⋆˚꩜｡

do you think I’m spooky ??

[scullyrraine]

˙⋆✮ 𝒩𝒜𝒱 • 5teen

⠀⠀  : ¨·.·¨ :ㅤ

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

requests are open ! 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

[scullyrraine]

Its me

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

[cj-freakster]

Shes lying we are

[scullyrraine]

[scullyrraine]

Its me

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

[cj-freakster]

die

[lovvera]

do you want a tour of my funko pops x

no i do NOT

[scullyrraine]

I do 🥹🥹🥹🥹

[scarredviness]

Behind the Cameras

Emily Charlton x f!reader

You're a photographer for Runway and spend most of the time with Miranda Priestley's well known and normally not so friendly assistant- Emily Charlton. On a luxurious event, you find the redhead almost passed out in the bathroom.

TW: (talking about) eating disorder, hurt/comfort, bad jokes lol??? If I should add anything lmk:3

A/N: Hey, pretty people! This is my first fanfic in YEARS, but due to the painful lack of Emily stories, I decided to try and write again. Feedback is very appreciated, have fun reading<3

Something about these fancy events makes me so nostalgic about my job. A job that I love. Being a photographer was my dream ever since I found that old camera in my grandma's drawer. It was dusty and the pictures that I took never made it into physical copies, since I didn't know how to transfer them onto film. Still, I was obsessed with the old camera, making my mom buy me a newer one for my 10th birthday.

That's when my love to capture the world's beauty started. But I never would have guessed that I'm going to photograph dressed up models in the newest designer clothes instead of ladybugs in my garden.

Shaking my head to get out of thoughts, I wander around in my stilettos and an oversized suit, looking around the room full of women that probably spend more time doing hair and makeup, than I've spend cooking my dinner the entirety of a week.

Even if I look good, I'm not getting noticed in a room like this, which makes it way easier to press past the mass of silk gowns and velvet suits and make my way to the bathroom.

Just getting a few breaths without almost coughting from the mingle of expensive perfumes.

Get a few seconds for myself. Sometimes -especially in rooms this full- I ponder if my introvert self should have stayed with the ladybugs. Well, too late.

I press down the handle of the bathroom stall, taking in the shiny tiles and golden sinks and - a head with red hair so fiery I would reconize it anywhere.

Emily. Miranda Priestley's assistant and the bluntest woman in the room. Or anywhere she's present, for that matter. There is something that differs her from the other women in fashion.

The way she holds and presents herself. The slight edge in her appearance. If it's a sharp lined wing, a jacket that feels off just the right bit or the way her hair falls like it's a little messy, knowing well enough that every detail is entirely on purpose. She isn't just soft features and pretty smiles. Her eyes can burn down the egos of powerful men if she has enough reason to.

She's Magnetic. Not that I would tell her though, she enjoys teasing me about enough things already...

Before I can lose myself in my thoughts again, I hear a sniffle and a grown.

"Emily?", to that, the red head turns around and looks at me with glassy eyes and a pained expression that doesn't fit onto her features at all.

"Hiii...shouldn't you take care of your social relationships", Emily slurs with a smirk that looks more like her teeth hurt.

"Shouldn't you take care of yourself? Jesus, have you looked at yourself?"

"Aren't I mesmerizing?", Emily smiles, obviously trying to play it cool like she's not on the edge of passing out.

Even in a state like this, she keeps teasing me, turning around every word in my mouth...

"Mesmerizing? For whom, the Grim Reaper?", I tease her back, even though she knows very well I'm seriously concerned, but still, Emily's smile gets even wider. If this was a different situation, maybe I could enjoy this too...

I stand there for a second longer, watching -observing- the woman as her smile turns into a grimace. As she presses her lips together, the smallest whimper slips through Emily's lips.

Emily Charlton just whimpered in pain.

The same woman that came into the office in heels -or, at least one heel- when she got hit by a taxi and had to wear her leg in a cast.

"Okay, I'm not playing this game anymore. Em, what the fuck is wrong?", I take one big step into her direction and grab her arm just soon enough before her legs give in to the pressure of simply standing upright.

"I'm-"

"Emily, don't you dare say 'I'm fine' when you're clearly not."

I gently grab her waist instead of her arm, noticing how she's cold but sweaty and scarily bony.

Emily... I hold her for a second longer, knowing what this is about. Emily seems to understand my train of thoughts too, avoiding my gaze by looking away.

I know Emily is someone who's always poised, polished, her walls up high. Her exterior seeming perfect. But this, this is nothing like the version she tries to sell the world.

Right in this moment, she looks small and fragile and I know me seeing her in this state pains her more than starving herself to the point she almost passes out in a bathroom.

