idk why I strongly believe Rodrick's type would be someone with Sabrina Carpenter's aesthetic...iykyk
currently working on a short drabble abt them making out btw

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@redwinesuperruby
idk why I strongly believe Rodrick's type would be someone with Sabrina Carpenter's aesthetic...iykyk
currently working on a short drabble abt them making out btw
My crushes and one of them is CLEARLY not like the rest.
Rodrick Heffley
Ada Wong
Yuta Okkotsu
Denji
Satoru Gojo
People voting for Rodrick and Ada when the real sneak here is YUTA. All of these mfs are cocky asf and then there's little cutie patootie who is three apples tall and is the most soft-spoken guy I've ever seen. The only thing they all have in common is being certified yearners.
My crushes and one of them is CLEARLY not like the rest.
Rodrick Heffley
Ada Wong
Yuta Okkotsu
Denji
Satoru Gojo
gege confirmed satoru is stronger than sukuna i can finally BREATHE…..
you're bit too possessive toward your nerdྀི
the moment you spot them through the glass wall of the library study room, something primal inside you snaps.
your nerd. your sweet, tall, stuttering nerd.
and some other girl leaning all over him. all giggles and twirls of her stupid hair, looking up at him like he hung the stars. you can practically see the way her fingers brush “innocently” against his forearm. and gojo—this sweet, beautiful idiot gojo. he's just smiling, shyly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, completely, utterly oblivious of the advances the girl is making.
you see red. not the cute, flirty kind of jealous. no.
you see murder.
by the time you stomp into the study room, he lights up the second he sees you—like a golden retriever seeing its favorite person. “babyy!” he blurts, half-standing so fast he nearly knocks over the chair. his knees bang the table. his pen scatter. he's flushed pink already, hands fidgeting with the hem of his stupid neat sweater, beaming at you like you're the sun itself.
meanwhile, the girl beside him falters, confused as hell when you swoop in, grab a fistful of his collar and yank him down into a messy kiss—a possessive and mean one, kissing him like you're marking him, like you're making a fucking declaration.
gojo gasps against your mouth, stunned, but immediately melts, tilting his head to give you more. he kisses back with desperate little noises, afraid if he doesn't, you'll change your mind and leave. when you pull back, he's breathless, blinking at you all dazed and drunk, glasses slipping halway down his nose. “i missed you…” he whispers.
you don't answer him, to focusing on the other girl. staring straight at her awkward form peeking up her books, face pale. you tilt your head and smile—sharp, unfriendly, a predator showing teeth. she scurries away without a word.
gojo blinks between you and the empty chair, confusion pinching his brows. “she…left? we didn't end the explanations—”
you grab his jaw in one hand, squeezing his cheeks until his lips squish pouty. “you,” you hiss, leaning so close your breath fans his pink ears, “are so fucking stupid, satoru.” his wide, panicked eyes blink down at you. “i-i am?” he stutters, looking on the verge of tears just because you're mad at him. “i-i didn't even—i mean…i was j-just doing the private lesson…i-i told you about it!” he babbles, desperate. not understanding a thing.
you shake his head a little by the jaw, making his glasses slip down worse. “yeah, yeah. i agreed on a private lesson." you snarl, voice dripping poison-sweet. "not private fucking sex.” you yank his wrist, dragging him out of the little study room, ignoring the curious heads turning to you.
satoru stumbles after you, tripping over his own feet—over himself just to keep up. “y-you're mad,” he whines, almost breathless, cheeks burning red. “w-what did i…i didn't—”
his voice gets smaller when you spin around, shoving him back hard against the nearest wall. his back thuds against the cold surface, and he freezes up, chest heaving. “you really don't get it, huh?”
that dumb, pretty face of his—lips pink from your previous kiss and from him nervously chewing them, his glasses crooked, his hair all messed up—god, you could eat him alive. “you let that clingy bitch touch you like that?” you spit. “smile at her like that? let her giggle and bat her lashes like you didn't already have someone who should be the only thing you look at??”
satoru is practically vibrating in place, like a kicked puppy. his Adam's apple bobs hard when he swallows. “i-i didn't notice!” he chokes out. “i swear, angel, i didn't! i-i didn't even l-look at her. .” your nails scrape up his chest through his hoodie, making him whimper. “you're mine, aren't you, 'toru?” he nods so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. “y-yes!! yours! of c-course, only yours!”
your hand snakes lower, palming the half-chub tenting his sweats. poor thing :( so quick to get hard just from yelling at him. “you're lucky you're cute,” you snap, but your heart is hammering at how real the panic was in his voice.
you squeeze him through the fabric. his hips jolt into your hand with a pathetic little gasp. you watch his pretty white lashes flutter, poor boy was genuinely confused why you're so pissed—poor sweet nerd who only ever wanted you :((
you click your tongue. “my pretty nerd,” you mock sweetly, squeezing his cock harder through his pants, making his knees buckle. “getting hard just ‘cause i’m scolding you? bet you'd cum just from me slapping your face.”
“i-i could! i would, i-if that's what y-you—ah!—want,” his mouth works uselessly searching for words, his brain short-circuiting because your hand's still lazily stroking him through his sweats. you lean up, biting his jaw hard enough to make him whines.
"you’re gonna make it up to me," you murmur against his skin, voice syrupy sweet. "gonna let me use you however I want. gonna be a good boy for me, huh, satoru?" he was towering over you but he was so, so submissive.
he nods so fast again his glasses damn near fall off. "a-anything," he breathes. "please. please let me—lemme be good—i'll be so good, promise!"
oh nerdjo, you'll always be my beloved...
When your boyfriend told you that you would have an unforgettable afternoon, you didn't expect it to be like this and you would be lying if you said you weren't slightly disappointed, however, you didn't complain or make an effort to go away either.
Your head rested against Rodrick's chest, your gaze lost in some corner of his room as your fingertips traced vague circular patterns on his (surprisingly) washed t-shirt. Music blared from the second-hand stereo he'd recently bought with his saved mom bucks while you both got cozy, there is no need to talk or force a topic of conversation, the presence of the other is enough, besides, Rodrick didn't need words to make you feel safe and comforted, his actions were more than enough, even the smallest things and details that he would think you didn't notice, like the lavender perfume he now uses to wash his clothes because he knows it's your favorite, the space he's cleared out on his nightstand and desk because he knows you tend to leave things there: your lipstick, your keys, your hair clips, your bracelets, whatever, he wants you to feel like his room is also yours, you also couldn't forget that he arranged all his vinyls, CDs and records in such an order that he left the ones you liked the most in an easy-to-find area. Then there were the not-so-subtle stuff, like the polaroids you'd taken of the two of you tucked neatly away inside his closet, in a small shoe–box that he made sure to paint with Manny's crayons, it was temporary of course, until he could buy a more decent container for the memories he made and will make of you.
You're supposed to not notice that, you're not supposed to notice any of this, but you do. Rodrick isn't the most extravagant person when it comes to planning dates or time together, but that doesn't mean he doesn't strive to improve, which is why this afternoon isn't disappointing as much as you thought it would.
thinking chronically abt Rodrick Heffley is so fucking addictive, I can't even pay attention to class