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When Jay first arrives in Auradon, practically falling out of the car in his haste to collect more of the intriguing trinkets and mechanical devices that line the lavish walls of the limo, the tiny fleeting thought that he could be anyone but himself dissipates the second he sees the band hurriedly stop playing as he presses the sole of one dirty, leather boot to the space between Carlos’ neck and shoulders. He can feel the boy flinch beneath his foot, but he pays the younger no mind, rather focusing on the way the music cuts out- leaving them in awkward, permeating silence. The crowd of students and faculty around him stare at them and he can feel their fear mixing with confusion and distrust as they take his appearance in. They scan his dirty form and he can feel their eyes lingering on the hickies pressed into his neck like violets blooming under his tanned skin. They stare at the possessive marks like they are a brand seared into his flesh. They can not see the hand shaped bruises on his hips, but he knows the hickies alone are enough to solidify their view of him.
Rationally, the boy knows the silence was not triggered solely by the mere presence of some hickies and certainly not by Jay’s presence alone (and rather by the four of them as a group). The four of them, in their blood and dirt stained leather, stick out like sore thumbs against the sea of pastel cloud royalty. Even the most presentable of them, Evie with her soft blue hair, (mostly) clean dress and glowing pearly white smile, appears out of place. She is too skinny, collar bones and wrists and knees sticking out like the sharp peak of mountains, and despite the Evil Queen’s best cosmetic efforts, her skin still appears slightly too weathered, her smile slightly too forced.
The boy knows that prejudice runs thicker than blood in the land of Auradon. Their fear of villains is rooted in years upon decades upon centuries of distrust and fear. He knows they are the manifestation of these people’s worst nightmares and deepest, darkest fears all coming true and materializing before their very eyes. Their mere existence terrifies them.
Jay almost pities them, if pity was an emotion that was ever validated on the Isle of the Lost that is. It is somewhat pathetic to see how fearful even the adults are of a bunch of malnourished, emotionally scarred teenagers. Sure, he and Mal can inspire terror. But he can feel Carlos trembling like a cornered dog between his boots and it is laughable to think anyone would be scared of Carlos De Vil (nonetheless literal royalty).
The larger, more realized part of himself revels in their fear. He likes the way they step back and gape at them, staring at them like they will hurt them in unimaginable ways. Serves them right for leaving them all there, it’s only fair they all live up to Auradon’s prejudiced expectations. It’s not like the children of their worst enemies were ever imagined to be anything but dreadful little children who wanted nothing more than to revel in the terror of the next generation of their parents' original victims.
On the Isle, Jay is well aware that his reputation precedes him. He sees the way they all look at him. They cover their pockets and turn the other way when he passes, favoring darker, seedier, more dangerous paths through rival gang territory or darkened alley ways over the thought of having to cross paths with the wayward thief for even a single fleeting second. Often, Jay feels pride when thinking about the undeniable fact that so many residents of the Isle (a place where everyone is a criminal in their own right… or a child, they always like to forget there are children on the Isle of the Lost) would rather choose the darkness of an alley where any horror could await them, over an encounter with a 16 year old boy. And sure, Jay isn’t just any regular teenage boy. No, Jay is the son of Jafar, prince of the thieves and right hand man to Mal daughter of Maleficent. So, no he is not a normal teenage boy he is a particularly scary teenage boy, but a teenage boy nonetheless.
But currently the thought of his own reputation makes his stomach tie in knots and he tries to shove the emotions down so far into his body that he will never have to face them again. “Never let them see you feel” he repeats to himself over and over again as he spits the gum he had been chewing straight onto the unnaturally clean ground and flashes a flirtatious smirk as Mal proclaims to them “We have an audience.” He can still feel the panic in his heart and his stomach and he wants to scream, or maybe puke, but instead he simply puts on a charming face and refuses to acknowledge the feelings creeping into his being.
Contrary to popular belief, Jay is not a stupid boy. He knows that the extent of his reputation on the isle is not only limited to the overwhelming fear of being robbed blind by the young thief. Sure, residents of the Isle of the Lost avoid him like the plague in the name of not wanting to buy back their own stolen merchandise from his father’s junk shop at a marked up price, but he knows there is far more to consider when it comes to how others view him. It is not only the fear of being pickpocketed that he is aware of. Jay hears how they talk about him on the streets. How they call him a thief and a street rat… and desperate… and a quick lay… and a whore. How they say the boy would do anything for a deal, a trade, a barter, a few loose gold coins at the best of times… anything to stock his father’s shelves. Anything to quell his father’s fury and fists and rage a single minute longer.
At school, the girls all giggle and blush at him when they pass him in the hallways. They twirl their hair and lean in close, blushing when Jay flirts and winks. Once he has established his connection, he then kisses them until his lips are red and swollen. He distracts them with his tongue as he slips costume jewelry scavenged from the barges off their necks and hair clips from the back of their ponytails and braids. They never seem to notice that they’ve been robbed at the moment.
Regardless of the girls seemingly being oblivious to the theft at the moment it initially happens, Mal usually sees him do it and she always gives him this look and shakes her head at him like she is crossed somewhere between feeling disappointed in him and impressed with his undeniable skills. Mal is almost as good a thief as the son of Jafar is. But she hates sex and kissing her is an extension of that act and not a viable distraction to be used in the name of getting ahead. Jay hates that he cares what Mal thinks, and he always pretends not to, but the part of himself that he refuses to acknowledge sometimes sparks red and hot and painful at the looks she gives him when she catches him sucking face with another nameless mark.
