afterhours

NSFW 18+ (overflow blog for @b-skarsgard) masterlist

[b-afterhours]

Enter The Chronoheart

SYNOPSIS: Au!Bill | Timing is everything. Just before his big break, Bill met Paz, and with her in his life, everything seemed to fall into place. The timing felt right, until the weight of fame and notoriety became too much for Paz to handle, even from the sidelines. Despite their busy careers and distance, they always seemed to find each other through it all. Just when they decided to rekindle their relationship, and the timing felt right again. Paz disappears without a trace.

The aftermath of her disappearance sends Bill’s path spiraling off course. Then, on the third anniversary of her disappearance, he found himself drawn to the mystic shop where she was last seen. Sending him on an unexpected journey through time to find her. -part one here Author's Note: the penultimate chapter! if you made it this far, thanks for reading!

Chapter Twenty Seven

February 21, 2021 

In the busy LA police department, Franco and Mia were speaking to a detective in his office. Again, he was being talked to like an idiot and was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of urgency. He kept being reminded that Paz was an adult and had the free will to leave as she pleased. No permission needed.

“That’s bullshit,” Franco spat. 

“Don’t you know that the first forty-eight hours are crucial?” Mia chimed in, displeased. “Everyone knows that!”

“Look,” the detective put his hands up, irritated. “Even if you think we aren’t doing enough, we’re doing what we can. We’re doing more than we usually do, frankly. You should be grateful.” 

“Grateful,” Franco sneered. “Have you talked to Dade Lordanis? He’s threatened her in the past.” 

“We will, but Dade is being a bit difficult at the moment. Her boyfriend, however, is a bit more cooperative—” 

Franco stiffened. “Boyfriend?” 

“He let our officers search their hotel room for a few minutes before he asked them to leave.” 

When the visiting officers asked, Bill was so taken aback by what was happening that he allowed them to. He watched the male officer stare, a little too long, at Paz’s red lace bra on the edge of the bed. The female officer looked into the bathroom. It was the sound of her nudging the bathroom bin that snapped him out of his stupor. The wise, crooked words of Paul Joseph came to him then, the same Paz liked to share: “Don’t talk to the police.” After that, he asked them to leave. 

“But he’s here today, speaking with my colleagues. He’s lawyered up.”

“Lawyered up?” Franco didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Who?” he asked, but the detective was in a hurry to move on to his next case and escorted them out of his office. 

“Should anything come up, you’ll be the first to know,” he said, shutting the door.

“What the fuck,” Franco hissed through his teeth, dragging his tattooed hands down his face. 

“Maybe…” Mia tensely rubbed her glossy lips against each other. “It’s time to call your parents now, Francisco.” 

His stomach flipped. He wished he had never cut their meeting short. Paz never reconvened with him after that. She ignored his calls and texts, but he hoped he was overreacting. Still, this just wasn’t like her. His anxiety only increased at the thought of calling their parents. Calling them suddenly made the situation that much more serious, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go there just yet.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “And who the fuck—” 

“Her boyfriend’s not really saying much either,” a young intern said to another as they suddenly walked past. Leaving a room where they sat behind two-way glass. “Honestly, he seems like he’s in shock.”

“Well, he’s got Hollywood attorneys. He’s an asset to protect,” a man grumbled in reply. “You know these Hollywood types, she’s probably held up on a mean coke bender somewhere. Just to turn up with exhaustion.”

Franco and Mia gave each other a look, and hand in hand, they started down the hall they emerged from. There was no plan other than to see who was being questioned. While the boyfriend bomb came as a complete surprise to Franco—Mia, on the other hand, had suspicions that she never vocalized. 

“Could I have a moment alone with my client, please?” the attorney asked the detectives inside the interrogation room. 

They had been pressing Bill, but every honest answer he could give just did not satisfy them. He didn’t know where Paz was, and being treated like a suspect, rather than a worried sick boyfriend, was offensive. He wanted to know where she was as much as everyone else. If not more. His lawyer noticed him start to shut down, looking incredibly tired. A forlorn look clouded his eyes. 

The cop eased up then. “Fine—but for accuracy's sake, could you help us with Miss Villanueva's description?” 

The attorney huffed, but motioned for them to make it quick.

“So, twenty-eight-year-old female, 5'5, dark brown hair, brown eyes,” the cop listed off from his clipboard. “She has a beauty mark under her right eye—“

“Left. Our right, her left.” 

The cop's eyes darted up at Bill. “Any other discernible marks like that? Scars? Tattoos, maybe?”

His mind's eye swept over the sprinkle of freckles on her back as if she were there. The beauty mark on her inner thigh. The crinkle of her nose. How if she stood in front of the sun, it revealed the coppery tones of her dark brown hair like a halo made of fire. 

“No tattoos. Nothing like that.” 

“Okay, is that enough?” The attorney butted in. He knew they were just trying to wear his client down.

“Just one more question,” the other officer said. “She hasn’t contacted you at all?” 

“Not, not since the 19th, as I said. We had breakfast that morning, we made plans to meet after she met with her brother, and then,” he threw his hands up. “I’ve tried to call her, but it just goes straight to voicemail. I’ve texted,” he frowned, not really proud of the messages he sent.

But her last message to him sent him on a spiral of insecurity before the panic set in. 

Paz ✌️😝💖: coming back. 

—actually, nvrmnd 

Actually nevermind? It said nothing, but at the same time, it said a lot the more he thought about it. Unfortunately, he thought the worst before he knew the truth.

“Could we have a moment now?” His lawyer spoke up after Bill fell silent again, lost in thought, which he did not think reflected well on him.

The officers reluctantly gathered their clipboards but stood. Bill straightened up, knowing he needed to get a hold of himself. This was all just a mind fuck. Why was this happening? Where the hell was Paz? 

When the interrogation door swung open, Franco stretched his neck and peered into the room. Immediate anger and utter disbelief veiling his face. 

“Bill?!” 

“Fuck,” he said, his jaw hardening. 

This was the disintegration of the friendship they once had. He could only imagine what his friend thought of him now. Did he think he was guilty? But guilt of what? 

Having deceived him until this point, he couldn’t blame him for whatever he thought of him now. 

~*~*~

Two Weeks Before | New York City

Midmorning, Bill stepped into the room with his second cup of coffee and dug into the dresser for gym clothes. Paz was talking to her mother on FaceTime, her laptop on the edge of the tall bed, while modeling some skirts. 

“Well, the top is just white, so I can wear whatever,” she explained, pushing a floral skirt off her hips that Lourdes wasn’t a fan of. 

At this point, she just needed to give up and return it. She couldn’t make it work with anything.

“It’s a luncheon, not Easter,” she lightly laughed. 

Paz grumbled, pulling on another skirt. “Bruncheon. But yeah, not that one then.” 

“Mmm,” Lourdes twisted her lip before she could fix it properly onto her waist. 

“What?” She turned her rear toward the MacBook. “I’d probably need to wear different chonies,” she said, brushing the line of her period panties. 

Her mother twisted her lip again, this time in disgust. “A tanga? Ay, no, mija. Nasty—you know I don’t like those.” 

“Amá.” 

“Remember when I found the ones hidden in your room? How old were you? 15?” 

“Amá!” Paz gasped, embarrassed.

On the other side of the MacBook, Bill laughed loudly as his thumbs ran along the band of his red gym shorts before letting go. Paz shook her head as he came to the other side of the bed, putting a hand on the small of her back.

“Hola,” he waved at Lourdes. 

“Oh, Bill! Qué tal corazón,” she waved back. 

“Bien, bien,” he smiled bashfully. “I’m leaving,” he said, ducking down to kiss Paz and patting her bottom.

“I think I like the first one, mija. The black one,” Lourdes continued after saying goodbye to Bill. 

“That’s what I said,” he winked, fitting his black cap onto his head just before stepping out.

…

Finished with his workout, he cleared across the large gym, replying to a text from Paz, after she sent a pic of a nearly empty box of tampons.

–could you get me more? thx

–Ok. Have you eaten? 

–not yet 

–I’ll find something close to home. I’m leaving the gym now. He replied. 

“Oh, shit! Bill!” 

He looked up and saw Franco, and without hesitation, their hands hooked together for a dap up. They both went to the same gym. Sometimes they even worked out together, but not often. 

“Hey, brother,” Bill said, taking his AirPods out.

“You leaving?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Damn, alright. Hey, actually, you doing anything later today?” 

Bill lifted his cap, quickly scratching his temple. “Hmm. Nah.” 

“I have courtside tickets for the Bulls and Knicks tonight? You down?” 

“Courtside? Mia doesn’t want to go?” He teased. 

Franco clicked his tongue. “She probably would like to, but her brother is in town. I promised I’d take him, but—”

“How old is he?” 

“Twenty-four.”

Right, Bill remembered Paz mentioning it. He often knew a lot more than what Franco even cared to tell him because of her.

“He asked me to tell Mia he went ‘cause he made his own plans for tonight, but you know he’s probably just meeting up with some girl.” 

“It’s always a girl,” Bill chuckled, crossing his bulging arms. 

“What else, man?” 

They agreed to meet later that evening with a departing fist bump.

…

When he returned to the apartment, Paz was up in the loft, halfway sitting on the wide railing, looking like she was speaking to herself. Really, she wore a single AirPod while on a call. She smiled down at him as he held up the box of tampons she had asked for.

“I got the super duper ones,” he teased in a loud whisper. 

Her jaw dropped in mock offense and flipped him off before mouthing, thank you, and blowing him a kiss.

He chuckled silently and then began to set out their lunch on the coffee table he had built. Still sturdy since. 

“I mean, I like him, don’t get me wrong. I just think Jaime was better for the part.”

Bill overheard Paz say on the phone. She was in pre-pre production for a project she was hoping would begin filming by the end of the year.  

“No chemistry?” She balked. “They totally did! Have you seen their screen tests?” 

There was a short beat. 

“I think you should then,” she continued. “It’ll make you melt! Trust me,” she giggled.

As the call continued, Bill silently wondered who the hell could be talking about him the same way out there. And hoped they were as flattering as Paz was being. It was one thing to be in front of the camera, and he thought he knew much of what happened behind it until he started living with her. Especially while at this point in her career. He whistled to get her attention, and when she looked down, he was pointing at the hall, indicating that he was going to shower.

It was quick, and when he emerged from the bedroom wearing boxers, a Chicagoland sweater, and towel-dried hair, Paz quickly descended the stairs to join him on the couch while he searched for something to watch on the TV. 

“What’d you bring?” She asked, hugging his arm. He smelled so fresh.

“Chicken gyro from Athena’s Cafe.” 

“Oh my god, you read my mind!” She kissed him. 

And he smiled proudly as if he didn’t know that something she typically craved on her period. A win was a win, though. 

“Are you done for today?” He asked while they ate. 

“Yeah, that was my only call.”

“You weren’t even supposed to work today.” 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged. “I’m trying to put my case in for Jaime Henry while I still can. He just has that classic romantic, old Hollywood look, you know. If they don’t go with him, whatever, but I’ll always know what could have been.” 

Bill puffed his lip and nodded. “I ran into Franco at the gym,” he started. “He invited me to a basketball game tonight—” 

“The Bulls versus the Knicks?” 

He tilted his head, surprised she knew. 

Paz snorted. “Chicago Bulls. I see people from back home posting about it. It’s like a heated game or....” 

“Mm, it’s an important one, yeah. It’s like a little preview of what the playoffs will look like.”

“How do you know that?” 

He scoffed, offended. “I keep up. Anyway, they’re courtside tickets—”

“Nice!” She raised her brows, impressed, biting into her gyro.

They lounged around after lunch. Paz was tucked into the corner of the sectional, with a new book Max had smuggled from the publishing house called The Devoted Few. Next to her, Bill slumped in his seat, an arm behind his head, and knees wide. Initially, he was watching a documentary about carceral systems, but now he held his phone on his chest, watching a montage reel of match-ending UFC injuries.

When Paz absently placed her foot on his thigh, he glanced over and noticed she was highlighting pages near the beginning of the book. 

“Are you rereading that?”

“Yeah,” she said, not looking up. “It’s such a good debut. She’s written short stories for The New Yorker, and the pub’ house signed her for a novel. But,” she looked up and capped the highlighter. “I’m trying to get Frankie to option it.” 

“Option a book, you’re not even supposed to have?” He raised a brow. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you a narc? Like you’re Mr. Goodie-two-shoes.” 

He laughed, squeezing her foot. “First is first.” 

“Exactly, baby,” she smiled, placing the book on the coffee table. “I'll do my makeup out here,” she announced. 

As she got up, Bill landed a searing slap on her ass, and things heated up from there. 

“Ah, fuck,” he breathed, as Paz bobbed her head between his knees. “God, you’re so pretty, baby. I should take a picture.” 

Paz slightly stilled, seeing that he was reaching for his phone beside them. Smoothly, she took his hand, lacing her fingers with his instead, and took him all the way to the back of her throat to distract him. He jolted with a deep grunt. His head tipped back. It worked, and soon she swallowed every last drop he had. 

It wasn’t like she hadn't sent him topless pics to him since the ordeal with Dade. Sometimes she’d even send a cheeky clip, but out of pure paranoia, she’d delete them from her phone after sending them. But recording themselves in the act may as well have been a thing of the past now. They were just too preoccupied to care anyway. 

While kissing her appreciatively, she moaned, sucking his tongue into her mouth, and he began to drag her down onto the couch. 

“Baby,” she giggled, pulling back. “Not right now.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“I know, but I have to go…” She let out a small scream when he managed to pin her down and attacked her neck with ticklish kisses. “Bill!” 

He lifted his head to look at her. “Seriously?”

She cupped his chin, fingers pinching the hollow of his cheeks. “Later. I want all of you,” she smirked impishly. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise,” she said, pecking his nose with hers.

…

At Madison Square Garden, Bill and Franco’s faces were broadcast on the giant center court Jumbotron, smiling and waving. The arena screamed in excitement seeing them, or rather Bill, he was the familiar face that had come to haunt a generation.

They left their seats then, grabbed some beers, and took a seat in the lounge to chat a little during halftime. Franco was telling him about the movie shoot he had done in Austin. He even passed his phone to show him some practical FX shots they nailed. Bill knew a lot of what went down, of course, Franco was only giving him old information. Also, he was there, in town, visiting Paz for a week during it. 

He took his phone back and began to talk rather mum about a prospecting music artist who inquired about him to direct a music video. 

“Who is it? Dua Lipa? The Weeknd? Kendrick Lamar?” Bill speculated, doing his best to pry a name from him.

“Nah, not them again. But you know, I’m busy with the film—but it’s someone big enough I’ll make time for,” he smirked.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” 

“I don’t want to jinx it, man.”

“Ah, whatever,” Bill chuckled. “It’s probably Harry Styles or some shit.”

“Better than him, bro! Anyway, how were the holidays with your fam?” Franco asked, slipping his phone in his back pocket. “I saw that pic you posted.” 

Bill froze a little as he took a sip of his draft pour.

“What island was it this time?” he continued. 

That jostled his memory. He only shared a quick story of the oceanside from the villa where he and Paz stayed. “Ah, uhm, we just went back to uh, to Thailand. What about you?” 

“Ah, nice. Just at my parents' in Chicago again. Everyone was there like always—”

“Yeah.” 

“Well, except for Paz. She went to Brazil on some Eat, Pray, Love shit or something,” he shrugged. “Somewhere off the coast—Noronha, something like that.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “I think I’ve heard of it. Sounds nice.” 

Bill was slightly offended that he was so dismissive. But of course, he just didn’t understand what that trip really meant. Though even if he knew about them, he’d doubt they’d ever tell him what made the decision. Still, he didn’t like that Paz’s trip was reduced to some nonsensical spiritual, finding yourself thing. 

It was a chance for him and Paz to reconnect after their miscarriage, but also, that trip really solidified his desire to marry her. Something about being there, just him and her, away from everything, he couldn’t believe he had it so good. In paradise with an angel by his side felt like he had pleased some karmic god out there, that it almost, almost felt undeserving. 

Having this conversation with Franco now, post-vacation, he realized they had taken their secret too far. 

“It looked dope,” Franco said, “She showed me some pics—snorkeling with a giant sea turtle, maybe I’m just jealous because I was freezing my balls off.”

Bill chuckled.

“Anyway, my sister and I are going to see the first edit for Glass Saint later this month in LA. I’m working with a new editor, Michelle Shu. She’s tough,” he said, complimentarily. 

“Right,” He said after a sip. “Uhm, I’ll be in LA this month, too. Doing some ADR and meeting some people, you know.” 

“No shit? I’ll be kinda busy, but maybe we can link?”

Bill nodded, agreeing, even though deep down he would probably blow him off. He didn’t find fun in acting oblivious to things he had full knowledge of, and frankly, it was quite boring to rehash. If only he’d known now that they’d link at an LA police station anyway.

After a contentious first half, the Bulls were winning by miles. Franco suggested they head out to beat the crowds. Within their planning, he decided then and there to have an impromptu kickback at his place. 

“Let me text my brother-in-law, so he can meet us,” Franco said, taking his phone out.

“Mhmm,” Bill hummed, tight-lipped. 

I’m right here, he thought.

“My baby sister is in town for the weekend, too,” he said, tapping on to the group chat he shared with his sisters.

Bill nosily peered over at Franco’s screen as he hit send on his invite. Their replies came in quick succession. He clicked his tongue and turned his phone to Bill. 

Franco: Bulls about to win, kickback at my place. Do you two want to come?” 

Juju: Hell no.

Paz: no

Bill chuckled at their immediate rejection. They just liked to be difficult with their dear old big brother.

“They’re coming,” Franco said, immune to their antics as he put his phone up. “Ready?”

As he stood from his seat, the decorative chain on his expensive jeans got pinched by the chair. A loud, distinct rip cut through the roar of the crowd, and Bill whipped his head back.

“What the fuck was that?” 

With wide eyes, Franco reached for his rear and felt his hairy upper thigh meeting the cotton of his boxer briefs. His cheeks reddened, and he quickly threw himself back down on his seat. 

“Did-did you just rip your fucking jeans?” Bill cracked up. 

“Bro! I can’t fucking walk out of here.”

“For real?” he said, through his continued laughter.

“My whole ass is out,” Franco began to laugh, embarrassed at how ridiculous this was. 

Bill settled. “Shit,” he said, chewing his lip, looking around the packed arena. “Uh, here,” he said, shrugging off his Off-White bomber and pulling off his grey hoodie, leaving a plain black tee. “Use this.” 

Franco tied the hoodie around his waist and thanked him. 

When the men arrived at the condo, Mia was there to greet them along with a friend of hers. It had been a while since Bill had been there. Much of it was the same, but Mia’s touch was evident. There were new black leather couches, and more intention was put into the decor. 

“My god, Bill! It’s so good to see you,” Mia said, hugging him. 

“Yeah, the pleasure is all mine,” he smiled shyly.

She introduced her friend to him and then quickly snapped her head at Franco. 

“Where’s Malik, babe?”

“Uh…” Franco pursed his lips. “Shit. He went out with some girl, but he’s on the way back.”

She shook her head, annoyed, but waved it off after Franco gave her a big, fat, unabashed smooch in front of their guests.

“So,” Mia turned her attention back to Bill, his hands in his jacket pockets. “What have you been up to? Anything new?” 

“Ah, well, not until the summer. I’ll be working in Sweden this time doing a series.” He gave Franco a pointed look.

“I know, I need to go,” Franco smirked. “I’ve been close.” 

“Denmark is not the same,” Bill adamantly said. “Like at all. Anyway, the place looks good. Nice job, Mia,” he winked at her. 

She proudly smiled, flashing the tooth gems fixed to her teeth.

“When are you going to have us over at your place?” Franco countered.

Bill scratched his head nervously. “Eh, it’s not what you think,” he lied. “There’s still construction and shit. It’s not ready.” 

“Still?” Franco raised his brows. “Shit, man.”

Crazy thing, he’s been there several times. The last time, Paz had to take Bill’s shoes from the rack by the door and hastily threw them into the bedroom when he stopped by unexpectedly. Under short notice, she was forced to explain why she had an expressionist portrait of Bill, gifted to him from the set of Castle Rock, in the loft.

“I saw it in his friend's office in Sweden, and he gave it to me when I said I liked it,” she shrugged the lie off.

“The fuck? And you took it?” Franco said, appalled that she wouldn’t politely decline such a thing. 

Luckily, that had distracted him so much that he didn’t even see the pictures of them tacked to the corkboard on the other side of the wall. Or Bill’s silly doodles on the whiteboard. 

“I’m going to grab a beer if that’s cool,” Bill quickly said, pointing at the kitchen that he was already walking toward. 

Once he was alone, Bill exhaled. He felt like such an imposter and was just getting annoyed by his own useless lies. People began to trickle in, but unfortunately, when Paz arrived, he still felt that he couldn’t relax. He didn’t have to be super standoffish, though. He gave her a full embrace, even if it pained him to keep from ducking down and kissing her. 

At most, people understood that they had a work relationship after shooting his directorial debut last year in Sweden. Still, it sucked. It sucked to have Juliana sitting between them on the couch as a cautionary buffer. And it sucked, watching Franco chumming it up with his brother-in-law, Malik.

“How did everything turn out?” Bill asked Max, who picked at his gel manicure, while sitting on a dice-shaped stool next to him.

A piece of Franco’s former bachelor pad that Mia couldn’t convince him to get rid of. 

“Yes! I just need to get a new backdrop so my new light setup can bounce off it, but everything worked perfectly,” Max smiled. “Thanks for the cheese, by the way.” 

Bill chuckled. “For sure. It’s some good fucking cheese.” 

“He knows,” Paz chimed in. “He took a bite right from the wedge,” she laughed. 

“Girl, it’s my cheese—is it not?” Max said matter-of-factly.

Before Paz left their place, Bill had her bring Max some cheeses that would otherwise go bad and mold in the fridge while they were in LA. She was helping Max arrange his new podcast setup for Unverified since he was going to start video recording them as his viewership grew. 

By the end of the year, he’d quit the publishing company, since things really blew up for him after that.

Groups split as the night carried on. Bill lightly chatted with Malik, but Paz was still in his eyeline.

“Ooooh! There’s a story about the Jackson Five like that,” Paz excitedly said while talking to Loch as he rolled his own cigarette by the bench seats under the windows. The same bench seats where they had their first kiss. “Before they got really famous, they’d do, like, local talent shows in Indiana. And another performing group ended up accusing them of cheating because they thought Michael was really an adult little person and couldn’t actually be that good as a six-year-old,” she laughed. 

Loch cracked up, and it gained a few laughs from the more hipster crowd in that corner. A promoter who introduced himself as Lucky cracked up especially. For Bill, it was obvious he was crushing.

Right after, both Paz and Franco returned to the couches. Mia took a seat in her man’s lap. And while Bill typically wouldn’t care, the display of affection bothered him. It was just so free and relaxed. If Paz sat in his lap, he’d happily let her, but allowing something so simple would be a record-scratching moment that would just kill the vibe.

Paz leaned all the way back in her seat, looking past Juliana.

“Is that yours?” She asked him in a hushed tone, as her eyes drifted towards Franco’s waist.

“He ripped his pants,” he chuckled.

Paz covered her mouth to keep from bursting with laughter. 

Franco overheard and looked down at his waist, only to be reminded that he was still wearing it. “Fuck. Don’t tell everyone, man. Do you want your hoodie back?”

“Not after your ass has been on it,” Bill snickered into his drink after a laugh escaped Paz.

Franco shook his head, standing up to change out of his pants. “I owe you, brother. Do any of you ladies know how to sew?” he asked out loud. 

“Why are you looking at me?” Paz asked when he looked directly at her. 

“These are my favorite pants.” 

“Then take it to someone who actually knows how to sew?”

“You know, ladies back in the day just knew how to do this stuff,” he said in jest. 

Still, Mia and his sisters groaned, rolling their eyes as he laughed. 

“Actually, I’m probably the best at sewing compared to everyone here,” he said as he went up the stairs to his room. 

And he wouldn’t be wrong. He used to help make costumes in the early days of his career when budgets were tight.

Later, Bill stepped aside in the hallway for a guest as he was leaving the bathroom. Looking toward the couch, he saw that Paz wasn’t there anymore, and neither were her and Juliana’s drink glasses. He continued toward the kitchen, pausing at the threshold when Malik passed him by. 

It was only them now. Paz was deep in the fridge, grabbing a bottle of club soda, when she felt arms wrap around her.

“Shhh,” he softly shushed into her ear, pressing himself hard against her. 

“Bill,” she silently giggled as he pulled her around, her back facing the arch entrance. 

He ducked down to steal a few kisses before having to return to near strangers, when, from the corner of his eye, he caught Mia silently backing out of the kitchen with an empty glass. 

“Are you going to fuck me hard later?” Paz whispered. 

Bill couldn’t help but smirk. Still, he casually straightened, so he wouldn’t alarm Paz to them being caught red-fucking-handed. A confused smile appeared on Mia’s face, and then her lips pursed suggestively when she noticed Paz’s hand gliding toward his package. He stopped her, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Paz was none the wiser; she loved a little denial play. It gave Mia enough time to successfully backtrack undetected.

“What?” Paz said, turning her head where his gaze was. 

“Just making sure no one walks in,” he said, ducking down again to kiss her good one last time before separating. “You’re a bad look out.”

She clicked her tongue. “Whatever,” she snickered.

Mia waited a full minute before walking back in, asking if Paz could make her a drink as well. 

