Title: Dark Habit
Pairing: Jay x Female Reader (Chubby!Reader)
Genre: Dark Romance / Psychological Angst / Bullying to Obsession
Warnings: Heavy angst, toxic dynamics, bullying, intense psychological themes, non-consensual touching (waist grabbing/cornering).
The high school hallways always felt narrower than they actually were, especially during the chaotic rush between third and fourth period. For you, navigating them was like walking through a minefield. You kept your head down, your backpack strapped tightly over both shoulders, and your arms crossed securely over your chest. Being a chubby girl in an environment that hyper-fixated on perfection was exhausting enough, but Jay made it an absolute living hell.
It had started out with the usual, cruel immaturity. At first, it was petty. A tripped foot in the crowded cafeteria that sent your tray clattering to the floor. A stray, crumpled piece of notebook paper thrown expertly at the back of your head during study hall. Then came the verbal jabs the loud, humiliating catcalls echoed down the locker aisles whenever you walked past him and his friends. They laughed, and you shrank, wishing the linoleum floor would open up and swallow you whole.
Jay was the undisputed king of that hallway, and you were his favorite target. Or so everyone thought.
But over the past few weeks, the nature of his torment had subtly, terrifyingly shifted. The loud, public spectacles dwindled, replaced by something far more suffocating. It became private. Quiet.
It started on a rainy Tuesday when the hallways were practically empty. You were trying to slip out of the back exit near the old gym to avoid the crowd, but a heavy shadow suddenly blocked your path. Before you could even register his presence, a solid arm slammed against the metal locker right next to your head. The loud clang echoed in the empty corridor.
The scent of his expensive, sharp cologne immediately crowded your senses, making your stomach drop.
"Going somewhere?" Jay’s voice was low, devoid of the usual mocking theatricality he used in front of his friends. It was deep, gravelly, and entirely focused on you.
"Let me pass, Jay," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. You kept your eyes glued to the scuff marks on his white sneakers, refusing to look up.
Instead of backing off, he stepped closer. The scant inches of personal space you had left completely vanished. You could feel the heat radiating off his leather jacket. Then, his hand dropped from the locker. His long, calloused fingers slid down your side, locking firmly onto the curve of your waist.
You stiffened, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. Your hands gripped your notebook so tightly your knuckles turned white.
"Why are you always in such a rush?" he murmured. He didn't let go. Instead, his thumb began to rub a slow, deliberate circle through the thick fabric of your oversized sweater, pressing into your skin.
This had become his new, sick habit. What had started months ago as mere physical intimidation had spiraled into a dark, quiet obsession. Jay didn't just want to mock you anymore; he needed to be near you. He needed to touch you. The secrecy of it the way he would intentionally bump into you in crowded crowds just to let his hand linger on your hip, or the way he would corner you in the library stacks just to press his chest against your back was driving him mad. He was entirely consumed by the physical reality of you, hiding his fixation under the guise of malice.
The sheer weight of his presence, the tight grip on your waist, and the realization that no one was around to help you finally broke something inside. You couldn't hold it back anymore. Your vision blurred, and a hot, heavy tear slipped down your cheek, followed quickly by another. You began to tremble, your shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked your body.
Jay paused. His thumb stopped its rhythmic movement against your waist. Slowly, his dark eyes tracked upward, leaving your hips to focus entirely on your face. He watched the tear track down your jawline, glittering under the harsh fluorescent lights.
You expected him to laugh. You expected him to call you pathetic and walk away.
Instead, a slow, twisted smile spread across his lips. It wasn't a smile of amusement; it was something deeply unhinged, a dark expression that twisted something inside him into a knot of pure satisfaction. Seeing you completely broken by his hand didn't make him pull away. It did the opposite. It validated the terrifying control he had over you. He liked knowing that he was the only one who could make you feel this small, this helpless. He owned your fear, and he owned your tears.
He leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, his grip tightening on your waist until it was almost bruising.
"Cry more," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous, quiet thrill. "Let's see if anyone actually comes to save you from me."
("This is my very first fanfiction, hope you like it! 🖤")
