The piece I did for the @sawrevbigbang, based around this post I made a while back! And you can read the lovely fic to go with it here, written by @wobbeegong !!
I had a blast doing this, and working with the amaazing artists, writers, and crew that put this whole thing together! There's so much banger art and fics that have already been posted, with much more to come- so stay tuned!! >:D
ft. Mark Hoffman (SAW franchise)
Day 11 - Cum Licking, Handcuffs, Needle Play
Warnings: Nsfw (MDNI), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, afab reader, established relationship (yall are married), canon typical violence / mentions of death (not reader), drugged / kidnapped, needles / injections alluded to, handcuffs and restraints, cum licking (he eats it outta you), unhealthy relationship, mentions of substance abuse and depression
Synopsis: Your husband was never the same since his sister died...but when he appears to be improving five years later, you assumed things were on the up and up. One pig-masked scuffle later, you discover his dark secret.
Word Count: 3192
Mark Hoffman x Fem!Reader (nsfw)
A/N: Officially the longest kinktober to date!!! I love SAW, I love a big boy like Mark Hoffman. Saw 'needle play' as a prompt and immediately thought of this franchise
Your husband was never the same after Angelina died. He’d turned to drinking and was apathetic, depressed, and unreachable. You’d done your best to support and comfort him as he grieved, especially during the grueling court processes against his sister’s killer, Seth Baxter. When Baxter was convicted to a life sentence, you’d naively thought things would go back to normal, that Mark would start to heal. But he didn’t.
Rather, he seemed to spiral even deeper. It was as if he’d lost the ability to feel empathy, now acting disinterested in his work at the police department and, frankly, in your marriage. Things fell into a listless routine. He refused therapy, and wouldn’t talk to you about any of the struggles he was going through.
For almost five years, things went on like this—and yet you didn’t have the heart to leave him. You loved him, and at the same time, he was no longer the man you’d married.
Then disaster struck. Baxter was unexpectedly released from prison due to a legal technicality, and Mark shattered as the justice system failed him. You were sick with worry over him. He was coming home later and later, obsessed with finding the man who’d stolen his sister from him. He wouldn’t answer your calls, wouldn’t tell you where he’d been or what he was doing.
And then, after a month of this confusing, worrisome madness…it stopped. Seth Baxter had been found brutally murdered, and the police department was quick to blame the Jigsaw killer. Yet, the news of this development hadn’t been the thing to send a shiver of dread up your spine—it had been the cold smile on your husband’s face when he delivered the news to you. It’d been the first smile you’d seen him wear in over half a decade.
Gradually, Mark seemed to find renewed fortitude and strength. He was less agitated, taking you on dates again, and beginning to rise on the up and up. It was remarkable, how this sudden change seemed to come over him. Although you wondered what could have happened to bring your detached husband back from the brink of utter ruin, you couldn’t deny that you were glad for it.
He was present once more—and your love life, your sex-life, was vastly improved. God, it was like you were newlyweds all over again, rediscovering one another’s bodies and souls. You wouldn’t say that Mark was the same as before, when you’d first been in love and married long ago. He was jaded now, and at times he seemed to lack any feeling. But at the same time, he was also more assertive, in control, and hard working.
You believed things were better. That he was better.
And that had been your mortal mistake.
-
You unlocked the front door of your house, pushing it open with your foot as you hauled in a grocery bag on your hip. You were home later than you’d said you’d be, but you had to make a quick stop to the store to grab some supplies for dinner.
“Mark? Honey?” you called out, dropping your purse and keys on the entryway table and slipping out of your shoes. You walked down the darkened hall to the kitchen, flicking on the light switch with your elbow. Setting the bag down on the counter, you looked around curiously. No answer.
“Mark?” you called again, confused and a little unsettled. He should’ve been home already and waiting for you…and yet, all the lights were off. You held your breath for a moment, listening for any sound that might indicate your husband was in the house.
A beat of silence, another one…and then suddenly, the tv clicked on in the adjacent living room, and you jumped out of your skin at the loud garble of static. You whirled around with a yelp of fear, eyes wide as they stared one room over. The living room furniture was cast in frightening shadows by the light of the salt and pepper screen.
“Honey, are you there…?” you forced your voice to croak out, a deep pit of dread beginning to settle in your stomach. You weren’t sure why you were so scared. Perhaps all that talk of the Jigsaw killer running loose in the city had finally gotten under your skin. Slowly, you stepped over the threshold that separated the rooms, your socks pushing into the plush of the carpet as you approached the tv.
You stared at the screen and swallowed, transfixed by the scratchy sound of static and dancing dots of black and white. Your heart hammering in your throat, you leaned forward to press your fingertip to the power button…and with a small click, the screen went black.
