#mark hoffman x you

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x child!reader [PLATONIC]

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, brothers Sinclair, Mark Hoffman

Tw: mention of murdering, violence, drinking

Thomas Hewitt

• You came to the Hewitts almost as a baby, you were the child of one of the victims. Surprisingly, you were left behind. Or rather, Luda stood up for it, she couldn't let them kill such a baby. Besides, she was always ready to take a new child under her wing again if he needed it.

• Thomas was a little confused, he couldn't figure out if he liked you or not. In general, he always wanted a family and children, but he knew that he would not have it because of his appearance and lifestyle. And so you came into his life.

• At first, he will be very hesitant about spending time with you in principle. He's just afraid of breaking you with your fragile baby bones. Besides, Thomas is not sure how to react to your frequent screams and tantrums, it pisses him off a little.

• Over time, he will really get used to you. A man will hold you in his arms most of the time if he is not busy working in the basement. Thomas will hold you tightly to his chest, clutching the diapers you were wrapped in, and looking down at you with warmth and love.

• Even if you screamed a lot when you saw Thomas's face, you always calmed down. It warmed his soul very much.

• The only problem was the food, because you were obviously very small and had to be breastfeed. Fortunately, there was enough dry mix in that victim's bag for the first time. Then Hoyt had to drive around the city.

• Thomas was very protective of you, always watching over you and taking care of you. You literally didn't get off his hands, constantly clinging to his clothes and long hair. He didn't mind. A man often kissed you on the forehead, gently stroking your tiny cheeks with his big hand. He loved hugging you so much and he was glad that you liked it too. Thomas's hands were carefully dressing you and washing your fragile little body. He never hurt you, not in any way.

• Thomas made a baby cot for you, which was in his room. Although you often liked to sleep with him. At such moments, you would unsteadily stand on your baby legs and stretch out your arms in his direction. The man's heart sank. He gently took you out of the cradle and put you next to him, hugging you protectively. You cooed and smiled as you fell asleep in comfort.

• Thomas was very happy about your first steps. It was difficult and slow, but he patiently sat on the floor two meters away from you and waited, arms outstretched in an embrace for you. When you finally found some kind of balance, you walked slowly towards him, giggling happily. You hugged him tightly. The man almost cried, watching the formation of his baby.

• He was looking forward to your first words, hoping that you would actually talk, unlike him. At first it was a strange babble of children. Thomas was almost sure that you would call Luda mom, even though the thought of it hurt him. When you said the awkward 'Dada', he started crying. Thomas hugged you tightly to him, kissing your baby face and body. God, you were so sweet, so precious. He felt such a pleasant warmth in his chest when you called him daddy, your daddy. Thomas thought he would die of happiness on the spot. Now you were his little ray of light, his child.

Brothers Sinclair

• You were the victim's child. Lester found you in the backseat of the car. He awkwardly picked you up and pulled you out of the car. He was the youngest brother in the family, so he understood absolutely nothing about children, he understood at most that what needed to be taken care of, for example, like a dog.

• Lester brought you to the Sinclair house. Vincent was in the workshop, and Bo was sitting on the couch, with his feet on a small table in front of the sofa, and enjoying drinking beer. The appearance of Lester, and even with a child, greatly strained him. Really, what should he do with such a baby? You didn't look more than five months old. Considering his childhood, Bo hated children, although he could take some care, after all, he participated in Lester's upbringing, one way or another. And it was still quite a big shock for him. There wasn't a single woman in town who could tell them what to do with you, the men were confused. When you woke up, you started screaming and crying. You were scared that your mom wasn't there. Rude men terrified you even more. I wanted to hide somewhere, but you couldn't do anything.

• The situation only improved when Vincent arrived. He was the most gentle and understanding of all the brothers. Vincent grabbed you out of Bo's rough hands with a little alarm, hugging you to him and stroking your head. Bo just rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen. You snuggled up to Vincent, feeling safe at last. You weren't crying anymore, but you were whimpering softly against his chest. You were scared and hungry. You clutched a man's clothes in your little fists, wanting to be comforted and cared for.

• Vincent, like the others, didn't know much about children. But unlike his brothers, Vincent was naturally quite sensitive and kind, he could not leave the child to these jerks. The man pressed you against his warm sweater, giving you peace of mind. He gently stroked your little body, checking for wounds or damage. Your diaper was full. Not the most pleasant part. Maybe you were really too scared. Vincent asked Lester to go back to that car and bring everything there that could be useful for the child. There was a whole bag of toys and baby food, as well as enough diapers and some clothes.

• Vincent immediately bathed you and gently changed your diaper and clothes. Then he fed you from a bottle. It was a little awkward, but he liked to see that you finally felt calmer. You were lying in his arms, making baby noises and greedily swallowing milk. Your eyes were red and swollen from crying. The man hugged you protectively, stroking your little tummy.

• In total, Vincent took care of you. He fed you, dressed you, and bathed you. Lester used to play with you a lot. Bo didn't pay much attention to you, he just went to the city to buy children's things.

• As you grew up, you started spending more time in Vincent's basement. You saw him without a mask and so gently grabbed his scarred cheeks with your soft baby hands, it made him cry. He now had a small cot in his workshop with lots of pillows and blankets. This is where you played while he was working. A man made you wax toys that you really liked. He even taught you how to sculpt wax yourself. Now you had your own little collection of wax ducks. You called Vincent Dad. When you did it the first time, he cried, hugging you tightly to him. Although Bo is sometimes very jealous of your brother, because Bo is just an uncle to you.

• You've become very friendly with their dog, Jesse. Jesse always protects you from the next visitors to the city.

• They tried to pick you up a couple of times. Once it was a married couple. The woman held you tightly in her arms, saying that these people in the city are monsters, and that she will become your mother and take care of you. You threw a tantrum asking Dad to come over. The couple almost ran out of town until Bo shot them in the back of the head. Vincent pulled you out of the dead woman's tight grip and held you close, stroking your hair. You cried and squeezed his neck, asking Dad not to leave you anymore.

• In general, you are a child who grew up in cruelty, but the Sinclairs themselves never raised a hand against you. You were cared for and loved. Bo especially loved giving you a lot of gifts. So you've grown up to be a mentally healthy child with them.

