#saw fanfiction

[hhhhoffman]

the cure

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

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

rating: explicit, 18+

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

you can also read this fic on ao3

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

He's late again.

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

You missed him.

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

Craves you, always.

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

So you don't ask. You drop it.

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

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

"You stayed up."

You nod.

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

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

You want him. Badly. 

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

He chuckles into your throat. "So needy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

[campbellstruts]

Yall know anything about the Chinese zodiac orrrrrrr

[helloitsbees]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Saw (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon Characters: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight, Lawrence Gordon Additional Tags: Trans Lawrence Gordon, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Come Eating, slight Breeding Kink Summary:

“Oh god, Adam,” he breathed, opening his eyes in a daze. Adam’s mouth was hot and wet on his throat, kissing just under Lawrence’s ear. “Y-you’re so good…”

Adam let out a small whimper, teeth catching at his skin. “Fuck–”

He felt his lips curve into an indulgent, hazy smile. “Such a good boy for me,” Lawrence murmured, and Adam stopped dead, still buried deep inside him.

A fic based off @turnipoddity‘s latest comic.

[chubmle2]

UH OH UH OH FUCK WERE FUCKED EVERYONE LEIGH FOUND THEM…SCATTER‼️‼️‼️‼️

[sykosomatic]

detective hoffman x apprentice!male reader <3 (nsfw!!!)

cw: reader gets fucked in a saw trap, no plot just porn, reader giving hoffman head, rough sex, no condom/lube for plot purposes (but you should use those things irl!), hoffman spits at reader, reader is submissive, reader bottoms, hoffman cums in reader’s throat and ass, famous saw bathroom makes an appearance(!).

((as voted on in the poll i posted a couple days ago!))

••••••••

your head was throbbing from dehydration, your eyes opening to a harsh blue light. the blue only made it worse, your eyes straining in the fluorescents. you couldn’t remember much about where you’d even been before this… working on a trap, maybe? that’s the last thing you remembered, but something could’ve happened between then and … whatever was happening now. “ugh…” you groaned, trying to move and get up, and finding out that your wrists were strapped down to the chair you were sat in. and your ankles as well..? what the hell was going on?

“hello..? guys, this isn’t funny…!” you groaned out, your own voice making your head throb. your shoulders felt heavy, and you looked down to see that there was in fact a trap around your neck. you recognized it; amanda had been working on this one. was it finished? was she trying it out on you..? “amanda?” you croaked, hooding for an answer. now that your eyes had adjusted, you knew where you were at. that damn bathroom.

you felt hands on your shoulders — well, they parts of your shoulders not carrying the shotgun trap on them — and you jumped a bit, looking for the owner as he walked around to the front of your chair. you frowned thoughtfully, wondering what had spurred him to put you here, looking around for a timer. what had you done to warrant a trap? you minded your own business, helped when needed… and besides, you’d already survived your own trap. a second wasn’t necessary; you still had the scars from the first. “hoffman..?” you mused, watching him take something out of his coat pocket. a tape recorder. your stomach flipped.

before you could object or voice your concerns for being tested again, he set the tape recorder in your lap. he reached in and pressed a button on the side of your collar, presumably turning it on. there wasn’t a timer — amanda had wired it to be set off some other way. hoffman pressed play on the tape player and his own raspy voice played from the tape.

“hello, young apprentice. i want to play a game.”

hoffman shifted forward. you watched him undo his belt and slide his zipper down as his voice over the tape told you what to do.

“i want you to prove yourself to me. you deem yourself worthy of being an apprentice, and yet you’ve done nothing to prove you can handle it. do you have what it takes?”

hoffman’s cock was what you’d expected for his build and height; it was girthy, and probably a bit above average length. he stroked it slowly in front of you, making your face hot.

“you want me to suck you off,” you gathered, from the very obvious information in front of you. his lopsided grin gave you butterflies. you hadn’t thought of him sexually before, not really, and as you looked up at him you wondered why. he had a nice muscular, dad bod build. his face was attractive, and when he did decide to speak his voice was raspy and rugged.

instead of answering, he pulled a little switch box out of his pocket and pressed a button. you heard your collar beep, as if activated. you’d thought it was already activated… evidently he’d tweaked amanda’s design and added a timer.

“you have two minutes,” came his voice from above you; his real voice, making you shudder. what, you had to make him cum in two minutes using just your mouth to prove you deserved to live? was that what your life was worth, a blowjob? little did you know, he had a lot more in store for you than that.

you leaned your head in and met him halfway, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. you figured you obviously didn’t have very long so you had to skip the niceties of a really good blowjob; you had to give him a good, fast, sloppy one.

you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, bobbing your head and trying to fit as much of his girth down your throat as possible. you fought back a gag, clawing your fingernails into the wooden armrests of your chair. his hand found the back of your head, driving his shaft down deeper and making you choke. drool dribbled down your chin, slathering all over his cock as he made you gag on his length. he seemed to like the sound, and hey, if he was gonna help you win, who were you to object?

your drool coated his cock as you gagged, practically streaming down his length and balls. he grunted in pleasure after a moment, shoving your head down even further. the hair at the base of his cock tickled against your nose and chin. he held you there for a moment, his grip tight on the back of your head as he growled lowly, cumming deep into the back of your throat. you sputtered and choked, drooling his cum out of your mouth. you tried to swallow what you could, not knowing whether or not that would get you penalized.

you expected him to disarm the collar once you were through sucking him off but he didn’t. he undid your leg restraints, and you stayed put. why hadn’t he disarmed the collar?

hoffman undid your wrist restraints, grabbing you roughly and turning you around, shoving your knees into the seat of the chair. you grinned in protest but didn’t say anything else just yet. what else was he going to do to you?

hoffman restrained your wrists on the top of the back of the chair, tying your wrists up between the rungs. “i… won.. didn’t i?” you asked. as soon as the words left your mouth you knew better than to have asked them and your face went red as hoffman yanked your pants down, exposing your bare ass to the undeniable chill of the room.

“oh, am i mistaken? have you proven yourself worthy to me?” he spat at you, first in his tone and then actually spitting at the rim of your asshole. he was going to fuck you. why did the thought of that make you so aroused?

“well.. my two minutes was up.. wasn’t it?”

hoffman chuckled, like he knew something you didn’t, and he wasn’t going to tell you.

“did you like my mouth so much you wanted the real thing?” you asked playfully, biting your lip as you awaited his response. he smacked your ass, hard, and you gasped. “fuck!”

“maybe so,” he muttered, chuckling at your reaction. you could feel, but not see, his cock aligning at the entrance of your asshole. it made you clench up in anticipation but you quickly realized that would be a bad idea. you relaxed your body as much as you could as you felt his slobber and cum covered cock sink into your asshole. god, was he so girthy. you moaned deeply, spreading your legs the best you could to give him room. his cock was warm and wet as it slid up into you, making you whine as he sheathed himself all the way in.

he gave no warning as he slid slowly out that he’d slam back into you, and you hadn’t expected one, but it would’ve been nice. you saw stars as he pounded his cock into you, hitting that oh-so-special spot about the third time in. it had you unraveling in seconds, drooling and whining. his hands held tight to your ass, so tight you were sure there would be bruises. and occasionally spanked you to get a good reaction.

“oh, fuck!” you cried out as you came, splattering the chair with your cum. your legs shook as he kept taking you, making your eyes water. he was fucking you so hard you’d started getting lightheaded. you moaned and whined incoherently, your head bobbing with his movements like you were some sort of rag doll. god, it felt so good.

“shit, shit!” you cried out as he milked a second orgasm out of you. how had he done that? your asshole was raw and sore by the time you came from him pounding out that spot. that was three now? your wrists were rubbed raw from the writhing and wriggling he was working out of you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that much.

hoffman was quiet save for the occasional grunt or groan, right up until the end where he started almost growling. you could feel him being impossibly rougher as he got to his orgasm; he was clawing at your sides, back, and ass. as he came, he held your ass cheeks flush against his hips, keeping you there as he unloaded himself into you. he filled you up, making you moan out at the sensation. “fuck…” you breathed out as he finished.

hoffman pulled his cock out of your ass, slow and deliberate as he watched his cum spill out of you and down your thighs. he smacked your ass one last time, pressing the button to disarm the collar — finally — making relief course through you. he undid your restraints, unexpectedly, and wordlessly walked away. “i had fun too..!” you called to him as he walked off, leaving you there covered in his cum.

