Hi, I'm Oluchi. I'm a student in the UK studying English/Law, and you are very welcome here!
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I love Melancholia (2011), Sufjan Stevens, Marxist Feminism, my dog - a Cocker Spaniel called Juno (who was, indeed, named after the movie) - as well as Literary Fiction or just any good book (please recommend me more books to read).
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I am currently mostly writing for one fandom, but please feel free to give me suggestions for anyone you might like to see me write for, since we might share similar interests!
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My health fluctuates and so I may not be consistent in my interactions, but just know that if you are kind and supportive that I love you!!!
I haven’t been able to write much recently with the curveballs life has been throwing at me…
(e.g. on Monday when i overdosed on my anxiety medication 2 minutes into my law exam, was taken to the hospital, and then diagnosed with a heart condition that they noticed when trying to track the overdose (but i’m for sure fine so don’t worry about me))
but I will hopefully be back to writing soon because it’s the only thing that keeps me even slightly sane!
If you read my work, I love you so much and I hope you can be patient with me <3
summary: Rodrick's grounded, which mostly sucks because he really really wants to see you.
pairing: rodrick heffley x fem!reader
word count: 1.3k
author's note: this is a bit of a shorter one to tide over until all my exams are done, I can only hope you like reading it!
warnings: smut-adjacent
masterlist
Rodrick’s going stir-crazy.
It’s Thursday night, going on about 77 hours since he was grounded, and Rodrick needs to get out of the house. He needs to be anywhere but his bed. He needs to escape the torture of knowing that – for every school day for the next two months – he’ll have to take the bus with people whose headgear press into his shoulder at every sharp turn. Mostly, though, he needs to see you.
You still haven’t gotten around to replacing your phone and he hasn’t seen you at all today and barely at all yesterday or the day before that and he can’t stop thinking about the way it felt to touch you and to be with you and to have you in his arms and he thinks he might not survive the night.
His body keeps on restlessly moving under the covers of his bed. He wonders if you’re thinking of him. He drowns out the rest of the world, the sound of a bicycle in the road and the rustling of leaves, to remember the soft sounds you made when he was inside of you. His face getting hotter as he remembers how good it felt, there with you in that supply closet. His blood starts to rush lower and lower before the tapping against his window cuts through his thoughts.
He tries ignoring the sound, dismissing it in his mind as a stray branch from a tree or something, returning to his memories of you. He tries to recreate your voice in his mind and the way you say his name.
Again comes the tapping. Three knocks in direct succession and one knock after a five second pause.
‘Not a tree.’ He says to himself lowly, recognising the pattern.
He stands up from his bed and tries to calm his excited heart. He could be wrong, he thinks. It’s been years since he’d last heard it. Your Super-Top-Secret knock.
He only knows he hasn’t imagined it when he opens his window, looking down into the dark night, when he hears you whisper his name. It’s perfectly distinct. Never in his dreams has he been able to truly replicate the sound of your voice.
You had been worried that your foot would slip from the footholds you two had created so many summers ago, but seeing Rodrick here – his face only barely illuminated by the red string lights in his room – makes you forget that you even have a body that could fall.
You push yourself up further and speak. Now with your waist to the bottom of the window, you lift a hand to caress his face gently.
‘I take thee at thy word: call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.’
You smile at Rodrick’s face, furrowed in confusion, and bring your hand to run through his hair, continuing.
‘It’s Romeo’s line from Act 2 Scene 2. We’re doing Shakespeare in English.’
Rodrick is too distracted by the feeling of your hand in his hair, unconsciously leaning further out of the window and into your touch, to fully register your explanation. He then replies playfully.
‘Does that make me Juliet?’
You play coy and give an exaggerated shrug. The autumn air rushes past you.
‘Maybe it does. Would you let me in Capulet?’
Rodrick bites his lip. He doesn’t even reply before he’s wrapped his arms around you, his hands slipping underneath your shirt and touching the now exposed skin of your lower back, near seamlessly pulling you into his room. You steady your body with a hand on his chest and an arm around him, but can do nothing to steady your quick-beating heart.
‘God, Heffley, you’re strong.’ You move your hand to wrap around his bicep, caressing it in admiration. He swallows deeply, his shuttering eyes watching your every movement.
‘I – you know, I just carry the drum set around for gigs, and stuff.’
He’s trying to be cool about it, but you drive him wild. Something about being around you seems to register deeper than his brain can grasp. Something primitive. He lowers his head behind your right ear, placing a kiss so gentle it gives you chills, and speaks in so quiet a whisper you can only tell what he says from the vibration the sound of his voice makes against your skin.
‘I missed you. So bad.’
He’s kissing a trail down your neck and you slowly steer the both of you closer and closer to his bed. As you’re both laying down in his mess of sheets Rodrick doesn’t even seem to come up for air as he kisses down your neck and now past your collar bones with a fervency that has his teeth at times grazing your skin and your knees unconsciously buckling.
You feel his nose against your beating heart as he travels to your chest. You take one of his hands which is splayed against the bed and move it underneath your shirt. He only separates his skin from yours to push the material of your top up. He presses his mouth against your sternum and lets his head lay against your cleavage.
‘Holy fuck.’ Is all he can manage to say.
His sigh sounds almost like a contented groan as he makes his way further and further down. Your legs and back arching at the soft and slow touch of his mouth against your lower chest, your abdomen, your hips. The lower he gets, the more determined he becomes to touching you constantly. His hands run against your breasts and his hard-on is left unattended to.
Your eyes are clouded from tears and the thrill of anticipation as Rodrick moves to take off your shorts. He at first leaves your thin cotton underwear on and your hands flex in ecstasy as his mouth moves in desperate patterns against the fabric. His nose bumping against you a fuel to your fire.
He’s finally dragging your underwear down to your ankles just as you hear the sound of footsteps making their way up the stairs. Rodrick, in this moment, looks exactly like how you remembered him looking in his Juvenile Detention mugshot. You dash yourself under his bed right as you hear a knocking, followed by a person immediately walking in. Rodrick wrangles one of his blankets to hide his boner and tries to calm his breathing.
‘Oh, hey mom.’
You’re facing Susan’s legs as she sits down next to her son. She sighs and starts to speak.
‘Sweetheart, I hope you’re not too upset about being grounded. I know it’s not the best.’
Rodrick loves his mom, but he really wants her to leave as soon as possible. He tries to assume a cool and collected demeanour.
‘Being grounded, pfft, I’m totally over it already. No problem.’
Susan’s forehead creases in a severe sort of confusion.
‘Last night at dinner you said you were going to shave all of your dad’s hair off while he was sleeping and “sell it on the black market” if we didn’t let you out.’
You try to stifle your laugh and end up inhaling some of the years old dust trapped underneath Rodrick’s bed. You silently heave, supressing a killer cough.
‘Mom, that was like a million years ago. I don’t care anymore.’
Susan frowns sympathetically.
‘You don’t have to pretend with me Rodrick, I can call when I get downstairs and we can invite your girlfriend to family movie night tomorrow. A compromise.’
You uncomfortably writhe from under the bed and Rodrick tries to keep Susan’s attention off the movement.
‘Sure. That sounds great. Really great.’
‘Rodrick, I thought you’d be more excited by the idea considering –’
Susan’s eyes dubiously drift to the floor as your throat is burning and you let out small, near quiet, coughs. Coughs that then becomes less and less quiet as you inhale more and more of the dust. Mrs Heffley leans to look under the bed before Rodrick can stop her, and she says your name with a strong sense of surprise.
You poorly attempt a smile before coughing uncontrollably and straining your voice at the same time, willing it to make a coherent sound.
‘Hi Mrs Heffley.’
a/n: thank you so much for reading - 1,000 kisses and a hug for you if you've made it this far
cw: lots of smut ♡ dominant gyro who loves to praise
gyro is enamoured by you. his angel in the dust, the prettiest girl he's ever laid his eyes upon -- he respects you. a lot. for your wit, your racing skills, the way you're able to patch him up when he's gotten himself into trouble -- but a man has needs and he's only able to be a gentleman for so long.
hi!! this is my first fic and my introduction to tumblr (i'm more of an ao3 gal but my lovely friend oluchi put me on ♡). i love nightwish (listen to the song 'wish i had an angel' if you haven't!) and i love gyro, so i hope you enjoy and pls lmk what you think ^^
(i actually had to redo half of this because my dumbass forgot to save the first draft... whoops... i also have a final in less than a week )
».°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆
Gyro was smitten the second he saw you during the Steel Ball Run, often finding himself with his eyes on you rather than on the race ahead of him. Truth was, you were one of the only things keeping him going during this 6,000km race across America. Surprisingly, you were the only woman that he never viewed as bad luck. On the contrary, he saw you, specifically, as a good luck omen and even let you ride Valkyrie. Hell, he even slowed down his pace to match yours, just to speak to you for a minute before tipping his hat and charging ahead at the last second. He knew he'd catch up, anyway.
One night after another stage of the race, you noticed a deep cut bleeding out through his khaki pants and took it upon yourself to rush him to your tent and bandage it up for him (being a trained medic). Ever since, it became a habit of his to wander off to your tent each night, nagging you to patch up whichever injuries he had gained that day. How he got so many? You didn't know.
''I'm a lucky man, ain't I? Got a pretty girl to tend to me when I'm all sore up. ♡''
He drawled, a flirtatious lilt in his voice as you tended to a nasty gash on his bicep. His green eyes were half lidded, admiring your focused expression as he leant his head on his other hand. Pretty.
You shook your head, gently wrapping bandages around the cleaned wound as you looked up at him like he was about to receive a lecture.
''How have you got somethin' new to fix every damn night? Seriously, you're gonna get yourself killed... makes me think you're doing it on purpose...''
A low, dark huff of laughter left his lips.
