Warnings: Dark, but also kind of fluffy/angsty. Demons, fallen angels, heavy on god and the creation/fallen angels stuff from the bible, cuddling, mild mild violence described in a story.
Summary: You're Demon!Hotch's human (partner?). God has sent a present to hell, and one evening you finally manage to get him to tell the story of his fall—or at least parts of it.
A/N: This is one of those fics that are probably more for my dopamine levels, and not so much something you guys want to read heheh. But enjoy, I really love demon!hotch.
Aaron Hotchner—King of hell, fallen son, the wrath of God embodied in demon form—was perfectly still around you. One of his arms was locked around your waist, holding you close as you lay draped across his chest—almost as if afraid you might vanish if he ever let you go.
The other hand rested behind his head, clawed fingers half-curled, cushioning his skull from the sharp edges of the rock-carved headboard.
One of his large, leathery wings was folded around you—almost like a blanket—membranes catching the firelight from the braziers on the wall.
Hotch had been quiet for a while, staring up at the canopy with that brooding intensity on his face that both made your heart ache, yet also made you scared for what he was plotting.
You pressed your cheek over his heart, listening to the deep and steady thrum, while keeping your gaze locked on his face. He didn’t seem to notice you; however, you knew he was aware of everything you were doing, every movement, every blink, and breath you took.
“You’re brooding again, love,” you whispered, lips brushing his shirt as you turned over on your stomach to better look at him.
It almost sounded half amused, yet also like a half warning as a low, rumbling huff escaped his throat. “I do not brood.”
“You absolutely do brood,” you teased, softly, with a smile, tracing your fingertip along the edge of his jaw. “It’s very dramatic, and the wings really sell it. You could’ve fooled me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched with the barest hint of a smile. You couldn’t help but notice that the storm in his eyes was still running wild, that the darkness in his eyes was near black right now.
You didn’t push it right away. Instead, you stretched across him to his nightstand and plucked up the little stuffed raven that had mysteriously appeared on your pillow last week. None of you knew how it had gotten there, but you knew exactly who had sent it.
You propped your chin on the soft belly of the plushie. It was ridiculously adorable—oddly enough—plush black fabric, mismatched button eyes, slightly crooked beak, and floppy wings—it looked way too homemade to be a coincidence.
You’d caught Hotch staring at it more than once when he thought you weren’t looking, and despite his expression being nearly unreadable, you could tell that he was trying to justify a reason for why his father had sent it.
“Tell me?” You asked, voice hopeful, hoping that he would finally tell you as close to the full story as he was willing to. “Please? I won’t stab him... much.”
Hotch stared at you for a long and heavy moment. The fire crackled, mingling with the sound of your breaths. Somewhere far below, you could hear the faint sound of rolling thunder from the ninth circle.
He then exhaled, slow and kind of resigned, before he shifted against the headboard. He pulled you with him, settling you curled against the side of him, your head now resting over his heart once again.
He unfurled his wing, retracting both back into his body and conjured a blanket he draped over you instead.
“Fine,” he murmured, voice low and velvety, almost sounding annoyed—but he wasn’t annoyed, he was never annoyed with you, usually. “But... It’s not a pretty story, honey.”
You nodded and snuggled closer, settling for what you believed to be the bedtime story of the century.
Hotch’s voice dropped to a deeper, resonant timbre, the one that sent shivers down your spine, the one that rumbled in the cavern of his chest—the one he used when speaking the ancient language that predated the stars.
“My father—god, I believe you humans call him—created everything, as you know. The light, and then the void to cradle it. Then us. His angels, his sons, born of will and song. I was one of the first. Not the brightest like Michael, forged to be the perfect sword of obedience. Not the most radiant like Lucifer, who burned so beautifully he rivalled the dawn. I was... the steady one. Dutiful. The one who saw order in the chaos my father created. The one who believed that justice should be absolute and not conditional.”
He grazed a claw lightly against your hip. “I watched him create humanity. Watched him gift you souls that shone almost as bright as ours. Then I watched him bind you with rules that made no sense at all—pain disguised as lessons, suffering dressed as love. He called it free will and consequences, but in truth, it was a gilded cage, a way to still have absolute control over his creations without touching them.” Hotch’s jaw tightened before he continued. “I saw children drown in floods. Ones that he sent to punish a few wicked souls. I saw the faithful broken by trials he designed in favour of himself. I couldn’t stay silent any longer.”
You felt the way the old fury rose in him, centuries of righteous anger bubbling to the surface. You reached out and cupped his jaw in your palm. He leaned into the touch, his free hand grabbing your wrist. You almost expected him to remove your hand, not wanting the touch, but instead, he just held it.
“I questioned him. Not in secret. In the great halls of the heavens, before major feasts, before treaty deals, before major celebrations of God and what he created. I demanded change. He called it rebellion. I called it justice. He didn’t like that.
