âŻâŻÍÍâĽď¸Ěź I. INTRODUCTION ︜ŕžŕ˝˛â¤ď¸
hi iâm alie, 22. she/her. pansexual and a virgo. i love reading storiesâi love being able to live inside one. iâm a playwright and a screenwriter so writing for stage and film are the only thing iâve ever known. i wanted to start writing fanfics because there arenât much of a reader insert to some of the fandoms iâm currently in. iâm new with this type of thing, i usually just read and reblog so please bear with me. huge fan of meryl streep, tom hiddleston, sebastian stan. i also like bts, sitcoms, and anime.
you can also find me on ao3
REQUESTS || OPEN
âŻâŻÍÍâĽď¸Ěź II. RULES ︜ŕžŕ˝˛â¤ď¸
â right now, i will only write for a meryl streep character (full list below) x fem!reader. (you could persuade me to write a gn!reader, iâll try emphasis on try but i wonât write for a male!reader, sorry!)
â iâll only write for whatever ask (prompts, imagines, full fics, others) i find very compelling and please be kind, this is a first time for me. iâll try to accommodate everyone but if i just canât write it, i wonât do it.
â iâm open to suggestions and criticism through my inbox, but please be objective. my inbox is open and i would love to have a chat with you.
âŻâŻÍÍâĽď¸Ěź III. WHO I WRITE FOR ︜ŕžŕ˝˛â¤ď¸ă
CHARACTERS
THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA
â MIRANDA PRIESTLY
THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY
â FRANCESCA ROBINSON
SOPHIEâS CHOICE
â SOPHIE ZAWISTOWSKI
SHE-DEVIL
â MARY FISHER
DEATH BECOMES HER
â MADELINE ASHTON
THE HOURS
â CLARISSA VAUGHN
OUT OF AFRICA
â KAREN BLIXEN
â FELICITY
THE FRENCH LIEUTENANTâS WOMAN
â SARAH
â ANNA
MAMMA MIA!
â DONNA SHERIDAN
THE PROM
â DEE DEE ALLEN
THE POST
â KAY GRAHAM
ITâS COMPLICATED
â JANE ADLER
DOUBT
â SISTER ALOYSIUS BEAUVIER
HOPE SPRINGS
â KAY
THE RIVER WILD
â GAIL HARTMAN
POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE
â SUZANNE VALE
FALLING IN LOVE
â MOLLY GILMORE
THE SEDUCTION OF JOE TYNAN
â KAREN TRAYNOR
KRAMER VS. KRAMER
â JOANNA KRAMER
PAIRINGS
i will mostly write for x reader, however i will be open to write for the following ships:
sorry will post the next chapter by next week, iâve just been busy with work these past couple of days but i promise iâll be back with more soon!!!
cast opposite your lifelong idol in a gritty new political drama, you quickly realize that her commanding presence is even more overwhelming in person. and the catch? you're playing her love interest. now, the line between acting and reality is blurring faster than you can keep up with.
tags | actors au, age difference, angst, fluff, hollywood au, slow burn, sexuality crisis, internalized homophobia, slow burn, pining, actress x actress, eventual smut
series masterlist | main masterlist
âMiranda Priestly to star in a Netflix limited series with new rising actress as her love interestâÂ
You never thought that seeing your name plastered on the news alongside your longtime idol, Miranda Priestly would ever happen in real life.Â
Youâve always dreamed of days like this. After some back and forth with your agent and the casting director, itâs finally official. Youâre going to star in a series with the greatest actress of all time, an actress youâve consistently admired ever since you were a teenager.Â
While you can relish this moment right now, youâve actually been warned by an actor youâve previously worked with that working with Miranda Priestly can be pretty hellish. Despite her wonderful talent, numerous awards, and incredible body of work, she can be quite mean, difficult, and sometimes cruel. Especially when a love interest is involved.
âSending you thoughts and prayers, youâll need it.' Receiving a text attached with the news of your new series, from a friend and fellow actress Emily Charlton is one you need right now, as you walk through the studioâs conference for an initial meeting with the creative team. You left her on read, reminding yourself to update her after the meeting.Â
As you step inside the room, youâre met with your agent sitting on the far edge of the room, the writers beside her and the highly sought after director Nigel Kipling, laughing gracefully beside him is none other than, Miranda Priestly.Â
Itâs been known that Nigel Kipling and Miranda Priestly have been working for more than 25 years. They started working for the first time in Sylvieâs Option, an adaptation of a famous novel in the 80s that launched Mirandaâs career to new heights; they have never stopped working since. Itâs real when people say that directors have their muses, Nigel has Miranda.Â
âAh! The woman of the hour. Lovely to finally meet you, dearâ Nigel kisses your cheeks as you reach the end of the table.Â
âItâs nice to finally meet you, Mr. Kiplingâ Shaking Nigelâs hand, your eyes darted towards Miranda for a brief second. Are your hands shaking right now? They're wet! Oh my god, this is so embarrassing you shouldâve wiped your hands before handing it to Nigel.Â
âOh please, Nigelâs fine.â He shrugged. âMiranda, I would like you to meet our dearest, Elizabeth.â Nigel introduced you as the character you will eventually portray to the woman, who has made you dream of pursuing this line of work.Â
âIâm deeply honored and looking forward to work with you, Ms. Priestlyâ You extend your hand towards Miranda who is now eyeing your sneakers,âshouldâve worn heels just like her, not very classy of youâyour black leggings, and your cream hoodieâmy god, why did you dress like youâre going to a gym?
