sweetsunflowerkisses

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

Impressions- 5/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

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

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

(You're a team.)

Word count: 4050

WARNINGS: CORRUPTION, stockholm syndrome, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Reader is drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

“God, you’re persistent,” you tell Kerry, laying back on your couch and rubbing your temple, “Fine. Yes, I’ll go to therapy and I'll check out the community resources for Jigsaw survivors. Are you happy?”

It's not exactly a lie. You might check out the resources. Kerry's voice crackles across the line in reply: “Good. And if you’re able to remember anything while you’re there-“

Of course. It’s not that she wants you to get help, but rather, she’s hoping that you’ll pick up on some kind of psychic lead from discussing your capture and trauma with a therapist.

A swell of bitterness fills your chest, though you wish it didn't. You’d asked her to come and help you with groceries and chores today, but she’d declined, saying that she was too busy working on the case. Somehow, Mark had been coming around to help more often than she was, and he was balancing his job with being a serial killer.

Kerry’s work has always come first, and her dedication is something you had often admired. The two of you had bonded in university over a shared discomfort at parties and social events. Neither of you had ever quite fit in with the crowd. But even knowing her for as long and as well as you did, it still hurt to know the obsession came before your friendship.

“When are you going to take a break?” You ask, instead of voicing your frustration.

“When I find Eric,” she replies, steadfast. You must make some kind of a critical noise in response, because Kerry adds, “What? Do you believe it’s hopeless? That I should just give up?”

“It’s not that,” you mutter with a sigh, already regretting this line of conversation, but knowing that Kerry won’t give it up until she pulls the truth from you.

“Then what?”

“Just that maybe Matthews shouldn’t have gone and played Cowboy Cop, shooting from the hip.” You finally snap, to Kerry’s stunned silence. “You play stupid games and you win stupid prizes, Ally. If he had just listened to the rules he’d been given-"

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you right now," She says, voice sounding more shocked than angry, "Jigsaw took your eyes, put you through hell, and you’re defending him?” 

“I’m not defending him,” you bite back, wondering if you are, “But Matthews was corrupt. You know that, even I know that. Sometimes, you get what you deserve."

There's a beat of silence over the phone line, and you wonder if you've taken it a step far. It almost surprises you, to hear the words coming from your mouth. A month ago, you wouldn't have believed you would feel this way, but it's true, isn't it?

Matthews had a way out, just like everyone else did. Just like you did. If he hadn't fucked around and found out, he would have been fine.

Your sympathy for the other Jigsaw victims- the other subjects- has become somewhat muted since you became one yourself. Being able to intuit all of their faults in high definition had only dulled it further.

“You think he deserved to be murdered, is that it?" Kerry asks, and if she wasn't angry before, she definitely is now. Thankfully, you know from experience that she tends to anger quickly, and cool off just as fast. "What about you, then? You got tested, too. How the hell can you say it's deserved?”

Because I deserved to be tested, too.

Something about the topic of conversation turning to you causes a vision to spring forward from the recesses of your mind, like it had simply been waiting for the most opportune moment to reveal itself.

You see yourself, standing in what appears to be a shallow pool of water in the middle of a dense forest. It is quiet and still, save for the ripples in the water caused by your movement. You can't hear any animals- the forest is silent.

You look exactly as you remember, save for a few key details- wide, white globes for eyes stare wildly back at you, and you are drenched in the water. You are soaked through and dripping, the water running down your forehead in rivets. On your head, twisted and gnarled, is a crown of some sort. At first, you think it's a crown of branches- fitting for the forest that you've found yourself in- but once you approach and look closer, you realize it's a crown of rusted, jutting metal pieces.

In your hands, you hold out a crumpled piece of paper, one you’ve somehow kept from dissolving in the water. Carefully, you take it from yourself and unfurl it, to see a wrinkled advertisement for a Jigsaw survivor support group.

Interesting. You file that piece of information away for later. Your lips are moving, but you can't hear the words. You lean in, trying to listen. It seems you're repeating something, over and over, mouthing along to an inaudible refrain.

“Hello?” Kerry's voice pulls you out of it.

“I'm sorry,” you reply. Any anger you'd been feeling is gone, shaken out of you, “My head's been all over the place."

"I know," She sighs as well, and you can feel her unspoken apology in return as she continues, "The FBI's getting involved. I've been in contact with one of their agents."

Immediately, you think back to your vision of the two dangerous people- the man and the woman.

"Damn," you remark, before you note, "He's a lot to deal with, isn't he?"

"That's putting it lightly," Kerry huffs, and you can feel her frustration not only at you, but at the FBI agents getting involved before she's been able to find Matthews herself. She feels embarrassed by it, the scrutiny and criticism only mounting the pressure she feels to find an answer, quickly.

"Tell me this," She asks then, weary, "Is everything going to be okay?"

There's a sinking in your stomach, but you lie to her, and say, "I think so."

Your words hand in the air, as if from a hangman's noose.

"Thanks," Kerry replies, and you're not sure if she believes you.

"Hey, Ally?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful out there. Keep your head on a swivel." You feel like you can hear the smile in her voice when she responds to you, though her tone remains grave.

"Always. You too."

---

[11:47AM - Outgoing] Did you know about the FBI getting involved in the Jigsaw case?

[11:48AM - Incoming] no.

[11:48AM - Incoming] fuck.

[11:50AM - Outgoing] That one isn't a vision either, straight from Allison

[11:51AM - Outgoing] But I've seen them, too.

[11:51AM - Outgoing] Two agents I think. They look like trouble.

[11:53AM - Incoming] thanks for the heads up

[11:54AM - Incoming] fbi... what a pain in the ass

[11:55AM - Outgoing] If they start poking around, it could be a lot worse than that

[11:55AM - Outgoing] Be careful

[11:59AM - Incoming] well how about that. you do care.

[11:59AM - Outgoing] Don't let it get to your head

---

The Jigsaw Survivor Support group meeting is held in a church basement. It's the first time you've been in a church for a long time, and the atmosphere feels weighty with the desperate prayers of its inhabitants.

Of course, there isn't an elevator. Down in the cool of the basement, a circle of chairs waits for you, and you get the sense that several men and women already seated when you arrive. Hushed voices quiet to silence as you approach, tapping your cane ahead of you.

"Oh! Hello!" A woman's voice calls out as you approach, nervous but excited. From her tone, you guess that she's an older woman. "You're new! Normally, Dr. Gordon would greet you, but he's actually away this week. He's the one who organized this group."

Doctor Gordon. Why did that name seem to strike a chord of familiarity with you?

You wince as someone takes your arm. You've learned that one major difference about being blind is that strangers are all too willing to touch you, now that they think they're being helpful.

You sure wish that they wouldn't.

The person who grabbed you by the arm leads you further into the room to a chair, "helping" you sit down. They seem a bit offended when you don't thank them, instead setting your cane beside the chair and folding your hands in your lap.

"So? What'd he take from you?" A male voice asks from across the circle, after you've settled into your seat.

"Take a guess," you reply dryly. No one in the room laughs, and you're not sure if it's better or worse that you can't actually see them all, staring and judging you. You clear your throat, and try again. "My ability to see."

"You don't need to talk about it, if you don't want to," the woman placates quickly, a note of admonishment in her tone. "Ned, you can't just ask the new people what was taken them-"

"It's okay," You interrupt, feeling surprisingly calm. Between the woman who had grabbed you, and the man who interrogated you, she had bothered you more than he had, "Not much throws me off, these days."

Reaching out with your senses, you survey the circle. A tangled mess of self-pity and loathing hits you, and you have to keep your lip from curling in a sneer of distaste. These are the survivors? You only get a hit off of one of them that doesn't repulse you- a reluctant, begrudging respect, an acknowledgement that he's made changes in his life that have improved things, since the game that he was in.

Feelings of ownership, control, responsibility- could the Jigsaw games really inspire them? Mostly, it just seemed to have traumatized these people-

These people, who were so miserable and desperate to begin with, their sins writhing inside the marrow of their bones. You have to free the sins, get the them out of the marrow to save them-

Your head throbs. The headaches have lessened considerably since you... refocused your senses, but they hadn't completely disappeared.

Briefly, you itch for a painkiller, but you ignore the craving as best as you can as you listen to each subject in the group introduce themselves.

The only name you fully register is that of the young man who you'd felt the sense of kinship with- Daniel Matthews. Hm. Isn't that ironic?

"I'm still processing everything," you say, after you introduce yourself. "But to be honest... I guess I have been seeing things in a different way."

"I'm sure you've learned to appreciate your life, and be grateful," you can hear the scowl in the man called Ned's voice. You have no idea what his test was, or how he survived, but you can hear the sarcasm in his tone- if someone here is grateful, it isn't him.

You consider the words seriously instead of taking the bait.

Had you?

"I've learned to appreciate the life that I have, rather than the one I used to wish I had," You say. You can feel the attention of the others burning on you, and it makes your skin crawl. Their judgment is like a heavy blanket over the room, and its almost suffocating. But still, the words pour out of you, too honest, too raw.

"I'm the only person who can do what I do, and the only person who can see the world from my perspective. Wishing and hoping for things to be different is pointless- it's pathetic."

No one says anything, so you continue, trying to explain further how you feel. Maybe you hope that you can convince someone here to see their game in a new light. Maybe you just need to say the words have have been stuck in your throat for so long.

"I am who I am. I'm the person I love and the person I hate. Good, bad. It doesn't really matter. I don't care anymore, and I'm so tired of making excuses for being myself."

The room sits in quiet silence, until finally, Daniel Matthews speaks up for the first time in the session.

"But do you know... who that is? Yourself?"

The version of you in your mind's eye- the version from the forest lake with the jagged metal crown- looks at you and grins with teeth.

Your words in response seem to be carried by an incoming chill.

"I think I'm figuring it out."

---

You're not sure what you expected, but a house in the suburbs is not it.

"I'm renovating it, so careful where you step," Mark says, leading you through the front door with a hand on your waist. "Would be a hell of a waste if you died tripping over a brick."

"Hey, you're not allowed to make fun of me for being blind," You reply back, without any real venom. His hand squeezes your waist, playful but dominant.

