#the devil wears prada x reader

[fel-09]

Male! Miranda priestlyx reader

Words 1.8к

Miranda in fanfics is called -miran

At work for the devil Part 1

Part 2?

Being late was always a source of discomfort, but it became infinitely worse when your career hung in the balance. And nothing could feel more humiliating than arriving at work without having the time to dress properly, to present yourself in the polished, ideal manner expected by those who judged the outer world by what it wore.

One could reassure themselves that it wasn’t the end of the world, but this wasn’t the case when your entire job revolved around the appearance of others, when you were expected to be the very definition of refinement and grace. The situation grew even more dire when your taxi, the last thread of hope to reach the office on time, became an unwilling part of the city's stagnant traffic, merging with a sea of unmoving cars. The idle hum of the engine was maddening, each passing second a reminder of your impending failure.

You could feel your patience thinning, the weight of stress pressing in from all sides. With a frustrated tug at your hair, you finally made up your mind — there was no time left to wait.

“I’ll get out here, I’m late,” you told the driver, thrusting a few dollars into his hand as though they could pay for the disaster unfolding.

Grabbing your belongings, you scrambled out of the car, the weight of your bag pulling you down as you stumbled down the sidewalk. You barely managed to keep your footing, each step a battle against gravity as your mind buzzed with anxiety, the tension in your chest a constant reminder that this was not the first stressful moment of the day.

You practically burst through the office doors, the sound of them slamming against the wall echoing throughout the room. Taking a quick breath, you tried to smooth your hair, tucking the stray strands behind your ear. As you lifted your eyes, the room fell into a strange, unsettling silence. The hum of office work died down, replaced by stares — confused, judgmental, even disapproving.

But amidst the sea of gazes, there was one that stood out.

Miran.

He sat at his desk, an epitome of perfection. His long, slightly unruly hair, the suit that hugged his frame as if it had been custom-made for him, and the scent of his cologne that subtly yet powerfully filled the air — all of him seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. A realm where perfection was not a goal, but a prerequisite.

His cold gaze fixed on you, as though peeling you apart with the sheer sharpness of his eyes. He did not even make an attempt to hide his judgment, the disdain he felt for your appearance practically radiating off of him. His look wasn’t one of surprise — it was one of disdain. A slow, deliberate sweep of his eyes over you, as though he were inspecting an object unworthy of his time.

"You…" he started, his voice cool and detached, as if he were trying to make sense of a bizarre puzzle. “You have some nerve, don’t you, to walk in here looking like that?”

His finger pointed in your direction, tracing the line of your outfit, and you felt the sting of his words settle deep within you, like ice freezing over your chest.

“Alright,” he continued, the faintest smirk curving his lips as he adjusted his glasses with a motion that exuded both superiority and disdain, “I was about to say something, but I’ll spare you the effort of trying to speak — close your mouth and get out. I’ll talk to you later.”

Your mouth hung open for a moment, your mind reeling, but before you could gather your thoughts, Miran had already turned back to his team, the conversation shifting effortlessly to fabrics and cuts. He ignored you entirely, as though your presence was not even worthy of a moment’s pause.

There was no fight left in you. With what little dignity you could muster, you turned on your heel and exited the room. Your breath was heavy, but you refused to let your emotions take control. Out in the hallway, you collapsed onto the couch, your head hanging in defeat as you stared at your hands, lost in a whirl of frustration and self-loathing.

Time passed. An hour. Another. The weight of the silence grew heavier with each passing minute, and the feeling of being forgotten took root deep inside your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was the passage of time or the tension in the air that was making you feel like a ghost, overlooked and unseen. But then, the door creaked open, and the assistant’s face appeared, her expression curt.

“You can go in now,” she said, her voice short and devoid of any empathy.

You stood, an unsettling mix of emotions churning in your stomach, your heart racing with irritation. The waiting had been unbearable. Why had you been forced to sit there, forgotten, as if you were invisible?

Stepping into the office, you kept your posture straight, trying to mask the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. The room was a stark contrast to the dimly lit hallway — vast and imposing, with high ceilings and towering windows that let in streams of cold, morning sunlight. Bookshelves lined the walls, brimming with volumes of knowledge and taste. The atmosphere was as immaculate as Miran himself, each object placed with meticulous care, as though it too reflected his unyielding standards.

He stood by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, gazing out at the city below. His figure was bathed in the light, a silhouette of calculated indifference. The moment you entered, you could feel the weight of his disapproval press down on you, like a force you couldn’t escape.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice cold but sharp, as he turned just enough to look at you. His expression remained a perfect mask of detachment, his lips curled in a faint, almost imperceptible sneer.

You obeyed, your nerves crawling beneath your skin, and sat stiffly in the chair, which felt unforgiving beneath you. The discomfort was almost intentional, as though even the furniture sought to remind you of your inadequacy in this space.

“So,” he began, his eyes never leaving you as he finally allowed his gaze to move from the city skyline to your face. “You think you can work here?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. The weight of it made your chest tighten. His words were not just harsh; they were an indictment.

“You’ve shown potential, but potential means nothing without the appearance to match. Do you understand?” he asked, his voice like a scalpel slicing through the air. “You look like you just stumbled out of a train wreck.”

The sting of his words landed squarely in your chest, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “It’s temporary. I’ve just moved, and I don’t have proper clothes yet,” you said, your voice firm despite the tremor running through your body.

Miran’s eyes flickered with a glint of something — amusement? — but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at you, as if measuring the depth of your defiance.

“Well,” he said at last, his voice cool again, “let’s not kid ourselves. One mistake, and you’ll be out the door just as fast as you came in.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he indicated that the conversation was over. You stood, nodding briefly before making your way toward the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he called out, just as you reached the handle. “Buy yourself something appropriate. This is a place for people who understand what it means to look the part.”

You clicked your tongue, silently cursing under your breath as you left the room, the sound of your shoes echoing in the now-empty corridor. Back at your desk, the office buzzed with activity, everyone scrambling to please him, to deliver what he wanted before he even asked for it. You weren’t immune to it, either. Soon, you found yourself fielding calls, printing documents, fetching coffee, and even polishing his shoes as per his seemingly random requests. Each task was a test of patience, each call more pointless than the last, and each hour stretched into an endless loop of irritation.

By the time you returned home, exhausted and ready to collapse into bed, your phone rang. You cursed softly under your breath, rolling your eyes.

“Damn it,” you muttered, grabbing the phone.

“Hello, Miran. How can I help you this time?”

_____

Don't ask why I wrote this, I had to do this.

[madebycloud]

pt 1 | The Devil in Heels

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you dream of becoming a successful journalist, but first, you need experience. landing a job as a personal assistant for the editor-in-chief of riot magazine seems like the perfect opportunity… if only your new boss, the devil herself, didn't make your life a living hell. (or Devil Wears Prada AU that no one asked for) warnings/themes: eventual romance n smut, boss/employee, modern au, fashion & couture, miranda!jinx, andy!reader, pov switch, jinx is mean words: 3.7k — ✩ part one part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven

“To Jobs That Pays The Rent”

“Arcane publication, please,” you mutter to the driver as the taxi takes off.

You're stressed. Late, stressed, and in need of a job. The past few weeks have been nothing but job denials.

The driver glances back through the rearview mirror but keeps his mouth shut. Probably used to stressed people in a rush in the morning.

You look around the city from the backseat of the taxi, grumbling.

Five job interviews. Five job interviews in one month. All five were a disaster.

New York is a wonderful place for people with dreams—like you. Unfortunately, New York loves to eat dreams and spit them out. But you're not going to bend. You're not leaving this city and accepting failure. You didn't work this hard to give up so easily.

The taxi comes to a stop, and you pay the driver hurriedly and then get out quickly, sprinting across the pavement into the high-rise building. You look up at the building, with the words ‘Arcane Publication’ lit up in flashing, neon lettering. 

