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bun-joint-dolls · 11 days

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Character Development Questions: Hard Mode

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

Aoife was three years old when Meabh came into the world, sitting in the waiting room of the ward with her granny as her mother and father were tending to her arrival. Then she was there.

Bundled in pink blankets and placed in her arms, Aoife held Meabh tight, remembering how her toy dolls liked to be held, and she smiled, all toothy and bright, whispering, "Hi baby, I'm Aoife. I'll take care of you, brush your hair, and kiss you night night." and then placed a gentle kiss to Meabh's forehead, giggling in delight as the baby coos in response.

A year later, Fiona was born into the world, Meabh's little sister, and partner in crime. If Meabh was the mastermind, then Fiona was the getaway driver. They spent their early years sharing a bed even when they didn't have to, sharing their room, scheming, causing chaos, and fighting.

Aoife was Meabh's confidant, the one she could tell anything in the world to, and even if Aoife didn't agree, she would guard those secrets with her life. Fiona was Meabh's first friend, always doing everything together, laughing, and fighting, and when push came to shove, they would do anything for one another.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

As Caitlin held her second daughter she teared up, gazing at a little face that took more after her husband than herself. A small pudgy girl born just as the cowslip flowers were blooming, squirming and kicking, ready for the world. She held the wiggly newborn close and looked to Seamus with a beaming smile, "She's perfect. She's so perfect..."

He sits down on the bed, staring at his second daughter, seeing himself reflected in her. And for the second time in his life, he is amazed he put another being so beautiful in this world. Watching her kick around and whine, he smiled despite the fear that he wasn't the right man to love her, "...Meabh." he breathes out. The warrior goddess, she who intoxicates, his Meabh.

"Meabh." Caitlin repeats, then looks down at their baby, "Fits her."

Caitlin adored Meabh, despite how wild and unruly her second was, she was also the cheekiest and funniest daughter. She needed Caitlin's firmness, and her father's patience - but she was never less than perfect.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

Seamus cradles Meabh to his chest, ten weeks old with her blue eyes observing the world around her, smiling with a glimmer of mischief as he watches her. Wrapped in a fine white silk gown that Caitlin had hand embroidered little lilies onto, her small pudgy hand adorned with a shining golden claddagh ring that matched her older sister's. Her wild brown curls left untamed as she kicked her feet around and squirmed.

He held her over the font, saw his own face reflecting back in the water, and felt his own faith strengthen - because there's no doubt that there's a God out there when Seamus has managed to have perfect girls. The priest pours the holy water over Meabh's head, making the girl squeal and giggle, wriggling around so much that Seamus was worried he'd drop her right into the font.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, may Meabh Saoirse O'Malley be anointed in the name of the Lord."

Seamus would never admit it, but Meabh was his favourite child - because she was every whip and turn alike him. He dedicated himself to being the person he needed as a boy, and loved Meabh the way she needed, even if that sometimes led to the two's tempers at each other's throats.

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

The TV was running the news in the corner of the livingroom, turned up so her grandmother could hear it as she cooked in the kitchen. Meabh and her sisters colouring in peacefully when suddenly the little girls' interest is pulled to the video shown on the screen.

A group of men being escorted to the back of a heavily armoured police vehicle while the newscaster read, "-Moore has plead guilty to 11 counts of murder, and Bates has plead guilty to 10. It was felt by the Lord Justice O'Donnell that the 42 life sentences were appropriate due to the brutality of the murders committed by the Shankhill Butchers. He has called these crimes a catalogue of horror, and a lasting monument to sectarian bigotry-"

"-Meabh! Dinner!" Her grandmother hollers. Meabh gets up and immediately rushes to the dinner table with an unease that those men had done very bad things, and done them for reasons she can't understand just yet - but she knew they would do bad things to her loved ones.

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Meabh kept a small crossbody bag on her at all times, with her arm always holding it shut despite the fact it also fastened closed and zipped. Her jeans always had her phone, but her bag had one of John's journals, her rosary beads, a small vial of perfume, a hair comb that came apart to reveal a blade, her euro purse and her sterling purse, and her eye patch.

