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rippersz · 1 year

Note

Miranda Priestly and f Reader. Reader gets in between an altercation between Miranda and Stephen. She later tells Miranda "I'll never let anyone talk to you like that again"

𝙰 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

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(Fem!Reader x Miranda Priestly) (Pining) (TW: Abusive language)

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“Oh give me a break! You don’t have to make up excuses to try and salvage my ego, Miranda!”

The minute you walked in, you knew something was wrong.

The townhouse air in the evening was usually still and quiet, but the stomping footsteps on the second floor provided a tension that made you pause in the foyer. Stephen was home, you realized. His weird manly cologne filled your lungs, nearly bringing tears to your eyes with how strong it was. Almost a year as Miranda’s assistant, spending time around her husband at least once or twice, and you still couldn’t get used to his smell. Probably because every little thing about Stephen was either utterly boring or terribly annoying. Emily said it was both, but she only expressed that when he called so frequently that Miranda told her to instantly send them to voicemail. ‘If he has something important to say, he’ll leave a message’ but every time he did, it was just a stream of complaints.

If you were in his shoes, something you didn’t think about often because why would you, then you knew you wouldn’t take her attention for granted. She gave it when she could and a loving partner would understand that, and such understanding would lead to a lack of tension, and a lack of tension would result in more of her recognition. Or that’s what you thought. Again- not that you thought about it frequently of course - cuz that would just be silly and unrealistic and strange because she was your boss and she was the most emotionally unavailable woman you knew and even though she loved her daughters, her love for her partners was different and-

“I can’t go one day without them shooting looks at me- like- like I’m some dog! Probably wondering where my keeper is!” His voice echoed upon every floor, making you wince as you slid the Book into its assigned place.

Evidently, they hadn’t heard you come in. They should have been expecting you; at least Miranda should have, but it was easy to lose track of time during the winter months. It seemed to move so quickly, with a prime example being that it was 11:20 on the dot once you got there. Miranda had to attend a small dinner party at 9, so she eventually returned home at 10:30. Not the worst timing for a Friday night, but if Stephen had been ranting from the very moment she stepped in, well then you had no doubt she was tired. Too tired to argue perhaps as you barely heard her murmured response.

“We can discuss this in the morning. It’s late.” She sounded worn. It made your heart ache as you looked up at the ceiling, momentarily debating if you should stay or leave.

“Oh yeah? Just so you can escape back into your job to try and distract yourself from the real issues? Stop acting like a child, Miranda. We’ll talk about this now like adults.” The way Stephen ‘put his foot down’ was nothing in comparison to Miranda’s method. He was too loud about it - too demanding. It wasn’t very effective, even though it did make up your mind for you.

Staying was risky, of course. You could get caught, of course. You could get fired, of course. But honestly? You didn’t trust your boss’s husband. You didn’t trust his demeanor or his drinking or any other little thing about him. And although you didn’t think he would really hurt her, the worry that planted itself in the back of your brain grew swiftly; festering like a disease as you inched yourself toward the stairs and placed your hand on the cold bannister. Worrying for your boss was not your place, but above that, worrying for Miranda Priestly was not your right. You weren’t hers and she wasn’t yours - so there was really no need to stick around. She was entirely capable of taking care of herself.

…And yet?

And yet, something in your gut told you to stay. It was quiet but present - and it murmured softly, convincing you that the second you stepped out of the door and got into the car with Roy and drove off into the night, something would happen. Something bad. Something that you could have avoided if only you were there.

So no, you couldn’t leave. Not yet. Even though Miranda was most likely prepared to tear Stephen a new one.

“I am acting like a child? Calling your wife at 9:45 PM to complain about her absence at a dinner you didn’t confirm is far more childish than me doing my job. What did you expect me to do when you called? Run out of an important business dinner to dash over and wipe your tears before drowning my embarrassment in an overpriced ‘welcome bread basket’? Don’t be absurd, Stephen. You knew I was busy.” And she proved you right - speaking in a low edgy hiss that you suspected was only reserved for her husband. Interestingly enough though, even alone in her house, arguing with this person or the other, Miranda never raised her voice.