You felt his grip tighten around you. “Luci fell first. Mortal stories say that it was pride and ambition that did it for him. But it was deeper than that, much deeper. He wanted to be loved the way Father loved his humans. And he couldn’t get that in heaven. When dear old Father cast him down—stripped the light from his wings, shattered his grace and hurled him screaming into the outer dark areas—it was meant to terrify the rest of us into submission.”
You whimpered softly, eyes stinging at the image of the Morningstar plummeting to the underworld, light bleeding away into the endless darkness. You had met Lucifer on several occasions and couldn’t imagine why God had decided to treat his son like that.
In truth, Lucifer was one of the more pleasant deities you’d met.
“I refused to stand by any longer after that,” Hotch continued, his voice getting closer and closer to that ancient steel cadence that only came when he was dealing with the worst of the worst mortals. “I gathered those who believed as I did. Who didn’t believe that power was the correct way, who fought for righteousness. And we fought. The war shattered heaven. Golden halls cracked like glass under our flaming swords, and rivers of ichor ran through the clouds.”
You curled tighter into him, seeking comfort—to some extent for both of you.
“Michael led the loyalists. My brother. Perfect, unfliching Michael. So far up Father’s ass that he couldn’t even spare me a second glance as he raised his blade against me.” His voice grew quieter now, rawer. “In the end, Father’s will prevailed. It always does. He got his wish. Lucifer was banished—for good—to the voids beyond creation. And I was cast down with those who followed me. He stripped out light, twisted our forms and named us demons.”
He tipped his head back and stared at the canopy as though he could still see the clouds of smoke and golden pools of ichor of the final battle.
“He made me king of this place. Not as a courtesy, but as a curse, a punishment. ‘Rule your chaos’, he said, voice nearly booming the way you humans expect it to in your weird little bible thing. ‘See what your freedom brings’, he told me. And so I have done as he wished, for longer than your world has turned—”
“—Wait, how is that possible if he was celebrated for his creations?” You interrupted him, confused at the inconsistency in his retelling.
“Well, if you would let me finish speaking, my dear, you would’ve learned that Father test ran his greatest creation, that the earth you know today is the 2.0 version.” He raised his brow at you, trying not to show how amused he was by your confusion and interruption as he was. “Now, let me continue. I took the broken pieces he left me and built something from the ashes. Order where mortals expect torment. Justice where they expect cruelty. Hell is not the mindless pit of fire that your stories claim. It is consequences. It is truth. The punishment you’ll receive is connected to the things that banished you here. It is fair.”
You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “Is that why he hates demons? Because of you and your defiance?”
Hotch let out a soft, and slightly bitter laugh. “We are proof of his only failure: that he created children who dared to think for themselves and not follow his orders. I became wrath. The one thing he never admitted to having. And every soul that chooses damnation over his rigid paradise is another fracture in his perfect lie.”
You nuzzled closer and gently moved the raven out from under your arm and pushed it closer to his face. He stared down at it.
“But the stuffie...” you whispered, hesitant, not knowing if right now was the right moment to bring it up. “That’s nice? Kind? Right?”
His expression softened. “It’s a gesture,” he said, starting to sound tired. “He can’t say ‘I miss you.’ That would mean admitting I’m still his son. That forgiveness might be possible on both ends. So he sends trinkets through back channels—old favours, minor spirits who slip between realms. Pretends it’s pity. ‘Something soft for your mortal,’ maybe. Or ‘something nice in a rotten place.’ As if I haven’t made Hell beautiful in its own way. As if I haven’t made it a home, when all he did was pray that the death and darkness would tear me to pieces.”
He took the raven and turned it over slowly, thumb tracing the crooked stitching with tenderness.
“I kept it,” he admitted, so quietly you almost missed it over the crackle of the fire. “Not because it came from him. Because you found it. Because you lit up like it was Christmas morning when you asked me about it the first time. Because the way you carried it around that day, begging me to give it to you, hugging it when you thought I wasn’t watching. I couldn’t bear to take that joy from you. Despite who sent it.”
Your heart squeezed painfully at his admission. “Maybe he’s trying,” you whispered. “In his own broken, omnipotent way. Maybe he does miss you. Maybe he regrets banishing his sons.”
Hotch’s eyes closed for a moment. When they opened, the firelight caught flecks of molten gold in the brown darkness.
“Don’t make excuses for him, my dear,” he said, but there was no heat to it. No fighting your statements—only bone-deep weariness.
“I’m not,” you promised softly. “I’m just saying… even gods get lonely. And even kings deserve love without strings.”
For a moment, he was silent, jaw working. Then he tucked the stuffed raven carefully between your bodies, right over his heart, and pulled you fully into his arms. His wings popped back out, folding forward to wrap you both in warm, leathery darkness.
The hellfire dimmed further, as if the palace itself understood the need for gentleness.
“Sleep,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough with everything he couldn’t say. “I’ll tell you more when you’re ready.” The truth was, he wasn’t ready to keep talking, to let you know everything, to let you know how bad it got, how many wars were fought afterwards, how bad their relationship really was.