One day she corners him on their way out of Dragon Hall, the smaller girl backs him into the dented metal of his locker (dented from the amount of times Jay himself has shoved somebody into it), her pale face bright red with anger. She holds one arm to his neck and despite her size Jay is genuinely scared as the girls eyes flash green and she whispers “one day you’re going to run out of girls to fuck and all we’ll have left is enemies.” She then laughed and let go of the much taller and larger boy as if she had said nothing and went on to terrorize Carlos De Vil as the little whelp tried to sneak out of the school without being noticed. “Where do you think you’re going?” she snarls at the younger boy as she stalks after him “we must discuss my Evil Scheming homework Carlos” and then she is off and all Jay is left with is the overwhelming feelings of 2 reminders. 1: Mal is very much her mother’s daughter and it is very much terrifying. 2: The rumors he hears about himself, the one about him being an easy lay and desperate and a whore really are true. And holy shit is the boy simply disgusted with himself.
It would be one thing for Jay to know deep down who he was and come to terms with those facts, but he usually can’t stomach the thoughts of reckoning with his own casual use of his sexuality… as a tool… as a weapon. He knows what he has to do and despite the shame that creeps into his sense of self, he will still do what needs to be done to survive. But he would prefer if those feelings could stay locked away in his own mind. He can grapple with his own sense of self hatred over being a whore, but it’s another thing entirely to feel like the entirety of the Isle feels that way about him too.
On his father’s worst days, the days where the former Royal Grand Vizier of Agrabah gets drunk off of bottles and bottles of rancid booze shipped over on the barges, he stands in the living section of his Junk Shop (the part behind the curtains made of dulled red and gold fabric) and reminisces on the “good old days”. His voice low, fists clenching as he recalls his life of luxury, his political influence and how Jay could have been a prince. He spits evil words out in his foreign tongue, that Jay himself does not understand (Jafar never having taught him, “you’re too stupid to learn anyway boy”). But despite not understanding the language, the boy knows he is cursing that “lowly street rat Aladdin” for “stealing his and Jay’s future, their destiny”.
Jay is not delusional like his father. He has no dreams of grandeur, probably aided by the fact that he has never known a life outside of the Isle of the lost, and the boy simply is happy enough to survive… which is a hard enough prospect to start. He knows that one way or another, no matter what happened he was never meant to be a prince. And yeah, to be fair the thought of riding an elephant was cool as fuck. But being an actual fully fledged prince, with responsibilities and a kingdom to rule would be one of the most unpleasant things Jay could ever imagine. For better or for worse he tried to like his life how it was, it wasn’t like he would ever get a different one anyways.
Jafar’s rants never seem to end with the former street rat and always wind up on the same topic- the Sultana of Agrabah. Fleetingly, as Jay stares out into the unfamiliar faces of the students of Auradon Prep, he sees himself looking for the unfamiliar faces of children of Aladdin and Jasmine. He isn’t quite sure whether they have had children, and if they are his age, but he is terrified that he will see hauntingly familiar faces in the crowd and be sucked right back into the junk shop, cowering from Jafar’s fists as he hears his father rant.
When talking about Aladdin, Jafar’s anger is out of control. His father rants and yells and screams and doesn’t hesitate to knock Jay to the ground, kicking the boy over and over and over until his ribs crack and the boy finally breaks and he yells out in pain as blood drips down his face.
On the other hand, when Jafar talks about Jasmine, he seethes quietly. His anger simmers just below the surface and sometimes Jay swears his father is almost aroused by the thoughts. “That good for nothing whore, defying me… refusing to be mine” he sneers “She could have had me and instead fell into bed with that lowly street rat…” Sometimes he says her name like she is the most precious thing he has ever lost and sometimes he says her name like a slur and throws insult after insult out about her sexual immorality and bad taste in men.
Those insults are always the words that make Jay feel even worse than the ache of black eyes or sharp, searing pain of broken ribs. All he has ever wanted is to please his father, make him proud. But the way the older man speaks about Jasmine, the misogyny and hatred towards young people who won't spread their legs for those who demand it, makes him wonder if his father would be even more disgusted by the thought of those who spread them just because. The fucked up part of his brain wonders if his father would be proud of him for using everything at his disposal- but then he always winds up picturing Mal’s face marred with her usual anti slutty Jay expression, the one that almost looks disappointed and his skin itches so horribly that he picks and scratches at it till he bleeds. And then he looks at himself in the mirror and he feels even more disgust at himself when he sees his own self-inflicted injuries combined with those brought to him by his father’s fists.
Sometimes Jay wonders if Jafar already knows his reputation and simply refuses to acknowledge it. It’s hard to imagine Jafar not having heard the rumors by now, especially considering the frequency in which Jay himself hears them. He hears the rumors almost daily. He knows parents tell their daughters to stay away from him, whether out of protection and concern for their own daughters or fear of their own useless belongings being pilfered he is unsure. But nonetheless they tell their daughters to stay away from that no good Son of Jafar. They tell them that he is no good. He will steal from them and steal their heart while he’s at it. Pocketing anything and everything he can get his dirty thieving hands on and breaking their fragile hearts in the process.
But the warnings from their parents never keep them away. It’s like they can’t resist him. He is like a drug and they are addicts and he will hook up with them in empty classrooms when he should be in class and make out with them pressed against lockers in the hallways in plain view. Because when your reputation precedes you and your reputation is that you’re a thief and a slut, it almost doesn’t matter who can see you. And, yeah maybe he wasn’t helping his case. But if there was one thing he learned on the Isle it was how to shove all of his emotions into a tiny little ball and ignore them. He can be fun and flirty and charming if he wants to because he knows how to compartmentalize the depression and shame and fear away, locked in an entirely different part of himself. It gets to the point where there might as well be two Jay’s, the charming pickpocket and the abused little boy. He never lets them mix together, it’s simply better that way.