No one else thought it was noteworthy enough to mention in quiet conversation, but you were often tempted to bring it up to Nigel. You figured it was because of her childhood - whatever that had been like - and that she vowed to keep her vocal cords safe. It was a small little detail, but when one conversed with Miranda, sometimes it seemed like the only thing to focus on. Her words are always important, yes, but watching her lips move… and seeing the way her teeth formed each syllable… well it was mesmerizing in a way you’d never be able to properly explain. And Stephen, who was pacing the floor above you, was far too daft to understand that.

“What, so if I want to have dinner with my wife, I have to confirm through her assistant? You barely pick up, Miranda!” The sudden growl in his voice had you placing one foot on the stair next to you.

‘This is just a precautionary measure’ you told yourself, knowing that was far from the truth.

“And you pick up too often.” Her quip was breathy and sharp - a clear end to the conversation as you heard her soft footsteps trailing off into another room.

“What does that even mean?! I’m trying to be a good husband, but you are ruining my reputatio-”

“Your reputation?” The venom in Miranda’s voice silenced her husband immediately. “Your reputation…,” you pictured her shaking her head before letting out a little mocking laugh; “…I have no effect on how much you succeed in your career. If you can’t separate work and life, that’s not my problem.”

Their voices were drifting away, lost to the floorplan of their home as you slowly skirted your way up the stairs. It seemed that Miranda had taken your common sense with her when she walked off, leaving Stephen (and you) to follow like lost puppies. Although, she still didn’t know you were there. And you still weren’t going to leave - not until he stopped raising his voice and waking the entire neighborhood.

“God you know- you always treat me like shit, Miranda.” You winced, knowing very well how much she hated cursing. “I am your HUSBAND. You should be speaking to me with respect - not like I’m another worthless magazine you can get rid of. I’ve given you EVERYTHING I have and what have you given me? A few hours of your time? Nothing? Just enlighten me, because I’m really at a loss right now!”

There was a bang then. It was strong and hard and it sounded like he hit something- maybe a side table or a wall- but it didn’t matter to you. He had hit something and if he could hit something- an inanimate object- he could hit his wife and if he hit his wife, he could hurt her and you couldn’t just stand there- you couldn’t just listen to his slander when his wife was giving him everything!; when she was providing and taking care of the children and doing her job all at the same time. You gulped, noticed that you had gravitated up to the second floor, and decided in a split second that if Miranda had anything to say, you’d simply come up with an excuse.

Then, as you listened for where they had gone, you heard hurried footsteps coming back toward the stairs.

“Don’t ignore me, Miranda! Stop hiding behind your job and just admit that you don’t give a fuck about us! I try so hard every day and every night and all you can do is- is- is whore yourself out to those fucking businessmen!”

The gasp that bubbled up in your throat escaped without hesitation. You had never heard anyone talk about Miranda like that - and especially not to her face. If anyone else had spoken so wickedly, you were almost certain that they’d be blacklisted from every bloody establishment in New York City, whether it had to do with fashion or not. But Stephen… well you knew that she had her own reputation to protect - and an escaping husband was not ideal.

But still…

Still…

She didn’t deserve that. And the injustice that had sparked earlier welled up like water boiling over the lip of a full pot. How dare he? How dare he speak to her like that? Your hands balled into fists at your sides; painted nails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Still nothing to say? Huh?!”

A split second later, followed by the sound of Stephen’s yelling, Miranda walked around the corner.

And there your eyes met.

She looked tired at that moment… and small… and utterly incensed at the idea of you being there and witnessing that. The shock played out on her face in the span of a millisecond; with a wide blue gaze and perfect lips parted and sculpted eyebrows raised onto her forehead - which was half covered by a swooping waterfall of messy white hair. It was beyond clear that she was ready for bed and that Stephen was just prolonging her suffering, but you sent a silent prayer to the gods asking to keep your job just before her husband showed up. His hands were on his hips, his face was screwed up into a tired and angry frown, and upon seeing you- he let out a loud scoff.

“Are you kidding me?!” His yell was right in Miranda’s ear but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she was staring right at you. At you. With some sort of fury- some sort of strange deep emotion- swirling around in pearlescent eyes. You felt your knees grow weak but held your ground. If she was going to yell, let her yell. If she was going to coldly dismiss you, let her coldly dismiss you. But at the end of the day, the longer you stared, the more you knew that she knew. That she understood. In the strange telekinetic way that most women shared - the concern that compelled you to stay was reflected in her gaze. And there, in the lull of irritation and tension, was a conversation that only the two of you shared.

