady mix of blinding pleasure nearing overstimulation, hormones and Hoffman himself. If he keeps going, you are going to cum on his face at work, he is too strong, no way you can pry him off and even IF you could, why would you want to? It’s late anyway, not like anyone else is going to be coming by, you are fully giving into this, the one thing you attempt to do is keep your breathing even as he assaults your poor pussy. Lick, suck, thrust, and you are feeling your mind drift further and further away from you, until something or rather someone pulls you out of it. 

A hand on your shoulder and a voice asking, “Woah you alright there?” makes you jump nearly a foot, hips jerking so hard you grind on Hoffman’s mouth and the sound of surprise that leaves your mouth bleeds and merges into a nearly awkward sounding half moan. 

You look over your shoulder to see special agent Lindsey Perez standing there, her hand still on your shoulder. A thick swallow, you school another moan into a cough because Hoffman for sure can hear Perez, but he isn’t fucking stopping, his tongue still slipping over your clit and fingers working in and out of your clenching cunt. You force out a shaky, “H-hey! M’ so good!”

Her face creases in concern, “Yeah? Are you sure?” 

You feel the slow coil of pleasure starting to mount in your stomach, tightening, you curl your hands into fists, still awkwardly looking over your shoulder at her, “Oh yeah. Totally good-”

“Yeah? Because you look a little flush, like you have a fever or something-” Her hand moves off your shoulder and rests on your sweaty forehead, her sharp eyes peering into your half lidded hazy ones, your mind is whirring two thought on repeat, “Don’t moan. Breathe normally. Don’t moan. Breathe normally. Don’t moan. Breathe normally-”

The pleasure is building, Hoffman is in an incredible rhythm, getting you closer and closer still, you don’t respond, trying to put everything into hiding what was happening to you, Perez speaks up again, “Oh yeah you feel really warm.”

You need an out, somehow the idea hits through the haze of ecstasy, “You know I-I uhm, I don’t ac-actually ffffeel well, I feel a bit ahhn, faint, co-could you go get me some water?”

“Yeah of course.” Her hand pulls away, and she says, “Stay right here, don’t move.” 

“Tha-thaaankssss!” You call to her and your head drops forward, listening to the retreating click click click of her heels, heaving a sigh of minor relief, gaze falling to Hoffman’s smug fucking face still between your legs, he has an unmistakable mischievous glint in those hungry eyes staring up at you. He was challenging you, daring you to cum right here on his tongue. 

Jesus Christ, he is the worst, but you are so, so fucking close. If you cum before she comes back, he can stop and then you can cover up. You lean into it, move your hips, help him, work with him and the band grows ever tighter, the pleasure climbs higher and higher, you feel beads of sweat running down your back under your blouse and behind your knees, you are on the very razors edge, another few seconds and you’d be there. You bite your bottom lip, focusing, and all it takes is one more purposeful suck and a careful flick of his tongue, and you are cumming. Your hand flies up to your mouth, covering it so you could moan with abandon into it, feeling far too good to be able to be quiet. The orgasm threatens to rend the flesh from your bones, especially as he continues to suck and finger you through your high until you are a heaving wreck of painful overstimulation. Finally, you weakly push him away with a hand on his forehead, “Okay! Okay, fuck, I came, ease up!” 

Miraculously, you hear it over the ringing in your ears, the click click click of heels coming back towards you, eyes widening in horror, your legs comes down as your hand locks on Hoffman’s wrist, and you force him to take his fingers out of you, causing you to hiss as he does. Then you turn around, keeping your hips locked firmly to the edge of the counter so she can’t see the fact you still are pantless. You are resting on your crossed forearms and forcing a smile on your face. She sets the condensation covered water bottle next to your elbow on the table. 

“Here you go-” She says with a sympathetic smile, you pick it up and open it, with a breathless, “Thank you.” 

You chug about half the bottle in one go and then press the cold plastic to your forehead as she observes you. “There’s a reason I came by…” She starts, and you nod, encouraging her to continue, “What’s up?”

“Strahm was hoping to talk to you, asked me to come fetch you, he's in the interrogation room.” 

God, you were going to die tonight. You nodded, “Totally, I gotta hit the bathroom, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Sure.” She nodded, “You sure you’ll be able to get over there on your own?” She asked, and you laughed nervously before assuring her that you could, she headed off, and you finally turned and looked over your shoulder at Hoffman still on his knees, grinning as he looks up at you, holding out your pants and underwear. “You have fun?” You scoff and snatch the clothing from him, starting to put it back on with shaky legs, “You’re such an asshole.”

[tangerinesgirl]

Unravel

AFAB!Reader x Mark Hoffman

Word count: 1.8k

Rating: explicit, 18+, no minors

Warnings: smut, masochism, size difference, some brief talk of weight, creampie, mostly Dom!Reader but some Dom!Mark, spitting, p in v

Summary: Your ex, Mark, has no where to go after the glass coffin trap and needs your help...even though you've been on a break.

Notes: I wanted to challenge myself to write a fic that has more detail this time. Reading my works back they all seem super quick to get into the action. So let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!

You jump out of your skin at the loud bang against your apartment door. You begrudgingly roll over to the bedside table to check your phone: 1:03AM. Sighing, you put on slippers and stagger to the door. There's a more polite knock this time as you look through the peep hole: it's Mark Hoffman.