"Who said anything about you being blind? I was talking about your two left feet." You jab him in the side with your elbow, and he chuckles to himself, pulling you along with him.

It feels altogether domestic- far easier than it has any right to feel. You can imagine a life together, in this home. Taxes and fighting over chores and going on trips. Putting on music as the sun goes down, brewing coffee in the mornings as it rises. You allow yourself the indulgence of it, for just a moment.

The house smells like sawdust and paint, but there's a metallic undercurrent of blood. It's hard to tell if that scent is really there, or if it's just something your mind has picked up on, independent of your objective reality. Mark seems to lead you on forever, around too many corners to count.

There it is again, that sixth sense nagging at you. Something bad happened here. Something bad will happen here. Layers of pain, like the rings in the centre of a tree. You think back to Daniel Matthews, and his nervous, angry energy. So much like his father's, but still so different.

The coffin of glass swallows the target, but he doesn't know what it means. He thinks he is safe inside, but he is wrong. The walls are closing in on him, not his opponent, who is pulled through to the heavens. This isn't how its supposed to happen.

"Is this place a maze? What kind of architect designed this?" You mutter, as Mark stops walking and crouches down beside you. You tap your cane around, noticing a hollow sound ringing from part of the floor.

"Probably John. The layout's a nightmare. But the place is huge. It'll be nice, once its fixed up." Mark responds, and you hear a loud thud. "It's a trap door," he explains.

"Great," You reply, "Always a good sign."

Mark helps you through the trapdoor and down a ladder. Your tentative movements take time, but if he's annoyed by your slow pace, he doesn't complain. Once you're down the ladder, you reach out with your mind's eye, and survey your surroundings.

It is much colder, down here, somehow. Something bothers you about it, like an open sore in the back of the mouth.

"Hey, where are you going?"

You don't realize you're walking away until you hear Mark's voice, calling after you. Something is drawing you in like a beacon. It feels, suddenly, like you're on the cusp of completing something important, something you'd nearly forgotten about.

Drawn through the cold, damp, narrow tunnels, you somehow know instinctively which ways to turn. You don't trip, or run into walls, but keep moving, deeper into the dark. Until finally, you feel yourself stop in front of... something.

Reaching forward, you grasp the bars of a cell.

"Somewhere deep and dark. Low, inside the earth," you echo your words from weeks ago now, and hear a low, guttural groan in response.

Poor Eric Matthews, more animal than man by now.

"Yeah, he's not doing so great," Mark whispers in your ear, having followed after you. You get a brief flash of vision- Mark grabbing Eric by the hair, grown matted and shaggy, and dragging him back as he sobs and claws at the ground. Mark, punching him heavy in the stomach, throwing slop at his feet.

He hated it, at first. Then he grew to relish it.

Pure horror settles in you, uneasy in your stomach.

"Why... keep him?" You ask hollowly, feeling Mark's arm around your waist again, territorial.

"Kramer wants him for the next game," He replies, too quiet for Matthews to hear, "Needs him as an incentive. You know how bad the precinct wants to save him. Hell, it's why you're here in the first place."

"Is someone out there? Help me-" Matthews pleads, his voice broken, "P-please-" Your mouth is dry. You'd been brought in to save this man, and now here he was, begging for help in front of you.

"Huh. So he does remember how to speak," Mark mutters. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort Matthews, to lie badly to him and tell him it will be alright.

But this is what it is. Open wounds, dirty basements, and pain like the refrain of a prayer. The maw of Hell itself. This is what it means, to be a part of this.

To be partners with Detective Mark Hoffman.

You jump in surprise at a sudden, loud clang- Mark has grabbed your cane, and slammed it against the rusted bars of the cell. You hear whimpering, as Eric Matthews seems to retreat. You take a few steps back, away from the cell, closing your eyes as if it will help.

"It gets easier," Mark tells you, "I know, I know. It's alright to be uncertain. Too feel sick about it. I was at first, too."

You swallow, and nod. He presses his lips to your temple, in a gentle gesture, and continues to soothe you with honeyed words.

"Don't worry. No one's going to find out. You and me, we do this together. We help each other. Right?"

You nod again, and he kisses you, on the lips this time. It's almost forceful, as though by the action alone, he can make you forget your conscience.

"Come on," He says, "Lemme show you the bathroom."

---

Although you've never set foot in this room before in your life, you feel as though you're returning back to a place you grew up in. It has an air of nostalgia about it that's almost uncanny, like a place you've dreamt about a million times, but can't quite map the layout of.

Frankly, it's kind of fucking creepy in here.

The smells of decaying bodies doesn't help. It's unmistakable, almost sweet in its rot, and you clasp a hand over your mouth as you grimace.

"You're renovating, but you couldn't take out the bodies?" You ask, fighting the urge to gag.

"Yeah, let me just carry them to my car," Mark snipes back, and you suppose he has a point. "I don't really come down here. But hey, do your thing." You hear the scrape of a chair, and wonder- is he pulling up a seat?

With a deep breath, you calm your nerves, and try to dial in to your extrasensory perception. The first task you'd been given- find Eric Matthews- has been completed. The second- find the secret apprentice- has not. That's your goal, and the reason you came here. You know that this place has the answers you seek. The walls bleed with them.

You sense Mark, somewhere behind you, curious and sharp. But you need to reach something older. Glass crunches under your boots, and you slowly pace the room, stepping carefully as not to trip over anything.

Then, you catch hold of something. Before you can understand what you're doing, you're crouching in front of one of the bodies, taking his bony, brittle face into your hands. The skin is like tissue paper under your touch.

"Oh, Adam," You murmur to him softly, "How unfair. He didn't follow his own rules for you, did he?"

"Are you... talking to the corpse?" Mark asks, an edge of disgust in his voice.

You ignore him. The corpse doesn't speak, of course, but he answers you in his own way.

"He promised," you hear your voice saying, an echo from a thousand miles away, "He promised he'd come back to save him. A Knight in shining armour. But he never did. He dies down here, missing his mother and wondering if he'll ever see her again. He dies over and over again. He exists as a ghost, haunting the third. The fourth? The secret one, the guilty one, the one who got away."

You hold the skull delicately, with a care not to disturb him. Of course, he's just a body. Just a shell. But before that-

You smell cigarette smoke, hear the click of a camera snapping a shot. Despair, fear, loneliness. Despondency, hope. Bitterness, so much resentment. A cell phone ringing, a hacksaw, tearing into flesh, pain, pain-

"Who was tested in here?" You ask Mark, letting go of the body and standing. The room spins around you, seems to pulse in the darkness. You get the impression of patterns, swirling about- the kind you can read and understand, that you can use to tell the future, if you just focus. You wipe your hands on your pants.

"That guy," Mark replies, presumably pointing to Adam, "We strung up another guy in here at one point. And Matthew's game ended up in here, with the kid and Amanda."

"Who was with Adam?" The answer is so close to you. For some reason, you think of the Jigsaw survivor group, and briefly wonder if the secret apprentice is Daniel Matthews. It partially seems to fit, but your intuition suggests that guess is off base.

"A doctor, I think. We planted his pen light. I think he ended up surviving. What the hell was his name...?" As Mark thinks, the answer comes to you, bold, in flashing neon lights.

"Doctor Gordon," you whisper. You ankle aches in confirmation.

"That was it," Mark replies, and then he pauses. "Him?"

"Him."

"You're sure?"

You see a blonde man, pale and sickly looking, crawling away as blood pours from the stump of his leg. It flows like paint spilling from an overturned tub, until the man presses it to a boiling pipe. Flesh melts and blood coagulates. He survives.

He survives. But he is alone. He has no one else but the ghosts, and the King, omnipotent in his wisdom, sees a subject in the making. A knight to stand guard, to protect the most valuable pieces. To save, when he could not save before.

"I'm sure," You reply, and you are. You hear Mark stand up from his seat.

"What now?" He asks, walking back over to you, "Do we...confront him? Ask Kramer about him?"

It's curious, you think, that he's asking for your opinion now. But you shake your head.

"No," You answer. You've never felt so sure of something in your life. The impressions of the patterns spell out hints to you, show a chessboard with its pieces, ready for play.

"No, we sit on this. We'll need him, later. We don't let anyone else know that we know," You say and you hear Mark make a small hum of contemplation.

"We'll need him?" He asks, a note of skepticism in his voice, and you nod.

"I don't know how yet. But I can feel it. Trust me on this?" You ask. He sighs.

"You haven't been wrong yet," He replies, and you smile at him in thanks. The pieces are coming into focus now, starting to settle into place. John Kramer has been lining up these dominoes for half a decade.

And you can sense what's coming. Your sight will be your survival. You catch the sound of a buzz, coming from where Mark stands.

"It's John. He wants to meet with you again, one-on-one," Mark says then, and you hazard a guess that he's looking at his phone. Does John Kramer know how to text?

"When?" You ask back. Your intuition tells you this will be important- that it might be the last time you see Kramer, face to face. He's a tyrant, his dark shadow looming over you and Mark, and you know in your soul that even when he's dead, that isn't going to change.

"Now. You ready?"

You hope that you are. You think of Eric Matthews, rotting in the dark; and Daniel Matthews, living in the day. You think of Adam, resigned to the depths to die alone, and Ned, who survived to scoff at the notion of gratitude.

It makes you sick, and not out of guilt.

--

A/N- A bit plot heavy, but since I actually know where this is going now, I'm actually laying down the building blocks for the end! Thank you for waiting, I'm a bit nervous about this chapter so if you liked it, please leave a review <3

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

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

JIGSAW & THE APPRENTICES + tarot cards (insp)

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

ok but what about Strahm with an s/o who is younger? 👀

oh my god this man would be SO protective!!!

Warnings: bit of smut towards the end, 18+!!

i think Peter would love having a younger s/o, but would also just be stressed all the time

not because of you, but because he's ready to arrest anyone who looks at you a little too long

takes you to a shooting range to teach you to shoot a gun

(and wrapping his arms around you from behind to "fix your form")

always holding your hand or wrapping an arm around your waist in public

he really tries not to be overprotective, but with his profession and the cases he sees, it's very hard for him not to be, especially if you're a femme presenting person

teaches you self-defense

if you're a college student, he always forces you to take study breaks because he knows what being overworked looks like and REFUSES to let you work for too long

pretends to know the music you listen to and the slang terms you use, and then is frantically Googling later (and asks Perez for help)

also you would be best friends with Perez bc i love her and i say so

now on the spicy side 👀

would LOVE if you called him "agent" in bed

idk what it's called, but would have something similar to a corruption kink, but instead of "corrupting" you he just wants to teach you how to make both of you feel good (innocence kink? is that a thing?)

