this thing is lined in silk too ; ;

In Plentea of Time [ML Ficlet]

@kasumiafkgod @keaoriginalart @fynneyseas @sockdilemma


“Hi, welcome to Lucky Cat Tea!”

Marinette freezes in her spot behind the counter. Busy replenishing the tins of loose leaf tea for the more popular brews, she hadn’t heard the delicate chime at the front door. She turns in slow-motion to the shop floor, watching as the new customer starts chatting with the blond standing by the shelves. She hadn’t heard the front door chime, which means it’s too late-

“Oh, I have no uncertainteas about finding the right blend for you.”

It’s too late, and Adrien has taken center stage.

The customer, a woman around forty or so, giggles behind her hand and bats her eyelashes at him. Gross.

And it’s not like Marinette can blame her, really: the only thing Adrien has more of than looks is charm, and both are abundant. When the bright-eyed boy with a voice that toed the line between silk and sin had clocked in on the first day, Marinette herself had experienced a good swoon. She’d even made the mistake of mentioning her handsome new co-worker to Alya, resulting in a one-woman warpath dead set on getting the two of them together. Normally, Marinette would appreciate the enthusiasm, were it not for the one glaring, unfortunate, and utterly unavoidable problem:

“Well, I’ll leaf you to browse the rest of our selection,” Adrien says. The grin is quick to his lips, lips that would otherwise be very kissable were they not the purveyors of such unholy atrocities.

Given the way he swings that grin to light on her the moment that the customer looks away, Marinette is sure he’s doing it on purpose.

Keep reading

I stopped reading poetry. I have a collection of books that are halfway finished, but I always put them down and forget – and get engulfed into another mess. I hated how poetry books finished so fast. What were I to do when they were done? I’m too used to the boys who leave me. I’m so used to the same lies, and enter-stage-left lies. It was always a bad off Broadway show… Do you know? Do you know what I mean? It’s all fun and games, and you ignore the days when the sun don’t shine. Turning page after page, making that little “mmhm,” noise because finally you’ve found words that speak to you, that mean a thing or two, and caress me better with lines that bind like eggs. With an imaginary voice that’s silk like butter, and you fall in love because you imagine it tastes sweet like syrup, and it drizzles down your chin. Eyes closed in euphoria. A world you were meant to believe was unreal, that you would never find somebody who understands and someone who would ever love you. Surrounded by me are pretty girls who show their knees, and push between what’s underneath their dress – but I have too much dignity to do that. Random words on a page have helped me find my worth, and I’m sure could do so much more if I weren’t afraid to turn the last page and deal with the fact another one of my many friends are gone. So to you I sing this song – and pray for the many days you won’t ever feel alone like I did when I stood perched. Sick and tired of getting hurt.
—  I Don’t Read Poetry, Jessica Taylor