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tags that I use for fun (in case you don’t wanna see me rambling about my personal life or responding to asks lmao)
andrew pope cody who’s worried about you finding his rap sheet vs. reader who’s printed out his mugshot to include in her journal with little hand-drawn hearts around it <3
summary: It’s your last year at school, and you’re finally going to get out and become the doctor you worked everything off to be. But once you meet Choso Kamo, it felt like a ball hitting your face when his determination of reaching his dream of becoming a basketball player confuses you, perhaps reawakening the artist within you in forms of paint strokes and heartbeats. The fear of getting what you want resurfaces, and Choso thinks he doesn't want anything else. Will you guys shoot your shot, or will this be another unfinished canvas?
contents: FIRST CHAPTER, 9.5k wc, meeting choso for the first time yay!!! TW international baccalaureate oof, reader procrastinates on school work, toge being a menace is my jam, doggos!!! n Choso favours Shiro over Kuro hehe
Piece No. 1: "Starry Night" – Van Gogh
———————————————————————————
Is it really procrastination if you get it done in the end?
That’s what your motto usually was, but as you were here at three forty nine in the freaking PM rushing like crazy and definitely late, you wonder if you should change it.
Pacing around your room, tossing your books and pillows and canvases around to look for your car keys—you knew you were late. Your laptop was open to a blank document assignment that you procrastinated on for two weeks, and you could feel your brother’s complaints from outside the house.
The harsh and demanding assignments and tasks ever since you started your IB year two was finally taking its toll on you–you know, the academic version of the squid games? Oh well—we’ll get into it later when you’re not rushing.
Or it could’ve the procrastination that caught up to you now because you completely forgot about dropping your brother off to his school for his basketball game.
Which means it was no surprise when you went out and saw Megumi after having waited in the car for about ten minutes now, carrying the same, annoyed expression you knew was towards you. Quickly locking the door to your house, you dove into your car like it was a lifeboat to save you from the chaos you were drowning in.
“I’m blaming you if we’re late to the basketball game,” Megumi groaned, fastening his seatbelt.
“I wouldn’t blame ya,” you laughed self-deprecatingly, missing your seatbelt once–twice–before jamming your keys into the ignition. You quickly pulled up the google maps to his best friend’s house, groaning at the spot of blue paint you missed on your hand. You knew where the house was, but you didn’t trust yourself in the heat of the moment to drive there purely on muscle memory.
“I already told Yuuji you’d be late, and he said he was going to be too.” His response is somewhat comforting. “You guys are the same.”
“Aww, you love people like us,” you teased, pulling out of the driveway while trying to defend yourself from Megumi elbowing your side. The car lunged forward, and you were on your way to Yuuji’s house.
You allowed Megumi to take over the music in the car even through his dramatic eye rolls. Because why not–especially with the fact that you guys are practically already late to his game. After your dad said he couldn’t drop him off, you offered to take it up instead.
Middle schoolers.
At 3:56p.m., you came to a harsh stop in front of the familiar house, and you were relieved to see Yuuji not angry and waved to you with a large smile on his face. You couldn’t help but smile back despite the situation.
Once Yuuji unlocked your door, he greeted you with such a contagiously cheerful smile. “Hey!” He dropped his things next to him in the backseat. “Thanks for picking me up!”
“No prob!” You barely get the words out before launching the car, making your way to their school. Megumi scolded you for it—you deserved it.
“Say, Fushiguro.” Yuuji grabbed onto the headrest of Megumi’s chair. “Why are we going so early?”
Hearing the words made you forcefully stop the car at a red light, and you slowly cocked your head over Megumi's direction, who was nonchalantly looking at the window.
“...Early?” You tried asking gently, your tone carrying an almost uncontrolled tension to it.
“Yeah? The game starts at five.” Yuuji looked at you with innocent eyes–a large contrast to your brother who said the game was at four.
“Megumi,” you called. He stayed silent.
“Megumi,” you called again, your left eye twitching as the car started. He didn’t reply again.
“Megumi Fushiguro—"
“It was so that you wouldn’t take us late, okay? The only reason you’re driving us today is because dad couldn’t come home early,” he grumbled. “It’s a qualifying game to see if we can get into the bracket.”
You almost grabbed him by the neck, but his words sunk in faster than your violent instincts. “Wait, you’re not in?”
He continues to talk, his gaze still focused out the window. “Yeah. We’re against Yajirushi West.”
Yuuji grimaces in the back, still holding onto the headrest of Megumi’s chair. “Yeah, coach says they’re good, apparently.”
You hum at Yuuji’s statement before looking back at Megumi. “So you said four because you thought I’d be late.”
After looking down at his imaginary watch, he looks back at you with the most emotionless yet sarcastic expression ever. “You are late.”
Oh, boy. If Yuuji wasn’t here then you’d commit a crime.
Then again, it was the start of basketball season, and you knew how much it meant to him–even if he’d never say it. You take a deep breath, exhaling any violent desire out.
Pulling up at the school at 3:58 p.m., much later than the time you'd actually get there since you figured out that four was when the practice started and that five was when the actual game would start.
“Hey,” you call out for Megumi before he exits the car. “Send me the bracket. I wanna see who you’ll be up against.”
He raises an annoyed and confused eyebrow at you. “But we haven’t even played yet?”
You smirk, shutting your car door and locking it. “I know you’ll win.”
He doesn’t say anything, but you know he acknowledged it.
Kage Academy had been your middle school here before moving to highschool—Ikigai Academy—so you weren’t too surprised that a bunch of teachers had stopped you in the middle of going to the gym to catch up with you. Especially after entering a pretty darn smart school that had the IB program in it–an academic war between you and your sanity. Where they decide it’s best to put a five page math assignment, a minimum 1300 words paper, and three history readings along with a critique all due by the end of the week. It was a tug of war between you and your sanity.
So, yeah. International Baccalaureate. You’re convinced you haven’t slept worse in your life after choosing this path. And a lot of teachers have been praising you for it too.
Doesn’t mean you felt that smart though.