So Jay spent more time at school sucking face with pretty girls and making his pockets heavy with stolen treasures than he did going to class. And at the times he wasn’t sleeping his way into his father’s approval, he was doing Mal’s bidding. Being her muscle when she needed to intimidate the other teenagers at Dragon Hall and doing his best to solidify their alliance. Him and Mal weren’t friends, friends didn’t exist on the Isle, but she was as close to friend as he had ever had and if it meant that he had to give up more class time to make her happy, then so be it. It wasn’t like Jay liked going to class anyways and making Mal happy wasn’t just good for his gang standing on the Isle, it was also good for his own emotions (the ones he claims to refuse to acknowledge at all times).
Jay got used to a life of wooing girls, ignoring the ever growing reputation that got bigger and badder each day. At some point he got so used to it, it became second nature to the boy. That was just the way he had always done it, the way he survived
But as the boy got slightly older, growing taller and broader, his third reputation (the one that wasn’t being a thief or slut) grew. He wore his reputation of being Mal’s well trained attack dog with pride. However, it complicated his other reputations and it became harder for the boy to appease his father’s ever growing thirst for more, more, more. More junk to steal, more merchandise for his shelves, more profits to make. More everything.
And by the time Jay reached 15 going on 40 in terms of lived experience, the boy had gone through every skirt Dragon Hall had to offer, and broken every heart while he was at it. He had charmed each and every girl (even a few boys) within a several year range of his own age and they had long since become wary of him. As they passed him they would each hold their jewelry and hair clips and knick knacks close to their broken hearts.
They still giggled and blushed when he walked by. Jay was good looking after all and a player but not a total asshole all the time (just most of the time). However, the first time Jay broke somebody's nose, one of the Gaston twins if he remembers correctly (though he has broken far too many noses to remember each and everyone), right in the middle of the school hallways, he could see the girls shrink back in fear. He couldn’t even blame them for their natural reaction and that was the very worst part of it all. They had all grown up around so many angry men, many of which even being their own fathers. Men who had lost entire kingdoms, political alliances, prospective wife's and chances at any greatness away from the bleak, depressing Island they were all locked on. The Isle of the Lost was often akin to one large pissing match, too many big name villains stuck in far too small of a space.
It really shouldn’t have shocked anyone that these girls were scared of men and their anger and their fists. Their ability to bruise and choke and constrain unwilling daughters and unruly wifes. He would be a hypocrite to not understand their fear, he was afraid of Jafar after all.
But as he became more and more violent in the name of being the daughter of Maleficent's second in command, the girls became more and more visibly scared of him.
Those were the days when Jay started hiding from his own reflection, too scared to see the monster he had become. The monster it felt like he was always destined to be.
When he would catch glimpses of himself in the cracked dragon hall bathroom mirrors, or the still surface of a murky puddle or curve of a cracked window, he would feel his heart start to beat faster and his stomach painfully constrict. Acidic bile would rise in his throat and he struggled to swallow it back, refusing to let it spill forward in the form of vomit.
He could recognize his own self, sure. But as he got older, growing closer and closer to the burden of being a fully grown man, he could also see a monster growing in his own skin. He saw his father’s deep brown eyes set into his face and the sharp curve of Jafar’s jaw filling out and his shoulders growing broader, more like the man he feared so deeply. It made the boy sick to see his own reflection, to not be able to separate his own reflection from Jafar’s likeness. He had spent his entire life terrified of his father and the thought of those lines blurring, the thought that one day he would simply morph into his own abuser made him feel violent.
When the girls shied away from him, too scared of his fists and his temper, at what he would do in the name of Maleficent's offspring, it made him feel somewhat powerful. But it mostly made him feel sick to his stomach. Sometimes he would want to reach his arm out to them, play with their soft hair and beg them to see that he was as terrified of angry men as they were. Make them understand that the bruises on his exposed arms and the almost permanent blackening around his eyes were not an occupational hazard of his duty as Mal’s right hand man, but rather the work of his own father.
But the second he moved towards them, they would flinch back and Jay would be reminded that they really were scared of him. Not the ghost of other angry men. No, they were scared of Jay himself. He was their Jafar and god did that make him so fucking sick and angry and mad and he would spend hours punching brick walls and metal lockers and any other surface he encountered, until his knuckles were permanently raw and red and bloody and bruised. And then his knuckles became so much a part of him, he couldn’t recognise himself without their constantly mangled state. And they became just one more reminder of the type of man he was begrudgingly turning into as he aged.Without the red, hot, violent rage, he wasn’t sure who he was at all. And god did that make him feel even more sick.
When he stopped being able to flirt his way into a profit at school, Jay had become quite despondent, and in many ways out of touch with reality (too used to the life he had crafted for himself over the past several years). One day, he made the mistake of returning to the junk shop with only his pick-pocketing haul, no girl daring to go near him that entire week.
Jafar had been furious when he saw what Jay had to offer him. His father yelled insult after insult at him, until it became clear that just as the boy had always suspected, the man was not unaware of the reputation Jay had built for himself. The one of him being a slut. “You had an advantage, you fool, your charm. And you gave it up in the pursuit of being a wanton slut”. His voice had been deadly quiet when he had said it and Jay had almost missed the words beneath the sound of his own tears.
On seeing his son crying, Jafar turned so stoney and silent it was terrifying in a way that was unparalleled. Having spent a lifetime being beaten by the man, Jay hadn’t known there could be something scarier than the red, hot anger of a drunk Jafar. However, the stoic version of anger was far worse and put the boy on edge in a way the yelling never had before.
“I should have known you were a luutyy this entire time boy” He still didn’t speak the language, but Jay was sure it was a slur and the boy tried with all his might to stop crying, but the tears just kept coming and coming and coming without his permission. “I thought you had it all under control, I was finally proud of you son” Jay felt like a knife was being stabbed into his gut, “but you then had to pull this stunt” it felt like the metaphorical knife was being twisted, “now that they’ve all figured you out, must I show you what you can use when you have nothing left to offer.”
