Mention(s): James Hook, George Darling and Dante Blackwell.
Time: Present.
Word Count: 475
Summary: Orders are places.
Drops of condensation rolled down the glass of her pint, the Black Sheep was quiet in the wake of all the chaos. The perfect place for Helena to enjoy her lunch, and go over her black book. The the gear that had been stolen from her had been located, embedded in debris and dead flesh. A thick black strikeout crossing through the coded information.
Item unrecoverable. Loss. Restock if available. Move on.
She scans over the sheets for her next supply run. It’s three times as big as the last, prices adjusted accordingly. People would pay, they wouldn’t really have a choice. Sometimes death looked like a man in a black hood, other times in a pressed suit but most times in Neverland. It looked like a woman eating cold meat submarine and a bag of crisps. And while you ever left to look at the other two, she was filling the orders for more scythes.
As chaos raged all around her, Helena slipped another crisp between her lips. She was used to warzones. She had been all over Europe and some parts of Asia and Africa. Dante Blackwell had been far from the first man she’d seen die because of what someone else believed in. She doubted he would be the last aswell.
In another life, it might have even been her.
Helena and death had been rather accepting of each other for a long time. The first time they met was in photographs on a base where her father was filling out a report. Photos of a recent attack lining his desk and she remembers the images as if they were burned into her memory. White sheets and gray tinted skin.
When the widows, mothers, fathers, brothers or sisters ask, you tell them they felt no pain.
It will be a lie.
She remembers asking why? What caused a person to do this?
And her father replied: I have never fought in a war where both sides didn’t have points worth believing in.
Anyone with an internet connection can tell you George Darling was a convicted killer, anyone with a brain could tell you that wasn’t his last and anyone looking around would see that the Captain’s hands were stained the same way.
No good guys, no bad guys. Just soldiers, and the people they served.
Fate had eliminated that role from her reach, but in a land where men who fancied themselves gods and kings played games of war. Helena was content to be the scales, tipping death in the direction of the one unwilling to slip a coin into her open palms
She takes another drink, dialing the phone with one thumb.
“Salve, vecchio amico.” Helena spoke, jotting things down as she spoke. “We’re going to need a bigger boat.” She quoted the film, there was blood in the water now and the sharks would circle soon enough.
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Summary: “Fucking Darling. Get your watchdog a collar.”
Characters: John Darling, Wendy Darling, George Darling, Mary Darling, Robert Noble, Peter Pan.
Warnings: A bunch of underage stuff, drug use, violence, death mentions.
John erupts from the black SUV, still wearing his Westminster School uniform. Princely, perfect, pristine. Almost untouchable for mere mortals. A godling of Neverland, and the firstborn to be exact. Wendy, the second one, follows behind him with the same regal attitude that they all exude.
Their father expects him at his office, under the premise of wanting him to meet someone. He is aware of how these introductions work -- it’s all for the sake of future relationships. By now, John knows almost every member of the crème de la crème of London. They come from the House of Lords, the Met Police or Lloyd's, looking for the king of the underworld to grant their wishes. All masks and pretensions to hide sinful desires, which feed their dirty empire along with bloody banknotes of the pound sterling.
George is somewhat eager for them to see each other. John isn’t, but he is an avid fan of seeing his father curve his mouth into a smile. His son was taught how to please. He is to inherit the heavy crown and the cold throne.
Last month, John remembers, he could barely handle being a delightful host. A hand creeping up his thigh, when George isn’t looking. More specifically, the fingers of a viscount that offers to take him to The Grove golf course. He rejects it and abandons his seat just in time. Proposals like these are common. A widow inviting him to evening tea because she feels lonely, or a girl his age that thinks they can end up engaged. John has fun in capricious ways, but he knows he is above them. He bleeds golden.
However, when he reaches the room, John feels disconcerted. A few steps away, a boy is looking at him with wary eyes from a vantage point. It almost feels like staring into the waters of the Mariana Trench, yet, he can’t pinpoint the reason why. There is something hiding deep down. Dark brown, curly hair covers his forehead. At first glance, the stranger is the type her mother likes to rescue from the streets -- his classism arises.
“This is Robert,” George takes the first step. “A new Lost Boy.”
His father doesn’t bother to introduce him to recruits. Why now?
