#foyet

[hotchscoffeecup]

come home with me

pairing: emily prentiss/aaron hotchner

rating: t

category: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

word count: 7.2k

summary: An alternate version of "Faceless, Nameless," where Foyet leaves Hotch to bleed out in his apartment and Emily finds him clinging to life. Her quick response saves his life but causes her to question her own decisions in the hours leading up to finding him. Hotchniss. Hurt/comfort with sweet ending. Some angst.

Emily yawns and wishes she’d taken that second cup of coffee for the road this morning when she’d left the office. As the elevator dings, she steps out onto the carpeted hallway. If he slept through his alarm while the rest of us are out working this case, I’m going to kill him, she thinks as she stifles another yawn.

She checks her phone and surprise, there’s no new texts, voicemails, or emails from Hotch. She selects his contact and hits dial, bringing the phone to her ear as she scans the identical doors for his apartment number.

You’ve reached SSA Aaron Hotchner— Emily groans out loud and snaps her phone shut, cutting off his voicemail, her irritation starting to border on anger. This wasn’t like Hotch, ignoring his phone. Sure they’d all been exhausted last night, but to the point he sleeps this late into the morning and doesn’t bother to answer his phone? No, something wasn’t right. She could feel it in her gut.

She should’ve gone home with him when he offered, but she knew how they operated when a case was over and they settled in for the night. One glass of wine would lead to another and, well, very little sleep would be had for either of them. She’d been so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained after Canada…just the thought of it now felt like a weight dragging down her shoulders. No, she’d needed to be alone; to shower and wash off the sick and twisted vestiges of the horrors she and the team had discovered on that pig farm.

After turning Hotch down, she’d smiled at him and winked and told him they could go and get a late breakfast once they’d had the opportunity to catch up on sleep. Now, a part of her was glad they’d caught a case. He probably would’ve slept through breakfast, anyway, she thought irritably. Ok, she wasn’t actually glad they’d caught a case. This one was a doozy and they needed every pair of eyes they could get if they were going to keep the doctor and his son safe; and they were running out of time. She hated cases that involved kids, no matter how old. They didn’t deserve the trauma that would result from having their own or their loved ones' lives threatened.

Finally, Hotch’s apartment comes into view. She tucks her phone into her jacket pocket and rapps her knuckles against the door.

“Hotch, it’s Emily,” she calls and knocks again. She pauses, straining her ears for the sound of shuffling footsteps. Her brow furrows when there is only continued silence.

“Hotch?” she repeats, this time there’s a question in the way she says his name. She knocks again, harder. Rolling her eyes, she digs her phone back out of her pocket and redials his number. A phone rings on the other side of the door, but there is no sound that suggests someone was moving toward it.

Emily’s stomach turns as dread begins to pool in her belly. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end as a sinking feeling takes hold. Her hand drifts to her gun instinctively; her thumb hooking over the rotating hood and releasing her sidearm. As she removes the weapon, she uses her other hand to reach for the doorknob. Before she even attempts to turn it, she knows it will open.

Hotch never leaves his door unlocked.

She pushes the door open and readies her weapon, quickly moving side to side as she sweeps the room for an immediate threat. Hotch’s keys, phone, and bag are on the coffee table and sofa as if he’d just arrived home but she didn’t see him in her initial glances over the open concept apartment. As she continues her sweep, her ears pick up on the sound of soft wheezing.

That same sinking feeling grows as she crosses through the living room and it’s then she sees the bullet hole in the wall and the glass shattered on the floor. She pushes through the feeling of dread, effectively burying it knowing she needs to be alert and prepared for whatever lay beyond the sofa. Hoping for an incapacitated unsub, but knowing better, her world still shatters as she takes in the sight of her friend, supervisor, and lover unconscious and bloody on the linoleum tiled floor.

She drops to her knees and feels for his pulse with two fingers. It’s faint, but there. “Hotch,” she calls his name and holsters her gun, determining the assailant is no longer present.

His dark lashes flutter. “That’s it,” she says encouragingly, “Open your eyes, Aaron. It’s me. It’s Emily.”

“Emily,” he whispers weakly.

She pulls out her phone again and dials 911. Placing it on speaker, she sets the phone down next to Hotch and begins unbuttoning his shirt to further assess the damage.

The operator answers and Emily cuts them off. “This is Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI.” She grimaces as she haphazardly untucks the rest of his shirt and pushes the fabric out of her way. “I am at The Langham apartment complex, apartment 121. I’m here with SSA Aaron Hotchner. He’s suffered multiple stab wounds. I need paramedics and a crime scene unit sent here immediately.”

Her eyes rapidly scan the woulds, trying to assess which is the worst. God, there is so much blood. Shrugging out of her blazer, she balls the fabric in her fists and applies pressure to the two wounds that appear deepest, those to his abdomen and chest.

Aaron moans and she apologizes. “I know it hurts, just hold on. Help is coming.”

“Paramedics are seven minutes out,” dispatch states over the receiver.

She wants so desperately to hold his face in her hands, to be comforting him instead of causing more pain, but she needs to get the bleeding under control until help arrives.

Hotch’s lashes flutter again and his head lolls to the side where she is kneeling. “Foyet,” he breathes.

Emily’s eyes widen. “The Reaper is here, in DC?”

“I don’t—” his breath rattles as he wheezes. “He was waiting for me.”

“Did he say anything?” She asks as she adjusts her grip on the jacket she’s using to staunch the bleeding, of which is already seeping through the fabric. She curses under her breath, though the sound of sirens can finally be heard in the distance.

“Emily, if I don’t ma—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts, her voice catching. “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Aaron. You’re going to be fine.”

The sirens are deafening now and she knows they’re pulling up outside. She smiles and releases a short laugh. “They’re here,” she says. “Hold on, Hotch. Just a little longer.”

He blinks slowly, trying to focus on her. “He told me I should’ve,” his eyes close momentarily and then open, “that I should’ve made a deal.”

Her brow pinches, but she doesn’t have time to push further as the paramedics come crashing through the door.

“Over here!” she calls.

Immediately they try to take over. “Ma’am, it’s ok,” the female medic says. “You can take your hands off of him.”