Jafar had smiled at him then, all teeth and snake like eyes and then he had guided a still crying Jay to the corner of the living space. Jay remembers smelling only the strong scent of incense as Jafar pushed the boy to his knees in front of the chair he settled in.
The man used one hand to pet Jay’s long matted hair like he was a prizes cat as the other hand unbuttoned his pants slowly. “You could have been a prince Jay,” his voice was sad and solemn as he put two heavy fingers on his son’s tongue. “But instead we are here on this damned Island, “ The man guided his cock into the boy’s mouth, refusing to break eye contact with his son as even more tears forced their way out of Jay’s swollen eyes. “And you made the mistake of giving away your innocence, you insolent child.” Jafar thrust his hips forward and Jay gagged, his fingers scrambling at the floor as his airstream was cut off, But his father paid it no mind and pushed even further in. “So now, I will teach you how to be a common whore.” Jafar laughed at the last comment and then he fucked the boy’s mouth until he was a sobbing mess, cumming on his lips and face and hair and then leaving him to sit in his own misery as he went to clean himself up.
And holy shit did Jay feel like a common whore at that moment. At first he sat there, frozen in the moment, his limbs unable to move. But then his stomach churned violently and he ran outside, cum and tears still on his face. He knelt down in the alley behind the junk shop and he puked and puked and puked for hours after the assault, in that moment anyone could have come and taken advantage of him in that state. But he couldn’t stop puking and puking and puking. To this day, Jay swears he has never been able to get that taste out of his mouth.
After the night where his father taught him what it truly meant to harness one's own sexuality, Jay found himself falling farther and farther into the depths of his own self hatred. It was true that Jafar never loved him. Once again, Jay was willing to assert his own lack of stupidity and he had never once thought that his father had loved him. No, Jay had been aware of the fact that his father lacked a certain sense of affection towards him for years. Jay was a lot of things to Jafar. A commodity. A way to stock his shelves. A weapon. A punching bag (often). But never a son. No, never a son. The fact that warm mouth to fuck could now be added to the list made the ever present self hatred under his skin itch furiously.
He felt dirty and used and repulsive and after it happened the first time, he felt himself shying away from his own reflection even more. It wasn’t just the sight of his face morphing into Jafar’s own that scared him anymore. It was the way he swore he could still see the cum on his face, caught on his eyelashes and swollen lips when the light shined just right (just wrong really). And the angle would change ever so slightly and he would morph further into the monster that haunted his every waking moments and his nightmares alike.
Jay broke three mirrors in the first week after the incident, desperately trying to hide from his own reflection. From Jafar. From his own, growing, changing self.
After the incident was when he stopped going to Dragon Hall all together. The boy tried to convince himself that his lack of attendance was due to the lack of marks he could flirt with and steal from. But in the moments where he let himself be his most raw self, and he let himself let his guard down far enough to let the tears well up in the corner of his eyes (but never fall, no never fall), he knew that his lack of attendance at school had far more to do with the aftermath of the incident then the girls mistrust in him.
Ever since the incident (he had taken to calling it the incident rather than the night his father fucked his face to teach him his place while he chocked and sobbed), he had felt like a walking he ghost. He still tried his best to be his normal self. To flirt and lie and cheat and make his father proud (because god no matter what all he wanted in life was to make his father proud). And maybe if you were to squint your eyes just right you could see the old Jay still. And he tried his very hardest to let that Jay be the one everyone else saw too. He even tried to trick himself into thinking it was the Jay he still was.
He tried his best to be normal if only for himself. But he knew that there was probably a deeper reason for his overall insistence that everything was ok. Maybe he wanted to pretend nothing had happened at all. Or maybe it was simply his fear of his father’s retaliation if he ever dared to stop bringing stolen goods home and he needed to act at least somewhat normal to be able to manage even a pick-pocketing haul (let alone a flirting haul). Since the incident he hadn’t been able to look at a girl, nonetheless flirt with one or god forbid sleep with one. God, even the thought of sleeping with them made him start up the scratching again, until his skin was red and raw and bleeding at any given moment.
At the end of the day, the part of him that hadn’t completely shut down, knew realistically what he was scared of. That part of him knew that his chasing of normalcy had to be fueled by one thing and one thing alone. Now that his father had broken that one, horrible, final boundary a single time, who was to say he wouldn’t do it again.
And as previously stated, Jay was not a stupid person and as it turned out his intuition was 100% correct. The first time it had happened, the action had felt like a punishment and a lesson combined into one horrible, rancid experience. It was meant to teach him how to be more resourceful, make more money, and use his body to bring home more, more, more. It was to punish him for being so stupid and slutty and repulsive. It scared the shit out of him and made him so sex repulsed, it felt like the old version of him had never existed in the first place.
But consequently that sex repulsion was apparently not benefiting him in the ways his father would want and as the weeks passed and it became more and more clear that Jay was not going to “use his assets” and be a “common whore” in the name of his father’s business, Jafar became more impatient with him. And instead of the anger bubbling up farther and farther in the form of violence (as it usually did), his father simply became more stoic and closed off. Until one day, the boy was pushed onto his knees again. But this time it was sweet and passionate, almost reverent as Jafar fucked his mouth slowly and told him he was beautiful and perfect. He would whisper tales of how he was supposed to have been royalty and he held him close, carding large hands through his warm, long hair.
“You’re beautiful like her” he would whisper in the boy’s ear. “So beautiful, and just as disobedient” Though unnamed, Jay knew he was talking about Jasmine in those moments and his stomach turned once again in the present moment and the prospect that her and Aladdin’s children could be his classmate. How the fuck could he look those children in the eye knowing that his father had broken him down piece by piece while comparing his own son to their mother. He wasn’t stupid and Jay had to assume this had happened to Jasmine too when she was around his age. And god did that thought fucking disgust him. His own twisted mind told him that it was one thing for Jafar to fuck him, he deserved it after all, but the thought of him doing it to sweet Jasmine made him want to scream and cry and loose his fucking shit. Jasmine didn’t deserve it however. She had been nothing but a child… he refused to acknowledge the fleeting thought that he too was nothing but a child and maybe he didn’t deserve it either.