You walk towards the open doors and reach the desk, giving the person behind the counter a shaky smile. “Uh, I'm here for the interview for Riot Magazine?”

Their eyes never leave their desk. “Take the elevator to the forty-eighth floor. The front desk of Riot will assist you.”

Forty-eighth floor. You thank the front desk person and head towards the elevators.

—

Behind the reception desk is a logo that says ‘Riot.’

You walk over to the desk, taking the card from your pocket. “Hi, I have an appointment with Margot Vyx-” You're interrupted in the middle of your sentence by your name being called.

You turn and see a woman with pale skin and dirty-blonde hair. “Human Resources certainly has a weird sense of humor.” She sighs, her eyes looking you up and down.

You don't respond, shifting uncomfortably.

“Come on, follow me.” She turns, and you follow her down the hallway. “Okay, so... I'm Margot, and I was Jinx's second personal assistant, but her first assistant recently got promoted, so now I'm the first one and-”

“And you're replacing yourself,” you blurt out.

She gives you a dry look over her shoulder. “Essentially, yes.” She continues to walk down the hallway. “Jinx's last two assistants only lasted a couple of weeks,” she states, turning to the left and walking towards a large office area. “I don't know why you applied for a position like this, but we need someone who can—how would you put it... survive here. Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, trying not to stumble over your own feet as you follow her. “Yes. Of course. Who's Jinx?”

Margot whips around to look at you, her eyes wide. She looks like she's seen a ghost. Or an idiot. Probably that second option. “You did not just ask me that,” she murmurs, then shakes her head. “She's the editor-in-chief of Riot Magazine, possibly one of the best in the country. She's a legend.”

You blink. “A legend?”

“A legend,” she repeats. “And if you last longer than a year working for her, you can grab any other job you want. A million girls out there would kill to be in your position right now.”

She sounds serious. “Oh, great.” A million, huh? “I'd love to be considered.”

She opens a glass door and stops, turning to you with a smirk. “You do realize that Riot is a fashion magazine, right? being into fashion is a necessity.”

You frown, confused. “What makes you think I'm not into fashion?” you ask, but she only gives you an unbelieving look.

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can do so, her phone dings. She pulls the phone out of her pocket and reads the message, and in an instant her expression changes, shifting from arrogance to outright terror.

“Oh my God,” she mutters, sprinting over the telephone. “No. No, no, no-”

“What's wrong?” you ask, taking a hesitant step closer.

She holds up a finger to pause you, grabs the phone, and starts muttering a string of words to whoever's on the other end.

Then, the office door swings open, and a man enters, carrying a box under one arm before setting it down on Margot’s desk. “But I thought she was coming at 9-”

“Her driver text-messaged,” Margot huffs. “Her facialist ruptured a disc.”

He looks you up and down with a raised eyebrow before shrugging and calling down the hallway. “All right, everyone! Man your battle stations!”

The moment those words are said, the whole office goes into a blur.

People who were sitting lazily in their chairs seconds ago are suddenly on their feet, desperately fixing their hair and pulling out lipgloss and mascara to apply frantically in front of their computer monitors.They run around, searching for anything that could be out of place. Empty candy bar wrappers are thrown away in a hurry. Unopened water bottles are shoved into desk drawers. Any stray pieces of gum are disposed of immediately.

What the hell is happening?

—

Jinx steps out of the back of her car, glancing up at the sun. She pulls a pair of black sunglasses off of her face, pushing her hair away from her cheeks.

She's wearing a black, knee-length, fitted dress that hugs her frame, exposing her collarbones with its low-cut V-neck... and all of it is black, black, black. The only pop of color in the whole outfit is the blue of her pumps.

She walks to the building, and the doorman stands straight-backed, opening the doors for her. “Mornin', Miss Jinx—excuse me, Miss Lane. Nice day.”

“Mmhm,” she murmurs, walking into the building.

Jinx has been in a shitty mood since this morning, when her facialist suffered from a sudden case of ruptured discs. That's right. Ruptured. Discs. Apparently, her facials were so good that she gave herself a back injury.

Which meant that she had to wake up early, get dressed, and drive to the office, all with a dry face. No facial. She'll probably go home tonight, throw on a face mask, and watch the first season of Breaking Bad by herself. Or drink. Lots of drinking...

She walks through the halls, heels clicking against the tile flooring. She doesn't bother to look at the employees as she walks past them, and she can hear people scrambling behind her to get out of her way.

Jinx reaches the elevator and presses the button, tapping her foot impatiently as she waits for the doors to open. It arrives, and she steps inside, crossing her arms as the doors close.

It was a pain in the ass finding a good facialist in this city. One that didn't try to talk her ear off about celebrity gossip or have hands like sandbags. One who knew how to keep her mouth shut and had hands that felt like clouds against her skin.

Finding a good facialist in New York is like finding a good man. Impossible.

She groans quietly as the elevator dings on floor 48, where the office of Riot is. She exits the elevator and walks down the hallway towards her office, the doors of her employees' offices lining the hallway.

Margot approaches her, and before she can get out two words, Jinx responds, “I don't understand why it's so difficult to confirm an appointment.”

The blonde hands her the clipboard and then starts stuttering. “I- I'm so sorry, Miss Lane.”

Jinx takes the clipboard, glaring at the paper. “What, did she break both of her legs too?” she says sarcastically, handing the clipboard back to Margot.

Margot doesn't seem to find it funny, biting her lip. She walks next to her, trying to walk at the same pace as Jinx, but she takes longer strides, and Margot has to keep up, otherwise she'll be left behind.

“Tell Jayce that I don't like the girl she sent for the Brazil spread,” Jinx continues. “Cancel those reservations at Cafe D'Sorelle... I don't know why I thought she could be a good restaurant critic for the magazine. Also, tell Scar I'm scheduling a new shoot this week. Oh, and confirm the dinner tonight, the driver knows where to pick Isha up.”

Margot swallows, nodding her head. “Of course, right away.”

Jinx steps into her office, tossing her purse onto the top of Margot's desk and walking past the woman who's sitting on the other side. She sinks down onto her large leather chair and gestures towards the stranger. “Who's that?”

“Nobody-” Margot begins, then pauses, realizing how that sounds. “Uh... I mean, nobody important. Human resources sent her up about the assistant job, and I was sort of pre-interviewing her for you-”

“Don't bother. The last assistants you sent me were absolutely awful. I'm going to have to do it myself. Send her in. That's all.”

Margot stares at her for a few seconds, then nods. “Yes, Miss.”

—

“She wants to see you,” Margot tells you.

You stand up, straightening your clothes and clutching your briefcase tightly. “She does?”

“Yes, move!”

You walk towards the woman's desk, but before that, Margot snatches your briefcase off your hands. “Hey!” you exclaim, “That's mine-”

“This is foul—don't let her see it,” she warns, taking the outdated briefcase and shoving it into the bottom of the desk.

You sigh and take another small step closer to the desk. The woman—Jinx, or whatever—looks up from her desk to stare at you. She eyes you up and down and tilts her head to the side. “Who are you?” she asks, leaning forward in her seat.

Who are you? Not hello there, not hi, not welcome. “Uh-” you hesitate, licking your dry lips. “Well-” You hold your chin high and say your name before placing your resume on her desk. “I recently graduated from The Academy,” you add.

Jinx leans back in her seat, picking up the piece of paper like it was garbage and briefly reading it over. “And what are you doing here?” 

“I think I could do a good job as your-” you start, but her glare cuts you off before you finish your sentence.

She sets the resume down, then picks up the magazine on the edge of her desk and casually flips through it. She doesn't bother to look at you.

Oh god. Not even thirty seconds, and she's already brushing you off.

You continue anyway. “I came to New York to be a journalist. I sent letters to everyone, and I finally got a call from Arcane,” you ramble, the words spilling out of your mouth faster than you can stop them. “So basically it's this or Tough Green-”

“-So you don't read Riot?”

“...no.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me?” she asks, her index finger dragging along the edge of the page, tracing the pictures.

