#time loop

[fissionmonkey]

And that’s the horror of time loops, you are free to do whatever. But after countless new experiences, the world is still the same. You have grown and changed as a person to the point that people don’t recognize you. But those people haven’t. They haven’t changed at all since the beginning. Always the same ideas, the same behavior, the same reactions, the same. It’s like growing up while being chained in your childhood room. What is the point of having changed if nothing else will.

I need to be put in a time loop it would actually fix me

[substitious-bastard]

stuck in the time loop but i just use it as a free day off. im not even trying to get out. i am teaching myself to knit. i am crocheting. i am cooking. not even doing anything crazy. just escaping capitalism for a week. day 375 and im not sure what lesson it's trying to teach but i've taught myself to handmake lace so all is well

[exhaustedpirate]

take me back to the world i know

for everyone who read my wip post, this is the completed post 8x15 timeloop fic with tommy's pov! it's got everything, angst, love declarations, not exactly fluff but there's a happy ending (well...more like a hopeful ending) uuhhhh, enjoy? i dedicate this and my heart to the brilliant @seen-the-stars!

rated T | 7,410 words also on AO3

Tommy watches as Evan crumbles on the floor of an empty hallway, unaware of the cameras, of his watchful eye. Tommy watches as silent agony takes over Evan. Tommy watches and holds himself and cries for his pain, his heartbreak — forgets to acknowledge his own. 

Bobby is dead.

He’s standing in a cold tent, half a dozen army officers milling around and he watches a monitor as Evan cries and screams and sobs and his arms wrap around himself and he can’t move.

He wants to fix it.

He watches as Evan shuffles out of the building, lets him fall into Tommy’s arms. 

He wants to make it better.

He holds him tighter against his chest as they carry the black body bag out.

He wants to fix it.

He stays at Evan’s, makes sure he’s fed, that he sleeps — alone in his bed, Tommy’s a weak man — that he has someone to share the load when it becomes too heavy to carry. 

He wants to make it better.

He watches as Evan takes hold of the cord, the face of composed grief. He can still hear him chastising himself for his grief, for the notion that he should be okay. Tommy reminds him of what he lost, it doesn’t help. He doesn’t know what else to do.

He wants to fix it. He wants to make it better.

Evan rings the bell. He feels the sound in his bones, echoing in his brain along with cries. With every blink, Evan crumples more and more and Tommy wants to move, to go.

He feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong.

His ears ring and his vision is blurry but it engrains in his mind, in his bones. It’s pain, it’s grief.

His vision goes black.

---

He’s confused the first time it happens. 

He gets a call from his ex-boyfriend, again.

He flies the helicopter to the roof of the Martel-Harvey Pharmaceuticals building, again.

He gets chased around by the army and the FBI, again.

He gets arrested, again.

He sees Howie alive and well and he sees Bobby die, again.

He watches from the cold tent as Evan collapses in the corridor, again. 

It hurts all over again. It feels as if his chest is crumbling, breaking all over again. His arms wrap around himself, a subtle hug, an attempt to fill the empty space in his arms all over again.

Evan leaves the building first and Tommy is waiting, again. His ex-boyfriend’s head crashes almost painfully against his shoulder as he tries to hide away. Tommy’s arms aren’t empty, but it feels undeserved. It feels unearned. 

A black body bag carried by four people passes by them. His hand holds the back of Evan’s head again, hiding him from reality, again. He feels his quiet sobs against his skin, tearing him up, making him hold tighter, closer, as close as possible while still giving him an out.

Tommy spends the next week at Evan’s, again. He sleeps on the couch, again. Rejects Evan’s offer to share the bed — knows deep in his bones that it would be a bad idea, he’s a weak man — again. Does his best to help him get through the week, again.

He helps carry the casket, again. His eyes keep glancing towards Evan, keeping watch of his unreadable expression, again. He stands next to Gerrard during speeches and prayers, again. 

He’s still confused. 

Evan stands in front of the bell. 

There’s a sharp sound in his ears as the bell rings. He feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong.

There are tears on Evan’s face all over again. There are sobs from the first row all over again. Tommy’s ears ring and his vision is blurry but it’s ingrained in his mind, in his ears. It’s pain, it’s grief, all over again.

His vision goes black.

---

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand. 

It’s a picture of Evan during a group picnic, Jee and Mara running up to him in the background as he sits with his hands behind him, enjoying the sunshine. It’s the calm before the giggling storm. About five seconds later, Evan had water running down his hair and face before he rushed up to chase them. He can still taste his own laughter as he watched Evan catch up to Jee, holding her in his arms and nuzzling his wet face on her neck. He can still hear her giggles.

Tommy chose it as his contact picture. 

Evan is calling him.

Again.

He answers. He’ll always answer. 

“I think I’m having deja vu,” Tommy says through the mic in his helmet. His frown is making his head hurt. “I feel like I’ve done this before.”

It’s a second before Evan laughs. He missed his laughter. “You did steal a helicopter for Bobby and Athena. It’s how we met!”

Tommy doesn’t share in the laughter. “Evan, I think something is going on with Bob-”

“LAFD, Copter 1671,” The voice on the radio interrupts him and he swears under his breath. “This is Colonel Hartman of the United States Army.”

There’s a helicopter chase, again. 

He tries to tell Evan but there are too many people listening in. He’ll put Bobby at risk.

There isn’t time. Even though he thinks that might be a lie.

Bobby stays behind, again.