[adamstanheightsleftshoulder]

go on, roll your eyes || adam stanheight

SMUT!!!!! (minors dni tq)

x afab!gn!reader | 2306 words

this is my first time um ever writing smut for public consumption so i would love to start off by saying i do not know what i am doing! eye yam raw dogging this <3

id also love 2 say ily 4ever hot girls love saw discord server for literally inspiring this whole thing,, enjoy spotting things we said in chat :3

Adam’s main goal is to make your eyes look directly into the back of your own head - conveniently, this is one of the things he does best. He barely has to try.

Doesn’t stop him from always giving it his all, though.

And he loves it. Loves it. 

Loves the way you lose yourself, the way your head falls back and you say his name like it’s the only part of reality your brain has held onto.

It happens when you’re at the mall - and God only knows why you’re even there, neither of you particularly like the mall - as he watches you in the afternoon sun from the skylight above. Watches you like you’re his world.

For all intents and purposes, it’s been a perfectly normal and sweet afternoon. 

“I’m just saying this mall wouldn’t have the reputation it does if anybody cleaned up after themselves,” You say, leaning on the food court table, “I mean look at that guy- five bucks says he gets up and leaves everything right where it is,”

“I’m not taking that bet, we both know you’re right,” Adam laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, gentle smile on his face. 

You watch as the aforementioned guy stands up from where he was eating, wipes his hands on his pants, and abandons everything on his table - six steps away from a bin.

Time seems to slow down for Adam as you roll your eyes at the sight. His eyes glaze over - you, tangled in the sheets, twitching, on cloud 9. He feels like he’s there now, buried deep in you, filling you up, his teeth sinking into your collarbone and your nails in his back. 

His smile drops, his heart flutters, and… oh, there goes a rush of blood. How strange, such an innocuous motion can cause Adam to just about see stars.

“What’s up with you?” You ask, confused smile on your face. He doesn’t budge. He’s white knuckled, gripping the table. “Seriously, Adam, what’s going-“

But you recognise that look in his eyes. You know the way his breath stutters. 

Adam is falling apart. There is a tent growing under that table.

Suddenly a warm, trembling hand is on your wrist and you’re being dragged away from the table, leaving everything behind (and becoming the same as the person you were just mocking).

Before you really even register you’ve left the food court and entered somewhere else, your back is against a cool tiled wall and he’s pressed against you like he’s trying to crush you.

“God, you get me so worked up, you don’t even have to try,” His voice is a low rumble, halfway between a growl and a desperate plea.

“You can’t be serious,” You whisper into his ear as he kisses down your neck, “From one little eye roll?”

Suddenly his hand is on your face, gentle but firm, holding you in place so you have to maintain eye contact.

He can read it in your eyes, you’re no good at hiding it, not from him. He’s got you wrapped around his finger by now. You want him BAD.

He smirks, drinking in the sight of you like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

“If that’s all you think you did, then go on,” He challenges, and as he presses himself somehow even closer to you you can feel just how rock hard he is, “Roll your eyes,”

“Make me,” You bite back, and Adam just grins.

“Oh, I intend to,”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. He kisses you feverishly, like he’s on death row. His left hand stays on your face and his right drifts to your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh so hard he can feel the bone under his thumb. He presses one knee in the space between your legs.

You whimper into his mouth and he groans. He knows exactly what this mix of pain and pleasure does to you. He knows that he’s ripping you into ruin.

Adam then drops to his knees, like this bathroom stall is Church and you are holy. 

His eyes are wide and pleading, he looks almost hungry, like he’s been in the desert for a thousand years and you are a blessed mirage.

He looks at you like he’s going to eat you whole. In a way he is.

Adam raises his eyebrows for a second, just a twitch, as if to ask if you’re sure you want him doing this. You nod with vigour. How could you not want this? Adam and his perfect lips…

Your head falls back as he unzips your jeans, yanks them down with the gusto of someone who’s been waiting to unwrap their present for years. 

Your hand finds his hair. He lets a pathetic little groan fall from his lips in response - it gets louder when your nails graze his scalp. 

“God, look at you. Fucking barely holding it together,” He quips, kissing up your thighs, “Eager little whore,”

You try to speak, try to banter back; tell him he’s being mean. He swings one of your legs over his shoulder before you can, and he takes the words out of your mouth as he teases his fingers under the very edge of your underwear. He laughs low in his throat as your hips roll against nothing. He wants you so bad he could tear you to shreds about it. 

“Use your words,” He breathes, “C’mon, baby. You’re not that far gone yet, talk to me,”

“Please,” Whispered like a prayer, “Please, God, Adam- Please,”

“Good enough,” 

He tucks your underwear out of the way with one hand, his breath makes you quiver just a little as it hits your sensitive skin. 

“Needy slut,” 

One hand firmly gripping your thigh and the other allowing him access, Adam kisses along the very very sensitive inside of your thigh, until he reaches right beside the dripping wet, wanton hole that belonged, truly, to him. 

Oh, yes. Adam wants you to see stars. Adam wants you to walk out of here on legs made of jelly. Adam wants to make those eyes roll.

He presses his tongue flat against that bundle of nerves he knows how to find so well, and you cry out in a strangled voice - “Adam!”. He flicks his tongue and you twitch. 

Adam has never been this hard in his LIFE. His jeans are suddenly a prison. But he has to take care of you first, he has to make the risk of a public bathroom worth it. 

“God you taste perfect, baby,” He whispers, and then his tongue is right back where it was a second ago. 

There’s little gentleness involved. It’s like he’s trying to find a way to say he loves you, but the only way he can is through devouring. 

His tongue is harsh in its flicking, in how he focuses hard on your already sensitive clit, the way his nose gets pressed against you makes you worry he might hurt himself - but there’s no sign of him stopping. If anything he’s getting worse. 

Every noise you make eggs him on. Tentatively at first, he presses one long finger inside of you. When your back arches off the tile, you feel the way he moans, before he pulls the first one out only to add a second finger.

He’s like clockwork. You manage to find the will to look down again, to find he’s closed his eyes, focussed. 

He curls a finger inside of you, and you’re ashamed to admit how close you are to coming undone already. You don’t have to admit it though, Adam knows. He can feel you clenching around him, and if he had the brains right now to do it he might just laugh at how desperate you are. 

His fingers pound now, setting a pace that is quick and even but rough. Adam needs you. Adam could cum in his jeans right now from the way you squirm on his fingers alone. 

You rock back and forth against his face and he just about loses his mind. HIS eyes are in danger of rolling back. He eats you out like a man starved, like he’s begging for more despite being the one in control. 

It takes you over before you realise you’ve reached that point - no warning, and you’re jerking back and forth, a twitching mess, fingernails in his scalp - and you cum. It washes over you, and you have to grab Adam’s shoulder for stability. 

If he didn’t know any better, if he didn’t know what you always wanted (more), he’d stop here. Thank God Adam knows better. 

He retracts his fingers and watches as you clench on instinct around nothing. He wipes his mouth a little, but not enough to wipe the taste away. The taste he savours, the taste he craved and craves more often than he should ever admit. 

A wreck. He’s making a wreck of you. 

He stands, letting your leg fall back to where it can try to support you. 

You practically fall into his firm chest, and he chuckles down at you. 

“Good, hm?” He asks, as if he’s not sure, “You terrible thing,” 

You can only hum in response, half sex-drunk, clinging onto him for dear life. 

“Can’t get enough, can you?” 

He’s teasing you? This is his fault! That asshole-

You whimper again, and he comes undone. 

“Fine,” He concedes, making quick work of his own jeans, “Ready?”

You in fact started to nod before he’d even finished saying ‘ready. 

And then, bliss - you feel him start to line his thick cock up with your entrance, the very tip of the head poking just inside. 

