The Bio Lab Exploded Yesterday Btwin My City

the bio lab exploded yesterday btw…in my city…

hah.... it's.... September 30th.... ahah...... September 30th.... 1998..... It's a day I'll never forget.... haah

LEON KENNEDY / RESIDENT EVIL: DEATH ISLAND (2023)

Part 11! College!simon x reader. 🙊 god i can’t get enough of this—enjoy! Pls like comment & reblog because it means a lot to me.

Notes: slowburn, mutual pining, bit of angst, swearing as usual. slight smutty thoughts of reader.

Masterlist here ✉️

There you were, drunk and wobbling into Simons room. He left you no room to argue, and not that you would anyway, you were a spinning mess.

“Don’ touch that.” Simons gruff voice said, guiding it hand away from the lights of the room.

You scoffed out a laugh—chest rumbling. You were ahead of him, feet tripping over one another. Simon constantly had to angle your shoulders this way and that—so you wouldn’t fall.

“What? This your batcave or somethin’?” You slurred, now eyeing his somewhat dim room.

He had his lamp on, giving some light. Some of his clothes were layered on his desk. Most likely he was busy and unable to fold them away.

God, you felt tired. But the alcohol was still coursing through your veins. You decided to settle for sitting at his desk, torso facing Simon. This was becoming quite regular, visits to his room. Your cheeks were flushed and you were slightly sniffling from the cold.

“Jus’ prefer to keep it dim, yea?” Simon said lowly. He turned around once you sat—closing his door. He then advanced to his closet and leaned down, strong hands grappling at some blankets. With a huff, he spread the largest one on the floor, then another ontop, and slapped a pillow down.

“What—is that f’me?” You asked, perking up. You tilt your head at his motions.

Simon shakes his head and then walks over to you, beckoning for you to stand. You wobble, and glance around to his bed—then him. Your chests brushed slightly, but he remained at a distance, heavy eyes gazing into yours.

“No, you’re sleepin’ on the bed.” He ordered.

“Simon—“

“Don’t give me lip, aye?”

The brute huffs and you quirk your lip, looking down momentarily. His bed.

Was it odd? Two friends just stuck in this awkward situation, since your keys were lost.

You sigh, and then undo your jacket, resting it on the back of his chair.

Awkwardly, you shift and then climb up onto his bed. You could smell his cologne and scent mixed on the sheets. But you didn’t lay down, no you just sat up on your knees and thought to ask the most ridiculous question. Your eyes had this twinkle.

“D’you have makeup remover?”

Simon was just settling onto the makeshift bed, large form groaning. His hair was a mess, and he looked down—only for his eyes to snap up at you. He could see your shit eating grin—still drunk. He scoffed, the shaking his head boyishly.

“Do I look like the kind t’carry that?” He said, gruffly. He was amused at your state, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t.

He then sat up, and shifted so his torso faced you, hunched, elbows resting in his lap.

You could see in the dimness the way the light bounced off his pale skin, illuminating his pale lips, his eyes. His irises glowed despite the heavy look he always carried. His hair had grown out, tufts of hair sticking up. Did the man ever hear of a haircut?

“You look a mess.” You slurred, swinging so your legs hung off the edge of his bed. It squeaked and your hazy eyes gazed at him.

“You got a lotta’ tongue on ya, lass. Always like this when you’re drunk?” Simon quipped, languid eyes tracing over your form. You felt squirmy under his gaze—or maybe it was just the alcohol making your head swing.

You scoffed and curled your lip up, palms resting at the edge to steady yourself.

“Just sayin’ a haircut saves lives.”

Simon groaned and lowered his head into his palm, the long fingers grazing his forehead. He looked quite ready to quit the night—but it was a joke. He wasn’t actually tired, you could tell, by the way his lip tilted up momentarily.

“Ain’t it funny how y’er callin’ me a mess. And y’er all drunk.” Simon scoffed and looked at you, moving to stand up.

He approached your form sitting at the edge of his bed and grabbed from behind you—his sweater. You shifted and first didn’t even realize it was there.