It happened several more times after that first initial horrible night and each time Jay became increasingly more disgusted with his own self, at the way the boy craved the affection of his father. He dreamed of soft touches and his father telling him he loved him, so used to a life of harsh words and fists and broken ribs. It should truly disgust him, the way Jafar touched him like a lover instead of a son, but he couldn’t keep himself from craving the affection. When faced with a lifetime of violent rage, of course his brain would be confused with the tender touches. At some point he found himself questioning if this was how all father’s treated their sons. He couldn’t really think of another instance of this happening, but what happened behind closed doors was private. And maybe this was Jafar finally treating his son nicely. Maybe this was a good thing after all and he simply wasn’t used to it.
It became clear with more time that those thoughts were quite flawed and the tenderness was once again proven to be one of his fathers endless mind games. Jafar was a master of emotional manipulation and Jay was his current favorite victim (his preferred victim of course being a long since grown Sultan’s daughter, locked on the other side of a magical barrier). Jafar knew just what to do to lure his son into a false sense of safety and care and comfort. Beat the boy for 15 years, fuck him soft and sweet and slow for a few months, tell him he’s beautiful and precious, a diamond in the fucking rough. Give him emotional whiplash and then take it all away again like it had never been there at all, leaving Jay wondering if he imagined it all in the first place.
It was an ingenious plan and when Jafar first brought the boy to Lady Tremaine’s Brothel, he was in such an emotionally drained state, he followed his father right there like the good boy he was dying to be. He wanted Jafar to be proud of him and he would do anything at that point to continue the cycle of tenderness, rather than unchecked violence.
The brothel was an intimidatingly large stone building that turned out to be one single, smoke filled room on the inside. There were (once) lavish fabrics scavenged from the barges and sold to the Brothel from Jafar’s very own Junk Shop draped on each surface and the entire room smelled of sweat and stale rancid beer and other bodily fluids that made the boy’s stomach churn nervously. When he blinked he could see his father’s crotch in front of his face and he would not have been shocked if he simply emptied his stomach on the floor of the brothel at the mere scent alone.
Jay found himself clinging to his father in a way he hadn’t dared ever do, not even as a child. Jafar had held him tight for one single fleeting moment, kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair. Jay then saw an exchange of money so quick he almost missed it and his father was leaving back out the door in which they had come with one final “be a good boy and make your father proud”. Jay couldn’t keep himself from preening under the promise of praise, the weeks of his father’s gentle touching feeding into his already ever present need to please the man he called father.
But then there were hands on him, so large and calloused he felt like he was going to break beneath them. At 16 years old, Jay was not a small boy. But, the hands and torso of the man touching him were so large and they pulled him close like the boy weighed nothing and Jay felt so small against Gaston’s bare chest.
He wanted to yell at first, but his back was to Gaston’s unnaturally warm chest and the angle he was being held at made Jay feel acutely aware that the lumbering man could simply snap him in half if he had wanted to. He felt like his body was made of nothing but air and the will to die.
Gaston wrapped one of his monstrous hands around the younger boy's cock and when he pulled at it, forcing an unwanted erection, an ear shattering sob was ripped from Jay’s lips. He felt like he was one fire and the older man cooed at him as if his sobs were nothing more than a child’s babble and not a scream of terror and fear. “Now, now” he tsked and then Jay was whimpering again as the man continued to jerk him off against his own will.
It had all felt so wrong. The boy felt like he was on fucking fire and he wanted to simply fade into nothingness in that moment and stop existing forever. Shame and anguish filled his mind and to his own horror Jay found his own father’s name slipping from his mouth, begging Jafar to come save him from this horrible, horrible man. He felt like he was being split in half and he felt like his brain was detaching from his own body, his mind begging him to let it leave this movement in time and run away.
Gaston laughed a full, hearty chuckle and Jay felt it in his entire body. “Your father can’t save you boy. I paid a pretty penny for you and you will be mine for the night.” And then he put one of his disgusting, large calloused hands over Jay’s swollen mouth, instantly silencing him and even if the boy had wanted to scream, he wouldn't have been heard at that point anyways. And god had he never ever felt as fuckign small in his entire life as he felt in that horrible moment in time.
When Gaston finished with him, he pushed Jay’s long hair back and whispered “See you next week gorgeous” in the shaking boy's ear.
And never let it be said that Gaston was a liar. The boy did see Gaston at least weekly (sometimes twice or even three times a week) for months after their first encounter. Every single week Gaston would make him feel so small and steal his innocence away from him one single second at a time.
In addition to Gaston, Jafar exchanged Jay’s services for money with a slew of other perverted men, most of which were lesser known villains and petty criminals. Most notable of the men tended to be the ever present slew of members of the crew of the Lost Revenge. As it turns out, being terrorized by a band of boys that never grew up for years gave the pirates a taste for little boys. And god was Jay sick of being the right type for the pirates. He hated turning tricks for the pirates, they were awfully violent and always wanted to work out some perverted fantasy they had about putting Peter Pan and his band of lost boys in their place. He always left those nights with dried blood underneath his nose and scratches up and down the surface of his broad shoulders and back.
It was so easy to feel like he was all alone in the world. To feel like he was floating out in space, never to be found and reeled back into earth.
