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˙⋆✮ 𝒩𝒜𝒱 • 5teen

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⠀ ⠀ `· .⠀vera farmiga lorraine warren dana scully norma bates fox mulders girl lana del rey gillian anderson doja cat american horror story tomodachi life

Its me

is dis us (I promise we’re not together 🫩🫩)

After hours, baby… fluorescent lights on our sins

Emily Charlton x reader

for @angellw1ngs

The fluorescent lights of the Runway offices had long since dimmed to the overnight setting ,half the floor cast in that sickly, intimate glow that made everything feel too close, too exposed. It was well past two in the morning during the final crunch before the Met Gala. The bullpen was a war zone of garment bags, scattered look books and empty espresso cups. Only two people remained.

You and Emily.

You’d been brought in three weeks ago as a temporary styling coordinator, someone from outside Miranda’s usual orbit who dared question the sacred order of things. Emily had hated you on sight. You were too calm under pressure, too willing to suggest alternatives that actually worked, and worst of all, you looked at Miranda’s demands and saw them for the theatrical cruelty they were, rather than divine mandate.

Now the air between you crackled like static before a storm.

Emily stood at her desk, back ramrod straight, fingers flying across her keyboard with the kind of precision only born from pure spite and exhaustion. Her red hair had slipped from its chignon hours ago, strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck. The top two buttons of her silk blouse were undone, revealing the sharp line of her collarbone and the faint sheen of sweat along it. She looked like a beautiful weapon half a second from snapping.

“You’re still here?” she said without turning around, voice clipped and dry. “Thought you’d have run back to whatever low-rent blog you crawled out of by now.”

You leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed, close enough to smell the faint trace of her perfume, something expensive and green, undercut by the salt of a very long day. “Someone has to make sure you don’t actually combust before sunrise. Miranda needs those revised placements by six. Not by whatever time your nervous breakdown is scheduled for.”

Emily’s fingers stilled. She turned slowly, and the look she gave you could have sliced glass. But there was something else in it tonight something raw and fraying at the edges. Her eyes flicked over your face, down to the open collar of your own shirt, then back up. The silence stretched.

“You think you’re clever,” she murmured, stepping closer. Her voice had dropped, that signature deadpan edged with something darker. “Sweeping in, playing the reasonable one. Acting like you’re above all this. Like you don’t want it just as badly as I do.”

“I never said I didn’t want it.” You held her gaze. “I just refuse to destroy myself for it the way you do.”

Emily laughed, low and bitter. She was close enough now that you could see the faint tremble in her jaw, the way her pupils had blown wide. “Destroy myself? Darling, this is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

The space between you shrank. Neither of you moved first, but suddenly her back was against the desk and you were caging her there without quite touching. Her breathing had changed shallower, quicker. So had yours.

“You’re infuriating,” she whispered. Her hand came up, not to push you away, but to fist lightly in the front of your shirt, knuckles brushing the skin beneath. “You walk around here like you see straight through me. Like you know exactly how badly I need this job. How much I’d let it take from me.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, just barely. That was the crack in the ice.

You leaned in until your lips were a breath from hers. “I do see you, Emily. I see how hard you work. How much you care. How fucking terrified you are of not being enough.”

She made a soft, wounded sound and then her mouth was on yours sharp and desperate, all teeth and years of tightly leashed control finally fracturing. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was months of barbed comments and stolen glances finally igniting. Her tongue slid against yours, demanding, and you gave it right back, one hand sliding into her hair, gripping just hard enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

Emily pulled back first, only far enough to rest her forehead against yours, breathing ragged. “If you tell anyone about this, I will end you.”

“Noted,” you murmured, and kissed her again, slower this time. Deeper.

Her hands moved with the same frantic precision she used on Miranda’s schedules mapping your waist, tugging your shirt free from your trousers, palms sliding up warm skin. When her fingers found the bare curve of your lower back she made a quiet, greedy noise that went straight between your legs.

You walked her backward toward the small couch in the corner alcove, the one no one ever used because it was technically Miranda’s territory. The city lights filtered through the blinds, striping her skin in silver and shadow as you pushed her down. Emily went willingly, pulling you on top of her with surprising strength.

Clothes came off in pieces. Her blouse first buttons finally surrendering completely. You took your time with the zipper of her pencil skirt, dragging it down her hips while she watched you with hooded eyes, lips parted. When you finally got her out of her lace bra, you leaned down and dragged your mouth along the underside of one breast, tasting salt and warm skin. Emily arched with a sharp inhale, fingers threading through your hair.

