seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Russia
seen from Japan
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
I've been debating writing Zack Addy fanfiction for a few months. There's not enough of it and I want more. I stopped watching Bones after he was no longer in the show so I only know the first 3 seasons. I have a bunch of ideas but no clue where to start. What would yall even want to read?
so im thinking bout bones early 2000s young adults college rock group au, inspired by that one scene where booth and bones sing into one mic together + brennan plays on a guitar. sooo does anyone has any ideas who else would fit with them into a group? booth - vocals, brennan - on a guitar methinks hodgins on drums or bass but idk. Angela as a manager or group's stylist.. (i totally do not think of attempting to write a fanfic based on this.noo haha what..bones fanfic in the not so great year of 2026..?)
Zack addy fic soon!! Ik i promised it WEEKS ago but i FINALLY have time to finish it and edit it!
If i were to do a sweets one after what would we want it to be? like an angst fic or a fluff! I kinda wanna do hcs for Sweets, but im not sure yet.
PLS REQUEST PLS. 😭💔
Fault Lines - Ch. 2
(Bones fanfiction | Jack Hodgins x Reader, eventual Angela Montenegro x Reader, Hodgins x Reader x Angela)
It happens months later in the lab, at two-thirteen in the morning with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and three half-finished reports spread across the platform between you.
Romantic.
The Jeffersonian after hours always feels strange—too quiet for a building built around death and discovery. The air smells faintly of disinfectant, old coffee, and the metallic tang of the platforms. Somewhere upstairs, the ventilation system hums steadily.
You’re exhausted. Hodgins is worse.
Which means he’s talking faster than usual, hands moving animatedly as he points at a series of mineral traces on the victim’s clothing.
“I’m telling you, the particulate spread makes no sense unless the body was moved postmortem.”
You squint at the monitor. “Or your sample got contaminated.”
His gasp is immediate and deeply offended.
“You wound me.”
“You breathed directly on it.”
“That is not contamination, that is scientific proximity.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely should be.”
You snort softly, reaching past him for the microscope slide.
And freeze.
Because he’s closer than you realized. Close enough that your shoulder brushes his chest when you lean forward. Close enough that you can feel warmth through layers of clothing.
For a second neither of you moves.
Then Hodgins goes quiet.
Not joking quiet. Not thinking quiet. Just… still.
Your pulse stutters.
Slowly, you look up.
He’s already looking at you.
There’s something dangerously open in his expression. Something that makes your chest tighten before your brain catches up.
The room suddenly feels much smaller.
“Hodgins—”
“Can I ask you something?”
His voice is rougher than usual.
You swallow. “Depends.”
A nervous laugh escapes him. “That bad, huh?”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
That should probably be your warning sign.
Instead, you stay exactly where you are.
He studies your face for a long moment like he’s trying to solve something.
Then his eyes flick briefly to your mouth.
Your stomach flips violently.
Oh.
Oh no.
“Hodgins,” you say again, quieter this time.
“I know,” he says immediately. “I know this is complicated.”
Angela’s name hangs silently between you.
Neither of you says it. Somehow that makes it worse.
Or better.
You honestly can’t tell anymore.
“You don’t have to—” you start.
“I do, actually.” He lets out a breath, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Because if I keep pretending I don’t want to do this, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Your heartbeat is suddenly loud enough to drown out the ventilation system.
“Hodgins—”
“Just tell me to stop.”
The terrible thing is—
You can’t. You should.
God, you absolutely should.
Instead, your eyes drop to his mouth for one fatal second.
His expression changes instantly. Not smug. Not triumphant. Hopeful.
Like he’s been waiting for permission he never intended to ask for.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly.
And there it is. The point of no return.
You could still stop this. You should stop this.
Angela is still woven through both of your lives in ways neither of you fully understands yet. The aftermath of their relationship still lingers in every room they share, every glance that lasts a little too long.
You know that. You know better than this.
But Hodgins is looking at you like you matter. Like this matters.
And maybe that’s your downfall.
“Yes,” you whisper.
He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
Tentative at first. Careful. One hand settling lightly against your waist like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.
You don’t.
Your fingers catch in the front of his shirt instead, pulling him closer instinctively.
That’s all the encouragement he needs.
The kiss deepens immediately.
Warmth crashes through you all at once—sharp and dizzying and a little overwhelming after wanting this for so long without ever letting yourself imagine it could actually happen.
Hodgins makes a soft sound against your mouth that nearly ruins you.
His other hand slides to your hip carefully, like he’s trying very hard not to push too far too fast. Which is somehow hotter than if he had.
Your back bumps lightly against the edge of the platform.
He pulls away instantly.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t,” you breathe.
The word comes out rougher than intended.
Hodgins stares at you for half a second.
Then something in his expression snaps.
The next kiss is less cautious.
Still careful—but no longer restrained.