You and Mark had a rocky relationship ever since he became an apprentice for John Kramer. You found out from his clothing being torn, covered in oil and miscellaneous substances, or just straight up gone missing, and confronted him about it. He showed you the way of the traps and Kramer's ideology, part of you was sick to your stomach thinking about how many people have died like this, but the other part of you was seriously into how he would build the traps, brainstorming ideas and coming home all hot and bothered. But in the end, you had to take a break, Mark couldn't commit to a relationship as he was essentially married to his work. What you both had was fun, but you always wanted something more.

You unlock the door and Mark tumbles into your flat and walks straight into the kitchen. When you turn around you notice his once silk blue shirt is now red, full of cuts and glass shards. You don't quite know how he got to you; did he drive? Walk? Either way it was impressive how he's still standing. He swipes the kitchen table clean and dumps a first aid kit down. "Fix me", he demands of you. You sigh, thinking about how many months have passed without hearing from him and he turns up like this out of the blue, then inevitably grab some tweezers and sterilising fluid.

Nothing more is said after that, the only sound in the room is you cutting off Hoffman's shirt. Mark had actually trained you in first aid since he started up the traps, to cover for all eventualities. Things like how to stitch a wound, fix dislocations, and so on. You didn't think you'd actually have to use it when he left. It's not exactly like he could fish out the shards himself so it made sense in a way, even though it was painful for you to see him again. Maybe not as painful as the actual glass in his back though. You carefully start removing pieces from him, every so often he flinches but stays as stoic as ever. You put each shard on the table, disinfecting the tweezers as you go. It's painstaking, especially without a word being said. There's too many thoughts whizzing around your head, you wouldn't even know where to start, so you focus on your work instead.

You dab at the wounds with wipes, you notice a couple of particularly deep ones need stitches, and few more need steri-strips. You start to unwind your thread, and begin to close them up. He still flinches and groans occasionally as you fix his wounds. You're surprised you have enough steri strips for the rest. You give it one last glance over to make sure there's no more tint hidden pieces. Once you're happy with your work, you start to pack the rest of the stuff away.

As you reach for an unused bandage, Hoffman suddenly grabs your wrist. You turn to look at him, and he looks at you, deeply into your eyes, as if to say "thank you" without actually saying it, since that wasn't really part of his nature. He then glances down briefly at your lips. He thinks you didn't notice, but you did, and you look down at his too.

There's a lot of tension in the room, and you find it extremely hot that not a word has been said in the last two, maybe three, hours. You've lost track of time, you always do when Mark is around, because nothing else matters. You start to move forward into a kiss but you stop, inches away from him. Mark looks at your lips again. Then he suddenly puts his hand on the base of your skull behind your head and grips your hair. You let out a little surprise gasp.

Then everything happens so fast.

Mark slams his lips against yours, like a man starved, his kisses are desperate and all tongues. You both lightly moan through the heavy kisses, you sit on his lap and start to drag your hand through his hair in exchange, tugging occasionally. You start grinding while on his lap, searching for more. You can feel his member through his trousers. Then you accidentally knock one the cuts on his back and he groans out in pain, however you couldn't help but notice his cock twitch as you did so, now semi erect. You both stop for a bit and share a glance, not one of humiliation but of realisation. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, and start to purposefully play with one of his stitched wounds. Mark moans and quickly grabs your other hand that's resting on his chest.

"Stop", he commands. There's clearly some unsaid things between you and Mark. You stop and look at him, you both look at each other with need and desperation.

"I don't know how far I'll go, I can't promise I'll be gentle", Mark has danger in his eyes.

"I know", you admit. Mark was always the kind to take out a rough day at work through sex, and you had a feeling tonight was no exception. But it somehow felt different. It could be the time you've had away from each other, or whatever he experienced that night had him particularly wound up.

"Same safe word?", you ask. He nods slightly, and in a flash he's back to passionately kissing you. He lifts you up, trying to walk you to the bedroom, but can't see where he's going as he's so tied up in the moment. He slams you into a wall, you moan as the air is pushed out of you.

You break the kiss momentarily to remove your top, you must have each other now and can't wait until you're in the bedroom. Mark removes your bra, his hands replacing it. His hands are so large, one hand seems to cover your entire chest. His rough skin feels amazing on your soft breasts. You moan as you remove your underwear. Mark breaks the kiss to kick off his trousers and underwear. He catches you looking at his erection, he walks back over to you and grabs your hair.

"How do I look?", he growls in your ear. You moan and start to kiss him again.

Without warning he pushes his cock into you. You forgot how well he filled you up. He was just the right size, but girthier than average. His thickness stung a little since he slammed into you without warning, but it's a good thing you were already slick with arousal. You hold him around his neck as he's lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he's slamming into you against the wall.

With him still inside you, he then carries you over to the kitchen table. It's a good thing you packed everything away earlier. You put your feet on the edge, with your back on the table. Mark continues to push inside of you, sweat starting to glisten down his forehead, onto his large chest. Somewhat hairy, but oh so broad. His frame and arms have always been a turn on for you. Sometimes he was self conscious about his weight but you found it extremely hot. Especially the way it felt on top of you.

You sit up, breaking his momentum briefly, as you can feel the table shake, becoming more and more unstable. You push him to the chair where he was sat as you were cleaning his wounds, and motioned for him to sit down. You straddle him like before, only this time you were completely naked. You haven't felt this powerful for a while. You start to ride him, reaching behind you to start and fondle his balls. He tilts his head back in pleasure, mouth wide open. You stop briefly to hold his jaw open, you look over him as a dribble of your spit travels into his mouth. You forcefully close his mouth to get him to swallow, and continue to ride him.