You weren’t gentle. You sucked a mark just beneath her collarbone somewhere her clothes would hide tomorrow and felt her thighs clench around your hips. Her skin was fever-hot, slightly damp from the long night, and every drag of your tongue pulled another shaky breath from her throat. You moved lower, teeth grazing the soft underside of her breast before closing over a stiff nipple. You sucked hard, tongue flicking in tight, relentless circles while your hand kneaded the other breast, thumb brushing the sensitive peak until Emily was writhing beneath you.

“God fuck—” she hissed, the word fracturing into a low moan. Her usual crisp accent had gone rough, unraveling. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding you, while the other clawed at your shoulder, nails digging crescents into your skin. You could feel her heartbeat hammering against your lips.

You shifted downward, kissing and biting a slow path over her ribs, across the taut plane of her stomach, pausing to dip your tongue into her navel just to hear the startled, needy sound she made. When you reached the waistband of her panties, you looked up. Emily’s chest was heaving, eyes glassy and dark, lips swollen and parted. A faint flush painted her neck and chest.

You dragged the lace down her long legs, letting your fingertips trail along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She was soaked glistening under the low light and the scent of her arousal hit you like a drug. You settled between her spread thighs, pushing them wider with your shoulders. Emily’s breath hitched audibly.

You started slow, torturously so. A broad, flat lick from her entrance up to her clit made her hips jerk. You did it again, savoring the way her thighs trembled on either side of your head. Then you focused on her clit alternating between slow, teasing circles with the tip of your tongue and firmer strokes that had her grinding against your mouth. You slid two fingers inside her without warning, curling them deep, searching for that spot that made her whole body seize.

Emily cried out, back arching sharply off the couch. “There right there, you fucking—ah—” Her walls clenched hot and slick around your fingers as you pumped them steadily, matching the rhythm of your tongue. You could feel every flutter, every involuntary twitch. Her taste flooded your mouth sharp and sweet and addictively wet.

She was losing composure fast. The perfect, biting Emily was reduced to broken gasps and whimpers, hips rolling desperately against your face. You added a third finger, stretching her open, fucking her deeper while you sucked her clit hard between your lips. Her free hand fisted the cushion beside her, knuckles white.

“I’m going to—” Her voice cracked into a strangled moan as her orgasm crashed over her. Her thighs locked around your head, muscles shaking violently. You felt her pulse around your fingers in strong, rhythmic waves, fresh wetness coating your hand and chin as you kept working her through it. You didn’t stop until she was whimpering, oversensitive and twitching, weakly pushing at your head.

You eased your fingers out slowly, pressing one last soft kiss to her swollen clit that made her jolt. Then you crawled back up her body, letting her taste herself on your tongue as you kissed her deeply. Emily moaned into your mouth, hands roaming greedily over your bare skin.

She flipped you suddenly, surprising you with her strength, and straddled your thigh. The heat of her slick cunt pressed directly against your skin as she rocked forward. “Your turn,” she breathed against your lips, voice hoarse and commanding even while trembling. Her fingers slipped between your bodies, parting you, circling your clit with slick precision before sliding two fingers deep inside.

You gasped, hips bucking up into her hand. Emily set a brutal pace curling her fingers with every thrust, thumb pressing firm circles over your clit. Her other hand pinned your wrist above your head, her mouth latching onto your neck, sucking a mark of her own while she fucked you.

“Look at me,” she whispered hotly against your ear. “I want to watch you come undone on my fingers.”

You did. Eyes locked on hers, you came hard clenching around her, thighs shaking, a raw moan tearing from your throat. Pleasure tore through you in waves as she kept moving, drawing it out until you were gasping, oversensitive, and pleading. Only then did she slow, gentling her touch, pressing soft, almost reverent kisses along your jaw. 

Emily collapsed half on top of you, both of you slick with sweat and trembling. For a long moment the only sound was shared breathing hers still ragged, yours shaky. The city hummed far below the windows, indifferent to the wreckage you’d made of each other on Miranda Priestly’s sacred couch.

She shifted first, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached for the soft cashmere throw that usually draped over the back of the sofa (something ridiculously expensive that no one was ever allowed to use) and dragged it over your tangled bodies. The fabric was cool against your overheated skin. Emily tucked it around your shoulders with surprising care, her fingers lingering on the nape of your neck.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, voice roughened and low. Her accent had softened at the edges, the crisp edges worn down by exhaustion and release. She brushed damp strands of hair from your forehead, then let her fingertips trace the flush on your cheek. “Was I too rough?”