The room plunged into a deathly quiet, the small light from the kitchen being the only thing that kept the darkness at bay. You shuddered out a small sigh, trying to force your sympathetic nervous system back into a state of calm.
You straightened your back, rising once again to your full height. You told yourself your mind was playing tricks on you, turning from the tv to head back into the kitchen…and screamed as you came face to face with a grotesque creature of black hair and tusked snout.
You were caught off guard as the boorish, boar-ish intruder grabbed you with painful strength, pulling your arm so far to the side you thought it might snap out of place. You cried out, struggling against its brute strength, when suddenly you felt its balled fist slam into the side of your neck. The impact had you seeing stars, and then—fuck something sharp had pierced into the muscles there and…
You felt dizzy, something like cold water flooding your veins, trickling down to your arms and torso. You mind still raced with terror, but your body grew impossibly heavy. Your tongue wouldn’t cooperate, for only a small moan escaped you as you tried to cry out. Black spots crept into the edges of your vision, and then…you saw only black.
It felt like only a blink of an eye before your consciousness was returning, groggy and confused. You were first aware of the sound of dripping water and the dull thrum of an HVAC system whirring. Your eyelids were too heavy to lift, so you fluttered them until whatever drug wore off enough for you to blink them open.
As you did so, you watched the blurry world gradually come into focus. A bright, light…an unshaded lamp in the corner. Old, dusty machinery, half covered in old drapes and white tarps. A metal desk with papers askew on it. A rolling cart with various needles, tools, and labeled vials. Lab coats hanging on the wall. Ropes and hooked chains hanging from the ceiling beams….and some dark brown, rusty colored stains littering the floor in various places.
Good god, what hell hole had you awakened to? You felt your limbs gradually return to you, an aching soreness beginning to settle in your joints. You tried to move your hands…but they were forced behind you. Handcuffs, you guessed, if inspecting your husband’s pair over the years had any help in identifying your current restraints.
Your feet were untied, and you were free to kick and swing them…but the chair you sat in was bolted to the ground. Unless your hands were freed, you wouldn’t be able to stand.
Your head swiveled at breakneck speed towards the sudden metallic clanging of a door opening. Eyes wide, blood running cold, you watched the hulking figure of a man step into the room. Relief flooded your system at the sight of your husband. “Mark!” you choked out, your voice hoarse from disuse. How long had you been out?
But, one look at his dark expression and your relief was doused by a bucket of ice water. “W-What’s going on?” you whispered, horror beginning to dawn on you.
Mark walked up to you, his lips a thin line as he smiled at you, his eyes painfully devoid of any warmth. He stopped just in front of you, and bent at the waist so he could meet your eyes. He raised one large, calloused hand to cup your cheek, and shushed you quietly.
“Easy now, honey,” he cooed with mock reassurance. “Drug’s still leaving your system, so try not to whip your head around like that. You’ll get sick.” He dropped his hand to his side, and rose to his full height. His eyes raked over you, a satisfied look settling over his expression at seeing you restrained like this, at his mercy.
You’d been blind and naïve, faithfully believing that your husband was incapable of anything so heinous or cruel. But there’d been signs. His increased apathy and sociopathic tendencies. His deep decline into alcoholism and depression, and his obsession with Seth Baxter. All those late nights he didn’t come home until the early morning, and his sudden recovery and renewed vitality. God, how hadn’t you suspected anything before?
“It was you, wasn’t it?” your voice was weak with shock and terror. “You killed Baxter…” you stared at him, horror swelling in your throat when Mark didn’t so much as blink at the accusation. There was a cold expression on his familiar face…lethal and foreign. Dear god…you didn’t know your husband at all, did you? No…not since Angelina died.
“You’ve been a wonderful, dutiful wife,” Mark answered instead, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he surveyed you. His eyes lingered on the heaving of your breasts, your breathing uneven and short. “You’ve been loyal, devoted…even though you really should have left me years ago. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. I was a sorry fool, waiting for justice, believing in our judicial system, damning the universe for being unfair.”
He shook his head, and lifted his hand to gently grip your chin so your eyes met his. “But I’ve been enlightened, dearest. I am the hand of justice. It cannot be debated or deliberated upon…only delivered.”
His eyes searched your face, taking in the slight tremble to your bottom lip, the small droplets pricking at your vision. He thumbed your cheek, smearing a tear as it escaped the corner of your eye. “Shh, shh,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve done nothing wrong, my dear.” His tone was a mockery of the tender love he’d once shared with you. Now there was only hunger, only the need for control and dominion, which hardened his voice.
“I’m giving you a gift…an opportunity to join our mission, to stand with me once again as husband and wife—not only in title, but in spirit.” He sounded crazy to your ears, unhinged and so unlike the Mark you knew. If you weren’t so hyped up on adrenaline and the lasting effects of whatever drug had been injected to you, you might’ve caught that elusive ‘our’ he’d used.