''Maybe I am,''
He murmured, his brain hyper-focused on the feeling your fingertips on his bicep. They were so soft. You were so gentle. He always thought about your occupations being polar opposites -- you dressed people's wounds whilst he had lost count of the amount of people he'd executed. It made him admire you even more. His angel. Fuck, and you looked just like one in that gorgeous little babydoll nightdress that you often wore before bed. His mind was wandering. So were his eyes.
You clicked your tongue, finishing bandaging him up before you glanced up at him, noticing his eyes raking over your body with the corners of his lips quirked up in an appreciative smile.
''Gentleman, aren't you?''
You chided, the playful sarcasm evident in your voice as you grinned. His long, golden hair brushed over your arm as he continued leaning his head in his hand.
''You make it damn hard to act like one, bella,''
He breathed out, his breath hitching a little as he did. The energy felt different. More charged. His green eyes landed on your tits... and then onto your thighs... and then back up at yours before he chewed his lip in sexual frustration and adjusted his pants which suddenly felt a lot tighter than usual. He was a dead man. It was so hard to hold back -- it always was -- every time you finished tending to his wounds, he returned to his tent and jacked off at the mere thought of your fingertips on his skin. Everything was different with you. Yeah, he'd been with women before, but something about you made him want to keep some semblance of composure -- He didn't deserve you -- But fuck, by now that composure was out of the window.
His calloused fingertips brushed against the side of your cheek, before gently holding your face, your cheeks flushed, his thumb swiping across your bottom lip. You noticed your heartbeat accelerate and felt a familiar stirring in your abdomen. Before you knew it, Gyro was holding the side of your neck -- roughly enough to claim you but tenderly enough not to hurt you, before he tilted his head, lips crashing against yours.
It was soft enough at first, your lips melting together in a passionate embrace. Strands of hair brushed against your face and collarbone, making you became hyperaware of the signature scent of smoke, sweat and gunpowder that emitted from him. Soon enough, his hand dug into your hair and his tongue swept in the second you parted your lips. It became filthy fast. One of his hands snaked down to the curve of your ass, giving it a rough squeeze through your nightdress before dragging you onto his lap. Slowly, firmly, he rolled his hips up -- the outline of his erection grinding against your panties.
''G-Gyro--''
You breathed against his lips, a lilt of surprise in your voice before he shut you up with another lewd kiss.
Gyro pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he held your waist with one hand and your jaw with the other, his hips teasingly bucking up, grinding against your clit enough to make you gasp.
''Fuck, feel that? Feel that, darlin'? That's what'cha do to me-- Pretty thing... Gonna make you feel soo good--''
He breathed, his eyes hazy as he looked up at you, gauging every expression you made. God-- he was already imagining you falling apart on his dick. He was already gone and he hadn't even started. But fuck, he had been waiting for this moment from the second he saw you. There was no chance that he wasn't making the most out of it.
He ground up against you one last time, placing hot, wet kisses onto your neck, his head dipping down and biting the sweet spot between your neck and collarbone, hearing you gasp before smoothing the area with his tongue. You could feel his proud smirk on your skin and for some reason, that turned you on even more.
Gyro's hands snaked up to your waist, picking you up and roughly pushing you against the bedroll, the look in his eyes being enough to make you throb. He grabbed your tits through your nightdress, brushing his thumb along your clothed nipple, leaving marks on your neck as he kneeled over your frame.
''Can't fuckin' wait to get you out of this and take that sweet pussy all for myself-- you're alright with that, aint'cha?''
You nodded quickly, and not even a second later he was sweeping your dress over your head, putting you in full view for him leaving you bare, if not for your panties. A low whistle escaped his lips as his eyes raked over your body, kneading one of your tits with his hand whilst the other roamed up and down your waist and abdomen.
''Beautiful -- Like salvation itself -- Fuck, what did I do to deserve this?''
He hissed under his breath, his voice full of praise as he practically worshipped your body -- his mouth making it's way to your nipple, flicking his tongue over it as he looked up at your flushed face and hazy eyes, placing a kiss on it before popping his mouth off and grabbing your thighs, pulling you close to him, onto your back before hooking your shins over his shoulders.
He kneeled up as he unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it off as he exposed his lean, muscular frame. Unsurprisingly, his chest was scarred from previous fights, littered with a few freckles over his shoulders and collarbone. He let out a low huff of laughter as he noticed your eyes light up and trace from his chest down to his V-line.
After that, he ducked down to lay on his chest, keeping hold of your thighs as he leaned in and placed hot, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thigh, tasting your sweet skin. He made sure to leave marks -- biting a couple of times before smoothing over with his tongue.
His hand reached up, rubbing his index and ring finger over the damp fabric of your panties where you had been craving it the most. You didn't even realise how wet you had gotten.
''Excited for me, huh? You want me that bad, sweet girl?''
He drawled, his ego audible in his voice, looking up at you with piercing green eyes and strands of hair falling over his forehead.
You nodded, looking down at him desperately as he chuckled and hooked your panties down with his fingers, swallowing his saliva as your wetness came into view.
He didn't hesitate before grasping onto your thigh, leaning forward and placing long, languid licks against your pussy. His tongue reached up and placed broad, flat licks against your clit before sucking it slightly, chuckling lowly against it as he heard a little whine emit from you. He pulled off, just enough to speak.
''Better than I ever imagined, cara mia-- Fuck, you taste so good,''
He huffed out, before going back to eating you like a man starved. He used his tongue well, curling it a little at your entrance before flicking it against your clit, pausing for a moment to spit on his index and ring finger before inserting his middle finger into your entrance, his tongue going back to alternating sucking and licking your clit.
''F-Fuck-- Gyro-- K-Keep--''
You whimpered out as he pumped his finger in and out of you, enough to stretch you out a little before inserting his ring finger and curling both of them deep inside of you.
His lips twitched to a smirk, his golden teeth glinting with the dim light of the lantern in your tent. He revelled in your reactions, loving it when you made noise for him. He knew what you were trying to say, anyway.
He continued pumping his fingers in and out of you, the obscene sound of wetness from both your pussy and his tongue filling the air around you.
Your fingers tangled in his blonde hair, tugging it a little as he worked his own, moving them in fast, fluid motions and curling when he found that sweet spot inside.
You felt your orgasm start to approach, constantly letting out little moans and whimpers as your thighs began to tremble whilst he gripped them in place, almost hard enough to leave marks.
''Gyro, I-- ngh, I'm close--''
You whine, the back of your hand resting against your lips to muffle your noises ever so slightly. His eyes, almost animalistic, made contact with yours before he grinned, kissing your pussy before he pulled his mouth off your clit and removed his fingers from inside of you. He brought them to his mouth, licking them as he made prideful eye contact with you.
''Can't have you all worn out before I bless you with my cock, can I?''
He chided, his voice smug as he watched you writhe with anticipation, your hair messy and your face flushed a rosy hue of red. God, he was obsessed with the way you looked when you were all worn out from him.
His hands reached down, quickly unbuckling his belt and discarding it on the floor, before unbuttoning his trousers and taking out his length, which immediately hit his abdomen -- easily about 7 inches -- flushed and pink and leaking slightly at the tip.
He stroked himself a few times, looking at you all spread out, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock.
''Shit-- Got me rock hard. Know you'll take me fucking amazing-- make you fall apart on my cock, trust me baby,''
He murmured, grabbing your thighs and hoisting them back over his shoulders before rubbing his tip across your entrance, leaning his head back and sighing from relief.
You were letting out shaky little breaths, grasping onto the bedroll as you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes half-lidded as your hair stuck to your face from the sweat.
''P-Please--''
You whimpered, desperate.
He chuckled again, his hand reaching down to trace up and down your waist as he continued rubbing up and down your slit, before finally pushing his head into your entrance with a soft groan, sliding just the head of his cock in and out of you to tease you a little.
''Mm? Please what? Use your words, doll,''
''Please-- Please fuck me, Gyro,''
You breathed out, somehow flushing an even deeper shade of red as he flashed you a cocky grin, holding you down before pushing half of his length inside you, making you gasp and writhe from the stretch which burned in such a delicious way.
''Anything for my principessa,''
He breathed, right before slamming balls-deep into your tight pussy, emitting a high-pitched whine from you as you felt him stretch you out completely, your shin squeezing against his back as you gripped his cock like a vice.
''Shh, shhh, take it, I know you can-- you're doing so well, baby,''
He grunted, holding you down by your waist as he slowly pulled away, almost withdrawing from you before slamming back in, making you clench around him. He was so deep inside, you could see the outline of his cock on your abdomen if you looked closely. Gyro Zeppeli sure knew how to fuck.
He quickened his pace, keeping it rough and hard as his hair dangled over his face, letting out soft grunts as he pumped in and out of you. Filthy sounds of your skin slapping along with your whiny, needy moans and Gyro's heavy breathing filled the tent. Probably audible from outside, but nobody was thinking of that possibility right now.
''Such a good slut for Gyro Zeppeli's cock, arent'cha? Ngh-- Fuck, fuck-- you're so tight, bella-''
He was now going rougher, slamming his cock in and out of you and relishing in the way you clenched and unclenched around him. This was his favourite state that he'd ever seen you in-- breaking for him and only him.
He leaned in, pressing a hot, filthy kiss onto your mouth, both of you gasping into it before he pulled away, still slamming into you as he roughly grasped your tit, kneading it in his hand.
His breath stuttered, his hips jerking erratically for a minute before he groaned, looking down at you through his hair.
He continued pumping into you, but he was clearly holding back. A thumb reached down to rub your clit in circles, making your hips squirm as you let out a needy whimper. Fuck, you were about to--
The feeling of him slamming in and out of you along with his thumb circling your clit was too much, sending a sharp wave of pleasure down to your abdomen before your back arched off of the bedroll.
