⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

✮ lesbian ✮ 24 ✮ 🚫men 🚫minors she/her

[snuffuri]

more abby i can’t stop

[dellscape]

Professor! Abby Anderson x Reader

Chapter 63 Take my car.

previous chapter

**THIS IS AN AU CHARACTER PERSONALITIES MAY NOT MATCH UP TO CANON**

wc: 3.8k

MDNI 18+

i wrote this half asleep lowkey

Her fingertips drifted absently up and down your arms, the slow rhythm almost enough to lull you to sleep. The fire crackled nearby, filling the room with soft pops that settled into the silence between you. 

You shifted against her, your thoughts wandering until one landed with enough force to pull a smile onto your face. "You know what I want?" you asked, tipping your head back to look at her.

Professor Anderson lowered her chin and brushed a kiss against your hair before meeting your eyes. "What is that?" she asked, the corner of her mouth lifting as though she already expected the answer to be ridiculous.

A quiet laugh escaped you. "A Dr Pepper from the gas station."

She let out an amused breath through her nose, her shoulders shaking faintly. "Is that all?" She tilted her head, studying you for another moment before glancing toward the kitchen. "Do you want to take my car?"

You sat upright so quickly the blanket slid into your lap. "Seriously?" The excitement in your voice made her smile widen.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it." She pointed toward the kitchen counter where her keys rested beside a bowl of fruit. "Go ahead."

You climbed off the couch, already shuffling toward the counter before she stopped you.

"Oh." She reached into the pocket of her slacks, pulled out her wallet, and slipped a twenty-dollar bill free. "Here." She held it out between two fingers. "Get me a Snickers."

You accepted it with a grin. "Okay." Your smile only grew wider. "Thank you."

Before you could leave, she caught your hand gently. Her fingers wrapped around yours for only a moment, but her expression turned unexpectedly serious. "Drive carefully."

You nodded. "I will."

The garage door groaned overhead as you pressed the wall button, cool evening air spilling inside while the opening widened. You climbed into the driver's seat, adjusted it slightly, and slid the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled awake beneath your hands, vibrating softly through the steering wheel.

You backed slowly into the driveway.

It felt wonderful.

For a few quiet minutes, you let yourself imagine a different future. 

College would end. 

You'd find a job.

Your degree would become more than sleepless nights and borrowed textbooks. One day, you'd have your own real  paycheck with your name printed across it. You'd be able to buy groceries without checking your bank balance first. Maybe you'd have enough to help with the bills instead of always feeling guilty for needing help yourself. The future stretched out before you in small, ordinary dreams that suddenly felt enormous.

You smiled to yourself as the tires hummed against the pavement. The engine purred beneath your hands while the highway unfurled ahead, bordered by dark pines that swallowed the last traces of daylight. For a few peaceful miles, it was easy to believe your life had finally begun moving toward somewhere better.

The sharp vibration of your phone shattered the quiet.

Your smile faded as your eyes dropped to the screen glowing inside the cup holder.

Marnie.

The sight of her name pulled the warmth from your chest as quickly as it had arrived. Marnie never called without a reason. She preferred texting, filling your phone with little updates and blurry pictures whenever she missed you. A phone call meant urgency.

At least it wasn't your mother.

You swallowed the thought before it could spiral into something darker. Keeping one hand on the wheel, you reached toward the glowing screen, accepted the call, and tapped the speaker button as the highway stretched endlessly ahead.

"Ruby?" Your little sister's voice came through the speakers, small and trembling.

You swallowed. "Hey, Mar." Your own voice softened instinctively. "What's going on?"

She sniffled loudly before answering. "I miss you." Her voice cracked on the last word.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. "I miss you too." You forced a small laugh that fooled neither of you. "How's everything?"

Marnie let out a bitter scoff. "Not good." You heard her wipe at her face before she continued. "You already know."

You closed your eyes for the briefest second at a stoplight. "Yeah." The word barely left your mouth.

She drew a shaky breath. "Can you come see me?" The question hung between you. "I could use my sister right now."

Your throat closed.

You loved Marnie more fiercely than you knew how to explain. You would've crossed the country for her.

But home wasn't simply a place.

You shook your head even though she couldn't see you. "I'm sorry." The apology felt painfully inadequate. "I've got exams coming up." You laughed weakly, trying to make the excuse sound less cruel. "And..." You stared through the windshield. "I don't have the money."

Before Marnie could answer, raised voices burst through the speaker. The sudden shouting was muffled at first, as though the phone had been pressed against her chest, but your mother's voice cut through the chaos almost immediately. Even distorted by the speaker, you recognized that sharp, familiar anger.

"Mom, stop—"

Marnie's protest broke off halfway through the sentence. You heard hurried footsteps, the rustle of fabric, and the scrape of the phone changing hands. A second later, the line steadied, and your mother's breathing filled the silence before she spoke.

Then your mother's voice replaced hers. "So you hang up on me," she spat, "but not Marnie?"

"She called me." You kept your voice quiet, hoping calm might keep the conversation from turning into another fight.

The argument swelled until it drowned out every other sound. Your mother's voice crashed over Marnie's, each sentence louder than the last, while Marnie tried to speak through sobs that kept catching in her throat. A bitter laugh cut through the shouting, followed almost immediately by another cry.

The voices tangled together until they became impossible to separate. Anger, laughter, pleading, weeping, they blurred into one familiar noise, the same chaos that had echoed through your childhood home for as long as you could remember.

You pulled into the gas station while the argument continued through your speakers, the bright white canopy lights washing over the windshield. Tires crunched across old salt and gravel as you eased into a parking space.

Then you heard it.

A sharp cry split through the speaker, so sudden your hands locked around the steering wheel. Before your mind could convince itself it had been something else, another followed, thinner this time, strangled by sobs. Beneath the shouting came the dull, familiar sound you had spent years trying to forget.

Your mother had hit Marnie.

Your breath snagged halfway into your lungs. Every muscle in your body went rigid as your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the argument still spilling from the phone. Before you had time to think, your thumb jabbed the screen, ending the call.

Silence crashed into the car.

The absence of voices rang louder than the screaming had. You sat frozen behind the wheel, staring through the windshield without seeing the gas pumps in front of you. Your chest refused to rise, your fingers clamped around the steering wheel until they ached.

Finally, you shut off the engine and climbed out of the car. You left the driver's door hanging open behind you, too numb to notice, while the cool night air slipped beneath your pajamas. Beneath the fluorescent lights, your body refused another step, as though it had forgotten how to move.

Across the parking lot, the red numbers on the gas price sign burned through the darkness so brightly they could have been the sun. You stared without blinking until your eyes stopped trying to keep them in focus. The glowing numbers softened at the edges, split into two shimmering images, then fractured again. Each point of light multiplied, scattering across the darkness until the gas prices no longer looked like numbers at all.

You swallowed hard, unable to look away.

Was this what Genesis looked like?

Tears pooled along your lower lashes, bending the light until every glowing point divided again. New stars flared into existence at the edges of your vision, multiplying without hurry until the black sky was no longer a sky at all but an endless expanse strewn with distant fire. One star became two. Two unraveled into dozens. Soon there were hundreds suspended before you, each one trembling against the next, galaxies unfolding behind your unfocused gaze as though creation itself had chosen this lonely parking lot to begin again.

For one impossible moment, the parking lot ceased to exist.

You watched the first light tear through endless darkness. You watched the universe split itself open beneath a force so immense it gave birth to stars, to planets, to suns that would burn for billions of years before collapsing into silence again. It was beautiful in the same way a wildfire was beautiful from miles away, too vast to comprehend, too violent to survive.

A thought settled quietly inside you.

Maybe creation had always sounded like screaming.

Not thunder rolling across an empty sky. Not the voice of God speaking life into the darkness. Not music. Just a little girl begging her mother to stop.

Your chest tightened until breathing became an effort. The stars no longer looked eternal. They looked wounded, fragments hurled across an infinite sky by a catastrophe so enormous that, given enough time, people forgot it had ever been an explosion at all. They simply called it the beginning.

Maybe every universe began with violence. Maybe stars were only beautiful because something unimaginably catastrophic had happened first. Worlds weren't born gently. They exploded into existence, scattering broken pieces across endless darkness until enough time passed that people stopped calling them ruins and started calling them constellations.

Your mother had always been her own kind of gravity. Every room bent around her moods. Every conversation curved toward her anger. Every child she brought into the world learned to orbit the same unpredictable force, circling carefully, endlessly, hoping this time they wouldn't be pulled too close.

You had spent your childhood measuring the distance between safety and the sound of her footsteps, learning that love could disappear as quickly as a slammed door and return only long enough to make you question whether the bruises had ever been real.

The stars continued drifting apart. Maybe that was all growing up had ever been. Not becoming someone new, but gathering enough distance from the thing that kept trying to pull you back.

Maybe you had always been Pluto.

A lonely body wandering through the wrong solar system, circling a sun that had never claimed you. No matter how faithfully you returned, you remained too distant to warm, too small to matter, existing only because no one had found a way to erase you completely.

You wondered if a cruel god had placed you inside a family whose gravity was never meant to hold you. Every orbit ended the same way. You drifted close enough to hope for warmth, only to be flung back into the cold before you could convince yourself you belonged.

Maybe that was your purpose.

To keep circling the people you loved while watching them suffer simply because you existed beside them.

Your mother suffered. Marnie suffered. Even Professor Anderson had inherited the wreckage you carried. The farther you looked, the more your life resembled a trail of debris scattered behind a dying planet. Everywhere you went, someone bled. Someone cried. Someone was left carrying a weight that should never have been theirs.

Maybe the universe wasn't punishing you. Maybe it had simply written you into the wrong constellation, and everyone who wandered too close became another casualty of the collision.

Should you go home?

The question had followed you ever since the day you packed your belongings and drove away for college, lingering in the back of your mind no matter how hard you tried to outrun it. You hadn't turned down that street once since leaving. You hadn't driven past the cracked sidewalks, the sagging porch, or the windows where you used to watch the neighborhood from behind locked doors. Pretending the house no longer existed had always been easier than admitting you were terrified of what still waited inside it.

A cold gust slipped beneath your sweater and pajama pants, raising goosebumps across your skin. The chill barely registered. Tears rolled quietly down your cheeks, warm against your face before disappearing beneath your jaw, and this time you didn't bother wiping them away.

Why didn't your mother love you?

The question had changed as you'd grown older. As a little girl, you'd wondered what you'd done wrong. As a teenager, you'd convinced yourself that if you cleaned more, argued less, earned better grades, or stayed invisible long enough, she'd finally look at you with kindness. 

Now you were an adult, and the question had become quieter, heavier, stripped of hope but no less painful.

Why keep having children if loving them never seemed to matter?

You dragged your sleeve across your face with more force than necessary, willing yourself to stop crying before anyone noticed. 