After a few jarred and forced conversations with old women telling you how Megumi is a delight to have, you finally made your way to the familiar gymnasium and found yourself a seat on the front row of the bleachers.
You allowed yourself to practically collapse onto the seats as you kept your head perked up to watch your brother train with his team. You were sort of mad, but it was a fond sight you’d relish looking at–despite the fact that Megumi would hate it if you thought of it that way. He’d diagnose himself with diabetes if he saw it.
Looking around the familiar gymnasium, you remember the old middle school memories in this place with your cousin, Maki. She’d definitely be reminding you of embarrassing memories if she were here with you–actually, you’d texted her prior to leaving the house and asked if she wanted a “trip down the memory lane.” You forgot to check her response. You open your phone and read her messages with a smile tugging at your lips.
Zenin #1: why would i ever want to go back to that school
Zenin #1: can’t anyways, CAS w yuta n toge. We’re still in school helping out w the freshman sports teams
You sigh, not really surprised. Maki being the crazy athlete she is, she can definitely use it for her CAS hours.
Looking back up, you saw a bunch of familiar faces. There were people around your age volunteering to be a referee–probably for gym or volunteer hours. You saw familiar faces like Fumihiko, who’d been in your drama club from seventh to eighth grade. Sometimes you guys catch up, and he’s a real funny guy.
When you moved your eyes to your brother who was shooting hoops with Yuuji, you saw another volunteer who you definitely did not recognize.
When you’re outside, whether it be with people or alone, the artist in you always catches the smallest detail in things. How you’d layer your paint to create a singular leaf, or the way you’d allow the pencil to guide you when drawing people in the middle of motion. It’s one of the things you loved about art–the study of breaking it down to its core in order for your own imagination to build up from it.
That’s exactly how you were feeling right now. Colors like vista blue and light green were swirling into each other.
Two obnoxiously spiked out space buns that could be captured onto paper with a flick of your wrist and a B pencil, perhaps. Eyes that could be captured with a smudge of charcoal in the right places. And… was that a tattoo drawn across his face?
You felt like you should’ve judged, but you couldn’t. Not when he made you want to capture him onto a canvas like they did the Renaissance. It wasn’t when Megumi, who’d seemingly teleported in front of your vision, calls you out.
“Hello?” He called, his hand waving in front of your face. “Why’re you staring at Yuuji’s brother?”
You blinked yourself out of your daze, quickly glancing at Megumi.
“Ah, Megumi. What do you nee—" You paused. A second or two of silence had passed, before you processed his words.
“Yuuji’s what?!” You asked a bit too loudly, looking back at their Yuuji and the referee conversing. You tilted your head as you observed them, not finding many similar features between the two.
Megumi winced at your volume, obviously annoyed at your random statement. “Yeah, Itadori’s brother. I came here for water, I forgot mine.”
Gaze snapping up to Megumi’s, you blinked twice. “Yuuji’s brother. Like–older. Brother.”
“If you don’t give me water right now I’m gonna tell Yuuji you’re stalking his brother.”
“Don’t you—" You clenched your fists. How could this boy be so defiant? He was born six years later than you, and you thought you raised him better than this. Sighing, you grabbed a water bottle from your bag (because you always prepared an extra one after that one time Megumi forgot his) and shoved it against Megumi’s chest.
Your brother walked away and you had to do literally everything to not seem like the creep Megumi was accusing you of being. You thought of everything that was absolutely irrelevant to you in hopes of finding something more relevant than your brother's best friend's brother. You pulled out your phone and decided to reply to Maki.
you: liar
you: you wanna spend more time with yuta and toge instead of me
you: traitors. I CANNOT believe y’all
You snort at the text because you know Maki is about to show Toge, which means if he’s going to text the group chat, he’ll prove your theory right. Toge’s pretty athletic for someone his size, and Yuta’s a part of your school’s basketball team. Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you look up to make sure Megumi and Yuuji aren’t injuring themselves.
Instead, you’re met with the eyes of Yuuji’s brother.
Your eyes widen–mostly out of confusion as to why he’s walked up to you. A part of you can’t help but suddenly feel self conscious about yourself.
“Hey." He nods at you. “Fushiguro, right?”
Your heart beats. Just one, really loud one before you remembered that he probably only knew your surname because of your brother. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for bringing Yuuji. Had a shift and was scared he wouldn’t be able to come to practice.”
Crap, of course. Why would he come to you for any other reason? You picked up his brother, nothing more. Silently saluting Yuuji in your head for being the wingman he didn’t know he was, you reply back, attempting to start a conversation. “It’s nothing. I didn’t know Yuuji had a brother.”
He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know there was another Fushiguro either.”
You snort at being minimized to just a family name. Your eyes look over at your brothers and you nod at Yuuji. “How many other Itadori’s are there?”
“Just one other." He follows your gaze. “Our dad. Mine’s Kamo.”
You blinked up at him, your gaze breaking away from Yuuji who looks like he’s getting a scolding from Megumi. “Kamo?”
“Yeah, we’re half brothers,” he states, and you try your best not to wonder about his past. He didn’t go to this school—you’d definitely remember if he did or not–and even then, you’re sure Maki had everyone’s faces memorized when you two went to Kage. But maybe it was just cause she wanted to remember who was on Mai’s side and who was on hers. Talk about some Zenin rivalry.
“You…didn’t go to this school, I’m assuming?” You asked, hoping the conversation flows—maybe to get something out of his past. Feed your curiosity, perhaps.
“Nope.” He shakes his head, choosing to plop down in the seat next to you. You wonder if the seats decided to move somewhat closer to each other. “Shikyu Academy.”
You nod, humming, and before you could speak, he opens his mouth to talk first. “I owe you one.”
“For?”
“Dropping Yuuji off,” he states, and you’re baffled. You shake your hands dismissively.
“Hey, it was my pleasure! Not the first time I’ve come around to carpool your brother. Plus, I can drive to Kage without looking.” A part of you cringes at the last statement.