''S-Shit-- Fuck! Gyro, I-- I'm gonna--''
You whined, looking up at him, almost asking him for permission.
His eyes bore into yours, his chest moving quickly as he tried to catch his breath.
''Come for me, cara mia,''
He exhaled, his voice coming out slightly higher than usual before your eyes shut against your accord -- your shins squeezing against his back before you moaned his name with a sharp inhale, your pussy clenching around him as you finally came-- breathing heavily as he continued his movements inside of you, riding it out.
He quickly pulled out (because he's not a complete idiot) and stroked his cock over you, quickly and desperately.
''Fuuuck-- So, so beautiful-- Came so hard for me, didn't you?-- Bet you loved the feeling of me fucking you deep and-- Fuck, ngh--!!''
He was babbling-- So desperate to get off-- but he waited for you first, waited til' he could pull out and leave you fully satisfied at the same time. He cut himself off with a groan as his own orgasm crashed down on him, his hips jerking into his hand as he spilled onto your tits and stomach. He wiped it with his thumb and then onto the bedroll, because Gyro wasn't a guy bothered about cleaning.
He panted, both of you trying to compose yourselves after Gyro had just railed every last breath out of you. He was flushed, his hair sticking to his face before he looked down at you fondly, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.
''You're amazing. Shit-- you're perfect,''
He exhaled a fond laugh as he said that, before he leaned in, giving you one last tender kiss.
After that, he laid next to you on the small bedroll, pulling you closer by your waist as he dug his head into your neck, inhaling the scent of your sweet sweat.
''If I'm too sore to race properly tomorrow, I'm blaming you,''
You murmur, grasping onto his arm and pulling it closer to you as you cuddled him and recovered from the aftershocks of it all.
He let out a huff of laughter.
''More energy for me, ♡''
He chided, giving you a little squeeze before both of you fell asleep on this hot, western night. You were both fatigued, but the next stage of the race in the morning awaited you.
‘You have no immediate family. You don’t even have a dog.’
As Stratt says this, it gives Ryland pause.
There was a time, not that long ago, when that statement couldn’t have been further from the truth.
summary: Ryland Grace is stupidly in love with the Head of the Science Department
pairing: ryland grace x fem!reader
word count: 1.8k (more coming soon?)
author's note: i feel really vulnerable right now stepping into a new fandom highkey but i wanted to switch it up a little!!
warnings: the reader is married (but headed towards divorce), swearing, workplace misogyny, slightly depressed reader
It was a warm winter in San Francisco when Ryland Grace finally admitted to himself that he was completely in love with you.
Somehow, he had only just realised the night before.
God, he felt awful about it. As he put his lanyard on at sunrise. As he biked to school. Especially when your wedding ring caught the mid-morning light in the staff room, when he watched you pour yourself two cups of coffee just as the first bell rang.
But then you had smiled at him – in your slight way – as you were leaving the room, and for a moment he couldn’t find it within himself to feel bad. Instead, he was too focused on trying not to look ridiculous as he fumbled a strange wave in your direction when you were already half-way out the door.
Ryland’s students were an untameable force of excited chatter as they all lined up. Some of the overlapping voices directed at Ryland himself.
‘Mr Grace, will we get to see a real, actual spaceship? My brother says that when his grade went, they saw three.’
‘Mr Grace, can Maddie and I be on the aux on the drive over?’
‘Mr Grace, can I touch the planet displays? I’ll be really gentle!’
Ryland’s about to start answering the bombardment of questions just as you enter the room.
His heart sped and he unknowingly stood up straighter and he forgot where he was for just a moment, saying your name – your first name, even – almost as a whisper when he saw you.
Your eyebrows raised.
Some of his students overheard him and exchanged childishly playful looks at the still privileged opportunity to know a teacher’s real name.
You traced your finger along one of the desks, refraining from eye contact as you spoke.
‘Do we have a headcount Dr Grace?’
He liked that you always insisted on calling him Dr Grace. It was almost a way of restoring the power imbalance between you two, even if he was kind of into you having more power than him.
‘Twenty-five. Everyone’s here, except for Tommy S. – he’s had a bad case of the flu for a few days. He’s getting better now, though.’ He blundered trying to fold his arms when you looked up at him. Near sweating under the intent and baring watchfulness of your gaze.
You restrained a smile and hummed in acknowledgement.
You had always found it so endearing how much attention Dr Grace paid to each student. Something you had been meaning to praise him for, but you had also always found the thought of him so absurdly distracting.
Each time you tried to pen down his name or sustain a conversation, your thoughts – and eyes – would completely wander. A one-track mind lost in hazily contemplating what he would smell like if you could just get a little closer or how his hands would feel to hold or, in that moment, how good his tensed biceps looked when they were so on display in his casual school trip attire.
You both looked at each other for almost too long until you conjured up a cough and let your eyes flit over to the line of students, spying your daughter near the middle with her friends. You waved her over and placed a kiss on the top of her head, speaking into the softness of her hair.
‘Be good for Dr Grace, okay?’
‘Yes Mom.’ Your daughter rolled her eyes, even though she smiled as she squeezed herself into a closer hug with you, all before running off.
You looked back up at Ryland to find him already looking at you, quickly averting his eyes from your face in a poor attempt to play it off. You bit down on the inside of your cheek.
‘Everyone’s meeting outside in five. I’ll see you there.’
A few of the predominantly male science teachers had drifted into a huddle together on the sidewalk, waiting as the students filed into their seats on the buses. Ryland turned to face Mr Erb as he began to speak.
‘Did you all get the misery of a morning visit from little miss Head of Department too?’
Ryland only furrowed his eyebrows whilst the other teachers nodded in a disgruntled affirmation. A teacher that Ryland only barely recognised chimed in.
‘Is she even here right now? I swear she’s been getting flakier day by day.’
Mr Morgan, a tall chemistry teacher, continued.
‘I mean personally I still don’t get why they’d make this lady, a philosophy teacher, the head of Sciences anyway. She’s underqualified. Plain and simple. The kids deserve better than that. It just makes no sense, right?’
A voice emerged from behind the man’s large stature.
‘Well, Mr Morgan, if I had to make sense of it myself I would consider how – until fairly recently – the sciences you’re referring to were considered just a branch of my subject. You know ‘Natural Philosophy’? It also helps that I do have a Science degree which is, in fact, a qualification. We’re leaving in two minutes, be ready.’
Ryland was sure his heart was beating double-speed as you walked yourself through the group of teachers, parting them with the blunt edge of your clipboard. He savoured the feel of it when it made contact with his chest.
A few of the teachers scoffed as they turned to take in your self-possessed stride, not bothering themselves with any false attempt at apology. Still, you didn’t need them to like you, you believed. You had promised yourself already that you weren’t there to make nice. You had a job to do.
The journey to the science centre is barely half-way through before Ryland is overcome with the need to speak to you. An urge built up as he’d been studying what he could see of the side of your face from your seat in front of him. He lightly tapped your shoulder and spoke from the gap between your chair and another.
‘I’m so sorry about that whole thing, back at school. I promise you, I don’t agree with those guys at all.’
You squint your eyes in suspicion at him, his glasses bumping the leather of the seats every time the wheels tackled some particularly rough terrain.
‘– You’re ridiculously smart and definitely qualified for the job. And I honestly think they’re all kind of assholes.’ He tried to whisper the last part. It made you smile – against your will or your better judgement.
He mirrored your smile with a ridiculous enthusiasm and waited on your word.
‘It’s fine. I don’t mind it.’
But, you knew that couldn’t have been true, because hearing Ryland Grace’s effusive praise had given you a sick thrill. A satisfaction so deep that you couldn’t yet understand it.
You turned to face the road ahead. He continued to study your face for the rest of the way over.
You had decided to take your very short lunch break under the electric stars and replica night-sky of the science centre’s planetarium. You bit into your sandwich and it tasted sad. Everything in your life had seemed to be tinged with a sort of sadness those days.
You were mulling so intensely over the logistics of finding a new place come spring, which could be afforded on one teacher’s salary and that would also be close enough for your daughter to walk herself to school and also allowed dogs, that you hadn’t even noticed Ryland Grace sit himself next to you.
‘Do you think that’s meant to be Venus?’ He spoke and pointed up at the planet orbiting above on a tether, making you drop your lunch on the floor, flinching from the shock of his presence. He grimaced apologetically.
‘Sorry, shoot, I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘It’s okay. It was a shitty sandwich anyway.’ For a reason you couldn’t yet justify to yourself, you wanted him to keep on talking to you. You picked the food off of the floor, placing it inside your brown paper bag, and looked up above to speak.
‘I think papier-mache Venus is cracking. Maybe representative of her global warming. Or, more likely, they’re counting on it being dark enough in here that you don’t see it. I think it kinda ruins the illusion. I want to be convinced that I’m orbiting.’
He was looking down at his shoes. You talked too much, you thought, why do you let yourself say so many words?
Ryland loved the sound of your voice. It was the only thing that made restraining himself from looking at you wistfully even somewhat bearable. He turned his attentions to the sky before doing his best George Clooney impression.
“And even these apples look fake, but at least they’ve got stars on them.”
You had a look of amused confusion which he saw before dropping his head again in a bashful laugh. He scratched the back of his neck and continued.
‘It’s from Fantastic Mr. Fox.’
‘Your favourite movie?’
He nodded and smiled and you did too, finding yourself imitating his movements and expressions in a strange synchronicity.
You sat together in a shared silence for the rest of the lunch break and, every so often, Ryland would allow himself the small respite of watching the blinking lights reflect in your eyes.
It was then, under the paper moon and earth, that he knew he was totally done for.
