#woop woop thats the sound of the police
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Enabler (Mark Hoffman x Female!Reader)
a/n: y'all missed me? i binged the entirety of the saw franchise while sick and... yeah.. f the police right?
Warnings: Non-Con (like, fr, be warned, be safe), a lazy ass idea for a Jigsaw trap, Workplace Crush heehee, Smut, Strahm's also here
Summary: You've survived a test, made for you by Jigsaw. As your two coworkers visit you in the hospital, Hoffman thinks back to that faithful night of your kidnapping. Cross-Posted on AO3.
Live or die, detective. Make your choice.
The mechanically distorted voice follows you through your journey to regaining consciousness. It's words flicker in and out of existence, as your eyelids flutter against the white light of the hospital room. Your eyes water and you groan, as the mixture of the night's events comes back to you in a wave of nausea and dull pain engulfing your entire body. Your fingers scratch lightly at the crispy white duvet, and you feel every single tendon in your hand flex, earning another groan from you.
There's a steady sound of beeping present in the room. It makes your brows furrow slightly. It must've been really bad, if they had you hooked up to a heart monitor. You don't really remember just how bad it was, your mind flickers to the moment you slid your hand into the metal box and then... Pain, so much pain, and the smell of blood that follows you like a phantom even in the pristine light of the hospital room.
- Thank God you're awake. - a voice brings you back from beneath the surface, a familiar one, laced with inexplicable worry.
You force your eyes to open all the way. Bright light attacks your pupils and you can't bring your arm up to shield yourself, even if you tried. Pain, bordering on tearing, floods your system whenever you try to force your upper limbs to work. Tears form beneath your eyelids and you blink forcefully to distribute moisture across your eyeballs.
There are two men in your room, and even their blurred sillhouettes are enough to let a wave of relief wash over you.
One standing by the foot of your bed, towering over the entire space, even with the slight hunch in his back. The other one sits by your side, hands fiddling with the edge of a green blanket the hospital staff must've left for you. Even with the grogginess of sleep still hanging onto you, you immediately notice the sudden lack of his wedding ring, which he usually kept on. Perhaps he's just washed his hands. On instinct, your head rolls over towards the sitting man, and your lips pull back into a tired smile of recognition.
- Hello ladies... - your voice doesn't sound like a voice at all.
It's hoarse, barely recognizable, sounding more like a huff of wind going through rusty machinery. Still, Special Agent Peter Strahm lets out a puff of air, tension sliding off of his shoulders as if a tangible weight has been lifted from them. Your eyes shift downwards, towards his hands, and you watch as his fingers twitch, so close to grabbing yours, yet deciding against it at the last minute.
God bless professionalism, you think bitterly, before straightening your head on the pillow and looking towards the other man.
Detective Mark Hoffman watches you intensly from the foot of your bed, his expression unreadable, as he takes in the sight of you. Face almost washed out of any color, sunken cheeks and eyes, lips so close to blue it's almost making him pity you. Almost.
Then, there are the bandages. Starting at both of your palms, running up and up, all the way towards your elbows, where your skin peaks at him from under the hospital gown. They've managed to stop most of the bleeding, but he can see clear as day, specs of drying blood showing through the cloth, creating a contrast that's strangely hypnotizing. He doesn't want to imagine how your arms look underneath. Doesn't need to, he has seen those wounds first hand. Both after you were rescued... And before that.
- How long have I been out? - you ask after a moment of silence, your voice regaining a bit of your usual color.
Mark opens his mouth, but it's Strahm who answers you first. The Detective bites down on a scowl. He was never too interested in literary heights, but even he must admit there is something poetic about the both of them crowding around your bed, while you lay there, stricken by tragedy. It makes him feel ridiculous. You make him feel ridiculous.
- Two days - Strahm supplies, his eyes flickering around your face, the bed, the medical apparatus - You've been unconscious most of the time, lost a whole lot of blood.
To that, you scoff, or laugh, neither of them are sure. Of course you've lost a lot of blood. That was the point of the game, wasn't it? To bleed yourself dry. And supposedly some important life lesson was also hidden in there, but after five minutes of pissing blood from your veins into a beaker, you really must've lost it in translation.
- Fuck... - you sigh, slowly trying to move your muscles under the covers.
You try to lift your hand towards the bedside table, where a water bottle with a straw is waiting for you, but your hand starts to shake so badly, you have to give up. Oh, you hated this. This feeling of helplessness. That's when Hoffman springs to action, closing the distance between himself and the other side of your bed. He snatches the bottle from the table like a man on a mission, and places the straw right at your lips.
- Thanks - you mutter, eyes connecting with his for a split second, before focusing all your efforts on drinking.
You don't remember water tasting this good, and as you swallow, you let yourself hum with delight. After a while, the bottle is finished, and Mark dutifully places it back on the table, debating whether to shuffle back to his original place, or to somehow stay here, looming over you as there was no chair for him to sit in. You decide for him, patting the side of your bed and attempting to shift your legs a little, to make more room. He takes the hint and plops himself right next to your foot, his hand coming up to grab at your calf reassuringly. Immediately after that, all reservations seem to leave Strahm, as his hand slides over yours in a warm embrace.
If you weren't so goddamn tired, you would've laughed. Two manly men, fighting like a bunch of petty schoolgirls. Your chest swells with something dangerously close to affection. Quick, someone call for the doctors to bring back professionalism into the room.
- Do you remember anything from that night? - Hoffman asks with slight tension in his voice.
- Is this really the best time to be asking this? They've barely woken up - Strahm's always close to outrage when Hoffman's around, and you silence him with a slight shake of your head.
- It's fine, I can talk - you mutter, brain already working overtime, as you think hard on every single detail from your recent kidnapping.
- I called you.
Your eyes focus on Hoffman, and you can see his jaw shift under his skin as he swallows. His lips twitch into a small smile, but you can see worry settling heavily over his brows, as he looks over the bandages on your arm, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of your calf through the blanket.
- That you did. - and at the time, it almost startled him to death.
***
The puff of smoke you let out flows into the night air of the city, as you lean your head against the cool wall of the restaurant. You're dressed a bit too elegantly, too much like a costume of a successful woman, with skinny heels and too big of a coat.
Hoffman watches with unreserved fascination the way neon lights illuminate the column of your throat. Hidden in the shadows of his car, finally he can watch you without the confines of his professional reputation restraining him. Only if for a fleeting moment, before he has to put on the mask and fulfill his other duty.
Still, his eyes glide greedily over your body, dolled up specially for this fancy dinner with your highschool "friends". You've been buzzing around the station for almost a week now, complaining about this particular meeting, and every time you've mentioned it, Hoffman was making plans. All he had to do, was wait until you were ready to leave. He was certain, you would like a long, calming walk after this whole spectacle. You always did those, whenever a particularly hard hitting case appeared.
Another puff of smoke, and you reach towards the pocket of your coat, fishing out your phone and flicking it on. His eyebrows raise in curiosity, as he watches you dial a number and place the device between your shoulder and your ear. Your hand reaches down to loosen the strap on your heel, and Hoffman is so transfixed by your display of calculated clumsiness, he almost flies from his seat, when his phone starts to ring in his pocket.
Your number is displayed proudly next to your name, and he blinks a few times, before answering.
- Hoffman speaking.
- It's me - your words are slightly slurred, and from his hiding spot he can see the smile forming on your painted lips.
- Did something happen? Why are you calling me? - he asks, trying to sound as bored and tired as he possibly can, while fighting off the sudden jolt of adrenaline surging through his body.
