Professor! Abby Anderson x Reader
Chapter 26
'beans.'
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Your eyes widened instantly. “No, no I’m okay!”
She shook her head slowly and clicked her tongue.
“You’ve been so irritable lately.” Her brows knit upward slightly. “I worry that—”
You couldn’t lose her.
The thought sank into your chest with a frightening kind of clarity. It did not arrive loudly or suddenly. It settled slowly, like something ancient and heavy lowering itself into place inside you, as if it had always belonged there and had simply been waiting for the moment you would notice its weight. It was heavier than fear. Heavier than shame. It was something deeper than either of those things, something that seemed to live below language itself. It pressed quietly against your ribs, spreading through your chest until it felt like your bones were holding something sacred and dangerous at the same time.
Every time you tried to imagine a world where she was not there, your lungs seemed to forget how to work. The air would thin in your throat. Your breath would catch halfway into your chest like the body itself was refusing the thought. It was as if the simple act of breathing depended on her presence somewhere in the world. Without it, the rhythm of your body faltered.
The idea of her absence was not simply painful.
It felt impossible.
Like imagining gravity suddenly giving way beneath your feet, the ground no longer holding you the way it always had. Like imagining the ocean drained empty overnight, the vast body of water pulled away until only miles of wet sand remained. The fish scattered across the shore, their silver bodies dulling as the air stole the last movement from their gills. A massive whale stranded in the open, its enormous body heaving and shuddering, its cries rolling across the empty coast as if it were begging the sky itself to explain why the water had vanished.
Like watching the sky fold inward on itself.
Birds falling from the air in confused spirals, wings beating against nothing until they collapsed onto the earth in a quiet, terrible heap. The clouds tearing apart like thin membranes, their shapes dissolving into ragged streaks as the atmosphere itself seemed to unravel.
The world might technically still exist.
The land would still be there. The sky would still stretch overhead. The trees and buildings and roads would remain standing in their places.
But everything that gave it meaning would have vanished.
The invisible structure that held everything together would have collapsed silently, leaving only the empty shell of a world behind.
And somewhere deep inside yourself you understood that your life had begun to organize itself around her in that same quiet way.
Your thoughts bent toward her without you asking them to. Your decisions curved in her direction. Even your fears had started to revolve around the possibility of losing her.
It frightened you.
But the frightening part was not how deeply you felt it.
The frightening part was how natural it seemed.
Like something inside you had recognized her immediately and built a home around her warmth before you even understood what was happening. Like your heart had already rearranged the furniture of your life so she could sit at the center of it.
The idea of her leaving did not feel like ordinary loss.
It felt like the collapse of something structural inside your chest.
Like the quiet removal of the beam holding the entire ceiling up.
And somewhere in the back of your mind a softer, more dangerous thought followed behind it.
If she disappeared, you were not entirely sure there would be anything left standing inside you at all.
She was worth more to you than breath itself.
If she told you to stop breathing you might have tried.
Your mind raced through impossible, desperate images. You would give your body to her completely if it meant staying in the warmth she wrapped around you. Even if it meant pain stretching on forever, even if it meant giving pieces of yourself away until there was nothing left but the parts she allowed you to keep.
You would replace the blood in your veins with hers if it meant belonging to her more completely. You imagined it sometimes, the two of you bound together in some quiet, invisible way that no one else could ever touch or break.
Your eyes flicked toward the kitchen counter where the knife still rested beside the cutting board.
A sharp, sudden thought flashed through your mind.
If it meant staying in her warmth, you would tear your own heart out of your chest and place it in her hands without hesitation. You imagined laying it there on the counter beside the vegetables and the simmering soup, the steam curling upward around it while she decided whether it was something worth keeping.
You had already allowed her inside you in quieter ways.
It felt as if you had opened your chest carefully and invited her to look within, hoping she would move slowly, delicately, with the sort of care reserved for fragile things. You imagined yourself lying still beneath her attention, not resisting as she pressed against the cage of your ribs, studying the shape of your heart beating beneath it.
In your mind the image became almost ritualistic. The careful parting of bone, the quiet patience required to expose something soft and vital without destroying it. Your heart laid bare beneath her gaze, still beating, still warm, something living placed entirely within her reach.
And you would stay there without flinching.
You would not complain if she examined it closely, if she tested the strength of it, if she weighed whether it belonged to her or not. The idea of her touching it, of her deciding its value, felt strangely sacred. Even the thought of your blood spilling into the warmth of the kitchen seemed less frightening than the possibility of her turning away from you.