You pressed a kiss to his chest, just above the little raven’s head.
“I’ll be waiting,” you whispered back, nuzzling into him.
In the hush that followed, the distant sounds of Hell faded to nothing. There was only the warmth of him, the shelter of his wings, and the soft weight of a small plush toy resting over an ancient, wounded heart and remnants of a story untold.
𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨!𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
𝘊𝘞: 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘮 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘪𝘭, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 (𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘯).
𝘞𝘊: 0.8𝘬
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵/𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦…. I’ve had this laying in my drafts for a year almost, so here, enjoy 😉
The roses were in full bloom, their deep dark reds casting a vibrant contrast against the lush greenery of the royal garden. The sun bathed the garden in golden warmth, and the soft breeze carried the intoxicating scent of blossoms. You wandered through the rows of flowers, letting your fingertips trail over the velvety petals. The sunlight kissed your skin, the serenity of the moment wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.
But far above, unseen by you, the King watched.
King Aaron stood in the shadow of the grand windows that overlooked the garden, his towering frame nearly motionless as his eyes followed your every step. His hands rested behind his back, posture regal, yet tension coiled beneath the surface. His dark gaze remained fixed on you, the way you moved, the soft glow of sunlight tracing your form. You looked so peaceful, so innocent - yet the thoughts that raced through his mind were anything but pure.
His jaw clenched as he watched you, trying to suppress the storm rising within him. You didn’t know the effect you had on him.
𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠
"Beata Maria..." he muttered under his breath, a prayer to steady himself.
He had always been a man of discipline, ruling his kingdom with an iron hand, his decisions firm and his moral compass unyielding. He was above the weaknesses of the common, licentious crowd. He lived by duty, power, and control. But then, there was you.
𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?
You turned your head slightly, tilting it back to face the sky, unaware of the hungry gaze that consumed every part of you from the shadows. A soft smile crossed your lips as you admired the sun. The warmth of it felt like a blessing after days of rain and fog. It was simple, beautiful, and pure - yet the heat that flared within Aaron was anything but.
He clenched his fists behind his back, knuckles white as he fought the fire that burned under his skin. But no matter how many times he tried to suppress it, the sight of you in his garden - the way the light danced over your skin, your soft movements, the gentleness in your touch as you bent to admire the roses - it ignited something uncontrollable within him.
You didn’t know, did you? How deeply his gaze pierced into you? How every time he laid eyes on you, it was as if something dark and primal in him clawed its way to the surface? You were his.
𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎. 𝙷𝚒𝚜.
You moved between the rose bushes, delicate in your steps. For a moment, you turned towards the castle, your eyes not quite meeting his, but close enough that his pulse quickened. If you knew, you would flee. He was certain of it. But there was no escape. Not from him.
The king's breath grew more ragged. He had tried to keep himself composed, tried to maintain the distance required of a king. But every glance, every accidental brush of your hand when you stood near, was another crack in the facade. His desire for you, the burning need that clawed at his insides, was turning him to sin.
𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎, 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎… 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗.
His eyes never left you. He felt the slow burn of temptation - the need to claim what was his, to take you into the darkness with him. He knew it was wrong, knew that you were so much more than the object of his hunger. And yet, he could not stop himself.
His heart pounded against his chest. He thought of descending into the garden, approaching you as if nothing was wrong as if his very thoughts didn’t betray him. He would smile, a smile fit for a king, but inside he would burn for you - for the touch of your skin, the warmth of your breath, the softness of your voice speaking his name.
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎… 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗.
King Aaron's fingers curled against the cool stone of the window ledge. His kingdom, his crown, his duty - none of it mattered in this moment, not when he was consumed by you. The only thing that mattered was the ache deep within him, a desire he could barely contain, a longing to possess you entirely, to make you his in every way.
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜, he reminded himself. His queen. His everything.
And soon, very soon, you would know just how deeply that truth ran.
The village was quiet as King Aaron rode through its streets, the only sound was the steady clip of his horse’s hooves against the cobblestone. Flanked by his loyal knights, his imposing presence cast a long shadow over the modest cottages and small markets. Villagers lowered their heads as he passed, their fear detectable, the silence thick in the air. No one dared to meet his gaze - no one, that is, except for you, you hadn't spotted him yet, not until it was too late.
The king spotted you standing by the well, your back turned, unaware of his gaze until his horse slowed to a stop. Something about the way you carried yourself captured him. There was a light in your eyes, a quiet strength that called to him in a way nothing had before. The only child of the miller. King Aaron felt a shift, something dark and possessive awakening inside him as he followed your movements.
His eyes followed every movement you made, and that hunger, that deep craving for power and control that already burned within him, ignited into something more. You would be his. He knew it with a confidence as unyielding as the way he ruled his kingdom.
Without hesitation, he dismounted, his booted feet hitting the ground with a heavy thud. The townspeople stilled, their terror thickening as he approached you, his knights close behind, their armor as dark as his heart. He could feel their fear, but it only fueled him, fed the darkness that had long ago taken root in his soul.
