can you write about rodrick heffley x plastic reader, if you haven’t seen that already
oh yes! <33 rodrick would definitely let plastic!reader walk all over him. (& yes u can be the dolphin anon)
( ty to @spikernojutsu on tt for inspo!)
rodrick heffley who “coincidentally” ends up where you are
cafeteria, quad, hallway—always there. he smirks when you catch him. “i’m just… around,” he says. “sure,” you reply, stiffness in your voice. he chuckles. “yeah, you’d notice if i wasn’t.”
rodrick heffley who couldn’t care less what your friends think
when they catch you staring at him, all three of them react instantly, regina practically choking on her drink. “rodrick heffley?” she scoffs. “come on, y/n, you can do way better.” you just blink, forcing a laugh. “me and that loser? pffftttt, hell would have to freeze over.” but your voice falters, and rodrick, leaning against a nearby wall—catches it. he smirks, eyes locked on you, already filing the moment away. something tells you he’s not gonna let you forget it.
rodrick heffley who somehow bagged you without either of you realizing it
he’s always teasing, smirking, showing up everywhere, making jokes that sting just enough to make your icy composure twitch. you brush him off, but catch yourself laughing once or twice when he isn’t looking. then one day, he leans against the lockers and grins. “so… we’re basically together, right?” you blink. “excuse me?” he shrugs, lazy smirk in place. “look at us! we tease, we text, we hang out… that’s a relationship in my book.”
and somehow, you realize… he’s right.
rodrick heffley who notices everything—especially your style
you’ve been adding a little black into your usual girly outfits, and he can’t help smirking every time you walk by. “wow, queen of the shadows,” he teases, leaning against the lockers. you roll your eyes. “don’t flatter yourself, heffley.” then there’s wednesdays. he shows up with just a hint of pink under his jacket, smirk in place. “i call it…paying homage to your vibe,” he says, like it’s casual. you catch it instantly, eyebrows raised. “pink? you?” he shrugs, grinning. “even i can appreciate aesthetics.” and he watches, clearly loving that you noticed, and secretly hoping you approve.
rodrick heffley who knows exactly when you’re stressed
when your shoulders tense up, he slides his fingers over your back, tapping little rhythms like a private drum set. it’s dumb, it’s ridiculous, but somehow it works, and you can’t help letting your guard drop for a moment.
rodrick heffley who would do just about anything for you — or atleast try..
you tried to force rodrick to sit through a full-blown powerpoint trying to “improve” löded diper’s image. until halfway through, he fell asleep on the table. you blink at him, unimpressed. “really? did you hear a word i just said?” he wakes up, squinting his eyes. “yep, change the logo or something”
“that was 12 slides ago.”
rodrick heffley who’s the only one that can actually handle your bratty attitude.
everyone else either backs down or gives up the second your tone sharpens, but him? he just grins. leans back in his van, arms crossed, eyes glinting with that infuriating amusement. “done yet, princess?” he’ll ask, voice low, teasing. you glare, toss your hair, roll your eyes like it’s routine. “don’t call me that.” he rolls his eyes. “would you prefer to be called brat instead?” you gave him a long, silent glare. “yeah that’s what i thought. get in the car princess.”
rodrick heffley who silences your scolding mid-rant,
kissing you hard as his hands grip your hips possessively, pulling your body flush against his. "mmph!" you gasp into his mouth, momentarily stunned by the sudden, forceful kiss. his fingers dig into your curves as he holds you tight, not letting you pull away.
rodrick heffley who parks outside your house blasting loud metal until you come outside.
it’s not even subtle—your whole neighborhood hears it. you open your window just to yell at him, and he leans against the van like, “you’re taking forever, princess.” you’re mortified, but he swears it’s “romantic.”
rodrick heffley who gets jealous way too easily but hides it behind jokes.
someone flirts with you for five seconds and he’s like, “oh, so you’re into guys who actually shower now?”—with that fake grin that doesn’t fool anyone. he’ll act like he’s unbothered all night, then pull you closer by your waist when no one’s looking.
rodrick heffley who always shows up at your window instead of texting first.
sometimes it’s 2 a.m., sometimes it’s right after a fight. he’ll tap the glass with his ring until you open it, muttering something about “forgetting his charger” like it’s not the fourth night this week. you always let him in anyway.
rodrick heffley who forgets you come from a rich family until he’s literally standing in your giant house.
he’s looking around like he just walked into a museum. “so this is what a dishwasher looks like, huh?” he jokes, trying to play it cool, but he grips your hand tighter when your mom walks in.
rodrick heffley who flirts by annoying you until you snap.
he’ll poke at your perfectly polished exterior just to see the cracks form. “relax, barbie,” he says with that lazy grin, leaning against your locker. you glare, unimpressed. “you know, you’d be way less annoying if you learned how to shut up.” he hums. “yeah, but then how would i get your attention?” you hate that you laugh, even if it’s under your breath.