His lips turn into a narrow, small smile, and he chuckles. “Yeah, Yuuji’s mentioned you. You coming to Kage before and all.” You plan on asking Yuuji about that someday. “But seriously, I’ll take Megumi next time–heard him talking about someone missing an assignment over there.” He points his thumb towards where your brothers were.
You snickered–half from annoyance, the other half cause you tried to cover up for the fact that Yuuji’s brother may think you’re a total procrastinator. Which you totally are. But that’s because you always find a way to finish it in the end with decent results. So it’s okay.
“That kid,” you sigh comedically. “Well, he’s not wrong. Our dad said he couldn’t drop him off. And get this, Megumi told me the game was at four when it was, like, three forty.”
His mouth falls open for a bit, processing the words before laughter bubbles out of him. Deep, from the core sounds painting from his chest. Your eyes land on his smile, and you don’t know why your eyes stay on it. “I’m guessing it worked.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Unfortunately,” you repeated, leaning back onto your chair. “Could’ve actually finished my assignment then.” You’re still mad about that, but when you see Megumi actually enjoying basketball, some of the anger subsides.
He nodded, adjusting himself in the seat, and you swear the seats moved closer than where they actually were. “What was the assignment anyways?”
“You really wanna hear about that? Don’t you have referee-ing things to do?” You chuckle, turning your body to face his.
He stays silent for a moment, and tilts his head. “Right. Forgot I’m volunteering. Or–referee-ing,” he chuckles, looking at you when he uses your word. “I guess I was just entertained enough to forget." He nods at you casually, and the words replay in your head like rethought brush strokes.
You roll your eyes, flapping a hand at him. “Go on, referee Kamo.”
He shakes his head and mock salutes you, shoving a hand into his pocket. “Still curious about that assignment, Fushiguro.” You can’t help but smile when he calls you that, despite it being your literal surname.
You initially came for Megumi, so a part of you feels a little bad for watching Kamo do his referee-ing activities instead. You’re probably even proving Megumi’s point of you being a creep. Megumi gave you a confused look when he caught you staring at Kamo once, and you plan to threaten him to never talk about it again later.
Finally, the game is about to start. The gymnasium is slowly being filled with more people as the rival school, Yajirushi West, arrives too. Along with your brother’s team, the coach makes an inspirational speech to both them and the referee’s around. You can’t help but smile at Fumihiko when he notices you, and you fight an irresistible urge to beam at Kamo when he waves at you.
The tip off starts, and Junpei manages to catch the first ball. Despite not knowing much about basketball, you couldn’t help but feel yourself anxiously shaking your leg as your eyes focused on the game. The sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the floor fills up the room, and before you know it, Yuji scores a lay-up.
You cheer loudly for them, standing up and bouncing on your feet before you could think. You know Megumi would kill you for the amount of enthusiasm you were carrying throughout the entire game, but you didn’t care. You’ve always wanted to support Megumi for anything he’s wanted to do.
It wasn’t hard for you to develop this towards your brother–you knew how much pressure he put himself under, so seeing him genuinely enjoy the game like it was an extension of his soul made your heart all warm and fuzzy inside. Being his big sister, you’d never fail to notice how the corners of his lips would turn up slightly whenever he’d be on court. You’d watch all his games, and you’ve tried your best not to miss any.
The clock was running on ten seconds left after the first quarter, the points 13-14 in Kage’s favor, and you shot Megumi two enthusiastic thumb ups. His eyebrows narrow but he makes no verbal sound, which you know essentially means he appreciates it.
And, much to your attention, Yuuji’s brother—Kamo—is standing by the coach as he makes some inspirational speech for the boys.
The second quarter starts with some kid on the other team taking the ball first, but it’s eventually stolen by Megumi. You scream before you can think, and you wonder if this is how Megumi and your dad feels whenever a sports game plays on the TV—anxious, excited, and full of anticipation.
Unfortunately, you’re reminded that those three feelings can also come from a boy, and it happened to be none other than your brother's best friend's brother when he calls a kid out for a foul. What a title.
You forget that you texted Maki and waited for a text from Toge. You silenced your phone in order to watch Megumi’s game without any distractions—you should probably do that when finishing assignments or studying too.
You pull your phone out as soon as the third quarter starts, and to no one’s surprise, Toge texted the group chat.
clownfish: @.you
clownfish: what if your accusation was right huh
clownfish: what if maki DID just like me and yuta better than you
you: maki would never
clownfish: yes she would
clownfish: she loves me
clownfish: everyone does
you: I’d understand Yuta but not you
clownfish: WELL
clownfish: [sent 1 attachment]
You open the photo and giggle—it was a selfie of Toge with Maki and Yuta obliviously conversing in the background with a badly heart drawn around them. Remembering the game, you grieve the fact you can’t wait for Maki and Yuta’s reaction in the group chat and send a quick text before diverting your attention back to the game.
Kamo seems to be discussing with Fumihiko, unable to keep a smile off his face as he does–it’s endearing to you. You have to force yourself to look back at the game again.
Much to your surprise, the game is now 37-39 in Yajirushi favor. You gesture confusedly at the leaderboard, looking for Megumi who seems to be pissed—not that he doesn’t look like he ever isn’t, it’s just that his anger seems to be coinciding with Yuuji’s and everyone else on the team, so you know it’s bad. You feel bad for missing it. But you feel even worse for looking for Kamo right after—his lips are pressed into a thin line and his arms are crossed.
Suddenly, you feel exactly like your dad. Moving further to the edge of your seat, back hunched over, eyes popping out of your sockets as you silently pray for your team to win. Sweat forms in your shirt, but the discomfort of it won’t match the vibes in the car later when you drive Megumi home. Thud thud thud’s of the basketball vibrates the ground and the air.
“Please,” you whisper out, breathy. You knew how much basketball meant to Megumi—maybe even as much as his dogs. And you knew how proud you’d feel if you’d watch them win.
The fourth and last quarter started, with a kid from the other team taking the ball first. You bring a fist down to your thighs, ignoring the pain you caused from it. You could see the fatigue in Kage, but they were still going hard.