It's not often you're able to take charge, but you were enjoying it. Hoffman, even though he wouldn't admit it afterwards, likes to think he's dominant at heart, but also loves it when someone takes control.

Your hands start to trail down his back once again. You could feel a few of his stitches had begun to unravel. Mark hisses as you trace your fingers over them. You stop briefly, making sure he was okay with you going further. After no safe word, you continue to pluck open a wound. Mark pretty much jumps out of his seat, slamming into you as he does so. You both moan, the lines of pleasure and pain blurring. You start to dip your finger into the warmth, blood coating your finger and travelling down his body.

"Y/N, I'm gonna-", Mark trails off. You remove your finger, and smear the blood as you caress his face. Around his lips, his jaw, down to his neck.

Mark is VERY into this, he's a massive masochist and seeing you like this has his mind going into overtime. What traps could you come up with? Maybe you could come with him during the next game, getting off on your hard work, putting each other in a trap, and seeing others in them. Watching them struggle in your game, totally oblivious to you and Mark having the steamiest sex of your lives over the monitor.

At this thought, he starts to cum inside of you. The biggest orgasm of his life. You continue to ride his orgasm out of him, the amount of cum you can feel inside you also triggers your orgasm. Mark slams you down by your shoulders to get you to stop moving as his penis slowly grows softer and twitches inside of you. You collapse into Mark's chest, both of you breathless.

You both sit there for a moment, taking everything in. Mark still inside you, his cum leaking out onto the chair, onto the floor, mixing with the blood from his wound that you opened.

You eventually move and mention that you should clean him back up. Mark reluctantly agrees. Neither of you decide to put your clothes back on, as you start to disinfect the table and open your first aid kit again. You mend his stitches and clean him up, and Mark is giving you that look again. Looking at your lips, totally helpless. You sigh as you realise you'll be stitching him back up once again.

[klovercrown]

(18+) Bo Sinclair x AFAB reader x Mark Hoffman smut

Warnings: Reverse bear trap, spit kink, face slapping, tears, oral fixation

(This is my first time writing something on here, especially smut. There might be some grammatical errors and I'm not good with laying out text. It's also pretty long 🥲)

You're thrashing around with your legs kicking as Bo has you slung over his shoulder, making his way down into the basement. He ran his other hand up the back of your thigh to firmly squeeze your buttock, causing you to yell. The stairs disappear from view as he makes his way down into his lair, settling your body onto the surgical chair.

In front of you stood your two favorite men. Mark looked at you like he was thinking of a thousand different ways to torment you, and Bo with his signature smug smirk you always wanted to smack off his face. 

"Careful with her." Mark said, emitting a huff from the other man. "She can handle it." Bo casually says as he steps closer to you, kneeling down to lean in close to grab your chin and make you look at him. 

"Right, darlin'?" He whispered, causing shivers to run up your spine and a wave of arousal to hit you. Smirking at your reaction, he releases your chin and moves down to unbutton your pants, while Mark leans in to press his soft lips against yours. You softly moan as he devours your mouth with his, feeling Bo slip your bottoms off your legs.

A muffled moan came from you as Bo ran a finger along your covered pussy, teasing you and smirking to himself as he could feel how drenched you were. "What a slut," Bo muttered, grabbing a hold of the waistband and ripping your panties off of you. You immediately close your legs as you feel the cool air, only for Bo to roughly grab your legs and spread them.

You were so overwhelmed by Mark's rough mouth against yours and Bo massaging your wet folds that you didn't notice one of their hands grab the neckline of your camisole and rip it off like it was nothing, leaving you completely naked on the chair.

Mark moved his lips away before pressing a kiss to your cheek and moving down to your neck, causing you to arch your back from the feeling of his warm breath against your skin.

"I have something in store for you…" Mark says this against your skin, reaching to fondle one of your breasts. You cried out as he pinched and pulled on your nipple, feeling Bo slip one of his fingers inside of you. "I'm getting hard just thinking about it." Bo gruffly said as he slipped another finger inside of you, slowly pumping them in and out. You let out a string of moans, whimpering as you could feel his fingers stretch your wet core.

Bo kept his fingers deep inside of you as he moved to your side, glancing down at you with a hint of disgust. "Great. He slobbered all over your mouth, and I gotta clean it out." Bo complained, which earned an eye roll from Mark. "Shut up and hurry so we can get it ready." Mark said to Bo as he massaged one of your breasts.

As you were about to ask what they were talking about, Bo grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it back to where you were staring straight at the ceiling. Your eyes widened in fear as he leaned in, staring down at you as if you were a fresh piece of meat. "Open your mouth, sweetheart." You obeyed, watching him move his lips to gather a glob of spit.

Bo gripped your cheeks, making you whimper in pain due to how hard his fingers dug into the fat of your cheeks, and he spat into your mouth. You moaned as it landed on your tongue, tasting the nicotine from the cigarette he had while hunting for you. He let out a low groan at the sight of you, lightly smacking you on the cheek. "Little slut." Mark lowly said as he moved his hand down to your pussy, running his thick fingers along your wet folds. You gasped and were about to swallow the saliva in your mouth before Bo glared down at you. "Don't swallow yet, bitch." He commanded through gritted teeth before he moved his hand to your jaw, his middle and index fingers sliding to both sides of your bottom row of teeth.

