Freak Show Talk | 3racha, Lmh

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙞𝙭. 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙩𝙖𝙜

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

!! this chapter contains intense emotional distress, proceed w caution !!

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© June 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

Amongst a sea of twinkling lights and body heat, Chan drowns.

Nobody sees him. Not the overexcited boys with light-sticks in the front row, not the busy press in the back. Not even Jisung and Changbin, who clap with measured appreciation. His heart is in his fucking throat. It was an awesome performance; credit where it’s due. They’ll make an excellent group. If only he could shift this rock in his gut. He tells himself it’s a good that nobody saw him— that Jia didn’t. He’s not here to be seen.

In one thing, Fei was right. At this moment in time, he’s just another fan.

The cries for an encore make his teeth ache. He’s glad when Changbin takes his hand and says, “We should move, hyung.”

He autonomously follows Changbin through the row, down the shallow steps to the well below the stage where bright lights dazzle and cameramen fuss. Several others have also risen to leave, apparently none bothered by the possibility of an encore; the rappers fall into step with them, diverging quietly and anonymously from the group when passing a curtained, sectioned off area— backstage access.

The corridor they step into is cold and dark. Almost too quiet. They rush down it softly, until Changbin nears the first corner and peers around it.

“Down here,” he instructs with a whisper. “Dressing room signs.”

“They’ll all be in there, hyung,” Jisung hisses.

“Then he’s just going to have to do this with an audience.”

“No chance, he can’t do that. There has to be another way. Can’t we wait until they—”

“Fine.” Chan shakes out of Jisung’s hold, much as he doesn’t want to. “I’ll go.”

“Hyung, but they’re all—”

“This is my last chance, right? If they’re really about to debut, this is it. I have to do this.”

Jisung’s eyes betray concern, but he nods solemnly.

“Thank you,” Chan says. “Both of you. I, uh... would probably be neck deep in a bottle of soju right now if not for you.”

Changbin elbows him gently. “Hey, you might still be. Never say never.”

“Right.” Chan huffs a morose laugh. “Well, then.”

He doesn’t let himself think about it. Just walks. Feels the floor beneath his feet and the harsh fluorescence against his eyes and just walks. He tries to breathe. Hurts a little. Nonsense tumbles around his head, and he dreads what’ll come out of his mouth.

The dressing room door is ajar; light chatter and giggles carry from it. He can’t think about all the ways this may go wrong. With a deep breath he pushes inside, slams the door behind him. Doesn’t know why he flicks the lock. Four sets of eyes turn to him, liner and glitter and feathery lashes.

“Chan?”

Jia. She sees him. Her dark hair is waved, her stage outfit so pink and garish it makes Chan want to puke. She hates pink.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

Minyoung and Suji watch with quiet delight. Fei hangs her head. Jia launches from the dressing table and rushes him, panic becoming her.

“You can’t be here.” She shoves his chest. “Leave, now.”

“Jia, please.” He grabs her wrists. Just wants her to listen. Just for a minute. Just one. “I’ve missed you so much. I don’t know why you’re being like this. Things don’t have to change. They don’t. They shouldn’t.”

Suji scoffs. “Thought you two were just friends, Jia?”

Jia’s face flames. “Get the fuck out of here. I won’t tell you again.”

“Why are you doing this? What did I do wrong?”

“Hey,” Minyoung stands. “We can’t have a dude in here, Jia. Take it outside.”

“She takes it outside and she gets seen with him,” Fei sighs. “Goddamn it, Chan.”

Jia shoves him again, towards the door. “You just can’t take a hint, can you? I am about to debut. Do you get that? My life is about to change. Millions of people are going to love me. I have to make room for them.”

“Them?” Chan can hardly breathe. “And what about me? Do I not matter?”

“I can’t be with you.”

“That’s not what I asked—”

“I’ll be on the three-year ban.”

“What? Since when did that matter? Jia—”

“It wasn’t real, Chan! We both knew that. We were always kidding ourselves. You might be content to be a trainee forever, but I'm not. This is my future.”

He tastes the bile again. Everything tilts.

“You were my future, Jia.”

“I didn’t ask to be.”

It tilts and tilts until it’s upside down.

“You love me,” he says. “I know you do.”

Suji bites back a laugh. Fei glares.

“These two years can’t have been for nothing. They can’t.”