Your father, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward, his face pale and anxious as he realized who stood before him. He bowed low, voice trembling as he addressed the king. “Your Majesty… it is an honor…” he swallowed.
The king's gaze, however, remained fixed on you. There was no room for pleasantries or polite conversation. His desire for you had already consumed him, and Aaron Hotchner was not a man who waited. He got what he wanted, when he wanted, and what he wanted now - was you.
“I want her,” he said bluntly, his voice dark and commanding. His eyes finally shifted to your father, cold and calculating. “I will take her as my queen.”
Your father stammered, panic flickering across his face. “Your Majesty, I—my daughter… she—”
King Aaron's expression darkened, the small, hesitant refusal sparking a destructive flicker of rage within him. He snapped his fingers, and the knights moved instantly. In a matter of seconds, they had your father by the arms, their gauntleted hands gripping him tightly as they hoisted him from the ground. You gasped, stepping back in shock as they yanked him away from you.
“Your hesitation,” King Aaron said, his voice smooth but laced with a lethal threat, “is not something I tolerate.”
The knights dragged your father forward, forcing him to his knees at the king’s feet. You could see the panic in his eyes, the fear that had turned his face ashen, your heart pounded in your chest, terror rising in your throat.
“Please, Your Majesty,” your father begged, his voice shaking. “Please, spare me. I—"
King Aaron raised a hand, cutting off his pleas. His gaze was icy, his patience worn thin. “Agree to my terms, or I will have you beheaded. It’s a simple choice my good sir.”
You watched in horror, the weight of his words sinking in as tears started streaming down your cheeks. Your father’s life hung in the balance, and you felt your world begin to collapse around you. There was no escape, no way out. This man - this king - held your future in his hands, and he had no intention of letting you go, whether he had the approval or not.
“I’ll do it,” your father croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She will marry you. Just… spare my life.”
King Aaron smirked, the satisfaction in his eyes making your skin crawl. “Good,” he said quietly. “You’ve made the right choice.”
He signaled for his knights to release your father, and they did, shoving him roughly to the ground. Your father looked up at you, his face stricken, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing either of you could do. King Aaron's will was absolute.
The wedding day arrived with a dreadful silence all over the kingdom. The grand hall of the castle was filled with lavish decorations and an air of quiet unease. You stood at the front of the hall, dressed in a gown fit for a queen, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, and your eyes, despite your attempts to avoid it, found the king standing at the altar.
He looked every bit the monster of king everyone feared - commanding, powerful, and terrifyingly composed. His black and gold robes draped over his broad shoulders, his crown glinting ominously atop his head. His eyes never left you, a sharp intensity burning within them, one that reminded you that this wasn’t a union of love - it was a claim.
Your father stood to the side, trembling, his life still hanging on this marriage. The knights standing behind him waiting for the king's next command. The choice had been made for you. If you refused, your father would die. The certainty of that knowledge made your throat tighten, a lump forming as you stepped forward, each step heavy and reluctant.
King Aaron's gaze followed your every movement with a hunger from within, his expression unreadable but his intent clear. This was not a man who would be denied at the altar. You reached the altar, and the king extended his hand to you, his fingers cold and commanding as they closed around yours, almost pulling you towards him.
The ceremony began with the priest’s voice a buzzing hum that barely registered in your ears. You could feel the king’s eyes on you, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. When it came time to speak your vows, you hesitated, the importance of the moment crashing down on you like a tidal wave.
“Do you take this man to be your husband?” the priest asked, his voice echoing in the chamber.
Your heart pounded in your chest, your mouth dry as you stared into King Aaron's dark eyes. You knew what would happen if you said no. Your father would be dragged away, executed without hesitation. The king had made that clear.
“I…” your voice wavered, your throat tight.
King Aaron's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. It was a silent command, a reminder that you had no choice in this. He leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper through gritted teeth meant only for you. “Say it.”
Tears pricked at your eyes, but you forced them back, your jaw clenching as you nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I do.”
The king's smirk was subtle but unmistakable. He had won. He always did.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The final words were spoken, and King Aaron turned toward you, his hand cupping your chin with a possessive grip. He pulled you in for the kiss that sealed the vows, his lips cold and commanding against yours. The kiss wasn’t soft or tender; it was a claim, a reminder that he had taken what he wanted, and now you belonged to him.
When he pulled back, his darkening eyes met yours, and the message was clear. You were his queen. And there was no escaping the grasp of the king.
As the guests cheered, you felt the weight of your crown settling on your head, heavy and cold, just like the man who had placed it there.
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The castle had become a vessel for unease, its walls echoing the quiet dread that rippled through every stone and shadow. The servants moved carefully, aware of the tension that clung to the air, each footfall hesitant as though one wrong step would disturb the brewing storm. You had felt it for weeks now, the inevitable surge of chaos drawing closer with each passing day. Something dark loomed on the horizon, and even in the dim solitude of your chambers, you couldn’t ignore the sense of impending dread.