"that's it baby, you're learning so quick. doing so good for me"

i think Peter might be hesitant at first if you told him you had a daddy kink, just because he wouldn't understand why you enjoy it

but the first time he hears you moan "daddy" while you're caged under him, he totally understands

"oh fuck, say it again angel"

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @schrodingersjigsaw

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

I've been thinking about Peter Strahm's s/o being desperate for him, palming at his pants and telling him how much they love and need him. Maybe they suck him off or ride him like there's no tomorrow? x3

this request has been living rent free in my head for the last few days!! the Strahm babes are getting some content!!

Show Me How Much You Missed Me

Pairing: Peter Strahm x reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+!!! Smut!! MDNI. Dirty talk, daddy kink, oral (m! receiving), p in v penetration, creampie, praise kink

Summary: On your day off, all you can do is think about your boyfriend, Peter. When he gets home, you really try and pay attention when he’s telling you about his day, but you have something much different on your mind.

You perked up as soon as you heard the key in the lock. He was home.

You rushed over to Peter as soon as he opened the front door, wrapping your arms around his neck. He chuckled into your hair as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Hi, my angel.” Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname.

You had missed him so much. You had the day off from work and sat around watching your favorite TV show and doing some chores around your shared apartment. You had tried to convince Peter to not go into work this morning, to stay in bed with you and take a day off, he deserved it after all. But you knew his job didn’t work that way.

He held you close, shutting the door with his free hand, before guiding you over to the couch. He sat you both down, letting out a groan as he took his shoes off and undid his tie. You sat beside him, one leg resting across his own and your head lying on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you as he got comfortable, placing a kiss on your forehead.

You excitedly asked him about his day, wanted to hear all about his work.

He sighed. “Boring. Perez and I spent all day sifting through paperwork, trying to find any pattern in the case we’ve been working on. My eyes are fuckin’ killing me.”

You listened intently as he continued, telling you all about how Erikson was on their asses all day, they hardly even had time for coffee breaks.

“You will be happy about this, though,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“And what is that?”

“Perez really likes your friend that you set her up with. Spent all day talking about her. Said they’re going to dinner tomorrow night.”

You sat up excitedly, a smile glued to your face. “See! I told you!”

He laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I didn’t think red heads were her type, but I guess you were right.”

You lightly slapped his shoulder before settling back in, a proud smile still on your face. You listened as he went on, complaining about the mountains of paperwork waiting for him tomorrow.

You tried to pay attention, you really did, but you found yourself a bit distracted. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hair stood up slightly, the neat style he had when he left this morning undone by his hand running through it. You couldn’t help but notice his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows, showing off the veins in his forearms. You couldn’t help but notice the top buttons undone, revealing a little bit of his chest.

“You okay, angel?” he asked, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m okay.”

“You look a little distracted. Something on your mind?” You smirked at the look on his face, completely oblivious to why you were really distracted. His eyebrows furrowed, taking in every part of your expression, making sure you were really okay.

“I mean, maybe I’m a little distracted,” you said softly, resting a hand on his thigh.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asked, starting to get an idea when your hand began to move higher.

“Just missed you a lot today,” you whined, slowly beginning to palm him through his pants.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, running a hand through your hair. “Is that right, baby?”

You nodded against his chest, placing soft kisses along his collar. “Hate when you have to go to work. Want you to stay here with me all day.”

“I know, love,” he said, leaning his back against the couch, savoring your touch and the feeling of your lips grazing his throat. “Wish I could just stay here with you, too. Tell me what you want baby.”

You whined, feeling your face heat up. You began to palm him harder, hoping that would be enough to get what you want.

He gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Be good and use your words, angel.”

“Want you,” you said softly.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you can do better than that. Use that pretty voice and tell me what you want.”

“Wanna suck you off,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

He grinned, running his thumb over your lip. “Then what are you waiting for, baby?”

You quickly sunk to the floor in front of him as he worked on his belt, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself. He pushed your hair from your face as you placed your tongue flat against him, licking a long stripe up his dick.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he let out a deep groan. He watched as you took him down your throat, hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

“God, you look so good like this, angel,” he groaned, gently guiding your head as you gagged on him. “Should’ve stayed home with you today.”

You felt your eyes water slightly as he hit the back of your throat, working what you couldn’t fit with your hand. You moaned around his dick, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. He savored the feeling of your mouth around him, watching your spit coat his cock, your wide eyes staring up at him.

“So good for me, sweetheart. Is this what you’ve been thinking about all day while I’ve been gone?”

“Maybe,” you said with a smile, pulling off him for a moment to catch your breath. You wiped the drool from your bottom lip, a strand of it still connecting you to his dick. You placed small kisses along his stomach as he rubbed your head, your hand still stroking him.

“Get up here, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

You quickly climbed back on the couch, pulling off your sweats and underwear before straddling his lap. He grabbed his dick, lining it up at your entrance, his other hand wrapped around your waist. You began to sink down onto him when he gripped you tighter, halting your movements.

“I wanna hear you tell me what you want first, baby. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about all day. I love hearing your pretty voice tell me what you want.”

You whined, leaning forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck, trying to grind your hips. “Want you inside me…”

“What was that baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

You pulled away, sitting back up on his lap and taking in the smug smile on his face.

“Wanna ride you,” you sighed, the ache between your legs growing unbearable. “Want you inside me.”

“That’s much better, angel,” he said, slowly sinking you down onto his cock. “Show me how much you want it, sweetheart.”

Your mouth fell open as he filled you, stretching you out perfectly. You gripped his shoulders tightly, keeping yourself steady. His hands ran over your body, stopping to squeeze your thighs as you began to bounce. He let out a small moan as you started to move, his eyes locked on where your bodies connected.

You ran your hands under his shirt, needing to feel him, touch him. “Missed you so much, daddy. Thought about you all day.”

He sucked in a breath at the name, gripping your hips. “Fuck, baby, I missed you too. I love when you get so needy for me. So good for me.”

You began to pick up the pace, his praise going straight between your legs. You needed more. More of him, more of the way he made you feel. The sounds of your moans filled the room as he pulled you against him, kissing his way up your neck. You began to grind your hips each time you sunk back down, desperate for more.

“Need some help, angel?” he asked, a smile on his face as he took in the expression on yours.

You nodded frantically, needing to feel him thrust into you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, repositioning you so were on your back, legs spread wide for him. He placed a hand on each of your thighs, pressing them back until your knees were against your chest.

“So good for me, baby,” he groaned as he began to pump into you. “Look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You threw your head back, hands gripping the cushions, crying out at how deep he was. He leaned down, caging you between his arms, and caught your lips in a searing kiss. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails scratching at his back as he groaned into your mouth.

You whined against his lips as you felt the pressure building in your stomach. Your legs began to shake, and he pulled away, just enough to see your face.

“You gonna cum for me, angel? Be good and cum around daddy’s dick, baby.”

He took your face in one of his hands, gripping it just tight enough to force you to look at him as the tension snapped and you reached your high. He smiled, praising you through your orgasm as you shook underneath him.

You felt his thrusts falter a bit and knew he wasn’t far behind you.

“You want me to cum inside you sweetheart?” he asked. You nodded, a moan escaping your throat at the thought. “Yeah, want me to fill you up baby?”

You cried out, begging for him to fill you. His hips pressed against yours as he finished, letting out a deep groan as he reached his high.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against your as you both caught your breath. After a moment, he pulled out of you, sitting back up on the couch and pulling you gently up onto his lap. He pushed your hair out of your face, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

He smiled at you, holding you close to him. “God, I really should’ve stayed home you today, hm?”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @schrodingersjigsaw, @librababe99

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

ive been stuck in the airport for 8 hours and awake for 29 hours so i have deleriously begun thinking of domestic Mark Hoffman on a vacation.

To me he definitley screams airport dad, he’s holding everyones passports and boarding passes, he’s weighing everyones bags , quadruple checking everyone has everything they need and the whole kit and caboodle. but on the flip side the second yall are actually in the plane in the air he becomes normal cocky Mark Hoffman again, whispering in your ear about joining the mile high club and honestly probably doing it lolllll ,, his hand permanently gripping your thigh or having you sleep on his shoulder

anyway thats the end of my delusional rambles about my fav psycho bastard <33

ok this is so fucking funny and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it since this hit my inbox so have some headcanons (might make this into a full goofy fic at some point we'll see)

first off, i hope you get some sleep soon!!

domestic Hoffman has me WEAK

he gets so stressed

"did you pack this?" "did you pack this?" "did you pack this?"

"for FUCKS sake Mark why don't you just pack?"

has to be at the airport like 8 hours early

wears the most outrageous Hawaiian shirts he can find

i have a headcanon that he dresses fairly darker on his days off (probably old band tshirts type of look) but on vacation this man would look like a stereotypical tourist

i'm just imagining you and Mark going on a vacation with all of the other apprentices (and Adam because i said so)

he's considered putting one of those kiddie leases on Adam because he always wanders off

the only person he doesn't yell at for walking too slow is John

he and Amanda are fighting because she tried to bring a knife through the metal detectors and now you're all stopped by security and he's worried you're going to miss your flight (it's four hours away)

the only people he doesn't get annoyed with are you and Lawrence (who he has put in charge of Adam)

"Amanda did you pack sunscreen for John? I don't want to listen to either of you complain if he gets burnt"

"babe i'm gonna kill them, someone is not making it on that plane."

he's internally screaming when Amanda and Adam start playing monkey in the middle with his wallet cause they're bored

"John control your children for fuck's sake"

"Lawrence would you control your boy toy my GOD"

you, John, and Lawrence are just sitting, patiently waiting to board the plane and watching Mark die a little inside

definitely said he would "turn this car around" at least once when you were on your way to the airport

once you're on the plane (and you've made sure he's not sitting next to Amanda or Adam) he's back to normal

absolutely makes a joke about you two joining the mile high club

(and you probably do if we're being honest)

will not stop whispering things in your ear just to entertain himself

Adam makes fun of you later after he saw you both sneaking out of the bathroom

you try and convince him to sleep on the plane ride but he refuses

it starts all over again once the plane lands

"babe someone is not going to make it to the hotel why didn't we just come by ourselves"

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99, @honimello

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

Mark Hoffman cockwarming kink while he's working 👀 ft. Reader squirming on his lap then him slowly giving in

I've gotten quite a few requests for a cockwarming kink with our favorite detective, so I am here to provide!! Might write another fic with this kink at some point, kind of unsure about how this one turned out and I wanna do it justice!