Like wanting you has finally outweighed his self-control.
Your hands slide into his hair without permission from the rational part of your brain. His breath catches sharply when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp.
“Oh, wow,” he mutters against your mouth.
You laugh softly despite yourself, breathless. “Professional scientist. Incredible vocabulary.”
“Shut up.” “You shut up.”
He kisses you again immediately just to prove he can. It works embarrassingly well.
Your knees feel suspiciously unreliable.
The realization is horrifying. And apparently visible.
Hodgins pulls back just enough to grin at you, slightly flushed and looking equally wrecked.
“Okay,” he says weakly. “So that definitely wasn’t just me.”
You lean back against the platform, trying and failing to regulate your breathing.
“No,” you admit quietly. “Definitely not just you.”
For a moment neither of you speaks. The lab hums softly around you. The case files still sit open beside the microscope. Somewhere upstairs, a door closes.
Reality slowly begins filtering back in.
And with it— Complication.
You see it hit him too. His expression softens first. Then turns uncertain.
Angela.
The word goes unspoken again, but this time it settles heavier between you.
Hodgins exhales slowly, stepping back just enough to think clearly again.
“I don’t know what this means,” he admits.
The honesty of it hurts more than certainty would have.
You fold your arms loosely across your chest, partly defensive, partly because you still feel electrically aware of everywhere he touched you.
“Me neither.”
“That’s probably bad.”
“Probably.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You wanna know the worst part?”
You raise an eyebrow.
“I’ve wanted to do that for… honestly an embarrassing amount of time.”
Despite everything, warmth blooms low in your chest. “You’re terrible at subtlety.”
“I’m actually incredible at subtlety. You’re just observant.”
“Mm.”
“I had a whole system.”
“You had absolutely no system.”
“I had charts.”
That startles a laugh out of you. Real. Uncontrolled.
Hodgins’ expression softens instantly at the sound. And there it is again—that look.
That dangerous, aching warmth in his eyes that feels far more intimate than the kiss did.
Which is saying something considering the kiss nearly dissolved your central nervous system.
Your smile fades slightly around the edges.
Because suddenly this feels real. Not hypothetical. Not harmless flirting. Real.
You see the exact moment Hodgins realizes the same thing.
His shoulders lower slightly.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You look up.
“If this freaks you out, we can slow down.”
The gentleness in his voice nearly undoes you.
Because Hodgins is many things—chaotic, intense, occasionally incapable of existing at a reasonable volume—but he has always been careful with the things that matter to him.
And apparently—
Terrifyingly—
You matter.
“It doesn’t freak me out,” you admit quietly.
“That sounds suspiciously incomplete.”
You sigh softly, glancing away toward the darkened observation deck above.
“It scares me a little.”
Hodgins nods immediately like he understands exactly what you mean.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
A beat passes.
Then, because neither of you knows how to leave emotional vulnerability alone for longer than thirty seconds without panicking—
Hodgins points vaguely toward the evidence table.
“So… should we solve the murder before Cam notices we’ve been gone for forty minutes?”
You bark out a startled laugh. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“We were supposed to be analyzing trace evidence.”
“We did analyze trace evidence.”
“You kissed me into a table.”
“In my defense, you seemed extremely into it.”
You stare at him.
“…fair.”
His grin flashes bright and boyish. Your chest tightens dangerously.
Because this—
This easy warmth between you— Feels alarmingly like the beginning of something.
______________
The thing about almost-relationships is that they exist entirely in implication.
No labels. No conversations. No defined edges.
Just—
Late nights. Lingering touches. Kisses that happen again after the first one. Coffee appearing beside your workstation without asking. His hand at the small of your back in crowded hallways.
Something growing quietly between you. Something real. But undefined.
You don’t tell anyone.
Not Booth. Not Brennan.
Not Angela.
It’s not secrecy—it’s… incubation.
Something small and fragile that you’re not ready to expose to the world yet.
For about a month, it’s enough. Then Angela breaks up with Wendell.
And everything shifts. Not dramatically at first. Subtly. Like pressure changing before a storm.
You notice it immediately because you notice Hodgins immediately.
The way his attention starts drifting.
The way conversations stop mid-thought when Angela walks into the room.
The way he watches her when he thinks no one sees.
Not longing exactly. Worse. Instinct.
Automatic. Unresolved. Old emotional gravity reactivating in real time.
And the worst part is—
He doesn’t seem fully aware he’s doing it.
The first time it really hurts is stupidly small.
You’re talking to him. Actually talking.
Something nerdy and meaningless about fungal transfer patterns.
He’s smiling. Relaxed. Close enough that your knees keep bumping under the table.
Then Angela laughs somewhere behind him. And he turns immediately.
Not consciously. Not intentionally.
But fast enough that he misses the rest of your sentence entirely. You stop talking.
