Chapter Text
The TV interview with Colbert was scheduled for four, which meant Andy was racing through the townhouse, gathering everything she knew Miranda would need. Notes, backup notes, the right heels, and a different pair of heels in case the first ones were deemed unacceptable. Andy had learned to anticipate what Miranda could need before Miranda herself even knew.
Miranda hated this sort of thing. She’d only agreed to the interview to appease the board and Irv, of course. And somehow, Andy had been assigned the impossible task of making Miranda Priestly seem relatable.
Whatever the hell that meant.
No one had ever looked at Miranda Priestly and thought, “Wow, she’s just like me”. The very idea was absurd, which only made Andy’s job harder.
“Andrea.”
Miranda’s voice drifted from the bedroom, already sounding impatient.
“Roy will be here in twenty minutes, and I am still sitting here in my undergarments.”
Andy closed her eyes for a brief moment, exhaling through her nose before turning her head toward the bedroom.
“Why don’t you just wear the cerulean sweater of mine you love so much?” she called back, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.
“Well if you insist, darling.”
Andy stopped mid-step. Suspicion crept in as she walked into the back of their massive closet. The sweater in question had been buried at the back of one of her drawers, untouched since she’d moved in six months ago. Miranda hadn’t mentioned it in nearly two years.
“What’s taking you so long?”
Andy barely had time to react before Miranda’s voice brushed against her ear, low and intimate. She hadn’t even heard her move. Andy shivered.
“Unless you intend for the world to see the lingerie I bought specifically for you,” Miranda continued, her breath warm against Andy’s skin, “I suggest you hurry.”
Andy swallowed, her mind unhelpfully supplying images she absolutely did not have time to indulge.
“You aren’t serious?” Andy asked, turning slowly to face her. There was a flicker of concern in her expression. “You said it was hideous.”
Miranda stilled. The shift was immediate, subtle, and unmistakable.
“Would me wearing your sweater embarrass you, Andrea?”
“What? No—no, that’s not what I meant.” Andy’s voice rushed out, her face paling. “Miranda, I love you, you know that. It’s just…you don’t think people will question why Miranda Priestly is wearing a frumpy blue knit sweater?”
For a moment, Miranda said nothing. Her gaze remained fixed, unyielding.
“It is cerulean, and I don’t care what some random person thinks of my choice of attire. I set the trends, I don’t follow them.” Miranda said, her voice firm. “Now, get the sweater dear.”
Miranda stepped forward, closing some of the distance between them, her presence as commanding as ever.
Andy nodded quickly, already moving to retrieve it.
“Yes, Miranda.”
“Good girl.”
Two simple words, and Andy wanted to call, cancel the interview, and fuck Miranda into their very expensive mattress, but instead she opened the drawer and pulled out the sweater in question.
“Here you go, baby.”
Andy swore she heard Miranda’s breath catch in her throat. Miranda turned on her heels, gave Andy a smoldering look, and made her way back to where Andy was frozen in place.
“Keep talking like that, and we’ll be late.” Miranda's voice was hoarse, her pupils blown.
Before either of them could think of the time, Miranda was pushed up against the glass display case in the center of the closet. Their bodies flush with each other.
“Andrea,” Miranda said, trying to sound like she had any authority over Andy. “Roy will be here soon.”
Andy ignored the comment and pulled Miranda into a bruising kiss. Her hand trailed down Miranda’s stomach, feeling the muscles underneath twitch as her fingers ghosted over the skin. She loved the feeling of the older woman trembling at her touch.
“Andrea.” Somehow, Miranda got the words out between kisses.
Not being one to disappoint, Andy dipped her fingers between the lace of Miranda’s lingerie. The smooth skin of Miranda’s cunt was already slick with want. Andy bit back a moan at the feeling.
“So wet for me already.” Andy pulled away from Miranda’s lips, placing a series of kisses on her neck.
Andy’s fingers slid with no resistance inside Miranda. A small whimper fell from Miranda’s lips as Andy’s thumb brushed over her clit. Andy began slowly thrusting her fingers in and out of Miranda. The room filled with the sounds of wet flesh and breathy moans.
“Close…so close.” Miranda moaned loudly, digging her nails into Andy’s back.
