Bully!Jabber x Androgynous!Reader: Show Me
Disclaimers: Colorful language, suggestive language, dark themes such as; alcohol/drug use, verbal abuse, implications of self-harm and depression, neglect, physical violence, and struggles with identity.
You were standing over the boy, his thick brown locs trapped in clusters, tight around your fingers, and a foot planted firmly against his chest, sandwiching him between the concrete and the sole of your dirtied Nike tennis shoe. You heaved, eyes staring into his deep burgundy irises with a bloodied fist trembling violently—reeled back behind your head as if you were about to drive it into his face for the upteenth time, while the sight itself stirred a crowd of onlookers from every angle. Their whispers were loud, but you remained fixed on the man beneath you.
Your name echoed from somewhere deep in the crowd, but even that fell upon deaf ears. All the while, the sight of his audacious shit-eating grin only further fueled the desire to bash his head into a puddle of nothingness.
It all happened so fast—so fast that the events prior to this moment felt like that of a distant memory. How did it even get to this point again? Simple.
He has been since the both of you were little. You’ve known him since kindergarten, and for some odd reason, he's always been the one to poke and prod at you—from stealing bits and pieces of your snacks, to snatching your crayons, and making faces at you. Though, you never made an effort to stop it, or tell anyone about it. You didn't think much of it, nor did it bother you as much as it probably should have for a child your age. Though to be honest, you were going through enough at home. Way more than a kid your age should ever go through.
By the time you were 9 years old in the fourth grade, you were already going to therapy to deal with the effects of your parents’ not-so-secret falling out. Even though their quarrels never involved you directly, they always seemed to somehow find a way to rope you into the middle of things—leading to their inevitable divorce, and the seemingly never ending custody battle for you.
For people who claimed to love you so much, they sure do put you through hell, don’t they?
Normally, you’d stay cooped up in your room with your back against the door, and your palms shielding your ears from the sounds of shattering glass, the screeching of a wooden chair being picked up and thrown, or pounds of weight being thrown against the thin walls, and the destruction of furniture. And that’s if you were lucky. With your mother, she’d sometimes call you into the destroyed living room to sit with her on the couch while she vented out her frustration on you—and then blame you for your part it all, only to bounce back in a fit of tears and apologize over and over again, telling you that she loves you more than anything else in the world. After that, she’d pass out, reeking of booze.
That was usually your cue to leave, and hide away in your room again.
When you were with your father, he tried everything in his power to avoid talking about your mom. He took you to the park, or some fast food restaurant with an area for children to play around while he smoked nearby, eyes glued to his phone for some odd reason. That seemed to be the only time you saw him smile. You reminded yourself to never ask him about it again after he let you have it for being ‘nosy.’ “Stay in a fucking kid’s place. I didn’t bring you here to interrogate me. Sound like your damn mama,” he said to you once. You can’t remember how hard you cried that night.
To make things worse, you couldn’t even properly talk to your parents about the things that were going on at school. The most advice you were given by them both was to never give bullies the time or energy. They'd get bored, move on, and/or stop, and move on to bug someone else.
Spoiler alert, it did not stop.
Fast forward to middle school, and the humorless hijinx continued. You almost didn’t recognize him thanks to the change in his appearance. His head, once full of thick brown loose curly hair, was replaced by short locs that framed his face, stopping just above his shoulders. However, he still wore that same sadistic grin every time he tormented you. His eyes were the same too. Never leaving yours—almost like he was looking past you rather than at you.
”Huuuuh? This is yours? I don’t see your name on it,” the boy teased. He stood in front of you, dangling your pencil case above his head and out of reach. He was hella tall for his age, though that didn’t stop you from trying. But every time you leaned up, he leaned back. You jumped, he jerked.
”Give it back...! It is mine…!” You snapped, standing on your toes to grab your property from the little rascal.
”Stop it! This isn’t funny, Wonger! I’m serious!”
”I am too. It’s mine. I found it on this desk,” he taunted with a grin.
”It’s MY desk, dummy!” You yelled.
In another attempt to retrieve your case, you tried to lean forward on your toes, using him as leverage to help you keep your balance. Jabbber stood still, watching you with a glint of mischief in his eyes—he let your fingertips graze the material, giving you a bit of false hope before he suddenly stepped to the side. With a sharp gasp, you tipped forward, falling onto your stomach rather roughly. Yelping in pain, you slowly steadied yourself onto your hands and knees, letting out a series of choked gasps after having been winded.