Faulty neurons.

You gulped when you felt him standing so close—the pump of the alcohol doing nothing to soothe your nerves. You then looked up at him—catching him already staring with brooding eyes.

“Touché…got me there.”

“Go t’sleep. I ave’ class in the ass crack of dawn.” Simon muttered and then moved away, laying down on his blankets.

He shifted so his hands cradled his head, back on the blankets. But apart of you didn’t believe he really wanted to sleep—because he always stayed up. Since something seemed to haunt him at these hours.

You shifted as you gazed at him. Sometimes—you caught yourself wondering about his scars. You knew he was a Lieutenant, but what were the stories behind it?

Before you knew it the words tumbled out your mouth.

“Those…” You sucked in a breath. “Those scars…does it hurt?”

Simon stilled for a moment. His eyes that were once gazing at the ceiling, the small lamp shadowing his features—now his eyes looked over at your form.

He knew this was going to be a long night considering you weren’t sleeping.

“Not anymore, they’ve healed.” He said, although the words hung heavy.

He turned so he could face you, to your surprise. His elbow was propped up, holding his head up, eyes bleary and fatigued. It was racing to 2:30am—but nonetheless you felt this stirring feeling in you. A need to know.

“D’you…get it from the military?” You asked, voice lowered from the weight of asking. You wondered if he would open up. You shifted your weight and adjusted your sleeve—Simon watching.

“I got it from the missions—opps’ got me a few times.” Simon said a bit too casually, although eyes straying. He began to wonder back to the good old days, the searing hot pain of his wounds. The way it all went down, countless stories, and too little time to tell.

“That—that must’ve sucked.” You slurred, gazing at him wide eyed. There was concern in your gaze, as your hand stilled that was fixing your sleeve. The warmth in your gaze caught his attention, and he found himself staring a lot longer than necessary.

Before he knew it he grinned and scoffed, finding it somewhat amusing your casual words, “must’ve sucked,” to be intriguing.

More than just sucked, he thought.

Countless words floated in his head, as his finger tapped the blanket. After a pause, he then spoke up gruffly.

“You once asked why I was here.”

“Huh?”

“In university.” Simon specified, knowing you were close to losing more than one brain cell at this rate. Apart of him thought, it wouldn’t hurt to have said it.

You wouldn’t remember anyway, right? He figured he could just open up slightly, and then you’d probably wake up a mess. A mess. He quite liked the sound of that—then he pushed the thought away as soon as it came up.

He focused back to you.

He watched your form lay down on the bed now, legs folding up. Your head on his pillow—it did more than just rile him up. He found himself momentarily short circuiting, the way you just lay so comfortably as if having been there so many times.

As if this was your space.

As if you two had seen each other like this countless times.

Then, he began.

“I want to start over.” He found himself saying slowly, almost as if double checking himself. He swallowed roughly, tearing his gaze away from your laying form. He eyed the ceiling, forcing his gaze away from you.

His heart began to race—just the mere sight of you could do this. Shit.

“Start over…yeah. Sometimes it isn’t easy. You can’t just wipe the slate over.” You mumbled, head tilting to also gaze at the ceiling dizzily. At that, Simon found himself intrigued once again. God damnit. It was like you tugged at him, and then just when he thought it was fine, his attention tugged at you like a damned puppy.

He didn’t expect you to have sounded coherent despite the night. Maybe you were sobering up.

“You sound like you seen it all, lass.” Simon said, kore quietly now.

He could hear both your breathing and soon, your sloppy chuckle joined in. Soft, and airy. His heart lurched—and the stoic man found himself reeling.

Trying to maintain control, and trying to find ease.

“No—I’m sure you have…” You trailed off, sighing. Your lashes brushed your cheek, as your eyes shut. You felt like waves were washing over you, and you were floating admits the sea. And his voice was calming— soothing despite the usual gruff tone.

‘’Get some sleep, lovie.’’ Simon said, the nickname slipping. You would’ve been startled at the nickname, but sleep over came you.