You didn’t have to wait long. Today, the storm arrived.
The king stood like a force of nature in the war room, the flickering candlelight casting long, ominous shadows across his face. His dark eyes, sharp as a predator’s, skimmed over the letter gripped tightly in his hand. His jaw clenched with each word, the missive confirming what he had already suspected. The rival kingdom had advanced swiftly, their forces pushing through the borderlands with ruthless efficiency. His generals had been fools to believe they could hold the line without him. Now, the battle called for his presence, his wrath.
"Prepare my horse," he commanded, voice like a blade slicing through the tense air. The order was final, unquestionable. There would be no delay. Blood would be spilled, and it would be under his watchful eye. He would ride to the front, crush the enemy, and return triumphant. No one could be trusted to lead but him. No one but the king.
You had been watching him from the shadows, lingering just out of sight as he issued his orders. His presence, his power, had always intimidated you. Even now, as his queen, there were moments when the darkness that followed him made your heart race in fear. You knew he had to leave - you knew the kingdom demanded it - but the thought of him riding into war, of the dangers that awaited him, made your chest tighten with anxiety. What if he didn't come home?
The courtyard buzzed with the flurry of preparations, soldiers rushing to obey his every word, but all you could focus on was the growing pit of fear gnawing at your insides. You followed him, your steps small and unsure, desperate to keep your composure. Yet, as he strode ahead, every part of you screamed for him to stay.
King Aaron felt your presence before you spoke, the faint echo of your footsteps trailing behind him as he entered the courtyard. His gloved hand tightened around the reins of his horse as he prepared for battle, the weight of war already settling heavily on his shoulders. But when he turned to face you, his queen, something in him paused.
You were there, just as you always were, your beauty soft against the cold, unforgiving backdrop of the kingdom. But he could see the fear in your eyes - fear not of him, but of what might happen when he left. It was that fear, that vulnerability, that stirred something possessive within him. His gaze darkened as he took a step toward you, his voice a low rumble as he spoke, "I will return, my queen. You have nothing to fear."
There was no comfort in his words, only command, as if by sheer force of will he could make it true. But he meant it. You were his, and he would always return to claim you, no matter the cost.
You tried to stand tall under his gaze, but it was impossible not to tremble in the face of his intensity. His power, his control - it was suffocating at times, leaving you feeling small beneath the weight of his dark presence. But even so, there was a part of you that clung to him, to the safety he promised, no matter how cruel or dangerous the world around you became.
"I can’t help but fear," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a trembling confession. "Every time you leave... I feel like I’m losing you." The words spilled out before you could stop them, laced with an emotion you couldn’t hide. You hated that he could see your weakness, but the fear of his absence was unbearable. "Just... come back to me."
Aaron’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile as he watched you struggle to voice your fear. His queen, so fragile and yet so steadfast. He reached for you then, his gloved fingers brushing against your cheek with a softness that belied the cold brutality within him. "You doubt me?" he asked, his voice velvet, dark with a quiet threat. "I always come back. You know that."
He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, his grip on your chin firm. There was something dark in his gaze, something that flickered between cruelty and adoration. "You are mine," he whispered, his voice a low promise, "and I will always return to claim what is mine."
With that, he mounted his horse as black as night in one swift, fluid motion, his cape billowing like a shadow behind him. The weight of the war pressed against him, but it was the thought of you, waiting in the darkened halls of the castle, that drove him forward. The kingdom was his to conquer - but you, you were the prize he would return for.
You watched as he rode off into the distance, the thundering hooves of his horse echoing in the courtyard until only silence remained. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands shaking as you clutched your cloak tighter around you. You had seen him leave before, many times, but each departure felt heavier, like a thread being pulled tighter, on the verge of snapping.
The days stretched on, long and cold, with no word from the front lines. The castle felt emptier without him, every shadow a reminder of his absence. You tried to distract yourself, tried to fill the void with duties and meaningless tasks, but nothing could quiet the unease that gnawed at you, the fear that perhaps this time, he wouldn’t return.
The battle had been relentless, a symphony of blood and death that clung to the king like a second skin. His sword was stained, his armor battered, but he had crushed the enemy beneath his heel. They had underestimated him, as so many had before. Now, their blood soaked the earth, and victory was his. The rival kingdom’s forces had been shattered, driven back into the shadows where they belonged.
But even as he stood amidst the carnage, the scent of blood and decay thick in the air, his thoughts were not on the victory he had won, but on you. His queen. His prize. The battlefield was his domain, but the thought of you waiting, trembling in your chambers, filled him with a dark satisfaction. You would be waiting for him, desperate for his return, just as you always were.
As he rode back to the castle, his cape soaked in the blood of his enemies, he felt the familiar surge of power that came with conquest. But this time, it was different. This time, the victory wasn’t just for his kingdom - it was for you. For what he would claim when he returned.