Mark Hoffman

• You turned out to be the child of his dead sister. At first, it even hurt a man to look at you because you looked so damn much like your mother. But he understood the responsibility. Mark realized that you are the only thing he has left of his sister. Besides, you didn't have any relatives anymore, and the man didn't want to take you to the orphanage. So he took custody of you.

• It was difficult. Mark was already tired with his job, so taking care of the child only added to his stress. But he tried. For you. For his sister's sake.

• When you were still young enough, a man often left you alone at home, even though he understood that it was unsafe. At that moment, his depression reached its peak, and he simply did not see any other way out. He started drinking. The man spent almost every evening at the bar, getting drunk to unconsciousness. It was after midnight when he returned home. Mark came into the apartment, heading to his bedroom, and your face greeted him. Your chubby baby cheeks were red and wet with tears, but as soon as you saw Mark, a slight smile blossomed on your face. You were already standing freely in your cradle, so when the man entered the room, you desperately stretched out your arms to him, muttering an inarticulate 'dada'. It broke a man's heart. In an instant, the intoxication was gone, and his whole being was filled with a vile sense of guilt. You were afraid to be alone, afraid of being abandoned again, and he was so brazenly leaving you alone in an empty dark apartment. But Mark couldn't help himself, he was in pain too. And so it is almost every day.

• When you went to kindergarten, he often picked you up later than everyone else. Fortunately, your teacher was a good woman and spent time with you personally, playing together. You were a smart and funny kid, but you still had trouble speaking, you didn't speak. Perhaps the fact that your 'dad' never responded to your attempts to talk to him because of your abilities influenced you.

• One day Mark got off work a little early, hoping to pick you up. He was standing in the hallway in front of your kindergarten room, his hand on the door handle. He saw you laughing while playing with the tutor in the playroom. You threw your arms around her neck and joyfully shouted "Mommy!". It broke Mark's heart. He was such a bad father, such a bad guardian. You drove home in silence this evening. Already at home, you didn't understand why Mark was so sad. You tried to hug him or ask for his hands, but the man just looked away. When he put you to bed, he knelt in front of your bed. The man took your little palms in his hands, kissing them gently. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"She's not your mommy... I know I made a mistake, but she's not your mom. Please.. don't do that anymore. I'll get better. I'm really going to get better. I treated you badly, I understand, but.. But I can't help myself. I miss her too, your mom.. the real mom..."

• You didn't quite understand what he was saying, but you leaned closer and put your arms around his neck. Mark hugged you convulsively, pulling you tightly to him and burying his nose in your hair.

• It got a lot better after that. Mark tried to drink less and spend more time with you. He took you to the park, amusement park, cinema and cafe. Now he knew the names of the characters in your favorite cartoons and bought you toys with them. The man bought you a lot of sweets and just treated you gently.

• "I want a balloon... Daddy!" Mark looked down at you and a pleased smile spread across his face when you first called him that. His chest was filled with warmth. He found a reason to keep living.

[i-arch-my-backula]

Telling slashers you like 'hot old men'

I am an old man lover and enjoyer for life. I love hot old men I hope I become one when I'm older. So what better way then to make a post appreciating all of the hot old men I'm in love with. I know some of these men aren't like super old but it's still kind of old ok? We're talking an age range from 30's-50's. Also this was buried in my drafts since like April.

Includes: Doomhead, Mark Hoffman, Peter Strahm, Hannibal Lecter, and Bo Sinclair

Warnings: None I can think of

Doomhead

He honestly thought you said something else when you first said it. You two were watching a movie together and you made a comment on how you love "hot old men".

When he asks you to repeat yourself and you confirm that you said you love hot old men he laughs. He knows he's an older man but you saying that is really funny to him.

"Are you calling me an old man, sugar?" He asks you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. After you clarify you don't mean it in a negative way he just keeps laughing quietly.

He'll bring this up from time to time when he sees fit. He honestly might play up the 'old man' act just to tease you about it even more. But he's not too offended that you said it.

Mark Hoffman

You and Hoffman are coworkers and you've been dropping hints to him about your attraction to him. Today you were working with Hoffman, looking over some tapes when the discussion of how long you've been in the force came up.

When Hoffman mentioned when he graduated from the police academy and made a comment about how he's old you smiled and said, "Good thing I love old men."

He laughed it off at first then got a little defensive about how he's "not that old". You explained to him that you never meant it to be rude, you just meant to say that you find older men attractive.

He just nodded his head and went back to watching the tape over. But over the next few days he kept thinking about what you said. It's the most outwardly flirty you've been with him before. When he next sees you he asks you out and you accept.

Peter Strahm

You're on a date with him after being introduced to each other by a mutual friend. He took you somewhere nice and he's driving you home. You both feel a strong connection.

He mentions how long he's been working in the FBI and makes a comment about how you must think he's so old. But when you chuckle and tell him "Don't worry, I love old men." He chuckles too.

Peter isn't too much older than you but he still finds your comment funny. He asks you why and when you talk about how older men are more mature, provide stability, and they're just hot, he smiles and puts a hand on your thigh.

He thinks about your comment for awhile after the date. The comment and how well the date went leads him to asking you out again, which you of course say yes to.

Hannibal Lecter

You met Hannibal at an opera and he found you very attractive. He invited you over for dinner later in the week and you accepted. He made sure to make an impressive meal for you, which isn't hard for him to do.

You two start talking over dinner and Hannibal talks about his career as a surgeon then as a psychiatrist. He makes a comment about how you must think he's very old and you reply with, "I don't mind at all. I love old men."

He chuckles and says he's not that old. You tell him you know that but you start talking about how you love a man who looks more mature and has his life well put together.

The dinner goes well and he invites you over again later in the month. But he can't stop thinking about your comment. He knows he's an older man but he doesn't think he's that old. But the comment doesn't get to him too much because you like him anyway.

Bo Sinclair

You're sitting with Bo in his garage while he's working on a car. You're reading an old magazine when you start to giggle. He asks you what's so funny and you talk about how hot this model is.

When you show him the model Bo talks about how he looks pretty old to which you reply with "I love old men." Bo sets down his tool and looks at you.

"Are you saying I'm old, darlin'?" He asks you. You think for a moment before you tell him no. Bo is in his early 30's and you don't really consider that old.

You have to explain to him that by "old men" you mean men in their 40's and above. Bo will tease you about this constantly. Any time you two see an older man, either it being in a movie or a victim he asks you if he's your type.