You felt yourself gag a bit as he toyed around with your mouth more, feeling his saliva threaten to run down your throat. He used your jaw to pull you closer, using his fingers to jack your mouth open. With another glob of spit hitting your tongue, he gently pushed his fingers onto your tongue to push the saliva closer to the back of your throat. As Bo played with your mouth, you felt Mark's warm tongue lick around your clit as he fingerfucked you. Your moans were muffled, and you gagged around his fingers. He looked down at you with satisfaction, then back at Mark. He watched as Mark started to quicken his pace as his fingers repeatedly pushed deep inside of you. Your legs squirmed before he pinned them with his elbows, holding your thighs down.

His tongue and fingers drove you crazy; you could feel your arousal grow more and more as your body was lavished by the two men. Bo moved to kiss you hard, accidentally making you bleed from biting your bottom lip. He ran one of his hands to your face again, pushing his index finger into your mouth for you to suck on before smearing the blood-mixed, saliva-coated digit across your cheeks and lips.

Your moans become louder as you can feel your orgasm come closer and closer. It didn't help that Bo moved to torture your nipple with his fingers as well. Your stomach tightened up as your orgasm was about to wash over you before Mark cruelly pulled away, looking at you with a smirk. You whined at the loss, looking at the two men in confusion.

Nothing but pleads and whimpers left your mouth; pure desperation was in your voice. Bo caressed your hair as Mark went to one of Bo's work desks, bringing back a reverse bear trap in his hand. You knew about this contraption he's used before and how it usually ends. Mark could see the panic in your expression before leaning in to press a kiss to your hairline.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. This one is different." He calms you down as he lifts it to your view, turning it to the side to where you can see a small button next to the timer. He was about to explain before Bo interrupted. "You're gonna do the scary voice?" Bo said, clearly trying to piss Mark off. Mark side-eyed Bo, huffing through his nose in frustration. "I'm not doing that, asshole." Bo held up a hand to brush it off and played with your hair as Mark explained the functionality of the jaw-breaking trap.

Mark looked at the side of the head gear, pointing at the button. "This was specifically made for you. In case you want to stop whenever you want." He explains as he pulls a small black toy bullet from his pocket. "It's connected to this." You were still confused; most likely, your frustration from the stolen orgasm was making you dizzy.

Bo leans into your ear. "He's going to stick that into your tight pussy. Right when it slides in, the trap will lock in place and the timer will go off..." He says, clear excitement in his rough voice, as he takes pleasure in your scared expression. "…you have two minutes to cum, or it'll rip your fucking jaw open." The way he threatened you, even in this controlled scenario, made you even wetter. You nod in understanding, looking at the two men with half-lidded eyes.

Mark settles the head gear around your head, adjusting the metal piece to be inserted into your mouth. Bo bit his bottom lip at the sight of you; only your watery eyes were visible, and they stared at him and Mark like a pathetic dog waiting for its treat. He unzipped his pants, pulling his thick, hard cock out and grabbing your hand. You knew what he wanted—grabbing his shaft into your hand and stroking him. He quietly groaned as you teased the tip with your thumb, smearing his precum around the head.

Mark teased your pussy more, making sure you were wet and prepped. He looked up at you, the bullet in view in his hand. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" He asked, which earned an eager nod from you and a low groan from Bo as you squeezed his cock more. Pleased with your response, Mark quickly inserted the bullet into your hole and teased your clit. As you felt your walls tighten around the object, you felt pressure from the headgear as it tightened around your head, and the timer started to tick.

Tick…

The adrenaline hit you like a pile of bricks; it made your heart race, your breathing became more panicked, and your hands started to shake, which all made your pussy throb. This terrifying situation was so hot for you. Knowing that, even if it really wasn't life or death, your life was at stake for you to cum or not. Your whorish self would be the thing that could save you.

Tick…

Mark teased your clit with two fingers, making circular motions and slipping two fingers inside you with his other hand. Your hips lifted from the seat as you were getting overstimulated by his touch, whimpering with the metal piece muffling your mouth.

Tick…

Bo groaned and removed his cock from your hand, stroking it with his fist. "You like being tested for being a little fucking slut?" He asked harshly, rubbing the tip of his cock against the soft area around your nipple and muttering more obscenities toward you.

You let out a string of whimpered moans, keeping your hands at your sides to not risk angering either of them. As Mark kept fingering you, you felt your orgasm near once more. Throwing your head, you let the pleasure build up more and more to achieve your freedom. Until Mark slowed down his movements, making you practically scream underneath the headgear in desperation.

As the generous man that he is, he resumed his quick pace, fingering you and rubbing your clit. Bo beat his cock into his fist, aiming at your breasts. Your moans increased as your peak raced against the fast ticking, and you felt your thigh muscles tense as your orgasm washed over you. The ticking from the timer immediately stopped, and the pressure from the headgear loosened back up.

Mark continued pumping his thick fingers into you through it, quietly praising you. Bo let out a low groan as he released spurts of cum onto your breasts and chest, decorating your torso in pearls. As your body calmed down, Mark withdrew his fingers from you and smeared his wet-coated fingers on your inner thigh.

You weakly lifted your hands to remove the trap from your head, only for both men to grab your wrists. This was far from over.

(I might write full on sex for a next part, depends on how this one goes 🩷)

[hoffmanxfurthermore]

Somewhere In Neverland

(Mark Hoffman x Reader)

Content: smut, fluff, p in v penetration, oral (m and f receiving), afab reader, sex, fluffy, creampie, cussing, Mark not being a dick, outdoor sex, hotel sex, Saw X era Hoffman ♥️

Word count: 1.5k

It is the last day of your vacation, your anniversary trip with Mark. The hotel balcony overlooks the beach, and the view is fantastic as you stand there, taking it all in—the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. The ocean was the prettiest shade of blue you'd ever seen. The slight scent of salt in the air. The calm wind on your skin. The sun is setting on the horizon, turning the sky into beautiful shades of purple, red, and blue. Your hair flows behind you with the strong breeze. The frigid air makes you shiver, but Mark comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Thank you for this," you say, facing him. "It's so beautiful out here."