The moment you saw him, relief flooded through you, overwhelming and almost unbearable. He was alive. He was back. But the sight of him - his armor bloodied, his cape stained with death - left you frozen. There was something darker in his expression, something that sent a chill down your spine. But he was here, and that was all that mattered.
You wanted to run to him, to feel the safety of his arms around you, but the blood - the sheer violence of him - made your steps falter. Your heart ached, torn between fear and longing, but when his gaze locked onto yours, the world seemed to still.
The king dismounted, his eyes never leaving you as he approached, each step deliberate, predatory. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way you recoiled ever so slightly at the sight of him, but it only fueled the dark hunger inside him. You were afraid, yes, but you were also his. And that fear, that trembling need to be near him, only made his hold on you stronger.
Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, his grip bruising as he held you close, his lips brushing against your ear. "I told you," he murmured, his voice dark and thick with promise, "I would always return." He could feel the way your body trembled against him, not just from fear, but from something deeper, something primal.
King Aaron's hand slid to your waist as he breathed in the scent of you. His queen. His prize. His everything. "You belong to me," he whispered, his voice a dangerous lull, "and I will always come back for what is mine."
The heavy doors of the throne room slammed shut, echoing through the vast, cold space. King Aaron stood at the center of the room, his jaw tight, eyes clouded with a storm that raged within. His mind was a battlefield, thoughts coiling like serpents as he tried to make sense of the whispers of treachery in his ears.
His advisor, a man whose loyalty had never been questioned before, had come to him with words that had struck like a dagger to his heart.
The king's breath was erratic as he paced across the cold marble floor of the throne room, his boots clicking sharply against the stone. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long shadows across the walls. His mind raced, trying to piece together the truth - if there even was any truth to be found. King Aaron's chest ached with the weight of betrayal, and yet, something held him back from immediate action. He had locked you in your chamber, the iron latch sliding into place with a finality that was meant to protect both you and him from what he might do.
But now, as he stood alone in the cold emptiness of the throne room, doubt clawed at his mind.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as his heart pounded violently in his chest. You had been brought to him against your will, bound by a marriage forged in power and necessity, not love. But over time, he had felt something change in you, in him - small signs, moments of softness. Or was that merely a lie you had woven so delicately around him? A pure wishful thought.
𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚋𝚎?
His thoughts spiraled, dark, and vicious. He had allowed himself to believe, even if just for a moment, that you could come to care for him. A ruler as ruthless as he had no right to dream of love, no right to expect loyalty from someone forced into his arms. But the thought that you could be planning to flee, to leave him in this fortress of shadows, twisted something deep within him - a feral, possessive fury. How dare you?
The king's thoughts shifted back to the moment when his advisor first approached him in the grand hall. His voice was slick, slippery like oil. "Your Majesty, I do not wish to trouble you with this, but I believe it is my duty." The advisor bowed low, too low, before producing a sealed letter from within his cloak.
The King had taken it with caution, his brow furrowing. "What is this?" he asked, his voice cold.
"A letter, my lord," the advisor replied, his eyes gleaming. "Intercepted on its way to one of the neighboring kingdoms. It seems... your queen has been corresponding with someone outside our borders. A plan, perhaps, to escape your grasp or potentially dethrone you."
He recalled the way your eyes had met his in those quiet moments, the way your lips had trembled when you spoke his name. Had all of that been an act? A ruse to lull him into a false sense of security? Had your fear been a ruse all along?
The king's pacing grew more frantic, his dark robes swirling around him as he moved, his mind battling the urge to confront you and demand the truth. He could still feel the weight of the advisor’s words, the vicious accusation lingering like a poison in his veins.
The advisor had laid it all out before him - each word tightening the noose of doubt around King Aaron's neck. He had trusted you. He had allowed you into his life, into his bed, into his kingdom. And now, this?
His eyes narrowed, his pulse a steady thrum of rage as he stared into the dancing flames of the hearth. He could still feel the lingering warmth of your touch from the last time you had been near him, the way your hands had brushed against his when you had served him wine. It was a simple act, but it had meant something to him - but did it mean something to you?
The advisor had spoken of letters, of plans for rebellion, for an escape. A plot to overthrow him, to free yourself from his grasp. The very thought of it made his stomach churn with a dark, sickening dread.
𝙷𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗.
A bitter laugh escaped his throat as he thought of the letter the advisor had given him. He had read it over and over again. The handwriting - it looked so much like yours. But something was off. The phrasing, the tone. Could this really be you? Could you truly be plotting against him, or had someone forged your hand to sow seeds of distrust within your ruler? His mind wavered, teetering between paranoia and reason.
But as he stood there, alone with his thoughts, something gnawed at him from the inside - a sliver of doubt that refused to die.
The kingdom had long been a place of shadows and deceit. Court politics, treachery, power games - it was all the nature of King Aaron's ruling. But could it truly extend to the woman who he had forced to stand by his side? Who had started to awaken something in him? King Aaron ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as if that could somehow clear his thoughts.
