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bfictioncorner · 4 months

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cherry waves.

mark hoffman x fem reader

summary: compilation of moments in your complicated relationship with hoffman. from your test to your obsession and finally to the beginning of your apprenticeship.

author's note: probably not my best writing tbh (definitely the longest tho), but i really needed to get this one out of my systemmm so i'm happy! this was supposed to be small lol ALL BECAUSE OF A SINGLE SCENE I WANTED TO WRITE but it be like that sometimes.

warnings: canon typical violence, age gap, daddy kink, reader has little siblings, descriptions of blood/gore, self harm, mentions of suicide, vomit, some psychological horror, toxic relationship, smut towards the end (unprotected p in v).

word count: 5.4k

a twitch of bruised fingers is the first sign that you're slipping out of unconsciousness. muscles are sore, neck is stiff, head throbs. locks of hair cascade over each side of your head as you slowly stretch to your best capacity, seeing that your head had slumped forward at some point. eyes squeeze before they snap open to try and take in your surroundings. for just a cruel moment, you genuinely believe that the strange dream you were having was just that: a dream.

a sharp pain stings both your forearms and it doesn't take long for your vision to adjust, a wave of realization soon hitting you. it was all very real, and it is still happening. someone wearing a pig's head did ambush you as you were leaving your apartment, they did stick a needle into your neck to bring you... here. wherever here is. you find yourself stuck in a dirty, dimly lit room, trapped to a metal chair at the ankles by heavy chains with a big lock. on your lap sits a lone, pristine scalpel.

"what the fuck?"

wide-eyed, you swallow thickly, chest rising up and down in a desperate, uncontrolled manner. something catches your attention: four thin lines of light in the shape of a rectangle in one of the walls, which you can only assume is a door.

"help!" you cry. "help!" but your screams are engulfed by whatever sounds are echoing in the outside world, or maybe the walls are soundproof, more likely, and you can't even get the chair to at least move a bit towards the exit, no matter how hard you try. it won't budge.

it only gets worse when you look down and find the source of the stinging in your forearms. someone's sliced them open vertically and sewn it back together exactly on top of the professional stitches you'd gotten the week before, after your attempt. the irony isn't lost on you, of course. your upper limbs are free, untied, but that doesn't seem to be a good thing, or even help much. what kind of sick fuck would do this?! and why? you can't move. you can't just up and leave. helpless, you can't do anything. or so you think.

an old television in front of you suddenly starts playing a tape. you gasp, startled. you didn't even know that thing was over there. a fucking puppet is talking to you through the screen. it knows you, and it wants to play a game. you pay close attention to what it has to say in its distorted voice.

"hello, y/n. last week you tried to commit suicide. you failed, but i don't think this was enough to make you truly cherish your life. there's an explosive in this room set to go off a few minutes from now." you look around desperately. "inside one of your wrists is a key to the lock binding your feet. the other wrist contains a key that opens the door. all you have to do is use the scalpel on your lap to cut them out."

...what? you frown. sure enough, two x-rays are presented as evidence.

"it's simple," the puppet continues. "since you've cut open your wrists so effortlessly before, i'm sure you won't find it hard to do it again this time. you have three minutes. one for each sibling you were willing to leave behind. live or die. make your choice."

then it cuts to a timer. 3:00, 2:59, 2:58...

fuck. you have to move fast. who does this piece of shit think he is, playing god like that?

"i wanted to die, asshole!" you scream, taunting. a wicked laugh escapes through dry lips, completely humorless. "thanks for making that easier for me!"

...2:50, 2:49...

you're still breathing heavily though, scared as hell. this person can't be serious. but are you really willing to take that chance?

"shit," you breathe out, teary eyes scanning the scalpel that sits still upon your thighs. with trembling fingers, you grab it and take another look at the timer.

...2:38, 2:37, 2:36...

you start with your left arm. heart pounding against a chest heavy with fear and regret, you reminisce about how fucking easy it had been a week ago. blade digs into soft skin a third time, ripping fresh stitches one by one as blood spills and your whole body shudders. you'll be lucky to come out of this with only a badly scarred arm after so much cutting in the same spot.

you scream bloody murder while you're at it too, losing the scalpel for a moment when you begin to use your right fingers to widen the gash and explore the inside of your forearm, wet sounds making you want to cover your ears. there, hidden between fat and muscle, is a small key that you grab so vigorously your eyes roll back, sickened.

