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hhhhoffman · 6 months

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the cure

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

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

rating: explicit, 18+

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

you can also read this fic on ao3

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

He's late again.

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

You missed him.

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

Craves you, always.

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

So you don't ask. You drop it.

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

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

"You stayed up."

You nod.

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

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

You want him. Badly.

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

He chuckles into your throat. "So needy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman fanfiction #mark hoffman fanfic #mark hoffman fic #mark hoffman x you #saw fic #saw fanfic #saw fanfiction #costas mandylor #my writing #hhhhoffman #detective hoffman #detective hoffman fanfiction #hoffman fic #hoffman #hoffman fanfic #hoffman fanfiction

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haddonfieldwhore · 1 month

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tonight - adam faulkner-stanheight

adam faulkner-stanheight x gn!reader

summary: you get evicted and have nowhere to go but your ex boyfriends apartment.

warnings: HUGE plot hole tbh… you just have to come up with how adam got out of the trap on your own, language, angst, blood mentioned gender neutral but reader is mentioned to be wearing eyeliner, i did not edit this 🫢

word count: 1.5k

you wrapped your arms around yourself as you shoved clothes in a bag, the heat having been shut off to your apartment days ago. you were three months behind on rent, and your landlord had never been a patient man. the second he found someone who was willing to give a deposit, he had taped the eviction notice to your door; that was this morning. you had discovered it upon returning home from work, leaving you only 6 hours to pack up your entire life and get the fuck out.

it was a pitiful apartment; it was drafty and the faucet squeaked, and the shower had next to no water pressure- and you still could barely afford it. you didn’t have many belongings to move out, and considering you did have the time or money to hire movers, you supposed you would be leaving your furniture here; it wasn’t worth anything anyway.

you stuffed the last of your clothes into your backpack and grabbed the essentials from your bathroom cabinet, leaving behind anything you could bare to part with.

you honestly weren’t too considered with your belongings at the moment - not that any of the things you were abandoning were prized possessions. you were more concerned with where you would sleep; where you would live.

you considered calling your one coworker that you tolerated, but you knew she had family in town and didn’t want to add on the the workload she already had of hosting multiple guests.

which only left you with one option.

adam.

adam who at this time last year, would have thought nothing of you sleeping at his apartment - you practically lived there. but things went south between you and your ex boyfriend, and your relationship had more or less imploded. you hadn’t talked to him since the night you had screamed at him that you never wanted to see him again, and now here you were, outside his door at 1 am, soaking wet and near freezing from the pouring rain. you would have called, but in the whirlwind of getting kicked out of your home, your cell had died and you were pretty sure you’d left the charger behind.

you mind ran through every possible reaction adam could have to you showing up at his apartment, and you weren’t sure you liked any of them.

somehow you didn’t consider him not answering the door at all. you knew he wasn’t asleep, he never was at this time. it was possible he was in his dark room, headphones on blaring some moody rock song you’d always pretended to hate. you kicked at the weathered carpet of the dirty hallway, hoping none of his neighbours came out to see what the noise was.

adam’s apartment building was barely better than yours, and you’d prefer not to encounter any of the locals if you could help it.

you knocked one more time, not really having another option, but again there was no answer. you fiddled anxiously with your lanyard of keys that jingled around your neck, and then your hand landed on one you hadn’t used in a while.

after one last unanswered tap on the door, you inserted the key into the lock and twisted it with a click, and turned the knob.

you hoped it wasn’t considered breaking and entering if you had a key.

there were no lights on, which wasn’t entirely unusual for adam, and you had grown to be able to maneuver around blindly through the apartment, and you found he hadn’t moved anything as you walked the same route to the lamp in the living room as you had a thousand time. the dusty lamp next to the couch illuminated the room only slightly, but enough to show you that adam’s keys and shoes weren’t by the door, telling you that he wasn’t home.

you were alone.

everything began to sink in all at once, and you took a deep breath, the familiar scent of adams cologne lingering in the filling your nose.

rather than sink down onto the couch in your dripping wet clothes, you opted for a quick shower, the hot water mixing with a few tears that trailed in black streaks of eyeline down your face, smudging beneath your eyes.

adam would always wipe it off with his thumbs with a smile and ask ask why you hadn’t taken it off before getting in.