But one night Jay saw another boy around his age at the Brothel and if he was entirely honest, he was relieved to know that he still had a heart beating in his chest when the sight of the other boy made his stomach churn violently. It was one thing for his own services to be sold, but when he saw another kid his age doing it, he was struck with how wrong it all felt. When he looked at the boy, Harry, son of Captain Hook and a self proclaimed psycho, he couldn't help but see him for what he was - a child.
It wasn’t that Harry Hook looked young or innocent, in fact it truly felt like the opposite. The boy was broad and taller, taller than Jay in fact. He brandished a hook on one hand that he wasn’t afraid to use on customers that refused to pay and sometimes the other boy bit and scratched at the perverts backs. However, no matter how sexual Harry tried to make himself appeal, Jay still couldn’t help but see the innocence on the other like it was a second skin.
He became fascinated with the other boy, with the thought of protecting him from this life Jafar had fated him too. He became preoccupied with the thought that Harry’s father might be doing the same exact thing to him that his father did to him. And once again there was such a clear disconnect between his own self worth and his protecting streak over Harry. It was one thing for his father to hurt him and another for Captain Hook to come at his underage son.
Jay spent so much time thinking about the other boy, his heart ached even now with his overwhelming need to protect the other.
He knew it was wrong. You weren’t supposed to have any sort of connections on the Isle and he realistically knew Harry didn’t feel the same way towards him. But he couldn’t help himself and the urge to protect the other boy grew and grew and grew until it eventually boiled over.
One time Jay had been so put off by the thought of one of the pirates fucking Harry, he had offered himself up even after Gaston had had a go at him once that night. When he offered himself up, Harry’s ever present manic smile dropped for a single second and in its place was a small frown belonging to a scared little boy. But before he could even blink the look was gone and the his ever present flirtatious confidence returned to him. “Don tell me yer want to hog them all for yerself Jay” he teased as if he had never broken character at all and then the boy used his hook to pull the pirate to a bed covered in ripped deep purple sheets on the other side of the brothel.
By the time Jay had gone to leave, he had already seen the older man pull at Harry’s pants and when he left Jay puked right outside of Lady Tremaine’s Brothel onto the ever slimy sidewalk.
He saw Harry almost every time his father brought him to work at the brothel from that day onward and every time he saw the other boy, he wanted nothing more than to take his place. The boy didn’t deserve this pain and he wanted to keep him so far away. But the only other time Jay acted on his actions, Harry was on him within one step forward, hook in his face and growling “Now hay, yer leave my business alone”.
When Harry was bent over the nearest falt surface, he looked straight at Jay as he was fucked into by an old perverted man with one leg and he winked. That night Jay slammed his head against the wall outside his father’s junk shop over and over and over again, until he was seeing stars and blood was trickling down his face and into his eyes. But the boy learned his lesson nonetheless and Jay never did offer to take Harry Hooks place again (no matter how violent and angry it made the boy feel).
And then the boy became Uma’s second in command and he spent more time antagonizing Harry than worrying about adults fucking him. But regardless of the carefully crafted image he created for himself when the two gangs faced off in public, each and every time he and Harry taunted each other, he couldn’t keep himself from hearing the phantom sound of Harry’s whimpering begs and moans as he was manhandled in that damn disgusting brothel they both had the displeasure of “working at”. And Jay knew by the look on the other’s face that he was thinking the same exact thing every time heard Jay’s voice, but they were both so broken and traumatized that they simply refused to acknowledge it ever. So instead they fought each other and teased each other and taunted each other and acted like they were the grown ups that had failed them so thoroughly.
The only day that unspoken truth had ever come close to breaking was when Gil, Uma’s third and son of Gaston, started complaining one day that his father wanted him to become a real man and that meant fucking someone according to the older hunter. Harry and Jay had exchanged panicked expressions from across the street they were brawling on (Harry’s sword still extended between them). As they stood in silence, Uma tried to shush the boy, telling him to silence his complaint because they were here to brawl and not to complain outwardly about things that should never be mentioned to anyone (nonetheless their rival gang). Gil did in fact stop talking, the slower boy clearly not understanding at first that this was not an appropriate place to share this thought, but even when he stopped it didn’t make the situation better and a rare sight was seen when Jay and Harry seemed to have a conversation with their eyes alone in the tense moments before a fight appeared to break loose. The two boys communicated using their eyes alone and a truce seemed to have been called out of nowhere, Harry’s sword dropped and Jay pulled the other boy to the side of the alleyway.
Harsh words were whispered between the two with seemingly no regard for the other members of their crews left in the dark while they conversed. They spoke with disregard for the world around them, chaotically needing to get their points across before the moment ended and they were enemies once more.
“We can’t let him go to Lady Tremaine’s” Jay’s voice was firm and soft, if not bordering on straight up hysterical.
“I know that yer idiot…” Harry seethed at the other.
“What if he sees us…” Jay felt like he was going to puke, “What if Gaston wants him to fuck me???”
Jay was actually hysterical at this point. His mind was jumping to each and every horrible situation he could picture Gaston putting Gil into.
Sure they were in different gangs, but that didn’t mean he wanted something bad to happen to any of the Sea Three. There was a set of unspoken rules amongst all of the teenagers on the Isle of the Lost and one of them had always been that the other children should be protected despite petty gang allegiances and turf wars.
You couldn't save them all, but those who were younger or slower (like Gil was) were priorities. They had to be protected at all costs and Gil was no more than a child (Jay silenced the part of his mind that was screaming at him that he was also a child) and he wouldn’t let Gaston put the other boy in such a horrible situation. No. No. No. He and Harry had simply already suffered enough for the rest of the Island’s children combined and he couldn’t handle the thought of someone like Gil being hurt in the same exact way. He could deal with his own status as a whore, but Gil was soft and sweet and good and deserved so much better than the life both he and Harry had been destined to.
