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stayevildarling · 2 months

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Miranda Priestly x Wilhemina Venable x Reader - Dragon meets Purple, Part 2

word count: 2k

tw: none

taglist: @lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay,@whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson,@isle-of-earle,@paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime

A few months had passed since Wilhemina officially became Mirandas second assistant. And despite their initial doubts about whether this would work or not it was going surprisingly well. Due to Wilhemina's experience Runway was working smoothly. Miranda was quite surprised by this but she also enjoyed working closely with someone who was close to her age for once. The only person not enjoying the situation was Emily, as she was suddenly the one running around New York to fetch coffees and chase designers down, while Wilhemina had more administrative work.

Today a particularly busy day is finally coming towards the end, most people have left the office by now and so the only ones left are Wilhemina and her boss. As the redhead sits at her desk, typing away at her computer, before getting up to walk to the printer, she sees Miranda standing in her office and signalling for Wilhemina to join her.

,,Care to join me for a drink Ms Venable?'' the slightly older woman asks.

Wilhemina raises an eyebrow, surprised by the invitation but at the same time intrigued.

,,Of course Ms Priestly, lead the way''.

Wilhemina watches as Miranda walks over to a golden drink trolley next to the sofa in her office. As she pours two glasses of scotch, Wilhemina can't help but look at her bosses features. Her jawline, the way her skirt complimented her legs.

,,I must admit Ms Venable, you have been rather impressive lately, I cannot deny your talents any longer'' she praises which takes the redhead by surprise.

Of course she knew the value of her work but she knew Miranda wasn't one to praise. As she takes a sip, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips ,,High praise coming from you Ms Priestly, I must be doing something right''.

Miranda chuckles softly ,,Indeed, though I must also confess your penchant for challenging authority can be rather... infuriating at times''.

Wilhemina raises her glass in mock toast before replying ,,Ah but where's the fun in playing by the rules Ms Priestly? Life is too short to be confined by limitations''.

Miranda simply smirks with a glint of adoration in her eyes. This had been exactly what she liked about Wilhemina, the sass, honestly and sarcasm. It was refreshing to the woman with assistants that usually obey her straight away and never talk back to her.

,,Spoken like a true maverick Ms Venable, perhaps there is hope for you yet'' Miranda replies with a smirk.

The smirk meets her straight back before Wilhemina counters ,,Perhaps Ms Priestly but don't hold your breath. I'm not one to change my ways easily''.

They chat for some more before they both head back towards their desk, wrapping up their work for the day and working through the upcoming Paris schedule.

-------

,,One more thing before we go to Paris, I'm promoting one of you''. Miranda explained. The office was quiet now, it was late and everyone had left.

,,Ms Venable I would like to offer you a higher position in HR'' Miranda explained, Emily's jaw dropping, in disbelief of the words she just heard from her bosses mouth.

,,What?!'' Emily asks. ,,She's only been here for six months, how come she's getting the promotion?''.

,,Oh get over yourself Emily, we both know that Ms Venable is way more qualified to work upstairs and have her own office rather than being my assistant''. her boss replies snappily.

,,I suggest you start working on finding me a new second assistant'' Miranda explains, dismissing Emily.

,,Thank you Ms Priestly'' Wilhemina finally speaks, a bit dumbfounded at what just happened. She had worked hard in the past couple of months, however she didn't expect a promotion.

,,May I ask why?'' Wilhemina adds.

,,Well, I had a feeling from the start you were meant to be more than an assistant and you certainly have proven you have the abilities to work upstairs. So I pulled some strings and you may work in HR from now on. You will get your own office and you won't have to- you know- run around as much for me'' Miranda explains, suddenly a softer side showing that Wilhemina hasn't gotten to see yet.

,,Thank you Ms Priestly'' Wilhemina smiles, touched by the gesture, trying to think if there was some ulterior motive to her decision.

,,By the way, I think it's time you call me Miranda by now, considering I won't be your direct boss anymore''.

,,Very well- Wilhemina'' she replies with a small smile. Now Miranda surprised as she hasn't seen a real smile from the redhead so far, being able to tell the difference from a fake polite one to a real one as she had do it most of her day.

They shake hands before they both head off, Wilhemina to inspect her new office and Miranda back to her desk, looking over her Paris schedule one more time. Miranda internally cringes as she hates the feel of Wilhemina's leather gloves.

After the elevator dings, Wilhemina steps into her new office, a small smile playing on her face as she sees her name on the door. She is quite fascinated by the view of New York and the size of her office. As she walks to her new desk, she finds a little box.

As she undoes the ribbon, she finds a purple pair of Chanel gloves inside them. She chuckles before collecting her things for the day and leaving.

As she heads downstairs to the elevator that exits the building she halts in the hallway as she sees a little light still in Mirandas office. ,,Good Night Ms. - Miranda'' she states as Miranda takes her eyes off the screen and looking at Wilhemina. She smirks satisfactiory as she sees the purple gloves already on the redheads hands. ,,Good Night'' she mumbles before carrying on with her work.

-------

Miranda sighs as she walks out of her office and towards the elevator, some files in her hand. Making her way upstairs, she suddenly notices the light still lit in Wilhemina's office. Miranda checks the time and realises it's past midnight. She thinks about turning back around, having dealt with too much interaction today but also needing those applications on Wilhemina's desk as it had been months since Paris and Emily still hasn't found a worthy second assistant.

Miranda knocks and opens the door in one swift motion finding Wilhemina on her computer. ,,Hire this one, Emily is taking far too long'' Miranda states before handing Wilhemina an application file.

They both look at each other for a moment, brown eyes meeting green ones. Silence filling the room as the same question played on both of their minds. ,,Do you need me to help out downstairs?'' Wilhemina breaks the silence first. ,,Pardon?'' Miranda questions.

,,I mean it's been months since Paris and if you need any help I would be quite happy to'' Wilhemina explains and is met with a sweet smile. ,,No- I'd just appreciate if you work through the application as quickly as possible''. Miranda replies with a grateful smile.

,,Why are you here so late?'' Miranda eventually asks. Wilhemina simply looks at her unable to really give her an answer but Miranda understood even without a word. She knew being a woman in this industry, the position not necessarily mattering, you had to get used to long hours in the office.

,,Do you need a lift? my driver should be outside.'' Miranda asks which takes Wilhemina by surprise. ,,No thank you Miranda but I'll walk out with you?'' she questions before being met with a nod and grabbing her bag and cane.

The elevator ride is quiet, Miranda containing a smile as she notices that Wilhemina had worn the Chanel gloves since she gave them to her. As they both walk past security and outside the building. New York being lit up and loud even in the middle of the night. Miranda walks over to her driver before she turns back towards Wilhemina.

,,I know this isn't exactly part of your job description but would you be free to join me for the launch dinner tomorrow evening?'' the question doesn't only take Wilhemina completely by surprise. Wilhemina had heard about the dinner and how much Miranda despised half of the people there. She doesn't quite understand why Miranda would like her company rather than Emily who certainly has more knowledge with these sort of things. Wilhemina had no idea that she had become a sense of comfort to Miranda, the usual strong woman, feeling safer in Wilhemina's presence. The question slipped her mind before she could think about it. Wilhemina being the stern HR she usually is, her mind takes her back that indeed this had no part in her job description but she felt intrigued. The last year in New York had helped the redhead realise that she didn't really have a personal life and she longed for one. So somehow as a result, a spontaneous Wilhemina comes to the surface, breaking through her usual high walls and agreeing. Miranda gives her a small but confused smile at her own question before making her way home.

-------

,,This will be your desk, you have big shoes to fill so please don't mess this up, considering Miranda chose you''. Emily explains as you listen to her instructions.