“Yeah! I’ll bring it out to you,” Paz said with a smile. “Bill will help me carry them out.”

He nodded, his hands flat against the island, sharing a look with Mia before she left. Again, she just smiled at him. He really didn’t know how to read it. Was she happy for them or happy to rat them out? Bill thought, if she chose to, well, so be it. 

As the kickback went on, the hip-hop and rap playlist switched when Loch gained access to the sound system. 

I don’t practice Santeria

I ain’t got no crystal ball…

Paz shared a look with Bill, one that said she was ready to go home. They had to devise a plan, though. Max was no longer there to use as a cover, but Juliana was. 

“I’m staying with Paz,” Juliana said to Franco as they all gathered by the front door.

“I'm taking off too,” Bill chimed in. “My ride is coming right now; you two can just ride with me.”

He didn’t present it as a question; he was telling. Not caring to rely on a polite schtick as he’d done in the past.

Franco nodded. He knew Bill lived in Soho like Paz did, but not that it was because they slept in the same bed. Mia, by Franco’s side, gave him and Paz a curious look. Then their eyes met, and he knew she didn’t buy the act anymore.

“It was good seeing you,” she said, a smile playing on her glossy lips. By her tone, he knew what she really meant by that.

“I’m glad you did,” he winked. 

Still playing cool and unbothered. Because he wasn’t. At this point, c’est la vie. If his only downfall in life was being in love with the woman of his dreams, then there were worse things to be guilty of that he’d gladly deal with.

“Can you read what I sent you?” Paz asked Franco before stepping out.

“Yeah, I’ll check it out,” he said dismissively.

She tilted her head, sneering. “Don’t give me that like I’m anyone else. I’m being for real.” 

“Okay, shit, I will. Good night. And thanks, bro,” he said, turning to Bill, dapping him up before shutting the door. 

The ride back home was unremarkable, but as they neared Juliana’s actual destination, they gave each other a concerned look. It was like all the alcohol finally hit her during the ride, and she became pretty obnoxious. She wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t very cute.

“Juliana,” she said, trying to get her to look at her. This time, Paz sat in the middle while they crammed in the back seat. “Whose place are you going to?” 

She blinked slowly. “This-this guy—I met him on Hinge.” 

Bill pressed his lips together, tugging his ear. 

“Have you met him before?”

“Mmmmm… no.” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“What?” Juliana groaned, throwing her hands up. 

“You are not meeting some random guy right now!?” 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Juli,” Bill muttered.

Juliana scoffed defiantly. Paz just sighed, irritated. She gave Bill an apologetic look, and he just nodded, understandingly.

“You’re going home with us,” Paz said. 

“What?! No! Really?” 

“Really.” Paz and Bill said flatly together.

“Ugh, fine,” Juliana grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning toward the driver. “Can you-you believe these buzzkills?”

Once they got home, Juliana immediately went to use the bathroom. After Paz reheated some leftovers for her to have, she met Bill in the bedroom. He was getting dressed for bed. Or rather the couch. It was just better for Juliana not to have to use the stairs to sleep on the cushy futon. Even if her limp lessened while intoxicated, they didn’t think she’d want to deal with them later.

Bill turned and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Paz’s waist as she took a seat on his thigh.

She touched his cheek and pouted. “Sorry.” 

He sighed. “Yeah… sorry for you mostly,” he smirked. 

Even if he was being playful, Paz could sense his annoyance. The night may not have ended the way they hoped, but he wasn’t one to be so put out. Tonight it seemed he was, though.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know—” 

He silently exhaled, pressing his lips together. “It’s fine.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“I don’t like doing this anymore—” 

“What?” Paz said softly, her heart dropping.

“No, baby, I mean, I can’t keep this secret anymore…” 

“But I like to have you as my little secret,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. To her shock, he turned his head, rebuffing her. A rarity.

“Paz…”

“Oh…” she bit her lip and straightened up, realizing she had completely misread him. Her mind was still stuck on the one thing she was looking forward to, but couldn’t have now. “I-I'm sorry. No. No, yeah, you’re right.” 

She had to agree that the kickback was just so awkward at times. For a while now, she knew it was time to fess up, too.

He squeezed her hip. “It’s just… How is this not fucking obvious to him at this point? It’s offensive. I don’t know, even hypocritical of him,” he shook his head, taking a deep breath. “But it’s like he doesn’t think I could be good enough for you.”

“I think it’s the other way around—” 

“It’s both, and it’s such bullshit! I can’t keep lying,” he swallowed. “It’s kinda starting to hurt my feelings a little bit. It was funny at first, but now…” 

Paz ran her fingers through his hair, and he reflexively shut his eyes, soothed by her touch. 

“Yeah, we dragged it,” she breathed. 

“I just want to sit next to you. Simple shit like that. We have to tell him because I want—” he looked down, catching himself, it was not the time to ask. “I want to be able to show that I love you when he’s around like I do anywhere else.” 

Paz blushed, touched. “Me too. It’s time, I know.” 

“It’s time,” he nodded. “Maybe after LA, we can invite Franco and Mia to dinner and tell them.” 

“I’m okay with that.” 

“Is that okay?” He asked, locking eyes with her.

“It’s okay,” she laughed. “I love you.”

Bill settled on the couch. Luckily, it was a huge, comfy sectional because otherwise he wouldn’t have delegated himself to it. He scrolled a bit on his phone, and from the other room, he could hear the sisters laughing loudly as they swiped through Juliana’s Hinge matches.

They giggled under the covers like they did as little girls, when they should have been asleep, having no clue it would be the last time they’d ever see each other. 

…

February 18, 2021 | The last 24 Hours | Los Angeles

After the industry bruncheon, Paz stood outside the hotel with an old colleague, Jordan, chatting as they waited for their rides. 

“What are you doing in June?” Jordan asked, blowing out a stream of cig smoke. 

“I’ll be in Sweden,” she smiled. 

“Damn it, I thought I’d try. What project are you doing there?” 

“I have nothing, but my boyfriend does so—” her phone suddenly vibrated in her hand. “Ah, my rides here. Hey, do you have Cherish's contact?”

“Screenwriter?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I got it, girl. I’ll email you,” she winked. 

Paz walked down the sidewalk and turned a corner, where her ride was parked. Slipping into the passenger seat, she leaned toward the driver for a kiss. Bill had offered to pick her up. 

“Thanks for my drink,” she said, picking up the latte from the cup holder. 

Bill side-eyed her as he pulled away from the curb. “Why didn’t you tell me what they actually call that?” 

“What? A banana bread latte?”

“Oh, so that’s why the barista said, ‘BBL for Bill? BBL for Bill,’ for the whole fucking café?” he mocked in a high-pitched voice, while Paz cracked up, almost spitting out her drink. “Yeah, very funny.”

“It’s really good, though. Did you taste it?” 

“I did. Anyway, we were invited to Sunset Tower for dinner—some buddies from Stockholm are here.” 

“Right now?” 

“I mean in like an hour,” he said, pointing at the time on the dash screen. 

“Okay, ‘cause I have to change out of these heels. They snagged on the banquet carpet a few times. I’m surprised I didn’t trip.” For a moment, it felt as though her legs were being weighed down with lead.

They enjoyed their time at Sunset, catching up with a few of Bill’s friends she hadn’t seen since last year. They were making plans for the coming midsommar which she had been itching to experience again.

Back in their room at the Chateau Marmont, they had the French doors open, letting in the melody of a random trumpet drift in. They cuddled on the couch, reading. Bill scrolled through a script on his iPad, and Paz was now tabbing away the pages of The Devoted Few.

Bill took a glance, trying to decode what each color tab meant. 

“What?” Paz said softly, feeling his eyes on her. 

He had been doing that a lot lately, since the beginning of the year, actually. Sometimes looking deep in thought, but mostly it was unreadable. Once, she scared herself believing he was having a silent seizure. Really, he just kept compulsively thinking about how’d she react once he proposed and how’d he do it.

But like always, he would just say, “Ingenting.”

She just softly hummed in response and continued tabbing. A few times now, he had picked up the book himself. The last time, he read almost sixty pages by the time he realized he had been sucked in. It was a good debut, and he could see why Paz was so determined to see it on screen.

Paz turned her head toward the door when a knock disturbed their cozy, silent reading bubble. She was only wearing a Lululemon cropped cami and panties, completely inappropriate for guests. A deep chuckle left Bill, seeing her brows pulled together. 

“I got it,” he stood, smoothing down his white shirt, as the only one with pants on.

When he returned, he had two frozen margs with an order of Parmesan truffle fries in his large hands.

“Aw, a man after my own heart,” she beamed, sitting crisscrossed.

“That’s me,” he chuckled at his own corniness. 

As they chatted over their late night snack, he picked up his iPad again, his finger scrolling back down after losing his page. 

“Which one’s this?” Paz asked, taking a sip of her drink. 

“Old to me, new to you,” he said, passing the iPad over. “I said I’d check it out, so… I’m checking it out,” he shrugged. 

“Is it… Bad?” 

“I don’t like who they’re considering me for, but this other guy,” he pointed, “is hilarious, he’s like a fuck up.” 

Paz read silently until she snorted, reading a ridiculous line. “‘What do you want me to do it for? I haven’t slept since I was born, you caffeinated fuck ass…?” she said, through laughter, brows pulled in confusion.

Bill laughed. “Say it, like, how you think he would?” 

“Where is he from?” 

“Just make something up,” he said, placing his elbow on the backrest and resting his head on his fist. 

He watched Paz chew her lip, deciding on how to interpret the character. He always felt she was charismatic enough to act, but she just wasn’t really interested. Still, she helped him out sometimes, reading lines behind the camera for his self-tapes. But not often because sometimes he wouldn’t like her delivery, as if it even mattered, and they’d bicker about it. 

“Okay, I got it,” she finally said, and read it with a sort of Stepford wives cadence.

“The fuck?” Bill cracked up. “What made you go with that?” 

“I-I really don’t fucking know,” she said with red cheeks, hiding behind her margarita. 

When Bill stood in just black boxer briefs as he set the alarm on his phone before slipping into bed, he heard Paz enter the room and step up behind him. Her hands reached for his chest, sliding down his torso, over the ripple of abs, before she pressed her naked chest against his strong back. His heart beat quickened as he felt a rush go straight to his dick.

As her hands slipped under the band of his underwear, he felt her press a tender kiss on his spine. He turned then, wanting to see her, wanting to hold her face in his hands to kiss her. She smiled bashfully, feeling the bulge rapidly growing beneath the fabric. He held his hands behind him, and then nodded once, assertively. She freed him, a thread of saliva falling from her tongue, before her hands wrapped around his thickening length.

It took no time for him to become hot and heavy at his full potential. His chest rose, teeth sinking into his full bottom lip, appreciating the perfect pressure of her grip as she stroked him. 

“Get on the bed,” he rasped.

Crawling on, she shook her hips for him, teasingly. His fingers hooked around her panties, pulled them down as he brought her back to the very edge of the bed, and dropped to his knees, delving into her. Face pressed against the mattress, she moaned, and a naughty smile spread across her face. It was just so hot when he ate it from behind, and the smacks to her ass only heightened the experience. 

Once she shook from her first orgasm, they tangled up in bed, kissing and nipping skin with teeth. Little, breathy giggles peaked through soft moans. 

When Paz mounted him, he held himself upright as she sank down. He sat up, arms wrapping around her, just to be close at every point their bodies could be. She ground down on him, and he let out a choked gasp. For a moment, he flushed, embarrassed by the sound, but instead let the feeling wash over him. 

Paz felt fuzzy and warm with him buried so deep inside her. A contented, longing sigh left her lips when he latched onto her nipple. Her hands threaded through his hair, messing it up, as she encouraged him. When his teeth grazed or his fingers pinched her sensitive nipples, he could feel her pussy clench that much more around him. 

“Bill,” she whined, tiring.

“Keep going.”

She let out a frustrated sound, and he smirked. 

“You’re close, baby, I can’t fucking feel it,” he rasped out, hooking an arm around the curve of her back, coaxing her. “Fuck…” 

“Oh god,” she choked. 

A sheen of sweat broke out, giving her body a heavenly glow. Watching her chase her own high was so sexy to him. But right now, his chest warmed, admiring her. He adored this woman beyond any worldly comprehension. From the very first time he met her, it was like his soul finally felt at home. 

She made him feel like a man, and not just any man, but the luckiest one in the world. He had won. She was his. And he wanted that forever. He was so certain of that more than anything.

He felt completely overwhelmed with feelings. His heart swelled with such immense love and gratitude for her that it felt it could explode. Paz pressed her forehead against his—mind, body, and soul connected. Vibrating at the same euphoric wavelength. She felt it. He knew she did. It went without saying. They found their perfect match.

Tears prickled at the corner of Paz’s eyes as her climax coursed through her. He didn’t give her the chance to come down from it when he flipped them over. Paz squirmed, overly sensitive, but his deep, long strokes forced her incoming climax to roll deliciously right into the last. He always knew exactly what to give. He felt her stiffen, nails digging into the curve of his ass, drawing him closer. In that instant, he met his end when her back arched off the mattress and moaned so beautifully for him. 

He collapsed on top of her, basking in the absolute warmth of her. The warmth they created together. The clarity, the certainty they felt for each other in their little death felt spiritual. Neither one had to wonder or doubt the other again. They were both exactly where they wanted to be.

Bill held her tight in his arms, his hands running through her hair as he whispered in her ear. 

“I love you,” he swallowed. 

“I love you,” she breathed. “So, so much.”

Still trying to catch their breath, Bill dipped under her arm. She smiled as he snuggled into her chest, and giggled when he began to place ticklish kisses on her neck. 

“Marry me,” he said, softly. Surprising himself, not expecting to say the words, but they slipped out so easily. He wondered why the hell he stressed about it so much before it.

Paz only giggled again. They just had incredible, soul-altering sex. She’d ask him to marry her, too, after something like that. When she felt him shift, she opened her eyes and saw him hovering above her. His searching eyes told her that he was being completely sincere. 

“Oh…” she let out a soft gasp, and her fingers delicately caged her kiss-swollen mouth. “You’re being serious?” 

“I’m so serious,” he laughed nervously. “Will you marry me?” 

“Oh my god… oh my god? Oh my god!” She blinked her teary eye as she sat up, covering herself with the white bed sheet, and looked at him expectantly. 

“Uhh,” he smiled wryly, scratching just below his red ear. “Fuck… I don’t have the ring right now.”

“What?” 

“Yeah… uhm, I’ve been looking, I swear I have.” 

He was being truthful. He had been window shopping online since the plane ride back to the States from Brazil. He knew her tastes well, but when he visited jewelers in person, nothing really spoke to him or felt to par. When he inquired about things, he was just shown one big diamond after another. But the bigger they were, the tackier they seemed, which wasn’t helpful at all. They were just too aware of his wallet.

“Even yesterday, I checked some out while you were at your thing,” he said, rubbing the sheets between his fingers. “I should have waited, fuck… What about tomorrow?”

“To look for a ring?” 

“Yeah, honestly, it would make me feel better to shop with you. It should be something you’d feel happy wearing all the time.” 

Paz smiled, biting her lip. “Okay, yes.” 

“Yes? Like, yes, yes?” 

“Yes!” she said, throwing her arms around his neck, practically choking him in her excitement, before kissing him. 

…

February 19, 2021 | The Last Six Hours

Their last hours together started like any other day. Except it was just a little sweeter than usual, waking up slowly in each other's arms as a newly engaged couple. Bill’s eyes opened first, immediately landing on Paz’s peaceful face. The tip of his finger ran down the slope of her nose, stirring her. He smirked, mischievously. When he tapped the beauty mark just below her left eye, she finally woke, with a well-rested smile on her face.

There wasn’t a rush to do anything on this fateful day. They took a shower together, scrubbing each other's backs, and then finally got ready for breakfast at a leisurely pace. 

When Bill pulled the laces of his white sneakers taut, his right hand snapped up at him when the lace broke. 

“The fuck,” he muttered, holding up the frayed lace to show Paz. 

Her brows furrowed. “Can you chill?” She joked. 

He just shrugged, amused, and decided to wear his well-worn boots instead. Together, they left for a breakfast spot that Paz wanted to check out, having seen a TikTok about their giant Japanese-style pancakes.

“Why is this guy honking?” Paz asked, turning in her seat. 

Bill shook his head, annoyed. “He wants to merge over, but I can’t go any faster.” He motioned a hand at the slow classic, cherry red 1960s car in front of them. Just cruising along without a care in the world.

The agro sports car behind them turned to the far lane, tailgating a car to force them to speed up, and then dangerously cut them off. Bill cursed angrily in Swedish, having to take his foot off the accelerator and tap the brakes to avoid a collision. Luckily, the car changed lanes again, passing the slow car impeding traffic.

Paz had her eyes squeezed shut, and Bill reached over, gently squeezing her knee, shaking it, so she would ease. He knew her ex was a reckless, asshole driver, that much she had told him, so he knew she had gotten scared. 

“It’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. 

Paz took a deep breath, slightly embarrassed about her reaction. Hating that Dade had affected her that much. She pushed the feeling away; it felt useless to dwell on.

At the end of their breakfast, Paz set her juice down and straightened up with her hands in her lap. 

“So… what’s the budget?” 

Bill adjusted his sunglasses and pursed his lips, considering. “Well…” he hummed. 

That was a good question. He knew his limit, but would Paz have mercy? Either way, he’d get her whatever she pleased.

“How many karats?” She pressed, with a smirk, as he rubbed his stubbly jaw. “And are we buying today or… just window shopping?” 

“Look, baby, if we find one today, I’ll buy it today,” he smirked, knowingly. “Don’t worry about the cost, it’s not about that.”

Something told him that she wouldn’t find the one today. So he felt that he was still sitting comfortably, because he knew she’d want to weigh her options before making the ultimate decision.

“Alright,” she said, taking it as a challenge.

Walking through the lobby of their hotel, Paz clicked her tongue, annoyed by the text she just received from Franco.

“What?” Bill asked.

He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close when the elevator doors closed on them and began to ascend. When she opened her mouth to speak, the lights in the elevator flickered, and a deep metallic groan sounded as it slowed. The pulleys clicked and then came to a complete stop. 

“Uhm,” Bill pursed his lips. 

The overhead light shut off, engulfing them in darkness. 

“No way!” Paz gasped. “Are we stuck?” 

“Hold on…” he said, evenly, not giving in to panic. 

Blindly, he tapped the buttons on the panel. Whatever he hit felt like he plugged in a cheat code when the lights brightly flickered on, and the elevator shook as it continued to their floor.

Bill quirked a brow. “Okay, then…” he muttered. “So you were going to say?”

 “Yeah. Frankie asked to meet at two instead.” 

“Do you have to see him today?” 

“He’s in work mode right now, so... I can convince him better.”

Bill just nodded. She had a point; you had to meet people where they were at sometimes to get what you wanted from them. 

Working with family could be hard, though. It’s nice to be close to those you work with, but sometimes Franco thought he knew more than her. Being older, he’d even lord his authority over her head. 

But like most siblings, they could tussle one moment, but the next behave as if everything was fine. Especially when shit needed to be done. 

Paz unraveled her damp hair from the bun she had it in and blow-dried it in the bathroom. It wouldn’t turn on at first. She hit the safety switch several times until it finally roared to life.

Bill passed by the bathroom, Safety Net by Ariana Grande played from her phone as she pulled a round brush through her long hair, as the blow dryer followed. Through the noise, he could faintly hear her muttering her daily affirmations, but one sounded through the clearest, making him smile. 

“I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

Shortly after, Paz had a soft blowout and began to gather her things.  She walked up to Bill, asking for the rental keys, which he placed in her hand in exchange for a kiss. As she rushed for the door, Bill called out for her. 

“Don’t you need this?” He asked, picking up The Devoted Few from the coffee table.

Paz’s palm smacked her forehead. “Oh my god! Yeah, thank you, baby.” 

“I’ll see you later, I love you,” he said, patting her bottom. “Don’t take no for an answer.” 

“I’ll remember that for later,” she grinned. “I love you, baby,” she sang.

And that was the last time she'd ever see Bill. Had she known, she would have made the most of it. She would have cancelled on her brother, they would have shopped for her engagement ring, and she would have never stepped into Luminar.

…

The Last Three Hours.

Paz arrived at the garden cafe believing she was late. In fact, she was, it took an eternity to find a parking space. Someone had even rudely beaten her into one, and she had to circle the parking lot for another five minutes. 

When she entered the establishment, she was quick to realize that she had arrived first. She rolled her eyes as she slid into a booth. She was coming to Franco as a peer, not as his sister, but his lateness wasn’t encouraging. 

When he showed up fifteen minutes later, he seemed a bit distracted. After ordering coffee, he put his phone away and finally gave her his undivided attention. 

“Okay, so what’s up?” He asked, tilting his chin.

“What’s up? Did you read that manuscript I sent you? Like at all?” 

He chewed his lip in thought, and Paz frowned. 

“Frankie, really?”

“I did. I read some, but I read the whole outline you included. Did you write that?” 

“Yeah. What’d you think?” 

“It’s interesting.” 

Paz huffed. He may as well have said it was pure shit. 

“You like some weird stuff, Paz,” he chuckled into his drink. “But… It's good. I like it. A support group for ex-cultists who then turn and make another cult within their support group. That’s some A24 level shit.” 

“Exactly!” Paz lit up. “Once this book comes out—”

“Wait. The book isn’t out?” 

“I said that in the email I sent,” Paz grumbled. “But once it’s out, the bids are going to come… A24, Neon, Focus Features. Right now, you can get ahead of them all. It could be yours. I have the author’s info, just send her an email.” 

“Devon Rhys, right?” he said, leaning back in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee. “Why don’t you try to option it?” 

“Honestly…? I hate to say it, but you have more money and have been in the game longer. That’s only because you’re old, though.” 

Franco grinned obnoxiously, enjoying the ego stroke despite the slight. Old? He was only 33. “Right. So what can I say to convince her?” 

A smile spread across Paz’s face, and they locked in talking strategy. Eventually, Paz’s tabbed and annotated copy was opened on the table as they discussed some key parts and how it could look on screen.

“Could I borrow this?” Franco asked, tapping the book as he absently looked at his phone in his hand. 

“Umm,” Paz hummed reluctantly. “Yeah, okay. I want it back eventually, though,” she stressed. “But I wanted to ask—” 

“Yeah?” 

“Who do you picture for Abel? Or… Well, shit, how much did you read?” 

“The main guy?” 

Paz nodded impatiently. 

He thought for a moment, scratching his head. “You know, actually… Bill. He matches the guy's description.” 

“Well, he has black hair, but other than that—” 

“You want Bill for this?” 

“He could do it,” she said, almost too defensively. 

“No, no, I think so, too. But he stays busy, you know. Every time I talk to him, he’s always got some shit.”

“Yeah, but he’ll do it. I know he will.” 

He raised a brow at her unwavering certainty. Which he wouldn’t be wrong to, Bill himself didn’t know that she had him in mind for a role. But Franco wondered if he owed her a favor or something? Before he could snarkily ask, his phone buzzed on the table. He quickly picked it up and then jolted from his seat.

“Shit! I got to go,” he said, hastily tucking his phone into his back pocket. 

“What? Right now? I wanted to help you draft your email—” 

“Yes, right now. I need to meet a client—” 

“Who?” 

“Conejo Malo.” 

“Shut the fuck up!” she said, in disbelief. 

“I’m deadass! He doesn’t have a lot of time, so I have to go.” 

“Oh shit… Yeah, go!” 

“Give me an hour, is that cool? I want to do this.” He picked up the book from the table, taking it in case there was some reason he couldn’t make it back.

“Fine, I’ll wait. Tell Benito, I said hi,” she whispered with a wink. 

She picked up the menu tucked between the wall and the napkin dispenser and looked through it, settling on the house salad. While she waited, she began a Google search for engagement rings, scrolling through many styles, but none caught her eye. It was all too generic and just full of ads for Kay Jewelers. So she referred to Pinterest instead and started an inspo board. 

While enjoying her salad, Franco texted. He asked if she’d come to his apartment instead. She groaned, but agreed.

After boxing up her salad, she slung her handbag over her arm and left the cafe. Approaching the car lot, a heavily pregnant woman narrowed her eyes at her in some form of recognition before stepping into a restaurant nearby. Paz just awkwardly smiled and kept on, turning the corner once she reached the end of the block. 

Her heart sank to her ass. Stopping dead in her tracks, her blood ran cold, seeing Dade paying the parking meter. 

She took a deep breath, deciding to cross the street behind her to avoid him, but it was too late. He turned his head, and his eyes landed squarely on her. Zeroed in. His jaw hardened, and his eyes burned with so much disdain it seared into her. 

“The fuck?” He spat.

“Dade, we’re not even supposed to talk,” she said, boldly trying to go past him. 

“I don’t want to talk to you! And you better not tell the cops I did, either.” 

“Fuck off! If you stop calling my fucking phone like a creep, I won’t! I’ve had to change my number three times now!”

“I don’t call—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Yeah, whatever, my ass. You’re such a fucking liar. You don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re with Bill,” he shook his head, scowling. “Quite fast, too. You lied. And you lied about me! I bet you haven’t told everyone how you’re a fucking fame whore and you’d do anything to have it.” 

Paz swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to further entertain this petty back-and-forth. She had had enough of it while with him. It was a waste of time. No matter what she said, he would always hate her. But anger flared in her chest. He had no right to speak to her that way.

“You’re just mad because you’re a broke fucking frat boy.” 

