1:26 am | mingyu

1:26 is a minute that will never last forever

genre: angst. my heart hurt while writing this.

word count: 1.1 k

a/n: ok angst is not my thing so please excuse, but this is for a request (that’s ancient in our box sorry) and i hope you like it! :)

“The world suddenly seemed so perfect, but perfect can never last.”

1:26 am. Your eyes instinctively glared at the clock, flitting over the fluorescent digits glowing in the eerie room. The phone in your hand was burning, tingling your numbed fingers and racing heart, while the blue light casted shadows over your sullen features; eyebrows furrowed as your mind ransacked through the single text.

Keep reading

Fresh Start

Hey, I was wondering if you could maybe do a fluffyish one shot involving Hotch x Reader. My birthday is actually next Friday [Feb 5] and I also just got out of the hospital [three day evaluation for depression]. I was wondering if maybe it could be that the reader is struggling with Depression and thinking about Suicide and Hotch notices something wrong and he helps her. I don’t know. Sorry I’m a pain in the arse :P I’m reading your stories all over again btw <3

You are not a pain in the arse!!  Never, ever think that.  I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get to this prompt, but I hope you enjoy the story.  I have merged it with another prompt I have received that is incredibly similar except for one deviance, so @lulukia and @wrecklessxdesires, this one is for you guys.  Some triggers in this story, so read with caution, please.

It had been two weeks since some random team from some government agency had come swooping in to try and save you.

It had been two weeks since your brother, who had been serial raping women throughout the city, had plunged a needle into your arm and taken you right there in the hallway of your childhood home, without any regard to the consequences of his actions.

It had been two weeks since your entire world had been turned upside down by a man you grew up with.  A little brother who had kept you safe from bullies and stood up for you at the bus stop and taken care of you when you were sick.  A little brother you had home-schooled on your own and taught how to read and re-taught how to do math while your mother popped pills and slobbered all over the bathroom floor.

The two of you never even knew where your father was half of the time.

You couldn’t believe it.  Feeling the prick in your arm as your head turned to your brother, pleading with your teary eyes as he watched you plummet to the ground before yanking off your leggings.

You ended up throwing out all of your leggings.

The team leader, a guy by the name of Aaron, had found you sprawled out in the middle of the hallway, your brother slumped in the corner after having his fill of you as his wild eyes danced around the walls.

Your little brother…

Sitting up in bed, screaming at the top of your lungs, you lunge yourself out of your bed and stumble into the kitchen, making way for the sink as you begin to throw up your meager dinner, the stomach bile eroding the scabs already forming in your throat as you retch and heave, your hand stumbling to turn on the cold water as it washes quickly over your head, soaking your hair and soothing your tear-stained face.

You couldn’t keep going like this.

This Aaron guy had taken a liking to you.  Said he could set you up in one of the unused safe-houses, furniture included, until the trial was over and you could financially get back on your feet.

You ended up cashing in all of your saved up paid vacation to get you through the trial.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you murmur to yourself as you shut off the cold water, rearing your head up as you feel the droplets of water trickle coolly down your back, running in between your shoulder blades and settling into the small of your back.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, shaking your head as the tears begin to pour.

Making your way back into the borrowed bedroom, you open your bedside drawer and pull out your journal, courtesy of a Dr…,Reid?…, reaching for your colorful pen that a girl named Peggy…or maybe it was Penny…had given you.

Aaron had been very kind to you, and you didn’t want him to be upset.

Scrawling a note to him as you place it back on the dresser drawer, you rummage around and find the strongest medication you had in the house, your Excedrin Migraine pill bottle, full to the brim as you wander out into the kitchen, throwing a cabinet open and finding the bottle of wine you had snuck in a few evenings ago.

Going into your bathroom as you set them on the counter, you slink back to bed as you set your alarm clock for 5 am.  You had it all planned out in your head.  You were going to take the pills, one by one, with a sip of wine, and while the sun was rising beautifully outside of your bedroom window, you would slowly close your eyes as you sat perched on your window sill, desperate for one last glimpse of beauty to etch itself behind your eyes before they closed for good.

You were hoping that the last glimpse of beauty would keep the ever-looming darkness away in the endless sleep you were going to provide yourself.