You feel like you could gush just at that contact. 

He kisses you quickly as he presses himself in, catching the cry of pleasure and surprise that you let out between his lips. He groans, deep in his throat - a deeply, deeply satisfied sound. Adam’s been waiting so patiently. 

“Taking me so well,” his whisper fans across your face and you lose any contact with the world of words. 

Adam doesn’t wait any longer because he CAN’T. He pulls himself almost all the way out, only to slam himself back in again a second later. 

Adam fucks you like he hates your guts. Like he detests everything about you so much he has to rearrange your insides into something he can stand. 

“A-Adam,” You choke out, and if it weren’t for the hand he’s just begun to rest on your cheek, you’d forget that he loves you. The harsh feeling of his teeth in your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder… you’d be forgiven for forgetting that he’s capable of being gentle. You roll in time with the violent pace he’s set, your hips slapping together so hard you know it’ll bruise. 

“G…God,” He breathes against your now bruised neck, “You’re so good,” 

Your core tightens and you know the second orgasm is coming, quickly. You cry against him, fingers digging into his back. 

“Go on,”

It’s like it was a taught command. He tells you, you cum. 

He’s nowhere near done yet. He’s got too much in mind. He can’t stop until you’re all but faded away from that pretty little head of yours. Until you forget your own name, but remember his. 

His pace never lets up, never even pauses. You’re making sounds that are obscene, bordering on pornographic, and if Adam wasn’t so determined he’d bust right here and now.  

Your head is pressed against the tile again, crying out like an animal in heat, when his hand covers your mouth and he stops moving completely. 

A whine comes from you, unwillingly. You’d be embarrassed of the sound if you could be right now. 

“Sh, sh sh. Someone’s going past,” He whispers, pressing his sweaty forehead to your own, “Wait, baby. Don’t want to get caught, do you?”

You shake your head but your body betrays you. Adam watches, jaw dropping a little at just how fucking perfect you are as you squirm around him. He’s still fully inside, fully sheathed. He’s hitting every place in there and he’s STOCK STILL. It feels cruel, crueller when you realise how much he’s enjoying watching you suffer in the stillness. 

You whimper against his hand, and he only presses it to your face further. 

“Stay quiet,” 

There’s a threatening edge to his voice and it doesn’t take long to realise why. The thumb of the hand that’s not desperately silencing you reaches down and plays with your clit - you could explode at this point. He barely has to do much, you’re squirming so hard and he’s so close to letting go inside of you-

It seems he decides the threat to your privacy is gone, and your torture is over, as he kicks back into action like a machine again. 

He loses himself, now, it’s his turn. The most desperate sounds you’ve heard him make echo on the bathroom walls.

“God- Fuck, fuck- baby, I- Can I- Please, please, can I- I need to, I-“ He stutters against you, getting a little sloppy but no less violent in his thrusts, “Let me fill you,”

You keen and he takes it as a green light, painting your insides white with his orgasm, and your third of the day comes crashing over you as he grunts your name.

Everything gets tensed for a moment - his fingers in the skin of your face and your hip, his jaw. His head falls to your shoulder for a second. He catches his breath, slow final thrusts pushing his own spend in and back out of you. 

He looks at you now, assessing the job he did. 

“You beautiful thing,” He pants, swallowing harshly, “There they go. Those fuckin’ eyes,”

[visceravalentines]

a goddamn break

that's right boys it's a saw fic from me, the clown

2.5k words. neat n tidy little character study of my favorite guys in loathe with each other. no content warnings. not explicitly coffinshipping but anything's coffinshipping if you glare at it long enough. I fucked with the timeline of saw iv to make this make sense but literally time isn't real especially in these movies. hope you like it!!

Peter Strahm tells his doctor he doesn’t smoke, and if he were hooked up to a polygraph, it would read as true.

That’s because he knows how to lie in a way that makes the words fact, at least in that moment and the one that comes after. It’s because he quit in college, cold turkey, the day after he got his diploma, and the doc doesn’t ask if he used to smoke.

It’s also because the battered pack of Camels he keeps in the pocket of his suit jacket doesn’t count. That’s for emergencies only.

Today constitutes an emergency. The last two weeks have been a goddamn emergency. Every waking moment since he set foot in the Metropolitan Police Department has been nothing but dead ends and incompetence. Today is one of a long string of days he’d rather fast-forward through to get to the good part, the part where he wins.

He’s never had a liaison turn casualty before. Detective Kerry had a good head on her shoulders, knew which way was up. She’d reached out to the FBI for help on the Jigsaw case, not the other way around. That was the mark of a good cop. One who knew when they were out of their element.

Strahm isn’t ready to admit he’s out of his element. Not yet. Because he isn’t.

He just needs a smoke.

His jacket is slumped over the back of his garbage office chair in the shitty little temporary office he shares with Perez. She clocks him rifling through the pockets, raises a sympathetic eyebrow.

“Don’t,” he warns before she can open her mouth.

She puts her hands up like she’s negotiating with a terrorist. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” she concedes.

“Understatement.” Strahm shoves a sigh out through his nose. “I wanna talk to Jill Tuck again.”

“I know you do.”

Her tone borders on consolation. Strahm shoots her a look. “She’s the key, Perez.”

“She’s a big shiny window and you’re a bird flying at top speed,” she replies. “There are other avenues.”

Strahm shakes his head, taps the pack of Camels against his palm. “I wanna talk to her again.”

Perez rolls her eyes, mutters a curse, and he feels a surge of pride. He's rubbing off on her. “I’ll bring her in.”

“Has forensics pulled their heads out of their collective asses yet, or is that too much to ask for in this shithole precinct?”

Perez smiles beatifically. “I’d rather not answer that.”

Strahm makes a sound like a shoe in a dryer. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Take fifteen.”

He grumbles something unintelligible even to himself and stalks out.

There’s a door to the alleyway near the men’s room. Strahm knows this because the two aren’t clearly labeled and he’s gone through the wrong one twice. As he turns down the hall he sees that someone has propped open the external door with a rock to keep it from locking behind them, probably some other idiot chipping away at their respiratory health.

He almost reconsiders, almost turns around to find his way to the front of the building. But that’s stupid. He can stomach five minutes five feet away from another person.

Strahm pushes his way through the door, descends the stairs to his left, rounds the banister to the right, and stops cold.

Hoffman turns that dead-eyed stare on him, blows a lungful of smoke through those Hollywood housewife lips. “Agent Strahm,” he says in a monotone that conveys the most mild surprise conceivable.

Strahm considers walking back in the building for five whole seconds. He has no qualms with casual incivility. But he sees Hoffman doing the same math, catches the twitch of a smirk that may as well be a gauntlet thrown at his feet.

Peter Strahm is many things, but never a coward.

He slouches over begrudgingly, finds a section of wall, gives Hoffman a noncommittal grimace and dares to hope, just for a moment. It would be possible for this interaction to pass in silence, incredibly possible. Painless, even.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Hoffman remarks, and Strahm grinds his teeth.

“I don’t.” He digs in his pocket for his ancient Bic lighter. He picked it up at a gas station in St. Louis years ago, never saw the need for an upgrade. Bic makes quality products.

Hoffman takes a drag, watches him pull a cigarette from the pack. “My mistake,” he says in the back of his throat. Smoke wafts loose from his mouth.

Strahm strikes the lighter once, twice, thrice. It sparks, but no flame except a flash of white-hot irritation.

He pictures Perez telling him to picture a beach.

He strikes it six more times even though he knows it’s not going to work, tries to count to ten in his head and fizzles out around four, remembers now the last time he lit up in Baltimore and thought to himself I better fill ‘er up.

He did not, of course, do that. Unfortunately.

Strahm straightens his head and looks hard at the brick wall across the alley and waits for it. He can feel Hoffman savoring the moment, knows exactly the sanctimonious look that’s plastered on the detective’s smug fucking face.

If he makes him ask for it, on his sainted mother’s grave, Strahm will shoot him.

Hoffman exhales serenely. “Need a light?”

Somehow that is worse.