Heads and eyes turned in your direction, followed by silent murmuring, and a sprinkle of hesitant chuckles and snickers. Were they waiting for some kind of permission to laugh at the situation you were in? Whatever the reason was, it made you wanna disappear right then and there. You couldn’t linger on the question long either—Jabber was hovering over your pathetic form on the ground, staring a hole into the back of your head. You watched his slightly scuffed white Jordans circle around to the other side of you, before…
You let out a winded grunt as he sat himself on your back with what sounded like an agitated sigh. He ignored how you whined and writhed under his weight, simply making himself comfortable as he dangled the pencil case in the air, examining it with a lack of interest.
”Bruh, you’re being lame. You don’t really want this thing back, do you?” He asked flatly.
”Hnng…! Y-Yes I do..! Get offa me you!-“
”You don’t act like it,” he said, cutting you off abruptly. “C’mon, do somethin’ about it already! You’re booooriiiing! Weak little weenie.”
“I’m not weak…! I’m not..!”
You growled, continuing to weakly squirm beneath him, trying to pry yourself from underneath him while he watched, unamused with furrowed brows. He clicked his tongue, and grumbling under his breath, he stood up, tossing it onto the floor next to you, its contents clattering from inside of the sealed fabric covered case—prompting you to lift your head and look up at him. The sight gave you chills as this moment permanently burned itself into your rhetinas.
His face was scrunched up, in annoyance as he looked down at you like you were some cockroach, your surrounding peers doing nothing but oogle at you on the floor. He cocked his head to the side, watching you swallow a lump in your throat—eyes glossing over.
”What? You gonna cry now? Jeez, you’re a little punk, huh? No wonder you don’t have any friends…” he said coldly.
The two of you held eye contact, his cold gaze sizzling through your irises. You bit the bottom of your lip, holding back your tears. You refused to let them fall. Not because of him. Balling your hands into fists, you held his gaze, slowly rising to your feet. This seemed to amuse him. Raising his brows, he welcomes your defiant attitude with open arms, walking closer towards you until he’s close enough to practically smell you. Only his pupils bore into our head, while. His head remained high, making him seem much larger than he really was.
”What?” He said with a grin. “ You mad, punk? Gonna hit me? Go ahead, no balls.”
You continued glaring up at him, biting your lip hard enough to leave a subtle metallic taste lingering on your tongue. Your fists shook even harder, and your heartrate picked up so much to the point where you could feel it in your temples. You wanted- no… You needed to hit him. To make him shut up. However, the only thing that kept you from doing so was your parents. The last time you lashed out, your mother made sure to ‘correct’ your behavior, leaving your backside sore for the rest of the day as you cried yourself to sleep.
So instead, you simply walked past him, and reached down to pick up your pencil case. The moment you stood up however, a sudden sharp pain made you drop it again, and you fell back onto the ground, catching yourself on your hands and knees with a sharp yelp.
Jabber, who had just kicked you in your back, shoved his hands into his pockets and proceeded towards the exit of the classroom, kicking the case further away from you in the process.
“Mmtch… Yeah, you are weak. Loser. Stay on the floor like the bug you are. You ain’t nothin.”
Watching him leave, you inhaled sharply, rising to your feet again, only this time, you couldn’t hold them back anymore. Your vision blurred, as hot beads of tears fell onto the floor at your feet.You kept trying to. Tell yourself that you weren’t weak—that you were just doing what you were told to. You weren’t letting him pick on you. You just weren’t giving him your time and energy, right? He wasn’t getting to you. He was just mad that he couldn’t get to you.
So why? Why won’t he go away? Why won’t he leave you alone?
The same question swirled around your head for the rest of your middle school year, as the torture and humiliation continued, and your self worth continued to plummet. He was relentless, and it only got worse.
He’d trip you, bump into you, and pull your hair in the hallway and lunch room on purpose, heckle while you did presentations, throw papers, pencils, pens and even trash at you. You were his target in the gymnasium, getting pummeled with dodgeballs, even when you were out. It got even worse once his circle of friends got bigger. They made you feel small, making it impossible to make friends, labeling you as some lonely weirdo.
