Part 4 Of The College Au :) Enjoy! Feel Free To Like Comment & Reblog

Part 4 of the college au :) enjoy! Feel free to like comment & reblog

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Just great. His voice replayed over and over in your mind. Tell y’er friend I said thank you. How you wanted to bury yourself in a pile of blankets and not come out your room. But classes continued, your human needs existed and that meant coming out briefly.

You’d seen him a few times after that throughout the week, but never said anything. He would watch you, leaning against the wall by his door, long legs shifting. He’d lean his weight onto one leg, arms crossed. His boots were worn and distressed.

Apart of you felt bad for avoiding him but you couldn’t stop your face from turning red each time you remembered the moment. You sighed, opening your door with your keys, glancing at his behind you. His door was shut.

Thank god, didn’t need to see the brute.

You sigh softly and come in, immediately hit with a blast of cold air. Of course—you caught something briefly on the news channel that a cold front was coming in as late October approached. You shuddered, hugging your bare arms close to you. You then stared at the window, approaching your desk and setting your water bottle down.

“Damn thing…” You muttered under your breath. Once again you climbed up on the old school heater, it was off. It was boxed off by wood and had slits to release heat—so standing on it was fine. You grunted, hands desperately trying to push down on the steel.

Nothing. It creaked if anything.

You groaned in frustration, pensive for a moment. You’d know you’d have to get someone to fix this.

But not your mosquito of a friend.

And that’s how you know found yourself sulking like a puppy in front of Simons door. Well, now his name was Simon. You could see the little Ghost character with his name on the door, the RA probably made that for him. A grin itched at your lip—thinking he’d seen it and left it there.

But the sulking returned once you realized you had to ask for help, so you sighed and rolled your eyes. You raised your hand to knock, hearing nothing.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” You called out.

No response.

You bit at your lip, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Maybe he was avoiding you—or maybe he wasn’t there. You decided to wrap it up, arm moving back to your side.

“What’re ya doin’?” You hear a gruff voice from behind. Hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you spun around to see the tall Brit present, moving stealthily like a ghost. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Your heart rate spiked. “I-I was—“ You stammered.

Simon dragged his eyes over your form slowly, taking you in. He then tipped hair head up slightly in a “aha,” manner. His large hands fumbled for his keys, hanging off a keychain that said “Team 141,” on it. You noticed it but didn’t ask.

“I had a feelin’ you’d come crawlin’ back. Aftah’ avoidin’ me for a week.” He said, snapping you out your observation.

You moved aside when he gestured with his key, to his door, brow raised.

Almost like: You’re blocking the way, lass.

You bit the inside of your cheek and moved, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t avoiding you…okay maybe I was. Can you blame me?” You then caved in, raising a brow at him and shoving your back to the wall. You could hear the jam of the keys as he eased it into the lock, wrist turning to open it. He then cast a sideways glance at you before resting his bag on the table, shifting. He tore his jacket off, hanging it on the hook. Underneath we wore a black button up, and his usual cargo pants.

“I don’t blame ya fer’ talkin’ bout me.” He said, lip itching to grin sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes and he found himself gazing at you, as you leaned on his doorway, shoulder leaning on the frame. Your hair traveled down. Smooth skin peaked out from under the sweater you wore.

“Figured your like Uncle Sam. You never let anyone go a day without your teasing.” You scoffed lightly, although amusement striking your eyes as you stared at him. Something in his gaze pierced you and you found yourself shifting, moving off the frame to look at your open door. A cold chill blew.

“You know my window is a piece of shit.”

“And you want me to fix it, aye? Is that wot am’ hearin’?”

Now you could hear the grin in his voice. He was practically purring like a cat at your demise. You tap your finger in irritation against your arm and released a sigh through your nose, looking at him.

“Yes. There. You heard it right. Congrats for passing your hearing test.”

Finally, after a hidden grin, he came out the room after resting his balaclava mask on the desk. He revealed his rugged fired face, eye bags under and red. Purplish even. As you gazed at him when he walked by into your room—you couldn’t help but wonder if the man slept. He looked dead. His hair was a rugged mess, as he had a low taper fade. He ought to cut it again—it was growing long, he could sense your gaze on it.

He then pushed your door open, head almost brushing the top of the door frame. Broad back tilting to sliver in. Fuck. He was tall—you thought, following after him. You barely even reached halfway at the door. Even had to tiptoe to look out the peephole.

“Ah. There she is.” He said at the window, although his eyes said otherwise. As you were behind him he took sight of your room. It was simple, some blankets piles on your bed unfolded, pillows pink. String lights hung from the ceiling, pipe to pipe. Some bobo thin scarves were used to create a little hanging nest, where your plushies rested.

“What a dungeon ya got.” He commented shamelessly, the brute man not even needing to stand on the heater to raise his arms. Muscles flexed as he pressed his hands down on the steel, immediately bringing down the window. His pants tightened around his thighs, from leaning forward, leg bumping the edge of your desk.