Tommy watches from the screen as Athena goes inside, again. Watches as Evan stumbles out through the lab door, again. Can’t watch as Evan breaks down, again. Holds him, takes care of him, carries the heavy casket, stands in the audience, again.

Evan rings the bell. Each sharp sound feels like a sharp pain to his body, to his muscles, to his head. His ears ring, he feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong.

His vision goes black.

---

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand.

He doesn’t let himself appreciate Evan’s face on his phone, almost breaks the screen trying to answer it. He doesn’t waste a minute, jogging towards the helicopter he’d just finished maintenance on.

“I’m on my way.”

He hangs up the phone on Evan’s confused spluttering. Maybe if he’s faster he’ll be able to change something. Maybe all he needs is time.

Athena is on the phone when he lands. She is walking to the other side of the roof, behind the entrance.

“I-I don’t know how you knew but than-”

“Where’s Athena going?” He interrupts, he’ll feel bad later. Later when he manages to change something. “I need to talk to her.”

Evan frowns. “We’re the distraction,” He explains. “She has a cure. We really need to go.” He urges the redhead into the back of the helicopter.

“No-” Tommy stops himself, watches Evan’s face. There’s concern and adrenaline, there’s excitement at having a plan and believing in it. He has seen far too many tears on his face. “I need to talk to Athena.”

“There’s no time,” His voice gets panicked as he glances at the door. “We need to go before they find us.”

“You don’t understand, Evan, it’s B-” He can’t. He shuts off the motors and Evan’s panic increases. “I need-”

The door bursts open. 

“No, no!” Evan is panic. He’s fighting against the hold of the army. There’s a glare thrown his way and he feels it down to his toes.

He failed, again.

They get arrested, Athena following close by, sparkly tumbler in her hand. 

“We need to give this to one of the firefighters in there.” Athena’s voice is strong and she saves her glare for the Colonel but Tommy still feels it in his atoms, that guilt in his bones.

“You want to waste the world’s only cure on a dying man?” Colonel Hartman’s raised eyebrow would have been impressive if he wasn’t using it against Athena Grant-Nash.

“The way I see it, Colonel,” And even Tommy shivers at the tone in her voice. “We have the scientist who created the antiviral right here in federal custody,” Moira waves one of her handcuffed hands at the Colonel. “We have the chance to save someone’s life.”

It works. It’s a miracle. Or maybe just a way to make Tommy’s inefficiency even worse.

They didn’t need him. Howie makes his way out, followed by Hen and Ravi, Evan rushing in to help with the extraction.

He watches as Bobby locks Evan out of the room, takes off his mask and talks to him. He watches as Athena goes in, as Evan is sent out so that the married couple can talk.

He watches it all, again. 

He watches and knows he made this happen.

He watches as Bobby collapses mid-speech, as Athena cries and shatters against the lab door, as Evan curls up in the empty and cold corridor. He watches it all, again.

Tommy stays behind. He watches from afar as they bring out Bobby’s body, as Evan shuffles out of the lab, as Athena walks out, only a slight drag to her feet as she tries to appear strong.

He made this happen. Again.

He doesn’t go inside Howie’s tent. Or Hen’s tent. He doesn’t join Ravi and Karen in the parking lot. He stands outside of the containment perimeter — the relief at not being in custody the furthest thing on his mind. He failed, again.

“What the hell, Tommy?!”

He startles at the sharp voice behind him, turning to face the music. Evan is angry, his face red from the tears but a spark in his eyes that can only be identified as fury. 

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Evan, I-” 

“I called you for help,” Evan’s voice cracks but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop until it feels like he is looming over Tommy, his anger, his grief making him bigger than himself. “If you wanted to punish me, go ahead and do it but Chimney was in danger, Tommy, he could have died!”

“I-I’m sorry, Ev-”

“No!” He jumps at the shout, is almost glad that he chose to step away from everyone else. “You don’t get to be sorry, B-Bobby died,” He stutters but he doesn’t break, anger fueling him. “Bobby is dead and you-you’re sorry?!” He feels the push against his chest, staggers a few steps back. “All you had to do was fly that fucking helicopter! That’s all I asked you to do!”

His vision is blurry and he blinks it away. He doesn’t deserve to cry. He feels desperate, he feels defeated. “Evan, you don’t understand, I-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Evan cuts him off, hands coming up in a slashing motion, his eyes back on him are ice and fire all at once. Tommy feels his gaze like a stab to his gut. “I have to go to the hospital and help my family through this,” The emphasis is another gut punch, another stab. “Goodbye, Tommy.”

He doesn’t call his name, doesn’t try to chase him. He waits until he can’t see Evan’s back anymore to stumble towards a wall, lets the brick hold his weight, slides down to the floor. 

He lets himself feel the guilt, the grief, the pain, keeps it to himself — hopes that if he does, it won’t reach Evan anymore. He doesn’t deserve it. He never did.

Tommy doesn’t go to work for the next week. He pretends he’s sick. It’s only half a lie.

Lucy calls him to check in. Melton as well.

He gets nothing from the 118. He didn’t expect to.

He doesn’t go to the funeral. Doesn’t march in the procession, doesn’t carry the casket. Doesn’t watch as Evan pretends to be okay, doesn’t watch the rest of the 118 mourn their fallen Captain, their family. 

It’s almost peaceful. He could keep the world away, keep that pain, the grief away.

His ears start ringing. He feels the ringing of the bell in his bones. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong.

He doesn’t have a choice, it seems.

His vision goes black.

---

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand.

