seventeen ✰ rodrick heffley x reader

✰ chapter eight

You wake up sweaty underneath soft linen sheets.

Distantly, you hear your phone buzzing on Rodrick's nightstand. You ignore it in favor of burying your face in his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath.

Sun shines brightly through his window, and you squint your eyes to block out the light. The phone won't stop buzzing, so you roll over Rodrick's chest to grab blindly at his nightstand until you feel the phone. It's still vibrating.

You blink, your eyes adjusting to the bright screen, to see several missed calls from your mother and about a hundred texts.

That does its job to wake you right up. You sit up in bed, groaning.

"Shit. Rodrick. Rodrick, wake up. Fuck."

Rodrick yawns and stretches, and normally you'd be enamored but you're slowly descending into a panic. Your phone buzzes in your hand again.

"What's going on?" Rodrick mumbles, then leans up to kiss you like it's normal. You ignore his morning breath (and the butterflies in your stomach).

"My mom is about ten minutes from filing a missing persons report."

Rodrick chuckles softly and falls back onto his pillow. "Okay,"

You punch his shoulder. "Not okay! At all!" You let your head fall onto his chest, breaking into nervous, shuddering laughter.

"I'm dead. She's gonna kill me and I'm gonna die. What are you gonna say at my funeral?"

Rodrick grabs your wrists. "No funeral. Slow your roll. It's fine. I'll sneak you out and you can sneak into your house and it'll all be fine. It's all about the sneaking. You have to be sneaky."

You roll your eyes and slide out of bed, trying to make as little noise as possible on his attic bedroom's creaky floor.

There's a thin full-body mirror propped up against his wall, and you take a look in it. Your hair's a mess and your clothes are wrinkled beyond belief. There are dark, heavy bags under your eyes and even though you only had, like, three drinks, you feel like you've been run over by a truck. You're dead.

Rodrick walks up behind you and examines his own face in the mirror. "Try not to die."

You snort. "Thanks for the words of encouragement."

You begin to head downstairs, but Rodrick grabs your arm and holds you back.

"Susan's gotta be awake by now, it's almost nine. You have to go out the window. Unless you want to be ripped to shreds before you get home."

Ignoring the tightness of his grip on your arm, you wriggle free and raise your eyebrows at him. "You expect me to go out through the window? Also, you call your mother Susan?"

"Yes and yes. It's the best option, (Y/N). Believe me, I'm an expert."

"Expert on what, exactly, asshole?"

Rodrick snorts and flips you off, turning around to open up his window. He slowly pries open the rusted old frame so as not to make too much noise.

"It looks so much smaller when you're climbing out," you mutter.

Still, you manage to slide yourself out of the window and steady yourself on the same tree branch you once climbed up.

"I'm going to fall to my death and it's gonna be your fault."

Rodrick lunges out of the window, grabbing for the branch you're sitting on and shaking it ever-so-slightly. You shriek, then clap a hand over your mouth.