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I want to write my Din story but also want to write my Frankie story but also want to write my Joel story but also
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i've been in a slump and instead of writing i've been creating my lil story worlds in Sims, so here's a taste of Peña's Anatomy!Javi and McCartney pouting while Lucky's away in Dallas 🤍
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oh, what a good story idea
Hey, that's an even better story idea
Wow, that would be amazing to write
*Stares at screen*
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jesus christ the angst was angst-ing in the best possible way 😭 just stunning, K!! 🤍
No Regrets - part 1
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Pairing: Frankie Morales x Girasol (f!reader) - (Because of You universe)
Word Count: 4.6k
Summary: "She’s asking you if Frankie went too. The question sends your world upside down."
Warnings: angst, talk of past drug use, talk of suicidal thoughts, mention of ptsd, heavy emotions
a/n: this has been posted on ao3 since july 2023 (damn, time flies) so some of you may have already read it over there (and thank you to the sweet angels who have already commented on it over there <3). i had my reasons on waiting to post it here but it's now the only part of this series that isn't posted on tumblr and i think i'm okay to post it here now. Also, part 2 has not been written because what i have planned for it may interrupt some other stories i want to write for these two first.
Because of You - series masterlist
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When you blink your eyes open, the bedroom is still draped in darkness. There’s not even a hint of sunrise as you try to settle your sleep-riddled brain from the abrupt interruption.  The ringing of your cell phone continues as you reach out to grab it, sleep still heavy in your body that you don’t even think to look at who’s calling. 
“Hello?” you whisper, eyes falling shut once again as you wait to find out just how important this call could be.   
It’s Yovanna and she’s crying hysterically.  It’s enough to have your eyes shoot open as you shift to push off your free hand, sitting up more.
“Wait, wait, Yovanna, breathe.  I can’t understand you.  Is everyone okay?” you go to tap Frankie awake but your hand only meets air. Turning your head, you see his side of the bed is empty, the covers pulled up to his pillow.  As you’re trying to make sense of the source of your friend’s panic, your brain is also trying to figure out just where Frankie could be.  A quick glance at the ensuite shows the door open with the light off.
With a quick toss, the covers are moved off of you allowing you to stand up and you still take a peek inside the dark bathroom for your husband.  Yovanna manages to calm herself just enough that you can finally make out what she’s been trying to tell you.  It’s then you find out that Santi was gone when she woke up to use the bathroom.  She found a note that said he was going back to Colombia and he should be back in a couple of weeks.  It’s the last thing you expected her to say, but now, she’s asking you if Frankie went too. 
The question sends your world upside down. 
He wouldn’t.
Not after last time.
You’re quickly grabbing one of Frankie’s t-shirts from the laundry basket and pulling it over your head as fast as you can without moving the phone from your ear for too long.
“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly, worry starting to seep into your nerves.  You rush out of the bedroom and quietly check the girls’ room for him.  Then the kitchen.  The basement.  Nothing.  When you look out the front window, you get your answer.
His car is gone.
“Yovanna, I have to call you back.  I promise you, I will.  Let me try to call Frankie because he’s not home, either.  As soon as I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
As soon as you end her call, you’re dialing Frankie’s number.  It goes straight to voicemail and the air leaves your lungs.
He promised you.
You spend fifteen agonizing minutes calling him as you scour the house for any sign of a note, but every damn call to him goes straight to voicemail.  Quickly, you send him a text asking him to call you as soon as possible – when he doesn’t respond back within minutes, it only fuels the fire of your concern. But you’re also getting frustrated and you can’t help but fling your phone against the couch.  Thoughts race through your mind of the past several days, playing back every memory with him where maybe you missed a small moment that could have prepared you that he was planning on leaving again.  It was only hours ago that he made love to you, the evidence of it still sticky between your legs – was that his fucked up way of telling you goodbye without actually admitting what was going on?
You run a hand roughly through your hair as your eyes catch the bedroom door of the girls.   Not only to you, but how could he do this to those little girls?  Violeta was too young to remember the last time he did this.  But now?  She’ll have questions.  And poor Rosie is too young to make any sense of it – all she’ll know is that Daddy isn’t around anymore. 