you wrapped a towel from the hall closet around your body and grabbed some clothes from your bag, throwing on a t shirt and some shorts before curling up on the worn out couch in the (barely big enough to be a) living room. you had almost officially moved in with adam before things ended, and you wondered what your life might look like now if you had.

at one point you thought you and adam might be married by now. he had thought about it too; hell, he had even looked at rings once or twice, but couldn’t afford one.

but that was before, and this was now.

now, was reality setting in that you were homeless, and sitting in someone else’s apartment, waiting for them to get home from who knows where, with no idea how he would react. things had ended ugly between you and adam, but deep down you realized that even after months apart, you missed him. you were both young, and life got stressful and you pushed eachother away. it wasn’t that either of you had royally fucked anything up, things just bubbled over until you both had taken it out on eachother.

your found yourself shivering from the change in temperature from the steamy bathroom to the more open living room, you pulled a blanket off the arm of the couch and draped it over yourself, fighting to stay awake.

you lost the battle, comforted by the familiar sounds and smells of adam’s apartment, and drifted off to sleep.

adam was in such a panicked state when he arrived back at his apartment, he hadn’t noticed the soft light coming from under the door. he hadn’t noticed that it was unlocked either, thinking nothing of it as he stumbled inside, though he made sure as hell to lock it behind him. he was so out of it, he didnt even notice the extra pair of sneakers next to him as he kicked off his shoes, his keys nearly landing in them as he let them slip out of his hands.

adam took a deep breath, running his hands over his face as he tried to wrap his head around what had happened.

that room….

the blood…

it didn’t matter. he had escaped.

he had won.

that’s what mattered.

he walked straight past you with no notice and went to the kitchen, scrubbing his hands under the sink with nearly half the bottle of dish soap before he felt even remotely clean. he splashed cold water onto his face, before wiping his eyes, letting them adjust to the light again for a second before his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion at the sight of your sleeping form on the couch.

was he dreaming? was he still chained up in that bathroom, hallucinating that he’d escaped and that you were here?

he walked forwards cautiously, as if the floor would collapse beneath him if he stepped to hard, but reached the couch with no difficulty. you stirred awake at the sound of the floor creaking, and your eyes fluttered open to look up at adam.

“hey.. fuck, i’m really sorry, i had no where else to go and i still had your key and-“ you stopped with a soft grunt as he sat down next to you and threw his arms around you, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

adam buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you hummed in content as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him against you as you leaned against the armrest of the couch.

“it’s okay. i’m actually really fucking glad you’re here,” he mumbled.

“adam are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you looked down at his white t-shirt that was stained with dirt and… ”is that blood?”

“i - maybe. i don’t know. it’s not mine i don’t think,” he stuttered, sitting up slightly to look at you. “some fucking psycho kidnapped me and -“ he sighed “it doesn’t matter. just… don’t let me go okay? i’m really happy to see you.”

your fingers laced through the back of his hair and tucked him into your shoulder again, a worried look on your face.

“i missed you, adam,” you admitted, and you meant it.

“god, i missed you too.”

in that moment adam needed you more than anything; a familiar face, someone that he felt safe with.

you didn’t know what he’d been through, and you would let him tell you when he was ready, but for now, you held him close as he clung to your body like a life raft.

and you would be there as long as he needed you.

because you needed him too.

#posting this after i barely proof read it #might come back and edit it later but probably not #adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight #adam saw #saw #saw fic #adam stanheight x reader #adam stanheight fic #adam faulkner stanheight x reader #adam faulkner stanheight fic #adam faulkner x reader #leigh whannell #leigh whannell fic #saw movies

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iamjackstylerdurden · 5 months

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rip in peace to the hoffstrahm chainshipping road trip fic i started writing but have abandoned for the foreseeable future :( posting highlights here so at least somebody sees it

#are some parts of this cringy? yea #and maybe a little ooc #basically for a split second in saw x i thought we were getting road trip #and when that was crushed i decided to write it #wrote this a while back but never finished so #saw #saw franchise #chainshipping #coffinshipping #hoffstrahm #saw fic #saw movies

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theflirtmeister · 4 months

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Give me that dad bod adam. Pretty please with a cherry on top

sorry if u wanted porn, instead u got adam reflecting on getting older and being a dad

It takes a good ten minutes before Adam gives up and balls up his skinny jeans, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes to donate. There’s no way in hell that he will ever get back into these, not with all the diets or pound-of-flesh-traps in the world.