“Nice to meet you. I’m John Darling,” out of habit, he stretches out a hand that the other doesn’t shake. Robert barely nods in acknowledgement.
“He is still adapting.”
A valid excuse. John retracts his arm and assumes that if George has such high hopes on the trainee to let him get away with those manners, it must be for a reason. Curiosity grips him now. He could easily ask his parent, but he also feels like a child with a new toy. The encounter is brief. John looks at Robert one last time and confirms that he is intrigued by him.
Days later, he makes his way into the loft. Accompanied by a bodyguard, since he is precious cargo after all. There are unspoken rules among the Darling children to keep them apart from the Lost Boys and the Fairies. Even when the boss’ son at the headquarters isn’t exactly a once in a lifetime event, heads turn. John goes to Peter Pan to gets details out of him about “Curly” (his new fitting nickname). He isn’t a thief or a dealer, the leader informs him. He isn’t keen on socializing. John is aware of that fact.
Somehow, the Darling boy ends up sitting on the end of Robert’s bed. The latter is facing the ceiling, like a sleeping soldier, or a corpse in a coffin. He rolls his eyes every now and then, when John says words of entitlement during his monologue. It’s all white noise. But when Robbie reaches his limit, he grabs his pillow and puts it on his face in response.
“Can you shut up?” A muffled question.
Can you what? His brain is slow to process it. John’s jaw drops. This is the first time he is ever asked such a thing. Everyone knows that insulting a Darling, in the slightest manner, is stupid. You don’t live to tell the tale. Despite that, Robert is just waiting for him to leave, and so he does. For the day. John can’t help but come back. He always gets what he wants.
He isn’t allowed out of the imaginary established limits and Robert likes exiling himself, which makes perfect for running into each other. Robbie’s movements are poised and ready, like he is always on high alert. Eventually, he puts up with John’s presence and interrogations. He learns that Curly’s record at disassembling and assembling an AK-47 is 40 seconds. When George gives him pictures of people John has met before, he commits their faces to memory. He also hits the jackpot.
With two Grey Goose bottles, John appears before Robert.
“I saw you looking at it,” he reveals, as he hands one over.
And Robbie breaks out into a genuine smile, for the first time. A victory. It shocks John, it’s almost scary -- not that he would admit it.
They both drink from their respective bottles. If John speaks 145 words per minute, alcohol makes him beat any professional speaker. He is laughter and loose lips. Caravaggio's Bacchus. When his bottle is half empty, he shares funny stories with Robert. Instead, the other boy shares a tale that leaves John frozen. He finally understands the look in his eyes. After discovering the truth, he comprehends the allure. Robbie has faced death, sorrow and anger all at once. He has visited Tartarus itself.
John puts the vodka aside, but Robert finishes the bottle all by himself and even reaches out for the other one. He passes out on his shoulder.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Robbie warns John the morning after.
He simply shakes his head from side to side, a silent promise. A secret pact that links them. In a world where family is everything to John -- a strength and a weakness -- Robbie doesn’t have one. He has learned to endure without it. John wonders if it’s the same for the rest of the Lost Boys.
Two weeks after he turns 18, John drags him to a club in Fitzrovia, where Robbie basically spends the night sitting and probably judging everyone. Any other day, he could have taken Robert to Highgate Cemetery to make him feel at home, but that night he is celebrating.
Several lines of dust later, John is throwing his wallet and car keys to a group of boys in the table next to them, maybe that is enough for them to buy themselves a life. A ridiculous fight after one too many.
“Fucking Darling.”
One of them grabs for a bottle of Dom Pérignon, ready to smash it over his head. And in the blink of an eye, Robbie charges against him, vicious, cruel. Like an animal. They fall to the ground and a sharp crack follows. John steps closer, because he acknowledges the mercilessness in his hits.
“Robbie... Robert, that’s enough.”
It’s only until he stops and leaves the other boy behind. The opposite crowd hiss a series of curses and threats, one is clear to his ears.
“Get your watchdog a collar.”
That night he also learns Robbie is one of a kind and should not be messed with, but he feels strangely relieved, too. A new sensation. John has found someone he can trust in that isn’t part of his family or his small circle of friends.