They made comments about how frail you looked, how drained of life you were, how brittle your hair and nails looked, clowning on the way you dressed, spoke, and even carried yourself. You were already struggling enough with your identity, and what made it harder was the fact that you had no one to talk to about it. Jabber lets you have it, tearing into every little thing about you.
“Look atcha, legs about to give out.”
”Damn, you know what conditioner is? Hair just thirsty. You tryna go bald? It’s workin’!”
”The heck do you got on? Who you tryna impress? The homeless dude around the corner?”
He even took it upon himself to shadow you on your way home from school that afternoon—so that morning, he stood outside, leaning on your mailbox with a grin on his face.
You were in your senior year of High School, leaving your last class of the day—wasting not a second when gathering your belongings to make your way home.
For the past month, you’ve been taking an alternate route from school, and it's been working out in your favor. It was the most peace you’ve gotten since… well, forever. You were always careful whenever it was time for you to make your leave, checking corners, keeping track of who he’s come into contact with to make sure you avoided them, and made sure you stayed hidden, obscuring yourself from view by hiding in the crowd.
Everything was going smoothly. You made it from the second floor to the first, and weaseled your way past the crowd, and towards the exit of the school. You knew Jabber’s last class was on the third floor of the building, making it easier for you to get off scott free. When you left the school gates, all you had to do was make a right, and turn into the alley next to the gas station, call an uber, and ride home.
This time around, you lived alone too, so he couldn’t bug you in front of your door anymore.
You were moving swiftly through the crowd, hood on your head, and your head down. Your eyes were glued to the gates, focused on escaping to the comfort of your home.
“You look excited. What we finna do, huh?” A low voice rumbled in your ear.
You were so focused, that you hadn’t realized that you were in fact spotted.
You’d been spotted a long time ago. For the entire month that you thought you’d gotten away, you were being watched as you turned into that same alleyway, only to run out into your uber with that look of relief gracing your tired features.
It was hilarious. And sad.
You didn’t even have time to process the sudden jolt in your chest as you collided with something firm as it blocked your path, causing you to stagger. The moment you did, the feeling of cold metal against the bottom of your face made you jump and tense, lifting your eyes. And just like that, your stomach dropped, and any and all relief left your system, replaced with panic.
You were met with a sinister grin, and a tall figure towering leagues above you. He wore an open tan and black flannel over a black hoodie as the underlayer. The jeans he wore were black and loose with significant distressing at the knees, and a Gucci belt. On his feet were a pair of well-kept timbs, and on each hand, were various gothic looking rings on almost every digit of his fingers, in various sizes and widths.
Jabber cocked his head to the side, his long brown locs dancing down his shoulders and back like vipers, stopping at his waist—further blocking your view of what you thought was freedom.
“Why you in such a hurry? You know, if I didn’t know no better, I’d think you were tryna avoid me,” he said, increasing his hold on your face.
“W-Wha..?! How’d you even..?!- Let go of me..!!” You struggled against his hold, grabbing at his wrist, trying to pry it off of your face. Of course, he didn’t budge.
“Hm? Oh how’d I find you? Pfft~ You ain’t as slick as you think you are, Llil Rugrat, that’s how.” You looked up at him with wide eyes, ceasing your struggling briefly to process what he just said. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You asked hesitantly.
He released his hold onto your face, scratching at his scalp lazily with the other hand—a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. “Now you're playin’ stupid. You lucky I missed how much you get on my nerves,” he said with a chuckle. Just then, his long arm found itself snaked around your neck as he leaned on you, and led you further away from the gate. You didn't bother to struggle, knowing it was completely pointless. Your past run-ins with him proved as much.
Your eyes glued to the ground, body tense as you listened to the dread-head talk about nothing, while he walked you towards some random tree nearby. “I thought it was pretty smart for what it's worth. Tryna find a loophole or a crack in my schedule to try and weasel your little ass outta spendin’ some quality time with me? I don't know whether to feel hurt, or impressed.”
You said nothing, feeling his matte black nail tapping rather roughly against you. He was smiling, but you knew him well enough to know that he wasn't happy with you at all. He never seemed happy with you. As steady as his tone was, it implied that he was a hair away from blowing up if you weren't careful. It was better to say nothing and just take whatever he was gonna dish out rather than fight it. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner you could get home.
You both stopped underneath the pine tree and stood there, his arm still draped over your shoulder while you watched students linger, or exit the school. You tested the waters by trying to take a step away from him, and weren't at all surprised to find that you couldn't move at all. He locked you in place. You weren't going anywhere.