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: 18+!! Porn with no plot. Teasing, cockwarming, p in v penetration.

Summary: You and Mark have secretly been seeing each other for a while now. One day, when you try and tease him, he makes you work for what you really want.

“What the fuck was that?”

You looked up from your papers, smirking as Mark stormed into the workshop. “What was what?”

“You know what you were doing.”

You pretended to think for a minute. “Oh! What, me putting my hand on your leg?”

He shook his head, scoffing at you. “Don’t act like that’s all you did.”

You and Mark had been seeing each other for a little while now. You were both appointed by John to help him with his plans and, when the tension had become too much, you had both given in. However, you had agreed to keep your relationship a secret from John, and by extension, Amanda. You knew he would be upset, probably believing that it would interfere with his work. You wouldn’t put it past John to put the two of you together in a trap if he found out, maybe not with the intention to kill, but with the intention to scare the living hell out of you.

Even with this threat in mind, you couldn’t help but tease Mark whenever he couldn’t do anything about it: around John and Amanda. You had been sitting together at a table, Amanda placing herself on top of a desk, as you all listened to John talk about his next game. You had zoned out after John had given you your instructions, turning his attention to Amanda. With his attention diverted, you decided to play your favorite game: seeing how far you could push Mark. You placed a hand on his leg, slowly inching higher as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He grabbed your wrist in warning before letting you go. After a few moments, you rested your hand back on his thigh, before moving upwards to palm him through his pants. He sucked in a breath before grabbing your wrist again, turning to you and mouthing “be good.” You rested your chin in your hand, trying to cover your smirk.

You had scurried back to your work room in the warehouse after John was done, setting yourself down at a table and trying to make yourself look busy, waiting for Mark to find you.

“Get up,” he said roughly, sitting down at his own work desk.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to. Get up and get your ass over here.”

You slowly got up from your seat, making your way over to him.

“Lucky for you,” he started, hands working on his belt. “John and Amanda left to go to the other warehouse, needed to work on a trap over there.” He unzipped his pants, pulling himself from his clothing. “Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to get what you want right away.”

Your thighs squeezed together at his words.

“Strip,” he said in a low voice.

You quickly got to work pulling off your clothing before moving to straddle his lap. Already soaked from the thought of what he would do to you, you sunk down onto him, mouth falling open. You began to bounce when he grabbed your hips, stopping you. “What did I say, baby?” he asked. “You don’t get what you want right away.” Your brows furrowed, slightly confused. He laughed. “You want to be a bad girl and tease me? You can sit here and keep my cock warm until I’m ready to fuck you.”

You began to protest, wanting nothing more than to feel him thrusting into you, before a hand around your throat cut you off. “You’re going to be good and sit still here while I work, or I won’t fuck you. Understand?”

You nodded, restraining yourself from rolling your hips.

“Good girl.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he got to work on the design in front of him. You held yourself tightly against him, trying not to think about the ache between your legs.

You tried to slowly roll your hips, trying to get any sort of friction. You let out a yelp when his hand came down on your ass.

“What did I tell you?” he asked.

“To sit still,” you whimpered.

“Exactly. So be a good girl and sit still.” You could hear the slight strain in his voice, how he was forcing himself to stay still as well.

He got back to work as you clung to him. The feeling of being full of him, but not feeling him thrusting into you, was almost unbearable. You let out small whines, tears pooling in your eyes, legs shaking slightly with restraint.

A small moan escaped you when he shifted slightly in his chair, your core so sensitive you thought you were going to implode.

“Fuck, baby,” he said softly as he felt your nails dig into his back. You felt his hips move slightly, a small groan leaving his lips. He tightly gripped one of the armrests, trying to keep himself in check. The feeling of you wrapped around him, the small noises you made, the way your legs shook slightly, almost did him in.

He was done for when he heard you whisper a small “please” in his ear. He roughly thrusted up into you, unable to hold himself back any longer. You moaned loudly, quickly beginning to bounce on his lap. He gripped your hips, letting out a groan.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you both from the chair and setting you on the table in front of him before quickly thrusting into you. Your back met the table, legs snaking around his waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised. “Did so good for me.”

You cried out, desperately rolling your hips, meeting his thrusts. He grabbed your thighs, pressing them back against your chest, allowing him to go even deeper. Your head fell back against the desk, loud whimpers leaving your throat.

“Got off easy this time, baby,” he groaned. “Just sounded so fuckin’ pretty trying to restrain yourself.”

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk as you felt your orgasm quickly approaching. His hand found it’s way down to your clit, rubbing rough circles as he gave you permission. Your back arched off the table, pleasure washing over you as you fell over the edge. He gripped your thighs tighter, thrusts growing sloppier, as he emptied himself inside you.

You both stayed there, trying to catch your breaths. He let go of your legs, placing his hands on either side of your head.

“The next time you try that shit,” he said, still slightly breathless, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll make you warm my cock until I finish the whole design.”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

See You in Hell Pt. 2

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Lana Walker (OC)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: canon violence, mentions of death

Summary: Lana comes face to face with Jigsaw and learns what he has in store for her.

Read part 1 here

I watched curiously as two people entered the room.

A young woman, around my age, with cropped hair entered, pushing a wheelchair. The man in the chair looked frail, hair greyed and eyes tired. I glanced at the man next to me and found him watching me. Making sure I wouldn’t try anything.

The woman parked the chair in front of me, the man staring at me intently.

“Leave us,” he said, his voice gravelly.

The man that carried me from the room gave me one last assessing look before heading towards the door. The woman looked worried, her brows furrowing as she glanced at the man in front of me. She hadn’t let go of the handles on the chair. She leaned down, whispering something to him. He raised a hand. “Leave us, Amanda.”

She watched me closely as she reluctantly let go of the chair, moving slowly towards the exit. Once she had closed the door behind her, the man’s attention returned to me.

“I hope Mark was not too rough with you. He tends to get a bit overzealous.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

His eyes bored into me. “How are you feeling, Lana?”

“How am I feeling? How am I feeling? I just escaped a death trap; how do you think I’m feeling?”

“Are you always this abrasive, Lana?”

I let out a laugh. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Oh, I’m being abrasive? Pardon me. Pardon me for being upset that I was kidnapped and put into some sadistic trap.” My hands gripped the arms of the chair, trying to restrain myself from jumping up and taking my chances finding my way out of this place.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “Detective Hoffman is waiting outside that door in case you make a move. And I believe that you will want to hear what I have to say.”

I sat back in the chair, another humorless laugh escaping my throat. I shook my head. “Fine. Let’s hear it then.”

“I know what you’ve done, Lana.”

I fixed my eyes on him, reading his expression. Does he know what I think he does?

“I know you are the one that killed that man.”

My heart stopped. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; I knew that was why I was here. But hearing it, fuck, hearing it from this man, instead of a puppet on a television, was different.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He smiled softly. “You do not have to play dumb, Lana. I know all about you. I know that after your friend was killed, you became obsessed with bringing her killer to justice. You began taking self defense classes every weekend to keep yourself and those you love safe. I know that you have planned a death for everyone involved in her killer going free. You fill your time with drinks and one night stands to take your mind off of your obsession. I know – “

“Shut the fuck up!” My heart was pounding in my ears, my nails sinking into the wood of the chair. I blinked away the tears pooling in my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. I forced myself to meet his eyes again. “Who are you?”

“I am the man called Jigsaw.”

My nails dug into my palms, trying to hide the shaking in my hands. “And those two?” I asked, nodding towards the door.

“You could call them both a kind of apprentice, I suppose. They are learning to continue my work after I am gone from this world.”

“You’re dying?”

He nodded slowly. “Cancer. Frontal lobe.”

Shit. “And what do you want with me?”

“You see, Lana, I find killing distasteful. What I do is a sort of rehabilitation. People are so ungrateful to be alive. I want to change that.”

“And what? You want me to join your little cult?”

He smiled. “You want vengeance, Lana. You want to get those who exist only to hurt others off of the street. And I want the same.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“This coming from the woman that cut the genitalia off of her victim and stuffed it down his throat.”

Anger swelled in my chest. “Why do you think I would want to join you?”

“Well, Lana, you have two options. You can join me, I can teach you a better way, a more tasteful way, of curing people. Or you may recall, I mentioned the man that retrieved you from your trap is a detective. You may recognize the name ‘Detective Mark Hoffman?’”

My eyes widened. “The detective on my case.”

“Precisely. Detective Hoffman has been hunting you since you killed Jason Cooper. So, you can either join me, or the detective can take you in.”

“So, you’re blackmailing me?”

“No, I’m giving you another chance at life.”

I hung my head, screwing my eyes shut. What choice did I have?

“Fine. What do I have to do?”

“You will be tasked with helping Mark set up the games.”

“Set up the games?”

“Finding the players, setting up the traps, making sure all goes smoothly.”

“And what the fuck do you do, then?”

He smiled. “I design the traps. I design the games. And every once in a while, I play along.”

--

I sat frozen in the chair as the woman, Amanda, came back and retrieved the man. The detective sauntered back into the room, assessing both myself and my captor.

Amanda quickly took the man, Jigsaw, from the room and I was left alone with my hunter.

I sat silently, still attempting to process everything I had just learned. I had been so careful. I was so careful not to leave any evidence behind. How did he know it was me? I rested my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. What did I leave behind? And how did Jigsaw find it?

The scraping of a chair on the concrete pulled me from my thoughts. I watched as the detective pulled a chair up, setting it across from me and sitting down.