He sees you straighten out against the wall, finally giving up on the strap of your heel. Then he hears the shuffling. And laughter, a short chuckle that sends something swirling in his stomach.
- I'm fine, I'm fine... I just... - you hesitate, hand coming up to tug at the roots of your hair, before taking a long drag from your cigarette, irresponsible, Hoffman thinks - I just wanted to hear a voice of someone who's not a complete asshole.
His laugh comes out in a huff, and it seems contagious enough to make you chuckle as well. If only you knew on how many layers you were in the wrong. Perhaps you'll find out someday, most likely not. Not after tonight.
Still, the sheer notion of you calling him of all people. Calling him instead of your favorite Special Agent even. There's a feeling dangerously close to pride climbing up Hoffman's chest, and he has to swallow it down, before he does something stupid. Which, in this case would be not doing anything. He has to remind himself, why this whole situation is taking place, and all feelings of flattery turn to ash in his mouth. His eyebrows furrow.
- I take it the dinner isn't going well.
- Oh it's fucking terrible - you shake your head in frustration - I don't really care about what they say, I just want to eat food. Which, as it turns out, is a lot to ask for at a dinner party.
- Want me to come over? - he asks, hand playing idly with the black synthetic hair of his pig mask.
For a second, you seem to be actually considering it, and Hoffman would lie, saying it didn't make something swell up in his chest again. Dangerous, very dangerous.
- Nah - you sigh, before throwing a long, disgusted look at the door to the restaurant - Give me permission to ditch them.
He doesn't hesitate to engage in this short, familiar dance of yours.
- You have my permission to ditch them.
Another sigh, then a wave of giggles. Your expression in the neon lights looks almost affectionate. Hoffman reaches for the chloroform bottle.
- Thank you - is this a blush Hoffman sees on your cheeks, or is it just his mind supplying what he wishes was true, who's to say - For the talk and everything. I'll see you at the station.
- Good night, Detective.
He disconnects with one hand, while the other wrestles the mask over his face.
You don't even notice, when he slips behind you, with a chloroform cloth in his palm. It takes a couple of seconds of wrestling, but it still makes him pretty worked up, in more ways than he has anticipated. There is no screaming, for which he is grateful. Your body is strong against his, as you give him all you've got, trying to shake his much larger frame. Your heel digs painfully into his foot, as you slam it down, and he fights back the urge to scream. You can't hear his voice, it would be too telling. While his one hand presses the cloth to your face, the other tries to contain the flurry of panicked punches you throw his way.
The way you wriggle against him shouldn't really affect him that much, hasn't affected him with any other victims. But the sheer fact it's you he's overpowering, seems to be enough. He balls the cloth in his hand sticking it further down your mouth, and shudders at the feeling of your teeth dragging against his leather gloves.
A muffled scream is all that you have left, as your hips buck into his forcefully, hands scratching down his forearms. His breathing heavily behind you, watching with mixed emotions as, finally, consciousness leaves you.
You fall down in a heap at his feet, to which Hoffman has to admit, he has never felt so powerful. There's blood on your stiletto and a perfectly round hole in his shoe. He grunts in annoyance at the prospect of having to hide a limp for a couple of weeks.
Getting your lifeless body into the trunk of his car is laughably easy.
***
- So you didn't see who attacked you? - Hoffman clarifies, and you nod solemnly.
His hands flex, your leg underneath his palm twitching slightly. Strahm sighs heavily next to you, his head hung low, as he massages your fingers so gently, it's almost as if he's afraid you'll break under his touch.
You appreciate that, him leaving his bad cop persona on the hanger by the door. Still, between his tactful worry and Hoffman's stressed twitchiness, one of you has to be the stern policeman. And it seems this time the honor falls on your shoulders. So, you wiggle in your place, rising into a sitting position. The suddenly stern expression seems almost foreign on your sunken face, a caricature of a person you used to be. No, scratch that, you still are. This is the one thing you won't allow Jigsaw to corrupt.
- He's strong though - you say, eyes glued to the edge of the green blanket, as you focus on all the sensations from the night of your attack - Uses chloroform to sedate his victims.
- Kramer? - Hoffman asks and you immediately shake your head.
- I can take a dying cancer patient. That man was healthy, fucking gigantic and... - your eyebrows furrow - He caught me by surprise right after we ended the call.
Hoffman looks like he has something else to say, but he swallows thickly, his palm pressing further into your calf. You try to give him a reassuring smile, convince him, that it's alright. It falls flat against his tense expression, and you know deep down, he feels guilty for not talking to you longer, not checking up on you. He shouldn't, but it's just the way he works. And you appreciate it.
He's enjoying himself far more than he would've anticipated, listening to you talk about him without actually knowing anything.
He likes the way your entire face scrunches in focus, trying to remember anything of note, while he's sitting right here, right in front of you. Perhaps he's becoming an adrenaline junkie? All thanks to you. Yes, he thinks, eyes gliding over your disheveled hair, you're absolutely the enabler here, and you don't even realize that.
Even after what he put you through.
His jaw tightens at the thought of you never actually learning from this special, intimate experience he has concocted just for the two of you. Haven't you heard the tape? Or perhaps you're just too goddamn dense to comprehend the lesson. As he looks into your doe eyes filled with pity and misguided understanding, he's beginning to think the latter's the case.
- And after that? - Strahm is still careful, as if you are some startled animal, and Hoffman huffs through his nose, letting some of his bubbling anger out.
You visibly shudder, and while on the surface both men have the same, worried reaction, Hoffman feels as if he's ready to run a marathon. You're scared, scarred forever by him, and yet here you sit, unaware. Letting him pet your leg like some goddamn pet. Good thing Kramer doesn't actually know how to read minds, otherwise Hoffman might end up in a trap himself for just thinking about you.
- I woke up in a chair - you answer after a while, your voice numb and emotionless.
That won't do, Hoffman thinks, eyes burrowing into your skull, as if he wants to drill a hole and look straight into your brain. He wants you crying, unconsolable, changed. That carefree, light persona you've been flaunting before him since the moment you've arrived at his station. He wanted it gone.
- My legs were tied, and my wrists were hanging down from the armrest. There were boxes underneath, with buttons...
Suddenly, you head snaps up, eyes fiery and filled with righteous fire none of the men expected. Hoffman thinks, for just a second, that something has clicked in your mind. Something that would unmask his entire operation. The thought excites and terrifies him at the same time and subcontiously, he throws a quick look towards Strahm, who's too absorbed in your statement to pay him any mind.
- He was checking the restraints when I woke up - there is something in your voice, something that makes Strahm lean closer in his chair, something that keeps Hoffman from breathing too deeply, because deep inside he knows what comes next - I think this whole thing can be psycho-sexual.
There. You can hear the pin drop, as your words register in the men's brains.
- How...? - Strahm starts, but you cut him off harshly.
- He got hard while tying me up.
Silence.
Only the beeping from the medical apparatus can be heard in the room. Strahm closes his eyes, bracing himself for the next question he has to ask. Hoffman on the other hand is becoming redder and redder under the collar of his shirt. How far will you go with your story?
- Did he...? - Strahm swallows, cutting himself off.
Hoffman leans forward, as if he wants to pull the answer from between your teeth himself.
Did he? You're avoiding both their gazes, eyes flickering between your bandaged arms, something darker settling over your features as memories flood you. Did he? Hoffman's hand clamps itself down onto your calf, you can feel all five fingers digging into your flesh. How much will you tell, how much are you willing to share with your darling Special Agent? With him? Hoffman feels his chest tighten, every breath becoming more and more shallow. You, on the other hand, inhale slowly, deeply, then exhale.
- He didn't.
