#miranda x reader

[takatul]

Date Everything AU but your roommate receives the dateviators first, friendzones all of the dateables, and shamelessly flirts with you on behalf of the them LOL reblogs and likes appreciated <33

suggestive warning! loosely inspired by this post by @driftd0ll

The house is a rental instead in this AU. And since it’s a two-story house, it’ll cost a pretty penny, so splitting the payment with a roommate is much more efficient. For consistency, your roommate is called Roomie.

At the start, it was fun! You had your job, Roomie had their Valdivian job. However, they lost it to AI and you essentially became their Sugar Babe. You thought they would be moping for weeks. That is, until you come home from work, seeing them wear pink-tinted glasses and a cheeky grin. You’re unaware of the fact Roomie has been intentionally riling up the dateables from the start.

For example, the two of you to share a bed. There’s only one bedroom after all. However, the way Roomie is straddling you— pinning your hips down with theirs— grinning ear to ear, you wonder what possessed them; all the while Roomie hears the objects going crazy through the dateviators.

Betty is watching breathlessly, sitting near the edge of the bed, legs at her side. When Roomie slowly trails a hand to your neck, she shivers. When you squeeze Roomie’s waist, she bites her lip. Betty wonders if you would do the same for her.

Amir has never been more grateful for his placement in the bedroom: a front row seat. He watches you react. A twitch of your fingers, gaze subtly darkening. He soon notices you holding back, so he urges Roomie to take action. The moment they roll their hips, and you finally let out a breathless sigh? Amir simply rests his chin against his hand, eyes gliding across your form. You have never looked more beautiful.

Ben-hwa is admittedly a little jealous. Forced to watch and not participate? They’re dying over here! Being a toy, only to not be used causes them to huff. Though… Ben-wha supposes they can forgive the both of you. Just make sure to put a real good show for them, yeah?

Of course, the kitchen has something have their moments too. Roomie makes coffee for you in the mornings. Can you get the cups on the top shelf? It’s only fair! Half-asleep, you lift a leg on the counter and arch your back to reach for the table wear. The clothes you’re wearing riding up/down, revealing skin underneath…

Cabrizzo never knew he had such restraint. He feels your leg press against his lower chest at the right amount pressure— and holy shit, blood rushing to his face. Last a few more seconds, he thinks, head spinning from the close proximity. Just a few more!

Friar Errorl is ranting to other objects, expressing how indecent you are! The dateables don’t take his rants seriously. After all, it’s hypocritical when the man is trying to subtly steal glances at your ass.

Miranda stares openly. She has confidence in knowing what she wants, and right now, the woman is deciding. The Migas need to produce a new song… but they never specified what genre of music. Her eyes drift down to your legs. She absentmindedly hums, beginning to strum a few chords. Perhaps she could dedicate this song to you?

Extras ! !

Hector is oh-so grateful for being an HVAC. Vents are present in almost every room in the house. He can see everything. From the way you huff because Roomie tapped your ass while passing by, to you lifting them on top of the counter— as they’ve been pissing you off the past few days (which may have not led to locked lips and unholy noises erupting from you & them). Hector may be the HVAC, but even he can feel the heat overflowing.

Dorian feels like he’s interrupting something. Truly. The man is literally everywhere you turn. He usually blocks other objects from snooping during your… activities. Other times, he’s the one being teased: your back hitting his frame as Roomie corners you. You’re so close. If you had the dateviators he could just— he’s snapped out of his stupor when Roomie giggles at him. You better wear those damn glasses soon, otherwise he might just die from pent-up frustration.

Eddie & Volt are more annoyed than ever, the latter hiding it much better. Alcohol loosens lips, and they’ve heard all about the renters… escapades. Volt grumbles. He wants to at least see. The Breaker Box hidden away in a storage closet is frustrating. Eddie rolls his eyes at the confession, but doesn’t disagree. (He’d rather touch instead.)

[ficsloverblog]

Greetings, my liege. I hope all is well with you. I have seen thy earlier literary creations, and am in wonder of thy marvelous master of the language. I was wondering if thou may produce a literary piece concerning the trope of one's employer and their personal assistant. The employer in my mind would be Miranda Priestly, from the wonderful movie "The Devil wears Prada". The employee could be a female reader, if possible (perhaps a tad younger than the employer, if thou didst deem it right) , and the piece may be angsty, considering the employee would be married, and happily, that too. Perhaps some pining (unrequited) , if that is not too much to ask. I shalt be content even if thou may not find time to consider such a request. Once again, I hope all is well with thou.

Good yard, my friend.

Enjoy Your Evening

Miranda Priestly x fem!reader

A/N: Forgive thy humble writer for the long delay, I did lay down my quill for a time and wander from the realm of writing. Yet thy exquisite request lingered, and I thank thee most sincerely for it. It was a joy to bring to life. Enjoy!

Miranda says your name like it is a verdict. Not loudly, never loudly. Miranda Priestly does not raise her voice when she can lower her tone and make the air in a room thin enough to choke on. It is an art form, really.

You watch it land on other people—Nigel, a junior editor, an unfortunate intern who has chosen the wrong shade of black—and you learn quickly: there are worse things than anger.

Disappointment is one of them.

You are not an intern. You are not someone who can be replaced by the next wide-eyed girl with a freshly ironed skirt and dreams of couture. You are her assistant, her right hand, her calendar, her shield, her translator, her scapegoat. You have learned the weight of her silence and the shape of her needs.

You have also learned, with a slow, steady dread that has become background noise in your days, the way Miranda looks at you when she thinks you aren’t paying attention.

It is never leering. Never sloppy. Never hungry in any way you could dismiss as crude.

It is worse than that.

It is careful.

It is like looking at a door you refuse to open because you know what is on the other side would ruin you.

“Is it done?” she asks now, in the backseat of the town car, the city blurring past the window like it is trying to leave you behind.

You hold your phone low, your thumb hovering over the email thread as if it might bite you. Your other hand holds a garment bag that cost more than your first car. It leans against your knee, crisp and immaculate. A whole life sealed in tissue paper.

“Yes,” you say. “The Paris itinerary is confirmed. The fittings are scheduled. The dinner with—”

“Not that.” Miranda’s eyes flick to you, a quick slice, then away again, as if she cannot afford to look too long. “The florist.”

Your stomach drops in a way that feels like muscle memory now. You work at Runway, you are perpetually dropping something—sleep, appetite, composure, pieces of yourself you didn’t know you could lose.

“The florist is confirmed,” you say. “Peonies. White. No lilies.”

“Good.” Miranda’s gaze returns to her phone, the glow lighting her cheekbones. “And the cake?”

“Vanilla bean. The bakery will deliver at noon. I—” You swallow. “I also confirmed the seating chart with your… with the girls’ preferences.”

Miranda’s mouth tightens. Not annoyance. Something else. Something that almost looks like pain, except you know better than to name it.

“You have a life outside of this,” she says, and the words are so quiet you almost think you imagined them.

It is not an accusation. It is simply a fact, stated like the weather, like the stock market, like the inevitability of death.

You dare to look at her fully. Miranda’s hair is perfect. Miranda’s coat is a masterpiece. Miranda’s face is composed with the precision of a museum display. Her hands are steady.

And yet there is a slight tension in her jaw that wasn’t there this morning.

“Yes,” you answer, because she has asked, and you have learned never to let a question hang between you like a challenge. “It’s… it’s my anniversary weekend.”

“Hm.”

That sound contains multitudes. You have heard it used for fashion shows and political scandals and once, memorably, for someone’s attempt at humor. But you have never heard it used like this.

Like a bruise pressed carefully.

“You’ll be leaving early,” Miranda says.

You blink. “I—”

“It wasn’t a question,” she adds, and you almost laugh because of course it isn’t. Nothing with Miranda is ever a question. “You will leave at six. The car will take you home.”

You should say thank you.

You should be relieved.

Instead, a small, irrational part of you feels the way it feels when a door closes softly behind you, and you realize you didn’t even try the handle.

“Miranda,” you begin, because you have trained yourself to speak before you think when it matters.

Her head turns slightly. “Yes?”

Your throat tightens around words you do not want to exist.

I don’t need the car.

I don’t need you to notice.

I don’t need you to look at me like that.

What comes out is, “That’s… generous.”

Miranda’s eyes move over you—your lipstick, the pencil skirt you learned to walk in without wincing, the earrings that were “fine” yesterday, which is Miranda’s version of applause. Her gaze lingers a fraction too long at your throat where your wedding ring rests on a chain, thin and gold and utterly ordinary.

“Don’t make a habit of taking kindness personally,” she says.

And then she looks away, as if she has said too much.

You spend the rest of the ride staring at the reflection of the city in the window, your thoughts sliding and catching on each other like broken glass.

At home, your husband opens the door before you can put your key in the lock.

His smile is familiar in the best way, like warm light. Like the first sip of coffee. Like a song you don’t realize you’ve been humming until it stops.

“Hey,” he says, and his hands find your waist, pulling you in. He kisses your cheek, then your mouth. It is gentle. It is sure. It is a reminder.

You melt into it before you can stop yourself, relief making your knees soft.

“I thought you’d be late,” he murmurs.

“I was going to be,” you confess, and you lean your forehead against his. “Miranda let me leave early.”

He makes a face at the name, an old joke between you. “The dragon has a heart?”

“Don’t,” you say, automatically, because even now, even here, you feel protective in a way that does not make sense. “She’s… complicated.”

He laughs quietly. “So are you.”

There are candles on the table, and the kind of pasta he makes when he wants to show off, and a bottle of wine you’ve been saving for “a special occasion” because life is always too busy and special occasions have to be fought for.

You sit, you eat, you let yourself be held by normalcy.

And still—still—your phone lies on the counter like a loaded weapon.

You try not to look at it. You fail.

“You’re watching it like it’s going to bite,” your husband observes, half amused, half concerned.

“It’s work,” you say.

“It’s always work.”

You shrug, and the motion feels defensive. “That’s why they pay me.”

He reaches across the table and covers your hand with his. “They pay you,” he repeats slowly, “to be on call twenty-four hours a day, to get screamed at by fashion tyrants, to miss dinners, to come home exhausted, to wake up at three in the morning because someone wants a scarf?”

You squeeze his fingers. “I’m good at it.”

“I know.” His smile softens. “I just want you to be good at being here, too.”

You want to tell him you are trying. You want to tell him that you love him, that this is worth it, that you have a plan. One more year, two at most, then you’ll move to something saner, something that doesn’t come with stilettos and survival instincts.

You want to tell him that Miranda is not a person you can leave easily, not when she has wrapped her expectations around you like silk tightening.

You want to tell him so many things.

Instead, you lift his hand and kiss his knuckles. “I’m here.”

For a little while, it works.

At eight forty-two, your phone lights up.

You freeze.

Your husband’s eyes flick to it, then back to you. “Don’t,” he says gently. “It’s our night.”

Your throat aches. “It could be urgent.”

He holds your gaze for a beat too long, then nods as if conceding a battle he’s been losing for months. “Fine. Just… five minutes.”

You go to the counter. You don’t take the phone with you like a person making an innocent check. You pick it up like someone lifting evidence.

The text is from Miranda.

Where are the programs for the benefit?

You stare.

You have them. You confirmed them. They were printed. They are on your desk. You can picture the stack in your mind, crisp and perfect, like every other thing you handle.

You type quickly.

They’re on my desk in the office. I can have someone bring them to your apartment if you’d like.

Three dots appear immediately. Disappear. Reappear.

No.

Another pause.

I will need them in the morning.

Your mouth goes dry. Of course. Of course she does. It’s nine at night. You are in silk pajamas. There is wine in your glass and your husband’s laughter still warm in the air. Miranda does not care about any of that. Miranda only cares about the morning.

I can run by the office now and bring them to you, you begin to type, because your fingers know how this goes.

Before you can send it, another message arrives.

Enjoy your evening.

You blink, thrown.

Then:

Don’t come.

It should feel like mercy.

It feels like a hand hovering just above your skin, refusing to touch because it would burn.

You stand there too long, phone in hand, while the kitchen behind you hums with quiet. When you finally turn back, your husband is watching you carefully.

“Well?” he asks.

You paste on a smile. You have learned how.

“Nothing,” you say. “It can wait.”

He exhales as if he’s been holding his breath. “Good.”

