@84hotpockets / 84hotpockets.tumblr.com
I WAS JUST THINKING OF YOU LAST NIGHT BABE AND HERE YOU ARE!!!!! It’s been so long sweetheart how are you? I’ve missed you 💞💖💐🫂
SWEETEST ROME ❤️✨ I'm so honored that you thought of me 🥺😭
I've been working mostly, the city's been kicking my butt super hard 🙂☠️
Here! Have a low quality doodle of two high quality cuties! 🙇🏻♀️✨
I don’t know if you already have this domesticity prompt but if not: May I ask about Jack calling Derek dad for the first time even if it’s been a while Hotch and him are living together?
I did not have this one so thank you! I do have one that is in a similar vein and would make a very very sweet follow-up to this little shorty though. We'll see if I can be tough and brave enough to emotionally gut myself (and all of you) with it after this one already got me in all the feelers. Thank you for sending this in, it was a joy to write. Feel free to send asks anytime. I may be slow slow slow sometimes but I'll get there eventually.
Did I post this screencap set today specifically so I could make today all about Derek and Jack? Yeah. I sure did.
Summary: Derek comes to do a presentation for Jack's classroom for career day and Jack springs something pretty big on him in front of everyone.
Warnings: brief mention of death (Derek's father & Haley)
Words: 1.7k
Read below the cut or on AO3!
“Jack, tell us who you brought to class today,” Mrs. Jackson said, standing near the chalkboard with a smile. She scooted close to her desk, a clipboard in one hand, her cane in the other. She was well past retirement age and yet she couldn't quite give it up. Maybe next year, that was always her mantra.
Jack, whose legs were still too short to even reach the floor when he sat all the way back in his chair, kicked his feet excitedly and beamed. “Come on up honey, you can introduce him.”
Doing as instructed, Jack nearly knocked his desk over in pure excitement. Standing in front of his peers, he looked around and bounced a little on the balls of his feet. The adrenaline rush was coursing through his tiny body.
From the doorway, leaning against the wall, Derek stood and watched with a smile. Jack had his classroom's undivided attention, and though he was considerably more emotive than his father, he could see so much of Hotch in the way he stood there. In the way he never expected anyone to look at anything else. In the way he knew that what he had to say was important.
“Jack?”
Summary: Hotch can't sleep after Foyet's attack no matter what he tries. Derek (and Clooney) have the solution.
Notes: I wrote this as a pinch-hit for a multi-fandom exchange on AO3 back in October and have very (im)patiently waited to share it. Some of you have seen it floating around on anon since mid-November, but tada...it was mine. (Cue both shock and horror...I'm sure NO ONE would have guessed). Anyway. Please indulge me my adoration for Clooney as Hotch's therapy dog, and yes I did give the dog his own backstory.
Pairing: Hotch/Morgan
Warnings: angst/depression, some residual pain from the stabbings and bandage changes
Words: 4.6k
**
His apartment was dark. Even in daylight, he kept it dark. Diffused pale rays crept beneath the drawn shades and pooled on the floor where they landed. They cast no light further than that. He did his best to avoid the way they tried to draw him near, enticing him with their promise of vitamin D.
Instead, he curled up on the couch with a heated blanket and stared with stinging red eyes at the hole in the wall. It wasn't there anymore, not really, but the ghost of it would always be there. Like a glitch in the matrix, he could see it even if it had been fixed.
Fixed. That word implied an awful lot but it backed up very little. His apartment wasn't fixed. The carpet had been patched up, the bloody spot cut and a new piece put in. Hell, maybe the wood beneath had even been scrubbed clean. Good as new. Fixed. The drywall had been sliced open, mudded, masked, painted to match the rest of the wall. Fixed. He had been cleaned out, checked, stitched up, medicated. Fixed.
His phone ringing on its charger barely caught his attention. It was a thick, horrible vibrating sound muffled by the carpet it had fallen into after so many unanswered calls. It could only vibrate so far on a small end table before it toppled over the edge. And there it sat for days, unanswered but fully charged. He sort of hoped that all those old stories about phones on the charger too long exploding might come true but so far no luck. An exploding phone might break up some of the monotony of his sleepless days.
He imagined Cheif Strauss on the other end of the line, asking him questions. Telling him he needed to come in and meet with her before he came back to work. “Under no circumstances are you to just show up,” she would say. He could hear it without having to actually listen. Maybe it would be JJ or Emily or Dave calling to check up on him in their own unique ways. JJ would have a work question to ask him, to draw him out of his shell, something she wouldn't actually need help with at all. Emily would just say something simple. “Glad you're still alive,” maybe. It would be a little sour sounding, but laced with concern because she could never just let herself be seen. And Dave...Dave would wander around a story about something that happened, someone he knew, wax poetic about healing and taking time and friendship, offer up his shoulder to cry on or a bottle of expensive liquor.
Hotch didn't want any of those things.
part two of my “hotch is good at everything” hc. penelope’s a little jealous, but it’s outweighed (and outnumbered) by the team’s bewilderment. i tried actually writing fucking dialogue since i realized i hadn’t done that yet, so it was kind of a last minute addition. anyway. pretend this isn’t a day late
Hotch was a good baker.
Not a lot of people would’ve guessed that about him, but if you thought about it a little bit, it’s really not that much of a surprise.