Jia shoves him again. Almost knocks him off balance.

“Get out before I start screaming.”

Screaming?

Fucking screaming?

The way she did when he made her come? The way she did when he told her he loved her?

“Fuck you.”

Jia’s jaw drops. Her eyes burn resentment. She starts towards him.

“Jia!”

A slap clean across his cheek breaks Fei’s warning; Chan drops like a sack of stones, heat bleeds over his skin, his head rattles.

“Get out.”

“You love me.”

“Get out!”

“Lie to yourself all you want. You’ll always love me, Jia.”

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” she screams, so hysterical as to force the other girls to intervene.

Fei offers her sympathy. “I tried to tell you.”

Violent banging on the dressing room door breaks it down. Chan knows how this will present; doesn’t fight it when security see the screaming girl and the guilty man with signs of struggle on his skin.

He collects Jia’s screams and carves them into his skin, raw and bloody, one by one.

“Sasaeng! He’s a fucking sasaeng!”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 - 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚! 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙢𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭. 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥, 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© June 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

Sasaeng. Fucking sasaeng?

It’s one word.

How can one little word do so much? Weigh so much? Mean so much?

Sasaeng.

They didn’t have enough evidence to lodge a charge. Nothing tangible, the officer said, after sixteen hours of marinating in a piss-soaked holding cell with nothing but his spiral for company. They released him with a warning that suggested far more than legal trouble should authorities ever discover him within ten feet of a female idol again.

Sasaeng.

The walk home was long. Quiet. He skimmed through puddles left by the freak summer shower and felt nothing much at all.

Sasaeng.

In his dorm, he sits and stares at the whitewashed wall. He likes how blank it is.

Sasaeng.

Something’s rotting. It stinks. Could be him. Whatever. He doesn’t even want to take his headphones off to investigate. Just grimaces and ignores it, cranks the volume of the track until his skull vibrates and his teeth ache. Music is good. Safe. And this is some of the best stuff he’s ever produced, by no coincidence. So raw and dark. The kind of melody that reaches into your guts and squeezes the gooey stuff out. Gives him chills and makes him feel sick. Doesn’t matter that nobody else will hear it. He doesn’t want them to anyway. Fuck anyone else. It’s his. Just for him.

Sasaeng.

He turns the track up again. Full volume. There’s nothing but noise, and it’s peaceful.

He doesn’t hear the knock on his door. How could he? When his headphones are torn abruptly from his head, he screams a decibel he thought himself incapable of reaching.

“What the fuck!?”

He rises too quicky— his head spins. He falters, grips the desk. Feels nauseous with it all, and even more so when the bout clears and he sees how Jisung and Changbin are looking at him. Though he can’t make them out properly; not really. His vision blurs at the edges. But they’re not smiling, and that’s enough.

Jisung clutches the headphones tightly. “We’re done being ignored, hyung. This is a home invasion.”

Chan lunges for the headphones. Needs them. He misjudges the distance, stumbles several steps with view to hit the floor until Changbin catches him, slight but strong arms on his. He doesn’t have the strength to snatch away.

“Stop,” Changbin says softly. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Let me go.”

“We let you go for three weeks, man. This hermit shit ends here.”

“Changbin, I swear to—”

“Sit down, hyung,” Jisung pleads, frantically clearing a space on the bed of dirty boxers, shirts and sweats. “Please, just— Here.”

Changbin’s guiding him into it before he can even move. He’s not sure he could do it by himself, anyway. Jisung starts picking up the bomb site that was once his room. He can’t watch.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Changbin says.

Chan closes his eyes. Everything aches. “I— I don’t know.”

The rapper pulls his phone out of his pocket. “If there’s nothing in particular you want I'll get you pasta. Carbs.”

“Not hungry.”

“Yeah, no shit. You’re malnourished to hell. Stomach’s the size of a pea right now. You need to eat, hyung, and I don’t even want to hear another word about it.”

Jisung’s holding the trash can, three-quarters full of— Chan dreads to think. “Can we open the window, hyung?” he asks. “It’s a little ripe in here.”

Chan shrugs. Jisung cranes over the desk, cracks the window latch, throws it open. Warm summer air filters through. Makes the smell worse before it gets better. Chan's stomach churns.

“Please, leave.”