It was spoken softly, slowly, and through your eyes alone.

‘I stayed because I was scared for you.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you mad at me?’

‘I don’t know. This wasn’t your place.’

‘I understand. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

‘I can handle myself.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘…I know.’

“Did you plan this? Is that why she’s here?! What- did- did you call her? To witness us fight? See I knew you were fucking crazy! From day one I told myself ‘Stephen don’t get involved with her’ and now look where I am!”

Your silent conversation was snapped in half as he ranted; all while shoving past Miranda to walk further into the hall and throw his hands up in the air like a kid. You felt your body jolt at the sight of her being pushed, but like the impenetrable wall she could be, your boss stood her ground and allowed her husband to brush past her shoulder. As if there wasn’t force in the way he walked. As if you weren’t this close to throwing a punch.

And Miranda could see it in you. She could see the irritation- the sense of injustice and everything that came with it- but she also knew you wouldn’t do anything. You were too kind. Too understanding.

Well… unless someone like Stephen said what he said next.

“You know what? No. I’m done. You listen to me right now,” and then he rounded on your boss, walking right up into her space so quickly that you couldn’t help but push yourself to get closer. And from where you stood then, you saw the way he pushed his finger into her chest and seethed with an unnecessary amount of rage.

“You listen and you learn. I have had it up to here with your bullshit. The cold shoulder, the missed dinners, the terrible schedules, the fact that you don’t even care if the twins like me or not - I’m sick of it. You treat me like an accessory. Another bag for the queen of fashion to throw out but guess what. Guess what, Miranda! I don’t care anymore. We’re separating - and you’re gonna end up like all of the other sad washed up celebrities: Pathetic and- and- weak and alone. Because no one- no one- could possibly love you like this,” and you watched with disgust as he shook his head and let out a cruel laugh. “No one could possibly look at you, with your stuck-up bitchy behavior, and see something worth loving. And-”

Before he could continue, you heard yourself speaking.

“You are absolutely pathetic.”

Two sets of eyes turned on you - one of them confused and the other severe, silently telling you to just shut your mouth. Normally, you would. Normally, you’d listen to your boss and obey her commands- silent or not- because you appreciated her authority and you were halfway in love with her. But it was for that last reason, the very reason why your ribcage felt like a zoo butterfly exhibit, that you decided not to listen. Sure, Miranda would hear your angry love-sick quips, but that didn’t matter. You were going to spill your heart out onto the floor, take a page out of your boss’s book…

…and kick Stephen’s ego into the dust.

“What did you just say?” His eyes were disbelieving as he turned to you; and though a twinge of fear dug at your heart, you pushed on.

“You heard me. You’re pathetic. Pathetic and weak and honestly? Really really embarrassing. It’s no wonder she doesn’t wanna spend time with you. Aside from being the busiest person on Earth and providing you with a roof over your head, she has kids and a job to maintain. But it’s fine- it’s fine!, because you get to complain and she doesn’t. Because you think she owes you everything, but she doesn’t. And she never did. And she never will.” You weren’t sure when you had gotten so close to him, but the backwards step he took gave you enough confidence to continue. “And if you think you mean anything to her, above her children, above her passion, then you are so sorely mistaken that it’s almost funny. Because me, and so many others, have seen how much Miranda cares about those closest to her - and if she’s not making you better, then you’re clearly not worth her time. But maybe if you exercised some more respect, maybe if you showed you cared, she’d bother to call you back and she’d bother to act like your wife. But you don’t do that. So why should she show you what you don’t show her? Huh? Why should she love you when there’s other people out there- when- when there’s people like- like Nigel, like Emily, like me,” you took a deep breath, nearly choking on your words because you were talking so fast, “who would give her the world if she asked for it. Who would do anything to have her attention. So- so why should she love you when you take it for granted? When you, who gets it for free, don’t have to bend over backwards for her affection? When- when- you- you attend events with her, you have dinner with her, she calls you darling! And you take it all for GRANTED - BECAUSE YOU JUST DON’T CARE!”

Your eyes were most likely bloodshot. Your body was shaking. Your head was pounding and your heart was in your throat.

But Stephen looked shocked, having taken more steps backward toward the stairs as you approached him like a blood-thirsty lioness. And at that, watching the way his hand scrambled for the banister, you felt a strange twist of pride creep throughout your heart.