He continued with the same lazy drag in his voice, the hand that hung around you, playing with the fabric of your jacket idly. “Got me thinkin’ though. How long were you expectin’ that to work? Running away like that never lasts long.”
You shrugged in response, fidgeting with the bottom of your band tee.
Jabber stared blankly at the passing students, letting the silence linger for a few extra seconds. “You didn't have some kinda plan for when you inevitably got caught?”
“....Really? Not an alternate route or nothin’. You just put all your chips on this one, wrinky dink ass table.”
Just then, you gagged as a hand closed around your throat, and your back collided with the bark of the large tree, sending your body into temporary shock. To a passing student, it simply looked like some shameless PDA, but to you, this looked like the beginning of the end of your already miserable life. He didn't completely cut off your air, but he held your neck in a way that made it harder to breathe, and caused your facial muscles to strain.
“What the hell is your problem?” He spat. “I'm talkin’ to you. You forgot how to talk? Does your brain still function? Ain't no way I knocked that bitch outta commission already.” You continued to stare at him, opening your mouth to speak, but you couldn't find your voice. Was it because he quite literally held you by your neck? Partially.
“HELLO? EARTH TO DUMBASS!” You flinched, holding up your hands as he bucked at you, forcing a meek sounding shrill from your mouth. “Wait..!! Don't hit me..!” You begged, making him laugh. “So you can talk. Good to know. Now, answer my question. Use your words, aight? Why the fuck are you still pretending after all this time?”
You paused, your face now a mix of both fear, and confusion. “Pretending? W-What the hell would I be pretending about?-”
“See, there you go playing dumb again. It was cute at first, but now it's starting to piss me off.” He increased his hold on your throat, stepping close enough to hover over you, his dreads cascading on either side of your face like dark curtains.
“I…hnng..! I don't know.. what you mean..!! I'm not faking anything…!” You protested between what little breaths you could manage to get. “You're getting.. mad at me over something I don't even know about..!”
“Oh please! You know what I'm talkin’ about!” He snapped back. “What's it gonna take for you to grow a fucking spine?!”
You looked at him like he was crazy, prompting him to shove you roughly against the tree, releasing your neck, and making you gasp for air. However, he kept you trapped, one hand resting on the bark above your head, keeping you from going anywhere. He wasn't done with you.
Not until he saw it again.
Now snatching you close by the collar of your shirt, he pressed further, eyes wide and laced with irritation, and clear annoyance. “I've tried everything with you. I've talked mad shit, I've pressed you, cornered you, followed you home, kicked you, hit you. What more do you want?! When are you gonna let me have it, huh?! Fight back dammit! Do… something!! You clearly wanna beat my ass! Stop holding back already, and just do something!! Quit bein’ a hog!”
Grabbing his wrists, you furrowed your brows, mouth agape with a bewildered look on your face. This entire time, after all these years, he was so hyper-focused on you… for the sole purpose of pissing you off? As it turns out, the tactic you were taught as a child had the complete opposite effect on Jabber. But with that little tantrum he threw, it was clear that he’d been secretly obsessing over you. You just weren’t sure why.
“And you're asking me what my problem is?! You know insane you sound right now?! I want nothing to do with you! Why won't you just leave me alone?!” You finally asked. Rolling his eyes, he lifted his other hand, using two fingers to point directly at your eyes—and with a smile, he started to explain.
“You got that look in your eyes. I know that look too. You don't just got demons, baby. You got that devil in you. I wanna see it. Lemme see it,” he practically begged, making you physically recoil and scrunch up your nose. “I know you feel it too. You felt it when we were in middle school. Remember? I saw how bad you wanted to hurt me. That's when you showed the real you. You ain't some frail ass lamb. You got fangs.”
“Shut up,” you interrupted. “You don't know what you're talking about."
But he didn't stop. He continued on. “I've seen everything. The pain and anger on your face. You're scars…” His free hand lifted to grab your arm firmly, and you knew immediately what he was doing. “Hey!! D-Don't!!-” But it was too late. He'd already grabbed your arm, and held it high, pinning it to the tree above your head.
As your sleeve spilled down your forearm, there it was. The years of pain, and anguish written across your inner wrist, and arm—forlorn etched into your skin. His thumb rested into the pulse point of your inner wrist, drawing idle circles on one of your many scars. “It wasn't enough was it? It's gonna take more than that, isn't it?” He said, his smile growing as your face contorted. First to fear, then shame.