It takes a moment for her voice to register, but Emily does as she is told. She releases the pressure she’d been holding to his injuries, and rolls back on to her heels into a standing position to give them space.

“Heart rate is elevated, pressure is dropping.” The medic evaluates. “Start an IV and hang pressors.”

Emily watches them work, her pulse pounding in her ears. While one pushes the IV into his arm, the other fastens a brace around his neck before moving on to snip away what’s left of his shirt and begin packing the knife wounds with gauze. It’s like the world is moving in slow motion. She doesn’t even register when her phone rings until the medic brings her attention to it. She blinks hard and apologizes. She bends down and scoops it into her hand, smearing blood across the screen as she flips it open. She curses as Spencer’s name flashes under the smudge. She turns her wrist to glance at her watch. It’s been forty five minutes and she told Reid that she’d be back in under thirty.

She wastes no time explaining the situation. Reid reports understanding. Before she hangs up she says, “Reid, it’s bad.” For the first time since finding him, tears choke her voice. “I’ll call Penelope at the hospital, but do not tell the others. You all need to focus on the case.”

Emily hastily hangs up and moves to follow the paramedics as they maneuver the gurney through the apartment.

They stop though as Hotch asks them to wait, his voice imperceptible. His hand falls limply off the gurney and Emily steps in, taking it into hers.

“What did he leave?” he asks, though his voice is muddled by the oxygen mask that’s been placed over his mouth and nose. “What did he take?”

“I-I don’t,” she stammers in response. The Reaper’s profile flashes through her mind’s eyes. The glasses, the wedding ring, he always takes and he always gives. “I don’t know, Hotch.”

She nods to the medics, signaling them to keep moving. Emily doesn’t drop his hand. As long as she can feel the warmth of his skin on hers, she knows he’s alive. That he’s still here.

Crime techs and police units are pulling up to the building as they load Hotch into the back of the ambulance. Emily watches on from her seat, anxiety clawing at her insides as she does her best to stay out of the paramedics’ way as they continue to work on stabilizing Hotch.

The blaring sirens echo in her head, rattling around and bouncing off of her skull. It’s not a sound she’s unfamiliar with, but today it’s drone seems more of a death march than a rally cry. The cavalry isn’t coming to save the day, but rather fleeing from death’s grip.

The ambulance comes to a grating stop and the medics waste no time flinging open the doors and pushing Hotch out. Emily follows quickly and as doctors and nurses swarm the gurney, arms reach out to halt her movement.

Emily cranes her neck around the woman that’s stopped her, pushing against her as she tries to follow the team of doctors that have disappeared behind two swinging double doors.

“No, I have to follow him. I’m an FBI agent,” she states, attempting to leverage some form of authority over the situation.

“Ma’am, he’s being rushed to surgery. I need to make sure you’re alright. Where are you injured?”

Emily’s face screws up, her lips turning and brow furrowing. “Injured? I’m not—” It’s then she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the lobby window. Her face is smeared with Hotch’s blood. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, her eyes drop to her hands, which are covered front and back with blood. The red substance stains the skin on her arms as well as the entire front of the dressy tank top she’d been wearing under her blazer. “It’s not mine,” she finally says.

The nurse’s face softens and Emily hates the way her eyes fill with sympathy. “Is there anyone I can call?”

Yeah, about 7, but they’re all occupied or on death’s door.

“No,” she says. “I can just,” she rubs her temple and takes a deep breath. “Where’s the closest waiting area?”

The nurse tsks and shakes her head. “No, no, come on,” she says, gesturing for Emily to follow her. “You can shower in the locker room. I’ll get a pair of scrubs for you to wear and a bag to store your clothes in.”

Emily thanks her and follow silently, twisting and turning through the many hallways until she reaches the door labeled “Women’s Locker Room.”

“There’s soaps and hair products in each shower. I’ll be right back. Go on in. I’ll leave everything on the bench for you.”

Emily nods her thanks and ducks inside. As she passes by the long stretch of mirror behind the row of sinks, her stomach lurches. It did look like she’d been on the receiving end of Foyet’s knife with how much blood covered the front of her body.

She tears her gaze away from her sullied figure and turns toward the showers. Slowly, she sinks down onto one of the wooden benches. Resting her elbows on her knees, she drops her head into her hands. Thick, hot tears blur her vision as she takes a shuddering breath.

2 minutes, she thinks. 2 minutes and then you pull yourself together.

No sooner does the thought cross her mind does the dam break and the tears free flow down her cheeks in thick, hot lines. She takes deep gasping breaths as the sobs rattle her body. Her mascara bleeds into her eyes, stinging them. Using the backs of her hands, she presses them to her eyes, wiping the tears away and no doubt smearing blood and makeup across her face in the process.

She blows out a breath and forces herself into a seated position. “He’s going to be alright,” she affirms to no one but herself. She stands on shaky legs and feels the weight of exhaustion slowly creeping into her muscles. She kicks out of her boots and undresses.

She swipes at the faucet inside the shower and doesn’t wait for it to warm up before standing under the icy stream of water. She gasps and sputters but keeps her face under the flow. Once the water begins to heat up, she opens her eyes and glances down at her feet. Blood sleuces down her legs in pink rivulets, swirling and disappearing down the drain.

She pumps the lavender scented shower gel into her hand from the dispenser on the wall and scrubs her skin until it’s red and raw. She works it under her nails and up and down her limbs. It feels like it’s stained her permanently, his blood, inked onto her like a tattoo. After washing her hair, she cuts the water off and squeezes the water from her dark locks. She pulls the shower curtain open and just as the nurse had said, everything had been left for her in a neat pile on the bench. The nurse had even bagged her dirty clothes for her, not like Emily would try to salvage them. She dresses quickly in the pair of blue scrubs. They're a little big on her, but it feels so good to not be wearing clothes soaked with Hotch’s blood.

Slowly, but surely, she retraces her steps back to the waiting room and the charge nurse at the desk tells her Hotch is still in surgery. Of course he is. It had only been twenty five minutes since she’d arrived.

At least if he’s still in surgery, he’s still alive, she thinks, though the thought is still far from comforting.

Reluctantly, Emily crosses the waiting room and sinks into one of the plastic covered chairs settling in for a painfully long afternoon that smelled like antiseptic.