“Babe?” The heavily pregnant woman called out.

Dade turned his head, acknowledging her, with a fake polite smile. She had been waiting for him and wondered what was holding him up.

He turned back to Paz. “My wife,” he boasted. 

“Does she know how much debt you’re in?” she retorted. 

“You’re pathetic. He’d never marry you, you know. Who would? Your fuckin’ pussy’s tainted. I doubt anything would survive in it.” 

“Babe?!” The wife called impatiently.

Paz's downturned lip quivered. His eye sparkled when he saw that he had struck a nerve. He sniffed out a wound that was still mending. He devilishly smirked, pleased with his cruelty. High off it, even.

“I dodged a bullet with you, didn’t I?” He said, low and mocking. “He can have you. You’ll just ruin his life like you tried to do mine.”

“Dade?”

“Coming, babe,” he said cheerily, completely flipping his dark tone and demonic demeanor. 

He stepped away, and Paz stayed stuck in place, stunned. El mal de ojo, her conscience told her. 

“Who is that?”

“Eh, she’s lost,” Dade answered his wife dismissively, playing her off as if she were a tourist. 

“Fucking asshole,” she muttered, over and over. Blinking back tears, while finally in the car. 

She drove in silence, sick to her stomach. How could he say the absolute worst thing he could to her? How could he know? Her heart kept telling her that he was in the wrong. That he was just an evil person. What he said wasn’t true, but… what if he was? He had a wife and a child on the way now that she was out of the way. 

Maybe he had cracked the code. Maybe she was paying for her sins for cheating. Maybe Dade saw her for who she truly was, and Bill was just a fool with rose-tinted glasses. 

That made her heart hurt. Bill probably deserved better. Old insecurities bubbled up and just gnawed through her. Why would the universe put him in her path on a day when she was about to begin the next chapter of her life? Was it a sign?

The whole day was littered with strange little inconveniences. Her giddy nerves had blinded her. Maybe they were signs. If only she listened to her gut, but she felt too rattled. She felt it would only confirm her fears if she did.

She found herself driving down the famous strip of clubs and bars, where she had done her share of crawls. Even with her unforgiving thoughts, she considered canceling on her brother. Though feeling unworthy, she just wanted to be with Bill. She needed to remember that he chose her. 

coming back.

She texted him at a red light. But then reconsidered, she really did want to get this movie made. Maybe putting her focus there would help her return to Bill a bit more normal than she is now. The light turned green, but she slowly inched ahead, behind the line of cars.

actually nvrmnd

After setting the phone in the cup holder, she looked up, and the same sports car that had cut Bill off that morning took a left from the opposite lane while she was going straight. She slammed on the brakes and turned her wheel to the right, avoiding yet another collision. 

“Are you fucking for real?!” She screamed, throwing her hands up in resignation. 

That was just the last straw, and the tears erupted. Every inconvenience of the day felt comically targeted. Cars lay on the horn for her to get out of the middle of the road, adding to the chaos in her head. She turned the wheel to continue straight again and then parked on the nearest curb on a side street. 

She cried. She just needed to let it out and let it go. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and centered herself by taking in her surroundings. Just across the street… Luminar. 

The neon crystal ball in the windows with sparkling stars seemed to beckon her. Before she knew it, the door chimed, announcing her as she entered the metaphysical shop. What was she looking for here? She didn’t know. 

“Can I help you?” Zedna asked, with a smile playing on her lips. 

“Uhh,” Paz sniffled, laughing, embarrassed. “I-I… no. I just—” 

“Come,” she said, taking her hand and leading her to the backroom. “What did you come here for?” 

“Uhm… I don’t know, maybe… clarity? Yeah, I just need to know if-if I’m going down the right path, I guess. Making the right choices.” 

Zedna nodded sagely. 

A bald, barefoot man was fluffing some floor pillows when she stepped through the beaded curtain and left to man the register. Or so Paz assumed. Soon, Paz sat on the old oriental rug barefoot, as well. Passionately explaining her encounter with Dade to this poor old woman. She was pissed off. Meanwhile, on a table nearby, a glass kettle housed a mysterious blooming plant inside. 

“So you can see why that’s upsetting, right?” Paz asked, after venting. But she felt better, honestly, she could leave now that she did.

“I see, yes,” Zedna said, winking her ghost eye playfully. 

“And I know I said, I’m looking for clarity, but really, I just want to know… is Bill making the right choice?” 

Zedna stood without a response and poured them both a cup of tea. “What is it that you say you do again?” 

“Producing.” 

Zedna grinned. “You remind me a lot of someone.” 

“I do?” 

Zedna didn’t elaborate. Instead, she handed Paz a small Chinese teacup filled to the top with a rusty colored liquid. “Drink.” 

Paz took a polite sip. She puckered from the bitter taste, but Zedna put her hand on the bottom of the cup, directing her to drink more. 

“All of it. Then we can ask my deck, dear.” 

A metallic taste coated Paz’s mouth once she set the empty cup down. Zedna grinned, pleased, going through the motions of shuffling her tarot deck before asking Paz to pick three cards. Is that how it worked? Paz wondered, but she felt so relaxed and didn’t feel like being rude. This wasn’t her world.

When she fell back, she knew something was wrong. She felt gripped by something unexplainable. When Zedna hoovered and began to fervently chant, her gut was telling her to scream and flee. But she was paralyzed by whatever she had unwittingly consumed. 

As the world pulled away from her, she free-fell through vast darkness. She thrashed and gripped for purchase to no avail. She screamed from the top of her lungs. Then, color—magnificent, vibrant shades of color lit up her world, taking her breath away. Blown-out images flew by, but she was falling so rapidly she never registered that these were scenes of her life as it was. 

Past, present, future, she saw it all. A kaleidoscope of a full life.

Then her chin met pavement, and everything she was before was gone. 

“Miss?”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“That didn’t look too good.”

“She’s bleeding!”

Voices spoke of concern all around her. Disoriented, she raised herself by her rashed palms, and even with bleary vision, she recognized the small red pool on the concrete as blood. When she lifted her head, gasps of shock and horror filled the air as she blinked.

“Uhm, I’m fine,” she mustered, as her chin still dripped. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed and darted across all the unfamiliar faces before her. Why were they dressed like Mad Men extras?

“Where am I?”

“She’s concussed!” A lady in cat-eye glasses squealed dramatically.

“We need to get you to the hospital, dear,” a gentleman wearing a fedora crouched down, linking his arm with hers and hoisting her up, carefully. “I think you’ll need stitches.” 

~*~*~

February 21, 2021 

The tension in the interrogation room was palpable between Bill and Franco. Authorities didn’t intervene. Instead, they watched as the men stared each other down, observing their dynamic, hoping to glean something that might help them find their missing person.

Bill dragged his hands down his face. “Franco, I—” 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Franco—” 

“Where the fuck is my sister?” He said, trying to push past the officers. 

Bill stood to his full height then, squaring his broad shoulders. “I-I don’t know—” 

“Fuck you!”

“Francisco!” Mia shouted. She had a firm grip on his bicep, pulling him back, but this time she put her whole weight into it, feet lifting off the ground. “They will put you in fucking jail!”

He looked around, noticing the officers itching to detain him should they have to. He shook his head, his eyes welling up in anger. Mia noticed how both men looked hurt and confused, and it broke her heart. 

“Look… I want to know where she is, too,” Bill said evenly, though his voice was thick with emotion. “This isn’t like her. We-we were supposed… we were supposed to go back home today and—” 

“What the fuck, Bill…” Franco muttered, looking so betrayed. Not just by his friend, but also by his sister, too.

“This isn’t how—we wanted to tell you,” he swallowed. “I love your sister very much—” 

Franco lifted his hands, pressing his lips together in a hard line. “No, no. I can’t do this shit, right now,” he said, stomping off. 

Mia didn’t follow him immediately. She lingered a moment, giving Bill an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Bill.” 

He just nodded solemnly. “Me too.” 

On petite legs, Mia ran after Franco, as he stormed out of the precinct and stalked toward their car. 

“Hey!” She shouted. 

He stopped, turning on his heel, his chest rising with heated breaths. “That motherfucker’s been—” 

She pointed at him. “You need to calm the fuck down! Right now! He’s your friend! He—” 

He glowered at her, tilting his chin. “You knew? About them two?”

She pressed her lips together, nervously. 

Admittedly, after the sextortion ordeal with Dade, she nosed around. Curious about who would warrant a 75K price tag. Up late one night, she googled her sister-in-law’s name. It was a start. She really hadn’t expected to find anything. Then her jaw dropped to say the least when she discovered intimate paparazzi photos of her with Bill. It made all the sense in the world then. It explained why she needed help with her dilemma and why she was not willing to expose his name. However, the photos were years old by then. She assumed it wasn’t anything serious, just that they hooked up for a time. That was until she found them in her kitchen.

“No? Kinda? I don’t know, babe—” 

“Fuck!” His fists balled.

“They always kinda had a vibe around each other, you know? Is it so bad, babe? Think about it for a second. They make complete sense!” 

He rolled his eyes. “But they’ve been fucking lying about it? Why? Normal people don’t fucking do that shit?!”

Her hands scanned him up and down. “Look how you’re acting right now?!” 

“Oh, so it’s me, then?” he sneered, taking offense. 

“You’re protective of your sisters. Especially Paz for some reason? Like… you’re afraid she’d embarrass you or something—” 

“Well…” he threw his hands up, as if to say she’s really done it now.

“Stop it, Francisco. She’s fucking missing, that’s what matters right now. I’m…” she bit her lip, her eyes turning glassy. “I’m getting scared, babe.” 

Franco’s chest tightened, pulling her into his arms in a tight embrace. The weight of the situation pressed on him as he thought of the next necessary moves. He was scared, too. Something inside him told him something was very wrong, and it made him sick in a way he had never felt before. 

After shutting the passenger door behind Mia, he reached for his phone in his back pocket. Before he could even reach the driver's side, an incoming call came from his mother, and right after, his sister. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Paz, though. Both Lourdes and Juliana felt their days of unease turn into alarm, a feeling that told them to call Franco as if they had felt his distress at the same moment. 

Things snowballed from there. Soon, the entire Villanueva family—not withholding Paul Joseph—were on flights converging on the city where Paz had gone M.I.A.

Meanwhile, Bill returned to the room he shared with Paz at the Chateau Marmont. After leaving the precinct, his attorney warned him of the high chance that his personal electronics would be subpoenaed. Also, Paz's things will most likely be taken as evidence.

“Evidence of what?” Bill said, frustrated. “Nothing happened—”

“Look, I believe you.” 

“Because you have to, right?” He retorted. 

He pressed his lips. “It’s just part of the process. I have no doubt you’ll be cleared. You have a proper alibi with witnesses. Paz was a grown woman, moving about the city independently on the 19th.” 

Bill's brows pulled together, nostrils flaring. He could already hear the PR spin, turning all of this back on Paz like it was her fault. She could be hurt somewhere, needing help, but all that mattered was that this didn’t stain his reputation. 

In the room, he went through the things Paz had left behind. Everything she had packed for the trip. Her makeup bag, worn clothes, toiletry bag, and her electronics. She had left with nothing but the clothes on her back and her small handbag. Where the fuck could she have gone with so little?

Before everything was confiscated, he checked through her MacBook for another time. Hoping that from the last time he looked, something would jump out at him. She had new unimportant texts and emails in her inbox, but there was no correspondence sent out since 4:15 PM. It was a quick text to him. 

actually nvrmnd

Reading it again made his stomach sink. Nevermind? Never mind about what? Saying yes to his proposal? Was he just that unlovable? Could she be so harsh and ghost him to this degree? Even though he believed she couldn’t be so dramatic, the ugly thought persisted.

Her personal items were gone the next day at the request of the Villanueva family. He forfeited it without a fight. Even though he felt iced out, he wasn’t going to fight her family. They were only doing what they felt was right. Finding Paz was what mattered, at least that they could all agree on.

Two weeks later, the proper authorities cleared him of any wrongdoing.

Like no shit, he thought bitterly.

Now he was free to leave LA at his own volition. It was then that Juliana reached out, regretfully. Only once did she text him the missing persons flyer she had made. He never responded; glancing at it made his heart hurt. To see her reduced to stats when she was so much more… It was too much for him to bear. Too real. 

Juliana knew in her heart he hadn’t done a thing, but there was just too much legal red tape to speak until now.

“I don’t know, Juli…” he sighed, defeated, sitting next to his half-packed luggage while on the phone. “I’ll help with anything you all need. I want to be out there with you all, but I’m a fucking distraction, I can’t.”

It didn’t help that the media, and worse, TMZ and the twittersphere, were now closely watching the situation. The producer sister of a well-known director and the girlfriend of a Hollywood actor missing without a trace was just too juicy not to capitalize on. 

On top of that, the jokes about Paz’s disappearance were just tactless. Instead of helpful leads, there were only dozens of spam comments asking, Have you checked the sewers?

“Did she say… I’m just so confused,” Juliana choked. “I-I don’t know what else is there to-to do anymore. The last place she was at was Luminar—” 

“Yeah…” 

“But that-that old lady there doesn’t remember her going in. Why’d she go?” 

Bill exhaled, staring blankly at a wilting, drooping bouquet of red roses from Valentine's Day. He was tired of saying he didn’t know, but that was all he had to offer.

His agents arranged a private jet out of LA, helping him evade the paparazzi camped outside LAX, undoubtedly expecting him. In New York, he met up with his oldest brother, who guaranteed to accompany him back to Sweden.

“You sure you don’t want to check your apartment?” Alex asked while they lay low in a frequent fliers' lounge. 

Still, somehow, a photo of them there would be taken and sent to TMZ, making it seem he was fleeing the country. He was, but not as a fugitive. 

“She’s not there,” he muttered, on edge, knee bouncing.

“How do you know—” 

“I just,” he bit his lip, feeling displaced anger wanting to explode. “I just fucking know, okay.” 

“Shit, okay.” He backed off.

“Paz wouldn’t leave without me like that…” he said, rubbing his forehead, trying to calm himself. “Her sister has a key to our place; she checked it out before flying to LA. She-she’s not there.” 

When they landed at Arlanda, the photo of them at the lounge hit the interwebs while in the air. While heading to arrivals, he noticed people recognized Alex with delight, but when their eyes landed on him following close behind, their faces dropped. One woman looked horrified, as if he were an actual monster. It didn’t feel good when others joined her in staring at him accusatorily, believing he was guilty of something he hadn’t done.

He understood people’s general disdain for celebrity, but he was still human. Did sympathy not apply to him anymore? Not even a little bit? He pulled his cap down further and kept his head down until he was in the confines of a car. He exhaled and looked over at his brother. Alex generally did well with keeping things light in tough situations, but even he couldn’t completely mask the absolute panic he had for his little brother after what they just experienced.

As if Bill hadn’t known it before, he definitely knew right then he was fucked. 

They bypassed Stockholm and went straight to their mothers in the archipelago to give them a chance to breathe. Seclusion may not have been the best thing, but it was exactly what was needed until things cooled down. Or until Paz came back… God, he wished with everything he had that she would. 

Aware of the situation, his father made sure to be there, waiting with his ex-wife. When Bill arrived, he looked exhausted and heartbroken. The devastation and worry in his eyes made their chests clench. They didn’t bring anything up; they just knew to hug him tightly. Assuring him that they were there for him. As days passed, his siblings trickled in. Childhood friends did, too. They didn’t want to bombard him, but they were also worried for him and were upset that Paz was missing. Though it didn’t offer much, they gave hopeful sentiments, wishing for Paz’s safe return. 

He wanted to believe it. He desperately did. At night, his thoughts turned dark. Images of Paz being harmed or injured plagued his thoughts, making his stomach turn with worry. The not knowing just ate him up inside.

As more time passed, he fell further into a depression. A depression that cut so deep into his soul, he couldn’t say he even felt depressed in his life before it. He went to bed late, filled with anxiety, and slept well into the day, avoidant. Even when he woke, he just lay in bed, almost paralysed. What was the point anymore? His future looked too dim to care. 

Even after the day she left, and a month and a half later, he still sent Paz good morning texts. Like he always made sure to do when they were apart. They went unreplied. Left on Delivered. Sometimes, he’d call, and still they’d go directly to voicemail. The rare times it actually rang through, his heart raced in anticipation and then deflated when there was no answer. There were no updates, just more speculation and suspicion. It all just hit an abrupt dead end. 

And soon, it started to feel like no one cared anymore. The next sensational bullshit headline pushed her out of people's minds. It saddened him. It scared him, too.

Still, he called the detective on Paz’s case daily, hoping for something… anything… Eventually, he would hire a private investigator, but even that couldn’t bring him closer to finding Paz. Finding peace… how ironic, he thought.

He wasn’t sure what made him break. All of it did. Accumulating, he supposed. Once his mother got him out of his room, she reminded him he still had work to do. On a walk for some much-needed fresh air, she told him that it was okay to be sad and disheartened, and maybe, he would be forever, but he still had more to give. Stubbornly, he didn’t want to hear it, but after that, he finally left his pit of despair and continued the afternoon walks alone.

The sun was setting on a beautiful spring day, and though he was still toiling through his grief, finally, some happy memories of Paz peeked through the blight as he looked at the horizon. Golden like her soft skin. He sat on a flat boulder looking out to the sea. A soft smile finally broke through. Before he knew it, he was fully sobbing into his hands. Crying so hard it spooked his mother's dog back to the house.

His heart broke most unimaginably. All she would be now was a memory. His soul ached at the reality of possibly never seeing her again. How cruel. What did he do so badly in this life to deserve this? 

“Fuck, fuck!” He cried. “Just come back, Paz. I can’t… I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to.” 

He took deep, calming breaths, harshly wiping his red cheeks. He stayed on that rock for a while, his eyes welling up with tears off and on. Sometimes, even laughing like a crazy person. It was hard to manage all the emotions inside him. The confusion and heartbreak and the unfairness of everything. And still, the love he had for her remained through it all.

There was such a big empty spot in his heart, in his soul, and yet he couldn’t convince himself she was truly gone. She was out there. He felt her now, even at his loneliest.

He picked up his phone, drafting the statement that his representatives had been pestering him about. They even threatened to draft one for him, but he was vehemently against it. They could pad it with the PR jargon, add sentiments for the “hard-working” police, and thank those searching. But if Paz was out there, somewhere, and read it, she needed to know the meat of it was sincere. From him, only him.

Paz,

I miss you so much. It’s been hell without you. All I wish is that you’re okay. That you’re safe somewhere. Wherever you are… I’ll be waiting. And if you would rather stay away… just please send me a letter. I won’t tell, if you want that, but I can’t say I won’t send two back. 

He pressed his shaking hand to his lips as his eyes welled up and spilled over. Paz’s voice in his head as he wrote the last sentiment. Echoing a time she said similar when they were still a new couple.

I can’t wait for the day you return—when I can hold you again. So many of us do. I love you, Paz. I love you with my whole heart. Keep it safe xx

Once he finished, he faced the last bit of light clinging to the horizon. He closed his eyes, tears silently falling. A strange, strong gust of wind swept up from the sea, blowing his hair back. For a moment, he swore he felt her fingers sliding through his chocolate locks, the way she always did to calm him.

[b-afterhours]

so i split the last chapter of ETC in two. i just felt there needed to be some breathing room BUT ill post both at the same time.

the epilogue will come shortly after. i have a bit of that written now but it’ll be a minute. i always kinda drag ass when wrapping up a series bc i want to hang out with it forever. but i’m happy that they get their ending bc they really deserve it.

after this, i’ll take a short break but i’ll be working on my Eddie fic – titled Fair Trade ☺️😉

[sweetbillwriting]

The Blackened Branches

NINE

Characters: AU Eric from The Crow played by Bill Skarsgård. The story is completely it's own thing.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT

It wasn't Eric's dark hair I saw when I looked down at my chest, but Malek's. It was early Sunday morning, and I hadn't slept much that night. Not after my mom's message. I didn't even know if it was about Eric's crime, but still I was sure because that night three crows landed on our porch and sat there all night. It was obvious they were there to warn Eric, or maybe protect him.

I moved Malek's heavy head from my chest and stood up even though my muscles protested from exhaustion. I still had Eric's light blue T-shirt on, but Malek hadn't reacted to it. In just my panties and the T-shirt, I moved out to the hallway to look out through the window to see if the crows were still sitting on the porch. There were five of them now, two more crows, but also a shirtless, tattooed man. 

Eric. 

He sat in one of the wicker chairs while one of the birds sat on his knee and he tickled it lightly on the neck. The clock was 8 a.m., so some early risers had probably seen the scene. I was used to it, but for someone else it probably looked eerie or even scary. Eric might have been the kindest man, but surrounded by crows, dressed in just black boxers, showing off all his ink and with his deep gaze, he looked scary.

I sat down in the other chair next to his, with just a small table between us. Even though I had been close to the crows before, I was still afraid of them. So when the one closest to me stretched its wings, I jumped. Eric looked up at me and smirked.

“They don't care about you, so you don't need to care about them.”

He had said it before, not to sound full of himself, just to use facts to calm me. They were there for him and didn't seem to see me at all.

I nodded a little and then looked at Eric instead of watching the crows. He had stopped tickling the bird, but it still sat on his knee while he looked out over the yard.

“Something’s going on… They wouldn't be here otherwise…”

I looked down at the floor because I didn't want to be the one to tell Eric the news, but I knew I had to.

“Yeah…” I said quietly while Eric turned his big eyes to me. “It seems like they have found… it.”

I didn't want to say “body” because it sounded too harsh, and I didn't want to say “him” because I didn't want to see him as a human, so his body became an “it”. Something to fear but given no respect.

Eric stared at me, but he looked more tired than upset. Just as always, I had a hard time interpreting him, but this time I wouldn't ask him what he felt. It wasn't right because it was probably no easier for him to find the words. He nodded slowly and looked at the birds around him.

“They’ve protected me for a long time…”

I swallowed hard, still resistant to seeing the supernatural in our story, even though I had seen what happened to Eric that night. If I accepted it, I would also need to become more open to the possibility that other things might be true.

“We don't know what they have found or if it can be connected to you…” I said desperately.

Eric smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

“They will find out who he is… And then they will talk to my mom.”

“But she thanked you.”

“Yeah, but she's still afraid of the authorities. She will do anything to get the spotlight away from herself. And, yeah, it would in theory be the right thing to tell them…”

I didn't like it when he talked so bluntly, especially when everything was true. In every other subject, I was the harsh realist and he the romantic, but when it came to his crime, he was the one who saw what a thin thread it was hanging by.

“So what should we do? My mom wants me to talk to Malek—see what he can find out,” I said after long minutes of silence.

Eric leaned back in the chair and the crow moved to sit on the railing together with its siblings.

“I think you should. So we know how serious the situation is.”

He didn't say anything about how I couldn't tell Malek about his crime or anything. I knew we trusted each other blindly and he would never question my judgment. One more proof that we were soulmates. There aren't many people you trust like that.

I nodded at what he said and stood up. I gave him a final look. I didn't ask if he wanted to come with me inside. I knew he needed his time with his crows.

×××

I looked at the smiling Eric in the hospital bed. He was talking on the phone, but the person on the other end was doing most of the talking. He sat in a lotus position in cut-off sweatpants with a bare chest, but also bore an angry blue-red bruise on his neck from the TV cable. Every nurse looked at him with wide eyes, either with attraction or horror. His tattoos were a mix of drunken decisions and nightmare-fueled creativity. He had a buzz cut, so the tattoos on his head were showing too. I couldn't see what any of them were, but he explained that one was his childhood drawing of a crow. It was round and didn't look like a crow at all.

Eric laughed nervously and looked at me excitedly while he played with the TV remote. It was the record label, and I sat next to him crossing my fingers while looking up at the sky as if God was up there to help.

“Yeah, next Wednesday, that sounds great. Yeah, awesome,” Eric said in a wobbly voice before politely saying goodbye.

It was hard to believe he had tried to take his life two days before. Excitedly, he leaned forward, buried his face in the mattress and screamed into it. I giggled at his silly behavior and ran my hand over his back.

“It's happening,” I said and patted his bum teasingly.

Eric turned his face toward me and smiled dopily.

“It's happening. It's fucking happening. I must call the guys and shit… Fuck, it's happening…”

That Eric, who had gone through so much, was the one taking care of the contacts and everything administrative in the band was silly, but also the only alternative. He and Jeremy, the drummer, were the only ones who could really speak for themselves and get things done. Jeremy had three children and two jobs, so he never had time or energy. Maybe Eric was also the one who wanted it the most.

Chance was a good frontman though, much more extroverted but lazy. The idea from the beginning was that he would be in the spotlight while the others took roles in the background. It suited Eric, who really was introverted and liked his privacy. When they got famous, the fans decided something else, though. Eric was the one with the looks, and the record label could see who the girls preferred. The fact that Eric was shy, sweet, but had a dark sense of humor just made him even more appealing in the girls' eyes, which also meant I had competition all over the world.

Eric called his band members amid laughter and curse words. I looked at him with a big smile, but there was sadness in it. It was obvious we couldn't be a couple. I was happy but also relieved that his life seemed to be straightening out and even flourishing. That meant he wouldn't need me in the same way anymore.

I looked out the hospital window at the gray sky. A lonely crow was flying in circles, as if it was looking into our window. I stared at it while Eric continued to laugh.

“Please take care of him…” I whispered to the bird even though it couldn't hear me.