It doesn’t take long for your mind to start heading to the worst.  Tears fill your eyes as your hand presses to your mouth muffling your sobs.  What if he dies over there? How could you ever possibly break that news to those two little sweet faces?  And how could you ever possibly live without him?
“Damn it, Frankie!” you curse him under your breath, your tears seemingly endless as you switch between being angry and absolutely heartbroken.  Sitting down on the couch, you begin to take slow, deep breaths to settle yourself.  You had already been where Yovanna was, except your baby was already in the world when Frankie left for Colombia.  The last thing she needs right now is to have you being equally as devastated when you call her back.
But it's harder than you thought.
Every deep breath is followed by a reminder of why you’re so upset in the first place and it brings you right back to the verge of a breakdown. 
How Tom was fucking killed there.  Something none of them ever thought would happen, which means its possible to happen again.
How you barely handled being a new mother when Frankie left the first time, and now you’re on your own with two small kids. 
How you’ve never been able to shake the rooted, resounding fear of not knowing where he is ever since the last trip.
The ache in your chest is too much and you don’t even think of the girls sleeping when you finally let out the anguished cry that’s been crawling up your throat.  The tears stream down your face, hot and angry, as you take one shuddering breath after another.
Suddenly, a flash of headlights sweeps across the wall in front of you.  Eyes wide, you’re up and turning to the window to see Frankie’s truck pulling into the driveway. The sight has you frozen, your mind trying to come back from the definitive thought that he had absolutely left again.
It doesn’t matter though, because even without your clearer thoughts, your body aches for him and it has you rushing to the front door.  Wrenching it open, the porch light illuminates you standing there in the doorway with just his t-shirt hanging on your body.
Frankie’s brows knit together at the sight and he shuts the headlights off.  You don’t even think about your current state of undress as you head towards the driver’s side door.  As you get closer, Frankie spots the watery glimmer to your cheeks and his face transforms to worry when he realizes you’ve been crying.  Did something happen to one of the girls? He’s stepping out of the truck, eyes glued to you, when you’re only a couple feet away.
“I thought you left again!  You weren’t here!” you immediately throw at him as you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but your emotions betray you and a sob comes out. Shuddering gasps separate your words as you inform him, “Yovanna says Santi’s gone and – and I thought you went too when I couldn’t find you.” All your sense is gone that you don’t even give it a second thought how the whole neighborhood is asleep as you loudly confront your husband in the driveway.   
A look of guilty realization falls over his face and he’s shaking his head as he pulls that familiar tan jacket off his broad frame and swings it around behind you to drape over your shoulders and shield your half-nude body from any prying eyes.
“Baby, no.  I promised you I’d never do that again,” his palm cups your cheek as he keeps a steady hold of the jacket on you.  His thumb sweeps across your skin, brushing some tears away. 
Another sob from your lips as more tears fall and you nod, “I know. I’m sorry,” hands coming up to cover your face, your head in a daze of too many battling emotions.
“Hey, no,” and Frankie wraps his arms around you hugging you, “You have nothing to apologize for. Fuck, I’m sorry.  I didn’t think you’d wake up before I got back. Come on, let’s get you inside,” then he’s sweeping you up into his arms.
Once he steps through the opened front door, he gently places your feet to the ground and he’s locking the door behind him. When he turns back around, you cling to him in a desperate hug, sobbing into his shoulder.  Eyes closed in annoyance at himself, he hugs your body to him, petting the back of your head gently as he presses his mouth to your temple. 
“Mi vida, I’m right here,” he soothes. 
“You weren’t answering your phone,” you tell him through watery gasps. 
“Because I’m a fucking idiot.  I didn’t realize how low the battery was before I left.  It’s dead right now.”
All of a sudden, you move out of his grasp and shove his chest which barely moves your rock of a husband and also causes his jacket around your shoulders to slip off, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
“You can’t just do that, Frank! You can’t just disappear like that without leaving any kind of note! You have no fucking idea how scared I was! You have no fucking idea just what I went through with you after the last trip!” you shove him again and walk away from him, further into the living room. 