He is officially too old for skinny jeans.

God. When did this happen? It feels like he blinked one day as a scrawny twenty-something, and woke up in an adult body, with wrinkles and hair growing in weird places and a shoulder that hurts in the winter. Who is that man, with laughter lines and eye creases? When did he get here? Adam never thought he’d make it past thirty.

“How is the wardrobe decluttering going?” Lawrence asks from the doorway.

He looks as handsome as ever, with hair slightly grey, which drives Adam completely crazy. Adam doesn’t know how Lawrence’s patients cope, he’d be throwing himself across the room at Dr Gordon, cancer or no cancer.

“I don’t fit into any of my clothes,” Adam says despondently, “I’m going to turn up to the new house in just my underwear.”

Lawrence steps into the room and wraps his arms around Adam, pressing a kiss to his temples. “A very nice image, however.” He says. “I’ll have to buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“My sugar daddy,” Adam says, batting his eyelashes at Lawrence. “Can I have a pony too?”

“Whatever you want,” Lawrence promises. “I’ll even get you a Malibu Barbie.”

Adam fake gasps in delight, and they both end up snorting with laughter. Adam wriggles out of Lawrence’s grasp to pick up another shirt from the pile and hold it up against himself. It’s black, with a picture of a cat skeleton licking an ice cream that he thinks he may have shoplifted from Hot Topic. He doesn’t even know why he still has it.

“Too short?” Adam asks, not even bothering to try it on.

“Diana seems to have cultivated a wardrobe entirely of crop tops.” Lawrence says in the voice of a man who has seen his little girl grow up before his eyes. “She’s refusing to get rid of any of them.”

“Are you scarred for life?” Adam teases, throwing the shirt onto the donate pile.

“She wants her belly button pierced.” Lawrence blurts out, sounding horrified. “Alison didn’t even blink when Diana brought it up in front of us - an actual piercing Adam.”

“She has her ears pierced,” Adam shrugs. “And I remember someone enjoying my tongue piercing when I still had it.”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Lawrence says warningly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want her doing anything like that to her body before she’s eighteen.”

“Why are you such a square?” Adam says, nudging Lawrence’s good leg with his foot. “You’ll just make her rebel and go to some dodgy guy's basement to get it done.”

Lawrence shudders. “Is that how you got your piercings?”

“You going to judge me if I did?” Adam quirks his eyebrow.

“Yes.” Lawrence says firmly, and Adam rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a Dad.” He says, picking up another shirt to try on, this one a baby blue button-up from Target. He thinks he might have bought it for one of Lawrence’s award ceremonies - can definitely remember Lawrence tearing it off him in the cab ride home.

“Not to burst your bubble,” Lawrence says, watching as Adam pulls off his shirt, exposing the curve of his stomach, the dark hair of his happy trail. Adam feels like he should put on a show, hum some strip-tease music. “But you are also a Dad too.”

“Step Dad.” Adam corrects, then pauses. “Fuck. I’m a stepdad.”

“A handsome one at that,” Lawrence says, not looking at Adam’s face. “Seducing all the parents at school pick up.”

Adam places his hands on his hips and studies Lawrence. Lawrence is tracking Adam’s body with his eyes, carving him up like a piece of meat. It makes the back of Adam’s neck go hot, that they’re still into each other, that they still make each other’s hearts and other organs flutter.

They’re probably going to be fucking in the nursing home, sneaking into each other’s rooms with their Zimmer frames. Diana’s going to have a nightmare on her hands, Adam thinks to himself smugly. Serves her right for all the crop tops and piercings.

“Parents can’t keep their hands off me,” Adam says, tossing the blue shirt back onto the pile. “Especially this really hot guy, with blonde hair and a prosthetic foot.”

“Oh yeah?” Lawrence says, finally looking up at Adam. “Thinking about having an affair?”

“He has no idea what’s coming to him,” Adam smirks. He steps forward, and Lawrence spreads his legs so that Adam can fit neatly between them. “Think he can handle it?”

“He’s had some practice,” Lawrence says, hooking his thumbs into Adam’s underwear. “Spent most of his forties sleeping with the most gorgeous man in the world.”

“Is that right?” Adam runs his hands through Lawrence’s hair. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

Lawrence tugs Adam closer, pressing a kiss to his stomach. His mouth tickles, making Adam shiver, so Lawrence repeats the actions until Adam is squirming. He might be too old to ever get ID’d again, but he's not so old that he doesn’t turn into a mess when Lawrence touches him.