Hoffman wants to laugh.
***
He tightens the restraints on your left arm, when you start to rouse from sleep. Your head lolls to the side, cheek pressing into his arm. He freezes in his spot, one hand flying towards his face to secure the pig mask over his features. Silence hangs heavily between the two of you, cut only by the quiet groans coming from your waking body.
Transfixed, Hoffman watches the way your lips seem to hang slightly open, lipstick smeared, mascara running, staining his shirt, as you all but rub your face against his shoulder. You look lovely like this, so vulnerable, with your face mushed against him. Nothing like the headstrong, strudy woman he's come to know over the short time you've spent at his station.
Were your superiors aware of what they were doing? Sending some pretty young thing, straight from the academy, eyes still shining with ideals, all the way into the heap of corruption that was his city? And right in the middle of the biggest serial killer case the world has ever seen. They must've known you were doomed to fail. The narrative was never on your side, no matter how hard you tried to deny it.
- Mmm... - finally, he can hear your voice get clearer, still groggy from the chemicals he has pumped into your neck - Mark...
He nearly jumps at the sound of his name. Thoughts run rampant through his skull, heart beating so hard, he's scared it will fly right out of his chest. Have you recognized him? He made sure to leave all traces of the Detective Mark Hoffman at the door before starting this. It was impossible, he did everything right.
Your head rolls back against the backrest of the chair, your throat exposed to the world, to his hungry eyes. Your pulse runs rampant through your veins, and Hoffman feels a sudden urge to rip your trachea out with his teeth. Or, press an open mouthed kiss behind your ear, he can't seem to decide.
- Oh, Mark... - a moan slips from your lips, and this time, he fully comprehends what is happening.
The realization runs past his brain and straight to his crotch. With shaking hands he reaches for a leather belt, and forcefully pushes it into your mouth, causing your eyelids to flutter.
Finally, your eyes start to open. Pretty eyes, he thinks, especially now that they're surrounded by dark stains from your mascara, glossy and unfocused. You writhe in the chair, as if you're waking up from a wonderful nap, arms straining against the restraints when you try to stretch. Then, your body freezes, realization that something is terribly wrong settling over you in an almost visible shadow.
Panicked, you turn your head towards him. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, and Hoffman flexes his fingers. The urge to rip his mask off, to show you who he really is grows in him like a tumor.
Oh the look on your face would be something for the history books. Your favorite grumpy detective, your best work buddy. Would the truth about his identity crush you? He liked to think it would. He liked to think it would suck any will to live right out of you.
He wanted to have that power over you.
Hoffman drinks in your terrified expression like a man parched. The confusion between your eyebrows, the click in your jaw, when you realized you've been gagged, the way your eyes find him in the darkness of the room. It's almost too easy to let himself be enchanted by the way you look, so different from your usual appearance.
Where is that young profiler teasing him about his gruff exterior any chance they get? He could never decide whether he wanted to kill you or fuck you in these situations, hiding his frustrations behind an exasperated eyeroll, or a smile if he felt generous.
Right now, he can't decide either, as you begin to move in the chair, tugging at the belts holding your limbs down, scanning the room behind him, You're smart, he knows and despises that with his whole heart. Because if you weren't, he could just write you off as a naive, stupid girl, who doesn't know her place. But he can't, which means everything you've done, you've been doing intentionally, and the thought boils him from the inside.
Your gaze falls towards the boxes under your hands, the slits in the armrests, where stainless steel blades reflect the light from a singular lamp. And the beaker, right in front of you, ready to be filled. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you're supposed to do, and you give out a pathetic whine, which Hoffman immediately commits to his memory.
Killing you is out of his hands now. The game has been set, and the outcome rests solely on your trembling shoulders. The second part however...
His eyes rake across your entire body, taking in the elegant blouse, which is now stained and torn in a couple of places. The tight pencil skirt you've chosen for the dinner, and how it has ridden up your thighs. Your stockings, torn on your knees, where you fell to the floor. And those damned stilettoes, one of which still has his blood on it's heel . Which reminds him...
Hoffman steps in front of your chair, your eyes following him cautiously. He can see thoughts run rampant through your head, searching for a way to get out, trying to determine his intentions, anything that might be helpful.
Well, good fucking luck Miss Profiler.
He kneels down in front of you, taking a hold of your calf in a manner so gentle he's surprised himself. The leather gloves on his fingers make the task of unclasping the small belt around your leg a hassle, but he doesn't falter. You two have all the time in the world.
Figuratively speaking. He needs to be out of here in half an hour.
The heel slips from your foot and Hoffman lets out a barely audible chuckle, as he's greeted by neon pink nail polish.
Professionalism, you would remind him every single time, whenever he even dreamt of coming closer to you. It was infuriating, the way you led him by his nose, coming to work in the tightest of clothing, swaying your hips like the place belonged to you. And then, you would walk past him with a laugh and wink at Strahm of all people, when you thought he wasn't looking.
His hand splays out all across your calf, a touch so unexpected, he feels your muscles jump under his fingers. All your focus shatters immediately, as his second hand joins the other, running up and down your leg, stopping just short of your thigh. Realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and he follows your line of vision straight to a very visible problem brewing in his trousers. Mentally, he scolds himself for loosing control so easily.
If Kramer could see him now, he'd shoot him on the spot.
But then again, maybe not. After all he agreed to let Hoffman orchestrate this entire game, and then allowed him to carry it out, despite his connections to the victim. You could never guess with that old bastard, and for that, Hoffman is eternally grateful.
Your body twitches in the chair, as he finally drags his hands higher. You squirm, leather gloves feeling foreign on your skin.
He knows, he knows, he wants to coo at you from under the mask, swallowing the urge with a sigh. You can't hear his voice, he reminds himself, almost too enraptured by the heat radiating off of your body.
He continues to massage your leg, fingers hooking into the torn material of your stocking, pulling at it, tearing it further in an agonizingly slow pace. Almost as if he wants to watch closely as the fibers give away. Then, in a sudden change of pace he rips them entirely apart, until they fall in strips of sheer fabric on the chair.
A gasp escapes you, and you spring into action, legs clamping shut in an instant. You're fast, but Hoffman is faster, and he wedges both his hands between your shaking thighs. It takes little to no effort to open you up again, and he leans down, squeezing his torso between your knees.
Time freezes for a moment, as the both of you watch each other closely. Your chest is rising and falling in rapid succession, as fire begins to brew in your eyes. Hoffman leans even closer, hands skimming just short of your core, as they forcefully drag your skirt up.
God, he loves this look on you. The heat, the anger, the swirling desire. Because he can clearly see the way you take in his frame, unknown to you yet so familiar. Were you able to decipher some familiarities? At this point he can't seem to care, he's so close to his reward.
Touch me, and I'll kill you, your eyes scream at him.
If you kill me, I'll drag you down with me, the dark holes of his mask seem to reply.
Two forceful tugs and the material of your underwear tears from your body. Cold air makes you uncomfortable, yes, but it's nothing compared to the stillness of the man before you. He stares, intensely, for a moment completely frozen in his spot. You can hear deep, heathing breaths coming from the rubber mask and wonder what is going through this strange man's head. For a second you're actually worried this will be the end of it. As much as you hated what was happening to you right now, you would hate it much more, if you were left wanting.
Your worries are disproved in a split-second, as gloved fingers wiggle their way into your core. They take you apart, delicately at first, as if the man before you is trying to commemorate your every nook and cranny to memory. This slow exploration twists into adoration in your mind, as you fight off an onslaugh of shivers deliciously running down your spine. You huff, muscles tensing at the intrusion. Despite your growing wetness, the man in front of you has some real thick fingers, made even bigger by his leather gloves.