Changbin scoffs. “Not happening. I told you.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Tough shit.”

“Get the fuck out of my dorm!” Chan yells, a pulsing throb spiking his temples to settle behind his eyes, hot and painful. His chest flutters and stomach clenches; he sways dangerously. Jisung drops the trash, rushes to Chan’s side, wraps his arms around the elder’s neck.

“I’m so sorry, hyung.”

Fuck.

Why did they have to show up for him? Why couldn’t they have just left him to rot? He was well on the way. Could have faded. Would have been so easy. Now he has to face that his heart is so utterly fucking broken the jagged edges pierce his lungs and fill them with blood. He can’t fucking breathe. Just cries. Sobs like he hasn’t since he was a child. Jisung holds him tightly.

“She—” He chokes. “She said I was a—”

“Don’t, hyung. It’s okay.”

Changbin watches, expression sombre.

“We’re here now,” he says. “We’re never going anywhere.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 - 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚! 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙢𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

OMG OMG OMG

love and deepspace masterlist ☆ﾟ.

[f] fluff || [s] smut || [a] angst || [sugg] suggestive || [tw] serious trigger warnings

sylus; under his eye - sylus puts you under his thrall and takes exactly what he wants from you and your body. [f] [s] [tw] more coming soon....

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙫𝙞. 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© August 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

Drugs don’t hold a candle to the efficacy of adrenaline.

The aftermath of a gig is more intense a high than anything else Chan has tried; and there’s not much he hasn’t. His breathing spikes like an asthma sufferer and his heart pounds, and if he pushes himself beyond that, to just where the pain lives, his skin will start to shimmer and his vision will white and he’ll lose sensation in his legs. It’s nice for a while. Nice until it’s not.

“Drink?” Changbin asks, rifling through the assortment of liquor provided by the venue, bottles and cans of beer and mixed spirits.

Chan rakes a hand through his wet hair. “Yeah.”

Jisung tears off his red flannel and bounces around the room, full of the chaotic zest that Chan has relied on more than once to bring 3racha to where they are now. As good as he is at the music, he’s never been the biggest showman, and that’s half the deal. Jisung’s honey skin is slick and his body tense. He glows with life; a bulb too fat with electricity, fit to burst at any second. Any other night, Chan would be content to just watch him as he comes down from the buzz of performing, observing with quiet and unashamed delight all the delicious muscle he’ll mark when they get home. Tonight, he can’t seem to muster the want. He discards his blazer, lets his skin breathe through the heat, and sits on the loveseat. Tries to just be. When Changbin hands him a beer, he cracks it and sips slowly, the cold hops on his tongue a pleasant grounder.

He peers at Changbin. “Not drinking?”

“You know I don’t, man.”

“Right. Sorry.” He takes a swig of beer. Doesn’t know why he forgot. “You’d probably be okay with one though. It’s been a long time.”

Changbin shrugs. “I don't miss it. Why risk it?”

Chan supposes that’s fair. It’s not for him to try and sway; especially not a man so convicted as Changbin. He envies him in that respect. Imagine being so aware of your self-destructive habits, you put steps in place to stop it. Couldn’t be him.

“You okay?” Changbin then asks.

“I will be.”

Changbin nods. “Gig was good though, right?”

“Yeah. Always is.”

Changbin grins, brilliant white and endlessly charming, and bends to grasp Chan’s chin, tilting him into a soft kiss that’s as brief as it is tender. Can’t risk too much in public. Even after so long. For the second it lasts, things feel normal. Better.

“Hey,” Jisung hops over, his big eyes wired with sparks. “Minho hyung will be here soon.”

Except tonight isn’t normal. It’s everything Chan’s been dreading since its inception. His gut plummets. He supposes now is about the right time. He grabs his blazer, fishes the joint from the inside pocket, still beautifully intact. Changbin watches him light up, disapproval darkening his handsome features.

“I’m going to change,” he says, and stalks off.

Chan knows he hates it. Kind of doesn’t care. Not right now, anyway. He’s compromised for them. Has to have something of his own to keep him contained, and all things considered, a single innocent joint isn’t a big ask. Not as big as theirs was. He floats to distant pastures as he breathes it all in, the smoke filling his lungs and high carrying him so far from the dressing room and the imminent testing of his relationship he gives no legitimate fucks when Minho and his friend do eventually arrive. He hears introductions being made, hears the wanting in his boyfriend’s voices that’s so sticky and desperate he almost laughs out loud. Maybe he’ll throw up first. He could at least blame the weed for that.