•

It bewilders her to look down at the hard tile floor and not see a path worn down to the cement underneath. How long had she been pacing this same stretch of floor in the waiting room? Her thumb nail aches from where she’d been anxiously gnawing it down to the quick, a bad habit she’d fought for years to quit, but in her most vulnerable moments came back.

She glances down at her watch, of which she’d been ninety eight percent successful at cleaning free of Hotch’s blood. She’d have to send it out to get the bits stuck in between the interlocking pieces of the wrist band cleaned out. It had been three hours. She blows out an exasperated breath.

Surely there would have been some update by now. What if he’s—

She’s unable to finish the thought when a doctor pushes through the double doors where Hotch had disappeared behind earlier.

She perks up and sends up a silent prayer that he’s on his way to see her. He wears a surgeon’s cap, covering his short blonde hair, and as he meets her eyes, she knows it’s the doctor that operated on Hotch.

“Well?” she asks, her voice shaking with the anticipation of news. “How is he?”

The doctor approaches and slows to a stop in front of her. “It was touch and go there for a while. He lost a lot of blood. We were able to stabilize him, but it’ll take some time for him to heal. He’ll be out of commission for a month, maybe longer.”

“Can I see him?” Emily asks, eyes pleading.

A glimmer of sympathy flashes across the surgeon’s eyes. He nods. “He’s unconscious now. When he wakes, he’ll likely be out of it. He’s under the influence of some pretty strong painkillers.”

Emily swallows and nods as she inhales. “I understand.”

The doctor’s eyes shift then and Emily immediately realizes he’s got more to say. “Is there something more I should know?”

“Well,” he begins. “When you brought him, you confirmed with the paramedics and nurses that that is indeed, Aaron Hotchner.”

Emily’s features twist, puzzled by his question. “Yes?”

“We found this when we cut his clothes off of him.” He reaches into his pocket and passes Emily a bifold badge identical to hers. She flips it open, eyes widening as she reads Derek Morgan’s name and her mind flashes to several weeks earlier when he’d lost his credentials. George Foyet had stolen them from him.

“Thank you,” she says and tucks the badge into the scrubs pocket. “Derek is a member of our team. This relates to a case we’re working on. I’m afraid I can’t say more. Please,” she says, her words now a plea, “take me to him.”

The doctor hesitates, like he might say more, but he doesn’t. “Follow me, then.”

•

Her eyelids are so heavy, but she refuses to fall asleep in case he wakes up. She takes another sip from the now lukewarm hospital coffee. It’s bitter on her tongue and her stomach roils as it travels down her esophagus. When was the last time she ate? She glances at the clock and it’s pushing 3:00PM. School would be getting out soon. Her thoughts wander to Reid and the team, and if they’d had any luck with locating the unsub threatening the doctor and his son. How could this be the same day she’d woken up on? It felt like it had been days since she said goodnight and kissed Hotch goodbye after he walked her to her car last night. It was only this morning since they were supposed to go to breakfast and enjoy the rare day off from cases and unsubs and torture and murder.

She holds Hotch’s loose hand in hers, the feel of his skin and its warmth a comfort. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and rotates his hand gently to hold it against her cheek. Closing her eyes, she leans into his palm and kisses the skin there gently. “I should’ve gone home with you,” she whispers, “Maybe I could’ve done something.”

She ponders the likelihood of that as she sits there watching the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beeping of the heart monitor pulsing rhythmically beside her. Now and then the blood pressure cuff around his arm hisses as it contracts and releases. What were the odds that her being there would’ve changed the outcome? The Reaper had almost exclusively killed couples, but those were in smaller enclosed settings. He took advantage of couples by trapping them in their vehicles, minimizing their ability to escape. Hotch might have still taken off his gun, but would she have? Would Foyet have even had the chance to get the shot off? Or would that bullet have gone into her instead of the wall?

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy, Emily,” she whispers to herself. She knows there is no sense in reviewing the ‘what if’s,’ but it seems impossible when her entire support system is unavailable and she’s keeping this monumental secret from them.

“Just wake up, Hotch,” she quietly pleads before pressing another kiss to his hand. “I just need you to be okay.”

Her eyes flare as she feels the slightest twitch against her ring finger. She sits up straighter and holds his hand in both hers.

“Hotch?”

Her breathing stills. Did she imagine that? She squeezes his hand in hers.

“It’s Emily, Aaron. I’m here.”

Faintly, his fingers press into hers. An excited bubble of laughter escapes her lips as relief floods through her veins. She kisses his knuckles. “Thank God,” she whispers.

“Emi—” his voice is hoarse as he starts, but doesn’t finish her name. His eyes don’t open, but his head tilts in her direction.

“I’m right here, Hotch,” she says, shushing him. “I’m not going anywhere. Just, just rest.”

Hotch hums a response but doesn’t articulate anything further than that.

“Emily!” Garcia’s voice is filled with both pain and relief.

She sits up and gingerly lays Hotch’s hand back down on the bed. “Penelope!” Emily stands up and quickly closes the space between them and pulls her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope soothes as she rubs a hand up and down Emily’s back. “I’m so sorry you were dealing with this all by yourself.” She pulls away and looks her up and down from behind the lenses of her purple glasses.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Emily says. Her brow pinches. “But the team, the case—”

Penelope’s pink-painted lips curve into a smile as she holds up a manicured finger, cutting her off. “Not to worry, my sweet girl. The case is closed. The team saved the day. All is good in the world.” Penelope purses her lips as she pauses. “Well, except for the part where Agent Hotchner was treated like mincemeat and Reid was shot.”

Emily’s head snaps up. “Reid was what?” she shouts.

Penelope’s eyes widen and the glittery green eyeshadow she’s applied to her eyelids shines under the fluorescent hospital lighting. She waves her hands in front of her body, the multi-colored bangles on her wrist jingling as she does so. “No, no, no, no, no,” she repeats again and again. “He’s fine, he’s fine. He caught one in the leg, but he’s ok. I think he’s being patched up down the hall.”

Emily is already halfway out the door as she calls over her shoulder, “Maybe lead with that next time!”

Penelope’s high-heeled clad feet click and clack as she teeters after her. “Sorry!” she cries as she catches up to her. “So much has happened today I’m just glad that everyone is ok, well, as ok as one can be given the circumstances of the last 72 hours.”