Harry sighed something deep and all encompassing, and the other boy reached out and squeezed Jay’s shoulder once. It was the only contact the two boys had had outside of brawling ever and Jay felt the warmth spread from the place the other touched his shoulder to the rest of his body. It was warm and good and so unfamiliar and Jay wanted to lean into that touch and never let go of the feeling it came with.
“Leave it ter me..” Harry sighed, pulling his arm (and warmth) away as quickly as it had come in the first place.
For once, Jay was happy to let Harry take the lead, sure that he would protect the other boy that he seemed to treat like a brother. Harry cared about his gang fiercely and he knew the other would let no harm come to Gil.
As usual, his intuition was right and when Jay saw them next, Gil had a lopsided smile and he came bounding up to him and Mal at Uma’s own displeasure “We’re here to fight not tell love stories” she snapped as Gil told him about how Harry taught him how to kiss, so he could be a real man and god the look on Harry’s face was the most heartbreaking thing Jay had ever seen as he mouthed “Thank you” and the pirate only responded with a tiny, whispered “yer welcome, Jay”.
They never did address it again after that day and to Jay’s displeasure he never felt Harry’s warm hand on his shoulder (or any other part of his body for that matter) again. Instead they continued to play out the motions of their everyday lives like nothing had happened, the truce between them never spoken out loud but always there. There was an unspoken contract between, an understanding never put into words, but somehow never disputed nonetheless.
The two boys saw each other most weeknights at the Lady Tremaine’s Brothel and if anything they both became even more ensconced in the confines of the walls they had built in their own heads. It was like a dance they had never rehearsed, but both somehow knew the choreography too.
Jay became even more closed off, Dragon Hall was nothing but a distant memory to him, having completely stopped going to school ever by this point. The boy spent his days stealing for his father (and sometimes completing tasks for Mal to expand her territory), his evenings were spent bent over flat surfaces and cradled between too large arms at the brothel and his late nights were plagued by an ever present reel of different nightmares. The boy would often wake up in pain and fear, his heart beating out of his chest, screams caught on his lips (his body somehow aware even in the panicked moments that waking his father with his nightmares would only end in bloody noses and broken ribs).
The hands and mouths and bodies that touched him never seemed to leave his racing brain and he was trapped in a never ending cycle of pain and sex and unchecked, unapologetic kleptomania. These were the days where Jay found himself stealing for the thrill of it and not just to stock his father’s shelves. He would slip little trinkets and coins out of other’s pockets and into the palm of his own calloused hands. He found himself craving the feeling of being alive and breathing and for some reason the tiny spark of joy that he felt when he stole something made him feel more alive. It was a release in a way that nothing else ever seemed to be.
On the flip side, Harry became even more manic, you could hear the boy's unhinged laughter from across alleyways and docks whenever you saw him. The boy always seemed to be laughing, his mouth always contoured in an unnatural grin as he taunted those around him.
Additionally, the other boy appeared to become even more flirty than he naturally was (which was impressive considering he was quite flirtatious to start). Whereas Jay seemed to shut down when the older men would touch him, the boy simply seemed to dissociate- his mind floating away until he felt like he was sitting on the ceiling and not in his own skin, Harry seemed to become even more unhinged in his own sense of promiscuity.
When Jay would see the other boy across the smoke filled brothel rooms, he could see the boy's lithe body twisting in pleasure. He would arch his back and moan as if he really did enjoy the hands on him… the hands and cocks and tongues in and on him. Harry was gorgeous in a way that almost made Jay jealous. He was pale, skin scarred far less than the tanner boy’s own skin and under the low lighting of the brothel it glimmered like moonlight. When men grabbed at Jay’s neck, he would flinch away- scared that they would constrict his airflow so thoroughly that he would choke and perhaps even die. When they grabbed at Harry’s neck, the boy would lean into it- moaning as they pressed finger shaped bruises into pale skin, biting at his pink lips and staring up at them through thick lashes.
Looking at Harry at the brothel made Jay feel ugly and further it made him feel like a failure. His father had destined him to be a whore and yet he was still so jumpy and ungraceful. He fought against the men involuntarily and when he looked at Harry he could feel his heart beating in his throat because it truly appeared like the other was experiencing the most pleasurable moments of sexual intimacy ever.
Jay knew better than their customers did and he knew it was all an act. He knew Harry truly didn’t like the way these men touched him, they way they would bend him over and countered his body with no regard to this young boy's personal space and boundaries. But if Jay hadn’t known him so well he would have been fooled by the act as much as everyone else was.
Sometimes Jay wondered if he was the only one who saw through the act, but then he would see the way Uma would stare at the hickies and bruises on the man’s neck while they were brawling. He would see the way Gil would touch the other gently, asking him what happened and he knew that he wasn’t the only one who knew that Harry wasn’t truly as into the evenings trapped in the brothel as everyone thought he was. Those were the moments that Jay remembered how young Harry was and when he looked at Uma and Gil, he would wonder if they were remembering how young Jay was himself.
He tried to minimize those experiences as much as possible, refusing to think of either himself or Harry as children. Instead he chose to focus on the versions of themselves that both boys had worked so precisely on building up.
Harry acted like a perfect willing slut, whereas Jay was the angry, rigid whore. They often entertained the same customers and the older men would bounce between their preference of “taming Jay”, pulling his hair and holding sweat soaked hands over his mouth, and the seemingly “willing Harry” he would writhe in pleasure under their repulsive touch.
Jay hated seeing Harry on those days, hated the way he appeared to truly be enjoying the molestation, but looking back on it he wishes he had paid more attention to the boy even in those moments that he had always tried to forget. It wasn’t that he liked seeing the other be fucked, because god did he fucking hate it more than anything else in this entire world, but there was something familiar and comforting about seeing the other boy from across the brothel. In the most fucked up way, it made him feel less alone to know the pirate truly was in it with him. He wasn’t really ever alone if Harry was also there going through the exact same horror’s with him.