The fire had lit up the sky when it burned out the cinema. She had watched it from her window, a lump in her throat.
That was the start. That was the beginning of the fear that leached into everything. It was in her touches, her kisses, the way she pressed him up against a wall. It was desperation to keep him alive, to always have his heart beating against her hand.
Jake couldn’t die. She could never let that happen. That was why she packed his bag. He was angry. There had been yelling, furious words spat over her wavering commitment to this plan. But her jaw was clenched in that way, the way where he knew there was no point to fight it.
“It’ll be alright.” She held onto Jake, slipping her hand into his. He took a deep breath, it shuddered as it was let out.
“We’ll find each other. We always find each other.”
“But if you die...” Jake whispered.
Silver shook her head.
“The only person I’d die for is you. I’d fight for every person in this Loft but I’d stop for you. And that’s not the person they need right now. I can’t have you being my weakness. So you need to go. Because I know how they think. I think like that. And I’d go for you. I’d destroy you because it’s what would hurt the most. Please, Jake.”
***
The fight went through every up and down, Jake demanding that she come with him, Silver pleading for him to just go. But at the end, when everything had been said and done, they laid next to each other on the bed.
“Okay.” He finally said and she rolled into his arms, hearing his heart beat.
***
It had been sunrise when he got into the car. The sky had been lit up, orange and red again.
The ring sat on a chain around her neck but he still kissed the spot where it should have sat.
“What are you going to tell them?”
“That it ended. That we couldn’t do it anymore. Peter is the only one that’ll know the truth. Come on, Jake. We fight so much, it’s believable. Don’t worry, I’ll tell them that you’ve ruined me for all other men.”
He chuckled.
“Damn straight, Carlton.”
They kissed. The fear was no longer there. She could tell.
“You better find my fine ass before someone else snaps it up.” He whispered against her lips and she had to smile.
Character: Vaeda Franco
Timeline: Past
Prompt: Letters
Summary: Vaeda’s mother makes contact again
She recognised the writing. Vaeda taught herself long ago how to analyse the writing word, how to see if a male or a female wrote it, how to tell apart a forgery from an original, whether they were left or right handed.
It was a skill she didn’t need and yet it was one that she had. It had been a slow weekend and Vaeda became restless, annoying if she wasn’t being challenged.
Her mother didn’t graduate high school, Vaeda knew that much about her. It showed in something as simple as her handwriting. Her loopy writing sat on the envelope, the sparkles in the gel pen glittering and a part of Vaeda wanted to burn it, burn all of it.
Sometimes she wished her heart would harden like the rest. To be immune to emotion, to be powerful enough to shut it away…
Vaeda tore open the envelope.
Happy 21st Birthday, baby.
I hope this reaches you in time. I know that the last time we saw each other, it didn’t end well. But I’m trying now, I’ve stopped the drinking and the smoking, I’m allowed to visit your brother now. He is good. He asks about you every single time I visit.
I would like to give you some wisdom on your special day. You can choose not to take it but it’s just something to think about.
You are young. But I want you to know that there never is a happy ending. Accept this and protect yourself from it. Look after only yourself because the world...
Vaeda stopped reading, she didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping the paper until she saw her knuckles, almost as white as the paper. Her hands shook, her breath was harsh and Vaeda threw the letter onto her desk before spinning her chair. Her fingers were poised over the keyboard for a moment.
Family was fickle. People spoke of family like it was something worth dying for. Blood was thicker than water. But where was the line? When did blood stop being enough? How much shit did you put up with before you stopped saying that you would die for them? Her brother was the only family that applied to. She walked away from him and it broke them both. She couldn’t do that to him again. Vaeda let him be. He would forget one day. She would be nothing but a foggy memory.
This woman left her on a doorstep with nothing but a name. Vaeda found her, her mother never looked. That was a weight that rested on your shoulders for as long as you lived. She never worried, she never cared until Vaeda helped with the bills, with the mortgage, with the car. Angel did it for his family, Vaeda thought it was right.
This woman acted as though she knew her, as though she raised her, as though she had some fucking right to push her cynical view of the world onto her. It was then that Vaeda pulled out her phone. A letter was too personal. Her mother didn’t deserve that.
I’m 22.
My birthday was six months ago.
The only person I ever needed protecting from was you.