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

The abbey. When Meabh was younger, and her family attended mass together, she remembers the abbey. How tall and imposing it was, with stain glass that made the room bathe in rainbows. It commanded you to whisper without ever needing a voice, to keep the sanctity of peace that the lord provides - and suddenly all the worries were gone, because there was a plan, a bigger picture, someone out there who deemed it just so.

Meabh walks down the aisle of that abbey several times in her dreams, a washing sense of relief coming over here. A moment of peace and reflection, to take stock, to ask someone to take the weight of her worries for a moment. She sits next to a man she began to look less like with age, and he holds her hand, gives it a gentle squeeze, and they sit forward in silence...

Her small hand wraps around her father's warm one, and when they meet eyes she's herself again, small, in a pastel yellow dress with her hair tamed, her face freckled and without blemish.

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

She's walking across a rope bridge with someone behind her, so high up that the black, stormy sea below feels like an abyss that's whipping in a frenzy. As she nears the safety of the other side the ropes begin to snap and the wind howls, everything happens so fast.

They're swinging from the collapsed bridge, the storm turning to hail and rain, making it difficult to hold on. She manages to clamber her way up to safety then starts hauling her other companion up with her, straining and screaming as her shoes dig into the earth and fight to hoist them up.

Falling. Meabh slams herself onto the ground and reaches out, grabbing their hand, but missing that one second she needed to tighten her grip and so they slip right through as she screams out for them.

DADDY!

COLONEL!

JOHNNY!

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

"Deep breath, Realta..." Her father whispers into her ear, helping to adjust her arms as they practice on a few empty bottles of beer. His rifle was heavy - a 600 AK-47. A deep breath in and then his finger taps hers and she pulls the trigger as she breathes out, his arm around her keeping her from being knocked back from the kick.

"THAT'S MY GIRL!" He laughed in delight as the bottle shatters to a million glassy fragments.

Meabh beams at him in pride, his twelve year old daughter was a crackshot from having used the revolver already. He kisses her cheek, and ruffles her messy curls.

"Now, what's the rules of guns? - one more time" He clears his throat, trying to contain his delight.

She huffs and turns the safety on, pointing the gun downward, "Respect your weapon. Safety on and pointed down when not in use. Guns are for self defense not for pissing contests. Only fire if you know they'll not have mercy for you."

"Good. Now again." He nods and crouches behind her, hands on her shoulders to keep her from falling at the next shot.

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Growing up, Meabh and her family scrounged to make ends meet. Her mother worked as a secretary in the local accountants, while her father was a fisherman who did a few cash in hand jobs. Still, clothes were always hand me down, sewn and made to last until they physically were not staying on. Food was portioned so everyone got what they needed and never much more. Toys were kept clean and regularly gifted from cousins or gifted on when they grew too old. She didn't want for much though, her family were happy, they loved each other, and her parents never let her worry.

Now, Meabh has more money than she knows what to do with. Often in a bunk out on sea, it wasn't worth having a home to go home to, it would only get dusty and fall to disrepair while she paid for it. No, Meabh just saved her money away for a trust fund for her eldest nephew.

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

It depended, on the boat, Meabh liked being in her full uniform, grey camo fatigues with steel toe combat black combat boots. Her jacket zipped up to her neck, and a black beret pinned to her hair, leather gloves tight to her hands. She liked that it commanded respect, that she blended in with her men, that she could let herself be another soldier than a Commodore.

However, as a civilian, Meabh always liked showing off - she was a knockout and she knew it. Cropped baby tees and long, silk skirts with chunky heels. Halter tops with miniskirts and ballet flats. Tight turtlenecks with flares and boots. Her fashion sense was stuck in the 90s and early noughties, but it suited her.

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

"Alright step out of the vehicle." The armoured man grit out, and Meabh stared at him defiantly.

"Fucking make me you bastard." She spat out the window at him.

"You little-" He pries the door open and wrenches her from the driver's seat while she screams at him, kicking her pretty heeled feet, her blue velvet dress with a lace overlay making it difficult for her to move much.

"Unhand me!" She growls as he pins her over the hood, searching her small clutch and finding condoms with an amused smile.

"Search the car boys, they're smuggling contraband." He lets go to watch his other men search the car, and Meabh taps his shoulder, making him turn around with a roll of the eyes only for a solid left fist to collide with the bridge of his nose.