,,Understood'' you nod as you get familiar with your desk and computer.

The first couple of hours are quiet as Miranda was with a designer, presenting a new collection with Nigel. You walk around runway, getting to meet people you will be working with from now on before returning to your desk and working through the to-do list Emily has given you.

,,Miranda will be back in about thirty minutes, I'll send you a text with everyones coffee orders, please run to Starbucks and hurry up''. Emily explains.

Quickly, you grab your things and do as you are told, returning a short while later with the coffees.

After placing Miranda's coffee on her desk, you return to your own before Emily returns as well.

,,I have a coffee left for Wilhemina?'' you ask unfamiliar with the name.

,,Oh yes, remember the big shoes to fill? Well that's her, she works upstairs in HR now, please take it to Ms Venable'' Emily explains and you nod as you walk towards the elevator. As the elevator dings your eyes are met with Miranda.

She halts, recognising your face from the application. You had done your research, knowing not to directly address or bother Ms Priestly but her lack of movement and conversation, ushered you to make some.

,,Hello Ms. Priestly, my name is Y/N your new second assistant'' you introduce yourself before she takes her sunglasses off.

The woman scans you a second with a surprised look on her face. ,,Oh you are the assistant'' she states.

,,I was told you hired and chose me'' you reply slightly confused. The woman simply carries on scanning your body before replying ,,That's all'' and leaving towards her office.

Slightly dumbfounded and confused you make your way upstairs before knocking on Ms Venable's door.

,,Come in'' the redhead replies as you enter.

,,Hi, my name is Y/N, I'm Miranda's second assistant, I have your coffee here for you'' you explain before bending slightly, placing it in front of her.

,,Thank you'' she states and you can't help but notice her staring at you, specifically as you bend over slightly to hand her the coffee.

,,Oh and if you have any issues, for example with Emily, don't hesitate to come find me'' she states.

,,Why would I have any issues with Emily Ms Venable?'' you ask confused, considering its your first day.

,,Emily can be a bit demanding, given her position in this company'' Wilhemina replies .

,,Very well thank you Ms Venable'' you reply before heading back towards your desk, unbeknownst that her eyes followed until you left her office.

#wilhemina venable #sarah paulson #american horror story #sarah paulson x reader #Wilhemina Venable x reader #miranda priestly #miranda priestly x reader #the devil wears prada #tdwp #meryl streep #ahs #cordelia goode #billie dean howard #cordelia goode x reader #ahs coven #sarah paulson imagine #devil wears prada #emily blunt

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multimilfs · 1 year

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Miranda Priestly x Fem!Reader: Public People in Private

Summary: Miranda Priestly + 67 “Uh, am I interrupting?”

Prompts found here!

A/N: Miranda… my beloved. I need to rewatch this movie so bad, it’s been ages

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @imtrashinflames @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

“You can let me out here, Roy. I’m going up today.”

“Are you sure? I had a… colorful message from Emily this morning.” Roy asks, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

“I’ll risk it,” You smile, “I might be able to help out. At the very least, I’ll distract her for a few minutes.”

Roy nods and you step out in front of the Elias Clarke building. You weave through the crowds and inside without a hassle. The attendant stands up straighter upon seeing you, even after all this time. Nodding in greeting, he lets you through.

The crowds seem to part as soon as you’re past the front desk. Tall, rail-thin models step out of your way, some even stepping out of the elevator when you get in. You want to shake your head at the treatment.

It’s a short ascent to the Runway offices and you can see why Emily is so stressed. Models and staff scamper past, barely looking your way. The front desk is in shambles as several men in suits hound the receptionist.

Milena, the poor girl, looks absolutely beaten. You check your watch and find you have a few minutes before Miranda is expecting you.

“Is there something wrong here, gentleman?” You ask smoothly, stepping in beside Milena like it’s your rightful place.

The tallest and meanest of the bunch turns on you. His suit is rumpled like he’s been tugging at it nervously, face red and splotchy with anger.

Milena cuts in softly before he can throw anything your way, “They keep saying Miranda is expecting them, but they’re not in her schedule.”

You pat her shoulder.

“We do have an appointment!” He almost shrieks.

You look him up and down, raising a brow. It shuts him up long enough for you to dial a familiar number. You hold up a finger to the men while the line rings.

His fists clench at his sides. He looks like the lawyer type, which means he’s not used to being made to wait, let alone by a woman.

“Miranda Priestly’s office.” Emily’s clipped voice comes down the line.

“Hi Em,” You say sweetly, “I’ve got three men waiting with Milena, claiming they’ve got an appointment on the books. Is there anything in her schedule?”

“Of course not. She has lunch with you.”

“That’s what I thought. Thank you, Em.” You return the phone to the cradle and give a sharp smile, “You’re not on the schedule, gentleman. I trust you know where the elevators are and if you’ve forgotten, security will be more than happy to escort you.”

“I’ll have your job, Miss—” One of the other men says.

You grin deviously, “It’s Mrs, actually. Mrs. Priestly.”

All three men blanch. Milena tries to cover her grin as you step around the desk. She discreetly dials the security line, watching you with bated breath.

The tallest doesn’t look so mean now. When you step up to him, he takes a half-step back. You almost regret Miranda not being here to bear witness; you learned it from her, after all.

When the elevator sounds and the doors open, the head of security and two of his burliest men step out. Milena nods in the direction of the three men you’re staring down. Tearing your eyes away for a moment, you nod.

“Clark.” You acknowledge the head of security.

“Mrs. Priestly,” He says, “Is there a problem here?”

“No problem. These gentlemen just need some assistance finding the lobby.”

Clark nods and his two men step forward and usher the red-faced men from Runway. You watch them go with a satisfied smile. Folding your arms over your chest, you turn to the man at your side.

“Do we know how they got up here?”

“Front desk says they had an appointment with Mr. Ravitz this morning. They must have come straight from his office.”

Your lip curls, “Irv. Of course.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“That’s all, Clark. Thank you.”

He leaves without further fanfare. You watch as he sends a warm smile Milena’s way. Her responding blush makes you pause. Interesting development, you think, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face.

Collecting your bag and accepting Milena’s heartfelt thanks, you continue back towards Miranda’s office. You wince when you catch sight of a clock. You’re five minutes later than you should be, but all you can do is hope your wife isn’t too upset.

Following the familiar pathway to the offices, you try not to shake your head when nearly a dozen models and staff members scare upon seeing you. Honestly, you think, I wasn’t nearly as bad as Emily. Must just come with marrying the Editor-in-Chief, you decide.

Speaking of Emily, the brit is boredly explaining something over the phone. You offer a small wave and she sends you a surprisingly-genuine smile.

Miranda isn’t alone in her office; you can hear her soft voice bickering with someone else. Peering in, you see Nigel standing in front of her, hands motioning this way and that as he explains something.

Knocking on the office door, “Uh, am I interrupting?”

Both look up. Miranda’s severe expression softens slightly. When she checks the watch on her wrist, her lips purse and you know you’re not getting away with your tardiness, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“Not at all, darling. Come in.” Miranda stands.

You meet Nigel in the middle of the office and exchange air kisses. He pulls back and looks you over, nodding approvingly.

“New boots?” He asks.

“They’re last season, actually.” You say, then stage-whisper, “Don’t tell Miranda.”

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t dare.” Nigel winks.

He gives Miranda a small nod and takes his leave. You cross around the desk to accept your usual kiss on the cheek. She’s a little slower to grant it today and you lean back, raising a brow.

“You’re late.”

“There was a situation at the front desk,” You answer easily, “I would have been early, but Milena needed the help.”

“If she needs help doing her job then perhaps she’s better suited for employment elsewhere.” Miranda says.