×××

Malek talked with some other policemen about what was happening at my childhood home. It wasn't weird that I asked when it was so close to home and when it also was my mom who had wanted the information. When he came home, Eric had just put a chicken in the oven to roast. He wanted to make a classic Sunday dinner even though he had never been lucky enough to have one as a child.

Malek let out a heavy sigh when he came into the kitchen and gave Eric a one-armed hug and me a peck on the lips. While he moved to the bedroom to change clothes, Eric gave me a wide-eyed look. It was obvious he was nervous about what Malek would tell us. I probably had the same expression but was forced to give Malek time to settle down. I didn't want him to believe I had any emotional connection to the crime.

Eric turned his attention to the boiling vegetables when Malek came back into the kitchen. We had decided he wouldn't be part of the conversation. Neither he nor I knew how he would react to hearing about a murder he had committed, so it was easier if he just listened and Malek couldn't see his face.

Malek commented on the smell of the roasting chicken and then sat down in the chair opposite me at the table, just like we had planned. From there he couldn't see Eric's face. He talked about his day the same way he always did, gave me an update on Justin's dating life, like he had done for the last three months, and then took a deep breath before saying what we had been waiting for.

“I talked with Cleo about what was happening at your mom’s house. She still has friends at the station there.”

“Oh?” I tried to sound curious without sounding desperate, but it felt like I didn't succeed completely. Eric had stopped moving by the stove so he could hear what Malek would say.

“Yeah, they've found a body.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, a man. But it's likely really old.”

I nodded a little, trying to come up with a good question to ask next, but my husband continued.

“Like really old. They're having a hard time saying exactly how old, but maybe fifty years.”

I furrowed my brows.

“You mean he was fifty when he was killed?”

“No, it's been fifty years since he died. There are several things that don't add up, though. Maybe someone moved the body.”

I looked over Malek's shoulder at Eric, who had turned around to look at us. He looked confused but still nervous. I looked at him in shock, and it made Malek turn and look at Eric too. Eric scratched his elbow awkwardly.

“Oh right, I forgot you lived around there too. Did you live close?” Malek asked.

“Ehh… No. I lived on the outskirts of town. On the other side.”

It wasn't a lie because that was where his stepfather had his house, but before that he had lived in almost the same place where we had buried his stepfather's body.

Malek nodded.

“It's an exciting case. Like, a fifty-year-old murder or something? It's like a movie,” he said with a crooked smile and looked between me and Eric with sparkling eyes.

×××

I was not happy with the bar Eric had picked for us to catch up after nine months apart. A sports bar. There was some boxing match he wanted to see and had decided he would watch even though he was meeting me. I was pissed at him, but the feeling ran off me like water when I saw him outside his hotel.

I had moved to New York and lived with another girl, so now that he could afford it, he had checked into a hotel where I could stay with him instead of him staying with me and my female colleague. He was dressed in black cargo pants, a black bomber jacket with oversized silver details, an oversized dark gray hoodie, and a black cap under the hood. It looked like he was hiding from someone, and in a way he was. He hadn't really gotten used to suddenly being famous, and even if only a few people recognized him, he could get a little panicked in public, he had told me on the phone.

“Hey, babe,” he said with a big smile as I approached carrying my weekend bag.

He couldn't see my tight black lace dress, but he complimented my burgundy coat with the big hood that made me feel like Little Red Riding Hood. I giggled and worked up the courage to kiss him. He kissed me back like it was completely natural that we would do that after nine months apart.

“I missed you,” he said sweetly, making my cheeks turn the same shade as my coat.

“I missed you too. Like crazy.”

Even though we had missed each other so much, both of us knew it was better for us to be apart. Eric had a career that forced him to keep moving, but also, his mental health would never be stable.

Chance, who knew about Eric's illness, gave me updates sometimes, and I knew Eric had self-harmed seriously. The latest thing was that he had pushed a spoon down his throat while eating yogurt. Miraculously, he swallowed it, and it came out the same way it had gone down. Chance even told me that the two of them had laughed about it afterward.

After leaving my bag in his hotel room, we went to the crowded sports bar. Plenty of people wanted to see the boxing match and were completely focused on the screen. When Eric realized that, he pulled down his hood, took off his cap, and showed off his midnight-blue mullet.

I had seen it styled in press photos and in its natural state in the pictures he posted on Snapchat. It was natural now too. It was longer at the back than I had realized, and carefully I started playing with the longer strands.

“You're so pretty,” I whispered while looking at his green eyes in profile, framed by dark eyeliner.

He looked at me, surprised, but was interrupted by a guy sitting down opposite us where we sat on the couch against the wall.

“Sorry, is this seat taken?”

The guy was well-groomed with a thick beard and a twirled mustache. I could almost imagine that he smelled of pomade.

“No, no. Take it,” Eric said with a friendly smile.

The guy looked at him one second too long. Did he recognize him? 

He stretched out his hand toward Eric, and Eric took it. Their hands were almost the same size, but Eric's fingers were slimmer and longer.

“Malek.”

×××

Eric invited Malek to follow us to the outdoor seating area of a dive bar nearby. It was just the first place we found, and Eric had invited Malek after they had screamed at the boxers together. It was obvious they thought alike and had even said the same things over each other. I would rather have had Eric to myself, but Malek seemed okay, and I liked sitting close to Eric while they talked about sports and music. The autumn night made me cold, even though I had stolen Eric's bomber jacket and had his long, heavy arm around my shoulders.

I could feel Malek looking at me sometimes, differently from the way he looked at Eric. His excited expression turned nervous, especially when he met my eyes. I couldn't read him, though, probably because for the last few years Eric had been the only guy I have had an interest in. 

“Fuck, I need to take a leak… Do you want anything?” Eric said, slowly releasing me. He looked at both of us.

“Will you?” Malek asked with wide eyes, as if Eric had the right answer.

“I'll have a beer.”

“I'll have the same, then.”

“Babe?” Eric asked me as he stood up on his long legs.

“Buy me one too, then. You can drink it if I fall asleep,” I joked, making him smile before he walked into the bar.

I yawned widely after he left and pulled his jacket closer around my body. Malek sat and looked at me in silence until I looked up at him.

“Are you a couple? I mean… It's hard to tell and… He asked me if I thought you were pretty and…” He swallowed hard while his eyes darted from side to side. “Which you are.”

He laughed nervously and adjusted his hair. I smiled kindly at him because it was obvious there wasn't a mean bone in his body.

“No… We're not a couple. We're best friends.”

It was the answer Eric and I had decided was the right one. That we did things other best friends didn't do, no one needed to know.

“Really? You look good together.”

“I know,” I joked, but then laughed awkwardly because it was probably the wrong answer. “We were a couple in our teens, but we grew in different directions. I mean, he's a rockstar.”

Malek looked impressed and opened his mouth to ask more, but then Eric kicked the door open so he could carry all three beers with both hands. I smiled at him because the kick was hot, and so was his lanky walk.

We continued talking about politics, life, and eventually Eric even touched on the subject of death. Malek believed nothing happened after death, but Eric believed we all continued to live in a parallel reality. It sounded like pure woo-woo, and Malek had a hard time following when Eric talked about souls getting trapped in the same universe.

“Baby.” I patted his cheek to get his attention. “You've lost us now. And I'm tired. It's time to go back to the hotel.”

He looked a little hurt. No one could ever follow his thoughts about death.

“Okay…” he said, as always, letting me win.

“The hotel? I thought you lived here,” Malek said after clearing his throat.

“Oh, I do, but it's crowded with a roommate. Eric is a homeless rockstar, so a hotel room is better,” I said jokingly, making Eric let out an embarrassed sound when I called him a rockstar.

“Oh…” Malek said and stood up, just like Eric and I did.

We both gave him a hug. At first I thought the hug was a little too close and intimate, but then I saw that he and Eric hugged the same way. Eric took my hand and smiled at me before we said goodbye to Malek. I could feel Malek's eyes on us as we walked hand in hand, like the best of friends.

×××

The eye on his chest was new and probably the most well made tattoo he had. He had done it at the same time as the cherries on his neck. He had actually done them at the exact same time by two different tattoo artists. I really liked the cherries though and kissed them like I wanted to eat them up. It made Eric laugh that boyish way he did when we were alone. But it wasn't the tattoos I looked the most at but his body. His body. Oh my god. Eric had always been fit, arrogantly way too easily, and seemed to just be born with perfect proportions but now… Oh my god. I couldn't even guess how much he worked out to look like that. Thick arms with prominent veins that crawled up his underarms. Back muscles that made him broaden out like the perfect V and then abs carved to perfection. Like that wasn't enough his Adonis belt made you think only about one thing when you saw him - sex. Holy fucking Satan. I thought it was Photoshop on his band’s promotion pictures but he actually looked like that. 

He loosened the broad belt in his cargo pants and unzipped them. I laid on the bed in just panties but it was obvious this was his time to shine. He pushed down his pants with his underwear and let them fall to the ground. His cock stood hard and ready, waiting for me. He was as big as the last time I saw him but it had another impact with his much more muscular body. He had also shaved off his pubic hair and the little chest hair he had gotten. He looked too good and it was obvious he knew it when he sat down, leaned back on his elbows, waiting for me to crawl up to him. I did, quickly, like he was water in the Sahara desert. I met his deep set eyes, kissed his ruby red lips and let my hands explore his body. I confess that they stopped a bit longer at the abs and his v-line and when I tickled the lines down to his cock I could hear him exhale deeply. 

“I haven't slept with anyone else…” he whispered. I looked at him seriously. There was no lie in his eyes so I nodded as an answer. 

“Me neither…” 

Harshly he pushed his lips against mine, with both of his hands framing my face aggressively. He released me to moan when I had started to jerk off his slick cock. 

“Please… Just… Just fucking fuck me…” he whimpered. Which made me smirk, pleased. 

Together we pulled off my panties so I could straddle him. It was even different to have him between my legs but it was the same glorious feeling of pain and pleasure that took over when I sank down on his thickness. I could see all his muscles strain when I had taken him completely and he breathed out heavily. 

“I love you, Hayden…” he whispered so lowly I almost didn't hear him.

××× 

We hadn't discussed how long Eric would stay at our place. Under normal circumstances, I would have hinted that it was time for him to leave because I felt too addicted to him, but now it didn't feel right when we had so many question marks hanging over our heads. 

Besides, I didn't want him to go anyway. I didn't know how I would handle bad news or how I would deliver them to him. It was better if he stayed, even if I felt it was becoming harder and harder to act like a good wife to Malek.

It was Eric who pushed me away when I tried to straddle him on the couch that Tuesday. At first I was surprised and even offended until I realized I had forgotten that Malek was actually in his office talking on the phone.

“Not now…” Eric whispered from where he sat with a notebook resting against the armrest of the couch. He was writing song lyrics. I had looked through the notebook, and there wasn't anything uplifting in it. He had written quite a few love songs, but now the word “death” popped up in every other sentence.

“Sorry…” I said sheepishly as I sat down in the opposite corner of the couch and picked up my phone from the coffee table. I opened Instagram to scroll but closed it again almost immediately. Uneasily, I glanced toward Eric to make sure he hadn't seen the ads for baby clothes, but he just kept writing in his notebook. I couldn't think of anything to do and even considered going to bed at seven o'clock just so it would be the next day and a new workday.

I looked up when I heard Malek come out of the office and hoped he would have some task for me to do, but he looked far too excited for that.

“Now, should I tell you…” he said with a pleased smile as he sat down in the armchair opposite us.

Eric looked up from his notebook, confused, and then turned to me. I could see his expression change as he studied my face. He hadn't made the connection yet, but I had, so when he saw my horrified expression he must have understood what I thought this was about.

Malek smirked at our reactions. He must have interpreted the look in our eyes as something entirely different because he leaned back, fingers intertwined over his stomach, like a storyteller about to begin.

“You know the grave in the forest? That's actually a really interesting story. They still can't determine how old the body is because some things seem even older.”

Eric awkwardly dragged a hand through his hair and down across his neck. His fingers lingered there as if someone had tried to choke him. Even though I felt my own anxiety rising, I stretched out my foot and pressed it against his thigh in a discreet attempt at comfort.

“That sounds weird…” I said, hoping Malek would be encouraged to continue.

“Yeah, and that's not even the strangest part. They've found DNA from one more person.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion and couldn't stop myself from showing it openly. Malek was too pleased with his story to notice anything unusual and probably saw it as a natural reaction. I could feel Eric's long fingers close around my foot, but I didn't dare look at him. It could be DNA from one of us, but most likely from him. That didn't calm me down at all because whether it was his DNA, mine, or my father's, I would lose him, and that could only lead to one thing.

“DNA? Like fingerprints?”

“Fingerprints? No, no. They don't think it belongs to the perpetrator. They think there was another victim. One more man.”

I stared at Malek, my mouth dry. I tried to swallow, but my throat only seemed to get drier every time. Eric squeezed my foot tightly, but I still didn't dare look at him. I didn't know what any of this meant, and I didn't know what Eric believed. For a brief second, my thoughts drifted to the things he had been telling me for ten years, but it was too ridiculous, too illogical, to seriously consider.

“They think it was a double murder from the seventies, and they're searching for missing persons from that period. Maybe your parents know something?”

Malek simply smiled because, to him, it was the kind of true-crime story you would watch on Netflix. To me and Eric, it was something entirely different.

I nodded to myself, deciding that this was just a terrible coincidence that had nothing to do with Eric's crime. Eric, however, didn't seem capable of thinking that way. Both Malek and I looked at each other in bewilderment when we heard Eric start to cry.

×××

I kissed his naked back in the hotel bed the next morning, all the way down to his cheeks where I gave him a light bite. It made him clench his ass and giggle innocently. I smirked evilly when I lay down next to him again, nose to nose. He looked at me with a warm smile, but it slowly became sadder and sadder. The angst would always find us, this time because we knew this couldn't be our everyday life.

“I want you to find a good man…” he said while stroking my hair away from my face and shoulder. 

I didn't answer because I didn't want anyone else other than him. Why couldn't I be single forever? It was enough for me to have him in short periods, but Eric had other thoughts.

“I think Malek would be perfect…”

I laughed, unamused, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Oh please… You know that just like that?” I continued to laugh, but Eric just stared at me until I stopped and looked back at him, questioning.

“I know you don't believe me, but… I had a dream—”

“Like Martin Luther King?” I joked, mostly because I knew he would talk about things I didn't want him to talk about. He sighed deeply.

“I had a dream about the future—your future—and… Malek is the right guy for you. He will be there for you when I leave—”

I sat up angrily and grunted like an angry dog.

“Eric! Not this shit again!”

I looked at him with a look I knew would make him stop, and he did. He just closed his eyes and exhaled deeply in disappointment. I didn't want to hurt him or diminish his feelings, but every time he started talking like that, every fiber in me screamed. I couldn't really say what emotion it was; I just knew it gave me violent anxiety, and the only way to stop it was to shut him up.

I sat and looked at him for a while, then looked out of the window when I thought I heard something. A big black crow landed on the thin ledge outside the window. It was a wonder the big bird could sit there at all, and it even pressed itself against the glass. It was eager to be there, and I knew why. I looked down at my tattooed lover again and sighed.

“I don't even have his number,” I said with a shrug. Eric opened his eyes slowly and blinked a few times to refocus on me.

“I got it. He gave it to me. I got it.”

×

@kikibit @malenoradgn @a-differentbrandof-beans @forrealandjustsaying @useyourwandbro @turbotasticoo @keysandthesea @muchwita @hanamirandak @hamburger-sprite  

@loushaw131460 @lunaskye999

@fish-eyes-png @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @wiseyouthinfluencer

[bryandanielson-yes]

Hey girlll, can you maybe make an Eric smut….. maybe like dirty sex and with tons of dirty talk, IM OVULATING SO DONT MINDE ME OKAY😭

Dirty mouth (Eric Draven X Fem reader)

One shot - NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Summary: After you've been a little distant lately, Eric decides to bring you back to him.

A/N - Sorry it's taken me so long to get to this request, I deviated a little because I got caught up in the plot, but I hope this is what you asked for!! Thank you for requesting 💓

Content warnings: oral (male receiving), female masturbation, some angst?, dirty talk (some degrading and praise)

Word count: 2778

“God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. 

The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. 

*some time earlier*

The mood in the Draven household for the past few weeks had been a stressful one and it was beginning to show up in the simplest of ways. The house had become a little messy, unfolded clothes, fast food packaging bulging out of the bin and dishes taking up space in the sink and space in your mind too. 

Working from home was supposed to be easy, but the constant miscommunications and deadlines had actually left you with more stress than you’d ever encountered. Eric had begged you relentlessly to not get a job. He wanted to take care of you and he had the means to do so. 

But relying on a man was a stupid idea, he could dump you and leave you high and dry. Then what? You’d be left with nothing. So for your own sake, you got a job. You didn’t chip in on Bills, Eric wouldn’t let you do such a thing. 

You were beginning to regret your choice and Eric was getting fed up of seeing you this stressed. When he came home one evening it all came to a head. 

“Hey baby where are you?” The exhaustion in his voice couldn’t be hidden even if he tried. When he got no answer he went to your office. And much to his annoyance there you were staring at your computer. You looked up at the sound of the door opening then looked back down straight away. 

“I didn’t hear you come in, sorry” your mind was clouded with deadlines, you did not need Eric in your office right now. 

“Come and eat, I got some take out” you could see the white bag but you had no interest in eating. 

“I’ll eat later, thanks though” you heard Eric sigh as he turned away.

He sat in the living room alone, eating the food he had picked up for the both of you. When the realisation dawned on him, he didn’t have to take this. He walked back into your office again with determination. 

“You’re coming to eat, you’ve probably been in here all day” you looked up and Eric looked exhausted, sounded it too now you bothered to pay attention. But you weren’t just going to do what he told you to. 

“No, Eric I have to get this work done” you looked back down to your laptop disappointed in how much you still had left to do. Your hands came up to your temples. The work was due in less than 12 hours, every moment mattered if you wanted to keep your job. your independence. 

“You’re not doing this to me Y/N, go and eat, it’ll still be waiting after you're done.”  The laptop lid slammed shut and Eric’s hand was placed on top of it. He was sick of trying the nice way, you needed something firmer. 

“Eric I don’t have time for this, please just get the fuck out!” The silence that followed was deafening. Eric’s eyes darkened and you knew you’d fucked up.

“What did you just say to me?” he leaned over the desk “think twice before you say it again” his low and menacing voice should have been a warning. You didn't take it as one. You’d grown sick of his pushing, now it was time to push back. 

“I said, Get the fuck out.” you spoke through gritted teeth. Standing to mirror his pose. Eric walked round and grabbed your wrist. Dragging you out of the office completely. You tried to push the soles of your feet into the floor to stop him, but your stubbornness was no match for his effortless strength. 

“Eric- Eric let go of me, I’m not just a doll you can drag around, get the fuck off me!” you shouted at him, not thinking of the repercussions. He stayed silent. Simply walking you to the bedroom, his large hand wrapped around your wrist. 

When you got to the bedroom he flicked on the light, and practically threw you at the bed, where you sat, rage running through your veins. You saw Eric take a deep breath before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I’m asking as kindly as I can here Y/N, quit the damn job” Irritation still seeped into his words even though he’d tried to calm it. 

“No Eric. I’m not quitting and you can’t make me” even while speaking to him there was a timer in your head thinking about that deadline and how much each section of work would take to write. Your eyes caught Eric’s watch and you felt the panic in your chest. 

Eric watched as your breathing changed from anger to something else. “You don’t need the job, look I’m not trying to control you, own you or bribe you.” he leaned down in front of you on his knees and reached for your hand. “I just can’t stand to see you this stressed all the time, get a different job part time at a cafe or at the library. Just don’t keep this job” his anger had dissipated into something softer. He would deal with the way you spoke to him later. 

“I’m smarter than working at a cafe or a library though, they don’t have a challenge behind them either, I don’t want to just be Eric Draven's girlfriend.” Your eyes flickered to Eric’s wrist again, 20 minutes had been wasted so far on this nonsense. 

Your words hit Eric, he knew you were smart, it was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with you. He saw you as a future wife, future mother, your mothers daughter and a determined individual. But you were driving yourself crazy and he couldn’t see it continue. 

“You’ll never just be my girlfriend, but if you keep going the way you are, you won't be anything to anyone, you’ll be someone who misses events, someone who's ruled by deadlines and work. Just get a less demanding job, please” 

Your eyes snapped to Eric’s watch again, this time he noticed. Another 5 minutes had passed. Your breathing changed again. 

“Look at you, you can’t even take your mind off the time and that stupid deadline” his hand left yours and moved to his wrist as he took off his watch, putting it under the bed. 

“I’m done asking Y/N, it's my job to look after you and to love you, tomorrow you are quitting that job” his hand landed at the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. “You can get another job, an easier one, you don’t need to prove how smart you are by burning yourself out.” 

That’s when the dam broke, your shoulders dropped, an exhale left you as you nodded whispering a broken “okay” as you reached for Eric. You stayed with your head on his shoulder, letting out a few tears you’d been holding onto since the deadlines started rolling in. After a few minutes you leaned back up and scanned Eric's face, the softness in his eyes, the kindness he always showed you. The apology poured out of you easily. 

“Im sorry for speaking to you the way I did before, you were only trying to take care of me” Eric smiled a little as your hand landed on his cheek softly. 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that apology, since I have a better idea” he placed a tender kiss to the palm of your hand before leaning in to kiss you, your eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into his touch. It had been a while since you had been in the mood to be intimate with Eric. That didn’t seem to be an issue anymore, the simple kiss gave you butterflies. 

Eric released you from the kiss and from his gentle grasp, whispering against your lips. “God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. Eric stood. 

The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. The height difference between the two of you had always been a trigger for arousal on both ends. But seeing him so clearly above you after weeks of stress made your mouth water. 

Eric had been hard since you shouted at him in the office. It was rare you stood up to him but the moment you raised your voice he was hard. His exhaustion disappeared and he could only think of putting his cock down your throat to teach you a lesson. Hopefully one you’d both enjoy learning.

You sat patiently, hands on the tops of your thighs and eyes pleading with your mouth slightly parted as Eric took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique. He had never seen a prettier sight, until your eyes widened as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, tapping it gently against your lips. His pre-cum covered your lips, you opened your mouth without hesitation.

His cock slipped easily into your mouth, Eric gasped at the sensation and you kept your eyes on him and let out a hum as the tip reached the back of your relaxed throat, you started to move, slow and steady, occasionally swirling your tongue around Eric’s sensitive tip drawing out a hiss from him. 

Your hand came up to rest on his tense thigh, gripping as you began to find a rhythm that had Eric breathing heavily above you. 

“Fuck that’s it, thought you could talk to me like that?” he breathed “maybe next time you’ll think twice” it spurred you on, you sped up your movements. You could feel the dull ache of your jaw but it wasn’t important when Eric’s tattoos were tensing, his breath faltering and his hand tightening in your hair. 

Eric came with a whimper, pushing his cock hard enough down your throat to almost make you gag, with your mouth so full some of his cum spilled from the side of your mouth but still you swallowed eagerly, willing to please. He reached down to your mouth after he pulled out, collecting the cum on his thumb and again you sucked happily. 

“You look wrecked and I haven't even touched you yet” he tucked himself away. Then got back down to eye level with you. 

This was the fun part for Eric, seeing how blissed out you were just from having his dick in your mouth, he knew if he tired to touch your pussy right now you’d be socked, ready and waiting for whatever he wanted to do with you, but this was supposed to be punishment wasn't it? 

Without warning he lifted you up from the floor, his effortless strength on display again as he placed you on the middle of the bed, all the possibilities of what he could do rushed through your mind, your favourite being the idea of Eric fucking you into the mattress. Little did you know that wasn’t going to happen. 

He began to take off your clothes, peeling off your comfortable clothing until you were left with only your bra. The relief of being free from stress meant your muscles were relaxed as you waited for Eric's next move. 

He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were laid out in front of him, affected by the simplest touch, his hand ran over your thighs, he placed gentle kisses on your stomach stopping at your sternum. He inhaled the smell of your soft skin. 

“Touch yourself for me” the words caught you off guard. 

“What?” you asked in complete disbelief. 

“You wanna be good for me don’t you?” you nodded eagerly “so touch yourself for me” his nose nudged yours as he captured you in a heated kiss, you gasped into it. While your hand began traveling down to circle your clit. 

You let out a whine that Eric found incredibly sexy, your middle and index fingers collected some of your slick, you kept your movements slow, careful not to disappoint Eric in any way. 

“You’re not gonna cum until I say you can, you understand me?” you nodded again, speeding up slightly as your need grew. Which was made worse when Eric began kissing down your body. First your neck, that one spot under your ear that made you gasp, then your collar bone, down to the swell of your breast where your nipples were hard and waiting for attention that Eric finally gave. His hands spread under your rib cage as his tongue circled your nipple. You arched into the touch letting out breathy moans. Your hand speeding up at its own accord. 

“God I can’t get enough of you baby, put your index finger inside yourself” the authority he had over you needed to be studied but you listened anyway, your finger was nowhere near as good as Eric’s but it was this or nothing so you made do. But he noticed when your breath steadied and your moans seemed to halt. 

“What is it baby? Are your fingers not as good as mine?” he kissed your stomach while looking up at you. You nodded again. 

“I’m gonna need words baby, you used them earlier, you can use them now” he leaned up sitting on his knees between your spread legs watching you lazily pump your index finger in and out of yourself. 

“Yours are better Eric, please” you whined again. 