Hodgins doesn’t notice right away. Because he’s already answering Angela.
That night you lie awake staring at your ceiling feeling sick with guilt.
Because Angela hasn’t done anything wrong.
Neither has Hodgins. Not really.
That somehow makes it worse.
You wait two more weeks before saying anything.
Two weeks of interrupted conversations, subtle distance, unfinished touches, Hodgins looking guilty without understanding why, you pretending not to notice. Until eventually you can’t do it anymore.
The lab is quiet when you finally corner him. Late enough that everyone else is gone.
Hodgins looks up immediately when you approach.
Then smiles slightly. The sight still hurts.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
You stand there for a second too long.
His expression shifts first.
Concern replacing warmth. “…what’s wrong?”
Straight to it.
Always one of the things you liked most about him.
You lean against the platform because suddenly standing feels difficult.
“I think we need to pause this.”
Hodgins stills completely.
“…what?”
You gesture vaguely between you.
“This.”
His face falls instantly. “What? Why?”
And there’s genuine confusion there. That almost breaks you.
Because he truly doesn’t understand yet.
You swallow hard.
“When Angela walks into a room,” you say carefully, “you stop seeing anything else for a few seconds.”
Hodgins opens his mouth immediately. Stops.
Because he knows exactly what moments you mean.
You see the realization hit him in real time. Small. Horrified.
“…I—”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly. And you mean it. Mostly.
“You still love her.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.”
Not accusation. Just truth.
His face twists. Frustration. Guilt. Conflict.
“I care about you.”
“I know.”
That’s the problem. If he cared less, this would be easier.
Silence stretches painfully.
Then he says quietly: “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Your chest tightens.
“I know.”
That hurts too. Because none of this is intentional.
He runs a hand through his hair roughly.
“I thought I had this figured out.”
You laugh softly. Tired.
“Yeah. Me too.”
A long pause.
Then, quieter: “I think you need to figure out what you actually want before this turns into something unfair.”
That lands hard.
Because Hodgins is many things, chaotic, obsessive, emotionally messy, but unfair is the one thing he never wants to be.
“You’re breaking up with me?” he asks finally.
The question catches you off guard.
Because technically—
You were never together.
Your chest aches anyway.
“I don’t know if we were ever officially together.”
“That’s not an answer.”
No. It isn’t.
You look at him for a long moment.
Then softer: “I’m asking for space.”
He looks devastated by that in a way he tries very hard to hide. Fails completely.
“I don’t want to lose this,” he says quietly.
Neither do you. That’s the tragedy.
You step closer before you lose your nerve. Rest your hand briefly against his wrist.
Gentle. Familiar. Painful. “You won’t,” you whisper.
But neither of you sounds convinced.
Then you leave first this time.
And behind you—
For the first time since this started—
Hodgins doesn’t follow.
hello there would you consider writing some lance sweets fanfiction??? :3 maybe likeeee x an oc whos super clingy??
Longing
(Lance Sweets x OMC)
Characters: Lance Sweets, Benji (OC)
Tags: fluff , longing , pathetic gay people /aff
Desc: Sweets has been away for all of two days. When he returns, his boyfriend, Benji, doesn't want to let go.
Not even a Bones girlie but I want to make a short fic of him, reader/bones kind of thing
“I don’t look robotic.”
Fandom: Bones
AN: I wrote this while half asleep, and idk if I’ve written the characters correctly, so give me some grace lmao
Takes place… middle-ish of season 2
Lee!Zack, Ler!Angela
Word Count: 1619
Summary: Angela insists that Zack doesn't smile enough, and decides to take matters into her own hands.
Zack was working on reconstructing yet another skull for Dr. Brennan. He was a bit tired, and his fingers were beginning to ache, but he wanted to impress her and finish this quickly. He always wanted to impress her, even after getting his doctorate. Hodgins sometimes teased him about how he ‘worshiped the ground she walked on’. He didn’t understand that phrase. If he were to worship someone, why would he worship the ground they walked on? Sure, the atoms of their shoes may transfer onto the floor with each step, but it wasn’t as if he could collect them.
Anyway, he didn’t worship Brennan. He just… really, really looked up to her. He tried not to let it show, but from the teasing (?) comments from his coworkers, he wasn’t doing the best job at it.
“Hey,” a voice said, making him jump slightly. He’d been so invested in the skull and his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Angela walking in. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgment.
Masterlist - Fault Lines
Bones
Hodgins x reader, Angela x reader, Hodgins x Angela, Hodgins x reader x Angela
At the Jeffersonian, a former bomb tech tries to keep their life steady while their growing bond with Hodgins turns into something neither of them expected. But when Angela’s breakup changes everything, a complicated triangle begins to form, just as an old friend and a dangerous case pull everyone into deeper trouble.
2/10?
Work in progress
Read here