I was the one paying for the mortgage. That stops today.
Go fuck yourself.
Character: Veronica ‘Silver’ Carlton, Alfie Pan
Timeline: Past
Summary: Silver becoming Alfie’s godmother.
Silver had a contractual obligation to protect Wendy. It sat there on the paper, in legal jargon that she pretended not to understand. For all intents and purposes, she was the body guard.
And yet, this seemed more nerve racking that signing her name.
Her mother always had faith. A cross would sit on her neck, the metal warm from being in contact with her skin. Her father did not. Or rather, he didn’t want to believe that there could be an all powerful being because if there was, why would he be such a dick and let people suffer as they did? They didn’t speak about it at home, it would begin arguments that Veronica couldn’t stop. The cross at on her mother’s neck and her father ignore it.
Perhaps that was why this agreement felt so heavy. If her mother was right, then this wasn’t just Veronica saying that she would protect Alfie as much as she could, this was her soul being bound to protect the boy with very facet of her being. Her mangled, broken, twisted soul. The baby deserved better, he deserved so much better. The thoughts were playing over in her head like a mantra. She smoothed the material of her dress, as she stood up, her nerve was almost lost. The Priest smiled at her and Silver knew that Peter and Wendy would never forgive her if she walked away.
“Do you believe and trust in God the Father who made Heaven and Earth?”
Silver stared at Alfie, at his tiny fingers and bright eyes. He already had the world wrapped around his little finger.
“I believe and trust in Him.
“Do you believe and trust in his Son Jesus Christ who redeemed mankind?”
She would never be redeemed, it was proof that this was only a building, that there was no power in this place that claimed to be the house of god. If they had known, they would never ask the question.
“I believe and trust in Him.”
“Do you believe and trust in his Holy Spirit who gives life to the people of God?”
Do you believe that I am the one who takes it away? The thought crossed her mind and she smiled wryly, morbidly, a shadow flickering over her eyes.
“I believe and trust in Him.”
Alfie squealed, happy, content and Silver felt… empty. Indifferent. They could all come talk to Wendy and Peter now, Alfie was being passed from person to person, they were heading outside and Silver felt no different.
The fresh air hit her face, her hair blowing out and Silver jolted, Alfie being pressed into her arms.
“Say hi to your godson.”
Bright eyes bored into hers and she smiled, fond for a beat. Tiny fingers wrapped around a charm on her bracelet, the silver cross clasped grasped in his fist. The loop keeping it together snapped and if Silver believed in signs, that one would have been pretty damn clear.
“Yeah, you’ll need that more than me, tiny. Seems like He’s already given up on me.” She whispered, kissing his forehead.
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time frame: when molly was a recruit
location: the cinema, the docks.
summary: Molly doesn’t know what time it is or how long it has been since she even fell asleep, only that she has been disturbed from her sleep, awakened by a hand covering her mouth.
Molly doesn’t know what time it is or how long it has been since she even fell asleep, only that she has been disturbed from her sleep, awakened by a hand covering her mouth. From a quick, but startled glance around her surroundings she realises she is still in the lobby of The Cinema. That serves as some kind of small, fleeting relief for Molly until she remembers their is a hand still covering her mouth and the room is too dark for her to recognise any facial features. She feels the tell tale signs of panic starting to rise in her chest; the sweaty palms and the pounding of her heart against the inside of her chest.
She’s scared and she hates herself for it.
She’s still just a recruit among The Jolly Rogers, she’s also the only female amongst a predominantly male crew and that means she can’t afford to be scared. They've been giving her a hard enough time as it since she was recruited, she doesn’t want to add fuel to the fire by getting scared like some kind of damsel in distress but that’s what she feels like right now. The hand that is covering her mouth is pulled away and before Molly can even scream, shout or call for help a finger is pressed against her lips and she knows what that means.
Be quiet.
She does as instructed and doesn’t make a sound. It twists a knot of frustration in her stomach, she isn't one for being told what to do. She isn’t a submissive person and she feels that knot in her stomach twist tighter when a new pair of hands grab at her wrists, jolting her forwards, upright and out of the armchair she had been sleeping in. She doesn’t fight back like Angel had been teaching her to fight back and that’s what is twisting the knot in her stomach even tighter. She doesn’t understand why she doesn't make a move, but there’s something about the way they are handling her that makes a small part of her believe she’s in any real danger. They aren't rough like she would expect abductors to be, there’s something about this whole thing that reminds her about the way she used to rough house with her brothers when she was younger.