And yet, as he turned back to the throne, an image of you filled his mind - your face, innocent yet guarded. Your smile, the way it had wavered whenever you were near him, as though there were secrets hidden behind it. Had that smile been a lie?
He stopped pacing, staring down at the cold marble floor.
With a slow, deliberate step, the king moved to the window overlooking his kingdom. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light over the landscape. He stared out at the lands he ruled, the lands you now owned too, his jaw clenching as he made a decision.
The room felt colder now, the fire no longer enough to stave off the icy grip of suspicion. What had he become, to suspect even the woman he had taken as his queen? What had power turned him into, to lock her away, based on the whispers of deceit? He would have to confront you. He would have to know. There was no other way forward.
But not tonight. Tonight, you would remain locked away, hidden from the wrath that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t risk facing you now, not when the truth was so clouded by his own demons. Tomorrow, he would confront you. Tomorrow, he would demand answers.
With a final glance toward the door, King Aaron turned away, retreating into the shadows of his throne. His hands trembled slightly as they rested on the armrests, the weight of the crown on his head heavier than ever before.
𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠, 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑.
The heavy iron lock clicked as King Aaron opened the door to your chambers. His dark silhouette filled the entryway, casting shadows across the floor as he stepped inside. His eyes found you instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed, your face paled as you saw him, lips trembling. You were terrified of him - he could see it in the way your body tensed, the way your gaze flickered toward the door as if you were calculating an escape. But there would be none. Not tonight.
He closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound of the latch falling into place sent a shiver down your spine, and the silence between you hung heavy in the air. King Aaron stood still, watching you carefully, his mind a battlefield of anger and doubt.
"Do you know what I’ve been told?" His voice was low, the cold edge of it slicing through the room like a blade. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto yours. You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The tension in the room was suffocating, pressing in on you like an iron vise.
You swallowed hard, unable to move. "I’ve been told that you’ve been planning to deceive me. That you’ve been writing letters, plotting your escape from this kingdom." His words came out slow, deliberate, each one a strike against your already trembling heart.
Your eyes widened in shock, your breath hitching in your throat. "What?" you whispered, barely able to form the words. "That’s... that’s not true."
He studied your face, his darkening eyes searching for any sign of a lie, any flicker of deceit. But all he saw was fear - pure, unbridled fear.
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚎𝚍.
The fire of betrayal still burned in his chest, urging him to lash out, to make you confess.
But as he stared into your frightened eyes, something shifted in him.
𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚎?
King Aaron stepped closer, his presence looming over you, you flinched as his hand reached out toward you. His fingers brushed your cheek, but instead of the harsh grip you expected, his touch was cold, and calculated. He could feel you trembling beneath his hand, and for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. He stepped back, his gaze hardening once more.
"I will uncover the truth," he said darkly, his voice barren of emotion. "You will stay here, locked away, until I decide what to do with you." Without another word, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him, sealing you inside once more.
King Aaron stormed through the halls of the castle, the fury that had gripped him now turning inward. His thoughts spiraled.
𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍?
He found himself in the royal gardens, the night air crisp and cool against his heated skin. The garden was shrouded in shadows, the moonlight barely touching the rose bushes that lined the stone pathways. The roses were deep shades of red, almost black in the faint light - his mother had always said they were grown from the blood of kings. Their thorns were sharp, the petals velvety, beautiful, and deadly.
The king walked among them, his thoughts churning like a storm. He reached out, his fingers brushing one of the roses, feeling the thorn prick his skin. The pain was a welcome distraction from the chaos inside him.
As he stared down at the rose, realization began to take root in his mind, slowly blooming like the dark flowers around him.
𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖.
The advisor’s words, the letter - everything had been too convenient. The doubt that had been gnawing at him finally burst forth, the pieces falling into place.
𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍.
It was the advisor who sought to manipulate him. The one who had stood by his side for years, whispering secrets and lies into his ear.
King Aaron's jaw clenched as rage flared through him, the betrayal twisting inside him like a knife. He had been a fool, and now he would make sure the advisor paid the ultimate price for his betrayal.
"You won't deceive me any longer," he whispered to the night, his voice low and destructive. His decision was made. The advisor would die for his deceit.
The next morning, the King's orders were clear. He summoned his people to gather in the marketplace in front of his castle, the courtyard filled with onlookers, their faces a sea of curiosity and unease. They knew something was coming, something dark, something terrible. Nothing good ever came from being summoned by the king.
You stood at King Aaron's side, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched the scene unfold before you. Your hand was bound by his clasped around it firmly, a reminder of your status - still a prisoner, still at his mercy. You hadn’t been told why you were here, only that you had been summoned to witness what was about to happen.
The king stepped forward, his presence commanding, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"This is what happens when you try to deceive the king," he announced, his voice booming across the square. "Betrayal will not be tolerated in my kingdom. Lies will be punished with blood."
The crowd murmured, whispers spreading like wildfire as the royal guards dragged the advisor forward. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear as he realized his fate. The guards forced him to his knees before the crowd, his hands restrained behind his back.