Maybe he should have known sooner. Maybe he should have known during the faculty Secret Santa you were revisiting in your mind that moment. The memory of that mid-December day conjured up – from the neglected and tender part of yourself where you had hidden it away – by that same feeling of him watching you and that same self-repression of refusing to look at him too.
It had been the final day of the semester and you were the last person to open their gift.
So far, each present had been some variation on a gift card or a basket of assorted lotions or a mug with a pun on it about being a teacher.
Ryland stood in the corner of the buzzing room wearing a christmas-cracker crown and watching as your fingers worked into the gift wrapping.
As soon as you’d seen it, you had known exactly who the gift was from.
Inside had been a cardigan, the most beautiful one you think you might have ever seen, and you ran your finger across the quote embroidered into the label of it.
‘She who has a why to live can endure almost any how.’
It was the quote from Nietzsche you had printed above your desk. It was how you started the first class with each new cohort to motivate them in their time ahead.
You steadied your breathing as you tried to casually thank Dr Grace for his very thoughtful gift, but you had cried driving home. Nothing else could ever measure up.
a/n: I hope this isn't too shabby, but also it kind of shouldn't matter that much to me if it is, becuase writing this has really distracted me from my medication withdrawls lol (but also, thank you so much for making it this far)
summary: You and Rodrick just can't keep your hands off of each other.
pairing: rodrick heffley x fem!reader
word count: 2.6k
author's note: i don't even know if there's anything for me to say, but i hope you guys like this part - there are hopefully more parts to come
warnings: SMUT, highkey submissive Rodrick again because I am of the firm belief that I am correct
masterlist - part nine
It’s Monday afternoon, and you can hear Löded Diper’s band practice before you can see them. You drag Jess through the hallway vibrating with the reverberation of drums and electric guitar before reaching the door of the music room.
The sounds of the opening door and Jess’ protesting are barely audible through the music. You lean against the wall and watch Rodrick as he plays. The movements of his deft hands against the drums is as brutal as the sound he’s producing, his mouth open and his breathing deep. His eyes shuttering closed to feel the music. You readjust your legs and try to ignore how this feeling of watching him burns in every cell of your body.
The music slows to a stop with the final thrums of a guitar, and Rodrick looks up from his drum set to see you. He stands up immediately, bumping against the drums and making the cymbals crash. You try to restrain a smile.
Jess is stood out in the hallway, still unwilling to spend her Monday lunch listening to Löded Diper’s ear-bleeding music. However, as Drew and Ward turn to Rodrick – noting the way he’s looking at you as though no one and nothing else exists – they know that trying to continue practice now would be futile.
Jess is stood against the sound-proofed walls whilst the other members of Löded Diper tune their guitars and adjust their equipment. Rodrick has his hands over yours, guiding you as you try to play the drums from your place on his lap.
You feel the gentle brush of his words as he speaks directions into your ear, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes against your back, and the way the sound of his laugh makes your body vibrate each time you fumble the drumsticks.
‘Gross.’ Jess says to herself in her affectionate way. Drew hears her voice and takes this as a chance to speak to her, abandoning his instrument and making his way to the wall. She sighs as she watches him approach.
‘You know, Löded Diper’s playing a gig soon, you should come Jess. I can get you backstage. And I can get drinks, on me.’ He says, deepening his voice.
‘Sorry, I’m really busy that day. Film club responsibilities.’ She walks away before Drew can try to follow up, as well as to stop herself from pointing out that whatever run-down bar they’re performing at probably doesn’t even have a ‘backstage’.
You haven’t even realised that Jess was approaching until she reaches out her hand to still the percussion of the cymbals.
‘This is all really sweet, but can we leave? I’m starving.’ Jess is looking at you in a way that tells you that the only answer is a yes. You nod, turning to Rodrick.
‘Bye.’ You place a chaste kiss against your favourite of Rodrick’s birthmarks and take Jess’s outstretched hand.
Rodrick blinks slowly. He wants to stand up and follow behind you. He wants to go anywhere you’ll take him. You’re halfway out the door before you turn back to the room.
‘I’ll see you in Chemistry.’
You’re talking to Jessica and sharing a sandwich before she holds her finger up to pause the conversation, as though she’s remembered something. She rummages through her school bag and pulls out three condoms in packets, all attached to each other, holding them out to you.
‘Jessica!’ You say with a mouth full of food, swatting her hand and looking around at the tables of people eating lunch.
‘What? These are for you. I got them after you found me on Sunday.’ She slides the condoms across to your side of the table and continues her defence.
‘It looked like you and Heffley were about start fucking on that drum set in front of all of us. Drew’s so perverted he wouldn’t have minded. You know he used to hide in supply closets to jerk off to pictures of Tammy Hueler’s friend group during Sophomore year?’
You pass the sandwich back to Jess and consider the condoms as she takes a large bite. You swiftly place them in the pocket of your skirt, and they feel like a promise as you sit down in your chem class.
For the past half-hour of Mr Patridge’s explanation of Organic Reactions, Rodrick hasn’t been able to focus on anything but you.
He watches when you move in your chair to reveal more of the bare skin of your neck. He wishes for nothing more than to be closer to you than he currently is. He imagines being able to touch you again, the soft warmth of your skin, the way you –
‘This is for you.’ Tammy Hueler has secretively turned in her seat, a folded sheet of paper in her grasp which she holds out to Rodrick. He dubiously takes and reads the note.
‘Do you have any clue what he’s talking about?’ He reads out in a whisper, the short question signed with your name underneath.
He looks up to see you looking at him from over your shoulder, biting back your smile. He smirks, immediately putting pencil to paper. Tammy rolls her eyes as she realises she’s been made into the unofficial delivery system. You read to yourself what Rodrick has written back.
‘No clue. You’re way too distracting. I really like your hair.’
You smile writing your reply. You grimace at Tammy apologetically as she impatiently passes the note behind her.
‘I really like your face.’
Rodrick’s so zoned into pencilling his reply under yours that he doesn’t notice Mr Patridge’s presence until he already has his hands on the note, intercepting it before you can read it. Rodrick sinks into his chair slightly, and Mr Patridge walks to the front of the room before clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.
‘It seems that Mr Rodrick Heffley has been passing notes in my class. I’m certainly curious to discover what was so important that it couldn’t wait. Let’s see.’ The class share whispers of curiosity as he unfolds the paper fully and begins to read.
‘New girl! Heffley’s already brought you down to his level? Well, I guess that’s obvious since here you’ve written “do you have any clue what he’s talking about”. I’m going to assume you’re referring to me, which means you would “have a clue” if you’ve been keeping up with the set reading.’
You wish the ground would swallow you up. Your Chemistry teacher continues.
‘Mr Heffley would be the wrong person to ask in any case, but here he writes back “no clue, you’re way too distracting, I really like your hair”.’ The classroom let out hushed laughs.
‘To which new girl replies "I really like your face". This is truly riveting conversation, you two. Bravo.’
Tammy lets out a snort.
‘Finally, Mr Heffley writes, “you are so hot I need to –’ Mr Patridge takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.
You turn to Rodrick to laugh and it makes the rest of the world unimportant. Your Chemistry teacher speaks.
‘You both obviously have detention. Today. Don’t even bother picking up your bags at the end of the lesson because, as I’m sure you’re well aware Rodrick, detention is held in this same room on Mondays.’
The classroom empties, and you move to sit at the desk next to Rodrick’s. He smiles stupidly sweetly at you. Mrs Bergum walks in and she talks in her warbly and screeching voice once you both look at her.
‘Only you two here today. Everyone else has been on their best behaviour.’ She judgementally asses the both of you before opening up the bodice-ripper book she has with her. Rodrick reaches one of his hands onto the desk in front of you and the other under your chair to slowly drag you closer to him. He leans into you to whisper in your ear.
‘Mrs Bergum is totally narcoleptic. She’ll be out in no time, just watch.’
So, you sit here with Rodrick, playing a silent game of thumb wars under the table, until after about half an hour when you both notice Mrs Bergum lying down with her face pressed against the open pages of her book, snoring.
Rodrick lets out a satisfied laugh, kicking his feet up onto the desk. You bring a hand to his face and speak authoritatively.
‘Come on. Let’s leave.’
Rodrick looks at you as though he somehow hadn’t considered it. Yet, he’s nodding with his mouth slightly open and stands as you stand. You don’t break eye-contact with him as you walk him out of the room, your hand in his.
You’re laughing as you walk alongside Rodrick, quietly closing the door behind you and making your way to the rest of the Science block, until you hear a sound that makes you both stop. Mr Patridge is talking to another teacher around a corner somewhere, and his voice is getting closer.
You take Rodrick by the front of his band tee and pull him into the nearest supply closet, right next to the door of Mr Patridge’s room. You soundlessly laugh into Rodrick’s chest as you both stand surrounded by shelves of cleaning supplies, under the dim glow of a sole light bulb. Rodrick nestles his face into your hair and speaks.
‘We are so fucked. He’s probably going back into the classroom to get something.’
You bring your finger up to your mouth and whisper.
‘Be quiet Rodrick.’
He frowns slightly. You’re looking up at him and move to run your fingers along his bare arm. He watches your movements with a dedication.
You stand taller to kiss his neck placatingly, in a slow pattern travelling upwards, and he involuntarily and softly moans. You smile before shushing him, bringing your lips to his. This should be more effective at making him quiet, you think.
You slowly move your mouth against Rodrick’s, his breaths shaky when your tongue runs against his teeth. He has his hands travelling across your clothes, starting to gently move underneath your top as Mr Patridge’s voice can be heard just outside.
Your Chemistry teacher has stopped in front of his classroom to talk to another Science teacher about some benign topic. You guide Rodrick’s hand to your bra clasp.