The air rushes out of his lungs as he looks at the picture on his phone screen. As he sees that happy, peaceful Evan turn into the angry, grieving one he saw last. He can’t.

His head is swimming, his ears are ringing, his vision is blurry. 

He can’t.

He doesn’t answer this time.

It feels like his heart is pressing against his ribs because he knows that, no matter what he does, Bobby is still going to die. His presence doesn’t make a difference, he can’t stop it.

He is grounded for the rest of the day. He sits in front of the station’s TV, his body humming with unspent energy, dread. 

There’s a breaking news segment on TV. Tommy feels the world fall beneath his feet.

Two firefighters dead after virus exposure.

He barely manages to reach the toilet before he is puking out whatever food he had for lunch that day. He closes his eyes against the pain and all he can see are the pictures of Bobby and Howie on the large TV screen. He feels that wave of nausea once more.

It’s guilt, it’s grief, it’s anger. 

Tommy is well-acquainted. 

He uses up his PTO, locks himself inside his house and tries to forget the outside world. He disconnects his phone and sits on his couch. 

He waits.

He ignores the knocking on his door, the familiar and vaguely familiar voices on the other side.

He waits.

He keeps track of the minutes, the hours, the days. 

Makes himself count them. Count the minutes, the hours and the days that Maddie spent without her husband, that Jee cried for her father, that Athena mourned her husband, that Evan suffered without his brother-in-law, without his father.

He waits.

It’s his fault. 

There’s a sharp sound in his ears as the bell rings, all over again. He feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong, all over again. 

He deserves it. 

His vision goes black.

---

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand. 

It’s the picture of Evan. 

For a moment, Tommy lets himself feel relief. Howie is alive. Bobby is alive. 

“Tommy.” Evan says it with a sigh, a different kind of relief.

Evan hasn’t been furious at him, yet. Evan hasn’t lived in a world without his brother-in-law, without his father. Not yet anyway.

Tommy flies the helicopter, again. 

His tongue is heavy in his mouth, his hands aren’t as steady as usual. He needs to tell him.

“Th-Thank you, for doing this for me.”

He feels dizzy.

The light in his eyes, the hope still in them. Such a sharp contrast to what he’d looked like. Tommy feels his heart pounding against his chest, feels it in his throat. He blinks and he sees the fury, the grief in Evan’s face again, hears his sobs, his yells, his cries.

He feels nauseous.

“E-Evan-”

“LAFD Copter 1671,” The voice on the radio startles him. He forgot. His ears are ringing. “This is Colonel Hartman of the United States Army.”

The sound of a nearby helicopter has him clenching his hands. Evan’s hand finds his forearm.

He sees anger, he feels the pain. He sees grief, he hears the wails. 

“Tommy?”

He sees Athena in her quiet grief. Hiding her anguish from the world. Remembers how Bobby brought out the best in her, how he uncovered everything she hid and embraced it. She doesn’t have it anymore.

“Tommy?”

Evan is going to lose Bobby too. He’s going to lose the father he never had. He’s going to lose the proud and strong embrace he craves. He’s going to lose him. Again.

His skin is itching, his body feels wrong. 

His hands are shaking. He knows what will happen before it does. It’s almost like a quiet settles around him as he feels the wind shift, the gears moving into place.

The army helicopter moves into their trajectory. Tommy is supposed to move. His hands shake.

His ears ring from the screams of the redhead in the backseat. His ears ring from Evan calling his name in terror. His ears ring at a sharp sound that sounds like a bell.

It’s pain. It’s not grief yet.

His vision goes black.

---

He gasps as he opens his eyes, forcing oxygen into his lungs, life inside his body. They died. 

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand. He almost drops it in his rush to answer.

“Evan?” He hopes the desperation isn’t so clear in his voice.

“T-Tommy?”

He takes a deep breath, lets the sound of his name fill him with that peace that it usually did. Lets himself remember the way Evan would say his name in the morning, his voice still hoarse and quiet from sleep. The way Evan would say his name from one room to the other, in the middle of one of his adorable rants. The way Evan would say his name in the warmth of sheets, of their bodies, in a sigh, in a moan. 

He has another chance.

“What’s up?”

He flies the helicopter, again.

Tommy forces himself to pay attention. To listen, to see.

Forces himself not to think of the way flames took over the cockpit. Not to think of the anger he saw in Evan’s face. Of his silence. Of his pain. It doesn’t quite work.

He forces himself to pay attention in the next loop. Asks the redhead how long it would take to make another dose. Weeks, she says. Colonel Hartman interrupts Evan’s question.

He forces himself to pay attention in the next loop. 

It doesn’t quite work. He keeps trying. 

It’s Evan calling his name, again and again. Grief, pain, anger. 

He tries again. And again. He figures out there’s no time to do anything. 

His body slumps in defeat, in despair, in premature grief. He answers the call.

Watching Evan collapse on the corridor hurts just as much as it did the first time, the second, every time after it. His heart urges him to move, to go. He does. 

He catches Evan on his way out of the laboratory, lets him crash against his arms. His cries echo in his ears in a maddening loop. He holds him tight, tighter still. Stays by his side at the hospital, takes his hand while he calls Eddie. Takes him home, cooks for him, puts him to bed.

“Tommy,” And it’s a whisper, a firm hand on his wrist. “Stay, please.”

“I’ll be on the couch, Evan,” Tommy whispers back, his heart pounding in his chest. “Not far.”

“No, Tommy,” And it echoes in its temptation. “Stay with me.” 