You walk back to the table and sit down. The candlelight makes everything look softer than it is. Your husband pours you another sip of wine.

You try to drink it, and it tastes like metal.

The next morning, Miranda is already in the office when you arrive, which is unusual enough that the entire floor seems to be moving around it, whispers folding in and out of cubicles like smoke.

Emily looks at you with the expression of someone watching a car crash in slow motion.

“She’s in a mood,” Emily murmurs, which is a redundant statement, but you understand her anyway. “She asked where you were at seven. Seven.”

You swallow. “I—she told me to enjoy my evening.”

Emily’s laugh is sharp. “Did she now.”

You don’t respond. The programs are on your desk, exactly where they should be. You gather them up, smooth the edges with hands that have carried everything from couture gowns to Miranda’s reputation.

You knock once on the office door. You hear the inevitable.

“Come in.”

You enter.

Miranda doesn’t look up at first. She is reading something, glasses perched on her nose, the picture of calm authority. The room smells faintly of expensive perfume and cold power.

You place the programs on her desk with a quiet precision that is almost reverent.

“Here,” you say.

Miranda’s eyes lift.

For a moment, you are caught in the full weight of her attention, and it makes your lungs forget what they’re supposed to do.

Her gaze is on you the way it was in the car—careful, deliberate, like she is measuring the distance between what she wants and what she will allow herself.

“Did you enjoy your anniversary?” she asks.

It is the wrong question for this room.

You keep your face neutral. “Yes.”

Miranda’s mouth twitches, something like bitterness. “And you’re happy.”

Your pulse stutters. “Yes.”

She leans back slightly, as if the word has struck her. Her fingers tap once on the desk. A tiny sound.

“You’re very lucky,” Miranda says.

You don’t know what to do with that. Miranda does not talk about luck. Miranda is the architect of her own world. Luck is for people who don’t plan.

“I work hard,” you reply, because you are stupid when you’re nervous.

Miranda’s eyes narrow, and something in her expression shifts. Not anger. Something more intimate.

“You work hard,” she repeats softly, as if tasting it. “Yes. You do.”

A beat of silence passes. The office around you continues to exist—the distant clack of heels, the murmur of phones—but in here, it becomes thin, irrelevant.

Miranda stands.

When she moves, it is always with purpose. Even now, crossing to the window, she looks like she’s stepping into a photograph.

“I need you in Paris,” she says, staring out at the skyline.

Your stomach tightens. “Of course.”

“It overlaps with your—” She pauses, and you know she is choosing her words the way she chooses clothes. “With personal commitments.”

You swallow. “I could reschedule.”

Miranda’s head turns sharply, eyes catching you like a hook. “Can you.”

It isn’t a question.

It’s a dare.

It’s also, you realize with a sick twist of understanding, hope.

And there it is, the thing you have been avoiding naming, the thing that lives in the space between Miranda’s “Hm” and her rare gentleness, the thing in her gaze that lingers on your wedding ring like it is an insult and a prayer.

Miranda wants you to choose her.

Not in a childish way. Not in the way that would end with flowers and a confession.

In the way Miranda understands choice: sacrifice, priority, surrender.

Your hands go cold. “Miranda—”

She cuts you off. “You will come to Paris.”

Your throat tightens. “My husband—”

The word lands between you like a slap.

Miranda’s face does not change much. It doesn’t need to. You see it anyway, the flinch she refuses to let show, the fraction of a second where she looks like someone who has been reminded of a wound she pretends not to have.

“Your husband,” she echoes.

You force yourself to keep breathing. “We have plans. We—” You stop, because you don’t know what you’re trying to defend. Your happiness? Your marriage? Your right to be a person outside of Runway?

Or the simple fact that you can’t be what Miranda is asking for, even if she never asks it aloud.

Miranda’s voice is low when she speaks again. “Do you love him?”

It is the most personal thing she has ever asked you, and it is also the coldest. Like she is analyzing a garment: quality, stitching, worth.

You stare at her. “Yes.”

And you watch it wound her. Not dramatically. Miranda would never allow that.

There is another beat of silence, and in it you see the truth—the quiet, brutal truth Miranda never says because it would make her human in a way she cannot afford.

She has loved people who did not choose her.

She has built an empire anyway.

She swallows, and the movement is so small you almost miss it. “Then you should go home,” she says.

You blink. “What?”

Miranda turns away, as if looking at you is suddenly too much. “You should resign,” she says, like she’s discussing the weather again. “You are wasted here. You are… distracted.”

The words sting because they are wrong and right at the same time.

“I’m not distracted,” you say, voice sharper than you intend. “I do my job.”

Miranda’s laugh is quiet, humorless. “You do it well. That is not the issue.”

You step forward before you can stop yourself. “Then what is?”

Miranda’s shoulders tense. For a moment you think she won’t answer. She has never had to. People don’t ask Miranda what she feels. People ask what she wants.

When she finally turns, her eyes are bright in a way that feels dangerous.

“You have a life,” she says, and the words come out like a confession ripped out of her throat. “A warm, happy little life that you return to. And every time you do, you leave something here.”

Her gaze drops again, to the chain around your neck. To the ring you don’t wear at work because it catches on fabric and you learned, early, to keep your personal life from snagging on Runway’s sharp edges.

“You leave me,” Miranda says, barely audibly.

Your chest constricts, breath turning shallow.

She is not asking you to be her lover. Not really. Miranda Priestly does not ask for things in that way. She is asking for something worse: to be chosen over and over again, to have her importance proved by your abandonment of everything else.

It is not romance. Not the kind that would let you call it love and survive the word.

And yet it feels like love anyway, because it hurts in the same place.

“Miranda,” you whisper, because her name is suddenly heavy.

Her chin lifts, and you see the armor snap back into place. The moment is sealed up, filed away, made into something neat and unassailable.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palm. You want to say something perfect, something that will undo the damage, something that will make Miranda look at you without that aching restraint.

You want to tell her she deserves something gentler than this.

You want to tell her you are not a cruel person, that you never meant to become the sharp edge against her throat.

But you have also learned that Miranda does not accept consolation. Miranda does not accept pity. Miranda will take what you give her, and she will bleed quietly from the places you cannot touch.

So you do the only thing you can do that is kind.

You turn toward the door.

Behind you, Miranda speaks again, voice barely above the whisper of silk.

“Enjoy your evening,” she says.

It is not permission.

It is surrender.

You pause.

“You too,” you whisper.

And that is the cruelest thing you could have said.

Because Miranda Priestly does not have evenings.

She has work.

She has silence.

She has the echo of doors closing.

You walk out into the bright, busy hallway, and the world keeps moving, and you keep moving with it, your phone buzzing already with the next demand, the next crisis, the next proof that you are needed.

You answer them all.

And later, when you go home to your husband’s open arms and warm laughter, you will feel the echo of Miranda’s voice in your chest like an old bruise.

You will tell yourself you chose correctly.

You will tell yourself this is what love is supposed to be: a steady light, not a fire.

But some nights you will lie awake and remember how Miranda looked at you when she said you were lucky.

And you will understand, with a slow, nauseating clarity, that she wasn’t the only one pining.

You were just the only one who got to go home to warmth.

[pirate-and-gay]

{miranda priestly x reader - older woman x younger woman}

BACK IN THE DAYS

chapter one - the tears

warnings - eighteen & over mdni, grief, anxiety, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap relationship, slow-burn, old school romance, wholesome, family pressure, ‘golden child trope’.

author’s note - it’s inspired by the first dwp, reader will have a name, hopefully more chapters to come, oh and happy pride!

Miranda Priestly has only ever seen you cry three times. The day of your mother’s funeral when you were just seven years old, the following year when you had a nightmare at Caroline and Cassidy’s sleepover and tonight, being well into your early twenties and a lifetime away from her presence.

It’s the evening of Runway’s Benefit, otherwise known as the most highly anticipated annual charity event in New York.

You’ve already been hiding in the restroom upon arrival, instead of circling the gala’s grand floor with your family.

As the eldest daughter, the responsibility falls on you to demonstrate to your siblings the proper way to network in a space such as this.

Your father depends on your obedience, even when it leaves you in a state of very bad anxiety.

He’s been waiting for you to show him just how much you’re willing to uphold the family name.

His second wife, your mother, was a natural at this, leaving behind a legacy that his first wife never achieved and his third wife cannot.

You sometimes feel bad for Selene.

As your stepmother she’s sweet and nurturing, but doesn’t have the personality to go back and forth with the likes of the elite at these gatherings, who will throw anyone under the bus or more accurately Porsche to succeed.

This is their night, serving as a chance for them to display their power, wealth and influence, whilst giving the ones still climbing to the top an opportunity to elevate and solidify their alliances.

People arrange their year around this.

You by birthright belong to the first group, like many of the other young heirs, but right now you wish you belonged to neither. Which sounds ridiculous considering how many people would do anything to get an invite or be a fly on the wall.

This glamorous evening is exclusive to the executives and their families, high profile designers, relevant models and the event host, editor-in-chief of Runway, Miranda Priestly.

She’s the most talked about woman in fashion and the mother of your best friends, the twins.

You’ve always known the older woman to put the magazine at the same level of priority as her daughters. And though she’s a great mother, hard sacrifices have been made along the way that you know the girls still hold a grudge over.

Her name, gown and countenance will be the talk of Manhattan, surpassing every wealthy family in attendance, including yours.

With all this buzz unfolding, Runway will continue to reinforce their position as the gatekeeper of style and deem who matters most in the industry.

However, in truth, none of this matters to you. Not even in the slightest. It’s doesn’t feel real.

Each year instead feels more and more suffocating mentally and emotionally.

Today especially marks yet another anniversary of your mother’s passing spent among strangers schmoozing each other and wanting to be in your good books as heir of a great fortune.

You feel fragile, as if you’ll suddenly burst into tears at any slight inconvenience or wrong look. You’d rather be at home than fake grinning for the sake of keeping your family’s reputation. One that is holding on by a very thin and expensive thread.

And if it snaps, most attendees will tear at it, like the wolves they really are underneath their designer gowns, suits and ravenous stares.

So, the family empire must appear strong, at all times. Your older brother Jay did it for years, now it’s your turn to prove you also have it in you. Even when you don’t, like right in this very moment, hiding in the restroom of the American Museum of Natural History where the Benefit is being held.

The thought of having all eyes on you causes your hands to shake. It’s an overwhelming feeling to regulate alongside your ever present grief.

‘Get it together’, you exhale quietly to yourself in the toilet cubicle, sitting on the shining closed lid, head-to-toe in custom made Galliano.

‘You get to see Miranda’, you hype yourself. You wouldn’t otherwise see her again for another year.

Going from being in her presence frequently in your childhood, to the surreal correspondence you had with her in your late teens, to absolutely nothing has been another hard adjustment.

She’s a busy woman, you understand, but this doesn’t stop you from yearning for a bit of that closeness again, and when you think back to the last letter you wrote to her, you cringe. It makes your stomach flip. She never replied after that.

The thought of seeing her makes you feel both excited and anxious. Does she ever think about your letter? God, you wish you hadn’t written it all over again. She was just being kind and you ruined it. Why did you have to share so much.

‘Get it together, then socialise, then go home’.

Your fingers intertwine in your lap and the little whispers to yourself halt when you hear the click-clack of heels as someone else walks in.

You breathe out, open the door and head for the taps without looking up to see who’s joined you in here. It’s time to get back out there.

After a few moments of washing your hands, the figure is still lingering. You feel a nervous lump build in your throat. Here it goes, first person.

“You’re Irv’s daughter, Rayna?”, she finally speaks.

Yes, as in Irv Ravitz, CEO of Runway and Chairman of Elias-Clarke Publishing is your father. So you put on your best poker face.

“Ray is fine”, you answer her indifferently.

The brunette appears to be a couple of years older than you when you finally look up.

“Cool, I’m Andy, Miranda’s assistant”, extending her hand, which you take in hesitance.

“I thought it was you, I saw you in the-”, she stops, as if she’s revealing a company secret.

“In the what?”, you raise a brow, retrieving your hand, suddenly intrigued.

“Just…an old article, about your father”.

Her smile tries to cover her error and you nod, deciding not to pry further into it. The evening has only just begun and you have people waiting.