——

The next few classes passed with a drag. You just finished from the gym—deciding to start some workout routine. You only went on the treadmill and could hear your friends voice in your ear: Don’t become one of those people who get stuck to it, along with her snort. You turned off the treadmill and glanced up at the tall windows, revealing the sunset of the cold November. You wiped some sweat from your forehead, all snug in a fitted black top and matching leggings, sneakers laced up.

Your phone rung and you found yourself reaching for it, brows furrowing. It was Johnny. He never called you, as he proffered to blow up the Molly’s group chat with memes and barrages of broken text.

‘’Hello? Johnny?’’ You say, somewhat amused.

A pause. There was a clank and Johnny answered with a chuckle.

‘’Uh—Lass? Think ya can handle a shift? Kyle called in sick—lads not here.’’

You glanced around the gym and moved to your bag, picking it up. ‘’On my way.’’

Today was your day off—Saturday but you figured you could use the extra pay.

Then you found yourself hobbling in the cold. Clutching your jacket—having changed into a black button up and jeans.

The bar was horribly busy. People ambled everywhere drunk and whistling. They were cheering and unionizing as someone chugged—and you found yourself used to the antics.

You hastily unfastened your jacket, bumping into some guy—who mumbled an apology. You hung your jacket up, striding behind the counter and meeting Johnny and Priced who was cooking. Johnny flambé the vegetables—jostling the pan expertly back and forth, sweating.

Price was working up a fit, seasoning the chicken breast freshly cut— eyes meeting yours.

‘’Recruit, get over here.’’ Price grumbled, although a hint of warmth in his tone.

“Where do you need me?”

‘’You better hope you’re good with a knife.” Price grinned at you, seeing as you then turned to grab it from the stand. The blade gleamed and you chuckled amused.

“The things I can do.” You winked, playfully.

Price chuckled heartily.

Sometimes as you worked, you caught eyes with Simon who eventually came in. Memories of the night he took care of you—vividly flashed in your mind. You hadn’t said a word to him since, which he found odd.

He then thought you probably needed space, but from what?

You knew what it was.

Your feelings were eating you up. The way he spoke, his scent, his jokes. The way you two seamlessly got along, only to sometimes butt heads at work when your schedules didn’t align. He was something that surrounded you non stop.

The way he opened up just a bit about his past had you wanting to know more. More of his past, who he was. The things he faced.

But it scared you. It terrified you. These feelings. The change.

It suddenly became more than just, “a passing,” between the two of you.

As the shift ended—nearing 2am, you were absolutely exhausted. You groaned and walked to your dorm building, hiking up the path. It was quiet, a striking contrast from the busy bar with all the shouting. You sure as hell were going to be paid in full, that’s what.

‘’Lass—‘’ Someone called out to you.

Turning around as you recognized the voice, you widened your ears to see Simon jogging up.

He wore some dark wash jeans, a hoodie pulled over his head, and his rugged face shadowed. He grabbed your wrist—to your surprise, and you flushed at his touch. It was easy to blame it on the biting cold. Your eyes met his as he slapped his tips into your hands.

If it was even possible, your heart melted more.

‘’For house keeping.’’ Simon gruffly said, shoving his cold hands in his sweater pockets, looming over you. He was close to you, shifting his weight onto one leg.

‘’You didn’t have to—‘’

‘’Don’ go back on y’er word.’’ He scoffed down at you, slightly smirking, ‘’Remember I owed ya for that shift.’’

Nodding, you swallowed. You glanced up at him, unspoken words lingering in the air. Your breath caught in the cold, and flashes of the night being drunk, smelling his pillow and the sheets crossed your mind.

You swore you could still smell it.

Behind him cars drove and neon lights flickered from the store fronts, his eyes not leaving yours.

Get some sleep, lovie.

It echoed in your mind and you gazed up at him. Your nose was red and cheeks too, hair blowing slightly in the wind.

“Ya look tired.” Simon said, cutting through the air.

“Of course. Its 2am.” You scoffed, moving your eyes off of him. You turned around, huddling to keep warm and continued your trek up.