Emily inclines her head to the side and blows air out through her nose. “You could say that again.” Without pausing to peer inside and be sure she’s in the right room, she enters the only other hospital room with an open door, the sound of voices telling her she’s found the right place.

Morgan, Rossi, and JJ stand around the hospital. They’re faces all bear surprised expressions and confusion. Somehow she finds it in herself to crack a joke, “Guys, I get it. My Prada boots don’t match the scrubs, it’s not that bad.”

Morgan breaks apart from the semi-circle that’s formed around Spencer, who also looks incredibly happy to see her despite his injured leg, and pulls her into a hug. “You could’ve called,” he chastises.

Emily rolls her eyes as she pulls away and transitions into JJ’s open arms. “You would’ve made the same call, Morgan. He grunts in response and she smirks to herself.

“How’s Hotch?” Spencer asks, using his fists to push himself into a sitting position without bending his braced leg.

Emily blows out a breath. “He’s in pretty bad shape, I won’t lie. What do we have on Foyet? Anything?”

Rossi shakes his head. “Nothing yet. Crime techs are still going over the apartment.”

“Someone needs to tell them to look for anything that looks like it might be missing; disturbed dust, signs something was torn from something, anything.”

“What are you getting at, Emily?” Derek asks.

Her gaze locks on his as she reaches into her pocket. Without looking, she passes his credentials to him. His eyes shimmer with concern as he takes his badge from her. “Where did you find this?”

“The surgeon,” she gestures aimlessly toward the day. “It was in his pants pocket. Foyet must have put it there after he,” she pauses, voice wavering.

“Ok,” Morgan says, tucking his badge into his pocket. “Thanks, Emily. Rossi, can you?”

“Already on it,” Rossi answers, phone up to his ear. Someone answers almost immediately and he begins to deliver instructions to them regarding this development.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness and nausea crashes over her. Emily takes a step and stumbles, catching herself on the rail of Spencer’s hospital bed.

“Emily!” Spencer and JJ shout in unison, though JJ is the one to catch her, holding her up with a supportive arm.

Emily blinks twice, hard. The wave passes and she straightens, shrugging out of JJ’s arms though JJ keeps her hand on her back just in case.

“Prentiss, when’s the last time you had something to eat or drink?” Morgan asks, and he sounds more like her father, than her friend.

Her eyes search the room for a clock and quickly land on the digital red numbers blinking up from a small box on the bedside table. 6:04 PM blinks back at her. “What time did we land last night?” she asks.

Morgan releases an exasperated sigh. “That’s it, I’m taking you home.” He reaches for her arm and Emily recoils. “No, Morgan. I’m fine. I need to stay here. Hotch—”

“Will be fine,” he finishes. His brown eyes are hard, but there’s concern in them too. “You’re no good to him, or anyone here if you pass out. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Emily emerges from her bathroom smelling like her own vanilla-scented shower gel and floral shampoo. She pulls her robe around her and pulls the ties around her waist, securing it at her navel. She smells a combination of aromatic spices and exits the bedroom to find Morgan closing the door to her apartment. In his hand is a white plastic bag, its sides fit to bursting from the number of styrofoam takeout containers stacked inside.

He smiles, flashing a row of white teeth as he does so. He holds up the bag and shakes it, wiggling his hips as he does so. “I got your favorite,” he sing-songs. “We are going to have an Indian feast. We got butter chicken. We got chana masala. We got paneer, and girl, we got enough naan to last us a lifetime.”

Emily smiles, though it feels almost wrong to do so when Hotch and Spence are in the hospital and Foyet is still out there.

As if reading her thoughts, Morgan shakes his head and drops the food on her coffee table. “No,” he says as he shakes his head. “Nope, come on,” he takes her by the hand and guides her to the sofa. “You are allowed to eat and rest. Hotch is stable and Penelope is knitting the world’s longest scarf at his bedside as we speak. JJ just texted me and they’re taking Spencer home now.” He plops on the couch and pulls her down to sit beside him. “You’re only job right now,” he says as digs in his pocket and pulls out a plastic-wrapped set of disposable silverware, “is to eat, drink, and sleep.”

Emily wakes with a start. Very seldom did she fall asleep on the couch. The credits to How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days roll on the flat screen. She pushes herself into a seated position and that’s when she realizes she’d fallen asleep on Morgan’s shoulder. He stirs but doesn’t wake as she stands and picks up the now very empty takeout boxes. She crinkles the aluminum foil linings as quietly as she can as she pushes the trash down into the bin in her kitchen. The headache she’d had when they’d left the hospital is gone, thanks to the many glasses of water Morgan has pushed in front of her. She flips off the kitchen light and crosses back into the living room where she picks up the remote to turn off the TV. Pulling the throw blanket off of the back of the couch, she tosses it over Morgan’s hulking frame and her lips curve into a half smile as he subconsciously snuggles into the plush blanket.

“Goodnight, Derek,” she whispers as she walks to her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. She leans her back against the wood of the door. Light from the streetlights streams in through her partially open blinds, casting strange shadows around the room. She twists them shut, blocking out the light, and climbs into bed. Her muscles ache as she sinks into the mattress, finally allowing them to relax and after making them carry her through the day. She turns onto her side and stares at the empty space beside her. She pictures Hotch resting his head on the pillow next to hers, smiling and telling her goodnight; what they should’ve been doing last night. Instead, he’d been mutilated on the floor of his home, where he was supposed to feel safe after a day of combatting danger.

She blinks back tears and pushes the thought from her mind. “Hotch is fine,” she whispers, reminding herself. As her eyes fall shut and she allows sleep to finally drag her into its cool embrace, she thinks of Hotch squeezing her hand in the hospital. She thinks of its warmth. It’s enough to promise her a dreamless sleep, and that’s far better than being haunted by nightmares.

Emily wakes with the sun. The golden light streams through the blinds in slats across her bed. She glances at the clock and it reads 6:34 AM. A full 7 hours, that was more sleep than she’d had since before the team left for Canada.

After quickly going through the motions of her morning routine: washing her face, brushing her teeth and hair, and dressing in a comfortable pair of leggings and Hotch’s old FBI Academy sweatshirt, she emerges from her bedroom.