“M-Mark,” you whimpered his name. Despite the betrayal, the horror, the disillusionment…you couldn’t find it within your heart to hate him. Five years you’d stuck by his side in life’s worst moments. Five years you’d preserved this marriage, waiting for him to reach out…to come back to you. Five years of waiting, of hoping, of praying for the love and connection you’d once shared to return…
And in his own perverted way…that’s what he was offering to you.
You still loved him, despite everything. God, how could you not? It was your husband. Your Mark.
He searched your face, and he must’ve found something there, because his expression shifted His eyes grew more intense and heated, his thin lips curving up into a mockery of a smile. “There’s my girl,” he whispered, and before you could react, he was lifting your chin and pressing a bruising kiss to your lips.
You whimpered into the forced kiss, you body instantly reacting. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you opened your mouth for him obediently as he demanded entrance. He groaned into your mouth, and the sound send an instant heat between your legs. Fuck, what were you doing? This whole situation was beyond fucked up, and yet your body was so conditioned to him, that he could turn you on with just one world-shattering kiss.
He kissed you with more force than he’d had before, a new, dark hunger overcoming him as he ravaged your mouth, his hands roaming over you as if this was the first time he’d ever touched you. It was as if two strangers were clashing together in a passionate tango, rather than the weathered and intimate lovers of a long-standing marriage.
“I knew you would understand,” he panted out against your lips, eagerly making deft work of your pants. You whined against him as he ripped your jeans down to your ankles before tossing them to the side. Your wrists ached and stung where the metal handcuffs bit into them, and you longed suddenly to have them free…not so you could make an escape, but so you could bury them into your husband’s hair.
The cool metal of the chair pressed against the bare skin of your ass, and you gasped at the sensation. Mark hummed against you, trailing kisses down from your lips and to your neck, where he grazed his teeth against the flushed skin there. “You’re the only good thing in this world,” he grunted, one fist groping your breast, the other working at his zipper. “Even at my worst, you’ve been by my side… You didn’t ask where I went. You didn’t ask why I came home smelling like bleach, or cleaning chemicals. You just… stayed. That kind of faith? People kill for less.”
You felt the head of him prod at your entrance, and your hips bucked instinctively. The motion tugged at your wrists, and you whined at the sting. He kissed along your neck consolingly. “Shh, I’ll take care of you,” he promised darkly, sucking on your flesh as his hips slowly sank into you.
You let out a long, strained cry as he stretched you—his cock far thicker than most men’s. Although you’ve laid in your shared bed and taken him more times than you could count, something about this moment felt new and erotic. This was a claim, a promise, a shared heartbeat.
It was the renewal of vows.
Mark lifted your knees up to your ears, folding you in half so you were presented to him in the most vulnerable and explicit way possible. He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he directed his gaze down, watching, transfixed, where you connected. He hissed lowly as he watched himself pull out, and then sink back into you.
Your body was uncomfortably contorted, hands cuffed behind you, legs pressed in half and exposed. You were twisted about like a pretzel, and though the metal cut into your wrists and your hamstrings were already getting sore, you could only focus on the heightened pleasure at the apex of your legs.
Mark began to rut into you, taking you hard and rough, punctuating each thrust with the roll of his hips. Gone was the tender husband who would make love to you under the blanket of night. All that remained in the man who bore your wedding ring was a cold-blooded brute, who now fucked you like he could brand you with his cock… He knew you would let him.
You cried out as he pounded mercilessly into you, each motion pressing deeper and deeper as he dragged across your g-spot. In this position, he could reach so deep into you that you felt it in your stomach, pressing against your insides. Your thoughts escaped you as you fell into a one-track mind—carnal and lust-driven.
You forgot about the dirty warehouse, you forgot about the handcuffs, you forgot about the revelation of your husband’s double life, and of the lives he must have taken…because right now, all you could think about was that he was yours again.
He fucked into you violently, balls slapping against your ass with each punishing thrust. Then, he was groaning, cumming into you while his fingers bruised into the plush meat of your thighs. Your face contorted into a strained expression as you tried to wiggle your hips, needing more friction. You still hadn’t cum, and you didn’t want this entrancing moment between you to be over.
He leaned his forehead against your shoulder as he panted, chuckling darkly at your body’s evident neediness. “Did I forget something?” he taunted, and the humiliation you felt at his words had your practically dripping over his still throbbing cock.
You whined as he slowly withdrew, your legs starting to lower back down.
“No,” he scolded, fixing you with a firm glare. “You’re going to keep those legs up for me.” You watched as he withdrew a key from his pocket, and within a couple of seconds, the handcuffs that restrained your hands unlocked with a click. You took a moment to observe the red welts around your wrists, wincing slightly at the raw skin.