“Beautiful,” Lawrence whispers against his skin. “I’m so lucky.”

“Such a fucking idiot,” Adam says fondly, ducking his head down to kiss Lawrence. “God I love you.”

He wants this, forever. He wants to be old with Lawrence, wants to see how life spills out for them. He wants to get fat with Lawrence on good food and wine, and spends hours in bed together, re-acquainting their bodies. He wants to organise their pain medication in one of those fancy boxes that have the days of the week on them, and be lectured by Lawrence when he forgets to take his tablets.

“I love you too,” Lawrence grins, and drags Adam down on top of him, both of them giggling like teenagers.

#ANSWERED #Nice Anon #chainshipping #chainshipping fic #saw fic #adam faulkner stanheight x lawrence gordon #i love them so fucking MUCH

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goofalicousgooberface · 7 months

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So I was debating whether or not I should post the Preist Lawrence fic on here while it’s still unfinished bc I’d rather show a finished product, but I am now learning how difficult it is to write smut so I’m just gonna link the first chapter (sorry)

tagging @turnipoddity because this fic is literally just for her and her lovely comic soooo uhhh enjoy?

the fic

#Chainshipping #saw #saw fic #adam stanheight #adam faulkner stanheight #lawrence gordon #saw 2004 #goober post

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cowboyism · 2 months

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well, here it is.

the final chapter of just a man.

mental.

#hoffstrahm #peter strahm #mark hoffman #saw fic #coffinshipping

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horrorenthusiastt · 7 months

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it wasn't supposed to end like this

a/n: i will be basing this of a dream i had a few days ago, so i can get my writing creativity back and since i haven't written in a while so enjoy!

she checked the victim was strapped tightly down to his chair and heavily sedated, i mean with all the sedatives he had inside him she wasn’t entirely sure he’d wake up but hoffman was there to reassure her that it was fine.

“you’re overthinking it too much he's fine” he spoke , watching her as she double checked the restraints for the fifth time in ten minutes, “i know i just don't want anything bad to happen to us” she responded, making her way over to hoffman where he stood leaning against the metal wiring, melting into his broad figure, he placed his hands on her hips and they just stood there for a while before it was time to move.

now stood in a room in the middle of the warehouse infront of all the monitors, where each one had a different camera for each room, mark and y/n stood in front of them watching as the man started to wake up, “i have to go to the department now, you think you’ll be okay?” he asked as she continued to watch the frantic man screaming through the screen, “i’ll be fine, just like you said” she responded looking up at him with her big wide eyes, smiling at her he grabbed her face gently and gave her a gentle peck before taking off.

she had been watching for about forty five minutes now, and the man had made it to the third room, when she’d noticed the camera had gone out in the fifth room, so considering he'd only just entered the third room she had enough time to grab something to go in there and fix it before he’d even made it to the fourth room, or so she thought losing track of time trying to find out what was causing the camera to be off, to focused and in her own world she didn’t even hear the man enter the room.

she didn’t hear the man creeping up behind her and then was met with a blow to the head causing her to fall of the stool, losing consciousness for a few seconds and regaining consciousness to the man screaming at her about god knows what that he hadn't realised that she was awake, so she kicked him and thrashed until the man stumbled and then she made a run for it, trying to avoid all the obstacles the rooms had in them.

but she wasn’t quick enough because he’d caught up to her and they were in the warehouse now, he had her pinned to the floor beating whatever life was left in her out of her but before he took her life she huffed “wrong choice” her eyes rolling back, she was no longer breathing so that's when he tried to make a run for it but not before he ran straight into a hard body.

mark was back and he hated the sight that was before him, the love of his life was beat to death in the middle of the warehouse, it didn't even take a second before anger took over and mark had him on the floor in the same state as his girlfriend.

making his way over to her not wanting to believe it was true, this couldn’t be happening not to him, he cradled her cold body in his warm hands, stroking her face “i should’ve been here sooner” he kept repeating over and over. It was in that moment that mark swore that he would never let a victim get out of a trap again. ever.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman x oc #mark hoffman saw #saw fic #mark hoffman fic #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher fanfiction

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a-writer-on-elm-street · 10 months

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okay, i'm done now it's just...i can't even cope with this fanfic like i'm really over here giggling at my own words

(also, please just ignore the fact that i continuously misspell cigarette)

#crying rn #chainshipping #chainshipping fanfic #adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #saw #saw 2004 #saw fic

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b4by-b3lle · 5 months

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If I posted what I have so far of my Saw fic would anyone even read it 🧍🏻‍♀️

It’s based on events before the first movie. Adam and Scott being in a god awful, terrible, abusive relationship. The canon events of the bathroom trap follow except Adam makes it out. Ends with eventual chainshipping. Hurt/comfort/protection and obviously elements of horror, abuse, cursing, drug use, nsfw etc.