“Please what baby?” he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Please use your fingers on me” you choked out. 

Eric wanted to resist, he really did, but your juices were on your fingers and you asked so nicely. How was he meant to refuse? 

“Since you asked so nicely, fine, but you need to keep your fingers on your clit and never speak to me like that again, got it?” 

You nodded “I swear” at this point you would have agreed to anything to have his hands on you properly. You removed your finger and dragged it back up to your clit, continuing your previous movements. 

Much to your relief Eric’s middle finger entered you, you clenched around it thankful for the welcome intrusion. His hand was so much better than yours, especially when he curled his finger, gently prodding your most sensitive areas. A second finger promptly followed driving you closer to the edge. 

“Fuck Eric I-” 

“I know baby I can feel it, you drive me fucking insane, Fuck you can cum when you’re ready baby” he didn’t mean to give in to you so easily but you sounded so pretty beneath him you were making him hard again. 

Eric watched you cum undone, you hand gripping the sheets for dear life, your thighs trying to close out of sensitivity but you only ended up with your legs around his hips. Your jaw dropped and ragged breaths left you. His favourite thing though was the way you clenched around his fingers like you never wanted to let him go. 

Your breath began to steady and you stopped clenching enough that he could slide his fingers out of you, he very happily brought his fingers to his mouth and swallowed. 

You laid on the bed, muscled exhausted, emotionally exhausted, mentally drained but free in your own way, the bed dipped beside you as Eric laid down. 

“Are you doing ok?” his tone now back to normal, gentle, patient and kind.

“Yeah I’m ok, I just feel a little shit about talking to you like that” you took a deep breath out, attempting to steady yourself. 

“Hey, look at me. You don't need to worry about it, we're all good. You're safe with me and a little outburst means nothing” his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently grounding you before you could dare to spiral.

“Eric, could you maybe help me finish off the work before I quit?” asking for help was the opposite of what you got a job for but maybe it was exactly what you needed. 

“Of course I can baby, but at least 5 minutes of cuddles are mandatory after a sexual act so it can wait” you both let out a giggle, as he pulled you to his chest, safe and sound.

General tag list @thedevotchka @coryoslut @macynacym @kikibit @wiseyouthinfluencer @lunaskye999 @brightnessluvworld

[b-afterhours]

Holy fuck my heart, the last chapter of chrono completely got me. This story of yours hits every nerve in my heart— hard. I can’t wait to read your next chapter

thank you so much! it pulled at my heart strings writing those last moments in the latest chapter too! i’m in the middle of writing the last chapter for it now 😔 makes me a little sad knowing it’s coming to an end!

[b-afterhours]

Blackened branches is soooooo good!!! You know what you’re incredible at?? Giving the right amount of information about everything and everyone while still creating this sense of yearning. It’s side by side to the actual experience of having someone and not having them at the same time. I love your work.

blackened branches is great! that’s by @sweetbillwriting so glad they continued to write for it!! 🖤🖤🖤

[sweetbillwriting]

The Blackened Branches

EIGHT

Characters: AU Eric from The Crow played by Bill Skarsgård. The story is completely it's own thing.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

Eric had left New York, left mine and Malek’s suburban life. To be honest, I was relieved. I loved Eric, but he was also a constant source of grief, guilt, and worry. When he was around, I didn't think about anything other than him; he devoured my full attention.

Malek’s and my life were safe and predictable, but with age I had started to appreciate just that. I liked coming home and cooking for us both. I liked when he came home and told me gossip from his job. I even liked talking about our future, with kids and a dog. For anyone who knew what a passionate affair I had with Eric, it would be hard to understand the full picture, but for me, who had known Eric so long, it was like he represented something else. Something that didn't compete with my relationship with Malek. Malek was my husband, Eric was a serpent around my heart.

Malek and I started trying to have a baby when Eric had been away for a month. When we reached month two of trying, we were interrupted. Once again, Eric had overdosed and once again my dad had offered him a bed at his place. When Malek heard that he had offered Eric a bed, he opened up our home instead; my dad lived so crowded. Someone needed to check on Eric, keep him above the surface, and his band members lived a life too close to his. He needed stability and our safe suburban life was perfect for it. Malek and I took a break from trying for a baby then. We would have a human to take care of anyway.

I didn't know what to feel because I was always happy to have Eric close, but it was different when his disease took over and I was one of few who knew about his hallucinations and one of few who knew about his crime. Eric was a murderer and maybe even a dead one. When I saw him in my living room again, it looked like his hallucinations could be true. He looked as alive as a corpse.

I stood and stared at him while dropping my handbag on the floor. I had just come home from work, driving way too fast in tears. Worried, especially because I knew he was alone in our house. Eric had just a pair of red plaid pajama pants on but had a blanket over his naked shoulders. His face was pale like his blood didn't seem to flow to his face. I cried silently while looking at him, my shoulders bobbing in the same rhythm. I laid my hands over my face while I started to cry more and more loudly, releasing the panic I had felt when I heard he once again was close to death.

I didn't look when he came up to me, so when his bare chest was pressed against my cheek it came as a shock. He hugged me softly while his own chest vibrated with his tears. I hugged him hard around his waist.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…!” he cried in panic and dragged a hand over his face to wipe away the big tears.

“Why can't you just understand you're here?! Why the fuck are you like this?!” I said angrily, and instead of hugging him I pushed him away harshly.

“You're not dead, Eric!”

Eric just stood in the middle of the living room with his hands over his face. I had made him cry even harder, but I couldn't stop myself. His thoughts were idiotic, even if he sometimes got me to think he was right. He was different after all.

“Please…” he whispered just to make me stop, but I wasn't done.

“You will kill yourself though! And I'm tired of saving you!”

Eric looked at me with red eyes but continued to cry just as violently. It was me who made him cry like that and I felt awful about it, so after just a few seconds I walked up to him again and hugged him around his naked waist. Even if I had been so mean to him, he held me back like he needed me to not drown. It wasn't far from the truth either because he had no one else to talk about his hallucinations with.

“You're not dead, Eric…”

“I know…”

“But you don't believe it.”

I could feel him swallow hard.

“I… You don't believe me anyway…” he sighed deeply and released me slowly.

“Tell me anyway. You want to tell me.” I knew he had a need to talk about his experiences, even if he continued to sigh deeply.

“Maggots are eating my organs. I know you don't believe me, but I fucking feel it!” he said, upset, and started to cry violently again. 

It was my turn to sigh. I had heard it all before. It seemed like he understood his hallucinations were just hallucinations most of the time, but when depression or paranoia took over, what he had done in his teens came over him. He would start to talk about insects wiggling inside him and how he had seen his own corpse on his mother's kitchen floor, the same place his stepdad had died. I wanted him to get help, but he thought in his paranoia they would just bury his body. When he didn't have those episodes, he still was too afraid to get help, but then he was afraid someone would understand he was a murderer. He was stuck in his limbo, between life and his believed death.

“Eric…” I whined, but it just made him back away from me.

“You don't even want to try to believe me! You know everything isn't as easy as you think!”

“But you wouldn't stand here if you were dead! It's just a fucked up thought!”

He stared at me with wet cheeks and the biggest doll eyes.

“You will never believe me…”

“No.” I sighed deeply and sat down on the couch, resigned. I could feel his eyes on me, but I just leaned back and looked up at our white ceiling.

Eric was quiet, probably understanding he wouldn't hear what he wanted to hear. I could hear him walk away, out to the hallway. For a moment I thought he would leave and finally take his life, because he believed he was dead either way, but I got such a bad conscience before I had even finished the thought. In panic I ran after him, as if just my awful thought could make him kill himself. I grabbed his waist and hugged him hard. Both of us cried even if we didn't hug for real. I was just happy he had stayed with me and let me touch him. He anchored me too.

×××

Both of us sat stretched out on our couch, in a corner each. My legs lay between Eric's long legs, but if I stretched out I could drag my toes over the bulge under plaid flannel. He had pushed my foot away with a small smirk and continued to read Trivial Pursuit questions for me. It was our thing, just reading the questions for each other. It often surprised people, especially those who knew Eric hadn't even finished high school. He had read a lot by himself though, and travelled the world with his band.

Any man would have felt jealous if he saw his wife laughing and playing around with such a handsome man as Eric, but when Malek came into the living room and saw me throw the cards at Eric, while he laughed loudly, he just smiled brightly. He was probably just as relieved and happy to see Eric feeling better. I had gotten used to his shifting moods and knew how the darkness and hallucinations could swallow him quickly, but also how they could leave him almost as fast. I couldn't say if he had stopped believing in his hallucinations or if he just stuffed them away for a darker time.

“Do you want a question?” Eric friendly asked Malek, who sat down in the brocade armchair opposite our velvet couch.

“Sure,” he said, but he looked a bit nervous. He always lost.

Eric pulled a history card and smirked behind it. It made both me and Malek smile and I dragged a hand over Eric’s calf.

“What's Napoleon’s first name?”

Eric and I looked at each other and had a hard time controlling our laughter. I gave Malek a teasing smile while his ears got redder for every second.

“Ehm, it's like Louis or something. I can't remember… I should know this.”

No one who watched us would guess that the man with the bare tattooed chest knew the most about history, but he did, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing lovingly at Malek.

“You're so cute,” he said to Malek, who now smiled shyly for another reason.

“It's Napoleon. Napoleon is his first name.”

I giggled a bit at them both. There wasn't anything mean in Eric's smile towards Malek and his red cheeks weren't from shame.

I know our relationship was weird. I have had dreams about seeing Eric and Malek make out and I woke up in panic and jealousy. Eric had always been experimental and I could see how he affected even the straightest men. Maybe Malek had already cheated on me with Eric.

We moved to the kitchen where I forced Eric to cook. I knew he always felt better by doing something with his hands. One time I had taken him to a pottery studio just so he could work with them. It had been a success and he had impressed the ceramicist with his sensual hands.

Eric didn't drink alcohol, so it was just me and Malek who drank while he sipped from a can of Coca-Cola Zero. Every time he had an intense period with drugs he stopped drinking too, like a white month. After a while the alcohol and drugs sneaked back into his life, though. 

He slowly cooked a spaghetti bolognese even if he didn't eat spaghetti, only to not mess up his body. He was much more shallow than people understood and gaining weight was not an alternative, especially because he most often performed on stage shirtless. He had put on a black T-shirt while cooking, but it had such a big hole in the armpit that his nipple was exposed when he moved. If you looked closely at it you could see small marks from the piercing he had had there in his early twenties. It never really healed though, so he took it out on stage one night and threw it out into the crowd as a joke. He told me with an embarrassed laugh that a few girls had started to fight over it and how one had stuffed it in her mouth. I was not amused by the story even if he looked precious when he told it with red cheeks.

“I'm really grateful that I can stay here… I understand what Matt means, being alone in the Icelandic forest is probably not the best for me right now…” said Eric while we sat by the dinner table as the bolognese simmered. He looked at us but also down at the table. I could see the shame on his face, but Malek probably didn't understand why he really acted like that. I swallowed hard. For a moment I believed Eric would spill our secret, but he just released heavy tears that ran down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry…” he said and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I could feel the pain in my heart I had felt earlier come back from seeing him upset. I was just on my way to walk around the table to hug him, but Malek was quicker than me and pulled Eric up from his chair to give him a real, close hug.

“You're family. Don't say you're sorry. When life fails us our family should be there and we are yours, okay?” said Malek while the taller Eric rested his cheek against his shoulder. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply. 

I stood up and stared at him and he must have felt it because he opened his eyes and gave me a look. His eyes were full of regret and sorrow, but also fear. 

Sometimes it felt like he had many more feelings than me and I couldn't keep up. They shifted so quickly in his ocean eyes it was like trying to see a hummingbird’s wings.

×××

I sneaked into the guest room that night. I just wanted to touch his skin. Feel him close before the sun would rise and make everything complicated again. In the night he was mine. Just like my dream. My nightmare. He took over my body and mind just as much.

I touched his skin. I crept as close as I could. I let him push into me. My dream. My nightmare. One day he would destroy me, but until then I would let him make me fall into pieces and then put the pieces back together again.

×××

We danced close together, even if Greta said she was Eric's girlfriend. She wasn't, neither was Milly, but she at least didn't believe they were a couple. I had understood that he had slept with them both, and still did when he was drunk and felt lonely. Both of them always waited for him with open arms and legs. They were in the same friend group, a big friend group with artists, junkies and employees in New York's nightlife. I had just come home from Uganda where I had lived for two years and worked at a home for abused women. I had grown a lot because of it, but I had also missed the man I loved. Eric would probably always be that, but we were different from each other and even if he thought he was slick, I could see him swallow pill after pill while we were out with his friends. I didn't know what it was and I didn't want to ask in front of his friends; they probably took the same thing.

If it wasn't for Eric I would have felt small and uncool among his colorful friends, but he openly showed how proud he was of me. I laughed at him when he said I worked in philanthropy, it sounded so fancy, while my work was far from fancy. Eric just smiled at me though, he thought I was too modest. I also felt pretty, even if both Greta and Milly looked heroin chic in a Kate Moss kind of way. He said it over and over, how pretty and hot I was, and was not shy about giving me kisses. Both of us were single so we didn't have anyone to hide from. I could dance close to him, sit in his lap and kiss his lips. The jealous people around us didn't have anything to say.

We walked away from the others when New York started to light up with the sun. We walked hand in hand, slowly and romantically, even if I noticed Eric wanted to go faster. It was obvious he was on some sort of drugs, but I was too happy to be with him and be able to express my feelings openly, so I let it be. I laughed at his eccentric stories and made out with him messily. It all took a turn though when he jumped up on the railing of the bridge we walked on and started to walk like there was just concrete on the other side, but below him was the dark Atlantic water.

“Eric…” I said worriedly and stretched out my hand. “Come down.”

Eric laughed just as ecstatically as before.

“You can calm down. Nothing will happen.”

I swallowed hard and felt my heart hammer aggressively in my chest.

“Please, just come down.”

Eric giggled like a little boy and instead of listening to me he started teasing me by more or less running along the railing. I knew he had a good physique and probably also good balance, but one step too far to the side would make him fall.

“Eric! Stop!” I screamed in panic, even if that could have been the thing that startled him and made him lose his footing.

Eric stopped though and turned to me on the railing with a big smile. He took all of it as a joke while I had started crying.

“Hayden…” he said with a smile, like I was dramatic for crying, but I wasn't. He was playing with death in front of my eyes.

“Come down now!” I said angrily while pointing at the ground in front of me.

Eric gave me a confused smile but finally did as I said.

“What?” he said and looked down at me from his tall height. Carefully he wiped away a tear on my cheek with his broad thumb.

“Nothing will happen.”

I stared at him in disbelief until I understood what it was about. Eric believed he could play with death because he had already met it. Eric believed he was dead and that he wouldn't be able to die again.

“Eric…” I said with a sigh and pressed my forehead against his chest. It was too much to explain to someone that they were alive, especially when I couldn't understand his thoughts at all. He worked, partied, played in a band and was with girls, but still he thought he was a corpse.

“You're not dead, but if you do things like that you can die and you will leave everything…”

I looked up at him and started crying again. Beautiful, kind Eric. It was a horrible thought that he wouldn't exist and I shivered while saying the words.

“It's not that easy, Hayden…” he said and sighed. He seemed to have sobered up from my big emotions, but still he couldn't take in my words.

“No, it isn't, because you can die.”

Eric sighed again and looked down at the ground. He looked hurt and misunderstood but didn't say anything more. He wasn't the type who would fight so hard for his beliefs that it would become an argument, like I was. It was also why I most often “won” arguments. I could many times see that he wasn't finished, but he swallowed it down or just walked away. Now he swallowed it down and nodded a little. After a minute of staring at the sun rising over New York he took my hand.

“Let's go home…”

×××

Somewhere I had thoughts about moving to New York to be with Eric, but the story on the bridge made me doubt. I had a diploma in social studies, while Eric had lost his job as a cleaner because he had come to work high. He was a mess and even if I loved him I couldn't see how he would fit into my life.

I took a job as a social worker in our hometown just to think about what to do. We had a relationship over the phone. It was painful to talk with him because he always was that sweet Eric I was in love with, but the stories he told me were the stories of a broken man. Even the stories that should have been fun felt filthy to me. Everything had a thin layer of white powder or an injection of something. I tried to say he could have fun without it, that drugs were bad for you and all the other things a mother would say. He agreed with me, but the next time he would tell me a story about waking up among horses or shaving off all his hair. I didn't want to hear it, but I knew I needed to, to have some sort of control over him.

Still I thought about moving to him. Maybe everything would be better then? Maybe he would change?

I was sitting at work when my phone rang on my desk. I worked in an open office landscape so when I saw Chance’s name on the display I knew I couldn't answer then. Everyone would hear and if Chance called it couldn't be good. I didn't have time to call him back because of a meeting, so during it I got to think and wonder why he had called, and why he had called again. No one probably missed how distracted I was and neither did they miss how I ran out of the building when the meeting was over.

Chance cried in my ear.

“What? What?!” I said desperately to make him talk.

“Fuck, he did it…”

For me those words meant just one thing; Eric was dead. Eric was gone and had left me while I had rejected him.

“Oh my god… Oh my god… Oh my god…” I muttered to myself while the panic grew inside me. I couldn't live without Eric. I thought about that boy every other second. If he was dead, so was I. If I couldn't hear his cute laugh again or look into his soulful eyes my body and soul would collapse.

“He hung himself from the TV cable in the ceiling… I fucking don't know how he got that idea… And he was, like, happy yesterday. Where the fuck did it come from?” cried Chance.

I knew where it came from. He constantly had a darkness inside him that suddenly started to eat its way out of him. It came suddenly and without explanation. Suddenly the idea was there. He needed to leave earth because he didn't belong here. He was a creature of pain and death.

“Where is he now?” I said, but my voice failed me. I could feel my own darkness grow in the pit of my stomach.

“At the hospital.”

“Will they do an autopsy on him?”

The thought of it scared me in several ways, but I also wanted them to confirm that he was different.

“What? Eric isn't dead,” said Chance, confused.

I stared in front of me. My emotions couldn't keep up and instead of feeling relief or happiness I got so angry I screamed out loud. I had really started to see Eric as dead, even thought about his dead body and felt the bad conscience push against my ribs. Chance had made me question my own life, made me angry at Eric for leaving me, but also made me hate myself for never giving him a serious chance to be my boyfriend.

“Why didn't you start by saying that?? You fucking asshole! I fucking thought he was dead!”

I could only guess that Chance wasn't prepared for my anger to be directed at him, but it had probably also been too much for him, because I could hear him start crying again. I listened to him cry loudly, and I did the same in his ear.

×××

Chance was a good guy, a good friend to Eric even if they had the same relationship with drugs, but when I saw him at the hospital in New York I got so angry I could have hit him. Not because he had been unclear about Eric, but because of what he held in his hands. He waited for me in the waiting room, sitting on a plastic chair by the wall. I stared first at his puffy face, but then my eyes fell to his hands.

The TV cable.

He sat with a TV cable in his hands, hanging between his legs, and it was obvious what cable it was. I didn't let it pass for even a second, but marched towards him, and pulled the black cable from his hands.

“What the fuck, Chance?!” I screamed so loudly all the people in the waiting room turned towards us. He looked at me with big glassy eyes.

“He tried to kill himself with this and you want to keep it?”

“I… I, I need it,” he stuttered, but looked ashamed.

“Buy a fucking new one! This could have been his death!”

The word death made my voice fail me and the tears pushed behind my eyes. Finally, a nurse came up to me and touched my arm calmly.

“We have private waiting rooms…”

I sighed loudly, but the tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Just… Just throw this away, please,” I said and gave her the cable that had almost taken my lover's life.

The nurse looked down confused at the cable, obviously not knowing what it was, but took it from my hand.

“Okay, but you can't scream like that here…”

“I will be quiet, but please just take that thing away.”

The nurse nodded, but gave me a worried look. She walked away through the corridor but said something to another nurse, probably to keep an eye on me.

I sat down clumsily next to Chance. I didn't make an effort to wipe away my tears; all my strength went into keeping myself from screaming out loud.

“You know I hate you, right?” I said quietly to Chance. I didn't really mean it, but in that situation I did. Couldn't Eric have a normal best friend?

Chance was quiet and looked towards a door in the corridor, probably the door to Eric's room. We didn't say anything more, but I hoped he would understand why I said what I did.

We didn't get to meet Eric that day. He slept like a baby for eighteen hours and the next day he acted like normal Eric. Even the doctors were confused because of how calm and stable he was. The darkness had left him again and I was the only one who knew what had made him hang himself from the ceiling. 

The next day, he emailed a manager who wanted to meet him and his friends. It actually sounded like they could get a record deal.

×××

We danced wildly around the living room. If people saw us they would have thought we had taken something, but we hadn't. Eric and I were just like that. Together we could be embarrassing teenagers. Our guilty pleasure music was playing loudly, Icona Pop, and Eric sang along like his life depended on it. I giggled while watching him throw himself around with his long limbs and it made him smile, a big dimpled smile.

In his ecstasy he lifted me high off the floor in his strong arms. I laughed loudly and freely while he spun me around a bit too fast. I felt dizzy, but it was worth it. These sorts of moments were my proof that Eric and I were soulmates. With another guy, even Malek, I would have felt stupid just dancing wildly, but with Eric the emotions were so big they needed to come out in one way or another.

It was also how his spinning turned into a passionate make-out session. Deep, messy kisses, hands searching for skin and the adrenaline from our silly dancing session made our clothes fall to the floor, and soon our naked bodies followed. Between my legs he thrust hard with his hips and made me sound like an upset cat. I was far from upset though, but I would always be his kitten.

His seed darkened our beige rug, but that would be a problem for later. I thought I would just enjoy being with a happy Eric, but a message on my phone changed that. I shouldn't have grabbed it from the coffee table, I should have just stayed on Eric's chest on the floor.

Mom:

Something has happened in the forest by the old oak. There are police cordons everywhere. Can you ask Malek if he can find some information?

×

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[b-afterhours]

Phew! Holy fuck! I read all of Avenue of Sins and my god… forget that it’s even in the category of fan fiction— that’s a fucking BOOK. A NOVEL. A ROMANCE NOVEL. I cried, I LAUGHED, I mean I actually laughed out loud to myself, I yearned, I read and could imagine every single thing so clearly. I want to print this out and have this bound on my bookshelf. This needs to be out in the world physically. You’re a fantastic writer— I would BUY your stuff just solely reading this alone. Oh my goodness, I can’t even believe the whirlwind of emotions I went through with everything. It was a movie. A whole movie in my fucking brain.

Please don’t ever stop writing, I’m late to the party, seeing all your other works I’m absolutely about to dig into! But please don’t ever second guess yourself. You’re a writer. An actual writer. Please invest in yourself if you haven’t already. Submit this. Somewhere, anywhere. But please don’t let this just sit here on tumblr with 4 or 5 notes— please please please. This is too fucking good!

wow this is such an incredible thing to recieve!!! i so so so appreciate it, thank you!!

thanks for taking the time to read it and i’m so happy you enjoyed it! Bill & Alma will always have a special place in my heart. i still think of them constantly! thank you so much again. your praise is so encouraging! ♥️♥️

[thedevotchka]

hi I love your masterpiece I'm just wondering if you taking rquest if so I would like to have a bill skarsgård as himself and reader where the are neighbours but where they're enemy to lovers like neighbours for a long time they don't get on but they secretly have a thing for each other and then one day bill has enough of the reader picks a fight but realizes he hurts her and try to make it up to her 😉😈 if not it's okay if you don't take request have a nice day or night and have a good weekend 😊❤️

Noise Complaint (Bill Skarsgård x Reader)

Summary: You love your apartment. You love the city, and your job, and your crazy friends. You don't love your grouchy next door neighbour and all his goddamn whining.

Work Count: 5760

Warnings: light stalking? Oral sex (M&F!receiving) PiV unprotected sex, light spanking

MDNI, fic under the cut

The curtains twitch almost every single time you leave your house. You’ve started to make a mental note of it, cataloguing each shift in the fabric as an overstep into your personal life. It’s been like this for months, pretty much since you’d moved in and received a note under your door ten minutes after you’d dragged the last box of your belongings up the steps. Not a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ or a ‘looking forward to meeting you’. A neatly scrawled ‘Please keep the noise down.’ As if you hadn’t been busting your ass hauling boxes and furniture all day. As if it wasn’t really fucking obvious that this was a one-time thing. You’d screwed the note into a ball and tossed it at the wall where you’d planned to put a trashcan, eventually. There hadn’t been another note for two weeks, until the evening of your housewarming. You’d knocked on the doors of neighbors either side of you to explain you were having a little get together, and that it wouldn’t be too loud but to please let you know if it was. The sweet older lady on the left had smiled knowingly and asked if she might pop by for a drink, if you had any cute male friends that were single.

The neighbour on the right wasn’t home, so you’d scribbled a brief message on the back of a takeaway menu, along with your phone number, and asked they text or call if the noise got too loud.

No one had called, though the lady next door had turned up with an expensive bottle of wine and charmed your friends with her stories of the neighbourhood and life as an air hostess in the 70s. Your friends had started to disburse around 11pm, and you’d just closed the door on the last one when you felt a nudge against your foot. A slip of paper, sliding under the door and catching on your socked foot. You didn’t stop to pick it up, desperate to catch sight of the phantom complainer.