But before you could feel too concerned, your husband was patting your ass. “Legs up,” he commanded lowly, and you felt the strong urge to please him. You hooked your arms around your knees and lifted them up, watching with wonder as Mark lowered himself down to a kneeling position. His face was now inches from your overflowing pussy, and you blushed at the pornographic picture of him.
“M-Mark, what are you—” you managed to squeak out before you gasped, feeling him latch onto you his mouth, swirling his tongue over you and groaning at the taste. He licked along your messy folds, cleaning you of his own finish in one of the most vulgar acts you’ve ever witnessed. The sight alone had you clenching around nothing, only serving to squeeze out more of his cum for him to lap up and savor on his tongue.
He ate you out like a man starved, drunk on the taste of your mixed fluids as you presented yourself to him on a silver platter. Your breathing deepened, and your legs began to shake. You gasped as his face buried into you, taking you higher and higher until you tipped over the peak. You cried out, tears flowing freely from your eyes as you came all over his tongue, writhing as he enthusiastically drank all of you in. His throat bobbed as he swallowed everything you gave him, until your legs fell limp onto his shoulders, your body spent and twitching.
He licked his lips, a satisfied sigh escaping him, before he gently lowered your legs back to a sitting position. Rising from where he knelt, he craned his neck to kiss you dizzy—to swipe away your tears, and murmur sweet and wicked devotions into your hair.
With the tiniest sliver of remaining clarity, your numb mind reaffirmed the fact you’d known for years—your husband would never be the same man he was before his sister died…but in someways, maybe he was better.
Kinktober 2025 || unfair exploitation of a mask kink with Amanda Young
Warnings/contains: gn! reader, Jigsaw apprentice! reader, swearing, smut/nsfw content, mask kink, knife kink, slight fear kink, slight dom/sub dynamics (dom Amanda/sub reader), grinding/dry humping, mild swearing, overstimulation, could be seen as dubcon in some places
Prompt list used | Kinktober 2025 masterlist
Beginning notes: a mask kink and mandy is such a perfect combination (I was debating between her and hoffman but mr lip filler didn't make the cut)
You were a new apprentice of Jigsaw that had recently been recruited after surviving your trap with a sudden new appreciation for life. Amanda was doing her best to help teach you the ropes, explaining the best way to knock someone out when "collecting" them for their traps.
"First, you want to put your mask and cloak on, and keep them on the entire time. You can't risk being seen without them," she stated while unceremoniously shoving them in your arms. "Wait until they're distracted, then sneak up from behind and inject them with the needle. It should knock them out instantly."
Nodding your head to let her know that you understood, you replied with, "got it. Mask and cloak, inject with needle once distracted."
"I'll be going on my own for this one, but if you're good I might let you join me next time." She grabbed her own outfit and headed for the workshop's shoddy elevator, calling out over her shoulder as she went. "And don't fuck with my things while I'm gone."
You watched as she left, feeling a strange sort of stirring in your gut when you saw her with the pig mask on before she disappeared from sight. Brushing it off as just nerves, you busied yourself with tidying up your own workstation while you waited for her to return.
It was seeming to take forever for her to get back, and since you were a little tired you figured you'd lay down for a short nap on the cot you'd been given. It couldn't hurt, right?
You weren't sure how long you were asleep for when you were jolted awake by two hands on your shoulders, shaking you aggressively. "Wake up," the muffled voice of Amanda spoke through the mask, the dull eyes of the pig staring down blankly where you still laid.
Your own eyes went wide with shock, your heart racing as you tried to catch your breath. It certainly didn't help how she still had her mask on. Something about it made a shiver go down your spine, and it wasn't from fear.
Even though you couldn't see her face, you could sense how the wheels seemed to be turning in her head as she processed your reaction to her startling you awake. "You're not afraid, are you?" She bluntly questioned.
"Um..." you weren't quite sure how exactly to respond. You didn't get very long to think before she was pushing you back down onto your makeshift bed, straddling your hips as she tightened her grip on your shoulders.
"Answer the question," she demanded, her fingers digging harshly into your skin through your shirt.
"No! No, I'm- I'm not afraid, per say," you managed to mumble out, avoiding direct eye contact with her (which in this case meant averting your eyes from the mask). A warm feeling was beginning to pool in your lower belly, and it became more and more noticeable the longer she was there for.
"You enjoy this, don't you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. She was quickly starting to catch on. Amanda was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them.
"...maybe..." you quietly admitted, seeming a bit reluctant to give up that kind of information, especially given the current situation you were stuck in.
She let out a huff, though whether it was one of exasperation or amusement remained to be seen. Reaching down into the pocket of her cargo pants, she pulled out a small knife, moving to hold it against your throat.
You swallowed thickly, unsure of where this was going. Until you felt her shift above you, one of her knees slipping between your legs and pushing itself against your crotch. "Wha-?"