(Also if anyone is interested in writing this with me… I wouldn’t say no either 👀)

#saw fic #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #scott tibbs #chainshipping #rustynailshipping #chainshipping fic #chainshipping fanfic #saw universe #saw fanfic #mlm relationship #saw rp #chainshipping rp #Rustynailshipping rp

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hhhhoffman · 6 months

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willing

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

pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+

word count: 1.6k

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

you can also read this fic on ao3.

His eyes burn with desire.

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

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

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

You are only one thing: willing.

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

The silence begins to hurt.

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

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

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

He kisses you, gently.

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

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

Let me feel you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl."

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

"Breathe through your nose, sweetheart."

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

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

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

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

Marking his territory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good fucking whore."

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

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

It's euphoric.

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

"That's my girl."

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smeebo13 · 3 months

Text

Do Something About It.

By Smeebo13

A/N: I wrote this in like 5 hours while sitting in class and doing absolutely nothing at all. I kept thinking about what Adam must’ve felt and what he went through in those few days alone. Hope yall enjoy, it’s not my best work but it’s content 🌀

Word count: 3,680

Character count: 19,025

‼️WARNING‼️

This content is a little graphic. Talk of rotting bodies, pee and poo. If you are uncomfortable with reading about those sorts of things, either do I not read or read with discretion.

Day 1

“Game over.”

The man looming in the now dimly lit doorway pulls the heavy door shut, leaving Adam completely swallowed in darkness. His ankle strained against the metal chain binding him to the rusty wall pipe, his right arm outstretched, reaching out to the hope he once had, and his throat raw from his screamed out sobs. His body went limp after a moment of begging and wailing for mercy. The shot wound in his shoulder was inflamed and swelling. As he lay on the now blood stained tile, he brought his hand up to his shoulder and grasped it tightly, hoping to stop some of the bleeding. The pain was like a sharp burn. It reminded him of his 6th birthday party, when Scott Tibbs, his best friend at the time, had stabbed him with a rusty nail. It was the same burning sensation in his new wound that he had felt once before. The same burning sensation filled in his throat, another feeling that he was all too familiar with. His mind drifted to the man who had left him that wound. His eyes began to pool, and he wept as he still held his shoulder. The pain was almost unbearable, but it was all he left to remember that man by.

“Lawrence..”

Adam continues to sob and his mind is left racing with thoughts of where Lawrence could be or if he was really coming back.

A few minutes passed and his sobs came to a gradual stop. He remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to allow his eyes to adjust to the pitch black bathroom. Lying in the dark like this reminded him of the many nights he’d lose power and would have to navigate through his dark and cluttered apartment. Adam was often exhausted from his ‘day job’ so the dark never bothered him much. Come to think of it now, he never really used that much electricity anyways. All of the bill always went to the damn dark room equipment. It was like a loop. Process the photos, make money off of those photos, and use that money to pay the bill to make more photos. He had forgotten to pay the electric bill quite a few times, and he had forgotten again about a week ago. Last night, when he had come home to process his newest pictures, he had fallen asleep at his desk, which he did often. Waking up a few hours later in complete darkness wasn’t a shock, but it was certainly annoying. He remembered grabbing his flashlight.. no batteries. He remembered hearing something. Grabbing his camera. That doll. And he remembered opening that closet. If he had just swung his bat as soon as he opened it, this could’ve all been avoided. He could’ve gone on with his life. The little life he had anyways.