“You’re really the one that killed Jason Cooper?” he asked after a moment.

I met his eyes, biting my tongue.

He scoffed. “You really think I’m going to turn you in now? You got as much shit on me as I have on you. You’ve seen me here, you know I’m working with Jigsaw.”

I stayed silent.

He shook his head. “Fine. Be that way. But you’re gonna have to talk eventually.” He stood suddenly, towering over me as he placed a hand on each arm of my chair, caging me in. “I’m in charge of you now, got it? John gave me the job of showing you how everything is done. So, you better get used to talking to me, cause I’m not fucking up my work because of you.”

I smiled up at him, the anger in my stomach ready to burst. “What’s the matter, Detective? Mad that you couldn’t hunt me down without the help of your keeper?”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “You still think you’re tough, do you?”

His face was inches from mine. “I sure do, Detective. Tough and smart enough that you couldn’t find me without some old man that has you on a leash.”

He pushed himself off of my chair, pacing around the room. He shook his head. “You’re going to be fun, aren’t you?”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

aight its getting written my lovlies 🤭 i have yet to write a good description but yall can have the title and chapter names 😚

Title : Find Your Faith

1 : New Day, New Job, New Face.

2 : A Blast From The Past

3 : Hey, Maybe He Doesn’t Suck?

4 : Definitely Not A Hufflepuff

5 : Picking A Side. Maybe?

6 : Gay and Dead.

7 : Still Definitely Not A Hufflepuff

8 : Picking A Side. Actually.

Chapter Eight will have two versions but both will have the same title ! :)

saw x really got me considering coming out of my writing hiatus 🙏🏼🙏🏼

im thinking of writing a peter strahm x reader x mark hoffman multi chap fic with two endings ,, it would be set during the events of saw iii - saw v where reader is a jigsaw apprentice but becomes torn between a decision on where their loyalties lie,,, are we rocking with that idea beautiful ppl? 😗😗

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #peter strahm x reader #peter strahm #sunflower speaks

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

TEDDY BEAR HOFFMAN OH MY GOD on lazy Sunday morning’s he just buries himself into your side. His hair is all mused and he has his whole body wrapped around you. He’s needy, he’s sleepy, I want to scream into my pillow at the thought.

AHHH this is so adorable!! teddy bear hoffman has my whole heart!!

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x (gn!) reader

Word count: 550

Warnings: none, this is super fluffy

Summary: A sleepy morning with your boyfriend <3

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking at the morning light peeking in through the blinds. You groaned softly, stretching your limbs. You made to slide out of bed, ready to make your morning coffee, when you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back.

“Where you going?” Mark’s sleepy voice asked.

You chuckled slightly. “Well, I was going to make us some coffee.”

He pulled you closer, your back against his chest. “Not yet.”

It was one of Mark’s few days off, one of the only days he had nothing to do. Except focus on you.

He buried his face in your neck, letting out a small sigh. You gently pulled away, just enough to turn over to face your boyfriend.

His neat hair was tousled, small pieces sticking up. His eyes, still filled with sleep, stared into your own. His arm found it’s way back to your waist, gently rubbing circles on your hip.

“Stay in bed,” he groaned, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You and Mark had been together a couple of years now, and it had taken a while to get him to show this part of himself. When he first began spending the night with you, he would hold you when you asked him to, but he had preferred to stay on his side of the bed, holding you until you fell asleep before moving to his own space.

After your first year together, he became more open, more touchy. He would pull you to him, wrapping an arm around your waist when you were in public, always looking forward to lying down with you at the end of the day.

Once you moved in together, he became the biggest teddy bear you had ever met.

He always had to be touching you, even in small ways. A hand on the small of your back, holding his arm out for you to cling to. But once you were both home for the night, lying together in bed, he had to be pressed up against you. He loved pulling you close, setting your head on his chest, or wrapping his arms around you while you spooned. He loved the feeling of your chest rising and falling as he held you, knowing that you were safe and taken care of.

He placed soft kisses along your collarbone, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Just lay here a little longer.” His arms tightened around you, running his hands across your back.

Your hands found their way to the back of his neck, running your fingers through his rustled hair. He let out a soft sigh. You ran a hand across his shoulders, gently rubbing to ease the tension he held there.

“I’m staying like this all day,” he muttered.

You laughed. “All day?”

He nodded. “I’m not moving.”

“Are you going to let me move?”

He shook his head.

You let out a contented sigh. “Love you, dumbass.”

He placed a kiss on your shoulder. “Love you too, bitch.”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @librababe99, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo

(if y'all want a smutty version, let me know👀)

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

Untitled Pt. 1

hey guys! this is the first part of the OC story i've been working on! not much of Mark in this one, mostly setup for the story, but he is in it! also still working on a title! hope you guys like it <3

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Lana Walker (OC)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: canon violence (Jigsaw trap)

Summary: After exacting some long-awaited revenge, Lana Walker finds herself stuck in a Jigsaw trap. And the creators have taken a special interest in her.

“Hello, Lana. I’d like to play a game.”

Fuck.

My head spun as I opened my eyes. The bare lightbulb above my head illuminated the stone room. Cool metal pressed against my neck, the weight pulling my head down.

“Does revenge make you feel better, Lana? Did killing that man bring your friend back? Or do you just enjoy being cruel?”

I groaned, eyes lifting to meet the screen in front of me.

“You use sex and alcohol to fill the void your friend left, trying to prove to yourself that you have control. I am here to give you your life back, Lana. Around your neck is a device that is rigged with blades. After this tape is finished, you have two minutes to retrieve both keys needed to unlock the device. If you do not retrieve both keys, the device will constrict, slicing your throat.”

My heart beat faster, suddenly aware of the blades inches from my neck.

Jigsaw.

I had heard about him on the news, his fucked-up games meant to rehabilitate.

“One key you already have. You simply need to look inward.”

My hands scanned my body, pulling away quickly when I felt the blood soaking my side. Lifting my shirt, I ran a finger over the fresh stiches. Motherfucker.

“The second key will be slightly harder to get. There is a man, chained down in the corner of the room. I’m sure he looks familiar to you. He is in possession of the second key. And you will need him to unlock the second lock. How far are you willing to go to save yourself, Lana? Are you willing to work with a man whose death you have fantasized about? Live or die, Lana. Make your choice.”

That’s when I saw him. Slumped in the corner, leg chained to the wall. Unconscious. The judge.

The television clicked off. The timer began clicking down. Game on.

My hands roamed over my tools: a knife and a key, left to me for my game. Head clearing, eyes suddenly in focus, I jumped up. He had placed a mirror on the wall. You will need him to unlock the second lock.

I turned, examining the device around my neck. One lock laid on my chest. The other on my back, just out of reach. Goddamn it.

I quickly swooped down, grabbing the knife in one hand and the key in the other, before frantically trying to stuff the key into the first lock. Not a fit.

I took a breath, stalking towards the man in the corner. I slowly approached him, assessing to see if he was really unconscious. I landed a kick on his leg, startling him awake.

“Get the fuck up.”

“Where am I? Who are you?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask. And I’m the person you’re stuck in this sick game with. Now get the fuck up.”

He staggered to his feet, almost tripping over the chain binding him. Suddenly, he winced, grabbing his side. He lifted his shirt, stiffening as he saw the twin to my stiches. He looked at me, fear in his eyes. “What do we have to do?”

I steadied myself. 1:30 left.

I tore a piece of fabric from the bottom of my shirt, stuffing it in my mouth and biting down before lining the knife up with the fresh incision.

“What – what are you doing?” he stuttered, eyes wide and fixed on my exposed skin.

I pressed the knife into the wound, nails digging into my other palm. The sound of stiches snapping filled my ears, white spots filling my vision. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I forced a finger into the open wound, digging for the key. I screamed around my gag, biting down so hard I would’ve bit my tongue off if it weren’t for the piece of my shirt. My finger hit something hard, and I pulled, desperate to stop the pain. I heard metal clang onto the floor, the blood coated key lying at my feet. I crouched, gripping tightly to the key, and fixed it into the first lock.

I heard it pop open, falling to the floor. I spit the fabric out of my mouth my eyes fell onto the man. “Your turn.”

His head was down, eyes fixed on a piece of paper, scanning the words written for him. He looked up at me, his face shifting from afraid to determined. “Give me the key.”

0:59.

“No.”

He began palming around his back, before pulling a blade out of his waistband. “I said give me the key, you bitch.”

“You first,” I said, motioning to his side.

He tossed the paper aside before lunging at me, knife swinging through the air. “What the fuck!”

“It was you. He’ll let me out, he’ll let me out, I just have to do this. Come here!”

I jumped back, narrowly avoiding the tip of his blade. “Just relax, okay! I’ll give you your key if you just drop the knife.”

He was sobbing now, tears rolling down his face. “I can’t, I can’t! I have to do this!”

I grabbed his wrist as he swung at me again, spinning my back to him, and driving an elbow into his throat. He gagged, staggering backwards. I planted a foot on his chest, pushing him to the ground and kicking the knife away from his hand.

0:45. Fuck.

I kneeled over him, raising the knife above my head. “You wanna see how far I’ll fucking go, Jigsaw?” I screamed into the barren room, before plunging the blade into the judge’s side. He yelled, head falling back against the concrete as I dug my hand into his skin.

I pulled key number two out of his blood. The man was quickly fading, there was no way he would be able to unlock the collar.

0:30.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for anything I could use.

Until they landed on his hand. And the bloodied knife I gripped tightly.

I stuffed my second key into his hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around it. I lined the knife up with his wrist, forcing the blade down through skin and bone. I sawed at his appendage, placing all my weight onto the blade. Finally, his hand fell from his arm, the little remaining life in his eyes quickly fading.

I grabbed the hand, blood coating my own, and rushed to the mirror.

0:15.

I reached my arm behind me, quietly praying for the first time in my life that this plan would work, that I would be able to do this. My eyes were fixed on the mirror, turned just enough that I could see my arm straining towards the lock. I could almost feel the blades piercing my neck, severing my head from my body.

My muscles strained as I reached, trying to fit the key clasped in the dead man’s hand into the lock hanging on my back. For a moment, I thought it wouldn’t reach, I thought this would be the room I die in.

0:10.

The key locked into place.