[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.” 

[hhhhoffman]

the cure

summary: mark comes home late, drained and dejected. you comfort him with your body.

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

rating: explicit, 18+

cw: piv sex, rough, comfort, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, orgasm, creampie (dominant!hoffman)

you can also read this fic on ao3

Mark is wordless when he returns home, his eyes dark, hair unkempt, his entire body visibly beaten down and fatigued.

He's late again.

You don't ask him why, only swiftly stride to him, taking him in your arms as soon as he steps through the door.

You missed him.

The tension in his body seems to lessen when you touch him, and he melts into you, sharing his weight with you. Your skin always seems to soothe him, and in truth it does - so soft and sweet scented from the fancy soaps you use in the shower, so reactive and responsive to him. He considers you a balm to his broken mind and aching heart, anticipates your scent, voice, touch when on his way home to you. 

Craves you, always.

He places a kiss at your neck after holding a moment to relish your embrace, then inhales deeply into your hair. He sighs, then steps back slightly to take a proper look at you. You smile and reach forward, pushing some of his unruly hair away from his handsome face as your gazes meet. His tired eyes gleam in the lowlight, and you frown in concern at this level of exhaustion in him. He shakes his head firmly when he notices your worry. 

So you don't ask. You drop it.

You help him start to undress, still wordless, not needing to speak to understand him and what he needs from you tonight. He shrugs off his coat. You remove his tie with nimble fingers, gently slip his suspenders aside from his shoulders, then unbutton his shirt from collar to hem. You trace your fingertips across the skin now exposed above his undershirt, lightly working your way across the top of his broad chest to the column of his throat. He softly sighs an exhale at your gentle, ghosting touch. 

You cradle his cheek, gaze into his eyes. Reverent and adoring. His large hand covers your own as he breaks the silence. 

"You stayed up."

You nod.

He tuts and gives a slight shake of his head, now fingering the spaghetti strap of your nightshift. He lets it slip and hang down on your upper arm, your skin electric beneath the tenderness of his touch. He steps forward again, and places a soft kiss at your bare shoulder, and you gasp gently, leaning into him. His arm swiftly circles your waist and his kisses on your throat deepen, his lips and tongue and teeth grazing across the sensitive expanse of skin. 

You inhale a sharp moan, one of your hands in his hair, encouraging him closer, the other at his bare back. He grunts as his hands slip to your ass and squeeze at you through the sheer material of your shift. You feel his hardening erection rubbing into you through his pants, and a jolt of hot desire shoots through your core. 

You want him. Badly. 

"Mark," you groan, his fingers now beneath your night shift, massaging your flesh. "Take me, have me. Use me. Please."

He chuckles into your throat. "So needy."

Then one of his hands is in your hair, pulling your head back with a yank so he can look at your face. "So good to me." 

The corners of your lips pull into a smile, which he pecks gently before turning you around and bending you over - holding you down against a waist-high storage cupboard. One of his hands is grasping your arm to your lower back tightly, and you can hear him use the other as he undoes his belt with a metallic click, then frees himself from his pants. 

He spreads your legs and hoicks up your shift, exposing your wet, aching slickness to the air. He seems to move so slowly, and you need him now, and you whimper your complaints to him. He aligns himself with you, and teases the head of his cock against your hot, throbbing clit, then returns to your entrance. 

"How badly do you want me, baby...?" He asks breathily, his words rich with carnal desire, yet unable to resist making you beg for him. 

"I need you. I need you, Mark, please..." 

Then it's too much for him to resist, and he's slipping inside of you, your arousal so rich with wetness that he sheathes himself deep inside easily. You both groan with relief, and then after a brief pause, he begins to fuck you. 

His rhythm is steady at first, his pace quickening with every thrust, and you whimper at his sweet pounding, so glorious and blissful inside of you. He continues to hold you down as he moves in and out of your cunt, and you mewl and whine, spreading your legs as much as you can, arching into him to take him as deeply as possible. 

"My good girl," he praises you, his breathing laboured from his exertions, his pace unrelenting and his strength increasing. "You can take it for me, my sweet girl."

You encourage him with your moans, loud gratified whines that he fucks out of you, his grip on you unyielding, his own groans of pleasure from behind you almost as decadent as the feel of him fucking you. He's vocal tonight, clearly taking out whatever is bothering him on you, and you do take it, you can take it. It feels fucking incredible to take it. 

Time bleeds away as you feel that tightening sensation flourish deep inside, that hot pleasure beginning to pool in your lower back with each furious pound of his cock. It builds and builds, the tension an ever-growing carnal torment, and you cry out in bliss as you near your peak.

He grunts as he feels you tighten around him, then gives you his all: pounding you so hard and fast and good until that tension snaps and you cum hard, as hard as he is thrusting into you, powerful and gorgeous and strong.

Your form melts, limber and passive, your body orgasm-struck beneath him. He pauses in his rhythm but continues to hold you still, and you feel his fingers in your hair, grazing tenderly and with care down the clamminess of the back of your neck. Affectionate. You can hear his heavy breathing, and a deep groan of satisfaction.

"That's my girl," he praises, his tone thick with both pride and desire, his own need to be sated spiking, and he begins to move again, and it feels so good and hot and perfect as he restarts his rhythm, fucking you from behind once more.

He uses you, takes his time and his pleasure with you, until your sweet skin and tight heat cure him of all his anguish, until you are all he can see and feel and experience, and when your hot flesh stokes his lust to it's peak and he finishes inside of you with a possessive groan, he softly collapses on top of you - his comforting weight a gratifying heaviness. His lips are in your hair, on your cheek, finding your lips.

"Beautiful," he mutters into your skin, "perfect girl."

He then pulls you to your feet, sweeps you into his arms and carries you to bed, where you spend the rest of the night curled up beside him, his arms around you, your head on his chest, his soft breath on your face, the woody scent of his cologne lingering in your dreams.

-

[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."

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Detective Mark Hoffman Would Include:

When Mark is in love with someone, he’s extremely protective of you and tends to get jealous very easily. He’d be possessive and clingy, not liking if you hang around other people, other than him of course. He’d usually only have sweet spots towards his lover, being extremely nice and gentle, but if any other man/woman even so much as looks at you, Mark is quick to step in and show them who you belong to.