But to be fair you were only informed 15 minutes before walking into the building that you would be meeting Miranda Priestly today. Your agentâAndy, said that Miranda was in the area and wanted to drop by so she could meet the actress who would play Elizabeth.Â
When Mirandaâs gaze finally lands on your face, she nods. âShe looks just like what I imagined.â She glanced at Nigel, sharing a knowing look and shrugged. Miranda looks at your hand, then your face. âThatâs all.â She picks up her purse and brushes past you as she leaves the room.Â
Stunned, you retract your hand too embarrassed to make eye contact with Nigel you wiped your hands on your leggings. âWelcome to the family.â Nigel says, taking you by your shoulders as you sit across the table facing the writers. âWeâre so impressed by your previous performance in Encounter that IÂ got so excited to learn that you would be auditioning for the role.â The writers proceeded to tell you the details of wanting to cast you for this project.Â
Youâre still having a hard time to process that interaction with Miranda Priestly. So, you tried to listen and take mental notes of what the creatives are saying although much of it comes as a blur as you tried to remember the feeling of standing face to face with Miranda a few minutes ago.Â
You were in a room with Miranda Priestly. She knows your name, and you were personally approved by her to star as her lover in a series. You will get to work with her for months. You get to kiss her and make out with her but thatâs a problem for later.Â
As far as you know, this would be a first time for Miranda. In her whole career, every actorâs dream is having her as their leading lady. Sheâs become a lover, wife, mother, mistressâshe has played every single role meant for a woman, aside from this one. As you continue to wonder what made her accept this project, Andy thanked the people around you and urged you to stand up with her.Â
Offering your hand to each and every person in the room you say your thanks and bid everyone goodbye. Nigel catches you by the arm before you leave the room.Â
âI am excited to work with you and youâre gonna give me another Oscar.â You laugh but Nigel stays serious.Â
You stutter a response âOhâtotally!âÂ
âGood.â Nigel smiles, planting a kiss on your cheek. âSee you soon, dear.â as he exits the room before you, leaving you stunned.Â
Did you just promise that you would give 3-time Oscar winner Nigel Kipling another trophy? Talk about pressure.Â
Miranda Priestly has nothing to prove. She has already cemented herself as a renowned actress. She has continuously given studios hundred millions, from her box office hits. Sheâs living a peaceful yet busy life. She could very much retire and still have the greatest career one could ever dream of but she just loves her job. So, yes she has nothing more to prove.Â
But what really made her agree to do this?Â
Some people think acting is easy, you just have to memorize some dialogue, cry on cue, make a fool of yourself for a bunch of people, and thatâs it. What most people donât realize is that itâs not just acting, itâs trying to embody a whole new personality with very limited information from a text that came from someoneâs imagination.Â
Acting is using yourself as a vessel to tell someone elseâs story. Itâs trying to escape from a reality where you can be everything and nothing all at once. For Miranda Priestly, acting is her freedom. A freedom to explore herself and other peopleâa freedom to express herself however she chooses. Â
That being said, Miranda is not a homosexual. She has 2 beautiful children, and has been in a very public and messy divorce with the father of her children, a fellow actor she worked with when she was younger and naive.Â
Since then, sheâs been a constant feast for the tabloids every time she works with an actor who tries to be cozy with her. But she never really gives too much thought about dating, while she do try to date casually she finds it hard when men her age are notorious for wanting to fuck fresh actresses too young to be their daughters, or when younger actors still have some issues to resolve with their mothers.Â
Oh, did she mention she has a thing for actors?Â
At nine past five in the middle of the humid summer evening during her vacation with her daughters, she receives a call from her long time pal, Nigel.Â
Limited series. Political drama. Lesbian love affair. Â
Miranda loves to challenge herself. Saying yes to a pitch by his friend was easy but staying up late and watching lesbian pornography in the quiet of the night is quite interesting?Â
Doing research is a process of becoming an effective actor. She wasnât even given a script yet. Itâs a process Miranda thoroughly enjoys, itâs one of the reasons that makes her what she is today.Â
Sheâs aware that there are far more identities across the gender spectrum, while sheâs less educated about that area, her loyal fan base are usually composed by gay men and the likes or so her agent says and she respects thatâthem.Â
But what she is far more educated on is raw, undeniable talent.
When Nigel had first sent over the audition tapes for the role of Elizabeth, Miranda had watched them, a glass of Bordeaux resting against her palm, fully prepared to be disappointed. Hollywood is currently crawling with influencers who have millions of social media followers with the emotional depth of a teaspoon. But then, you showed up.
There was a deep vulnerability in your eyes, a yearning hunger that translated beautifully on screen. It was exactly what Elizabeth neededâsomeone who could stand alongside Katherine, a ruthless, veteran Senator, and not immediately turn to ash.
So, when she had finally met you in that stuffy conference room, she had expected to see that same fire. Instead, she was met by a shaky, wide-eyed girl who appeared to have just staggered out of a study hall and was drowning in a cream sweatshirt and leggings. Miranda had been annoyed for a second.
But then she saw your hands shaking. When you stared at her, she could see the complete awe and fear in your eyes.
âSheâs alright,â Miranda thought to herself as she stepped into her awaiting town car that afternoon. The dynamic was already there. The intimidation, the power imbalance, the absolute devotion. Everything was completely flexible, all she had to do was shape it.
series summary | cast opposite your lifelong idol in a gritty new political drama, you quickly realize that her commanding presence is even more overwhelming in person. and the catch? you're playing her love interest. now, the line between acting and reality is blurring faster than you can keep up with.
warnings! | actors au, age difference, angst, fluff, hollywood au, slow burn, sexuality crisis, internalized homophobia, slow burn, pining, actress x actress, eventual smut
Summer in Kalokairi have never been busier. It has been 2 years since this little villa has been put on the spotlight with the help of Sophieâs boyfriend, Sky in an effort to draw travelers from around the globe.
âSky is putting me on the lineâ Donna says to her long time pals when they arrived on the villa to participate in her daughterâs wedding.
âOnlineâ Sky emphasized.
Speaking of putting Donna on the line, Tanya has gifted her a brand new iPhone on her 45th birthday and despite her objections, Rosie also insisted on helping Donna sign up for Match.com in hopes of finding her the right man.
So, when she âaccidentallyâ matched with user YoursTruly00 who is Adventurous and Traveling the World looking for connections :) located within 10 feet!?
Donna almost lost grip of her mug, still halfway done after finishing a call earlier with her daughter somewhere Europe as she and Sky plan to travel the world.
She looks closely at the person on her screen, taking off her glasses as if she could see a little more clearly.
The fact that she is seeing a young woman looking like sheâs in her early to mid-20s who matched with her is undeniable.