Morgan is still right where she left him, though at some point during the night, he’d stretched the length of his body across the whole of the couch. She stifles a laugh. One leg is dangling off of the couch while one arm is stretched straight out overhead. His mouth hangs open as he cuddles the bulk of the throw blanket against his chest. Silently, she pads across the room to where she left her phone on the kitchen counter. Approaching a sleeping Derek with as little sound as she can muster, she flips open her cell phone and snaps a pic. Derek’s eyes snap open and widen as he immediately sees Emily with the phone in hand.

“Oh hell, no!” he jumps up from the couch but before he can take one step, the throw blanket twists around his ankles effectively tripping him. Those three seconds are enough for Emily to text the photo to Garcia.

“Gimme that phone!” Derek orders as he finally makes it to his feet and tries to wrangle it from her. As he wraps his arms around her from behind, Prentiss can’t help but laugh. “Too late, Morgan. I already sent her the photo of Sleeping Beauty. You know that’s going in the archive.”

Morgan releases her and points a finger at her. “As long as it doesn’t make it into the slideshow at the Christmas party.”

Emily arches an eyebrow and tilts her head back and forth, weighing the likelihood of that. “We’ll have to see about that.”

Morgan laughs and his features soften into a gentle smile. He inclines his head toward her. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, and a small wave of guilt crashes over her. She allows it to do so and then envisions it cresting before rolling gently over a sandy beach. She takes a deep breath and smiles knowing that Hotch would want her to be laughing and joking despite what he’s been through. He’d remind her that Foyet would’ve been there regardless of if she’d come home with him. And she knew that he’d be telling her that he was glad she wasn’t there, because he couldn’t bear to see anything happen to her.

“Thanks for last night,” she says. “I really needed it.”

Morgan waves her off. “Nah, it’s nothing. We’re family, Prentiss.”

“I know,” she says with a smile. “Do you want to grab breakfast or a coffee? I’m going to head back to the hospital and relieve Garcia.”

Morgan claps his hands together, “That shitty diner on 8th?”

Emily moans at the thought of a sausage, egg, and cheese bagel crammed into a plastic red basket overrun by a mountain of red potatoes. “Oh my God, yes. You know, I don’t know what they put in their food, and I don’t think I want to, but damn, a big pile of grease is exactly what I need right now.

Morgan grabs the car keys off the counter and pockets them. “I’m driving.”

•

Derek drops her off at the hospital’s front entrance. He rolls down the window as she circles the car. “Tell Garcia I’m waiting for her.”

Emily’s lips quirk into a half smile. “I’ll be sure to tell her her chariot awaits.” She raises her cup of coffee to him, “Thank you, Derek. For last night.”

He winks, “That’s what family’s for, right?”

She nods and turns toward the hospital. She navigates the twists and turns of the hallways, keeping out of the way of doctors and nurses as they go about their duties. After signing in at the nurses station, she shoulders her purse, picks up both cups of coffee and heads toward Hotch’s room.

“Knock, knock,” she vocalizes, unable to physically knock on the half open door. Using her shoulder, she pushes it open and steps inside.

“Emily!” Garcia greets cheerfully. She sits in a chair near the hospital bed. Her chunky ring-adorned fingers hold knitting needles paused in mid-air, a lengthy scarf made up of maroon fibers hanging down to her ankles.

Her eyebrows knit together as she eyes the scarf. She smiles at her friend. “Been busy?”

“I think I fell asleep to the sound of those needles clacking together,” Hotch says. Emily’s attention shifts to him and her smile widens. The bed is angled, allowing him to rest in a half-seated position. There seems to be more color on his face today and that floods her chest with warmth. Just barely, he inclines his head toward her. “Is one of those for me?”

Emily sucks air through her teeth. “Ooo, sorry. This is for Penelope.”

Garcia perks up. “Yes, please!” she says. “Give that caffeine to mama.” She lays her knitting needles in her lap and holds out her hands, thanking Emily when she passes her the cup.

“Morgan is waiting for you at the entrance.”

A flirtatious grin crosses Penelope’s lips. “My knight in shining armor, come to get me from this extra sanitary antiseptic-rich tower. Someone catch me as I swoon.” She tucks the mass of yarn into her bag and stands. “It’s been a pleasure, sir. I’ll have this scarf waiting for you on your desk when you return.”

As she passes Emily, she gives her a peck on the cheek. “He’s all yours, kitten.” She sashays out of the room, gently shutting the door behind her on the way out.

The room is small and she crosses the short space in a matter of steps. She exhales as she takes the seat previously occupied by Penelope. Hotch flexes his hand as he inches it closer to the bedside and Emily takes it in hers.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, squeezing her hand.

Emily breathes out a short laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Well, I feel like I’ve been stabbed nine times, but that’s to be expected. I understand that you almost fainted yesterday.”

“I—” Emily’s mouth clamps shut as she feels the weight of his hard stare on her. “Did Garcia say that? I wouldn’t say I fain—”

“Emily.”

She hates that tone of voice. His supervisory voice. The one he uses to give orders. The one he uses when they’re acting as colleagues, not partners.

She rolls her eyes. “Hotch, don’t give me that look.” She then aims a pointed look of her own towards him. “And you’re not my boss right now. In fact, you’re not even allowed to think about work for the next four to six weeks as far as I’m concerned, so lose the ‘I’m-your-boss’ tone.”

Aaron’s brow arches slightly at her challenge. “Fair enough,” he relents. “You didn’t answer my question though. How are you feeling?”

Emily relaxes as his tone does and gently taps his fingers with her own. “Better than I was yesterday. Morgan took me home. He ordered takeout, I made him watch my favorite chick flick—”

“ How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?”

Emily’s jaw drops, her open mouth smiling. “You remembered that?”

“I heard you and JJ talking about it on the plane,” he answers, smiling. “I do my best to remember little things like that about everyone,” he inclines his head towards her, “you especially.”

Emily can’t fight the pinkening of her cheeks. “Why do you do that?”