"Okay. It's okay. We're leaving." My voice turns into something softer. So soft, that Emily looks up with teary eyes and doesn't try to contradict.

And that scares me the most. No snarly response. No eye-roll, not even a pout. The energy long lost. I pull Emily away from the wall she is leaning against, her body half limp under my hold.

The way to the uber took quiet a while, with me carrying most of Emily's weight. When we made it, I helped her into the backseat, sitting on the other side myself. While rummaging through my bag, I tell the driver to take us to my place, since I wouldn't leave Emily alone under these conditions.

Finding what I was looking for, I unwrap my chocolate bar and hold it in front of Emily's face. She looks at me like I wanted her to eat a stick of pure butter, but grabbed at the brown bar nonetheless.

The rest of the drive was silent, a barely audible chewing the only thing that filled the backseat. When we got out, Emily needed a little less help, but still groaned at the sight of my stairs.

"I could carry you, you know", I say geniunely but amused, to which Emily gives me her best death glare.

"Don't. Even.Try.", her words and facial expressions hard in contrast with the frustration on her face, that tells me, the only thing keeping her from agreeing is her pride.

Seven minutes, two stairs and a few grunts later, Emily looks around my loft, while I get the other woman something comfy to wear.

"Here you go, bathroom is in this direction. What do you want to eat?" I ask casually while Emily looks at me dumbfounded.

"I ate."

"Even though I'm glad you're able to annoy me again, I'm serious. You're eating dinner with me, whatever you want, just tell me."

Emily's mouth turns into a smirk and I ask myself what escaped my mouth again.

"You could at least ask me if you could have dinner with me, you know...I would have said yes eventually..."

"You're unbelievable, Em." I mumble sternly, turning away so she wouldn't catch the smirk on my lips and the blush that's creeping up my cheeks.

She still knows.

I don't remember when our playfullness turned flirty. I just know that I enjoy it too much to adress the elephant in the room and ask her what we are. Seriousness isn't my strenght and it wasn't hers eighter.

On my way to the kitchen, a "make the pasta you recently had on that one shoot with Miranda, where she looked at the designer with that disgusted face. They looked pretty decent" echoes through the room.

Decent. If that woman knew...

Still, I smirk to the memory of the shoot, just as I did when Emily and me stood in the corner, watching the designer get eaten by Miranda's stares only, trying to hide our smirks behind a stack of pictures. Even when there was no need for us to spend time together -theoretically not even working in the same department- we always managed to whisper snarly comments into each others ears or trying not smirk too hard.

While the noodles are boiling and I season the sauce, Emily comes into my peripheral view. I turn, taking in the way she looks in my long sleeve and velour pants from bottom to top.

When my eyes land on her face, I see raised eyebrows, telling me something is not to Emily's satisfaction.

"Is there something I did for earning such a punishment?", Emily deadpans. "Pardon?"

Emily rolls her eyes like I was oblivious for not noticing the thing paining her. Fact is, I have no idea.

After what Emily considers enough thinking time, she rolls her eyes. "I though making me wear sweatpants was enough, but then I saw this." Right in the moment, Emily turns around and the word "juicy" written onto the sweatpants in shiny rhinestones comes into my view.

Before I can stop myself, I burst into laughter. Emily turns around again, looking at me like I told her her outfit was bad.

"I can't believe I once thought your fashion sense was even existent. Clearly I haven't seen your tacky homewear..."

Still smirking, I hand Emily a plate full of pasta. "You know, a simple 'thanks' would suffice and -by the way- you look great in them." This time, it's Emily turning red. "Oh shut up."

Sitting on my sofa, we eat in silence. It's a comfortable silence, but there is still so much I want to ask Emily about. So I have to be the one popping the bubble of comfortability.

"Em?", I ask, my voice low. Emily hums without looking up from her spaghetti. "You- I can clearly see that your...that you are not healthy."

Wow, this is harder than I thought. Especially when Emily doesn't answer. "Emily," I gently touch her knee to get her attention. "please."

Her eyes land on my hand, then my eyes. I can't believe these are the same eyes that glare at incompetent people like they were her sworn enemy. All the hardness, all the fire gone. Replaced by watery, green orbs staring at me.

"I'm just dieting, everbody does that.", she chokes out like every word escaping her mouth is burning her troat.

"Emily that's not-" "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY!? THAT I DON'T EAT? AND WHEN I HAVE TO, I PUKE IT OUT AT THE BATHROOM? That I barely get my period or that I'm always cold?!!!"

The sudden outburst catches me off guard, the sobs in between even more. "I KNOW that that is not normal but-but what else should I do t-to stay in control? I need to stay beautiful..."

My heart breaks at her words. Wrapping my arms around Emily's torso, I let her cry into my shoulder. By the way her cries come out of her like a thunderstorm, I can tell she doesn't let herself do this often.