Molly doesn't know if she can trust that feeling in her gut, but her answer is about to be made a lot clearer to her when black hood is pulled over her head. Everything goes black and then she’s being lead forward, or is it backwards? She can’t tell with the hood over her head. It’s disorientating, she doesn't know where to step or if she is even in The Cinema any more. It’s colder now, she thinks she might be outside and the panic is rising inside of her chest again. She was an idiot not to fight back when she had a chance, despite her vision not being much better than it was now. Now she was probably going to be lead outside of Neverland, shot in the back of the head, weighted with bricks and dropped in the bottom of the River Thames.
A hand pushes her head down and she hears somebody telling her to mind her head. That subsides her panic for now, it’s another fleeting moment of relief to know she’s being helped into the back of a car and not stuffed inside of a trunk. Somebody else climbs inside after her, the smell of their cologne is strong even under the black hood. The car purrs to life and rolls away from The Cinema. Molly had been counting her footsteps, she hadn’t walked far enough to be any further than the post box outside before they had gotten into the car. It says something about her life in Neverland recently that Molly has remained this calm after being awoken from her sleep, dragged from The Cinema and escorted into the back of a car and currently being driven to god knows where while remaining as calm as she has been. If she makes it out of this alive, the first thing she’s going to do is tell the boys back at The Cinema. Maybe then they will stop treating her like she’s weak and not capable of doing anything they can do just because she’s a girl.
The car rolls to a stop and the engine dies out. This is it, she thinks. Wherever her abductors are bringing her, they have arrived at their destination. Molly swallows hard, she’s never been this close to facing what she can only assume is going to be her death before. She isn’t filled with regret like she thinks she should be, she doesn’t see her life flash before her eyes but she does hear music. It’s loud, for a second she thinks it’s how they’re going to cover the sound of their gunshots until the car door opens and she can hear more than just loud music, she can hear people. Laughing, singing, shouting. She isn’t sure what they are shouting, but their faint voices over the sound of the music don’t sound angry, scared or bloodthirsty.
They sound like they’re having fun.
A hand grips her arm, helping her out of the car and nudging her forwards towards wherever the music is coming from. It’s all electronic and filled with bass and the kind of music you would hear at a warehouse or a house party. The hood is pulled from her head, Molly winces, closing her eyes, expecting to feel the cold, metal of a gun pressed against the back of her head. Instead she hears laughter, it’s cruel and reminds her of a Hyena laugh. She opens her eyes, slowly, surprised to find that she is in fact at a rave. In front of her is an old, abandoned warehouse, what is was used to manufacture before it was abandoned is beyond her but now it is lit up like a firework show. Blue, green and purple light spills out of the windows while a crowd of people pour out of the warehouse, some stumbling, others throwing their head back with laughter.
Molly turns around, not expecting who to find standing behind her but when she sees them, she feels like an idiot for not putting the pieces together sooner. Smee is the first person her eyes lay on, a wicked smile on his face and she realises he must be the mastermind behind this. It can’t be Josh, who is stood to the left of Smee, a disapproving look on his face that makes her believe he wasn’t on board with this but came along for the hell of it anyway. Maybe she’s wrong, maybe his look of disapproval is aimed at her for not putting up a fight and not at Smee for his frat boy like prank. Mason is there too, he’s smiling as well or baring his teeth. She’s never quite sure with him.
“One of you pricks better start talking. Now.” Molly orders, pissed off and annoyed from being woken up, abducted and driven to a warehouse rave in the middle of the night. “Well?” She arched a brow, looking between the three of them: Mason exhaled slowly, clearly bored and unphased by her display of anger while Josh, as always, remained quiet and impassive. Smee, however, seemed to be getting amusement from her annoyance. He steps forwards, chuckling and turns Molly around, pointing her towards the warehouse.
Characters: Joshua Radcliffe, Nick Radcliffe, Riley Radcliffe and Danny Radcliffe.
Timeline and setting: Future, outside of Neverland.