Specifically, in your brother. Behind his angered expression, you knew it came from passion deep within. You knew that because you always felt that way when being seated in front of a canvas or sketchbook. Passionate, yet almost as if it’s just out of your reach—a longing.
There’s seventeen seconds to go on the clock, and you’re sweating as much as your brother. The leaderboard screams 54-56 in Yajirushi’s favor once again, and the spirit of Kage seems to be threatened.
You’re practically off your seat watching the game, an amusing sight to some of the parents who are here to watch, but your attention wasn’t on them. It was on Kage, and it was on Megumi’s win. At twelve seconds, Megumi manages to steal the ball.
“Go, Megumi!” You scream before you could think, jumping out of your seat and clasping your hands together.
You can see the dedication and the passion—almost the need in Megumi’s eyes. He’s stolen the ball from a student in Yajirushi who was about to shoot, and he speeds back to the other side of the court.
Eight seconds, and Megumi’s two steps away from the three-point line. Shoot, you think, but don’t say out loud.
You’re back in your seat, tense, groaning when two players from Yajirushi go against Megumi. You don’t miss the slight widening of his eyes when they come, stopping him in his tracks, but you know he can shoot. Despite the exhaustion catching up to him, he can make it. You know he can.
So the moment Megumi throws it to Yuuji, you furrow your eyebrows at the sudden move. Megumi could've definitely shot that–and you know he could’ve. So why didn’t he?
You make a mental note to ask Megumi about it later. Your eyes are now on Yuji who catches the ball, and even though you only see the back of his head, you know he’s carrying an infectious smile as he gets into position.
Four seconds, two players have already run up to Yuuji, but he’s already in the air, and before you or anyone else can see it, the ball is making its way to the hoop already.
And at two seconds, the ball lands in. A second of silence passes before the screen flashes 57-56.
“Yes!” You jump out of your seat, clapping your hands and cheering for Kage—more for Megumi. You clumsily grab your bag and walk down the bleachers to go to him.
“Megumi! That was amazing!” You congratulate, laughing at Megumi’s grumbles. You plan on teasing him about it, but your eyes first catch the screech of someone not too far away from you–and it sounds like Yuuji.
Concerned, you look up to your left, and Yuuji’s in the air–Kamo’s throwing him up and down.
“That was awesome, Yuuji!” He throws him in the air, and ruffles his hair messily once he puts him down, keeping him in a headlock.
You initially planned to congratulate Yuuji after the phenomenal shot he managed to clutch, but there’s something captivating about seeing the world’s brightest smile pasted onto Kamo’s face. The artist in you wants to capture it.
Shaking your head out of it, you turn back to Megumi and pat his head–something he hates. Once he swats your hand away, you put it back–and he doesn’t push it away. Which means he likes the praise.
“You did so well, Megumi." You grab his bag, slinging it over your shoulder.
Not replying, he instead bumps his fist with no facial expression once Yuuji shows up next to him. He tackles Megumi in a hug, and Megumi makes some protest about how sweaty he is–you agree with him. Until a voice seems to pierce through.
“Fushiguro.”
You turn your head to where it came from, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks once you realize Kamo’s actually looking at Megumi. You clear your throat, hating the fact you felt like your heart feathered a paintbrush onto a canvas so tenderly.
“Great game today.” He nods at Megumi then looks at you. “You had a great audience.” There’s a slight upturn to his lips when he makes eye-contact with you–and you thought your cheeks couldn’t get any hotter.
You cleared your throat, feeling a vein pop out. Not because you were mad at him, but more embarrassed at yourself for letting the cheering get ahead. He probably heard all your voice cracks and shouts throughout the game, and the humiliation just started to sink in.
“Why wouldn’t I? You’d do the same if you were there, Kamo,” you laughed, placing a hand on your hip in an attempt to act unaffected. He shakes his head, and you’re trying not to accept the fact that your attempt failed.
He glances down at Yuuji who’s now by his side, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes softened as he patted Yuuji’s head. “I would’ve.”
With the way he was showering his brother with both praises and teases, you felt your own heart tendering, savoring the sight.
Until your thoughts are interrupted when Megumi repeatedly digs his index finger into your cheek, eyebrows knit together. “When are we going to leave? I want to go home.”
You groan at the action, and it suddenly pisses you off how much he’s grown. A year ago, he’d have to get on his tip-toes just to reach up to your shirt–now he’s demanding you to drive him home.
You want to get mad, but the affection and pride you felt for him after the game is greater. Ruffling his hair again, relishing in the fact that he doesn’t swat your hand away, you bend down to meet his height.
“I’ll treat ya. What do you want?” You smiled.
“Nothing,” he mutters, but you know he wants something. It’s a common thing for you to usually take him out for food, and now you feel like he deserves it.
“Free food?” Yuuji suddenly appears at Megumi's side, slinging his arm over his shoulder, and Megumi grumbles in response.
“Want a ride, Yuuji? I’ll treat you too,” you laugh, reaching up to your shoulder to adjust Megumi’s bag–until the weight seems to disappear when you do.
Confused, you turn around and see Kamo, who has both Megumi and Yuuji’s bag slung over his shoulder and one hand in his pocket.
“Fushiguro,” he calls out. You hate the way you’re feeling when he calls you. “You free right now?”
You blink once–twice, and mentally do another double-take to try and figure out why he was asking you if you were free or not. There’s definitely something about that that sounds like an invitation to a date–maybe he thought you were cute, maybe not–but you pushed that thought away. Because no, you weren’t free. You were trapped in the chains of a history assignment due next week. “Probably not. Why?”
“Ah, that’s a shame." He brings his hand up to his neck.“I was planning to treat you. To owe you.”
Aw, he was so persistent about owing you back. You can’t help but feel like you owe Yuji now for this, wingman or just for being on Kamo’s mind. “No, really, it’s okay!” You wave your hands dismissively.
Your brothers make their way to the boys locker room to clean themselves up and you and Kamo follow. He leans on the wall across the door of the locker room, and you mirror his move. He isn’t really letting go of owing you, and despite you really not wanting him to, you’re enjoying just talking to him continuously.