The padlock clanged to the ground and the collar loosened. I tore the thing from my neck, throwing it towards the corner of the room. I watched in horror as the device constricted, blades forming a circle the size of a quarter.

I forced air into my lungs, collapsing to the ground.

That’s when I remembered his note. I crawled over to his body, grabbing the paper.

Hello, Judge Morrison. The woman before you is a killer. If you wish to make it out of this room alive, you must strike first.

Motherfucker.

My vision began to fade, and the thought hit me: what now?

Would someone come get me? Or is this some rigged game, Jigsaw watching me bleed out on the floor after beating his sadistic trial?

Just as I thought my fate was to rot here, a door opened on the far side of the room. A large figure loomed in the doorway, making its way over to me. I gripped the knife, one hand clutching my side.

“You fucking did this to me.” I raised the knife as best I could, determined to get out of this room alive.

“Wrong guy, sweetheart. You wanna meet the one that did this? I suggest you put that knife down.”

“Show me your hands. How do I know you’re not just going to finish me off?”

He raised his gloved hands, letting out a small laugh. “Because that’s not how he works.”

My grip tightened on the knife. “I’ll go with you. But I take the knife with me.”

“I think you’re forgetting you’re not the one in control here.”

My gaze fell to the floor, trying to weigh my options, heading spinning. I sighed, letting the knife fall from my hand.

“Good idea,” he said, before moving towards me. I tried to push myself to my feet until I felt his arm hook around my legs, roughly lifting me onto his shoulder. I tried to stifle a groan, my open side pressing against his jacket.

I screwed my eyes shut, the bright light a stark contrast as he carried me out of the dark room. My head pounded, burying my face in his jacket to keep the light from my eyes.

I heard a door open and suddenly I was thrown onto a table. I forced my eyes open, finding myself in a makeshift hospital room, my body lying on what looked like an operating table. I pressed myself up, sitting up on the table and taking in the figure in front of me.

He had removed his hood and his gloves, shedding his now blood-soaked jacket as well. He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to fix the mess his hood had made. He was tall with broad shoulders. I tried to assess his build, his strength, trying to figure out what part to aim for if I needed to run.

“Get your shirt off.”

“Excuse me?” I swung my legs over the side of the table, trying to plant them on the ground before he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back down.

“If you want that side stitched up, you’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

I hesitated, assessing the man as he gathered a needle and thread from a first aid box.

He looked at me from the corner of his eye, full lips pulling into a smirk. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. This is just part of my job.”

I slowly complied, pulling my ruined shirt over my head, and setting it beside me on the table. “Do I at least get a new shirt? Since you and your ‘boss’ ruined mine.”

“You look like you’re ready to pass out and you’re worried about a new shirt?”

“I asked a question.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, fine. I’ll get you a new shirt.” He made his way over to the table, placing himself next to my legs as he sterilized the needle. He examined the wound, placing a rough hand on the skin of my stomach. He let out a small noise, almost sounding impressed.

“Pretty clean. At least made it easy for me.” Without warning, he stuck the needle in my side, carefully sewing up the incision. I sucked in a breath through my teeth, feeling the sweat dripping down the back of my neck.

“Would you hurry the fuck up? Or do you just like seeing people in pain?”

“Do you want it done right or do you want it done quickly?”

“Both, would be preferable.”

He poked the needle into my side, above the wound, looking at me with a cocky smile. “Oops. Sorry, was trying to hurry it up.”

I wanted to take a fist to his nose, wiping that look off his face. Restraining myself, I grit my teeth until he was finished, wiping a cloth covered in alcohol over the stiches.

“There. Feel better?”

“Yeah, I feel fantastic. What do you think?”

He chuckled, grabbing my shirt off the table, and throwing it in a nearby trashcan before making his way to a duffle bag on the table next to mine. He unzipped the bag, digging around until he pulled out a button-down shirt and throwing it in my direction.

I stuck my arms into the large shirt, pulling it over my chest and buttoning it up.

“Better, your majesty?”

I gave him a stiff smile. “So, what now? I beat your fucking game. Can I go home now?”

“Not yet. Someone wants to meet you.”

“Do I get a choice in that?”

“No, but you get to choose if you’ll be good or if I need to tie you to a chair.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that? You’ve made this whole experience so much better.” I slowly stood, steadying myself as I glared at him.

“Does that mean I need to tie you down?”

“Fuck you.” After a moment of silence, I said, “Fine. Where is he? And if you try and tie me down, I’ll rip your hands off.”

He shook his head. “So angry, aren’t you? Follow me.” He nodded his head to another door at the far side of the room, stalking over to it as I followed behind.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?”

“We’ll see.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

We walked down a long hallway in silence. He pushed open the door at the end, leading me into a large workshop. It was filled with tools, blueprints, hunks of metal. More traps.

He pulled over a chair, motioning for me to sit. I kept my eyes locked on him as I settled into the chair.

My hands gripped the arm rests, weighing my options.

Before I could make a move to run, I heard a door open.

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99, @sweetsunflowerkisses

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

masterlist

Saw

Mark Hoffman x reader

Untested (angst)

I'm Just Glad You're Okay (fluff)

You Belong to Me (smut)

NSFW Alphabet (smut)

Nurse Hoffman (smut)

So Good for Me (smut)

Feel Better (fluff)

Professor Hoffman (smut)

Mark teases the reader with toys (smut)

Peter Strahm x reader

Don't Worry, Darling (fluff)

Headcanons: Peter being a soft dom (smut, fluff)

Headcanons: First time with Peter (smut)

Mark Hoffman x OC

Coming soon!

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

saw x really got me considering coming out of my writing hiatus 🙏🏼🙏🏼

im thinking of writing a peter strahm x reader x mark hoffman multi chap fic with two endings ,, it would be set during the events of saw iii - saw v where reader is a jigsaw apprentice but becomes torn between a decision on where their loyalties lie,,, are we rocking with that idea beautiful ppl? 😗😗

#sunflower speaks #mark hoffman x reader #peter strahm x reader

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

opening your phone during a break at work to look at pictures of your favourite character like it’s World War One and your a soldier in the trenches pulling out a crumpled photo of your lover that’s waiting for you back home

#this is about mark hoffman from saw for me too

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

omg omg loved your NSFW alphabet , pls write something based on T & U !! 🫣😭

i'm so glad you liked the alphabet!! i've gotten a couple requests for this, so i've combined them into this!

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x (f!) reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+!! Smut!! Porn with a little plot. Use of toys, fingering (f! receiving), lots of dirty talk as usual

Summary: After a couple weeks of Mark working long nights, you decide to take matters into your hands. It doesn’t turn out exactly as you were planning.

“You better behave or you’re not going to like what happens when we get home,” you heard, your boyfriend leaning in close.

You smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not doing anything.”

Before he could respond, Rigg made his way over to you, pulling Mark away to say hi to his wife. Mark had brought you to a work event the head of the department had set up at the precinct. You were more than happy to attend with him; he had been so busy at work lately that you had hardly had any time together the past few weeks. You were becoming frustrated after so many nights spent without him by your side. And this was the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

You had purposefully worn the dress you knew was his favorite, knew would get him worked up. He had frozen when he walked into your shared bedroom as you were putting your shoes on.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked, eyes fixed on you.

“Yeah. Why, is that a problem?” You gave him an innocent smile.

“No, no problem.” He cleared his throat. “You just, you look really nice.”

You snapped out of your haze as you heard Eric’s voice calling for you. You smiled at him. You had been to a couple of these events with Mark before, and every time he tensed when Matthews paid a bit too much attention to you.

Perfect.

“Hi, Eric,” you said sweetly.

He let out a low whistle. “You look amazing! Hoffman better watch, one slip up and he’s gonna have some competition.”

You chuckled, taking notice of Mark’s gaze on you from across the room.

You put up with Eric’s flirting for a bit, laughing harder than you normally would have at his lines. You spotted Mark making his way over to you, excusing himself from Rigg and a few other officers, when you lightly laid a hand on Eric’s arm.

You felt his arm wrap around your waist as he gave Eric a stiff smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but we’d better get going, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he asked, shifting his eyes to you. You could tell from his grip on your waist and the look in his eye that it wasn’t a request.

“What? Already? But I’m having such a good time, we haven’t even been here that long.”

He smiled at you. “Yeah, but don’t you have an early shift in the morning?” He began gently pulling you towards the exit, not bothering to say another word to his coworker. He leaned in close, lips against your ear, as you two moved towards the door. “Get in the fucking car. You’re in big trouble.”

--

As soon as you two walked through the front door, he was on you, pinning you against the wall. He lightly drug his lips across your neck. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Flirting with that asshole just to get a rise out of me?” He shook his head. “You should know better than that, sweetheart.”

He placed a hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him. “I want to go in there, get this pretty dress off, and spread yourself out on the bed for me. I’ll be in in a minute.”

���And what if I don’t?”

He chuckled. “You don’t want to play that game, sweetheart.” He pulled away, and you quickly made your way to your room, following his orders.

You stripped and laid down, waiting eagerly for him. This was exactly what you had been hoping for. You had his full attention, and you loved when he got jealous.

A few minutes later, he sauntered through the door, smirked as he saw how well you had listened. “Oh good, you finally decided not to act like a brat.” He made his way over the nightstand, pulling open the bottom drawer and removing the linen ropes he had bought for you both. You watched intently as he pulled your ankles to the foot of the bed, slowly tying one to each bed post. After he was finished, he removed his belt, pining your arms above your head and wrapping your wrists together. He took a moment to admire his work, examining every inch of you, before moving back towards the nightstand.

This time, he pulled open the top drawer, pulling out your vibrator. Your brows furrowed. He knew you had it, hell, he had bought for you for nights when he couldn’t be there to take care of you, but he had never used it on you.

He saw the look on your face and grinned, tilting his head slightly. “What, you thought you’d get what you want by being a brat? No, no, baby. You want to tease me, make me jealous? Now you’ll have to be patient.”

He climbed onto the bed, settling himself between your legs as he pulled his tie from around his neck. He switched the device on, watching you intently as he roughly pressed it against you. A chuckle escaped his throat as he watched your body jolt slightly, surprised at the sudden sensation.