"Shh. This can just be another test for you." Her voice was scarily soft, almost sweet, which you most definitely were not used to. She carefully dragged the blade from your neck down, brushing it along your collarbone as she spoke. "You're much more fragile than the rest of us, aren't you? It's almost cute."
Part of you felt a little offended by her condescending tone, but a much bigger part of you could only focus on the mask on her face, her knee between your thighs, the blade on your skin. It was utterly terrifying, in the best way possible.
"Please..." you breathed out, though you weren't quite sure why. Maybe you did it because you knew deep down that she wanted to hear you beg for her. Maybe you just sought her approval that badly, and you wanted to make her proud.
She seemed pleased regardless of the reason. You thought so, anyway. It was a bit more difficult to get a read on her when her face was covered like it was.
"Look at me," she suddenly commanded, her free hand moving to grab onto your chin, forcing your gaze up on her. You'd still been avoiding looking at her directly, and she wasn't having that.
A slight whimper managed to escape you, your body trembling in anticipation for whatever could happen next. She shifted some, her knee pressing against your crotch more noticeably; this caused your hips to twitch upwards on instinct, seeking out friction from her to help quell your ache.
She snorted with laughter at the movement. "Good job," she lightly praised, as though she was happy with the display of your obvious need.
That caused your heart to stutter in your chest a bit. Hesitantly, you pushed your hips up again, swallowing back a noise of pleasure at the feeling of her knee rubbing against you.
"Don't silence yourself," she chastised, the knife taking a detour from where it had been resting on your collarbone to teasingly ghost over your cheek before returning to its previous position. "I wanna be able to hear all your pretty little sounds. If you behave, I might even let you join me the next time I need to go out."
You perked up instantly. She never let you go out with her, always insisting that you should stay behind in case John needed you for something. It was a bit boring to be stuck in a warehouse all day with a dying cancer patient, to be honest.
Nodding your head in agreement, you moved your hips up for a third time, allowing a moan to escape when you did so. It took you a few tries to get a steady pace, not to mention become confident enough to do it continuously. Your thrusting was eager and sloppy, making it obvious that you were more than willing to please, even if you had no idea what the hell you were doing supposed to be doing.
Breathy whines and mewls from you filled the otherwise stiffling silence, the pig mask staring down with a kind of quiet smugness as Amanda kept her hand on your chin, the other maneuvering the flat part of the knife blade down your clothed chest.
It was all a bit too much. There wasn't a single part of you that hadn't been affected by her, it would seem. Your noises turned desperate, your movements even sloppier, as her knee persistently pressed forward.
"That's it, there we go," she continued to coax, seeming to enjoy the way you were falling apart underneath her. "Keep going, you're almost there, I can tell."
With a finalizing grunt, you came, your body tensing as your intense orgasm washed over you. It seemed to drag on forever, and it certainly didn't help that Amanda was keeping her knee in the same spot.
Whining, you tried your best to wriggle away, like a worm caught on a hook. She waited another moment or so before moving off of you at last, having found a sort of perverse pleasure in watching you struggle.
"Just look at you, completely fucked out just from humping my knee." Her tone was equally sympathetic and cruel, but you were too exhausted to care.
You simply watched as she finally removed the mask from her face, tossing it off to the side before grabbing a nearby rag (one that you hoped to god was clean) that she then used to wipe some of the sweat from you.
"You did so well with following my directions," she cooed out, seeming genuinely proud. Her hair was messy from being put up in the mask for so long, but you thought she looked beautiful. "I think you're ready to help me set up some traps now that you've proved what a good listener you can be."
End notes: I think this is good?? idk man sometimes I just sort of type stuff out and hope it all flows together nicely lmao
Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open | divider by @/strangergraphics
Main masterlist | Saw masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist? | my Kofi
warnings: brief mention of unhealthy eating habits, a bit of angst, but i think that’s it. not edited but when is anything i post
word count: 1k
you stirred awake at the sound of keys jingling in the front door. ignoring the subtle ache in your neck, you lifted your head from where it had been resting on the kitchen table, a mug of coffee next to you that had long gone cold.
peter walked through the front door, closing it as quietly as the old apartment door would allow - despite his best efforts the hinges creaked and he winced. you assumed he thought you were in bed, as most people would be at this hour. it was well past midnight, the clock on the stove blurry as you squinted your eyes, still foggy with sleep.
“peter,” you spoke softly, as not to startle him, but his shoulders jumped ever so slightly as he turned towards where the sound of your voice had come from.
he visibly relaxed, his body deflating as he let out a deep sigh.
“i thought i told you not to wait up for me,” strahm ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark brown locks that’s had started to get long.