Simon knew that night weighed on your mind. He wasn’t sure if it was right time to talk about it, being that it was 2am. You both were tired and fatigued, and his eyes drooped more than usual.

He sighed, tapping a finger against his thigh—before deciding to follow you. His boots thudded and the brute needed to talk. Needed to get it out.

To see you again.

‘’Y/N.’’

You froze and your heart pounded.

Slowly you turned around and faced him, close to your dorm entrance.

‘’What is it? I need to get inside its cold—‘’

He gave you no room to respond and scanned his ID. He followed you inside, starring holes in your back.

‘’You’ve been avoidin’ me.’’ He started, coming right in tow behind as you met your room. You bit your lip, reaching for your key replacement.

‘’I’ve just been busy—‘’

‘’I know.’’ He said, although calmer. Warmer, almost.

You turn your head to him. Regrettably, you spoke, ‘’Look, I gotta sleep. I’ll see you, yeah?’’ You didn’t want to cut the conversation short—but it was late. And you had other pressing matters to attend to. Like becoming a couch potato and daydreaming about him.

Damn it, Simon thought with a frustrated sigh as he watched you leave with a certain kind of irritation, and longing in his eyes. Almost like he didn’t want you to go. His eyes tracked you as you went in, closing the door.

Even the sound of it felt harsh.

That night he didn’t sleep, as usual. But not because he found the usual horrors of his past haunting—but because you, the nightmare of a woman was haunting his mind.

A pleasant nightmare.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

——

“We need to talk.” Simon said gruffly, the next day at your shift. You were leaning on the bar counter, weight on one leg, shoulders shrugged in concentration. His eyes couldn’t stop staring at your figure, the way the jeans hugged in all the right places, and the shirt.

He happened to be leaning on the archway of the kitchen, Johnny Price and Kyle working like mad hens behind him.

Damn it. He needed to stay focused.

You ‘re at the POS system, punching in an order and then you threw a glance at the Brit.

“Is it work related?” You say, a bit too stiff for his liking.

“No.”

You tap your finger at the side of the system and sigh, then turn. Your lower back leans against the bar counter, and you eye Simon. Your arms are crossed.

“Make it quick.”

Simon grunted. He could think of something else considered quick—

He shut himself up, shifting against the wall, and crossing his arms. The muscles flexed as rugged eyes stared you down. You felt like you were shrinking under his gaze if it were even possible.

“Why did you run off to your room?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” He persisted in that damned accent.

“I—“

Simon crossed the floor in an instant and ushered you aside—a hand on your arm. You bristled and swallowed, as Simon pushed you into the janitors closet.

Shit, Johnny was going to start asking around for us soon, you thought. You crossed your arms, head tilted up to the Brit, waiting for his response.

He shut the door of the closet and his boots thudded when he turned to face you, leaning in. All of a sudden that frustrated dissipated—being replaced by an unknown feeling. His cologne surrounded you, just like that night in his bed. You unconsciously took a whiff, and then gripped your arms tightly.

The hell was he doing?

“Lass,” he breathed out, now eyeing you, he then saw you clenching your arms and leaned in more, a hand raising to rest by your head, caging you in.

The shadows of the closet shaded his eyes—you couldn’t see what was behind them.

“Y/N.” He said when you didn’t respond—causing your eyes to snap to his. How could you respond? Suddenly both your chest were pressing against each other, and you breathed heavily, heart hammering.

“Simon, I said make it quick.”

Again, the way you said it. This time he groaned audibly, his hoodie straining from the angle as he leaned forward for eye you, leaving you nowhere to run.

“I need to know why you’re avoiding me, lass.” He repeated, firmly. His shadowed eyes never left yours, the sight of his lips moving made your heart pitter patter.

You took a breath to still yourself.

“I’m sorry—ever since that night…” You froze, realizing how this was coming across. Romantic, maybe? Were you actually beginning to open up? Fuck.

You sweat and shifted on your feet, swallowing.

“Ever since the night you were drunk?” He picked up, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, that…I just…well no before—“ Your breath hitched and the closet room spun. You swallowed thickly, sweating a bit and now your eyes darted everywhere but him. But his big broad chest blocked the exit—behind him.