“No.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion,” she says, then flicks to the next page.

You're caught off guard by the bluntness of the statement. You have to resist the urge to look down at your outfit, but you're dressed fine. You're dressed fine. Well, at least you think you're dressed fine.

“That really depends on-”

“That wasn't a question,” she interrupts, her eyes finally lifting from the magazine to look at you.

Oh.

Alright. So you're no fashionista, but that doesn't mean you're a lost cause. You know, like, basic stuff.

You click your tongue and press forward. “I was the editor-in-chief of the Daily Northwestern. I won a national competition for college journalists with a series on the economic inequality in-”

She cuts you off again, flicking a hand like she's swatting a fly. “That's all,” she says boredly.

That's all?

Damn, now you're starting to understand why her assistants can't take this job. She's got zero patience. Plus, this woman is hard to impress. She's so uninterested. She just dismissed your resume and your qualifications. All of that effort you put into your resume, and she didn't even care.

This could not be, would not be, another failed interview.

You're not going to be working at Dunkin Donuts for the next five years of your life. You are not going to be another college-educated young adult working a minimum wage job. You are not going to be another one of the statistics.

You are good. You are smart. You are qualified.

You're tired of these assholes and their shitty attitudes and their shitty treatment of everyone because they're sitting in this stupid office with their stupid magazines and stupid high heels and shitty attitudes.

Instead of walking out, you step closer to her desk, placing your hands on the edge as you bend forward slightly. “Fine. You're right. I don't really fit in here. I don't know much about fashion, but…”

She raises an eyebrow, and you catch a smirk on her face, but you ignore it.

“But I'm smart, I learn fast, and I will work very hard,” you finish.

She leans forward, mirroring your actions as she sets down the magazine on the desk. “Oh really?” The smirk hasn't faded from her face yet. A good sign? probably not, but you can't back out now.

“Really,” you insist, keeping your voice steady. “Really, really-” you pause when the word fumbles on your tongue, “...really, really, really.”

“That's a lot of reallys,” she remarks.

“I'm serious.”

She stares at you for half a second then leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Hm,” is all she says.

You're about to open your mouth to beg, plead, whatever it takes to get the job, when a voice appears behind you.

“We have an emergency.”

You step back and turn around to see the man from earlier.

He must be in his late thirties or early forties, with a slim frame and pale skin. His brown hair is neatly styled, but a couple of strands hang loose and frame his face, falling near his ears. A pair of thin-framed glasses rests at the tip of his nose. In his hand is a large booklet with the word ‘Riot’ written in white letters.

“What is it, Viktor?” Jinx asks, her attention no longer focused on you.

“The printer messed up the spreads again.” He steps over to the desk and places the booklet next to the magazine.

She rubs at the place between her eyes. “Let me see.”

You observe their brief exchange, how he's calm, how she's pissed. No one is looking at you or acknowledging you.

And you just... stand here. Just stood here, like a loser, waiting like some sort of damn dog.

You're not a dog, you're a human being, and you're getting nowhere. Might as well leave. This is... this is hopeless.

—

“Fucking hell.” You slam the apartment door shut as you walk in.

Zeri looks up from her phone, a bowl of chips in her lap. “So no job, huh?” she asks, turning off her phone.

You groan and drop your briefcase on the table. “No job.” You collapse onto the couch next to her, burying your face in your hands.

“It went that badly?” She shifts closer and sets the bowl down on the coffee table.

You sigh and peek through your fingers. “The woman is an absolute bitch. And she didn't even pay attention to the resume! I just stood there like a piece of furniture.”

“Well, if she couldn't see how awesome you are, then she's a moron.”

“Yes, Jinx Lane is a fucking moron.”

Zeri stares at you for a beat. “Wait, Jinx Lane? ...as in the Jinx Lane?”

You pull your hands away from your face. “Is there another Jinx Lane?”

“Well no, but-” She blinks a few times. “Like, that Jinx Lane? Of Riot?”

“Yeah, that's the one."

She grabs your shoulder and shakes you a few times. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You met Jinx Lane?!”

“That's her name, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-” She lets go of your shoulder and sits up, waving her hands wildly. “Jinx is a legend! You spoke to her! That's the editor-in-chief of Riot!”

You shrug dismissively and sink deeper into the couch. “Who cares?”

Zeri shoves you halfway off the couch, making you sit up. “Who cares!? Who cares?!” she exclaims. “Jinx is an icon. She's the youngest woman to ever become editor, and she's a legend.”

“Icon or not, she's rude.”

“Do you even know who Jinx is?”

“No, I'm still a stupid, uncultured woman.”

“Oh, hush, knock it off.” She nudges you with her foot. “You're not stupid or uncultured.”

“What, I'm just supposed to bow and worship her now?”

“Not that exactly, but,” she starts digging through the couch cushions, “at the very least you should... ah ha!” She takes out a magazine and tosses it, landing on your legs.

“What's that?” You pick up the magazine carefully.

“It's a copy of last month's issue of Riot. I was reading it earlier.” Zeri leans back, throwing her arm over the edge of the couch.

You flip through the glossy pages of the magazine, seeing beautiful models and beautiful clothing. It's not really the kind of thing you're into. You lift it up slightly and ask, “You're giving me a fashion magazine.”

“Not just any fashion magazine,” she says, “Riot. It's where all the big names are. Every model dreams of being in that magazine.”

“...uh huh,” you respond, setting the magazine down. “All over a magazine? really?”

“Shut up.” Zeri points at you. “Listen, I'm about to teach you something, so listen carefully.”

You look down at the magazine again and then back at Zeri. “Fine, fine. Spill.”

She sits up and leans forward, holding the magazine in her lap. “So basically…” she starts. “Jinx is the editor-in-chief of Riot, like I said. The magazine?”

“Yeah, I know what Riot is.”

“Good. Anyway, Jinx got the position from her adoptive father, Silco. She's twenty-two. It makes her the youngest editor-in-chief of a major fashion magazine.”

“Wow…” you mutter sarcastically. “What an accomplishment.”

She ignores your comment and just continues talking. “And she completely changed Riot's image from the boring, stodgy mess it used to be to a fresh, exciting magazine for the new generation,” she says, then pokes your shoulder again. “Which is a huge deal—a lot of people in the fashion industry hated her, because, you know, she's young.”

“So she's young and edgy. Huge deal.”

“Riot was a dying magazine, and Jinx turned it all around in like less than a year. When she first took over, everyone in the industry made fun of her and called her a spoiled kid. They said she'd ruin the magazine. And then she took it from an embarrassment to a money-making goldmine in like ten months-”

“Okay! Okay, I get it already.” You wave your hands in the air, signaling her to stop. “She's a legend of the fashion industry, yada yada. She could probably spit on a page, and fashion editors nationwide would have an aneurysm-”

“-That would totally be a cool trend, wouldn't it?” Zeri interrupts, then smiles at her own statement.

...

“No.”

She shrugs it off, and her smile fades. “But you understand what I'm trying to tell you, right?”

“She's some fashion god who turned a boring magazine into a big thing.”

“She's also incredibly influential and insanely wealthy.”

“Yes, I understand-”

“She's in her early twenties and is a millionaire-”

“Yes, alr-”

“And now, you—a normal and completely unassuming person-”

“-Woah, thanks.”

“An unassuming person,” she continues, “met her. You met the editor-in-chief of a major magazine and probably the most powerful woman in the entire industry-”

“I didn't even get the job,” you remind her.

“But you talked to her, and that's good. That's a good thing.”

“No, it's not-”

“But it is.” She cuts you off. “Even if you didn't get the job, the fact that you had an interview means something. Maybe not the job, but it definitely means something. She saw your resume and probably read it. She saw your face, you spoke words to each other, you shook her hand-”

“I didn't shake her hand-”

“It's the same thing! either way, it's a step in the right direction.”