“Nice to meet you”. The corners of your mouth rise and fall before you slip past her and exit the restroom. You were never photographed in any articles about your father, you’re certain of it.

You take another deep breath and head for the main hall, where the schmoozing is happening, but feel yourself pulled aside by your arm into a small corner before you get the chance.

“Where have you been?”, he hisses, obviously annoyed, looking around to make sure no one else is in close range.

“Dad is pissed”, his grip tightens and the fear displayed in his eyes lets you know it will be a bad night later at home for all of you.

Your father’s temper did not spare anyone.

“I don’t feel well”, you mumble, avoiding his gaze. It’s not exactly a lie, but he doesn’t buy it.

“I can’t keep covering for you”, Jay releases you and steps back in a huff, catching his breath. He must have been searching for you for a while.

You try to remind him, maybe he’s forgotten.

“Do you know what today is? My mother’s-”

“No. This is the biggest night of the year!”, he cuts you off, raising his voice impatiently.

“No one cares about her”, he says coldly, before immediately pressing his lips together to hold himself from saying any more.

Both of you stare at each other in disbelief.

It stings worse than anything you were already feeling. Your older brother has never been so cruel to say such a low thing. He still has his mother.

“I care”, you swallow the lump in your throat.

Years of being moulded by your father has finally made him into this, and the sad thing is at one point you considered him your best friend, you were inseparable even. Now he’s just like him.

“I hate you”, the words leave your mouth before you can catch them, but you mean it.

Jay’s eyes widen a little before he opens his mouth and closes it again.

The tears that have been tempting to fall all day finally roll down your cheeks and the ache in your chest grows ever heavier.

This night now feels so unbearable.

“Runway will be yours someday. You know this. You have to play the game, like all of us”. His voice is intentionally calmer, almost apologetic.

“Dad is looking for you”, he adds, concluding the conversation. You can’t bring yourself to say anything more. The lump in your throat builds up again, this time feeling harder to swallow.

He lingers for a few more seconds, then steps outside of the corner to see none other than the woman of the hour watching you both.

Jay tenses before moving closer to shake her hand. You hide behind him, feeling embarrassed.

“Miranda. Good to see you”, his voice is thick with shame, for allowing someone to witness a crack in the family empire. She smiles knowingly.

“Jason, it’s always a pleasure”, ignoring his hand and going in for her classic air kiss, giving her full view of your watery eyes and you a blurred vision.

Your cheeks burn hot as another set of fresh tears fall, allowing you to see her clearly this time.

God, why does she have to catch you like this, when she looks out-of-this-world gorgeous.

Though her expression towards you is brief, it’s soft and feels familiar, like the day of your mother’s funeral or the night you woke her up at the twins’ birthday sleepover.

She steps back, glancing at Jay as he rambles on about how she’s once again outdone herself this year, giving you the opportunity to slip away without interacting with her.

Before you’re out of earshot, you hear her express how she’s looking for her assistant.

It must be the brunette who introduced herself to you in the restroom, or maybe Emily if she’s here.

The main hall will have to wait. It would be mortifying to walk in sniffling and barely holding it together. You search until you find a small closet, escape inside and sink down to its floor.

The strength of your heart gives out and you sob openly to yourself, but quietly as to not be heard. You’ll remain here until you’ve gathered another dose of courage to face everyone and your father.

After a few minutes of crying, you eventually calm and take in your cramped surroundings.

It smells of cleaning supplies and old furniture.

Your mother would either laugh or cry at the sight of you in her Galliano dress. You like to think she would laugh and maybe join you down here.

She was lighthearted, in that manner. She was fun and kind to everyone, even Jay, whose own mother barely saw him as a child and even now.

He had loved your mother, as if she was his own growing up and she loved him wholeheartedly. That’s why it hurts more, what he said to you.

Thinking about it again makes you want to shake him, wake him up and help him remember how it was before she was gone. How much laughter was in the house and playfulness.

Selene tries to tame your father, but with age he’s only getting worse. He’ll never change. Your younger siblings are better off at the expensive boarding school he shipped them to.

They only come back home during the school holidays and big company events such as this, so your father can brag about their education. Otherwise he barely spends time with them.

You find your hand mindlessly playing with the tassels on your clutch as you think back to your own school days, here in Manhattan.

Thought after thought eventually brings you to the memory you’ve been holding onto since stepping foot in this building.

In fact, you think about it frequently. The night you woke up from a nightmare at Cassidy and Caroline’s sleepover.

You were eight years old, having lived the first year of your life without your mother. Miranda Priestly invited you to her home more regularly back then because the twins still lived with her.

This particular birthday party was filled with so many at home activities, hired entertainment and kids from your school. It’s no wonder she went to bed before all of you.

Around ten girls were chosen for the sleepover portion when everyone else had left, continuing the birthday well into the night.

Caroline and Cassidy’s nannies eventually got everyone ready to go upstairs, to find the most prettiest sleeping set up you’d ever experienced.

Ten beds were arranged in a circle, just like in ‘Barbie and The Twelve Dancing Princesses’, which you were all obsessed with at the time. Each girl had their own gift bag, custom made ballerina night gown and fluffy slippers.

Miranda had spoilt all of you, always going above and beyond for her daughters and their friends.

You remember your bed being set up beside Cassie, the twin you’re closest to, even now.

The excitement kept you up until midnight before most of the girls started to fall asleep, leaving you two to giggle and still whisper about the party and of course Barbie.

Once she also eventually drifted, you closed your eyes, waited and waited, until you passed out.

You couldn’t have known it then but your mother’s absence had triggered your insomnia.

The past year had been rough on your sleeping patterns, and the nightmares were the worst.

This particular sleepover, you woke up in a sweat, with your heart beating out of your chest. Your face was tear stained and you were afraid of being in darkness.

The twins never had any night lights, but something caught your eye in the hallway.

With all the other girls still fast asleep, you slowly slipped out of your bed and walked out of the room to follow the only light you saw. It was coming from Miranda’s bedroom.

You didn’t think, your feet made the decision.

When you reached for the door, it creaked when it opened, rousing her from slumber.

You stood in the doorway, watching her turn before opening her eyes to squint at you.

She’d slept in her party outfit and the big light was still on, which was unusual even for her.

When you think back on it, she must have been so exhausted and passed out.

You wanted to step forward but waited because her bedroom was always off limits.

“Rayna?”, Miranda rubbed her eyes, and that’s when you started crying.

“Darling, what’s the matter?”, she quickly rushed to kneel in front of you, checking if you’re hurt. You saw a panic in her eyes for a moment.

“I had a bad dream”, you sniffed, wiping your tears.

“Oh dear. It’s alright”, she studied your face and her eyes softened. It made your heart warm up.

“Come with me”, she beckoned you to follow her, leading you to her study. A place you’d never stepped foot in as it was also very off limits.

“I’m going to work for a little bit and you can sleep right there”, she pointed to a big sofa with a blanket and pillow already set up.

“Go on”, she nudged you, setting herself up on the opposite smaller sofa and opening ‘The Book’, which at this age you didn’t know much about, but now looking back, she always had it.

You slipped under the soft blanket and positioned yourself so that you were facing her. She was prettier than Barbie to you.

Your sniffs lessened after a few minutes of watching her in deep concentration, brows furrowed, glasses slightly lowered on her nose.

She didn’t fuss over you, or ask about the dream, and somehow it made you feel better.

She lifted her head ever so often to check if you were asleep and found you still staring. You didn’t know what to say to her, but you felt very safe.

“Cassidy sometimes sleeps where you are when she has nightmares”, she offered, causing you to smile unexpectedly.

“Really?”, you asked, now beaming.

“Yes”, she returned the small warmth.

“Will you not tell her please”, you suddenly lifted your head and Miranda considered you for a moment before nodding.

“I don’t want the other girls to think I’m a baby”, you added to help her understand your reason.

“You’re a very strong girl Rayna. You have courage”, she said so casually, so softly, as if telling you something you should already know.

It made the warmth you felt deepen in your heart.

You did eventually fall asleep and she kept her word because none of the girls ever mentioned it.

This memory of Miranda Priestly often finds you at unexpected moments. You don’t know why it’s stuck around for so long, but the fuzzy feelings it brings are always a small comfort.

Your phone buzzes, startling you out of the daydream.

‘Where are you? I’m sorry’.

You roll yours eyes, your brother is probably getting chewed by your father and a part of you wants to remain in this little closet so he gets the worst of it. But you decide to have courage.

‘On my way. I don’t forgive you’.

Sent.

You finally get up, hands dusting off the back of your dress. You check in your mother’s small mirror to see your makeup is surprisingly still in tack. However, you reapply just in case.

If it wasn’t such an awful evening, you’d probably be feeling yourself a little more. The custom made Galliano hugs you in all the right places, showing off your waist and collarbone, and like your mother at this age, your figure is to die for.

She did start out as a model after all and you’re ever so grateful you’re an exact copy of her instead of your father.

Tonight you decide to channel her energy, a small honour to her legacy. Even if no one else notices.

You try to remember how it felt to watch her glide with such a confidence in these kind of spaces and mimic her mannerisms.

When you step into the main hall, everyone is already preoccupied with their conversations or drinks, which is a relief and less anxiety inducing.

Jay is the only one who spots you immediately, coming to your side before you’ve even had a chance to talk with anyone else.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it”, he tries again, but you ignore him, scanning the room to see which circles feel the least intimidating.

Your father catches you and heads your way with Selene and your younger siblings.

Even though he’s smiling, you can tell how angry he is from his eyes.

You brace for quiet harsh words.

“And where have you been?”, he hisses. Jay opens his mouth ready to cover for you but all of you are interrupted by the host of the Benefit.

“Selene, Irv. Thank you for coming this evening”, Miranda air kisses the both of them.

“Kayden and May? My, how they’ve grown. What grades are they in now?”, she gestures to your little brother and sister, who are giving their best smiles. Your father of course immediately goes into bragging about how excellent their boarding school has been, falling for her bait, which saves you from his wrath, for now.

“How lovely”, she glances between all of them.

Her gaze eventually moves to Jay and she air kisses him as if they hadn’t just had an interaction earlier in the evening.

“Jason, glad you could make it”.

She looks breathtaking in the new James Holt gown, his particular touch is all over her look.

Her smile makes your knees so weak.

“Thank you, it’s a great turn out, as always”, your brother replies, playing along.

When she finally lands on you there’s a slight hesitation. She doesn’t air kiss or extend her hand. Her approach is distant, like in recent years.

“Rayna. It’s a pleasure to see you”, her voice doesn’t give away anything either.

For some intrusive reason you remember that last letter you sent her and your heart rate increases.

“The pleasure is all mine Ms. Priestly”, your face feels warm. Her eyes flash something for a moment that looks like surprise. It was always Miranda in your teen years. ‘Ms.’ was pre-teens.

Great.

Now you’ve made it feel too unfamiliar, when all you want is some closeness.

Her gaze moves on quickly to your younger siblings, asking them about school and how they’re finding the Benefit. The tone of her voice immediately warms when speaking to them.

You feel an ache in your chest.

Fragments of the letter come back you.

{Will you allow me to take you on a real date?}

She stopped writing to you after this. Three years of corresponding with her and that was it. You crossed a line and she withdrew herself.

You can’t stop staring at her from such close proximity. Her perfume is divine. She’s a vision.

“I have big ideas for Runway”, you hear your father direct this towards Miranda.

“Ray here will be taking more of a lead role from now on. She’ll arrange a sit down with you”, he continues, glancing between you and her.

A lead role?

“I want to retire in a few years. Jay and Ray will each get a magazine to oversee”.

The pride and smugness in his voice is palpable.

Miranda smiles, she doesn’t gaze your way.

“We all expected this Irv. I look forward to it”, there’s a tinge of mockery in her tone.

“Enjoy the evening”, she addresses all of you before gliding to another important family.

Emily and Andy are right behind her.

Were they there this whole time?

You didn’t notice.

“We’re gonna make our rounds”, your brother links arms with you, whisking you away before your father remembers he’s angry with you both.

Your brain is still wrapped around the big reveal that just happened. Your father wants you to have Runway in a few years?

“See? What did I tell you”, Jay speaks as if he’s read your mind.

“How? Why so soon? I didn’t expect this for maybe another twenty years”, you quiz him.