His blue eyes sparkle against the sunset as his gaze meets yours.

"You're so beautiful," he says, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. His hand slowly trails down your body, his fingertips slipping under the hem of your sundress. Shivers run down your spine as his fingertips softly graze your thigh. He always knows exactly which buttons to push with you.

Mark leans forward and kisses your neck gently, his warm lips on your flesh immediately sending a shock of arousal between your legs. His hand continues its journey up your leg to your hip, where his fingers link around the waistband of your panties. He pauses and looks at you, looking for any sign of hesitation, but there is none.

"Keep going," you whisper. Mark's other hand grabs the other side of your lace panties, pulling them off and letting them fall to the floor.

"You're so beautiful," he repeats, kneeling before you. He places a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, making you tremble with anticipation. He holds the hem of your dress around your hips as he looks up at you.

Then, he licks you gently, his tongue teasing your sensitive flesh, the tip trailing from the inside of your thigh to your heat. Moaning, your hands grasp the balcony railing for support as he flicks his tongue against your clit, circling and sucking it gently between his lips. He laps at you eagerly, tasting your juices as you writhe and squirm, your hips bucking gently.

"Oh, Mark," you moan, your voice breathy and full of lust, your eyes closed as you surrender to the pleasure. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

Mark moans in response as he looks up at you, always keeping his focus. You feel the familiar warmth beginning to build up within you. You grip the railing hard as your legs start to shake.

Mark reaches behind you, gripping the soft skin of your ass hard as his face is buried between your legs. His tongue explores every inch of you, his lips softly kissing every sensitive spot. Looking down, you relish seeing him kneeling as his eyes meet yours. Such a beautiful sight this is.

Despite the cool breeze, a thin sheet of sweat forms on the surface of your skin. The perspiration and the air combined causes goosebumps to form on your skin, but it's the least of your worries as Mark hungrily eats your pussy. It was like he hadn't eaten in days, and you were the most delicious meal in the world. The feeling of his tongue and lips. The sounds from him of pure carnal desire. It all sends you over the edge. You throw your head back and scream as you reach your peak. Your knuckles are white from gripping the cool metal of the railing. Mark looks up at you and smiles as you gasp for breath, coming down from your orgasm.

And you don't give the slightest fuck if anybody hears you.

Mark always knows precisely how to please you. And he's so fucking good at it. Yanking him up by his shoulders, you crash your lips against his. You can taste your fluids in his mouth, and it sparks a new wave of arousal between your thighs. It doesn't help that his erection is practically stabbing into your hip as he pushes his large frame against you, his arms wrapped tightly around you to prevent you from being pushed over the railing. Welcoming his tongue into your mouth, you moan as you enjoy the flavour of your nectar, sweet but with a slightly bitter taste.

"I want you so fucking bad, Mark," you breathe between kisses as you frantically undo his belt, then his pants. Almost as if you won't survive if his cock isn't inside you within the next seven seconds. Mark yanks your dress down, pushing it off your body, leaving you bare. Then he kicks his pants off, followed by his shirt, leaving him in only a pair of black boxers. Your mouth practically drools over the sight of his hard length, straining against the thin fabric.

"It's cold out here. Let's take this inside, sweetheart." And with that, he picks you up in bridal style, and both of your clothes are forgotten on the balcony.

Lit candles illuminate the room on every surface. Your shadows dance on the wall in the soft yellow-orange ambience as he carries you back inside the large hotel room and gently sets you down on the soft bed. He steps back for a moment, admiring your body like it's the first time he's seen you in the nude. Every inch of you looks tantalising - your smooth skin, tattoos, and curves. His immediate instinct is to just jump on you and fuck you like there's no tomorrow. But he suppresses his urge. He wants to take it slow and make it the night of your life.

And he does.

His desire grows like wildfire as his hands explore your body, every moan and whimper from your lips like music. You reach down and palm him through his underwear, making him growl. Within seconds, the last piece of clothing is peeled from his body and tossed carelessly to the floor.

You take in the sight of his body, absolutely gorgeous in every way. A smile plays on your lips as he climbs onto the bed, and you waste no time taking his cock into your mouth before he can even get settled on the soft blanket. He's on his knees next to your head, and you're on your back. Seeing you spread out like that makes him want you even more.

"Fuck," he groans as you take in as much of him as you can, your tongue tracing along the underside the way he likes it best. The flavour of slightly salty drops of precum invades your taste buds as you quicken the pace.

Mark pets your soft hair with one hand as his other hand trails down your body, between your legs. A muffled moan escapes your throat as 2 of his fingers penetrate you, your slick cunt enveloping his digits as you spread your legs out further. Pulling off of him with an audible pop, you squeal loudly as he pushes deep inside you. And once he finds that sweet spot, he works it relentlessly until you're practically screaming as another orgasm tears through your body. You look up at him as he grins at you, and you grab his wrist, pulling his hand up and licking his fingers clean.

And then he's on top of you. Taking your nipple into his mouth, nibbling, sucking, licking, his erection throbbing with need against your thigh. Your fingers are in his soft hair as he moves up, leaving little pecks from your breast to your neck. And finally pressing his lips to yours, the stubble scratching your face ever so slightly. His body weight pushes down on you like a weighted blanket, making you feel relaxed. He sits on his knees, gently moving your legs apart with his big hands.