"LITTLE BITCH-"

Then a gunshot fires.

Meabh is on the ground, gasping for air with her eyes wide, watching a flood of crimson red pour from her own face, her hands shake as they press to the wound, a huge gaping hole that took out the entirety of the flesh of her cheek. She spat when she felt something hard rolling around the back of her mouth to see her teeth, fractured into a million pieces.

"Daddy!" She wails out as her heart beats in between her ears, her breathing getting quick and tight - she's going to die, she's going to die in the dirt.

Her friends worked quickly, the boys grabbing her arms to haul her back over the border to safety, where if she dies there will be justice and outcry for her. The girls tore the fabric of her dress and put pressure to her wound to keep her from bleeding out, somewhere someone calls for a paramedic.

The soldiers ran off and abandoned their post.

Meabh's eyes roll back and close tight as the fear of dying became too much, passing out, unconscious and in a ditch in a backfield somewhere.

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

Meabh had come home from a long deployment, a brand new addition to her family waiting to meet her.

She sits awkwardly stiff in her father's armchair, a cup of tea and a few Kimberly biscuits laid out on the coffee table, her aran jumper itches uncomfortably - all too domestic. Aoife sits there with a warm smile, holding her bundle of joy as she talks to their mother.

"Would you like to hold him, Meabh?" Her brother-in-law asked with a kind smile.

Before the woman could even say anything, Aoife was entrusting the most precious cargo to Meabh. She held the baby close and looked down at him, her chest tightening and breath stopping for a moment as a profound sense of awe and calm washed over her.

He didn't know what her hands had done. He didn't know the cruelty of the world. He didn't know hatred, fear, or pain. She begins to sob as this horrible sense of hope raises in her, a hope that his life is different - that he is better than her in every way. Hope that all she does, all she sacrifices, was to provide him a good life.

"What's his name?" She whispers, her finger stroking over his soft cheek.

"Séan" Omen. The first good omen she's had in years.

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Meabh was never squeamish around blood. It was a common sight in her childhood, even more so in her adolescence. By the time she entered the military blood had been the last thing she cared about or was squeamish over.

But every so often...

There's that nightmare. Her face ripping open and she drowns on her own blood - and it makes her nauseous for the next day.

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

Faces. Meabh knew her friends from her enemies, even if she couldn't name them. She knew who to go back to save, who to load a bullet into, who needed her to lead them to safety, who needed to be interrogated. Faces were the only thing that mattered in her line of work. Titles and names were a formality that she could do away with, but if a face that should be dead is walking around, well... isn't that a bigger problem?

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

She had little to her possession than what could fit within a bag and her pockets, and she liked it that way. It was all she needed, and she doubled down on that after John passed away - selling her home and donating her clothes.

Money she built up, but never for herself, all of what wasn't spent was put into a trust fund for Sean.

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

Happiness was a concept Meabh was unfamiliar with, it was a rare emotion she got to feel and allowed herself to indulge in. She was a very happy daughter, a happier girlfriend. But now, happiness was like the winning lottery ticket, and yet she kept buying in for hopes she'll win again. Those who could be happy, laugh with their chest, and shake their shoulders as though nothing weighed on them, she envied them the most.

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

She'd never admit it, but her favourite toy growing up was her Polly Pockets. She'd carry them around with her in her pockets and bags as a girl. Constantly chewing on the plastic clothes, dressing them up, creating stories with her sisters - she adored her Polly who she named Grainne.

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

She can admire both, they are much different attributes that can be admired in different ways. The wisdom to stay your blade, to keep silence, to listen rather than speak. The ambition to drive yourself, to aim to be better, to give yourself hope.

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

Meabh kept her relationships private, secretive, every single one of them - to many it would seem she was ashamed of her loved ones, like she was embarrassed of them, or they burdened her. But she was actually too scared to put targets on them - if she could shield them from the stars and gods themselves she would do so, anything to minimize who knew about the good in this world, for fear they'd like to snuff it out.

