A/N: My fault for the wait guys, I was rewatching Criminal Minds and got to Season 10 Ep 13 and got so irritated I didn't interact with anything Criminal Minds Related for a while. DO NOT expect the next episode to be out swiftly (even if I tell you it will, I'm a liar.) Also reader lowk replaces Ashely Seaver so this whole story takes place from season 6 onwards. That's it...Ciao!
“You’re moving too much.” Anderson says, standing next to you in the elevator.
“I feel like I’m going to explode.” You say, “Should I have dressed more professionally?”
He blinks at you, “I promise you you wouldn’t be the most oddly dressed on that team.”
You tip your head at that, but he doesn’t respond, eyes obediently trained on the elevator door.
Your socks don’t match. Your button up is wrinkled on the sleeves from half assed ironing on Anderson’s part (you shoot him a sidelong glare). Should you have worn a tie?
“Should I have worn a tie?” You ask Anderson, watching him roll his eyes towards the ceiling.
“And look like Agent Hotchner? No.”
You nod, noting the few times you’ve spoken to him since you first met him in the interrogation room. One day he had come over to you and Anderson’s apartment (per the FBI’s demand) with Rossi, and they had both had such sad looks on their faces you didn’t even want to ask what had happened.
“Do you think they know what I did?” You ask, as the little light indicator above the elevator doors edged closer and closer to your exit floor.
“I don’t even know what you did.” Anderson said. “They just told me they’d pay the rent and I’d have a roommate I was–” His voice deepens, a comical replication of Agent Hotchner's voice “To monitor at all times, and under no circumstances allow me to leave my sight.”
You frown and he notices, glancing at you. “I mean, whatever you did I promise you it can’t be as bad as the guys you’ll be catching.”
“And if it was?” You ask into the elevator, fiddling with the buckle of your belt.
“I don’t think you’re a psychopath, Fenlon, you’re about to vomit cause your socks don’t match.”
“Oh, fuck you.” You respond, laughing.
When the elevator doors finally open, the smile is wiped off your face, and you’re back to feeling very sick.
“Agent Hotchner." Anderson says, nodding his head and resolutely scrambling around the Supervisory agent and abandoning you in the elevator.
Aaron Hotchner stands six feet two inches in front of you, all tailored suit, and steely expression. He stretches an arm out to prevent the elevator door from closing and sweeps his other arm to gesture you out.
You scuffle out, head dropping to watch your stupid purple and white socks shuffle out next to his nicely polished dress shoes. You should’ve changed.
“Agent Hotchner.” You parrot Anderson, bowing your head a bit.
“Hotch is fine.” He says, “Welcome to the team, Fenlon.”
“Fen, is fine.” You return. You run nervous hands down the fabric of your button up.
“Fen.” He says, “Come with me.”
“Oh, I–already?” But he’s already on the move, and you’re scrambling to catch up.
The bullpen is lively, various agents bustling around with varying airs of purpose. You would’ve nearly collided into a woman talking busily on her phone if Hotch hadn’t yanked you out of the way.
You stop a little ways away from the commotion and Agent Rossi comes sauntering down from the balcony, his voice warm as he calls out to you.
“Agent Fenlon.” He shouts. “I hope your trip here went well, according to a few of our other agents Anderson is not the most scrupulous driver.”
Agent Hotchner steps to the side, beckoning over a few agents sitting at their desks to join the huddle the three of you are forming.
You try to focus all of your energy on Rossi.
“No, he isn’t.” You joke. “But I made it here in one piece.”
He nods at you, fixing you with a friendly look. Before turning to acknowledge the new agents.
“Agent Fenlon.” Rossi sweeps a hand between you and the two agents. “Supervisory special agents Prentiss and Morgan.”
Emily Prentiss, thanks to the few pieces of information Hotch and Rossi had provided, you knew she used to work for Interpol. She was pretty, you noted, she had sweet eyes and a kind face. The man beside her was Derek Morgan, Chicago born, and a former police officer. He was all good looks and sly smiles, even now the grin he fixed you with was almost hypnotic.
You smile at the both of them, “I’ve heard a lot about the both of you.”
What you meant was you knew enough about the both of them. And from what Anderson told you in the elevator you could only assume they knew nothing about you.
“All good things I hope.” Morgan says.