But he can also be paranoid and very distrustful, always being on the lookout for where you’ll be, what you’ll be doing, and who you’ll be with. His paranoia would often lead to him accusing you of things, usually cheating, even though he has no proof at all to back up his claims

He’d also be very affectionate, loving to be close to you at all times. He’d never admit it, but he loved clingy gestures such as snuggling and kissing. Mark has a soft side for you, and he’d be the one who is the cuddler, not afraid of showing that side of himself behind closed doors

He’d have moments of sweetness, spoiling you and showering you with gifts (and affection, even though he’s not great at showing it), but he can get irritated and jealous very quickly - his behavior being cold and aggressive. He’d have a very “if I can’t have you, nobody else can” mindset, getting very obsessive over you.

He’d probably also always keep tabs on you no matter where you are, and would constantly be at your side, especially when you’re with other male/female friends, so he can make it known that you are his, as he is extremely possessive and territorial.

He’d probably be very obsessed with getting you to give him all your attention to him. He’d probably get extremely pissed off if you pay more attention to your friends or other people than him, to the point it seems he’s borderline trying to guilt trip you.

He’s usually quite quiet and stoic, only really taking in information. However, when in front of other men, he’d probably try and put on his tougher side. He’d definitely try to let everyone know he was the “alpha male” in certain situations, as he is a very proud and stubborn guy. He’d often put his hand on your waist or shoulders, showing you were his, as well as glare at any men who looked your way.

His rewards are usually quite simple. Mainly stuff like gifts, praises, more affection, etc. However, he has a few darker sides for rewards too. If someone is hitting on you, he’d probably drag you somewhere to show you off to him and show that you were off limits to everyone except him.

Punishments were a little different. He’d probably make you stay home and be by his side 24/7, to make sure you’d do nothing at all, and so he’d be able to see you at all times, ensuring you didn’t do something that’d get on his nerves, making him mad. He’d also probably have a go at you, probably making snarky comments about how you’re “dumb” or “pathetic”, but would still make up in the end.

If he believed that his loved one was to never leak the information, he’d more than likely tell you about his involvement with Jigsaw, though if he didn’t trust you enough, he’d keep that information from you to keep you safe. He’d most likely tell you about his job as a detective, and maybe even why he got into it, but the full story wouldn’t really be revealed till a lot later, as he’d have to trust you very well to fully trust you with such secrets.

He’d probably be the type to keep something from the person he had his eyes on, such as pictures or something. Like a mini stalker shrine. He probably has one in his office and keeps some pictures of you in his bedside drawer, but if you found out about the more “intense”, stalker side of things, he would probably brush it off as a joke, as he’d probably be slightly embarrassed.

If he’s planned a date, he’d always plan everything perfectly. Down to the smallest detail. He’d also probably make sure it was somewhat fancy as a nice way to treat his lover. But he’d always be on the lookout to see if you were having a good time, as well as looking out to see if other men/women were talking to you. He doesn’t like others stealing his darling’s attention.

His work peers would usually find his relationship status interesting. They’d find him a lot less aggressive when being around you, making a few remarks saying he’s a lot calmer than usual. However, other men would often have a jealous gaze, as his tough alpha behavior always comes through, and often make a few remarks towards you and him, saying you’re only a trophy for him to show off and own.

John wouldn’t seem all that surprised with Mark’s love life and would have been suspecting he had feelings for you for a while. Amanda would be a lot more judgmental, making a few comments about how you could do better and that you should “save yourself before you get stuck with him” and other snarky comments like that.

Without hesitation. He’d kill anyone who tries to hurt, manipulate, and even look at you. He’d even kill a fellow detective if you were ever looked out for a case. He’d kill pretty much anything to keep his lover safe and by his side.

I’d honestly imagine he’d do a fancy and well-thought-out marriage proposal. He would have it planned out and would take you for dinner, before getting on one knee and asking you to marry him. He’d 100% have a traditional wedding, always getting you to wear the big wedding dress and walking you down the aisle with everyone’s eyes on you. He’d absolutely make sure everyone saw his lover all perfect and beautiful on his wedding day.

He’d keep an eye on his children at all times, making sure no one hurt or even paid attention to them apart from him and you. He’d get jealous of other kids playing with his children and would make a few comments in a joking yet harsh way, saying his children are already his and he doesn’t need to share.

He’d probably be a bit disappointed, though he’d still love you just as much. He’d probably still joke about it, saying things like “I can teach you the birds and bees anytime” etc. He’d still love you regardless, although children are important to him, but so is the person he loves, so he is able to set his own needs aside and put you first over his own needs.

"From the moment I met you, I knew I had to have you. Your every touch, every smile, every word, everything about you is precious to me. I need your presence like I need air to breathe. The very thought of losing you is too painful to bear. I want to hold you close and never let go. With you by my side, I feel complete and whole. I want to give you the world and keep you safe, for eternity and beyond. Please, let me take care of you, care for you, and protect you. Let me love you, completely and unconditionally, forever."

Forced orgasm denial - Bringing you to the brink of climax repeatedly, then denying you release until you're completely spent and shaking.

Voyeurism - Watching intimate acts from afar, either secretly or openly, adds an extra layer of excitement to him.

Edging - Keeping himself right at the edge of orgasm for extended periods, riding the waves of pleasure without letting go.

Sadomasochistic roleplays - Acting out scenarios involving torture, imprisonment, or other forms of suffering for the thrill and power trip.

Sensory deprivation - Using blindfolds, earplugs, or other methods to heighten sensitivity and awareness of touch.

Spanking - Giving and receiving hard spanks across the ass, adding color and sting to your sessions.

[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.

[tyrantzee]

"I call this epic bad (good) luck"

(Alternate quote, "Right now you're feeling helpless.")

Oh noes! Hoffman is keeping you in The Bathroom™. At least he removed the bodies. Gotta keep it clean. ya know?

(....I got nothing else witty to say except I love him.  (‘∀’●)♡)

FULL VERSION UNDER THE CUT. DOLL ANATOMY INBOUND.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Mark Hoffman x reader smut tomorrow !!

(I also have plans for another where the reader is working alongside him and yada yada— REQUESTS ARE OPEN I LOVE YOU 😘)

[bookloover35]

Mark Hoffman X fem reader - I won.

Yns Pov:

I won Haha, I fucking won.