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“Miranda.” You glare, “If you fire Milena I’m going to be extremely cross.”

She rolls her eyes. Pulling out a few paper menus, she hands them over, and you peruse today’s selections. Smith and Wollensky rests on top and you try not to laugh. Miranda always puts her preferred option on the very top, but lets you have the final choice.

You could go for a steak. And you should probably tread carefully with your lateness.

Handing over the Smith and Wollensky menu, she nods, looking pleased. She calls Emily in to rattle off your orders while you move over to the couch in her office.

Emily takes the notes dutifully. You wonder where the new second assistant is, having heard some interesting murmurs about her over the past few days. Emily was suitably frustrated with her—as was Miranda—but Nigel and Serena had been a little more kind. She was out of her depth, but meant well, that was the final verdict.

You hardly notice when Emily leaves until Miranda sits down next to you. Leaning back against the couch, she eyes you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

Miranda chuckles, “Darling, figuring you out will take more than my lifetime.”

“I can never tell if statements like that are a compliment or insult.” You narrow your eyes.

“For you?” Miranda raises a brow and pretends to think on it, before her face softens infinitesimally, “A compliment.”

“Miranda Priestly, are you going soft on me?” You tease, but lean into her space, “Imagine what that’d do to your reputation.”

“I have.”

There’s a look in her eyes you can’t decipher. You try not to think about it too much, stealing a quick kiss, trying not to badly damage her lipstick.

“So, tell me about today.”

You lean back and settle in for Miranda’s usual spiel about the incompetence of her employees, watching her fondly.

#miranda priestly #miranda priestly x reader #the devil wears prada #tdwp #the devil wears prada x reader #miranda priestly imagine #the devil wears prada imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #dec2022 #multimilfswritings #multimilfsficmas2022

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incorrectdwpquotes · 2 months

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Emily: Wanna bet? I’m a kinky and determined motherfucker with a libido that is not easily stopped.

#the devil wears prada #incorrect quotes #incorrect dwp quotes #emily charlton #source: texts from last night #i’ll let yall imagine what she could possibly be talking about

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litrallymadlad · 7 months

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You literally have the best take son Kevin’s character PLEASE PLEAS PLEASE tell more. I am begging you

You probably didn’t mean a Kevin-Riko deep dive but here we are HAHAHA

YOU MAY NOT LIKE TO HEAR IT but I think Kevin thinks about Riko CONSTANTLY. FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE. Imagine growing up with your closest friend/relative and having to watch them progressively become a horrible human being. Like??? I feel Kevin wasn’t untouched by the same character change Riko went through, just less intensely. I feel like people forget that Riko wasn’t the only one brainwashed into being a menace and every now and then it shows (like with Seth’s death and how Kevin treated that it’s like bro…….. now isn’t the time to compartmentalize LOL). Also??? I’m sure Kevin was desperate to cling to Riko because Riko was probably the most stable and familiar part of his time with the Moriyamas and Riko wouldn’t let Kevin fall behind. RIKO WAS PROBABLY HIS BIGGEST CHEERLEADER UNTIL SHIT HIT THE FAN YOU KNOW?? CUZ HOW COULD RIKO ASSOCIATE WITH SOMEONE UNWORTHY. HE WANTED KEVIN TO BE WORTHY. Until he was TOO worthy 😵‍💫

So yeah. Imagine your best friend, the pillar of all support for you, becomes a menace. YOU become a menace because y’all can’t regress together. The competition is INTENSE. Your peers expect THE WORLD OF YOU. YOU’RE ALL EACH OTHER HAS. AND THEN YOU “BETRAY” YOUR BEST FRIEND by getting the promotion they always wanted at work and HUMILIATING them in front of Miranda Priestly. THAT’S SOME ANDREA-SACHS-ANNE-HATHAWAY-DEVIL-WEARS-PRADA BEHAVIOR. KEVIN DID THAT. HE REALLY DID THAT. AND YOU THINK EMILY CHARLTON (Riko) IS GONNA TAKE THAT LYING DOWN???? NO WAY !!!!!! YOU ACCEPTED THE PARIS FASHION WEEK OFFER, YOU BITCH !!!!!! FUCK YOU. bitch.

Imagine if Emily just fully decked Andrea and they threw down in the middle of Miranda Priestly’s office. I’m talking BLOOD.

EDIT: I also just wonder how much of a childhood they each had…… Or, like, how much each of their fascinations with exy is genuine and how much is, like, borderline stockholm syndrome because ✨survival✨ but that’s a topic for me to dissect later LOL like one day after years of therapy will Kevin look at his life and wonder if exy ever mattered??? Would he wonder what life he’d lived if he hadn’t been taken in by the Moriyamas??? Would he be a professor at Oxford teaching history?? WHO KNOWS.

#ask #riko moriyama #riko #kevin #aftg #anon #LOL I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE #I never made the devil wears prada parallel until now #BUT IT’S TRUE !!!!!!!!#And like #if the change in Kevin wasn’t as dramatic as it was for Riko I imagine Kevin winning made him absolutely livid #like quote YOU DIDN’T WANT PARIS FASHION WEEK THE WAY /I/ WANTED PARIS FASHION WEEK end quote #No literally that’s what it is #For Kevin it was probably just to live but for Riko it was to live AND to be acknowledged #Riko ACKNOWLEDGE ME Reigns #only one person will probably get that reference and I don’t think she’s on tumblr

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romanoffsdarling · 2 years

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The Devil Wears Prada || Part One

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader // Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: Today is the big day of your job interview— where you’ll truly figure out who you’ll be working with— that could potentially set you on the track for your dream job. Will everything go according to plan?

Word Count: 3,477

Chapter Warnings: Some self-esteem hits (fashion industry).

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy the first part of this series! I’m super excited as TDWP is one of my all-time favorite movies. And, yes, Peter will be acting as the Nate in this series but will be more like book Nate than movie Nate (but he will also be his own character too, of course). Some of the dialogue comes from the script but I promise, as things deepen in a different way between you and Wanda, things will steadily shift.

Series Masterlist

Streaks of gold, with the smallest undertones of the purest white and the lightest flecks of silver, filter in from the half-opened curtains of the medium-sized windows within the place you have called home for the last two years. The sounds of horns blaring, faint shrieks of ambulances, and the distant chatter of voices in the streets below, signify the daily life of the inhabitants of New York City was just beginning.

While the day, for you, would signify that you’d finally be on the right path to achieve the goals you’ve set out for since you were little.

“Are you sure this job is right for you, Y/N/N?” The teasing question comes from the open doorway of the small bathroom situated in your Manhattan apartment. Your gaze shifts from the mirror-- as you were checking your chosen outfit once more-- to the amused one of your boyfriends. Light brown eyes sparkle with flecks of gold as his toothbrush hangs haphazardly out of the side of his mouth; his next words were slightly garbled because of it. “I mean you’ve never been that fashion conscious before.”

Your lips upturn into a smile. “I’m well aware of that, Peter.” You return your attention back to the mirror. “But we both know that working for a magazine like Runway will only heighten my chances at being able to work at credible newspapers.”

Peter holds up his finger as he disappears from sight and the sound of him spitting into the sink, followed by the brief gargling of mouth wash, resounds across the apartment before he appears once more. His hands wipe down the legs of his sweatpants as he makes his way towards you. “I know that I’m just worried that this job won’t be everything you think it will be.” Nimble fingers come up to gently tuck a strand of errant hair out of your face when he halts in front of you. “I just want you to be safe, Y/N/N.”

Leaning into his touch, you place a soft kiss on his fingertips. “I think I’ll be able to manage a couple of models, Pete.” You step closer to rest your head on his chest for a brief hug; comforted by the sound of his strong heartbeat. “And your number is speed dial one if I need you for anything.”