Strahm keeps the cigarette pressed between his lips and his eyes straight ahead and holds out his hand to the right. He’ll be goddamned if he lets Hoffman light it for him. He feels the brush of the detective’s fingers on his palm and the familiar weight of a Zippo, uncomfortably warm from Hoffman's pocket.

When he flips it open he sees an engraving, worn down by what appears to be the frequent back-and-forth rub of a thumb across the letters. Saint Mark. He doesn't want to know.

Strahm lights up and hands the Zippo back to Hoffman like it might carry some disease. He fills his lungs with a bittersweet buzz and lets his head drop back, blows smoke to the sky. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Anything to help the FBI,” Hoffman replies, and Strahm really can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to be more punchable than he already is.

He inhales again and holds it as long as he can. Enough time has passed since the last time he smoked that it goes right to his head, makes his brain hum behind his eyes. He feels better immediately. The smell always whisks him back to his undergrad days, to the stairwell outside the campus library where he used to take study breaks. Cold night, dark clouds, sodium street lamps. A certainty about himself and the future. A support structure. Simpler times.

“Made any progress with Jill Tuck?”

His pleasant memory gets shredded like paper through Hoffman's weird little teeth and he’s back in an alleyway that reeks of trash and vice, stomach acid creeping up his esophagus. Strahm taps his finger, watches flecks of ash spiral down and disappear near his shoe. “What do you think?”

Hoffman takes a thoughtful drag like he’s never heard of a rhetorical question. “She's a deeply troubled woman.”

“Great insight,” Strahm snaps, “really valuable stuff there, detective. Why am I even here?”

“I just figured with your expertise, you might be more successful than me.” Hoffman wears a look of such mock deference Strahm wants to gag. “I'm sure whatever training you get at the FBI is unmatched.”

“Don’t give me that shit.” Strahm doesn't want to play this game, not in this city, not this time. “Look, I know you don't want me here. I know I stepped on your toes at Detective Kerry’s crime scene. That's my job. I come in and stomp around until something shakes loose.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. Please don't mistake me for someone who intends to make your role in this harder than it needs to be.”

There's something besides cigarette smoke behind the words, something weighty. Something that gets Strahm to look directly at the detective for the first time.

Hoffman looks back, unblinking, and Strahm thinks of a shark behind glass. He thinks about perspective and how an object seems motionless when it's coming straight at you. He thinks all this too fast to parse meaning, but his instincts are good, have always been good, and the hair on the back of his neck wants to stand up.

“I think you’re a good cop, Hoffman,” he says carefully. He’s swimming slow back to shore. “I think your department has been sacrificed on the altar of obsession one by one and you’re still here.” No splash, no wake. “Whatever else that means, it means you’re smart.”

Hoffman blows smoke and gives Strahm a look of gratitude so patronizing it makes his skin crawl. “I appreciate that, Agent Strahm. The past several months have been…taxing.”

The past several minutes have been taxing, but Strahm keeps that to himself. He can't shake the feeling that something big just passed him beneath the surface, barely missed him.

“What’s your instinct?” Hoffman asks. “How much do you think Jill knows?”

Strahm scoffs. “Plenty. Enough to write a trashy memoir and disappear from the public eye if she really wanted to. But she hasn't. Why?”

“Because she's involved. Anything she says could incriminate her.”

“No shit.” Strahm sucks on smoke. “And no offense, detective, but I've seen those interrogation tapes. You're too fucking soft on her. You want juice, you gotta squeeze.”

“With all due respect, I'd like to see you try.”

Strahm bristles, shoots him a glare. “Is that a fucking challenge? You think I'm gonna meet my match in Jill fucking Tuck?”

“You misunderstand me, Agent Strahm.” Those eyes glitter with something like mirth. “I mean I truly would like to see you try. Jill Tuck has been a hurdle since the start of all this. Like it or not, we're all players in this game. It's about time she gets pulled off the sidelines.”

Strahm examines him with interest. “You make it sound personal.”

Hoffman breaks eye contact, settles his gaze on some invisible point down the alley. A look of remorse slides over his face like a shadow over the sun. “At this point, how could it not be?”

Whatever else might be going on here, even Strahm has to concede that’s a reasonable response. His mind conjures up memories of closed-casket funerals past and he thinks of his colleagues back at the home office. He thinks of Perez. He clenches his jaw, remembers he’s supposed to be relaxing, takes a hard drag and is rewarded with a wave of nausea.

Hoffman is talking again. “Have you had a chance to look through the case files for the last three Jigsaw games? I think there were ten victims total. If you're right and John Kramer's health has kept him from hands-on involvement, maybe there might be something we missed, something–”

Strahm holds up a hand and exhales around his teeth. “Can we not do this? I just–I need a break from this Jigsaw bullshit. For like thirty seconds.”

“Sure thing,” Hoffman says amicably. He stubs his cigarette out on the wall, leans back against the brick, purses his lips. For a few blessed seconds Strahm thinks he might let the silence stand, or even better–leave. But then: “Got any plans this weekend?”

Strahm pounds his closed fist back against the wall with a little more force than he means to, closes his eyes, chews on a sigh. “No,” he says loudly with what he hopes is sufficient finality.

“Do you fish?”

“Do I what?”

“Fish. Go fishing?”

Strahm groans. “No, detective, no, I don’t fish. I spend enough time sitting waiting for lower life forms to take the bait in my professional life, thank you very much.”

Hoffman lets out what might be a laugh. “Fair enough. You strike me as more of a hunter anyway.”

“Never been,” Strahm says dismissively. This is a lie. He knows the woods of rural Vermont blind. The first time he shot a gun he was seven and the kick knocked him flat on his ass.

“I like to fish. Head down south when I can find the time. You ever been to Bass River?”

Strahm grunts, gives up, slumps against the wall mirroring Hoffman’s posture. “No.”

“Beautiful country. When this is all over, you and Special Agent Perez oughta make the drive down. Worth the detour.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Where are you and Perez staying in town? Maybe I can make some local recommendations, help you make the best of your time here.”

Alarm bells again. Something in the water. Something coming at him. “I don’t know,” Strahm deflects, “some place downtown. Old as fuck. No water pressure.”

Hoffman chuckles. “Sounds like my last apartment.”

“Yeah, you guys have a real issue with property values up here.” Strahm examines his cigarette, figures he can get one more pull off it. “Have you considered razing all the abandoned buildings so Jigsaw runs out of chessboards?”

Something like a smile twists Hoffman’s lips. “Arson, special agent?”

Strahm flicks his filter across the alley. “Whatever works.”

“Litter, too,” Hoffman observes.

Strahm rolls his eyes so hard his neck kinks. “This has been fun, but I’d better start combing through the four thousand page report your medical examiner handed me this morning. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He stands up straight, winces at the tweak in his back, stretches his arms behind him.

“See you around,” Hoffman says.

Strahm makes it halfway up the stairs to the landing before Hoffman calls after him. He almost ignores him, thinks better of it. Gritting his teeth, he leans over the railing. “Yes, detective?”

Hoffman regards him coolly, his gaze like a blunt steel blade. “I'm sure it goes without saying, but…be careful who you trust. If there is an accomplice, we ought to proceed with caution.”

Strahm resists the urge to sneer. “No disrespect to your department, but I’m here because I’m competent. Some chemo-addled freak and his band of misfit toys? I’m not exactly shaking in my boots.”

He could swear Hoffman smiles, just for a second. A flash of teeth that doesn’t reach the eyes. “I understand. It’s just I would hate to see you…how did you say it?” He bites his lip thoughtfully. “Sacrificed.”

Strahm decides, once and for all, that Mark Hoffman is spooky.

“I appreciate your concern.”

He flings the door open and ducks inside without waiting for a reply.

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Strahm submerges himself in the cold, clinical mire of half a dozen autopsy reports. In the back of his mind, behind the descriptions of catastrophic injury inflicted on the human body, he is elbow-deep in a dissection of his own.

He replays the conversation in his head again and again like a microcassette tape, trying to pinpoint the moment when Hoffman shifted in his estimation. He tries to reconcile fact and gut feeling and is left wanting from every angle. The thing about fishing–you only ever see what takes the bait. What passes it by lives on unknown.