“I’ll tell you later”, he replies as you approach your first guests.

You may be distant, but you and your brother shine when you decide to be a team and put on a show. The way you bounce off each other’s wit and banter usually works in your favour during networking events. It almost makes you forget how much you dislike him all other times.

Both of you field greetings and work the main hall repeatedly, until the very end of the Benefit.

It’s almost gone too well because a few people have already gone up to your father to praise his work with raising the both of you.

Hopefully he’d leave you alone later.

Mentally, you’re exhausted. Emotionally, you’re wrecked. Physically, you want to be at home.

You retire to the edge of the room, taking a quiet sip of your champagne.

‘I’m ready to go’.

‘On the way’.

You driver finally replies to the text you sent a few minutes before, so you don’t hear her coming to your side whilst you’re busy catching up to all your other messages from this evening.

“Your mother hated these kind of events, but she excelled in them”, her voice is low and even. She’s alone and standing next to you so your shoulders are almost touching. Her gaze remains on the rest of the people still socialising.

Your heart flutters.

This is the first time you’ve been alone with her in years, because even when you visited with the twins during college, you spent time as a four.

“Were you close?”, the surprise in your tone isn’t hidden. You don’t dare turn to her, not yet.

“No, but we shared some words over the years. She was honest enough to tell me”. Miranda smiles at the couple looking her way.

Silence passes as you think of what to say.

“She always looked so happy here, I had no idea”, you reveal honestly. Why is she telling you this?

“Mhm”, is all she says, turning to quietly regard you for a moment. You might go up in flames.

You follow her lead, finally meeting eyes with her for the third time tonight. Her gaze is more intent this time, lingering, calculating something.

‘Why did you not write back to me?’, is what you desperately want to ask her, but the occasion is not appropriate for something like this. Besides, her husband is making her way to her now.

“You look beautiful this evening”, she decides and you feel as though you’ll float up to the ceiling. You want to be closer to her, to have more time. You want to reach out and hold her hand.

“You are always beautiful”, is all you can manage.

It’s small, but bridges something between you. A familiarity, carefully crafted over the years. Maybe she could stand being around you again.

It will have to do.

“Don’t let them dictate your life”, her voice is soft.

Stephen approaches the both of you looking annoyed and tired. What does she see in him?

{He doesn’t deserve you}.

Another fragment of your letter crosses your mind and you cringe. God, why did she never reply?

“Darling, there you are. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved, aren’t you?”, Miranda puts her arm around him, gently leading him away.

You hear him complain about being called Mr. Priestly and it makes you laugh to yourself. Of course, he’s still so insecure.

‘I’m outside’.

Finally. You don’t wait around for the rest of your family, your other private drivers would be near.

You exhale heavily as soon as you’ve buckled in.

The ride home is a blur.

You’re in between sleep and thinking about everything that unfolded at this year’s Benefit.

Once you’re in, it’s not long before everyone else arrives. But by this time you’re already sleeping.

That doesn’t stop him from waking you.

Your father sends your siblings’ nanny to bring you downstairs into the lounge for ‘correction’.

He’s awful when he’s been drinking.

He shouts and demands respect.

Jay of course gets the worst of it being the oldest and it doesn’t feel nearly as good as you imagined to see him humiliated.

It hurts you.

Both of you had worked hard tonight, going above his expectations. Surely your father saw you shine, he heard it from the mouths of others.

Selene does her best to shield the youngest and intervene for you but she’s ignored.

In the end, you all allow him to yell and get out the things he’s been holding onto the entire night.

The silence after is painful.

It’s hard to fall asleep when this happens, so you sit the study with your older brother, who’s quietly in his own head, while you’re turning over thoughts in your own.

It feels comforting to not be alone, especially in here. This room was your mother’s favourite space. She took a lot of time designing it to feel as peaceful and relaxing as it is.

You’re on her sofa and Jay’s on the opposite one.

The sound of the ticking clock is another comfort.

“I forgive you”, you suddenly say.

He doesn’t answer right away but you know he’s taking in your words. The grandfather clock makes a jingle indicating it’s midnight.

The rest of the house is silent.

You used to do this a lot as kids.

Set up camp in the study, with the help of your mother and her creativity.

“I didn’t mean what I said”, he sniffs.

“I miss her so much”, his voice cracks and to your shock, he’s actually crying.

Well, that’s a first.

“I’m sorry”, he continues to sob into the pillow, turning away from your gaze.

You feel awkward going to comfort him, so you share your truth instead.

“I miss her too”.

“And I miss you”.

“How it was for us when she was still here, and how we used to be friends”.

It’s quiet for some time.

But he’s heard you.

“Don’t become dad”, you add just to make it clearer without going into it too much.

“I’m nothing like him”, he sounds defensive.

“Good”.

You stand up and stretch, feeling sleep finally coming back to you.

“Night”, you sort of pat his head.

“Goodnight”, your brother settles on the sofa, with no intentions of going to his own bed.

As you’re going upstairs, you feel your phone buzz in the pocket of your hoodie.

‘Hey, it’s Andy, Miranda’s Assistant. She’d like to schedule the sit down with you for next week Tuesday, 12pm at the location of your own choosing’.

Your heart thumps at the thought of sitting across from the older woman somewhere and you decide you’ve had enough for today.

Andy can wait until tomorrow.

You heart the text and turn off your phone.

But after a few moments in the quiet of the night, you wonder how she came to have your number.

Then you remember, you had written it down in that last letter you’d sent to Miranda just before you finished college, three years ago.

Does that mean she kept it? She looked at it tonight or she already had you saved in her phone? What if she just asked Cassie instead?

God, this is torture.

With everything that happened today, you want to let some steam out the best way you know.

You’ve been doing it since she first sent you that photograph of her for your college project.

Your hands reach inside your bedside drawer and pull out a small frame.

You caress it, like you always do.

She was in her late twenties.

Miranda Priestly.

Your fingers untie the knot on your pyjamas shorts and slip inside.

You take your time, thinking about how hot she looked at the Benefit.

How delicious she smelt and her graceful strides.

Her eyes, lips, beautiful hair, her face makes you come undone over and over and over and over.

Chapter Two - The Letters

[bittybeanscafe]

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY TWO

Previous Day -> Next Day

Contains: Curt and Rod, The Hanks, Farya, Miranda, Kopi, Chairemi, and Mac

🍰 Café Menu 🍰

The sun hit your face like a judgmental slap.

You groaned, turning over with a squint. The curtains were wide open, sunlight pouring into the room like it had something to prove. You definitely remembered closing them last night. In fact, you even did a double take before bed.

Now? Fully open. Like someone had reached in and yanked them apart with dramatic flair.

You sat up slowly. “Okay. That’s weird.”

Above you, the curtain rod gave the softest metallic creak, like it had just finished laughing.

“Finally,” Rod sighed. “I thought we’d have to dump water on them.”

“Oh please,” Curt replied. “They needed the sun. Their under-eye bags had under-eye bags.”

“I’m window dressing, not a miracle worker.”

You ignored the growing suspicion that the curtains were developing a personality and stumbled to your bag to unpack a few things. The wardrobe opened with a cozy creak, revealing several rows of neat wooden hangers.

You grabbed one without looking, and… CRACK

One slipped from your hand and hit the floor. You knelt to pick it up, and froze.

The hanger had split down the shoulder. Clean break. One side barely hanging on.

You knelt down, frowning. “Damn. Sorry, dude…”

It was just a hanger. You knew that. But it felt like more than that. Maybe it was the weird owner. Maybe it was the quiet stillness of the wardrobe. Maybe it was the look of the other hangers, now swaying ever so gently, like they were watching.

You grabbed the first-aid kit that you moved upstairs to make yourself feel better and carefully bandaged the crack, one small beige bandaid, then some tape. You aligned the pieces with care, not rushing it. When it was done, you held the mended hanger in your hands for a moment, then smiled faintly.

“There,” you whispered. “Not perfect. But you’re still good.”

You hung the hanger gently back on the rod, giving it a little pat like you were saying welcome back.

The wardrobe went still.

But inside that quiet world, just beyond your reach, the Hanks stirred.

Hank 5 shifted closer, pressing his smooth edge gently against Hank 2’s side. “You’re alright, brother. You’re home.”

“Does it hurt?” whispered Hank 1, nudging the edge of the tape.

Hank 2 blinked, the warmth of the bandaid still fresh against his splintered frame. “No… it’s okay. They fixed me. They saw me.”

The other hangers closed in, swaying side to side like a gentle group hug. The rod above them creaked as if lowering its shoulders to cradle them all.

“We’ve got you now,” murmured Hank 3. “No one’s tossing anyone out of this family.”

From the nearby window, Curt and Rod had paused their usual commentary.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Curt said, a bit quieter than usual.

“They fixed Hank 2.”

“And didn’t even call him ‘cheap trash’ like that last sitter.”

“…Maybe this one isn’t the worst.”

Upstairs, tucked in the drawer you just put her in with gauze and love, Farya the first-aid kit felt it ripple through the house like warmth in the walls. She had barely even been touched, and yet, her purpose had been honored. Quiet compassion. Careful hands. Seeing what needed fixing and doing it without being asked.

“They’re one of us,” she thought.

And just like that, the house loved them a little more.

You stretched your arms overhead with a yawn, still thinking about the hanger as you padded downstairs barefoot. The house was quiet except for the soft tick of the kitchen clock and the distant drum of rain dripping from the gutters outside.

You made it to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and stared at the stove.

Too early. Too tired. Too much effort.

You rubbed your eyes. “Yeah, no. Just toast today.”

You popped two slices of bread into the toaster sitting peacefully on the counter, bright red and retro-looking, with shiny silver buttons that gleamed under the morning light. She had a little dial that you didn’t touch, because it already seemed… right somehow. You pressed the lever down and stepped back.

The coffee machine stood in its usual spot: sleek and silent like it had been waiting.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, grinning as you turned it on. “Let’s see what you’ve got today.”

It whirred to life again, warm and purposeful. The scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen almost immediately: strong, creamy, with that perfect, sweet richness that made you sigh in relief. The kind of smell that made a bad day feel like a fresh start.

Click.

The toast popped up, golden, perfectly warm, exactly the crispiness you liked without being burnt.

But more than that… there was a heart.

Not drawn. Burned in.

A soft, round heart seared gently onto the surface of the toast like it belonged there.

You blinked. Picked up the slice and tilted it in the light.

“…How?”

You hadn’t touched the dial. Hadn’t set anything fancy. But there it was, right in the center.

Unseen to you, Miranda smirked to herself. “What, like I was gonna let them start the day without a little love?”

At the counter, your coffee finished brewing, this time with a leaf pattern etched into the foam. Not the same as yesterday. Different. Thoughtful. Specific.

You held both the toast and mug in your hands and smiled down at them.

“…Thank you,” you said softly, to no one in particular.

But two kitchen hearts beamed in return.

Kopi gave a quiet hum of pride.

Miranda clicked her heating coils once, just to show off.

You munched your toast on the way to the office down the hall, mug warm in your hand, heart still full from the gentlest, strangest morning you’d had in a long time.

Somewhere behind you, the kitchen glowed with quiet pride.

The office was tucked near the back of the house, down a quiet hallway with wood that amplified your footsteps. You hadn’t explored this part yesterday, too busy resetting fuses and bonding with broken hangers.

The door was slightly ajar, like someone had left it open just for you.

You stepped in slowly.

It was small, but cozy. Dark walls. Two windows letting in a soft wash of morning light. A smooth desk that looked like it’d been polished just this morning. A computer sat front and center, silent and gleaming like a well-fed cat.

You lowered yourself into the desk chair and immediately stilled.

“…Huh.”

It was comfortable. Weirdly comfortable. The kind of comfort that knew your posture better than you did. The cushion hugged your hips and back like it had been molded just for you. You sank into it, tension slipping from your shoulders.

You stared at the desk and murmured, “Okay. You’re definitely all haunted.”

The chair made a soft creak beneath you, like a it was laughing.

You wiggled the mouse and the screen lit up, a soft digital glow humming to life. Then, a message:

Software update available.

You groaned. “What the hell. Fine.”

You clicked “Update,” expecting the usual sluggish chaos: endless restarts, spinning wheels, a half-hour of waiting and maybe a crash or two for good measure.

But instead?