rodrick heffley who keeps your hair tie on his wrist like it’s a bracelet.
he doesn’t even try to hide it, black elastic on his pale wrist, right next to that dumb metal bracelet he never takes off. “you look ridiculous,” you tell him once. “yeah?” he shrugs. “guess i’m yours then.” you roll your eyes, but later, when someone else notices and asks why he’s wearing it, he just smirks. “sentimental value.”
rodrick heffley who says “relax, it’s just a joke” but softens the second you actually get upset.
he’ll tease you until you roll your eyes, but the moment your expression slips, when you look genuinely done, he falters. “hey… i was just kidding,” he says, quieter now. you shrug, not meeting his eyes. then he sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and says, “you know i’d never actually mean that, right?” you don’t say it, but the apology in his tone always gets you.
rodrick heffley who leaves notes in your locker but signs them with something stupid like “your local drummer boy.”
the handwriting’s messy, smudged ink on ripped notebook paper. dumb little jokes, half-flirty insults, or lyrics that sound suspiciously like they’re about you. you pretend to find them annoying, but they end up tucked neatly in your binder. one day, he catches you rereading one, and just smirks. “guess i’ve still got it.”
rodrick heffley who drives with one hand on the wheel and the other lazily resting on your thigh.
he acts like it’s nothing, like his pulse isn’t racing every time you shift or breathe. music blaring, wind whipping through the cracked window, and he’s still glancing over every few seconds. “eyes on the road,” you mutter. he grins. “what, you worried i’ll crash or that i’ll stop touching you?” you roll your eyes, but your smirk gives you away.
rodrick heffley who finds out the “plastic princess” reputation isn’t just a rumor.
he’s leaning against your locker after school when he spots you across the hall—perfect face, perfect hair, perfect fury. some chick had been talking behind your back, loud enough for you to hear. “if you’re gonna run your mouth,” you say sweetly, “at least make sure you’re not wearing knockoff prada while you do it.” the girl freezes, stammering “w-wait i— didn’t mean to off—“ you smile at her softly “save it, you’ve dug your grave, now lay.” rodrick just watches, jaw slack, then starts laughing. “you’re insane,” he says when your in his proximity. you glance up, unbothered. “and you’re still staring.” he grins, pushing off the locker. “yeah,” he admits, voice low. “guess i’ve got a thing for terrifying girls.”
rodrick heffley who corners you in the parking lot just to argue
he finds you, alone. finally. phone in one hand, iced coffee in the other. “you keep staring, barbie. i’m gonna start charging.” you lower your sunglasses slowly. “you wish.” he grins, reckless. “what? you’re not used to someone calling you out?” you tilt your head, smirk softening. “people don’t call me out. they apologize.” he laughs, low and amused.
“maybe,” you say, stepping closer, heels clicking. “but it works.” his gaze lingers, intense and calculating, yet full of fascination. “see,” he mutters, voice low, “you act like you’re running a kingdom, but you don’t even know what it’s like outside your walls.”
“then show me,” you challenge.
he blinks once, smirks, and backs away. “careful what you ask for, barbie.” the air is electric, the school parking lot quiet, the moment all yours. he’s obsessed, watching, teasing, pushing, and you know it.
rodrick heffley whose friends and your friends absolutely cannot stand each other.
it starts at lunch—his band crowd sitting one table over, your plastics giving them side-eyes sharp enough to cut glass. regina’s the first to speak. “do they even own shampoo?” she mutters. ben snorts, muttering back, “do you even eat?” you pinch the bridge of your nose, already feeling a migraine. rodrick just grins, totally unbothered, leaning closer to you. “this is kinda hot,” he says under his breath.
“babe, they’re gonna kill each other,” you hiss.
“yeah,” he smirks, “but they’re bonding.”
it escalates when karen asks, “sooo… do you guys play actual music, or just noise?” bill fires back, “depends—do you talk actual words, or just air?” rodrick’s trying not to laugh, and regina’s glaring daggers across the table. gretchen’s whispering, “this is, like, social suicide,” you sigh. “this is your fault.”
he says, pretending to be offended. “you’re the one who made me hot enough to start a turf war.” you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling—because somehow, in all the chaos, you’re the only two who actually get along.
rodrick heffley who swears he doesn’t care that much, but somehow always ends up next to you, at lunch, in the car, on the couch, half-asleep with his head on your shoulder.
he teases, argues, pushes your buttons for sport, but when you get quiet, he always notices first. he’s the one who nudges your leg, mumbles “hey, talk to me,” like it’s not a big deal. and maybe it isn’t—until he says your name like it means something. until you realize he never stopped showing up, even when he said he wouldn’t.
because rodrick heffley doesn’t do soft.