All the while, from the time he shuts himself in his office to the moment his head hits the hotel pillow, Strahm tries to shake the feeling he's being watched.

He doesn't succeed.

[hoffstrap-yuri]

For Sickness and in Health (Insurance)

ao3 // masterlist

*SUMMARY: Agent Strahm was by the book when it came to solving cases. Being honest about his marital status was a different story entirely.

*RATING: +18 for Explicit Mature Content

*CONTENT/TAGS: M/M, Hoffstrahm, Coffinshipping, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fake Marriage/Dating, Fake Relationship, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe

*STATUS: Chapter 1/2

Author's Note: Second chapter of this fic can be found here! Woo my first MLM saw fic, it's only fitting it'd be coffinshipping. Huge thanks to @cubestrahm for helping me stay motivated on this project, and come up with an ending for it <3

There was an eerie silence in the air. Hoffman was in the middle of his daily crossword puzzle, scratching his head at what possibly could be the answer for 5 down. Strahm took a glance at the desk across from him before clearing his throat. When Hoffman didn’t look up the first time, he cleared it again with more phlegm coming up.

“Do you need something, special agent?” Hoffman finally looked up from his crossword. To say he was mildly annoyed by the other middle aged man would be an understatement. Unless he had the answer to 23 across, Hoffman didn’t want to hear a damn word come from his mouth.

Strahm took a deep breath before he said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask Perez.” Hoffman replied, turning his eyes back down to the paper in front of him

“Would if I could, believe me.” Strahm propped his head up against his fingers, “See… I need you to.”

“Yeah?” Hoffman raised an eyebrow, bringing his coffee cup up to his lips. He started to take a sip when Strahm said maybe the most outlandish thing that Mark had ever heard in his life,

“I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

Hoffman spit out his coffee, droplets making it onto Strahm’s crisp white shirt across the two desks.

“Agent Strahm, are you high?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you smoking,” Hoffman sputtered as he kept trying to string words together. Something to make a coherent sentence. “Are you insa… Actually, I’ve seen the footage of your interview with Jill Tuck. I know you’re insane. Why would I even entertain this idea, Special Agent?”

“You get better insurance?” Strahm shut his eyes, hoping that the offer of a better plan would be enough to entice the man before him. There was a pause in their banter. Peter couldn’t believe that Mark would actually even consider this.

“Does the plan include dental?”

“Wait you don’t get dental?”

“I do.” Hoffman scoffed, “But I have a ridiculous co-pay. What’s yours look like?”

“500.”

“… Fine. What do you need from me?”

“Just come with me to DC. We’ll talk to an HR person for an hour, get the paperwork sorted out, and we both get better insurance.”

“I can do that.”

“Alright.” Strahm said with a heavy sigh of relief. He was still quiet around Hoffman the next couple of minutes until Perez came back from lunch. Naturally, Strahm turned his back away from the other man to talk to his partner. Hoffman pulled a straw wrapper off the side of his desk he’d been meaning to throw out anyway, crumpled it up, and threw it at the back of Strahm’s head. When Strahm turned around to see whether something had actually hit him, Mark played coy. Almost too coy. Strahm raised an eyebrow at him, trying to goad him into a confession. Other, weaker, men would have folded under the gaze of the man with immaculate eyelashes, but Mark was stronger than that. Or so he thought at the very least. Mark leaned forward on his desk and rested his head on his fists, inviting some kind of challenge from the agent. As Strahm opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, he thought long and hard whether a fight right now was worth it. He zipped his own lips back up and turned back around to talk with Perez.

‘Did she know?’ Mark wondered to himself, ‘About Strahm’s stupid little plan?’

Strahm massaged the wedding band on his finger, as if a sign to Hoffman that he heard his thoughts. That Lindsay was in on the whole scam too. She had to know… He shook his head and tried to clear the thought from his head. Maybe Hoffman was the one really getting scammed.

---

“Nice ride.” Hoffman slung his bag over his shoulder, looking at the car behind Strahm parked in Hoffman’s driveway.

“Shut up.”

“First road trip…”

“Don’t.” Strahm pointed at his partner in crime, “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Aw, afraid you’re gonna like hearing the words ‘newlyweds’ come from my mouth?” Hoffman got up in Strahm’s face. Strahm’s lips were mere inches from brushing up against Hoffman. He felt the tickle of a sharp inhale from the detective’s nose and the heavy sigh when the air came back up along his upper lip. Peter turned his head away so he didn’t have to look into Mark’s eyes. He turned on the back of his heels and opened up the trunk for Mark to put his bag inside of. Mark plopped his bag down next to what he assumed was Strahm’s overnight bag before attempting to open the back passenger side door.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Strahm asked, sticking his head out of his window

“Sitting in the back, idiot. What does it look like I’m doing?” Mark wriggled the handle some more

“Why the hell would you sit back there?”

“So I can get some sleep.”

“And make me feel like a damn taxi driver; I don’t fucking think so. Sit up here.”

“Fine.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and got into the seat across from Strahm. He crams himself in before feeling up the seat to find the height adjuster. He pushed it as far back as it would go and crossed his legs before pressing his weight up against the car door.

“Here, grab the directions from the glove compartment.” Strahm said. He wrapped an arm around the headrest of Hoffman’s seat as he backed up from the driveway. Hoffman handed him the three sheets of paper folded into threes. Before handing it off however, he took a peek under the fold to see where the MapQuest directions lead to. Some two-star hotel on the DC-Maryland border. Not that Hoffman had any right to complain about the lodging, but he wondered if the accommodations were coming from the FBI or Strahm’s wallet.

“Take a left here. It’ll be faster and it’s easier to get on the turnpike.” Hoffman pointed up a couple of blocks ahead of them. Strahm gave him an apprehensive look before following the instructions the other man gave him. “Nice smooth merge instead of fighting.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Take it you don’t go home much? Or am I not good enough to bring home to mom?” Hoffman asked as he handed the papers off finally.

“What are you on about now?”

“Why aren’t you taking me to your place?”

“My place?” Strahm looked at him, more confused than ever

“In DC.”

With a sharp inhale Strahm asked, “Do you think every FBI agent is based out of Washington DC? Are you really that stupid, Detective?”

“Maybe I am.” Hoffman shrugged nonchalantly. Was Hoffman trying to scam him, even now? A blood vessel was popping on the edge of Strahm’s forehead and he could feel it. That seemed to make Hoffman’s lips curl at the ends ever so deviously. So it was all a fucking joke. “What’s the plan?”

“What?” Strahm’s attention returned in that moment.

“When we get to DC, smart ass.”

“Go to sleep. Get up in the morning, go to the office, and get this done. We’ll be home by tomorrow night.”

“How punctual.” Hoffman purred. “Did you bring something for me to wear?”

“No, why the hell would I do that?” Strahm asked.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you, this was your plan. I thought you asked me because you had something already.” Hoffman sat up in his seat, giving the other man a dumbfounded look

“I asked because you’re the only one not in the registry like Perez is. I mean why the hell wouldn’t you go out and buy a cheap dress or something after I told you about this?”

Hoffman just sighed before realizing the implication of this. “So guess that means you have to take me shopping.”

“What you want to go to the National Mall for that, dumb ass?”

“And if I do?” Hoffman smirked. He was clearly enjoying himself far too much. On the other hand, it took every bone in Strahm’s body to keep the two of them from careening off the highway and into the Atlantic ocean. Most of the car ride was in silence after that. Mark would occasionally peer out the window when they crossed a river, making it damn near impossible for him to get his planned nap in during the drive. Like that, they were pulling up into the parking lot of their hotel. Strahm left the car on while he checked in, and made a motion out to Hoffman when they were all set. Strahm walked back out to the car and sat in the driver’s seat before looking behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“To go shopping.” Strahm said with a sigh.

---

“Where to first?” Hoffman asked, stepping out of the car. Strahm hadn’t allowed for any stops on their way down south, so getting out to stretch was completely out of the question. Now that he was free, Hoffman lifted his arms over his head and let out a yawn. Strahm shot him a look before saying,

“It was only three hours, you don’t need to be so dramatic.”