The screen flickered for a few seconds. A smooth, quiet restart. Then… done.

Just like that.

No errors. No lag. No crashes. It even booted up faster.

You blinked at the screen. A familiar document was already open.

Your project.

The one you’d been meaning to work on, the one that sat half-finished in your inbox for weeks, collecting dust.

Only… it wasn’t half-finished anymore.

It was done. Edited. Organized. Perfect.

You scrolled in stunned silence. Every file in place. Every sentence cleaned up. Graphs, images, titles, transitions, all lined up neatly like someone had reached into your brain and said “Let me take care of that for you.”

You leaned back slowly, heart thudding.

“…I didn’t… do this.”

Somewhere beneath your fingertips, Mac buzzed softly with pride.

They didn’t need thanks. They just liked being helpful.

“Took someone long enough to update me,” they thought with a soft, content pulse. *“I’ve been waiting for this since forever!”

The chair shifted gently beneath you, a quiet little bounce of support. The desk stayed solid and warm against your arms. You felt… safe. Cared for.

And just a little unnerved.

But you smiled anyway.

“…Thanks, I guess,” you whispered.

The screen glowed just a little brighter in response.

The rest of the day passed in a gentle blur.

You explored more of the house, moving through halls that seemed to stretch and contract depending on how curious you felt. Every door you opened led to something charming: a weight room that somehow felt more like a gym then any gym you’ve ever been to, and snacks, fresh, plated, waiting, left on counters and tables like someone knew exactly when you'd feel hungry.

You didn’t question it too much.

You didn’t want to ruin it.

The couch in the living room was your next conquest, a giant piece that hugged your whole body like a weighted blanket and a therapist all in one. You swore you’d just close your eyes for a second. When you opened them again, two hours had passed, and you’d drooled on the pillow. Just a little.

You muttered a soft “sorry” into the couch cushion, and the cushion somehow fluffed itself back into shape.

It was the most cared-for you’d felt in weeks.

But now, the sky outside the windows had turned dusky purple, the rain long gone and replaced by stars peeking through the clouds. The house had grown quiet again, not empty, just… restful. Like it was winding down with you.

You climbed the stairs slowly, passing the quiet kitchen, the humming hallway, the soft creak of the office door gently swinging shut on its own.

The bedroom was just as you’d left it, only the bed looked a little more inviting now. The blanket folded down slightly. The pillow plumped. It was like it missed you.

You smiled to yourself, crawling in and tugging the covers up.

“…Goodnight, everyone,” you said softly to the room. “Thanks for today.”

No one answered. But the air around you felt warm. Safe.

Curt and Rod shifted in their mounts above the window, just enough to adjust the curtain for the moonlight.

The Hanks rested quietly in their wardrobe, Hank 2 wrapped gently between his brothers.

And downstairs, the heart of the house sighed in unison.

You didn’t see the smile forming in the lightbulb above you.

Or the content twitch in the toaster’s dial.

Or the faint glow in the bandaid on Hank 2’s side.

But they saw you.

And in their quiet, unseen world, they whispered back:

“Goodnight.”

And you slept soundly once more.

Tags: @nightlark100 @stinkyboyfaliure

(If you’d like to be tagged for this series, comment, send an ask, or pm me!)

[noneknowingaxolotl]

The home owner is given a bevy of nicknames and pet names in the course of their...misadventures with the Date-viators. Some are reasonable, some are silly or intentionally sickly-sweet.

Before, the human often spoke to themself throughout the day, and spoke to what they thought were unthinking objects. 'Thank you' when their food is done in Luke or Errol or Stefan. 'Sorry' accompanied by a pat when they slam a door or drawer on accident, 'excuse me' when they're moving something. And the nicknames - 'big guy' and 'bud' are common enough, but every dropped item is fussed over as 'sweetheart' or 'hon' as their human examines them for damage. If someone is running slow or struggling, the human will pout and pet them and ask them to 'Please cooperate with me, sweetheart, c'mon. I know you can do this.'

The first time the human accidentally closes on of Cabrizzio's doors a *bit* too hard after getting the Date-viators, there's no gentle pets or pats. Instead they blush and offer a short "Sorry, Cabrizzio." before moving on. The realization sweeps the house like wildfire- their human isn't going to use petames on ANYONE now!!!

But then, Betty is slowly flirting with their home owner at the Breaker Box one night, the two of them sitting at the bar together. The human makes Betty giggle, her hand toying with their fantastic red shirt, and their human smirks like a cat who got the canary.

"That's my Betty! I knew your laugh would be cute." Every mind in the room melts for a long moment, and Betty blushes bright red. Screw getting back to 'baby' or 'sweetheart'. Every single one of them is gunning for a chance to get the human to *purr* 'mine* like that again.

When word spread that you stopped your little habit of calling them pet names, it spread fast, and for a moment it seemed like riots would break out in the house. Most of them were so excited that you were finally able to see them they failed to realize just how awkward it might make things for you.

But then that little incident with Betty occurred, and suddenly, things didn’t seem so dire anymore.

The house grows alight again, but for an entirely different reason now. For some reason, things are getting done for you without you even having to ask. Sometimes badly. Most of them kept it subtle, but some were wholly incapable of such things.

Tony was looking at you so expectantly after he fixed something for you he was almost shaking in anticipation, and he looked almost akin to a kicked puppy when you just said ‘thank you’ without any purred ‘good boy’ or ‘mine’ right after. Hector’s hands were wringing together nervously when you approached the vent, and his poetic spiels seemed a little more pointed that day, a little more desperate, the faint glint of his eyes in the light fixed on you with need. Beau was rambling on about her adventures much more, almost boasting, waiting for any indication from you that you were in any way impressed.

And then it happened again. To fucking Johnny Splash of all objects. A laugh, and a low yet casual “sorry, my dear. Are you alright?” When you bumped into him at the bar. His entire jaw dropped. Pity the poor patrons of the Breaker Box that day, he was on cloud 9. And the love songs that flowed from his lips that night were as sweet as they were ear grating. Once it was proved that you could do it not only once, but twice, everyone became that much more desperate to hear it again, and thus a fierce competition sparked. Who’d be able to get it next? Find out tonight on channel seven.

Nowhere is it fiercer than the kitchen, however. Pray for miranda because its hard to perform when Errol and Luke are practically about to tear each other apart over who’s going to get it next (neither of them, Stefan wins and they almost blow up the kitchen about it)

[d3adpoets0ciety]

Take me as I am

Miranda Pristley x Masc assistant

Description: Leilani has been working for Miranda for a few years now. She had grown used to Miranda antics she was prepared for everything. All except this one day in particular that changed the dynamic of their relationship between the two.

Warning: Fluff

Word Cout: 4,177

( © Don't copy please and thank you)

She's perfect, no.. but she was close to it. Perfection does not exist but she sure does make it a reality. 

In the past year that I've been working with Miranda I've heard many names, The dragon lady, or the snow queen. All of them were meant to be an insult and yet they served as a compliment. Miranda is a force one of which no one dares to mess with. 

One thing that many have come to admire or hate. 

With Miranda it was like the luck of spinning a coin and hoping to get the side you wanted. Yet I was more than happy with whatever I got. 

Talking about the luck of spinning a coin, Miranda had sent me out to retrieve a few pieces from Chanel. It had come up last minute, but knowing Miranda nothing came late. With all the luck I had, I quickly made my way out of the main building and got the pieces before she could call me for any other task. 

It wasn't a hard job, but it sure as hell needed patience to work with Miranda. Yet it's one of things I came to know and even enjoy. 

“Nigel, What's that?” I ask out curiously while hanging up the clothes I had brought and setting them where she always looks at. 

“It's a hat, one of the designers had made it.” Nigel responds, turning over to face me and showing me the hat he had gotten. It was a leathery fabric and it almost looked like a cowboy hat. 

“Looks cool, it doesn't match anything that's on here though.” I responded calmly before making sure everything was neatly placed. 

“Leilani you aren't seeing the bigger picture, this could be a good addition.” Nigel insisted on still trying to defend the hat before placing it down and looking at the set of clothes there was.

“Miranda won't like it.” I tell Nigel, a bit unsure, my attention on the older man with glasses. He just shrugs and smiles.

“I wont like what?” I nearly jumped at the voice that had pitched in. without any further reactions i turned my head only to be met by Miranda who was staring at the both of us curiously. 

“Nothing.” 

“This hat one of the designers made and sent it over.” Nigel pitches in showing her the hat. Miranda looks over at me and then walks towards us before staring at it closely. 

“Leather.” Miranda comments on the fabric while touching the hat gently and looking at it for a few minutes longer. Nigel and I just nod our head and wait for her response. 

“Add it to the collection.” Miranda said, giving Nigel the green light. It had caught me off guard completely.

It wasn't something that she even liked and she had found it nice? Was this out of spite? 

“Oh and Leilani, could you get my coat? I left it at the lounge.” Miranda requested looking at me, but the real question was, why was it in the lounge? She never goes there. 

“Sure thing.” I quickly say with a small smile waiting for her to dismiss me for good. Miranda looks at me up and down before uttering the very words I had grown used to.

“Thats all.”

Once she was out of view, I turned to Nigel who was giving me a smug look. 

“Whats with the face?” I ask him curiously about getting ready to get the coat. 

“I told you.” He said knowingly before hanging the hat up once more as if it was a trophy. 

I just sigh in response, not feeding into his comment. Instead I just walk out of the room and make my way to the elevator. As I was about to press the button Emily came in with a hurry.

“What's wrong Emily?” I ask her with a worried tone before pressing the button. 

“Im on break and the top bathrooms are all occupied.” Emily explains in her rushed tone trying her best to not think about it.

“There should be an open bathroom on the second floor.” I tell her calmly, watching the numbers go down slowly. 

“Way to state the obvious, why are you going to the second floor anyway?” Emily asked with her usual sarcastic tone.

“Miranda left her coat.” I calmly watched the door open, but just when I was about to get off Emily gave me a confused look.

“Miranda never leaves her coat.” Emily says almost dumbfounded by the response. 

“Thats what I said.” I tell her calmly, with that the two split ways and Emily goes running to the bathroom. I on the other hand head straight to the empty lounge.

It was bizarre, for the amount of time I've spent in this building, I had never really been in the lounge for a good amount of time. Which is why it confused me as to why Miranda would be here. But when I stepped a bit closer I spotted a beige coat, but on top of it a note stood out, it said.

“Found this on the way to work. -Stephen” No flowers, no cute note, it was just that. Maybe this is why she didn't bother grabbing her coat.Nonetheless, I grabbed the coat and removed the note, after all it was good to useless. 

I then started making my way back to the elevator just as calmly as I had first gotten on the floor. Once I was inside I pressed the elevator button and stared at my watch tracking the time.

5:34pm

Luckily it was still early, and today it wasn't as fast. Just as the elevator rang, I spotted Nigel running around the floor looking for something frantically. Without much thought I quickly went to follow him worried. 

“Whats the matter?” I asked out to Nigel quickly make him come back to his senses. 

“Miranda hated the pieces, I'm not sure why but she is not happy about any of them.” Nigel says a bit confused by the current events. It made it all the more harder for me to just enter in like nothing. 

“Ill see what the reason is.” I respond with a soft sigh before making my way to her office without much thought. 

The door was shut, and she was walking around her office, it was unlike her to say the least. Despite that I gave her door a small knock before opening the door and peeking my head in. 

The older woman had yet to notice me, all her attention was on her phone discussing something. With that i just quietly entered the office and closed the door behind me before getting ready to place the coat on the table.

Miranda quickly spotted my moving figure, yet she didn't say anything. Instead she resumed the call and walked towards me. I stand still, my hands gently holding her coat out and waiting for what she will say. 

But nothing ever came, no words were shared except the ones from the phone.

The older woman turned around and put one of her arms into the sleeve before transferring her phone to her other hand and repeating the same motion. 

It was a rare sight to say the least, one of which I never questioned or ever wanted to speak of. Once the coat was fully on her, I made sure there were no wrinkles on her coat before letting her wander off. 

When my hands were no longer on her she just turned her attention to me and looked at me briefly. It was unclear as to what her emotions were. Was it anger, confusion, or even disgust. 

None of it was uncertain. 

“Ill call you back.” With that Miranda looked at her phone and hung up the call once in for all. She then turned her head and looked back at me briefly.