He was a deer in headlights when you opened the door. Enormous, shocked green eyes in an angular face, half crouched still. “Got you.” You fold your arms over your chest, and the man rises to a stand. He’s tall, taller than he’d looked from his slim build. At least 6’3 or 6’4.

“I’m… I live next door.”

“I guessed. You’re the one leaving these notes?”

The man bites his bottom lip, pushing it out slowly through his teeth. “Just… asking you to keep the noise down. As a courtesy.”

“If we were being loud, you could have called me. And besides, we turned the music off at ten. Hardly a raucous party.”

He furrows his brows. “The lady on the other side of you is elderly, she was probably trying to sleep.”

“She was here, trying to sleep with men a quarter of her age and not acting like an asshole, actually.”

He swallows. “The walls are thin, that’s all. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Okay.” You nod thoughtfully. “I’ll try to be quieter. But if the walls are as thin as you say, I can’t promise you’ll never hear me. Just… no more notes through the door, okay?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes scanning over you. This is the first time he’s ever spoken to you. He’s had many conversations with you in his head, absolutely. But this is the first time ever that you’ve been present, your pretty eyes fixed on his face. There’s warmth seeping out from your house, and his skin breaks out in goosebumps. “No more parties.”

You roll your eyes, stepping back and pushing his note out onto the front step with the tip of your toe. “Good night, neighbour.”

Bill isn’t proud of himself for picking up the paper and pressing it to his cheek. It’s impulse though, and he does it again and again as he walks back to his own house. Despite what he said, he’s actually thrilled that the walls are so thin. He’s moved his bed into the spare bedroom, the one that backs onto your room, because he can hear you. When you sing to yourself as you get ready for work in the morning. When you call your mom to vent about your boss. And when you open your nightstand and press your vibrator to your clit Bill presses his ear to the wall as he fists his cock and cums to the muffled sounds of your moans through the thin plaster.

And this is fine, he’s just about content to think about you and watch you enter and leave and steal glances at you when he can, until Robert. Slick, tall, handsome Robert with his fancy car and his corporate job and his sharp suits. Robert starts sleeping over at least twice a week, and Bill has to sleep on the couch to avoid the sounds of him making you cum. Nothing kills his fucking boner like hearing that asshole call you his girl.

The formal noise complaint arrives on a Wednesday. Proper envelope, typed out, stamped by a city official. Periods of excessive noise, often late at night. Neighbour feels harassed, investigation imminent. Your cheeks flame and your hands shake as you read the note. Your next door neighbour hadn’t posted another note through your door since the party, and then he pulls this shit?

“What’s wrong, babe?” Robert asks, hooking an arm around your waist. “Oh, shit.”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble, eyes still scanning the words as though you can will them to change.

“You know who complained?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to go talk to them?”

You chew your lip. You don’t need a man to fight your battles for you, but you think about your neighbour, his big eyes and his tall frame and the twitching curtains, and a little bit of anxiety settles in your stomach. What if he’s crazy? What if he does… something?

“It’s the guy next door. Right hand side.”

Robert pecks your cheek and his jaw sets into a hard line. “I’ll deal with it.”

You don’t ask how he deals with it. Robert returns twenty minutes later with high spots of colour on his cheeks, and the anxiety in your stomach solidifies into something tangible that you try hard to ignore, but you lie in silence beside him that night, without the tiny shuffles and sounds from the other side of the wall, and you don’t sleep for a single minute.

His curtains remain drawn the next morning, and there’s no tell-tale twitch when you descend the steps to the street, even though you go slower than usual. You tell yourself that if they’re still closed when you return home, you’ll knock. Just to check on him. And as the day drags on, you find yourself clock-watching as emails pile up in your inbox and your phone ding, ding, dings as Robert tries to get hold of you. You can’t answer his messages because even the sight of his name on your screen fills you with such intense anxiety that you can barely function. You only make it to 3pm before you’re shoving your laptop into your bag and mumbling something about an appointment to your colleagues.

His curtains are still closed. They don’t twitch as you approach the front door, and your hand shakes as you knock, and wait. Knock again, wait some more. Pushing a breath out through your mouth you squat level with the mail slot on the door and push it open, squinting into the hallway. The layout of his place is the same as yours, though flipped like a mirror reflection. “Hello?” You call into the silence. “It’s… are you okay? Sorry to bother you, just could you let me know you’re okay? My boyfriend came over yesterday and I wanted to just check that…”

You sigh, swallowing against bile in your throat. Check what? That your boyfriend, the man you’re supposed to be building a life with, hadn’t killed your neighbour over a fucking noise complaint? “If…” you bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “If he was an asshole to you I’m sorry. If you’d just talk to me I’m sure we could straighten this out.”

There’s nothing but silence, and Bill holds his breath as he stands just to the side of the door, inches from you. Because he can’t open the door right now. Not with his eye swollen shut and his lip so busted he isn’t even able to make the shape of your name with his mouth. He doesn’t want you to pity him. And he certainly doesn’t want it confirmed if you told your fucking boyfriend to break his face.

You push to a stand and press your forehead against his front door, fully aware that it makes you look like a psycho and not caring at all. You need the sick feeling in your stomach to go away. You enter your own home and drop your bag on the floor by the door, not bothering to strip out of your jacket or take off your shoes before you flop onto your bed and groan into your pillow.

Calling Robert has your stomach flipping over with fresh unpleasant anxiety, and you silently pray he won’t pick up so you’ll be off the hook and you won’t have to-

“Where the fuck have you been all day?”

You wince and withdraw the phone from your ear, putting it on speaker and propping it against your headboard, the back of it touching the wall.

“Sorry, busy. I need to talk to you about last night.”

You hear him sigh heavily. “What about it?”

“What did you mean when you said you’d deal with it?”

There is a pause that’s too long to mean anything but bad news. “I handled it.”

“Rob…”

“I had a talk with him. That’s all. Made him see that filing his little fuckin complaints and watching you all the goddamn time isn’t acceptable.”

You feel your cheeks flush and you regret putting the phone by the wall, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. Either he’s not there and didn’t hear it, or he is and he’s proving Robert’s got it right.

“He doesn’t… watch me.”

“Be so fuckin for real right now, babe.” Rob’s voice is too smooth, and you grit your teeth against the annoyance as you picture him rolling his eyes at you. “He’s a creep. And he needed someone to tell him to back off, so I did. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“No well you wouldn’t, would you? You don’t have it in you to be assertive.”

You hear a sound, a muffled hum of annoyance covered by a forced cough, and your eyes narrow at the wall above your headboard. Then you swallow around a lump in your throat and do the first assertive thing you’ve done since meeting Robert. You hang up the phone without saying goodbye and knock on your neighbor's front door.

Bill opens it this time. He’s pretty sure you heard him eavesdropping, and he’s pretty sure you’re going to keep hammering against the wood until someone calls the cops if he doesn’t let you in. He opens the door just a crack, and you push past him and step into his space and your shoulder brushes his chest as you pass.

Your eyes scan his hallway, taking in the neat row of shoes by the door, the two jackets hanging on pegs. You look further, past the framed landscape photographs on the walls to the kitchen just out of sight at the end of the hall. There’s a stack of library books on the entryway table, and you resist the urge to flip them over to read the spines.

“I think this is technically breaking and entering.” Bill says, hating the slur to his words around the swelling of his mouth.

Your eyes drag up his torso, taking in the soft navy t-shirt clinging to his body and the faint stubble on his chin before you reach his face and your lips part on a soft gasp.

“You should see the other guy,” he says like it’ll lighten the mood. “I mean, I guess you are seeing the other guy.”

“Shit,” you whisper, reaching a hand half-way to his face before dropping it. “This is… shit I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bill lifts his chin, and your eyes drop to watch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, watching him shuffle his weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t ask him to… do this.”

“I know.” Bill’s voice is soft.

“Have you… I mean that looks bad. It looks infected.”

Bill shrugs. “It isn’t.”

You reach for him, and Bill jumps a little bit at the warm contact of your fingers on his jaw as you tilt his head down. “You should let me put something on this.” Your voice has dropped an octave, and Bill has to actually bite his tongue to stop himself asking you to put your mouth on his. His knees almost buckle with the urge to press his face between your legs and split his lip open against your clit. He’s unbearably turned on at just the light brush of your fingers against his face, and it’s embarrassing as shit.

He pushes your hand away with his wrist, careful not to let his own hand touch yours. “Not your problem. Or any of your business. And I really don’t want any more trouble with your fucking boyfriend.”

You take a step back, blinking. “I’m sorry, Bill. I know I should have-“

“Who told you my name?”

“What?”

“I never told you my name. Why do you… who told you?”

“Mabel, on the other side. I asked her about you after my housewarming party. Don’t worry, she didn’t know much. Said you were rude.”

Bill nods, even though his stomach is churning. You’d asked about him. He’s giddy with the knowledge. It’s dangerous. “Yeah, well. I’m not looking for friends with shitty psudo-macho boyfriends, so.” He nods towards the door. “You should go. Robert had his little talk with me and we’re all on the same page.”

Your eyes go wide as you take a step back, and Bill has a sinking feeling. “You were listening.”

Bill freezes like a deer caught in headlights. “No.”

Your lips curl into a tiny smile. “You were listening.”

“The walls are thin.” His voice comes out higher-pitched than he means it to, and your smile widens. “How am I supposed to avoid hearing you when the walls are so fucking thin?”

“No, you’re right.” There’s a teasing edge to your voice, and Bill wonders how you got in and under his skin in a matter of seconds. “I’ll try to keep the noise down. Wouldn’t want any more formal complaint letters from the city. Might get evicted, and then you’d have to listen to some other girl instead of me.”

Bill scoffs, but he can feel a blush creeping up the sides of his neck and you’ve won. You shrug as you open his front door and slip out. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

And it isn’t romantic and it isn’t a fucking pick up line, but Bill’s cock twitches like it can’t tell the difference anyway.

You settle against your headboard and spread your legs, rubbing small circles over the front of your underwear and breathing deeply as you relax into the mattress and feel your clit stir to life. You slip a finger into the side of your panties and rub the pad of it over your clit, letting a soft but deliberate moan slip past your lips. You’d made yourself louder than usual, shutting doors heavily and bouncing onto the bed hard enough to make the mattress springs creak in protest. You let your pleasure be louder too, whimpers and hums and breathy moans spilling from your lips as you dip your middle finger into yourself and collect your arousal to spread over your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your eyes in the direction of the wall behind your headboard. You imagine him sitting on his bed, imagine him pressing his big hand to the wall. And it would have been enough to just imagine him there, but at the tiny rumble of a moan, you freeze. There’s silence on the other side of the wall too, and you swallow hard as your head swims dizzy before you resume gently circling your own clit, jolts of pleasure zinging down your spine.

Bill’s teeth are embedded so deep in his bottom lip he can taste blood. But he’d moaned at the sound of you touching yourself and you’d stopped. You’d heard him, you must have. That had never happened before, he’d always been able to keep it together. But he could still smell the clean scent of your clothes lingering, and the spark in your eyes as you’d looked at him, really seen him, and he grips his cock with a tightness that borders on pain as he jerks his length roughly, hissing at the dry friction and the tightening in his balls.

But then you whimper, and your mattress creaks, and you moan. And oh god you’re touching yourself again. You know he’s there and you heard him and you’re touching yourself anyway. And what’s there to lose now, really? Bill’s out of his mind turned on, and he settles against his headboard and he rests the back of his head on the wall and he fucks up into his own fist, pausing only long enough to spit into his palm. “Shit,” he moans, cock already thick and twitching with his impending orgasm.

“Shit,” you moan against the wall, grinding desperately against your own hand and picturing what your neighbours face must look like, all tight and tense as he listens to you get yourself off. “Oh goddd,” you moan as your orgasm finally hits. It isn’t as intense as it would be if you had a toy or someone else’s fingers on you, but you lean into it, groaning husky and low as your hips lift off the bed. “Fuck, Bill,” you moan.

Bill cums at the sound of your name on his lips. It’s so unexpected and so intensely thrilling that his cock just does it, and he can’t hold in his own moan of pure pleasure as he paints his fist and his thigh and the sheet below him.

There’s a note sticking half out of his mailbox when Bill goes to the window to watch you leave for work. He’s almost pissed that he’s missed you, until he sees that little scrap of paper and he snatches it up. Your neat scrawl, the same one he’s memorized from the note you’d left for him the night of your housewarming.

You’re going to have to keep the noise down, Bill. Or I’ll have to come and shut you up myself.

There’s no doubt in Bill’s mind at all, now. You’d known he was listening to you touch yourself last night, and you’d wanted him to. And Bill doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know which of his dark impulses he should try to suppress and which ones you’d like, so he loses himself in a screenplay and doesn’t let himself check the porch for your arrival home.

The sun has well and truly set now, and Bill’s in the middle of commending himself for not standing at the window all day when he hears the raised voices and all-but sprints into his bedroom to listen against the wall.

“You think this is an acceptable way to manage a difference in opinion?” Rob is angry, but he’s angry in this quiet, condescending way that makes your temper flare.

“It’s not a difference of opinion. You beat up an innocent man over a goddamn noise complaint. I don’t feel safe around you.”

The words hang in the air, and you stop breathing as you watch him process this.

“You don’t feel safe around me?” Robert asks, his voice low.

“No, I mean… I just…”

“What?” He snaps, taking a step towards you. Your eyes slip past him to the door, the sinking feeling of being trapped settling over you. “You scared of me now?”

“No.” You spit. “But I don’t want to be with someone capable of being violent so easily. Bill didn’t throw a punch, he wasn’t a threat.”

Robert’s eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s Bill now, is it? You two been getting friendly, bonding over what an asshole I am?”

“I just went to check on him.”

“You’re a fucking joke. The neighbour? What a cliché.”

“I think you should leave.” Your voice doesn’t shake, even though your hands are and your pulse is hammering in your throat.

“Read my fuckin mind.” He spits, turning on his heel and stomping out of the apartment. You sink onto the couch, relief flooding you and replacing the adrenaline that had spiked during the argument.

“You okay?”

You just about jump out of your skin, a small, embarrassing yelp leaving you as your head snaps to the open doorway.

Bill winces. “Sorry. Door was open.”

“So you thought you’d just walk in?”

Bill frowns. “I, uh, heard what happened.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. Where you’d been into this yesterday, today it felt creepy and invasive and you just wanted to be alone.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for the fucking noise, Bill. Jesus Christ.”

Bill’s frown deepens, the concern he feels twisting into anxiety. “Why are you mad at me?”

And that seems to set you off, because your eyes flash with something dangerous before you push to a stand and cross the room. “Why am I mad at you? Two days ago I had a nice boyfriend and a good relationship with my landlord. Now? Single and likely to be evicted, and it’s thanks to you on both fucking counts.”

Bill swallows. “I didn’t mean to… do either of those things. Or cause them.”

You scoff. “No?”

And maybe it’s the look on your face, or the dismissive, pissy tone of your voice, but the anxiety in Bill’s stomach dissipates and he feels incredibly fucking irritated. “Oh get over yourself.”

You blink at him, your mouth opening and closing dumbly. Because you’d expected him to apologize and maybe look at you all starry eyed and pathetic. You’d anticipated regaining some of your power. But he’s towering over you, and his eyes are dark and his jaw ticks and your clit throbs at the anger on his face.

“Sorry?” You ask quietly, not trusting your voice to stay level with his turned on you’re getting.

“Yeah, you fucking will be. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

You shake your head, and Bill rolls his eyes as he approaches, stepping between your legs and bending at the waist. His long fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck and tug, forcing your face up to meet his. “We’ve been dancing around this from the beginning, haven’t we? You leave the house in those little skirts in the dead of winter for fun, or because you knew I’d be watching from the window?”

You swallow hard, tongue flicking out over your bottom lip. “You watch me?”

Bill smirks, tilting his hips towards you, and your eyes drop from his face to the very obvious bulge pressing against the front of his slacks, close enough that you could press your mouth to it if you leaned forward just a little bit. “You know I do. And you want me to. You wanted me to think about your pretty cunt, bending over to tie your shoes on the front step.”

A blush creeps up your neck, staining your face. “I’m sorry if I-“

“None of that,” he snaps. “We’re not pretending anymore. You changed the terms of the arrangement when you called out my name as you came.”

You nod, reaching shaking fingers for his zipper. “I wanted you to hear, Bill.”

Bill exhales harshly through his nose as you tug his pants and boxers down. He feels a little surge of smug pride as your eyes go wide at the sight of his hard cock, and he bucks slightly into your hand as you wrap a fist around his length and squeeze gently. “Yeah,” he hums, grazing his nails against your scalp. “You’re so fucking loud,” his words turn into a garbled moan as you wrap your lips around the sticky tip of his cock and suck against the sensitive flesh, laving your tongue over the underside of his head.

You hum against him as you open your throat and bob your head further down his length, and Bill’s fingers tug your hair to pull your face flush to his crotch. Even though you’re still mostly in control your gag reflex kicks in at the feeling of him pressing against the back of your throat. He’s so much longer and thicker than previous boyfriends, and the stretch burns your throat a little, but you’re pressing your thighs together against the overwhelming arousal throbbing in your clit and you bob your head enthusiastically, letting him fuck into your throat while you drag your tongue over the protruding vein on the underside of his length.

“God fucking damn,” Bill huffs, his free hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “You’re even hotter when you’re shutting the fuck up, who knew?”

That shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. Maybe it’s fucked up, but if he’d been this assertive, sexy asshole when you’d first moved in there’s a good chance you’d have done this a lot sooner. You can feel the twitching of his cock as he nears his orgasm, and you hollow your cheeks to coax it out of him when the fingers in your hair tighten and pull you back. You release his cock with a slick wet pop, and you pout up at him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you.” He rolls his eyes. “Bedroom, now.”

You can do little more than dumbly obey, feeling his eyes boring into you as he follows you down the hall and into your bedroom.

He hums as he looks at your bed, thinking about just how perfectly he’d lined his own up on the other side of the wall. “Take your clothes off.”

You bite your lip, shimmying out of your skirt and pulling your shirt over your head. Heat flickers in Bill’s eyes as he looks you up and down, a little of his courage guttering out as he realizes just how fucking pretty you are.

“You gunna fuck me, Bill?” You ask quietly, reaching around to unclasp your bra and letting it fall to the floor.

Bill’s eyes drop to your breasts immediately, and he licks his lips unconsciously. Nothing he’d pictured came close to the real thing. “Yeah.” He mumbles, stepping closer, eyes scanning every inch of you. “Gunna fuck you so hard we’ll both get a goddamn noise complaint.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you slip your thumbs into the delicate elastic of your panties and push them down to your ankles. Bill’s mouth waters at the sight of your bare pussy, the slight sheen of your arousal slicking on your thighs. He’s half-mad with the desire to taste you, and he doesn’t stop himself pushing you onto the bed. You land with a startled little sound, and Bill wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and pushes your legs apart and up, baring you completely.

“Bill!” You squeak, and Bill flashes you a grin before he drops to his knees and buries his face against you. Your eyes roll back in your head and you whine out something that might have been his name if you were capable of coherent thought. His tongue licks against your clit, dragging over the sensitive bud as the sharp point of his nose nuzzles over the hood of it, and you’re on the edge of cumming so fast it’s almost embarrassing.

He moans against you, the low sound rumbling vibrations through you, and your hips lift off the bed to grind against his face as your release hits you, washing through your whole body and curling your toes.

Bill is absolutely thrilled to hear you cry his name up close, the heady, rich taste of your cum filling his mouth as he laps and sucks greedily at your clit. He releases one of your knees to push a finger into you, and you squirm and whine beautifully as he probes and stretches and strokes at your walls. He withdraws reluctantly when your moans turn to actual sobs, offering a parting kiss to your clit as he pushes off his stiff knees and climbs onto the bed to hover over you.

His mouth is slick with you, and you lift your head from the mattress to press your lips to his own, tongue gliding over the seam of his lips to taste yourself. Bill lets his hips drop to the bed, lets his clothed cock grind against the soaked mess of your pussy, and you whimper into his mouth at the overstimulation. “Please,” you whisper against his lips. “Fuck me, please.”

Bill’s eyes roll back at just the sound of your voice, and it’s a miracle that he finds the willpower to pull back from you and shove his pants down. “Turn around.” He says, and you raise an eyebrow. “On all fours. Please.” Bill softens his voice, and you roll your eyes even as a blush heats your cheeks as you turn onto your front and settle onto your hands and knees.

Bill hums as he runs a hand down your spine, relishing the way you arch into his touch as he positions himself behind you and rubs the head of his cock through your folds. You whine, and Bill bites his lip to stop himself matching you whine for whimper as he pushes into you slowly. You’re tight, dragging him into your cunt with searing heat and unbelievable pressure, and Bill has to dig his fingers into your hips and squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself cumming before he’s anywhere close to ready for this to be over.

You rock backwards, desperately chasing movement, and Bill releases one hip to bring his open palm down on your ass cheek. You yelp, and Bill grins at the ripple of your flesh as his handprint sears against your skin. “You,” his voice is strained as he pulls out and pushes back into you, rocking your whole body forward as he snaps his hips. “Are a terrible fucking neighbor.”

“He-eyyy,” you groan, head dropping to your chest as bill angles his cock just right and presses into your g-spot.

“You’re so loud,” he moans, balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. “Know your routine… better than my own.”

“Please,” you whine, “I want more.”

“More?” He spits, his thrusts turning punishing as he fucks into you with as much aggression as he can muster up.

You hum, squeezing your muscles around his cock, and Bill curses under his breath as he leans forward and snatches a fistful of your hair. “You want me to make you cum again? Think I should do that for you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, milking his cock with your walls and desperately chasing the angle that has him hitting your most sensitive spot.

“Making me listen to you get fucked by that asshole?”

You swallow, arching your back to lessen the pressure on your hair as he pulls you closer and closer. “I… that hurts,” you mumble.

“Yeah?” Bill coos, pulling harder until you’re forced to lift up onto your knees. The moment you do, he releases your hair and wraps his hand around your throat, pressing down until white starbursts crackle over your vision and your cunt flutters around his cock. “Think I don’t know what you like? Heard the way you’d tell him what to do. Making him fuck you harder, begging him to choke you out. What a fuckin waste.”

You can barely register the arrival of your second orgasm, there isn’t enough oxygen in your brain to really think at all. You wail, a sound so close to a sob that you’re a little worried you’re actually crying, but then Bill’s hand releases your throat and you fall forward onto the bed and his hard torso covers yours as he fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. His hand returns, stroking through your hair and smoothing it away from your face before his palm presses over your mouth and he curls his fingers against your cheek. “You make too much fucking noise,” he pants into your ear, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress. “Always making so much fucking noise.”

You groan against his palm, drool slicking against his hand, and Bill sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he cums, burying his load deep inside you as he grinds his hips flush to your ass.

The teeth in your skin are replaced with the soft warmth of his lips as he kisses the mark he’s left and eases his cock out of you. You feel the loss immediately, and resist the urge to beg him to put it back in. Bill rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling that’s so similar to his he could believe he was back in his own room if it wasn’t for the scent of you on the sheets under his skin.

You turn your head, not yet ready to move your aching body. “You gunna file a complaint about that, neighbour?”

Bill’s head rolls to the side, a lazy smirk spreading across his full lips. “Fuck no. I’m considering knocking this wall down so I can fuck you like that every night.”

You laugh, though butterflies kick up in your stomach at the possessive edge to his words. “I think my landlord would have a problem with that. Maybe just use the front door for now.”

Bill hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you on top of him so he can press his mouth to yours. “Deal.”

Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @elyseesarchive @nqarxne @brightnessluvworld

[sweetbillwriting]

The Blackened Branches

SEVEN

Description: Hayden and Eric have a long history together but also secrets, hidden under blackened branches.

Characters: AU Eric from The Crow played by Bill Skarsgård. The story is completely it's own thing.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, really heavy themes.

Notes: Now you will meet Eric again🩶 Here is all the earlier chapters:

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX

I stared at the black crow that looked back at me through the window. Once again, it sat on the railing of our porch, and while I ate my breakfast at the kitchen table, I could see it and even met its beady eyes. The crows had always been around Eric, and now they were here again just because he was. I wondered if they actually came from the woods by my old childhood home or if every crow in close proximity to Eric started acting weird. In this situation, though, it didn’t really matter because I was just worried about what they wanted to tell us. They always wanted something.

I chewed my granola carefully but looked away from the bird when I heard male laughter drift into our yard. It was the laughter of the two most important men in my life — my husband and my soulmate, Eric. They had been out running together and were dressed in running gear, Eric completely in black while Malek wore a white tank top that showed off the tattoos on his upper arms. Eric seemed to try to hide his tattoos, or at least it looked that way while they walked up the pavement and he dug his hands deep into the pockets of his black hoodie. Malek walked in front of him, talking animatedly about something that made Eric laugh softly.

It was obvious that Eric’s laugh encouraged Malek to continue talking and joking more, so when he unlocked the door and kept talking enthusiastically, he didn’t have enough attention left to notice what happened behind him — but I did. Eric was two steps behind Malek and immediately acknowledged the bird sitting on the railing. While only half listening to Malek, he watched the crow intensely, and it looked back at him the same way it had looked at me.

Eric gave Malek a quick glance to make sure he was still distracted, and he was because he had already walked through the door. Eric quickly tapped against the railing with one finger, almost like Morse code, and the crow seemed to listen intensely to the little taps he created. It looked down at Eric’s large tattooed hand before tapping the railing twice with its hard beak.