You wipe at your cheeks as you stand with your back to him, arms wrapped around yourself.  
Frankie stands there stunned.  He knew what he put you through.  Or at least, he thought he knew. He takes gentle steps over to you, afraid to do more wrong.  Hesitantly he reaches out and touches your hip, but as he feared you step away from him.  Turning around, you instruct him to call Yovanna.
“I know you were with him.  She deserves to know what’s going on.  Call her now, Francisco.”  With that, you walk away from him again and walk down the hall to the bedroom.
You can’t stop the tears rolling down your face as you sit on the edge of your bed, face buried in your hands. Frankie’s calming voice floats down the hall from the living room, his entire conversation in Spanish as he explains to Santi’s pregnant girlfriend what the hell the man was thinking.  You though have no clue what’s being said.
He’s on the phone with her for almost half an hour before you hear him put the cordless phone back in its cradle.  From his movements, you figure he’s picking up his jacket and hanging it up.   Then you hear him quietly open the girls’ bedroom, no doubt checking on them, especially after your shouting.
Once he enters the bedroom, his footsteps stop and you safely assume he’s staring at you.  It’s not long before you hear him start rounding the end of the bed towards you.  You lift your head and look away from him as you weakly wipe the tracks of tears from your cheeks. 
Frankie’s never really shied away from making things right with you when you’d argue, especially after everything with the last trip, so it shouldn’t have surprised you when he takes a knee directly in front of you with his hands tentatively laying against the outside of your knees before finally smoothing them forward along your naked thighs when you make no move to push him away.
There’s an extra gentleness to his tone when he asks, “Can we talk?”
“No,” you stubbornly answer him in a watery whisper, looking down at your lap. It only causes him further heartache at the fact you’re still crying and it’s all because of him.
“Okay, baby,” he answers softly with a short nod, glancing at his hand molded to your skin before looking at you again, “Then I’m going to talk.”  When you don’t respond, he knows you’re at least listening. But before he even begins to explain, he leans down and presses a light kiss to each of your knees, nuzzling against them before lifting his head. 
“I drove Pope to the airport.  He’s looking to find that money we left behind the last time.  He’s desperate to give Yovanna and their kid the best life possible and he wants that extra money in their bank account.  I tried to talk him out of it,” he gives a small frustrated shake of his head, “He brought it up to me again a couple weeks ago and I tried to talk him out of it then too.  But you know him, too stubborn for his own good.  Yovanna’s not happy, but you know that already, too. When he got out of the car, he had me promise that you and I would look out for her while he’s gone.  Take care of her.”
The way you won’t even look at him hurts just as much as the fact that he’s hurt you.  He leans forward and dips his head, trying to catch your eye but you close them in heartache when he tries. 
“Girasol, please,” he desperately whispers, only to see more tears slip down from the corners of your closed eyes.
When you feel his lips press to your cheek, you can’t help the tiny whimper you make.  Frankie only continues to try to make things okay, “You’re right, Girasol.  I thought I knew what I put you through after Colombia, but obviously I don’t – not really, at least.  I hope you’ll tell me one day.  Until then, I’m so fucking sorry, baby.  I’m sorry for sneaking out like that.  You’re right about that too, that wasn’t fair of me to do that to you.  I’m sorry for ever making you worry that I left you and the girls.  I promised you after the last time that I would never leave you again and I meant it, honey.”  He gives you a minute to respond with anything, but you don’t.  You don’t say anything and it makes your husband sigh quietly before standing up.  He leans down and kisses your head; a whispered “I love you so much” against your hair.  
Frankie walks back to his side, taking his cap off and tossing it onto the dresser.  Every few seconds, he glances at the sight of you sitting there, the only movement of your hands wiping the tears that still continue to fall.  He unfastens his watch, laying it down on the bedside table and begins to undress. 
When he’s down to his underwear, he settles on the bed, his back against the headboard.  He’s not going to sleep until you do. 