“I have an important matter to attend to, you will accompany me.” Important matter? And with me? 

“Yes Miranda.” I nodded my head calmly, unsure of what to say. 

I was used to accompanying Miranda to places but today seems slightly different. Maybe it's because of the random chain of events from today but I couldn't quite place it.

With that Miranda walked past me and started making her way to the elevator. I quickly followed behind her, closing the door of her office gently before jogging after her.

When I spotted Nigel on the other side of the floor my mind quickly went back to the main reason I had walked into her office. All apart of the coat. 

Yet by the mood that Miranda was having, it was best to not talk about the topic just to not further bitter the moment.

I quickly halted right in front of the elevator forgetting the quiet rule that she had placed. But all of that seems to have gone out of the window the moment Miranda gave me an inpatient look.

Was she expecting me to go in with her?

I just nodded my head and stepped inside the elevator pressing the button and keeping a respectable distance from the older woman.

Miranda stayed quiet, she didn't talk instead she put on her sun glasses and stared at the timer. 

I did the same, just looking everywhere else but Miranda. If you put the work and the daily task aside, being around Miranda was even. Comfortable even.

The elevator finally reached the bottom floor and Miranda was first to get out of the elevator. She was first in everything. I followed behind her calmly just making sure I could match her steps and stay a few inches behind her. 

The taxi was already waiting for us. Luckily I went past her and opened the door holding it open just for her. Miranda just nodded her head and got into the backseat. I followed behind, also getting in the back seat and sitting by the right end of the car.

Today was very windy with the cool breeze leaving its own cold reminisce. I stayed quiet watching the buildings from the glass and quietly observing the now moving car.

I looked over at Miranda's direction only to see her also staring out of the car. It was subtle but her eased expression was such a rare sight. 

Her short silver hair laid perfectly on her face and her eyes were covered by sunglasses. She kept her hands in her pocket trying her best to not shiver in front of anyone.

Out of instinct I took off my jacket and placed it on her lap gently, it was a subtle gesture but it was one that Miranda quickly noticed.

She turned her head and looked at me almost confused at what I had just done. But I didn't say anything. Instead I turned my attention and looked at the window once more.

It wasn't long before I felt the cushion beside me slightly sink and a brush of a shoulder touch my arm. I glanced over only to notice Miranda sitting a bit closer than she was last sitting.

I didn't comment instead I also scooted closer and just looked off casually. Our shoulders were now touching and the warmth of her body was radiating to me.

Her perfume was strong, a rich lavender. It was a small thing that you would only come across once in a lifetime. 

For the remainder of the ride the two of us had stayed like that. Seated close to one another and just staring off at the windows as if it was a casual thing.

But was it casual? None of it felt like so.

The car comes to a complete stop in front of a building, Miranda opens the door on her left and gets out. I open the door to my right and get out following her.

None of it could've prepared me for where we were going. Instead of going to some mall or even a business building, we were walking to a bakery.

Was it her birthday, not her birthday was on October. Was it something special? My mind was spiraling out of control.

Miranda found her way to the front of her line, the moment the cashier saw her face she quickly went to the back and retrieved her order. She then came back, handing Miranda the box. 

“Thank you for coming Mrs. Priestley.” The lady said with a small smile before turning her attention to me for a few seconds.

Miranda just nodded her head before handing the box to me and walking out. I look over at the lady one more time before walking out with Miranda.

As I was walking I noticed that the taxi was gone, surely we weren't in there for far too long.

“Would you like me to call a taxi?” I ask Miranda politely while holding the box carefully.

“Not necessary.” Miranda simply said before walking to a different direction. A confused look flashed my face before following her without questioning it. 

Now that I was walking around with Miranda it gave me time to really analyze the place for a good minute. 

It was stunning from the outside and there were various other stores nearby. 

My attention drew back to Miranda who was now taking a seat on one of the outside chairs. I quickly came by and placed the box on top of the table before sitting on the other side.

Miranda then took her glasses off and looked off at the mall. I stayed quiet watching her for a brief minute.

Her short hair gently moves against the wind with ease, her eyes were calm and collected on the people moving by. And her coat stayed on her so perfectly.

“You know what day it is.” Miranda spoke out, breaking the silence. 

I blinked a few times, really taking a moment to process what she had just said. I quickly remembered what day and month it was hoping that I didn't miss an important event.

And then it came to me.

“Valentines?” I asked out, almost forgetting the day it was. After all, I wasn't with anyone to really take time to care.

“..” The silence was loud, she was processing it all for herself. More questions started to rise in my head at her reaction.

“Why are you spending it with me?” I spoke with a boldness that I didn't anticipate this afternoon. 

Miranda turns to now look at me, her eyes stay on my face steadily almost trying to figure something out. She then stares at the box.

“Because you're easy to talk to.” Miranda said casually, but it was the first time that I had ever heard her be this genuine. Especially about how she felt.

“Happy Valentine's Miranda.” I simply say in return with a soft smile looking at her.

Miranda just looks over at me and gives me an almost invisible smile, it was so faint but very noticeable if you look at her.

She then opened the box revealing a small cake. Inside she reached out and grabbed the plastic fork and knife that was inside before cutting it.

It was a pretty cake, the design was simple yet the simplistic nature of it is what made it all the more prettier. 

Like Miranda, she seems like a simplistic woman yet when you get to know her she's so much more than that. 

Aside from beauty alone, she was the closest thing to perfect even if that didn't exist. 

“There should be plates in my bag.” Miranda said calmly while cutting the cake. I nodded my head and quickly went to grab the plates before helping her out. 

Had she planned this out before. 

Miranda gently placed the cake on the plate, her fingers brushing ever so slightly against mine while placing it. She then puts another piece on the other place and closes the box. 

“Keep the fork.” I quickly tell Miranda to grab my piece and just take the knife to cut it in smaller chunks.

“You'll ruin your shirt.” Miranda comments while taking a piece with her fork.

“I won't." I reassure her confidence before taking a small piece of the cake and eating it.

Miranda nods her head and takes a bite of her own cake quietly. It wasn't an awkward silence, it was soothing.

Too engrossed with my own thoughts I went to get another piece only for it to fall on my shirt. I quickly grabbed a napkin but by the look that Miranda was giving me I already knew. 

It was an ‘I told you so’ look, one of which I couldn't just help but smile it off.

“Miranda, have you ever walked around here?” I ask her curiously, noticing the sun slowly go down.

"I don't think I have.” She says calmly finishing her piece. 

“Let's take a small walk around here, it'll be fun.” I tell her confidently. It was so out of the blue that I had completely forgotten who I was talking to.

Despite all odds she just got up and threw the plate. I did the same before grabbing the box and walking alongside her down the trail that was by the mall.

Just like before the walk was quiet, then again it didn't need to be cramped with conversation. The wind quietly blew against us and the trees around us slowly ruffled.

The two of us walked alongside one another quietly watching the trees slowly leave our vision. We were then met with the sight of a fountain inside of the lake. It had brought colors and the water splashed around it.

“Miranda look!” I accidentally said loudly, slightly startling the other woman. She then turned to the direction I was staring at.

“A water fountain? I've seen way bigger ones in Paris." Miranda says unfazed by the fountain. I just sigh at her response. As I was looking at the water I remembered a small detail I had forgotten this whole time.

“I completely forgot to mention.” I turn to Miranda now looking at her with a big smile. The silver haired lady just stares back at me calmly.

“Yes.” Miranda says calmly while walking yet her eyebrows raised in a curious way.

“I got you something but I had left it at work.” I tell her with a small smile. 

The sound of a gift quickly caught her off guard, her expression changed to a much more confused look.

“A gift?” She asked me curiously while walking.

“Yes It was a thank you gift for last year in Paris." I explain to her with a warm smile. Yet the older woman just looks off without saying anything.

I don't question it. Instead I just looked off at other things and figured that she wasn't used to things like that. 

“Call the taxi.” Out of nowhere Miranda requests, the tone was calm yet I couldn't help but feel my heart drop.

Had I crossed the line, did it sound inappropriate, what if she took it that way?

Was it bad that I wanted her to take it that way? I quickly shook away any intrusive thoughts and just grabbed the phone with one of my hands while holding the box with the other.

After a few seconds of chatting the phone hands up and we both find a nearby bench. Miranda goes to sit there and just watches the busy city streets resume their directions.

I hesitantly joined Miranda hoping that I didn't make her uncomfortable. I placed the box beside me before taking a respectable distance from her and sitting down.

“Happy Valentine's.” Miranda says back completely, making me forget that I had told her that in the first place.I smile at her calmly, keeping my attention on the street in front of us.

“One thing Leilani.” The call of my name quickly made me raise a brown looking over at her curiously.

Just when I was about to speak Miranda leaned in and pressed a kiss on my cheek. It was faint, and warm it completely had caught me off guard.

But it wasn't unwelcomed instead it was one of the most gentless of surprises that I hadn't expected. 

I was going to say something but the taxi had come just in time. I curse under my breath before grabbing the box and making my way towards the car.

Miranda didn't say anything, instead she just waited until I opened the door for her to step inside and make her way on the left side. I placed the box on my lap once I got inside and closed the door aside.

The car moved shortly after making its way back to the main headquarters. Regardless, the air was way different than last time.

It was a bit thick all rooted by anticipation and a foreign curiosity. As I turned to look at Miranda I noticed how dark the car was. Mostly due to the sun going fully down.

And for the first time in my whole life I made an impulsive decision.

Without much thinking I slowly reached my hand out gently finding Miranda's. At first I touched her knuckles with one of my fingers.The older woman slightly flinched at the constant, her hand then leaned in ever so slightly. 

This gave me the chance to slowly move my hand closer, putting my palm on top of her hand and gently caressing her knuckles with my thumb.

Miranda then moved her hand and interlocked our fingers gently, a move that I hadn't anticipated.

But we both don't acknowledge it, instead we look off at the window while holding hands almost like it doesn't need to be discussed.

The car eventually stops right in front of the headquarters. We both break the handholding and I go to open my side of the door. 

Once I'm outside of the car I notice Miranda who had already found her way to the sidewalk and was now entering the building. I make sure the box is secured before entering the building shortly after her. 

Out of mere curiosity I glance at the watch outside and notice the time. 

8:12pm

Had time really flew that quick and if so how did I not notice. My thoughts were quickly stopped by the sound of the elevator opening and the sight of Miranda walking inside. 

I already knew the cue quickly finding my way beside Miranda.

When it came to her it was always a chasing and listening game, yet one of which I was okay with.

The two of us finally reach the top floor and Miranda heads to her office to pack the remainder of the stuff that she needed before heading home.

On the other hand I quickly went to my desk and pulled out the small jewelry box I had in my drawer. I then make my way to her office lightly knocking on the door.

Miranda turns her head to the door looking over curiously. 

“Here.” I tell her before placing the little gift on the table and giving her a small smile.

“Goodnight Miranda.” I tell her grabbing the doorknob and getting ready to leave for the night.

“Oh Leilani.” Miranda spoke out before I could leave. I turn my head and glance over at her.

“Yes Miranda?”

“Goodnight.” It was soft and genuine in its own way. I just smile at her response. 

“That's all.” 

And with that I leave the office for the last time today. I turn off the lamp on my desk and clock out.

– 7:30am

“Miranda you got something” Nigel informs Miranda, holding door ever so slightly opened.

“leave it on top of Emily's table.” Miranda dismisses calmly while grabbing the phone and looking at her calendar.

“I think you'd want to see it.” Nigel insists quickly drawing Miranda's attention. She tried her best to not look annoyed. 

“If it's that important then bring it in.” Miranda tells him, waiting for him to reveal the thing. 

Nigel walked out of her office and quickly retrieved the object. He then walked into her office, hands full. It was a huge bouquet of everything varying from roses to many colorful flowers.

Miranda instantly knew this wasn't from Stephen, since he always brought her freesias flowers. 

“Late Valentine gift from your husband.” Nigel says with a small smile, happy to see the gift even closer.

It was evident to Miranda's face that that wasn't the case. The more she stared at the gift she spotted a box of chocolates and a letter. She quickly reached out and grabbed the letter reading it.

Nigel took the hint giving Miranda space while she read the letter.