“and i thought i told you not to work past nine tonight,” you pouted as you stood up from the dining chair. peter watched as you stretched your arms high above your head, his faded fbi training camp hoodie rising up on your bare legs. the thick socks on your feet shuffled against the tile floor as you shuffled to the sink to dump out the remains of your coffee, a brown ring staining the inside of the mug that you left discarded in sink.
“i know, i’m sorry-“
“that’s what you always say,” you interrupted, although there was a soft smile on your face.
peter’s arms wrapped around your waist as you approached him, and he rested his chin atop your head.
“and you know i always mean it.”
“i know you do,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned into his chest. the faint smell of his cologne lingered on his white dress shirt.
“come on, lets get you to bed,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead. you nodded in agreement, and let him guide you backwards towards your shared bedroom, your fingers fiddling to undo his tie, finally getting the perfect knot loosened as your feet finally hit the plush rug at the end of the bed. you slid the thin fabric off his neck and tossed it onto the dresser.
“what are you doing?” he whispered, his hands stopping your fingers as they began undoing the buttons on his shirt.
“i’m just helping,” you replied. “i’m not letting you sleep in your work clothes…. again.”
he surrendered, his hands letting go of your wrists to allow you to undress him. if he wasn’t so tired, he might have argued that he wasn’t a child, that he was more than capable of undressing himself; but he had been tired for so long - what was it, days? weeks? - he let you fawn over him, just this once.
once his shirt was off, you went to the dresser to find some pyjama pants for him as he removed his belt and dress pants. he took them from your hand, the sign that he wasn’t going to entertain the idea of you dressing him as well.
you crawled into bed, too tired to bother getting under the covers.
peter pulled them from underneath you carefully, sliding into bed next to you and pulling you close.
“did you eat dinner?” you asked, although you were pretty sure you knew the answer.
“didn’t have much of an appetite after studying some of those crime scene photos,” he replied, his face dropping as he realized he’d said too much.
“peter-“
“it’s fine, don’t worry about me.”
peter didn’t tell you much about the cases he worked on, which you were more than fine with, but news of the jigsaw case was hard to avoid. you couldn’t imagine some of the things he had seen; the stuff they did show the public was bad enough, you didn’t want to think about what they kept hidden.
“either it’s so bad that you can’t eat, or it’s nothing to worry about. it can’t be both,” you looked up at him, concern evident on your face.
“it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he clarified, but you shook your head.
“it’s my job to worry about you.”
“you deserve a promotion,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes before kissing him softly.
a familiar sadness settled in your chest, and you rested your head on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck as you buried your face against his clavicle.
“i can’t lose you, peter.”
his arms tightened around your waist, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your sweater to trace little shapes on your hip.
“shhhh,” he hushed. “you won’t i promise.”
“you can’t promise me that,” you lifted your head to look at him again. “i can’t-“
“you won’t,” he said firmly, his hand reaching up to cradle your face. “okay?”
you nodded, taking a deep breath to calm the vol feeling in your stomach.
“i love you peter,” you murmured against his lips as you kissed him.
“i love you too, baby.” his thumb brushed back and forth against your cheekbone as you lay in silence for a few moments.
“marry me,” he whispered, so quiet you thought you had misheard him.
“what?” you breathed out.
“marry me,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile as he looked at you through half lidded eyes.
“peter-“
“i have the ring - i had planned this all out differently-“ he started rambling, and if you weren’t so taken aback by the proposal you might have noticed the nervous tone in his voice as he rambled.
“yes,” you interrupted him.
“yes?” he repeated, sounding surprised.
“yes peter, i will marry you.”
a smile broke out across his face; a real smile, one you hadn’t seen much lately.
“we’re getting married,” he said, unable to stop grinning. oh how you would do anything to make that smile last forever. “let me get the ring-“
he tried to escape from your arms, but you wouldn’t let him.
“in the morning,” you protested. “don’t leave me.”
The promise of a weekend off and the joy of long awaited rest was a sweet remedy to a hard week of work. However, the buzz of several glasses of wine was doing little to soothe the worry that had begun to unfurl in your gut, after another cancelled dinner reservation, another sudden emergency at the station. Another night left alone, eating take out and watching old movies, with only yourself for company.
It was a Friday night in March, and your finger was tracing the rim of your empty glass when you finally decided to call it a night. A sigh escaped you as you stood up and padded through to the kitchen to clean away the lonesome dish and utensils you had used. You then wiped down the counter tops and forced yourself into the bathroom. To make yourself feel better, you stripped off your clothes and showered, brushed your teeth and did some light skincare. Then feeling fresh and much less wine-drunk, headed to your bedroom.
You sat cross-legged at the end of your bed for a moment, listening to the muted din of the television in the other room. You purposefully left it on to bleat comfortingly, as you never did like total silence, and the sounds were a nostalgic warmth that helped to ease your anxiety.