I watched the interaction in fascination, especially when Eric smiled — not from my husband’s jokes, but because of the little bow the crow gave him before lifting off the railing. It was strangely sweet watching him communicate with the bird. That feeling overtook the uncomfortable confusion that should have come from seeing a man have a conversation with a random wild animal. Even though I rarely saw it with my own eyes, I knew Eric was special, and I had gotten used to it.

“Are you not coming inside?” I heard Malek say from inside the house, talking to Eric, who still stood on the porch watching the bird fly away.

“Yeah, of course. I just needed to crack my back,” Eric answered with an innocent laugh that made Malek softly laugh. It was like he had once again been reminded that he didn’t need to put on that masculine persona around him.

“Okay. Do you want to take a shower? I can take the upstairs one, so you can use the one in our bedroom.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Eric closed the door behind him. “But can you drive me into town after breakfast?”

“Of course, Mr. Celebrity. You can’t miss your interview.”

Malek spoke in a silly voice, like he was Eric’s security guard. It made him laugh, though he sounded mostly embarrassed.

I could hear them walk in two different directions — Malek upstairs and Eric to the left, into the master bedroom. He had come over that morning just to make Malek go out running. They had talked about how hard Malek thought it was to stay active the same way he had when he was younger, so Eric had offered to take him out a few times now that he was back in the country.

Like always, no one ever said no to Eric, and Malek was so grateful just to have a running buddy for a few days. I knew he was jealous of Eric’s body, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He probably knew I didn’t want to hear him complain, but also that he didn’t want to say anything that could sound negative about Eric. Eric was too nice for that — or at least that was what Malek believed.

Eric had come so early that I was still asleep when they went out running through our little suburb, so now, hearing his familiar sounds, it was the first thing I had heard from him that day. I thought about walking out and saying hello to him, but I appreciated just listening to the shuffle of his clothes and the sound of him clearing his throat.

I also listened to him close the bathroom door and start the shower, but then I stood up to put away my yogurt bowl and coffee mug in the dishwasher. I tried to remember what I needed to do that day, but my thoughts drifted instead to the master bedroom where I knew Eric was — now naked and wet. Just like Malek, I appreciated Eric’s body, maybe far too much, even if I appreciated him more as a person.

I couldn’t stop the images in my head of his tattooed body under the shower stream. My phone was still lying on the bedside table. So even though it was wrong, I entered the bedroom, closed the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed so I could listen to Eric shower. Waiting while he showered felt familiar, but my thoughts weren’t as innocent as they had been when I was a kid.

I had just started to relax when the shower stopped running, and when Eric opened the bathroom door, I looked at him unapologetically. He had my dark purple hair towel wrapped around his hips, but otherwise I could see all the ink and all the muscle underneath it. His hair was wet and messy, probably because he had dried it by violently rubbing a towel through it. I had seen him do it before and knew exactly how rough he was with it. He was almost as rough when he dyed it.

“Hey?” He looked toward the bedroom door to make sure it was closed. Still, he looked worried when he stepped fully out of the bathroom.

“Hey…” I said with a small smile and stretched my arms out toward him like a child wanting to be picked up.

Eric cleared his throat again and dragged his large hands over the towel wrapped around his hips. He kept glancing at the door even though it was closed.

“Is he home...?” he asked carefully, looking guilty for even asking.

“He’s upstairs…”

I felt awful seeing how much Eric cared and how worried he looked. I felt bad for Malek, whom I cheated on, but also because I made their friendship to something fake. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.

“Please, I just want a hug…” I whined and stretched my arms out even more toward him.

He looked at me with wide eyes. It was obvious it was hard for him to resist, and after glancing at the door one more time, he walked over to me with his arms stretched out in the same way as mine. He probably thought I would stand up and give him a normal hug, but I quickly pulled him against me while I stayed seated so I could press my cheek against the towel, against the body part it was there to conceal. I felt Eric tense for a second, but then he dragged his fingers through my hair in that soft way only he could. No other man could give me goosebumps so easily.

It was just something about Eric, something that made everything else in life feel unimportant, and I had a feeling he felt the same way. I knew the secret he carried made him feel like he needed to be a good person all the time. But when we were alone, he seemed to forget about that, so even though my husband, who was also his friend, was upstairs, he let me open his towel. His cock right in front of my face, up close and personal. He was half hard and growing harder, begging for my attention.

Even though it was morally wrong, it was also incredibly erotic to have that large, tattooed man standing so close with his hard cock pressed against my lips, but it also felt romantic. Spiritual, even. The way I felt when I was close to him was how I imagined some people felt when they went to church. 

There was such a strong feeling of love and devotion, even when he whispered, “Suck my cock.”

Even though Malek could have been just outside the door, I deep-throated Eric as much as I could. He always said I was the only girl who could almost take him completely, and that was probably because I’d been doing it for so many years. For twelve years we had had a romantic relationship with each other, on and off, so even though I was married and he constantly had new girls by his side, I still felt a sense of ownership over his heart and body. He was mine, even if we couldn’t be together.

×××

New York. The big, big city. I wasn’t used to all the people, all the cars, and all the tall buildings. I would have felt completely swallowed by it all if Eric hadn’t been walking next to me.

We walked through the crowded streets of Ridgewood hand in hand. I had never been to New York and had never even heard of the neighborhood. It was hot outside, and stupidly enough I had chosen to wear skintight black jeans and a long-sleeved taupe-colored top. It was cropped, though, but that didn’t help much in the heat.

Eric, who dragged my suitcase beside him, wore bleached jeans so distressed it was a wonder they still counted as jeans. They looked airy, though, especially paired with a black tank top with armholes so large I could see his pale ribs. He never seemed to tan, even when he walked around so bare in the sun.

Both of us had the latest trendy haircut with one shaved side. I only let mine peek out beneath my long black hair, but Eric had the rest of his swept to the side and dyed in an eclectic mix of black and turquoise. Combined with the black eyeliner, he looked like his own species — an impossibly beautiful one.

“He lives there a few days a month. I don’t really know what he does otherwise,” Eric explained about his and his friend Chance’s landlord. Most of the time, the two twenty-year-olds had the apartment to themselves, a tiny one bedroom apartment. It was a huge improvement. 

The last time I had spoken with Eric, he had been living in shelters whenever he managed to get a bed there. Otherwise, he tried to find unlocked storage rooms to sleep in or sneak into apartment buildings just to have somewhere warm for the night.

“That sounds nice, though. Having the place mostly to yourselves.”

“Yeah, but we can’t really rehearse. The old lady next door calls him, and then he calls us and threatens to kick us out. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do… But yeah, what about you? Your new job?” He gave me a small smile.

I smiled back at him almost shyly because he was really the only guy who ever asked me about my life. You’d think it was the bare minimum, but with twenty-year-old boys you couldn’t expect much — especially the guys I usually hung around with, the ones who saw themselves as the next stars of the metal scene.

Their egos were huge, but Eric’s wasn’t. He didn’t see himself as some undiscovered rock legend. He saw himself as the cleaner he worked as, someone who just happened to love music. I had listened to a lot of the songs he and Chance recorded, though, and they were much better than anything any of those “undiscovered stars” I had dated had ever made.

My boyfriend — yes, I had a boyfriend even though I was visiting Eric — had become almost poetic after hearing them, but quickly downplayed it when I told him the songs were Eric’s. Seb was a musician too and had an easy time finding places for his band to play because all their parents had garages, but they still weren’t even close to being as good as Eric. Their music lacked depth — the kind of depth only someone who had actually lived through things could bring to music.

“It’s okay. It’s a job,” I said with a laugh. I worked as a nanny for a wealthy family, and even though it was probably a better job than Eric’s, I still couldn’t feel fully satisfied with it. It wasn’t the life I actually wanted.

We talked about the kids I took care of, what I actually wanted to do with my life, and all the fights with my mom. Eric was probably the person I talked to the most. Most of the time we just texted each other, but during the few times I had been truly devastated, he was the person I called.

The building he lived in didn’t stand out in any way. It actually looked like many of the apartment buildings back in my hometown. He lived on the third floor, and he carried my suitcase all the way into his room — or technically the living room. He didn’t have his own bedroom but slept on a bed tucked into the corner beside the TV. He explained that he paid less rent because of it.

“Is it okay if we share the bed? I can—” he started rambling nervously.

“Of course,” I interrupted, placing my hand against his chest while looking up at him with a warm smile.

I watched his cheeks flush pale pink while his dimples deepened. He looked down at the floor and laughed quietly. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing too, mostly because I couldn’t understand how I could have such power over him when he had the exact same effect on me.

“Maybe it’s weird since you have a boyfriend—”

Once again I interrupted him, this time by rising onto my tiptoes and kissing his soft lips. Maybe I had a boyfriend, but whenever I was with Eric, he completely owned me. I couldn’t stop kissing him over and over, and he kissed me back just as desperately. There was an electricity between us that neither of us could resist. When we were alone, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

Eric pulled off his tank top so I could see his fit body but also his newer tattoos. He still had the lankiness of a teenager but the broad shape of a grown man. I dragged my hands over his chest and stomach and lightly pinched the barbell through his right nipple.

He made a pained sound.

“It never wants to heal…” he admitted with an embarrassed little chuckle, and it made me laugh softly too.

“I’m sorry… It’s sexy, though…”

“That’s why I got it,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

We laughed together, but then he pulled off my top and confidently unclasped my bra. It was obvious he had gained some experience since the last time we had been together. The thought made me jealous, but I was also happy to be with a guy who knew how to take the lead.

He pulled me down onto the bed while opening his grommet belt and shoving down his jeans. They were so loose he didn't even need to unbutton them. I could feel the urgency in him, and it spread through me too, so I struggled out of my own tight jeans.

Eric stared at the delicate lace panties underneath and swallowed hard.

“Fuck… You’re so… You’re everything.” His throat sounded dry and he licked his lips over and over.

I sat straddling his hips just above his cock so I could feel his erection pressing against me.

“They’re new,” I teased, tugging the lace higher on my hips while watching Eric’s facial expression become more and more tense.

“Can I touch them?”

I leaned back onto my hands in invitation, and carefully he dragged his fingers over my panties. At first it was innocent — slow touches over my mound — but gradually his fingers moved lower until he could feel how wet the fabric between my legs had become.

I was the one who slid the lace aside, but he was the one who slipped his fingers underneath to touch me directly. His fingers moved in delicate circles that felt so good, especially when he found my clit.

I had spent months teaching Seb how to touch me properly, but it took Eric maybe twenty seconds to figure it out completely. By the time he rubbed tighter circles over my most sensitive part, I was already coming apart against his hand.

I felt my wetness spill over his lower stomach while I gasped for breath. It felt too good, and more than anything I wanted him inside me.

I knew he was big. I had thought about him every single time I touched myself, even while I had been with other guys. I rose onto my knees to pull my panties off completely while Eric shoved down his black boxers.

“I need you… I need you so much…” I whined desperately.

Eric helped free himself from his boxers, and his cock sprang free between us. It was beautiful but also so intimidating. I wanted him in every way, in every hole. We started with my pussy.

He pushed into me slowly while I lay on my stomach, inch by inch even if it hurt. But it felt amazing, to be completely full again. 

His cock was everything.

He was everything.

And by the time we finally left that bed, he had used every part of me until my entire body ached.

×××

I sucked his cock deeply, like it was the only thing I was made for, and whenever I was with Eric, it honestly felt that way.

If he had wanted me to, I would have gladly been locked to his leg and spent every minute ready to take him into my mouth whenever he wanted. I moaned around him like he tasted like vanilla ice cream, and for me he actually tasted even better. 

Eric came in my mouth so I could swallow his full load just before we heard Malek descend the stairs. Both of us immediately turned toward the door when we heard him, but I still kept licking Eric clean until I heard my husband stop right outside the bedroom.

×××

Eric and Chance’s apartment wasn’t actually that bad, but it was hard to believe Eric worked as a cleaner. Stuff covered every surface: clothes, LPs, instruments, DVDs and empty food containers, but mostly it was beer bottles, and coffee mugs. It wasn’t surprising that both of them constantly ran to the bathroom, it was even hard for me to get time in there. The first night also explained exactly why the apartment looked the way it did.The two of them finished beers in ten minutes before immediately opening new ones. I sat with the same beer for almost half an hour while they got drunker and drunker. I liked Chance, though, and even if he encouraged Eric to drink more, he genuinely seemed like a good friend.

He watched Eric and me a little too closely whenever we kissed, but it was probably just jealousy. Boys that age thought about little beside sex, and between Eric’s wrecked sheets and the awkward way I sat down on a chair, it wasn’t hard to guess what we had been doing.

When Eric suggested leaving the kitchen table to put on a movie in the living room, Chance claimed he was tired but he was probably enough of a bro to realize Eric wanted alone time with the girl who had let his sheets escape down to the floor.

We crawled back into bed and made love slowly that time, even though my body still hurt. Eric kept asking if I was okay, and every time I told him I was, because all I wanted was to be close to him. The boy I loved.

I wished he could have been my boyfriend. I wished I could have stayed with him forever. But I knew I couldn’t because of his demons. I was reminded of that later that night. 

When I woke up, I saw him sitting alone on the couch. He perched on the edge of it, rocking back and forth while muttering to himself. He looked like a mad man and he actually was one. I knew that by the things he had told me. He had called me to tell me he was dead. He had told me how he had laid in his casket and gotten eaten up by worms. He had told me his body was decaying. 

Eric kept rocking back and forth, mumbling nonsense beneath his breath.

Seeing it in person was different from simply hearing him describe it, but strangely enough I just lay there watching him.

Eric was different. And I loved him because of it.

Maybe his strange thoughts about death could strike at any moment. Maybe they were true. Maybe he was dead. I didn’t know. I only knew he was my everything, and I would let him be different. 

Eventually Eric curled up into himself on the couch before turning his dead-looking eyes toward me.

“Am I still here?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Yes,” I answered softly. “You’re still here, Eric.”

He nodded and took a shaky breath before closing his eyes so I closed mine too.

It was strange how calm I felt — how easily I accepted him acting like a madman but I didn’t care if he was crazy. I loved him anyway.

But both of us knew he wasn't boyfriend material.

×××

Eric stayed in New York for a week. I didn’t see him many more times after I gave him that blowjob. Both of us knew we were terrible people for what we did to Malek. Sweet, sweet Malek.

But I couldn’t stop myself when I was around Eric, and he acted like he felt the same way. We didn’t want anything except to see each other, to be together, to be close to one another, but nothing good could come from it. It was better not to see each other at all. Or at least not alone.

I stood at the airport beside Malek and my dad, hugging Eric like he was never coming back again. I saw tears in my dad’s eyes as he stretched upward to pull Eric into a close embrace.

Everyone liked Eric. Everyone loved Eric. But only Chance and I really knew him.

He still had episodes where he believed he was dead and tried to somehow resurrect himself again, or even moments when he wanted to leave the earth behind completely. I wondered if people would still see him the same way if they knew about his inner thoughts.

When it was finally my turn to hug him goodbye, I rose onto my tiptoes — as usual — and kissed him on the cheek. His arms wrapped tightly around me, long and strong, and I could feel his heartbeat close to mine.

I took his face in my hands and looked directly into his eyes.

It was our moment.

“You’re alive…” I whispered softly. “And don’t you dare leave me…”

×

@kikibit @malenoradgn @a-differentbrandof-beans @forrealandjustsaying @useyourwandbro @turbotasticoo @keysandthesea @muchwita @hanamirandak @hamburger-sprite

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[b-afterhours]

I thought I lost you!! I loved loved loved your fic to know him so much I read it when you first posted it and for years I’ve been looking for it! I’m so happy 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

omg!! thank you so much!! 🥹♥️ that fic has a special place in my heart. i’m sooo bad a updating my master list but last year i wrote a little stand alone chapter for it, if you’re interested. lmk i can link it!

also i post to wattpad and AO3 under bafterhours if you’re on them you wont have to lose me haha

[b-afterhours]

i hate the first initial writing sesh like the draft is always super roughhhhhh like why can it just come out how i want it the first time omg 😭😫

[thedevotchka]

GIRLLL I LOVE YOUR WORKK!! I was wondering if you could do a fic where Olivia is basically looking for a girl (for Roman to own/ have as a potential wife) and basically the girl is looking for a summer job so she ends up getting interviewed by Olivia thinking she’s going to help around the house or be an assistant but Olivia has other plans. Obviously Romans captivated by her and doesn’t really plan on letting her leave. I see it as a Dark!Roman and like a petite doe eyed girl that ignores her intuition bc she’s easily manipulated. Idk if this makes sense but i would love of you could do something with this!! And….. Olivia is such a control freak she would go out her way to find Roman someone to easily manipulate🙈😩😩

The Housemaid (Roman Godfrey x Reader)

Summary: It was an ad in the paper. HELP WANTED, female preferred. Innocuous enough, probably placed by some older lady who needed someone to take over household chores. If you’d known then what you know now, you would never have set foot in the Godfrey mansion.

Word Count: 7335

Warnings: NSFW, like at all. Coercion, emotional manipulation, slavery, non-con, oral sex, PiV sex  

A/N: Phew anon, what a ride this was. I’m sorry it’s taken me a couple of weeks to get to your request, and I hope you like it. I hope my Dark!Roman lives up to expectations…

MDNI, fic under the cut.

It was an ad in the paper. You’d answered an ad in the paper. You’d been sitting in a diner, looking out at the smoldering scrapheap of your car and wondering whether you’d have to go digging between the seats for change to pay for the singular shitty cup of coffee in front of you, and the ad had caught your eye like an answered prayer. ‘HELP WANTED, female preferred.’ That was all it said.  You imagined the woman who wrote it, someone older, someone unfamiliar with the seedy innerworkings of Craigslist. Someone who needed some help around the house, some cooking and cleaning and lawncare, whatever. You could do that. All of that, if it came with an envelope of cash at the end of the week.

Hemlock Grove was a small, quiet town like a hundred other small, quiet towns you’d passed through in the last couple of months. The people were maybe a little less friendly, a little more reserved. The waitress that drops the newspaper off with your coffee doesn’t smile, and you feel a bit less bad about your lack of tip money as you flick through pages of local news. A new bench in the churchyard, a discount store opening on the strip, and a girl’s eviscerated remains turned up in the park. The personal ads were always the fun part, and there’s a faint trace of pen around the HELP WANTED ad, drawing your eye. You’re not the first person to enquire, then. You ask to borrow the diner’s phone and it rings just once before a woman answers.

“Godfrey residence.”

“Uh yeah, hi. I’m calling about the ad in the paper, help wanted.”

“Ah, the ad.” Her voice is cool and crisp, accented in a vaguely European way that you can’t identify. “Are you available this afternoon for an interview?”

You nod before you remember she can’t see you. “Yes. Uh yes, absolutely. I don’t… could you give me the address, please?”

“It’s the Godfrey house.”

“I’m not… I’m not local.”

“Oh.” You can’t tell if she’s disappointed or not, but she rattles off the address and you try desperately to keep the words in your head as you signal the waitress for a pen and scribble the address down on a coffee-stained napkin. The waitress presses her lips into a tight line when she sees what you’ve written down, but she doesn’t say anything.

*

The Godfrey mansion is an imposing structure, and you stare up at it with your bag slung over your tatty jacket and feel inadequate. The older gentleman who answers the door looks you up and down before plastering a polite smile on his face and leading you into the marble foyer. The woman who descends the staircase in front of you is a vision, a carefully curated collection of couture garments and sleek dark hair and golden skin. Your mouth falls open a little as you stare at her and she seems to move even more slowly, giving you ample time to admire her.

“Uh, hi. I’m here about the ad, we spoke on the phone.”

“Yes.” She cocks her head to the side, looking you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel too tight. “Oh, yes. I think you’ll do nicely. Can you start today? Now?”

You blink. “I thought… don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Dress size.”

“What?”

“Pardon.” The woman says. “Not what. Pardon. And I asked for your dress size. My staff wear a uniform.”

You think about the plain suit on the greying man who answered the door. “Okay.” You blush a little as you rattle off your measurements, but the woman doesn’t write anything down.

“You’ll call me Mrs Godfrey.”

“What are – Mrs Godfrey, sorry. I’m just a little confused. What actually is the job? The ad didn’t say.”

“Oh.” Mrs Godfrey purses her lips. “You’re to be a caretaker of sorts. I have a housekeeper, but she’s getting on a bit and could do with the help. Light household duties, mostly. Do you have any degrees? Any languages?”

“I… no. I’m sorry. I’m only eighteen. I got my GED though.”

“Eighteen, and out on your own?” It isn’t concern in her voice, not really, and you feel a shiver skitter down your spine.

“I’m reliable. If I make a commitment, I stick to it, you can be sure of that.”

She smiles. “Of course you do. This is a live in position, I trust that won’t be a problem.”

You swallow. “That… actually works out great. I’m between places at the moment.”

Mrs Godfrey looks you up and down again, her smile turning smirk. “Imagine that.”

You have no idea what to do with the scrap of fabric laid out on the bed in front of you. You’d met the housekeeper, Anna, and she wore a calf-length black dress. You’d expected the same, if that was the uniform. Maybe it was a joke? Not that Mrs Godfrey seemed all that… funny. A little voice in your head had started to fret, whispering that this was all a bit odd, that maybe you didn’t need the money this badly, that no one knew where you were and that was stupid. But you’d already made the commitment, and Mrs Godfrey needed the help, and Anna was older and her joints hurt her, you could see that in the pinching on her face when she knelt to wash the floors.

Not that she appreciated your help. Not at all. You knelt beside her in your ridiculous, porn star rendition of a maid’s outfit and she’d sneered at you with such open revulsion that you’d actually recoiled.

“I don’t need your help. You think you were brought here to work in a dignified position? Maybe you should go and take care of your charge like you’re sup-“

“Enough, Anna.” The woman’s pale face pales further, her skin turning a sickly shade of green as her eyes slip past you to look up at the man who’d spoken.

“Yes, master Godfrey. I apologize.”

“Apologize to her.”

Anna’s eyes snap back to you, her lower lip trembling like it pains her to shape the words. “Apologies for my tone, madam.”

You shake your head; but freeze at the touch of fingertips on your jaw as your head is turned, your face directed up to look at him.

“Do you accept her apology? I could make her go away, if you want.” The boy above you is beautiful, lovely green eyes in an angular face, slightly upturned nose and thick, plush lips curved up into a smirk that sends an unexpected bolt of arousal through your core.

“No… I mean, I yes. I accept the apology. Thank you.”

The boy’s smirk drops, like you’ve disappointed him. “She’s right, though. You’re not here to wash the floors. Not that I mind seeing you on your knees.”

You blink, feeling shame prick stinging tears into the corner of your eyes. “What… uh what am I supposed to be doing? Mrs Godfrey said light household duties… a caretaker.”

The boy hums. “Olivia always did like to bullshit. She shoulda gone into politics, coulda been the fuckin president. Or, you know, fucking the president.” His smirk has returned, and you feel a blush staining your cheeks as he looks at you. “Jesus, you’re cute. I mean, I knew you were but… fuck.”

You don’t know what to do with the compliment, not used to anyone being so bold about it, so your fingers fiddle with the hem of your too-short skirt, trying to pull it down like there’s any way to cover more of your exposed thighs. The boy’s eyes drop to your legs, his gaze darkening as he grazes his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m Roman, by the way.”

“Anna called you master Godfrey. Should I?”

His eyes flick back up to yours, dark amusement shining in the depthless green pools. “Not that I don’t like the thought of you calling me master, but I’d prefer Roman, actually.”

You offer him a small, relieved smile. “Roman.”

*

You find out what being a caretaker means on your very first night in the mansion. Roman slips into your room as soon as the moon is up. He’s wearing next to nothing, just a pair of tight white boxers that leave nothing at all to the imagination as he peels the sheets from your body and pushes your legs apart.

“Wait,” you mumble as his long, toned torso covers yours and he ruts his stiffening bulge against your thin panties. “Wait, please.”

He doesn’t say anything, and when your hands catch onto his jaw and hold his face steady you look into the depthless green pools of his eyes and find… nothing. The complete absence of consciousness. It scares you more than what comes next. Roman’s hands are so much larger than your own, and he pins both of yours above your head easily. You twist to the side to look, exposing your neck to the hungry press of his mouth, and his tongue prods at your jugular, massaging against it in a way that makes you feel nauseous. His other hand slips up under your shirt, cupping your bare breast roughly.

“Roman, wait,” you mumble, lifting your hips as though you can push him off. His own hips pin you to the mattress, the hard closeness of his stiff cock dragging against your core through your panties.

“It’s okay,” he coos, his voice a low rumble as his breath cools the saliva on your neck. He lifts his head, those depthless, dead eyes boring into yours, and you feel your panic solidify into something more primal. You’re a mouse caught in his claws, and you let your spine drop into the mattress, exhaling slowly. “You’re okay,” Roman mumbles, pressing his mouth clumsily to yours. He tastes like cigarettes and the sharp bite of something more potent, and he smells like rich, spicy cologne. The scent is somehow familiar, and that makes it worse.

He releases your wrists, but you don’t move. You let your arms bracket his shoulders, fingertips smoothing over the soft skin of his back as he drags your panties down your legs and drops them to the side of the bed. Two long fingers part your folds, caressing through the traitorous slick of arousal from the dry grinding of his cock against you. Your clit throbs and swells as he brushes against it with maddening gentleness. “You don’t have to… we don’t have to do this. I won’t tell Mrs Godfrey, I-“

His lips press to yours again, cutting off your protests as he presses his middle finger inside you, impossibly deep. You gasp into his mouth, unable to suppress your reaction to the feeling of his long finger probing and nudging against your sensitive walls.