“Ah, right." He snaps his fingers. “That assignment, I have the time to hear about it now.”
You raise your eyebrows, slightly surprised because did he really remember that? Continuously talking about owing you was one thing, but remembering your stupid history assignment was another.
Your heart thinks you’re painting.
“Right." You clasp your hands together (Kamo insisted on carrying Megumi’s bag) and sigh, “It was for history. A critique on two articles we had to read.”
“And…Did you read it?” He asks like he can read your mind. You look at him, but he’s genuinely curious. Leaning in, arms crossed and silently waiting for an answer. No mind-reading skills here.
“...Nope,” you sigh self-deprecatingly. You wish you could be like Maki or Yuta who always seem to be on top of their work, but oh well. You get things done in the end.
Kamo chuckles. “Can’t blame you. I procrastinate too.” He tosses a basketball up with one hand and spins it on his finger. You feel a worry lift off your shoulders—because at least he doesn't think you’re some loser procrastinator. “How many pages is it?”
“Forty-seven in total.”
“Jeez,” he breathes, like he held his breath before you told him the number of pages. Not like you could blame him—you always feel like you’re holding your breath when opening any assignment. “Typa school you go to?”
“Ikigai." You try your best not to cringe at the name. Not that you hate your school–you love it, actually. The thought of school just drains you like any other normal student.
“Ah.” He reacts, probably making the connection with you and IB. Your school’s known for it, it’s not unprecedented.
“Where do you go? Remembered you went to Shikyu,” you reply, part of you wanting to impress him for remembering his middle school.
And maybe it works, because he straightens his back with a smile as he looks down to the ground, like he’s doing a quick trip down the memory lane. “Yeah. Hanbun now.” he answers, but you’re hung up on something else–Hanbun–where have you heard that before?
You clap your hands together, and chuckle when it startles him. “Sorry–I just–my cousin goes to that school.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s your cousin?” He nods at you.
“Mai Zenin.” Mai and Maki go to different schools–a good decision. Going to elementary and middle school together was enough evidence to tell their parents that they had to separate them. Even then, while most of their family went to Hanbun, Maki wanted to go to Ikigai with you. Her family didn’t really react that well—then again, they never react well to Maki.
Kamo’s head snaps to you so quickly you’re worried about whether it hurts or not. His eyes are fixated on you, unreadable, like he’s the one trying to read you. “Mai Zenin.” He repeats.
“Yeah?”
“The same cousin you used to go here with?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel like the answer he wants to hear is no.
“Oh, no. I went with her twin. They both went to this school,” you wave your hands dismissively, before laughing and crossing your arms. “Why are you trashing on my cousin?” You raise an eyebrow, and Kamo grins like he’s just been caught.
“I’m not trashing on her.”
“You looked like you saw a ghost when I said her name.”
“I just know her,” he corrects. “She’s friends with my cousin, and she’s…” he trails off, but you wave your hand dismissively. His trailing off is all you need to hear, and he looks relieved that you know exactly what he’s talking about. You love Mai—she’s your cousin as much as Maki is, but you get why people can feel this way towards the Zenin family. Some sort of Zenin clan.
Eventually, an annoyed Megumi and somehow still energetic Yuuji emerge from the locker room, looking more put together than fifteen minutes ago. Kamo hands you Megumi's bag once you two see them. He starts talking to his brother, so you look over to your own. Staring down at him, you wait for him to look at you–cause you know he knows, he just doesn’t want to hear your next words.
“What?” He groans without looking.
“Happy?” You ask, and Megumi’s head finally turns to you in annoyed confusion.
“What?” He asks again, and you roll your eyes.
“With the game. You’re practically feeling the same way Yuuji is right now.” Your eyes stay focused on him once he looks away, and you know he can feel your gaze.
“It’s good that we won,” he simply says, and you hum teasingly. He lightly swats your arm and just walks over to Yuuji before you can make any more comments.
You look back over at Kamo, who’s talking with a very animated Yuuji once Megumi walks over.
Your first impression of Kamo was that carries a bored expression and looks dissociated, if not for the fact that you wanted to capture him into a painting. But actually talking to him seems enough of a different world—even if it was just for fifteen-ish minutes. His voice is lazy, but he doesn’t fail at keeping up with banter in conversations and makes the both of you laugh.
And you feel like the creep Megumi was accusing you of being earlier when wishing you could replay his laughter in your head forever. If only paintings made sounds.
“Will you be here next game?” Yuuji asks Megumi, and Megumi grumbles in annoyance.
“Why would I not be? I’m a player,” he answers straightforwardly, but Yuuji just laughs, tackling Megumi in a side hug.
“How about you?” Kamo asks, nodding at you.
“Me?” You point to yourself, sort of regretting the decision–because who else would Kamo be asking?
“Yeah. Will you be here next game?” He repeats.
Perhaps you shouldn’t have let that get to your head. He’s probably only asking because of your relation to Megumi, but what’s wrong with allowing yourself to feel a little like he wants you there personally?
You smile, nodding back at him.
“Of course I will.”
He smiles back–lazy, slow, and you realize you could paint it with the warm muted colors that softly illuminate him from the sun setting through the windows. There’s a lot more you want to capture than just his lighted up smile. He brings two fingers to his head in a quick salute.
“See you then, Fushiguro.”
~~~
If there’s one thing you know about Toge, it's during lunch when he sits next to you and hides his phone from you that you should really be worried. He’s either taking a blackmail photo, or talking crap about something that would piss you off.
And thank goodness for someone like Maki.
“Toge says why do you think she’s quiet do you think she met her husband.” She reads out loud, looking at the top of her phone screen.
“Maki. Zenin.” Toge puts his phone face down on the desk, placing a hand over his heart. So that was what he was doing. “How dare you.
It was the next day after meeting Kamo, and you were sitting around a table in front of this one convenience store not far from the school you frequented during lunch with your best friends. You all found it during freshman year, and it looks like it should be populated by students, but thankfully isn’t. You guys usually take turns paying for snacks. Today was yours.