After drawing a shaky breath, you forced your feet toward the entrance. The automatic doors slid apart with a mechanical chime, and a wave of warm air greeted you, carrying the familiar scent of burnt coffee, rolling hot dogs, spilled soda syrup, and old floor cleaner.

The convenience store felt strangely ordinary.

A man stood near the coffee station stirring powdered creamer into his cup. Two teenagers laughed quietly in front of the refrigerated drinks. The cashier scanned lottery tickets for an older woman without sparing anyone else a glance. The world continued moving exactly as it always had, untouched by the sound of your little sister crying through a phone speaker only moments before.

You wandered to the soda fountain and filled a paper cup with Dr Pepper, watching the dark soda splash against the ice until it reached the rim. Then you found a Snickers bar near the register, set it on the counter, and paid without looking at the total. You couldn't have described the cashier afterward if someone had asked. The entire exchange passed in a blur.

The cool night air met you again as you stepped outside.

Professor Anderson's car waited beneath the canopy lights, its polished black paint reflecting the harsh fluorescent glow in long ribbons across the hood. It looked impossibly clean, impossibly expensive, untouched by the kind of life you'd grown up in.

You stood there with your drink in one hand and the candy bar in the other, staring at the car while your thoughts drifted somewhere far beyond the parking lot.

 Part of you wanted to turn the key, drive home, and pull Marnie out of that house no matter what happened afterward. Another part of you wanted to keep driving in the opposite direction until the road ended, protecting the fragile life you'd finally begun to build.

You closed your eyes and drew a slow, trembling breath before opening them again, the cold air burning your lungs as reality settled heavily back onto your shoulders.

Instead, you drove back to Professor Anderson's house.

The ride passed in a blur. The Dr Pepper sweated quietly in the cup holder while the Snickers rested untouched on the passenger seat. You couldn't remember a single turn you made. By the time you pulled into the driveway, the numbness had settled so deeply inside you that climbing out of the car felt mechanical.

You carried the soda and candy inside before quietly closing the front door behind you.

Professor Anderson had changed the television.

The nature documentary was gone, replaced by another one. A pride of lions wandered across a sunburnt savanna, golden grass bending beneath the wind while a calm narrator explained their hunting patterns.

You set her keys on the coffee table with a dull clink. "Can we watch something else?" you asked, the words leaving your mouth sharper than you'd intended.

Professor Anderson paused halfway through a bite of her Snickers. Her brows drew together as she slowly turned her head toward you, studying your face before she answered.

"We can," she said evenly. "If you ask me properly."

You didn't respond.

Instead, you collapsed onto the couch beside her, letting your body sink into the cushions. You set the Dr Pepper on the coffee table without opening it and pressed the heel of your hand against your forehead, trying to quiet the pounding behind your eyes.

The documentary continued playing. A lioness stalked through tall grass while the narrator's steady voice filled the room.

Professor Anderson remained silent.

Instead, she watched you. Her attention never drifted back to the television, lingering on your face until the quiet between you became impossible to ignore.

Her attention lingered just long enough for the silence to become unbearable.

Before she could ask what was wrong, the words burst out of you. "Why do people have children if they're just going to be cruel to them?"You scowled, sipping your doctor pepper.

Professor Anderson lowered the candy bar into her lap without taking another bite. Her expression softened, concern quietly replacing the mild irritation she'd worn only moments before.

"Did your mother call again?" she asked.

You let out a bitter laugh that caught halfway through your throat. "My sister did." Your fingers tightened around the edge of the couch. "Then my mother took the phone."

Professor Anderson nodded slowly, giving your words room to settle before speaking again. "How are you feeling?"

You looked at her, anger rising so quickly it surprised even you.

She didn't flinch beneath your glare. "You can tell me," she said gently.

A sharp breath escaped your nose. "What's the point?" you snapped. "You'll never understand."

Professor Anderson held your gaze for a long moment before giving a small nod. "You're right," she admitted quietly. "There are parts of your life I can never truly understand."

Her honesty only frustrated you more. "No." You dropped your eyes to your hands. "It's all of it." Your voice had lost its edge, leaving only exhaustion behind. "You don't understand any of it." You swallowed hard. "Your mother loved you."

Professor Anderson looked down at the Snickers bar in her hand before turning it over once between her fingers.

"My mother died when I was young," she said softly. A faint, humorless smile crossed her face. "I was still a child." She looked back at you. "There wasn't much time for either of us to disappoint the other."

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at her, guilt washing over your face. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I... I forgot."

Professor Anderson gave a small shrug, her expression remaining calm. "I know." She rested the candy bar on the coffee table. "It's alright." There wasn't any resentment in her voice.

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[dopedyk]

repost!

serivcetop!abby, bottom!reader, strap usage (r!receiving), pussy eating (r!receving), pussy drunk abby, overstim, free use (?)

𑣲men n minors dni

servicetop!abby slapping your pussy with her strap biting her lip at the way you whine, grinding against her.

“abbyyyy,” a desperate moan falls from your lips, “don’t tease!”

“mm teasing only makes you cum harder, baby”

servicetop!abby  who’s been fucking you for hours, pounding you into the mattress, your legs shaking around every thrust,

“i’m trying to stop.” abby chuckles, a fake innocence playing at her lips, “you just keep taking it.”

servicetop!abby  begs for “one more orgasm” her pussy throbbing at the sight of you fucked stupid nodding mindlessly for more.

servicetop!abby  who can’t even think of anything else when she’s eating your pussy. only letting out needy, guttural moans that send shock waves up your core. roughly pumping her fingers into her own cunt. the other hand gripping your leg holding you open while she devours your pussy. her tongue tracing tight flat circles across your clit.

servicetop!abby  not being able to pull herself off of your pussy until you’re screaming from the overstimulation, tapping her shoulders, and wilding bucking your hips.

servicetop!abby  who will fuck you anywhere, she loves being your toy. you hardly have to give her a look and she’s following you to nearest bathroom so you can do what you please with her.

servicetop!abby that gets an attitude and when you point it out she crosses her arms muttering,

“i couldn’t talk back if my mouth was full of pussy.”

[littlexdeaths]

𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 - 𝐚.𝐚.

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff and a tiny sprinkle of angst ahead but all my works are 18+ only, reader is overwhelmed to the max and has a small meltdown and abby is so fucking sweet about it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I am gonna be honest and say that I’m not super in love with how this fic turned out. I’m probably being way too hard on myself (per usual) but it is what it is lol. regardless of that, I do hope y’all enjoy it. thank you to @bellaeilish for beta reading this for me, I appreciate you sm <3

The restaurant is loud, chaotic in the way it always is on a Friday night at seven. And normally you would be able to handle it, to slip into an easy rhythm as you bounced between the kitchen and your packed section. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing was going right for you.

It started with your first table, a group of rowdy college students who complained about every aspect of their meal. They had you running back and forth to the kitchen for the better part of an hour, catering to their every ridiculous demand only to be left with a total of ten cents as your tip. But to add insult to injury, one of them scrawled his phone number across the back of the receipt as if that would somehow make up for it.

Things only seemed to spiral out of control from there.

You forgot to ring in an appetizer and were subsequently berated by a soccer mom with a bad Karen cut and chunky highlights. Then the new host triple sat you while you were refilling the ice bucket in the back, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you ran out of silverware and ended up rolling majority of it on your own.

Every new table that walked through the door seemed to bring with it some kind of mistake: a late greeting, a missed refill, a forgotten ranch. You had honestly lost count of how many times Abby had to re-make something for you but she was still being so incredibly patient throughout it all, which only made you feel worse.

You'd been far too preoccupied to realize just how closely she’d been watching you all night. That she noticed how your smile faltered every time you entered the kitchen, saw the renewed tension in your shoulders whenever you rang in another order, and the way your composure seemed to crack a little more with each new setback you faced.

But the final straw came in the form of your apron.

The stupid thing had been giving you trouble all night, the strings somehow working themselves loose no matter how tightly you managed to tie them. While you’d been able to laugh it off the first few times, after everything else that had gone wrong, the feeling of the fabric slipping down your hips might be enough to break you completely.

You’d just barely rounded the corner with a tray full of dirty dishes when you felt it happen—that familiar slackening at your waist as the knot came loose.

“No, no no…” you whisper, fumbling to try and catch it before it could slide any further over your hips. But the strings slip right through your fingers and your apron lands in a small heap on the floor.

You just stand there for a moment, tears of frustration beginning to blur your vision as you glare down at the pile of fabric pooled at your feet. Your hands start to tremble as your fingers grip tighter onto the edge of the tray and your breath releases in short, quick huffs.

A pair of warm hands reaches out to steady your own as the first traitorous tear slips down your cheek, and the stack of heavy dishes suddenly disappears from your grasp as the tray is carefully lifted away. Before you can even try to argue, to assure that you’re fine—you’re being guided away from the chaos of the expo line and back toward the dish pit.

“Easy, now,” Abby murmurs and the sound of her voice has your head snapping up.

Her eyes are impossibly soft as she meets your gaze and any traces of her usual sarcasm are nowhere to be found. You’d been so frazzled and panicked the entire night that you’d barely looked at her. But now that she’s so close, it’s too hard for you to look away.

Because fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Her dark blonde locks are thrown up in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose to frame her overly flushed cheeks. Sweat dampens the curve of her brow and the collar of her t-shirt from hours of working the grill. The sleeves of it pushed up well past her shoulders, exposing the tatted, freckled skin of her biceps.

On the surface, she looks every bit like the gruff, intimidating line cook that you were warned about weeks ago. But the way she’s looking at you right now speaks of something else entirely. There’s a gentleness in her expression that you’ve never seen before, laced with a kind of genuine concern that makes your throat tighten.

“You okay?” she asks, and a flash of maroon suddenly catches your eye.

It’s then that you finally notice the folded heap of fabric in her hands. Your apron. When she goes to hand it back to you, her thumb lightly brushes the inside of your wrist and somehow, that subtle touch unravels you completely.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you choke out, attempting to wipe away the fresh onslaught of tears that spill down your cheeks. “God, I feel so fucking stupid right now.”

“Hey,” she says soft but firm, a wrinkle appearing between her brows as she frowns. “You’re overwhelmed, that’s not stupid.”

She sounds so sincere that it makes your chest ache.

“I should be able to handle it though,” you argue with a sniffle, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as your gaze drops to the floor. “But I keep fucking everything up, and this stupid apron just won’t stay tied…”

You completely lose your train of thought when Abby reaches out, placing both hands on your shoulders. The warmth of her palms seeps through the thin cotton of your shirt, her touch instantly grounding you.

“Take a breath for me, yeah?”

You nod, inhaling deeply before releasing a slow, shaky breath. But your hands feel stiff as you start to unfold your apron, your fingers fumbling with the tangled strings as you sling it around your hips.