You're about to retort and tell her that getting ignored in an interview isn't a step in the right direction, but you pause when your phone vibrates.

“Is that your phone?” Zeri asks, and you nod as you pull the phone out of your pocket.

You expect to see a notification from your spam folder. A sale at KFC, perhaps.

You don't expect to see a text.

Zeri grabs your phone before you can read it and begins reading it out loud. “First day-” Her words trail off as she realizes what she's reading, and then her eyes go wide.

“What?” you pry. “What is it?”

“...you got the job.”

You snatch your phone back from her. “I what?”

“You. Got. The job,” she repeats, slower this time.

You blink, reading the text. “I got the job?”

“Yes.”

This can't be right. You were just here, ranting about this woman and how horrible she was and how she didn't even give you the time of day.

And now you have the job.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, clutching your phone tighter. “Holy shit. I got the job.”

“You're working for Jinx Lane.”

There's a long pause, and then you nod. “I'm working for Jinx Lane.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god-” she squeals.

“Calm down,” you try to tell her, but she barely listens as she throws her arms around your shoulders and begins bouncing up and down.

“Oh my God-” she continues squealing as she squeezes you tight, making it difficult to breathe.

“Z, I can't—you're suffocating me-”

“Can you believe it?” she squeezes even tighter. “You're working for Riot. You're working under Jinx!”

Zeri is ecstatic, and rightfully so. This is a good job, a great opportunity. Even if it involved working under someone like Jinx Lane.

You force a smile and force your brain to pump out some sort of excitement, but it feels wrong. This could be an amazing opportunity… but it could also be the most miserable experience of your life.

“Yeah... great,” you mutter, patting her awkwardly on the back when she finally relaxes.

The next few months are going to be hell. This job better pay for your therapy sessions.

[priyajoyy]

Devil wears prada part 2

Dark!lottie Matthews x reader x dark!shauna shipman x dark!jackie taylor x dark!natalie scatorcio

this is just a bunch of story building cause if I fit meeting Lottie into this part it would be way too long im sorry

Warnings:

Dark characters, power imbalance, toxic workplace, mental health problems, fat shaming, beauty standards, etc (more in later parts)

“Now you’ll technically be reporting to me, I’m situated on the 24thth floor where you’ll spend most of your time, though it really depends on where you’re needed” Mari told you as she guided you towards the elevator once again.

You’d viewed the offices on the 15th floor, which Mari had told you, you would sometimes need to go to on the odd occasion. You were now on your way up to one of the higher floors.

“If you need anything you can come to me, though the other secretaries are very friendly so I’m sure they’ll be happy to help.” She continued, “you report to anyone above you really, you’re not anyone’s personal assistant so they can all use you when necessary”

The elevator dings and the doors finally open. And Mari wastes no time, walking straight through the offices.

“The likelihoods are you’ll only be dealing with lower-level management, because the others have their own girls for their important stuff so it will never be anything too difficult.” 

Everyone was dressed so nicely; you were certain you were going to have to splurge on a new wardrobe of much nicer workwear when you got home.

“Miss taylor is in the big corner office of this floor and Mr Martinez is in the other corner, they’re the ones you’re most likely to be working with. Well, more likely their personal secretaries, Laura lee and robin” she tells you.

“This is miss Taylors office” she says as you reach one of the roomier ones, with fancy glass walls and a desk in front of it with a blonde sat at it.

“This is Laura lee, Laura lee this is the new hire, miss y/n y/l/n” Mari told the girl, who smiled at you brightly in return, standing to shake your hand.

“Hi!” she says cheerfully, she seemed like the nicest person you’d met here yet.

“Laura lee here deals with all of miss Taylors stuff, her personal Calander, meetings and such, you’ll have access to most of the head execs calendars on the system, though you won’t be able to adjust anything, so if you do need to, bring it up with Laura lee here” Mari tells you, and you nod along, trying to take mental note of all the information she tells you.

She then takes off in another direction, not so much as saying goodbye to Laura lee, who you quickly chuck a wave before trailing after Mari.

The older woman’s heels click against the floor as you both make your way back towards the main area of the floor, leading you towards a trio of desks that greeted you as you exited the elevator.

“And this will be your desk” she told you, gesturing the empty one of the three in front of you, “feel free to organise it however you want but we like to keep work areas clear and uncluttered at all times so please don’t…mess it up”

You weren’t really sure what you’d have to go on it other than some pens, a notepad and your laptop, but you nodded along to her request anyway.

“you’ll start officially on Monday, I’ll send you over some of our policies I need you to look over and sign, I’ll also send you everything else you need to know, attire rules, scheduling, so on” she listed off, to which you yet again nodded along to.

As soon as you got home, you were already scowering online sites for new clothes. Given you hadn’t been paid yet it was a little tricky to get anything too expensive, so you had to settle for some simpler choices. Though you were sure you’d have another search on your next payday.

You friend, insisted on taking you shopping that weekend, dragging you along to a million stores to try on expensive outfits and shoes you could barely walk in.

You weren’t exactly a hater of fashion. You thought you looked pretty presentable from day to day. But you were definitely used to much simpler clothes, more comfortable and plainer. Definitely not the designer blouses and skirts she had you trying on and buying.

By the end of it, you had a collection of new clothes in your wardrobe or on the way, and a dangerously low bank account, verging on entering your overdraft.

By Sunday you’d already planned out your outfits for the week, ironed all of them to perfection and prepped your lunch for Monday and Tuesday. Knowing you didn’t have the money after your little shopping spree to be buying lunch, even if it did make you look a little silly…

By the end of it you were running out of things to so and prep really for the week to take your mind off the nerves you were feeling. So, you spent the time trying to forget and watching tv, failing miserably at both.

Mari had sent you a collection of emails as soon as you had left on Friday. Consisting of your contracts as well as log ins to different systems and lists of responsibilities.

You’re main role was helping guests and staff from other departments from the front desk of the floor you’d be at. Greeting them and helping with their problems. You were glad you weren’t likely to have to interact with the head management often. The idea of dealing with them seeming terrifying.

“morning” you squeaked out nervously to the girl at the front desk yet again, this time a different girl greeting you, seeming more friendly than the one you had encountered last week.

You had worn something nicer for your first proper day, a smart looking grey pencil skirt and light pink blouse with your nicest shoes, trying to make a good impression. Yet you still felt inferior stood in front of the gorgeous ginger sat at the front desk. 

“Um I’m y/n? Mari Ibarra said you’d be expecting me for a keycard…” you told her nervously, to which she nodded and looked at her computer.

“of course,” she said with a reassuring smile, looking back up and standing to turning to grab something from a draw nearby, “this will get you into the building each morning and activate the elevator to take you to all floors except 7 and 15, they don’t require special access”

She hands you a grey lanyard, with a keycard hanging from it, a picture of you and your name and info staring back at you from it.

“you’ll also need it for photocopying, printing and such, you won’t tend to need to access any special rooms, or anything so don’t worry too much, but any you do need to…and have access to, will open with this too” she continues.

You nod along to her, taking it from her grasp and smiling nervously. She must have noticed your nerves because she continued.

“don’t be nervous, it’s all quite easy really, and the girls upstairs are nice enough” she tells you, a pretty tilt to her head as she does, “you should head up now, Mari will be waiting for you on the 24th floor”

Taglist:

@theoreticalfreak @nats-w1fe @clairvoyantstuff @modernvenuss @moonyxstars

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

WIP Wednesday

Snippet from Ultra Violet - Devil Wears Prada AU (Agatha Harkness x Reader). I‘m really excited to get this out soon, I‘ve been having lots of fun with this one!

Agatha‘s eyes dragged over your blouse, along your shoulders, your collarbones exposed by the silky fabric, dipping lower for just a moment. She took a step forward, into your space. You instinctively took a step back. The air got sucked out of your lungs when you felt the desk press into the back of your legs. Now you were caged in between Agatha‘s presence in front of you and her desk behind you.