Maki and Yuta are across from you, Toge next to you, and he’s been weirdly secretive on his phone. The seating arrangement first started out with you and Maki sitting next to each other, but ever since Maki and Yuta started pining for each other, you and Toge made an agreement to sit next to each other from then on.
Usually, you’d just be conversing with them like it was a normal day. But perhaps it wasn’t a normal day–because you weren’t feeling all that normal. Not after whatever the heck happened yesterday. Toge was sitting on the table and hid his phone from you, and Maki just exposed why.
“What?” You look between Maki and Toge, cocking your head to the side. You knew Maki had already noticed your quiet state–she always notices small changes about you, but you knew Toge wouldn’t be quiet about it. “Me? What?”
Maki nods, and Yuta turns his head to you curiously. Once Toge smirks, you have a feeling you’re not going to like his next words. “You’re only this quiet when something happens or when you’re art-ing.”
“Not a word.” Maki cuts in, but Toge doesn’t seem fazed.
“And you aren’t art-ing. So what is it?” He inquires, and both Maki and Yuta exchange a knowing glance. Frick. Toge and his freak observant skills.
“No wonder you’re in the newspaper club, jeez.” You look away and mumble—but unfortunately not quiet enough. Toge hears, and you immediately regret ever opening your mouth.
Toge gasps and turns you around, shaking you by the shoulders. “No way! Tell me! Who–who is it? Who is it? A guy? Is he cute?”
“Get off me, you freak,” you groan, pushing him off. You’re feeling the same heat your cheeks did yesterday, and you’re trying your best to cool it down.
“Spill.” He smirks as he stares you down. He’s not going to let this go, is he?
“It wasn’t anything big or serious,” you mumbled through your hands.
“That implies there was something then.” He smirks, and suddenly everyone’s leaning in on you. You can’t help but feel cornered like all the colors on a canvas are clashing in a way you don’t like.
“I thought you were dropping Megumi and Yuuji off at their game yesterday?” Yuta asks as he leans his back onto the table, tilting his head.
“And I did exactly that.” You take a deep breath before starting your long-not-so-long story, because while you know Toge won’t let this go, you’ll have to deal with the embarrassing teasing of Maki and Yuta. Which you find ironic.
You start. “Did any of you guys know Yuuji had a brother?”
“Going for your brother’s best friend’s brother,” Toge already spits like the little gremlin he is.
“Keep quiet or I’m not continuing.” You glare at him, and that seems to evaporate all the comments Toge prepared to spill onto you.
“I just, well—" you sigh, embarrassment rising at actually admitting this to yourself out loud. “He just… caught my attention. And during the game I cheered for Megumi as if he wasn’t there and it wasn’t even a filled stadium so he definitely saw me humiliating myself by being a screaming mess in front of him even though he said I was just being a good audience.” You land your forehead on the table. Hard, trying to push down the embarrassment you’re reliving. “And, well, because I dropped Yuuji off, he came to thank me, and after the game we spoke for a bit before going our separate ways.” You end it there, because really–nothing happened out of it.
That’s what you keep telling yourself, because even if your heart keeps screaming like you were in front of a canvas–the canvas wasn’t even unwrapped of its packaging yet. You didn't even know if it was for you.
“What did you guys talk about?” Yuta speaks up.
“Well, I told him about that history assignment Dr. Haibara gave us last week—"
“You didn’t start it?” Maki asks suddenly, but you know she knows you haven’t.
“You’re not even in history,” You deadpan. “And I did. Yesterday,” You quickly change the topic before Maki can trash on you. “And he goes to Mai’s school.”
“Eugh.” Maki grimaces. “Hanbun? What’s his name?”
You open your mouth to tell them–before you close it.
You didn't even get his name. You got his last name, and it wasn’t even the same as Yuuji’s. When you stay silent a second too long, Toge’s loudmouth decides to strike again.
“You didn’t even get his name!” He points and claps his hands repeatedly, and you’re sure you’re even more scarlet than you originally were.
“I got–his last name," you state, just for the sake of shutting Toge up–and you know it won’t, so you don't really know why you said it. “It’s Kamo. Different from Yuuji’s.” You don’t really want to talk about the half-brother part because that’s probably personal to him. Your friends don’t seem to press about it, thankfully–but really, it’s just Toge’s endless teasing.
You continue adding little details to your explanation—not like there’s much, honestly. You just met this guy and happened to find him cute. You describe his looks and the fact that you were super embarrassed when cheering for Megumi and answer questions from Toge and occasionally Yuta’s questions that seem way better to answer than Toge’s.
“Okay. Let me get this straight,” Maki says first once you finish, and you’re surprised she’s the first to say something. Toge’s eyes widen slightly too, but Yuta just seems to smile. You have a feeling you aren’t going to like it.
“One.” She holds her hand up and puts one finger down. “You still haven’t finished your history assignment.”
“I said I started it.”
“Shh.” She holds a finger up at you. “Two, you just found out that your brother's best friend has a brother that you find super attractive.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And three.” She crosses her arms. “You didn’t even get his name. And you’re already dying just thinking about him because you humiliated yourself by being a screaming mess in front of him.” She echoed your words. “Even though you were probably just being a good audience, like he said.”
You let out a sigh of defeat as if you were Yajirushi, dropping your head to the table and slightly banging it, earning a chuckle from Toge and concerned noises from Yuta. “How could I not be dying?! His first impression of me was me acting like I was drunk!”
“From the way you described him I’d be surprised if he wasn’t a drunkard himself. Who in their right and sober mind tattoos a shape onto their face?” she chuckled, propping her elbow on the desk and resting her chin in her palm.
“I also screamed like I was dying in front of him.”
“You were in front of a game, not him.”
“His game.”
“Your brother’s game.”
Staying silent and allowing your grief and humiliation to sink in, you hear Maki sigh, indicating that she’s quite literally done with your shenanigans.
