middle aged women; imagines

{Meryl Streep} A Quiet Evening

You were never really one for fancy parties. The glittering dresses, the over-the-top hors d'oeuvres, the endless polite conversations—it wasn't your scene. But tonight, you found yourself in the middle of a lavish event, dressed in something you'd hardly picked out yourself.

"Just smile and wave," your best friend had told you when they'd dragged you to this premiere after securing an invite. "You never know who you'll meet."

The event was bigger than you had imagined. There were so many faces that seemed familiar, yet you couldn't quite place them. The champagne was flowing, the lights were dazzling, and every time you turned around, there was another person to bump into.

You took a sip of your drink, scanning the room, wondering how long you'd have to stay before it was socially acceptable to duck out. That's when you saw her.

Meryl Streep.

THE Meryl Streep.

She was standing near a large window that overlooked the city, seemingly by herself, her blonde hair softly framing her face. She looked like she was either deep in thought or just trying to take a breather from the madness of the event. You couldn't help but stare—she was absolutely captivating. Her grace, the way she carried herself—it was magnetic.

"Go talk to her!" Your friend nudged your arm, snapping you out of your daze.

"What? No. Are you crazy?" You turned back, but your eyes drifted back to Meryl, who hadn't moved.

"She's literally standing alone. You have nothing to lose!"

You hesitated, but your feet moved before you could overthink it. As you approached her, you felt a rush of nerves. What were you even going to say? Did she even want to be bothered?

Before you could chicken out, you were standing a few feet away from her. Meryl turned her head slightly, noticing you approaching, and gave you a soft smile that somehow made your heart skip a beat.

"Hi," you said, and immediately winced internally at how awkward you sounded.

"Hi there," she replied, her voice warm and inviting. She turned to face you fully, still holding that gentle smile. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess," you stammered, feeling like a total idiot. You swallowed, trying to pull yourself together. "I mean, it's a bit much for me, but it's... nice."

Meryl chuckled, a soft sound that made your chest feel light. "I know what you mean. These things can be... a lot sometimes."

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease now that she seemed so approachable. You glanced around the room, then back at her. "Do you, uh, come to these things often?"

She gave a slight shrug. "More than I'd like, if I'm honest. Sometimes they're fun, but sometimes..." She glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening, then leaned in slightly, whispering conspiratorially, "I'd much rather be at home with a glass of wine and a good book."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "Same," you admitted. "I'd kill for a quiet night in right about now."

Meryl raised an eyebrow, her smile widening a bit. "You and me both."

For a moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, just watching the crowd. It felt oddly surreal, standing next to *the* Meryl Streep, chatting like old friends. She had this aura about her—despite being one of the most famous people in the world, she seemed so... normal. So down-to-earth.

After a beat, Meryl turned to you again, her gaze soft but curious. "So, what do you do when you're not being dragged to parties like this?"

You blinked, surprised that she was asking about *you.* "Oh, um... I'm a writer. Well, sort of. I write, but not like professionally or anything."