...1:30, 1:29, 1:28...

you try it on the lock at your feet and it works, releasing your ankles from the cold steely grip. you grin like a mad woman since you're one step closer to freedom. but that's useless if you can't fully get out yet. making a run for the door, you try to cheat and get it to open at all costs, though someone's made sure that won't happen without the rules being followed. and time is running out.

...1:18, 1:17, 1:16...

"fuck!" you spit.

you return to the chair and start working on your other arm. red hot liquid pours down your wrists and pools on your lap, drips down your legs. it's a bit harder this time, with your left arm deeply mutilated, shaking more than it should.

"come on... fuck!" you sob, drooling all over yourself as thick teardrops and jet black mascara run down your flushed face.

you dip your fingers in and spread the tissue for a better view. blood is drawn from your bottom lip as teeth viciously come down on it, your grunts echoing in the darkened room. luckily, the second key is in a better spot to find, just above the layer of fat. you gasp in disbelief and yank it from under your skin, all bloody fingers and sweaty face.

...00:40, 0:39, 0:38...

relief washes over you, but it's brief as your body seems to gain a will of its own; it forces you to fold in half and retch, so you immediately throw up whatever was left in your stomach—mostly water and small bits of food. it comes out of your nose too, burning your airways on the way out.

...00:30...

mustering your last bit of strength, you finally get up from your knees and run towards the exit to unlock the door. bright beams invade the previously dark space where this sick game took place and you step outside only to collapse on the sidewalk as sunlight blinds you. the damage doesn't reach you when the bomb ultimately goes off a few seconds later.

–

next thing you know, you're surrounded by white walls, lying in a surprisingly comfortable bed—although you think even the cold hard ground would feel like a back massage after what you just went through. you quickly realize you're at some sort of hospital, finally awake. alive. not quite well, but alive, and grateful. filled with relief and a will to live that you'd never felt before. you look down at your arms; both are bandaged and taken care of. you sigh, leaning your tired head back.

a hard knock at the door makes you jump, heart racing and breathing becoming erratic. eyes wide, you only manage to relax a little when the tall, large—handsome—man that walks in shows you his badge after closing the door behind him. not a single hint of a smile on his stern face, and his piercing blue eyes aren't exactly what you'd call soft, yet they're somehow able to soothe your nerves for the time being. you guess this is what a lack of father figure will do to a person.

he's serious as you sit up, but helps steady you against the pillows nonetheless. despite his size, his hands are swift and somewhat gentle with you. no ring on his finger either. it's comforting. or maybe you're just too traumatized to know the difference between care and maintenance anymore. he's not here because he cares about you, after all. he's here because he wants something from you.

"thanks," you mutter.

"y/n, i'm detective mark hoffman." this man is all business all of a sudden. "i'm here to ask you some questions about what happened to you."

you shrug.

"i don't know much more than you."

"anything helps," mark says and you comply. he goes on with his questioning, so you tell him exactly what happened—or rather, every little detail you can remember from the kidnapping to the game.

"do you have any idea why jigsaw would want to test you?" he asks after a while.

you're quiet at first. then comes a nod, looking him dead in the eye.

"i took my life for granted," you explain. "i have three little siblings who depend on me, and i underestimated my responsibility."

hoffman tilts his head, eyes never once leaving yours. "that change anything?"

you're not sure what he's trying to get at, but you nod sharply, resisting the urge to look away.

"thank you for your time," he deadpans, already turning to leave.

"detective?" you call out before you can stop yourself. his gaze flickers over your face. "can i say something... off the record?"

mark's hand drops from the door handle and he returns to his previous position standing at your side, leaning over the bed as your voice becomes a whisper. he's like a brick wall, his figure towering over yours, sturdy and cold.

