#amarebony

Times like these made Yolanda wish she was a damned grunt in the company. Grunts didn't get sent as "ambassadors" to other mafias' headquarters in hopes of "making nice" with them by showing a little skin. She may as well as have came naked with "Shoot me!" printed on her breasts as beady eyes fell on her from all angles. Sex starved and trigger happy, lovely combination, really. Didn't help she came in a modest, albeit fitted and midi length, scarlet dress. Lips matching the sensuous shade and accentuating her already translucent skin. She may have been mildly overdressed, but Yolanda could not afford to take any chances tonight. These drugs were too expensive to fuck around with another Boss. There was also another point of concern for the brunette about how tonight could turn out.

They had almost zero information on the woman.

No details on how she looked, no details on her work, barely even a name. Ebony Jeon, more than likely an alias. No wonder she ended up being sent as ambassador, the only way to gain information was for her to map this place, even if taking the long way to this woman's office meant being interrogated at every turn.

However, no matter how slow her heels clicked across the stone flooring or she took time to mentally note each corner of the building, the woman finally arrived in front of Miss Jeon's door. Business face well in place, along with a near unfamiliar tingling of excitement and something she could not name -- dread, maybe -- the woman knocked.

As the door opened, there were a thousand and one things she expected. An old woman, an old man, no one, a fucking time bomb even. But this, no. This was something to knock even someone like her off her guard. Yolanda did know this woman, she knew the theories, the stories, the descriptions. But none of them could have prepared her for this. Dread was not what was bubbling in her stomach at this point. No, nothing even close now. As a manicured hand, Yolanda wanted to shut the door and run back to the Cathedral; a luxury no longer available at this point. Forcing a charming smile to the woman sitting in the lavish ahead of her, the younger woman took small steps inside, shutting the door with a seemingly echoing click. Heartbeat resounding through her ears, Yolanda hoped it could only mask her only emotion at this moment.

Fear.

✉ for an 2 AM text

[text] I may have made a bad decision and entered the wrong part of town and I don't know where I am ---

Send me a ♥ + a URL and I'll list 5 things I like about them.

Your boobies.

Your face.

Your physicality is perfect.

The way you give off a sense of agelessness.

♫ A drabble about our muses inspired by the next song that comes on shuffle

     [ ✧ ] —-Another day, another tragedy. Here they were again in the same room, lying on the exact same bed where things never happened between them unless in wet dreams and reveries that were left untold. The boy lay on his back, long arms reaching for the well-painted ceiling as he counted the dust clouds that peppered its wooden surface as imprints. The girl did the same beside him, yet her arms were folded upon her flat stomach, a small sigh escaping those red lips of hers.

He watched. And boy did he want to kiss them then and there.

"Dolce…" Her voice was smooth and sweet, a velvet whisper against the perfumed air that loomed around their heads. Another sigh went out of those parted lips, and the boy could only swallow whatever lustful urge he had down his aching throat. Damn unrequited crushes."I think I’m in love."

The boy frowned. Two weeks ago and this same woman had come barging into his apartment, squealing in delight over having the boy of her dreams as a boyfriend. And of course, in the spirit of being a proper friend, he shared with her glee, yet his young heart was breaking underneath that built chest of his. Now it broke once more, possibly even osterized, at the burst of the statement he had wished he'd never hear.

“Noona…Don’t you think you’re being too brash?” His arms have already gone down from the ceiling. the sensation of reaching for nothing becoming too ironically painful for his taste. He tried to mask the disappointment in his tone, yet it was quite a task, as he was hopelessly in love with the girl who had just professed her devotion to someone who wasn’t him.

He wasn’t even that handsome, really. Eugh.

"No, Doll. This is it. This really is it." The dream-like state of the other’s voice was enough to send him groaning, and he only rolled his ebony eyes so he could hide his bitterness under a layer of his usual snark. Dolce Spencer didn’t feel jealous; he was much too good for that. But what the hell was this stupid emotion tugging at the deepest tendrils of his heart?

"Ick. That’s disgusting, Noona." Lies. He was disgusting. Envy was disgusting. Jealousy was disgusting when he was too perfect for the gig. He turned over to his side, a final groan escaping those parted lips as he tried to still the fragments of his heart thrumming frantically against his chest. "Don’t come crying to me when he’s as dumb as I said he was going to be, aight? I’m not going to help."

And the lies piled on that night.