“It’s nice to meet you both.”

That was a female voice.

Jisung calls her ‘babe’. Changbin asks if she enjoyed the show. Chan smokes, swigs beer. Is six feet under and wrapped in cotton.

“Very much. You guys are incredible. Hearing your music in person is so much more powerful than I expected. I mean; it’s powerful anyway, of course, I just mean that—”

“You know us?”

“Know you? I love you guys. I’m a huge fan.”

A huge fan.

A fucking fan.

Chan’s stomach twists. His veins ice up and his skin pricks with dread and not even the cotton wool can warm him. He’s stone-cold sober. He’s nineteen again. He’s staring down a corridor of harsh fluorescence and from beyond the door at the end, hears the screams that took everything from him—

“You never said she was a fan, man.”

“You never asked.”

Sasaeng.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

30+ year old women are the backbone of this website

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙫𝙞𝙞𝙞. 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© June 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

“Fuck her, man.”

“Hyung—”

“No. That shit is so out of order. After two years she can't even break up with you properly? Who does this chick think she is?”

Colourful things, Changbin’s tirades.

Meanwhile, a brass band marches through Chan’s head. He doesn’t really hear what’s being said. Just knows that he’s glad of Jisung’s arm around his shoulders. It stops him from floating away. Changbin paces the pokey studio, sleeves rolled to his shoulders, skinny arms on display as he gesticulates like a hysterical ferret.

“How do they know their debut is a sure thing? That’s not how this works.”

“Maybe they got an inside tip,” Jisung says.

“Nah, no way. She had to be lying. That’s not how this works.”

“Hyung, with respect, you keep saying that’s not how this works, but you don’t actually know. You’ve never done a showcase.”

“That’s not how this is supposed to work,” Changbin huffs. “If debuts are decided on before the showcases even happen, what’s the fucking point of them? Why do we practice our asses off? What are all the monthly tests for? You’re telling me it’s all just for appearances? It’s all rigged? No way I can believe that.”

“It doesn’t even matter right now, hyung. That’s not what’s important,” Jisung says, with a pointed glance at Chan that’s not half as subtle as he probably thinks it is.

Changbin turns to them, his shoulders sagging with a sigh on what Chan knows is a miserable fucking sight. They must think he’s pathetic. A regular loser destined for fuck all and worth even less.

“Right. Sorry.” He sits at Chan’s other side, puts a comforting hand on his knee. “Last thing you need is me ranting right now.”

Chan shakes his head. “It’s actually kind of nice.”

“Yeah? I have, like, three other things I could bitch about right now in that case.”

“Spare us, please,” Jisung whines. “I still think you should talk to Jia, hyung. You can’t just take Fei at her word. She might not have a clue what she’s talking about. This might be one huge misunderstanding.”

“I tried. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I know what my gut tells me.”

“No. I can’t accept that. You shouldn’t accept that. You love her, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then fight for her, hyung,” Jisung urges. “Get your girlfriend back, pull her out from under all this company bullshit and remind her where she really belongs.”

Changbin is notably silent, his jaw firmly set.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I tried everything to get to her. What else is left?” Chan mumbles.

Jisung purses his lips. “When did you say the showcase was?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“You’re going, right?”

He’d rather set fire to his happy trail, honestly.

“I don’t know if I—”

“You have to.” Jisung nudges him. “We’re coming with you.”

“What?”

“You thought we were going to let you go alone?” He smiles. “Assuming what Fei says is true, the showcase might be your best chance to see Jia in person before she debuts. She’ll be untouchable afterwards.”

“I don't like it, but he’s right,” Changbin says. “For better or worse, you need closure.”

“We’ll be your moral support. Or your physical! Whatever you need. I’m sure I have my pom-poms somewhere at the dorm.”

Chan huffs a laugh. Jisung grins.

“Just... catch her while you can and tell her everything that’s on your mind,” he adds quietly.

Sounds like a recipe for a total fucking train wreck. But what has he left to lose?

“Okay.”

Jisung squeezes his shoulders. “It’ll all work out, hyung. You’ll see.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 - 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚! 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙢𝙚 ♡ >

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