“Already?” Andy teased, “I’ve only just started.”
Andy pulled her fingers out, admiring the way they glistened with Miranda’s desire for her. With a devilish smile, Andy added a third finger and dove back in, curling her fingers just the right way to make Miranda practically scream.
“Harder…please!” Miranda wasn't one to beg, but her words sounded dangerously close to it.
It wasn’t long before Miranda’s walls clamped down on Andy’s fingers. Andy leaned down and placed a series of kisses on Miranda’s neck and chest, biting down hard just above her right breast. Miranda hissed at the pain but her body betrayed how much she loved it. Andy felt her lover's body start to tremble, and tense as her orgasm came crashing forward.
“Cum for me,” Andy whispered the command into Miranda’s ear before biting down on the soft skin of her earlobe.
A warm gush of liquid cascaded out of Miranda and onto Andy, leaving a wet spot on Andy’s shirt. Andy bit her lip to stop herself from moaning too loudly, not that it really mattered. She withdrew her fingers slowly, Miranda let out a whimper as Andy went.
“Good girl,” Andy said, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips and with a gentle slap to Miranda’s ass she followed up with. “Get dressed, Roy should be here soon.”
Miranda tried her best to glare at Andy, but the post orgasm glow and slightly disheveled hair removed any real bite from it. All Andy felt was a love so intense it bordered on painful. Not that she would ever mind.
Andy positioned herself just behind the main camera, exactly where Miranda would be able to find her without turning her head. It was a deliberate choice on Andy’s part. If Miranda was going to do this, whatever this was, she would want a fixed point in her eye line. Something steady for Miranda to look at if things started to go poorly.
Stephen Colbert had been more than accommodating. He was charming and just irreverent enough to make Miranda play along instead of shutting down. The two of them had fallen into a rhythm almost immediately, much to Andy’s surprise, his sarcasm dancing right up to the line, hers slicing cleanly over it.
Andy had started to relax. That, in hindsight, was her first mistake.
“Miranda,” Colbert said, leaning forward slightly, his grin widening in that way that told Andy he was about to poke the dragon.
“I have to ask. This outfit of yours…” He gestured vaguely at the sweater Miranda was wearing. “It’s not exactly what people expect from the queen of fashion. Are blue knit sweaters the next big thing? Should I be investing?”
A ripple of laughter moved through the audience.
Miranda didn’t respond right away. She let the moment stretch just enough to remind everyone who controlled the current of the conversation.
“It is cerulean,” Miranda corrected, her tone dry enough to draw another laugh from the audience, “and no, this garment is not from my personal collection.”
Her gaze flicked, landing exactly where Andy stood. Andy’s stomach dropped. There was a look there. Not the look Andy had come to expect from Miranda in public, it was something else…something almost amused.
“It belongs to my loving girlfriend, Andrea.” And then Miranda smiled, well, it was more of a smirk if Andy was being honest. “It's rather hideous but it has a special place in our story.”
For a split second, the entire studio seemed to forget how to function. The laughter died mid-breath. A camera operator visibly blinked like he’d missed a cue. Somewhere off to the side, a producer made a small, strangled noise that might have been a cry or a prayer. Even Colbert faltered.
To his credit, it only lasted about half a second, but Andy, who had spent years studying reactions in high-pressure situations, caught it instantly. His posture stiffened just slightly, his smile locking into place like a reflex.
“Ah,” he said, buying himself time with a soft chuckle. “Well. We do love a good reveal on this show.”
He glanced toward the audience, as if hoping someone might jump in and clarify what the fuck Miranda meant.
“Now, when you say girlfriend,” he continued, eyebrows lifting, “are we talking a friend who is a girl? Or…” He asked cautiously. “Girlfriend girlfriend?”
The audience laughed again, but this time it was much more nervous. Everyone seemed uncertain whether they were in on the joke or witnessing a cultural event in real time.
Behind the camera, Andy felt her chest constrict, and her heart pounding.
Oh my God.
Heat flooded her face as she became acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the studio slowly, and inevitably turning toward her. The production team and assistants all turned their attention to her. Someone near the lighting rig actually leaned to the side to get a better look, as if Andy had a massive sign over her head saying “Yes, I’m the Andrea she’s talking about.”