"i kind of wish i could thank him," you admit bashfully.

he pulls away slightly, looks puzzled now. seems like you got to him.

you continue, "i didn't realize just how much i wanted, needed to live until then. i've gained new purpose and i'm never leaving my family ever again. wish i could make more people feel this way." a pause. he's still silent. you're probably being weird, sounding like a total psychopath. "...if that makes sense. i'm sorry, it's probably be the ptsd or whatever."

finally something shifts in him and he cracks the subtlest of smiles, though it might as well be just a smirk. you don't notice the spark in his blue irises or the way his pupils dilate.

"live your life, y/n. take care of your family."

–

days later, you show up at the police station with three kids attached at your hip, ages 6, 9 and 11. after asking around for hoffman and waiting for a couple of minutes, he finally has time to see you.

"wait here a bit, okay?" you tell your siblings to stay put at the reception chairs, but mark waves at them, beckons them over with an unexpected smile. or half of one anyway.

"your siblings?" he inquires, dropping to one knee to greet them.

he doesn't look like the same man who visited you at the hospital; it's like the children's presence somewhat have lifted his spirits.

"yeah."

you introduce them one at a time, stating their ages as well, smiling at how this tower of a man gradually melts with such a small interaction with your siblings, who also seem to like him. when they're done talking about whatever random subject mark came up with, he stands up and gestures to a secretary to watch the little ones. then he turns to you, making you feel impossibly small under his attentive gaze.

"would you like to come into my office?" he offers, already leading you there before you have time to blabber something in response.

"you're good with kids," is the first thing you tell him when you sit across from him at his desk. "do you have any?"

hoffman merely shakes his head no.

"did you need anything, y/n? is everything okay with you all?"

you blink a few times before replying, smile faltering at his sudden lack of warmth and enthusiasm.

"um, no, i, uh…" you stammer. fucking get it together. "it's just… i was told you were the first at the scene. i didn't know. so thank you. for saving me."

he swallows thickly.

"you did that to yourself." that's a strange way of putting it, but you don't quite register it. mark's voice is low, enticing. "how are things?"

it takes you aback how he changes from cold and distant to mildly interested out of nowhere.

"good. got a job, so i'll be able to properly pay rent and put food on the table now."

"and here?" he taps his index finger on his own temple twice.

you sigh, offering a small smile.

"never better."

"are you lying to me or to you?"

"not lying," you assure. "i'm seeing a therapist, you know. physical too, for this bad boy here," you raise your left arm. "i've lost some movement on this hand after what happened. but i'm doing so much better, i promise."

not sure why you're making promises to this man, trying to prove to him that you're a somewhat normal person and have been leading a somewhat normal life after being tested by jigsaw, yet here you are. needing his validation.

you'd even put some effort into your looks today to try and get him to forget just how awful you looked when you first met at the hospital—dark circles, swollen eyes, messy hair. mark notices the improvement, of course he does. you're an attractive little thing, aren't you? but he won't let it show.

"are you any closer?" you question suddenly. he stares. "to catching him."

"i'm not allowed to discuss the details of this case with anyone who's not on the team."

"sorry." you pause, assessing your next words. "well, when you do catch him… can i meet him?"

"so you can thank him?" he squints. little do you know you already have.

you don't answer right away, choosing to shrug instead. hoffman sighs and does something that catches you off guard. he reaches across the table and grabs your hand. no, takes your hand in his, almost gently, almost caringly. almost. his palm is warm and his mere touch sends shivers down your spine.

"you need to let this go."

you don't know yet, but this is his attempt of getting you off a path that he's so desperately trying to come back from, though it gets clearer and clearer everyday that he's past the point of return.

"i can't," you admit. "i don't want to."

"then i suggest you take this to your therapist. i'm afraid i can't help you any longer."

that's not the answer you wanted, but you don't dare move, neither does he.

"detective—"

"think of those kids waiting for their big sister out there!" here mark's voice gets louder and his grip tightens around your healing wrist. "you're all they have! it's not fair, is it?"

outraged and a little scared, you yank your hand away from him and get up.

"thank you for seeing me."

then you're out the door like a goddamn force of nature.