I passed the test, I beat Jigsaw's test.

Everything felt like a horrible nightmare, a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

I don't remember much about how I got there, what I remember is that I was on my way home from work and then I blacked out.

Then I woke up in one of his traps.

I understand why he chose to kidnap me, I know what I did was horrible, but it was in self defense and it was either me or him.

Miss (y,l,n) miss (y,l,n).

Huh I said, looking up at the door to my hospital room.

Where one of the nurses was standing.

Yn: Yes?

Nurse: Detective Hoffman am here and want to ask you a few questions about what happened to you.

Can you bear to talk to him?

Rather not.

I already told everything to the police.

I was on my way home from work didn't even make it to my apartment, then it went black and I woke up in one of Jigsaw's traps.

The trap was like an iron maiden in chair form.

It was even a miracle that I managed to get free and that the police even managed to find me in time before I bled to death.

But I won.

Scarred for life I will be because of that bastard.

My whole body is newly covered with scars that will show what happened to me but it will also show that I am a survivor.

Yn: You can let him in.

Nurse: Okey.

I've heard a lot about Hoffman, but I've never had the honor of meeting him.

But what I've heard the most about, and it's from women, is that he's extremely handsome.

Hoffman: Miss Yn.

I looked up again and was greeted by an extremely attractive man.

Wow what women say about him is no lie.

He is really attractive even extremely hot.

What a man, wow those arms.

Yn: You must be Detective Hoffman.

Hoffman: I would like to ask you some questions.

Yn: Please I already told everything to the police.

How many times do I have to tell you everything?

Hoffman: You haven't really told us everything.

Why did he choose to take you?

Everyone's Jigsaw victim is someone who needs to be punished like that.

What have you done Yn?

I sat up carefully from the bed and put my hands on my knees sighed and said.

Yn: I killed a man in self-defense.

Dun dun the end.

[calmcoldevening]

Little morning with slashers

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ﾟ｡⋆

Tw: no

Characters: Jedidiah Sawyer, Mark Hoffman, Brahms Heelshire, Eric Draven, Jason Voorhees

➤ Jedidiah Sawyer

• As usual, the morning in Texas was quite cool earlier. You've been sleeping surprisingly well lately, so you've been waking up early with a good night's sleep and very rested. The sun was lazily rising from the horizon, coloring the blackness of the sky with golden and orange colors, as if a couple of drops of lingonberry blood had been dropped into the dark water.

• You lazily opened your eyes, squinting at the light coming into the room through the thin curtains. The sheets were cool but damp from the hot Texas night.

• Stretching slightly, you try to get out of bed, but a strong pair of hands stops you, pulling you back to the man's chest. Jedidiah lets out a growl of displeasure, and you giggle softly. Turning to face him, you gently touch the leather straps on his cheeks with your fingers. He forgot to take them off again before going to bed. You gently run your nails over rough skin, the scars under the mask have almost healed, leaving behind uneven pink scars.

• "Good morning, honey," you whisper, briefly kissing him on the forehead. In response, he mutters something softly, pulling you closer to him. His dark hair had grown noticeably longer and was damp from sleeping. You gently brush his bangs out of his eyes, causing a slight smile to form on his lips.

• He was always particularly sloppy in the morning. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are sleepy with small shadows under his eyes. He's wearing a loose white shirt that smells of his body and your own hands. His arms wrapped around your waist like a protective ring, Jed won't let you walk away from him so easily this morning. He likes to just lie with you in the bedroom while the others are sleeping.

• You were the only one, apart from his mom, who really accepted him and saw through those terrible scars. You didn't care about his face, he was still damn handsome to you, and the guy was grateful for that. Jedidiah was so glad that you stayed by his side, became his love of his life and his wife. And he appreciated every second he spent with you.

• Finally, after a long ten minutes, you feel slightly thirsty, after all, you haven't drunk since last night. "Come on, honey, get up. I still have to make breakfast, remember?" You speak with a slight smile and Jed purrs in displeasure, but loosens his grip. You kiss his lips briefly and get out of bed, ready to start a new day. Your husband will stay in bed for a while longer until he feels the pleasant aroma of your breakfast from the kitchen.

➤ Mark Hoffman

• Mark always woke up much earlier than you. Insomnia and stressful detective work made themselves felt. He woke up around four in the morning, his hair and nightgown wet with sweat, his head buzzing after another nightmare. The man held his head with his hands, trying to bring his breathing back to normal.

• After a short introspection, the man turns his head to the side, noticing your peacefully sleeping figure. You've always been so beautiful, even in your dreams. All thoughts of the nightmare disappeared as soon as Mark's gaze lingered on your face. He gently pulls his hand towards your face, gently and gently stroking your smooth skin with his thumbs. He's so happy to have you by his side.

• After a couple of minutes, the man finally gets out of bed, heading to the bathroom and taking off his wet clothes. He takes a quick shower, trying to sober his thoughts with cold water. After that, he makes himself a black coffee. His weekday mornings are insanely simple and gray, but on weekends it's a little different because he can spend time with you in bed until you wake up.

• Mark drinks coffee and looks through some of the Jigsaw case, sometimes instead he finalizes another drawing of a new trap for John Kramer.

• When the time moves to seven in the morning, he already leaves the house, before briefly kissing you on the forehead. You won't remember it, but a sleepy, satisfied smile appears on your face. This, surprisingly, gives Mark a pleasant feeling in his chest.

• When you wake up, he won't be home anymore. You get out of bed and wander into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Mark's breakfast is already on the kitchen table with a note next to it. "I hope you eat this. I know about your problems with food, so I hope you at least have breakfast, little lady." You smile slightly, admiring the note. The omelet he made has a sloppy ketchup heart on it.

➤ Brahms Heelshire

• A morning with Brahms is always a real lottery, you never know what mood he will be in today.

• If Brahms wants to be an adult, he will certainly get up before you. Of course, you cook for him most of the time, but he does not lack the skill to cook something simple. The man will make simple ham and cheese sandwiches and tea/coffee. Having prepared everything necessary, Brahms will return to the bedroom with breakfast ready in bed for you. You're sleeping peacefully, making soft noises. He will wake you up with a gentle kiss on your forehead, and he will put stray strands of hair behind your ear. "Good morning, Princess. I brought you breakfast."

• If Brahms decides to be little, he will be clingy and moody.