If she chose to take pieces of it for herself, you believed you would let her.
If she folded it into the quiet rhythm of her life, into the ordinary rituals of her home, you would accept that too. The heart that had once belonged entirely to you now felt like something offered freely, something that could dissolve into the warmth of her world and become part of it.
Your chest tightened painfully.
The thought scared you and comforted you at the same time.
You felt the pressure building behind your eyes before you could stop it.
The first tear slipped down your cheek quietly.
Then another.
Your breathing grew uneven as your vision blurred. You tried to blink it away, tried to swallow the tight feeling in your throat, but the emotions you had been holding back all day finally broke loose.
It felt like a dam collapsing inside you.
A broken sound escaped your chest and suddenly you were sobbing.
Not the quiet crying from earlier.
This was different.
Your shoulders shook violently as the tears poured out, hot and relentless. Your hands came up to your face as if you could somehow hold everything together, but it was useless.
The weight of the day, the fear of losing her, the humiliation, the jealousy, the exhaustion all crashed over you at once.
And you just stood there in the kitchen, completely overwhelmed, sobbing into your hands.
The sound came out of you before you even realized it was happening.
“Please no,” you begged, your voice breaking.
You slid off the stool and rushed toward her, tears streaming down your face. She looked startled, her arms lifting instinctively as you grabbed the front of her shirt and buried your face against her chest.
“No I’m sorry!” You sobbed pathetic against her. “I won’t be irritable, don't leave me,” you sucked snot into your nose as you cried. “I’ll be good I’ll do anything!”
“Ruby—” she said, trying to peel your hands away.
But you clung to her harder, shaking. “Please don’t leave me I’m so sorry.”
“Ruby!”
She finally managed to pull you back slightly, holding your shoulders. Her eyes were wide now as she quickly wiped the tears from your face with her thumbs.
You were hiccuping between breaths as she cleaned your cheeks.
Then her voice softened.
Calm. Gentle. The same tone she used when she was soothing you. “I meant sexually.”
You blinked at her in confusion.
“You need a sexual break,” she continued quietly. “I’ve been…”
She sighed. “I pushed you too far too fast.”
You stared at her. “What?”
She nodded slowly, holding your gaze.
“I don’t want to leave you. I want to be maybe… a bit more vanilla, yeah?”
You sniffled.
She nodded again. “I get excited and sometimes I can’t control myself.”
She took a breath. “I had been holding back, truthfully. But I forget sometimes that you’re new to this.”
Your lip pushed out into a small pout. “No… I’d do anything for you.”
She tsked softly. “Oh I know you would.”
She leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “But it’s my job to make sure I’m only pushing you far enough.”
She sighed again. “I’m sorry Ruby. I should’ve eased us into that more.”
You looked away slightly. “Whatever…” You swallowed. “Whatever you think is best.”
She smiled and leaned in to kiss you again. “That’s my good girl.”
A quiet laugh slipped out of you despite the tears still drying on your face.
She wrapped her arms around you and held you against her for a moment.
Then she spoke again quietly. “I didn’t mean to pick on you today.”
You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “Yeah right.”
She chuckled softly, shifting her weight on her heels as she gently rubbed your back. “I’m serious.”
You looked away and wiped at your eyes with the heel of your hand, suddenly embarrassed by how quickly everything had spilled out of you. The sobbing had come so violently that now, in the quiet kitchen light, it felt humiliating. Your breathing still hitched slightly as you tried to steady it, your shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths.
“Ruby…” she paused.
Professor Anderson’s voice softened in a way that made your chest tighten all over again.
“I can’t show you special treatment,” she said carefully. She swallowed once, the words seeming heavier than usual. “Plus you… usually you’d know an equation like that.”
You nodded slowly, staring down at the floor. “I know.”
Your hand moved absently over your arm, rubbing the skin just above your elbow like you were trying to smooth away the shame sitting there.
She stepped closer.
Her fingers lifted your chin gently, tilting your face upward so you had to look at her. Her blue eyes studied you carefully, searching your expression.
“Are you okay?”
You shook your head before you could stop yourself.
The answer came out of you automatically.
She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, almost like a quiet coo meant to soothe something frightened.
“This kind of outburst isn’t like you.”
Your lip pushed forward slightly in a small, childish pout. Your eyes drifted downward again even though her hand still rested against your jaw.
