In which Aaron Hotchner is a sexy professor, and Rebecca is his infatuated student. College is expensive, and it's certainly not helpful if Rebecca isn't learning anything because of her hot teacher, so she figures she's got to drop the class entirely. Hotchner disagrees..

New chapters out soon!!!

It's all on Ao3 under the same user.

An excerpt from something I'm working on:

*Warning! Suggestive adult content*

"What was that all about?" I ask.

"Distracted driving is serious." He answers, sounding like some driver's ed video.

"I was not distracted." I argue. He raises his eyebrows.

"Really?" He tests. I nod adamantly. I'm a damn liar and he knows it. I kneel down to tie my shoe real quick. Bugs hum in the near woods. The vibe is completely off. I feel usurped, and left to figure out why. He stands above me and runs his hand through my hair like he's guarding me. It's comforting to my slightly heated attitude. He slowly pushes my face toward his crotch, pressing me against him. His hand covers a good amount of my head. He's gentle, but I get the message. The dynamic between us has definitely changed. His pants are expensive, I can tell by the way they feel strong and soft against my face. My brain zones out. Only a dull thrumming bounces around my head. My limbs are simply putty for him to mold. I feel warm and safe. He releases his hand but I linger on my knees, still dumb. I look up at him through my eyelashes.

"Come on." He murmers, looking almost sorry for me.

An excerpt from 'Cynthia's Sinfulness':

"Mother Mary full of grace, protect me. Absolve me of my sins." He mutters while staring me dead in the eyes. He starts moving closer, and fast.

"Father, please-" I back away. Paul grabs me arouns the waist as I turn to run. Just like the woman.

"Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." His breath tickles the back of my neck. I squirm and try to escape but somehow this scrawny preist is stronger than me. He grunts in frustration as I kick his shins though.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." He groans. His large right hand comes over my head and yanks my head to the side. His mouth ghosts over my neck, his hair touches my ear.

From an unitiled work that's been sitting in my notes app for a century:

"Okay, pull over now. You're done." He announces. His left hand holds my leg while his thumb strokes circles. I glance at him suspiciously.

"I'll drive us back." I try.

"Pull over." He restates.

"But -"

"Okay, enough." He says through gritted teeth and fading humour. His hand is clamped over my mouth. I wanna lick his hand. Good thing, too. I would've said something out of pocket.

"Right here. Now park it." He points at a sandy spot on the side of the road. The car is slowed down now, so I pull in and put it in park. He removes his hand from my mouth.

"Get out." He says. I don't ask why. But I also don't think he's angry. I stand outside the car with crossed arms and a tapping foot. My shoelace bounces around untied.

"What was that all about?" I ask.

"Distracted driving is serious." He answers.

"I was not distracted." I argue. He raises his eyebrows.

"Really?" He tests. I nod adamantly. I'm a damn liar. His slacks were so tight across his lap and I had to look. I kneel down to tie my shoe reap quick. He stands above me and runs his hand through my hair like he's guarding me. He slowly pushes my face toward his crotch, pressing me against him. His fingers weave through my hair. He's ever so gentle, but I get the message. His pants are expensive, I can tell. My brain zones out. Only a dull thrumming bounces around my head. My limbs are simply putty for him to mold. He releases his hand, but I linger on my knees, still dazed."

From a Father Paul Hill fanfic I'm writing(mature):

"The man stands above me like the framed, famed paintings of Jesus in church, though admittedly jesus could never fufill me like this. Hands in his pockets; a lax stance. He is so beautiful in the way a painting of a man in climatic suffering would be. Gentle eyes beneath drooping lids and content smirk. A good Catholic boy, just like my Nana wants. He knows, and I know that he was never a staunch believer. He was never good. He speaks of god exactly the way sweet Catholic boys shouldn't. God, when he curses, god when he comes. God, on my tongue, when He pushes past sealed lips with stern delicacy to placate the world in my head."

From a fic I'm working on:

His pupils glow midnight black within the confines of milky brown irises akin to well loved leather; a hazy lake lapping at the sides of a thin, rusty canoe, horrors unseen beneath the night's eerie stillness that drapes every sense in matted sheep's wool.