“Before what?” There it was again. That thick, barrel smooth voice. Your eyes met his and you nodded, going silent. For a second it was you and him, just gazing and hearing the loud buzzing of the bar.

Before, I caught feelings.

“Why did you drag me in here?” Now you demanded, keeping your voice down. You eagerly looked up at him, brows furrowed and lips pressed firmly.

You were getting uncomfortable by your own feelings, and it was rolling off of you in waves. Irritated at his constant demands.

Irritated at your own inability to just say it.

Simon scoffed, his breath hitting your face softly. You swallowed.

“Only way to get you alone.” He admitted, the words rolling out smoothly. His eyes roamed all over you, taking in the defensive look you had, arms crossed, tight. That pinch between your brow—but if anything he found it endearing. He had gotten used to this side of you, so it was no surprise.

Right. You mentally face palmed. Of course that’s why he brought me in here, you thought.

You shifted your gaze away to which he noticed and Simon felt a kick to his stomach. He saw the frown—the way you lowered your head to avoid him. He stiffened up, brows raising slightly.

Suddenly, he withdrew and dropped his hunky arm to his side.

“Don’t tell me I made you uncomfortable.” He said, surprisingly with a shake to his voice. The tremor was slight, and he sounded almost hesitant.

Your eyes widened and you realized he misunderstood. Your stomach dropped and inwardly you cursed. Bloody hell—

“No—Simon—“

“Lass, you can always tell me.” Simon reminded, his hand gripping into a fist. He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and now his lips pressed thin, nostrils flaring.

“Simon—“ You said again.

“I’ll be outta’ your way.”

He went to turn to open the door but in an instant, you lunged.

You don’t know what came over you, but your lips captured his—hands flying to angle his head to meet yours.

Maybe it was the need to communicate how you really felt.

Maybe it was the frustration of being misunderstood. Or all of it.

You could feel how tensed up under you, not expecting the kiss at first. Then his fingers twitched with life, his heart pounding with vigor.

And then, his lips moved—almost hesitant to test the waters even though you kissed him first.

Soon—your back was to the wall of the small closet as his hands roamed, clutching gently at the fabric of your shirt. His hands rested on your waist, holding you and eyes shut, kissing slowly. He was drinking you in—your sounds, your taste, your smell.

Your heart was hammering and with the way you were pressed against his, his was too.

“God—“ You pulled away, panting softly. Your eyes met his.

You sucked in air sharply at the sight.

Simons eyes were ferocious, a bit of hunger, desire and longing in his darker eyes. He panted softly, fingers tightening slightly on your waist so you wouldn’t run—and his nose brushed yours.

His voice came out low, hushed, as his breath fanned your cheek. “You ave’ no idea how long I’ve been needing that.”

just imagining johnny texts simon abt something. Simon hardly responds to their group chats because he prefers to stay to himself. you know, typical simon riley. hes nursing a beer on his couch and chilling when his phone keeps buzzing.

annoyed he checks his phone and sees johnny blowing up the groupchat and kyle.

“found ur panties.” Johnny texted and took a picture of simons balaclava thrown on the bed. he left it there from one of their drunk sleepovers.

simon scowls.

he scrolls.

“the man has so many masks, he’ll find a new pair.” kyle wrote with a wink emoji.

simons eye twitches.

he goes to type, fat thumbs moving clumsily on the small screen. “i’ll pick up the baklava tomorrow.”

his phone buzzed immediately.

“baklava?” Johnny repeats.

then he sends an obnoxious voice note laughing loudly, slapping his thigh. at first simon didn’t even know what the hell that note was. he just pressed play.

“BALACLAVA.” simon types in all caps, very annoyed.

I GYATT…to get myself a leon kennedy… ‼️‼️

hah.... it's.... September 30th.... ahah...... September 30th.... 1998..... It's a day I'll never forget.... haah

just fixed & removed y/n 😭 from the college!simon x reader fic.

Realized it would irk me & others reading lol