As much as he wants to keep trying to get you to talk, he also knows that you just need a little time to let everything settle in your mind and in your heart before you’ll talk to him. It takes ten minutes of silence between you two for you to finally turn your head towards your shoulder, not to look at him but so that he’d hear you.
“Every second you were out of the house, I never knew if you were coming back,” you softly start and Frankie’s eyes don’t leave you. “I’m not even talking about tonight,” you add and there’s a pit in his stomach when he realizes now that you’re talking about those months he was using. 
“You weren’t sharing anything with me and all I had was searching for information on the goddamn internet.  Everything about PTSD mentioned how suicidal thoughts were so common.  And then the cocaine,” you trail off, taking a minute before continuing, “…I had no idea if that was making the PTSD worse.  I just – I was constantly worried sick about you, Frankie.  And I was terrified that maybe you felt so alone, and so misunderstood that part of you might have thought it would just be best to go off somewhere and – and kill yourself,” when you speak those last two words out loud, they’re wrapped in a heavy sob that shakes your body.
With tears in his eyes, Frankie lunges forward and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap and cradling you, mouth pressing to your temple as he holds you close.  Your hands grip his arms for support and through shuddering sobs, you force yourself to finish, “Even though Yovanna said it was Colombia, when I couldn’t find you anywhere and when I saw your car was gone, that fear just came instantly flooding back. That maybe you were suffering again and not telling me.  And then there also being the chance that you broke your promise and went away again, and –,” a shuddering sigh, “ – I just fucking panicked.”
Frankie’s heart shatters. 
Tears fill his eyes and he brushes his lips across your wet cheek.  When he whispers the question against your skin, you hear the heavy heartache in his voice, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
The question gives you pause as you finally look at him.  At this man you’re so deeply in love with, who has given you so much love and devotion.  This man who is so devastatingly handsome and he doesn’t even realize.  Looking into his eyes, you think of his question and your eyes only well up even more.  With a trembling lip, “Because I didn’t want to give you the idea if you weren’t already thinking it.”
A lump settles in his throat when he looks at you, and the absolute grief written on your face has his own tears finally fall.   
Frankie shakily breathes, “Mi alma,” before he crushes his lips to yours.  Your hands grasp his face as you desperately return the affection. Tears continue to fall from you both and every sweep of your thumbs against his cheeks has you feeling his. You only pull away from his mouth in order to kiss some away. 
His eyes follow you as you move from one cheek to the other, his hand sweetly smoothing over your hair.  You press your forehead to his brow, your tiny shuddering gasps felt against his jaw.  His throat moves with a swallow before his palm gently comes up to your face to keep you still as he guides you back enough for him to see your whole face.
There’s a hesitation from him as his eyes dance between yours.  A caress of his thumb along the wetness below your eye before he shamefully admits, “I had thought about it.  Just once or twice.”
Fresh tears fall as your face crumbles at his secret, “Frankie,” you cry, the worst of your fears being given truth.  Your hands fall from his face to rest on his bare chest.
He has to look away from you, unable to handle seeing the newfound pain in your eyes, but he keeps explaining, “Seeing how bad I was hurting you and knowing that I wasn’t being the husband you deserved or the father that Violeta deserved, it had briefly crossed my mind.  But I didn’t want to be somewhere that you weren’t,” he finally looks to you again, “Selfishly, I’d rather have still been around you, even if it was causing you pain,” a sad shake of his head, “That’s fucked up, isn’t it?”
Instead of saying anything, you press your lips to his in a kiss that hits him so deep, he feels that emotion swell in his chest.  It’s one that reminds him just how much you love him.
You rest your forehead against his, “No, baby, it’s not.  It’s what kept you here with us.  And just so you know, the worst possible pain would have been if you weren’t here at all,” you lift your head to look into his beautiful, brown eyes and cup his cheek. 
Frankie runs his hand over your hair, eyes never leaving yours, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do,” you bring your other hand up to fully frame his face.
“Fuck, baby, I really am sorry for everything.  If I had known any of this, I promise I would have left a note.  I just didn’t want to wake you up so early for nothing.  I would have told you all about it later.”
You give a short nod, “I know. I just – that fear and panic made me overreact. It’s something I have to work on.”