He knows deep in his bones that it’s a bad idea. 

“Evan-”

“Please.”

He’s a weak man.

It’s no longer a mattress on the floor. No longer a lone sheet over their bodies, pillowcases hastily thrown on the pillows. It’s no longer an uncomfortable bare mattress underneath him.

It’s a proper bed. Proper bedding. Evan unpacked, he’s moved in. Into Eddie’s house.

Evan has a death grip on his hand, the only part of their bodies touching. It’s no longer his head pillowed on his chest, no longer his body curled over Tommy’s. It’s desperate.

It’s desperate.

He feels his warm body looming before he feels the hand over his chest.

“Tommy?” It’s a whisper. Desperate.

He’s a weak man.

“Tommy,” It’s quieter, his hand over his cheek. His eyes blink open, looking up at the shadow of his ex-boyfriend in the dark. “Please.”

He’s a weak man. 

Evan doesn’t ask again, doesn’t beg. His lips are a whisper over his and there’s a control Tommy is quickly losing grip on. It’s Evan’s cries, his whispers, his grief, his pain, his terror, his anger. He doesn’t want it anymore. He wants to purge them from his brain.

“Please, Tommy,” It’s a siren song. “Make me forget.”

He always did everything for Evan. It’s a bad idea. A very bad idea. 

Evan’s lips claim his in a rough kiss, desperate, salty. Tommy feels the string snap.

He’s a weak man.

He does as he’s told. He claims, he takes, he replaces all the grief and pain with pleasure, with moans, with screams, with sighs. He feels his body shatter and get put back together over and over. He feels dizzy. He feels wrong.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sunrise and an empty bed. 

Tommy presses the heels of his palms over his eyes, curses his weakness. Finds Evan in the living room, his voice quiet and warm as he murmurs to someone on the phone. 

“Thanks, Eddie,” Evan nods, a deep sigh escaping him. “Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

Tommy turns to the kitchen, makes them breakfast. Makes himself useful, all over again. If he’s useful he might be able to stay. He listens as Evan talks about his plan to see his family, to check in on them. Doesn’t ask if he wants to join him. Tommy doesn’t offer.

Eddie is staying at Evan’s house. 

There is no bed in what was Chris’ room. Evan turned it into a home gym. 

The couch is the only place someone could sleep in. That or Evan’s bed.

He doesn’t think about it. 

Doesn’t think about the messy couch. Doesn’t think of the barefoot man leaning against the doorway as Tommy walks in with coffee. Doesn’t think of the redness of both of their eyes.

It’s that selfish monster in his chest. The one who wants to be there for Evan, who wants to hold him and care for him. It’s Eddie’s hand on Evan’s shoulder. It’s the way Evan seems to relax into it. It’s claws at his chest.

It’s standing on the outside. It’s watching as Howie’s hospital room is full of people who spare him a glance, a nod, a quick faint smile. It’s Evan standing next to Eddie, to Maddie, to Athena, to Hen. It’s everyone having each other’s back. 

It’s the memory of the way Evan grabbed hold of him in his bed and it’s the reality of not belonging. He is not needed anymore. He fulfilled his purpose. 

He is a call for distraction. He is a warm body in his ex-boyfriend’s bed. He is a nod, a glance, a quick faint smile to the others. He is a surprise appearance at a bar, a lucky escape for a disgruntled friend. 

He is not a part of the family.

He is not a part of anything.

He carries the casket, watches as Eddie’s hand finds Evan’s back with every other step, keeps him going. He stands in the row behind the others, stands next to Gerrard like he had all the other times before. Ignores him. Focuses on Evan, on the way his shoulder is pressed to Eddie’s. On the way every shoulder in that row is brushing each other.

He is not a part of them.

Evan is the one to ring the bell, again.

There’s a sharp sound in his ears as it rings. He feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong.

He’s getting used to it.

There are tears on Evan’s face all over again. Eddie takes a half a step forward. There are sobs from the first row all over again. Tommy’s ears ring and his vision is blurry but it’s ingrained in his mind, in his ears. It’s pain, it’s grief, all over again.

He’s getting used to it.

His vision goes black.

---

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand.

He takes a deep breath. He answers, again.

He’s learned his lesson. 

He flies the helicopter, again.

He’s learned his lesson. He doesn’t want to live in a reality where Howie is dead too.

“Th-Thank you, for doing this for me.” He’s bright, sunshine, hope. 

He can’t. 

“I’m doing this for Chimney.”

And Evan dims. Sunshine behind dark clouds and Tommy wants to shove them away, wants to uncover the smile, the light. 

He can’t.

He still feels the grip, the warmth of Evan’s hands on his arms, his back, his body. His lips, his teeth on his shoulders. His legs around his waist, digging, clinging.

He still feels the cold of standing on the outside. Of watching that happy family from afar. Of watching his parents glare at each other while another kid laughs from the height of their father’s shoulders, from the warm grip of their mother’s hand. 

He feels cold. 

“LAFD Copter 1671,” The voice on the radio reminds him of what comes next. “This is Colonel Hartman of the United States Army.”

It’s instinct, it’s practice at this point. 

He can do this. 

He can fly the helicopter, evading the army, the FBI. He can distract them long enough for Athena to deliver the cure to Howie. He can help, he can be useful.

And he watches as Howie waves at them through the monitor. There is relief, there is always relief because he’s watching his oldest friend, the man who saved his life, alive and well.

And he watches as Evan joins the extraction team. Watches Bobby stay behind.

He can’t watch anymore.