“It was four.” Hoffman corrected him. Strahm just rolled his eyes and locked his car, walking away from the verbal conflict.

“Let’s go find you a dress first.” Strahm said in a hushed voice. Not that there was anyone else in the garage, but if there was he was worried someone would hear the two male voices.

“Does it have to be a dress? Or do you just want to emasculate me?” Hoffman growled slightly.

“There’s no way you’d fit in a woman’s suit.” Strahm stated, as if it was common knowledge. “And this is the FBI, you have to look halfway decent.”

“Your wish is my command, hubby.” Hoffman slapped on the most offensively fake smile as they walked into the mall. While neither of the men knew the layout of the mall, Strahm seemed to fall in behind Hoffman. This was unlike his usual behavior back in New York but Hoffman didn’t think it was worth getting into. They walk up to a directory and find a shop to pick a dress out from, first trying the anchor stores and getting nowhere with that. They tried a specialty store next, with more results. The only issue is the staff seemed to glare as the two men rummaged through the racks to find something that would fit a man like Hoffman. Hoffman noticed that Peter kept stealing looks as he would step out from the dressing room to look at the dress in the full length mirror. “Here, this should fit, but I need to to zip the back up.”

“Fine.” Strahm approached Hoffman and pulled the zipper up. It seemed to fall back as it was just about to close so Strahm told him, “Suck your gut in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and sucked his stomach in. The zipper went up fine and Strahm secured it with the tiny hooks on the back. His hands slowly lingered onto Hoffman’s hips as they looked at the outfit in the mirror. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, you just look like a nice broad now.” Strahm replied quickly, before realizing where his hands were resting. He took a step back and Hoffman did a half spin to see what his back looked like in the dress, “I think it’ll work.”

“Yeah.” Strahm’s eyes wandered up at the ceiling. Hoffman reveled in this power and slid his hands down his hips with a whistle. Strahm turned his head back to look at the other man before darting his eyes away again. Like fucking putty in Mark’s hands. He walked back to his dressing room, came back out, and quickly threw the garment into Peter’s arms. Strahm shuffled to catch it before Hoffman walked past him and back into the store. Strahm veered towards the cashier before Hoffman pulled him by the back of his shirt and asked,

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To check out.”

“Not before I get some accessories.” He turned Strahm around and took a look at the gaudy earrings the store had on display

“You don’t even have piercings.” Strahm huffed quietly, “You’re not about to get them pierced for this.”

“And if I wanted to?”

“I’d tell you ‘you’re insane’ and pull you out of Claire’s. Dumbass.”

“Well at the very least, you can treat your wife to a nice necklace.”

“Fine.” Strahm sighed, feeling the grip Hoffman had on him growing tighter. “We can go to a jewelry store for that.”

“God you really know how to spoil a woman, it’s a wonder you’re not actually married.” Hoffman teased him, taking the dress from his hands and bringing it up to the counter himself. The cashier at the time didn’t seem to care that two men approached her with a feminine dress. She finished the transaction as quickly as she could, and went back to sulking while the two men headed back into the mall. Hoffman dragged Strahm back to a directory to plan their next course of action. It would be shoes, makeup, and jewelry in that order. There were more than a few instances where Hoffman didn’t need to be so close to the FBI agent, but would still press his body up against the other man. Like when a family tried to walk around the two of them. It would turn Strahm’s face an embarrassing red to have the fabric of Hoffman’s shirt slide across the leather of his jacket. In a low voice that he was certain only Strahm would hear he’d say, “My bad.”

“Just shut up and keep walking” or some variation were the only words Strahm was able to eek out. They managed to find some heels that weren’t ridiculously chunky, and Hoffman could balance on before going to a makeup store in the mall. They found a disgustingly light powder pink that the saleswoman said ‘any girl would love’, while Strahm stood out in the mall proper pretending that he was just shopping with a friend after work. She also threw in some samples that Hoffman didn’t really seem to understand, but was thankful he wasn’t buying any more makeup than was necessary. Not that it was on his dime, but he’d have no use for it after this elaborate fraud. Next, the two walked around a jewelry kiosk. Mark pointed at a diamond necklace and Strahm nearly cussed him out there in front of the sales clerk but just handed the Amex over before there was any questions. They walked back to the car before Strahm excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

“You really can’t wait for 20 minutes to get to the hotel?” Hoffman asked him, rolling his eyes

“It’s four o’clock, there’s no way in hell the ride is only going to be 20 minutes.” Strahm retorted before going in. Hoffman waited impatiently, stamping his foot down and glancing at the clock. How long did it take this idiot to piss? Out of the corner of his eye, Hoffman saw another store that he ducked into. If he was going to be Strahm’s wife, he was going to make the agent really regret it. He hurried back to the spot where Strahm was just zipping up his jacket. “Where were you?”

“Looking at Auntie Anne’s, the fuck does it matter to you?”

With a huff Strahm replied, “Whatever” before beginning the walk back to the car. This time Hoffman was sure to follow behind the agent. He seemed more… on edge than he had been this morning on Hoffman’s doorstep. Were the nerves setting in? Was his bravado really that fragile that shopping for women’s clothing was going to trip up Special Agent Peter Strahm?

“You seem tense.” Hoffman remarked

“I’m fine.” Strahm dodged the accusation, but not very well. There was almost an edge of bitterness in his words. He seemed to realize how rude he’d sounded by the way his eyes softened and said again, “I’m fine” in a much gentler tone.

“Nervous?”

“About?”

“Lying to your employer, the federal government?”

“No. No that’s the easy bit.”

“Easy, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve deceived the government before.”

“Yeah. Then when they caught me in my lie about 5 years later just told them it was a clerical error.”

“How rebellious of you. Never in my wildest dreams could I see you, Agent Strahm, bending the rules. Much less for your amusement.”

“And you’ve always filed your taxes on time.” Strahm laughed

“I’d never mess with my taxes.” Hoffman replied with a slight frown

“Sure thing, altar boy."

[miistymemorii]

Adam Stanheight SFW Alphabet

A/N: hoping to do these for all the characters, I love headcanons lol. Please enjoy! These are all GN!reader, I believe.

Affection

Adam is most comfortable with affection in a private setting. He's not one for PDA, but in the comfort of your home, he's practically clung to your side. Besides physical affection, he is fond of gift giving, but in the most money-safe ways. He dabbles in art, leaving drawings on your bedside table if you've had a stressful day, and he will sometimes photograph things outside that remind him of you, presenting them to you in a small photo album.

Best friend

The two of you started out as friends pretty fast. He really liked your personality, so he tried to spend as much time with you as he could. He did consider you his best friend at one point, but he was really happy to become more than friends.

Cuddles

He does cuddle but does so by flopping on top of you when he came home from work. He is DEF a little spoon enthusiast, but he won't say it out loud, instead he just huffs and shuffles restlessly in the bed until you hold him.

Domestic

He loves when you stay over at his place and the two of you play house. For the longest time, the honeymoon phase seemed like it would never end. You stay over at his house a lot, just consuming all of your time together. Whenever you're over, Adam insists on cooking. It's rough at first, but the more you stayed over meant the more practices, and eventually he got decent at cooking.

Ending (if they had to break up, how would they do it)

GAH THIS KILLS ME TO WRITE BUT there's no way he'd want to end a relationship. He is desperate, anxious to hold on to anything good in his life. He knows it's wrong, but he develops sick addictions to his partners. If the two of you were to break up, you'd have to dump him.

Fiancee (how do they feel about marriage)

I think he would be pretty okay with marriage but is not too into the pageantry of it all. His logic is that marriage would be just like dating, but with tax cuts. Just like dating was the same as being best friends but with sex. And so on. He would save up to buy you a decent ring, just to show that it matters to him.

Gentle

Adam can be a very gentle person. He cares about you so much; he constantly keeps himself in check to make sure he's not screwing up what y'all have. He may not be mushy-gushy, but he's certainly affectionate, in his own ways.