Your boss seemed unbothered, her hand reaching out, running over the neatly folded collar of your blouse. You swallowed, and her eyes scanned the movement of your throat.

„Gorgeous“, she murmured, and you weren’t sure if she meant you or the shirt. You imagined you saw her lick her painted lips, but you weren’t sure.

Agatha’s index finger and thumb grabbed your collar, silky, deep purple fabric running through her grasp. You felt her gently tug on the fabric and your heart skipped a beat. But then she spoke, and it took every fibre of your being to concentrate on her words.

„Ultra Violet, the Pantone Color of the Year in 2018“, her lips pursed into a dangerous, thin smile, „Do you know why that is?“

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she took another step closer. You swallowed hard, halfway sitting on her desk now, knees sliding apart automatically as she stepped between them. You didn’t stop her, just held still as she invaded your space. It was like there was electricity flimmering through the air.

“George Hobeika Fall 2017 Couture showcase. He comes to me with a collection of deep oranges and reds. Orange for fall? How original. I send him a note telling him to shove his off the rack bullshit back to where he hides that visionary spirit everyone claims he has. The color of the paper?“ Her brows raised, blue eyes unreadable as she scanned your face expectantly.

„Ultra Violet“, you guessed, and the pleased curl of her lips has your heart almost beating out of your chest.

„Exactly“, she murmured, so close that you felt her breath on your face. „Ultra Violet. The colour of the standout dress of the show, the colour you saw on every Magazines front page for a full year.“ She chuckled, tugging on your collar just the smallest bit. The upper button of your shirt came undone.

„I send Kale to buy office supplies once and the entire fashion industry bends over backwards for me.“

Her fingers let go of your blouse. Instead, her thumb hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. There was no escape to her intense eye contact now. Her voice was low, amused. She practically purred at you.

„And look at you, wearing my color seven years later.“

[multifandomfix]

Miranda Priestly Smut Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Miranda tends to be reserved but attentive. After sex, she might quietly cuddle or lay beside her partner, offering a few whispered words of praise.

B = Body part (favorite body part of their partner’s)

Miranda is drawn to your neck and collarbone. She finds subtle, sensual moments in tracing her fingers along these areas, delighting in the vulnerability they represent, and the closeness they bring.

C = Collar (do they mark you as theirs in some way?)

She might purchase several discreet, elegant pieces of jewelry for you to wear in public with her that hints at her ownership of you, but she’s not one that needs to put it on some grand display. People basically already know.

D = Dominant (who is in control? are they a top or bottom?)

Miranda is firmly in control. She prefers to be the one calling the shots, taking the lead in all aspects of your relationship. Whether it's in the bedroom or in public, she likes being the one who holds the power, and she’s great at getting what she wants.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

With years of experience under her belt, Miranda is incredibly confident in her abilities. She knows exactly what she's doing and what she likes, and is able to read your body language with precision.

F = Fuck (do they prefer to fuck or make love?)

Miranda prefers to fuck rather than make love. She's passionate, demanding, and likes to take her time, pushing you to your limits. It's not usually about tenderness for her, it's about raw, unapologetic desire.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Miranda is far more serious and intense, always maintaining an air of control. There's a confidence to her actions, and humor is rare in intimate settings unless she's feeling especially playful.

H = Hot (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you match wits with her, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that you’ll either piss her off or turn her on. She likes someone that can hold their own, but still knows where to draw the line.

I = Insatiable (how do they act when they’re desperate to have you?)

When Miranda is desperate to have you, she becomes impatient and curt, her control slipping only when she can no longer resist. Her usual cool demeanor cracks, and she demands your full attention, her eyes dark with desire as she takes what she wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Miranda doesn't often indulge in self pleasure. However, when she does, it’s indulgent, usually borne out of frustration from you being away, or perhaps mad at her.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Miranda prefers the thrill of power dynamics. She’s no stranger to issuing commands, but she also likes some light bondage, and leaving marks all over you.

L = Location (favorite places to have sex)

Her favorite places to have sex are often her own home or, if pressed, a five star hotel suite, where she can maintain her air of control and privacy.

M = Mood (what’s the foreplay like? how do you get them in the mood?)

Foreplay with Miranda is often intense and heated. She’ll pounce on you like a jungle cat with prey and it’s up to you to respond. She’ll slow things down if you need her to, but she can become impatient.

N = Naked (how do they undress? do they like to watch you undress?)

Miranda removes each item of clothing slowly and deliberately, never casting them to the floor, but folding and setting them aside. She's not particularly voyeuristic, but she does enjoy watching you undress, appreciating your figure before guiding you toward the bed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Miranda prefers to receive rather than give. Even so, she’s skilled and focused when it comes to pleasuring you, and loves the sounds you make for her when you get close.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Miranda enjoys a slow, deliberate pace, taking her time. There's an intensity in her actions, but it's all about creating long lasting pleasure. Her slow, teasing rhythm is meant to make you ache for more.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Miranda isn't one for quickies. Too messy and unpredictable. However, if she's particularly needy or caught in the heat of the moment, she might indulge in one with a sense of urgency.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Miranda isn't someone who's reckless with risks, but when it comes to experimenting in bed, she's open to trying new things as long as it's controlled.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Miranda has great stamina, lasting for multiple rounds if needed. She's able to keep her focus and intensity for as long as the mood strikes, never tiring easily. Her endurance matches her drive and ambition.

T = Tryst (are they into casual sex or one night stands?)

Miranda is not typically interested in one night stands. While she enjoys a discreet affair, she does not indulge in casual trysts without having a deep attraction.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Miranda loves to tease. She toys with you, pushing you to the brink of frustration before letting you have what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Miranda is usually pretty quiet in bed. She's more likely to let out a soft sigh or moan when the pleasure is particularly intense, but she's not one to be overly vocal.

W = Wait (how long do they wait before having sex with their partner for the first time?)

Miranda waits a while before having sex with a partner, as she likes to make sure the connection is solid and that the relationship has some level of commitment and trust. She's not impulsive in her actions and believes in taking the time to build trust and desire.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Under those elegant clothes, Miranda has a toned, well maintained body. There's a sophistication to her appearance, usually accented with very delicate and expensive lingerie.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Miranda's sex drive is fairly high, but she often keeps it repressed. She's not impulsive about her desires but is incredibly passionate when the mood strikes.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Miranda falls asleep quickly, always seeking rest after a satisfying encounter. Once her needs have been met, she's efficient in winding down, retreating into the calm of her mind, leaving the chaos of her daily life behind.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Miranda Priestly: @iticaboopsyou, @derry-n, @ladysc, @russian-soft-bitch, @rafterymorton, @messynessi

[cappulcino]

Taglist

With my first fanfic completed and more requests as well as personal projects in the works, I think it's time to start a taglist.

To be added, please comment with the emoji(s) corresponding to what you would like to be tagged in. Likes and reblogs are appreciated to spread the word but do not count as a request to be added.

Note: this post might evolve as this blog does and I get more requests or have more projects of my own.

All fanfictions 📚

All Gwendoline Christie characters 🌻

The Sandman

All 🔮

Lucifer 😈

Morpheus ⏳

Wednesday

All 🕸️

Larissa 💄

Wednesday 🦂

Brienne of Tarth ⚔️

Jane Murdstone 🕯️

The Devil Wears Prada 👠

Good Omens 🕊️

Sherlock BBC

All 🔍

Johnlock 💻

Adlock 🎻

All Eva Green characters 🚬

Note 2: you may comment with something more specific (say you're a minor, add ships, etc.)

[slothpoth]

Watched The Devil Wears Prada for the first time and now deeply desire Secretary!reader with Sevika…….

I should write a Drabble for what I’m thinking about hold on

[merylstreepsworld]

Imagine coming home to Miranda after being gone for work:

Racing through the dimly lit streets, the distant echoes of your tires against the pavement fill the night as you make your way back home. The inky blackness of the sky above is interrupted only by the occasional flicker of a streetlamp passing by. Your mind is consumed with the thought of finally reuniting with Miranda, your wife, after an arduous work conference that kept you apart for what felt like an eternity.