“Here, I got it.” Abby’s voice is soft as she turns you around, her warm breath tickling the nape of your neck when she exhales.

You’re acutely aware of where her hands rest at curve of your waist, adjusting the apron until it lays flush against your middle and a tingle races down your spine when her palms smooth over the rumbled fabric. You can practically feel the heat radiating from her chest as she takes her time to secure the knot and your breath catches when her knuckles graze the small of your back.

“There,” she says after a beat, giving the knot one final tug. “That’s not going anywhere.”

You quickly turn to thank her, the movement causing your shoulder to graze over the curve of her left breast and your entire body tenses at the contact. A strange combination of mortification and need begins to lick up the curve of your spine as your eyes meet. But Abby makes no move to pull away, in fact she leans in closer as her tongue wets her lower lip. And part of you can't help but wonder if maybe she'll close that remaining distance and kiss you. 

A loud clatter of dishes erupts behind you, immediately breaking the spell and you stumble back a step.

“Sorry,” you blurt. 

“It's okay,” she replies, her voice low but filled with mirth. 

When you dare another glance at her, a rosy flush has begun to bloom across the apples of her cheeks, but the intensity of her gaze hasn't wavered. 

“Hey, Abs?” Manny’s voice suddenly calls from across the kitchen. “If you’re done flirting with the new girl, can you get your ass back on the line? We’re getting smoked back here!”

Abby barely spares him a glance. “Sounds like more of a skill issue, cabrón,” she calls over her shoulder.

A giggle bubbles past your lips before you can stop it and the corner of her mouth curls up into a subtle smirk when Manny flips her the bird. 

“Well, I better get back,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you mumble. “Thanks for…you know…” You gesture vaguely toward your apron. 

She grins. “Anytime.”

You watch as she turns to walk away, unable to hide the soft smile from tugging at your lips when she glances back at you one last time before disappearing behind the expo line. You release a small, content sigh as you slump against the door of the walk-in, taking a moment to fully collect yourself before you to head back out on the floor.

“She’s never done something like that before you know,” a quiet voice breaks through your thoughts and your eyes flick up to find Lev, whose wearing an all too knowing look on his face.

“Done what?” you ask curiously.

“Left the line,” he continues, rather matter-of-factly. “Especially not during a dinner rush, she's practically married to that grill.”

You fall silent but Lev doesn’t give you a chance to reply before he turns, slipping his earbuds in and going back to rinsing the stack of dirty dishes. But his words settle deep in your chest, effectively warming you from the inside-out.

You find yourself glancing back toward the kitchen, to where Abby's fallen back into the chaos of the dinner rush with startling ease. Like she hadn't just dropped everything to come piece you back together again.

As if she can feel your eyes on her, Abby glances back up from the grill, raising a brow in a silent question. You good?

And for the first time all night, you think you just might be. 

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝. 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞. <𝟑

[trevor4ever]

[squ1drice]

i’m close abby

[ruin333r]

post-canon abby idea

[littlexdeaths]

trying to go through my tumblr drafts and delete some stuff, and look what I found.

ugh… knight!abby my beloved.

[dellscape]

Lawyer!Sevika x Assistant!Reader ✧Chapter Twenty One: No! Previous Chapter ✧ 2k words **MMDNI**

Sevika let out a long breath. She rested both palms against the kitchen counter and lowered her head for a moment, as though carefully choosing words she didn't particularly want to say.

“Pamela,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unfamiliar gentleness. “I really hate having to do this.”

She swallowed before reaching forward. Her fingers gathered the binder from beneath your hands and closed it with a quiet snap. The sound felt strangely final.

“But maybe this was too much for you,” she continued, tilting her head slightly as she looked at you. “When we get back to the office...” She hesitated, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “I have some easier tasks I can give you.”

Your head snapped up.

“What?” you asked, shaking it immediately. “No.”

You pushed your chair back so abruptly that the legs scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. Standing, you pointed toward the report with both hands, your voice climbing despite yourself.

“I can do it—I just—”

Sevika shook her head before you could finish.

“I'm sorry, Pamela,” she interrupted, her tone remaining calm despite your rising panic. “I can't have you playing a guessing game with legal documents.”

You felt your throat grow painfully dry.

“I can...” You scrunched your nose, searching desperately for something convincing to say, but every excuse sounded pathetic before it reached your mouth. Finally, you let out a sharp breath through your nose and clenched your jaw. “Fine,” you muttered bitterly. “Then I'm leaving.”

You turned and headed toward the front door without another word.

You had barely reached the hallway before her voice stopped you. “Pamela.”

You froze.

“You will have dinner first,” Sevika said firmly.

You turned around.

She stood in the hallway with her arms folded across her chest, watching you with that same infuriating expression she wore in court whenever she already knew she was right.

You jabbed a finger toward her.

“You're my boss,” you shot back, frustration cracking through every word. “There is absolutely no reason for you to order me around like this.”

Sevika closed her eyes.

She inhaled slowly through her nose before opening them again. Her silver irises settled on yours with a softness that hadn't been there a moment ago.

“Black bean tacos,” she said quietly.

You frowned.

“No broccoli,” she continued, a small smile tugging at one corner of her mouth as she began walking toward you. “And as much ice cream as you'd like.”

Your lips parted.

Whatever protest you'd been preparing disappeared before it could form.

She stopped only a few feet away and leaned one shoulder against the wall beside you, casually blocking the path to the front door without making it obvious.

“I don't believe you'd actually like to leave looking like that,” she murmured, letting her gaze travel from your messy hair to your oversized pajamas and bare feet. “Why don't you get dressed first?”

You instinctively looked down at yourself.

Barefoot.

Pajamas.

Coffee stains on your sleeve.

You closed your eyes.

“Fuck,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine.” The word came out barely louder than a whisper. “Okay.”

“Good,” Sevika replied with a quiet sigh.

She pushed herself away from the wall and walked back toward the kitchen, carrying the binder beneath one arm. Halfway there, however, her pace slowed.

“But after this...” she said without looking at you, “I think we should make some distance.”

You stopped breathing.

She reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a stack of takeout menus.

“I really like you, Pamela,” she admitted, shaking her head as though annoyed with herself for saying it aloud. “I can't like you as much as I do.”

Silence settled between you.

When Sevika returned from the living room, she looked noticeably more composed. The phone call had given her a few minutes to rebuild the walls she'd spent the last several hours letting slip. Even so, there was an awkwardness in the way she entered the kitchen again, clearing her throat as though she wasn't entirely certain what came next.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

"Maybe..." you began quietly. Your fingers twisted together in front of you before you forced yourself to meet her eyes. "Maybe I could work somewhere else."

She paused.

"So we could keep..." You smiled shyly, almost apologetically. "...whatever this is."

"No." The answer came immediately.

Your brows pulled together.  "Excuse me?"

Sevika swallowed before answering. She folded her arms loosely across her chest, her gaze drifting toward the floor for only a moment.

"You're not allowed to work for anyone else."

You blinked.

A slow irritation crossed your face.

"But..." You looked away, searching for words. "You want me." Your voice softened into almost a whisper. "And I want you."

She nodded once. "I know." She exhaled. "But we can't—" 

You lifted a hand dramatically, interrupting her before she could finish.

"'Because I'm your boss,'" you mocked in an exaggerated imitation of her voice. "'Ethics. Professionalism. Boundaries.'"

Sevika didn't answer immediately. She watched you in silence, her silver eyes fixed on yours while her face remained frustratingly unreadable. 

You folded your arms. "Then I quit." The words landed between you. "You can take me on a date."

"No." This time she crossed the room.

Before you realized what she was doing, she'd closed the distance between you, leaving you backed gently against the edge of the kitchen table. She wasn't touching you, but she stood close enough that stepping around her would have meant deliberately brushing past her.

"I don't want anyone else telling you what to do," she said quietly.

The conviction in her voice erased any trace of teasing.

She looked away for only a second before forcing herself to meet your eyes again.

"I..." She swallowed hard. "I don't want anyone else giving you orders."

Your expression softened.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached forward until your hands rested against her forearms. "But I want more than this," you whispered.

For a moment she allowed herself to lean into your touch.

Then she started pulling away.

You tightened your grip just enough to stop her. "If that's really the issue," you murmured, searching her face, "then let me work somewhere else."

Her eyes closed.

A tired breath escaped her. "Pamela," she whispered, her forehead coming to rest gently against yours. "I want to say yes."

Your heart stumbled. "Then say yes," you whispered back.

She remained there for several long seconds.

Your foreheads remained together while the silence stretched between you. You could feel every careful breath she took, the uneven rhythm betraying a woman who had already made up her mind and was desperately trying to change it. Her brows tightened slightly before she finally spoke. 

"But I can't stomach the thought of you taking orders from someone else."

A small laugh escaped you. "It would just be a job."

"I know." Her voice sounded frustrated. "I know exactly what it would be."

She opened her eyes and carefully tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingertips barely brushed your skin before retreating again.

"Maybe..." she said quietly, thinking aloud now. "Maybe there's another way."

You waited.

"We could..." She hesitated again. "Arrange something outside of work."

Hope flickered across your face.

She noticed. "I could put money aside for you," she continued carefully. "An emergency fund."

You looked up at her, confused.

Her jaw tightened. "So you never feel trapped." She spoke each word deliberately. "So you know you can walk away whenever you want."

"So you'll never think..." She paused, struggling to finish the sentence. "...that you have to stay because of me."

You nodded slowly. "Okay."

A crack appeared in her composure. Slowly, almost cautiously, her hands lifted toward you. They stopped just short of your shoulders, hovering there as though she were afraid touching you would make whatever existed between you impossible to deny. She stared at her own hands with quiet frustration, jaw tightening. 

"I'm nervous to touch you," she admitted, her brows knitting together.

The confession sounded almost embarrassed.

You smiled gently.

Taking both of her hands, you guided them upward until they rested carefully on your shoulders.

"That's alright," you whispered. "You can."

For one impossible moment, she let them stay there.

Her thumbs barely moved.

Her breathing grew uneven.

Then, as though she'd suddenly remembered every reason she shouldn't be doing this, she pulled away abruptly.

"No." She shook her head and took another step backward, her eyes fixed on the floor. "I can't."

You scoffed and threw your hands into the air. “But you did at the club,” you exclaimed. “You touched me then.”

“Pamela,” Sevika sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “I was drunk.” She shook her head and let out another exhausted breath. “And high.”

You frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why don't you get it?” she snapped, frustration finally breaking through the careful restraint she'd maintained all evening. Her lip curled as she turned away from you, one hand settling against the back of her neck. “You want me without expecting anything in return.”

Her shoulders rose with a slow, uneven breath. “I don't know how to do that.” The admission sounded quieter than the anger that had come before it.