It’s meticulous. Precise. Everything is about following every rule to the letter. It requires patience.
It’s right up Hotch’s alley.
this is a useless wip that i'll never finish but it's decent and I like it too much to scrap it so... it's just about hotch having a facial scar and I never said why or decided why either
Alex taken up painting in the final year of Ethan’s life. She anticipated bright bruising tulips and delicate little baby’s breath to stain the canvas, a final testament of love. A mother’s love. What she found instead was anger. No soft hues, no loving memories painstakingly borne from the great devotions and tribulations of her motherhood. She left each canvas a murder scene – harsh browns and reds, coagulated misery to gauke at in shock and horror. Not love. Not devotion. Her agonizing pain, her premature grief, and the ache deep in her bones that the child she loved, she nurtured and nursed through colic and fever, would die. Before her. Before James. Ethan would just die and she would be expected to carry on as if it never happened.
Early in that last year, while he was still mobile and still in the resemblance of a child, Ethan had come across her work. He seemed neither shocked nor alarmed, just curious. He’d touched one of them, ran his hand clumsily through the wet paint. Alex had been angry at first, frustrated by the sight of ugly red paint staining Ethan’s hands and angry that she’d been found out. That the source of her anguish had found her failure to cope. But what she found, once Ethan was distracted and elsewhere, was that in all the places his little hands had smeared wet paint, underneath the images were still ridisudally in place.
She could still make out the patterns and shapes she had originally made but now they were less clear. The brush strokes were still there. The meaning there but now distorted, like muddy lake water.
The other thing that Ethan’s death had taught her was how curel people could be, even the most wellmeaning. Gossip, in any office, spreads like an influenza. One cough, one sneeze and it’s over. News of Ethan’s ailment, his declining status, and even his death had kept Alex’s coworkers busy with things to think about. She received cards wishing Ethan a speedy recovery and cards with suggestions on how to get through chemotherapy. Though, Ethan would never get better and Ethan never had chemotherapy or cancer.
Imagine Hotch falling asleep during the briefing and everyone just stares at him awkwardly wondering who’s going to wake him up, Morgan ends up waking him up and Hotch immediately responded “Five more minutes Baby”, which then everyone wonders if Hotch and Morgan are together or if Hotch mistook Morgan for someone else, but that’s unlikely because Morgan is blushing like crazy
(This is really late, in my defence, I was on holiday)
Yeah so I love this.
Umm... yeah.
I love Hotch falling asleep during a briefing, mainly because Morgan would mutter something like: I knew he hadn't gone to sleep when he said he had- and everyone else is like: what? Huh? and Morgan is just like: ummm- nothing?
And he loves watching Hotch sleep because it's cute, so he doesn't really want to wake him up, but then Emily threatens to dip his hand in warm water, so Morgan jumps into action...
By gently tapping Hotch's arm. And when that doesn't work, he grabs part of his hair- not that hard though- because that always seems to work at home. Everyone else is really confused because... how?
Then Hotch, knowing only Morgan knows that works, says five more minutes baby. And Morgan knows the game is up.
Garcia touches his face and is like: Your cheeks are warm. Your cheeks are warm! HAH! Everyone fork up! And that noise is what makes Hotch wake up properly, and when he sees everyone staring he just looks at Morgan and goes: wow, what an interesting dream, because I am definitely sleeping, in the most deadpan tone ever <3
Eleven years of deadpan look and suit - Aaron Hotchner in every episode
Imagine the chaos that must be the BAU Partners/First Medical Proxy chat like one minute it’s:
HALEY: They’re going to Florida so I hope all of you have lots of bandages at home because something bad always happens in Florida.
SAVANNAH: Really?
WILL: Florida is like a curse and there’s no way they’re coming home without some sort of injury they’ll hide until they pass out
SAVANNAH: Pass out?
HALEY: Will, your face when Hotch hit the ground was hilarious I mean at the time obviously not but with hindsight…
But the next it’s:
SAVANNAH: Hey does anyone want to get a coffee I’m on a break and would love to gossip
WILL: Henry’s wanted to see you so give me five minutes then I’ll be out the door. We can talk about that sexual harassment seminar your boyfriend and his work wife caused
HALEY: STRAUSS SENT ME PHOTOS FROM THAT YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN AARON’S FACE HE LOOKED LIKE A TOMATO!! Also yes, I’m coming!
Savannah: Wait I thought he used Jack to get out of that- THEY CAUSED ANOTHER ONE??
Psych 101
Defiance • Struggling • Crying
(Warning for language, torture, drugs, and just bad guy things)
The Hotch telling the team he loves them while being forced to shoot Garcia story
Waking up in his pajamas, strapped to a wooden chair, and surrounded by his friends… Reid doesn’t know what’s happening but he knows it’s not good. “Guys,” he whispers, fear creeping up his sternum. He peaks over his shoulder, leaning forward to see down the line of people. Morgan is to his immediate right, beside him his Garcia. On his left, it runs Emily, JJ, and Dave. “Morgan?”
The older agent lifts his head, eyes peeling open slowly. He can feel the sedative still working through his body but as awareness creeps in, his mind clears. “Reid,” he croaks, rubbing his chin against his shoulder– his bare shoulder. He looks down and frowns when he realizes he’s sitting in boxers he’d worn to bed and nothing else. “Kid?”
“Oh fuck me!”