“Of course.” You try, glancing between Rossi and Hotch.
“Well anything in particular? About me, I mean.” He tries, smile growing. Emily follows this statement with a chuckle and you find your eyebrows lowering from where they’ve shot to your hairline.
“Don’t encourage him please.” She says, and you smile at her.
“Agent Fenlon is on a probationary trial here at the BAU.” Hotchner says, “With Jennifer’s reassignment, Strauss thought it’d be best for us to have someone of her talents on the team.”
“What talents would that be?”
It’s a new voice, and the tone he takes sends a shot of irritation up your spine. You whip around to answer him, something sly building on your tongue, but your confidence all but dries up when you finally see him.
“Agent Fenlon, Dr. Reid.” Rossi says, and you can’t help but bite your tongue.
He’s, for lack of better word (which really was a first for you), pretty. Unbelievably, irrevocably, and maybe a bit annoyingly pretty. He’s in a sweater vest and his gun’s sitting almost sensually low on his hips. His eyes, you note, may actually be the prettiest brown you’ve ever seen in your entire life.
Hotch answers before you can, cutting what was close to becoming a very awkward silence.
“It means you’re no longer the only Doctor on the team, Reid.”
“Oh wow.” Morgan laughs, “Pretty Boy’s got some competition.”
You can tell Reid’s gearing up to blast you with more questions, but once again Hotchner cuts him off.
“Fen will be accompanying us to New Mexico, we think the research she’s done in the past can offer a unique understanding.”
“What research?” It’s asked in unison, a curious Morgan toppling over Reid’s underlying irritation at his previous ‘competition’ comment.
You finally speak up, fiddling with the arm of your glasses. “I uh–I wrote my dissertation on the psychological effects of being raised by serial killers, you’d be surprised what kids notice about their parents. Even if they don’t know what they’re doing until a while later.”
“What exactly did you get your PHD in?” Reid jumps in before anyone else can, glancing between Hotch and Rossi.
“I’m confused, Dr. Reid, do you doubt my credentials?”
The group is silent, and you realize you may have put your foot in your mouth already.
“I mean, well–I’m sorry–.”
Morgan whistles, something low and teasing. “Dr. Fenlon’s got claws Reid, better watch out.”
“I wasn’t trying to discredit you.” Reid starts, frowning.
Hotch jumps in then, something final in his tone. “We have a plane waiting. Fenlon, with me.”
You blink at him, gesturing to yourself in confusion before you realize he’s already exiting the bullpen.
You wave a quick goodbye to the agents, before scrambling to catch up with Hotch.
“Anderson already put your to go bag in the Jet?” He asks, and you nod sliding next to him in the elevator.
“Fenlon.” He adds, after a moment of silence.
“Yes, sir?” You’re sure you’re going to vomit, you’ve never been on a jet in your life.
“Try not to butt heads with Reid too much please.” He says, “The agent you’re replacing was very close to him. And after that comment Morgan made I’m afraid he may not be taking a liking to you.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, watching the numbers tick down on the elevator.
“Are any of them?” You ask, rolling back on the heels of your feet.
He doesn’t answer, and that’s really answer enough.
warnings: no insest, pet names, AGE GAP, size kink, fingering, kissing, praising.
⋆ *☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
your so sweet to aaron, every chance you get you treat him so well.
when aaron came home, you welcomed him with kisses.
arron loved you. he loved how much you cared. he loved how you were so sweet. he especially loved how much smaller you were then him. 
arron hotchner had a size kink.
when arron came home you wanted to help him through the hard days. you would spread your legs and let him flip you whichever way he wanted.
tonight arron came home with the same eyebags he has every night. you saw it in his face how tired he was.
“hi!” you said as he walked through the door, dropping his bags. you jumped up from the couch and padded to him.
he smiled. “hi little girl.” his voice rasped.
you buried your head into his chest as he picked you up from the ground, wrapping your legs across his torso, arms layed across his wide shoulders.
“i missed you so much!” you said, picking your head up to look at him.
all you were wearing was a short white dress that rid up your thighs when he picked you up.
“i missed you too.” arron said with a grin. his hand ran up your back to your head, cradling it before leaning in to plant a soft kiss to your lips.
you giggled as you leaned in for another. and another. and another.