He wraps his arms around your waist and gives a light squeeze in response. “Call me to tell me how it goes. And Y/N?” You tilt your head up to look into his sparkling gaze. “Make sure to show them all what a kickass assistant you’ll make.”

An amused laugh leaves your lips at his enthusiastic support. “I’ll make sure to remember that.” You glance down at your watch and wince at the time it shows. “But, if I want to make the subway, I have to leave now. I’ll make sure to fill you in, in person when we go out for drinks tonight.”

You’re already out the door as Peter yells out his response; the good humor in his voice never leaving. “I’ll hold you to that, Y/L/N.”

Runway Magazine wasn’t one you were truly familiar with. Though, to be fair, you weren’t familiar with that many magazines to begin with; it would be a better fit than Auto Universe at least. You did, however, know how much money it seemed to be worth; a fact that’s hammered home as you pause outside of the Elias-Stark building. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the massive building that towers into the New York City skyline.

It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be, you observe with a small frown. Maybe I am out of my league with this one, but I wasn’t raised to be a quitter and I certainly won’t let a few insecurities ruin my chances for my dream career.

Stepping into the building was like stepping into a whole other world. Various people flitting from corner to corner, racks of clothes being transported to undisclosed locations, and the amount of designer clothes mixed with the beauty of the people wearing them fills you with a sense of unease. You tug at the thick material of your sweater-- a deep blue one that Peter had gifted you a few months before-- as you stop by the security desk to get a visitor pass.

“Y/N?” An accented voice calls from your right as the sound of heeled footsteps approach you. Offering a brief smile in thanks to the security guard that had just given you your pass, you turn your gaze to the approaching redhead. Was everyone in this place ridiculously attractive?

Your inner thoughts fortunately don’t reflect on your face as the woman stops in front of you; an almost bored expression on her face as she looks you up and down. “HR does seem to have a sense of humor.” The redhead-- that you assume to be Natasha; from the phone call you had gotten detailing your appointment with her-- sniffs as she gestures for you to follow. “Okay, I was Wanda’s second assistant but her first recently got promoted. So, now I’m her first.”

You both pause as Natasha presses the up button for the elevator. Noting how stressed the redhead seemed to be you attempt to alleviate the heavy tension that was beginning to form. “So, you’re pretty much replacing yourself?”

The other woman side eyes you as she steps onto the lift-- forcing you to scramble in after her-- and only responds after she pushes the button for Floor 17. “I’m trying to do so, yes.”

A confused frown furrows your brow at that. She was trying to? What the hell does that mean? Am I only one that has applied for this job?

Seemingly knowing where you mind went to, Natasha explains in an airy, almost disinterested, voice. “Wanda sacked the last two girls after a few weeks.” Before you’re given the chance to respond, Natasha steps off the elevator as it arrives on the designated floor. Not even waiting to see if you were following, which you were, as she continues to explain. “You need to have a certain backbone to be able to thrive at Runway. I need--” She exhales sharply through her nose. “We need to find someone that can survive here. Do you understand?”

You nod sharply, narrowly avoid getting nailed by a frantic looking man, as you rush to keep up with Natasha. “Yes,” you agree, but a question pops into your mind that you needed to voice. “Who’s Wanda?”

Natasha halts, her head whipping around to stare at you with a widened gaze. “You didn’t just ask me that.” She exhales through her nose sharply once more before continuing her earlier trek through the bustling halls; once again forcing you to keep up. How the hell was she moving so fast in heels that big? “Wanda is the Editor-in-Chief of Runway, and a living legend within the fashion community. Work a year for her and you’ll be able to find a job at any magazine you could hope for.”

Exactly what I was hoping for.

Opening a sleek glass door, Natasha leads you into a room with two desks facing one another-- on the outskirts of two other glass doors that lead into a much bigger office-- that you can guess is where the assistants reside throughout the day. Turning around, Natasha appraises you with sharp green eyes. “Millions of girls would kill for this job.”

You smile. “That sounds great, I’d love to be considered.”

The redhead’s brow furrows at that. “Y/N--” She pinches the bridge of her nose before continuing in a clearly strained voice. “Runway is a fashion magazine. An interest in fashion, beyond the base level, is crucial.”

Amusement flairs through you-- at least if you get this job, you’ll have one thing to brighten your day; see how worked up you could get Natasha-- as your smile remains. Although you adopt a faux innocent tone as you tilt your head. “What makes you think that I don’t have an interest in fashion?”

It was a question that you knew would raise Natasha’s hackles, which it does, but the retort dies on crimson-painted lips as she glances down at the beeping phone in her hand. Green eyes widen with horror as a gasp escapes her. “Oh, dear God. No, no, no, no.”

Confusion wells within you once more. Was this going to be a common occurrence? You not knowing what the hell was going on? “What’s wrong?”

Natahsa ignores you as she rushes to the desk on the left; her well-manicured nails quickly typing out a number on the desk-phone as she brings it to her ear. When it connects, she simply hisses out one statement before slamming it back down onto the receiver: “She’s on her way. Tell everyone.”

There seemed to be a moment of calm serenity before the office behind you burst into a frantic panic you’ve never seen before. People rushing back to their desk, women slipping out of sandals into heels, food getting thrown away, and various other things that flicker passed your gaze too quickly for you to notice.

The next thing you know a sharply dressed man-- in a midnight blue suit-- walks into the room. “She was supposed to be coming in at nine. What the hell happened?”

The clearly frazzled First Assistant runs a hand through her hair. “Her driver just messaged me. Apparently, her usual facialist ruptured a disk.” Standing, Natasha throws her hands into the air. “God! These people.”

What the absolute hell was happening?

Shifting your weight, you finally garner the attention of the man who’s blue eyes shroud with confusion of his own. “Natasha, who is this?”

The woman barely glances up from the documents on her desk as she waves her hand. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”

Seemingly not willing, or not having the time, to argue with Natasha, the man gives you one last glance before he pops his head into the hallway. “Man, your battle stations everyone!”

Even more chaos erupts at his words, but your gaze maintains its locked position on Natasha as she rushes into a side-door of the bullpen, reappearing a moment later with a tall glass and bottle of Pellegrino. Both of which she side-arms as she quickly takes the various magazines and newspapers into her free hand as she rushes into the bigger office. It seems that running was the normal walk within Runway.

“You’re still here,” Natasha mutters, almost to herself, as she reappears to stand beside her desk. Her attention shifting for only a moment as the paper she was waiting for was finally done printing, which she instantly attached to her clipboard. “Go.”

Pushing off the chair you had been seated in-- was this really how this job interview was going to end-- an almost panicked look flashes across Natasha’s face before she waves you back down. “No, I don’t want you to pass her. We’ll just have to pray that she doesn’t notice you.”

Settling back down, you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. This was exactly like self-esteem camp. How quaint.

So lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice that a quiet hush had fallen over the offices outside. A strained, yet professional, smile appearing on Natasha’s face as she disappeared from the room to meet the woman that had caused the commotion to begin with. You’re only keyed into her presence whenever her soft voice filters past your ears.

“--- How hard is it to find a decent looking paramedic? Also, I need to see what Steve has called in for Gwenyth’s second cover try.”

Looking up, you’re met by the sight of gorgeous auburn-haired woman-- clothed in a form fitting white blouse, black pencil skirt, and black heels with red bottoms-- with an air of controlled disinterest as she tossed a black coat and purse onto Natasha’s desk. Said woman having followed dutifully behind her, jotting down notes, as the woman-- who you presume was Wanda-- spoke.

As she enters her office, she calls softly over her shoulder. “Who is that?”