He turns his masked head to the side, and you desperately want to know what he's thinking. Your head rolls back, as you bite down on the leather belt in your mouth. Eyes closing, your mind starts to wander into places you're too ashamed to acknowledge.
God, you're sick. Thinking about your much older coworker in this beyond fucked up situation. But your mind has already supplied you with images of him rolling his sleeves up. His eyes following you around the room when he thinks you don't pay attention. Lingering touches that burn through your clothing. Oh, how much you reveled in the attention, how you stored all those small moments in your mind, just to bring them up in the privacy of your home.
Perhaps you deserve to be put in trap, perhaps this is your lesson. Discovering the depths of your depravity.
With a deep sigh, Hoffman pushes his finger in, as far as it can go, and your hips nearly fly off the chair, bucking into his palm. The sound you make bounces off the walls of the room, surrounding him in an echo of your cracking voice. Then, he starts to work you, adding a second finger until you wail through your gagged mouth. His entire arm is put to work, body pressing incredibly closer, as he soaks in your face twisted in pain and pleasure.
This is so much better than what he imagined. And he has had quite the imagination, from the moment you appeared in his life. All the times he would zone out during a meeting, letting you talk to Strahm about a new discovery in the case, while he let his mind wonder. It was torture, pure and simple. There were points where he couldn't be left alone in his office without his pants tightening. Horrible, awful feelings, all of which were your fault.
His fingers curl into you, and for a second you swear you can see stars flying across your vision. He notices the sudden change, and doubles the efforts at hitting thet exact spot over, and over again until your legs start shaking. His leather-clad thumb presses tightly into your bundle of nerves, bordering on overstimulation. While his right hand brings you closer to your release, his left one grabs every inch of flesh it can find, fondling with your breasts, squeezing your throat, playing with your blushed cheeks. The rubber of the pig mask is cold against your collarbones, as the man presses his weight to your front, as if he wants to bury himself into your chest.
No one can hear your screams, no one except Hoffman, and he commits every note to memory. Then, your voice snuffs out completely, as your entire body tenses so much, he's actually concerned you'll free yourself from the binds. Your release sneaks up on you and seizes your body in a sudden chokehold. For a moment, you can't breathe, teeth grinding against each other. God, it's been an embarrassingly long time ago since you've had even a resemblance of an orgasm like this one.
Hoffman feels wetness cover his entire palm, coming towards his arm. You're breathing heavily, when he slides his fingers out of you, the leather gloves shining with a souvenir of your altercation. He straightens himself above you, knees cracking as he does. Then, for a moment he just stands there, his shoulders rising and falling heavily, as he huffs under the mask. With heavy eyelids, you watch, as the man lifts it ever so slightly. Your vision is blurry, but your stomach still does a flip, when you see an outline of his tongue darting out to taste you. Then, the mask is back all the way on, and the reality of your circumstance becomes clear once again.
To his credit, he gives you a couple of minutes to gather yourself, as much as you can in this situation. Cold air makes you squirm in your spot, as you feel the stickiness of your release coat your thighs. Then, the man produces a small casette player from his pocket, presses start, and throws it between your still open legs. He's out of the room before the recording even starts and you're left alone to fight. Or to die.
***
- When I've put my hands in the boxes and pressed the buttons, knives came out from the armrests - you recount, voice steady despite the chills running up your back. - I had to fill the beaker with my blood, then the restraints would give away and the door would open.
- What was your lesson about? - Hoffman asks, a certain smugness to him, one, that makes you shift in your seat.
For a second you were worried, that he deduced what has truly happened from your expression. Perhaps he could read minds, and he discovered you've been thinking of him, while getting off on Jigsaw's apprentices hand. You had to physically shake your head to banish the thought. It was hard enough to look him in the face without impossible scenarios looming over you.
- The tape hasn't been recovered? - you ask with a tightness to your voice.
- It has, but I haven't listened to it yet - a lie.
A big, fat, fucking lie, and both him and Strahm know it. The other man turns to him with clear confusion, but Hoffman doesn't bother even acknowledging him. He's too invested in that delicate, blooming fire, which starts to eminate from your eyes. The same flame he has seen back in that room, where you looked at him like you wanted to devour him whole. And you don't even know it.
- He said - you swallow, and Hoffman follows the movements of your throat greedily. - He said I was an enabler, that I bring out the worst in people - another swallow, your gaze never faltering, and Hoffman feels his mouth run dry - That I revel in other's misery.
- That's not true - Strahm jumps towards you, ready to reassure, to be the gentle hand you undoubtedly need.
- I stabbed the fucker in the foot with my stiletto - your voice breaks, and Strahm pulls away with an unreadable expression.
- And one more thing...
Hoffman turns fully towards you, hands running up and down your calf, as if he's trying to massage the memories back to your brain, make you think of how you fell apart on those exact fingers. The thrill of having you here, so close to the truth is unlike anything he's ever felt.
- I know what he smells like.
Admittedly it's a small thing, an inconsiderable detail, that will most likely help no one. Still, the sheer tone of voice in which you've said it forces Hoffman to make a detour to his house, between the hospital and the police station. There, he takes a black garbage bag and throws away every single piece of cologne he can find in his house.
Except one. A small sample he remembers using that very night. He stores it in his cupboard, right next to his bed, a small reminder of what has transpired between you both. Balancing his work life and his secret identity has never been easy, but now... He's almost tempted to throw it all away if it means looking into your tear stained eyes again.
#mark hoffman x reader#saw x reader#mark hoffman#woop woop thats the sound of the police#woop woop thats the sound of the beast#my writing#saw franchise#saw
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to this day i still don’t know what a delatine is
me neither tbh i just saw the name and went with it 😎😎
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what's a pet peeve you have?
I got a few, but one is probably people who like, are fans of villains but try to defend the villains actions or try to explain them away in an effort to say "they're not that bad".
Like dude, you like the bad guy, it's okay! They're awful! They do bad things! They're created specifically to be rooted against!
You shouldn't feel the need to defend them, embrace how awful they are! There's nothing wrong with liking the bad guy, either you like the aesthetic, or the personality, or what they were trying to accomplish, or something else entirely. You don't need to waste your time trying to justify why you like who you like, nor do you need to water down their actions to attempt to make them more easily digestible for others.
Go on, be the villain lover that you are.
#out of food (ooc)#// but like i feel so bad for people trying to say the BAD GUY isn't a BAD GUY like don't be ashamed of who they are#// there are obvious exceptions to this like hisoka and griffith in which case woop woop thats the sound of the police /hj
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hii, it's me again 🤍)
can i request main 3(south park) with f!reader headcannons, when they realized that they fell in love w reader? like, how they confessed, with words or gifts, etc
sure anon!!