“You had every right.  Don’t be so nice to me when I don’t deserve it.”
“It’s hard not to…you’re really cute,” your lips curving slightly for the first time since he got home. It has him huffing out a small laugh with the unexpected response.
Frankie looks at you so soft, with the most adoring smile, “Girasol, I love you so much,” and then he’s making you squeak out a laugh when he abruptly leans forward with you on his lap, sending you onto your back, laying you out as he hovers over you.  He buries his face against your neck, one arm slipping under your back to hug you as he leans on his forearm.  You hold him tight, petting his soft, curling hair as he leaves light kisses along your neck and to your jaw.
Lifting his head, his lips brush your chin before he’s looking down at you, and with a tenderness that only he has, he uses the back of his finger to wipe away any moisture left on your cheeks from all your tears.
There’s a slight frown on his face, “I absolutely hate making you cry, amor.  Rips me right open.” 
With a hand on the back of his neck, you pull him down for a sweet kiss, “Baby, this was all on me.  You didn’t actually do anything wrong.”
There’s a sadness to his eyes as the width of his palm covers the side of your face, his thumb smoothing along your lower lip, “But the things I’ve done wrong in the past have followed you this whole time.  I’m so fucking sorry.”
It’s enough to undo his work of drying your tears as a few trickles down the sides of your temples at the broken expression on his face, but you give a weak shake of your head, “Who could’ve known? Frankie, as long as you’re okay, I’m okay,” another kiss to his lips, “Are you okay?”
Are you suffering in silence again?
The kiss he gives you is soft, but passionate.  He tries to channel every ounce of love he has for you into this small act of affection that isn’t nearly enough to show you just how much you mean to him.  The rounded edges of your fingernails drag back and forth along the back of his neck as he kisses you nearly breathless. 
When his lips reluctantly leave yours, he keeps his nose nestled to yours.  Each panting breath fans across the other’s mouth, as you continue to caress your fingers through his curls and his hand smooths back and forth along your thigh.
His voice is huskier than before, “I’m okay, Girasol. I promise.  Are we okay?”
You nod sweetly, your other hand gliding down the expanse of his back, “We’re more than.  Thank you, amor, for coming home,” a peck to his lips before a thought hits you and you ask him with some concern, “Does Santi know what he’s doing by himself to get that money?”
Frankie smooths his palm over your hairline to the crown of your head, “He’s not alone.  He’ll be fine.”
“He’s not?  But you guys had gone last time as a cover so no one from Colombia would know what you were really up to. Who does he have now?”
There’s something about the small hesitation from him that makes it click in your head.
With disbelief, you question, “Will and Benny went?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t go?” you ask despite knowing why.
Frankie shakes his head, “I promised you I wouldn’t.”
“Frank,” you breathe out. 
Not understanding your reaction, he asks, “Are you mad?”
With a soft, but sad smile you shake your head, “No.  I just know how worried you probably are right now since you’re not there.  And I also feel a bit guilty that you feel that way, but the fact that you’re still here – I love you.”
“Do not feel guilty.  Your opinion matters in this and I’m sorry I didn’t take it as seriously last time.”
“You have any way to be in contact with them?”
He shakes his head, “But they’ll be okay.  It’s different this time.  They know exactly where it’s at and there’s no one around to fight in order to get it.”
“You wanted to go,” you state.
He gives a weak sigh at you calling him out, “…Only for our family.  We could use more money.  But you and our girls come first.  This, right here, is where I really want to be.”  
Looking at him, you know he means it.  You know how deeply he loves you and the kids.  You run your fingers through his hair and lean up to press a kiss to his chin. Quietly, you share, “I’m so happy you’re still here,” and he sees in the way you look at him that you mean both alive and right here with you. 
“Me too,” he answers back with a tinge of emotion he’s trying to hide.  He kisses you right after, hand cradling your head.  His tongue gains access past your lips and you’re happy to taste him.
Looking up at him, you pet his scratchy facial hair, “You going to be able to sleep?”