Natasha winces at the question-- seemingly hoping that Wanda would have been unobservant for once-- as she tries to come up with a proper response. “Nobody,” she replies, knowing that she would have to elaborate as that wouldn’t be a sufficient answer for Wanda. “Human resources sent her for the assistant job, and I was pre-interviewing her for you, but--”

Whatever Wanda does stops Natasha’s words in their tracks, but you don’t have to wonder for long as her smooth voice speaks up once more. “I’ll do it. The last two you sent me were complete disappointments.” There’s a brief moment of silence. “Send her in.”

A moment later Natasha appears and gestures for you to get up. “She’d like to see you.” Seemingly moving too slowly for the red heads liking she urges you forward. “Go on.”

Not needing to be told twice-- especially with the look Natasha was giving you-- the quick walk to Wanda’s office happens in record time as you stop in front of the modern desk. Trying not to look around too much at the chic design-- the space being perfectly clean, and the walls littered with pictures from designers you’d never be able to name-- but it was the woman seated behind the desk that truly drew you in. Her attention wasn’t on you, but you were certain she knew you were there, as she browses the magazine situated in front of her; deep auburn waves falling around her.

“Who are you?” The question almost startles you; having gotten used to the silence, but you have a feeling that you shouldn’t keep the woman waiting for long. Especially not when her emerald eyes finally peer up from the papers and almost feel like they’re staring into your soul.

You nervously place your resume on the desk in front of Wanda-- which she ignores-- as you introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” At the continued silence, you could feel your own nerves beginning to rise. “I recently graduated from--”

Wanda interrupts what would have undoubtedly been a rambling mess of a spiel. “What are you doing here?”

That seems easy enough. “I think that I could do a great job as your assistant and--”

Your words falter at the look Wanda bestows onto you; a part of yourself withering within you because of it.

Not knowing what to do you begin talking. “I came to New York to become a journalist and I sent letters out to everyone. Elias-Stark gave me a call and Sherry detailed the opening in your department. Basically--” You sigh. “It was either this or Auto Universe.”

You want to die at the extent of your honesty, but Wanda seems to be taking it in. Maybe there was still a chance for you to get this job?

“So, you don’t read Runway?”

Strike One.

“No.”

Wanda raises a brow. “And, before today, you had never heard of me?”

Strike Two.

“No.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”

Strike Three. You’re out.

“That depends on--”

A hard look flits over Wanda’s emerald gaze. “That wasn’t a question.”

Feeling desperate-- as this was the job that would open so many doors for you-- words tumble out of your mouth despite yourself. “I was Editor-in-Chief at the Daily Northwestern. I won a national competition for college journalists with a series on the janitor’s union--”

Wanda, seemingly having enough of you, holds up her hand. Her airy voice holding a whole new level of disinterest. “That’s all.”

The abruptness doesn’t stop your tirade, however. “That uncovered the exploitation of--”

The look Wanda pins you with could burn a hole through an iceberg, which really hammers in the point that you had just screwed up exponentially by trying to get this job. Feeling defeated, and a little downtrodden, you turn around and make your way to the door. Only to pause, well aware of the gaze still burning into you, as you turn back to meet it.

“Okay, you’re right.” You gesture to your outfit as you keep your chin up. “I clearly don’t fit in here. I’m not glamorous or stick-level skinny and I don’t know much about fashion. But I’m smart, I learn fast, and I will work very hard.”

As your words peter out-- with some of your bravado fading-- Wanda simply stares impassively at you, not giving anything away, until the familiar male voice from earlier speaks up behind you.

“We got the exclusive on the yellow Cavalli for Gwyneth, the one he showed with a huge, feathered headpiece, but she’ll look like she’s working the mainstage at the Golden Nugget, so instead--”

The man stops abruptly once he notices you, but you don’t pay him any mind as you offer Wanda a slight smile. “Thank you for your time.”

With that you exit the office as quickly as you can-- still feeling the effects of Wanda’s gaze on your body-- as you breathe a soft sigh through your nose. The job interview may not have gone as you wanted it to, but at least you stepped out of your comfort zone.

Fortunately, the elevator ride down was quick, and you were alone-- leaving you to mope in your thoughts-- as you try to figure out where exactly everything had turned so wrong. It was those thoughts that plagued you as you gave back your visitor pass, offering a cordial goodbye, and made your way to the rolling doors of Elias-Stark.

It was only the familiar accented voice calling from behind you that made you stop in your tracks. Your head whipping around to meet Natasha’s perturbed expression. She didn’t speak but the gesture for you to follow her was all that she needed to do.

It seems that you had been able to do something right after all.

“I still can’t believe you got a job at a fashion magazine,” Bucky murmurs, amusement dancing through his blue gaze. “Though, Wanda Maximoff is known for being unpredictable.”

You shake your head-- a fond smile curling your lips-- as you swat Peter’s hand away from encroaching on your fry territory.

“Okay.” You shoot a glare towards Peter as he swiftly steals a fry, before turning your gaze back to Bucky. “How do you know who she is, and I don’t?”

Bucky grins. “I’m just more attuned with that sort of stuff than you, Y/N.”

A soft chuckle from Bucky’s right causes you to shift your gaze to amused brown. “That would make sense,” MJ teases. “It would explain a lot actually.”

Ignoring her teasing, he continues. “Seriously, Wanda is a big deal. She’s the youngest Editor-in-Chief in Runway history and doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.” He shrugs halfheartedly at you. “I’m sure millions of girls would kill for the job you have.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” You were told this mere hours ago. “But I’m not one of those girls.”

“Hey,” Peter smoothly interjects; popping, yet another, one of your fries into his mouth. “Everyone has to start from somewhere, right? I’m just a bus-boy pretty much, but I know that I’ll be able to get my chance if I just try hard enough. Plus, MJ does--” Peter waves his hand in the general direction of your shared friend before a frown furrows his brow. “What is it that you do at your gallery?”

“My job,” MJ replies cheekily. “But fry cook here is right, Y/N/N, everyone starts from somewhere.”

“Fortunately for me I already have my dream job.”

Three sets of eyes turn to look at Bucky.

“You’re a corporate research analyst.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, but I get free bagels on Tuesday’s and some booze at times. It totally rocks.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Bucky cracks.

“You’re right my job is totally boring,” he sighs, but his jovial grin doesn’t slip from his face as he maintains eye contact with you. “At least you won’t be bored working for the Devil within the fashion industry.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, slinking back into your seat. “Lucky me.”

As your friends and boyfriend, continue to chatter around you can’t shake the memory of those burning green eyes. The way the light had reflected off of those auburn waves and the sheer command she had over a room without needing to raise her voice.

You don’t know why but the idea that Wanda Maximoff was the Devil didn’t sit well with you, but you didn’t truly know her yet.

Only time would tell...

You just hope you were prepared for what it would bring.

#wanda maximoff x reader #avengers imagine #mcu imagine #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagines #the devil wears prada #peter parker x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader

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cherrysfeelings · 7 months

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How rtve play feels after removing 'The devil wears Prada' the week after they putting it on

#rtve #rtve slander #the devil wears prada #I didn't get to finish #Bro only the last 15 minutes why did you have to do this to me?#the photo of Wonyoung in Madrid makes it even better #imagine wonyoung in rtve #I can see her as a weather girl #the only thing is that she would be the competence of Albert Barniol

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prideprejudce · 1 year

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devil wears prada game of thrones au where miranda is queen hahahaha

miranda "that's all" priestly would run westeros like a well-oiled machine within one year of being in charge and we all know this

#miranda priestly is what cersei lannister wanted to be #but can you imagine though #miranda to petyr baelish or whatever: please bore someone else with tales of your incompetence #her and tywin going head to head would be the real delight #game of thrones #the devil wears prada

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dying-suffering-french-stalkers · 2 years

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@deadpanwalking

*Claude Rains voice* This…“stuff”? Oh, I see. You think this has nothing to do with you.