“It reminds me that we’re all individuals beyond the case files; that we’re not just behavior analysts, that we don’t just spend time studying and watching the why’s, what’s, and how’s that make up other people’s lives, but that we have those same qualities about ourselves. That we have hobbies and interests and beliefs outside of the bureau. If I don’t do that, well, I wouldn’t be a very good boss, now would I?”

A small sound of disbelief passes her lips. She’d had the pleasure of scaling the walls that he’d erected to distance himself from others allows him to lead his team from a place free of bias, but hearing him dictate that despite all of that and the image he projects, he is still internalizing all the bits and pieces that make each of them human. That that’s what makes him human.

“Ya know, if the team finds out you’re actually a big softie, you’ll never hear the end of it.” She says.

“Yes,” his lips twitch into a soft smile. “Well, I think they know that and just choose not to say anything about it.” He squeezes her hand again. “I’ll have to thank Morgan. I’m sorry for what you must have gone through.”

Her face falls. “Oh, Aaron don’t. You don’t need to—”

His eyes are hard again as he speaks. “I do. To find me like that after what we’d all gone through together in Canada. It couldn’t have been easy. Your response time was critical. I know you, Emily. I know you immediately had to force yourself into action. I know you had to bury your emotions to see past me; to see past your colleague and partner. And I know that wasn’t easy. I also know you couldn’t tell anyone else because you didn’t want to distract them from the case at hand. I also know that you were willing to sit in the waiting room covered in my blood until you knew I was alright. You did all of this on little food and drink, and even less sleep.”

Emily stares at his hand around hers, unmoving, as he speaks. In her mind’s eyes, the images of yesterday flash in rapid succession: finding him, his face twisted in pain as she applied pressure to the stab wounds, stumbling out of the ambulance as he was whisked out of reach, his blood spiraling down the drain in the hospital’s locker room…

“Emily.” Her name is lighter on his tongue this time; not an order, but a light guiding her back to the present moment. Her eyes focus on him and relief floods throughout her entire body. His hand is warm in hers.

Suddenly, pressure builds in her eyes, the heavy heat that comes before tears. She swallows and when she finds her voice, it wavers, “I was so scared, Aaron.”

“I know.”

“If I hadn’t found you, if you’d di—” Her voice breaks and she swallows the growing lump in her throat. She breathes deeply in a poor attempt to compose herself.

“But I didn’t,” Aaron states firmly. “Emily, I’m alive because you found me. Don’t sit here and torture yourself with ‘what-ifs.’ You know better than that.”

Emily nods and tucks the strands of hair that have fallen from her ponytail behind her ears. “You’re right, I’m just,” she sighs, “I wish there was more that I could do.”

“What you’re doing is already enough,” he says. “And,” he adds, “if the idea of moving my body didn’t make me think I’d physically pass out from the pain, I’d be putting my arms around you so you’d feel comforted and trust that I am so utterly grateful that you chose to go home that night.”

His fingers twitch, but he winces as he tries to lift them off the mattress. Emily reacts immediately and slips her cool slender fingers back into his hand. His are longer, rougher, and curl around hers.

When Emily speaks, her voice is soft. If she speaks any louder she’ll fear it’ll crack and she doesn’t want to cry again. “When they say you can leave here,” she starts and allows her lips to twitch into a whisper of a smile, “Can I come home with you?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “Come here.”

Emily stands and leans down, her bound hair falling just so over her shoulder as she does.

“Closer,” he says and she acquiesces, lowering herself so that her lips are hovering just over his and she can feel his breath on her skin.

His lips are as light as air as he brushes a feather-light kiss against her mouth. It’s all that he can do in his current condition, but the feel of it is enough to melt the icy grief that had been clinging to her these last thirty-six hours, and now it felt as though the sun was shining on her bare skin in this small sterile hospital room.

“My home is your home, Emily. And you’ll always be welcome.”

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Emily, my flatmate, not the character: I couldn't remember his name so I wrote Courgette.

Me: Foyet?

Emily: that's the one!

[katebeckets]

gif request meme

@unorthodox-oblivion asked any fandom + most heartbreaking scene ⤷ Criminal Minds 5x09, "100" 

[cxrrodedcoffin]

how hotch should’ve killed george foyet:

[prettybaby-reid]

Criminal Minds topics I could write an essay about:

-Haley is over-hated and many of the things people used to justify disliking her are reaches and actually don’t mean anything in actuality. you can simply just not like her character, but acting like you have real “moral” justification is just delusional atp.

- in 4x22/5x01 when Foyet attacks Hotch in his apartment, it’s 100% s/a in some form. whether it’s in the traditional sense or not, Foyet clearly intends for it to have the same effect on Hotch.

-Yes Elle was valid to a certain extent for shooting the rapist in her second to last appearance, it was 100% not the same thing as Hotch murdering Foyet in episode 100.

-Spencer is highly baby-ified by the fandom and it’s insufferable to watch the way people treat other characters for offhanded teases they make at him.

-Jj wasn’t wrong for not telling Spencer that Emily was alive. Jj was wrong for continuously letting Spencer come over for 10 weeks to cry about it, knowing that Emily was alive and she was playing fucking scrabble with her. She could have easily said she wasn’t able to handle everything and let him go to morgan/garcia.

-The writers of criminal minds know how to write episodes and plotlines, but they don’t know how to write consistent character ideas and backstories. they also don’t know how to properly write characters trauma. immediately after Jj is kidnapped, they’re all in a bar together…that doesn’t make sense. she should be in a hospital or at home, not keke-ing with the homies.

-Although the writers are inconsistent with backstories, some of the things people think “don’t add up” actually do add up if you thought for longer than 5 seconds.

-the Cat Adams plotline and Cat as a character is so good until Reids prison arc when they say that Cat had the other girl s/a him, that’s so out of bounds for her. She hates men for what they do to women, specifically the violence men perpetrate towards women, more specifically s/a and domestic violence…why would she s/a Spencer.

-On the topic of the Cat/Spencer s/a topic…that’s definitely a pullover from the fact that it was supposed to be Hotch who was in prison but they had to switch it after Thomas Gibson left. I have an idea of what it could have originally been considering it was supposed to be Hotch/Mr. Scratch, but no solid proof.

[youbutstupid]

Category is: BAU team members and that one mf who just won’t die and stop haunting them

[swanqueenelmaxshadowhunters]

Why are you crying? It's just an episode.