On the best of days, Jay hated himself more than he hated most other things in this universe (his own father often being a contender for the top of his hatred list). His own reflection made his stomach churn and his hands clench into unrelenting fists.
When he would look at himself he could even recognize himself and rather could only see the points of contact others had made with him, an empty shell illuminated by handprints and bite marks. He felt like a ghost and it was so easy at the worst of times to feel like he was floating off into the universe all alone. One tiny, insignificant whore with a shitty dad and a stealing problem- a speck in the vast unknown.
But, Harry fucking Hook with his stupid manic giggles and moans of pleasure at the most inappropriate times, and gorgeous pale skin and muscles and floppy hair made him feel less alone. Sure, Harry dealt with it differently- but Jay knew for a fact that he was as haunted by the hands and the mouths and the stares as he was and god was it good to know that someone else (anyone else) understood (even only a little bit).
There was no such thing as friends on the Isle, but holy shit Harry Hook had been an ally Jay had relied on more than he was ever willing to admit. The boy’s unrelenting energy and simple presence was cherished in Jay’s life and as he stood in Auradon (the far too bright sun glaring in his eyes, birds chirping and bright flowers surrounding him), the boy couldn’t help but be overcome with a deep, pervasive sense of grief when he considered the fact that he may never see the other boy alone.
He wanted to laugh, but bit his tongue down hard, scared that he would scare the Auradon kids even more than he could already tell he already had. Never would he think he would miss Harry Hook, the psychotic fellow whore that he fought more than he ever talked with. The second in command to Uma, the pirates being the only gang that ever came close to rivaling Mal’s own gang. The boy who seemed to act like nothing ever bothered him had no right to be haunting Jay’s thoughts during a moment of such immense change and parting of ways from everything he had ever experienced in his life before this moment.
But being here in Auradon for even a single fleeting second, made the feeling of loose over that allyship sting even more. There is a saying that you can’t truly miss something until it is gone and Jay was living that reality in a way he would have never thought possible. And fuck Harry fucking hook for making him feel this way. He was a god damn villian, rotten to the fucking core, he shouldn’t be made to feel this way.
But he certainly did feel this way and the only feeling that seemed stronger in this moment than his grief over his bizarre allyship with Harry Hook, was the overwhelming understanding that he would truly never fit in here.
It was quite clear that his palace was not for him. This place with these perfect kids, in their perfect outfits, with their perfect hair and perfect smiles and perfect lives. These kids couldn't even stand the appearance of a few hickies on his neck… and it was clear that they were assuming that he was simply promiscuous and that those hickies had been sucked into his tan neck with consent. He couldn’t imagine what they would think he they knew the true extent of his impurity.
If they how those men touched him.
How his own father touched him.
He truly would never fit in here. He wasn’t meant to be here and god did it hurt him so much to process in one single, horrible moment that while he was here thinking of all of these thoughts- Harry was back on the Isle. Alone. No longer anchored to this universe by Jay’s empty dark brown eyes staring at him from across the smoke filled brothel.
He bit down on his tongue hard, until blood filled his mouth.
He swallowed the blood and the regret and the pain and the shame and the feeling of helplessness all at once- drowning any regret he had over hair with it. He was a villain, he needed to stop feeling so much. It wasn’t worth it. Harry Hook wasn’t fucking worth it. Not now. Not ever and the horrible side of him (the side he wanted more than anything to take over his emotions today and everyday) felt some sort of glee over the thought of refusing to let his emotions take over. Villains didn’t feel emotions like pain and grief and regret after all, he was stronger than the vices of having to care about other people.
He swallowed down more blood and the remaining feels of shame and regret, every memory of Harry Hook and his father and Lady Tremaine’s god awful brothel.
“Hello Foxy” Jay said, crossing his arms and staring at the girl who he assumed to be a princess. He looked her up and down, honing in on what he needed to do. Different place, same game. He knew how to play this. He knew how to win. Charm them until they let their guards down, smile and flirt and wink until he fell into bed with them, until he got what he wanted.
“The name’s Jay” he purred, this was familiar. The flirting and winky and seducing was familiar, He was going to be ok. He could charm her in a second, move closer to the goals their parents had set forth to them (the goals that had been instilled in their children with no other viable option about success).
He tried to seduce the girl with his eyes alone, staring at her like he did so often with the residents of the Isle of the Lost. But his heart sank at the reaction the girl had to him, a reaction that felt unfamiliar and terrifying all at once.
The girl laughed at him, her perfected styled brown hair bouncing as she cocked her perfectly make up covered head to the side. Jay felt his heart skip a beat because for a single second he heard the ghost of Harry laughing with her and holy fuck did it hurt to hear.
But Harry wasn’t here and his voice faded as quickly as it had originally appeared and then it was just the girl in front of him. Staring at him and laughing at the boy like he was the strangest thing she had ever seen.
Jay was so used to being irresistible to those around him, having spent years conning his ways into sexual encounters that ended in money being exchanged for goods stolen. He knew who he was like the back of his hand. He was sexy and irresistible, one of those whores who could sell his skin and the promise of his heart. He could turn a trick in his fucking sleep.
But here he was in this strange place. With this unnaturally perfect looking girl, who was laughing at his sexual advances like he was the funniest thing in the world and not a seasoned pro and it made his skin crawl and his entire party ache with longing for the Isle. For Harry. Even for his father. For the familiarity of it all and the promise of a situation that felt more comfortable- more controlled.
But instead all he had was this girl, this princess and her stupid judging, knowing look. It felt like she could see right through him, see exactly who he was- what he was.
And god was it clear she was judging him for who he was.
She looked disgusted with him.
He was disgusted with himself.
And it became very, truly, immeasurably clear that Auradon was nothing like the Isle.
And god did Jay mourn his old life. His old self.