He can’t do this anymore.

He turns his back. “Am I under arrest?”

He isn’t. For whatever reason, he is allowed to leave.

He can’t do this anymore.

He doesn’t wait for Evan to collapse in the hallway. He doesn’t wait for the announcement of Bobby’s death. He doesn’t wait for the black body bag to be carried out. He doesn’t wait for Athena and Evan to stumble out of the laboratory doors. 

He doesn’t wait.

He walks away. He walks away from the impending grief. He walks away from the dangling offer of family, of love. He walks away from disappointment, from heartbreak, from his uselessness.

He walks away.

Chimney messages him. Thanks him for his help. Invites him over. Asks if he will be a part of the funeral. If he will carry the casket with them. It’s an olive branch.

Tommy doesn’t take it. Can’t watch the grief, again. Can’t watch them grieve together, again. He accepts the gratitude. Doesn’t give anything else away.

He can’t do this anymore.

He can’t keep failing. He can’t keep watching Evan fall, can’t keep feeling helpless.

He hides. He stays home, ignores the messages, the calls - doesn’t check who calls him, who messages him. He hides.

He looks at himself in the mirror in his dress blues. It’s habit, it’s the repetition. He contemplates going to the funeral, honor the man who changed him, who showed him that he could be kind. 

He looks at himself and wonders what Bobby would think of him now. 

He isn’t going.

His phone rings.

He is going to ignore it when the picture catches his eye. An unamused Eddie with a twirled mustache glaring at the camera stares back at him. 

There’s an ache in his chest, there’s his racing heart.

For months, Eddie had ignored him. For months, after the breakup, he had realised that he hadn’t just lost a boyfriend, but he’d lost his friendship with Eddie, he’d lost the others.

Months. His heart pounds.

“Eddie?” His voice is hoarse, he hasn’t talked to anyone in a week. He hasn’t talked at all.

“H-Hey,” And there’s a crack to Eddie’s voice, a waver, tears, anguish. He can’t hear anything besides his pounding heart, besides the uneven breath on the other side of the phone. “It’s, uh, it’s Buck.”

And he’s glad for his bed behind him, wouldn’t have cared if he had only the floor to catch him.

“He-He’s gone.”

And Tommy isn’t stupid enough to ask what he means. Isn’t stupid enough to ask for details. Isn’t stupid. He knows. 

He disconnects the call. 

There’s a rush in his ears, there’s a pain in his chest, stronger than it ever has. The words from a few months ago laugh back at him. When he had confessed to the fear of Evan breaking his heart, it was by some late realization of his feelings for his best friend, by some realization that Tommy wasn’t enough to keep. Not like this.

Not by disappearing from the world. Not by getting so swallowed in his grief that he drowns.

His throat hurts and his ears ring. He curls up against himself, wills himself to drown in this pain. Feels his own heart cry from desperation, from pain, from grief.

He had gotten used to it.

He had.

And yet, this feels like no other pain ever has. 

He wants to claw his heart out of his chest, to put it away, to hide it away. He wants to yell at himself for falling in love, for caring. He knew. He knew it from the start and he ignored it. 

And now he feels like his skin is too small for him. Like he can’t breathe.

It’s seconds, minutes, hours of pain, torture, agony. There’s a sharp sound in his ears as it rings.

He feels dizzy, nauseous, wrong.

It’s almost unnoticeable.

He is grieving. He is in pain. His bones ache, his brain aches, he aches.

He dreads it.

His vision goes black.

---

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand.

He’s shaking. He sees his name, his picture, the blessedly at ease look in Evan’s face. His heart is pounding. He wants to throw his phone away, into the trash, down a well. He wants to ignore, to avoid, to push it all away.

He answers. 

“T-Tommy?”

He holds himself up on the side of the helicopter he just finished maintenance on. He holds himself up as Evan’s voice echoes in his brain. 

He lost him.

He lost him so many times.

“Yeah?” He is proud of the steady tone of his voice, of how normal he sounds.

He flies the helicopter, again. 

“And for you.” It’s sunshine, it’s hope, and his heart pounds in his chest. 

He loves him.

“What are we going to do?”

“Something incredibly stupid.” 

He is chased around by the army and the FBI, again.

Evan looks at him with panicked awe and he wants to smile, wants to grab hold of him, to kiss him. He focuses on flying them around LA before finally landing in the Coliseum.

He finally flew a chopper to the Coliseum and he did with Evan by his side, this time.

He loves him.

He gets arrested, again.

He watches as Howie waves at the cameras, alive and well, again.

Tommy can’t take his eyes off Evan as he almost skips outside of the tent to help with the extraction. 

He loves him.

Tommy can’t take his eyes off Evan as he stumbles outside of the laboratory. As he removes his helmet and mask. As he crumbles down onto the floor. As he cries, sobs, screams.

Tommy cries for him, holds himself together for him.

He loves him. 

Tommy strides out of the tent and lets Evan fall into his arms again, holding him close, holding him tight, lets him quietly cry into his neck. He watches the black body bag exit the building, watches Athena walk out, grieving but strong. 

Tommy watches as Evan straightens his shoulders, walks towards Athena and carefully pulls her into a hug, watches as she clings to his clothes, as he hugs him back. 

He loves him.

Tommy stays by his side as he checks in on Hen, on Howie, on Ravi, on Athena again. He watches as Evan’s shoulders never drop from the steady, strong shape he forced them into. He watches as Evan pretends to be okay, as he is there for everyone else.