“sweetheart.” he stoped you. you smiled and rested your head against his shoulder again before he started to walk to the bedroom.
once he walked into the bedroom he set you down on your shared bed, walking over to the closet to change.
you waited patiently, swigging your feet. “are you tired?” you asked from the bed.
“yes.” he said flatly. walking out of the closet. all he was wearing was navy blue pajama pants.
for a old man, arron had quite the body. the hair sticking to his chest made you drool. the veins that danced up his arms were so thick.
his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “are you?”
your eyes flicked to his. “not really.” you said almost shyly.
you heard arron chuckle before his big hands met you your hips. he picked you up and sat you on his lap. you perched up on his thigh.
you lifted your head to look at him. he smiled. his hand slipped over your waist and the other traveled down your leg.
“this is pretty.” arron said, admiring your dress.
“thank you.” you giggled again, putting your arms around his neck, leaning down to rest your head on his chest.
you watched where his hands traveled, one began to slip under the hem of your dress, his rough fingertips tickling your tummy.
arron kissed your head before you felt his fingers brush your clothed cunt. you gasped as you looked at him.
arron shushed you. you reached down to grab his forearm. your tiny hand didn’t even wrap around it.
“dad-” you whined, resting your head against him again.
his thumb tranced up and down your cunt, slowly. so slowly. your squeezed his shoulders.
you grabbed his pinky finger, guiding his hand inside your panties. his middle finger met your warm pussy. you sighed as you began to move his hand on your own.
“can you put it inside, dad?” you whispered, sweetly.
arron hummed and kissed your cheek. you let go of his hand and put it on his knee to help yourself.
his fat finger pushed inside of you, softly. you mewed.
“you are-tired?” you tried to say, opening your eyes.
his hand ran up your back. “no, baby.” he smiled.
you nodded your head. “i wanna cum.” you said, squeezing his knee.
“how about on my cock?” he whispered.
you eyes shot open. you nodded way to fastly.
arron stopped his movements on your pussy. he kissed you before grabbing you and laying you on top of the bed. he climbed on top of you and kissed your cheek again.
he set himself free, your eyes immediately landed on his cock. your tiny hand grabbed the tip then slid down, your hand wasn’t even half the size of him.
arron groaned, he closed his eyes for a moment then carefully grabbed your wrist, setting it on the bed.
“let me take care of you, honey.” he whispered. you whined but got comfortable anyway.
his hands slid up your thighs to your panties, he hooked his fingers in, then pulled, setting them to the side.
he pulled your dress up so it pooled on top of your tummy, revealing your glistening pussy. arron bent down and kissed your belly. you laughed.
he guided his hips to yours, pulling his cock to meet your cunt. you cried, hands gripping his shoulders.
he slid inside of you slowly but properly.
“your my girl, my favorite little girl.” arron groaned into your hair.
the sounds that came from both of you were delicious.
“i think i might-dad i think-dad!” you yelped as your hands pushed against his chest.
“my little girl. got the best pussy. just so sticky and goey, huh? cum for dad, yeah?” arron rasped.
you fell limp when you came. your thoughts sticked together, as you felt his thrusts become sloppier.
“fuck.”
arrons cum spilled out of your wet pussy. he body landed on top of yours. to heavy for you to handle but not to heavy to kiss the top of his sweaty hair.
She/Her, Indian/Canadian, Bi, Choir student (former band), Apollo's song child, book reader and writer, I have a caffeine addiction, did I mention Apollo's song child? I have a thing for dark haired older men and women (Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss), I study monarchy and history for fun (its my backup for uni), I watch horror movies to sleep better at night, younger sister, glasses girl cuz im blind.
Elsya Georgia: The eternal forgotten withered flower.
Masterlist Below!
NOTE TO READERS:
Many of my works feature mental health and self destructive behavior. I do not under any circumstances encourage or condone these.
I simply write about about them because I have done those things because of my poor mental health and because at that time I would image what it would be like for someone to be there for me.
BATFAM
Series:
Pushing it Down and Praying
Free Now.
She's Dating My Boyfriend.
I Hear Your Voice.
Limit Feelings: You're Fair and I'm Insane.
One-Shots:
Nothing here yet.
CRIMINAL MINDS
Series:
But The Old Me is Still Me.
I Am Hungry, I Have Been Hungry
Same Eyes As Your Father
One- Shots:
Nothing here yet.