You hear the gentle unclasping and feel the gentle thrill of Rodrick bringing his hands to your chest. You interrupt kissing him to watch his face as he touches your breast, his eyelids going heavy before he groans into your neck. A heat burns inside of you as his fingers move hungrily against you.
You’re in a daze as you pull on Rodrick’s band tee again, this time bringing him down with you onto the linoleum floor. He’s slightly kneeling as you wrap your legs around his body and place yourself on top of him. He tries to whisper.
‘Please.’
You’re kissing him again and knocking against containers of bleach.
Your body heat rises when you can feel his hard-on through his jeans. You try to resist making any sound as your underwear makes staggering contact with the bulge in his jeans, again and again as you move yourself on him. The heat in the room is blinding as you reach into your pocket and take out the condoms.
Rodrick doesn’t break eye contact with you, heavily breathing as you rip one packet open with your teeth. You take one of his hands, still looking into eachother's eyes, and place the condom in his palm before you reach down to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.
You lift yourself up to take your underwear off, watching desperately as he pulls down his boxers, the condom slipping on easily with the pre-cum on his twitching cock. You try to regain control over the muscles of your shaking legs as you straddle over him again.
‘Holy shit.’ He gasps out, his eyes blown as he takes you in.
Voices can be heard outside the door.
You smile before placing your hand over his mouth. You lean into his ear which is shaking in the same way his whole body does.
‘You have to be quiet Rodrick.’
He feels pathetic as he makes an almost soundless cry against your palm as you slide yourself onto him. You have to bite onto his neck to supress your noises. You begin riding him.
You feel his tears falling down your knuckles. He feels it in every breath of his, that nothing has ever felt better than this. Your heartbeat is faster than it truly has been before. He whimpers against your hand with every movement you make and you tighten your hold on his mouth.
‘God, I’m sorry. Fuck. I love you.’ He says against your hand again and again through laboured breaths.
You feel the sweat of his face mix with yours as it becomes almost painful for you to quiet your pleasure, feeling the entirety of him pulsing inside of you. You bring your head up from his to watch him. You feel an almost disruptive tenderness mixed with abject ecstasy watching him become undone, his eyes half-open, underneath you.
‘You’re so beautiful, Rodrick.’ As you whisper your words he blinks his eyes open.
All it takes is seeing your face and his fate is sealed. As he comes, he repeats your name. The sound of his groaning voice desperately calling on you is enough to drive you into your possessing and blinding orgasm too. He kisses you gently and you stay where you are for a little while longer. The voices in the hallway now distant.
Rodrick’s driving you home in the van and you have your hand at the back of his neck, fingers in his hair as you sing along to one of the songs he put on the mix-tape he made for you. He thinks he might be in heaven. He tries not to crash into the sidewalk as he stops outside of your house.
What’s meant to be a chaste goodbye kiss deepens, and you have to fight yourself to find the power enough to pick up your bag and step out of the van.
When Rodrick parks near his house, he squints to make sure he’s not seeing things when he notices his dad waiting by the front-door with his arms crossed. He exits the van and approaches.
‘Hey dad. What’s up?’
‘Don’t “what’s up” me. I got a call from the school saying you’ve already scored yourself another detention, and on top of that, you snuck out of it – completely taking advantage of Mrs Bergum’s narcolepsy, might I add. It’s completely unacceptable Rodrick. Your mother and I will have to find some form of punishment for you.’
‘Dad, you’re completely overreacting. Okay? You’re only pissed because I let your car get all banged up last week.’ Rodrick doesn’t even realise what he’s said, even as Frank’s eyes blink rapidly.
‘What was that, Rodrick? You said that you let my car get “all banged up”?.’
Rodrick grimaces.
‘No.’
‘That’s not what you said?’
‘Nope.’
Frank makes his way to the, now repaired, car and opens the door, sniffing.
‘It smells like cigarettes in here. I thought it was just the repair guys but it was you!’ Frank points accusingly at his son, who isn’t doing a good job at masking how totally fucked he is.
‘Dad, look, I’m sorry.’
Frank clicks his fingers, validated.
‘I knew it, I knew I would never forget to park at the bottom of the street.’ He says to himself before looking back up at Rodrick to continue.
‘You’re grounded. You can hand over those keys, too.’
a/n: please tell me your thoughts on this part if you have the time and, as always, thank you so so much for reading!
(also if you’re looking for a new show to watch then please consider watching Kirsten Dunst’s show On Becoming A God In Central Florida as it heavily inspired this part (and is also just a great show that was cancelled too soon))
author's note: this concept is kind of really sacreligious and so i hope i don't upset anyone too badly ... but also i think Phoebe Waller Bridge would be proud of me and maybe that's all that matters
warnings: masturbation, some religious guilt, kind of submissive Rodrick highkey, kissing, things get frisky a little bit
masterlist - part eight
It’s Sunday morning, and the Heffley family are getting into the old church mini-van that picks up the elderly population of Plainview.
‘Dad, I’m not getting in that van.’ Rodrick folds his arms, standing outside the sliding door. He’s sure it’ll be a total turn off for you if you have to watch your boyfriend emerge from the oldie-mobile.
‘Rodrick, it’s only temporary. The car’s in the shop right now.’ Frank raises his eyebrows from his seat, urging his son to get in.
Rodrick sighs as he crouches inside to take the only available seat, the one between Greg and Mr Baker. Greg makes sure to noticeably push his sunglasses further up his nose. He watched some documentary a while back about the science of hypnotism, and now he’s currently convinced it’s how Rodrick bagged you.
‘Rodrick, boy. Do you want a mint?’ Mr Baker – in his warbling, low voice – addresses Rodrick, opening his palm to show a few small tablets. Rodrick raises his eyebrows. Though he can barely read it, he’s pretty sure the blue shapes in Mr Baker’s palm say Viagra in tiny lettering.
‘Oh, no thanks Mr Baker. I’m all good.’
Rodrick turns to look directly in front of him, when he makes direct eye contact with Mrs Yeux.
Rodrick remembers how Mrs Yeux used to give the both of you a bad case of the heebie-jeebies, since she claimed that she can ‘see the sins people hide, with the help of the Lord’ and she had the power from God to punish sinners.
Rodrick feels that same childhood fear in him now as Mrs Yeux’s scathingly brutal and openly judgemental stare sticks to him as the van moves through countless neighbourhoods. If he were more paranoid, he’d be sure to still believe in Mrs Yeux’s power.
Maybe he is that paranoid, he thinks, as he begins to sweat under her watchful gaze. He desperately tries to will his mind into not revisiting what he was doing just a few hours ago, with the small chance she might actually be able to read his thoughts.
Rodrick had woken up from yet another dream of you with the same problem he’d been having each time. He had groaned, sitting up in his bed, determined to ignore his situation – as he often did. He had always felt so uncomfortable with the idea of thinking about someone he actually knew with his hand around his dick. He had resisted every day so far because he cares for you so much. He would hate feeling too guilty to look you in the eye. But, something gave in within himself this morning as he felt the gentle constraint of the bracelet you had given him around his left wrist.
Now, here in the mini-van, he tries not to think of how he had taken the Lord’s name in vain right before he had come, repeating your name as well as some particularly unholy curse words.
He drums his fingers nervously, trying to look down at his shoes to avoid Mrs Yeux’s eyes, but they pierce through his peripheral.
Your family arrives to church much later than usual, as your mom couldn’t find any batteries for her epilator, and you are deeply miserable to be sat several rows behind Rodrick. Still, the distance is almost worth it, getting to watch him try to look for you in the crowd during the entirety of mass.
As Father Michael is still sending off the congregation to the festivities outside for the church’s Sunday Harvest Celebration, you’re urging your family to go over to where the Heffleys are standing.
‘Be patient, honey. I know you want to see your boyfriend, but we should help out this Sunday with returning the hymn books, to be responsible patrons.’ Your mom says, playfully prodding you. You roll your eyes as she signals for you to help her pick up the books being left behind by the congregation. You speak whilst stacking books.
‘Mom, that is 1000% not the reason. Susan is your best friend, remember? I’m just trying to be sociable and … neighbourly.’ You don’t know why you even try, it’s probably glaringly obvious to anyone within the Plainview vicinity that you are completely and totally head-over-heels about Rodrick.
You chew the inside of your cheek as your mom walks you, in her slow movements, past the confessional booth and into the deepest, dusty bowel of the church.
Upon entering the room, she becomes annoyed with how disorganised the piles of books are, taking it upon herself to arrange them.
‘Mom!’ You place your books down and cover your face in frustration.
‘Just wait a moment. It’ll only be a second.’
You sigh and pick a book back up from your stack to flip through, anticipating spending a cruel amount of time in this dull, old room.
You daydream of Rodrick. How good he looks with that tie on, how beautiful his searching eyes were as they looked across the church.
Soon, you’re ripping out the back page of your hymn book and writing on the paper with some abandoned pen. You look to your mom, crouched near her organised stacks.
‘Hey, mom, I think I need to go to the –.’ You’ve not even finished your sentence before she’s waving you off with a dismissive hand, still occupied with the books. You slip out of the room.
The church has been mostly emptied of people now – the volunteering cleaners as the sole exception – but the lively late-morning conversation of the congregation still persists outside.
You shiver as you step out onto the leaf-covered ground to see seasonal foods and family-friendly party games at different stalls. Distantly, you see Rodrick laughing, stood with his family as they watch Rowley and Greg competitively going head-to-head with apple bobbing. Your skin turns warm and you fold the paper into the palm of your left hand.
Rodrick’s laughter catches in his chest the moment he sees you approaching from a distance. The only way he can get himself to breathe is with deep, stunted breaths.
Now you’re here, close to him – alongside the apple buckets – and the whole world is quiet.