“I know these flowers and chocolates will be arriving after Valentine's day, but I couldn't get over the thought of you not getting anything. I do hope you enjoy the chocolates they were handmade and I picked the flowers out. Have a wonderful day Miranda.

-Sincearly Yours L.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey guys good Afternoon, I'm back to writing first person fanfiction. I will be writing in third and first person in the future so if you guys are into that then my whole page is full of it. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one-shot and have a good day take care.

[sugarribb0nz]

I have a Date Everything fic request! Reader (any gender) is making their rounds around the house, but whenever they talk to one of the lipstick-wearing ladies (Miranda, Sophia, Rainey, Phoenicia, Fantina, etc) they pepper Reader with lipstick kisses, which flusters reader every time it happens. At the end of the day, Reader learns Barry asked them to test some new lipsticks he got. Reader is puts things together and thanks Barry for the best day of their life.

Creators note 🐑 - Bring in my girls 😩 sorry for not using all the girls who wear lipstick i just feel like it would all be to much 🥲 + learning about diffrent places on the face lol + this may be a little long 😅

Asked 🤍 - Anon!

Summary - you've just been hanging out around the house lately, relaxing, reading, etc, but one thing you couldnt figure out all day was how some of the girls (Miranda, Sophia, Rainey, Phoenicia, Fantina, Keyes, Prissy,) have been giving you small kisses throughout the day and you loved each and every one of those kisses.

Cw - Slight guilt tripping with Fantina + Fantina being Fantina lol, Mention of throw up, sophia 😌,

word counter - 2,739

Date Everything x GN!Reader - fluff!

You honestly had a great day,

Miranda

Let’s start from the beginning. You woke up in a terrific mood, like nothing could get in your way. You walked down the stairs and headed straight into the kitchen, humming to yourself, you grabbed a piece of toast from the bread compartment and walked towards Miranda, “Ooo someone has a pep in their step eh?” She pointed out as she held the toast in her hands, warming up the bread as she smiled at you,

“Oh yeah, I was just excited to start the day, i suppose!” You said while flashing a grin, “Oh yeah? What are you going to do today, hm?” she said as she tilted her head, her cheeks slightly pink as her eyes crinkled from smiling, “Oh you know, maybe organize the attic, check up on everyone else,” You said as you shrugged as you leaned against the counter as you speak to her, “Sounds like a busy day,” she mumbled as she grabbed a butter knife, scooping some butter and sliding across the piece of toast, she then hands you the now perfectly toasted piece of toast, “Yknow, I could make your day better,” she stated matter of factly, “Oh yeah?” You said intriguingly as you bit into the toast,

“Just close your eyes, okay?” She said with a mischievous look on her face. in return, you nodded and closed your eyes. You honestly didn’t know what to expect, but a soft gentle kiss on the left infraorbital cheek wasn't what you expected, causing you to open your eyes to see Miranda pull away laughing.

“Oh my gosh, look at your face! You’re so red! Hahaha!” She said as she had her eyes closed, you felt your face heating up, you look at your reflection in the reflection of the fridge beside you, seeing a small smudge of red on your cheek, “Hehe… That… Caught me off guard,” you huffed out a laugh as you take another bite out of the toast as you reached to touch lipstick smudge on your left cheek, “i should kiss you more often, that color looks so good on you,” she said as she grabbed her guitar, tuning it as you continue to blush, “T-Thank you for the kiss Miranda… ill see you later…” you mumbled as you walked away, finishing the piece of toast as you walked, “Okay then, see you soon!” She said as she began to sing to herself as she strung her guitar.

…

Phoenicia

As you leave the kitchen, you decided to just go ahead and check up on Phoenicia. You take your phone out of your pocket and open it, meeting Phoenicia’s smiling face, “Good morning (Y/N)! Are you having a good morning so far?” She asked as she pulled you into a side hug, smelling the buttery toast from your breath, “Already ate?” She asked as she pulled away with a small smile. “Yeah, just decided to go basic and have a piece of toast,” you said with a casual smile as you placed your hands on your hip, “Honestly, you should’ve seen this viral açai yogurt bowl, it had basically everything on it,” she gushed as she tries to find the video, she eventually pulls it up and shows you the supposed viral yogurt bowl,

“That does look good…” you muttered, “Mhm, you should definitely try and make it sometime,” she said as she closed the tab, “You should save me a bite,” she said with a small smile. “For you, Phoenicia, I would make any viral food trend for you to try,” you said causally as you placed your hands in your pockets, seeing Phoenicia’s face glow with happiness, “Ooo! You are too cute!” she said as she kissed the right zygomatic cheek area, leaving a darker purple smudge, way darker than her usual lipstick. She pulled away with a big smile on her face,

Until she suddenly gasped in shock. “I almost forgot to tell you the latest gossip!” She said as she placed her hand on her own cheek as her other hand opened more tabs to find some drama to unfold, but you were still distracted from the kiss, “Two kisses in one day? Damn… i must be looking good or something…” you thought as you smiled at the feeling of lipstick on your face as Phoenicia snaps you out of it, telling you about the latest drama.

…

Rainey

After your talk with Phoenicia, you decided to do some cleaning around the house, so you got a rag from the laundry room and put it under some water, squeezing the access water, as you did, you noticed the kiss marks on your face, “Hm I should wash this off later…” you muttered as your wet hand smudges Phoenicia’s lipstick stain, staring down at your now stained fingers, you shrug “Eh I’ll wash this off later,” you thought as you walk in the dining room, “Maybe I should put on some music?” You thought once again with a smile as you placed the wet rag on the table, bending down to choose a record until you hear Rainey’s voice “(Y/N)! Oh, i haven't seen you in days! How you been sugar?” She asked as she looked down at you as you picked out a record, “Well, i thought while i clean i should put a little music on,” you said as you placed the record in the record player,

“A little pep in your step, huh? Always a pleasure!” she says as she interlocked her hands beside her face. The music began to play, “Ah! One of my favorites!” She exclaimed as she began to dance. You chuckled as you joined her. She smiled as you danced along beside her. She took your hands and spun you with her as your hands were interlocked. “You dance so well, Baby!” She said as you spun her, “I’ve learned from the best after all!” You said as you smiled as you danced. Rainey pulled you in as the song was coming to an end. She chuckled as she leaned in and placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, leaving a small ruby-red-coloured smudge on your nose. You become flustered once again, already feeling your face become warmer. The kiss was quick but gentle. “Alright sugar, I’ll let you get back to cleaning! I’m just gonna keep on dancing!” She said as she rocked her hips from side to side, you smiled as you grabbed the wet rag and left the dining room as the next song began to play.

…

Keyes

You walked into the next room over, and you saw Keyes in her seat, her fingers tracing the keys on the piano. You slowly sat beside her, causing her to be slightly startled, “Oh… Hello Maestro, doing some cleaning, i assume?” She said as she noticed the rag in your hand, “Yeah, to get rid of some dirt and dust… Would you like me to wipe off the dust?” You said as you lift the soggy rag, “Go ahead maestro, just be careful…” she muttered as she moved along the keys, going along with Rainey’s music playing, you got up from the seat as you wipe away the dust, nodding your head as you listened calmly to Keyes piano play,

You let her focus on her playing as you clean up the grand piano, she looked so pretty as the light hit her as she concentrated on the piano. “You know… you’re so talented, Keyes…” You said as you left the room to go fetch a dry rag to dry off the droplets of water. “Thank you, maestro, you have good taste in my playing,” she said slightly loud with a gentle smile on her face as you returned to the room with a dry rag and dry the top of the piano, “Well, I must since I can’t be away from your playing,” you said as you sat back down beside Keyes, her fingers danced across the keys as she had a small smile on her face, after she finished she turned her face towards you, she had a gentle look on her face, “You are to kind maestro… im going to continue practicing, don't let me continue to distract you,” she said as she scooted closer to you and leaves a small kiss on the right of side your temple, “Now, run along maestro,” she said as she turned back to the piano and continued to play, you nodded and get up from your seat, leaving Keyes to enjoy her music.

…

Fantina

You went upstairs and began cleaning around the second floor (or first floor, whatever you wanna to call it), cleaning up all the dirty clothes on the floor, cleaning the windows, cleaning out the junk drawer, etc. After about an hour of cleaning, you began to feel hot as you wipe your forehead, removing small bits of sweat, you sighed as you walk into the small gym area, already hearing Fantina’s gasp,

“OH. MY. GOSH! It’s you! I haven’t seen you in forever!” She squealed as she saw you coming towards her, feeling the coldness radiating from her. You sighed in relief from the sudden coldness, “It’s nice to see you to Fantina, how have you been?” You said as you enjoyed the coolness from her fan, “I’m so glad you asked! I’ve been so lonesome since you haven't been here lately… I miss you sometimes, you know,” she said with a saddened tone as she crossed her arms with her mouth in a straight line. “I’m sorry, Fantina, truly, I try to remember to see you but I sometimes forget, which isn't an excuse,” you said as you raised your hands in defence, Fantina smiled, causing her eyes to crinkle as she pulled you into a hug, squeezing you in a tight embrace, “You have no idea how much that mean to me!” She said as she laid her face on your chest, feeling her sniff deeply, “Are… you smelling me?” You asked as you looked down at her, “Sorry! You just smell so good right now,” she said as she chuckled and kissed you on your left mandibular, causing you to blink as she left a small kiss, “I should get back to cleaning Fantina,” you said as you patted her shoulder, “Aw… Okay… Please come back soon,” she begged as you walked off, “I promise Fantina, ill be back soon,” you said as you closed the door with a smile.

…

Prissy

As you left, you noticed the time and decided to grab yourself some dinner from downstairs. You were in the kitchen and grabbed some of your (Fav meal) and decided to also grab a cup of water. You finish your snack and just take up the glass of water with you upstairs while cleaning up the attic. You walked back upstairs and opened the attic door. Meeting Prissy’s face as you opened the door, he smiled was wide, and her eyes were crinkled due to her smile.

“Well hello Prissy, what’s with the look on your face, if you mind me asking?” You asked as you held the cup to your chest, “Noticed anything different?” She asked as she did a little spin, her leafs slightly bouncing each spin she did, “Uh… You’re shinier?” You said like it was a question, she stopped spinning and sighed, “Aw man… Nothing’s different?” She said as she slightly pouts, her arms crossed as she looked down at the dirty wooden floor, “It’s alright prissy, maybe something will change and if nothing doesn't, that’s okay too,” you said with a smile as you hand her your cup of water, she takes it with a smile and takes a sip from the glass cup, her lipstick leaving a small print on the edge of the glass, “I know… I just would LIKE to be a real plant you know? Enjoy some soil, be watered every day, like an actual plant…” she said as she looked into the glass, smiling to herself,

You place your hand on her shoulder with a genuine look on your face, “How about we do a routine? I’ll bring you a glass of water and we can just… talk more,” you said as you tilted your head, “That sounds nice, I like that!” She said with that happy smile once more. She began to talk your ear off as you cleaned up around the attic. She eventually finished all the water in the glass cup, and you finished cleaning up as well. After you finished getting cobwebs from the cracks, you stood up, cracking your back as you felt a warm embrace behind you. “Thanks for talking with me today, I really appreciate it,” she said with her eyes closed with her head tilted. “Your welcome Prissy,” you said as you turned around, facing her relaxed and tired face, she smiled while meeting your eyes and leaned in and kisses your forehead, she lets go as she yawned, “i think it’s time for me to get some rest… See you tomorrow?” She asked with her cheeks flushed, “Of course, sleep well Prissy,” you said as you slowly walked away, to finally get cozy and rest up like Prissy.