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

Fiona was a beautiful bride, smiling and chatting away to anyone who listened to her, and sat between her and Meabh was Aoife, who was dignified and elegant. Meabh smiled warmly, she didn't look like her sisters, didn't have the same kind of life, or experiences, or temperament - and maybe if she had been more like them she wouldn't have turned out how she did. They make her wonder of all the 'what ifs' that could've been...

But then she wouldn't have met John.

Agony was a small price to pay for how loved she was all those years.

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

Quick to shrug it off, to dust her clothes, to wipe the blood, to patch the wound - she will survive. She didn't deserve it, but no one else does either, so she'll bear the burden.

Religion became a quiet bed of comfort, one she could fall back on. When she doubted her resolve, her reasoning, when she questioned if this was the type of life she deserved - she tried to hope there was a divine plan, that something out there knew what she was there for and she'd realise it one day too.

What does your character like in other people?

Chatty and bubbly people always make Meabh smile, she could allow herself to be infected by their joy for the length of a conversation. However, if they were witty and sharp too, she was a goner, finding them endlessly charming.

What does your character dislike in other people?

Despises those with a sense of righteousness when it's misplaced. She finds them to be reckless, dangerous idiots. They can't be convinced otherwise, and when allowed to stew in their vitriol, they are able to do mass-scale harm.

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

You have her initial trust, but she won't ever turn her back, won't ever underestimate you. She's not an idiot. There's a handful of people who have proved their loyalty and worth of her blind eye. She'll trust you, but she'll always be ready to save herself before relying on you.

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

Trust and suspect come hand in hand, she wasn't about to let her guard down just because someone wore a smile and showed up empty handed. Even flowers can be poisonous and thorny.

How does your character behave around children?

Children bring out the best in Meabh, they bring out who she could've been, what was meant to be. Cradling babies and singing to them, doting on them with endless patience and affection. Roughhousing with older children and taking them on day trips to get up to adventures. She was the fun aunt, the cheeky and sharp one, and all her nieces and nephews adore her.

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

Like father like daughter. When someone is upset with her, she remains quiet, pensive, and allows her anger to simmer off before she replies. Becomes sharper, snarkier, but would never raise her tone, bite back, or call names. Conflict is a dance, and she's a beautifully poised partner.

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

It is her last resort. She has only once ever turned to fists during an argument and it's because he reached for her first. Otherwise she would never even think about laying her hand on another person outside of work.

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child?

Seamus was endlessly amused when Meabh came home from school with a little white book full of childrens' drawings for future careers they wanted to do. Flipping through it, Aoife wanted to be a vet, and Fiona wanted to be a singer. It took a while, but eventually he found Meabh's picture that looked like the interpretative dance of drawings.

'When I grow up I want to be a trolley dolly.'

He groans in frustration - he and Caitlin needed to start keeping their comments to themselves.

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

The Admiral screams in her face, a mission gone south, the intel was off and they lost men, good men. This was just the order of things, the General yells at the Admiral and the Admiral yells at her. She's listening, understands they're all feeling the brunt of responsibility and guilt, that there's room for improvement, that there were mistakes on all sides.

She'll learn.

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

Meabh believes in a deft hand first and brute force last. Run through every option before using your own flesh and bone to force the fucking mountain to move.

Makarov will be tied to a chair, asked nicely to confess to everything just once. Then she'll ramp it up from there, until he's going home in a bodybag for his loved ones to identify. A sadistic note shoved in his mouth 'It took him four days to finally die. Love, Miss MacTavish.'

How does your character behave around people they like?

Confident, assertive, bubbly, and outgoing. If she likes you she can truly be herself, playful and jokey, taking you on a journey, making you fall in love with her with each joke. Good humored enough to laugh when the jokes are about her too.

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Silent, observant, taking stock and waiting to spot, a crack, a vulnerability to store away for later. If she dislikes you it's because you presented yourself as a threat, and she will catalog everything you love to strip it from you.

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

The court was waiting with bated breath, she stood, quiet and stoic, a sea of other victims around her, their lawyer sat in front.

"The court cannot proceed." The judge finally sighed.

"Objection! On what grounds!?" Their lawyer demanded, and everyone's blood ran cold.

"There is no documentation to suggest that any of the accusations you are presented ever occurred."