You let out a moan, grinding your hips, trying to get more friction. He pressed harder, making small circles with the toy around your clit. “Is this what you wanted, baby?”

You shook your head. “Want you…” you groaned.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before playing your little game tonight, hmm? Bad girls don’t get everything they want.”

You let out a whine, already feeling yourself approaching the edge. Suddenly, he pulled the vibrator away from you.

“What the hell?” you cried.

A smirk spread across his face. “What did I just say? Bad girls don’t get what they want. You want to cum, sweetheart? You gotta work for it.”

You threw your head back, the ache between your legs growing worse and worse. “That’s not fair!”

“You know what’s not fair?” he asked mockingly, pressing the toy back against you. “What’s not fair is that this toy has gotten to touch you more in the past few weeks then I have. And what’s not fair, sweetheart, is that I was planning on treating you so well tonight when we got home. But no, you had to be a brat.”

You felt tears welling in your eyes, wanting nothing more than for him to fill you up, to reach your high with him buried inside you.

He pressed the button again, the vibrations speeding up against your clit. You pulled against your restraints, trying to squeeze your legs together.

“You wanna cum for me, baby?” he asked.

You frantically nodded your head, letting out a stream of yeses. You ground your hips against the machine, feeling yourself getting closer.

The tears fell down your cheeks as he once again pulled the toy away.

“Goddamn it! You’re such an asshole!”

He chuckled. “And you’re such a tease. If you want to cum for me, you have to earn it.”

After a few moments, he turned the toy up to it’s fastest setting and pressed it against you. You writhed on the sheets, tears streaming down your face, desperately trying to find your orgasm before he could pull it away again.

“Please, I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry for teasing you, please just let me cum!”

“Poor baby,” he mocked. “Now you’re sorry. Tell me what you want. You can do better than that.”

You cried out, begging him not to stop, to touch you. You threw your head back, eyes screwed shut, begging for any sort of relief.

You suddenly felt two fingers press into you, roughly pumping in and out. Your cries grew louder, grinding against his hand, toy still working your clit.

“Go on baby, cum all over my fingers.”

You whimpered, the tension finally snapping, nails digging into your palm as you finally got what you had been aching for.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him. “You’re such a bastard.”

He smiled. “I’d be careful if I were you, sweetheart. I’m not done with you yet.”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @aliengutzstuff, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @kujofam, @du1nyurmum

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

Professor Hoffman

Pairing: (professor!) Mark Hoffman x (f!) reader

Word count: 3.1k (oops)

Warnings: 18+!! this is absolute filth. Daddy kink, choking, oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), dirty talk, p in v penetration, creampie, age gap (everyone is over 18!!), praise/degradation. Mark being a bastard. I’m so sorry

Summary: You weren’t expecting much from your criminology class. But when you see your professor for the first time, you realize the class may be much more interesting than you were expecting.

I went so overboard with this. I do not know where this came from. I apologize for my actions. Also, all of my knowledge comes from Jim Can’t Swim and Explore With Us interrogation analysis videos, so don’t come for me if some of the criminology stuff is wrong!!

You walked into the lecture hall, bag digging into your shoulder after a long day, trying to find a seat. You sighed. Almost every seat was full, people congregating in the back. You set yourself down in the second row from the front, one of the few empty seats.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag, trying to keep yourself awake. This was your last class of the day and all you could think about was getting back to your apartment and having a nice dinner.

You stifled a yawn, eyes unfocused on your screen.

“Welcome, everyone.”

The deep voice jolted you from your haze, drawing your eyes up from your computer, and onto him.

You felt a jolt run through your body as you took him in. Dark hair neatly pushed back, full lips, chest straining at his suit.

“I’m Professor Hoffman. I’ll be your criminology instructor this semester.”

Shit, maybe you weren’t so ready to go home anymore.

--

That was the one class you didn’t find yourself dreading. Your other psychology and criminal justice classes were a bore, lecturers talking monotonously for an hour and twenty minutes as you tried desperately to stay awake. Professor Hoffman’s class was actually interesting, it challenged you, made you think. He didn’t force you all to listen to him talk the entire time, even if you wouldn’t have minded hearing that voice for hours on end. He had been a detective before switching to teaching a few years back, so he played interrogation tapes, having you all watch the body language, the word choice, the facial expressions of the suspect.

And it was nice to have something pretty to look at while he taught.

You were a bit embarrassed by how many times he had caught you staring at him. You had never looked at a professor as anything more than a teacher, a mentor, before now. But during his lecture, you found your mind drifting. What his voice would sound like in your ear, how his hands would feel roaming over you, the noises he would make.

You had had your fair share of adventures in college, going out with your friends and ending up in someone’s bed every once in a while. But none of them had been anything to brag about; frat boys only in it for themselves, guys who had no idea what they were doing, or didn’t know how to make it last.

You needed something more, something satisfying.

“So, tell me, do you think this suspect was guilty or not guilty? And tell me why.”

His voice shook you out of your daydream, bringing you back to your reality. Your eyes scanned over the screen, trying to remember bits and pieces of the interrogation you were supposed to have been watching.

You raised your hand; as much as you hated it, you wanted to impress the man. You wanted to show him that you were smart, that you knew what you were talking about. And that you were paying attention, not just staring at him the entire time.

He nodded towards you, telling you to go ahead. “Not guilty. He got angry when you accused him, which is a very typical response from someone who is being falsely accused. And he didn’t use any hedge words when he was talking, which would be unusual for a guilty person. And there’s no obvious motive.”

Your professor smirked, nodding along as you answered. “Very good. That’s exactly right. Another clue to tell you this was…”

You zoned out, trying to contain yourself at his praise.

--

He scolded himself, his gaze continuously falling onto you throughout every class.

He had left the police department a couple years ago, looking for a job with shorter hours, more time to relax, less frustration.

But now he had a different kind of frustration.

Every class, there you were. Sitting right in front of him, eyes watching him intently as he spoke. He saw the way your face changed every time he walked in the room, your tired face lighting up a bit. He saw the way your gaze lingered on him when you were supposed to be working on an assignment, or watching one of the interviews you were meant to be dissecting.

He noticed your attempts to impress him, always eager to answer his questions. You were always there early, even when others began to slowly fade out, showing up late or not showing up at all.

And, he had to admit, it was working. You were smart, and he could see how interested you were in this topic, even if you seemed to be a bit more interested in him than the class. He knew you’d make a great detective one day; your understanding of others’ minds would be a great asset to the force.

He almost wished he hadn’t left the department. He would give anything to still be in his position when you were first starting out in the field, eager to learn, to impress, to please. He would love for you to train under him, your frustration growing as he teased you, giving you smaller and smaller tasks, making you prove yourself.

He pulled himself away from his thoughts, shuffling his notes together before the start of class.

“Alright everyone, I’ve posted your grades for your last assignment. Some of you did very well, others seem to be a bit distracted in this course.” He purposefully shifted his gaze, meeting your eyes as he spoke this last part.

He suppressed a smirk as he saw your face flush.

“Now, the rational choice theory…”

--

“I really don’t know what I’m doing wrong in that class,” you sighed.

Your friend nodded. “I mean, he is a pretty tough grader. I don’t think I’ve gotten above a C on anything.”

“Yeah, but I feel like my work is good! Some of it he seems to really like, and then others he’s super harsh. But I thought this last paper was really good!”

“Maybe you should go talk to him about it. Maybe he could help you out, tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess. I probably should. I really like this class; I want to do well in it.”

Your friend smirked. “Do you like the class, or do you like the hot professor?”

You lightly slapped their arm. “Shut up, I don’t think he’s hot.”

They laughed. “Of course you do! I see you staring at him all the time! It’s ok: he is pretty hot.”

You felt your face heating up. “Ok, maybe I think he’s kinda hot, but I like the class too!”

“I hear you.”

--

As class ended the next day, you took a breath. You shouldn’t be this nervous to talk to him, he was your professor, of course he would be willing to help you. You lingered in your seat for a few moments, taking longer than usual to stuff your laptop back in your bag. As people filed out of the room, you carefully approached his desk.

“Professor Hoffman?”

He looked up, smiling slightly as he met your eyes. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping that maybe you had time to talk to me about my last paper? I was wondering if you could tell me what I did wrong, or what I could improve next time?”

He regarded you for a moment and you couldn’t help but shift a bit under his gaze.

“Of course. I have another class in a few minutes, but I have time to meet tomorrow, if you’d like.”

You nodded, thanking him as he gave you a time and his office number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He smirked. “See you then. Don’t be late.”

--

“What are you all dressed up for?” your friend asked.

“What? I’m not dressed up. Do I look dressed up?”

“I mean, maybe not dressed up, but you look nice. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They smiled. “Oh! Now I remember. You have your meeting with the hot professor today! That’s why you dressed so cute.”

“I did not!”

“I don’t believe you. You better hurry up, don’t you have to be there in a few minutes?”

You looked at your phone, cursing under your breath. They were right, you only had a couple minutes before your meeting. You sped up your pace, telling your friend you’d see them later as they walked to their class building.

“You better tell me all about it! Don’t do anything inappropriate, young lady!”

You hurried into the brick building that held Professor Hoffman’s office, trying to find the room number he had given you. Your eyes scanned the plaques next to each door, looking for the one engraved with his name. When you finally found it, the door was shut. You knocked softly, waiting patiently until you heard a voice tell you to come in.

You pushed the door open, examining his office as you entered. One wall was lined with bookshelves, filled with books on psychology, criminal justice, and what looked like case files. His desk sat in front of the window, his back to the light streaming in through the glass. He sat, leaned back in his desk chair, shirt slightly unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Take a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. You quickly complied, smoothing your skirt as you sat down.

--

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when you walked into his office, closing the door behind you. He should have punished you right then for testing him like that: all dressed up for him, pretty skirt cutting off just above your knees, shirt lower cut than he had ever seen you wearing in class.

“So,” he started, trying to regain his composure. “You wanted to talk to me about your paper?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” Fuck. “I was wondering if you could tell me what I could have done better with this assignment. I thought I did really well on it, until I got my grade back.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it was very well-written. And you have the concepts down. But your job was to analyze the video, not just repeat what I had said in class. Even if you put it a bit more eloquently than I did.” He smiled. “I almost get the feeling that you’re a bit…distracted in my class.