• Usually the baby wakes up before you as well. He'll frown, pick up his mask from the bedside table, and just stare at you. Brahms will just lie next to you for a couple of minutes, not knowing where to put himself. At such moments, he always naively thought that when he wakes up, you should already wake up. A man will climb on top of you, putting his chin on your chest.

"Y/N, I'm hungry!"

• He will bother you for a couple of long minutes in a row until you wake up. When you finally sleepily open your eyes, he'll be giggling with his nose in your neck.

"Good morning! I missed you," he purred with happy smile, squeezing you in his arms.

• Mornings with little Brahms are never quiet.

➤ Eric Draven

• Eric usually wakes up before you, he has a fairly light sleep. The guy smiles slightly when cool gusts of wind touch his body, penetrating into the room through the open window, and his feet stand on a warm tree.

• You get up almost behind the guy. Your eyes open sleepily when you don't feel the warmth of your lover on the bed next to you, the sheets under your palms are already cool enough.

• The air is filled with the aromas of flowering plants and young forest. Probably, the decision to move from that small town to a house near the city was the best one in your whole life. You moved in not so long ago, about two months ago, but you have already turned this place into your own cozy nest.

• You get out of bed and stumble awkwardly into the kitchen. Eric was here. His broad back immediately appears in front of your eyes, covered with scars in some places. His favorite big white shirt was on you right now. Eric turns to face you, giving you a warm smile, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

• Previously, a summer morning was always a good time to stay outside. And now the two of you are sitting on the porch. Eric put his arm around you, draping a thin plaid over your shoulders. You were sitting peacefully with each other, drinking hot coffee and looking into the darkness of the forest. Your boyfriend's presence has always been so comforting. Eric looks down at you and kisses you on the forehead, leaving a small wet mark on your skin.

"Good morning, my rose."

➤ Jason Voorhees

• You woke up because you were cold. It's damn cold. You slowly opened your sleepy eyes and sat up in bed, wrapping yourself more tightly in the blanket. The seat next to you was empty. No, of course, you knew that your boyfriend was special and he didn't need to sleep, but he was usually here with you until the morning, warming you with his big body.

• Your first thought was that maybe there were intruders in the camp again. But in such a cold season, hardly anyone would dare to enter the forest 'with ghosts'. So you decided to just wait, hoping for his return soon.

• Jason returned after a long half hour. He entered the room, throwing a large number of branches in front of the fireplace, and looked at you in surprise. He hoped you were still asleep. Jason's gaze slides anxiously over your trembling body. He frowns when he notices how you're shaking from the cold and your blue lips.

• Jason quickly lights a fireplace in the room, throwing in a large number of branches and comes to your bed. He takes you in his arms with care and tenderness, putting you on his lap, and squeezes you in his arms, hoping to warm you. Seeing you like this, Jason was consumed with guilt from the inside, he was so sorry that he left you. The man just didn't expect you to wake up so quickly, he wanted to quickly go get firewood for the extinguished fireplace.

• But you were better now. The room gradually became warm because of the burning fireplace, and the pleasant warmth of Jason's chest gave you peace and comfort. You curled up on his chest like a kitten while he gently stroked your head with his big hand. You felt so good in his arms.

[i-arch-my-backula]

Slashers with an airhead s/o part two

What inspired me to write this is me finding out almost 17 years into my life that New England is not a state. I've had so many airhead moments lately that I kind of needed to write this.

Includes: Jason Voorhees, The Grabber, Mark Hoffman and Amanda Young

Warnings: Talk of manipulation, mentions of kidnapping, slashers being a little mean at times, readers air headedness is played up a bit

Jason Voorhees

Y/n, he loves you so much, but he's also so worried to leave you alone in case you forget to turn off the oven and burn the cabin down. He knows you're not completely stupid but, you're a little dumb.

He gets frustrated sometimes when he has to explain to you for the third time that day how to hold something the right way while helping him with yard work.

Will have to write you lots of instructions on how to do things so you don't mess it up. He'll be more confident when he leaves you alone if you have a list of things to get done and how to do them.

He's not letting you leave the house alone. He's coming with you while you're going on your walks or doing tasks. He trusts you not to run he just doesn't trust that you won't try to pet a raccoon.

Mark Hoffman

He gets annoyed very quickly with how air headed you are. He still loves you don't get me wrong, but after having a 10 minute talk with you about why you can't just adopt a random stray cat you found he needs a drink.

He'll lie to you at times if it's going to keep his identity as a jigsaw apprentice safe. He knows you won't really come up with that on your own unless he actually spells it out for you but he thinks it's just safer to say that he had to work late or something.

He's somewhat relived when he learns that you're not totally dumb. He'll listen to you talk about a topic you know a lot about because it makes him feel better about your intelligence

He'll be a little mean at times if he gets frustrated with you but the most he'll do is say you're pretty dumb or call you an airhead, he'll always apologize after however. But if anyone else is mean to you for being dumb he's not letting that slide.

Amanda Young

She's going to laugh at all of your airhead moments, but not in a mean way, in a 'that's adorable' kind of way. Like if you ask her where your sunglasses are and they're on the top of your head she'll laugh and tell you.

She's also not worried about you finding out that she's working for Jigsaw. She could legit come home covered in someone else's blood with a pig mask in hand and you'll think she was at a costume party.

She's going to keep you far away from Hoffman. She already hates him but she knows that he's going to be a real dick to you. But she'll probably introduce you to John on the condition that you don't get put into a trap because you're a little dumb.

She'll be more understanding than other people I think. You're not a harmful type of dumb you're just more of a "Why can't you just use vegetable oil for your car?" kind of dumb.

[promitto-amor]

Should Something Happen

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x You

Summary: While working as Jigsaw Apprentices, Amanda spoils some quality bonding time between yourself and Hoffman.

Warnings: Cursing!

Might this actually be a little bit of fluff? I wanted to do something involving the main Jigsaw crew and a protective Hoffman. 👀

Perhaps the only aspect of being an apprentice Mark enjoyed was the opportunity to work alongside you. Every trap crafted, every game played and every eventual death led Mark one step closer to his freedom. A life no longer in servitude for an impulsive act of vengeance. Mark had always struggled to quell his impulsiveness. It made him good in the field, Mark had earned a fair share of promotions for his quick actions, but his greatest mistake had cost him almost a year of servitude to Jigsaw himself. Until his sentence was up, until mark could be certain both John Kramer and his helper monkey were dead, he would carry out his part in the games with minimal complaint. In the meantime, he could find a steady contentment in watching the slackened, dream-like expression on your face as you fiddled with some shards of broken glass. 