Trigger warning: None yo.
Bleary eyed, he meets 8am as he meets it most mornings -- tired, yawning but still happy to be sat in the living room with a Cbeebies rerun playing on the TV (again). He tries his best to do a headcount, there's a shock of blonde hair crawling under the coffee table in front of him, gurgling in a way that lets Josh know he can't take his eyes off his youngest for too long.
He doesn't move too much, he's got a five year old on his lap with a colouring book on her lap that she treats with such precision it almost scares him.
(Only almost.)
That just leaves him down one.
"Nick?"
"Joshua." His son responds, tone every bar of his mother as he appears from behind the armchair with a charger he's climbed to retrieve.
Unimpressed, Josh tilts his head at him when he pulls himself up on the arm of the chair he and Riley are sat on.
"What did I say about calling me that?"
"Not to." Nick shrugs, eyes glued to the TV even though if asked he'd argue that he didn't like kids shows and it was dumb that he had to watch them because Danny and Riley did.
"Yep, so don't." He moves his arm around him, his focus flickering from him to Danny every now and then. "What do you two want to do today?"
"What about Danny?" Riley interrupts, leaning her head back on Josh's shoulder. "What if he wants to go somewhere."
Josh can't help but smile at her consideration, holding onto her when he leans forward a little so he can address the toddler currently sat shaking what had once been a soft play cube with the first few letters of the alphabet brandished on it and was now faded and subject to Danny's destruction.
"Danny. Danny, Danny, Danny." Josh near chants, his tone light and a grin on his face when his son eventually looks up. "Hey there, you gonna come over to daddy? Come on, c'mere so Riley can ask you a question."
He doesn't quite heed Josh's directives, instead he throws the cube in his direction with a squeal, completely missing and waving his hands none the less.
Josh lifts Riley off him gently, accidentally disturbing her which earns him a huff from her.
"Daddy! It's outside the lines now." She points out, his expression apologetic as he lifts Danny up into his arms. The slight mistaken stroke of green pencil wouldn't have bothered Nick, he was all scribbles and messy strokes and Josh thinks his heart might burst if he thinks too long on how much he loves his children for all their individual nuances.
"Sorry Riles, we'll start a next one after lunch, promise."
"I'll get mum to. She's better at it anyway."
Josh made an expression of disbelief as he adjusted Danny in his arms, a laugh leaving his mouth as he looks at her. She's even managed to tear Nick's attention away from the PSP in his hands, his head leaning back against the couch as he snickers.
"Did mum tell you to say that?"
"No." She's quick to respond, looking up at him as if he's just asked an absurd question.
"Uh huh." Josh nods at her, his hand on Danny's back as he turns his attention to his youngest who always seemed to be in good form no matter what was happening.
"Sunshine, did you want to go somewhere today? Hm? Got any business to attend to? Appointments to keep? Need to daddy to drive you anywhere?" Josh inquiries, ending his last question with a raspberry sound which is the one part that actually got a response from Danny -- cue giggling.
"Daddy, you're being silly," Riley informs him, placing her colouring book on the coffee table and moving over to sit directly beside Nick so she could peer at his screen.
"That's why I'm a daddy, so I can be silly all the time." He tells her, nuzzling Danny's rosy cheek with his nose while he does. After all the heartache that had come with trying for Riley, he and Michelle had decided that two was enough, more than content with what they had -- but the universe had other ideas.
He doesn't call Danny Sunshine just because of the colour of his hair or his temperament, rather because of the light he's brought to their lives without any of them ever expecting it.
"I'm bored," Nick announces, tossing his PSP to the other side of the couch and jumping off the arm of it. He walks over to Josh to entertain Danny for a few moments, but that loses his interest just as fast.
Seven-year-olds.
"Can we go wake mum?" He asks, the 'we' in question being him and Riley. The pair of them had become like a double act over time and Josh found it endlessly endearing.
He turns his wrist and checks his watch, the wrong side of half eight to ruin her lie in. They took it in turns on a Saturday to let the other rest, even still Josh was adamant he hasn't had a full night's sleep in years.
It's different now to how it was, his restlessness not a stipulation of nightmares but rather a side effect of having young children. He's happy to be tired.
"We'll give it a few more minutes, then you can."
