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suggs444 · 6 months

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Snitch: Mark Hoffman x gnReader.

Synopsis: You’re Mark Hoffman’s partner in work. He’s a closed book. Till you find out his darkest secret. You abide by the law, and seek to confront him. but the one problem? You and the detective have romantic tension. He’s your crush.

TW: swearing, degrading, sexual tension (???), manipulation, guns, kissing & hair pulling.

Gif by evilvvithin

…

You and Peter Strahm had been good friends. Distant but, there was trust. So much trust that he mailed you something before he disappeared. Everyone said he was the accomplice. But the package he left you? Well, it implied otherwise.

It was full of old newspapers, articles and police records. And it all pointed to one man. The last man you expected. Your work partner,

“Hoffman.” You muttered to yourself, slamming the folders shut, only praying this was wrong. Hoping that strahm’s lead on the case was nothing more than a delusion. Your feelings for Mark didn’t help this. It only fed the dread as your stomach stirs.

You and Mark had been assigned as partners for many years. And in those years had you not once let your feelings get in the way. You were professional. So was he. Almost too professional. A very closed man. Sharp, and clever.

Too clever.

You gulp, reluctantly reopening the files Strahm sent you.

“Boyfriend kills Detectives sister.”

You read, finger tips brushing the old article. Your head buzzing, thinking - till your eyes snap upward. Everything clicked. It made sense. But how could you guarantee it? Maybe Strahm was chasing a delusional. Or maybe he wasn’t, and your feelings for Mark were automatically defending him.

Your head throbs. You wince, and slam the folders shut, huffing.

This was ridiculous.

You slide the folders into your draw, intent on forgetting them.

Tomorrow was another day.

…

You hadn’t forgot Strahm’s folders like you had hoped. In fact, it’s all you could think about. Even now, at your work desk as you stare at the wall. So focused that you completely drowned out the sound of the office. It was busy today. Phone lines ringing, typing, chatter and the terrible hum over the overhead lights blaring down on you.

You thought about Seth Baxter. What the odds were of John Kramer targeting him of all people. You decided it was slim. It didn’t make sense.

“Look alive, y/n.”

You’re pulled from your thoughts instantly, head whirling to Mark, who stood over your desk. A hot coffee in his hand.

“You looked like you needed this.” He says.

Your throat runs dry.

Mark raises his brow at you. You can only stare at him. A sense of worry raising the hairs on your neck.

You couldn’t deny Strahm’s theory.

Mark pulls a face at your silence,

“Okay.” He says to himself, putting your coffee on your desk. You look at it, forcing yourself to snap out of it and offer a weary smile.

“Sorry,” You begin, faking a breathy laugh.

“Long night.”

“I bet.” Mark replies, his tone dryer than ever as he looks at you questionably.

“You still up for lunch?” He says, nodding at the clock. Almost twelve. Almost lunch. which meant being alone with him. You swallow, hard.

“Sorry - I think I’ll stay behind. I was running late this morning so,” You pause, your brain stirring for a proper excuse. He’s not buying it. You can tell by his expression. It makes your breath hitch, and you look back to your computer. His eyes, far too piercing. Too intimidating. All knowing. He knew you well. Too well. Especially well to know when something wasn’t right. But he dropped it, side eyeing you as he turned to leave.

“Right.” Is all he says, his tone almost mocking you as he leaves.

A relief lifts, and you exhale, squeezing your eyes shut.

…

5 p.m rolls around. Then 6 p.m. It was getting late. But you were fully intent on staying behind. You wanted to go through police files. Just to find anything that would debunk Strahm’s theory.

You were desperate.

Mainly because despite your newfound anxiety toward Mark, your heart still leaped when you saw him. Your cheeks warmed. Your legs, unconsciously squeezing together in anticipation. It made you feel sick. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if Strahm was right.

You haven’t seen Mark since lunch. And the office was empty now. You took that as your opportunity.

Cautious, you stand. Your legs like jelly, you’d been sat for most of the day. Too head wrecked to move. Too worried to bump into Mark. Your coffee was un touched too. You had let it go cold.

Exhaustion hits you once you stand.

“Fuck,” You mutter, stretching. Your hand kneading your neck as you walk toward the office door.

You push through, looking left and right as you check the halls before stepping out. It was empty. You relaxed.

You reached the files room and entered, flicking the lights on. It was dimly lit. You walked through the isles looking for ‘B’. You decided to read more into the Seth Baxter case. Maybe you could find something. Anything. You reached the isle alphabetically listed ‘B’ and walked down it slowly, pointing your finger at the folders as you scanned for Seth’s name.

“Baxter, Baxter, Baxter …”

You whispered to yourself, reaching the folder finally.

Bingo.

“Gotcha.” You say triumphant, as you slip the file from the folder.

You lean against the shelving as you opened the file. Disappointed to find nothing but things you already knew. You huff, flicking through. The page lands on an image of Mark’s sister. You can’t help the guilt stirring in your stomach. You’d only met her once. But it was enough to know she was lovely.

“Working overtime?”

You gasp, spinning around in shock to see Mark standing there. You slam the file shut, pulling it close to your chest.

“God, Mark!” You exclaim, your heart battering.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Marks smiling. Only slightly, but it’s not a smile of amusement. It’s proud. As if he’s figured you out. It makes you gulp.