He can hear only your voice as you awkwardly say good morning to and shake hands with his parents – Frank and Susan giving each other knowing looks – with your right hand, before you switch to your left and offer it to him. He smiles whilst narrowing his eyes in playful suspicion, taking your hand. Between the soft parts of your skin touching, he can feel the thin barrier created by the sheet of paper. He blinks and you’ve disappeared, a beautiful ghost.
Rodrick waits until everyone’s distracted, with a bell calling the end of a game, to open the note.
‘come kneel at the confessional booth’
Rodrick doesn’t consider his surroundings or anything else as he is drawn back into the church. Entirely devoted to abiding by your word, he reaches the confessional stall. As he walks, he runs his fingers over the closed priest’s side, before kneeling at the penitent’s side.
He looks through the latticed wall. He can only just about see you, sat there in Father Michael’s seat. He smiles at the sound of your sweet laugh from inside the booth. You put on a serious voice.
‘Rodrick Heffley, do you have anything to confess today, with the Lord as your witness?’
He feels every fast beat of his heart and he wills himself into a reply.
‘Yeah, I guess I do.’ He says, pausing before he speaks your name with all the reverence Father Michael reserves for saints, echoing the beginning of a confession ‘… bless me, for I have sinned.’ Your skin heats. Rodrick continues his confession.
‘I can’t stop thinking of you, and almost every night I sleep, I dream of you. This morning I … I get these crazy hard-ons sometimes just imagining you and this morning I got off at the thought of you and I think Mrs Yeux is actually a mind reader and knows all about it because she was looking at me all suspicious on the oldie-bus but I don’t really think I should go to hell for having a hot girlfriend. And also, I love you, even though I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to yet. It’s probably because I always did and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.’
You feel faint and blindingly warm. You laugh in a daze.
‘I love you too.’ Is all you manage to struggle out before shuddering out a breath that shakes your whole body. You speak again.
‘Come to me.’
You stay sat in Father Michael’s chair as you hear Rodrick get up and open the door. He slowly drops to his knees again, this time in front of you, closing the door before he bends to gently place his head in your lap.
You pass your fingers through his hair, then tug it softly to bring his face up to look at yours. You take his face in your hand, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he slowly moves closer to your face. Closer and closer until he groans into a kiss.
He pulls you further off of the chair until his body is pressed against the innermost part of your legs and his arms are wrapped around you. You feel your blood vibrating as you're moving your hand down to Rodrick’s belt buckle. He immediately moves to oblige, right as the warmth of the booth is disrupted by the chill of someone opening the door.
You both look to see Mrs Yeux herself outside the door with cleaning supplies and a bible, shaking her head with that silent, judgemental look of hers. She still gives you the heebie-jeebies, even now that she’s so old she doesn’t bother to verbally express her disdain anymore.
‘Uhh, hey Mrs Yeux.’ Rodrick says as he takes your hand, slipping past the scornful old-lady to find refuge outside.
You return to the festivities with Rodrick’s hand still in yours, counting down the time until you can get another moment alone with him.
a/n: this was my first time writing something more sexual in nature and so i hope it works ! if you've taken the time to read all of this, thank you thank you thank you thank you (1000 more times) becuase it means the world to me !!!
summary: The bad weather in Plainview seperates you and Rodrick, and you both try not to go insane.
pairing: rodrick heffley x fem!reader
word count: 2.4k
author's note: i'm going to be really vulnerable here and say that because of my OCD i have a genuine fear of the number six (ridiculous, i know) which has made writing this part genuinely a difficult task which my therapist would consider 'exposure therapy', so hopefully it's not too shabby
warnings: kissing, sexual references, maybe one bite and one lick (jokingly ... please trust me on this)
masterlist - part seven
You think you might be going crazy.
Your high school sent out a memo Thursday morning announcing that, because of damage caused by the strong weather which had passed through Plainview the day before, all classes were cancelled until further notice. Your mom had told you the news at the breakfast table as though it were something to celebrate. You had smiled and feigned relief at being able to go back to bed, but you no longer had an appetite for your cereal. Sick at the thought of being unable to see Rodrick.
You tell your mom most things, but you had felt strangely shy at the thought of telling her about Rodrick. Maybe it was because that would transform him from ‘Rodrick Heffley, Susan’s son’ to ‘Rodrick Heffley, my daughter’s boyfriend’. You couldn’t yet understand your feelings on the topic, and so inviting him over was miserably out of the question.
To make matters worse, your phone could probably only be found in a bush somewhere, which left you with no way of even hearing Rodrick’s voice or receiving his poorly spelt text messages. You endured two days of this – days that led into nights imagining his beauty marks which you had mapped in your mind like constellations – until you finally gave in to the insanity.
It’s early into Saturday morning and you’re putting on your helmet whilst trying to arrange all of the random items you’ve placed inside your bicycle basket. You set off through several neighbourhoods, soon seeing Mr Heffley around a corner. He's stood outside of his house looking defeated. When you get closer, you see the Heffley family car all smashed up in the rear end. You half-dismount your bike on the side-walk and talk to Frank.
‘Jeez, did the wind do that?’
It takes Frank a moment to even register your presence before he deflates his chest and answers.
‘No, it was parked badly and the wind just took advantage of it. I must be losing my mind or something. I could’ve sworn that I always make sure to ‘PATBOTS’ when the weather’s bad.’
He reads the confused look on your face.
‘PATBOTS, it means to Park At The Bottom Of The Street. No shops in the area that can deal with this level of damage have been open, and so I’m royally screwed.’
You bite the inside of your cheek. You’re really hoping to not have to get into a lengthy conversation with Mr Heffley about his unnecessary acronyms or the lack of available car repair shops. You have a goal this morning. You’re just about to excuse yourself as he speaks again.
‘What are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong, we love your family but, Susan didn’t tell me about anything going on this morning.’
You want to give him the excuse you came up with when putting your shoes on, but you feel so flustered by his line of questioning that you only manage to stutter out a half reply.
‘My mom – I need to drop some stuff … off. Weather stuff.’ God, have you always been this terrible a liar?
Mr Heffley squints his eyes at you for a moment before shrugging at you with a tight-lipped smile. You place down your bicycle, pick up your assorted items, and smile back awkwardly. Slowly making your way towards the welcome mat covered in leaves.
You fumble to ring the doorbell and impatiently bite your lip until Mrs Heffley answers. She says your name with a fond confusion.
‘What are you doing here sweetheart?’
You feel better prepared to answer the question this time around.
‘My mom wanted me to drop off some supplies, because of the weather shutting everywhere down.’
Susan looks down at what you have in your hands: some oranges, a flashlight, a few loose batteries, an umbrella. She can’t hide her genuine confusion and you realise you probably should have spent more energy on deciding what to bring. It would have been impossible, though. You were being driven near insane with your thoughts of Rodrick. Susan still replies in her kind way.
‘Okay … that’s very nice of you. We're about to have breakfast. Are you hungry?’
You can’t help but smile as Susan takes your bait.
‘I do feel exhausted after biking over here, and I haven’t eaten anything yet, but I would hate to impose.’ You wouldn’t hate to impose, you hope to impose yourself greatly.
Susan expresses a sympathetic frown.
‘Well of course we’d love to have you. As long as you aren’t too put off by the boys’ breakfast antics. You’re lucky Rodrick isn’t up yet, because he’s by far the worst behaved to have breakfast with. Come inside.’
You feel desperately unlucky and trip over the welcome mat when stepping into the house bathed in the arly morning sunlight.
Susan walks you to the table where Greg waves at you whilst chewing noisily and Manny offers you a berry he’s just spat out. You wave back and decline the offering, wondering if it would be truly and actually insane of you to go up to Rodrick’s room and wake him up yourself.
Rodrick turns in his bed upstairs. He hasn’t been able to sleep properly for the past few days. He’s considered showing up to your house and throwing a rock at your window or wrangling a pigeon to send you love letters, but he’d been stuck with the unfortunate task of babysitting his two brothers, enforced by his parent’s threats of taking the Diper van away, whilst schools across Plainview are shut.
With futility, he still compulsively called your phone – which was probably still ringing in a bush somewhere – and he wrote out what he would have messaged you that day. It didn’t help that whenever he did manage to sleep, he saw you in his dreams and you touched him in ways that still had his blood pumping when he woke up.
This Saturday, he’d felt miserable upon waking up to the birds chirping outside. He’s making his way slowly down the stairs when he hears his mom laughing. His face sleepily furrows. He’s not sure he’s ever heard her laugh so warmly.
Though he hasn’t heard your voice yet, by time he reaches the hallway Rodrick’s sure he can smell the faint ghost of you. Probably just the after-effects of his dream, he thinks. Greg's voice cuts through the laughter.
‘Can Rowley be invited, since Rodrick has a friend over?’
‘Honey, I don’t know if Mrs Jefferson would feel comfortable letting Rowley have a play-date right now, I’m pretty sure they’re still sleeping in the storm bunker.’
‘Mom! It’s not a –’
As Rodrick rounds a corner to the breakfast table, both Greg and Susan look as though they’ve seen a ghost. He’s rubbing his eyes, too sleep-deprived to notice their scrutiny. However, the tiredness is raptured from his body as he sees you.
It feels so right to see you sitting there, and Rodrick hopes that he’ll get to wake up to you within arms distance for the rest of his life.
Your skin grows hot as you look at him, wearing low rise pyjama pants and an old band-tee that exposes his midriff in the morning light when he crosses his arms. He tries to swallow a smile as he watches your eyes. He looks to his slippers bashfully as he speaks.
‘I didn’t know we had company, mom. I would’ve come down sooner.’
Susan tries to dismiss her disbelief at Rodrick being awake so early and speaks.
‘Her mom very kindly sent her over with some supplies. Sit down Rodrick. I’ll get you a bowl.’