She closed her eyes for a second as if thinking. “Maybe the belt isn’t for you… yeah?”
You nodded slowly.
“It wasn’t just that,” you murmured.
She pulled you into her arms again without hesitation, wrapping you in the familiar warmth of her body. Her hand settled against the back of your head as she held you close.
“But it can overwhelm you still,” she said gently.
You sniffled quietly, the sound small in the space between you. Your voice came out lower now, a little rough from crying.
“That girl from today’s class…” you paused and wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “Sam… she talked to me in the library.”
Professor Anderson’s hand continued moving slowly across your back, tracing small circles that felt steady and grounding.
“Did she?” she said softly.
You nodded, your face still pressed lightly against her chest. The fabric of her shirt was warm from the kitchen heat. She smelled like pine soap and faintly like the vegetables she had sautéed earlier on the stove.
You swallowed, your throat scratchy and tight. “People think I left that party without Nadia to have sex with a guy named Isaac.”
She didn’t say anything right away.
Her hand kept moving slowly against your back.
You spoke again. “I think his girlfriend is mad at me.”
Professor Anderson let out a quiet chuckle.
“People never get these things right, do they?”
You shook your head and pulled away from her slightly, looking up at her face.
“No. They never do.”
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss gently to your cheek. “Is that all that happened?”
You shrugged faintly. “I guess so.”
She smiled softly and ruffled your hair with one hand before turning back toward the stove.
The soup pot simmered quietly, steam curling upward into the warm kitchen air. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a can of beans, popping the lid open and draining them carefully into the sink before adding them to the pot.
Then she did the same with a can of tomatoes, the bright red liquid sliding into the broth with a soft splash.
She turned toward you again with a small sigh. “You are so sensitive.”
You looked away slightly, embarrassed.
She stepped back toward you and slid her hands around your hips, pulling you gently closer.
“It’s one of my favorite things about you,” she said softly.
She kissed your cheek again.
“You cry so sweetly,” she murmured. “Almost like a child.”
Your face turned bright red.
She studied your expression for a moment before speaking again. “You don’t seem to like speaking in public.”
You scoffed lightly. “Come on. You had to know that.”
She smirked. “Partially.”
Then she turned back to the stove and stirred the soup again. She grabbed a handful of kale leaves and dropped them into the pot, the green slowly wilting into the broth as she stirred.
After a moment she pulled two bowls from the cabinet. They were deep green ceramic, thick and slightly uneven like handmade pottery.
She ladled the soup carefully into each bowl.
Then she carried them over to the small kitchen table in the corner beside the window.
The table sat near the glass window, where the fading daylight filtered softly into the room.
She returned to the counter and sliced up a loaf of bread. The crust crackled under the knife as she cut thick pieces. She spread butter over the warm slices and placed them on small plates before bringing them to the table.
The two bowls sat across from each other.
You sat down.
She set a glass of water in front of you and placed a glass of wine beside her own bowl.
Then she sat down with a quiet sigh and rubbed her face once with her hand before picking up her spoon.
She began eating slowly.
You took a moment to look at her.
Really look.
Her face seemed a little more tired than usual today. The faint shadows beneath her eyes caught your attention and you wondered if she had been behind on work because of the time she had spent with you over the weekend.
You cleared your throat.
“How was your day?” you asked softly.
She smiled faintly as she lifted another spoonful of soup. “Tiring.”
You nodded and blew gently on your spoon before taking a bite.
Her eyes drifted toward the window while she continued speaking.
“I was up late,” she said. “I had a student bothering me about their grade today.”
You nodded quietly.
She shrugged one shoulder.
“But there was nothing I could do. They don’t turn in work. So…”
She took another spoonful. “Not much that can be done.”
You both ate in silence for a while.
The soup was okay. The vegetables were soft and the broth was warm, but the beans were unfamiliar to you. Their texture felt strange on your tongue.
You stirred your spoon slowly through the bowl.
Then you spoke again.
“What happens if a student does that?”
Her brow lifted. “Not turn in work?”
You nodded.
She thought for a moment, chewing a piece of bread before swallowing.
“I call them in for an office hour usually,” she said. “I tell them they’re failing.”
She sniffed lightly and tore off another piece of bread. “I offer extra credit and other resources if they need it.”
The soup steamed in front of you as you stirred it slowly. “I’ve never failed a class.”
She smiled softly. “Let’s keep it that way.”
see? not that bad
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