Tangled Strings | PG13 | The Devil Wears Prada
Title: Tangled Strings
Prompt: last time
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#35)
Fandom: Miranda/Andy, The Devil Wears Prada
Requested by: surena_13
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 950
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Angsty Mirandy times ahead! You have been warned. Comments are love.
-
Andy Sachs had always been a smart woman. She was valedictorian in high school and graduated summa cum laude from Northwestern. She was clever and witty and downright intelligent - until she fell in love with Miranda Priestly.
Love had never been part of their arrangement. In fact, it was against the rules that Miranda had firmly designated when their affair began. Rule One: “This affair is strictly private. If I hear so much as a whisper of a rumor, it’s over”. Rule Two: “We will meet at your apartment. Hotels are a risk that I am unwilling to take. As you are no longer my assistant, there is no need for you to ever visit me at my home.” Rule Three: “This is strictly sex. There will be no dating and no emotional attachment. It will simply be sex with no strings attached.”
Andy didn’t really plan on developing any strings, but now she felt like a first grader with her shoe laces all in a knot. Miranda was not exactly the most loveable (or even likeable) woman, but that didn’t stop Andy from tumbling head over feet against her better judgment.
Her intelligence could, in actuality, have been called into question when she agreed to Miranda’s ridiculous rules in the first place. The attraction had been undeniable from the very start and it had seemed like only a matter of time before they fell into bed together. Andy had no problem with the sex thing; they’d had a terrible work relationship, but they were amazing at sex. It was the rules. As soon as they were set, she had the urge to break them. It was like in high school when she chewed gum behind the teacher’s back just to see if she could get away with it (she did). It was like the 10 Commandments: as soon as you were told it was a no-no to covet your neighbor’s wife, she started looking pretty damn fine.
The rules made Andy feel like a kept whore, like she’d been stripped of her dignity and pride and her free will. It had always been Miranda’s way or the highway, but that didn’t negate Andy’s desire to be given a little more credit than everyone else since she was the one giving Miranda multiple orgasms.
Along with the rules came the inevitable, unspoken threat that the affair could end at any time. Every time Miranda let herself into the apartment and they had mind-blowing, explosive sex, Andy feared that it would be the last time. Every day she waited with bated breath for Miranda to tell her via text message when she would visit next. It was never up to Andy; she could be horny as hell on a Saturday and have to wait until Miranda was horny on Tuesday to sate her lust. It was just the way their non-relationship worked.
Somewhere in the back of Andy’s mind, where Andy pushed the thoughts that were too painful to think about, she that knew she was being used. She knew Miranda was having a shitty time in her marriage (if Page Six had anything to say about it-and it did, often) and knew that she had somehow been able to consistently deliver exactly what Miranda wanted. Perhaps the reason Miranda contacted her in the first place two years after Andy left Runway was because she remembered how efficient she’d been at her job. This was more or less the same, except Miranda paid Andy in orgasms.
And still, despite how low and dirty Andy felt, she allowed it to continue. She’d hoped, rather blindly, that one day Miranda would wake up and realize that Andy was the one she couldn’t live without, that Andy was the one she wanted to spend more than a seedy afternoon or evening with.
She knew it would never happen, but she hoped anyway.
The reality, however, had been this: Andy woke up in the middle of the night and reached for the empty space beside her where Miranda had previously lain, dismayed to find that she had gone. She padded barefoot and sleepy through the apartment, hoping to find Miranda reading The Book on the sofa. The apartment was empty, of course, as Andy knew it would be.
She opened the fridge to find a snack (sex always made her ravenous) and saw a glint of silver in the corner of her eye. Beside the expensive new coffee pot was Miranda’s spare key. There was no accompanying note, no I’m sorry; Goodbye - M. Andy supposed a note would have been redundant. The key said it all.
Andy cried even though she told herself she wouldn’t.
Perhaps Miranda had figured out it was love when Andy surprised her with the fancy coffee machine that would make Miranda’s scalding caffeinated beverage exactly to her liking. She’d used most of her paycheck to buy it. She wondered if she could return it.
Andy tried to squelch the throbbing pain in her chest but to no avail. What hurt the most, she decided, was that she hadn’t even known it would be their last time. Miranda could’ve had the fucking decency to tell her, couldn’t she? But what would that have accomplished? Would Andy have enjoyed it more? Come harder or longer? Or would it have made it that much more painful, knowing it would never happen again?
In the end, Andy wasn’t surprised that she was left with a tangled mess of strings to clean up on her own. Their affair had started on Miranda’s terms and had been destined to end by them.