The digital clock said that it was now Saturday, and still, there was no sign of Mark. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing okay, where he was and what he was doing - the intensity of your feelings for him having taken you by surprise.
And then as if you had summoned him with your pining and worry, you heard the soft click of the front door opening and closing. He was finally here. You turned your head towards the sound of soft footsteps making their way to the bedroom. The scent of the sea salt and sandalwood candle you left burning drifted into the room with Mark as he crossed the threshold.
You didn’t speak, just looked up at him. You crossed your arms and pulled your short, silk robe closer around you as you took in his rugged appearance. He had been working so much lately, and with the increase in some pretty gruesome murders, he had been spending more and more time away from you. If the horror stories that littered the local news were anything to go by, this kind of situation was as serious as it gets.
You could sense the stress on him, the way his jaw was tensed, the slight stoop of his frame, the waft of metal that was hidden beneath the spice of his cologne. The strange scent of death that seemed to follow him wherever he went.
He shed his coat, shoes and gloves wordlessly, and as you watched him, your insecurity got the better of you. The question fell from your lips:
“Are you avoiding me on purpose?”
He turned towards you with confusion in his blue eyes, a slight scowl at his lips and his head slightly tilted. The question had taken him by surprise, which in turn perplexed you further. He stepped closer, and then silently offered you his hand. You took it and got to your feet, stood with uncertainty in front of him.
“Of course not,” he whispered sincerely, his eyes boring into yours. He released your hand, and then used the back of his fingers to caress your cheek. He always touched you with such rapt attention, and this time was no exception: he handled you as though you were utterly fragile, his eyes drinking in your expression, registering your worry.
“I promise you that I am working more because it is absolutely necessary - it has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
Before you got the chance to feel ashamed or regret your words, he manoeuvred himself behind you, and possessively grasped the back of your neck with his large hand. He gently but firmly steered you to the floor length mirror opposite the bed, and you both watched the reflection of yourselves together for a moment.
“Just look at you,” he muttered, awe-struck, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever seen. Why would I ever avoid you?”
You ran your eyes over the sight of yourself. You were naked beneath the flimsy gown, your legs bare, your nipples hard and visible beneath the fabric. You noticed a slight flush in your cheeks, courtesy of the wine and his compliments and your own embarrassment. The looming size of his body behind yours caused an abrupt rush of heat to flare in your lower abdomen. His touch burned on your skin and seemed to seep further into your blood.
“You disappear more than you used to,” you confessed in a small voice, before you could change your mind. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
He then used a gentle motion to pull your hair away from your face, as if to expose your beauty - and then he was stroking your neck and jaw. You watched in the reflection as he slipped your shoulder free from your gown, as his lips pecked softly at the newly exposed skin.
“I feel abandoned, Mark.” Your voice broke, and your insides dropped to have ruined such a beautiful moment.
He momentarily paused. A strong arm then slipped around your waist, and he pulled your body to his, protectively. Possessively.
Then the soft thickness of his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, his words a dripping, dark drawl when he whispered with regret:
“Then I’m a fool…”
Your eyes met his in the mirror, both your irises gleaming with truth and desire in the low-light.
“and I am sorry…”
You felt his erection making itself known against your backside, and the fire in your loins had been well and truly stoked. You inhaled a sharp breath.
“...It seems I have a lot to make up for.”
You agreed with him, a gratified hum escaping your throat, and you pressed your ass against him as you demanded, "You better get started, then. Take off my gown.”
He immediately obliged, and you were naked before him and yourself. You continued to watch him in the mirror as he slowly fell to his knees and carefully took one of your thighs in his large hands, then lifted your leg over his shoulder. He now had open access to your wet entrance, and his lips met your vulva with relish. He looked up at you as his tongue began working your clit with stimulating, swirling circles, his large nose pressing gorgeously into your pubis.
He was always such a balm to all your troubles, even if he was the cause of them. That was always the way of it, it seemed, and you never really wanted anything more. Whatever anxiety and insecurity you possessed dissipated with his reassuring words and validating touch, because he did always come back, no matter how long it took for his shift to end, how much overtime he was putting in. Even though you were uncertain of where he had been or what he had been doing, in the end, he was always there.
And by God, did he make up for his absences.
You moved slowly together as he greedily ate you out: your fingers in his hair, his grunts of lust filling your ears as his tongue was filling your cunt. Your mouth was agape with pleasure as you watched him devour you, your eyes flickering between two different points of view thanks to the mirror. His strong hands held you still as you instinctively tried to buck your hips further into his mouth. Time slipped away into strings of moans and several peaks of pleasure, until your body became soft and limp in his arms, and you could hardly stand.