Donna shrugged; Tanya and Rosie must have made a mistake when they set up her dating preferences allowing her to be paired not only with men, but with women as well.
It's not that she doesn't want to actively participate in dating. Ever since she found out that she was expecting Sophie, Donna has stopped putting herself out there and focused on trying to raise her daughter, and she just has absolutely no time for this. Especially in the midst of the villa's summer frenzy at the moment.
Donnaâs phone pinged just as she was getting ready to welcome new guests and bid farewell to the tourists departing this villa.
New Message from YoursTruly00
Hello! I checked into Room 202 yesterday; I'm not sure whether you remember me. I take it that you were the one tending the garden outside reception? I was just wondering if you could come to my room. I'm having a little situation here :)
Donna's heart leaped; was she being hit onâby a woman?
She remembered this specific guest, how could she not when you arrived looking like you were sunset and sunrise combined in human form halo forming around you carrying two enormous bags that were nearly as large as you, and attempting to reserve a room for three weeks.
You also gave her this beautifully crafted wooden memento (you bought too many) from the most recent island you visited, which now rests on her mantle.
âCool! Love your piercings.â Your hand hovers over her ears. âAnyway, nice meeting you. See you around.â Flashing her a bright smile, leaving Donna a little bit short of airâitâs probably the heat.
Donna didnât know how to respond to a specific request like that. She has never been with a woman before and she never intended to try and be with a woman at her age now.
Not that sheâs not not thinking about it, itâs just thatâshe has a daughter! Sheâs only been with three men her whole life and that it never crossed her mind that this would happen to her right now.
She doesnât know what to do. Maybe when she comes up she would have to be honest and that it was her friends who signed her up and that she has to turn her down. She has to, right?
But what if YoursTruly00 was a little too persuasive? Maybe Donna wouldnât be able to refuse such temptation. She can be easily persuaded especially when faced with situations like thisâdefinitely not the first time and Sophie is the living breathing piece of evidence.
Okay enough, Donna will come up and politely turn you down and try to explain that she have a daughter. But what if you would be more interested in the idea of having sexual relations with a mother? Is that your thing? Is that why you matched with her?
Her thoughts were cut short when another loud ping comes through.
New message from YoursTruly00
Iâm in the bathroom, doorâs open. You can just let yourself in :)
+18, implied semi-smut, attempt at humor, mention of someoneâs death, drabble
âFuck m-mhmâ Your protests cut off as Mirandaâs lips crash into yours, the two of you stumbling over your unmade bed while you toss aside the last piece of her clothing.
Your hands roam over the smooth plane of her back when a loud ring slices through the room.
Miranda doesnât stopâshe never doesâher mouth trailing down your neck as her hand finds yours, guiding it to the curve of her ribs. Another ring cuts through.
âWill somebody answer the goddamn phone?â Miranda pants against your ear. Her irritation evident as the shrill ringing continues from someoneâs phone that was tossed somewhere on the ground along with the rest of your clothes in your rush to get your hands on each other.
âIâll get it.â You pull away reluctantly, leaving a sweet peck on the corner of Mirandaâs lips.
She falls back against your sheets, eyeing your naked form as you sift through the mess of clothes scattered across the floor.
âSomeoneâs better be deadâ Miranda mutters, âor else Iâll have to do it myself.â Miranda grumbles, completely annoyed over the fact that someoneâs phone keeps blowing up on the night where the both of you should be enjoying your time together.
It has been two weeks since youâve had each other like this aloneand uninterrupted.
Between Mirandaâs busy schedule as the Editor-in-Chief of Runway and your recent promotion to Assistant Creative Director, time together has been a luxury; and the fact that you had to keep your relationship a secret. You didnât want to add more noise to the scandal as Miranda finalizes her divorce. Youâve done a great job at hiding it well.
Nobody knows.
Well, no one except Nigel and nothing gets past him.
Perhaps, the longing look you give Miranda as she wraps up her brief meeting with your superior is not as unnoticeable as it seemed.
âYou look like a starving calf, do you need your motherâs milk?â He points out your metaphorically hanging jaw. âHereâs some water, that milk would be as fine as the sand in sahara.â
The look he gave you made your hands tremble as you took the glass of water he offered âPlease donât tell anyone.â You plead.
You never told Miranda about that encounter.
Which is why you were completely thrown off guard one night when Nigel dropped by to your appartment, unannounced.
âNeed to speak with Miranda,â he said.
And thenâ
âAh. There you are.â
Miranda didnât even blink.
You were still processing how he knew and why Miranda is so calm about it. In the end you just accepted the fact that, Nigel knows and Miranda does not care.
âIf I hear that phone ring one more timeââ Miranda snaps, fisting your sheets.
You finally find it, half hidden beneath the black dress she wore tonight.
âItâs yoursâ you confirmed with her.
Miranda exhales sharply âAnswer it.â
Startled by her response you stutter âAre you sure?â
Her cold and impatient glare meet yours, âDid I stutter? Quickly. Now, come back here.â Then softer, âI need youâ she pats the spot next to her.
You stand up as you try to gather the courage to answer the call. You padded towards the bed as your thumb hovers over the screen.
âItâs Andyâ you said.
Miranda frowns âWho?â
âYour new Emilyâ. You sat on the bed and answered the call.
âHello?â You greeted
âHiâhello, Miranda!â Andyâs voice come through rushed and breathless.
You were about to correct her when you felt Mirandaâs arm snake around your waist, as she drops featherlight kisses on your shoulder.
You manage to stutter a weak âY-yes?â
âListen, Emily told me to call you to deliver the news.â Andy says taking quick breaths in between
âWhat is it?â Your breath shudders as you felt Mirandaâs hands running up and down your bare skin.