She laughed bitterly and rubbed at her forehead.

“I'm a middle-aged woman who pays for sex,” she muttered. “Do you understand what that does to a person?” Her voice cracked almost imperceptibly. “You don't know the last time someone reached for me...” She swallowed hard before forcing herself to finish. “Just because they wanted to.”

Your heart clenched. “I don't care,” you whispered, taking a tentative step toward her.

“You should go.” The answer came without hesitation. Her voice was firm, controlled, as though she'd rehearsed the sentence long before she'd ever needed to say it. “I'll order you a taxi.”

Your jaw tightened. “Fuck you.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Sevika turned back toward you so quickly it almost looked involuntary. Her jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment her composure slipped, revealing something raw beneath it before she buried it just as quickly. 

“No,” she said, her voice hardening. “Get dressed.” She took a breath. “I'll have dinner sent to your apartment.”

“No!” you shouted, shaking your head. “I don't need that.”

“Get dressed,” she repeated, each word clipped and rehearsed. “I'll order your taxi.”

Silence settled between you, thick enough to make the room feel smaller. You searched her face one last time, desperately hoping to find some crack in her resolve, some sign that she was about to tell you to stay.

She never did.

The lump in your throat made it difficult to swallow. You lowered your eyes and nodded once to yourself before turning toward the staircase. Every step away from her felt heavier than the last, your bare feet barely making a sound against the hardwood.

Behind you, Sevika never moved.

She remained standing exactly where you'd left her, her arms hanging stiffly at her sides as she watched you walk away. She didn't call your name. She didn't ask you to come back. Most painfully of all, she didn't try to stop you.

For the first time since meeting her, you wished she would.

in the OG chapter i wrote they fucked then had the leaving convo but slow burn whatever bleh

Masterlist

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[dellscape]

Professor! Abby Anderson x Reader

Chapter 62 Don't rewrite every choice you've made as though it belonged to someone else.

previous chapter

**THIS IS AN AU CHARACTER PERSONALITIES MAY NOT MATCH UP TO CANON**

wc: 2.6k

MDNI 18+

Did you miss me?

"No, I don't remember," you said flatly, settling deeper against her. "It was a while ago."

Abigail chuckled, the sound vibrating softly through her chest where your head rested. She looked down at you with an amused smile, one hand absentmindedly stroking slow circles along your arm.

"Yeah?" she asked. "You really don't remember?"

You shook your head and looked away.

The truth was, you honestly didn't know which interaction she meant anymore. Over the past three years there had been so many quiet conversations, lingering glances, and oddly intimate moments that they'd begun blurring together. You searched your memory anyway, hoping something would surface.

Abigail thought for a moment before smiling to herself. "You were so upset that I didn't have anything free for you."

You let out a quiet snort. "Oh." You laughed under your breath. "That."

She nodded. "Or..." Her smile widened mischievously. "There was the other time."

You frowned. "The other time?" You searched your memory harder.

The crackling fireplace slowly disappeared. The warmth of the living room dissolved around you, replaced by another morning from what felt like another lifetime.

Two years earlier.

It had been the end of your first semester. Or was it your second? 

You'd been late to your seven o'clock biology lecture almost every single class.

You'd known when you registered that seven a.m. was far too early for you, yet somehow, you'd convinced yourself it would be different in college.

It hadn't been.

Nearly every mornig became the same frantic routine of waking up too late, throwing clothes on without thinking, and sprinting across campus.

That morning wasn't any different.

Sleep still clung stubbornly to your eyes. There was a faint line of dried drool against your cheek, and your hair had matted itself into impossible knots overnight. You rubbed tiredly at your face as you stepped out of your dorm room, already mentally calculating whether you could make it to class before attendance was taken.

Someone was standing outside your door.

Professor Anderson.

She held a clipboard tucked against her hip, one hand raised as though she'd been about to knock. She glanced down at the paper before looking back up at you.

"Ruby..." Her eyes scanned the list. "Hadley, is it?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

For some reason, your resident assistant hadn't been doing your room inspections since the semester started.

Professor Anderson had.

You hadn't questioned it very much. You'd assumed your RA had been reassigned or simply didn't like early mornings any more than you did.

"We've got room checks today," she said pleasantly.

She looked immaculate.

A forest-green blouse disappeared neatly into pressed brown slacks, and her long braid rested over one shoulder without a strand out of place. Thin-framed glasses sat low on her nose as she smiled politely.

"Mind if I come in?"

You shrugged. "Sure." Then you checked the time on your phone and grimaced. "But could you email my biology professor if I'm late?" You sighed. "I've got work after class."

Fortunately, there wasn't anything in your room you weren't supposed to have.

Not this time.

Even better, you'd actually cleaned the night before.

Professor Anderson stepped inside while making a few notes on her clipboard. "Who's your professor?" she asked.

"Professor Seang."

She nodded, checking another box before slowly looking around the room.

Her attention lingered on your dresser.

Several framed photographs sat neatly against the wall: David, childhood pets, an old science fair ribbon tucked beside a picture from high school.

You barely noticed that she'd quietly pushed the dorm room door shut behind her.

She spoke softly. "You are a very pretty girl." She picked up a picture. 

The compliment arrived so unexpectedly that you wrinkled your nose.

"Thanks." Your eyes returned to the clock on your phone. "I really have to go.” You bit your lip. "Could you hurry up?"

Professor Anderson laughed softly. "A pretty and impatient girl."

You looked back at her, raising an eyebrow.

She crossed the room with slow, unhurried steps before setting the clipboard on your desk. "No need to rush," she said quietly.

Instinctively, you shifted your weight backward.

It wasn't a conscious decision. Your heels simply slid across the dorm room floor as she stepped closer, putting another foot of space between the two of you.

Professor Anderson noticed.

She didn't stop.

Instead, she took another slow step forward, her polished shoes barely making a sound against the linoleum. The clipboard remained tucked loosely beneath one arm as though nothing unusual was happening.

You found yourself backing up again.

Your shoulder brushed lightly against the edge of your bedframe.

She kept walking.

She closed the distance with quiet patience, each measured step drawing the two of you into the same small pocket of air. 

When she finally stopped, there was only a narrow stretch of space separating you. Close enough that you could make out the faint scent of her pine perfume and laundry detergent, close enough that if either of you leaned forward even slightly, your breasts would touch.

A small smile rested on her lips. "Where do you work?" Her gaze drifted briefly from your eyes to your mouth before returning again.

It struck you then that this was only the second real conversation you'd ever had with her.

You'd seen her plenty of times around campus, helping with residence hall duties after hours, supervising lunch shifts, crossing the quad between buildings, but the two of you had barely exchanged more than greetings.

"I work at the café down the road." Your voice came out quieter than you'd intended.

You found yourself looking anywhere except directly at her.

Professor Anderson hummed thoughtfully. "How do you get there?" She stopped just short of touching you, close enough that you caught the faint smell of coffee on her breath. 

Your shoulders tensed instinctively, and you squeezed your eyes shut for the briefest moment before forcing yourself to look at her again.  "I ride my bike." Your voice cracked on the way out. Your mouth had become impossibly dry. 

Her eyes lingered on your mouth for another quiet moment before drifting slowly back to your eyes. Something unreadable settled across her face, and then, almost absentmindedly, she lifted one hand.

Your pulse quickened.

You watched her fingers move toward you, close enough that you caught yourself holding your breath. For one brief, impossible moment, you thought she was reaching for your face.

Instead, her hand stopped at your shoulder.

Her fingertips pinched a tiny piece of lint from your sweater before she smiled to herself.

"Sorry," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I didn't want you walking around with that on there."

You swallowed. "Thanks." You tried to catch your breath.

She smiled again before taking one final look around the room. "Your inspections are always perfect." There was almost a hint of disappointment in her voice. "I was hoping I'd find something this time."

You blinked. "Why?" The question came out disgustingly naive. 

She looked at you for another moment before picking up her clipboard. "Curiosity." She smiled at you, her eyes narrowed, studying you. 

The memory dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

The crackling fire returned.

Warmth spread across your legs beneath the blanket, and Professor Anderson's fingers continued their slow, absent rhythm along your arm while you stared thoughtfully into the dancing flames.

Only now, years later, did the memory settle differently.

Why had she wanted to find contraband?

"Was it when you searched my dorm?" you asked softly. You shifted in her embrace just enough to look back at her, searching her face for an answer as the fire crackled quietly across the room.

Abby nodded without hesitation. A small, knowing smile touched the corner of her mouth as though she was pleased you'd remembered.

"That's right," she said. "I was wondering how long it would take you."

You studied her for another moment before licking your lips nervously. "You said back then..." Your brow pinched together as the memory replayed itself in your mind. "You said you were hoping to find contraband." You hesitated before finishing your thought. "Why?"

A quiet laugh escaped her. "I didn't mean it the way you're thinking," she replied, shaking her head slowly. 

Her fingers continued their absent rhythm against your arm as though trying to soothe your growing suspicion before it had the chance to become something larger.

You frowned.

"What way did you mean?" you asked. Your voice had become more cautious now, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Because..." You glanced toward the fireplace before looking back at her. "It was a strange thing to say."

Professor Anderson drew in a slow breath through her nose before answering. You felt her hand tighten briefly around your forearm, the movement so slight you almost wondered if you'd imagined it.

"Ruby," she said evenly, "don't let your mind wander somewhere it doesn't need to."

"I'm not," you replied quickly. You shook your head once, embarrassed by how defensive you suddenly sounded. "I'm really not. It just... sounded odd when I thought back on it."

She held your gaze for another moment before answering. "Your room inspections were always perfect," she explained. "You were one of the few students I never expected to catch breaking rules."

A faint smile returned to her face. "I was making a joke to someone I believed would never actually have anything hidden." She paused just long enough for the memory to settle before another amused laugh escaped her. "Or so I thought." Her eyebrows lifted. "Test cheater."

Heat flooded your face.

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked down at your hands, grimacing at the memory. 

"That's right," you muttered. "I'd honestly forgotten I'd done that."

Professor Anderson chuckled quietly. "I hadn't."

The answer came so quickly that your eyes lifted back to hers. She watched you with unmistakable amusement, as though recalling the incident was entertaining rather than upsetting.

"Can you remember any other moments?" she asked gently. "Anything else that stands out now?"

Your thoughts drifted backward again.

The fire blurred at the edges of your vision as you searched through old conversations, chance encounters in hallways, room inspections, office hours, and dozens of memories that had seemed completely ordinary when they'd happened.

Now each one felt different.

Not different because the events themselves had changed.

Different because you had.

Professor Anderson watched the shifting expressions cross your face with quiet fascination.

"You were always so cute," she said with a fond laugh. "I couldn't help wanting to watch you."