You watch as he lines up with your slick opening. Gasping as it slides in, you slowly adjust to his size. He feels so fucking good; you're lost in pure bliss as he fucks you, taking his time and enjoying it like it's the last time he's going to fuck you for a while.

Mark leans forward, staring deep into your eyes, his face inches from yours. His eyes are so beautiful, you're mesmerised by them. You flash a smile at him as he picks up the pace. Gradually, muffling the noises of pleasure spilling from your lips with a kiss as he fucks you harder. Mark is done going sweet and slow. He wants all of you.

With a low growl, he pushes your legs back as he pounds into you. Throwing your head back, you cry out in ecstasy as his fingernails leave little indents on your skin. Your hands tangle in his soft hair; your eyes roll back as one of his hands makes its way between your bodies. Fingertips rubbing shapes on your swollen clit as he fucks into you at a rhythmic pace.

"You feel so fucking good," he whispers in your ear as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, leaving little kisses on your neck and collarbone.

"Mark!" your voice is a squeaky whine as your legs tremble. Your third orgasm of the night is approaching fast and hard, painful pleasure pulses through your veins as your cunt squeezes his cock. The intense climax shakes your whole body as you wrap your legs tightly around his waist, taking him in as deep as possible.

Mark slows his pace and pulls his fingers from your throbbing clit, sensing your overstimulation. His hand meets yours, and your fingers interlock with his.

With one final thrust, he lets out a loud growl as he fills you with his warm cum, his hand squeezing yours, his eyes dark and full of passion. You move your hips to meet his thrusts, milking his cock of every last drop of the warm fluid.

Mark slowly moves a few more times, and then finally he rolls off of you, breathing heavily. You can feel his fluids dripping out of you, so you reach a hand down and scoop it up with your fingers.

Mark watches with wide eyes as you bring your fingers to your lips, moaning at the taste of his fluid mixed with your essence. Mark leans in and kisses you slowly, tenderly, his hand resting upon your hip.

A cool breeze comes in through the open balcony doors, cooling down your sweaty bodies as you lie there, staring into each other's eyes. There is no place you would rather be than right here, right now with Mark.

He suddenly speaks up as he moves his hand to caress your face gently.

"You're truly the most amazing person I've ever met, and I want to love you forever. Y/n, will you marry me?"

[tokoyamisstuff]

Stitches

Mark Hoffman x GN! Reader

A/N: Wtf, I had this basically finished work in my drafts all this time?? Anyways, enjoy.

Summary: After Mark Hoffman's true identity has been revealed, his personal apprentice has to step in.

Warnings: Angst, Blood

Notes: Hurt/Comfort, Takes place in between SAW 6 and 7

Words: 1800

"Almost done..."

You were in the very same warehouse as the participants of the current game, tinkering on some of your mentor's latest inventions.

Mark would never openly admit, but while he was the mastermind behind most traps, it was your finishing touch that made them possible.

Not bad for a basically self-taught engineer, right?

As your eyes wanderes to the timer on the top corner of the livestream, you realized that this test was almost over. To not get distracted you had muted the old TV. However due to the proximity, most of the dampened screams would still dring to your ear.

Gladly, the more you get used to all of this, the more selective your hearing becomes - so you had already fallen deaf to them.

You huffed while trying to lift the heavy tool onto the workbench again, not bothering to wait for Mark to help you. Taking a sip of water, you watched the subject reaching the final part of his test.

Unbelievable that it’s already been one year since you’ve become the next generations Jigsaw’s apprentice, assisting Mark with every game ever since John and Amanda had passed away...

...and in your eyes, the sacrifices you had to make were all worth it.

Grabbing a towel to pat off the sweat from your face and chest, your mind wandered back to the day you had revealed yourself to him. Being a mere admirer of Jigsaw's work and philosophy, having found out Detective Hoffman's double life on your own.

But he was different than John Kramer and Amanda Young. Played by his own rules, which you oddly sympathized with.

Why giving those dangers to society - like Seth Baxter - a second chance? They shouldn't be allowed to roam freely. No, all they deserved was to be put down for good, after experiencing what their victims had.

You remembered Mark's hands on your throat the second you confessed to him. Couldn't blame him, though - last time someone told him "I know who you are", there was a shotgun draped to his neck shortly after.

The mere fact that you had survived this encounter, let alone having been declared his secret accomplice, made your chest swell with pride.

After all, you had gained somewhat trust and respect of basically the most misanthropic person on earth.

After a while of negotiation Mark had been impressed by your skill, both physical and mental. Having figured out his identity when not even the police or FBI couldn't...

...furthermore, your almost obsessively worship of his every action was exactly the kind of ego stroke he just couldn't reject.

And so you ended up his loyal subordinate, working for him from the shadows and taking every wish as your command.

Over time, the two of you had become a lethal combination - complimenting each talents and evening out the other's flaws.

It was pretty obvious that he was a sociopath, unable to sharw any personal bond with anyone. You may have shared a heated fling or a passionate night occasionally, but that was it.

This man was just using you, and you have been equally deranged enough to enjoy this. Addicted to the thrill of adrenaline that came to being associated with him.

You’d follow him blindly - even if it meant your own death.

Speaking of...

You jumped at the sound of a heavy steel door opening, immediately cocking your gun towards the entrance - force of habit...

...yet instead of a threat, something even worse came inside.

"Mark!"

