It’s a Jerome Valeska x OC thingy ... Her name’s Olivia Cobblepot, Penguin’s sister obviously.
Scroll down for the imagine/scene if that’s all you’re here for — but I’d really appreciate the help!
So I’m in a bit of a pickle.. so do people really pay attention to ages in fanfictions? Like a steamy imagine where the character is 13, but in the actual show they’re older? Because I don’t find myself imagining said character as the specific age, I always imagine them as they are in the show, as 20 or 24 or whatever.
And just to clarify these imagines aren’t made for the sake of aging a character down. It’s a steamy flashback scene or something, and not where age plays a particularly large role. They’d be acting the same way they do in the show — a 13 year old wouldn’t be acting like a complete dom for instance — but it’s just that in that fanfiction’s timeline, they happen to be a lot younger.
Let’s say also, that this scene is to build a history between the reader or an OC and the character, where the character is just that age at that point and it isn’t really a big part of the imagine/fanfiction.
I wrote a flashback where a character is younger than they are for about 90% of this fanfiction, and it turned out being v steamy and I ended up really liking it. Since said character is 13 in this flashback and doesn’t really act like a 13 y/o, and I don’t imagine him as one personally, I would assume others wouldn’t either.
But I still am scared that other people would be into the fact that he’s 13 in this.. I don’t know but if I get responses saying to be safe and put it in later, I will 100%. I just want to protect my favorite child from being perved on.
Anyways, here’s the scene —
“You’ll be fine, O.” The boy promised, his stark blue eyes staring directly into your greenish ones. Neither of you ever had a problem with intense eye contact; for many it would’ve been awkward or uncomfortable, but it was almost a silent competition, whoever looked away first had submitted to the other.
“I know I’ll be fine, you idiot, it’s just that you need to memorize the quadratic formula and you sure as shit haven’t even accomplished that.” You lied to his face, and boy he knew it. You’d always been scared of heights, but your ambition outweighed your anxiety. You had a weird obsession with getting over your fear, seeing it as a weakness. Jerome knew just which buttons to push for your adventurous, competitive side to take over.
Plus, you insulted people when you lied, subconsciously trying to fuck with the person you were refuting’s psyche, trying to make them feel inferior. He really did understand the human mind. He could read you like a fucking cereal box, and you hated it more than anything.
“Bullshit. You’re just scared. I thought you wanted to be a badass. I guess you’re just a scared little pansy... and I’m the boss.” He replied, a smirk overtaking his features, he knew he’d won.
“Fuck you.” You said, breaking eye contact and writing something down, a clear sign of defeat. You sighed, shaking your head softly and chuckling, still staring at the paper in front of you, “Go put your shoes on asshat.”
He kissed your cheek, just to spite you, and started to get up from his chair, “But, no matter how much you think you are, I’ll always be the boss.”
This you said more softly, laughing afterwards, still writing down the painful algebra on the sheet of paper. You thought you’d gotten away with the comment, though you soon felt Jerome’s hands on your shoulders, and his breath on your neck, “Are you sure about that?”
You stood up quickly, turning to where your bodies were only centimeters apart, facing the ginger before pressing your hand into his chest and shoving him into the wall a few inches behind him. You slowly raised your height to your tiptoes, leaning into his chest and whispering into his ear the best you could, “Definitely.”
You knew it was only a matter of time before he asserted himself. He tolerated your attempt at control simply because he knew that he could turn the situation completely opposite to how it was playing out in less than half of a second. He’d exploit your weaknesses soon enough.
Jerome could barely hide his smirk, he switched his position to where your back was against the wall, his large hands on your hips, which were dangerously close to his groin at this point. Your left hand laid gently around the back of his neck whilst your other hand pressed against his broad chest; not to mention the unwavering eye contact. “That’s where you’re wrong, doll.”
His breath was cold, smelling intoxicatingly of spearmint, his body’s scent of light cologne and faint cigarettes forced your breath to hitch in your throat.
“Who’s the boss, Liv?” He asked, feeding off of your submission.
“You.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he peeled away from you, grabbing one of his sweatshirts and tossing it to you before he put on one of his.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