You swallowed before forcing yourself to ask the question that had been sitting there all evening. "Was your plan always to pursue me?" Your words came carefully, each one chosen before it left your mouth.

“You’ve asked this before.” Professor Anderson let out a soft snort before shaking her head. "But No." Her answer was immediate. "My plan was simply to watch."

She looked past you for a moment, her eyes settling on the dancing flames before returning to your face. "I never thought I'd actually have the opportunity to” She paused. “indulge my feelings."

You searched her expression. "When..." Your voice caught briefly. "When I cheated..." You drew a slow breath before continuing. "Was that when you thought you had your chance?"

Professor Anderson shifted beneath you, considering the question longer this time. You felt the rise and fall of her chest before she finally answered.

"Sort of." She clicked her tongue softly against the roof of her mouth. "It certainly changed things."

Another pause.

"But you still could have said no." She met your eyes directly. "You are an adult, Ruby."

You nodded slowly. "I know." The words barely rose above a whisper.

Professor Anderson leaned closer, lowering her voice until it was almost lost beneath the crackling fire.

"Then don't rewrite every choice you've made as though it belonged to someone else." She held your gaze steadily. "I know you've been questioning everything lately, but questioning yourself isn't the same thing as pretending you never had any agency."

You remained quiet, staring toward the fireplace while the flames reflected faintly across the glass doors.

After several long moments, Abby reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"That's alright," she murmured. "You're thinking more deeply than you used to." A small smile crossed her face as she settled back against the couch. "I've always enjoyed teaching you." She exhaled. “Observing you.”

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[dellscape]

hit me in the head so i can discover abby anderson for the first time again

[room-temperature-orange-juice]

Abby and Lev modern AU

[desperatva]

doodles and Sevika with pixie cut

[morbidblooduse]

femme with a breeding kink x butch who buys an ejaculating strap just so they can cum inside their femme

[dellscape]

Professor! Abby Anderson x Reader

Chapter 61 Three years and many months previous

previous chapter

**THIS IS AN AU CHARACTER PERSONALITIES MAY NOT MATCH UP TO CANON**

wc: 2.6k

MDNI 18+

flashback chapter ayeeee

May, three years and some months previous. 

"Holy shit." Your hands trembled around the acceptance letter. "Holy shit!"

The words burst out of you before you could stop them. You jumped up and down in the break room, laughing as you reread the page for what had to be the tenth time.

You'd gotten in.

Not only had you been accepted, but your scholarship applications had been approved too.

A full ride.

You stared at the numbers until they blurred together. It didn't feel real. You kept expecting someone to step around the corner and tell you there'd been a mistake.

Instead, the letter stayed exactly the same.

You finished the rest of your shift floating several inches off the ground. Every customer received your brightest smile. You refilled drinks before anyone asked, checked on every table twice, and joked with the regulars who came in after work. By the end of the night, you'd made more tips than you had in months.

Maybe people could tell.

Maybe happiness was contagious.

After tipping out the bussers, you hurried into the parking lot and climbed into your battered 1999 Toyota. The engine protested the way it always did. You jiggled the key, pumped the brake, and waited through the familiar groan until it finally turned over.

You laughed to yourself the entire drive.

David had to know.

He lived on the edge of town, a few miles past the sprawling factories that kept most of the county employed. He'd moved into his own apartment the year after his graduation. His father drank too much, and whenever the liquor got into him, so did his fists.

You parked crookedly, barely remembered to shut the car door, and ran up the cracked concrete steps before pounding on his apartment door.

A few seconds later it swung open.

David stood there in nothing but a pair of boxers, his dark hair sticking out in every direction.

"Yo," he mumbled, stepping aside.

You hurried inside without waiting.

The apartment looked exactly the way it always did. A sour smell of mildew lingered in the air, mixing with stale weed that had seeped into the walls months ago. Dishes overflowed from the sink. Empty cans cluttered the coffee table, and the couch sitting in the middle of the living room was the same one the two of you'd dragged home from beside a dumpster the summer before senior year.

"I got my letter!" you blurted, unable to stop smiling.

"Yeah?" David asked, tilting his head.

Stubble had started filling in across his jaw since graduation, and months of welding had broadened his shoulders until they barely fit the old T-shirts he wore.

"I got in!" you shouted, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

He blinked once before the sleep disappeared from his face. "Fuck yeah!" he yelled, breaking into a grin. "Ruby Tuesday, that's great!"

You laughed, nodding so fast your neck almost hurt. "Right?"

Then his smile faded just enough for concern to creep in. "Not to be a buzzkill," he said, scratching the back of his neck, "but... that university's, like, crazy expensive, isn't it?"

You bit your lip, trying and failing to hide another smile. "Well..." You unfolded the letter and shoved it toward him. "Look."

His eyes scanned the page until they landed on the scholarship section. "No fuckin' shit," he laughed. You watched his eyes dart back over the page before he looked up at you again. "They gave you a full ride?"

You nodded so hard your hair bounced. "With FAFSA."

A proud smile spread across his face. "Nice one." He folded the letter carefully before handing it back. "I'm proud of you," he said. "Seriously."

Your chest swelled.

He pointed at you with a crooked grin. "When you start making all that fancy science money, you better take me somewhere expensive."

You laughed. "Duh."

"I'm talkin' somewhere with one hell of a steak," he said, pointing at himself for emphasis.

You rolled your eyes. "I'll even let you order dessert."

"Aw you must love me huh?" David replied, throwing an arm over your shoulders as the two of you laughed together.

That night, you stayed at David's apartment.

The two of you celebrated the only way you could afford to. You drove to Taco Bell, ordered far more food than either of you needed, and laughed until your stomach hurt over nothing in particular. For a few hours, college, money, and everything waiting for you back home faded into the background.

When you got back to his apartment, David packed a bowl into his bong and held it out toward you.

"You want a hit?" he asked.

You smiled and shook your head. "I'm good."

He shrugged without pressing the issue and settled back into the couch, letting smoke drift lazily toward the stained ceiling while another late-night comedy played on the television.

Eventually exhaustion caught up with both of you.

David disappeared into his bedroom while you stretched out across the sagging couch beneath an old quilt his grandmother had made years ago. The apartment still smelled faintly of mildew and weed, but you hardly noticed. Your acceptance letter rested safely inside your backpack on the floor beside you.

You fell asleep smiling.

The next morning, you drove home before anyone noticed you'd been gone.

The house was quiet when you stepped inside.

You slipped past the kitchen, hurried to your bedroom, and carefully tucked the acceptance letter beneath a stack of old school notebooks where your mother would never think to look.

Some things were too precious to leave where she could reach them.

July, three years and some months previous. 

"Bitch!"

Your mother screamed the word as a ceramic plate flew across the trailer.

You ducked just before it shattered against the wall behind you, shards exploding across the worn carpet. Your pulse hammered in your ears while you stumbled backward, vaulting over the faded couch that had sat in the same spot for as long as you could remember.

She'd found the acceptance letter.

"What?" she shrieked, advancing on you. "You're just gonna leave?" Her face twisted with rage. "We need your money, Ruby!"

Another object came sailing through the air.

You barely managed to sidestep it.

"They gave me a scholarship!" you pleaded. "I don't have to pay tuition!"

"I don't give a fuck!" she screamed. "You owe me for raising you!"

The night before, she'd gone into your room looking for cash.

She'd started smoking weed after getting off meth, and whenever money ran short she tore through drawers, backpacks, and pockets searching for anything she could pawn or spend. Instead of cash, she'd found the acceptance letter tucked beneath your notebooks.

Now it lay crumpled in her fist.

The trailer door creaked open, and your father stepped inside. His greasy hair hung past his ears, flattened beneath the sweat and grime from another shift at the factory. His work uniform was streaked with oil, and the black stains embedded in his calloused hands never seemed to wash away no matter how hard he scrubbed. The sharp smell of liquor drifted off him the moment he crossed the threshold, mixing with grease, cigarette smoke, and the stale air trapped inside the trailer.

His jaw twitched as his eyes moved between you and your mother. The movement was small but constant, and you recognized it immediately.

He was high.

"Cherry," he said, glancing between the two of you. "What's goin' on?"

"She's fuckin' leavin' us," your mother snapped, jabbing a finger toward you before thrusting the letter into his hands.

He unfolded it carefully.

His brows drew together as he sounded out each line beneath his breath, tracing the words with a calloused finger.

"'On behalf of the...'" He frowned. "The hell does that even say?"

He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it before taking a long drag.

Smoke drifted toward the grimy ceiling.

Finally, he looked at you. "Rube." He stared daggers into you.

"Yeah," you answered, your breath trembling through your nose.

"You goin'?"

You nodded reluctantly. "'Course I am." You stared at his furious eyes.

He laughed through his nose. "What about your money?" He looked to your mother. 

You swallowed. "I need it," you said, your voice shaking. "I need it so I can go."

He stared at you for several long seconds. "We rely on your cash sometimes." He pointed at your with the letter.

"I have to leave," you whispered. "That's not my problem anymore."

His expression hardened. "Not your—" He let out a humorless scoff before handing the letter back to your mother.

That night your father beat you worse than he ever had before.

He tore your acceptance letter into pieces while your mother watched. When he found your phone, he smashed it against the kitchen floor until the screen splintered and the plastic casing broke apart.

Two weeks later, David sold you his old phone for almost nothing. You’d couch surfed at David’s until you got your check.

You spent the rest of the summer living out of a Motel 6, counting down the days until you could leave town for good.

September Three years and many months previous

A large WELCOME banner stretched across the front of the main building, its bright letters standing out against the gray sky.

The train ride to the Pacific Northwest had taken what felt like forever. You'd slept in short, restless stretches, waking whenever the train lurched to a stop or rattled over another stretch of track. By the time the taxi pulled onto campus, your shoulders ached, your neck was stiff, and your legs begged to move.

You paid the driver, thanked him, and stepped out into the cool afternoon.

A steady drizzle hung in the air, dampening the sidewalks and leaving the brick buildings glistening beneath the clouds. Everything smelled faintly of wet cedar and fresh earth. You tugged the sleeves of your oversized blue-and-brown striped shirt over your hands before adjusting your backpack. Your favorite pair of faded jeans had already darkened around the cuffs, and your beat-up Converse squeaked softly against the soaked pavement.

You followed the signs toward the main building.

Students and their families crowded the walkways, hauling plastic storage bins, duffel bags, cardboard boxes, lamps, and bedding toward the dormitories. Parents laughed while they carried mini refrigerators up the front steps, and excited conversations echoed across the courtyard.

You looked down at the single backpack hanging from your shoulder.

Compared to everyone else, you looked less like a freshman moving in and more like someone stopping by to visit.

Inside, a long folding table had been set up beneath another welcome banner. Colorful name tags, campus maps, and pamphlets covered the tabletop. A woman with a neatly cut pixie sat behind it wearing a purple button-down tucked into brown slacks.