The episode:

[multifandombullshitbabes]

HIIIIII long time no see. y'all already know what this is. have fun.

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Aaron Hotchner X Daughter Reader

Decided to try a different point of view.

Summary: You are a teenage kid of Aaron Hotchner. You also are the older sibling to Jack, your five year old brother. Your mother was killed right in front of you and your little brother. You have nightmares.

Warning this is kind of creepy mentions of Foyet and hallucinations/flashbacks.

Second person pov...

You gasp sitting up from your bed waking yourself from another nightmare, you haven't had a good night sleep for days now, the anniversary of your mother's death is next month. You breath in and out deeply trying to not wake up your Dad or brother.

“Y/N? Kiddo, you okay?”

You jump as your dad knocks on the door breathing in and out you call back "I'm fine dad" The tone of your voice alerted him something was wrong, as he slowly opened the door.

“Are you sure? I heard you gasp.”

He walks into your room as he closes the door behind him. He sits down on the side of your bed, as he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N. What’s wrong?” You huff at him "nothing is wrong okay your just being paranoid dad" you tell him.

He chuckled slightly at this response, but he was still a bit worried about you, but he ruffled your hair, like he used to when you were a kid.

He ruffled your hair jokingly. “I just want you to know that you can always come talk to me if you need a listening ear, alright?" You smile "I know dad"

He smiled back, as he got to his feet, knowing that this was going as well as it could for now.

“I’m going back to bed. Try and get some shut eye alright?”

You smile "Okay sleep well,  love you"

“Love you too, kiddo.”

He gave a nod before leaving, turning all the lights off as he did. Despite he wasn’t completely convinced, at least you are okay for now.

You sit in the dark of your room flinching at the dark spots and shudder remembering Foyet.

You wait a while convinced he was asleep before sneaking from your room and down the stairs into the kichen, you grabbed a glass and turned on the sink once full you sat at the kichen island.

He had been laying in bed, just before he was about to fall asleep, but then he heard the sound of the water in the kitchen sink. It piqued his interest.

After debating on it for a few minutes, he got out of his bed and left his room before making his way downstairs to the kitchen.

As you finish drinking you put the glass in the sink and turn to walk off as you do you hear footsteps in the dark flinching slightly you grab a knife and look around you.

He made it into the kitchen and immediately sees you holding a knife. He put his hands up and went over to you slowly as he tried to calm the situation slightly.

“Y/N, it’s just me kiddo.” You jump losing your grip on the knife quickly grabbing it you hiss as you cut you hand. "Fuck, Dad you scared me" the knife makes a loud ringing as it fell.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He quickly went over to you, noticing the knife and your hand. “Are you okay? Let me see your hand kiddo.”

You flinch when the knife drops and see him walk over in his pjamas. He got over to you, noticing the flinch at the knife but just brushed it off as you were just a bit spooked by him.

“Sorry again for scaring you. But kiddo let me see your hand. Are you okay?” You groan as you look at your hand it sliced you good. "I'm fine dad " you tell him holding your hand out.

He gently took your hand, examining the cut before looking at you with a small sigh. “You’re bleeding pretty badly. Hold on a moment, okay?”

He quickly got up, going to one of the kitchen drawers before rummaging through it, looking for some bandages and gauze to clean and bandage your hand.

You nod and jump up into the counter swinging your legs, your eyes alert looking at the dark hallway.

He found bandage items before walking back to you. He saw that you were looking at something in the dark hallway and was curious.

“You okay kiddo? Why are you looking down the hall like that?”

You jump startled, He raised an eyebrow at that. But stood infront of you.

"I’m just going to take care of this cut on your hand, okay?” You nod giving him your hand. He takes your hand gently before taking a good look at how deep the cut is.

He was slightly concerned but tried to not show it as he started cleaning the cut, gently being cautious to not hurt you in the process.

“Could you tell me what you were doing up so late?” You shrug "needed a drink" which was true.

He raised an eyebrow, knowing that this wasn’t entirely true. But he also knew that there wasn’t a point in pushing the subject at the moment. Instead, he just let it go.

“Why didn’t you just get the drink and come back upstairs to your room? Why come down here?” you shrug again at that.

He sighed, noticing the shrugs. He didn’t know if he should try and keep pushing the subject or not at this point. He just continued to bandage your hand as he looked at you.

“Come on kiddo, don’t give me the shrugs. I know there’s more to it.” You huff looking at the hallway again. "It's nothing dad"

He noticed that you were looking down the hallway yet again. He knew something was up with that and now his protective mode was starting to kick in. His voice was calm yet slightly firm as he continued to bandage your hand.

“Why do you keep looking down the hallway? Are you expecting something to happen?”

You jump and look at him "no why would you think that" He could tell something was up, but He just stayed calm for now as he finished bandaging your hand.

“Well, I’m just confused as to why you keep looking down the hall like you are expecting something to happen. What is going on?”

You look at the hallway again. A image flashes, it was Foyet after he killed your mom he came after you, you hid in the kichen and grabbed a knife but he appeared in the hallway out of thr darkness.

He just finished up bandaging your hand “Y/N… Are you scared of the dark?” You look at him then at your hand.

"I'm scared of what's in the dark" you mutter staring at the hallway again. His heart sank slightly hearing  He looked at you, his tone soft.

“Y/N… There’s nothing in the dark. I promise you.”

You look at him eyes haunted "but there is there always is" you tell him eyeing the hallway past his shoulder.

He put a hand on your shoulder, He did slightly turn to see the hall, but he didn’t see any sign of anyone or anything.

That definitely raised a red flag for him. The way you were talking about this “something” in the dark. He gently made you look at him.

“Y/N, what are you talking about? Who is ‘always there’?” You tear your eyes away from the hallway. You look at your dad as you say to scared you speak his name as if he'll appear.

He paused, not wanting to believe it, but knew the whole situation. He held eye contact with you. “Do you mean Foyet?” He asks. You nod.

You shake your head anxiously. "He's always there, laughing ans holding a knife" you cover your eyes not wanting to see.

He sighed, knowing that he had triggered something. He put a hand on your shoulder, knowing this was difficult for both of them, but he was trying to comfort you.

