Professor Merrythought の小説・ストーリー

Ariel’s POV The rain lashed against Professor Grayson’s window. I hadn’t planned on being here, in his private space. The rain pounding the roof filled the awkward silence as I stood by his kitchen counter, my paint stained fingers fidgeting like the hem of my equally stained t-shirt. “I’m sorry about this,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I should have checked the weather forecast before agreeing to stay late.” He moved in his kitchen as gracefully as he did in front of his students. He was the youngest professor in the art history department at twenty eight, but he carried himself with the gravity of a much older man.

"You'll get used to the women who fantasize about our Ethics professor. Who doesn't? He's so hot." "Sir Estocapio?" I mean, our prof is tall, has a nice speaking voice and a pretty fit body. "Hey you witch! Are you blind already? Sir Estocapio’s charm and sex appeal are overflowing," Cherry blurted out before giggling. I scratched my head so hard. I'm sorry. I didn't know that our Ethics prof was so handsome. It’s not my fault that I was a face-blind. "All right. All right. I have to go, Meredith. By the way, looking forward to being with you again in a debate room, representing our university. See you tomorrow at our org’s meeting!" Cherry waved at me before leaving the room.

I answered, seemingly uninterested. “Clevincent Madriano Suitarez! He’ll be our professor for our major subject all year. Oh my gosh, I’m definitely not going to be absent,” my friend said, still holding onto my arm. But I couldn’t help but smile at what Sheila said, good thing she didn’t see it.

"Come, anchor your frame here for a moment. Mbok shall procure a glass of water to stabilize you." I desperately regulated my erratic breathing while awaiting Mbok Parti’s return. My internal network was practically vibrating with an unbearable impatience to decode the solution. Yet conversely, a parallel wave of acute horror paralyzed my system. What catastrophic wreckage would manifest if my dark hypotheses proved to be entirely valid? I possessed zero psychological capacity to visualize a scenario where the ruthless professor who had repeatedly violated the sanctity of my flesh sat enthroned upon a matrimonial stage alongside my own closest companion. "Here you are, Non. Consume this imme

The class runs out and when Prof calls the end of the class, he says, “Linger for a minute would you, Miss Winthrop?” I nod feeling my cheeks start to burn. The class empties quickly, and I pack my stuff in my bag, walking down the hollow stairs to the front of the class where my professor is waiting for me. “You are in trouble, Butterfly” he says and my gulp at the sound of his hoarse voice sinking through me. “I know. I am sorry, this wouldn’t happen again,” I say finding it hard to believe my own self. I feel Professor Quinn's brown eyes peruse my body, but I don’t look at him for fear that he might see how exhausted I am dealing with two jobs and school.

“You’re more of an idiot than I thought. Delilah’s mother left behind immense wealth and prestige to be with her rogue companion. Do you seriously think a woman like that would be impressed?” “You may be right. I’m sorry.” “The Hunts may not have wealth in the tangible sense, but they have wealth in honesty and integrity—something Nocturne Academy severely lacks.” We were interrupted by my office intercom buzzing. I answered with a press of a button. “Yes, Ms. Stewart?” “I am sorry to interrupt, but Professor Draven is here to speak with you.” “Tell Professor Draven to schedule an appointment,” I replied. “I tried, but he insists. He says it’s about Ms. Hunt.”

LILY’S POV~ Is that Professor Derrin’s substitute? He is dang cute! I can't believe a thought like that would land me in something I never dared imagine. Who could this stunning professor be, the hot, sexy devil? How has he had every girl on campus drop their panties for him? To make things worse, my next-door neighbor is my psych professor. I am failing his class, and now I'm in his black book. The memories from last night came haunting me as I got ready for his class.

“Why not? Free food, free money, free gossip. You could use at least one of those.” Ava hesitated. The idea of being anywhere near Dr. Reid right now made her chest tighten—but she couldn’t exactly tell Camille that. “I’ll think about it.” Camille rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if you change your mind, wear that little cream dress you bought last month. The professors will probably show up in boring blazers; someone needs to brighten the room.” When she left, the dorm felt too quiet. Ava sank onto her bed, phone in hand. Jason’s name blinked on the screen again:

I can see each muscle as she flexes, her calves high and tight as she balances on her four-inch heels. Just as I am sure one more step will make me fall over dead, the professor makes one last turn before stopping before a solid wood door. On a brass placard placed at about eye level, the word with the name 'Dr. Delilah M Davis is engraved. The number 225 is listed just above it with smaller, matching bras. Pulling a key from an inner jacket pocket, she jams it into the lock, twists, and with a quiet little click it swings open. Without saying a word, Professor Davis disappears inside.

“Did you think you were Taylor Swift, little girl? Did you think writing too much like her would make me happy? She is already in the business. We don’t need another one.” I lower my head, clenching my fist because I want to shout back so badly. Professor Clarke is a sophisticated woman in her mid-thirties, but she has mood swings like a woman going through menopause. I don’t argue with my professors, but she’s the only one who upsets me to the core. “I understand, professor.” I’m also not the only student going back and forth at her office in the past few weeks, but I’m the last one she hasn’t passed.