She smiled the moment you approached. "Hello," she greeted warmly. "Name?"

"Ruby Hadley," you answered shyly.

She scanned the list in front of her before pulling a name tag from the stack.

"There you are." She handed it across the table with an easy smile. "I'm Professor Davis. Go on in. The other professors are attending the welcome fair too."

You accepted the name tag and nodded. "Thank you."

She gestured toward the gymnasium. "Have fun."

You slipped the name tag onto your shirt before walking farther into the building.

The university's website hadn't mentioned a welcome fair. Then again, this was a small school tucked away in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe traditions like this didn't need advertisements. Maybe everyone who belonged here already expected them.

Students wandered through the halls with their parents close behind, laughing while they carried boxes toward the dorms. Everywhere you looked, someone held another piece of home.

You adjusted the strap of your backpack.

You were the only person still carrying everything you owned on your back.

Maybe you should've found your dorm first.

You wandered into the gymnasium anyway.

Long rows of tables stretched across the polished floor, each draped in brightly colored banners advertising clubs, sports, and student organizations. Volunteers called out to passing freshmen while bowls of candy, baskets of pens, and stacks of stickers disappeared into eager hands.

You noticed something almost immediately.

Nearly every table had free stuff.

A grin spread across your face.

You made your way through the gym one booth at a time, signing your name wherever someone pushed a clipboard in front of you. Volleyball. Soccer. Chess club. Environmental sciences. Hiking club. It didn't matter whether you had any intention of showing up.

Every sign-up earned you something.

A water bottle.

A pen.

A drawstring bag.

By the time you reached the back of the gym, your backpack was noticeably heavier.

Then you stopped in front of the robotics club.

The table was spotless.

No candy.

No stickers.

Not even a keychain.

"Hello."

You looked up.

A tall woman with long blond hair streaked with gray smiled at you from behind the table. She looked to be in her early forties. Broad shoulders stretched beneath a navy button-down, and the sleeves she'd rolled to her elbows revealed strong forearms that looked more suited to lifting weights than grading papers.

"Hi," you replied shyly.

"Interested in robotics?" she asked.

You glanced back down at the table, searching every inch of it.

Nothing.

Your eyes lifted to hers again. "Uh..." You looked around one more time before asking, "You don't give anything away for signing up?"

Her smile faltered. "No."

You pursed your lips and nodded once. "Then no."

For a second she simply stared at you.

Then she laughed.

It wasn't loud, just surprised.

"What's your major?" she asked, amusement lingering in her voice.

You reached into the front pocket of your backpack, pulled out a small bag of Cheez-Its, and rezipped it.

"Physics," you replied before popping one into your mouth.

Her eyebrows lifted. "You'll probably end up in one of my classes." She studied your face for another moment before glancing toward the name tag stuck to your shirt. "Ruby?" 

You looked down at the badge pinned to her blouse, squinting until the letters came into focus. "Professor Anderson," you read before giving her an awkward smile. "Probably."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Your parents must be proud." Her gaze drifted around the gymnasium.  "Are they here? I'd be happy to tell them about the robotics club."

You shook your head. "It's just me."

That seemed to catch her attention. "Oh?" she asked, tilting her head. "They already left?"

You let out a short scoff. "No." Your brows lifted in confusion. "I came here alone."

Surprise flickered across her face.

"Oh." She hesitated. "They drove you?"

You shook your head. "I took the train."

Your attention drifted back across the gymnasium. Students laughed with their parents while volunteers handed out campus maps and bags of popcorn. Somewhere across the room, a mascot posed for pictures with a family wearing matching university sweatshirts.

When you looked back, Professor Anderson was still watching you.

Her expression had changed.

She wasn't smiling anymore.

Her pupils had widened slightly, and her lips remained parted as though she'd forgotten what she was about to say. She studied you with quiet concentration, taking you in piece by piece.

"Where are you from?" she asked after a moment, her voice softer than before.

"Michigan," you answered with a small smile.

She nodded slowly. "Michigan," she repeated, tasting the word under her breath. Her eyes stayed on yours. "And your parents didn't come with you?"

Did you FW the flashback ?

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[dellscape]

Professor! Abby Anderson x Reader

Chapter 60 Do you remember when we first met?

previous chapter

**THIS IS AN AU CHARACTER PERSONALITIES MAY NOT MATCH UP TO CANON**

wc: 1.7k

MDNI 18+

After dinner, Professor Anderson returned to her office upstairs, carrying her mug of tea back to whatever work had been waiting for her. Before she'd left the kitchen, you'd offered to clean up, and she'd accepted with a tired smile.

You rolled up your sleeves and got to work.

Warm water ran over your hands while you scrubbed each plate and bowl before setting them carefully into the drying rack. You wiped the counters until every crumb disappeared, rinsed out the sink, and swept the floor. The smell of garlic and roasted vegetables faded beneath the clean scent of dish soap. By the time you pushed the chairs back beneath the table, the kitchen was spotless.

Only then did you reach into your pocket and pull out your phone.

You stared at the black screen for a long moment before pressing the power button.

The device vibrated immediately.

Mom.

You closed your eyes.

Of course.

You drew in a slow breath before answering the call and lifting the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you asked quietly.

"Ruby," your mother replied flatly. "Look, we're short this month—"

"I don't live there anymore," you interrupted, turning away as your nose wrinkled.

A scoff burst through the speaker. "Can you let me finish?" she snapped.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and forced yourself to stay silent.

"The fuckin' water heater's going out," she continued. "Do you want your siblings to have to shower in cold water?"

"I don't have any money, Mom," you answered evenly.

She grunted. "You don't have a job in college?"

"No."

You heard muffled whispering before she spoke again. "This is ridiculous. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Save your money," you replied.

"You are the biggest plague this family has ever had," she hissed. "You move away and for what?" She scoffed again. "You'll never help us."

You swallowed before trying to answer. "Look—"

"No, you look," she barked, cutting you off. "I raised you."

Your jaw tightened.

"I am your mother," she continued. "I did everything I could for you."

Your eyes drifted toward the staircase, wondering whether Professor Anderson could hear any of this.

"If you wanted to do everything for me," you replied, your voice rising, "you would've gotten clean."

Silence settled between you.

"You always went to the doctor," your mother finally said. "You always had shoes on your feet."

"Those are things you're supposed to do when you have a child," you answered.

"You ungrateful bitch," she spat. "I need fuckin' money, Ruby."

"I don't have any money, Mom," you repeated, your frustration breaking through.

"I wish I aborted you. How do you not have money?"

Your chest tightened until breathing hurt.

"I go to school," you said, your voice cracking. "I go to school to get an education. To build a better life."

"Then quit," she sneered. "Come home. Work at the diner down the street."

"I am not dropping out to work at the diner so you can buy a new water heater!" you shouted.

The words echoed through the quiet house.

You hated every conversation with her.

Nothing was ever resolved. Every call tore away another piece of you. She knew exactly where to press until you felt hollow. Inch by inch, every layer of yourself disappeared until nothing remained except exhaustion.

"You haven't called me in weeks," you said, your voice breaking. "Now you call because you want money?"

"Life's expensive, Ruby," she sneered. "I didn't get to run off to some private university."

"I'm only here because I worked hard," you shot back, stressing every word. "I worked so hard to get here."

She laughed.

"What?" she mocked. "You memorized books in high school." You heard her exhale before the crackle of a lighter and a slow drag from a cigarette. "What is your degree even in?"

"It's in physics, Mom!" you nearly yelled.

"That's a bullshit degree, Ruby."

Heat flooded your face.

You paced across the kitchen, gripping the phone tighter with every step.

"You aren't smart enough to get hired anywhere reputable," she continued. "You're a stupid poor girl pretending she belongs with rich kids on that campus." She took another drag. "And I need four hundred dollars."

Professor Anderson stepped quietly into the kitchen.

She didn't interrupt.

She watched your trembling hand clutch the phone before her gaze lifted to your face. The muscles in her jaw tightened. She grabbed the phone from your hand and pressed the speaker button, silently listening. 

"And if Marnie gets sent to CPS?" your mother continued. "What then?"

You swallowed.

"It'll be all your fault if she gets raped in one of those group homes again and—"

Professor Anderson ended the call before another word could leave your mother's mouth.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eyes. Instead, you stared at the hardwood floor while your breathing struggled to steady itself. After several seconds, she reached for your hands and wrapped both of hers around them.

"You don't have to listen to that," she said softly.

You kept your eyes lowered.

"Ruby." Her voice stayed calm. "Look at me."

You lifted your gaze until it met hers.

She exhaled slowly.

"I'm sorry things got out of hand these last few days," she said. "But I never want you to answer one of those calls again."

"That's my mom..." you whispered.

"No," Abby replied firmly.

She swallowed. For the first time since all of this had begun, tears gathered in her eyes. "It's not right," she whispered.

You looked away and let out a strained laugh. "She barely calls anyway."

Abby pointed gently toward you. "You belong at this school," she said. "You are one of my smartest students."

You pressed your lips together. "That's debatable."

"Ruby," she said, her voice carrying just enough warning to stop you. "Just say thank you."

Your shoulders slumped. "Okay," you whispered. "Thank you."

She quickly wiped at her eyes before taking a shaky breath.

"Alright," she murmured, forcing the word out. "Let's..."

The sentence died before it reached the end.

Instead, her eyes searched your face. They traveled over the fading bruise along your neck before she stepped forward without another word and wrapped both arms around you.

"I love you," she whispered against your hair, the confession leaving her on an unsteady breath. One hand slid to the back of your head, cradling it carefully against her chest.

You melted into the embrace and wrapped your arms around her waist, resting your head against her. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat thumped beneath your ear.

"I love you too," you whispered back.

She nodded into your hair before pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

When you pulled back enough to look at her, another tear slipped free.

You froze.

You had never seen Professor Anderson cry.

Your entire relationship had been built around her composure. Even when she was angry, embarrassed, overwhelmed, or drunk, Abby'd always managed to keep herself together. Seeing tears in her eyes had already felt strange. Watching them spill freely down her face unsettled something much deeper.

"Oh, God," she whispered, letting out a breath that trembled on the way out. She hurriedly wiped beneath both eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm sorry."

You shook your head. "It's okay."

"No." Abby's voice cracked. She swallowed hard before trying again. "It's not okay."

She lowered her eyes to the floor. "Ruby..." she whispered, sounding completely defeated. "I'm so sorry I hit you."

The room fell silent.

She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling, but another tear escaped anyway. "I am so sorry," she repeated, barely above a whisper.

"You were drunk," you answered quietly. "It's okay."

Abby shut her eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath before opening them again. "I promise," she said carefully, meeting your gaze. "I will never do that again."

"I believe you," you replied softly.

She nodded several times in quick succession before wiping at her face again.