AVENGERS
Series:
Nothing here yet.
One-Shots:
Nothing here yet.
THE PITT
Series:
Nothing here yet.
One-Shots:
Nothing here yet.
If you have any recommendations pls give them. I would love to write about characters you like.
This is what I mean, when I said “Spencer Hot Take”, the lack of accountability holding in him really stumps his character development because rather than saying he did some lame shit people would rather coddle the lame shit. . .
Hi it's me again I love your works and I have an idea for Hotch 👽❗️
So I was thinking of a sugar daddy!Hotch but the reader has never had one before, AND! the reader is a virgin. So the reader is way more on the nervous side, they simply just think too much and Hotch is like super understanding (tee hee soft dom!Hotch) and he's very gentle with the reader, making sure they aren't uncomfortable or too hesitant. He basically pampers the mess out of reader especially with aftercare ( he's definitely an aftercare king 😛). I'm talking he asks if the reader enjoyed themself, and reassuring that the reader did good as well (so praise is everywhere) and then afterwards he's like "spend your worries away with my credit card too. 🙂"
content warning: Virgin!Reader, soft dom!Hotch, first time sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), praising kink, aftercare, mention of wealth/sugar daddy dynamics, reader overthinking, Aaron being gentle and loving.
a/n: husband material
word count ~ 1.5k
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
You’d been pacing his penthouse living room for ten minutes.
It wasn’t even that anything had happened yet. You were fully clothed. He was in the kitchen pouring two glasses of wine. Soft jazz murmured from the speakers, the lights were warm and low, the city skyline glittered against the windows—and your stomach was full of butterflies the size of freight trains.
This wasn’t just a date.
This was the date.
The one where you finally gave yourself to Aaron Hotchner.
He’d been so patient these past few months. Always respectful, never pushing. He’d spoil you with small but thoughtful gifts—books you mentioned offhand, perfume you once said smelled “like summer mornings,” jewelry you hesitated to even try on. He’d say, “You don’t owe me anything. I just like seeing you smile.”
And you believed him.
You did trust him.
That didn’t stop your hands from trembling slightly as you clasped them in front of you, trying not to look as nervous as you felt.
Then came his voice—low, velvety, soothing. “Hey,” he called gently. “You’re not second-guessing yourself, are you?”
You turned. He was leaning against the marble island, still in his dress shirt from work, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His eyes were soft, inviting.
“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “I just…” You swallowed. “I’ve never done this before.”
Aaron nodded and walked toward you slowly, handing you a wine glass. He didn’t touch you yet. “I know. And you don’t have to pretend you’re not scared.”
Your throat tightened, emotion flaring unexpectedly.
His eyes softened further, and his smile was small but full of warmth. “Then let me help quiet it.”
He took your glass and set it aside, then reached up to gently cradle your cheek.
“You tell me when to stop,” he said. “You call the shots. If anything makes you hesitate, even for a second, we stop. Okay?”
You nodded slowly.
“And if we do this, I’ll take care of you before, during, and after. No pressure. Just pleasure.”
Your breath caught.
“Okay,” you whispered.
And then his lips were on yours—soft, warm, coaxing. Like he was kissing you not for himself, but for you. Slow enough that you could savor the way his mouth moved, the gentle tug of his fingers on your waist as he pulled you just close enough to feel protected, not overwhelmed.
His voice was barely a breath against your lips. “Still doing okay?”
“Yes,” you murmured.
His smile returned, a little crooked. “Good. Then come with me.”
He led you to the bedroom, fingers interlacing with yours.
The bed was massive, draped in soft cream linens. Candles glowed on the dresser, the scent of vanilla and something warm—amber, maybe—wrapped around you like silk. You stood by the edge of the bed, your breath stuttering as he stopped in front of you.
“I want to take my time with you,” he said softly. “Let me undress you?”
Your hands shook a little, but you nodded.
Aaron leaned in slowly, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. His fingers worked at the buttons of your blouse, giving you time to pull away if you needed—but you didn’t. You let him ease it from your shoulders. His eyes never left yours, not even when his hands traced the edge of your bra.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
You flushed hard.
He bent to kiss just above your heart. “So beautiful.”