Adam had always wanted to be a vet growing up, but he was never really good in school. Maybe if he had swung that bat, he would’ve still had a chance. Then this bathroom would’ve remained empty, painless, and quiet. But Adam knew he wouldn’t become a vet. He would’ve remained himself; pathetic, poor, and a voyeur. And that man. The blonde man who once stood at the opposite side of the room. He would’ve remained a nameless man who stood as Adam’s muse. His model and his work of art. His source of financial income and a secret he kept to himself. But that man did have a name. And he had a job, a wife, a child, and a secret of his own. Adam didn’t care though, at least not before. Lawrence may have only been a project to him, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore. The 6 hours that were spent together with him showed Adam that he was in fact a human, too. He may have been cold, maybe even condescending at times, but he knew Lawrence cared about his family. Adam had family too, but seeing someone act out of pure desperation and insanity just to see their family again made him question things. He knew he needed to reach out to his mom again. He thought about it a lot. But now, he meant it. He kept telling himself that once he got out, once he was free, he’d call his mom and apologize. Maybe he’d even apply to vet school.

There was a stray cat that would hang out in the stairwell of his apartment building. Every day and every night, anytime he’d see the cat, he’d give it a gentle stroke and then be on his way. In his head, he had named the cat Flash, but he knew that if he ever said it out loud, he’d grow too attached to the thing and he couldn’t afford a cat anyways. Now, he’d do anything to see that cat again.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he crooked his head up to look over to the door. How he wished that door would open to reveal Lawrence back with help, or someone who had just stumbled upon the place. Or even the damn cat. But the door stayed shut and the air remained stale and still. The pain in his shoulder hadn’t fully subsided, but he was now used to the pulsing and the sting. He sat up from the floor and his eyes were instantly planted on the corpse in front of him. The man that he had beaten to death. Panic had set it once again and he used all of the leg strength he had to push it as far from him as he could. The metal chain dragging and scraping the floor made him cringe and he could feel himself becoming angry again. He reached up the wall and rose to his feet to try and get a better grasp on what to do, if he could even do anything. His eyes were squinted, not a single drop of light anywhere, and the room was too dark to make out any real details. He raised his hands to his head and began to sway and pace slightly to calm himself down. He felt hopeless. It felt like hours had passed when it had only been 20 minutes. Adam sat himself on the edge of the bathtub and cupped his head in his hands. They were filthy. One stained a slight yellowish brown color up to the elbow and both covered in dust, dirt, and blood. But it just looked like a black stain now in the darkness.

While sitting in the silence, any sound, drip, or creek made his eyes shoot open with hope. 20 minutes turned into 30, then 40, then an hour. He had sat himself back in the corner on the floor and rested his head against the broken wall tiles. He doesn’t remember when, or even how he fell asleep, but he had woken up feeling groggy after a few hours had passed. There was no telling in what time it was or how long it had been now. When his eyes fully opened, he was hit with realization that this wasn’t a bad dream. He sighed heavily and the deep breath he took in smelled of mildew and rot. It was enough to make him gag, but he was able to hold down the urge to vomit. That would only make things worse. His body felt sticky and hot. He reached to the hem of his blood soaked shirt and pulled it up and over his head. His shoulder ached, the bullet was still nested deep inside, but surely the doctor who put it there knew what he was doing. Adam knew that his body would be too weak to fight off any sort of infection. He tossed his ruined shirt off to the side and brought his hand up to the injured shoulder. His breathing was now heavy, and the pain was getting worse. It felt like a burning welt or blister. The bullet was practically begging to come out. He took a few shaky breaths and placed his fingers onto the entrance of the wound. He sucked the air through his teeth, his fingers felt like fire next to his new bodily trauma. He held his breath and slowly but firmly inched his fingers into the hole. His eyes filled with tears as he choked for air. He let out a suppressed scream as he inched in deeper, finally feeling where the bullet had been lodged. Taking a few seconds to regain some strength, he takes another deep breath, but this time is unaffected by the odorized air and is too focused on this agonizing self procedure. He grabs the bullet between his finger and thumb and starts to pull. The pain is like nothing he had ever experienced before. His face was wet with tears and spit as he continued to pull and scream to fight off the pain. Finally, his fingers and the bullet exited the wound and he was brought a feeling of slight relief. The pain is still present, but now it felt empty. No more pressure, and a hope that it may start to heal normally now.

Adam held the bullet tightly in his hand, not really knowing why. He took a few slow breaths and closed his eyes. The room was still hot and he was covered in his own blood, tears, spit and sweat. He longed to take a shower or even a nice bath. As a kid, his mom would always run him a bath after a long day of playing outside. His eyes shot open and his gaze adverted to the dark and dingy bathtub.