A man shouts out from the crowd, "WE CAN'T ALL BE LYING FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES YOU FUCKING CLOWN!"

Riot breaks out in the court and Meabh stands to storm out, her honour broken as they refuse to acknowledge what they did to her people. They discarded the evidence to protect their own - they're only so lucky she's reigned her temper in enough to not attempt to attack them.

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

"Why do we have to weed the garden?" Meabh whines as she helps her mother, sweat rolling over her face in the Summer heat.

Caitlin laughs as she rips a weed up from around the daffodils, "Well, when weeds start to grow they spread, and then they start to take food from the flowers, and that can hurt the flowers badly."

"But why are we digging around?" She rips a few leaves up without roots, "Isn't this enough!?"

"No Meabhy," Her mother finishes the job for her and takes the roots out, "The roots are how the weeds come back - remember that, always remove the roots and the weeds will stop."

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

Her and Micheal were sprinting through Cape Town, her following close at his heels as he took them through back alleys and houses - the hounds hot at their tails and bullets hailing their directions.

"CLIMB!" He hollers as he begins to scale a chainlink fence, and Meabh growls in frustration but starts to haul herself up after them.

A powerful maw sinks into her calf as the dog hooks onto her, attempting to pull her down, "Fuck me-! Micheal get this fucking rat off me!" He screams as she shakes her bloody leg, trying to kick the malinois off.

Gunshot followed by whine, the jaw unhinges and lets her free and she quickly scales the fence, her adrenaline pushing her to continue to run beside him - her stomach churning in guilt for killing the dog.

She loves dogs... poor thing didn't know any better.

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

As a child, Meabh wasn't owed anything, she couldn't have anything she asked for - they had to save, or she had to behave, or it was a reward. That was how thing were. Now, as an adult she also works to get what she wants, even when it's handed to her, she proves that she's worthy of it, that it wasn't a waste or the significance lost on her. She doesn't have to earn it, but she wants to.

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Mr. Kelly had been in her family's lives since she can remember - an uncle and a second father. He was a cold and calculating man, but knew to treat her with safety gloves, was quiet, listened, and only shared his guidance when appropriate.

When her father died it was then no surprise that Mr. Kelly decided she and him should enact revenge. They tracked them like animals for weeks, he taught her every trick in the book, how to survive with nothing but a blade, the right clothes to wear, how to track and how to not get tracked, how to make a kill clean. He even showed her how to keep the nausea down when you take your first life.

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

Her boots slammed as she descended the steps of the boat, a sea of eyes all staring at her, waiting for their orders, their directions, each and every one of these men and women dependent on her and her command.

Heavy is the head and all that.

"At ease!" She hollers, and then the eyes turn back to their original schedules.

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

Exceedingly difficult. She was afraid of admitting it. That if she said it out loud it immediately put someone in danger. She made enemies, and her enemies were violent, bloodthirsty men. To freely love is a blessing she isn't gifted with. So when she admits it to him, laying in bed, whispering it into the night, she knows that something has fundamentally changed.

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

When she thinks about her death, she thinks of the peace it will bring - how her buzzing brain will finally fall silent. How her shoulders will be less broad and strong, her wrinkles less pronounced. She thinks of how she'll be reunited with those she loves most.

Death brings her peace, clarity, an answer to a question:

"Was it enough?"

Notes:

Cowslip Symbolism: The flower is said to be extremely precious to fairies and is used to find their hidden treasures and gifts. Along with the symbolism of “death”, “birth” and “doom”, the cowslip also means “adventure” and “mischief”.

Meabh: Meabh means 'she who intoxicates' and is also derivative of Medb; the goddess of sovereignty and the warrior queen.

Saoirse: Saoirse means 'freedom', a popular Irish name after British occupation and colonization.

Shankhill Butchers: a group of 12 men who were part of the UVF (A paramilitary group). The gang was notorious for kidnapping, torturing, and murdering random or suspected Catholic civilians; each was beaten ferociously and had their throat slashed with a butcher's knife. Some were also tortured and attacked with a hatchet. The gang also killed six Ulster Protestants over personal disputes and two other Protestants mistaken for Catholics.