⋆ MAIN 3 CONFESSING THEIR LOVE :
✩ — STAN !
he probably would never realize it himself if kyle didnt tell him that he fell for u
after that he ignored the feeling for as long as possible
didnt wanna ruin your friendship
kyle again told him to finally confess
and he did
by messaging you😭
okay i know thats kinda bad but no way he would do it face to face
he would be like an awkward and stutterin mess
and through the phone he can express his feelings better
after sending the message he turned his phone off and just stared at the wall in silence
"what if she doesnt feel the same thing? what if she just laughs at me? omg im so stupid why did i even confess"
fidgets with his sleeve while waiting for you to text back
he lets the loudest and biggest sigh of relief and smilez when u say u love him back :)
cutie
✩ — KYLE !
he realized it himself
and it didnt take him really long to realize
he was also struggling to confess
its not because he was nervous about just confessing, he was nervous bc of his past experiences with girls😭
hes 100% sure it wont work and then it would be awkward for you 2 to still continue the friendship after breaking up or smth
in the end he decides to do it
it wont kill him, right?
unlike stan, he actually asks to meet up with you
brought you flowers🤗🤗
tries to play it cool but stutters just a rlly small bit
he just goes kinda like "uh.." every now and then but just a few times
after saying u love him too blah blah blah he smiles in the cutest way possible
he just prays for it to work out!
puts sm effort in too <3
✩ — KENNY !
kenny knew after some time
started flirting with you 'as a joke' in a 'friendly way'
he was hoping that you would understand
or maybe if he got lucky you felt the same way abt him and the flirting would motivate you to confess to him
nah
how were u supposed to get it if his pick up lines were so corny😿
"are you 14? bc you're the 1 4 me"
woop woop thats the sound of da police..
besides that he compliments you more often
"woo u look like bilion dollars bae, take my hand in marriage"
he confesses through flirtimg
sort of
"yooo u look so hot rn like kizz me"
"bet"
"what if im serious"
"..what?"
he said that bc if you said youre not serious he could save it and say that he was just joking🤗
when u say u luv him too u get the promised kiss!
u can request baes
#south park x y/n#south park x you#south park x reader#south park#stan marsh x y/n#stan marsh x you#stan marsh x reader#stan marsh#kyle broflovski x y/n#kyle broflovski x reader#kyle broflovski#kenny mccormick x y/n#kenny mccormick x reader#kenny mccormick
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Roy/Jamie prompt: Roy has to fly out somewhere for a recruitment event. When Jamie takes him to the airport they say goodbye, both of them holding back tears. They are absolutely miserable without each other, especially when something happens that delays the event so Roy has to stay for a bit longer. Roy is an even more glowering and grouchy version of himself and even though he secures several new prospects for Richmond, he just can't bring himself to celebrate. He goes to his hotel room just wanting to call Jamie and go to bed, so imagine his surprise when he opens the door to find Jamie Tartt waiting for him wearing nothing but a pleased little smirk and love shining in his eyes?
🚨WOOP WHOOP THATS THE SOUND OF THE HORNY POLICE 🚨
(It’s okay anon we can be bunk mates in jail)
Roy fucking loved zoom calls. He could mute people, he could not talk, he could have Jamie in the room and no one would know.
Fucking in person recruiting. Fucking Josh who got the date wrong so he’s flying in tomorrow. What kind of name is Josh anyway.
He knows he was more of a grouch then usual, but in his defense he had to cancel his 9am flight back to Jamie.
London.
Home.
Jamie.
Whatever the fuck. It doesn’t matter now because Josh made him stick around for another three days.
Josh had better have a foot touched by god and all the fucking wisemen.
Roy slams his room key into the sensor. It blinks red.
Fucking seriously. He slams his way back into the elevator, fuck it might as well call Jamie.
It rings for a good few seconds before he picks up.
“Roy! How’d the extra first day go?”
Roy leans against the wall watching the number tick down. “Hell. I want to strangle Josh but I can’t because he won’t even be here until tomorrow.”
Roy hears their bed squeak, Jamie rolling around. “That fuckin sucks. I miss you.”
There’s a hint of something in Jamie’s voice. He can’t quite tell what. “Did you at least do anything fun today baby?”
Jamie laughs, Roy can picture him perfectly in their bed sheets tossed around, bare skin for miles. He wishes he wasn’t standing in the lobby of a hotel getting a new key.
“Nothing crazy. Bought some new sweats. Planned out a hike to take Phoebe on.”
“I love you.”
He hears Jamie sigh, “I love you too, miss you like crazy. I hate to cut this short but I think Marigold is caught on something I’ve gotta go love you!”
Roy opens his mouth return the sentiment but just hears the beep of the tone.
Christ this key better work.
He slams it into place again, green.
He opens the door and sets the bag down, weird he doesn’t remember leaving a lamp on. Probably house keeping.
He walks into the room.
Jamie.
Holy shit Jamie.
Jamie laughs, Roy must’ve said that last part out loud.
“Baby why are you here??”
Jamie gets up off the bed, Roy now notices Jamie is in fact not wearing any clothing. “Thought I’d surprise you, had Beard deactivate your room key so I’d have a bit of warning.”
“You little prick. How.
“Movie magic baby. But really I’ve got a lot of unused miles and couldn’t take another three days.”Jamie runs a hand across and down Roy’s chest, lightly toying with the waistline of the jeans.
Roy lunges forward, he shoves Jamie back onto the bed, flips him over.
“You aren’t leaving this bed tonight, or in the morning. You are going to fucking limp and look like you belong to me by the end.
Jamie let’s out a moan, “please god Roy touch me.” He reaches back and grabs a handful of hair lightly pulling to try and make Roy go faster.
Roy starts biting his was from neck to ass, he’s not going to miss a spot, they’ve got time.
—
“Roy I can’t fucking stand is this how are we supposed to go sight seeing.”
“Baby you are the sights, keep complaining and I’ll spank you.”
“Ooh honey don’t threaten me with that.”
*the smack heard round the world*
#ted lasso#jamie tartt#roy kent#jamie x roy#fluff#royjamie#thanks for the ask !!#again I bitched out and didn’t write it#but someone else totally could *wink wink*
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https://www.tumblr.com/narcissisticpdcultureis/724186226346852352/npd-culture-is-lying-awake-at-night-thinking-about?source=share
dawg i heard SIRENS going off in my fucking head WHAT i am CRYING. THIS CANNOT BE REAL
WOOP WOOP thats the sound of da POLICE!?!?!?!
LMAO😭😭
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Spooky laughs
Skid and Pump where hanging out at a Halloween night with a whole box filled with candies.
Haha! Hey skid what do we do now?
Hmm how about we- Skid was interrupted by the one and only "Bob Vesleb" (idk if thats how his name is)
Play hide and seek. Bob said im a creepy voice that spooked the kids.
Ooh! Thats a great idea unknown person that scared us!
I'll count and you two go hide winner gets more candy~ Bob told them as he had an idea on his mind, he really didn't wanna kill these two kids and he was surprised he didn't want to. While he was thinking he saw the two pair running to hide as he closed his eyes and started counting to 10.
Ready or not, here I come~ He started looking for them as he looked to his left to see the two kids. He tip-toed behind them as he said.
"I found you~"
AAAAAH! The kids screamed jokingly as he scooped them up and the giggled.
"Alight alright you won." Skid said.
Well now there's always a punishment for the losers~ Bob told them as they got really curious.
And may the punishment beguin in 3...2...1
He wiggled all his fingers on the Skid and Pump's little bellies as they laughed shocked by the tickling.
Hahahahhaha! Hehehehy atahahahp that hahahahahaah!! Skid laughed
Ahahahahahahh nahahahaha stop haehehehheehhehahahaha! Pump also laughed wirh Skid.
My my such laughter you two have. Would be such a shame if I would do this~ He blew a big raspberry on skids neck and next on pump.
HAAHAHAHAHAH NOHOHOHOHO MOREHEHEHEHEHEHE!
HEHEHEHELP UHUHUHUHSS HAHAHAHAHAAH!
Bob continued the tickling for a few minutes only to be heard the sound of da police woop woop (LOL THATS STUCK IN MY F* HEAD FOR WEEKS) Anyways back to the fic.
Uh-oh time to go. Here's your candy, I gotta go now! Bob rushed as he left the kids gigging.
hehehah. Ahare you ohohokay Puhump?