“Careful,” Mark finds himself saying, “It’s not intended to spill your blood.”

You drop the shards back into the glass coffin and wander back to the workbench you’ve commandeered as a desk, “There’s so many traps,” You whine and if it were anyone else Mark would be grinding his teeth together. You flip your notebook onto a fresh page, “Who is this one for again?”

“I try not to make a habit of remembering names.” Mark answers, “Once you name something you get attached.”

You nod, “You’re right.” You pick up your pencil and hover it over the page. “Sadly I don’t have that luxury.” Mark keeps one eye on you as he cleans up his workbench, placing a set of screwdriver heads back in their assigned places. You think for a couple more minutes, your expression growing more pained till you drop the pencil again. “How can I write the tape for someone I know barely anything about?”

“Don’t ask me,” Mark says. “I’ve never been one for words.”

You give him a shrewd look, as if confirming his words. “You have special uses.” You say, jumping off your stool and heading over to a stack of boxes, freshly delivered.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

You send him a small smile, “Brawn, muscle, inside info…” 

“Is that all I am?” Mark can’t help the flicker of irritation he feels, “A meathead?”

“No,” You return to him, catching on you may have offended him. “You…” A couple teeth sink into your lip, “You’re the only one whose behaving.” 

Mark glances towards the open door, connecting the room to the rest of the Nerve Gas House, “Go on.”

You turn cagey, “Ever since Mexico…”

“Ah,” Mark nods, “Say no more.”

“I don’t like what I’ve been hearing.” You admit, “The aim of all this was never revenge.”

“Was it not?” Mark enjoys how your head lifts up to meet his gaze, “Was that not why you got mixed up in all this?”

You fix him with eyes of steel, “Maybe…” You admit, “But not anymore. Seems we’re cut from the same cloth, Detective.”

Mark likes how you say his title, pronouncing every syllable distinctly, “You don’t know me. Not really.”

“Maybe we should work on that?”

Something gives a leap inside Mark. Before he can answer you’re back at the delivery boxes and Amanda is thudding through the door. Her steel toe capped boots echo on the wood, little patches of dust springing up where she steps. She pauses on catching Mark stood in the centre of the room, “Admiring my work?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I thought John made this one?” You pipe up, before Mark can.

“He did.” Mark confirms, “That’s why this one has some refinement.”

“But it was my idea to add the…” Amanda’s points to the walls and then places her hands a couple inches apart. She presses them together slowly, applying pressure. The visual is enough for Mark to look away.

You busy yourself with the boxes again, “There’s nothing but syringes.” You take out one to show the two apprentices.

Mark tosses you a pair of gloves, “Put them on, they probably aren’t clean.”

You make a face and drop the syringe you’re holding, “Great. I’m going to need a check-up after this.”

“Be thankful you’re not the poor bastard diving in there.” Amanda smirks, heading over to inspect the coffin trap. “Is this one done yet?”

“Just needs a couple tests,” Mark says. “Any volunteers?”

“You first.” Amanda holds her arms up as if she’s a presenter, “Get in there, Detective.”

“What about you, babe?” Amanda slinks over to you and throws an arm around your shoulders, “The glass isn’t in yet, it’ll be like taking a good nap.”

“Stop trying to scare her.” Mark’s voice comes out with more bite than he expected. 

Amanda’s eyes flash, “Why you protective all of a sudden, Hoffman?”

Mark would never confess to the bitch before him, but he’s made a mistake and Amanda knows it. “We’re not testing anything without John here.”

Amanda makes a noncommittal noise.

“If John approves it, I’ll test it.” You offer, “I trust him.” Amanda jumps back into performance mode, “Aren’t they precious?”

“If you put this on.” You gingerly remove from another box a very familiar contraption and hold it out for Amanda to see. Mark grins behind Amanda’s back. He can just picture the colour draining from her face. Amanda doesn’t move as you walk past her with the Reverse Bear Trap in hand, “Very funny.” She calls, trying to reclaim some of her bravado.

“I thought so.” You counter, placing the device on the workbench.

Amanda’s scowl only becomes more prominent the longer she stares at her old trap, “Why is that here?” “Inventory.” You supply, “Or so I’m guessing.”

“Something old can always be re-used.” John wheels himself into the room. Wheelchair bound, he surveys the glass coffin standing pride of place in the middle of the room. “Is Laura’s test finished?”

“Almost,” Mark busies himself with checking over the gears situated behind the coffin.

“Laura,” You repeat, scribbling something on your pad. “I couldn’t for the life of me remember.”

John appears amused at your choice of words, “Writer’s block?” You look up as John wheels himself over to you. The Reverse Bear Trap is sat just a few feet away, Mark doesn’t like how close you are to something so barbaric. With you showing John your tape speeches and Mark still preoccupied with the gears, Amanda sulks in the middle. She makes her way over to Mark’s toolbox and grabs a wrench, right in John’s line of sight. Mark thinks it’s pathetic behaviour, how co-dependent she’s become since Mexico. He can see that your worries were justified. She makes her way over to the trap, but Mark has left her with nothing to do.

“There’s one glaring issue I see with this entire game,” You say in a low voice. You glance over to Amanda, “Won’t they all get suspicious if every one of them has a trap but her?”

“What did you say?”

“Amanda,” John cautions as his apprentice as she wheels round on the spot.

“I just worry that something will happen.” You say, closing your notebook and leaning against the workbench. “Are you really betting on all them failing and Daniel just being the last one left alive?”

“He doesn’t have a trap either.” Amanda points out, “I’m not the only one.”

“He isn’t being tested.” John states simply, “That is why you are there, Amanda. To protect him.” He turns back to you, “Nor is Amanda being tested.”

‘I still think we should put something in there.” You hold up your hands, “I think it’s foolish to leave it to chance.”

“Not if you can predict the outcome.”

Mark has heard it all before from John Kramer. He knows your attempts are futile, so he finishes up his work on the coffin and with nothing else to do, makes his way to the door. “I’m done for the night.”