He watched as you became flustered, a smile still on his lips. “Well, professor, I just – I just have a lot on my mind. Sometimes it wanders, you know?” Your eyes darted around, staring at your hands, your bag on the floor, the surface of his desk.

He nodded. “Wanders to what?”

He couldn’t help the smug look on his face as you struggled to answer. He knew what your mind wandered to, he could see it on your face when you were supposed to be paying attention to his lectures. He saw the blush on your face, the way your pupils were blown. And he knew exactly where your mind was wandering to.

“Well, you know, to other things I have to do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like me?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me. I see the way you stare at me, the look on your face when I catch you. You think I have no idea what you think about when you’re in my class? You think I can’t read you like a book, sweetheart?”

He tilted his head, watching as you took in his words. You looked like a deer in headlights, knowing he had figured out your secret. He saw the way your body stiffened at the pet name, your legs pressing together.

“I’ll tell you what,” he started, against his better judgement. “You really want to improve your grade?”

You nodded. He told himself to stop, to kick you out of his office before he put his career in jeopardy. But, God, the look on your face, so eager to hear what he had to say, pretty face flushed with embarrassment, legs squeezed together so tight he thought you might explode.

“Cmere,” he said in a low voice.

You slowly stood, making your way around his desk to stand in front of him. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he growled. “Where does your mind wander to during my class? I want to hear you tell me.”

“To you,” you said softly.

“Cmon, baby, you can do better than that.” He knew he was being a dick, he saw how flustered you were, how you were trying to work up the courage to answer his question. And he loved it.

“To you – to you…”

“To me fucking you?” he helped.

“Yes.” Your eyes were fixed on your hands.

“Look at me and say it.”

Your eyes met his. “My mind wanders to – to you fucking me.”

“Much better. Now, you really want to improve your grade, sweetheart?”

You nodded and he saw the eagerness in your eyes, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

He smiled, chuckling as you quickly dropped to your knees in front of his chair, hands getting to work on his belt. He watched your eyes widen as you released him from his dress pants and couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled in his chest.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asked, cocky smile spreading across his face. You shook your head. “Then go on.”

He let out a deep groan as you took him into your mouth, placing a hand on the back of your head. He wrapped his hand in your hair, guiding you as his dick hit the back of your throat. “Such a good girl.” He leaned his head back against the chair, savoring the feeling of your head bobbing on his cock.

His looked back down at you, eyes darkening as he saw how eagerly you sucked him off, spit coating your lips, tears welling in your eyes every time you took him down your throat. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little distracted during classes too, picturing you just like this.

He pulled your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. “Get up here, sweetheart,” he said, motioning to his lap.

You shakily got to your feet before straddling his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He reached under your skirt, hands gripping your ass. He watched as you began to grind your clothed core on his dick, admiring the desperate look on your face.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked, hand slowly wrapping around your throat. “So desperate for me. No one been taking care of this pussy?”

You frantically shook your head, grinding down harder.

“Poor little slut. Take them off. I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

You shifted on his lap, pulling your underwear down your legs and tossing them to the side. He slowly ran a finger through your folds, letting out a low hum. “God, baby, this all for me?” Your answer was cut off by him pushing two fingers inside of you, your words turning to a moan. He slowly pumped his fingers, curling them inside you while your ground down on his hand.

“Poor baby, those college boys don’t know how to make you feel good? You’re so fuckin’ desperate.” You quickly shook your head, too lost in the feeling of him working you to form words. You whined when he pulled his fingers out.

He lined himself up at your entrance, the other hand wrapping around your waist, holding you steady. “Go on, baby. Show me how needy you are.”

You slowly slid yourself down onto his cock, mouth falling open as he stretched you out. His head fell back onto his chair, eyes screwing shut, before quickly opening them again, taking in the sight of you full of his dick. He placed his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as you began to bounce. You quickly picked up the pace, grinding yourself down on him, eyes clouded from pleasure.

Your moans filled his ears, eyes roaming your body as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“God, baby, you look so fuckin’ pretty. Such a good little whore for me, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, just for you, Daddy!” you moaned, before quickly catching yourself. He saw your eyes widen, realizing what you had just said.

He wrapped his strong arm around your waist, standing from his chair, still buried deep inside you, before setting you on his desk. He wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing slightly and pushing your back down onto the surface. “Say it again.”

“I’m all yours, Daddy,” you said softly.

“That’s fuckin’ right baby.” He set a fast pace, roughly fucking into you, one hand still around your throat, the other gripping your hip so hard he knew it would probably leave marks.

He let out a groan at the sight of you underneath him, skirt bunched around your waist, mouth hanging open, hands gripping his arms. He watched your back arch off the table, squeezing your eyes shut.

He froze, abruptly stopping his thrusts. “Look at me when you cum on my dick, baby. Fuckin’ look at me or I’ll stop again. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you cried, eyes locked on his.

“Much better.” His fingers found their way to your clit as he continued burying himself in you. “Cum for me baby, show me how much you love my cock.”

Your nails dug into his arm as your legs shook around him, moaning loudly as you reached your high. He felt his own end coming on. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Tell me sweetheart, where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside…” was all you could manage, still overcome with pleasure.

He smiled. “You want me to fill you up, baby?” You nodded, begging him to fill you.

His pace faltered as he came, gripping your hips tightly. He let go of you, placing his hands on his desk, catching his breath. He slowly pulled out of you, pulling his pants back up and tossing you your underwear. You carefully sat up, legs still shaking slightly.

He settled himself back in his chair, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. He smirked at you, sitting on his desk, completely undone.

“I suppose I can raise your grade on that paper,” he started. “But I do think we should have weekly tutoring sessions. You obviously need some more help with this.” He smirked at you. “Does that sound good to you?”

You never agreed to something faster in your life.

--

I really liked writing this, if y’all like it I may give you a part 2👀

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

Mark Hoffman is so She Wants Revenge coded

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

Hi! Maybe something with the reader being worried about Strahm and he gets lovey-dovey when he gets home? ♡

I love this idea, this is so sweet!! This is my first Strahm fic, so hopefully I did our favorite agent justice <3

Don’t Worry, Darling

Pairing: Peter Strahm x reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: literally none, this is pure fluff

Summary: You have been living with your long-time boyfriend, Peter, for a year now. Seeing him come home after his long hours is the best part of your day. Waiting for him to come, however, is your least favorite.

—

Ever since the hunt for Jigsaw began, Peter has been working even longer hours than usual. You were used to him getting home late, normally called to a scene right before he was about to leave or finding a new lead. But with him hunting the most infamous serial killer in America, you felt you had good reason to be worried.

You sat on the couch, trying to suppress your nerves with your favorite show and a blanket wrapped tightly around you, wearing one of Peter’s shirts. You breathed deeply, taking in the smell of the man you loved most in the world, eagerly waiting to hear the sound of his dress shoes outside your front door.

You began to doze off when you heard a key turn in the lock. As soon as you saw him walk in the door, you were on your feet, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

“You’re home,” you breathed into his neck, all of your pent-up nerves washing off of you as you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist.

You felt him smile against your neck, lifting you slightly off the ground, just enough for him to push your bodies fully inside and shut the door tightly behind him. “What do I always tell you, huh? I’ll always come home to you.”

You pulled away just enough to survey his face, just as you always do when he returns to you, assessing how much his day had worn on him. His eyes were tired. His hair, that you had watched him neatly push back this morning before work, was a mess. His tie was gone, long stuffed into his bag, and the sleeves of his dress shirt pushed up to his elbows.

He saw your eyes taking him in and leaned his forehead against yours. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m fine. I promise you.”

You nodded slightly, one hand reaching up to rest on his cheek. Suddenly, your face lit up. “Oh! Are you hungry? I made myself pasta for dinner and I made a serving for you in case you were hungry when you got home.”

He smiled. “Thank you, love, I’m starving.” He pulled away from you, making his way towards the fridge. You quickly made your way in front of him, insisting that he sit and relax, and you would take care of it. He chuckled softly, allowing himself to stop for a moment. He leaned against the counter and watched as you pulled the leftovers you made from the fridge, making your way over to the microwave. He still couldn’t get over how thoughtful you were, how no matter how late he was, or how tired he was, he felt like a new man as soon as he came home and saw you.

He felt like an entirely different person when he came home to you. During the day, he had to be hard. He had to be hard and loud and tough. He had to interrogate, intimidate, negotiate. But when he came home, he knew he could finally relax. He could let the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, allow himself to breathe for the first time all day. Sometimes he wondered how the man that scared suspects was the same man that fell asleep with you in his arms after watching your favorite movie for the hundredth time.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” you laughed, the microwave beeping behind you, timer counting down.

He slowly walked over to you, placing his hands on your hips, and lifting you, gently placing you on the countertop. “Because every day you remind me how fuckin’ lucky I am.”

You felt your face heat up slightly, his words rushing straight to your chest. He ran his hands up and down your arms soothingly. You felt a smile spread across your face. He was home.

The microwave beeped and before you could move to get down, he was pulling the plate out. “Thank you, darling. Now, tell me about your day.”

This was his favorite part of the day, listening to you talk about your work, what you did that day, the annoying thing your coworker did, how you and your friend made time to grab lunch together. You always felt like your days were boring compared to his, but he, without fail, ate up every detail you gave him.

As he finished his food, he set his plate in the sink and placed himself between your legs, resting his hands on your knees. He leaned forward and gently planted a kiss on your lips, finally feeling himself fully relax. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your hand in his hair. He slowly pulled away, bringing one hand up to caress your cheek. “Let’s get ready for bed, hmm?”

You nodded, hopping down off the counter, and grabbing Peter’s hand as you made your way to your room. You made your way into your shared bathroom, going through your nightly routine as Peter took a quick shower. As he dried off, you watched as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing a kiss on your temple.

You finally crawled into bed, feeling his side sink as he got in after you. He pulled you close, lying your head on his chest. You ran your hands over his arms, his chest, taking in the feeling of being curled up next to him, knowing he was safe. His fingers danced over your back as you drifted off, placing another kiss on your forehead.

The last words you both hear every night before falling asleep are soft “I love you’s.”