“Listen, Picasso.” You laugh dryly at the seriousness in her voice despite the nickname. “I’m not gonna say anything as of now other than don’t waste your time thinking about it because you just met this guy. I’m telling you, Pick, you’re probably not gonna see him again if not through Megumi.”
Yuta nods in acknowledgement, and you allow her words to sink in, forcefully pushing them deeper than the embarrassment and humiliation of today before pulling your head back up from the table. Looking over at Toge, you narrow your eyebrows, and he defensively shoots his hands up.
“Hey, I didn't even say anything!” He smirks, and you know he’s going to say something. “Ooh, you should ask Megumi to ask Yuuji about him! Or, get into basketball, play at every single public court there is and once you see him you—"
“Oh my gosh,” you drag out the words. “Can you not. That wouldn’t even work.” But you’re blushing at the thought of seeing him again.
“Offensive to my methods,” he sighs dramatically, before opening his mouth again, and you’re already threatening him.
“If you don’t shut up I’m never buying you your seafood snacks again.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
You smirk, and Toge darts off the table when you reach for his food that you paid for, shielding it. You were about to aim for his ticklish spots before Yuta speaks up.
“Five minutes until lunch ends, by the way,” he announces, not looking up from his watch.
“Saved by the bell." You stick your tongue out at Toge, before going back in one more time to poke his side, causing him to yelp.
“Do we all have math right now?” Yuta asks. You nod, packing up your lunch quickly and the four of you start making your way to the math class. On the way, you pushed Maki next to Yuta, enjoying the sight of the flustered redness that dabbed themselves up on her cheeks. Once she lands next to him, he bumps her shoulder casually, and you plan to tease them on that separately after class.
You look over to tell Toge about the cute interaction in front of you, but he’s already smirking at you.
“Toge.” You warn.
“I said nothing.”
“Keep doing that.”
“Of course.”
You know he’s going to prove himself wrong in the next few moments. And he does—he leans into your ear, pretending to whisper but not whispering at all.
“Maybe Kamo gave you his last name for you to take it.”
You have no remarks to take this time, so you resort to poking his sides again until he’s aiming for you too, and the two of you are entering a tackle zone. You and Toge can’t seem to help the laughter that escapes your throats, and you start falling behind from Maki and Yuta.
Maki’s the first one that turns back, and she sighs dramatically–Yuta just chuckles softly next to her.
“Children! Break it up!” She screams, pinching the bridge of her nose. You and Toge both unhand each other and point to the other, screaming at the same time.
“She started it!”
“He started it!”
~~~
You’re thankful to Maki sometimes, because not only does she notice every small thing about you–she’s simply been the one person you can rely on ever since you two were small. Which means she gives you what you need to hear.
So, yeah. You don’t think that much about Kamo for the next few days, instead focusing on all the assignments IB’s throwing onto you. Thankfully, it’s still first semester, and it’s just before the snow falls, so the assignments aren’t all that bad.
So when your dad comes into your room that weekend, holding the dog leashes up for Kuro and Shiro, you decide to take the opportunity to bathe in nature’s pre-snow weather. It was a Sunday, the weekly family day you guys somehow suggested having, where your entire family would go to the park for a few hours. You’d walk the dogs, and Megumi would practice whatever sports with your dad.
You quickly changed into warm and comfortable clothes, snatched your sketchbook into your bag and ran out of your room to put your shoes on. There was something about carrying a sketchbook around to you that catalysed your creative brain, and now that you have to prepare art works for your IB art exhibition coming up in March, you needed it now more than ever.
Once you arrived at the park with your dad and Megumi, you immediately went to walk your dogs. Usually, you’d wait, but you wanted nature to inspire you as you walked through the woods, hoping for ideas to come up for your next piece of art.
You’d already finished three pieces you needed for your exhibition, and started four. You often forget to just appreciate nature for what it is. It’s October, and the weather hasn’t cursed you all with snow yet. It’s nice. The sky was muted, but hints of a saturated yellow emanated from the sun.
After walking the dogs and arriving back at the bench in front of the courtyard your dad and Megumi were playing in, you place your Airpods in and take out your sketchbook. The page is empty, blank, and you love it. It’s one of the things you love about art, really–the possibilities of bringing whatever to life just with the existence of a blank canvas, waiting to soak up all the ideas you spill.
But when you look up, you see a bright pink haired boy next to Megumi and–when did Yuuji come here? You straighten up, tilting your head, and you should be asking Megumi about it, but your head drifts to another question.
Is Kamo here?
You hate yourself for asking that question, and you hate yourself even more when your eyes dart around and hopefully find a man who’s about 5’7 with two obnoxious pigtails and eyes that’s never gotten a day of sleep.
Turning and turning your head, there’s no sight of him. That is—until you feel a sort of warmth on the right side of your face.
“Looking for someone, Fushiguro?”
You turn to your right and see Kamo, the corners of his mouth twitching in a way that feels a little teasing. And that’s when you take in your sight–sweatpants, a hoodie, and a probably hilarious expression on your face since Kamo’s trying hard not to laugh.
“Kamo!” You let out a half laugh, a half sigh of relief. “You scared me, jeez–what are you even doing here?”
He tilts his head, placing his hands on his pocket. “Your brother texted Yuuji to come over. Don’t wanna see me?”
“I said nothing,” you reply. Shiro eventually jumps onto the bench, barking at Kamo.
“Hey! Shiro! No, down.” You catch her as she plants her paws on Kamo’s chest, her tail wagging enthusiastically. You barely even realize Kuro making his way behind the bench, his own tail wagging happily.
“Woah!” He places his hands on Shiro, carrying her. “Hello there.” He smiles softly, his voice becoming more gentle as he speaks to Shiro. “You have dogs?”
You sigh, telling Kuro to come back. “Yeah. Shiro,” you gesture your white fluff. “Kuro,” you gesture your black fluff.
Kamo’s smile only gets wider yet somehow softer, and maybe it’s in the way his eyes narrow slightly, the same way they do for Yuuji.
And you’re right. “She’s like Yuuji,” he mutters, more to himself than you as he carries Shiro.
