chris redfield||fem!reader||tw: THIS IS EXTREMELY LONG, like MUCH longer than my leon one lol -- age gap (10+ years), teacher/student relationship, power dynamic, mention of explicit pictures/sexting, oral, fingering, creampie. slightly dominant!reader (18-25), slightly awkward, drunkard professor!chris (30-35). modern college AU, featuring piers nivans, jill valentine.
you're tired. there are plenty of reasons as to why.
it's late. you've studied all night.
the clock that's situated across the old refrigerator currently ticks a little over half-past eleven, annoyingly reminding you that it'd be a wise decision to head to bed and get some much-needed rest before your morning classes start. the sink you linger by had finally been emptied of the dirty dishes that had been piling up over the course of the week.
unlike yourself, both of your roommates had been smart enough to finish their chores early and depart just as quickly. already soundly asleep; the doors that lead to their respective bedrooms are closed shut. you aren't surprised really: it's a perfect night for snoozing, after all. it's nice and cold outside, and quiet and warm inside.
as you stand in the little kitchenette of your modest student apartment, dressed in your warmest pajamas and fuzzy socks, there isn't a sound to be heard besides the mellow pitter-patter of rain that occasionally makes the window to your left rattle. the sound calms you, but your mind still continues to whir as you open the tap and wait for the water to reach room temperature. much like the ancient boiler that takes ages to start working, your kitchen is just as busted and could definitely use some renovating.
perhaps you could gather a couple of your friends and throw a splash of color on the walls with their help, maybe add some indoor plants that you could place on the windowsills? now that you've finally finished and submitted the assignment to your dumb criminal justice professor, you could do it over the weekend, buy a bottle of wine or two, and-
-wait, did you send the assignment..?
you're nearly finished with filling up your water bottle when it dawns upon you; the acknowledgment is as sharp as ice. blinking, you can feel the cool liquid begins to overflow the rim of the bottle, dousing both of your hands with cold water that never even got the chance to heat up. your face twists at the unpleasant sensation.
it must be a mistake. has to be, right?
staring at the tap you've just turned off, anxiety begins to creep in. you must be wrong - you're sure of it. no, you're positive... and yet, slow, albeit steady, panic still continues to crawl inside your brain like an intrusive spider landing on your chest from above your bed. with every passing second you spend inside the kitchen you're barely paying rent for, the cloud of doubt looming above your head grows bigger and bigger.
you definitely remember seeing that file amongst the mess of documents on your computer whilst you'd been typing the email. and, that's fine; there's nothing wrong with that. but now, you're stuck wondering if your stupid, idiotic self actually managed to... send it somehow?
in mere seconds, your water bottle is sent flying into the sink as you sprint back towards your bedroom with quick-paced footsteps; all of them executed in absolute haste. you haven't even run a long distance, and your breaths are already shaky by the time you reach your desk - teeth chewing on the fresh manicure that you've saved up for as you practically yank open your laptop and tap the browser with eyes as wide open as a frightful fawn's.
"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." impatience seeps out of you now, and your pupils turn as big as saucers whilst you take the moment to just scan the page that finally opens up after the computer comes back to life.
palms turn clammy as you begin to click around. dread is blooming and increasing inside your chest, pulsating inside of you in a beat like that of a warrior drum. even your fingers are trembling above the used touchpad in the same quivery way your upper lip does now. every breath you suck into your lungs is becoming increasingly painful.
finally landing onto the thing you've been searching for like some fucking maniac - special thanks to your shitty apartment's equally shitty internet connection - you check and skim through the email you've sent out just a couple of minutes ago.
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:27 PM
Dear Professor Redfield,
I'm terribly sorry for reaching out this late, however, I've finally finished fixing all of the mistakes in my assignment that you were so kind to point out. Attached below is the document containing the final version.
Again, I apologize for all the inconvenience I might have caused with my tardiness. Hopefully, this email finds you well.
Kind regards,
Y/n L/n
👩💻
so far so good, right? as your eyes scan the text, you attempt to ignore the way your heart continues to thunder inside your chest. besides the dryness, there's nothing off with the message itself, it seems.
and that is indeed true; there really isn't anything wrong with the message. the problem hides in the assignment you've sent - or the lack thereof.
so you open the file that is attached below your rather blunt email and instantly cringe at the image that pops up. ignoring the sweat that trickles down your neck, you close the damn thing so swiftly that the screen threatens to lag, and repeat it all over again... and again... just to be sure, and to suffer some more while you're at it...
there's no doubt about it now.
stomach clenching in pure horror, nausea overcomes you as you see yourself on the screen - body almost completely nude - instead of the paper you've just spent hours working on like a lunatic.