Hugs

Adam gives amazing hugs. Each one is enveloping, but never too tight. He likes to hug you and hold you, a physical reminder that you, the thing that grounds him, is real.

I love you

Adam definitely said "I love you" first, but it was on accident. You had been dating for, like, two weeks, and as you kissed his cheek goodbye and headed out the door, he called out "love you, bye!" before shouting, "SHIT!". You ran back inside, laughing, and gave him a kiss before telling him you loved him too, leaving him standing in his livingroom with a goofy smile.

Jealousy

Adam isn't a jealous person, but he is insecure. He knows you would never cheat, and he knows you can hold your own against a drunken stranger, but if he could tell someone was hitting on you, he would probably start to doubt himself. Over time, he opens up to you about this negative mindset, and you help him through it.

Kisses

There is always so much affection behind every kiss you and Adam share, no matter how big or small it may be. If you two are busy, he'll rush past you with a small peck on your forehead, or if you come home and sees you had a bad day, he'll kiss your hands, then gently rubbing the tension out of them.

Little ones (kids)

UGHHHHH controversial, maybe. but I think Adam would be good with kids. I think he has a lot of "childish" hobbies, like video games, action figures, old cartoons, and he thinks the way kids think is funny, so he's good at carrying on a conversation with a kid. The first time you see him interact with a kid, and so well at that, you swoon, and know he's who you want to raise kids with.

Morning

Adam is NOT I repeat N O T a morning person. God, he dreads the sudden start he gets when the sun shines through his bedroom curtains juuuust right and laserbeams his eyes. You have to drag him out of bed, but if you leave before he starts work, he most likely ends up back in bed.

Night

Adam thrives in the night. Well, "thrive" is a strong word for what state he's in when the sun goes down. He usually works well into the night, but even when he comes home, he's restless, needing time to relax before bed. His body is exhausted, screaming for slumber, but his mind stays awake. Eventually, you have to coax him into bed, or else he'd be up till sunrise.

Open (how revealing, comfortable, open are they)

Adam is not a very open person. When he met you, he knew that there was something about you, a safety that made him compelled to talk to you about serious things. Still, he has a tough time expressing himself when he has intense feelings, getting upset when something potentially traumatic becomes the topic of discussion. Over time, he realizes that he needed to trust you, and himself, so he started small, getting a small journal to write in daily.

Patience

You're the only person Adam has patience for. He doesn't like public spaces or large crowds, growing anxious when the two of you go out. The first few times you went out to somewhere crowded, you were surprised how short he was with other people during small inconveniences. Eventually he learned to be better, but he would still return home with his social battery drained.

Quiet time (what is quiet time like with them/free time)

I feel like Adam reads and has a few books BUT a large collection of comic books. When the two of you have quiet time, he is most likely reading said comic books. He also like to sketch, mostly crude cartoons, but he still scribbles away in his sketch book from time to time.

Remember (fav memory about the relationship)

His fav memory is definitely from the first time you slept over at his house. The feeling of holding each other, the warmth of you beside him for the first time, so used to waking up alone. That night he had also made a pizza, which actually turned out exceptionally well.

Security (how protective are they)

Adam knows you can hold your own, but he won't hesitate to tell someone off if they're being rude. He secretly likes getting to say, "my girlfriend"; not in a possessive way, just as a fun reminder that the two of you are in love.

Try (how much effort do they put in)

Adam is really good about putting in effort, and not just in a 50%/50% way. He understands you have bad days, and he acts accordingly, either pampering you as you need or giving you space to think. Adam tries in every aspect of the relationship..

Ugly (how do they react to your insecurities? What about their insecurities?)

Adam has plenty of insecurities, so he understands what it's like to feel insecure. He also understands that he can't possibly know exactly what you're thinking, because that was something only you knew. Still, he tries as best he can, always reminding you that he's here to talk, to vent, to get reassurance. Similarly, you keep that connection open with him, but he's a little more reluctant to open up. It's not like he's good at hiding his insecurities, though, but you provide him with the support he needs.

 Vanity (how groomed/consumed with their looks are they)

Adam remembers to brush his teeth.

OKAY, and he showers regularly. He doesn't do anything special with his hair or clothes, but he still looks relatively put-together. He puts a lot of effort into more formal settings, wanting to look as good as you.

Whole (do they feel incomplete without you?)

Adam would say yes, but it's only partially true. He has spent a lot of his life alone or holding meaningless relationships. He appreciates the space you fill, the bond between the two of you precious to him. Still, he understands that the two of you are separate people. However, if you're apart for more than a week, he becomes restless.

Xtra (random headcanon)

Before the two of you have kids (if you even want that), Adam would be really into having a pet. A cat or a dog, sure, but I could see him secretly wanting some kind of lizard or snake for a pet.

Yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, in a partner or just in general?)

Adam used to date alot of ruse girls in his early 20's, wanting to seem edgy. However, as he ages and matures, he realized how exhausting those relationships were, so he doesn't like rude people, ESPECIALLY if they're the type of person who makes being rude their whole personality.

Zzzz (sleeping habits)

This man hasn't had a stable sleeping schedule since elementary school. He is used to sleeping all day, going out at night, but since being with you he tries to go to bed at a reasonable time and wake up before noon. He definitely moves in his sleep, flopping on his back and yanking you to his side, or smothering your body with his heavy, sleeping form.

[hhhhoffman]

willing

summary: detective mark hoffman wants to have his way with you behind the police station in the early hours of the morning, and you are more than willing to let him.

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+

word count: 1.6k

cw: piv sex, wall sex, oral sex/blow job, praise kink, dirty talk, light bdsm (dominant!hoffman), light degradation (name calling), creampie, vaginal fingering.

you can also read this fic on ao3.

His eyes burn with desire. 

He stands over you, his large arms bracketing your head. He's so powerful and domineering like this, his height exaggerated by the way you buckle against the wall. Your knees weak with want, your wide eyes looking up and on his. Reverent and desperate. 

He's unbearably close, so close you can almost taste him. His body is rich with the scent of his cologne, as well as metal and blood. You don't know exactly where he's been, but you can guess.

You know everything now. The knowledge of who he really is thrums through your veins, rattles your core. Yet all you feel is an ardent craving. You only wish to indulge in him, in his competence and his power. 

You are only one thing: willing.

His gaze slips down to your lips, and you part them as you exhale, your own eyes still locked on his face, your heart beating hard with anticipation. 

The silence begins to hurt.

"I missed you," you mutter softly, pathetically. The words just fall out of you, and you swallow hard as you watch him register them. 

He grunts an apathetic "huh," deep and gruff. His indifference flares a fire inside you, an eager need to please him. It smoulders with shame and heat and want. 

He leans closer, his lips grazing yours, teasing you. His breath is warm and delicious, and you wish he would taste you, so you can drink him. Your eyes flutter closed, your mind swims in submission.

He kisses you, gently.

But then all at once it changes, and his weight is against you, crushing you into the wall. You gasp as he thrusts his tongue in your mouth, and you let him, opening yourself up to him, allowing him to lap at you, kissing him back deeply, brazenly. 

You feel the hardness of his erection rub against your thigh, the size of it straining the material of his pants. You want to fix it, let me fix it, you think.

Let me feel you. 

Your fingers trail down him, magnetised to his cock, as though you are instinctively trained for this. Made for this. 

You touch him. He bites you. His teeth incites a sharp pain, and your bottom lip slightly bleeds. He hums a pleasing groan. 

"Pretty girl," he whispers huskily in your ear, your fingers becoming frantic now, rubbing his hardness with one hand, the other desperately trying to free him from his belt, his buckle clinking with your efforts.

You open your eyes and look up at him, suck your bottom lip into your mouth, taste the metallic tang of your own blood. 

"On your knees," he demands cooly, and you instantly obey, dropping down to face the tent in his trousers.

You quickly free his cock from the confines of his pants, your fingers familiar with the thick length of it, pumping him the way you know he likes, keeping your eyes fixed up at him. He looks down at you greedily, shrugs off his blazer. Allows it to fall to the ground. 