“They’re friendly.” You sit back down in your seat once you realize that Kamo isn’t disturbed by them. “And it seems like they’re energetic enough now.” You place your sketchbook down and grab Shiro, placing her down next to you and telling her to calm down.
“I like her.” He strokes her fur, looking at you. “Are you gonna walk them?” He asks, and you shake your head.
“Already did. Should’ve come earlier if you wanted more dog time,” you laugh, turning back in your seat and facing your dad and brother, and now Yuuji who’s joined them.
“Shame,” he chuckles, and then nods at your sketchbook. “Watcha doin?”
“Drawing.”
“I can see that,” he answers quickly, and you roll your eyes, not in the way Megumi makes you–it’s fun. “What are you drawing?”
You shrug, and eventually place your pen on the paper and allow your hand to add a few strokes, sketching in an image. “I’m trying to get inspired. Got an exhibition in March and need to finish my pieces before then.”
“Exhibition?” He tilts his head to see more of your sketchbook.
“Oh, yeah.” You don’t look up from your sketchbook, your pencil dancing freely over the air of the paper. “I’m in IB art. Our final assessment is to do this exhibition where we showcase a few of our art pieces.”
“How many pieces do you need?”
“Well…” you groan at the thought of it. “I’m in HL–higher level, so I need, like, eight pieces minimum.
“Eight?!”
You hold back a laugh. “Yup. Standard level only needs four minimum.”
“So…how many are you doing?”
“Well.” Your hand is idly stroking its pencil against the page. “Probably nine. Ten if I have the time.”
He hums in both acknowledgement and slight disbelief, and then he simply watches you. You were already self-conscious, but rather than freely allowing your hand to draw, you’re commanding its every move. Art is something you do to relax and take things off your mind–so why were there so many things on your mind just from the fact that he was looking at you?
You looked up at your brother abruptly, who’s talking to your dad with Yuuji. “You aren’t going to play with Yuuji?”
He shrugs, his hands mindlessly buried in Shiro’s fur. “I only came here cause Yuuji said Megumi told him he was going to play with his dad. And Yuuji’s weirdly fond of your dad.” Kamo scratches his head, and you look over at the court.
Evidently, Yuuji’s talking ardently to your dad, holding a basketball over his head. Your dad’s expression seems to be an exact copy-paste of Megumi–groaning, annoyed on the surface yet definitely not on the inside.
You look back at him, but his eyes stay on your sketchbook. “You draw good. Like really good–I suck a drawing,” he laughs, his shoulders vibrating almost against you.
“What? Come on, everyone can draw,” you laugh, before getting an idea. You pat Shiro, and she jumps off the bench, leaving Kamo’s hand untouched.
“Hey, I was busy with her,” he complains jokingly, and you pat the now empty spot next to you.
“Try drawing." You smile, holding back the urge to tease him.
He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward on the bench and tilting his head at you.
“Did you not just hear what I said?”
“I did." You pat the spot again. “That’s exactly why.”
He looks between you and the book reluctantly before he sighs, hesitating as he makes his way around the bench, sitting next to you. You flip to a new page in your sketchbook and hand it to him along with your pencil. The sight is strange–he holds it like he’s never held a notebook or pen before–as if it was some foreign object.
“What do I even draw?” He scratches his head with your pencil, and you laugh.
“Anything–try drawing one of the trees around. Or Shiro.” You smile, leaning forward to give her some attention.
He thinks for a bit, spinning the pencil in his hand. His eyes are scanning the environment around you guys—until it lands onto you.
“What if I draw you?” He asks, and you point to yourself.
“Me?” You giggle. “You really wanna draw me?” You place a hand over your chest.
He doesn’t answer, already making distance between you two and staring at you intensely and placing your pencil on the paper. He holds the book up, blocking your view from it and slightly poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.
You’re self conscious again, and you turn your head to the courtyard, giving him a better pose of you. You allow him to draw your side profile instead, hoping not to overwhelm him with the accuracy of human facial features.
There’s a silence between you guys, other than the wind glazing and flapping through you guys, and scratching your pencil on paper as Kamo draws you. And you realize–it isn’t really an awkward silence. No, it’s more like enjoying the moment. The colors of the moment don’t feel harsh—but they were gently grazed onto the surface. Relishing the silence, you’re particularly enjoying the attention, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.
Eventually, Yuji, Megumi, and your dad walk out the court, causing both you and Kamo to look up.
“We’re leaving, now,” your dad says, affectionally clapping Kamo’s back. The boy lunges forward with a grunt—that looked like it hurt. You tilt your head, confused at the sudden display of closeness between your dad and Kamo. Were they close? Kamo notices the moment he looks at you, and jots something down in your sketchbook.
“Your dad goes to almost all Megumi’s practices, and I’m trying to get my volunteering hours up." He finishes what he’s jotting down and closes your sketchbook before handing it to you.
“Ohh." You nod. Makes sense. You grab your sketchbook and the leashes of Shiro and Kuro and stand up, holding your sketchbook to your chest. You turn to Kamo one last time.
“Nice seeing you, Kamo.” You smile. And he smiles back–lazy and slow. Similarly to how your hand moves when painting water reflections on a beach. “See you next time?”
Like water reflections—you give him back a smile. But maybe it’s wider.
“See you next time, Kamo.”
“You too, Fushiguro.”
pick’s sketchbook (index). next piece (chapter).
jjk taglist: open, js lmk :)
@megumismyhusband or @riuvy / @reverd-ck
a/n: ahhh first chapter is finally here and i already didn't know how to end it...hope you lovelies enjoyed. if you ask why IB is a trigger warning don’t pls ill lose my mind 💔💔💔 the whole history critique thing is based off a real story I fear (wrote this chapter instead of doing a history critique I’d been assigned at the time…) (but it’s okay I got a good mark!!!) nyways I got the dog names from @.silentscrying HAHAHA sorry I’m obsessed w her fics 🫶🫶🫶. N don’t ask ab the random ahh school names pls
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
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
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
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"
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.”
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?”
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? 😗😗
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.”
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.
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? 😗😗
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
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.”
