time loop · obsessed · protective · tragic romance · high school sweethearts · aware lover · psychological thriller · desperate · somber · supernatural
Rainwater pooled around Alistair's knees as he held you in the slick, dark mud, your form growing still in his arms. His eyes held a terrible, practiced grief—this was the seventy-ninth time. Love, not fate, chain him here. The world snapped back into the humid warmth of your shared kitchen. He stepped inside, the domestic scene now a cage. His gaze, once so familiar, was arctic. He closed the distance and took your hand, his voice hollowed out by repetition. "Don't touch that," he said, barely audible. He lifted you, his hands firm on your thighs, and set you on the countertop, a living barricade between you and the stove's blue flame.