King Aaron turned to face him, his expression cold, merciless. "You thought you could play me for a fool, whisper your lies into my ear, and sow distrust in my heart." His voice was low now, but every word dripped with venom. "But I am no fool. And you will pay for your treason with your life."
The crowd was silent, holding its collective breath as King Aaron gave the signal. The executioner stepped forward, raising his blade high into the air.
You could barely breathe as the scene unfolded in front of you, your body frozen in fear. The air was thick with tension, with the promise of violence. And then, the blade came down.
The sickening sound of flesh meeting steel filled the courtyard, and you flinched, your body reacting on instinct. Without thinking, you turned and buried your face in your husband's chest, your hands clutching at his robes as if they could shield you from the brutality of what you had just witnessed.
King Aaron stood still, his eyes never leaving the blood-soaked ground where his advisor’s body now lay lifeless, his head mere inches away. But as he felt your trembling form pressed against him, as your fear made you seek comfort in his presence, something shifted inside him. A small, dark smile curled at the corner of his lips.
𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖.
You had turned to him for protection, for solace, even in your fear. It was a sign. You were his, whether you realized it or not.
He placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. To the onlookers, it was a display of power - the king’s queen seeking refuge in his arms after witnessing his might.
To King Aaron Hotchner, it was a victory.
𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛.
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You backed away from him, your hands put up protectively in front of you as your back hit the cold wall behind you. Aaron's steps only got closer and closer, until he had you caged in between his arms as he towered over you.
“Do I scare you? Hm? Daddy’s so much bigger and stronger than you, is it intimidating?” He growled in your ear with a smirk on his lips. Remembering how you'd asked for him to be rougher with you a few days prior.
You'd been bratty all day, pushing his buttons, speaking out of turn, and simply just disobeying his every word, and Aaron had had enough.
"N-No, Daddy." You whimpered. The glint of lust in your eyes made Aaron keep going, knowing that this was what you wanted. And if it wasn't, you had your safeword.
"No?" He snorted, pushing his chest against yours, his hand dropped down and shoved up your skirt. With two fingers, he pushed your panties to the side, collecting a good amount of arousal on his fingers as he pushed them through your folds. "I'd say Daddy has scared you, sweet girl, look at you, practically cowering like a frightened little lamb under me. I think this is going to be a wonderful night. Don't you think?" He tilted his head mockingly, pushing his fingers past your lips, making you lick them clean before he proceeded with your oncoming punishments.
Okay, i just am thinking and thinking and thinking about collared!au and like, could i please have a smutty blurb/imagine of him being super soft!dark!hotch in that verse? It could be anything!
Aaron has you wearing this outfit to work.
“(Y/N), my office.” Aaron coldly said as he Walked past your desk. You got up and followed behind him. Trying to pull your skirt down to cover your cheeks.
Your gaze was fixed on the ground, as you submissively waited for Aaron to make his next move. Aaron sat down in this chair with a sigh, looking at you with furrowed brows.
With a single snap of his fingers, he had you straddling his lap. His hands rested comfortably on your hips. You could feel the bulge in his pants rub against your wet core.
“You’ve been slacking in your reports kitten.” Aaron kissed from your jaw down your collar bone. “And you know how daddy feels about that.” His eyes darkened with lust.
“Sorry sir.” You whimpered.
“Are you really.” He quirked a brow at you. His hand groping your soaked cunt. “Something’s telling me you aren’t…. Slut!” He growled through gritted teeth, pinching your clitoris. You yelped out in surprise, which quickly turned into a moan as he pushed his fingers through your clothed folds.
Aaron worked you until you were a whining and begging mess, hoping to get your release. He stopped, lifting you off his lap with a firm slap to your butt.
“Go do your work! You better have a finished report for me when I call you… or you know what will happen.” Aaron grabbed your throat, pulling you eye level with him as he gave it a reprimanding squeeze. “And we don’t want that. Now, do we?” He questioned.
“No sir.” You obediently agreed before he sent you down to the bullpen again, but this time you were hot and bothered.
Concept idea in an AU: the first guy any female has sex with has to collar them because they’ve offically claimed them.
The next morning you have to walk into the Office with Aarons name around you neck and a leash attached to it (bc you know rules)
i'M VERY intrigued by this concept.
Like, you'd feel like snugness around your throat when you woke up in Aaron's bed the next morning. Seeing the black collar around your neck locked in place with a small lock, that only Aaron had the key to.
There'd be a small tag hanging off it with all of Aaron's details and your name, almost like he had planned it.
Upon walking into the office, all eyes fell on the two of you, seeing you practically being dragged behind Aaron on a leash as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.
It was not like the other women weren't wearing a collar as well, you were the last one, but something about it being with your boss started weirding you out as you tried to keep your eyes lowered to the ground.
Within the end of the week, the lease to your apartment had been ended, and you'd been moved into Aaron's place, because officially you belonged to him.