Haha ih haaham. They both started panting as Lila rushed to them with June (idk what her name is)
Kids! She yelled as she grabbed Skid and hugged him tight. "Oh where where you two?!"
A big red devil guy played hide and seek with us!
Yeah and he won and we lost but he was nice enough and still gave us extra candy as a reward!
Oh my godness well atleast you are okay lets get you home.
They all went home as the night went on.
The end
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(tune of Sound of da Police) WOOP WOOP THATS DA SOUND OF THE
[text to speech generator] white boy of the month.
WOOP WOOP THATS THE SOUND OF DA BEAST
#I am down astronomically as per usual#and of course it will absolutely never happen#I simply cannot stop myself from contemplating it
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✋🙂✋
woop woop thats the sound of da police
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obsessed w how that one song that goes woop woop thats the sound of the police got turned into ASSASSIN DE LA POLICE in france
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Dan Watches: Star Wars: Episode II - Attack Of The Clones
Alright so I did this for Episode I which you can find here. So.. here’s my weird.. live reaction/note taking/whatever this is.. to Episode ll.
Alright so.. Once again the opening crawl is very politicy.
Count Dooku I think is mentioned for the first time in it and Padme becomes a Senator instead of a Queen in it.. which.. is weird.
The Naboo ships im not sure about.. I like the design but they seem too new and clean for being a prequel. That said they are owned by royalty so i can let it slide i guess.
“I guess i was wrong, there was no danger at all” *EXPLOSION* ffs Jeff, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut?
Nooooooo! Not.. Cordey? Omfg that was the worst death i’ve ever seen. Terribly acted.
Ayy it’s the Jedi avengers, no but like why is like i presume the whole or half the jedi council in this meeting? Shouldn’t they have like 1 representative?
Yooo thats live action Barriss Offee in the back... hey girrrll ;)
actually she’s probably supposed to be like 13 or somehting so i take that back.
I love just all the traffic flying by the window
YOOOO it’s my boy Jar Jar aka Darth Plagueis the Wise, don’t @ me.
Spice mines on the moon of Naboo you say? Isn’t Spice a drug but you mine for it.. there are drug miners in Star Wars.. good stuff.
That elevator would be terrifying.
Obiwan just like.. LOL I fell into a nest of Gundarks.. what a character I am. .. Love him.
Anakin like “I haven’t seen her since i was underaged master.. now i can get my fuck on!”
ALSO ITS BEEN 10 YEARS!?
“Ani you’ll always be that little boy” *Police sirens*
Anakins a little bitch
I think Jar Jar’s ears things are much longer.. but might just be me imagining things.
She’s not forgotten you, she said your name.. you creep.
Heeyy look it’s your custom star wars character Zam.
Obiwan is so sassy
Anakin is pretty creepy towards Padme.
Those worm things are naasty
Yo tbf that was some smooth lightsabering, they were like an inch tall and right up on Padme and he didnt even hurt her accidentally. I’d have killed her there.
Obiwan just fucking dives out the window like its nothing. Mad man.
Zam is the worst, instead of shooting Obiwan she shoots her own damn droid.
Damn it Anakin, he’s told you to stay away from power couplings.
Obiwan is just gonna be like “FFS ANAKIN!” this entire movie... well.. Saga.
I wonder how Jedi pick their robes because like some are very similar and then theres like a few that have darker leather stuff, it’s like there’s a jedi stylist or something.. Someone make that OC.
Amazing catch Obi.
So Obiwan is his real name but he goes by Ben later on and then Ben Solo is named after him but shouldn’t it be Obiwan Solo?
A changeling, she really is a custom character.
Yoo that Twilek wasn’t stupidly thin, I’m here for Thicc Twilek.
What species is Death Stick guy! I wanna know what he does with his life after he rethinks it
I hope it backfires and he’s like “Hey.. I could be doing so much more” and he ends up like the head of a crime family.
She didnt even change.. so much for changeling.
....she did when she died i take it back.
Damn the background Jedi are ugly.
I like how this shows that Palpatine has already begun manipulating Anakin.
Still dont understand why Jedi see the balance being a good thing when it’s leaning heavily towards the light side right now.
Anakin “IM READY FOR THE TRIALS!” .. you aint. You a moody bitch.
I like Padme’s dress.
Anakin just got warned to back down because he’s being a creep.
Omfg whats that rape face.
Dormy or whatever her name is, better actress than Padme.
Poncho! Cal approves.
WOO ITS DEX!
Jawa Juice? Ew.
Wtf is the Rishi maze?
Dex suddenly went sinister at the end, why?
Yess the librarian! She’s the best. I think she has a badass Order 66 story if im remembering correctly.
She’s very sure about her records though.. calm down lady.
“No droids” says the droid to the other droid.
So i presume the head of the Jedi Council is always the one who looks after the younglings.
Awwh the little babies and they’re all gonna get killed by Creep Vader.
Yoda is so soft, good dad figure. Best boy.
They elect queens on Naboo.. thats interesting.
I love the Jedi fighter look.
HOLD THE FUCK UP THEY DIDNT KNOW ABOUT KAMINO
THERE WAS A FUCKING LONG NECKY ALIEN ON THE JEDI COUNCIL IN EP 1..
.... some bullshit.
I should really look into Sifo Dyas
And Why are there not more Clones in Star Wars...
Other than like.. .. spoilers for.. you know what nevermind.
I DONT LIKE SAND! HE SAID THE THING
Anakin you creep
Why the fuck would Padme even lean in at all? He’s been nothing but a creep and she’s shown 0 interest in him at all so far.
The Camino people are pretty chill.
That was the first bit of actual chemistry between Padme and Anakin
Omfg the pear, fuck off.
Also forgot to comment but theres some clear like.. oohhhhhh moments im having with how order 66 got set up.
Has Padme had an outfit change again?
She’s got her sexy outfit on to turn him down.. seems right.
Her make up is a bit.. much
Sooo the force is weaker with the jedi because the light sides had it so good for so long that the force is trying to balance out and bring it back the other way, makes sense.
It’s actually his connection to his mom that brings him towards the darkside to start.. nice.
Padme trying to be inconspicuous is super conspicuous
I like that the droid said okey dokey.
YAAAAAAAAAAAAY WATTO
YAAAAY ANI SPEAKING HUTTESE
I love how Watto is happy to see Ani.
Watto doesn’t deserve the shitty life he ended up with.
Love some New Zealander up in my Star Wars.
Seismic charges have such good sound design.
Thats one hell of a missile.
Eyyyyy it’s c3p0 it’s amazing how much i’d forgot of this.
Tusken Raiders are dicks. They know sign language but they’re dicks.
Even Anakin is like “These are good people”, good. They’ll raise your son.
Is that general grevious’ voice?
What the fuck are these aliens
Awwwh noooo she waited just to die in her sons arms.
Tbf i’d go full darkside if someone tortured my mom.
You know what.. this Ani is nothing like the ones from the cartoon, he seems like less of a whiney bitch in the clone wars but we’ll see..
Cleg Lars’ hover chair is pretty dope.
Anakin got over hating Obi Wan real quick.
Even captured Obiwan is a sassy boy.
Jar Jar as badass as he is.. is basically putting the Sith Lord in charge.
So far if you dont know that palpatine is the Sith there isnt really anything obvious telling you which is pretty interesting.
Padme has had another outfit change, another iconic look.
And so behind the adventures of r2 and c3po
C3PO had a costume change, he’s been watching Padme.
The fake out they have you thinking Padme is covered in magma is pretty good
Okay then suddenly she loves him.