He wants to hate Bobby for accidentally making him hide his grief. He wants to hate the others for ignoring his pain, for falling into the trick that is Evan’s strong face. He wants to yell, scream, rage at all of them.

He can’t.

He still remembers the way Evan had held onto him at night, had confessed what Bobby had told him, had said that he was happy to be of use, to be there for his family. 

His strength. His care. His love.

He loves him.

Tommy cooks for him, undresses him, helps him shower, covers his body with warm clothes, helps him into bed. Wraps him up in comfort, softness, good.

He sits on the empty side, over the covers, a negotiation he won — he couldn’t sleep by his side again, he is a weak man. He watches as Evan’s expression softens, as his lips part, as his breathing deepens, his body relaxes. He keeps caressing Evan’s face, cheek, hair, keeps watch of him for a few minutes longer. He can’t help the kiss he lays to Evan’s forehead, to his birthmark.

He loves him.

He shuffles his way to the couch, grabs the large blanket from the back of it and sits down on the comfortable cushions. He feels hot. He feels cold. He feels like he’s too big, too small. Too much, not enough. His body slumps onto the back of the couch, the blanket over his lap.

He needs to sleep. 

Tomorrow, he’ll have to make breakfast for Evan before waking him up, drive him to Athena’s along with the exaggerated amount of food he’ll cook for her, watch as they both pretend to be okay. He’ll drive him to the hospital, visit Hen and Chimney, watch as he spends time with his sister, with his niece, with his brother-in-law.

He needs to rest.

Tomorrow, he’ll stand by Evan’s side as Eddie arrives in town; as they hug tight, as they mourn, as they grieve, as they are there for one another. He’ll prepare the mattress in what was Christopher’s room so Eddie can sleep there. He’ll make them dinner as they reminisce, he’ll eat with them. 

He needs to sleep.

The week stretches out in front of him. 

He knows that Eddie will arrive after lunch. He knows that Evan is going to hold his hand while he talks to Bobby’s brother on the phone. He knows that Evan will panic, will grab his wrists and force him to stop while he ties his tie for the funeral. 

He knows every beat of the next few days. 

He needs to rest. 

He knows them. He doesn’t want to go through it again. He doesn’t want to try and change it, doesn’t want the consequences of those changes. He doesn’t want Howie to die. He doesn’t want Evan to die. He doesn’t want Bobby to be dead.

Bobby is dead.

He needs it to stop.

Bobby is dead.

His lungs hurt, his eyes burn, his throat aches.

“Tommy?”

Evan’s quiet voice brings with it an awareness. There are tears running down his face, he can hear the sobs he always tried to silence. He turns away, he hides. 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Why are you crying?

“Go back to bed, Evan,” He whispers, doesn’t trust his voice to not crack. “You need sleep.”

Silence. Tommy can hear the way his breathing is still shaking, the way his tears are still falling. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder. “Tommy.”

And he hears it again and again. An echo of the hundred other times Evan said his name. It’s happiness, joy, pleasure, satisfaction, pain, terror, grief, heartbreak. 

It’s too much. 

He needs it to stop.

Evan’s hand curls around the back of his neck. He feels it again and again. His touch on his skin, over his clothes, on his face. His fingers tracing the way his skin crinkles when he smiles. Smiles that are all for Evan. He’s always been happiest with Evan.

He’s always wanted to make Evan happy.

He can’t control his sobs anymore. 

His head is buried in Evan’s neck, the smell of his body wash, of his shampoo; familiar, comforting, reassuring. The hand on the back of his head is insistent, keeping him close, holding him tight. His hands cling to Evan’s waist, nails digging into his clothes.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, doesn’t think he can speak louder.

“Why are you sorry?” Evan asks back in a whisper.

“I’ve been trying to fix it, to make it better,” He confesses from the safety of his hideout. “I failed, Evan. Over and over again. I failed.”

Evan’s hand runs down the side of his face, thumb wiping the side of his eye, his cheek. 

Bobby is dead and Evan is comforting him.

He is a failure on top of being weak.

“What are you talking about?”

He is so tired. 

“I have been living this week over and over again,” He says, knowing he should pull away from Evan’s embrace but unable to. “I have watched Bobby die over and over again, I have tried to save him, I have. I didn’t answer your call once, Bobby and Chimney died that time. I crashed the helicopter another time. I fucked it all up. I couldn’t find a way to save him.”

Evan is tense underneath him and Tommy is in agony. Maybe it’s okay that he’ll go back in time again, he’ll only have to go through a few days of Evan thinking he’s crazy.

Might as well face the music.

“T-Tommy, I don’t-”

He pulls back before Evan finishes stumbling through his confusion. 

“You died last time,” He watches as Evan’s eyes widen, maybe at the pain in his expression, at the memory of his pain. “Eddie called me and told me you had ki-that you were gone.”

“Tommy-”

“I’m tired, Evan,” He rubs his face as he sits back against the couch, wraps his other arm around his torso, holding himself, trying to bring back the warmth he felt in Evan’s arms. “I’m tired of losing you, of losing Chimney, of losing everyone.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

Tommy laughs. His eyes are blurry from the oncoming tears and he laughs. 

“Me either. I don’t understand. One minute I-I was watching you ring the bell and the next, you were calling me. My phone, my phone was in my hand and you were calling me.” He holds out his hand as if he’s holding his phone again. “I would watch you hold it together as you rang that bell over and over again and then you were calling me, I was looking at that-that picture we took during the picnic?” He glances at Evan, sees his frown. “I love that picture. I kinda hate it now.”