Instead of sitting opposite to you, as he always has, he goes to sit next to you. Coyly looking only at the table in attempt at making his forwardness more subtle. Susan’s distracted, being hounded by Greg and looking through the cupboard, as you turn to Rodrick.
‘Hey.’ You can’t say it without your smile being audible in your voice. Rodrick can’t get his mouth to move in the way he wants it to. Susan returns with a bowl and spoon and Greg continues to argue his case.
‘This is so not fair.’ Greg is tailing Mrs Heffley around the room.
Susan goes to reply only for Manny to spill his food all over himself. She picks him up, frustrated, leaving the room as Greg follows behind. His argumentative voice trailing off to the bathroom.
Rodrick turns to you and smiles, taking in your bare face. His heart aches at the sight of you. You move to place your chin on his shoulder, nudging your nose into the hollow of his neck. You laugh.
‘You smell awful.’ Still, you inhale his smell deeper.
‘Then you’re perverted, you just sniffed me.’ He gets a deep thrill in the way you look up at him then. He gets an even sicker thrill when you bring your face up to jokingly lick him.
‘Only over you.’ Your face is level with his now, and he thinks he might cry. You’re so hot, hotter than any girl ever, let alone one he’s been this close to.
His pupils are dilated and he’s looking to your lips. You lean closer and take his lower lip into your mouth, softly biting it. He groans. You then speak into his open mouth.
‘It was torture not being able to see you or talk to you.’ You bring your hand into the back of his hair, running your fingers through it. Now he actually does cry a little, a tear falling down his face as he leans into you, kissing you again and again. Quiet moans as he kisses over your face, your neck, your collarbones, until you’re laughing at his fervent passion and heavy breathing. Laughing only distracting you slightly from how you burn from the inside out from the feeling of his touch and the sound of his panting in your ears.
‘Fine, you win Greg. I’ll call Mrs Jefferson after breakfast, okay?’
You and Rodrick try to slow your breathing and move back into your seats with the sound of Susan’s approaching voice.
For the rest of the breakfast you trace patterns into Rodrick’s leg and he, in turn, tries to not go crazy at being unable to fully touch you.
When you’re getting ready to leave – heading off to your weekly cinema hang-out with Jess – you pull Rodrick into the living room, when everyone else is occupied. He smiles wildly at you and you desperately want to kiss him, but you only have time for one thing.
‘This is for you, Rodrick.’ You pull a bracelet from out of your pocket, made of black thread with a red apple charm on it. You tenderly take his left hand and place the bracelet in his palm before you continue.
‘I found it during my first week in New York. It reminded me of you and I’ve held onto it ever since. You can wear this so you don’t forget about me, even for a moment.’ You try to sound less serious and intense than you actually are about wanting him to think of you every second of every day, even just in the back of his mind.
‘I could never forget you. I never did. You’re right here, remember?’ He points to his head and you smile. You reach up to that place on his forehead and give him a kiss as Frank calls your name out from another room.
The guys are all at Rodrick’s house for practice. Rodrick keeps on messing up his solos and seems to be somewhere else.
‘Dude, are you having a fucking mental break or something?’ Drew says, raising his eyebrows.
‘Huh?’ Rodrick is barely paying attention. He keeps on remembering how soft your skin is and how kind you are and how you didn’t forget him when you were in New York and how …
‘Dude! I swear you’re muttering to yourself and everything right now. What’s going on?’
Ward smirks knowingly and approaches Rodrick at his drum set. He places both of his hands on Rodrick’s shoulders and presses.
‘Yeah, Rodrick, what is going on with you today. Care to share with the class?’
Rodrick rolls his eyes at how obvious Ward is. He needs to remember to never tell him anything ever again.
Greg and Rowley tentatively approach the ajar door leading to the band practice. Rowley giggles and Greg attempts to shush him.
‘What are we even doing here Greg?’ Rowley whispers.
‘I need to find some dirt on Rodrick. He’s been acting different lately and I can’t risk being caught off-guard.’ Greg returns his attentions to the room where Ward begins to speak again.
‘It wouldn’t be anything to do with, like, the new girl who’s actually the old girl that you’ve been crazy in love with since Westmore? The date you had on Wednesday went well I’m guessing? For sure because of my advice.’
Rowley can’t hear anything, since he has his ear pressed against the wall, but Greg catches every word and his eyebrows lower in confusion.
‘Holy shit.’ Is all Drew says. The other guys echo the disbelieving, yet impressed, assertion.
‘She came over this morning for breakfast, and I swear I haven’t been able to think straight since.’ Rodrick gives in, confessing.
Greg gasps in horror and runs away from the door before Rowley can follow. He finds his Mom reading in the living room.
‘What’s wrong with the world, mom?’ He heaves desperately as Susan rises in a panic.
‘What’s wrong, honey? What happened?’
‘Rodrick is dating – she, I always thought she was a nice, good person and she – he must have hypnotised – and she came over – and’
‘Greg, slow down. You said something about Rodrick dating someone?’
Greg slows down his breathing and is only barely able to say your name before shaking his head with disgust.
‘What’s wrong with the world?’
Susan restrains herself from smiling as she considers the truth in Greg’s ramblings. Rowley finally catches up to Greg before Greg runs off again, this time to go outside. Susan makes her way to the strangely quiet band practice, running over before she’s even aware of it. She pushes through the door.
‘Mom, what are you –’
‘Is it true? You’re … together … with my best friend’s daughter?’ She can’t contain her excited smile even as Rodrick’s face contorts.
‘Mom, how did you –’
Before Rodrick can answer, Susan runs out of the room and is calling your Mom. They talk on the phone for hours, planning the hypothetical wedding and imagining what your kids might look like.
a/n: thank you so much, if you've finished reading this part, for participating in my exposure therapy - it is greatly appreciated lol - and thank you to @jasminedisjasminedat for the moral support i needed when spiralling
“I want to write a fic about this but I don’t think anybody will be interested in it” ummm hello excuse me ma’am what do you mean you don’t think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other people’s.
summary: Your first date with Rodrick isn't what you would have imagined.
pairing: rodrick heffley x fem!reader
word count: 2.7k
author's note: i've been really ill recently, as well as busy with exams, so i am slightly unsure about how this part reads, but i hope you guys enjoy it regardless!
warnings: smoking, kissing, angst
masterlist - part six
Rodrick looks out of his window, bare trees bending and bowing under the force of strong winds. Ward’s voice comes through on the phone.
‘Dude, she’s, like, way too cool for you. First of all, she has a life outside of Plainview, which automatically makes her better than all of us.’
Ward loudly eats a piece of toast straight into the phone.
‘Second of all, she’s an upstanding citizen. Remember Middle School when she was voted, like, most likely to be President of the world or something. Don’t sweat it if she cancels because if she doesn’t, you’ll totally freak her out.’
Rodrick drums his fingers rapidly against the window pane.
‘You’re freaking me out. Why did she say yes to going out with me if you’re sure she actually doesn’t want to?’
Ward sighs as though what he’s about to say is obvious.
‘Girls don’t know what they want, they only think they do.’ He takes another loud bite as Rodrick frowns.
Though he should know better than to trust Ward’s judgement, especially after the time it scored them both a spot in Juvie, Rodrick has just woken from a vivid dream, the memory of which makes his head spin.
In the dream, he had been writing one of his songs, the ones that are now all intentionally about you, and you were there beside him, wearing a nice, white dress.
He had somehow gotten covered in the pen ink and you had offered to help clean him up. But, in the process he had covered your dress in all of the black liquid.
You had looked down to the stain, and then up at him with this look of disdain that made him feel nauseous even just to remember when he had woken up. He could still hear how real it had sounded in his sleep when you said to him:
‘You ruined everything.’
Rodrick tries not to hear the echoes of your voice when he replies to Ward.
‘Okay, so what do you think I should do?’
‘Rodrick, you’ve come to the right place for some fool-proof lady advice.’ He definitely has not, and Rodrick in any better state of mind would know this, but he stands up straighter to listen in as Ward continues.
‘Whatever you do, you cannot be yourself. Brain wipe what the movies or your mom have probably told you about, like, being true to you or whatever. Be who she’s supposed to want. Like all of the sophisticated, top-notch guys she probably dated back in NYC. You’re competing with them. That’s gold-standard, Heffley. If she asks you anything about yourself … I’d tell you to lie, but you’re, like, really bad at that – just change the subject. Then she can’t figure you out.’
Rodrick’s fingers are pale from the drumming. He nods, considering Ward’s advice, before replying.
‘Okay, I’ll try that.’
Ward sighs, pleased with himself.
‘I’m headed to school now, but remember Heffley, you’re on your best behaviour tonight. Don’t be Rodrick, be someone else.’ Ward hangs up the phone, leaving Rodrick with only the sound of the raging wind outside, and the repetition of your dreamlike voice.
‘You ruined everything.’
You’re mulling over reasons Rodrick might not have shown up to Chem today when Jess interrupts your thoughts from the driver’s seat.
‘Will I catch you at the Fun Fair tonight?’
She’s looking at you a little impatiently, as though she had just repeated herself. With your swarming anxieties and the sound of the powerful winds against the roof of the car, you hadn’t even registered her voice.
‘I have plans.’ You try to sound less obviously secretive, but you smile as you remember what you’re hiding.
‘Plans? What does ‘plans’ mean in this case? Grocery shopping? Bank heist? My Great Uncle did one of those. The heist, not the groceries. His wife would have mostly done the groceries.’
Your eyebrows furrow as you look to Jess, you can never tell whether she’s joking or not. She misreads your expression.
‘What? It’s verifiably true via the newspaper archives at the library. He was the first, and only, bank robber in Plainview history. My Great Aunt, his wife – everyone thought she didn’t know, neighbours saw her as real goody-good housewife type, until they were caught on the run together half way across the state. A real Bonnie and Clyde thing.’