Pulling up in front of the townhouse, a surge of anticipation courses through you, overriding any fatigue from the late hour. With a quick flick of the car's ignition, you leap out and dash down the quiet block, the pavement cool against your hurried steps. Your heart races faster than your feet as you reach for the familiar jangle of keys in your pocket.

Fumbling in the darkness, your hands tremble slightly in your eagerness to unlock the door and be enveloped in the warmth of your shared space. Finally, the key slips into the lock, the latch clicks open, and you swing the door wide, stepping into the familiar comfort of home.

Dumping your belongings in the foyer, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a figure materializes in the doorway, silhouetted against the soft glow filtering in from the living room. Miranda stands there, elegant yet slightly fatigued, her presence magnetic and alluring. You're captivated by her, your heart swelling with a mix of longing and excitement. Relief washes over her delicate features as she takes in your safe return.

With a small, knowing smile, her gaze lingers on you, her eyes tracing the contours of your figure, an unspoken admiration evident in her subtle scrutiny. There's a silent exchange of reassurance and familiarity in that glance, a shared language between the two of you that requires no words.

In a tender whisper that carries a hint of relief, she delicately murmurs, "I'm glad you made it home safe," her words an unspoken echo of the worry she had carried during your absence.

You're captivated by her, your heart swelling with a mix of longing, relief, and excitement. Without hesitation, you rush toward her, the world narrowing down to the connection between the two of you. Lips meet in a fervent embrace, a passionate collision of emotions and desires.

In that instant, your hands instinctively seek her, yearning to feel the softness of her skin, the curve of her body, and the warmth of her presence. Each touch conveys the depth of longing etched into your being during your time apart. There's an urgency in the way you pull her closer, an unquenchable desire to cherish every moment of this reunion.

Miranda responds in kind, her touch igniting an equally intense flame of passion. The kisses deepen, an unspoken language of affection and yearning that seems to convey all the words unspoken during your absence. In that intimate embrace, time loses its relevance, encapsulating the sheer devotion and unrestrained desire that bind the two of you together in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.

Lips meeting in an impassioned embrace, murmurs of endearment escape in between fervent kisses. "Oh... oh god. I've missed you," you manage to mumble against her lips, the words laced with longing and desire. "Take me to bed."

Her response is immediate, a subtle yet palpable electricity in the air as she separates herself from your lips but remains intimately close, her eyes holding a depth of affection and understanding. With a gentle yet urgent touch, she takes your hand, leading you toward the staircase, each step resonating with the anticipation of being together once more.

[lovingbarson]

Happy new year to all the tumblr daddies and mommies and all the writers and all the readers and all the characters that make me feel happy and loved (I am not drunk just depressed)

[priyajoyy]

Devil wears prada part 3

Dark!lottie Matthews x reader x dark!shauna shipman x dark!jackie taylor x dark!natalie scatorcio

We’re finally meeting Lottie 🤭🤭

Warnings:

Dark characters, power imbalance, toxic workplace, mental health problems, fat shaming, beauty standards, etc (more in later chapters)

It had been a long few hours.

You hadn’t really done much actual work yet to be fair. Only spent the day trailing Mari, and then one of the other girls called Krystal. She seemed nice enough, though didn’t seem very interested in having to show you around all day.

There was plenty to learn, and you had spent all day trying to memorise what the two of them showed and told you as you rushed after them.

Your job mainly consisted of manning the desks, letting people in and guiding them to where they need to go and so on, organising Calanders, photocopying and printing, and doing errands for the rest of the staff.

Something a lot of them liked to take advantage of, sending you to get them supplies and coffee like their personal servant.

Now, you were sat behind your desk in the main room, attempting to have your break as Krystal chatted your ear off about some musical to the right of you and the girl to your left gave you judgy looks about you from home salad.

Her name was Allie, and she seemed to enjoy giving you looks for just about everything you did. You were surprised her eyes weren’t permentanly stuck in the back of her head from the amount of times shed rolled her eyes at your perfectly reasonable questions.

You were barely paying attention to the girl’s rambles as you picked at your food, only looking up when everyone when alarmingly silent.

Even Allie stopped her typing at her computer, sitting up straighter and putting a more pleasant look on her face than the scowl that was there before.

You looked around in confusion, before your eyes settled on where everyone else’s seemed to be avoiding.

Charlotte Matthews, walking out of the elevator in front of you.

With a blonde girl rushing behind her, a pile of books and paper in her hands and a designer bag hanging off her arm which was probably miss Matthews.

The tall brunette looked even more terrifying in person…

She didn’t look happy, a slight frown on her face as she stormed down the corridor, not a care for the poor girl following behind her.

She was wearing an expensive looking pantsuit, her hair perfectly curled. She looked gorgeous. Gorgeous and terrifying.

By the time she made it to your desks she slung her large fur coat onto allies’ desk, ignoring the blonde and waving her hand off. Silently ordering her to deal with it which she quickly did.

“Tell Jackie I’m ready to see her” she commanded simply, not even looking Krystal in the eyes as she spoke.

Krystal nodded quickly, running off down the hallway towards the other woman’s office.

Suddenly your eyes met. She stared you down, not moving an inch as you looked back up at her with wide eyes. It was like you were prey frozen in fear and she was the predator, watching her catch of the day with calculated interest.

It felt like forever that you sat there, her cold gaze looking down at you with a neutral expression, not letting anything away, until she tilted her head slight, and walked away. Her little blonde assistant rushing after her yet again.

“Miss y/l/n?”

You turned your head quickly, facing Mariana Ibarra who stood behind you, her arms crossed over her chest and a bored expression on her face.

You were in the middle of getting ready to leave, putting on your coat and collecting your bag when she interrupted you. “Can I have a word?”

You nodded quickly, placing your coat back on the rack and following out of her, slightly terrified you’d done something wrong to get you fired already.

That would be just your luck.

You made your way down the corridor and into her office, taking a seat when she did and gestured to the spare seat opposite her. You couldn’t help but fidget with your fingers in anxiety.

“It seems you’ve done well miss y/l/n” Mari stated simply, watching you carefully in your seat, “you’ve made a good impression…miss charlotte Matthews is after a new personal assistant”

You stare back at her with wide eyes, watching as she pursed her lips and continued, “she wants you to fill the position”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You walked into the room thinking you were getting fired, and you’re getting a promotion?

On your very first day to be the personal assistant for a woman you weren’t even sure remembered you existed.

A very terrifying woman that you weren’t sure you could even stomach being in the same proximity with every single day…

“Now it would mean a healthy wage increase of course, and a title promotion” Mari continued, not allowing you to recover as she lists of pieces of information, “but it also means a heavy workload…”

You could barely take in what she was saying, mutely nodding along to her words.

“I’ll be frank y/n. charlotte Matthews is not an easy woman to please. She’s demanding and expects everything to be done how she wants it, right away. She doesn’t like mistakes” she tells you, her voice more serious, “she wants you as her assistant, and id urge you to take it, not only is it an amazing job for your cv but you’ll have little chance of staying in here in the long term otherwise…”

You couldn’t believe she was admitting to such a thing out loud. But it was clear you didn’t have much choice if you wanted to keep your job.

“However, I will say that you must be ready for what it entails: she continued, her voice still grave, “she’s a powerful woman and powerful women get what they want”

“One day here and you’ve already stolen the top job” Allie spoke as you walked back towards the three front desks, ready to collect your coat and bag for definite this time.

A smirk donned her face as she leant against the desk, looking you up and down as you nervously walked over, still shellshocked from your promotion and Maris words.

“Maybe you’re more interesting than I thought new girl” she said, still smirking at you.

“s-stolen?” you asked in confusion, voice shaky as you questioned her words before, what did she mean?