Evan takes his held out hand in his. “Tommy,” He forces eye contact and Tommy wants to scream, cry. “A-are you okay?”

He holds tight onto his hand, craves the comfort of his skin, the warmth. “I tried to stop it from happening,” He feels hysterical, crazy. “I had to stand there and watch you crumble, put on a mask for everyone else and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t keep Bobby alive. I couldn’t, I failed you.”

Evan’s eyes shine in the moonlight. A tear falls down his cheek and Tommy adds that to his list of failures. He made him cry.

“Tommy, I-I’m okay, I-”

“No, you’re not,” He interrupts, takes Evan’s other hand in his, looks into his eyes. “I know Bobby told you that you’d be okay but you’re not,” Evan’s eyes widen at the information that he shouldn’t be privy to. “I watched you in that hallway, watched you a hundred times as you cried, you’re not okay.”

Evan shakes his head. “I’m not okay,” He agrees with a quiet voice, squeezing Tommy’s hands back. “Tommy,” His hand finds his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

It takes him aback. An apology was not what he was expecting.

“Wha-”

“I didn’t ask how you were,” Evan confesses, an ashamed tone to his voice. “I’ve been so focused on my own grief, on the other’s, that I forgot about y-”

“No, Evan, I-”

“Tommy,” He interrupts, his thumb pressing lightly against his bottom lip. “You lost him too. If what you’re saying is true, and you make a very convincing case, you have been going through this alone and I forgot to ask how you were.”

“Evan, I’m the one who’s supposed to be here for you,” His tone is firm even as he feels his chest tighten. “You lost a father, I-”

“I didn’t ask,” Evan shakes his head and Tommy chastises himself for ever forgetting how unpredictable he could be. “I didn’t ask because I knew I was going to need you to be strong so I could be weak with you. I didn’t need you to fix it, to fix me. I needed you to hold me,” His hand runs down his arm, both their hands holding each other. “I needed your arms to fall into when I couldn’t hold myself up anymore.”

Tommy nods. “I want to be here for that, for you.” 

He sees the tears in his eyes reflected in Evan’s. Sees the soft smile in his lips.

“You’re the only reason I am able to be there for the others, Tommy. I don’t need you to fix anything, I need you here, by my side.” 

“I can do that,” Tommy nods, he feels desperate. “I want to do that.”

He loves him.

“I want to do that for you too,” Evan pulls Tommy’s arms around his waist and he is more than willing. He cups his neck with his now free hands. “Maybe we can be here for each other.”

Tommy nods again, absolution at his fingertips. “I want that.”

He loves him.

“Good,” Evan smiles, a small smile that doesn’t take away from the solemn nature of this moment, but lights up his face. “Because I need you in my life.” 

He loves him.

Tommy stutters out a breath, feels his shoulders deflate from the tension he had been carrying, from the weight. He pulls Evan into a hug, holds him tight, is held just as tightly. 

He loves him.

“I love you,” Tommy whispers, face buried in Evan’s neck once more. He feels Evan startle in his arms and runs a hand up and down his back. “Don’t say it back, it’s not the time for that. I just-I’ve been running for so long, I needed to tell you now.”

Silence. Evan nods. “Okay.”

Tomorrow, he’ll make Evan breakfast, drive him to Athena’s to hand over the food he made for her, drive him to the hospital. They’ll visit Hen and Chimney, spend time with Maddie and Jee. 

Tomorrow, he’ll stand by Evan’s side to welcome Eddie, watch them hug and mourn. He’ll prepare the mattress in what was Christopher’s room for Eddie to sleep in. He’ll make them dinner, he’ll eat with them.

The week will stretch out in front of him.

He knows that Eddie will arrive after lunch. He knows that Evan is going to hold his hand while he talks to Bobby’s brother on the phone. He knows that Evan will panic, will grab his wrists and force him to stop while he ties his tie for the funeral. 

He knows every beat of the next few days.

Bobby is dead.

He can’t change that.

But he can hold Evan as they sleep. He can hold Evan as he mourns. He can hold Evan as he cares for his family. He can hold Evan in his arms.

He can get his friendship with Eddie back, can hug him as they share their condolences. He can accept Howie’s gratitude for his part of the mission, can hold him as he spirals in guilt. He can be there for the others, can share Evan’s load in taking care of them. He can be of use.

And when the bell rings, he’ll exhale in relief that he gets to stay this time. That he gets to finally mourn for his former Captain, the man that he was scared to consider important. That he gets to stay by his friends’ side as they grieve. That he gets to stay with Evan.

And when the night falls and he returns to Evan’s house with him, they’ll hold each other in his bed. He’ll be kissed, so softly, so chastely, so perfectly, by the love of his life. 

And weeks from now, he’ll get to hear those three beautiful words from Evan’s lips. He’ll get to kiss him, to hold him, to stay by his side.

But now, he’ll hold Evan in his arms as they sleep. 

Tomorrow, there’ll be a lot to do. 

But now, they’ll hold each other through this. They’ll grieve, they’ll live.

Nothing left to fix. 

[thisdastampdoesnotexist]

[catboypalug]

i love the angel shaping cube in the final battle of Mother of Learning because it just gives me the mental image of Zorian doing the world's most intense Rubix Cube challenge while everything around him is exploding

[yunisverse]

sometimes i remember my first ever experience with a time loop story when i was like 8: Help! I'm Trapped in the First Day of Summer Camp by Todd Strasser.