#that blue represents millions of pounds and countless jobs.#really; miss sachs; it's comical how you think that you’ve made a choice which exempts you from the fashion industry...#when in fact you are wearing a sweater which was selected *for* you by the very people in this room…all from a pile of “stuff.”#(someone who knows more about fashion history than me can feel free to do a full pastiche)#(i am not capable of a streep pastiche but i am imagining this swap with absolute delight)#lawrence of arabia #the devil wears prada #claude rains #meryl streep

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howl-fantasies · 2 years

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I wonder what Y/N thinks of Vic's imo most iconic vest 😂 Love how it matches sofas from Penguin's club 😂 There is no way no one ever commented that.

I would rather imagine his wife in black latex than him, but what does she think about his sense of fashion?

That's a very funny question to be honest, mostly, because I was literally wheezing the first time I saw the scene where Victor is sitting on Oswald's sofas wearing it. I told myself exactly that : oh my, it matches so well! He did it on purpose, maybe to try to hide from Oswald rolling himself in a ball or something 🤣

To answer your question, Y/N absolutely loves Victor sense of fashion and the little touches he adds to create his own style. Be it the Docs he wore with his suit jacket or the choice of his leather jackets, she loves it. She would never tell Victor but she also loves his rings. First, because they rock, but mostly because it means his hands are bare and... How can she puts this? She is fascinated by them. 👀

I can picture her like someone according a great importance about how someone is dressing. You can learn a lot when you look at someone's outfit, the choice of colors, materials they choose to wear, if they pay attention to matching colors or not... She doesn't care about brands, more about how a person associates items and how much it reveals their personality.

Victor sense of fashion is in her opinion pretty good (Oswald being the master of style even she has to recognize it, and she also likes Ed's fashion sense even before the infamous green suit). Concerning Victor, it shows exactly who he is and how he works. Dark, clean, audacious/mischievous(you can tell by the touches of red on his gloves, or on his collar, and the material he chooses to wear like the fake snake he wore when he was under Ivy's poison).

His style is screaming BDSM guy, bad boy material, true sadist and hitman. That's because of it that she was able to tell exactly who he was the first time she saw him. His very unique face helped greatly too, but she was also able to tell he was a fan of the disco and funk, because of some accessories and shinny pieces of clothes he wore.

However concerning THAT jacket, she asked him the first time if Firefly had burnt him against Oswald's sofas or something and if it sticked to his torso as a result. She likes it though, it's just that it looks like Cobblepot's sofas too much, and since her relationship with Penguin is... Well... Special... She had to make a joke about it.

If you wander around Gotham late at night or in a few selected and discreet shops during the day, you might see Victor and Y/N buying clothes and giving each other their opinion about it. They wear whatever they like, but they enjoy knowing what the other thinks about it.

Bonus : Victor ties often match Y/N's outfits. Can't change my mind. I wrote about this and how Jim quickly spotted her in a crowded place after he arrested Victor first because of it.

Hope that my rambling make some sense 😅

#gotham #gotham imagine #gotham fox #victor zsasz #victor zsasz imagine #victor zsasz x reader #gotham fandom #Gotham fashion #Y/N being like Miranda from The Devil wears Prada

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gentleoverdrive · 1 year

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(240/?) You will see your downfall.

It's been raining again for a couple of days! Driving around the city to go into rehearsals for the pre-production process of one of the recording sessions we'll start soon has been so fun... even if I have to use my 8-string for these new songs. Goddammit, that guitar is so heavy now that I lost weight, it's hard to play it for long periods of time standing. ---- And while I was able to pull off most of the songs without much of an issue (after all, 5 out of the 9 songs were almost completely written by me), I've been wondering: Weren't both literary and musical genres, like, entirely dreamed up by marketing? I say this because, while I love playing slow, droning stoner/post-metal as much as the next musician, it's also not the only thing I want to do with this particular band. ---- Especially because we're a power trio. We don't even have a proper bass player. Hell, technically speaking, the low register is mostly MY thing in this band! Wouldn't it be cool if musicians weren't so married to their own genres as the standard? I'd love to play some crossover or even thrash with these two girls! ---- Same with my other band! I don't want to play melodeath all the time with those guys. How about some black metal? How about some metalcore? Or grind? Wouldn't that be the shit? Think about it. Genres are purely for marketing, man. See you later, alligator!

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multimilfs · 2 years

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Emily Charlton x Fem!Reader: Crisis Mode

Summary: "Ew. Get away from me. No--not you. You stay."

AO3

A/N: I chose to do this for Emily because the line feels so perfect for her. I've never really written her before so this was a lot of fun!! So fun in fact that I'm pumping this out before work haha. I hope you all like it!

Prompts found here!

Tag List: @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

Though it was par for the course by now, you’ll never get used to rounding the corner and hearing Emily’s frazzled “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.” With a job like her’s, it was impossible to blame her for how she had to stay afloat. Miranda—amazing and talented as she is—can be the devil to work for.

You came in early on the hunch that something was going to go terribly wrong. Sometime mid-trip, you wondered if that was just how it felt to work at Runway anymore; but you were too close to the office to turn around. When you stroll through the doors to see everything in pure chaos, you know it was the right choice.

The first thing you register is Nigel running past you. Not a speed-walk or a jog, sprinting. Jocelyn follows at his heels babbling under her breath. On instinct, you make a beeline for the desks outside of Miranda’s office. If they were acting like this, she couldn’t be here yet.

That’s when Emily’s mantra reaches your ears and you know the day is going up in flames. The second assistant is silent, staring between her computer screen and the papers on her desk like she couldn’t read a word of it. She looked haunted. Dark shadows under her eyes and pale skin tell you she is either very sick or severely malnourished—though you saw that often enough—and you need to get her away from Emily before she ruins anything.

“You,” You say, pointing to the second assistant as both snapped their heads to you, “Go get something to eat. I don’t care if it’s a dried cranberry or something greasy, go, and don’t come back until you can do your job.”

Emily hisses out your name and you ignore it until the second assistant leaves, then she snaps, “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“Getting her out of the way. She wasn’t going to be of any help to you, Em. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

Emily takes a deep breath and all of the days problems are unloaded; The Central Park shoot was canceled for some official city event, the new collection of Prada belts have gone missing, Miranda wants the run-through pushed to this afternoon, on and on and on it goes until you’re worried Emily is going to pass out.

You step forward and place a hand on either of her cheeks, missing the blush that erupts there, “Breathe, Em, you’re better to us alive.”

She takes a deep breath and when you’re sure she’s calmed, you offer a smile, and launch right into your plan of attack. You’d been Miranda’s assistant too once. When you’d done your time, you asked to move to the makeup department with Serena; you’d always loved painting faces and Serena was a master. Miranda had been pleased—as pleased as she could be—to oblige.

You were a bit rusty, but when you’ve played the role of Miranda’s assistant, it never leaves you. It’s like second nature to sit back at the desk and start rifling through papers.

“I’ll call the city and arrange everything with Central Park. Call the Closet staff and let them know that anything they’re working on currently is on pause, finding those Prada belts are first priority unless they all want to be out of a job. If Miranda wants the run-through today, she’ll get it, and I need at least three passable spreads from each department,” You’re dialing the line to the makeup department, smiling and saying smoothly down the line, “Serena darling, I’m with Emily, we’re in crisis mode. Can you do me a favor? Yes, I’ll explain later, but there is a pair of scuffed Manolo Blahniks in the Closet that are supposed to be used in the run-through today. Can you fill in the scuffs with eyeliner until we can send them back? You’re the best. Ciao.”