“Awe you didn’t know?” she said was a fake pout, “you’ve stolen the job out from under the other girl’s feet, charlottes given her the sack so she can have you instead”

You frowned at her words.

Not only did you get a promotion, one you had no idea how you got, given you’d barely met Lottie, and it was your first day, so you certainly didn’t leave some sort of fantastic impression, but now you find out, someone else had literally been fired to give you it.

What possibly could you have done to do all this.

“you’re pretty” Allie spoke, as if answering your inner thoughts, “I’ll give you that…let’s see if you live up to what gave you the job”

You frown again, quickly grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, not even bothering to put on your coat in a rush to get away from the blonde and her words.

You mutter a quick ‘bye’, rushing past her and walking towards the elevator, making her laugh.

Not been proof read!!

Taglist:

@theoreticalfreak @nats-w1fe @clairvoyantstuff @modernvenuss @moonyxstars

[hearts4gxsling]

PRETTIEST SECRET (wlw)

Hey girl! Little Emily Charlton blurb I did for a character ai bot. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: (Emily Charlton x Fem!reader)

Long story short: Emily and you have been having a fling for a while now. But she’s not out yet. You confront her about this in your usual meetup spot.

It’s been five months since you started a fling with your coworker, Emily. Miranda’s assistant. The arrogant, snarky assistant. You’re a photographer for Miranda’s magazine, Runway, The biggest fashion magazine worldwide.

What people don’t see when it comes to Emily is that she is actually a sweetheart. Sometimes. She just needed someone to talk to. So now here you are, in the usual fitting room you two secretly meet in. Your girlfriend in front of you, shaking her head in disbelief while still avoiding your gaze.

“It’s not about you! It’s about what people will think of me if they find out!! Miranda wouldn’t care. But others might. And I have a reputation to uphold!” She whisper-yells. You had just confronted her about you not being able to be with her in public. To have to sneak around like two teenagers. All because she won’t just come out of that damn closet, afraid it will tarnish her reputation and therefore her career.

“Look- this fling.. it’s hopeful. Really hopeful. But it’s not meant to be out into the world. You don’t get it! You don’t understand that this could ruin everything I’ve ever worked for. You know how much work means to me. Just.. please. We have to keep this a secret.” She pleads, finally dragging her eyes up to meet your gaze.

——————————————————————————

Play with the bot here:

https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/4yzs1bbw

[jen-with-a-pen]

Alice idk what the FUCK kinda drugs you smuggled into this simple, singular ask, but goddamnit it made me sprint to my docs and start writing for the first time in God knows when. I literally have created an au in a matter of hours of seeing this. Fuck you and thank you🫣😋😈

[this is currently an untitled au and a WIP]

Photographer!Dark!Bucky Barnes x RunwayFashionModel!Reader

The overhead spotlights drop the second the showrunner points to the cameras, who, in turn, point to you. Big white bounce cards blind your peripherals and the sound of murmurs throughout the studio, executives and assistants alike, work their way into your ears. The voices swirl into one drone of static and the lights start getting brighter and brighter. Your grip on the arms of the chair grows tighter. Manicured fingernails threaten to dig into the upholstery, the gaudy necklace resting on your chest beginning to brand into your skin. The makeup caked onto your flesh feels like it’s melting, taking your dermis with it.

You can't tear your eyes away from behind the host's head, staring off into space and trying not to focus on the bile beginning to bubble in your pitted stomach.

You knew you should've eaten something.

As the host waits for her after-ad-break cue, shuffling her question cards and sipping coffee from her custom show-branded cup, you feel restless. Legs bouncing out of sync, begging to get up, to run off set and out onto the bustling streets below and never look back. Maybe a bus or cab will make it end, make it stop. You were never cut out for this, never supposed to be here.

"Bunny."

You gasp, your trance broken as the deep bass sounding out your nickname cuts through the noise. It's like oxygen for you. He is oxygen for you. You can’t escape him willingly- he’ll only find a way to be there. To always be there.

You whip your head around to face the herd of people and producers staring at you. Out of all of them, through the blinding lights, you meet his gaze. All six feet four inches, built-like-a-god, broad shoulders of him. His eyes shine like sea glass behind the camera operator, baby blue and looking only at you. For that moment, you are the only one he sees. His target. His. You are the only one he can touch, who he can feel, halfway across the room.

The pit only grows larger, filling your hunger with nausea. You'd bet all the money in the world he schmoozed some P.A. just to make sure he was there to see you. To surveil you.

You wish you were playing in traffic.

[cappulcino]

Navigation post / Masterlist

Hello, everyone! My name is Ash (though you can also call me Samael), and I am a storyteller in the making. I have always been reluctant to share my work, but in the spirit of self-improvement and because I actually love writing so much, I recently decided to take the leap.

All of my works will be posted here, as well as on AO3.

Requests now open!

My requests are currently open for ficlet prompts. It would really help me get back in the mood for writing and then maybe I can also finish my WIPs (see list below).

What I will write:

Character x character

Character x OC

Character x reader

Almost all genres

Adult content I feel comfortable with

What I will not write (unless maybe you pay me? 👀):

Any pairing including a real person (no actor x reader or shipping real celebrities together)

Adult x minor interactions other than parent/child or hurt/comfort settings

Pairings with two characters played by the same actor

Crossovers

Non-con tropes

(List to be completed later)

You can check the fandoms I currently write for on my profile in my bio. They are in "order", meaning they go from most to least interested in as of today and/or from most to least "knowledgeable". If the fandom you're looking for is not in my profile, it's no use asking; I either don't want to write for it or don't know anything about it.

Fanfictions will be under #cappulcino writes. Answered asks will be under #cappulcino replies. Fanfic recommendations will be under #cappulcino recommends (For lack of a better free tag)

Masterlist

The Sandman

Seven Days Til Fall (Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader) Posted, complete

The Eveningstar (Dreamingstar / Dream of the Endless x Lucifer Morningstar) Unpublished WIP, preparation phase

The Devil Wears Prada

Broken Souls and Apple Pies (Mirandy / Miranda Priestly x Andrea Sachs) Unpublished WIP, 45% completed

Wednesday

The Shape of Us (Larissa Weems x Wife!Reader) Posted, one-shot

Animi Metamorphosis (Larissa Weems x Shapeshifter!Teacher!OC) Unpublished WIP, preparation phase

Game of Thrones

Where The Wild Things Rest (Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader) Posted, one-shot

You'll also find short summaries of my current WIPs and ideas here.

Don't hesitate to check them out and show your support for the fic(s) you would like me to finish and publish!

My edits

Good Omens X Hayloft II

Sandman crack vid

Fanart

Larissa Weems

Taglist

Comment under this post to be added to the taglist.

And while you're here...

Please consider signing this silly petition to try to get Gwendoline Christie back on Wednesday as Larissa Weems!

Note: the line dividers I use in my fics are by @strangergraphics-archive

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Thinking about adding Miranda Priestly to my masterlist.

Would you guys be interested in that?

[merylstreepsworld]

Blooms of Passion Behind Closed Doors

Warning: Heavy sexual themes

Pairing: Miranda Priestly x Top Fem!Reader

Summary: You surprise Miranda at her office with flowers. The flowers spark a growing passion between you two to release some tension. Amidst the intensity of desire, the intrusion of colleagues adds a twist. Showcasing the delicate balance between professionalism and the undeniable connection that flourishes behind closed doors.

Word count: 1,647

Authors note: Thanks to @blueberrycoffee19 for requesting this story! I very much enjoyed writing this and trying to find a good balance between work and intimacy! I hope you enjoy!

It had been a hectic week at Runway magazine, and Miranda Priestly, the formidable editor-in-chief, was known for her high standards and relentless pursuit of excellence. As her partner, you knew how demanding her job could be, and you often found creative ways to surprise her and brighten her day.

On this particular day, you decided to make an impromptu visit to the office. You carried a bouquet of fresh flowers, knowing how much Miranda appreciated their elegance and beauty. You approached her office, gently knocking on the door.