Also bye bye lightsaber
Genosians are pretty gross
In my head they were always the same as Toydarians for some reason
I like that bug monster, i remember killing them in one of the older battlefront games.. as maybe Aayla Sekura but maybe i made that up.
Anakin surely got the best one to fight. He basically tames it.
The fucking peck on the cheek, was that needed?
Droidekas are still cool as fuck.
Suddenly Jedi.
The Jedi that made it up to Dooku is terrible, he cant even reflect a few blaster blasts.
Well.. Jango lost his head.
The smile on that green jedi’s face is beautiful, what a beautiful alien man. Kit Fisto.
Obiwan is an icon.
Dooku is pretty reasonable all things considered.
Woo clones!
“Around the survivors, a perimiter, create.” Yoda.. just speak normally damnit.
Yoo what if Jaro Tapal shows up in the new Clone Wars cartoon season.. i’d lose my shit.
I like Dooku’s bike.
Anakin you dumb fuck.
I always thought Dooku’s curved lightsaber was weird.
Rey should have done this sick ass catching the lightning trick instead of the two lightsabers.
Jedi flips all over the place woop.
As obvious as it is that Palpatine is the hooded Sith, i feel like they dont show his full face because i feel like a little kid might not be able to tell.
I kinda like how it shows a bunch of clones (the basic start of the stormtrooper) and then star destroyers and it’s like.. heres where the empire started.
Aaaaaand they’re married? so yeah.. congrats Ani you creeped your way into being a husband.
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Sansa: You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. Littlefinger: ooooh Arya gonna get it now Sansa: How do you answer...Lord Baelish? Littlefinger: ....what Bran: WOOP WOOP THATS THE SOUND OF DA POLICE
#game of thrones#littlefinger#arya stark#petyr baelish#sansa stark#bran stark#three eyed raven#winterfell#winter is coming
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High Hues and Fumes (4/20)
a/n: happy 4/20, I wholeheartedly believe Pete smokes pot. Summary: Sonny comes clean about his deal with Pete, but it might be too late
Warning: whoops made it angsty, cannabis mentioned, cursing, inclinations of police brutality annnnnd it's a rough draft so you know, raw-uneditted shit.
w/c: 2544
The gaseous smells of paint trickled out between small alleyways where apartment building met apartment building. No one could smell it, the sickly chemical scent was buried under the smog of cars, big buildings, pollution but that was New York for those who lived there. New York was a shithole, it spots where people made an effort to look nice. The city rich sprinkled potpourri over the places where the shitstains didn’t stink to much. They glorified the idea of a big city with diverse joys.
Joys only tourists and the rich can benefit from.
It was here where the smog hung low, where the police sat on corners waiting for a slipped up teen, where the chemical spray cans made their mark on walls, where Pete lived his life. Pete’s life had been one bad move after another. He dropped out of school after hanging with the wrong crowd. He was constantly being chased out of stores and chased down by cops. The only place Pete was safe was among his people. No one in this little strip of pavement ratted Pete out. He was one of those ‘harmless’ thugs. Just a little nobody kid that wasn’t going to do much trouble, it would have been too much effort to throw him to the dogs.
All of the bad moves Pete made in life mirror all the right strokes he made with his paint can. He ran his hand over his paint splattered sweats that hung dangerously low on his waist. The top of his boxers exposed, as the elastic squeezed his bony hips. He stared down his next canvas, a dead end alley between two buildings. A huge, unmarked brick wall in a dark, dank dump spot. Perfect.
“Yo.” He spoke without looking back. “Wass’ good, Sunshine.”
“Maaan” Sonny groaned, he had tried to be extra sneaky this time. Sonny swore Pete had ears like a hunting dog but Pete knew he was no hunter. Not on these streets, Pete had ears of a prey animal. He had senses of survival. Sonny felt a blush grace the tops of his freckled face, flustered he turned his hat forward and pulled the brim down. “How did you even know it was me?”
Pete looked over his shoulder, paint can in his hand. He shook the can as he deliberately made Sonny wait for his answer. “I felt you” he smirked, Sonny’s face took on a confused look. He turned back to his wall finding the urge to paint something. Sonny did that to him. Pete meant it, he felt him coming. Sonny filled the room like sunlight. In this dark, damp ghetto Sonny was like...a lotus flower. A budding beautiful thing growing out of muck and mud of shit and poverty. Would it be too cliche for Pete to say Sonny was the best thing that happened to him? Because it was true. Sonny was Pete’s muse. He couldn’t paint a thing without thinking ‘would Sonny like this?’
“You felt me, well did you feel this!” Sonny lunged towards him and roughly pounced on Pete. He forced the guy to stumble a bit, while Sonny took the chance to wrap his arms around him. He hugged him from behind and poked his head over Pete’s shoulder eyeing the wall with only a few streaks of blues over it. “Whatcha paintin’ picasso?”
“Hm dunno yet.” Pete looked over the blues and wonder what they’d be. He didn’t start a thing knowing what he would make. He waited for the wall to call him to, for the paints to speak to him. “What do you see?” He peeked over at Sonny who looked at even random streaks like a Monet painting. Sonny had enough belief to make every tag a piece of work.
“I see a rainbow.”
“...Sonny you’re fucking gay.” Pete chuckled, “you’re welcome~”
“As a matter of factly I’m bisexual. Cuz’ Nina is still hot” Sonny smirked a bit feeling Pete angrily rip Sonny’s arms off him. He started spraying the wall angrily. If his face got any hotter it would have caught fire from the mix of heat and chemical spray. “But I’m in love with this cutie right here.” Sonny slapped Pete’s butt, only getting a grunt in response. “But seriously, man, I see a rainbow...like you got that dark blue--”
“Violet.”
“With that other blue--”
“Indigo”
“Ok, Pete, I ain’t the artist here, das you boo.” Sonny backed up a bit and watched his boyfriend get to work. Sonny climbed on top of a closed dumpster and watched magic happen. Sonny was in love with his boyfriend’s mind. The way he could look at a wall and a couple of colors then boom, art. He was a creator, like a god. He made something that spoke out of nothing. That mind saw things that weren’t there like a ...a magician. Pete was one of those things in the ghetto Sonny called a gem.One of the kids that Sonny knew if he was given half of the shit they deserved, alittle more attention, a little more help, Pete would have been in art school. Pete would have been famous.
At least to Sonny, Pete was somebody. Sonny leaned back against the dumpster and listened to the hissing of the paint cans, the clattering as Pete shuffled between colors. He closed his eyes for a few minutes and slowly he felt a pair of lips against his. “Yo, it's done.” He moved off the top of Sonny.
“Jesus Pete…” Sonny sat up and looked over the art. It was basically like the starry night painting Sonny had seen once. Except the stars were more like suns, and the colors weren’t muted blues and night colors. They were vivid, hot shades of the rainbow. “...it's amazing.”
Pete rolled his eyes and began rummaging through his pockets. “You say that about everything I make.”
“Thats cuz’ you’re talented...you’re like...the Banksy of our generation.” Sonny watched as with a small arched eyebrow as Pete placed a small, brown cigarette looking piece between his lips.
“Who?” Pete chuckled, he pulled a lighter right after and lit up his blunt. He could feel Sonny’s wry gaze on him. He puffed a few times, watching his good boy of a boyfriend eye the street watching for the police. “Hey…” He pulled the blunt out of his mouth and wiggled his eyebrow. “Gimme a beso, baby”
“Pete, you’re gonna get caught and you’ll be kissin’ bars soon.” Sonny grunted, though the half lidded gaze Pete gave him undid his conscience. He hopped off the dumpster and stood in front of Pete, his fingers reaching for the blunt. His fingers grabbed nothing, Pete pulled away and took another drag holding the smoke in his mouth. “That’s how it is?” He frowned as Pete smiled with his cheeks puffed up with cannabis fumes. Sonny leaned in and kissed him, his tongue forcing the vault of his mouth to open.