congratulations! being the braindead girl that you are when you're tired, you've just succeeded in sexting the worst person imaginable, if you exclude your parents. your fucking nude, sent to your fucking criminal justice professor who you borderline despise because of how mean he can get during lessons.
great.
speaking of mean, you're surprised you aren't dead already because of it. whenever you look at the screen and see his name, the world begins to spin. you actually feel physically ill.
sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in an attempt of biting down a miserable sob and stabilizing yourself, you're beginning to tremble in your cheap desk chair that had come along with the dorm's furniture. i mean- what the fuck are you supposed to do now?! yell at your professor in all caps lock to not open the email? block him? never show your face on campus again? move across the state and start a new life under the pseudonym of your favorite fictional character?
now that you think about it, he'd probably like that... considering how the first semester is going so far, getting you out of his class is probably his number one priority! he's always had it out for you for absolutely no reason - not any reason that you know of, anyway. you'd just be doing him a favor at this point.
but pushing all of that to the side, you're still panicking. glaring at the screen through blurry vision because of the quickly-upcoming tears that are threatening to spill any moment now, you're just about ready to bawl your eyes out, to tear your hair out, to take yourself out.
DING!
the sound makes you nearly jump out of your skin. fear overcomes you all over again as your phone flashes the notification of a new email that shows up a second, before your laptop comes in sync with the device and updates the list of unopened messages in your browser. it seems that mr. redfield doesn't intend to give you enough time to do any of the 'getting rid of this situation, and consequently, yourself' schemes you were planning on executing, because right now, his response is waiting for you to click open in bold font.
your stomach is still twisting, pressing even harder on your rising nausea. the lump that's formed inside your throat is so big that it's impossible to swallow as you take a deep breath and - click!
as is expected, his reply is snippy, but nonetheless, utterly humiliating.
👨💻
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:39 PM
Miss L/n,
I think you might have sent me the wrong file by mistake.
While I do feel flattered by your attempt (?) at bringing light to the nuisance that is your overdue assignment, I am not quite sure if it'd be proper for your email to find me as well as you'd hoped for.
If you can, send the proper document as soon as you're able.
Sincerely,
Chris Redfield
👨💻
god fucking damn it, he's seen it. all cute and glistening underneath the nearly see-through damp patch of your lace thongs; your bitter professor has seen your all-the-more sweet pussy in 4K. bent over and yearning to be filled.
at this point, you might as well begin your search for a gravestone, because you're just about ready to dig yourself a hole and simply die in it.
instead of doing that, you read the message again.
flattered, he tells you. what a fucking prick, of course, he's chosen to fuck with your already-crumbling sanity - just for the fun of it.
zoning out whilst staring at the email, you can nearly taste the sarcasm dripping off of the letters in that taunting sort of way he prefers using with you every chance he gets. if you try hard enough, you can even hear him in your head. oddly enough, it fails to make you sick though.
flattered.
you should obviously feel repulsed by the word and the way it's used, you know that, and yet all you feel coursing your veins... is piping hot thrill.
because, whether you like it or not, whenever mr. redfield zeroes in on you during lessons, you cannot keep yourself from perking up like you're his dog - or his bitch, so to speak. he walks over and looks down at you with those sharp, hazelly-blue eyes, and fuck, it feels like a gift of sorts. one with your name on it, specifically; a pretty bow on it and everything, even though he's fucking mean as hell.
truth be told, you don't just dislike his treatment; you hate it. hate him. again, or do you?
yes, you do! like, he makes you answer the silliest, most complex of questions for reasons unknown all the time, but have you ever asked yourself why he does it? maybe him pestering you, not being fair just like the world isn't fair, constantly drilling you to strive for higher goals and getting better grades could actually be considered... a good thing?
because let's be honest, professors rarely give a crap, don't they? more often than not, their salaries just aren't high enough for them to actually care about their students and waste any more time on them than what is absolutely necessary (a/n: i don't actually think this! i am going to school to become a teacher [sadly] LMAO). but, mr. redfield...
...he clearly cares about you in his own weird, overbearingly strict way, right?
after all, when you nearly get every single one of his questions wrong - of course you do, you're nothing but a ditzy girl that's constantly daydreaming about things that have nothing to do with his lessons, apparently - it makes him smile. it's this conceited grin that shows off his pretty teeth, and that makes his face radiant. a complete change of character.
and, as if that wasn't enough already, he likes to rest both of his palms on your desk then... with no ring in sight, and with eyes as dark as ever, whilst they search into your own and he tells you to apply yourself. low and serious, despite the smile, which you yearn to slap off of his pretty face as soon as it appears. he looks at you almost like he pities you in a way.
some small, docile, part of you wishes he did.
you just can't help yourself. because even at those times, it isn't anger that brings your very blood to a simmer as you stare at that wretched grin that adorns his lips.
