@feralforfiction
unhinged over fictional men since forever.
You ran from one monster's wedding. You landed in the territory of a worse one. He decided you were his.
He fixed your porch light. He also owns half the town.
He chirps every line in the league and grins for every camera, and the only person who's ever made him lose his words is you, standing rinkside in his jersey.
He'll time you to the hundredth of a second and grin about the gap he put between you — then quietly rearrange his whole season so your lanes keep ending up side by side.
She plays Tuesday afternoons at your seaside cafe under a fake name and you've fallen for the quiet woman with the battered guitar. Then you win a pass to the headline show, and twenty thousand people scream a name you've never heard her use.
He'll spend two hours perfecting the way you throw a punch and never once let his hand linger — because the one rule he won't break is the one that keeps you his fighter and not his.