As the rain starts to hammer against the window, Emily's sobs get quieter, before they stop entirely. "Emily. Look at me.", I try, untangeling my arms from around her body, just to lay my hands on her shoulders.

No reaction.

"Emily, baby. Please look at me.", my desperation visible in the way I practically beg.

Slowly, Emily turns her head to me, still not looking into my eyes. I take her wet face into one of my palms, wiping away a last, fresh tear, until Emily's green eyes finally lock with mine.

"Nothing could ever take your beauty away. Nurturing, fuelling your body will not make you ugly, but starving yourself to death will, Em. Eating will give you energy to do the things you love and move your body the way you want.", I say, trying to convince Emily of the importance and truth of my words.

Some seconds elapse without another word exchanged, our breathing the only sound besides the heavy rain.

"You always make my thoughts seem stupid." The heaviness in my throat clears with Emily's playfullness returning. I know she understood my point and I'm sure there is a lot of work to do for her recovery, but for now, I'm just glad she feels better.

"In my defence, I also tell you when your thoughts are brilliant, which is most of the time. Soo...", I throw back playfully, scurring back into the pillows to make myself comfortable, Emily mirrowing my actions.

"Mhm. I am brilliant and I think you should praise me for that more often."

Praise. I can work with that. I can work with that very well.

"Just say you want to be my good girl already.", I whisper into the redheads ear, brushing away a crimson lock of hair behind her ear.

Refacing her, her cheeks almost took the same color as her hair.

"So, am I your baby or your good girl? You got me a little confused here."

Wait, what? I did not- oh.

Emily, baby. Please look at me.

The words echo in my head over and over again. I didn't plan to call her that, it just happened in the moment. And I don't regret it. At all.

"You are cute when your cheek turn red and you're at a loss of words, but right now I'd rather know what's going on in that head of yours."

Emily's voice raspier than usual and I have to make a mental note, that she sounds even more sexy than usual. I don't recall a single sentence coming out of Emily's mouth, that was so direct and genuinely soft.

Our heads lay on the soft backrest, facing each other, our noses only a few inches apart. I trace my fingers over Emily's jaw, as I confess the one thought, that took over my brain minutes ago.

"I would really like to kiss you now."

Emily smiles, a real, bright smile. "I'm not one for begging, but if you don't, I may become impatient."

Our noses brush together, her hands finding my waist. "As good as that sounds, I can't wait any longer either, baby."

And as our eyes flutter close, lips collide into a long awaited kiss.

[scullyrraine]

@angellw1ngs 😛

[scullyrraine]

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.

The lights of New York kept flickering outside, but inside the quiet chaos of Runway, the two of you stayed wrapped together until the sky began to lighten.

[scullyrraine]

IM FINALLY POSTING TOMORROW WE ARE SOOOO BACK 😛😛😛

[scullyrraine]

https://www.tumblr.com/scullyrraine/821411609704595456/did-u-lie-abt-being-17-3

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

thank you so much, it means everything ☹️<3

[scullyrraine]

are you ai chatgpt?

no I’m not 🫩

[scullyrraine]

are u lessbian?

idk take a guess

[scullyrraine]

didnt one of ur best friends do the same thing your posting all about? thats a bit weird

not even talking to her anymore…. Because what I said about said person corresponds to her too.

[scullyrraine]

anytime!! sending you all the love🫶🫶

sorry I didn’t see this but you’re so sweet, thank you <3

[scullyrraine]

heyyy!! are you friends with someone called mickey :)

not anymore I’m not no 🥹

[scullyrraine]

OMG im baffled. I dont follow you on anywhere but Tumblr and I dont follow emma so I didnt know anything except for the fact that u two broke up and now this😭 I thought that maybe you two broke up cause she just found out you weren't actually 17/18.. but she knew?? I hope youre doing okay now💔 if this helps, youre totally valid, when I was 16, a 20 yo asked me out despite them knowing i was 16 at the time. I got into the relationship bc I liked them a bit and it was horrible (ended horrible too). I knew it was wrong yet I also agreed to date them, things like that lowk js happen and sometimes we make mistakes getting into relationships. Its never too late to learn from our experiences though!! I hope things go well for you x

yes she knew the whole time. I am doing better now thank you 🥹🥹 and I hope you’re okay too ! It is an awful experience to go through, thank you though you’re really sweet <3

[scullyrraine]

yo are you good i saw ur post on insta wondering if ur doing alright

I am doing better :), thank you for asking <3

[scullyrraine]

love how ur posting all the anons that call out emma but not the ones i sent saying where you're both in the wrong. point proven..

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.

I just explained on what emma did to me, I wanted to put MY story out there and it just seems like you have a very big problem with it.