For a moment she only looked at you.

Fear lingered behind her eyes. "Are you..." She swallowed. "Are you losing feelings for me?"

Your forehead creased immediately. "What?" you asked, searching her face. "No. Not at all."

She closed her eyes in relief.

"Okay," she whispered.

She stepped forward again, wrapped her arms around you even tighter than before, and kissed the top of your head once more. This time she didn't let go.

You wondered whether she truly felt guilty or whether this was something else. Maybe your mother's phone call had simply given her the perfect opportunity to apologize. Maybe this was the moment she'd been waiting for, hoping you'd be vulnerable enough to forgive her.

What if you stepped back and started peeling away your own skin?

What would she do?

Would she reach for your wrists? Would she scream? Would she beg you to stop while strips of your membrane slipped from your body one by one? Or would she only watch as every layer that made you you disappeared beneath your hands?

"Do you want to watch a movie?" she asked, smiling down at you with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

"I do," you replied softly.

The answer escaped before another thought found its way to your lips.

"What happens when I get old?" You asked shyly. 

She was already walking toward the living room when she glanced back at you. A soft smile settled across her face, though her brows drew together at your expression.

"What?" she asked as she reached for the remote and switched on the television.

You followed her into the room before shrugging.

"Well..." You pursed your lips and looked down at the floor for a moment. "You like me because I'm young, right?"

She froze.

Her mouth fell open before she quickly shook her head.

"No," she replied, the answer coming almost defensively. "I like you because you're Ruby."

She let out a small, disbelieving scoff before lowering herself onto the couch and flipping through the channels until she landed on a documentary about space.

"I am infatuated with you because you're you," Professor Anderson said, looking over at you. "Nothing more than that."

You settled onto the couch beside her, your fingers fidgeting together in your lap.

"Why?" you asked quietly.

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

"There are a lot of reasons," she admitted with a soft chuckle. Her eyes lingered on you before a fond smile returned to her face. "Do you remember when we first met?"

flash back coming in 3...2...1

Next Chapter

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Tags:

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[dellscape]

Professor! Abby Anderson x Reader

Chapter 59 Answer the door for me.

previous chapter

**THIS IS AN AU CHARACTER PERSONALITIES MAY NOT MATCH UP TO CANON**

wc: 4.1k

MDNI 18+

This chapter is very dialogue heavy so i apologize if it feels... idk weird in some places.

You waited exactly where she'd told you to.

The bus stop sat near the edge of campus, tucked beside a line of trees whose leaves rustled softly whenever the wind picked up. Students came and went in small groups, some climbing aboard the city buses while others lingered with backpacks slung over one shoulder, staring absentmindedly at their phones.

You'd arrived about ten minutes after leaving her office.

Now you watched the road.

Twenty minutes.

Exactly twenty minutes.

Professor Anderson pulled smoothly to the curb without so much as glancing around. The passenger door unlocked with a quiet click.

You climbed inside.

The warmth hit you immediately.

She'd already turned the heat on, and soft classical music drifted quietly through the speakers, filling the silence without demanding attention. She didn't ask how your walk had been. You didn't ask about the phone call she planned to make to Professor Davis. There was something comforting about the quiet that settled naturally between the two of you.

She simply pulled away from the curb and started the drive home.

A few minutes later, she turned unexpectedly into the parking lot of a small drive-through ice cream stand not far from her neighborhood.

You looked over at her.

She caught your expression and smiled faintly. "I said you'd been good."

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling back.

By the time you pulled away, you were holding a vanilla cone wrapped neatly in a paper sleeve. The first bite was cold enough to make your teeth ache, but you didn't care. You ate it slowly as the neighborhoods outside the window gradually became more familiar, occasionally glancing toward Professor Anderson while she drove with one hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

Neither of you spoke very much.

When you finally reached her house, you kicked off your Converse beside the garage door and wandered into the living room. You collapsed onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, curling one leg beneath yourself while Professor Anderson disappeared into the kitchen.

A few moments later you heard her placing an order over the phone.

Pizza. Exactly as promised.

You reached for the remote and switched on the television before scrolling until you found the newest episode of the dating show set on the tropical island. The familiar opening music filled the living room, and you settled deeper into the cushions just as contestants began arguing over who had kissed whom during the previous night's elimination ceremony.

Professor Anderson stepped back into the room several minutes later, slipping her phone into the pocket of her slacks.

"I'll be calling Melissa." She paused near the hallway leading toward her office. "If the pizza arrives while I'm on the phone, answer the door for me."

You looked up from the television. "What if it's a student?"

She nodded, clearly pleased that you'd thought to ask. "Look through the peephole first."  Her tone remained calm and matter-of-fact. "If it is a student, don't answer the door." She met your eyes. "Just come to my office and knock three times."

You nodded once. "Okay."

She gave you one final approving smile before disappearing down the hallway toward her office.

You settled back against the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs as the television continued playing in front of you.

She always seemed to have an answer.

No matter what happened, she already knew what to do.

You watched the show for another twenty minutes, barely paying attention to the contestants as they argued over betrayals that seemed to change from one commercial break to the next. Every so often you laughed quietly to yourself at something particularly ridiculous, though most of your attention drifted toward the hallway where Professor Anderson had disappeared. You could hear the faint murmur of her voice through the office door, low and measured, though you couldn't make out any of the words.

Then the doorbell rang.

You muted the television and climbed off the couch, remembering the folded bills Professor Anderson had left on the kitchen counter. You picked them up before making your way to the front door.

First, the peephole.

Just as she'd instructed.

You leaned forward and looked through it.

An older man stood on the porch holding two pizza boxes beneath one arm, his insulated delivery bag resting against his leg. Definitely not a student.

You unlocked the door.

"Evening," he said with a tired smile.

You returned the smile, accepted the pizzas, counted out the cash Professor Anderson had left, and handed him a tip before wishing him a good night. Once the door had closed behind him, you locked it again without thinking.

The routine already felt natural.

Carrying the warm boxes into the kitchen, you set them carefully on the counter without opening them. The smell of melted cheese and garlic immediately filled the room, making your stomach grumble. You considered calling for Professor Anderson but decided against interrupting her conversation.

She'd come out when she was finished.

Instead, you wandered quietly back into the living room.

Without the television demanding your attention, your eyes drifted toward the wall you'd somehow never taken the time to study.

It was covered in photographs.

You stepped closer.

There were pictures of Professor Anderson standing beside Manny, Dean Moore, and Professor Davis, all of them grinning broadly while holding freshly caught salmon beside mountain lakes. Others showed tents tucked beneath towering pine trees, campfires glowing against dark forests, and smiling faces wrapped in heavy winter jackets after what looked like long days in the snow.

They looked...

Happy.

Your gaze moved farther down the wall.

A different collection.

There were photographs of Professor Anderson with her father, their resemblance unmistakable even decades earlier. In one, she couldn't have been older than fifteen, standing proudly beside a science fair display with a ribbon pinned across the front. Her hair had been much longer then, and a wide grin revealed a mouth full of braces.

You smiled without realizing it.

She looked...

Cute.

You found yourself lingering on that picture longer than the others.

A quiet clearing of someone's throat startled you.

You jumped slightly before turning around.

Professor Anderson stood beneath the archway leading into the hallway, one shoulder resting casually against the frame while her arms remained folded across her chest. There was amusement dancing quietly behind her eyes.

"Admiring my pictures?"

You nodded almost sheepishly. "I get curious."

The corners of her mouth lifted. "I noticed." She pushed herself away from the doorway with an easy smile. "Come on." She gestured toward the kitchen. "Let's eat."

You followed her without another word.

This time, instead of waiting for instructions, you opened the cabinet and pulled down two plates. Professor Anderson watched silently from the kitchen island as you carried them over before opening the pizza boxes. Steam curled upward the moment the lids lifted, carrying the rich smell of tomato sauce, melted mozzarella, and garlic into the room.

You served both of you without being asked.

Two slices on each plate.

Equal amounts.

Professor Anderson settled onto one of the stools at the island with a quiet sigh while you finished arranging everything.

As you reached toward the pantry, your fingers closed around a two-liter bottle of cola.

"Water." Her voice stopped you before you could even pull it from the shelf.

You looked over your shoulder. "But..." You frowned dramatically. "You said I was good."

A laugh escaped her. "You were." She rested one elbow on the countertop, smiling patiently. "You also need to drink water."

You let out an exaggerated sigh.

Grumbling under your breath, you returned the soda to the pantry and reached instead for two glasses. You filled both with cold water from the refrigerator dispenser before carrying them to the island and setting one beside each plate.

Only then did you finally sit beside her.

Professor Anderson glanced at your glass with quiet satisfaction before picking up her own. "See?" She smiled faintly. "You survived."

You rolled your eyes.

Her soft laugh lingered in the kitchen as the two of you finally began eating.

You swallowed your bite before looking away from your plate. Your gaze drifted toward the wide kitchen window, where the dense forest behind Professor Anderson's house stretched into the fading evening light. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches casting long shadows across the backyard, and for a moment you watched them in silence before turning back toward her.

"I have a question," you said quietly.

Professor Anderson glanced up from her plate, tilting her head with mild curiosity. "I might have an answer."

You hesitated.

"Okay..." Your fingers traced absentminded circles against the side of your water glass. "But you have to promise I won't get in trouble."

She regarded you for a long moment before setting her slice of pizza back onto her plate.

"That depends," she replied evenly. "What are you about to ask me?"

You let out a slow breath. "How..." The word caught in your throat. You swallowed again before forcing yourself to continue. "How come you're so... perverted?"

Professor Anderson promptly inhaled a mouthful of water.

She coughed violently, lowering her glass as she stared at you with complete disbelief. For several seconds she simply blinked, looking as though you'd suddenly started speaking another language.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

Her eyebrows had climbed nearly to her hairline.

You immediately looked away, your face burning. "No, not..."

You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, trying to find words that didn't sound nearly as awful as the ones that had already left your mouth.

"I mean..." Your voice dropped almost to a whisper. "You have..." You glanced toward the hallway before leaning in slightly. "A sex dungeon."

Professor Anderson stared at you.

Then, to your surprise, she simply shrugged. "I enjoy sex."

The answer was so matter-of-fact that it somehow made you even more confused.

You frowned. "But..." You gestured vaguely with one hand. "It's for your partners."

She nodded once. "It is."

You studied her face for another moment, trying to make sense of it. "But then..." Your brow furrowed. "It isn't really for you."

A slow smile spread across Professor Anderson's face.

She seemed almost amused by the way your mind had arrived at that conclusion.

You shifted awkwardly in your chair. "And you're so..." Heat rushed back into your cheeks. "So strict." You glanced down at your plate before forcing yourself to finish the thought. "And... dominant."