This was certainly not the first time you had seen him covered in that much blood, but this time was different - it was his own, and much to your surprise made you freak out.

The man mutely limped towards your workshop, only a dirty cloth covering his torn cheek. "Shit, you're going to get an infection..."

Rushing to get the first aid kid while he threw the reverse bear trap onto the table, you figured this was not the time to ask about what exactly happened.

Not that he'd be able to answer anyway even if he wanted to, given his current state.

You couldn't help but laugh as he tried to snatch the medical supplies out of your hand. "You know you're allowed to need help sometimes, right?"

He furrowed his brows at you, and while most normal people would be intimidated by his demeanour, you found him almost adoringly stubborn.

"Now come here, would you..." you ordered as he finally let go off of the kit, worry present in your tone.

The man grunted approvingly, making you laugh. “You know, Amanda was right: You really are one of the last cavemen.”

Good thing he wasn’t able to talk right not - otherwise he’d advise you to never take that filthy name into your mouth ever again if you wanted to keep on living.

When he was finally sat, you carefully evaluated the wound - even though on the inside, it was hard to keep it together seeing him that way.

You were amazed at his composure up until now - the pain must be agonizing...

There was no time to lose either, a major blood vessel was torn and he was still actively losing a lot of blood.

Much to his luck, you were prepared for every eventuality. Glad you took those anatomy and first aid lessons back in the day, you just knew with your kind of profession that would pay off someday.

You quickly cleaned both hands from the motor oil, before pouring a whole bottle of your mentor's booze over them and the wound.

Deeply concentrated, you stuck out your tongue as you started patching him up. Hoffman warily eyed your every move, every stitch you so carefully placed to reconstruct his facial features.

This whole time, Mark had one hand firmly placed on your knee, squeezing ever so slightly. You were almost done, admiring his strenght to not even flinch as you patched him back together.

“Too bad for that handsome face, though...” you mumbled to yourself, speaking faster than your mind could catch up on. Not that he’d care about appearance or something like that anyway. “But men with scars are pretty handsome, you know?”

You handed him a mirror, scolding him to not touch the wound as he evaluating your handiwork. "The gentleman is allowed to thank me now” you chuckled as you noticed he wasn’t sure if he could talk again now.

"That bitch is gonna pay for this" he finally spoke, still a little slurred since he'd need to get used to the feeling.

"You're welcome" you rolled your eyes, still cheerful before busying yourself with bandaging his hand as well. “There's not much I can do with a fracture like this, but it'll probably heal itself. Just try not using it too much. Punch with the other hand, maybe? Haha..."

“We need to go” he stated with that gravely voice of his, face contorting in pain as he tried to clench his fist. "Jill tried to kill me. She got away, the police is most likely on their way."

"Ten steps ahead of you." There was enough time to understand the mess Hoffman had gotten himself into later. So for now you quickly threw both your identification papers in the fire barrel that had kept you warm until now, before turning to him.

You softly pushed him down onto the chair again, no words needed to tell him he should rest and let you handle this for a change. Just packing a bag with all the necessities, covering the workshop in gasoline and you were good to go.

“How sad...” you thought, turning around to watch your work go up in flames “I was just done with the tool.”

As if Mark knew what you were thinking, he rubbed some circles on your back before pushing you to walk faster. "We can always make a new one. Let's go."

The future might be uncertain, but one thing you was sure of: Soon, Detective Mark Hoffman would officially be a wanted criminal...

...but as long as you had each other, there was still hope for a good ending to this story.

"It's not over, but I need to stay incognito from now on" he uttered a little out of breath, your old car shaking a little as the heavy man entered the backseat. "You'll need to make the preparations and anything else I can entrust to you."

"Of course" you acknowledged, rummaging in your bag until you found what you were looking for. "Everything you want."

Just when you were getting the srynge into his field of view, Mark would panic, painfully grabbing your wrist to stop you.

"No..." he was so utterly exhausted, yet terrified of the possibility to be forcefully put to sleep like his victims and himself once.

“Mark...calm down” you cooed understandingly, your palm rubbing his cheek. “C’mon, it’s me after all. There's just morphine in there, it's not enough to knock you out. I promise."

Being such a control freak, it was hard for him to be at the mercy of another. Yet he nodded mutely and rolled up his sleeve to inject the pain medication directly into his bloodstream.

After all the fucked up things happening, sometimes he’d forget that there was actually one person he could trust.

"You know" he sighed, sinking deeper into the car seat as the drug showed it's effect, making him slowly but steadily relax. "You're everything I have."

“That’s the morphine speaking” you giggled, trying to keep your eyes on the road and he couldn't think but wonder if you always had such a soothing voice.

...and with you humming so sweetly, the sunset light illuminating your skin like this...have you always been this beautiful, or was he really just high?

“Maybe" he ultimately spoke, deciding he'd have to figure it out after everything was over. "Or it just makes me talk about things I usually keep to myself.”

You cracked a smile at this half-assed answer. Typical - but you admittedly liked even this part about him.

“Only this last game...” he continued stammering, and it was actually cute to see this softer side of this brute of a man. “John Kramer’s work is almost done.”

“And what are you going to do afterwards? Any plans, boss?”

With him being on the backseat, your eyes would only briefly meet through the rearview mirror...

...and what you saw may be the same man you knew for so long already, and yet so different.

Happy, somehow.

Smiling for a change. Genuinely and wholeheartedly, not this fake one he'd put up to fit in with society.

And you knew this one was just for you.

“When this is all over, I want it to be you and me.”