Andy took a deep breath before dropping the bomb, Mirandaâs hand stilled against your navel.
pairing | hotelier!miranda priestly x single mom!reader
tags | fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap
hotelier!miranda priestly, whoâs unable to conceive a child of her own leading to two divorces, has already made peace with the fact that sheâs going to spend her life all alone while she desperately tries to keep her crumbling hotel from falling apart. but when she crosses paths with a struggling single mom!reader determined to survive for her and her daughter, an unexpected connection begins to challenge everything miranda thought her life would be.
unwritten (blurring the lines)
pairing | miranda priestly x fem!reader
tags | actors au, age difference, angst, fluff, hollywood au, slow burn, sexuality crisis, internalized homophobia, slow burn, pining, actress x actress, eventual smut
cast opposite your lifelong idol in a gritty new political drama, you quickly realize that her commanding presence is even more overwhelming in person. and the catch? you're playing her love interest. now, the line between acting and reality is blurring faster than you can keep up with.
âŕłâ¤ď¸áŠá â .˳˳. more coming soon âŕłâ¤ď¸áŠá â .˳˳.
ONESHOTS
itâs not over (âtil itâs over) [1.1k words]
pairing | miranda priestly x reader
tags | angst, hurt no comfort
some conversations come too late, even when theyâre finally said.
âŕłâ¤ď¸áŠá â .˳˳. more coming soon âŕłâ¤ď¸áŠá â .˳˳.
DRABBLES
ŕ¨ËĚŁĚŁĚŁŕ§ MIRANDA PRIESTLY X READER ŕ¨ËĚŁĚŁĚŁŕ§
rest in peace [659 words]
ŕ¨ËĚŁĚŁĚŁŕ§ DONNA SHERIDAN X READER ŕ¨ËĚŁĚŁĚŁŕ§
honey, honey [720 words]
âŕłâ¤ď¸áŠá â .˳˳. more coming soon âŕłâ¤ď¸áŠá â .˳˳.
Summary: You slip into Mirandaâs office for one of your usual visits, confident everything is under control, until it isnât.
Word Count: 1,093
Tags: Implied smut, fluff
The office was abuzz. Andy only picked up on it after an hour of overheard conversations where no one would directly tell her what was going on. A designer was coming. That much she was able to make out pretty quickly. Someone from Paris, to see Miranda. Andy didnât hear a name, or recognize it if she did, but apparently she was a big deal.
Everyone seemed to be on high alert, waiting for her arrival. The word âlunchâ kept being thrown around. She kept trying to ask any one of the thousand questions she had, but no one seemed to have time to answer them, if they even let her speak at all. Fine, so be it.
You were all too familiar with the routine. You were set up in the finest hotel âwhichever Miranda was least dissatisfied with at the momentâ then you arrived at Runway at precisely eleven oâclock the morning after you landed in New York, you took the elevator up to her floor and walked through and right into her office, where the two of you would blissfully be left alone for as long as she deemed fit.
Though youâd met her at Paris Fashion Week, it wasnât until three months later when she summoned you to New York that your arrangement with her had begun, and it was just that, an arrangement. Miranda didnât do relationships, but that was how you, and practically anyone else, would define what the two of you had. Regardless what it was, you came when she called every time.
And so it was this time as well. You were already in the elevator, on the way up, and the same feeling coursed through you just like it had every time before; thrill, anticipation and pride all rolled into one. Youâd ensnared the ice queen of the fashion world, and every time you saw her, you fell a little more in love.
As you weaved through the office to her door, you passed by Nigel, glasses perched low on his nose, scanning a rack of garments, though he didnât miss your entrance. âMiranda has already asked as to your whereabouts twice.â
âIâm on time,â you told him, and you both knew it to be true. You sighed. âAt least itâs good to know Iâm missed.â
Nigel hummed in agreement and you carried on, opening the door to Mirandaâs office and letting yourself in. Miranda didnât look up right away, but when she did, it was to look at the clock, as if hoping to catch you being late just to scold you.
âYouâre early,â she remarked, at last casting her gaze to you over the frames of her glasses.
âBeing on time is late. It was you who taught me that.â
The softest hint of a smile raised the corner of her lip and she stood. âCome here, darling. I have missed you.â
You loved the way Miranda broke her own rules for you. She let her voice soften, those professional walls of hers came down, and she embraced you with a warmth she wouldnât let be known outside of this space.
When she released you from her arms, she looked towards the door. âDoorâs locked,â she questioned.
âOf course it is,â you replied. It wasnât like you were new here.
âI didnât think I heard it click,â she argued.
âMiranda,â you breathed, like a quiet exasperation was escaping your lips.
âAlright,â she relented, her hand coming to your wrist, lingering just long enough to feel your pulse jump beneath her fingers. Then she pulled you towards the couch, the one sheâd had installed just for this purpose.
You undressed her carefully, knowing each piece of clothing had been meticulously selected for today, and no doubt all expensive brand names. Same applied to the black lace lingerie sheâd chosen this time. You were less careful with your own clothes, which were also nice, but not nearly as treasured as the pieces that made up Mirandaâs wardrobe.
The couch pulled out easily, allowing enough room for the both of you, and you disappeared with Miranda under the blanket that usually hung over the back. You fell into your usual pattern of worshipping Mirandaâs body like it may be the last time you get the chance to.
Your appointments were the only time Miranda didnât stick to her rigid schedule. You were her indulgence, and she would take as long as she pleased with you, and it was everyone elseâs problem to rearrange her schedule to accommodate it.
And as you lay together afterward, Miranda on her back, you with your arm draped over her, you realized this may be your favorite part. Her hair was slightly mussed, but she didnât move to fix it. Her lipstick would need to be reapplied, as it was smeared across your skin, but she was glorious like this.
âI could move here,â you said, not for the first time. âNew York is just as suitable for fashion as Paris.â
Mirandaâs eyes moved across your face. She appeared to be actually considering it this time. âYouâd uproot your life for me?â
âYouâre a part of my life. Iâd like for that part to be bigger. SoâŚyes, I would, if youâd have me.â
As you made your offer to her, the doorknob turned quietly, and the door creaked open, alerting you both but leaving you no time to save face as Andy slipped inside the office. âI know youâre expecting lunch, but you didnât place an order,â Andy was saying,
âI thought you said the door was locked,â Miranda hissed, before Andy had turned around.
âI thought it was.â
âMiranda? Oh my god!â Andy shielded her eyes and turned around, cracking her shin into one of the chairs by Mirandaâs desk. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
âOut, Andrea,â Miranda ordered.