…But it wasn’t enough. You wanted him gone. So you cleared your throat, straightened your spine, and sniffed.

“That’s enough.”

Of course. Miranda cut in, her cool voice dousing your rage like a bucket of water over burning coals; dragging you back into yourself from where you had gotten lost in the clouds; reminding you that you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. That you were just an assistant. Just a young woman who had stepped out of line to try and protect a woman who didn’t really need it. And instinctively, as though you had been slapped in the face or tugged by a leash, you backpedaled until Miranda’s soft footsteps came over and her back faced you. Stephen’s expression was hidden.

“…I’ll contact Leslie in the morning,” her voice was soft… introspective… distant in a way that made you nervous. “Until then… find somewhere else to spend the night.”

And things grew very quiet.

The only sounds you heard were the bustle of the city and the individual breathing of the three of you. Everything else was silent. The rest of the house, empty without Patricia and the twins (all of which were visiting their grandparents), felt like a movie set with a hidden audience. As though, at about any minute, the credits for the end of the episode would roll and you, Miranda, and Stephen would let out sighs of relief and walk off set and go get cups of water and coffee. But even as you stood there, trying hard not to tilt to the left to watch Stephen walk downstairs and out of the house, you knew what had happened was no fun and games. No, you’d definitely be facing consequences once he was gone.

And finally, after a few more moments of prolonged silence, his footsteps were going down the stairs and into the foyer. Your eyes traced the contours of Miranda’s silk shirt, watching the way it flowed over her shoulders as she walked closer to the staircase to watch Stephen go. One minute- two minutes- and then the front door was opening and closing behind him…

…and silence fell again.

You swallowed, feeling as though you had suddenly been thrown into the center of the sun. The heat of your embarrassment was excruciating - and if Miranda turned around, she’d spot the blush on your cheeks instantaneously. But that was a strong if, because she hadn’t just yet. Nope, instead, she stood staring at the door, letting the air settle. And you weren’t going to interrupt that, so you kept your mouth shut and tried to rationalize mentally.

If she asked, you’d just tell her the truth. That the world got crueler each day and it was in your nature to worry and that no wife should ever come face to face with a furious partner - at least not without the chance to talk civilly at first. And then you’d tell her that it was okay if she wanted to fire you and that you were sorry for being so open and that if you had fucked things up, you’d do whatever you could to fix them.

…

The silence eventually became deafening. And there was an itch in your legs that was getting to you. And your hands were slowly untensing, left with an ache from the pressing of your fingernails. And the exhaustion from the long day was getting to you - so you cleared your throat and prepared yourself.

“Miranda, I’m so sor-”

“That was unnecessary.” You couldn’t hear an ounce of emotion in her tone.

And all you could do was nod and look down at your feet.

“I- I know. I know. But I just… I just couldn’t leave, Miranda.”

“You couldn’t or you didn’t want to?”

Well that was a brilliant question. One you wished you could answer without crying. One you wished you could answer without feeling like a complete loser.

“…Both, I guess.” You settled on the best option you could think of and began shaking your head when the only response you got was a low hum of acknowledgment.

And Miranda still hadn’t moved. She was probably compartmentalizing - or disappearing into her fashionable mind palace - all while you stood there looking at her like she had just smacked your ice cream onto the floor.

Well… if there was one thing you knew, it was that the tension-filled silence couldn’t continue. She could either fire you quickly or make it slow and painful, but either way you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Look, I’m sorry. I am. I know it was out of line and it was too much and I should’ve just kept my mouth shut but I promise I did it with good intentions. And I promise I wouldn’t have stayed if I wasn’t worried and I wouldn’t have said anything if I weren’t genuinely upset. And… and I don’t know if you want to fire me because of that, but if you’re gonna do it - please just get it over with. I know I’m a good assistant, I- I know I’ve learned quickly and I’m sorry that I just completely ruined that right now but if you somehow just gave me another chance, I wouldn’t make another mistake. I promise. And I wouldn’t- I- I-,” you stumbled over your words, feeling the intense pounding of your heart press up against your chest, like it was begging to bounce onto the floor and tumble down the stairs. And the feeling felt so sickening that you had to take a deep breath and shake your head and push down the angry, anxious, terrified tears that yearned to spill into your eyes. “And I- I’ll- I’ll never let anyone talk to you like that again… I promise.”