–

mark hoffman does his homework. he knows what you've been up to, knows you're obsessed. and the worst part is there's nothing—nothing healthy at least, nothing sane—that he can do to help you. you've already been tested and he doesn't want to put you through that again, especially since you're objectively not a bad person. even john kramer agrees there's no point in doing that. you've made mistakes, sure, but they've been fixed and you've learned your lesson like possibly no other.

well, perhaps only amanda young can rival your tenacity, and she has an entirely different opinion too: either test you again or get rid of you altogether since you're a liability now. a rigged trap, why not? that ought to satisfy both her desires. no. mark and john know better. the only good solution might be to give you exactly what you want. and if that's too much for you, they better have a plan b.

hoffman finds you wandering the streets on the weirdest part of town at night weeks later, knowing you'd been searching for clues, leading your own personal, useless investigation. you haven't and you won't find shit on your own.

he nearly drives past you, but slows down just in time to keep up with your hurried steps, rolls down the window on the passenger's side to call out your name.

"are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"way past that," you scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "detective, are you following me?"

"don't be ridiculous. i was responding to a call two blocks from here."

you turn to face him, catching onto his bullshit. mark always has this smug, prideful look on his face, but it's off the charts tonight.

"i'm fine."

"this is a dangerous area, y/n," he warns. "get in the car."

"i said i'm fine," you snap and resume walking. it's not hard for him to catch up.

"where are the kids?"

"safe. with a cousin."

you hate what he's trying to suggest. they're all well fed, healthy, taken good care of. they don't hold your past actions against you, not even the older one, and your relationship has never been better.

"well, you're not safe," he states. "just get in the car, i need to talk to you anyway."

this sparks your interest and you squint, finally give in, sliding into the passenger's seat after hoffman gets the door for you. if you weren't so pissed at him still, the proximity would've driven you crazier.

"what are you doing here?" he pretends not to know of your rogue activities while he drives away. you don't answer and he sighs. "alright, angel. straight to business then."

the pet name does it for you.

he offers, "listen, what if i told you i can take you to the person who designed your… game right now?"

"can you?" you raise an eyebrow. that easy, huh? "would you?"

"is that what you want?"

you melt under hoffman's pressing stare. luckily the traffic isn't busy at this hour, or you two would have caused an accident with the way your eyes are locked in one another.

"yes."

"say you're face to face with them. what are you doing then? asking questions like why?"

"i know why."

"you gonna try and fight them?"

"i don't want revenge."

"then what do you want?" mark grows more impatient by the minute. he's getting agitated now. "gonna try to understand him? what do you want?"

him. not them. him.

"i want to let him know i admire his work," comes your eventual confession. he lets out a sigh.

the car is silent for a long moment, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation.

stupidly, you ask, "are you going to arrest me for saying that?"

mark simply shakes his head and shuffles with something in the inside pocket of his coat when he stops at a red light. you turn to face the window, the empty, dimly lit streets, realizing a second too late that the detective is about to inject a needle onto your exposed neck.

and then he gives you exactly what you want. takes you to the workshop, waits for you to wake up and reveals the truth to you once the haze of the sedatives has subsided. hoffman wishes he could skip the whole performance he'd planned, but it's not necessary anyway. you take everything surprisingly well, like a champ, without any need to be told things twice. you're not even bound; he's decided it's best to keep you free to assess your first reaction. you don't disappoint. it's like you belong there with him.

then he gives you a tour, lets you feel at home, carefully watching your every move, gaze flickering over every emotion shown on your pretty little face. curious eyes dart from one new thing to another, scan the numerous shelves and workbenches, traps, projects and blueprints, a plotting board and countless technical instruments. all the while hoffman is walking right behind you like a guard dog. suddenly, you come to an abrupt stop, your back nearly bumping into his abdomen.

"why am i here?" you spin in your heels to face him.

he's dumbfounded, looking at you like you're an idiot.

"you wanted closure."

"is that all this is? closure?" you inquire. "or do i get to be part of it?"

hoffman circles you, leaning forward in a way that makes you wonder if he will kiss you, so now you can't avert your eyes from his rosy, plump lips. then he shoves you out of the way and paces around for a bit, deep in thought.

you try, "i mean, you can't possibly let me out of here alive unless my hands are dirty too, right?"

mark hums, turns to face you again as he crosses his arms behind his back. "i could teach you."

"would you?"