Knocking on the door as he shuffles on his feet, Hotch jams his hands into his pockets as the dark sky twinkles with the light of the stars.

He found that, with Jack at Jessica’s for the weekend, he couldn’t sleep without checking in on you.

Knocking once more before taking his key-ring out, he checks his watch as he sighs and shakes his head.

4:32 am.

“No wonder she’s not awake,” he murmurs to himself as he puts the key into the door lock, slowly turning the knob as he lets himself into the safe-house.

Shutting the door quietly as he locks it behind him, he jams his keys back into his pocket as he makes a beeline for your room, your bedroom door cracked ever so lightly as he slowly presses it in.

Hoping to not wake you, he resorts to just a peek, your toes poking out from under the sheets making him smile as he lets himself into the room.

Seeing you there in that hallway, where he had found you, sobbing into the carpet as the drugs had paralyzed your body wracked his brain every night.  He couldn’t shake the vision of the fear in your eyes, your leggings ripped away from your body as your brother rode his chemical high in the corner.

He still couldn’t fathom how someone could do that to their own sister.

And yet, out of all of the horrid things he has seen in his career, the vision of you laying there on the carpet seemed to wrack his mind the most.

And he couldn’t quite understand why.

It’s probably why he had become so protective of you.

As he meanders to your side of the bed, sitting down lightly on it as he watches your relaxed body slowly rise and fall with every breath you take, his eyes flicker over to the open journal, his curiosity getting the best of him when he saw his name at the top of the page.


When you see this note, I will be gone.

Furrowing his brow as he looks down at you, he moves away from the bed, the journal in his hand, as he goes and sits on a chair in the darkest corner of the room.

I need you to understand that it isn’t your fault.  For whatever reason, you feel responsible for me.  I’m a grown woman.  Well, 24 may not mean grown to you, but to this world, I am.  And I…I wake up every night with the sweats.  I do laundry every day because I sweat through everything.  There is fear in every corner of my life where there used to be sunshine.  I can’t sleep, I can hardly move, and I’m throwing up so much that my esophagus is scabbing over, making eating a chore.  I’ve lost 10 lbs, my body is tired, my soul is flightless, and my heart is broken.  The only person I ever put my trust in…the only person I ever put my heart and soul into…took everything from me the moment he jabbed that needle into my arm.

I need you to understand that I can’t live like this any longer.  This isn’t a way for anyone to live.  And it’s not your fault.  There’s nothing you could’ve done to stop this.

And I won’t apologize.  Because this is what’s best for me.

Aaron.  This is not your fault.


Reading the note over and over again as tears begin to rumble down his cheeks, he is startled by your alarm clock, the blazing beep shattering the night as your tired frame shoots up straight, beads of sweat pouring down your face as you swing your legs over the bed, your hand slapping down onto the alarm clock as you hang your head low.

You were ready.

As Aaron’s eyes watch you slowly get up from the bed, he sees the back of your pajama shirt soaked to the brim, his eyes wide with horror as he quietly watches you make your way for the bathroom.

You were in such a trance…so determined…that you didn’t even notice that your journal wasn’t on your nightstand.

As you pop open the wine bottle, Hotch furrows his brow at the sound as he watches you emerge from the bathroom, the bottle of wine in one hand and the open bottle of pills in the other.

Letting out a deep sigh, Hotch stares at you, rooted to the chair in the dark corner as he watches your lips curl around the bottle, your head throwing itself back as you take a long pull of the racy maroon liquid.

Watching the bottle drop from your mouth as you pant for air, you go over to your bed and spill some of the pills out, taking three into the palm of your hand and bring them to your face.

“No!” Hotch yells, barreling out of the chair as he comes towards you, knocking the pills out of your hand as your mouth peels open for a scream, your body shaking with terror at the sudden appearance of him as you feel the wine bottle fall from your hands, clattering to the ground as your back rams into the wall, Hotch’s body pressed firmly against yours as your wild eyes flail around the room, your breath picking up as your heart races.

“Stop!  No!  Please!” you yelp, your sobs distorting your words as Hotch lets go of your hands, bringing them up to cup your face as he sinks down with your shaking body, his eyes level with yours as his face finally comes into your view.