âYes, sorry. Iâm going, Iâm going.â She nearly tripped on the way out and you buried your head in Mirandaâs shoulder to stifle your giggle.
âIâm going to fire that girl.â
âDonât,â you urged. âPoor thing was a deer in headlights. Clearly no one told her about our standing lunch dates.â You kissed Mirandaâs cheek in attempt to diffuse her outrage. It didnât completely quell it, but it would have to do for now. âNow, about what I said.â
âVery well. It wouldnât hurt to have you a little closer when the urge strikes.â
âHow gracious of you,â you teased. Then, on a more serious note, âIâll start planning the moment I get back.â
summary â some conversations come too late, even when theyâre finally said.
tags/warnings | angst, young!miranda, stephen x miranda mention, internalized homophobia, wlw, doomed yuri, pre-canon, hurt no comfort
a/n | i honestly donât know what this is, i wrote this with that scene in mind where mirandaddy looks around milan like sheâs almost lost everything (spoiler alert) hope you guys will like this. you can also read this in ao3.
masterlist
The cold breeze of December reflects the warmth of your hands against the heat packs inside your Givenchy winter coat. A generous gift from the woman with the coldest stare and the warmest smile. A woman youâre walking beside now, for a midnight stroll she insisted on.
âI didnât do it, did I?â Miranda asked.
You pondered for a second. âI donât know,â a careful lie slipping past your lips.
âDonât lie to me,â she pressed.
You let out a breath, almost amused. Youâre always caught off guard when she calls your bullshit. âI guess Iâm trying not to remember.â
Miranda followed, her gaze already locked with yours. Your name slipped from her lips, softer than before. âI apologizeââ
âPlease, Miranda, you donât have toâŚâ You didnât want to hear it. Not again.
âIâm sure you know why I had to, right?â she said. The weight of your silence was enough of an answer. âI had no other choice.â
âI know,â you nodded. âBut you donât really have to.â
After a moment, Miranda surrendered with a sigh âI knowâ
The two of you continued walking in silence. Not uncomfortableâjust familiar. You traced a path you knew too well, back to a place that holds more than a memory.
After eight long years.
âYou got the invitation?â Miranda asked, breaking the silence with the one question you hoped she wouldnât.
âI did,â you said. âCongratulations, by the way.â You paused. âSorry I wasnât able to come to your wedding. Something came up.â A lie youâve rehearsed too many times.
Miranda didnât question it.
âWhat do you think?â you asked instead. âAbout the baby.â
Miranda slowed her steps.
âWeâre all going to find out together this Sunday,â she said. âThatâs why everyoneâs here.â You watched Mirandaâs eyes glisten, talking about how excited she is to find out the gender of her children.
You nodded. âWhat do you think itâll be?â
She hesitated âThe woman carrying themâŚâ Miranda started, then paused. Her eyes flickered to yours.
âShe already knows.â
You felt something shatter. That small, quiet shift in your chest.
âWeâre having twins,â Miranda continued. âStephen and I⌠weâll find out everything this weekend.â
Twins.
âIâll be fine with whatever they turn out to be,â she added. âIâll love them all the same.â Miranda finished
All the same. Your mind wandered before you could stop it.
âFun.â You said. âIâm happy for youâ You forced a smile. And before she could look any closer, you turned and walked away.
You heard her call your name. Miranda never runs after anyone, why would she run after you?
âDarling!â Miranda was able to catch up with you but was surprised to see your face full of tears when she forced you to face her.
âWhy?â Miranda frowned, completely caught off guard.
You let out a shaky breath âIâm sorryâ
âWhat are you sorry for?â Miranda asked. Confused.
You tried to wipe your tears away with the palm of your hand, it didnât help.
âWhy?â You sniffed âWhy did you want to talk to me? Why now? Why did you send me all those invites knowing I will never come? Why plan everything at the same time you knew Iâd be here?â
âDarlingââ
âWhy!? So you couldââ you pushed âSo you could show me how well everything worked out for you?â You lashed out to Miranda, letting out all your frustrations and the questions that had formed the moment you saw her a week ago.
Miranda blinked, and didn't know how to reply. She realized she had been gripping your arm so hard, so she let go.
âDarlingâ You winced hearing your name from her lips after so long.
âIâm sorry.â Miranda sighed. âIâm really sorry. After our last time, I needed to end whatever we had. You know me and you know my family more than anyone. You shouldnât have expected that this is going to be something more and you know that. Just like I knew this wonât work out like it didnât, many times before.â Miranda searched for your eyes, overwhelmed by guilt she focused on your lips instead. âAnd you knew, you knew that they wanted me to have a family, wanted me to marry a man, and bear a child of my own.â Miranda heard you scoff the moment she let those words out.
âFuck youâ You laughed, creating a distance with the woman standing in front of you.
You inhaled âWell I guess I never really knew you, Miranda. I donât know you.â She finished.
âYou knew how much I had to sacrifice and what I needed to survive this part of my life,â Miranda argued âand that no longer includes you.â
You wanted to scream at her and curse her and tell her how much her words hurt you.
âWhat changedâŚâ You knew right away that youâd regret asking that question.
The silence that falls after is too deafening.
âDid you really love me?â You probed.
âYou and your questionsâ Miranda scoffed, because deep inside she knew this conversation would never go anywhere.
âNo, because I wanted to know. Did you really? Or was I another experiment?â
Your words stunned Miranda.
âI need you to answer me, Miranda.â
âFor fuckâs sake, I did. I loved you and I have loved you ever since. I loved you more than anyone. I had to stop myself from loving you because this is so wrong. Is that what you wanted to hear?â
âWhat makes you think this is wrong?â
Miranda didnât hesitate
âBecause youâre a womanâ
Her words hit harder than you expected.
âYouâre a woman and Iâm a woman. We knew from the start, this wasnât going to work out. But I tried and I did love youâ Miranda said.
You steadied yourself. âHave I not given enough of myself to you?â You asked.
âDarling, please. I said I loved you, I meant it. â She stepped closer, her hand instinctively reaching for your face. Her thumb brushing away your freezing tears.
Miranda softly uttered your name
âI do still love you.â She admitted, barely above a whisper.