"is that what you want?" before you're able to reply, he goes on, "you had a choice, y/n. still do. i didn't." not entirely true, yet not a lie either.

you can't be sure whether he's talking about this way of life or his dead sister. yeah, you've done your homework too. you've looked into his history during your investigation, finding nothing suspicious but a murder case and a serious coincidence—or perhaps karma at play. the man that took angelina acomb's life lost his own in a jigsaw trap. unable to pin hoffman to this, you thought it was only fair and shrugged it off.

"i did say i wanted more people to feel what i felt. this… newfound will to live."

"you have to think of the other lives depending on you."

"that's all i fuckin' do, hoffman," you say sternly, tired. "i told you, i'm not leaving my family again. this is how i honor them."

"by keeping your vices at bay," he grunts. "under control." you nod in agreement, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "you better, y/n. you better not fail them, or else…"

against better judgment, you take a few daring steps towards mark, blinking from under long lashes at him. what once were doe eyes are starting to look an awful lot like those of a predator. excitement runs through your veins.

"or else what? you gonna put me in one of those again?" you gesture around.

"careful now." his voice is low, grave. "don't forget who's in charge here."

"sir, yes, sir." you smirk and those sharp blue eyes of his fall onto your lips. you're starting to notice he does that a lot.

"why don't you go home?" hoffman words it like a question, but it's a command. he still hasn't moved an inch, neither have you. "i'll pick you up after work tomorrow. you have a lot to learn. let's start with our philosophy, and then maybe i'll teach you some tricks before we get to the fun part. do you know how fuckin' easy it was to sedate you on both occasions? you're an easy prey to men like me."

your stomach flutters at the thought, it takes you a moment to recover, but you're still stuck on: "our philosophy?"

"like i said." it's his turn to smirk. "a lot to learn."

–

thankfully, you're a fast learner. you've been getting smarter, sharper, better with each passing day. you were watched like a hawk during your first month, of course, to make sure you weren't going to rat out.

initially, your relationship with hoffman somehow got worse after everything came to light. he couldn't understand why you'd actively sought this out, still wishes you'd just walked away, believing you played yourself. words like 'bitch' and 'cunt' were a given during your least heated conversations, both of you pushing each other aside, hating whenever the other came around when you just wanted to be alone.

lately though, the detective feels something close to pride every time john compliments your work and creativity. most importantly, it is your genuine will to change lives that impresses kramer. you're all jigsaw's apprentices, but since it's been mark with you for the entire ride, the one to take you under his wing and show you the ropes, he can't help but feel partially responsible for your success. maybe he hasn't given you enough credit. you may not drown in your own vices after all.

amanda, on the other hand, keeps to herself. unprovoked, she tried getting on your nerves constantly for the first few weeks, yet once she realized you were sticking around, the snide remarks stopped. you don't butt heads so much anymore as you did in the beginning. the smartass will never admit, but she admires you some as well. you're officially one of the gang.

your new routine consists of dropping the kids off at school, showing up at a shitty part-time job, clocking out, picking up the kids, having some family time, then greeting the babysitter. rinse and repeat. no one who matters questions about your 'night shifts'. it's not always anyway, and as long as you're putting food on the table and looking out for your siblings, it's all good.

one particular evening, as you finish a prototype for your next game, all alone in the workshop, hoffman arrives. you're glad your relationship isn't as rocky anymore, because you're proud of your current project and need to show it to someone. so you smile excitedly at him, beckoning him over so he can check out the preliminary model of a trap you've been working so hard on for the past days.

"a beauty, isn't it?" you muse after a quick explanation, trying not to go insane and fall off your stool with the position mark's chosen to observe your demo.

i mean, why?! he stands right behind you, strong arms around each side of your body, enclosing you, both his palms on the table. his chin nearly touches your right shoulder, that famous shit-eating smirk presenting itself again. hoffman glances at you, his refreshing breath reaching your cheek when he answers.

"indeed."

to him, the beauty in question is not your prototype. and for the millionth time since you've met this man, you're possessed by a sudden urge to have him, so this time you decide to act on it. no more holding back. you turn slightly to the side and let your lips touch his. it happens fast, giving him barely any time to react, but it's careful too, nothing aggressive. hoffman grabs your upper arms and pulls you away.