The first thing he tasted was the weed. The taste of the plant smoke hit the back of his taste buds and sent a small cringe to his face. It was bitter, but that was quickly masked by Pete’s taste. His mouth hot from taking hits right from the blunt, it made Sonny only want to kiss him more. Their weed boated tongues lazily battled it out. They exchanged breathy kisses, Pete periodically pulling away to take another drag from the blunt and share more smoke with Sonny.
Weed was only fun if Pete was sharing otherwise Sonny never smoked.
Soon the drug kicked in, and Sonny felt that wave of chill come over him. His senses diluted in some places and heightened in other. He felt a calm and sleep like happiness wash over him. “You’re such a pothead…” Sonny giggled, wrapping his arms around Pete’s neck. He hung there for a moment letting Pete’s body hold him up as he laughed. “Petey~ the pot~ head~”
“I ain’t a pothead, I can stop any time.” Pete smirked, “I’ve got a better drug right here.” He kissed all along Sonny’s neck. “I got a handful of sunshine.”
Sonny felt like Pete’s sun. As if he really was the center of this man’s world. “I love--”
Woop Woop, that was the sound of the police.
“SHIT.” Pete quickly peeled himself off Sonny and started tossing paint cans back into his bag. He should have been faster, he jumped on top of the dumpster and pulled the fire escape ladder down. “Sonny, lets go.”
Sonny was not meant for the streets. Usnavi did a good job keeping Sonny on the straight and narrow most of the time, so running from the police was still one of those ‘frozen in fear’ moments for him. He snapped out of it and started towards the dumpster when he noticed the blunt was on the ground. Pete must have dropped it. In a moment of hurried anxiousness he grabbed the blunt, so there would be no evidence for the cops. He couldn’t risk them trying to run DNA and catching Pete. Not that they would but the cops these days looked less and less like they were on the side of reason and logic. Sonny kept the joint tight in his hand as he scaled the fire escape with Pete. The took it to the rooftop and walked across to the other side ofthe building and shimmied down the other firescape. They did this several times, weaving between buildings, climbing up and down.
No wonder Pete was fit. It wasn’t an easy life. Sonny felt his arms and legs burn like he had ran a marathon. They reached the De La Vega corner store and Pete stopped there. “I better go before your cousin chases me down.”
“Hey...don’t say that, Usnavi he likes you…” Sonny was a terrible liar. Pete didn’t bother fight him, he kissed his boyfriend softly, then playfully flicked the hat off his head. “Bye.”
“See ya, sunshine.”
Pete kept moving like a real life Aladdin. Sonny watched him disappear across the street and up another fire escape. He giggled to himself, slowly backing into the store door.
“Sonny, you’re late.” Usnavi sounded like a broken record. “Pick up a broom and sweep up.”
“K’” Sonny shrugged off his jacket and in a moment he opened his hand the joint fell out of it. Usnavi’s keen eyes didn’t miss a thing that landed on his floor. He walked over and nearly shoved Sonny into the shelves. Slowly be picked up the blunt and could smell it, it was lit not too long ago.
“Sonny what the fuck is this?” Usnavi held out the paper wrapped cannabis to his teenage cousin. “Sonny, what the FUCK IS THIS?” His voice got louder, angrier. Sonny slowly felt fear claw up his throat, nervous fear, he didn’t like being yelled at. No kid did, but Sonny especially. He struggled to find the words so Usnavi’s anger bulldozed him. “Sonny are you fucking nuts? Have you lost your fucking mind? Este maldito muchacho de diablo (This damn fucking kid). Where are you getting this from, hm?”
Sonny froze. Usnavi took a moment for his anger to calm for a second. He had a moment of clarity. He knew Sonny. He knew the boy he helped raise and kept on raising. Sonny didn’t deal, Sonny didn’t buy. Sonny didn’t smoke. Sonny didn’t, who…
“Fuckin’ Pete isn’t it? You’ve been messing around with that low life-”
“Navi’!”
“Thug ass kid, Sonny he’s a criminal! He tags public buildings and fucking does pot!”
Sonny felt hot angry tears prick at the edges of his eyes, waves of emotion rolled over him but he stood his ground. The tsunami of emotions wouldn’t wash him away. “Pete is an artist! And Pot isn’t that bad…”
“Have you been smoking too?” Usnavi charged, he tried to find signs of being high in Sonny. Red eyes, flushed face...but it was hard to tell. “Sonny, you’re going to school, you’re gonna get yourself fucked up out there. DO YOU KNOW WHAT COPS DO TO KIDS LIKE YOU?” He tossed the blunt in the trash and grabbed Sonny by the shoulders.
Sonny met Usnavi’s glare, but there wasn’t anger anymore. It was pure, unnerving fear.
“Do you know what happens to kids like you? One joint and cops are gonna pick you up, you’ve seen the news. Cops pick up kids like you and next thing you know you’re dead. You try to talk back, you’re dead. Do you understand that? Do you want to DIE on me Sonny?” Usnavi couldn’t, his heart couldn’t take another loss of the family. He couldn’t lose his Sonny. “You stay away from Pete. I swear...Sonny, he’s going to get you killed.”
“Navi’...” Sonny sniffled, his face was hot, the tears rolling down felt like magma against his flushed skin. Of course he knew...and he knew better than to play around with Pete like that. Pete did some stuff but that didn’t define him. This hood didn’t define him! “I can’t…”
Usnavi gave him a hard look, as if he was two seconds away from slapping Sonny. “What?”
“I…” He licked his lips trying to find the right words.
“You what? You think your lame ass friend is more important than your life?”
“No.” He sobbed a bit. Why couldn’t he think straight? Why couldn’t Usnavi back up for a second and not yell. His brain ached and throbbed as he searched every lobe in his brain for an answer.
“No what Sonny? No you think he’s more important, no he’s not a lame ass?” He hissed.
“No..just...no...he…” He hiccuped, his breathing was fast and irregular, his mind was melting he couldn’t find it. All he could say was no. No to all of it, no to this. He wanted to eject right out of his body right now and be somewhere else.
Usnavi pulled away from Sonny, finally giving him a moment of space. He took off his hand and roughly ran his hand through his hair. “...If I see him anywhere near I’m callin him in.” Usnavi wasn’t a snitch. He didn’t believe anyone in the hood was bad, but if some little punk was hell bent on bringing his cousin down...well blood was always thicker than water. He was going to keep Sonny safe even if it came at the expense of another youth.
The tear soaked tea felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard as the reality hit him. Pete wouldn’t stay away. He knew Pete enough, he knew Pete loved him as much as Sonny did him. So he could see it, Usnavi calling him in. Pete would be...No.
The streets would be bare again. Brick canvases would never light up with the life Pete gave them. Empty spray cans wouldn’t dot the corners were Pete had been. Random masterpieces hidden in corners that no one would ever see them wouldn’t be little surprises to the lost passerby or the hiding alley way drunk. No more, ‘hey sunshines’.
“Usnavi…”
“What.” He grumbled half ready to fight Sonny if he tried to test him now. “What is it?”
“Pete...he...I…” He licked his lips a little, “I love him.”
#happy 420#sonny de la vega#graffiti pete#sonny x pete#vandal x social justice warrior#pot mentioned#in the heights#fanfic#sonny fanfic#fanfiction#uneditted#oops#welp sorry sonny#drabble
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