no, it's pure infatuation. no matter how harshly he drags you down with it... right there; in front of the entire class, as well as all the super popular girls you're low-key terrified of, with all their sneering and whispering going around.
however, all of that you can endure - to a reasonable degree, of course. trouble starts whenever mr. redfield decides that just smiling at your incompetence simply isn't enough; when the time comes that he has to kick it up a notch for whatever reason, and needs to bully you some more.
he leans back in his chair, leisurely crossing one ankle over the other like he owns absolutely no care in the world, and chides ever-so-sweetly: "wrong again, miss l/n. like i've suggested before, maybe you should apply yourself if you wish to see better results."
and he's telling you he's fucking flattered right now!?
confusion fogging your mind, your fingers are sweat-riddled to the point of slipping off the goddamn keys as you begin to type your reply, paying no heed whatsoever to keep the email as formal as you had done with the one before it.
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:42 PM
mr. redfield, i am SOSOSO SORRY !!!! ik i've sent the wrong file, i am absolutely mortified that you had to see that!! please forgive me, i swear it was an honest mistake!!!!! i really am so sorry
i'll send the right one right away, don't report me to the faculty or something. please please pLEASE i'm so close to graduating, oh god ...
👩💻
not even two full minutes later, another reply chimes in.
👨💻
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:44 PM
Reporting you would be utter nonsense.
Besides, you're an adult, are you not?
👨💻
a flash of anger rushes through you at his choice of wording, however, you somehow succeed in stifling it as you type the short reply with utmost aggression. who does he think he is, talking to you like that?! you're about to die from embarrassment, and here he is: being snarky at your expense!
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:45 PM
yes, sir. i am indeed a functioning adult.
👩💻
only semi-satisfied with your rather brute reply - having to keep at least a hint of professionalism - you secretly hope that he can distinguish the sarcasm from the intimidation that lingers in between. even if you're in absolutely no position to be commanding the situation, you can at least try to touch the reins that he holds in his hands, right?
👨💻
DING!
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:45 PM
Good. Please act like one, then.
DING!
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:45 PM
If it's not too hard of a task for you, of course. :-)
👨💻
fucker.
it seems that he indeed can recognize sarcasm over text. you'd roll your eyes at the stupid emoji if you weren't so jittery. he's already getting on your nerves from how flustered and stressed he makes you over goddamn email.
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:46 PM
with all due respect, professor, it's pretty hard for me to remain calm and act like a 'functioning adult' after the picture i've just sent you.
DING!
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:47 PM
Why so upset? It's not even that bad of a picture.
👨💻
another email immediately follows after the first one.
👨💻
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:48 PM
What I meant was that you shouldn't feel embarrassed at all by the little mishap.
👨💻
of course... you haven't even been given the chance to ask for an explanation and he's already giving it to you.
biting the inside of your cheek, you fail to suppress the flush of heat that blooms on your face as you reread the two messages. telling you that your nude isn't bad; mr. redfield cannot possibly be serious. but now that you already have him here... you could ask?
your fingers linger over the keys for a moment as you stare at the screen. it surely wouldn't hurt. you've already dug a hole deep enough, what's another inch?
right?
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:50 PM
am i supposed to be saying 'thank you' for the ever-so-kind semi-compliment?
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:53 PM
Maybe I should be the one saying thank you instead?
👨💻
holy shit- his suddenly lewd answer sends a heatwave rushing through your chest. it aims straight down to your stomach and to your very core; warms it up real nice.
are you actually reading this correctly?!
👨💻
DING!
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:54 PM
fuckk I can't believe I actually sent that
DING!
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:55 PM
I'm sorry, that was terribly uncalled for.
i don't know what got into me, but i've had a bit to drink
👨💻
your heart hurts from how fast it's beating now as you watch his nice and tidy spelling deteriorate with every extra email he sends you. palms turn clammy again and digits fidgety in a way like they do during pesky finals week. the stress has gotten so bad that you even have to take a minute just to breathe, and breathe, and breathe.
in and out, the intensity you're using to suck air into your aching lungs makes you feel light-headed by the time you begin to type your response.
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:58 PM
it's okay, we've both made mistakes tonight.
👩💻
he answers nearly in an instant.
👨💻
DING!
[C.R.]
Thursday, 11:59 PM
might make more if we keep talking... i should go.
👨💻
he should go, it's true. despite that, the thought of ending the conversation still saddens you all of a sudden.
you're not ready to let him go just yet, are you?
christ- what is with you? are you that sleep-deprived that you're willing to mess with your professor just for the fun of it?
👩💻
[You]
Thursday, 11:59 PM
oh... are you sure?