Condoms: Condoms were illegal until after 1991 in Northern Ireland, and Meabh was crossing the border from the Republic into the North, which means she was officially smuggling, which the S.A.S punished.

Trolley Dolly: a derogatory term for air hostesses in the UK and Ireland.

Court: When the people of Northern Ireland were seeking apologies/reparations from England for what the S.A.S did, the government were unable to provide the documented evidence on what their soldiers did - this kept the injunction going on for years and only recently were the people finally apologised to.

#hunbun dolls #Meabh O'Malley #cod dolly #2009 Exclusive

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bun-joint-dolls · 2 months

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Taking Flight (Jett Diamants)

CW: Talks of child abuse, drug use, alcohol use, violence, smut, overstimulation

Jett, at his best, was a flight risk. Impulsive, reckless, and always wandering from one interest to the next. It always end in buying a new phone to avoid the fallout as he moves on, abandoning a house and a life he made with someone to spare them a life with him in it. He prefers it like that, likes the few intense months of lovebombing and obsessing and playing house before he realises they want more from him, they want to know him, and keep him, and hold him - and Jett can't offer those things. So he leaves.

So sitting at the dinner table in an apartment he only remembers the look of in the dark, while a gorgeous woman makes him breakfast and a man showers to get ready for work? It leaves his nerves itching, the bile in his stomach churns and threatens to come up, a migraine laps at his temples... it's all too domestic. He loathes it. He bounces his leg and lights a cigarette before a voice pipes up.

"If that's nicotine I smell before you eat, it better not be." She warns him, and he groans in reply before stubbing it out on his own thigh in a small fit of anger - but he knew better than to upset Sapphire, it'd only anger Elliott. And a part of him didn't like upsetting here either.

A plate of food is placed before him, mouthwatering pancakes with fresh fruits, a glass of orange juice. He mutters out his thanks as his stomach tells him to throw up, to run, to escape, this isn't right, this isn't his life -

His mother was a piece of work... burning one pancake meant she held you down as she forced you to eat it, called him a useless mutt, and then by the end he stared up at the face that made his, how she would soothe him and tell him it was for his own good, if he couldn't manage a pancake, how would anyone love him?

And Jett was just like his mother.

How long until they saw that and realized they despised him too?

His favourite people despising him just hurt too much, so he did what he did best - made them hate him and leave on his own terms.

"Pardon me, Saf..." He clears his throat and stands, maintaining his face, "Have a phonecall to do this, looks good though." He continues to lie smoothly, placing a kiss to her forehead as he heads out onto the balcony to phone the movers - readying to pack up and move country to escape this story he doesn't belong in.

Elliott was fuming. Sure, Jett was some feral shelter animal he picked up and fucked dumb, and he didn't matter in the slightest. Hell, Jett often had periods where he just up and left to come right back, all smiles and purrs. But this?

Sapphire was screaming and crying, she couldn't understand why Jett would abandon them, were they not good enough, did they anger him, did he find people who were better, did he realise how dependent they all were on each other, did -

And Elliott in this moment despised that little bastard.

All the Jett-isms had been slowly moved out right under his nose. His cologne that smelled of tobacco leaves, green sugar cane and Latin spices. His ratty leather jacket that was always slung over the back of the sofa. Even his damn toothbrush was lifted under his nose - and it was infuriating.

"Why would he go!?" She screams between sobs, gripping Elliott's shirt and soaking it with her tears, saliva, and snot.

"He's just having a moment." He whispers, holding the woman close and letting her get it out of her system, "Remember? Jett has low swings where you give him space and he comes right back?"

"He took all his stuff!"

Elliott couldn't spin that so he lied instead, "I told him to do it." Control the narrative, gain the upperhand, it was what he was good at and Jett would soon find out.

The back of his collar was held so tightly it choked him as he was hauled right back to the apartment of his deepest desires. He was crying and shaking, begging Elliott's men to take a bribe, "You can't! no merezco amor!" He sputters out around his crushed windpipe. Then the door is thrown open while Jett is thrown to his lovers' feet, like the miserable catch he is. He looks up, eyes sunken in and bloodshot, beard growing out and hair messy, in his face.

"Pathetic." Elliott mumbles, crouching to grip Jett's hair and make him look at Elliott, "Our pathetic little doll."