“Y/N, look at me, kid. He’s not here. He can’t get to you. I’m here.” Your dad mutters to you

His heart sank again at that, knowing that you were going back to that day. He moved closer to you, putting his arms around you, trying to comfort you the best he could.

“Y/N, listen to me. He’s gone. I promise he’s not here. Open your eyes and look around. See that everything is okay.”

You shake your head eyes glassy. You never told your dad what happened to you that day he only knew what happened you haley ans Jack you were too traumatized when they found you. "He's never gone-"

It broke his heart seeing you so afraid and so shaken. He continued to try and calm you down, doing his best, just trying to convince you. “Y/N,Tell me in your mind why you think he is still here."

You cling to your dad avoiding the dark hallway. "H-he appeared from the dark, he's always in the dark waiting" you mutter anxiously.

He holds you close, trying to calm you down as best he can, but also having to hear that Foyet just came from the dark to attack you.

He’s never heard that before and it made him feel sick for you that you had to live through that.

“Okay, okay. What about today? What triggered you to look down the hallway so much?"

"Dark, too dark everywhere" you mutter you know you probably sound crazy to him right now.

He continues to hold you close, rubbing your back gently, not wanting to upset you more, but just wanting to know more of what you think is happening.

“Okay, so it’s the dark that’s making you think someone is there. Do you think about anything when you picture the dark?”

"Foyet" you whisper as if saying his name will make him appear. He holds you just that bit tighter when you say that name. He never wanted to hear that name again, let alone hear you say it.

“Okay, and do you think he’s going to come get you? Even though he’s gone and we’re safe?” He still spoke softly, not wanting to alarm you. He did glance at the dark hallway, just to make sure there was nothing there.

You nod clinging to your dad. You nod slowly "I see flashes when it's dark of him when he cornered me"

His heart sinks further at that answer and hearing you say that. He just wraps you closer in a hug. “And this is what you’ve been living with ever since the night of…”

You nod looking at the hallway again. "I protected Jack, he never heard or saw anything" He nods, knowing that you did protect Jack through all that happened, but now he’s just realizing how much it’s affected you, and how he never knew that before.

“You did great, kiddo. You protected Jack so well. You did very good.”

He holds you a while until you eventually calm down and fall asleep in his arms happy that he is there and know he will protect you.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, sorry for the wait this is definitely a long one. Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1923

[redhoodie1723]

its been a hot minute but we're back babeyy

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

[starchaser45]

Penelope: okay what's your guys' biggest regrets , I'll start I regret staying up all night and missing the Taylor Swift tickets

Derek: mine is probably not getting with Savanna sooner

JJ: same but with Emily

Emily: mine is telling JJ to go for will and that they'll make a cute couple now everytime I remember that I wanna punch myself

Rossi: mine is divorci_

Penelope: nope not doing that again

Reid: mine is not kissing Diane right leading to the love of my life's death

Hotch: mine is not making the deal with foyet leading to the love of my life's death

Everyone: ..............

Derek: god I forgot they were hear

Sad son and dad 😭😭😭😭

[ecocharlier]

(Don't Fear) The Reaper

[masterwords]

he should have taken the deal

[perseus-jackass]

SO I’M REWATCHING CRIMINAL MINDS STRAIGHT THROUGH FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS AND I FUCKING FORGOT FOYET LITERALLY STARTED THE EPISODE AFTER DEMONOLOGY (my favorite episode in the whole show)

WHAT WAS SEASON FOUR ON BRO????

MEMORIAM, DEMONOLOGY, THEN FOYET??? FUCKING HELL

[jaymyie]

Foyet: Punch me in the face.

Hotch: ...Punch you?

Foyet: Yes, punch me, didn’t you hear me?

Hotch: I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking but it’s usually just subtext.

[bked0n-lorazepam]

My Requests are open!

Hi guys, I know it's been a while, but I'm back, and with new people who I'll be happy to write for you; here's my list!

The Walking Dead:

Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Negan Smith, Glenn Rhee, Maggie Rhee, Enid Rhee, Michonne, Rosita, Simon, Abraham, Carol, Jesus "Paul", Shane, Sasha, Dwight, Beth

House MD:

Gregory House, Lisa Cuddy, James Wilson, Allison Cameron, Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, "Thirteen"

CreepyPasta:

Jeff The Killer, Toby Rogers, BEN Drowned, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Jane The Killer, Nina The Killer, Hoodie, Masky, Liu, Sally

Slashers/Creepos:

Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Chucky/Charles Lee Ray, Brahms Heelshire, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, BeetleJuice

Criminal Minds:

Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Elle Greenaway, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Tara Lewis, Cat Adams, George Foyet

White Collar:

Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, Alex Hunter, Diana Berrigan, Lauren Cruz, Clinton Jones

Hannibal NBC:

Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom, Beverly Katz, Freddie Lounds

Marvel Universe:

Loki Laufeyson, Mobius Mobius, Thor Odinson, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfied, and Tom Holland), MJ Watson, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Prince T'Challa, Princess Shuri, Okoye, Carol Danvers, Gamora, Peter Quill, Nebula

IT (2017 and 2019):

Patrick Hockstetter, Henry Bowers, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh, Stanley Uris, Pennywise

Stranger Things:

Eleven, Mike Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Joyce Byers, Jonathon Byers, Jim Hopper, Max Mayfield, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Karen Wheeler, Dr. Brenner, Argyle, Billy Hargrove

Once Upon a Time:

Rumplestiltskin, Emma Swan, Prince Charming, Snow White, Regina Mills, Henry Mills, Killian Jones, Baelfire, Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Belle, August/Pinocchio, Ruby/Red, Zelena

Good Omens:

Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel, Anathema Device, Newton "Newt" Pulsifer, Beelzebub, Muriel

Avatar:

Jake Sully, Neytiri, Kiri (No smut), Lo'ak (No smut), Neteyam (No smut)

The Boys:

Homelander, Billy Butcher, Becca Butcher, Frenchie, Hughie Campbell, Mothers Milk, Queen Maeve, Starlight, A-Train, Deep, Black Noir, Firecracker, Kimiko "The Female", Ashley Barret, Ryan Butcher (No smut), Victoria Neuman, Soldier Boy

And that's it so far! I'll add more as I go, I swear <3