You had already agreed to meet Rodrick at your old spot in the park, an almost exact middle point between your houses, at 7. You technically have no good reason to call.
This doesn’t stop you from beginning to pull his number up on your phone as you’re doing your make up, fixing your hair, choosing your dress. Each time, you decide against pressing call. If he knew that you were thinking about him almost every second of the day, so much it borders on slight obsession, it would definitely freak him out, you think. You try to calm your heart and your mind as you walk outside, your white dress thrown about by the wind.
Distantly in the park, you see a guy who looks exactly like Rodrick from what you can see of him facing away from you. The guy is dressed like he’s headed somewhere important, even though it’s a Wednesday night. His neatly tucked shirt resisting the pull of the wind. You get closer to your spot, by the tree, and you notice how this guy has the same exact hair as Rodrick. In fact, you’re sure you’ve memorised the exact pattern in which this nicely-dressed guy's hair grows from his scalp before.
‘Rodrick?’
He stills for a moment at the sound of your voice before turning. He flinches slightly when he sees you, like it hurts, in the way it hurts when you look at the sun. He’s holding flowers which he holds out to you and you smile despite your confusion at his odd demeanour.
‘You weren’t in Chem today. Mr Patridge was pissed.’ What you can’t say is how you had felt his absence from that seat behind you as a physical pain in your chest. Too melodramatic, you think, even though it’s true.
‘I’m sorry. I was just busy with, stuff.’ What Rodrick can’t bring himself to tell you is that he had spent all day trying to figure out if he still knew how to drive his dad’s manual car by practicing in a dealership in the next town over.
You frown slightly at his half answer but decide to step forward, reaching out to run your fingers over the collar of his shirt.
‘You look like an altar boy.’ You joke, but you bring your hand up to his face as a bold expression of your need for a closeness with him. You speak again.
‘I missed you today.’
Rodrick thinks he must have forgotten how to breathe as he leans his face into the warmth of your palm. He shuts his eyes and replies.
‘I used to be.’
You raise your eyebrows.
‘Used to be what?’
He opens his eyes.
‘An altar boy, remember? I was bad at it back then, but I think I’d do a better job at it now. You know, being more mature and everything.’
You lower your hand from his face to his neck as you laugh.
‘What?’
He avoids your gaze and you tilt your head to look into his eyes, trying to read his mind. You give up, stepping away from him. He feels it worst where the wind freshly chills his skin, where your hand just was.
You were so unnerved by Rodrick’s strange behaviour that you didn’t even question it when he had walked you to the car park and it had been Frank’s car waiting for you instead of the van. You watch him the whole ride to the restaurant, looking to see if you can decipher what his deal is today. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead, knowing that if he returns your look it’ll be obvious that he’s not doing a good job at this whole thing. He thinks you might look into his eyes and suddenly realise that, no matter what he tries, he can’t be who you want.
A waitress walks you and Rodrick to your table.
‘Apologies for how dark it is in here, the boss had us put down most of the shutters because of the strong winds. We have extra candles for each table, to compensate.’ She smiles cheerily as she pulls candles and a match box out from her apron. She strikes her match once, Rodrick’s fingers drum heavily against the table. She strikes her match twice, you reach out your hand to place over his. She strikes her match a third time, Rodrick’s hand stills. The candles are set and the waitress walks away.
You’re halfway through your food when you realise your conversation with Rodrick has been following the same futile pattern for the past half-hour.
He asks you a question about yourself and you reply. You ask him a question about himself and he immediately tries to change the subject.
You decide you’re not going to let up with this next question. Rodrick finishes another full glass of water and starts to talk again.
‘Was the music as great as everyone says it is, back in New York.’ He’s been pretending to be very interested in his pasta in order to avoid maintaining eye contact with you for too long.
‘It was really great. Some really cool bands to see, too. I used to always go to see this one guy from Texas who could do an unbelievable acoustic set. Not too bad if you’re not worried about spending on the ticket. How’s stuff with your band, Rodrick?’
‘Nothing much. What did the tickets in New York cost?’
You narrow your eyes. The window shutters rattle in the wind as you reply.
‘Nothing much. What’s going on with your band?’ You stress the word ‘your’ as you challenge Rodrick to meet your eyes, lowering your head. His fingers begin to drum again and he hesitates for a long while before he speaks.
‘I’m actually thinking of leaving the band. All of that heavy metal stuff just isn’t for me anymore, you know?’
‘Rodrick, you love playing music.’
‘I’d still play, just maybe something different. Maybe I could pick up the guitar and try, like country music or something.’
‘Country music?’ A large gust of wind charges through the restaurant and snuffs out all of the candle light.
You and Rodrick walk out of the restaurant and to the car park after having spent the rest of your date in near silence and near darkness. You reach Frank’s car before him and almost don’t turn around as he says your name. You face him and sigh.
‘Why would you bother taking me on a date if this is what you were planning to do? I don’t know what kind of mind games those were.’
You can’t bear to look at Rodrick as you speak, his face contorting into a hurt that twists your gut. His nice shirt is being tossed by the wind and coming untucked. He looks desperate, hesitating before he speaks.
‘I was really nervous about tonight and I had this bad dream – ’
‘Bad dream?’
‘ – And I asked Ward for some advice because I didn’t know who else to talk to –’
‘You asked Ward for advice? Wasn’t he the reason you went to Juvie?’
‘And I – well, yeah he is, but he’s right about things sometimes. He told me that I shouldn’t be myself around you, to not freak you out like I do everyone else. So I can be the kind of guy you deserve. The kind of guy you want.’
‘Rodrick Heffley, I don’t want whatever that was. I don’t care about all of this.’ You say, looking at his now dishevelled formal attire.
You’re now looking up at Rodrick in the same hurt way you did in his dream and he thinks he could be sick. He’s shivering under your palm as you reach to touch his face again.
‘I want you.’ You whisper your confession, looking into his eyes.
Rodrick feels his eyes begin to sting and he steps away from you to turn around. You give a pained, deep sigh and begin to dig in your purse.
Rodrick looks up to the tumultuous sky above to fight his emotions. Behind him, he hears the shuffle of a box and the click of a lighter. He turns back around to see you with a cigarette in your mouth. Held in place between your lips as you keep on trying to get the lighter to work. He laughs, amused.
‘You smoke?’ He says as though surprised.
‘Bad habit from New York. Everyone smokes over there.’ You try not to notice the change in Rodrick’s demeanour.
You still struggle with the lighter as he steps closer to you, looking down at you. Wordlessly, he brings both of his hands around your one, placing his fingers to still your thumb’s motions as he softly reaches into your palm to take the lighter from your hold.
You watch your hands together as though time has slowed. You see and feel every place where your skin still touches. You look at Rodrick’s eyes now and he looks to yours, clicking the lighter. A flame with just one press.
You see the fire reflecting in each other’s eyes when you lean forward for the flame to catch the cigarette. You inhale deeply, your breath almost catching when Rodrick moves even closer, taking the cigarette from your mouth and bringing his mouth close to yours. As you breathe out he breathes in, a natural rhythm, inhaling the smoke from your mouth. Your eyes sting with the wind and the smoke and the sheer force of your adoration for him. He’s closer and closer, his lips softly ghosting over yours, until you kiss him.
The late evening roads are populated by swirling leaves and you’re passing a cigarette to Rodrick when you see something from the passenger seat.
‘That’s the fun fair! It’s got to still be going on. I can see the lights.’
You and Rodrick and a few stragglers are the only people here under the colourful lights of the fair. You pull Rodrick by his trouser loops when you spot the chance for a ride on the empty Ferris Wheel.
On the wheel, you can both see the whole of Plainview better than ever before. You feel an unexpected sense of awe.
‘I need to take a picture of this. It’s beautiful.’
You reach into your purse to get your phone. Rodrick smiles at your wide-eyed look. As you’re taking your photograph at the highest point of the wheel, the phone slips from your hands, so far down that you don’t even hear it make impact with the ground. Rodrick stifles laughter.
‘Oh shit.’ You both say. You lean into him as you laugh.
Rodrick has just dropped you off at your house. You had given him a kiss on his cheek so softly that he was still in a daze on the way back home. Rodrick’s driving instructor had once told him that he drives with the practical awareness of a ‘half-blind, drunk old-lady’, but now his skills are much worse. His thoughts split between you and figuring out how to park so that his dad won’t notice that he had borrowed the car.
Rodrick sneaks back into the house, the muscles of his face strained from smiling so permanently. He gets into bed just as the wind picks up. Then, from outside comes the sound of tires and a crash. Rodrick moves to his window to look outside, grimacing when he sees his dad’s car half way down the street.
He tries to remember whether he had put the car in park as he sees his dad’s head appear from the window below his.
a/n: seriously thank you if you've gotten this far. i still have an impossible time believing that people actually read the stuff i write ?!?
Best Behaviour is giving me LIFE! Thank you so much for sharing this awesome story. I really appreciate all of the effort you have put into it. I hope your exams go really well! You deserve all the best! 🩷
Genuinely, thank you so much for your kindness <3 i can hardly believe that not only are people reading my work, but that the people who are reading it would be so lovely
Until I have the time to update best behaviour, here are some things I believe to be 100% true, without any evidence or reason
Eats half of a pickle and puts it back in the jar 'for later'
Ambidextrous
Never actually learnt how to tie his laces
Was an altar boy for years, but also the first altar boy in Plainview history to be explicitly told not to volunteer anymore
Was 1000% the kid in school who could burp the alphabet
Takes dares deadly serious
Drinks whatever he has with him when his mouth is still full of food
Cat whisperer
I also made a playlist based on what I believe would be Rodrick's canon music taste, approximated by the merch he wears, the genre he plays, and just an overall vibe
