prompt/request: “You just revived my thirst for Jerome. So please do a one shot of Jerome jealous (a little possessive)” @optimisticspyllamaroad
synopsis: jerome’s always been a little… possessive. but it took you to make him snap.
warnings: swearing, sexual themes
In your eyes, Jerome acted like a complete child for the rest of the day, huffing and puffing around with a pout on his face as he made sure to avoid you. This left you alone for the remainder of the day, possibly for the first time since you were in arkham, which made you feel like a giant red target. An inmate took their shot and tried to sit next to you at lunch in Jerome's usual spot, but they were met with a sharpened plastic knife to the crotch, and after a harsh verbal lashing, the rest of the jailbirds followed suit and you were left alone.
In Jerome’s eyes, everything was red. He had taken a spot with Dietrich and Arnold Dobkins to make himself a little less available to you, but they didn’t get his jokes and he found all his energy being poured into fighting the urge to look at you. Deep down, some part of him knew how petty this all was. In the back of his head, he could hear Cicero telling him he’s making a mistake, that Jerome should put himself in your shoes, figure out why you did it, or at the very least, talk to you. But this is Jerome we’re talking about. His tiny conscience was no match for the teenage hormones and homicidal rage flowing through his blood. In your eyes, you had dropped him for a dirty old man and a pack of cigarettes.
He lay in his metal cot for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts swirling so violently he swore he could see them circling above him through the cracks in the concrete. In the darkness, finally alone, his body caved in, and he could feel his throat close up. The jealousy had bubbled over. His mind continued to spin.
How could y/n do this? String me on for so long just to drop it all for that old scumbag.
What has he got that I don't? I'm way younger. I have way better hair. Hell, I have hair left. I make her laugh.
She traded you, Jerome, for a packet of cigarettes. a packet of lousy cigarettes.
I bet I have a bigger co-
He was pulled from his incessant thoughts by a rumble coming from the corner of his room.
“Room service!” he heard you call, followed by a muffled cackle. Jerome sprung up in his bed, head thrashing around wildly as he tried to place your voice. He heard the vent in the corner of his room rattle as you shook the rest of the bolts loose enough for the metal plate to swing open on its hinges. You ungracefully scrambled out of the grate, only just managing to land on your feet with a low grunt. Jerome simply scoffed, turning away before you could see the smile grow on his face. You plonked down on his bed beside him, back against the wall and curled your legs up so your knees were in line with your chin, staring at him with a raised brow and an amused expression in wait for him to break the silence first. You knew it was mean, but you also knew Jerome and couldn’t help but want to see him squirm a little first, as payback for being a prick earlier that day.
Finally he managed to wipe the smile from his face, turning to face you slightly with his head down. You could see he was pissed. His jaw was clenched shut, the muscles twitching ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on the sight for a few seconds longer than you should.
“What do you want?” he grumbled, shuffling to lean his back on the wall beside you.
“It worked” you stated, noticing he stared quite intently as you dug your hands into your striped pants, procuring a crumpled packet of cigarettes, a small green lighter inside.
“I don’t smoke.” Jerome quipped back, evidently annoyed at your smugness. You reached into your pants once again (hey, you were smuggling contraband through the air ducts of an insane asylum, where else were you supposed to put it?) and held the smuggled article in front of his face. A warm, slightly squished jumbo-sized milky way bar.
“You don’t like peanuts either”
At this point you could see him fighting to hide his smile, snatching the candy bar out of your hand and shoving it back down his drawers for safekeeping.
“You’re welcome!” you taunted in a sing-song tone.
“Why’d I do what, Jerome?” you teased back, yet in the same, serious, low tone he used.
“Mess around with that… Knucklehead. I told you he only uses people to get in their pants and you just waltz right into his fuckin’ arms. What’d he make you do, huh? Is his dick as shrivelled as you thought it’d be?”
“He didn’t make me do anything, J.” You scoffed, highly surprised at the fact he’d think you’d sell yourself short like that.
“You know me. You really have the nerve to think I’d do anything with that slimeball?” you pressed on.
“Y/N-” he warned curtly, though he was cut off by your growing rage.
“You know you really are a piece of work, Jerome. I did this to cheer you up and here you are acting like a brat cause you think I’d gone off and fucked the crypt keeper. I’m- why does that even matter to you? Why the fuck are you so worked up abo-”
Jerome moved in an instant, grabbing your face tightly between his large hands as he kneeled over you, feeling you hastily suck in a gasping breath of air.
“Because,” he growled, “I care about you.” he spat out each word, his brown eyes burning into your own,
“Because I don’t want him to touch you. I don’t want anyone to touch you. I don’t want anyone to fucking look at you, or even fucking think about you. I don’t wanna see you with anyone else” he shook as he spoke, pushing you further and further back as he loomed over you. You could see the intensity in his eyes, it made you shiver to see him so serious, devoid of any humour, any joy, any mischief, just burning severity.
“I wouldn’t do that to you, J” you spoke, coming out as a low grumble. You could feel his breath on your face as his eyes darted back and forth between yours.
“And why’s that, doll?” he hissed with a sinister smile, spit flying from between his teeth.
“I-I… Y-” you were rendered speechless, his sudden approach and the close proximity of your faces wiping all coherent thoughts from your mind.
“Come on sweetheart,” he snarled, “spit it out”
“Because I’m yours, J” you admit, feeling the weight of a thousand bricks lift from your chest. Immediately, his features soften, his eyebrows lift, but his firm grip on either side of your face remains.
“You’re my girl?” he asks, his voice now a soft, raspy whisper.
“I’m your girl” you reply in the same, hushed tone, a small blush creeping its way up your cheeks. Jerome made no hesitation to harshly pull you forward until your lips met. Your hands hastily made their way to grab his wrists, stroking at them with your thumbs. One of his hands made its way to your hair, tugging lightly, coaxing a small whimper from the back of your throat. Jerome growled in response, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you onto his lap which made you gasp. Jerome took a short moment to admire your features, your cheeks flush with want, before pulling you back in roughly. You felt your stomach twist and churn as he deepened the kiss, turning his head and holding yours close with his large hand. You felt him crack a smile, making him slow up a little, and you couldn’t help but smile back until your foreheads were simply pressed together. Jerome ran his fingers through your hair, grabbing a strand and holding it to his lips as he chuckled.
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