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

--

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

[urmomsucksfrogs]

Why is there no love for Peter strahm that man is scrumptious

[hhhhoffman]

safe, home

summary: mark comes home from a night at the bar, intoxicated and insatiable. you relish in how he uses you for his own pleasure.

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+

word count: 1.1k

cw: piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, light bdsm (dominant!hoffman), creampie, vaginal fingering

you can also read this fic on ao3.

He tastes like liquor and mint.

You're on your back, clad only in your thin, satin nightshift, and the weight of his broad body is heavy on top of you.

He's still fully clothed, having only just returned from his night at the bar. You awoke to the click of the door to the apartment, and then the heat of his body as he immediately found his way into your bed.

He kisses with rage.

His lips move roughly against yours, his tongue snaking into your mouth, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You open up for him, allowing him to suck and lap at you.

His body is between your legs, and he ruts into you as he kisses you, the hardness of his erection straining against his pants. He rubs himself into your bare cunt, his embrace rough and roaring with desire. Your fingers are in his hair, which is always surprisingly soft, and you kiss him back with a fervent desperation. He's passionate when he's intoxicated, seemingly wanting nothing more than to taste and feel you for hours. He groans softly between ragged breaths, his large hands pawing at your chest, squeezing your breasts tightly in his palms.

"Mark," you whimper, your hands having trailed their way down to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt so that you can feel his hot, bare skin against your own. He grunts when you are finally able to remove it, and you trace your gentle fingers across his torso, journeying lower to his belt. Your hands are shaking in anticipation, the ache between your legs an all-encompassing madness. 

"Help me," you whine, your excitement rendering you unable to free him from his pants. 

He chuckles coldly in response, grabbing your wrists in one swift movement and pinning them either side of your head. You gasp, and then a thick silence follows as he ghosts his nose down your face and neck, greedily inhaling your scent. He pecks at your throat, traces his lips up your jaw, then to your ear. He bites the lobe of it. 

"Patience," he warns, his voice deep and husky with lust. "When I use you like this..." His large hand is now pressing against your chest, directly over your heart. It trails lower, the heat from his palm careening down your stomach. "...it's on my terms."

He cups your cunt then, applying the slightest pressure. You groan, his teasing an exquisite brand of torture, and your hips buck of their own accord, rubbing your slick into his hand. 

"So wet," he mutters, moving back and forth, your pelvis rocking with his hand. "So needy." 

One of his thick fingers slips inside of you then, and your eyes flutter shut in relief. He begins to penetrate you, quickly and with a masterful pace, crooning an angle to stimulate that gorgeous spot deep inside of you. Then he adds another finger. You cry out in grateful shock, and then suddenly the palm of his other hand is covering your mouth, smothering your moans. 

"Look at me," he demands. You obey, staring up at him with reverent and wide eyes. His face is severe, his gaze hard and glazed with lust. 

"Good girl," he whispers. 

His praise sluices in your loins, and you keep your eyes trained on him as he fucks you with his fingers, working your tight wetness with utter perfection. He plays with you manically, moves between circling your clit and penetrating you until he deems you stretched and naturally lubricated enough to take the girth of his cock. 

Until he deems you deserving of it, worthy.

"Stay still for me now," he instructs as he frees his cock from his pants, "like the good little fuck toy you are." 

You do as you're told, trembling in wanton anticipation. Your shift is up around your waist, your legs spread wide, cunt bare and dripping.

You ache in your readiness, in your need. 

He aligns himself at your entrance, a hand at your waist, the other beside your head. Then he pushes deep inside, sheathing himself to the hilt in one swift, hard thrust. 

You moan at the sweetness of his intrusion, the feeling of your sopping wet cunt welcoming him within you an indescribable bliss. He releases a deep, primal groan, then his grip tightens, and his pounding rhythm begins.

He is merciless from the start, fucking his cock in and out of you with an expert speed, unforgiving in his hardness. You whine and mewl in ecstasy, willing yourself to stay still and behave. 

"Mmm," he hums in satisfaction, and then exhales a string of curses under his breath. Both of his hands are your waist now, and he suddenly stops, then tugs you further down. He holds you tightly, possessively, as he starts to move again. His fingers dig into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. His thrusts are hard and unrelentingly, and he fucks pretty little sighs and moans out of you, your body singing for him with vehement pleasure. 

"Open," he demands with a growl, his voice cutting through the hazy bliss of his pounding. You have become limp in your reverie. You do as he says, spreading your thighs as wide as you can, lying open and submissive beneath him as he uses you for his own pleasure. 

The time melts aways into sensations and sounds, the warmth of his breath and the weight of his chest, the slapping of flesh, husky grunts and the rising tide of a vibrant climax. 

When you cum it's sudden and electric, washing over you with a wave of heat and tight clenching gratification. When he finishes it's carnal, primitive and dominant. He doesn't stop fucking you until your cunt is a sloppy mess from the fluids of both of you.

He slackens onto you, his weight and heat like a blanket of comfort. He pants, his heart beating violently hard from his exertions, his skin gleaming with sweat. You kiss his face, his neck, licking the tang of his wet skin.

He smells and tastes divine. 

He groans, lowering himself beside you, then pulling you into him, holding your back to his chest. He whispers into your skin, telling you how pretty you are, what a good girl you've been and how fucking perfect you feel. Your eyes are suddenly heavy, your orgasm reverberating through your skin, blood, veins, Mark's breath and praise a gratifying lullaby. 

The last thought you have before you drift into a restful, dreamless sleep, is of his arms, that they are so strong, and that within them, you're safe. 

You're home.

-