âBut we both know itâs just not going to be the same. This has to end.â Miranda rests her forehead against your own.
âI loved you then, I love you still. And I always willâ
It sounded like a promise and it felt like an ending.
Even if you were hoping for a different outcome after this talk. You answered by kissing the corner of Mirandaâs lips, a silent smile, a silent form of understanding as you reached the end of everything between you. The closure the two of you needed long before.
A quiet goodbye, and this time you will never look back.
a/n: iâm not very proud of this lol hi guys! iâm sorry tidal waves is taking so long. i was having a hard time with starting that story but i promise iâll be updating it soon! and may tdwp2 bring more miranda x reader writers
iâll be posting multiple chapter next week for tidal waves and baby steps as iâm currently on vacation and working on few other miranda and meryl fics too lol i canât help it.
i will do my very best and serve you with what i got here!!! iâll be making a masterlist soon as well!!
series summary | hotelier!miranda priestly, whoâs unable to conceive a child of her own leading to two divorces, has already made peace with the fact that sheâs going to spend her life all alone while she desperately tries to keep her crumbling hotel from falling apart. but when she crosses paths with a struggling single mom!reader determined to survive for her and her daughter, an unexpected connection begins to challenge everything miranda thought her life would be.
warnings! | strangers to lovers, age difference, angst, fluff, slight ooc!miranda, soft!miranda, single mom!reader, romance, set in 2000s, found family, sexuality crisis, internalized homophobia, slow burn, pining, theyâre bad at communication, lesbian panic, (more tba)
a/n | this mamma mia reverse au has been on my mind for so long now and i was debating whether itâll be a donna or a miranda fic, but then here we go (again jk not really). thisâll be my first wlw fic (of the many meryl streep fanfics iâm currently developing) and english isnât my first language so please go easy on me. i wanted to post this so i wonât have anymore excuses to procrastinate. i hope some people would enjoy this <3 meryl streep is my gay awakening.
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 peopleâNigel, a junior editor, an unfortunate intern who has chosen the wrong shade of blackâand 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 arenât 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.
âIs it done?â 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.
âYes,â you say. âThe Paris itinerary is confirmed. The fittings are scheduled. The dinner withââ
âNot that.â Mirandaâs eyes flick to you, a quick slice, then away again, as if she cannot afford to look too long. âThe florist.â
Your stomach drops in a way that feels like muscle memory now. You work at Runway, you are perpetually dropping somethingâsleep, appetite, composure, pieces of yourself you didnât know you could lose.
âThe florist is confirmed,â you say. âPeonies. White. No lilies.â
âGood.â Mirandaâs gaze returns to her phone, the glow lighting her cheekbones. âAnd the cake?â
âVanilla bean. The bakery will deliver at noon. Iââ You swallow. âI also confirmed the seating chart with your⌠with the girlsâ preferences.â
Mirandaâs mouth tightens. Not annoyance. Something else. Something that almost looks like pain, except you know better than to name it.
âYou have a life outside of this,â 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. Mirandaâs hair is perfect. Mirandaâs coat is a masterpiece. Mirandaâs 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 wasnât there this morning.
âYes,â you answer, because she has asked, and you have learned never to let a question hang between you like a challenge. âItâs⌠itâs my anniversary weekend.â
âHm.â
That sound contains multitudes. You have heard it used for fashion shows and political scandals and once, memorably, for someoneâs attempt at humor. But you have never heard it used like this.
Like a bruise pressed carefully.
âYouâll be leaving early,â Miranda says.
You blink. âIââ
âIt wasnât a question,â she adds, and you almost laugh because of course it isnât. Nothing with Miranda is ever a question. âYou will leave at six. The car will take you home.â
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 didnât even try the handle.
âMiranda,â you begin, because you have trained yourself to speak before you think when it matters.
Her head turns slightly. âYes?â
Your throat tightens around words you do not want to exist.
I donât need the car.
I donât need you to notice.
I donât need you to look at me like that.
What comes out is, âThatâs⌠generous.â
Mirandaâs eyes move over youâyour lipstick, the pencil skirt you learned to walk in without wincing, the earrings that were âfineâ yesterday, which is Mirandaâs 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.
âDonât make a habit of taking kindness personally,â 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 donât realize youâve been humming until it stops.
âHey,â 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.
âI thought youâd be late,â he murmurs.
âI was going to be,â you confess, and you lean your forehead against his. âMiranda let me leave early.â
He makes a face at the name, an old joke between you. âThe dragon has a heart?â
âDonât,â you say, automatically, because even now, even here, you feel protective in a way that does not make sense. âSheâs⌠complicated.â
He laughs quietly. âSo are you.â
There are candles on the table, and the kind of pasta he makes when he wants to show off, and a bottle of wine youâve been saving for âa special occasionâ 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 stillâstillâyour phone lies on the counter like a loaded weapon.
You try not to look at it. You fail.
âYouâre watching it like itâs going to bite,â your husband observes, half amused, half concerned.
âItâs work,â you say.
âItâs always work.â
You shrug, and the motion feels defensive. âThatâs why they pay me.â
He reaches across the table and covers your hand with his. âThey pay you,â he repeats slowly, âto 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?â
You squeeze his fingers. âIâm good at it.â
âI know.â His smile softens. âI just want you to be good at being here, too.â
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 youâll move to something saner, something that doesnât 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. âIâm here.â
For a little while, it works.
At eight forty-two, your phone lights up.
You freeze.
Your husbandâs eyes flick to it, then back to you. âDonât,â he says gently. âItâs our night.â
Your throat aches. âIt could be urgent.â
He holds your gaze for a beat too long, then nods as if conceding a battle heâs been losing for months. âFine. Just⌠five minutes.â
You go to the counter. You donât 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.
Theyâre on my desk in the office. I can have someone bring them to your apartment if youâd 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. Itâs nine at night. You are in silk pajamas. There is wine in your glass and your husbandâs 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:
Donât 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.
âWell?â he asks.
You paste on a smile. You have learned how.
âNothing,â you say. âIt can wait.â
He exhales as if heâs been holding his breath. âGood.â
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.