The wide-eyes and look of awe from Emily make you stop up short. You forgot that she’s never seen you in this role; by the time she came to Runway, you were comfortably in the makeup department with Serena. Offering a shy smile, you get to work, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes you blush.

It takes some subtle threatening and maneuvering, but the Central Park shoot is back on. The team will have to work fast but it’s better than losing the whole thing. Emily informs you that they’ve found the Prada belts and they’re being sent up. Staff around Runway are also bringing up their spreads for the run-through to see if they’ll pass.

Serena stops by with the formerly-scuffed Blahniks in hand and you examine them with a hard eye. If you’re really looking for it, you can tell they’re filled in. You hope Miranda isn’t hyperfocused on details today because they’ll pass if she’s distracted.

By the time all is said and done, you have an hour and a half before Miranda is supposed to show. You’re only waiting on the run-through staff at this point. Sitting on the edge of Emily’s desk and talking through the changes—pausing when she answers a phone call—is nice. It’s a brief moment of calm you rarely get with the assistant. Sure, the two of you go out sometimes, but it’s different seeing her at work. She’s in charge here when Miranda’s gone.

You believe that one day, should Miranda ever step-down, that Emily is next in line for Editor-in-Chief. No one sees what she does and has the experience at Miranda’s side. It’d be perfect for her.

You’re waiting patiently as Emily takes a call when her face drops, “Emily?” You whisper.

She hangs up the phone in silence. Her eyes, now wide, look up at you. There is pure and unrestrained horror in them. You feel a pit growing in your gut.

“Annie just canceled. She’s sick.” Emily says.

It takes you a few moments to realize she means Annie Leibovitz, the photographer for the Central Park shoot. You want to rip your hair out. Everything was going so well. But instead, you take her hands, and start to slowly walk her through how she can fix it.

You’re interrupted by everyone walking in with their run-through spreads. Seeing you and Emily at the same desk, they crowd around, talking a mile a minute and shoving garments in your face. A gaudy rhinestone belt nearly smacks you in the eye, but you’re still trying to deliver comments on each item. The noise is overwhelming.

“Enough!” Emily declares.

She’s moved away from the crowd and when you move towards her, the whole crowd follows. They’re silently holding out their garments now.

“Ew. Get away from me,” Emily snaps and you startle, stepping back just as everyone else does. She grabs your arm and pulls you back into her space, “No–not you. You stay. The rest of you organize your things in Miranda’s office and go, we’ll call if anything is especially heinous.”

They all pause and stare.

“Now!”

They scramble as if Miranda made the call herself. You watch it all happen with a small smile, impressed at the way Emily took control of everything. She looks at you and shares your smile. Neither of you think about how she’s still holding onto you.

All of them leave quickly, heads down and muttering apologies as they pass. You barely hold in a laugh. It’s only when she gives your arm a gentle squeeze that you realize you’re still touching.

You stare at one another for a long minute and you’re weighing the dangers of kissing her; so far you’re most worried about how it’d smudge her lipstick, the rest seems worth the risk. But her cell beeps and the two of you reluctantly separate.

Her lips purse and she takes in a long breath, “Miranda’s on her way.”

#emily charlton #emily charlton x reader #the devil wears prada #the devil wears prada x reader #tdwp #emily charlton imagine #the devil wears prada imagine #wlw #wlw imagine #oct2022 #multimilfswritings

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pedro-pascal · 1 year

Note

Same I’m a sucker for Emily Blunt

oh to be john krasinski

#also she had her sister and stanley tucci meet on the set of the devil wears prada #and now her sister and stanley are married #imagine having him as your step brother!!!!!!! she really won at life #good for her #anonymous #BROTHER IN LAW NOT SEPT BROTHER LMAO #I HATE NOT BEING ABLE TO SPEAK ENGLISH

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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

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— LINES OF YOUR HANDS

SUMMARY : dean tries being seductive in a Santa suit… and it works, surprisingly.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, on the kitchen table, Santa suit kink, nude photography, breeding kink, jerking off, cum play

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — (Santa) suit kink and nude photography. this was cute to me, idk ‘bout y’all, like yeah, the sex, but Dean’s so cute in my imagination (and in the show). had clara oswald and danny pink in mind for this one, lmao XXX

“Merry Christmas, my love!” Dean exclaimed from the doorway of the kitchen. His girlfriend turned around, distractedly biting off the arm of a gingerbread man.

“You could’ve at least picked something sexy,” she snorted, turning away from him to bite the other arm of her gingerbread man. Dean pouted and made his way to her unenthusiastically.

“Well, guess what I’m wearing underneath,” he proposed excitedly with his hands on his hips. She didn’t turn around to look at him this time.

“Uh… your Scooby-Doo boxers?” She asked, grinning at the space in front of her before taking a bite of a gingerbread cookie’s leg. She knew that would make Dean whine more. “One of the hundred of black t-shirts you own, and uh… those ‘send noods’ socks, my fave,” she continued with a dreamy laugh. Dean sputtered.

“No,” he pouted adorably. She shrugged, mouth full, drinking warm coconut milk to help the cookie go down. Defeated, Dean’s frown deepened. “Nothing,” he whined, then stomped over to her, hoping she’d look at him. “Come on, admit it’s sexy,” he smiled cheekily, sitting on the table next to the small plate with crumbs and a gingerbread man that no longer had arms and legs.

She sighed playfully and then leaned back, eyes trailing from the top of his cute head to the bottom of his hot legs. She checked him out once more, contemplating his appearance: she stared at his thighs, the tent in the red, fluffy trousers, the tightness of the suit on him, the little bit of skin showing at his neck, the floppy red and white hat on top of his head.

She tried to give him what he wanted, to see the sexiness in his costume. But… she couldn’t help it, she smiled brightly at him. He was too damn adorable.

“Oh, come on!” He whined, then hastily undid the black belt around his waist, letting the coat fall open. She held her breath as she watched him, her eyes glued to his taut, hot body, and his warm, freckled skin. He bit his lip, and pulled his pants down to release his cock, and slowly started to jerk himself off.

That did it for her. Her stomach flipped and her pussy clenched, warmth spread over her face, her stomach, her cunt. She released a shaky breath as a wave of dampness ruined her underwear almost instantly.

Squeezing her thighs, she fumbled and checked her pockets for her phone to take a picture. Maybe a lot more than one. This was so hot and definitely worth being kept in the hidden photo album of explicit photos and videos of her and Dean.

When he saw it in her hands, he stopped touching himself and reached for the phone, but she snatched it away before he could snatch it away.

“Hey!” He complained. He thought she was going to ignore him and scroll through her phone instead.

“Shut up,” she grunted, which made his mouth shut instantly, “I’m trying to eat my gingerbread man and you want to seduce me… now deal with the fact that it worked.”

“You’re torturing the little man,” he stared down at the gingerbread man with an exaggerated frown. “But, hey, I ain’t complainin’ if you wanna take a few videos of me right now,” he grinned, going right back at it. “Did ya name him?” He asked, running his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock.

“Patrick,” she laughed softly, then stood up to find the perfect angle. It didn’t matter though, he looked good from all angles. She snapped a photo, kept tapping and tapping the red button to get as many as she could. Data storage be damned.

“Want some more frosting on Patrick?” He jested, but she was actually contemplating his offer. He cursed softly and watched her with hooded eyes.

She leaned down to collect the beads of precum at his tip with her tongue which made his body tense up, a loud moan erupting from his throat. She reached over and took a bite of her cookie, mixing the sweet and tangy flavour of her two favourite things. “Yummy,” she snickered, staring straight at Dean.