A huge creak was heard.

“So you were lookin’ around?” You teased, smirking behind him. You couldn’t help but also take advantage of the view as well, whilst he did too.

And the view was looking mighty damn fine.

“It just happened to be there.” He muttered, then stepped back. He left a gap in the window for air circulation, your box fan spinning loudly. He sighed and wiped his dusty hands on his pants then turned around to look at you, the light exposure behind him. His hair glowed, face shadowed giving him a rougher look.

“I’ll be seeing ya then.” He would mutter, arm brushing yours when he walked past. Again, you felt the sparks and you straightened up, turning around to face him as his back tilted again to leave. His fingers brushed your door knob.

“Get some sleep, you look dead.”

You said, which earned you a smooth baritone chuckle. The door then shut softly.

Welcome

ᰔᩚ About me: ᰔᩚ

She/her || Twenty || Leo sun, aqua rising, cap moon ||

lover of tarot, all things gloomy & moody, aesthetics, masked men, music lover big time, love a good cuppa tea, and forest walks

featuring: leon kennedy, price, simon & johnny

ᰔᩚ Masterlist/s ᰔᩚ

🪽• college!simon x reader

🪽• johnny x reader blurb

🪽• johnny & price being possessive blurb

🪽• you have a tough week at work

🪽• operation: unforgettable price x reader (wip)

ᰔᩚ Extra ᰔᩚ

Asks are open if you’d love to send ideas! I allow anon until closed upon notice.

guidelines pls read ||

divider creds: @fairytopea

college!ghost and you waking up at the same time. You have a class to get ready for at 9am, but in order to be ready you’d have to catch breakfast at 8am. Now it was 7:30. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep like the bedbug you were. Classes, you thought annoyed. You now brushed your teeth, messy hair down in waves and mussed up from sleeping. The fluorescent lights don’t help either. The bathroom was a public one, so anyone could’ve walked in at any moment.

And suddenly the door swung open. In there stands the man you’d been seeing around—blue and black plaid pajamas, a soft tee shirt and his balaclava mask off. His caddy hangs in his hand. You stare in shock—toothbrush in your mouth, hand not moving. Your messy sleep deprived eyes boring into his. First thing you notice: his mask was off. Scars roamed his face, tracing his features. He was gruff and blonde—you pegged him as a brunette. Guess I was wrong this time, you thought.

“Wot you starin’ at?” He’d gruffly say, voice thick from sleep. You looked away immediately, brushing your teeth faster as a distraction.

“Nothin.” You managed to say—although mumbling from the toothbrush in your mouth.

The brute of a man just stands next to you, not saying another word. The harsh curve of his nose shines in the light, bags under his eyes as he reaches for his toothbrush in irritation. He didn’t think anyone else would be up at this time, at the ass crack of dawn. He brushed his teeth, hazy eyes staring in the mirror. All he could see were you beside him: in his peripheral.

All clad in shorts and a tank top, strap falling to the side. Hair tousled as you brushed your teeth then washed your face. He had to ask himself: why did you need all those steps just to wash your face? Now he found himself staring curious, although shifting his gaze away so you wouldn’t catch him.

Just another gal, he thought. Maybe he recognized you from the room across—but then again it was the ass crack of dawn and his mind was a mess.

Idk for this college fic I would imagine simon being 33 & going back to college after his warpath disaster life. Its live a 360 degree shift from everything he knew.

Fighting?

No, kids just walk with books and coffees and frolic around.

He thinks they’re naive. Too at ease and not watching their back.

But that’s just his trauma talkin, and years of experience.

And I would imagine you—27 years old, just staring your life over. Making the choice to go continue university after a few years of working. Time to get that degree.

As for you—you had your own share of trauma and fear of intimacy, but nothing close to what Simon had seen. Not that it was necessary to compare.

Both of you are starting over a softer life. Trying for yourself again.

Ughh thinking about simon ghost riley in university and you see him drawing a few times one day on campus, sitting on the bench. He wore a black hoodie, hiding his form and hood pulled over his masked face. Lengthy tall fingers held charcoal, all smudged and dirty. He seems so focused you don’t say much, so you eye him & walk away, leaving it to him. But apart of you wonders what’s got him so wound up and focused on drawing. You never took him as the type to draw anyway.

And then next week you see him walking out the gym, balaclava mask pulled up to reveal pink chapped lips, busted from his the boxing class offered at University. He held his duffle bag over his shoulder, biceps flexing as long legs strode down the pathway—most likely to his dorm. The idea that he drew so meticulously and in the dead the night, so serene and wistful—

And then this. An absolute fighting machine, all biceps and a hunk of muscle. Not a single thought behind those eyes as he focused on darting out punches.

Both of it had you eager & melting to know more about this mysterious man.

Simon "shoulderss" Riley