You don’t like the growing silence. The tension. You calm your breathing and your mind. Forcing a smile,

“I thought you went home.” You say, trying to compose yourself despite your legs telling you to run.

“I did. I forgot my phone,” He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a face.

“Just didn’t expect to find you still here. What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.” You reply, quick.

His eyes shoot down to the folder in your grasp. You follow his gaze.

“Doesn’t look like nothing, l/n.” He takes a few steps close, towering over you. Your dry lips part over his height. His broad chest. The way it rises and falls. He goes to take the file, but you’re clutching it still. His eyes snap to yours.

Defeated, you let go.

He sighs through his nose, his expression warning you to back down as he opens the folder. You feel your heart pounding against your chest - thrumming in your ears. Heat rising to your cheeks due to the closeness of his chest despite being petrified. You can’t find your words. No defence, no explanation. You practically accept your fate as you watch his expression harden at the folder.

“Well,” He says, harshly closing the folder over as he lifts his gaze. His lips, pouting as ever. His eyes, sharp and investigating.

Your mouth parts to speak, he cuts you off,

“You avoid me all day. And now this?” He says, shaking the file in his grip. You can’t look at him. Your eyes downward at your feet.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?” He says again.

You stare at the ground.

You hear him huff as he puts the file back. “Go home, y/n. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

You hear him turn and begin to walk away. The space from him allows you to breathe, as you watch him begin to leave. Something in you clicks. A confidence. You remember your job. A server of the law. You push away your feelings for him and take two steps after him.

“I know who you are, Mark.” You announce boldly. His shoes scuff as he halts, his back still to you.

You straighten your back in some attempt to feel in charge.

His head whips over his shoulder, “Huh?”

You point your chin at him. “You heard me, Mark.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he turns to you, “Really?” His voice is low and smooth, like honey. You found it hard to dislike.

“Enlighten me then.” He says, putting his hands out to express his words as if offering you the stage before putting them on his hips.

You glare at him.

“You’re a detective aren’t you? Do your job. Detect.” He pushes, his tone mocking you. You tried not to feel small or discouraged.

“You’re an accomplice to Jigsaw.” You state.

“Oh yeah? How’d you reach that conclusion? We’ve been partners for -”

“Stop, Mark. Strahm left me everything. All the evidence. You killed Seth, you blamed Jigsaw and now he’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

He’s quiet, his expression fierce as he watches you unravel.

“Hasn’t he?”

“You trust Peter Strahm over me?”

“I trust my instincts.”

“Well your instincts are wrong.”

“They’ve got me this far.” You snap.

He shakes his head, visibly clenching his jaw as his cheek flexes.

“You’ve crossed a line, y/n.” He bites, turning on his heel to leave, “I’m taking this up with Erikson.”

You pull your gun.

“Stop.”

You don’t know what came over you. You didn’t want this. At all. It hurt to even point your gun at him. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. Your hand shakes.

You hear him sigh and turn back to you yet again, “You’re not gonna shoot me.”

You swallow hard. You’re shaking. He notices. His eyes racking over you. He takes it as an opportunity to step closer.

You adjust your grip on the gun.

Closer, he creeps before his chest is pressing against the gun.

You look at him with glossy eyes. You can’t do it.

“The safety’s on.” He says.

You unleash a breath. Shit.

His hand comes to the gun. You let him take it,

“There you go.” He hums, shoving the gun into his belt.

Your eyes close. You’re exhausted as you heave a heavy sigh.

“You’re very clever, detective.” You hear, opening your eyes upward to him.

He’s confessing?

But ..

“I’m right?” You softly say.

He takes another step, backing you up until your back hits the wall. You feel tiny. Helpless. So close you can smell his cologne. The coffee on his breath. One of his arms cages you as he splays his hand on the wall behind you.

“Mhm. And you’re not gonna say a word, are you?”

You gawk at him. He tilts his head, “Are you?”

You want to push him away. But you can’t help it. You can’t help how your legs waver - the rising heat in your face. You’re trembling.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, Mark.”

He hums, satisfied. He can see the lust in your eyes.

“You’re gonna have to prove it, sweetheart.”

You blink at him as his free hand comes to clutch your jaw - slowly tilting your head backward.

“Open up now, C’mon. Be good.”

You press your legs together, and you can’t help a whine as it slips out as you open your mouth. God.

You felt helpless in all the best ways.

He sneers, edging close till he’s inches from your open mouth. Softly, he dips his tongue into your mouth. You moan, melting into him as you both press into an open mouthed kiss.

Your hands find his broad chest - clutching his blazer and pulling him closer to you. He obliges, groaning as a hand tangles tight into your hair - curling then pulling you away from the kiss.

You gasp, keeping close to him. Wanting more as you push up against him. He chuckles.

“You were ready to shoot me a few minutes ago. Look at you now, huh.” He mutters against your lips, snarling. His tone harsh and degrading. He gives your hair another yank. You whimper sweetly against his lips.

“You’re mine.” He growls. “Say it,” He demands.

“I’m yours.”

…

AUTHORS NOTE: i LOVED writing this ?????? lmk if you want more mark fics or a part two ???? 🙈🙈

#saw 10 #saw x #mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #saw franchise #saw #costas mandylor

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