He crosses the room again to sit on the rocking chair that migrates constantly from Danny's room to the living room, the motions usually the only thing that gets him to settle. He sits down, foot on the ground gently controlling the movements of the chair as Danny relaxes on his lap and watches his older siblings quietly.
"We still haven't decided what we're going to do later now that we're sure that Danny doesn't have any plans or input." He kisses the top of his head and looks at them both, waiting.
"Can I go to Joseph's?" Nick asks, his best friend's house usually his destination of choice if he's giving.
"No because I don't want to go to Joseph's."
"I didn't say you could go anyway."
"Be nice." He warns, words directed to the two of them, sensing a bickering match brewing. "Park? Football? Lunch after?"
"Only," Riley stipulates quickly, always eager to take charge. "If I don't have to be the goalie because I don't like being goalie, daddy, and you always put me in goal even though you know that."
"That's because you cried when I tackled you."
"You knocked me over! I scraped my knee."
Josh waves his hand and beckons Riley over, her deciding at the last second not to take him up on his offer but rather sit cross-legged by his legs and fold her arms.
He finds himself wondering how he ever got by just saying the bare minimum, his part time job as referee for his first and second born demanding far more than that from him.
"I promise you won't be in goal and you can choose where we go for lunch after." Josh reasons, finding Riley's not listening to a word he's saying now. She's on her knees and running her fingers along a jagged scar on his shin curiously.
"What happened, daddy?" She asks, peering up at him as if expecting a story. He's not got one, not one that's pleasant by the least. His body is a map of scars from encounters that he doesn't ever plan on sharing with his children no matter their age.
They're proof of a life that he's survived, not one that he wishes to relive.
"Daddy fell over and scraped his leg years ago, it got better but it left a mark."
She frowns visibly before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the scar the same way he does after he's had to put a band-aid on her after a cut.
She's so gentle at times that he can hardly believe that she's his, for so long he'd felt like he'd carried around a darkness with him he began to think that there'd never be a way out of the abyss that he existed in. He didn't think he deserved it.
Now, he still finds himself questioning as much but that doesn't stop him from enjoying every second of it.
"There." She tells him matter-of-factly, scrambling to her feet and holding out the side of her face to him expectantly.
He complies with what she hasn't asked him, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her cheek gently repeatedly until she squirms away from him.
"I don't think we're ever going to decide, are we?"
"Nope." Nick agrees, looking entirely unsurprised by that fact.
"Guess it's time to wake mum up then. First one to jump on the bed gets a fiver."
Marissa Huckleson was a TBE and he was a little thrown to see how young she was when she answered the door, an array of messy curls and sharp green eyes. She glanced over him quickly and JJ just smiled. He knew how he looked, his wardrobe was all tailored to fit him for this reason alone. His shirt was crisp, pressed, the first two buttons undone, his jeans hugged his ass nicely and his hair was free from product so if she was a hair grabber, there wouldn’t be any gel involved.
“I don’t think JJ counts as a name, two letters of the alphabet isn’t very creative.” Marissa seemed to forgo any manners whatsoever and it made JJ laugh. It wasn’t often that a client surprised him but already, Marissa was off to a good start.
“Well, bad names are a part of the business. It’s wonderful to meet you, Marissa.”
He held out his hand and she took it gingerly.
“I had assumed that social niceties wouldn’t be needed in this situation.” JJ had to hold back another laugh but he did grin rather widely.
“I apologize. You’re right. I suppose I am, as they say in Pretty Woman, a sure thing. “
Marissa paused, tilting her head to observe him now. He had her attention, he had a feeling that was a hard thing to have. “I’ve never seen that movie, so I wouldn’t know.”
“You should, it is a classic.”
“Fantastic.” Marissa bit back and he chuckled once more.
It was obvious that once Marissa had no idea how to proceed with the rest of the night, she seemed to hover between the bedroom and the makeshift lounge room. The TV was paused on a film and JJ recognized it instantly.
“Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. CGI Yoda was a disgrace to the fandom.” Her eyes seemed to brighten, just a little.
“Do you mind if we…?”
JJ walked to the couch, sitting and patting the spot next to him. “We can do whatever you want.”