Onstage, Miranda didn’t flinch.
“If she were merely a ‘friend,’” she retorted, her tone cool and slightly offended, “I would have addressed her as such.”
There was a pause, just enough to let the distinction settle.
“We have been in a romantic relationship for a year.”
Another wave of silence, heavier this time. Colbert blinked, an awkward smile on his face.
“Well,” he said finally, sitting back in his chair with a slow nod, “that’s one way to make history before the first commercial break.”
The audience laughed again, louder now, the tension cracking open into something more manageable.
Andy, however, was still standing behind the camera, frozen in place, her heart pounding so loudly she was convinced it was being picked up on a mic somewhere.
Miranda’s gaze found her again, and just for a second, so brief Andy almost thought she imagined it, her expression softened.
Andy swallowed hard. This was so far from what the board had meant when they told Miranda she needed to be more relatable.
“Is Andrea here with you?” Stephen asked, his tone bright with curiosity now, the shock settling in.
Every instinct in Andy’s body screamed no.
“She is right off camera.” Miranda lifted a perfectly manicured hand and pointed to where Andy stood.
There was a collective shift in the room. Heads and cameras, literal cameras, adjusted to where Andy was praying lightning would strike.
“Ah,” Stephen said, leaning sideways in his chair. “Well, congratulations to you both. You'll have to let us know what Andrea thinks of you telling the world about her.”
The audience chuckled, warm and relieved, and Andy managed a shy smile that no one but Miranda caught.
Miranda’s lips twitched, fighting off a pleased smile of her own.
“Stephen,” she said dryly, “Andrea is perfectly capable of speaking for herself. ”
Stephen shifted, crossing one leg over the other, clearly settling into this new, far more interesting direction.
“So,” he continued, “a year, you said? How did she manage to steal your heart?”
Andy pressed her lips together, already bracing. Miranda tilted her head slightly, considering whether the question deserved an authentic answer.
“Andrea became my assistant two years ago,” Miranda said, her expression softening as she went. “It had begun as a professional necessity but once she had left Runway, it became something more and unexpected.”
“Well…” Stephen said. “That’s the most Miranda Priestly way I’ve ever heard someone describe falling in love.”
Miranda allowed the smallest pause before adding, “I do not fall into anything.”
“Of course not,” Stephen said quickly. “You stride in wearing heels that cost more than my first car.”
Another laugh from the still slightly stunned audience.
“And Andrea?” Stephen pressed. “What does she do when she’s not loaning out sweaters?”
Andy squeezed her eyes shut for half a second. Miranda, predictably, answered anyway.
“She is a journalist,” Miranda said. “And is far more principled than anyone in your industry.”
There was something in her tone that made Andy’s chest tighten.
“A journalist,” Stephen said, nodding thoughtfully. “An editor and a journalist, sounds like a match made in heaven.”
Stephen glanced toward the camera, then back to Miranda, a spark of mischief returning.
“Well,” he said, “I feel like we can’t just leave Andrea lurking mysteriously in the shadows like some kind of stylish phantom.” He gestured toward the edge of the stage. “Andrea, if you’re willing, no pressure of course, only millions of viewers, but you’re more than welcome to join us.”
Andy’s heart stopped. Absolutely not, there was no way she could just waltz onto that stage and interrupt this interview.
That feeling lasted all of a couple of seconds before Miranda turned her head. When her loving girlfriend did, Miranda didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. The look she gave Andy asked the question for her and was just soft enough at the edges to make it something other than a command, more of an invitation. Or, at the very least, a beautifully disguised command.
Andy exhaled slowly, straightened her shoulders, and stepped out from behind the camera. The reaction was immediate, the applause, a few surprised murmurs, the low hum of recognition rippling through the audience.
Stephen stood, hand over his heart in mock astonishment.
“Oh, thank God, you’re real,” he said. “And here I was starting to think Miranda had concocted this story just to to seem approachable.”
Andy huffed out a nervous laugh as she made her way onto the stage.
“Trust me,” she said, glancing at Miranda as she took the offered seat beside her, “this wasn’t part of any plan.”
Miranda’s mouth curved, ever so slightly.
“No,” she agreed. “The best things in life rarely are.”