You were both panting, his face wet with your slick, the ache between your legs was all-consuming and you were utterly desperate to be penetrated deeper, to be stretched by his thick cock. As if reading your mind, he pulled you to the bed, swift and determined, and then you were bent over, your face down into the sheets, your ass up, hips tilted just right.
“Watch,” he demanded, his belt clinking as he freed himself from his pants. “Watch me as I fuck you.”
You obeyed him, bringing your eyes to your reflection. He spread you open, ran a finger down your drenched slit. You mewled and groaned, the anticipation of his carnal attention causing your legs to shake before he had even sheathed himself inside of you. You watched him look down at your wet cunt in the mirror, the adoration clear from his gaze and the purr of his voice.
“Let me show you how much I need you. Watch, sweetheart, as I make you cum whilst using your perfect body.”
The filthy words sent electric heat through your core, and you could hardly bear it anymore. He sensed your impatience and slowly pushed into you, your wetness welcoming him, silkily, easy and seamless. You both sighed in blessed relief as he began to fuck you with confident, rapid thrusts. Your eyes stayed glued to his face in the mirror, watching as he had his way with you, as he gazed over your body with nothing but pure devotion in his eyes and satisfaction on his face. It was one of the hottest sights you had ever laid eyes on, and you could already sense the power of the orgasm he was devoutly working on fucking out of you.
He started to fuck you harder, until the pounding from his strong hips felt like he was splitting you in half, and the depth was an exquisite, gratifying exaltation. His arms looked so large and strong as he gripped on to your hips and waist, his chest wide and stomach thick.
You were moaning, louder and louder, and then his fingers joined the fray, rubbing sweet shocks of pure bliss from your clit. You came hard and suddenly, your eyes shut, your face down into the bed sheets. He grabbed your hair, pulled your face up and made you watch as he had his way with you, as his own orgasm wracked his body, as he came deep and hard inside of you. His broad chest was wet with sweat, his large hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass.
“Fuck,” you whined, orgasm-struck, the sight too perfect for words.
After a momentary pause, he pulled you into his arms and held you against his hot chest, and you inhaled the smell of him, musky-rich. You planted soft lazy kisses across his pectorals, licking at the tang of his sweat, savouring the salty taste of him. His heart was thudding quickly in his chest, and you listened to the beating proof of his affections, felt his hot breath in your hair as he kissed the top of your head, the strength of his arms that held you securely against his large body.
“I’ll never leave you,” he promised in a low authoritative tone. He began to trace shapes on your back with gentle fingers, and his tenderness was so comforting and reassuring - so rich with sincerity and faith that he threatened your eyes with tears.
“I know,” you reply. And you do, because you can sense the truth in him, feel it in yourself, in how he holds you, listens to and respects you. You smile into his hot skin: he’s here, and he cares. You have felt and seen it plainly, and what loneliness was lurking within you is no more.
Rules: recommend five of your favourite fics you've written, and then tag at least five other people!
Tagged by @ereb1d
A Black Widow's Web
I wrote this one in a month, Definitely an achievement I wish to one day replicate.
Bad Doggy
It was between this and Beg Me, but this one wins for being soooo self indulgent in the puppy play and breeding kink. I love the bad puppy trop in kink scene, it's soooo hot
Symptoms Of Expectations
woe, trans Strahm mpreg be upon thee. This fic was entirely self indulgent and not at all realistic. I don't care, I had fun.
Chew Me Up And Spit Me Out
Wrote while recovering from top surgery just over a year ago today. I think this might be my all time FAVOURITE fic due to my prose and exceedingly graphic details of vivisection and gore. I reread this one hundreds of times.
Tears You Open, Takes You Home
Werewolf Hoffman mounts a hunter Strahm... that's it, that's the fic. Entirely self indulgent in my monster lover ways. Inspired by an au i'll never write in full.
SAW edition cause it's literally most of what I've written that I still LOVE and reread over and over.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For @sawlentines2026 prompt: Valentine/free day
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Saw (Movies)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Mark Hoffman & Daniel Rigg
Characters: Mark Hoffman, Daniel Rigg, Tracy Rigg (mentioned), Angelina Acomb (Mentioned)
Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, Rigg's pov, he forgot it's valentine's day, thankfully he's got a friend like Mark, takes place after Baxter's death, but Rigg and Hoffman still work as partners, Late Night Conversations, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Summary:
“Shouldn’t you be with your wife? It's Valentine's day.” Mark didn’t even look at Daniel when he entered the rec room, busy pouring himself another cup of coffee. Yes, it was late and they were tired - but two people would deal with the work faster, right?
“Yeah, apparently it is…” Daniel leaned back on the counter to intrude Mark’s view, making sure he’d catch his brow raised in suspicion, “Tracy just called to thank me for the flowers.”
Mark's eyes flicked to his for a split second. “Wow, didn't know you were such a romantic. Tracy is one lucky girl.”