Your voice was frail. The fire from earlier was gone - as though it had never existed at all. And Miranda still just stood there, with her phone in one hand and her face turned away from you…. Like you weren’t good enough to see her. Like you didn’t deserve to know what she was thinki-”

“You talk too much.” It was the only thing she said before she turned around and walked right past you - faster than lightning.

And you blinked just in time, turning on your heel and staring after her.

“Wh-what? That’s it?” You called. No firing? No scolding?

The room she was heading into looked like a study - but that swiftly became unimportant when she paused at the door and turned to you.

Her face, lit up by the hall light, looked tired in the same way it was earlier. But her eyes… well there was something in them that you couldn’t place. It looked like amusement… and something softer. Something- dare you say- grateful. But it was probably just a trick of the light - and you were probably just hallucinating because of your own exhaustion - and she was most likely just itching to get her duty done and go to bed.

And you suspected that was the case until she took a second to look you up and down in that way that she did- with her blue eyes searching and her gaze laser-sharp- and eventually, eventually, she made it back up to your face. Her expression was blank.

“…On Monday morning, tell Emily that the clothing department has a new opening. Then tell everybody else.” There was a pause. “…And be prepared to start interviews on Tuesday.”

And the last you saw of her then- of the sweet poison you called Miranda Priestly- was the statuesque shape of her body’s side profile as she softly closed the study door.

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Thank you for the request, anon! I understand this isn't terribly fluffy, but I wanted to make it as realistic as I could. I hope you enjoyed! - Ripley

(P.S. DWP is my favorite movie!)

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rippersz · 1 year

Note

hey!! first of all 'to people watch one person' is heavenly and always such a pleasure to read ♡ i have a request which, may or may not make sense, but i'll just blame it on college and lack of sleep.

i'd love to see Larissa and reader in the "i'm in love with you, and it's terrifying" kind of scenario. yk Larissa likes having control over her life, and the reader just makes her absolutely weak. i'll leave the specifics up to interpretation, tbh do what you will with it ❣️

𝘼𝙙𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Cinnamon.

That was the scent that filled her lungs; that swirled around her head like a cartoonish fog; that made her eyelids flutter with delight.

Cinnamon. Cinnamon and rainwater and Lily of the valley. That’s the first thing Larissa noticed about her - the perfume, the remnants of her baking, the walks she took through the forest. It clung to her clothes, it laid itself upon her hair, it followed her like a plague Larissa wished she could contract each day. Such a simple thing… a simple thing that became noticeable. A simple thing that led to the discovery of other simple, noticeable, things.

Like bubbling laughter and soft skin. Like precious curves and a bright smile. Like perfect posture and searching eyes. So beautiful…. So enchanting… it made Larissa stumble. It made her mind trip over its own feet and scramble for something to grasp on to. And her heart was, of course, the nearest organ to catch. And thus, the nearest organ to dangle from - by a very very thin thread.

‘All these years, focused and undistracted. And now this…’ Larissa’s thoughts resembled a tornado as she relaxed into her seat at the Weathervane.

After a few hours spent chaperoning and checking up on some of the kids, the principal knew that she just needed a break. Her aching feet agreed and eventually decided to take her for a cup of coffee - thus allowing the chance to stew over a previous realization. Oh yes, a realization that was thoroughly messing with her way of life.

Earlier in the week, during a night spent in bed with a worn journal open in her lap, Larissa Marie Weems realized that she had feelings. And not just any ‘feelings’ - not just the type of feelings where one experiences butterflies or smiles at the sun and thinks of the object of their affections oh no no no no. Larissa Weems was feeling love. Love! Her, of all people, of all professional figures and wonderful role models, falling into love.

And with a normie, on top of all of that!

It felt like sacrilege… even though the normie was kind. Even though the normie was kind… and smart… and knew exactly what to say. Even though her smile rivaled the moon’s glow and her laugh could be heard above Heaven’s symphony; even though said symphony could never compare to the sound of her voice; to the way she said Larissa’s name- ‘La-riss-a’- with so much softness and so much appreciation that it made the shapeshifter want to melt into a puddle of never-ending love. Love, love, love. It sounded like a damning mantra, and yet at the same time it sounded like a prayer. A declaration. Something she wanted to scream from all of the rooftops in the world.