âSheâs in a mood,â Emily murmurs, which is a redundant statement, but you understand her anyway. âShe asked where you were at seven. Seven.â
You swallow. âIâshe told me to enjoy my evening.â
Emilyâs laugh is sharp. âDid she now.â
You donât 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 Mirandaâs reputation.
You knock once on the office door. You hear the inevitable.
âCome in.â
You enter.
Miranda doesnât 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.
âHere,â you say.
Mirandaâs eyes lift.
For a moment, you are caught in the full weight of her attention, and it makes your lungs forget what theyâre supposed to do.
Her gaze is on you the way it was in the carâcareful, deliberate, like she is measuring the distance between what she wants and what she will allow herself.
âDid you enjoy your anniversary?â she asks.
It is the wrong question for this room.
You keep your face neutral. âYes.â
Mirandaâs mouth twitches, something like bitterness. âAnd youâre happy.â
Your pulse stutters. âYes.â
She leans back slightly, as if the word has struck her. Her fingers tap once on the desk. A tiny sound.
âYouâre very lucky,â Miranda says.
You donât 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 donât plan.
âI work hard,â you reply, because you are stupid when youâre nervous.
Mirandaâs eyes narrow, and something in her expression shifts. Not anger. Something more intimate.
âYou work hard,â she repeats softly, as if tasting it. âYes. You do.â
A beat of silence passes. The office around you continues to existâthe distant clack of heels, the murmur of phonesâbut 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 sheâs stepping into a photograph.
âI need you in Paris,â she says, staring out at the skyline.
Your stomach tightens. âOf course.â
âIt overlaps with yourââ She pauses, and you know she is choosing her words the way she chooses clothes. âWith personal commitments.â
You swallow. âI could reschedule.â
Mirandaâs head turns sharply, eyes catching you like a hook. âCan you.â
It isnât a question.
Itâs a dare.
Itâs 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 Mirandaâs âHmâ 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. âMirandaââ
She cuts you off. âYou will come to Paris.â
Your throat tightens. âMy husbandââ
The word lands between you like a slap.
Mirandaâs face does not change much. It doesnât 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.
âYour husband,â she echoes.
You force yourself to keep breathing. âWe have plans. Weââ You stop, because you donât know what youâre trying to defend. Your happiness? Your marriage? Your right to be a person outside of Runway?
Or the simple fact that you canât be what Miranda is asking for, even if she never asks it aloud.
Mirandaâs voice is low when she speaks again. âDo you love him?â
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. âYes.â
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 truthâthe 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. âThen you should go home,â she says.
You blink. âWhat?â
Miranda turns away, as if looking at you is suddenly too much. âYou should resign,â she says, like sheâs discussing the weather again. âYou are wasted here. You are⌠distracted.â
The words sting because they are wrong and right at the same time.
âIâm not distracted,â you say, voice sharper than you intend. âI do my job.â
Mirandaâs laugh is quiet, humorless. âYou do it well. That is not the issue.â
You step forward before you can stop yourself. âThen what is?â
Mirandaâs shoulders tense. For a moment you think she wonât answer. She has never had to. People donât ask Miranda what she feels. People ask what she wants.
When she finally turns, her eyes are bright in a way that feels dangerous.
âYou have a life,â she says, and the words come out like a confession ripped out of her throat. âA warm, happy little life that you return to. And every time you do, you leave something here.â
Her gaze drops again, to the chain around your neck. To the ring you donât wear at work because it catches on fabric and you learned, early, to keep your personal life from snagging on Runwayâs sharp edges.
âYou leave me,â 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.
âMiranda,â 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.
âYouâre dismissed,â 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.
âEnjoy your evening,â she says.
It is not permission.
It is surrender.
You pause.
âYou too,â 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 husbandâs open arms and warm laughter, you will feel the echo of Mirandaâs 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 wasnât the only one pining.
You were just the only one who got to go home to warmth.
would anyone be interested in a miranda priestly x wildy and sexually confused!reader
with one or all of the ff tropes: power imbalance, boss x secretary (although i am very much leaning towards a different au), secret relationships, age gaps, identity issues, very confusing feelings by the reader, sheâs my boss and sheâs so terrible and when she gently and firmly calls my name i canât help but think of how it would feel in between tiny whimpers when iâwait WHAT?? Who said that? with a sprinkle of miscommunication, miranda priestly attempts at flirting???, slow burn like REAL slow burn cause you know miranda priestly is married to a man, has two kids, and got dumped by her previous assistant/lover in pursuit of her own career and reader is really really confused why is there a knot in her stomach after booking a private dinner for miranda and andy? at your bossâs request. a smidge of violence where you slap a man and smash a paparazziâs camera to the ground for harassing miranda, you canât help it you just get overprotective of her sometimes (all the time. you got sued but mirandaâs got the best legal team.) dramatic confessions ofc, and emphasis on ANGST cause miranda cannot go through this again.
Sheâs not getting any younger but why do you have to be so adorably stupid, though itâs okay because she gets to see your brows turn into one as your frown reach the ground after being told to attend a spontaneous event with her even though you donât have to, it just calms her whenever youâre within eyesight.
anyone?? okay, just me then.
iâm also thinking that i would also like to write for other meryl streep characters x reader such as donna sheridan, sophie zawistowski, madeline ashton, joana kramer, clarissa vaughan, and others.
summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?
genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker đ, some historical inaccuracies, mentions of sex work
notes from the author: im aashi, and this is my first series on this app :p for anyone who would like to know, this does end with a happy ending. ty for reading!