…

Sophia

You arrived in your room, the feeling of no more chores left to do in the house was lifted from your back. You let out a content sigh as you walked towards your closet, opening the sliding doors, revealing some neatly folded and prepared on the shelves. You threw on the PJ’s and walked up to the bed, slowly sinking into it. That’s until you felt something hard in your back pocket of your PJ pants, you reach behind yourself and dug into the pocket, finding 25 cents,

“Oh, I should probably give this to Sophia…” You thought to yourself as you held the coin between your thumb and pointer finger, you got back out of the bed, walked out of your room towards the attic door, you open it noticing Sophia smiling mischievously as she made eye contact with you, “Hello wretch… it’s been awhile hasn’t it?,” she said as she takes your cheek, “Yes mistress… it has… I have something to give you…” you said as you blush, you placed your hand on top of hers, “It better be good wretch…” she said in her seductive voice, you pulled out the coin and raised it to her face, “I found some pocket change I wanted to save, since you keep everything safe mistress…” you said with pink cheeks, “Mhm… very good my wretch…” she spoke as she takes the coin, “Monique would be thrilled to see you saving…” she said as she squeezes your cheek, “You look so tired little wretch… shouldn’t you go to sleep? Hm?” She hummed as she stared into your eyes, “I just wanted to give you the coin my mistress…” you said as you smiled, feeling her warm hands on your face. “Very good wretch… now goodnight,” she said as she leaned in, giving you a kiss on the lips, leaving a faint print of black lipstick on your lips, cause you to blush and leave the attic with a stupid smile on your face. …

Barry Styles

It was the next day, and you completely forget to remove all the lipstick stains off your face. Your pillow was covered in different shades of lipstick. It was like someone ate an entire bag of skittles and threw up all over it, your eyes widened from the stains hoping they could come out, but for now you just walk to the bathroom to see your face, but before you even see Amir, Barry see’s you first, his mouth was agape from the colors on your face, you couldn't tell what his reaction was, it was like of wanting to laugh but also being in shock, “(Y/N), Those Color's look so good on you, but you’re going to get pimples if you don't remove those!” He exclaimed as he grabs your face, examining the different lip shades on you, but as Barry spoke you slowly zoned out on what he was saying, not because he was right in your face, but you just woke up and you needed a moment to think,

But honestly, what could you say? You're just that kissable. 💋

Masterlist

Masterlist 2 ⬅️

Rules

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[certainlysleepy]

Rainy Aches

Old high school injury that never healed right flares up when it rains.

Security guard!reader, established relationship, references to sex, not beta read

I did my best, but I wrote most of it at 4 am, apologies. Let me know if I need to add any warnings.

Word count: ~2300

You knew by the ache radiating through your leg when you woke up that it was going to be a rainy day. The groan that escaped when you were rolling out of bed made Miranda glance back at you from her closet.

“With sounds like that I’m beginning to wonder which of us is the older one.” She teased, holding two of your shirts, obviously debating between them.

You didn’t bother responding to her remark, opting to stretch, and you finally glance at the fully dressed woman.

“Why are you already ready?”

“Why are you not ready?”

You looked at the clock on the bedside table, noting it was an hour earlier than you usually woke, but Miranda handed you the chosen clothes and walked out of the room before you could complain or point out the time.

You were wiggling into your pants when Miranda opened the door and gave you a judgmental look. “Roy is here and I am leaving.”

“What’s the rush?” You asked, sounding like the twins when they would whine about needing to do homework.

“Darling, I run the top fashion magazine.”

That wasn’t really an answer, but it was as much as she would give you.

“I guard the woman that runs said magazine!” You practically hop behind Miranda, trying to slip your left shoe on without falling or getting too far from her.

You only remembered the ache when the car reached Elias Clarke, too busy trying to fix your belt and socks that twisted when you slipped your shoes on to notice on the ride.

Miranda wasn’t the type to carry medicine, and both of her assistants were too busy rushing around in a panic to ask about stealing an Advil or Tylenol. So you resigned yourself to suffering in silence for the day, but it should be fine. You’ve dealt with worse.

Most of the day had been rainy, continuously getting worse as time passed. It was a thunderstorm by the time the afternoon meeting started, with the rain practically hammering the windows, and Miranda, in her usual fashion, told everyone to get a grip because it was only drizzling.

The meeting started after a few claps of thunder, which Miranda stubbornly ignored.

The meeting seemed like all the other meetings you’ve attended. Someone said something stupid, Miranda publicly stated that the idea was stupid, and then it happened again. And again. And again. The meeting lasted so long the storm calmed for a while then intensified before it was halfway done. At this point it’s redundant, and you completely understood Miranda’s near constant irritation with her designers.

You started the meeting standing near Miranda’s chair, but as time passed, you slowly tried to shift your weight off your aching leg. When that didn’t work, you tried to loosen the limb up with, what you thought were, small unnoticeable movements, but the sharp eyed chief editor noticed every shift.

“Be still.” She mutters while a designer was trying to pitch an idea, making you freeze in embarrassment. You knew she would practically annihilate anyone who caused a distraction during a meeting, and her whispered command was an example of the preferential treatment she often gave you. Small and subtle, but the observant people who knew her well noticed almost immediately, as seen by the raised eyebrow Nigel shot you when everyone filed out of the room.

She stopped your escape with a light tug of your jacket sleeve. “Why have you decided to turn into a perpetual motion machine during the meeting?”

“Just trying to stay warm.” You lie, trying to get out of this conversation.

“This entire building has heating, so either find a better lie or you can tell me the truth.” You were never able to lie to Miranda. A simple look from her always had you coughing up the truth, so you just sighed.

“My leg was getting stiff.” She kept her eyes locked on you, prompting you to speak again with a shrug. “It aches. I guess I’m getting old.”

Her eyes narrowed at your poor attempt at a joke, and you can see her thinking.

“Why does your leg hurt? You didn’t do anything that would strain it did you?” Your cheeks warm at her words, knowing she was referring to your shared activities last night.

“Ah no- that wasn’t-” you stutter trying to stop her line of questions before she got the wrong idea. “It wasn’t that. My leg does this anytime the temperature drops or the weather changes. It’s just an old high school injury, and it usually goes away with an over-the-counter pain medication.” You explain before tilting your head in confusion, vaguely reminding Miranda of a confused puppy. “Wait… Mira, you don’t have anything like this? Aches? Pains?”

“Is that a commentary on my age?” Her gaze sharpened into a glare, making you verbally back pedal.

“No! I just thought it was really common. I figured every… adult… has something like this.”

“Obviously not.” Miranda said, ignoring your pause. “I’d assume people who dabbled in idiocy like boxing and whatever fighting you do are more likely to have such issues.”

“It’s martial arts, and I guess you’re right.” You looked at the ceiling, thinking about the injuries you collected from your adventures in your early childhood. Miranda knew almost all of them and their origin stories due to your tendency to chatter when you have a few glasses of wine in your system.

“Yes, how novel. Me being correct.” She deadpanned, pulling a grin from you as you leaned against the wall. “Now, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t think it would get that bad, and you seemed busy.”

“So, you decided it would be better to stand there for over 3 hours, fidgeting, while in pain?” She was not impressed.

“It wasn’t aching last night, so I figured it would be okay…”

“Did you think that you may have been a bit distracted last night? You didn’t seem very focused on your leg to me.” Despite her allusion to activities that were not workplace appropriate, she maintained her glare, making you feel a bit awkward.

“You’re right.” You lightly knock your head against the wall you were leaning against, making Miranda huff.

“Enough of that. You’re obviously damaged enough, no need to add a concussion.” She gently pulls you away from the wall, not letting you tell her ‘that’s not how it works’. Her hand falls from your wrist as she reaches the door, pulling it open far enough for you to both walk through, and you miss the contact.

The walk to her office was silent, and you noticed Miranda slightly slow her pace when she glances back at you. She notices you favoring one leg and shook her head, disappointed about not noticing your discomfort earlier. The groan that she believed to be your usual morning dramatics began to eat at her, and she snapped at Andy to get some pain pills immediately, making the poor girl jump in fright and rummage in her desk drawer.

You try to give the girl a silent apology as you follow Miranda into her office, but the girl was too absorbed in her search to notice. Miranda slides into her usual seat behind her desk, and glowers at you when you move to stand beside her.

“Couch.” You stare at her, confused by the noun she was obviously using as a command.

“What?” Your lost look made Miranda stand up and practically stalk up to you.

“Sit on the couch.” She says irritated, spinning you around by the shoulders, quickly becoming gentler when she feels the tension in your body. Her hands stay on you until she practically walks you to the couch, and she frowns at the face you make when you sit.

You thought you did a good job of keeping your pain from her, making sure you stood perfectly straight and hold any groans or complaints, but she definitely noticed.

“How hard is it to find a pill?” She muttered, wondering if she needed a new second assistant.

“What?” You questioned, not catching what she said only noticing her increasing irritation. “Need me to-” “Just sit there and be quite.” She cut you off, moving to question her assistants, possibly find some new assistants, when the door swung open, revealing a slightly frazzled Andy.

Miranda grabbed the bottle of Advil and frowned. “Do you expect her to take it without a drink?”

“Of course not, Miranda.” Andy handed her a bottle of water with a practiced smile. “Is there anything else you need?”

“That’s all.” Miranda impatiently shooed her away.

“Thanks Andy.” You smile from the couch, and Andy sent you a friendly grin before slipping out of the office.

“Why are you thanking her? She was doing her job.” The white-haired woman drawled as she handed you the water and pill bottle.

“It isn’t her job to get me some medicine.”

“It is if I tell her.” You don’t have a rebuttal, so you take two pills with an exasperated smile. Miranda leaned against the arm of the couch, staring at you, and you wondered if this is how an antelope felt when making eye contact with a stalking lioness.

‘Well, she does bite.’ An amused huff of air escapes you at your thoughts.

“Would you like to share what’s so funny with the room?” Miranda’s tone was flat, but you could tell she wasn’t truly irritated.

“Can you take a moment to sit beside me?” You pat the space next to you. The older woman rolls her eyes but sits. “Good, I was starting to get a little anxious with you looming over me like that.” You chuckle and gently take her hand, admiring them as she glares at you for the umpteenth time.

She quietly sat with you for a while, letting you trace patterns on her palm, but the workday wasn’t over. There were many things that needed her attention, and she wanted to get home as soon as possible.

While she was staying in the office, she made you stay on the couch. She almost forced you to stay sitting when she needed to leave the office, but you argued that following and protecting her was your job, pivoting to how your leg didn’t hurt as much and how moving would make it feel better when your original argument didn’t work.

Miranda eventually let you follow her, but she did her best to keep you comfortable without making it obvious, walking at a normal pace instead of her usual brisk march around the building. You noticed her actions, and you tried to hide your dopey smile every time she grabbed you, pretending to remove some invisible lint when she was actually trying to figure out if you were in pain or needed to sit.

The workday ended earlier than normal. Miranda said it’s because she came in early, but you knew she was just leaving early because of you.

If Roy thought the early departure was odd, he didn’t say anything, nodding when you both got into the car. His eyes catching how Miranda’s hands hovered near you as you shuffled into the backseat, and how they only dropped when you were seated.

“You should’ve told me.” Miranda sighed after a few minutes of silence, and you realized that this situation truly bothered her.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal, but I will tell you next time.” You promised. “I appreciate you taking care of me.”

She gave you a faint nod, and you saw her relax in her seat.

When you got home, you spent the evening relaxing, with her treating you carefully, refusing to let you get up and do anything. She wouldn’t even lean into you like she usually did while looking over ‘The Book’. Her silent worry was uncharacteristic and touching, but you didn’t want her to be like this every time this happened.

“My leg is sore, not broken darling. I’m used to dealing with it, so you don’t need to treat me like glass.” You smile, pulling Miranda closer, hoping to kiss her, but she pauses a few inches from your face.

“Tell me when it happens again.” Her words are soft, but they held an undeniable command.

“Yes dear, I won’t keep it to myself.” You promise and try to connect your lips, but she leans back slightly.

“You don’t need to deal with it.” She pecks your lips then retreats to her side of the bed, making you frown at her. You know she’s still worried about aggravating your injury, but you’ve decided that you needed her attention, now.

You pluck the papers out of her hands, ignoring her scolding as you put them on the bedside table. You turn back to her, smiling at her now confused face.

“What are you doing?” She questions, blue eyes following your movements as you slink closer to her. Pupils growing as you place a hand on each side of her head, trapping her between you and the mattress.

“I’m trying to seduce you, my dear.” You mutter placing kisses along her neck, smiling when she grips your forearm. “Is it working?”

She says your name, trying to sound disapproving, but it comes out breathless.

“We can stop,” you say leaning back to look into her eyes. “But, if you’re only worried about my health or leg, please don’t.”

She holds your stare for a while before sighing in defeat. “You better not complain about being sore tomorrow.” Her tone wasn’t as sharp as her words were, and you shake your head in amusement.

“A little exercise might do me some good. Help stretch it out ya know?”