“I love you!” She wanted to yell. “I love you and I’m so bloody scared that loving you will ruin me!”

‘Because it just might.’ Larissa thought to herself. It just might.

For as she said- years upon years of being the upstanding principal that she was; of taking care of her students and faculty and keeping the traditions alive; building Nevermore’s personality and popularity back up from where it had been stamped into the ground. All of the dedication that she had - the late nights, the weeks where she barely ate, the times where she had to count to ten in the bathroom and let the world come back to her… all because she was busy. All because she was doing her job. Making everything right. Making everyone happy.

She made it through all of that, and yet still- still!- she was defeated by love in the end.

That was her number one weakness she supposed. The one thing her enemies should be aware of and use to take her down: the love she had for others. The love she held for her students, her faculty, her friends, her alumni. The love that she came to hold for one woman in particular. A normal woman… with no supernatural capabilities and no ties toward Nevermore at all… a lovely woman that looked at Larissa and didn’t see her as intimidating or too feminine or a toy for one’s sick pleasure. A woman that smelled of cinnamon, rainwater, and Lily of the valley - a woman that liked to bake gingerbread cookies all year round, no matter the season; a woman that enjoyed taking walks in the woods and running her hands along rain-kissed leaves; a woman that sprayed her perfume on each morning and reveled in the fact that it was her ‘signature scent’ (as she always called it). And the kindness that ran through her was infectious - it lit Larissa up like a Christmas tree every time she got to see her.

But that was, unfortunately, not so often. For what on Earth would the esteemed headmistress of Nevermore Academy have to do with a little post office clerk? A young woman that ran the front desk of Jericho’s post office, who spent her time around letters and boxes and stamps and different prices for this, that, and the other… what could she possibly want with someone like Larissa Weems? A ‘hardass’ as some claimed; a woman that was secure in herself and her job but apparently not in her heart. Just another one of those people with a facade - though for her, it was doubled. She was no gorgon or werewolf or vampire, so to anyone else she looked normal. Just another woman going about her day - but the itchy need to be something or someone else every once a while constantly pushed against the surface of her skin. The girl at the post office, that sweet young woman, knew that. Well, more specifically, she knew Larissa was Nevermore’s principal. So she knew she wasn’t normal. She knew she wasn’t like her.

…Yet she still smiled at her anyway. She still greeted her with a wave and a kind word and the kind of bright eyes that made Larissa feel special. And that sweet young lady, with her soft looking hands and unique way of dressing and the way the curve of her jaw met her ear and ran from her ear to the slope of her neck and- well- to put it simply so she didn’t get carried away, Larissa knew she had stumbled upon treasure.

Though if she were being entirely honest with herself, it was the kind of treasure that the pirates found in an action-comedy film that left them cursed after they touched it. Like ancient gold that they draped upon their necks and realized later was the exact reason why they failed at their mission. Larissa did not have a mission, but she did have a heart. A big heart to pump blood and love throughout her body; but with that big heart, she had done herself a disservice over the years. Turns out that repressing romantic love during a time of strife was a terrible decision and would only lead to a future in which ‘emotionally stunted’ became her middle name. But that wasn’t something she wanted anymore. That wasn’t something that suited her. Not when the woman with glowing eyes and pretty cheekbones said hello to her - and not when she went out of her way to drive to Jericho and see said glowing-eyed woman, even if there was no mail to attend to.

Even if-

“Larissa!”

Blue eyes shot up, leading to a lot of blinking as her staring contest with the coffee cup in her hands ended abruptly.

‘Ah’, the principal then thought to herself, ‘Speak of the angel and she shall appear.’

And there she was indeed. Walking over to her table with a smile on her face, looking every bit like a child born from sunshine and starlight. It took every bit of willpower left in Larissa’s body to keep her from springing up and rushing forward to envelope the gorgeous darling in a hug. Thank goodness the mixed scent of cinnamon, Lily of the valley, and rainwater followed her as she took a seat in the booth across from Larissa.

“Long time no see, huh?” She sounded a bit out of breath - and looked it too, with a heave in her chest and a darker blush across her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Goodness, the sight was so endearing that the principal felt a smile melt onto her face without any hesitation at all.