masterlist | drabble | fanart
chapter index
01 ⸺ the debutante
you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)
02 ⸺ the aftermath
after an eventful first ball after your debut, you continue the season with thinly veiled vexation towards gojo. but fate is not on your side; you and gojo keep encountering each other, matching fire with fire (7.8k)
03 ⸺ the manor
you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remainsâcan you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)
04 ⸺ the game
satoru has some revelations about you. both you and satoru share some quite...happening days at the manor, including an eventful game of pall mall. (4.9k)
05 ⸺ the fall
gojo comes up with a strange yet tempting arrangement, but the accident that follows it may cause epiphanies for the both of you. (11.8k)
06 ⸺ the house party
you are bedridden, recovering from your wound, when gojo delivers season-changing news. the house party that follows buzzes with tension, and an unexpected arrival that sends ripples through the ton. (7.4k)
07 ⸺ the rebound
after the arrival of your dearest brother, you pursue a new angle to the season, one to prove that you, the diamond, will not be scorned. new opportunities with duke nanami arise and with it jealousy and bitterness fester in the ballroom. (6.8k)
08 ⸺ the lake
both you and gojo discover contradictory feelings lodged deep in your heart, and a confrontation (with an unexpected ally) leads to a rather....wet conclusion. (4.6k)
09 ⸺ the embers
sukuna takes you on an excurion into town at night, where you both meet a stranger that gives you illustrative insight into gojo. on the other hand, satoru has to suffer his best friend's most terrible plan as of date (10k)
10 ⸺ the art gallery
duke nanami suprises you with an inquiry, and the panic caused by it leads to an encounter with a very unexpected person (4.7k)
11 ⸺ the geto manor (soon!)
drabbles/headcanons
01 ⸺ gojo unable to wake up on time after a wild night (suggestive)
02 ⸺ avoiding gojo after getting your period (suggestive)
03 ⸺ gojo walking in on geto at a brothel (nsfw, not canon)
danse de la lune - the prince is in search for his future queen, or so itâs told. Ladies from around the land flock to the set ball. that is, all except for one (cinderella au)
lover, youâre on your own -Â gojo was being arranged to marry somebody else. somebody he didnât slightly care for. someone who wasnât you
his kiss, the riot -Â the king has been struck by never-ending grief when he found out about his wifeâs infidelity. he has her ordered to be killed, but afterward, he is no longer the same. every night he marries a woman, and every morning he has her killed. the endless cycle continues until the night youâre chosen to be his wife. instead of letting him ruin you, you tell him a story. you tell him a story that he just has to know the ending to. and so begins the story of one thousand and one arabian nights
only lovers left alive - when a disease turns the world into an apocalyptic landscape, you join a group in order to survive. you find yourself drawn to a certain blue-eyed man for no explainable reason. though the two of you have your own pasts to deal with, the two of you grow closer and closer together. after all, it seems as though youâre the only lovers left alive
our love is sunlight -Â being gojoâs wife was better than you could have imagined, too good perhaps. when you have doubts about being with him, gojo must simply show you that theyâre wrong
wanna be yours -Â you find yourself in a marriage that you never wanted in the first place. your husband seems to hate you and you begin to wonder if anything you used to think of him was even true. who would have though a marriage to gojo satoru would be so difficult?
wanna be mine? -Â the aftermath of you and your husbandâs arranged marriage, but the better side of it. gojo satoru just loves you so much, that heâs willing to bring down armies just for you (part two of wanna be yours)
burn for you - you have everything you could have asked for in life. a beautiful home in greenwhich, just far away from london so that you donât have to mingle with city life, but close enough to be surrounded by the ton. a library with all the books you could ask for and a friend you care for dearly. all except for the man of your dreams, who just so happens to be your best friends brother. worst of all, he only sees you as such. his sisters best friend. (bridgerton!au)
shameless - once childhood friends with the crown prince, you find yourself in a troubled situation when he calls for you to help him around with his daily duties as the king to be. he seems to have forgotten everything, forgotten who you even were. but as the palaceâs most loyal servant thereâs only so many things that you can tolerate, including the prince.
after all this time - six years ago, when they placed that sorting hat on your head, nobody expected for it to assign the muggleborn to the slytherin house, but it did. six years later, you find yourself as alone as the day you walked through those doors. little did you expect the prince of slytherin, the pureblood maniac himself, gojo satoru, to be the one to coincidentally fill your empty hours.
always - you try to make sense of everything after that night with gojo satori, the Slytherin prince, but as much as you try to run away from it, it seems to follow you more. but he has to hate you for it, right? that could be the only explanation for why he seeks you outâŚright? (part two of after all this time, 18+)
the arrangement - gojo satoru was a notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his marriage. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - heâs beginning to want you. (18+)
the arrangement, act two - life was going well. better than you could have ever imagined. the whirlwind marriage between you and gojo satoru that started as an arrangement blossomed into something sweeter and more tender after you both fell in love. but that storybook life youâve been living soon shatters when youâre told that a bitter king wants you two to separate so gojo could marry his daughter. either that, or he promises a war to follow. you live between selfishness and sacrifice as the fate of the kingdoms rests in your, and your husbandâs hands. (18+)
winner takes all, act one - every year, to make them pay for their uprising, a male and female tribute are selected from each district to fight to the death in the hunger games. this year, you have been chosen as the female tribute from district 11. you never expected to make an alliance with someone, much less with the capitolâs newest darling, gojo satoru. but it happens, making this yearâs games even more interesting. not only for the unlikely alliance, but for the fact that nobody couldâve predicted love to bloom between such unlikely tributes.
winner takes all, act two - the hunger games have begun, and now, survival is the only thing you care about. you have not only your life, but the young tribute from your district as well to worry about. a strange alliance with the capitol darling, gojo satoru, however, might come in handy. though you canât forget why youâre in this arena, and what ultimately must happen in the end. out of twenty-four tributes, only one can win.
the crush theorem - two years had passed since you first met gojo satoru, and it was two years of having an agonizingly one-sided crush on the white-haired genius. for the most part, you were okay with keeping it down and acting like the nights you spent fantasizing about what it would be like to be his were normal. you were fine keeping it hidden until something between the two of you shifts, and youâre left wondering if this crush you have on him is truly as delirious as you think. (18+)
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in love, i fall as your victim  - you see him a handful of times down by the river, washing off the bloodstains from his clothing and hands. you wonder to yourself how he could look so human in such a monstrous act. once he seeâs you he canât get you rid of his mind
forever yours  - sukuna is a loose flame and youâre his fuel
come back home - he promised heâd burn the world for you, but you didnât want him to do anything other than just come home to you
my dear - thereâs a multitude of names youâve been called. thereâs only one you prefer