“Fuck,” he whispered, licking his lips.

“Maybe when you’ve got another load, you’re cumming inside me first.” She pushed her cup and the headless cookie to the far end of the table, close to the wall. “Fuck, actually… should I take a picture of you cumming on your hand first?” She stopped in the middle of lifting her shirt up, staring at him as he slowed the pace of his movements to stop his orgasm.

“No, later,” he decided for her, “please, get up here and ride me.” He begged, then shifted on the table to lie on his back, aware of the plate and cup she pushed against the wall when he placed the Santa hat with them. She snickered and lifted the top over her head. She wore no bra this morning and the sight of her breasts made him moan softly.

“Comfortable?” She asked, kicking her slippers off and then slid her leggings and underwear down in one swift pull.

“Just get up here,” he told her impatiently, reaching down to tug at his balls instead of jerking himself off. She laughed again and did as he asked. She climbed up the chair, made her way onto the table, and then sat on his lap, taking his hard cock in her hand.

“How are you making this work?” She teased, biting her lip, slowly stroking from base to tip. He instantly grabbed her hips, his red lips parted to release quick breaths as he brought her forward over his erect cock.

He shrugged, biting his lip and smiling cutely. “Please,” he begged again, urging her to take him. She playfully, teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, and stared down at him mischievously.

“Sam’s gonna get mad that we fucked on the table.” He knew she was stalling on purpose, getting him riled up. Her intentions were clearer when she reached for her phone again, and took a couple photos of his cock in her hand.

She stopped stroking his cock to focus on taking more photos. It frustrated him and he groaned, reaching between her legs. While she treated him like a sex model, leaning back in his lap to capture him at the best angle with her phone, he separated her folds and brushed his thumb against her clit.

His cock twitched when he brought two of his fingers to her entrance and an insane amount of slick met his fingertips. “Wow, it’s really workin’,” he chuckled, smiling up at her smugly. She rolled her eyes, lips parting when he pushed two fingers into her, meeting no resistance. “Please tell me you’re done, I wanna be inside you and feel all of this… wrapped around my dick,” he mumbled, pushing a third finger into her, then spread them apart inside her.

“Oh… fuck, Dean!” She moaned in surprise. Her phone tumbled out of her hand and rattled on the floor, but it didn’t break. She slammed both hands on his chest as her thighs shook on either side of his body as his fingers curled against the front of her walls.

“It’s Santa now,” he teased, pulling his soaked fingers out of her fluttering pussy to wrap it around his cock. She barely composed herself when he bucked his hips upwards, thrusting his cock into her swiftly.

She cried out again and buried her face into his neck, making a tight fist with both hands clenching around the red and white Santa jacket he wore. She moaned softly when he rolled his hips gently, soothing the amazing stretch of her cunt around him.

“Shit.. that was way too easy, babe,” he gasped, giving her ass a gentle swat. “You okay?” He murmured, kissing her temple. She nodded, her pussy fluttering needily around his cock. “Well…” he paused for a moment, reaching up to move her hair to one side, then lifted her mouth up to his. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?” He mumbled against her lips, giving her a few loving pecks.

She kissed him lewdly, licking across his sugary lips and into his minty mouth with a hum. With a smirk, she replied, “a baby.”

His grip on her hair tightened and his cock twitched inside her. He pulled her off him with a sharp tug of her hair and stared at her face, stunned and aroused. “Don’t ask for something if you’re not serious about it…” he murmured, planting his black-leather-boot clad feet on the table.

“Who said I wasn’t serious?” She asked, placing her arm beside his head and laying her palm flat over his toned stomach.

“That shit-eating grin on your fuckable face.” Before she could get out a reply, Dean began to piston his hips up into her, clasping both hands on her hips roughly to keep her from moving.

With a surprised moan she pressed her forehead into her arm and wrapped her hand around one of Dean’s wrists, above his watch.

She panted heavily into his ear, occasionally moaning encouragements that made him fuck her harder. Her clit slapped delightfully against his pelvis with each thrust and upward grind. He focused on chasing her pleasure more than his own, angling her hips so he could press his cock into the front of her pussy, brushing repeatedly over her sweet spots.

“You want a baby?” He asked breathlessly, cock throbbing inside her velvety walls. He could feel her getting as close to her orgasm as he was, and continued to grind up against her after every thrust to stimulate her clit. “I’ll give you a baby,” he growled, latching his lips to her pulse.

With a sharp thrust and a hard bite, he came inside her with a grunt of her name against her neck. Hot cum pooled inside her and triggered her own orgasm. With a shuddering moan of Dean’s name, she took Dean's face lovingly into her hands and kissed him as he helped her ride out her orgasm.

Her kiss-swollen lips moved across his jaw, down his flushed neck and chest as they attempted to catch their breaths. Dean pulled her closer, his warm hands squeezing his favourite parts of her body that he could reach. Barely having caught their breaths, he mumbled, “I believe you need to let me eat your cookie now that I’ve delivered your gift. Santa’s gotta get a reward,” against her flushed cheek.

She moved away from his mouth and lifted a brow at the playful grin he gave her. “Do not call my vagina a cookie ever again,” she giggled, pushing up off his chest. Except he pulled her back down with his fingers around the back of her neck to peck her lips, once, then twice.

“Babe, please, I’m trying to be in the Christmas spirit,” he reasoned playfully with a nod, dimples on display with his puckered lips. He slid his hands down the curve of her back and stopped just shy of her ass, calloused hands caressing her soft skin.

She eyed him suspiciously and then dropped a lingering kiss on his forehead for cuteness. “Okay, I’ll let it slide… this time,” she smiled, then dropped doting kisses over his cheeks and nose.

“Right, but you have no problem with me referring to myself as Santa, hmm?” He muttered, feigning disappointment. Mischievously, she stopped her kisses before she could get to his mouth, hovering over his lips after kissing the corner of his mouth.

She pulled away as he waited for her kiss with a very subtle pucker of his lips and then, he had the audacity to pout again. “Be happy that I fucked you in this ridiculous costume at all,” she frowned, but her bright and amused eyes betrayed her serious face.

“This costume is not ridiculous, okay? You’re ridiculous…” he scoffed, moving his hands away from her hips to cross them over his chest defensively.

She bit back a smile and slid off his soft dick, which made him reach out for her to return with his lips parted to ask her to come back. Instead, she took his hands to balance herself as she climbed off the table and took her phone off the floor, his cum already starting to dribble out of her pussy.

She squeezed her legs together as she unlocked her cellphone to study the photos she took of Dean. “I’m gonna get these framed… or.. I’m making my own porn magazine with photos of you naked.. yeah, that’s a great idea,” she spoke to herself thoughtfully.

Dean blindly grabbed for the Santa hat, lifted his pants up, and slid off the table to wrap his arms around his naked girlfriend. He put the hat back on and dropped his chin on her shoulder to gaze at her phone.

“Only if you do the same for me,” he proposed bashfully, then slowly started moving his hands down between her legs. She smiled and parted her legs for him, but she didn’t expect him to send a slap over her sensitive clit.

He must have expected her reaction because he released her immediately and backed away when she jumped with a shout and turned to face him swiftly. She glared at him and walked towards him until the metal counter hit his back.

He licked his lip, trying to lean casually against the counter with his green eyes shining bright like shiny ornaments on a Christmas tree. He swallowed excitedly and smiled at her flirtatiously—that stupid smile he gave women when he tried picking them up or to get information out of them.

“I’m tying you up with the Christmas lights for that,” she threatened seductively, pressing herself up against his taut body. He bit his lip and carefully moved his hands to her ass to keep her close, then squeezed.

“Really?”

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