“As if.”

He knew he would never take another bath again. The thought of being submerged in water in such a small space; it would be like waking up in here all over again. Adam reached over to his damp, balled up shirt and used the very few spots without blood to try and soak up some of his sweat. It was really no use, he’d just end up sweating more. But he did anything he could right now to pass the time. But it didn’t even feel like time was passing. He felt like he was waiting for nothing now, but he still sat and waited. What else was there to do?

Adam still had the bullet in his grip and he brought it closer to his face to try and get a good look at it. It was slightly sticky from the slow drying blood all over it, but he didn’t really register that. As he stared at it, his mind went back to that doctor. The look of his face when he was sprawled out in front of Adam and wailing about his wife and daughter. He wondered if Lawrence meant to shoot him in the shoulder, or if it was a ‘happy’ accident. Maybe Lawrence had been so far gone in that moment, he didn’t care if Adam lived or died. But he did live, and he didn’t understand why.

Adam was never very religious, but right now, he couldn’t help but look at that bullet and wonder. If God wasn’t real, then why did he survive? Was it out of pure coincidence, or was someone or something ensuring his survival? No. He knew there was no way that any god would allow any of this to happen. Even though he had survived, he still has to live with everything that happened. He wrapped his fist tightly around the bullet and considered chucking it across the room. But he couldn’t do it. In his hand, he held the only thing that kept him connected to that doctor. To Lawrence. His only hope for freedom and survival now.

He throws his head back and leans against the wall once again, still holding the bullet tightly. His shoulder is still pulsing, his face red from tears, and his whole body stiff and sore. All he can do is wait.

Day 2

Adam opened his eyes once again to still find himself in the same spot. The hunger in his stomach had become too hard to ignore and his bladder felt like a balloon. He reached his hand up to search for a pipe to help lift him off the ground. His body started to feel weak and it ached all over. He shifted his way over to the tub and unbuttoned his jeans so he could at least take a piss. His head felt heavy and the darkness started to play into his disorientation. As he leaned over the tub, the piss hit loud against against the rusty metal. The heat and lack of ventilation caused the smell of fresh urine to infect the air, but Adam was too desensitized to notice. Once he was finished, he dropped back down to the floor in front of the tub and sighed. His head was pounding. Probably from fear.

Was Lawrence even coming back? How long had it been? He brushed the hair out of his face with his hand. The room was getting hotter by the second and he was drenched in sweat. The smell of the room had caught up with him now and it filled his nostrils with stale, thick air. It smelled now like piss, rot and iron. He put his hand on his mouth, gagging again at the smell but repressing any sort of need to puke.

All the attention was now suddenly on the door. A clatter was heard from the other side. Could it be Lawrence? Was he finally back? Was he finally going to be able to experience freedom again?

He waited..

Silence.

He waited a little longer.

More silence.

He was able to call out.

“Hello..?”

His throat was dry and his voice was raspy. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had water, but now it was all he wanted. All he wanted was water, a shower, that stupid cat and that stupid fucking doctor.

He felt angry and annoyed when there was no response. He grabbed a small piece of the broken tile off the floor and threw it across the room. He felt betrayed. Abandoned. Deep down he knew he wasn’t getting out of there. He reached down to throw another peice of tile, but his hand landed back on the bullet. He picked it up and examined it in his fingers. And he felt the sadness and pain raise in his stomach. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to get the hell out of that room. He clutched the bullet in his fist now and threw it. It made a clattering noise before it landed in its new permanent home, and the room fell completely silent once again.

As he sat there, now feeling helpless, he thought about the people who might look for him if they ever noticed. He wanted to believe that Lawrence would come back, but by the looks of it, he may have been dead. His body somewhere a few feet outside the door, decaying while Adam sits and waits for him. His savior who will never arrive.

His mother would probably never know. She’d continue on thinking her son just stopped calling. Stopped caring. The only person he could think of that might actually ‘care’ was Scott. He knew that Scott would only care though because he takes pictures for Scott’s band. One no-show and Scott would be livid. At least it meant a shot at hope.