The title says it all; kid goes to camp, makes friends with "cool kids" and gets peer pressured into being a shithead and a bully, wakes up the next day with things reset to arriving at camp.

But the thing is, this book is part of a series. Most of the books are this same kid getting caught up in body swap shenanigans, but he had gotten caught in a time loop once in a previous book. So he knew the score. He just needed to not be a jerk today. Cue him being overly nice to the point of blatant insincerity, making everyone wildly uncomfortable. No growth, just trying to appease the forces that be. Loop continues looping.

Yadda yadda, finally figures out how to be a genuinely nice kid who stands up to bullies and makes friends with the nerdy kid, etc etc, got everything perfectly right.

When that loop doesn't work he immediately throws himself off the bus to camp to kill himself. Loop again.

Finally, having resigned himself to never escaping the loop but at least he can dedicate it to being a good kid with nice friends, a thought occurs to him. There's one thing he hasn't done a single time in all the loops.

He brushes his teeth before bed. And wakes up the next day.

and frankly, i think more time loops should be hinged on morality-neutral mundane tasks. escape the time loop by taking your meds. free yourself by taking a shower. my man todd was a visionary

[future-crab]

One of my favorite parts of Hadestown is the way Hermes slips so seamlessly between participant and narrator. The fact that he knows from the beginning how the story is going to go, but still plays his part, surrounded by people who don’t know they’re characters in a tragedy. And he plays his part well. Every night, he tells Orpheus, “You want to talk to her? Go on," and every night, he asks, ���Just how far would you go for her?” Every night, Orpheus asks him, “ It’s not a trick?” and he tells him, “No, it’s a test.” And every night, when the cycle starts again, when his voice is so broken with grief that he can barely get the words out to tell the audience - the audience that he and no one else has known was there the whole time - “Don’t ask why, brother, don’t ask how he could have come so close. The song was written long ago, and that is how it goes,” when Eurydice appears - fresh-faced and alive, with no memory of what has just happened - to ask, “anybody got a match?” he wordlessly extends his matchbook to her, and lets the story start anew. Someone’s got to tell the tale, whether or not it turns out well.

And still - AND STILL - every night, at the very beginning, he says, “Maybe it will turn out this time, on the road to hell, on the railroad line.”

[thestuffedalligator]

It is November of 1893. You have just killed a vampire. Exhausted and worn, you close your eyes and rest.

You wake up. It is May of 1893. You are on a train en route to Transylvania. Your diary says you have had queer dreams lately.

You try to believe it.

(An old woman puts a rosary in your hands. You accept it without question.)

You are a guest in a castle you have never been in before (you recognize every hallway and know without trying that every door is locked). Your host is a man you have never met before (you killed him you killed him you killed him he had turned to dust and there was blood on the snow).

One morning you cut yourself while shaving.

There is nobody behind you in the pocket mirror’s reflection.

You turn fast, and the razor is like a Kukri knife in your hand.

[espeonkin]

the thing about time loop jokes is, sure, they may be repetitive, but they never get old

[google-searchhistory-official]

"You need to break the time loop. Stop trying to save me. I love you."

[This message has been played 18446744073709551615 times. Would you like to hear it again?]

[felixcloud6288]

The world is trapped in a time-loop and the only people aware of it are the students and the professor of a freshman undergraduate math course.

The professor, not one to miss an opportunity, decides to teach the students new topics each loop, test the students for understanding, review concepts they're struggling with, and then start teaching them material from other math courses.

Over time, the students start using the loops to do individual research in whatever topics catch their interests and start teaching the class and the professor all sorts of topics ranging from biology to philosophy to history to physics (They understandably can't give great presentations because they have to start making their presentations the morning of).

They also begin studying cultures, foreign languages, and politics together. Some days are spent practicing cooking, dancing, singing, and all sorts of activities performed across the world. Other days are spent discussing the problems of the world and planning out how to tackle them once they escape the loop.

Once the time loop finally ends, these freshman students all have the intellect and skill of people with multiple PhDs. They are a united coalition of many backgrounds who all have a unified goal to make the world a better place...but they're technically undergrad freshmen.

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

guy who's stuck in a timeloop for so long he stops wanting to leave it. guy who started out trying to escape but slowly grew used to and became comforted by the familiarity of the repeating day. guy who is no longer who he was before the timeloop. guy who is offered a way out and violently refuses it because he can't leave, doesn't want to leave. guy who escapes the timeloop by chance or force or accident and doesn't know how to live anymore. guy who keeps going through motions that don't match the situation and keeps having conversations that aren't actually occurring. guy who panics every time he realizes he can't predict the next instant. guy who left the timeloop but still lives with it.

[daggersoliloquy]

you're in her dms. i'm in a time loop and dooming my world to end over and over for her because i can't let go of what I want. and neither can she.

[lamentable-comedy]

my castmate, getting emotional on closing night: do you ever think about how we might be in this play again... but this is still the last time we'll ever be in this production, with these people at this time? and even within that, each show is the last time we'll ever do that specific performance. even within a given unique production, there are a thousand little things that are different night to night. different performance choices, different audience, different thoughts in our heads and ways we play off each other. it's like. theatre is by its nature ephemeral and there's no way to ever go back and experience that specific version of a play ever again.

me, who's lived through the time loop of this night 300 times: y'know--

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest at the bullet hole that was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from all those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make up all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family… just like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she would never die or be hurt by anyone again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite how this man was her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. The muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her original, neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this…

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire, Playboy husband, was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed...” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce placed her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.