“Trust me, I know. I needed more too. I still need more. This fuckin world sucks, don't it? That's why people like you and me need each other, don't they?” he murmured, watching your bottom lip quiver, and tuck beneath your upper one as you bit down, eyes wide. The look made Jabber's eyes grow wider, his excitement spiking. “There..! Right there..! That's the look I'm lookin’ for..! You remember it, I know you do.”
“Jabber,” you said with a tremble in your voice. “Get your hands off me. Now.”
He only laughed in response, egging you on, by tracing that protrusion in your skin, kissing it with the tip of his thumb. What's wrong, Lil Rugrat? You gonna hit me?” He asked. “Nah, you ain't gon’ do nothin’. You're still the same ole, weak, wack ass, scared little rat I met back in kindergarten~”
“Jabber. I'll tell you again. Get the fuck, off of me-”
“Blah blah blah. Jabber this, Jabber that. All I'm hearin’ is talkin'. I don't see enough action. So what, you bold now? Little bitch baby finally gettin’ some backbone? You still ain't shown me shit.”
Your heart rate picked up, making your head hurt. Your fingers twitched against the tree bark, a thin line of crimson falling down your chin from how hard you bit your lip.
“I'll kill you if you don't shut your damn mouth.”
“Ohhh, so we talkin’ dirty now? You don’t want me to take you there. Trust.”
Pushing his thumb further against your pulse, he knew all he needed was another push. Just one. He had to make this one count.
“You just let everyone walk all over you, don't you? You ain't never gonna escape it all. I hope you know that. It's only gonna get worse. Especially if you keep hiding away like a bitch. You need someone to hold your fuckin’ hand, huh? Just a little damsel in distress. That’s all you’ve been.”
“I bet you’re still a little crybaby too. You were a snot nosed brat for someone as ‘independent’ as you claimed to be.”
“Don’t even get me started on how you couldn’t physically do a damn thing. Shit, it just looked hard for you. Didn’t know whether to pummel you or buy your sad ass an ice cream cone-“
Jabber’s grip on your wrist loosened, as you kicked him in his shin, earning a hiss from him. However, you left him with no time to recover. You shoved the tall boy to the ground, and mounted him, grabbing a handful of his hair. He let out a loud groan of pain. By the time he looked up at you, his face was knocked to the side with alarming force.
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!”
“DO YOU EVER STOP TALKING?! YOU JUST DON’T STOP!! YOU NEVER STOP!!”
Over, and over, and over, you decked him in the face, yelling and screaming at the top of your lungs, tears falling down your face, as you released years of pent-up feelings, and took them out on Jabber's face.
“WHAT DID I DO?! WHAT DID I DO TO YOU?! I DON’T DESERVE ANY OF THIS!!”
Over, and over, and over. With every grunt, and choked guttural snarls of pain, it was followed by a hoarse laugh. In the midst of it all, he laid his arms flat onto the ground, not once lifting a finger to stop you. In your moment of blind rage, and in your darkest moment—for once, he thought you looked radiant. It was beautiful.
You raised a hand, ready to crack him across the face again, when you took notice of one of his outstretched arms. The sleeve of his flannel was pulled back just enough to see a small scar, one much like yours.
When you came to, you were being held back by a pair of strong arms. You heaved and panted harshly, blood on your shaky, bruised fist, tears staining your face. Everything was quiet, muffled.
Across from you, was Jabber, sitting up with his arms stretched over his knees, hunched over—dreads obscuring most of his face. You watched as blood fell in thick globs into the grass. A faculty member stood behind him trying to get his attention, but he didn't seem to pay them any mind. His interest was directed elsewhere. Instead, he lifted his head to meet your eyes. Those same eyes that once looked past you, now seemed to be looking directly at you. He was smiling, looking as though he didn't just get his face beat into the ground.
Licking a thin line of crimson from his top lip, he spoke again. His voice seemed to be the only thing present amongst the sea of chaos you two created.
“There you are. It's about damn time. Nice to finally meet’cha.”
This one was a biiiiit on the darker side, but it’s only one of the many ideas I had stored in my brain. One hell of a first fic for my page hhh- Anyway, sorry for the cliffhanger, and I hope you liked it.