You take him in your mouth, relishing in the saltiness of his precum, lapping it up from his tip. He's rock hard, and the intensity of his arousal spurs you on. You are purposeful with your tongue, flicking it around him as you begin to bob your head, taking him in and out, deeper and wetter. 

He likes it messy. You gag on him, taking him into your throat, out, in. You hear his gravelly groans of pleasure, the bliss of his moans stoking the heat between your legs. The need for friction. 

Your saliva is in your hair, sticking to your cheeks as you work him. You feel him brush the strands away, holding your hair in a tight fist at the back of your head, further enabling you to pleasure him. You feel the pressure of him pushing you, and you take it. Take him deeper down your throat. You choke, but he encourages you with praise.

"Good girl."

The words are decadent, and you feel them deep in your loins. You are dripping between your legs, and your hips begin to rock of their own volition.

"Breathe through your nose, sweetheart."

You do as he says, then after a few moments, he pulls himself out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his cock. You cough and splutter, but he's shushing you, telling you how good you make him feel, how beautiful you look on your knees for him, such a messy girl, such a perfect little whore.

The ache in your cunt is all you can think of, how good his large cock would feel stretching you out, pounding into you over and over again. You need him, carnally, spiritually. In any and every way. 

He pulls you to your feet, pins you back up against the wall. He's kissing at your neck, your jaw, trailing his lips and teeth down the column of your throat. He nips at your collarbone.

Then his strong hands yank down your top, exposing your breasts, and then his lips and fingers are on them - teasing your nipples, pawing the soft and sensitive flesh with his rough touch. He bites and sucks them, leaving those sweet little bruises he loves to cover you in. 

Marking his territory. 

With a dominant growl he turns you around, pressing your exposed tits into the cold brick wall. He pulls your hips toward him, you let him, and you arch your back to further encourage him. He pulls down your pants and underwear with one tug, exposing your wet slick to the cold night air. His fingers slide up your slit, and you whine. 

"So wet," he says with a smug pride. "You want me to fuck you so badly, don't you?"

You can't speak. You can't think or move or breathe. Then you feel him tease your entrance with the tip of his girthy, hard cock. He groans, and his next words are teasing, cruel.

"What do you want? Tell me what you want." 

"Fuck me," you cry, your face pressed against the wall. "Please."

He doesn't move. Your words are not good enough. 

"Use me Hoffman, fucking take me," you beg, tears of desperation prickling your eyes. "I need it. I fucking need you." 

An odious chuckle, the sweet stretch of him sheathing himself inside you.

"Good fucking whore."

He moves, hard and with purpose, pounding himself in and out of you relentlessly. Your face and chest and tits rub against the wall, the rough surface surely grazing your skin. But you feel nothing but the sheer, raw pleasure of it all. 

His hands grip on to your hips, waist and ass, his fingers digging into your soft body possessively as he fucks you against the wall.

It's euphoric. 

You can feel the weight of his thrusts, heavy and necessary, the strength that he pounds into you is almost otherworldly. He takes out all his rage and grief and power on you, and you take it, you take him. You're made for this. 

He tells you so. What a sweet, dirty girl you are, how proud he is of you for taking him so well, so deeply, how beautiful you look bent over for him, letting him fuck you outside like this, round the back of the station when he's meant to be working. What a filthy whore you are to make him feel this way, but oh, how good you feel, how perfect you are. 

His voice is deep and thick with lust. His words and his noises sound as good as he feels, so hot and perfect and hard. You can feel his rhythm stutter, his pace becoming erratic as he nears his climax. 

"Give it to me, Hoffman," you grunt, the strength of his thrusts making your voice shake. "Cum in me, cum deep inside me."

Your begging tips him over the edge. His groans escalate in volume, the wave of his peak rising and rising and soaring, then crashing down in a grand, serene climax. He grips you so hard you'll bruise, the marks from his fingers will stain your soft flesh.

Good. 

He slackens on top of you, his hand at your throat, his breathing laboured. After a moment he pulls out of you, and you mewl at the loss of his sweet intrusion. He swiftly flips you around again, his forearm against your chest. The fingers of his other hand slip between your thighs. 

His cum begins to leak out of you, but he works it back inside of you, fucking it into you with his large, rough fingers. He moves between penetrating you and playing with your clit, and his pace is perfect, he doesn't let up, determined and dogged in his efforts, and you whine for him to never, ever stop. You cry out, looking at his handsome face. He stares at you with severe eyes, watches and feels and smells your climax begin to peak until there it is - it hits you hard, the crescendo of your pleasure ringing in your ears and rolling your eyes into your head, a burst of golden bliss blossoming in your cunt, your blood, your skin. You pant, your limbs becoming useless, the strength of your orgasm rendering your body limp. 

He holds you up, using his hand to support your face, then open your mouth. He pushes his fingers, coated with both his and your cum, deep into your mouth. You lap at him greedily, obediently. He places a tender kiss at your cheek, and whispers in your ear, his words and his breath sluicing down your spine into liquid bliss. 

"That's my girl."

-

[campbellstruts]

I miss him plz come back from being squished

[redscrawl]

chainshipping American Werewolf in London AU

[beetlegoose01]

💕Chainshipping Week 2024 💕

I'm sure some of you are aware I was part of the Chainshipping Week 2024! It started as an idea on a Saw Discord and evolved into something really wonderful and fun!

Please check out everyone else's work either through the tags #chainshippingweek2024 OR the collections on AO3!

And here are mine (please please please mind the tags, one is 18+)

Day 1: Cooking/Baking

Summary:

In order to help Diana with her school's fundraiser, Adam and Lawrence must work together to face their hardest challenge yet: baking.

~♡~

Day 2: Trauma

Summary:

Lawrence won his game. He should be celebrating, shouldn't he? But he should have known that all games come with a price.

~♡~

Day 3: Soulmates

Summary: Everyone is born with a soulmark reflecting their soulmate. Though these aren't typical soulmarks, with the first words spoken to another or even their first name written in ink. Instead, it's a timer. A timer that would count down until their soulmate dies.

Lawrence never kept track of his timer. That was, until he woke up in the bathroom with only 72 hours left.

~♡~

Day 4: Nightmares

Summary: Every night the dreams seemed to become more real. Luckily, Adam isn't alone for this one.

~♡~

Day 5: Mirror

Summary: Some extra time in bed with Adam leaves Lawrence with an unfortunate consequence.

~♡~

Day 6: Parenting

Summary: Some say it takes a village to raise a child. Or in this case, it takes a doctor, a photographer and the doctor's ex wife to raise a teenager.

(Alt title: in which Adam and Lawrence have very different parenting styles, but they're trying)

~♡~

Day 7: Affair

Summary: Adam found himself following the same routine when it came to his work. Snap pics of unsuspecting rich douchebags without getting caught---a very specific, yet easy gig. He didn't care about who they were or what they looked like. If he was anything like the rest of the guys he followed, he knew he wouldn't be impressed.

That was, until he finally saw Doctor Gordon.

[1997berserk]

Heatsink (Ch. 8)

Call From the Hilltop; Call Through the Streets

Pairing: Lynnmanda

Rating: NR/rating may change

Words: 11,583 total

Through violence we are intimate with some characters onstage in an exorbitant way for a brief time.

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons

Lynn attempts to readjust. Amanda circumventing her security systems on a regular basis makes that a little hard.

or, Lynn + Amanda survive and navigate the way their worlds have tied themselves together.

canon divergence, mild stalking, breaking/entering, medical themes, slow-ish burn, resentment, sexually undertoned fighting

read chapter 8 here

[helloitsbees]

chapter 15 of Till the Road and Sky Align is now up! featuring some more Lawrence backstory, a confession, and some light breaking & entering! enjoy!

[twofacedharveydent]

Fade away to the wicked world we live And I become the dark of you Say a prayer for the wounded heart within As I become the dark of you

The Dark of You | An upcoming Saw franchise story → Mark Hoffman & Alaina Jordy

Everything tag list: @missecharlotte , @darknightfrombeyond , @arrthurpendragon , @ocappreciationtag

Message me if you’d like to added or removed from the list.