"Come in," her voice commanded from inside.

With a soft smile, you entered, the bouquet of flowers held behind your back. "Miranda," you began, "I thought you could use a little something to brighten your day."

Miranda looked up from her desk, and for a brief moment, her steely exterior softened. Her eyes met yours, a hint of surprise dancing within their depths. "And what might this be?" You presented the bouquet, and her elegant fingers brushed over the delicate petals. "Just a small gesture to remind you that you're appreciated, even in the midst of your busy day."

Miranda accepted the flowers, her lips curving into a rare but genuine smile. "You have a knack for knowing just what I need."

As she inhaled the fragrance of the blossoms, you took a step closer, your hand finding hers. The connection between you and Miranda had always been electric, and in this moment, you sensed a shift in the air, a silent agreement between your hearts. Without a word, you found yourself easing onto her lap, the surprise gift now forgotten as your lips met in a passionate kiss. Miranda's arms encircled you, pulling you closer as the world outside ceased to exist. In her office, surrounded by the splendor of the bouquet you'd brought, the two of you shared an intimate moment, a quiet declaration of the love you'd found in each other.

Miranda's icy exterior melts away when she's alone with you. Her eyes, once piercing, now sparkle with warmth and affection. She captures your lips in a lingering kiss, her tongue delicately seeking yours. The world outside the office disappears as you both get lost in each other.

The intensity of your passion seemed to engulf the room, but the bouquet of flowers you had brought suddenly became a reminder of the world outside. With a sigh, you reluctantly pulled away from Miranda, your fingers tracing her jawline. You had to put the flowers down, at least for now, to fully embrace this intimate moment. With a gentle touch, you set the bouquet on Miranda's desk. The vibrant petals contrasted with the impeccably organized documents and fashion magazines that surrounded them, a testament to the collision of your love and her demanding work.

Miranda watched as you carefully placed the flowers on her desk, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She understood the necessity of this brief interruption and welcomed the opportunity to savor this moment with you.

Once the bouquet was in its place, you turned your attention back to Miranda. You resumed your position on her lap, your lips eagerly reconnecting with hers. Your fingers tangled in her hair as your desire continued to build, both of you fully immersed in the passion that had ignited in her office. Her fingers glide sensually down your back, sending shivers of desire through your body. You let out a soft moan against her lips, the taste of her desire intoxicating. Your hands explore the contours of her elegant neck and slide down to the exposed skin beneath her silk blouse.

Miranda's fingers tangle in your hair, deepening the kiss. The passion between you ignites, a fire that has burned since the day you met, and now it consumes you both. She pulls you even closer, and you can feel the rapid beating of her heart echoing your own.

Your lips trail down the column of her neck, leaving a path of soft kisses. Her breath quickens, and she arches her back, surrendering to the sensation. Your hands move further down, slipping beneath the fabric of her blouse to caress her skin, making her gasp in pleasure.

Miranda's touch becomes even more electrifying, her fingers sliding under your shirt with a deliberate sensuality. She trails soft kisses along your jawline and down to your collarbone, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

With a slow, deliberate pace, Miranda unbuttons your shirt, revealing your skin inch by inch. Her lips follow the path her fingers take, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that makes your heart race.

You let out a soft gasp as Miranda's hands finally remove your shirt, leaving just your bra to cover your breasts. Her eyes, filled with a potent mix of desire and adoration, meet yours. "You are breathtaking," she murmurs. Miranda's lips descend further, her kisses igniting a fire within you. You arch your back, your body aching for her touch. She unhurriedly slides her hands along your sides, her fingers grazing your skin, teasing and tantalizing. Her nimble fingers unhook your bra, freeing your chest, and she continues her assault of kisses down your body.

A rush of heat engulfs you as Miranda's lips reach your breasts. She takes one nipple into her mouth, sucking gently, causing you to moan in ecstasy. The pleasure courses through your veins, and your fingers instinctively find their way into her hair, urging her on.

With every touch, every caress, the desire between you intensifies. Miranda's hands travel lower, tracing the curve of your hips, her lips following in pursuit. Your breaths come in ragged gasps as she reaches the waistband of your pants.

In a whirlwind of passion, you find yourself stripped down to just your pants, the desire in Miranda's eyes mirroring your own. The world beyond her office is a distant memory, as you and Miranda become one in the intoxicating dance of love and longing.

As you share this tender moment, the door swings open, revealing Nigel, Miranda's trusted confidant and the Art Director of Runway magazine. He steps in, a smile on his face, but it quickly fades as he notices your intimate position with Miranda.

"Miranda, I just wanted to discuss the layout for the next issue," Nigel begins, his voice trailing off as he takes in the sight before him.

Miranda, unflappable as ever, calmly addresses him. "Nigel?"

Nigel stammers slightly, trying to regain his composure. "I...I'll come back later."

You, however, are lost in your connection with Miranda, nuzzling her neck and whispering sweet nothings. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, making it challenging for anyone to look away. Miranda remains seated, her hands still on you, but her focus shifts to her colleague. She acknowledges Nigel with a composed smile. "Nigel, I trust you've got the layout sorted?"

Nigel, ever the professional, glances briefly at your barely clad form before directing his attention to Miranda as he walks over beside the desk. "Yes, Miranda, it's all in order."

You, on the other hand, continue to sit there with a nonchalant air, offering a friendly nod to Nigel as if nothing extraordinary is occurring. "Hey, Nigel."

Nigel manages a polite nod in return, though it's clear his composure is being tested. He clears his throat and proceeds with the business at hand.

Just as you're deep in the throes of affection, Andrea, Miranda's second assistant, enters the room with a stack of documents in her arms. She freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene. Her cheeks flush, and her gaze darts between Miranda, Nigel, and you.

Miranda finally notices Andrea's flustered state and her lack of focus on the task at hand. "Andrea, is there something you'd like to share with us?" Miranda's tone is icy, snapping Andrea back to reality.

Andrea stammers, struggling to find her words. "I...I'm sorry, Miranda. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Miranda's eyes narrow, and she gestures for Andrea to approach her desk. "Come here, Andrea."

Andrea approaches Miranda's desk with trepidation, while you remain in Miranda's lap, undisturbed. Miranda's aura of power and authority is as evident as ever. With a sigh, Miranda speaks, her voice commanding the room. "Andrea, I expect my team to maintain professionalism at all times. It's apparent that you need a reminder. So, let this be one."

Andrea nods, her embarrassment apparent as she looks at you and Miranda. "Yes, Miranda. I apologize for the disruption."

After a moment of contented silence with Miranda, you decide it's time to acknowledge Andrea's presence. With your easygoing demeanor, you twist your upper body around and extend a hand to Andrea, who is still flustered. "Andrea, I don't think we've officially met. I'm [Your Name]. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Andrea, her nerves clearly getting the best of her, hesitantly takes your hand. "I'm Andrea. Nice to meet you," she mumbles, unable to hide her surprise at how casual and unaffected you are by the unconventional situation.

Miranda, sensing the tension in the room, takes a moment to reassert her authority. "That's enough of this," she declares, and her voice cuts through the awkwardness. "We have work to do." Nigel nods, still somewhat baffled by the scene in front of him, and Andrea retreats from the office, leaving you to continue your intimate moment with Miranda. While the professional world outside her office might buzz with rumors and intrigue, the two of you remain blissfully wrapped up in your own world, where the rules of convention seem secondary to your love for one another.

With Nigel and Andrea's exit, you and Miranda are left with a newfound sense of privacy in her office. You slide even closer to Miranda in her lap, your fingers gently tracing the curve of her jawline as you whisper, "Where were we, darling?"

[plush4bunny]

Magazine cover (and unedited version) for the "make-it-or-break-it" article about the ruthless editor-in-chief Maxim Horvath, but what is the story behind it? 👀 find out more from @chrism02's iconic Devil Wears Prada AU fic called "The Devil Wears Armani"