Adam’s eyes felt heavy. There was nothing else to do in this room but sleep and think. And he couldn’t fight the mental exhaustion that pulled him back into slumber. His head was leaning on the bathtub edge and the hard floor started to hurt his ass. But he didn’t want to move. He could feel depression settling into him. His dreams were only a replay of the things that happened a day prior. Only in the dream, it was Adam that had sawed off his own foot. And it was Adam who had pointed that gun at Lawrence and pulled the trigger. Seeing Lawrence fall to the ground with a lifeless thud made Adam jump awake. The sudden movement sent a sharp pain to his shoulder, still agape and probably infected despite his makeshift extraction. His neck was stiff, but he tried to look around the room. Nothing had changed. The adrenaline in his chest died down and his mind was brought back to his bitter reality. Somehow though, the dream felt worse. At least in the room now, it’s quiet. And he’s alone.

Adam dragged himself along the floor and back into his corner, and sat with his knees now pressed against his bare chest. His mind was left wandering, constantly on the thought of what happened to Lawrence. He had made a promise that he would come back, so something had to have happened. As Adam thought about it, he thought that maybe the same nameless man who rose from the dead and locked him in this room, killed Lawrence too. But he could feel something in his gut telling him that Lawrence okay. That he was alive. That feeling made him sick. He didn’t know how to truly feel towards that man now. He wanted to hate him. To resent him. But he still held onto that hope that maybe he’d walk through that door and maybe everything would be alright. Maybe.

Day 3

Adam had passed out with his head on his knees. When he woke, he was already used to the hazy sight and stink of the room. His neck and back were stiff, and the sweat that coated his body was thick and sticky. His felt dizzy, which helped distract him a bit from the pain everywhere else in his body. He let his legs fall down to the floor, and he sat there limp. Every now and then, he’d feel a sharp pain from his stomach. The man was starving. He rested his hands gently across his stomach and squeezed his eyes closed. Right then, Adam began to pray. He didn’t know who he was praying to, or what he was praying for. Tears started to seep from his eyes. All he could do was pray.

“Please please please please..please…please…”

His begging for mercy turned into sobs. He felt truly alone and afraid. He was afraid of dying alone. Being forgotten. It seemed as though he already had been. Lawrence wasn’t coming. No one was coming.

He felt useless. He thought about what that man on the tape said. Adam was ‘angry and apathetic. But mostly just pathetic’. Even now his anger was present, but had no energy to show for it. However his apathy had been changed forever. He had learned something from this so called ‘game’ and it was that everyone, no matter who, is a person. A human being with a life that must be cherished and taken care of. If he was able to learn, then why was he still being punished? Did Lawrence learn anything? No. But his game wasn’t about learning. That may have been the goal, but he did what he did out of desperation. He did what he did because he couldn’t handle losing. If he had learned something, then he would’ve come back for Adam.

The passing hours all blurred together. Adam had no clue how long he had been there now. He was ready to give up. His body was weakening and his sweat glaze caused him to start shivering. He grabbed for his shirt, still bunched up next to him and put it back over his head, aching. The blood was dry and caked into the shirt, but he didn’t care. His now cold body felt weaker than it ever had. He dropped his arms to his sides out of exhaustion and he let his head rest against the pipes behind him. He didn’t care to do anything else now. All he wanted was sleep.

Day 4

He hadn’t moved an inch since he had dozed off. His chest was barely moving as he breathed. He was still alive physically, but mentally he was already dead. He had let go of hope. In his half awake state, he thought he had heard someone open the door and maybe even a flash of light. But he convinced himself it wasn’t real. It was a dream.

But then he felt the touch of another human being. He tried to open his eyes, but the light from the flashlight was too bright for him now. He could hear the voice of a woman. Her voice felt familiar, but he couldn’t figure out how, and he didn’t care. He felt hope and happiness wash over him as she tried to move his body. He was far weaker than he had been previously, and wasn’t able to hold himself up well. He could still hear her talking, but wasn’t focusing on her words. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He was ready to be free again. He thought about his mother and how he would call her as soon as he could. He thought about that stupid cat- Flash. And how he’d take him in. For once, Adam felt excited about living.

It was all ripped away from him when he felt the plastic wrap cover his face. It was like getting locked in that room again. He wanted to fight. He wanted to punch, hit, kick and scream. But he couldn’t. His body and mind were too far gone. He tried, but to no avail. In his last moments, the tape replayed in his head again. ‘You might be in the room that you die in. So are you going to watch yourself die today Adam? Or do something about it?’

He may have won his game, but he never did anything about it. He won because Lawrence cheated. And he lost for the very same reason.

🌀

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