By the time you were down to your underwear, you were trembling again—but not entirely from nerves. Anticipation buzzed like champagne in your veins. He hadn’t even touched you intimately yet and you were already wet, needy, aching.
Aaron stood up straight and gently pressed a hand to your sternum. “Lie down for me, sweetheart.”
You did. Slowly, your back hit the plush pillows, and he knelt beside you on the bed. His lips brushed your knee, your thigh, your hip.
“Has anyone ever made you come before?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head.
His voice darkened deliciously. “Then I’ll be your first.”
Your breath shuddered. He kissed between your thighs—right over your underwear—and the contact made your hips jerk.
Aaron chuckled softly. “Sensitive. That’s good.”
He eased your underwear down, lips trailing after them. You whimpered as the cool air hit you.
He took his time. He kissed the inside of your thighs, murmured praise you could barely comprehend—“so soft,” “so perfect,” “you’re doing so well”—and then his mouth was on you.
Your fingers fisted the sheets as he licked a long stripe up your folds, moaning softly like you were the treat. His tongue circled your clit gently at first, then more focused when your thighs twitched and a soft whine escaped your throat.
Aaron pulled back just enough to speak. “There’s my girl.”
You whimpered again.
“Keep making those pretty sounds for me.”
He went back in, one hand holding your thigh open while the other gently slid between your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Relax, baby,” he said. “Let me make you feel good.”
His finger pushed in slowly—so slowly—until it was fully inside. The stretch was new, but his mouth never stopped working your clit, never stopped grounding you in pleasure. When he added a second finger, you gasped—but his voice was there again, low and steady.
“You’re doing so well. So tight, so perfect. Do you want to come for me?”
You nodded frantically.
He hummed against your clit. “Then let go. I’ve got you.”
And you did. The orgasm rushed up and crashed down like a tidal wave, leaving you sobbing his name as your body convulsed beneath his mouth and hands.
He didn’t stop until your legs trembled too hard to keep open. Then he kissed his way up your body and wiped your tears gently with his thumb.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered again.
Your heart felt like it was going to explode with how much you wanted him.
“Please,” you said, voice raw. “I want more.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, cupping your face.
“Yes. I want you.”
His eyes burned with restrained need, but he still took his time. He stripped down beside you, his chest strong and dusted with dark hair, body lean and solid. You caught yourself staring, and he smiled softly, letting you look.
“You can touch me,” he said gently. “I’m yours, too.”
You reached out, hand trembling, and placed your palm on his chest. His skin was warm. His heart beat strong beneath it.
When he slid on a condom and knelt between your thighs again, he asked, “Color?”
You blinked. “Green.”
His smile deepened. “Good girl.”
He lined himself up and kissed you as he pushed in, inch by slow inch. It stretched—oh, it stretched—but he held still once he was halfway in, breathing with you, pressing soft kisses to your jaw.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “You feel incredible.”
You whimpered, needing more.
He rocked forward slowly, bottoming out. The stretch turned into fullness, and that turned into warmth.
“I’m gonna move now,” he whispered. “Let me know if it’s too much.”
You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
He rolled his hips into you in slow, careful thrusts. Not hard. Not fast. Just deep. So deep. And with every movement came more praise.
“Look at you.”
“My sweet girl.”
“You’re taking me so well.”
“You were made for this.”
You didn’t even realize you were crying until his lips kissed a tear from your cheek.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I know it’s intense. Let it all out.”
And when you came again, it was with his name in your mouth and his praise still ringing in your ears.
You didn’t know how long he held you afterward. Could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours.
Aaron cleaned you gently with a warm cloth, kissed your forehead, helped you drink water, and pulled you into his arms beneath the comforter.
“You were perfect,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”
Your cheeks flushed, but you buried yourself into his chest.
“I was so scared,” you admitted.
“I know,” he said. “You were so brave. And you don’t have to be scared again.”
You nuzzled in deeper. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to take care of you,” he murmured. “That means pleasure, protection... and pampering.”
You pulled back a little to look up at him, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked. “Spend your worries away with my credit card.”
Your jaw dropped. “Aaron—”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “No arguments. That lingerie you left in the cart last week? Buy it in every color. And maybe a few spa days. You’ve earned them.”
You gaped at him.
He grinned, all warmth and mischief. “It’s a thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me. For letting me be your first. For being mine.”