This was the thing with TBE’s. JJ found that in order to do well in those positions, he would only have to be himself. And that opened himself up to being vulnerable. TBE’s had a way of getting under his skin, he would find himself having to build up walls to protect himself. As he listened to Marissa’s biting comment about how Natalie Portman and Hayden Christensen had no bloody chemistry, he knew that he’d have to keep the walls extremely high for this one.
They watched, commented and JJ found himself surprised when Marissa leaned her head on his shoulder. The credits ran and lips touched his neck.
“Hey.” JJ didn’t raise his voice over a whisper and Marissa seemed to be unsure for the second time that night. So he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her carefully just once.
“Wait, wait. Do you do this?” Marissa whispered into the gap. “You kiss?”
“You liar.” JJ pressed his lips against hers again. “You have seen Pretty Woman.”
“Shut up and lose the shirt already.”
It had been awhile since JJ had laughed while kissing someone, there was a smile on her face too. It got heated quickly, hands tugging shirts from waist bands, soft skin under his fingertips. He lifted her carefully into his lap and she followed his lead so easily, it was hard to find the nervous young woman that had been their previously. Her fingers were steady as she sliced through the buttons on his shirt, he shouldn’t have been surprised when her hands traced his chest but his breath caught anyway. The kiss broke but her hands didn’t stop moving.
“Fucking hell.”
JJ pressed her to him, hearing her breath catch and taking it as a win.
“Bedroom?” He whispered and Marissa shook her head. “Couch then.” He tried and the wicked smile on Marissa’s face told him yes. As far as kinks went, that was a fairly tame one but it also meant a little moving on his part that he wasn’t sure would be all that graceful.
He very gently rolled them so she was sitting on the couch again, JJ in between her legs. A whimper left her lips as he slid to the floor, she seemed to blush at the sound but he ignored it in favour of the jeans that she was wearing. Her legs seemed to be weak, but her movements were helpful as he dragged off the denim and lace in one movement.
“I… Normally, I don’t… Not that way.” JJ just smiled, a little understanding but there was a touch of cockiness in his smile.
“Just trust me.” Let a professional show you how it’s done were the words that were left unsaid. Now JJ really didn’t get tired of this particular aspect of his work, especially with a partner as responsive as Marissa, who wasn’t afraid to move her hips, to shift JJ’s head, to give direction. By the end, Marissa was making choked sounds and her hips having to be held down by his forearm and JJ could only hang on as Marissa came, whimpering as her fingers relaxed in JJ’s hair.
He was very abruptly yanked back up, thrown back onto the couch and his belt was on the other side of the room before he knew what had happened. Marissa seemed to be on a mission now, apparently the word afterglow didn’t exist for her. “Bedroom now. Couch is too small.” There he was, holding in laughter again. Her legs were around his waist, her lips at his collarbone and he tried hard not to forget that there was going to be a four figure number in his account after this.
If someone told him that he would be doing this back when he was at his first audition, looking for work, he would have laughed or punched them depending on the way it was said. It was strange how desperate times changed your view on the world. He was broke, alone and terrified. His parents called and he faked positivity every time. Everyone said that he would make it, that he would fight for it. It wasn’t his fault that there was only so much that you could fight before you crashed. And JJ knew he had crashed hard when he found himself in Neverland. He expected grunt work, Lost Boy work… What he got what completely different, it happened on accident and he didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as he did. It was just like acting, same principles. Acting and reacting.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he would get lucky and get paid to have sex with someone that he would have picked up anyway. Someone that he would have coffee with or would take out to dinner. Sometimes he found himself pushing down a feeling in his gut because it was actually business.
Marissa was dangerous. He could tell by the reactions she was coaxing out of him. Just the right mixture of tentative and forward, confident in her actions, a little rough and she had that wicked grin on her face again.
She tensed and he held back his moan with a kiss, holding her down, keeping her with him. They both collapsed onto the pillows, breathing heavily. It shouldn’t have been that quick, she paid for the whole night. But sometime about the way Marissa had curled with the blankets said that she wasn’t exactly upset about it.
“You’ll stay.” It came out as a request, not a question. They were facing each other, JJ could have cupped her cheek or kissed her if he wanted to.
“Of course.” You paid for it. That thought crossed his mind and JJ kept his hand to his side, letting his eyes flutter closed.