“Thank you, Mark.” John says, “The game begins tomorrow. I presume you’ll be in position?”

“On the monitors.” He nods.

He’s been excused. Mark should go home and rest up for a long day ahead tomorrow. But he can’t quite bring himself to leave. John has resumed helping you with writing out the tape for the trap, but Mark doesn’t like how Amanda won’t leave the two of you alone. Her new behaviour has made him protective. Mark would have liked you to finish up at the same time as him. Perhaps he could offer to drop you home and they could work on getting to know each other.

“You want to put me in that.”

You, John and Mark all turn to Amanda, “What?” You ask.

Amanda nods, “That.” She points to the Reverse Bear Trap, “You want that to be my test. You want me to do it again?”

John glances imperceptibly to Mark. He swallows, so John shares their concern about his favourite apprentice. “Do you know how stupid you sound?” Mark cuts in, taking up what he hopes is a casual position beside you. “Everyone knows you already escaped it. 24/7 news coverage.” You’re still leaning against the workbench as Amanda walks around it, her eyes fixed on you as if you were prey. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” You taunt, “Some poetic justice”, but Amanda doesn’t find it clever. 

She shoves the Reverse Bear Trap toward you, “You don’t deserve to be here.” She hisses. Mark swears he can hear a ticking sound as you brace your arms on the table, “Of all the people to win, it had to be you didn’t it?” “Fair and square.” You return and Mark finds himself wondering for the umpteenth time just what your own game was. Before Amanda, before Mark himself joined Jigsaw, you were tested and won. His eyes fall on the scar on your neck, all that remains of your own brush with death.

“Use your brain,” You counter and your face is far too close to the trap as you glare back at Amanda Young. “You’d have to wake up in it, or someone would have to put you in it. I don’t think either of those are going to work in this game.”

“How about you wake up in it, you bitch?”

Mark’s hands snake around your middle and yank you back just as the trap rips open with a loud bang. The ferocity makes both you and Amanda jump. You would have fallen off your stool if not for Mark’s chest breaking your fall. He can feel the sharp breaths you take as the Reverse Bear Trap cools down and lies dormant once more.

“Amanda, take the trap and put it in my office.” John says. His apprentice turns wide, teary eyes on him, but John’s face is expressionless. “Now.”

She obeys instantly, taking the trap and striding out of the room.

Mark slides you back onto your stool, “Thank you.” You murmur, hand jumping instinctively to your neck.

“Are you alright?” John asks and you nod. Mark can see right through you, he could feel the tremors of your body against his. That was a close call. 

“She’s out of line, John.” Mark says, “I don’t know what the fuck happened over there, but it’s messed with her.”

“Amanda will be fine.” John insists, “She will play her part, so long as she isn’t provoked.” You nod, understanding your own fault but Mark refuses to admit to his own. “Now Detective, I believe we’re finished here. I will see you both tomorrow for the final preparations.”

Mark watches John wheel himself out. The moment he’s gone you rest your forearms on the workbench and place your head on them. You let out a deep sigh. Mark’s never been good at consoling anyone. It’s just not what he does. Not since Angelina…

He spots your fallen notebook and places it beside you, “Need a ride home?” “I don’t think I want to go home.” You say, your voice weak.

“You don’t want to stay here.” Mark says, “You can’t anyway. They all…arrive tomorrow.”

“How can you do that?” You lift up your head, “How can you willingly put people in here knowing they will probably die?” Mark meets your eyes, “I convince myself they deserve to suffer.”

“You don’t lie awake thinking about it?”

“No,” He’s being honest. “I think it’s one less shitty person out there.”

“Then you must think that about me.” You push some hair out of your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not…you know what I did-“

“And you know what I did.” Mark takes you by your forearms, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

Your eyes dart around the room and then land on the glass coffin, “Sometimes.” Mark allows himself time to digest that, it isn’t what he wanted to hear. But your hands come to rest on his own forearms and then you’re pressing your forehead into his chest, “But you make me feel safe. You help me.”

He didn’t expect to earn such close proximity again, this time deliberately. Mark pulls you closer, your hands slide up to rest on his chest and Mark curses his choice to remain in a jacket. Your warmth is tantalising as it seeps into him. Mark tucks you into his large frame and winds his arms back around you.

It feels good to be wanted.

With your face smushed into him, Mark rests his head atop yours. He doesn’t know what else he can do, so he lets his eyes close. “We can look out for each other.” He proposes, “Should something happen.”

“I’d like that.”

[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. 

-

[bosinclairsgff]

What the slashers smell like

Warnings: this is realistic lol

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Amanda Young, Mark Hoffman, RZ Michael Myers, The Grabber, Thomas Hewitt

A/n yes I realize this may be just a bit weird

- He smells like grease, sweat, and a cheap cologne. Of course there’s a hint of iron on him most days buts it’s just faint enough to miss. Bo definitely washes his hair with soap. He also reeks of cigarettes.

- This man is musky I’m sorry. He probably doesn’t shower a lot. His hair is very greasy, all the time. He usually smells like a moldy basement and sweat. With a waxy smell (duh).

- This man smells like blood, sweat, alcohol and a man who hasn’t showered in YEARS. He is stinky sorry girls. He also smells like piss.

- Baby takes better care of herself than Otis does. She smells like alcohol, blood and maybe I cheap perfume she stole from one of her many victims. Something floral.

- She takes regular showers so she’s not stinky. Amanda doesn’t care what shampoo she uses so she probably smells like coconut or vanilla, whatever she found at the store. I say she most likely doesn’t drown herself in perfumes. However there’s slight irony smell about her most days.

- This man smells like a expensive cologne he bought years ago and still hasn’t used it all. Also, he DEFINITELY uses three in one shampoo, conditioner and soap.

- He smells awful. Reeks of death and literal shit. Michael kills humans and animals, he’s stinky guys. He doesn’t know how to take care of his hygiene. His breath is AWFUL to.

- Albert loves being clean and well kept. He showers regularly, brushes his teeth regularly and wears a nice cologne. His cologne smells like old spice.

- Another stinky boy! He does not shower, ever. Maybe he’ll take a bath? I doubt it though. Thomas smells like blood, human shit and pure musk. You know how in cartoons when someone stinks there’s a green cloud? Yeah, that would be him.

[acecroft]

SAW V (2008) dir. David Hackl