“Y/N!  Y/N!  It’s me.  It’s Aaron.  Sssshhhhh…”

Feeling your breathing finally even out as your jaw unhinges, you find him staring intently into your eyes, fresh tears brimming at the rims as your chest begins to heave.

“When did you…?”

“Y/N…” he whispers, leaning his forehead into yours as he drops his hands, his arms wrapping around your body as he pulls you close, peeling you from the floor as he hoists you up and guides you back over to the chair in the dark, sitting you on his lap as your face buries itself into the crook of his neck.

Sitting there in the dark as the sunrise begins to crest the hills, slowly flooding its beautiful rays into your darkened room, you feel your eyes drooping to the rhythmic combing of his fingers through your hair as you feel him take a deep breath in, his chest raising up against your body.

“We need to get you some help,” he finally says.

The problem was you knew he was right.  You were willing to take your own life without ever letting anyone on to it.  No divvying up of possessions.  No talk of it beforehand.  No attempting to seek help yourself.  You were completely content in just…stopping.

But you didn’t know what to say.

So you just kept quiet.

“There’s a wonderful place up the road, right here in the middle of town.  I know the woman that runs the place.  She, uh…she’s very nice, and I’m sure that they would provide plenty of help to help you get back on your feet,” he continues.

But you still continued to stay silent.

“Or, if you don’t want to stay somewhere, you could…um…you could continue to stay here, in the safe-house, provided that we find you someone that you could talk to a few times a week.  I mean, I would make sure you were closely monitored for a time, but that’s an alternative, if you don’t want to be checked in somewhere,” he adds.

And still…silence.

“Y/N,” he whispers, “please talk to me.”

“Why were you here before 5?” you croak.

Now it was time for Hotch to be silent.

“I set the alarm for 5 specifically so no one would be here.  Why…why were you in the corner watching me?” you ask, raising your heavy head up and looking at him with your red, puffy eyes.

“I uh…I just…”

Studying his face as he sighs heavily, he rests his forehead on your shoulder as he slowly press your cheek into his hair.

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.  About how you must not be sleeping, and about how terrified and alone you must feel.  So I just…came over,” he states.

Nodding slowly as you move your lips into his hair, you lightly kiss the top of his head as he slowly rears back up, his eyes dancing across your face as you bring your hand up to cup his cheek.

“I can’t burden your life any longer,” you say, shaking your head slowly side to side as Hotch’s eyebrows furrow tight.

“But you’re not a burden,” he says.

“So you do this with every violated woman you come across?  You put them up in one of the FBI’s safe-houses and stock her fridge with food and come over several times a week to eat and check up on her and then randomly sit in a dark corner and watch her sleep, ironically on the morning that she decides she no longer wants to live?”

The sentiment made him wince.

“There are people in this world who want you to live,” Hotch says.

“Name one,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Me,” he says without missing a beat.

“You don’t even know me,” you reply incredulously, furrowing your brow as your confused eyes dance across his face.

“And I won’t be able to if you kill yourself,” he responds.

The idea left you speechless.

“It’s your choice,” he whispers as he pushes some hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

Weighing your options as you sit there silently on his lap, you bring your hand up to your face before removing it to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I think that…I would probably thrive better in the safe-house while going and seeing someone a few times a week,” you breathe.

“You’d be under protective detail if you did that,” Hotch says, “meaning, I would have to tell the team what has happened so that they would understand why I’m requesting it.”

“I-…I understand,” you say sheepishly.

“Any reason why you don’t want to go to a facility?  I could still come and visit as often as I could,” he says.

“Do you want me to go to one?” you shoot back.

“You just don’t seem very confident in the decision that you’ve chosen.  I want to know why being checked in seems worse to you,” he explains.

“I’m…I’m scared that…that if I, if I go to a center and…you know, have myself checked in that I’ll…I’ll…”

Sighing as you feel the tears brewing once more, you feel Hotch lower his hand onto yours as he wraps his fingers around it, squeezing tightly, silently urging you to go on.

“I’m scared that I’ll never want to leave,” you whisper, your lip trembling as you close your eyes.

And as Hotch pulls you back to him, your body cuddling in close as his strong arms lace themselves around you, you begin to sob into his neck once again, your words becoming muddled by the warmth of his skin against your lips.

“Why?” you sob into his skin, “Why me?”