#demon!hotch

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.

The metallic rattling of your chain stopped the minute you heard the sound of feathers buzzing closer and closer to your location. He was returning. From where you did not know. But he always left you to do things, he said. 

You were freezing cold, the tank top and panties he had let you wear did nothing to protect you from the stoned ground beneath you. From what you understood, you were in hell. 

His feet landed on the ground below the steps of the throne. Your gaze was lowered, meeting the shiny leather of his newly polished shoes. You slowly let them glide further up his body, his dark attire matched his personality you thought. Why else? It was all you could ask yourself. Why would someone take the innocent? Why else, but his intentions being dark, evil even.

As your eyes finally met his, all you noticed was how he towered over you, even though he was lower to the ground than you. His lips were curled in a sadistic smile, something that you wish he would wipe off. But it never happened.

“Well, would you look at that? My pretty girl, waiting here for me, like the good pet that she is.” He gloated, wings retracting back into his shoulders, disappearing just as quickly as they had appeared. A single dark feather floated to the ground, showing you, that you hadn’t just imagined them.

Walking the steps, he crouched down in front of you, stretching his hand out to caress your cheek, but you pull away. Trying to hide yourself from him. He frightened you.

Wrong move. His palm locked around the chain, pulling it taut and yanking you forwards by your neck. Forcing a harsh gag out of you. He was in control now, and you both knew it. He was always in control.

“None of that now. I thought you were my good girl, huh?” He cocked his head to the side, eyes softening. He knew what he was doing. He knew just what buttons to push, how you’d react. It was all primal instinct. All you humans were the same. Mere animals to such beings as Aaron Hotchner, king of the demons. 

He had once been an archangel, ranking highest amongst the celestials in the silver city. And now, as fallen as he was, he had taken up his previous responsibility in the other spectrum of the hierarchy. 

It was like a switch that flipped in your brain at his words, his tone. You let him get closer to you, let his rough fingers greet you like they always did. Touching and prodding at your cheek and nape of your neck.

You closed your eyes at the touch, along the way, you’d found that his touch was rather nice. Delicate even. As if he was scared to break you. Which he in truth could do with a single finger.

“There, there. See how nice I am when you just listen, yeah?” He crooned at you before pulling away to sit down on his throne. The seat of it was much more pleasant than the thin lousy blanket that he permitted you to have.

One after another the demons started lining up in front of the throne. You hated this part of the day. All eyes were on you, although it was Aaron they’d come to see. Something about the demonic mind that couldn’t resist the scent of human flesh. How they yearned to deceive them.

“Pet, lay down,” Aaron commanded, giving your chain a quick jerk downwards. He knew that you were getting increasingly more nervous, feeling like you were being surrounded.

Somehow, he understood you. Understood that you knew just how much pain they could put you in before your simple human mind could catch up with their far superior bodies and brains.

You followed his command, scooting a little closer and curling up against his leg. It was how he wanted you. He wanted to be able to feel you, know that as long as your bodies were touching, that you were okay. That his demons couldn’t harm you.

Aaron sat and listened to the demon’s problems for what felt like hours, your joints and limbs were aching from being held in the same position for that long. You decided to test your luck, hoping that he would catch on, that he wouldn’t view it as a disobeying act of brattiness, and punish you for it. That was not desired. Not again.

You rubbed your head against his calf lovingly, looking up once you could feel his attention shift from his subordinates and back to you.

“The king will be taking no more complaints tonight!” He announced, hearing the groans of the remaining demons as they flapped away, leaving the two of you alone.

Aaron hooked his hands under your belly, pulling you into his lap as he swung your legs over his.

“What is it my pet?” He pushed away a strand of your hair before you let your tired head fall onto his shoulder.

“Hurts.” Your voice was gruff from barely speaking beyond a few words at a time.

“What hurts, girlie? Come on tell me.” It was unlike him to be caring, to sound so desperate and worried at the same time as he waited for you to answer him. To let him know what you needed so he could take care of you. Like any of you humans would do for your cat or dog.

“Neck, legs, head. So cold.” You stated in rough jabs of your voice. Aaron was able to add two and two together. Quickly pulling the heavy chain off of your neck, replacing it with his hand at the back.

You knew not to run. Knew the consequences. His fingers carefully started massaging the nape of your neck, tangling themselves in your hair as well. You let out groans of pleasure, feeling the tension slowly start to fade from your neck as he worked on getting you better. Your body was slowly starting to heat up from his high bodily temperature.

“I’d say you’re enjoying this. I’m not too bad after all, hhm?” He smiled at your closed eyes as you started humming. He knew how you felt about him, how everything had been overwhelming and hard for you to grasp as he had moved you down here permanently.

“Not too bad.” You repeated, nuzzling closer into his warmth. Aaron adored you. Feeling his cold heart flutter at the sight of you. At how you were starting to warm up to him.

“It’s time to get you a real collar then.” He called for one of his henchmen, who instantly flew to the king’s chambers to grab the piece. It was forged in hell, meaning that only he who put it on you could take it off. Meaning that only he who collared you, could get you out. It created an invisible link between the two of you. Never permitting you to pace more than a few steps away from him before it corrected your position.

You were bound to him for all eternity as he clasped it around your neck. The material already felt much better than the rough chains.

Time stood still in hell, a week down here, was somewhat to a year on the surface of the earth. You had no idea how long he had kept you locked up in his home. All you knew was, that soon if not already, all your friends and family would be dead and gone. There would be no one to look for you anymore.