"Déjame ir... I can't- this- we-" He fumbles around with the words, marbles rebounding in his mouth with none being perfect for his excuse.

"Let's welcome him home, Saph... maybe he just needs reminded why we keep him so dumb and thoughtless." He stares deep into Jett's eyes, saw the self-loathing there, the one that they regularly fucked dumb out of him.

Sapphire crouches down and caresses Jett's cheek, a direct contrast to the sting on his scalp, "You're home, Claude. Let us take care of you, sweetheart..." She whispers, leaning forward to kiss his cheek as he keens at the use of his middle name.

Jett is crying into Sapphire's breasts, his mouth still wrapped around a nipple and rolling it between his teeth, his hand working the other soft breast as he does his best to breathe between sobs and moans, all while she sighs in pleasure, stroking his hair and whispering praises he desperately needed deep in his soul.

Elliott was behind him, a hand in his hair to encourage him to continue using his mouth on their little gem's breasts and pleasure her, the other keeping a vice-like grip on the man's hip with the intent to bruise it, a permanent reminder of who handles him. His cock bullied into Jett's tight ass, slick with lube and so tight it strangled his length in a pleasing way that nothing else compares to. Relentless in his pace, pounding into that little spot that makes Jett dumb and high on pleasure, makes him a cockdrunk little whore that can do nothing but chase pleasure.

With every time that Elliott bottomed out into Jett, listening to the man whimper and moan pathetically, it forced Jett's cock right back into Sapphire's slick cunt, where it always stretched her out just right, his piercings rolling over every grain of pleasure in her gummy heat while his tip pounded against that spot that made her see stars behind her eyelids - it was a debauched sight - his two lovers coming undone because of him.

Sapphire moans loudly, her back arching as she feels Jett's cock pummel into her, and she reaches her hand down to roll Jett's sensitive pierced nipples between her fingers and tug. They meet eyes and she sees Jett's glassy, tearful eyes as he chases his pleasure, empty and devoid of thought, devoid of the silly ideas that he should leave - no they were the greatest drug he could take, and they would ensure that addiction was fed. Keep him coming around.

Fat, white globs of release paint over Sapphire's cunt, as Jett's mouth unlatches from her breast for him to cry out in bliss, his every muscle convulsing and cheeks flushing as he can't hold himself up anymore. She coos as he fills her up with sticky warmth, but Elliott forces him to keep fucking her through his orgasm, causing Jett to cry and his brain to start to go fuzzy, his hands balled into fists in an effort to not start sobbing from the overstimulating. Cunt, ass, nipples, praise- it's all too much and he loves it, on a pink cloud unlike any other.

Elliott repositions Jett's hips, using him as a toy for Sapphire, and bullies the cock into her just right. Watches as her face contorts in pure bliss and she moans his name like a prayer, as her legs lock around Jett's hips, locking Elliott's grip onto Jett's hips, and then the thighs tense and shake and he chuckles. Three hard, brutal thrusts later he watches her face as she cums with a high pitch, keening wail - and Jett sighs and sobs as her cunt flutters around his soft cock, milking him for all he's worth.

The sight is so perfect that Elliott himself cums on the spot, forcing Jett's arse back tight against his pelvis while he bottoms out into the tight arsehole and fills it up with his spend. Enjoying how the sexdrunk addict claws at the blankets, sinks his teeth into Sapphire's skin to suck hickeys into it, tries to gain a semblance of reality that they won't let him slip into again after this little stunt.

Pulling out with a grunt, he strokes Jett's back and mumbles, "Good boy... that's it... just our good boy, never wanted to leave did ya..."

Sapphire giggles breathlessly and kisses the top of Jett's head, "So perfect for us, Claude... don't you wanna stay and be loved like this forever?"

Jett's eyes close, the words, voices, praises all muddled under a sea of pink pleasure as his high tingles across his body, while he feels lighter than air and drinks in saccharine sweet love that his heart needs.

And Jett's an addict.

He'll always come right back for more.

#Jett Diamants #Diamonetta HunBun #18+ content #smut #Elliott Dacio D'Arezzo #Sapphire Isabelle Collins

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