"we can't," he tells you, though he doesn't actually leave.

"i want to heal," you whisper.

"y/n, you are healed."

you shake your head as you spin on the stool to look deeply into his eyes, caressing his hair with one hand while the other rests on his neck. he lets you, catching a glimpse of your fresh, bold scars as you move your arms around.

"i have an ache only you can cure."

"i'm twice your age." mark's tone would be the same if he were saying 'don't be ridiculous'.

you chuckle dryly.

"that's where you draw the line, detective?" the way you call him that does it for him, yet he still hesitates until you add in a whiny voice, "please."

this sends him over the edge and he grabs your face between large, rough hands, those full lips landing on yours with force. that's when your whole world comes crashing down; it's even better than all the times you had fantasized in the past months. all your hairs stand on end and a familiar, throbbing sensation arises in your core.

hoffman palms your ass and picks you up with ease, making sure to move you, legs locked tight around his wide waist, to an empty workbench where he plans to bend you over later. in the meantime, all he wants to do is spread sloppy kisses all over your jaw, neck and breasts, experienced hands exploring your thighs and under your tank top. you moan and whine, he groans. soon it comes to the point when that alone won't suffice—for the two of you. you're pulsing, aching for him to fill you.

hard as a rock, mark grabs the edge of the table when you start to unbuckle his belt. he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, a fistful of your hair now in his grip, and inhales your sweet scent before going back to devouring your mouth. you're driving each other mad. right about now, he doesn't regret having enabled you, doesn't care that the worst part of you is him.

"you gonna take it like a good girl?"

"you know i will," you moan, kicking your pants off your legs while hoffman spreads you and pulls your panties aside. "just fuck me, daddy, please."

the mere sight is something out of this world, but the feel is enough to send your head spiraling, scrambling your thoughts and making you unable to form a coherent sentence. it looks like he's also having trouble keeping himself grounded as he pounds into you, your walls closing in around him and making him lose control. he slips out from inside you just so you two can watch as his thickness invades your wet, needy cunt once again, making you gasp and whimper, lustful eyes rolling back.

mark captures your bottom lip between his teeth, draws blood. you carelessly open up his shirt then, clawing at his broad, brawny chest in return to make sure you're both in a world of pain and pleasure, writhing deliciously in the gore of your vices.

"you have no idea how many times i've touched myself thinking of you," you whisper into his ear, biting his lobe afterwards.

hoffman grabs your face firmly, sliding a hand down your neck until he feels your pulse and wraps his fingers around your throat. he quickly forces you to change positions, rough and demanding, your chest hitting the table when he grabs your waist to fuck you from behind. skin slapping on skin, wet sounds fill the otherwise empty workshop, the thought of getting caught by either john or amanda only increasing your pleasure. oh, you two would never hear the end of it.

mark slips out again some time later and a sharp pain stings one of your ass cheeks. between so much kissing and sucking, you know it's that bite he gives you that's gonna leave a mark. this man then starts worshiping the hell out of your ass until he's finally ready to come.

slipping into you one more time, he snakes an arm around your waist, keeps you close to him, massages your breasts. all the while rubbing your wet, soft spot with his free hand, feeling your swollen clit under his precise digits.

"can i come?" you plead, nearly choking on your own words, feeling like you could cry from so much arousal. "please, i'm gonna come."

"do it," hoffman tells you, that grave voice echoing so close to your ear. "come for me, baby girl."

your orgasm hits at the same time as his. loudly. he never once stops or changes what he's doing, not even when he pulls out to give his cock the final pumps needed for his release, showering the small of your back with everything he's been saving just for you, where it pools and drips down your cheeks.

hoffman lays kisses all over your shoulders and finally hands you his tie, of all things, so you can get yourself cleaned up. flustered, you accept it and watch as he's quick to zip his pants and buckle up again. for a second, it feels like nothing happened. you get dressed quietly.

"go back to work," it's the last thing he says before settling down at his own bench.

you obey, returning to your project and glancing over one shoulder to find mark staring at you. then he proceeds to divert his attention, pretends he's in the process of fixing a device for one of his traps, oh, so focused. you can't help but smile softly when you turn to the front again, knowing damn well you've got him.

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