👩💻
it seems so.
it feels like eons are passing as you wait for mr. redfield to finish brooding and weighing his options from miles away. sitting in silence, with your face illuminated by the screen of your laptop, you can't believe yourself. i mean, truly, what on earth has gotten into you? you're flirting with your professor at midnight, asking him to keep chatting with you as if he's a close classmate instead of your teacher.
it all makes you start biting your nails again; skin pulling taught with nervosity. by the time his reply finally arrives, you've almost ruined the pretty manicure.
👨💻
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:03 AM
well... would you like me to stay?
👨💻
your pulse quickens. he wants to talk to you; it's now become painfully obvious, he's just too big of a coward to admit it. silly man.
but, it's not like you're going to outright admit that you wish to chat with him some more, too.
👩💻
[You]
Friday, 12:04 AM
well, you're actually bearable now... so, i guess i can talk to you a bit more if i really have to? haha
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:06 AM
you don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, sweetheart. i can always go grade your assignment if you'd prefer that, just send it to me :-)
👨💻
now that makes you tingle all over, if you ignore the jab. makes you pull your knees all the way up to your chest so that you can press your forehead against them and stifle the squeal that's bubbling up your throat and threatening to slip past your lips, forming a risk to wake your roommates. he's such a smartass; so insufferable, and you're so in love with his wit and crude charm.
and you're also so lucky that he can't see you right now... that he can't guess how much the pet name actually fazes you, just because it comes from a man like him. even the corners of your lips are twitching from the smile that keeps insisting to form as you type.
👩💻
[You]
Friday, 12:06 AM
no, no!!! talking to you is just fine
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:07 AM
yeah? even if i use these bad boys? :-) :-) :-)
[You]
Friday, 12:07 AM
sure.
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:08 AM
continuously? :-) :-)
[You]
Friday, 12:08 AM
mhm
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:09 AM
damn. you must really like me then, hm? ;-)
👨💻
heat crawls up your neck as you read the message one, two, three times over. his little emoticons are so stupid that they're almost endearing in a way. it turns you soft; pliant like a naive teacher's pet. you have to physically shake your head to repress your giddiness and fully snap out of it.
👩💻
[You]
Friday, 12:11 AM
i'll like you even more if you give me a good grade on my assignment
👩💻
there, that's better. you've even attached the right document this time.
👨💻
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:12 AM
haha. do you think you deserve it?
[You]
Friday, 12:13 AM
enduring your emojis like the tough bitch i am? i think i deserve the world ...
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:14 AM
:-( are they really that bad?
[You]
Friday, 12:14 AM
i just think the lil nose makes it a bit strange
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:15 AM
well, i, for one, am rather fond of my nose. flatters my side profile.
[You]
Friday, 12:16 AM
sure, but your pretty side profile isn't enough to convince me into liking them, sir.
👩💻
too far?
👨💻
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:20 AM
pretty, huh?
👨💻
seems not.
👩💻
[You]
Friday, 12:21 AM
that wasn't the point & you know it
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:22 AM
aha, right right. i'm sorry, sweetheart.
[You]
Friday, 12:23 AM
gosh, i'm surprised your head doesn't float away with an ego that big
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:25 AM
probably because i'm lucky enough to have another big thing that grounds me just as good
👨💻
jesus. fucking. christ.
how did you two get here so fast?
oh, right... the nude.
👩💻
[You]
Friday, 12:25 AM
yeah? and what exactly is this big thing of yours?
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:27 AM
my brain.
[You]
Friday, 12:28 AM
oh wow
👩💻
'oh, wow', really... 😒
👨💻
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:29 AM
what? did you think i was going to say something else?
[You]
Friday, 12:29 AM
no, of course not!! i was just surprised you actually have a brain
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:30 AM
sure you were :-)
[You]
Friday, 12:31 AM
ughhhhhh !!! & here you are, forcing me to see those stupid emotes again
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:32 AM
B)
look, here's one without a nose! lil guy has sunglasses on, heh.
[You]
Friday, 12:34 AM
sir, please... this is silly, specifically for a baby buster, gen x kid like urself
[C.R.]
Friday, 12:37 AM
well, how about you give me your number so i can call you then? that way you won't have to see them?? :-)
👨💻
a smile ghosts over your lips as you read the message, pulse erratic. it's surprising how smooth he is; circling around you so slowly that it doesn't even feel rushed. making you comfortable, stripping you layer by layer before going in for the kill.
perhaps he actually does have a brain, after all.
📝
( notes: this os will be split into multiple parts 💀💀 i already finished it, and i honestly did not expect it at all to be this lengthy [5 parts, about 3k words each] LMFAO-- but, besides that, the reason i'm also not writing it all together is that i want to try to format my chapters into a pattern! so, yeah... idk if this made any sense, probably not, but it did in my head, so it's okay lol :] ... ♡ )
📝