“Doubt it,” he’s honest.  You crane your head back to get a glimpse out of the bedroom window and see the faintest of light.  Looking back to him, “El sol debería empezar a salir pronto.”  (Sun should start coming up soon.)
With a grin, “Vamos, mi Girasol.”  As he pushes off the mattress to get up, you sit up right after him.  Both of you pull on pajama pants and shove your feet into slippers.  Frankie grabs the baby monitor and your hand and together you quietly walk down the hallway.  As you pass through the living room, you let him go to grab the blanket at the end of the couch.  He waits those few seconds for you and slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close enough to kiss your head before continuing out back with you. 
The two of you lay side by side, cuddled close together on the chaise lounge with the blanket thrown over you.  Frankie’s arm is around you, pillowing your head, his hand slipped under your shirt and resting on your stomach. Every brush of his thumb over the dip of your bellybutton sends a shiver through you. 
You rest an arm on his chest, your forearm pressed to his collarbone as your fingertips lazily pet against his patchy haired jaw.    
Frankie turns his head several times to kiss your temple and whisper sweet words of love in between the slow kisses you share.  When the sky slowly grows brighter, turning beautiful colors of orange and pink, the sun gets halfway up when he feels your fingertips slowly come to a rest against his neck.  He looks to you - your cheek resting against his chest and your lips slightly parted with slow, evened breaths, as your closed eyes have you miss the sunrise.  
He presses a gentle kiss to your head and cuddles you even closer.
He can’t help but worry about Pope and the guys, but he also knows how capable they are, with or without him.  And in this moment with you, he knows he has zero regrets with not going.  Here he gets to love and touch the most amazing woman.  In a couple of hours, he gets to hear the giggles of two of the most adorable little girls that he helped make.  Gets to hear them call for him and have them want to be with him. Here, he gets to see your smile and hear your laugh at any moment.
No regrets at all.
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how do i explain that while frankie is my husband, din is my partner ??? and while dieter is my boyfriend, javi is my lover ??? and joel is my man but ezra is my muse ???? like ???
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it’s giving lsd javi vs penicillin joel
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my writing before my frontal lobe developed: 💗🍉✨🥰🍓🧚‍♀️💅🏼🌈
my writing since: 🥀🕷️🧛‍♀️💋🤬🖕🏼🗡️❤️‍🔥
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my writing before my frontal lobe developed: 💗🍉✨🥰🍓🧚‍♀️💅🏼🌈
my writing since: 🥀🕷️🧛‍♀️💋🤬🖕🏼🗡️❤️‍🔥
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DO WE LOVE??!!
i have no business plotting a summer romance turned oh my god you’re my professor?? fic right now but alas here i am plotting
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I WAS LITERALLY GONNA SUGGEST VANESSA !! canon she’s very much introverted, intelligent, and a lil self destructive so i think they’d get along great! 😂
i have no business plotting a summer romance turned oh my god you’re my professor?? fic right now but alas here i am plotting
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AHHHHHH YOURE SO RIGHT !!!!! who are we pairing Professor Levy with ?!?!
i have no business plotting a summer romance turned oh my god you’re my professor?? fic right now but alas here i am plotting
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okay here's my Sims cast for my VERY MUCH wip Suddenly This Summer !! hope you enjoy !!
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i need ideas for a fictional group of friends for Javi (bc Steve is a married man and the rest of Noelle’s baddie friends need a vacation boo too) so send me some descriptions of sexy men (and undercover professors) so i can pair them up too :)
i have no business plotting a summer romance turned oh my god you’re my professor?? fic right now but alas here i am plotting
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no you do not need to worry babes!! you have a VIP membership around here 😂 let me finish getting my sims pretty for you!!
i have no business plotting a summer romance turned oh my god you’re my professor?? fic right now but alas here i am plotting
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i have no business plotting a summer romance turned oh my god you’re my professor?? fic right now but alas here i am plotting
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Getting two likes when you share a piece of your writing while that shit post you made at 3am gets 200 notes really is a different kind of pain. We need to reblog each others writing more. Much much more.
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Jamie O'Neill, At Swim, Two Boys
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The person I reblogged this from deserves happiness and love
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