She used to be a smart girl, and now she was alone.
---
Prompt: last time
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#35)
Fandom: Miranda/Andy, The Devil Wears Prada
Requested by: surena_13
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 950
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Angsty Mirandy times ahead! You have been warned. Comments are love.
-
Andy Sachs had always been a smart woman. She was valedictorian in high school and graduated summa cum laude from Northwestern. She was clever and witty and downright intelligent - until she fell in love with Miranda Priestly.
Love had never been part of their arrangement. In fact, it was against the rules that Miranda had firmly designated when their affair began. Rule One: “This affair is strictly private. If I hear so much as a whisper of a rumor, it’s over”. Rule Two: “We will meet at your apartment. Hotels are a risk that I am unwilling to take. As you are no longer my assistant, there is no need for you to ever visit me at my home.” Rule Three: “This is strictly sex. There will be no dating and no emotional attachment. It will simply be sex with no strings attached.”
Andy didn’t really plan on developing any strings, but now she felt like a first grader with her shoe laces all in a knot. Miranda was not exactly the most loveable (or even likeable) woman, but that didn’t stop Andy from tumbling head over feet against her better judgment.
Her intelligence could, in actuality, have been called into question when she agreed to Miranda’s ridiculous rules in the first place. The attraction had been undeniable from the very start and it had seemed like only a matter of time before they fell into bed together. Andy had no problem with the sex thing; they’d had a terrible work relationship, but they were amazing at sex. It was the rules. As soon as they were set, she had the urge to break them. It was like in high school when she chewed gum behind the teacher’s back just to see if she could get away with it (she did). It was like the 10 Commandments: as soon as you were told it was a no-no to covet your neighbor’s wife, she started looking pretty damn fine.
The rules made Andy feel like a kept whore, like she’d been stripped of her dignity and pride and her free will. It had always been Miranda’s way or the highway, but that didn’t negate Andy’s desire to be given a little more credit than everyone else since she was the one giving Miranda multiple orgasms.
Along with the rules came the inevitable, unspoken threat that the affair could end at any time. Every time Miranda let herself into the apartment and they had mind-blowing, explosive sex, Andy feared that it would be the last time. Every day she waited with bated breath for Miranda to tell her via text message when she would visit next. It was never up to Andy; she could be horny as hell on a Saturday and have to wait until Miranda was horny on Tuesday to sate her lust. It was just the way their non-relationship worked.
Somewhere in the back of Andy’s mind, where Andy pushed the thoughts that were too painful to think about, she that knew she was being used. She knew Miranda was having a shitty time in her marriage (if Page Six had anything to say about it-and it did, often) and knew that she had somehow been able to consistently deliver exactly what Miranda wanted. Perhaps the reason Miranda contacted her in the first place two years after Andy left Runway was because she remembered how efficient she’d been at her job. This was more or less the same, except Miranda paid Andy in orgasms.
And still, despite how low and dirty Andy felt, she allowed it to continue. She’d hoped, rather blindly, that one day Miranda would wake up and realize that Andy was the one she couldn’t live without, that Andy was the one she wanted to spend more than a seedy afternoon or evening with.
She knew it would never happen, but she hoped anyway.
The reality, however, had been this: Andy woke up in the middle of the night and reached for the empty space beside her where Miranda had previously lain, dismayed to find that she had gone. She padded barefoot and sleepy through the apartment, hoping to find Miranda reading The Book on the sofa. The apartment was empty, of course, as Andy knew it would be.
She opened the fridge to find a snack (sex always made her ravenous) and saw a glint of silver in the corner of her eye. Beside the expensive new coffee pot was Miranda’s spare key. There was no accompanying note, no I’m sorry; Goodbye - M. Andy supposed a note would have been redundant. The key said it all.
Andy cried even though she told herself she wouldn’t.
Perhaps Miranda had figured out it was love when Andy surprised her with the fancy coffee machine that would make Miranda’s scalding caffeinated beverage exactly to her liking. She’d used most of her paycheck to buy it. She wondered if she could return it.
Andy tried to squelch the throbbing pain in her chest but to no avail. What hurt the most, she decided, was that she hadn’t even known it would be their last time. Miranda could’ve had the fucking decency to tell her, couldn’t she? But what would that have accomplished? Would Andy have enjoyed it more? Come harder or longer? Or would it have made it that much more painful, knowing it would never happen again?
In the end, Andy wasn’t surprised that she was left with a tangled mess of strings to clean up on her own. Their affair had started on Miranda’s terms and had been destined to end by them.
She used to be a smart girl, and now she was alone.
---