Your Ginger Housemate (Jerome Valeska X Reader)

12

-Y/n's POV -

You awoke disorientated, engulfed in darkness. You sat up groggily and rubbed your eyes, it felt as if you had slept for hours upon hours! But that couldn't be right, could it? It would mean you had missed your alarm, besides, it was pitch black... almost. Slowly, you dragged your body around and lifted your head to see that the blind on your window, which usually allowed light to flood your room, had been forcibly shut and shoved against the glass with a pillow. It had been broken for weeks, and you hadn't really felt you had the time to fix it. You could only think of one person who would try to help with little to no consideration to what he used.

"Jerome," you groaned, dropping your head back onto the pillow. (Looks like you just going to have to replace the whole curtain and its railing now.) You couldn't stay mad at him though, he had gone out of his way to make sure you slept in. So what was he up to?

As you mulled over possibilities, you heard chuckles from downstairs and remembered your parents were home - alone with him!

You bolted into action, wrestling your snagged legs out of the sheets and jumping out of bed. Without a second of hesitation, you were whizzing down the hallway and flying down the rickety, wooden staircase skipping two or three steps at a time. You arrived at the dining room entryway puffing.

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to greet you, one set shocked, another set curious and the last very amused. The owner of the shocked eyes was the first to react.

"Aw, good morning sweetpea. How was your sleep?" Your mom asked with a cheery smile, holding a steaming cup of what you presumed to be coffee, tightly with both hands close to her chest. You simply stared, dumbfounded at the scene before you.

There was Jerome, smirking behind your parents back wearing a khaki t-shirt and slim jeans. Why did he always have to look so good? You shook your head and glanced around the kitchen.

Pancakes, eggs and bacon had been piled onto four separate plates, and since both your mom and dad were sitting down, it seemed Jerome was the chef.

"It was uh, it was great mom," you smiled weakly at her and took a seat at the small dining table.

"That's wonderful honey. Now, let's let go of the pleasantries, why did you never tell us?" Your mother's tone changed into a disappointed frown.

Your mouth went dry. He didn't tell them, did he? Of course not, they both seemed far too calm for such facts.

You coughed, "Uhm, what do you mean?"

"I mean, why didn't you tell us that Tyrone was such a marvellous cook?!"

The tension in your muscles instantly melted away, "Yes, well, sorry," you smiled sheepishly. Jerome could cook? Well, Jerome didn't cook, but Tyrone certainly did. It smelt delicious.

"Well, it's nothing. I've been meaning to pull my weight around here more anyway." Jerome said it in such an innocent, bashful manner that it could be the maniac ginger that was the act.

Breakfast went without a hitch. Your mum found Tyrone "too charming and far too modest for his own good" while your dad smiled and listened, glancing in your direction from time to time. It made you wonder what he was thinking. And the food was marvellous. You made a mental note to ask about the clothes and cooking as soon as you two were alone. Which didn't come too late, your mom was dying to see the city and your father was immensely interested in the architecture the city contained, so they were off as soon as they could.

After many waves smiles and air kisses (primarily from your mom) they had driven off and you had shut the door and strode to the kitchen. Expecting a mess, you were shocked to see it was spotless apart from a grinning redhead sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging and boots hitting the cupboard door. "Imma' guess you have just a few questions?" Jerome enquired as he held up his hand squinting through the closed gap his fingers made.
You crossed your arms, suddenly very aware that you were still in your pyjamas which weren't entirely conservative.