“Indeed- it has been quite a bit, hasn’t it? How have you been?” In reality it had only been two weeks, but because Larissa was too damn nervous to ask for her phone number, it felt like a century.

“Good, good! All the better for seeing you,” and then she winked and Larissa felt her heart squeeze at those words. “How have you been?”

“I- good as well, yes. I apologize for not stopping by earlier, I assumed you were busy.” And that was true - she did think she was busy once she looked through the window and saw the line nearly out the door. But aside from that, she was also nervous. Larissa had been described in the past as overbearing, she didn’t want to be that way again. Not to the beautiful woman in front of her. The same woman that leaned back in her seat, waved a hand nonchalantly, and ‘psshtt’ her comment away.

“Rissa, you know I always have time for you. No matter what. I don’t care if I’m- I dunno- drowning in letters! I’d still make time for you.”

Larissa felt the breath in her lungs dissipate while her heart pressed to her breast. It begged, itched, clawed to run free. It ached within her chest, wanting to spill into her coffee and onto the table and make itself known to the angel. Because to say things like that to a woman like her was dangerous. It was- it was dangerous and reckless and silly and utterly utterly terrifying. To give Larissa Weems hope, to tell her that you wanted her company and that you’d make all the time in the world for her, was a one way ticket to finding your own name etched into her heart. Perhaps that was the result of a life filled with denied emotions and relationships that lasted only a month or so… or it was the most realistic honest side of Larissa anyone could be privy to. Because deep down, she knew she was a romantic. And she knew that falling for women was like a second language. And she knew that allowing herself to fall for the post office lady with her honeyed words and sublime smile was a risk.

Unfortunately, she had become a bit of a daredevil recently - and risks seemed to be a frequent thing she dabbled in.

“Rissa?”

…

“Babes? You there?”

She blinked, then cleared her throat quickly as the angel came back into her vision. She looked concerned, waving her hand a little bit with a small nervous smile on her face; and Larissa nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of it.

“Yes! Yes, yes, apologies. I was merely lost in thought. I’m sorry for worrying you,” she gave her a sweet red-lipped smile.

“That’s okay, happens to the best of us,” the young woman replied warmly before she leaned forward and reached across the table to rest her hand on Larissa’s, “you alright?”

‘No,’ she wanted to respond immediately as the woman’s warmth seeped through the fabric of her glove and ran itself right into her veins, ‘no, no, I’m not alright. I’m not alright at all. I’m not alright because I’m in love with you and I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. Goodness I’m not even sure if there is anything that can be done. Because how do I forget someone like you? You with your- you with- ugh you know you are absolutely terrible. Did you know that? That you’re plaguing me? Making me think of you nearly all of the time? Are you doing it on purpose? Am I going mad? It’s about time… I’ve spent this long maintaining my sanity, one would think Wednesday Addams would be the thing to push me over the edge but no. It’s you. Gorgeous, precious, you. And what am I to do about it? Absolutely nothing. Because you’re ‘normal’ and I know that if I told you that you existed in my dreams, you’d send me right back to Nevermore. Yes, you’re an accepting woman, but that doesn’t mean you want me like I want you. And I want you. Trust me when I say I want you. And trust me when I say I’m terrified of that. It has been so long since the last time I’ve wanted, and now that I do… now that I do, I’m unsure if I can allow myself to give into it. Mother did always say that wanting anything led to disappointment; I do not think you will disappoint me, I merely… fear… that I will disappoint myself. And I don’t want that, darling. I don’t want that. I just want to love you. I promise I do. But… well. There’s simply too much to say, isn’t there? There’s simply too much to admit. And I don’t want to ruin your Saturday.’

But she couldn’t say that. No, she couldn’t say any of that. So instead she just smiled, turned her palm over, and squeezed the young woman’s hand.

“Of course I’m alright. You’re here, aren’t you?” And once Larissa watched the way she grinned, handsome and adoring, she knew she had made the right choice.

‘Seeing your happiness in person,’ Larissa thought to herself then, ‘is far better than only seeing it in my dreams. And that has to be enough.’ It has to be.

Otherwise, Larissa wasn’t sure what she would do. And that? That was perhaps the most terrifying thing of all.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Thank you for being my first request dear anon! I hope you like it; I made the love interest purposefully vague. I have some more requests to do now, but leave some more if you’d like! - Ripley x

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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