You let out a breathless laugh, turning your face into her touch. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good. Because I’m not sorry.” But her eyes betrayed her something vulnerable flickering behind the familiar snark. She pressed a slow kiss to your temple, then another to the corner of your mouth, gentler than anything you’d shared tonight.

Emily eased herself up just enough to reach for the small bottle of water she kept at her desk. She unscrewed it and held it to your lips first, watching intently as you drank. A few drops escaped and slid down your neck; she chased them with her tongue, licking a slow stripe up your throat that made you shiver for an entirely different reason.

When she’d had her own drink, she set the bottle aside and pulled you closer, skin to skin under the throw. Her body was warm and pliant now, the sharp lines of tension finally smoothed out. You felt the rapid thud of her heart against your chest as she hooked one leg over yours, keeping you tangled together.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” she whispered against your collarbone. Her fingers traced idle patterns over your ribs, down the curve of your waist, then back up possessive but soothing. “I’ve spent weeks wanting to strangle you. Now I just want to keep you right here until you can’t walk straight.”

You smiled into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo mixed with sex and sweat. “High praise, coming from you.”

Emily huffed a quiet laugh, but it caught in her throat. She was quiet for a beat, then spoke again, softer. “I meant what I said earlier. No one can know. Miranda would… God, I don’t even want to think about it. But also…” She swallowed, pressing her face into the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to stop this. Not yet.”

Her vulnerability was naked now, stripped of the armor she wore like designer armor every day. You felt it in the way her arms tightened around you, in the slight tremble that hadn’t fully left her limbs. You ran your hand slowly up and down her back, feeling the delicate knobs of her spine, the faint sheen of dried sweat on her skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, kissing the top of her head. “Not unless you kick me out.”

She made a small, pleased sound and nuzzled closer. For a while you simply lay there bodies cooling, breaths syncing. Emily’s hand eventually wandered lower, not with heat this time but with lazy affection, stroking over the swell of your ass, then back up to rest between your shoulder blades.

After a few minutes she sighed and reached for a packet of wipes she kept in her drawer She cleaned you both with careful, almost clinical touches that somehow still felt intimate gentle strokes between your thighs that made you sigh, then turning the wipe on herself. When she was done she tossed it aside and pulled the throw tighter around you both.

“Stay a little longer,” she said quietly. It wasn’t quite a question. “The car will be here at six anyway. Might as well pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist until then.”

You nodded, threading your fingers through her tangled red hair and massaging her scalp. Emily melted under the touch, eyes fluttering shut, a rare look of peace settling over her sharp features. The icy senior assistant was gone; in her place was someone softer, someone who had let herself be seen.

“I still hate you a little,” she mumbled sleepily against your skin, the words warm and drowsy.

You kissed her forehead. “I know. I hate you too.”

She smiled small, genuine, and devastatingly beautiful.

im the one who sent this anon and i saw your insta video after. js wanted to tell you that i think youre really brave for sharing everything about the situation. i wasnt aware of how deep the situation went with you and emma (if im completely honest i thought it was kinda weird that she was 20 dating a 17 year old. the fact that youre 15 and she was still okay with it is abhorrent), i would js read both of your fics and i saw that you changed your age in your pinned so i was just wondering.

im so sorry this hapepened to you and im sorry there are people trying to tell you that youre the problem. you are absolutely not in the wrong; if a minor develops feelings for an adult its absolutely the adult's responsibility to not. openly reciprocate. all those anons coming after you can go fuck themselves. i hope things get better for you asap <3

because I already spoke on my point of view?.. go ASK emma on her point, ask her for her so called “proof”, I have provided everything that I WANTED to provide. why do I have to constantly explain over and over again 😭, quite frankly I find it stupid that you’re still trying to go on and on about this. It doesn’t make you nor anyone else feel better.

If you actually want to talk about this situation, dm me instead of hiding behind an anon because again it’s childish.

never said I wasn’t in the wrong, yes I’ve done stuff wrong?? But go ask emma for her side if you’re so desperate to hear “both sides of the story” and if you had really watched a video which doesn’t take THAT much of your time, I mostly put up my screenshots, so I put myself more in the wrong than I did emma.