Professor Anderson inclined her head without the slightest trace of embarrassment. "I am."The admission came as calmly as if you'd commented on the weather.

You shook your head, still trying to understand. "Why?"

For the first time since the conversation began, Professor Anderson's expression softened. The teasing amusement faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. She rested her forearms lightly against the edge of the kitchen island and sat quietly for a few seconds, considering your question before answering.

"Did something happen to you when you were younger?" you asked quietly.

The question lingered between you as the evening light filtered through the kitchen window, washing the room in warm shades of gold. Professor Anderson looked at you for a long moment before a soft laugh escaped her.

"You sound like a philosopher."

A faint smile tugged at her mouth as she reached for her glass of water. There wasn't any mockery in her voice, only quiet amusement, as though she genuinely hadn't expected the conversation to drift in that direction.

You bit your lip and looked down at your plate. "I was just wondering."

Professor Anderson shrugged lightly. "I suppose you could make an argument for it."

She leaned back slightly on her stool, her eyes drifting toward the forest outside the window as though searching through old memories. "You could say my mother's cancer had something to do with it." She spoke matter-of-factly, neither lingering on the words nor rushing past them. "Or maybe my father's tendency to control everything rubbed off on me."

She made a small gesture with one hand before letting it fall back to the countertop. "People love finding reasons for why they are the way they are." She smiled faintly. "But sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one."

You waited.

She picked up another slice of pizza and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. Only then did she continue.

"I enjoy it." The answer was uncomplicated. "There isn't much more to it than that."

She dabbed her fingertips with a napkin before folding it neatly beside her plate.

"I enjoy being the one making decisions. I enjoy structure. I enjoy taking charge." Her eyes lifted to meet yours. "I like having control."

Your throat felt strangely tight.

Professor Anderson leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice just enough that the conversation became something shared only between the two of you.

"And you?" Her expression remained calm. "Don't you enjoy it when I take charge?"

Heat flooded your face almost immediately.

"I..." You shifted awkwardly in your chair, your fingers curling around the edge of your plate. "I guess..." Your voice had become little more than a whisper. "Yeah."

She nodded slowly, as though she'd expected the answer. "To me," she said quietly, "there's something deeply satisfying about caring for someone in that way."

Her thumb traced absentmindedly along the rim of her water glass. "I like organizing your life, helping you, making decisions when you feel overwhelmed." A gentle smile settled onto her face. "Trust is an extraordinary thing."

She held your gaze. "The greatest kind of trust someone can offer is allowing another person to shoulder part of their life."

You looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the intensity with which she was watching you. "I'm not that submissive." The protest sounded weak even to your own ears.

A quiet laugh escaped her. "No." She reached across the island and lightly wrapped her hand around yours. "You're really not." Her thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "You question me. You argue with me. You challenge me."

The smile on her face softened. "But if that's something you ever wanted to explore..." She gave your hand a small squeeze. "We could learn together."

You swallowed.

The question escaped before you had time to reconsider it.

"Would..." Your voice trembled slightly. "Would that make you happy?"

For just a moment, Professor Anderson's entire expression changed.

The teasing amusement disappeared, replaced by something almost impossibly warm. She looked at you with an intensity that made the rest of the room seem to fade into the background.

You swore for a moment, her pupils turned into hearts and glowed pink. 

"Of course it would." Her answer came softly. "I'd love to know every part of you." She continued holding your hand, her voice gentle enough that it almost disappeared beneath the quiet hum of the refrigerator. "You're the most important person in my world."

You drew in a slow breath, turning your water glass between your palms. "But..." Your brow furrowed as you searched for the question that had been circling your mind. "Why?"

Professor Anderson let out a quiet laugh, though it wasn't dismissive. If anything, it sounded thoughtful.

You shook your head.

"I mean..." You glanced toward the window before looking back at her. "Doesn't that get exhausting?"

She sat with the question for a few moments before answering. Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug as she traced the rim of her glass with one finger.

"Sometimes." The admission came easily. "It can be." She looked at you with a gentle smile that lacked the teasing confidence she usually wore. "But I think..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I think I need someone to need me."

Her eyes softened. "Just as you enjoy certain forms of reassurance and comfort from me, I enjoy taking responsibility." She rested her forearms on the kitchen island. "I like caring for someone. I like making decisions when they're overwhelmed. I like knowing the people I love feel safe enough to lean on me."

She looked away for a moment, her gaze settling somewhere beyond the kitchen window. "Maybe some of that comes from the fact that neither of us really had much of a motherly presence growing up." The thought seemed to surprise even her.

She took another sip of water before continuing.

"But if I'm being honest, I think it has more to do with my father." Her lips pressed together into a thin line. "He controlled everything." She gave a humorless laugh. "I don't think I could ever be in a relationship with someone who wanted that kind of authority over me."

Another shrug followed. "When he disowned me..." She smiled faintly. "It was one of the most liberating feelings I'd ever experienced."

You blinked. "He disowned you?"

She nodded once before taking another bite of pizza. She chewed quietly, swallowing before continuing.

"For a while." Her voice remained even. "It happened after I finished my degree." She folded her napkin carefully in half. "I told him I wasn't going to medical school."

You stared at her. "For..." You struggled to process it. "For how long?"

Professor Anderson leaned back in her chair with a thoughtful sigh. "My father didn't speak to me for ten years." The words landed almost casually, but you couldn't imagine saying them so calmly yourself. "The next time I heard his voice was when he called me before his open-heart surgery."

You looked down at your plate.

She noticed.

"I was thirty-four." A small smile crossed her face as though she were remembering something distant. "He called while they were preparing him for surgery." She laughed quietly to herself.  "I think he realized there was a chance he'd never get another opportunity."

You remained silent for several moments before another question slipped out. "What did you do before teaching?"

Her entire expression brightened. "I was a research scientist." She leaned forward slightly, a spark of enthusiasm appearing in her eyes that you rarely saw inside the classroom. "I studied cancer."

Your eyebrows lifted. "That sounds..." You searched for the right word. "Incredible."

She smiled. "It was fascinating."

You tilted your head. "Then why become a professor?"

Professor Anderson lifted her glass again, watching you over its rim before taking a slow drink. "It's slower." She set the glass down. "I enjoy having evenings." Another small shrug. "I enjoy my weekends."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Owen offered me a faculty position when I was thirty-three."

You frowned, trying to piece together the timeline. "So..." You hesitated. "Your father finally called after..."

She laughed before you could finish. "Yes." The laugh carried genuine amusement this time. "He had finally accepted that I wasn't becoming a physician." She pointed at you with the edge of her napkin. "Only for me to tell him I'd decided to leave research." A grin spread across her face. "And take a pay cut."

You couldn't help laughing. "Why?"

Professor Anderson's smile gradually faded into something quieter.

Her lips pressed together before she answered. "I wasn't happy." The simplicity of the answer caught you off guard.

You glanced toward the photographs hanging in the next room. "But..." You spoke softly. "You look happy in your pictures."

She followed your gaze toward the wall. "I was." She nodded. "There were moments." Her fingers absentmindedly folded and unfolded the napkin in front of her. "Camping with friends. Fishing trips. Conferences that went well."

Her smile became wistful. "But every Monday morning I'd wake up and dread going to work." She looked back at you. "I realized I loved the science." A pause. "I just didn't love the life."

The kitchen grew quiet again. Outside, the trees swayed gently in the evening breeze while the last light filtered through the windows.

You hesitated before asking your next question. "When did you realize you liked... those kinds of relationship dynamics?"

Professor Anderson looked up in surprise.

Professor Anderson chuckled quietly to herself, the sound warm with embarrassment rather than amusement. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands loosely in her lap as though she were trying to decide how honest she wanted to be.

"I didn't lose my virginity until I was twenty-five," she admitted after a moment. "It was with a man." She tilted her head, watching your reaction carefully. "I had to know for certain that i was a lesbian."

You pursed your lips. "You didn't know before?"

Professor Anderson's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Did you?"

The question caught you off guard.

You shrugged, glancing down at your plate before answering. "I'm from a tiny town in Michigan." A quiet laugh escaped you." Even if I'd wanted to date girls when I was younger..." You smiled awkwardly. "There wasn't exactly anyone to date."

She nodded thoughtfully. "That's fair." She cleared her throat before continuing. "But I grew up during the eighties and nineties." Her expression grew more reflective. "People weren't nearly as open about those things as they are now. There weren't many examples of women loving women that weren't treated like scandals or tragedies."

You nodded in understanding.

That much, at least, made sense.

Professor Anderson let out a long sigh. "The experience itself was awful." She rolled her eyes at the memory before taking another sip of water. "And afterward..." She hesitated. "I got pregnant."

Your eyes widened.  "What?"

She nodded once. "It happened shortly after I finished my degree." Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of her napkin. "I went to a clinic." She paused again, swallowing before forcing the next words out. "I had an abortion."

For several seconds you simply stared at her.

The revelation settled over the kitchen with surprising weight.

Professor Anderson broke the silence first with a small, self-conscious laugh. "It was quite the disaster." She shook her head. "I didn't have sex again until I was thirty-three."

Your eyebrows climbed higher. "Seriously?"

She smiled. "Seriously." She rested one elbow against the counter. "Owen and I dated briefly in high school." She smiled to herself as though remembering something absurd. "I was irrationally annoyed when he married Melissa and started a family." Her smile widened. "So I ended up sleeping with his cousin."

You blinked.

Professor Anderson laughed outright. "She was certainly memorable."

You tried very hard to keep your expression neutral, though an uncomfortable knot had already begun tightening in your stomach.

Professor Anderson noticed.

Her smile softened. "She was adventurous." She searched briefly for the right word. "And she was the first person who made me realize I wasn't forcing anything." She looked at you. "That was when I finally accepted I was a lesbian."

You nodded slowly. "I guess I just..." You hesitated. "I didn't expect you to figure it out that late."

She laughed again. "I know." She shook her head at herself. "I was incredibly sheltered." Another sip of water. "My father was what people now would call a helicopter parent."

You nodded. "I can see that."

Professor Anderson smiled faintly. "After that, I dated more." She shrugged. "I had a few casual relationships." Her expression became thoughtful again. "I spent a lot of time reading, trying to understand what I liked and what I didn't." 

She looked directly at you. "And then..." A gentle smile spread across her face. "I met you."

You frowned slightly. "But you've said you've had relationships like ours before."

She shook her head slowly. "No." The answer came without hesitation. "I've had relationships." She held your gaze. "I've explored parts of myself."

Another quiet pause settled between you. "But nothing has ever felt like this." Her voice softened considerably. "What you and I have is different."

She reached across the kitchen island and rested her hand lightly over yours. "This is special to me." Another pause. "You are very special to me."

Heat immediately flooded your cheeks.

You looked down at your intertwined hands, suddenly unable to meet her eyes as a shy smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

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