He adds a second finger, dragging both in and out of your hole with a wet sound as he stretches you open.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember how to breathe, try to ignore how good his unwanted touch feels.

“Look at me.” He whispers, withdrawing his fingers from you completely. You meet his eyes reluctantly, your stomach clenching with fresh anxiety at the new emotion there. The depthless nothing has been replaced with a shine, and his bottom lip juts out like a child about to cry. “You must make your heart steel,” he says softly.

Your lips part, whether to question or to beg, but a quiet resolve settles over you like a blanket. The panic is gone, the anxiety is little more than an itch at the back of your brain. Then Roman sheathes himself inside you, his cock thick and long, and you huff out a pained whine as he bottoms out, his length pulsing against the fluttering of your walls. “Shit,” he hums, pulling half out and pushing back in. He sets a rhythm like that, in and out, your back dragging against the mattress with the force of his thrusts. He punctuates each one with a rough grind of his hips, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix in a way that sends a jolt of stinging pain through you with every stroke.

His hand comes up to your face, cupping your jaw gently before his fingers tighten and he forces your lips to pop open, licking his tongue into your mouth and gliding it against yours. He pulls back to suck in a breath, and your head swims like he’s stolen the oxygen right out of your lungs. The stinging in your cervix is dulling to an ache as he continues to rut into you, and his hips stutter against yours as he holds your face steady and looks into your eyes. “Come.”

It is terrifying, the way your body rolls into an unwanted, unexpected orgasm. The pleasure is white-hot as it curls through your stomach and floods your core, and you clench frantically around him as your mouth makes embarrassing, pitiful whimpering sounds. The movement of your muscles tips him over the edge, and Roman finishes deep inside you, his head dropping to his chest as he grinds his cum right up against your cervix.

He pulls out slowly, wincing at the tight grip your walls have on him. You can do little more than lie there, watching, as he tucks his softening, slick cock into his boxers and sits back on his heels. There’s a dark vertical line marring his expressionless face, and he lifts a finger to brush through it. Blood; his nose is bleeding. He doesn’t seem to care, sucking his finger wetly and pulling the cupid’s bow of his top lip into his mouth to suck the residual crimson from his skin. You wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He pulls the sheet up over your body, tucking the corners around your shoulders in an absurd mimic of care before slipping out of the bed and leaving the room, all without a word. You don’t sleep, listening for every creak in the hallway and jumping half out of your skin at the creaking, ticking sounds the old house makes until sunrise peaks through the slatted blinds.

Mrs Godfrey delivers your clean uniform personally the next morning. It’s jarring to see her standing in your doorway, looking altogether too elegant and too expensive to be seen in this part of the house. “I trust you slept well.” She brandishes a garment bag at you, and you take it automatically.

“I… had a visitor in the night.”

You wait for her question. It doesn’t come.

“Mrs Godfrey… your son…”

“My son is a good boy. He does as he’s told. It’s not for you to question him.”

You swallow hard around a lump in your throat. She knew. “I didn’t sign up for this.” Your voice is shaking and small, and you wish you could be braver. You wish you could tell her where to shove her job and her rapist POS son, and walk out of this creepy-ass house with your head high.

“Really, am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You’re a drifter. You have no money, no home. No prospects of any kind. Is my mansion not to your liking?” Her voice is clipped, but there’s a mean spark in her eyes that has you shrinking in the doorway.

“My… duties. You said caretaker.”

Mrs Godfrey sighs like this is all a huge inconvenience and pushes past you into the room. Her eyes take in the mess of sheets on the bed, the little, rumpled slip of your underwear on the floor, and her lip curls. “My son has many excellent qualities. But he is the sole heir to the Godfrey empire, and he has certain… proclivities that have made securing him a suitable match rather taxing. He has an unnatural appetite and frankly, I’m sick of cleaning up PR nightmares when he takes things too far with the spoilt daughters of my late husbands business acquaintances.”

You swallow hard, mind flashing to the blood on his upper lip and the dead look in his eyes. Proclivities.

“And so I’m… what? Practice? Something to… expend his energy on?” The words make you feel sick. The expression on Mrs Godfrey’s face makes you sicker.

“You’re to do whatever he wants you to do. If he wants you to crawl around and bark like a dog, you’ll do it.”

“And…” You suck in a breath, feeling your legs shake. “If I say no?”

Mrs Godfrey raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You won’t. You’re not here by accident, surely you know that. He picked you.”

Your vision tunnels as you sit heavily on the bed, the sheets puffing up and releasing the ghost of his cologne into the air. And oh, God. You’d thought it was familiar when he’d climbed on top of you last night. You’d smelled it before, that exact blend of perfume and cigarettes. At the diner. Maybe in the booth behind you. “He was at the diner.”

Mrs Godfrey smiles. “Inspecting you up close, making sure he liked you. You should be flattered. When you showed up here yesterday I was rather… underwhelmed.” She scans down your body, and you cover your chest like it’ll do any good when you’re wearing so little. “I suppose he could see the potential assets hiding under that grungy old jacket.”

“How long am I going to be here?” You ask carefully.

“Until he’s bored of you. Or you’re… unable to fulfil your duties.” There is absolutely no emotion in the older woman’s face or voice as she reveals this awful truth. She shrugs one shoulder like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“How many… caretakers has Roman had?”

Mrs Godfrey’s lips quirk into a smile. “You’re his fourth in two years.”

*

Roman is sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of lucky charms with a newspaper spread out in front of him. You blink at him from the doorway. You’d expected to feel… something when you saw him. Fear, or revulsion. But he looks so jarringly normal, eating cereal and flicking through the paper like he didn’t force himself on you last night. He looks up and one side of his mouth pulls into a lopsided smile that would be endearing if he wasn’t a monster.

“Morning.”

You nod, stepping into the room. “What can I do for you today, Master Godfrey?”

Roman’s smile drops, a fine wrinkle creasing between his brows. “I told you to call me Roman.”

You drop your eyes to your shoes. “My apologies, sir.”

You hear the drag of his chair against the tile as he pushes out of his seat and crosses the room. He doesn’t touch you, but he dips his head to catch your eyes. “What’s up with you?” Your mouth opens and closes, the desire to scream at him warring with the desire to shrink into nothingness and go unseen. Your inherent fear of confrontation wins out, and you bow your head. “There’s nothing the matter. I’m simply awaiting my instructions as your caretaker.”

Roman’s spine straightens at the complete lack of… anything in your voice. What the fuck was up with you today? You’re wearing the uniform, and he can’t stop his eyes from dropping to the swell of your breasts over the cheap frilly fabric. He looks more often than he should, but he can’t help it. You look like every wet dream he ever had as a kid.

Finding you had been a stroke of fate, he was sure of it. The last girl had been a disappointment, she’d dissolved into hysterics within a month and had cut her own wrists open in the bathtub. Which had been its own kind of gift, granted, but it had sucked. He’d wallowed in the rejection of it for two weeks before Olivia had brought him a stack of yearbooks and asked him to pick.

You’d stuck out immediately, your enormous doe-eyes and half smile giving him the familiar tingling feeling of his cock stiffening. He’d pointed at your picture like it didn’t matter, and Olivia had smiled and stroked his hair back. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And then you were here, your car breaking down just inside the limits of Hemlock Grove. Roman had trailed you to the garage, where they’d told you they wouldn’t be able to fix your awful junker car, and then to the diner, where you’d stressed over a couple of cents to buy a coffee. Roman had slipped the waitress a fifty to give you the paper, and he’d circled the HELP WANTED ad himself. And here you were. Fate, with a side of Godfrey influence.

Now those enormous doe eyes are trained on the ground, and Roman feels his stomach flip over with the indignation of rejection. Because how dare you go cold on him when he’s been nothing but fucking nice to you, standing up for you when Anna was being a bitch. And okay, the uniform was a little on the nose, but he was just having fun. You could change into something else if you really wanted to.

“Instructions, huh?” He asks, forcing his voice to come out harsh to hide the hurt he feels. “Yeah, okay. I spilled my coffee. Clean it up.”

You look past him to the table, to the full, very much unspilled mug sitting beside his cereal bowl. Roman huffs, turning on his heel and nudging the mug to the edge of the table.

“Don't,” you mumble, eyes lifting to his.

And Roman knows he should stop now, he’s gotten what he wanted, you’re looking at him with your big, beautiful, innocent eyes, but there’s a meanness inside him that he can’t always control and he pushes the cup again. It shatters against the tiles, splattering everything with coffee, and you suck in a breath as your eyes widen. “Why did you do that?”

“Rags are in the pantry cupboard.” He says, dropping into his seat and picking up the paper.

You stare at him a moment longer before sighing and turning to the cupboard he’d pointed at.

You sweep up the wet glass easy enough, working around his long limbs. He only manages to touch you once, a brush of his fingers over your ass as you lean across the table to collect a stray shard. You jump away, and you hear his quiet laughter from behind the paper. But to clean up the coffee you have to get on your knees and climb under the table, and dread fills you as you lower yourself to the ground. You hear the rustling of Roman’s paper, and then he clears his throat.

“And while you’re down there…”

You turn your eyes up at him, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip.

“My shoes caught a little of that. I don’t want the leather to stain. Start there.”

You nod, releasing your bloodless lip and running the rag over the tops of his shoes until there’s no trace of coffee on them. “Better?” You ask in a tiny voice.

Roman looks down, turning his feet this way and that. “No. They’re dry, but they’re not clean.”

You frown, worrying the rag between your fingers. “Do you have a cleaning spray I should use, I don’t know if the kitchen one is okay for leather, but I could-“

“Spit.”

You stop talking, looking up at him. “What?”

“Spit.”

“I… no. I mean, I couldn’t.”

“You can spit or you can get down and lick them clean. I know which option I’d pick.”

He’s not smirking at you. He’s not even smiling, but there’s an unsettling glint in his eye that sets you on edge. It’s his eyes that make you do it. You bite your tongue to fill your mouth with saliva and then you part your lips to drop the foamy slick onto his shoe.

Roman hums, and your eyes land on the growing bulge against his jeans as your shaking hands bring the rag over the top of his shoe and buff it until it shines again.

He doesn’t make you shine the other one, because the moment you lift your eyes from your work his hand tangles in your hair and he drags the sticky head of his cock over your lips. You hadn’t heard him unzip his pants, or registered the little huff of an exhale as he gripped his hard length and shifted his hips. You don’t need to be told what to do now. Your lips part, tongue bumping messily against his slit as you taste the salt of him. Roman lets out a quiet moan, relaxing back into his seat. He doesn’t let go of your hair, but he doesn’t force your head either. You suction your mouth around the head of his cock and suck hard, laving your tongue against the underside before you slip lower, letting his thick length graze against your tongue as you take him deeper.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s it. Good girl. Take it all. Take care of it.”

You hum against his skin, and Roman’s fingers tighten in your hair. He does push a little then, his hips lifting to bump the thick tip of his cock against the resistance of your throat, before you exhale slowly and relax.

He’s too big, really. He’s still got a fist wrapped around the base of his cock, and his fingers meet your mouth with each bob of your head, your spit dripping down to paint his balls and soak into the sleeve of his shirt.

You hear footsteps in the hallway, and try to pull back, but Roman pushes his hips higher, his cock squeezing into the narrow canal of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, spluttering and choking on his thick length.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Mrs Godfrey’s voice. You try again to pull back, but Roman releases his cock and glides his wet fingers into your hair, holding you firmly against his crotch as he bucks up against your face. Your nose grazes the rough thatch of hair on his pubic bone and he huffs a laugh.

“Is there a… problem, mother?” He asks between laboured breaths.

“At the table? Really, Roman. We have a dozen bedrooms.”

Roman moans, a loud, sultry, slutty sound that heats your cheeks. To make a sound like that in front of your own mother? You feel shame gutter in your stomach, but you couldn’t stop the inevitable now. You can feel the pulsing, painful length of him in your throat, and you know he’s close to coming.

“Couldn’t wait.” He groans. “Too hard.”

“Yes.” Mrs Godfrey drawls. “I can see that. Just… clean up the mess.”

Roman grunts, snapping his hips up faster against your face, and your throat makes a terrible, wet sound of protest as you choke on his cock. “Not gunna… leave any mess.”

The words register just before his nails dig against your scalp and you feel the searing pulse of his release as Roman spills down your throat. You don’t even taste it, he’s buried too deeply. There is no choice, you swallow reflexively against the trickle of sticky fluid dropping down your throat, and Roman moans at the feeling of your throat contracting around his sensitive cock as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

When Roman pulls out of your mouth, you snap your head around to the door, but Mrs Godfrey has gone. You wonder if she stayed to watch her son’s climax, and you wish you could unthink it because that’s completely fucked up. Roman runs his thumb over your bottom lip, collecting the slippery slick of residual cum and spit and pushing it back into your mouth. You accept his thumb like an offering, licking against the rough pad of it.

“God, you’re good.” He says in a tone bordering on reverence. “Didn’t even have to make you do that.”

You bite your lip. He’d commanded it, hadn’t he? And you were his plaything, until you figured out how to get out of it. “I need to finish cleaning up the coffee.” Your voice is hoarse, your throat raw.

Roman shakes his head. “Anna can do that shit. Do you wanna get out of here? Go for a ride?”

Hope flutters in your chest. Freedom. A chance to flag down a passerby. “That sounds nice.”

He doesn’t let you change your clothes, and you feel horribly exposed as your too-short skirt rides up your thighs in the passenger seat of his car. It’s a classic jaguar, cherry red and immaculately kept. A hell of a car. You remember thinking so the first time you’d seen it, parked outside your motel room two weeks and three towns ago. And again, outside the diner where you’d been too preoccupied with your own misery to realize it was the same car.

“You okay?” He asks after a long time of driving in silence.

“You said… something to me, last night.”

Roman shrugs. “You can’t trust anything I say when I’m tryna fuck. My cock’s running the show.”

You shake your head, reaching your fingers for his chin and grazing softly against his jaw. Roman’s head turns, surprise lighting his eyes as he leans into the touch like he’s starved of it. “You said I must make my heart steel. What does that mean?”

Roman’s eyes flutter closed for a moment before he jerks his head back to the road ahead. “It’s… nothing. Just something I tell myself sometimes.”

“Your mom says I’m your fourth caretaker.”

Roman swears under his breath. “Yeah well Olivia should learn to keep her fuckin mouth shut.”

You swallow, fixing your eyes on the side of his face. It hurts to look at him, but you need to see whether he reacts to what you’re saying. It’s the only chance you have to figure him out. “She also said they… were gone. When you got bored or they… couldn’t perform.”

Roman’s jaw ticks, the only outward sign of the panic churning in his gut. You aren’t supposed to know that. Any of it. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

“You’re not like those other girls.” He says carefully.

You drop your hand to his thigh, stroking his tense muscles with shaking fingers. “Did they… did any of them survive you?”

Roman feels like he might black out. He pulls the car over to the side of the road, the motion erratic and you yelp as you’re thrown forward. “Why the fuck would you ask that?” He seethes, snapping his seatbelt open and turning in his seat to glare at you.

You shrink against the leather, blinking away a film of tears. “Because I want to know whether… whether I’m gunna get out of this or not.”

Roman’s hand grips your face painfully, lifting your chin high and exposing your throat. His eyes drop to the pulsing thrum of blood under the delicate surface of your skin, and his tongue wets across his bottom lip. “You’re not getting out of this. You accepted the position. And I’m not… I don’t do well with sharing. You’re mine, that’s kinda all there is to it.”

His thumb pushes into the hollow of your cheek as he softens his tone. “It doesn’t have to be bad. You liked it last night, didn’t you? You got something out of it.”

You remember the way he spat the command at you, and the way your body responded like he’d pulled your orgasm out of your very soul. “I didn’t like that.”

Roman sucks in a breath, his face contorting into the cold smirk you were coming to understand was his default. “Coulda fooled me with the way you soaked my cock.”

Your cheeks flush a violent red, and Roman presses his palm to that heat, relishing in the rush of blood close to the surface.

“I don’t… I don’t understand this. Any of it. You… could have anyone you wanted.” “Yeah.”

“Someone who wants you back. You don’t need to… men like you don’t need to force it.”

Roman’s eyes flash with something, and you feel heat curl in your stomach. Danger. You’re close tosomething dangerous. Now would be the time to shut the hell up, but for once your mouth is overriding your sense of self preservation. “Your mom said you had… I think she said proclivities. She means perversions, right? You’re into something that other people wouldn’t like. That’s why you needed me, someone who wouldn’t… wouldn’t be able to make you suffer the consequences.”

Roman’s head tilts to the side. “Proclivities. The spin doctor is in. What’s your point? This the part where you beg me to let you go?” “I…” You swallow hard, straightening your spine with a false sense of confidence. “There’s someone for everybody. I’m saying I don’t think you need to… to do all of this. Just find someone whose into what you’re into. Then you could be yourself with someone who wants the same thing.”

Roman’s hands drop from your face. “You really think there’s someone out there for me?” His voice is soft, his face hopeful.

You nod jerkily, praying he doesn’t see the tremor in your hands as you press them against your thighs.

“Hmm.” He hums, biting the corner of his lip. “Maybe you’re right. I… I guess you aren’t interested in sticking around then, huh?”

You pause. This feels like a trap, and you need to be careful. “I think… I don’t think I’m the right person for you. I’m boring and damaged. But I wouldn’t ever tell anyone about any of this. I’d walk away and you wouldn’t have to deal with me again. No PR nightmare for your mom, either.” Roman’s mouth twists to the side. “Right. Okay, yeah maybe you’re right. Shit. Olivia’ll kill me if I let you go though. She’ll want to get rid of you properly. You promise you’re gunna be good? Not gunna come back around causing trouble for me?”

You shake your head so fast your vision blurs. “Never. I’d never, I promise. I’ll just disappear.”

You hear the click of the locks disengaging, and your eyes flit to the door and back to Roman. “Go.” He says softly. “Before I come to my fuckin senses.”

You don’t wait for that. You fling the door open and throw yourself from the car, taking off right into the thick forest bordering the road. It’s not the smartest choice, you don’t know where you are and you have no idea how to make it back to town, but you can figure that out later. Right now you just need to get as far away from Roman as possible, before he comes to his senses.

Roman watches you slip into the trees, your little skirt puffing up around your hips and flashing your panties at him. He smiles, feeling his cock twitch and thicken. This is the best part. His most favourite part. He switches off the engine and gets out, running his hand back through his hair before he makes his way into the forest. Your scent is everywhere, the sharp musk of your sweat and the sweetness of your terror-laced adrenaline. Even if he couldn’t smell you, he’d be able to track you easy enough. You’re loud, thundering through the forest and snapping twigs and disturbing fallen leaves as you go. You’re running, but in your silly little dress and kitten heels you can’t gain much ground.

Roman can see you again now. There are little bits of debris in your hair and you’re panting loud enough for him to hear thirty foot back. His cock twitches insistently against his jeans and he reaches down to palm himself as he ducks under a branch and cuts left, arcing around you until he’s just behind you.

Your scream is cut off by the cool press of his palm against your mouth, his skin forcing your lips apart. You can’t bite down, and you can’t breathe. You feel his lips against the side of your neck, his sharp nose nudging against your ear. “You smell like fear,” he mumbles, his voice liquid silk skittering down your spine as his free hand slips up under your dress and drags over the front of your panties. “And you’re wet.” His voice is a purr now, his fingers pushing your underwear aside to slip inside you, curling back in a way that should be pleasurable but isn’t when you’re out of your mind with terror. “Fuck, it’s so much better when they run.”

He drags you roughly backwards, your heels skidding in the mulchy earth as you scrabble for purchase. He pushes you away from him suddenly, spinning you and pushing you back against a tree. The rough bark scratches your bare back, and you realize Roman’s yanked your dress up. “Roman, please. Lets just talk.”

Roman grins, his teeth flashing too sharp and his smile too wide. “I can smell you. Could smell you from a mile away. Fear makes it all so much… sweeter.” His eyes flick down your body, and you shrink against the tree like there’s anywhere to go. He takes a step closer, dipping his head to press a hard kiss against your mouth before sinking to his knees.

The breath goes out of you as you look down at him, his big green eyes hooded as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “You said you didn’t like it last night.”

You feel your face flush as you nod.

“You’ll like this.” He mumbles, before his head disappears under the little puff of your skirt and you feel his mouth close over your pussy through your panties. His tongue probes over the fabric, coaxing your clit to swell as your hips cant forward against him and you let out an involuntary whine. Roman groans against you, his nose nudging the elastic of your panties to the side so he can nuzzle into your slick. He moans again as he suctions his lips over your clit and draws it into his mouth, sucking surprisingly gently against the sensitive bud. Your hand flies to his head, fingers tangling in his hair like you’ve forgotten who he is, and he rewards the touch with a series of devastatingly fast flicks of his tongue against the underside of your clit.

“Oh shit,” you whine, trying to simultaneously tug him closer and close your legs against the overwhelming sensation. Roman’s hand seizes on your calf and lifts, and you yelp as you almost fall. He drops your leg over his shoulder, spreading your further as he pushes his tongue into you, swallowing greedily at your arousal before flattening his tongue against your clit again and thrumming against it. “Please,” you whimper, the coil in your stomach tightening with a pressure that’s too close to too much.

Roman hums against your core, sending vibrations through you, and you fall apart, the coil snapping with a buck of your hips and the complete loss of sensation in your legs. Roman holds you up, burrowing his nose and mouth against you, consuming everything that spills out of you as you clench around nothing and shake against his lips.

He pulls away with a wet smack of his lips, reappearing from under your skirts with flushed cheeks and a swollen mouth. Your eyes roll back at the filthy sight of him, and he licks his lips hungrily before fisting the front of your dress, fingers tangling in the corset ribbons as he drags you down against him. You land awkwardly, limbs splayed out to the sides to avoid touching him as much as you can. Roman rolls his eyes and drags you over his lap, your stomach making harsh contact with his thighs before he thumps you down onto the ground. His hands smack down hard on your ass, shoving your skirt up your back as he rips your underwear to the side. Your nails dig into the dirt as he settles on your legs, pinning you to the earth as he pushes his stiff cock into you from behind. From this angle he hits your cervix almost immediately, and you can’t stop the tears springing to your eyes. You can’t move, can’t change the angle of his thrusts even a little with your body so thoroughly pinned. Your walls clench around him, and Roman moans, his nails digging into the meat of your hips as he drags you back and forth, fucking you on his cock at a brutal pace. You feel your jaw go slack as he fills you, every ridge and vein on his cock dragging against your sensitive insides as he spills into you.

He isn’t gentle as he pulls out, barely sparing the time to tuck himself back into his trousers before he’s hauling you from the floor and slinging you over his shoulder. You feel the moment his shoulder connects with your stomach and the wet, humiliating squelch as his cum is pushed out of you to drip down your thighs. Roman huffs, his fingers splaying possessively across your skin. Back at the roadside he puts you down just long enough to open the passenger door before he pushes you inside.

If you’d thought the drive out had been quiet, the journey home is deathly silent. You can feel the tension rolling off Roman in malevolent waves, and you feel terror curl in your stomach and sour. You’d fucked up. Big time, royally fucked up, and now there was no way out. He wouldn’t let you leave again.

As if he’s read your mind, Roman kills the engine in the enormous driveway and turns in his seat. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I… there’s no leaving, is there?”

He hums. “No, there’s no leaving. Not the way you think. You’ll stay here until you break, or until you accept that this is where you’re supposed to be. With me.”

There’s something shining in his eyes when he talks, even though his voice remains steady and low.

“What if…” you swallow hard against a lump in your throat. “What if you get bored of me before either of those things happen?”

Roman blows out a breath in a low whistling sound. “Well, I can’t promise I won’t ever fuck anyone else, sweetheart.” You feel your face flush as your stomach churns. “But… you’ll have your hands full anyway, raising the babies.”

You freeze, the world narrowing on that word. “Babies?”

Roman’s mouth smirks, but the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s studying you, taking silent mental notes of every flicker on your face. “What, you think my mother puts up with all this shit so I can get laid?” He scoffs. “She wants a fuckin dynasty, strengthen the bloodline or whatever.”

You can hear your own blood roaring in your ears. It’s so loud, so deafeningly loud that you can’t quite believe that Roman can’t hear it too. “I’ve never… wanted to be a mother.”

“Oh.” Roman shrugs. “Well, if you hate the lil tykes when they come out I’ll hire a nanny. A whole fleet of them if you want.”

You start to cry, pathetic sniffles spilling from your nose as your throat tightens uncomfortably, and Roman drags you onto his lap, pulling your face close so he can trace your tears away with his tongue. “Shh don’t cry. Fuckkk, it gets me hard when you cry.” He sighs, pulling his full bottom lip into his mouth. “I’m gunna take care of you.” He ruts up against you, pressing his erection against the ruined, soaked mess of your panties, and you remember Mrs Godfrey’s warning about his appetite. Roman’s fingers slip your panties to the side as he pushes you down onto his hard length and your head drops against his shoulder, stifling a quiet sob against the fabric of his shirt.  

Tag list: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen

[b-afterhours]

writing the is penultimate chapter of ETC has been bumming me out. Paz & Bills life was so fucking cute and normal before everything omg 😔😭

[sweetbillwriting]

The Boy Is Mine

CHAPTER 4 - Brandy

Characters: Mark, played by Bill Skarsgård, from the movie Assassination Nation (2017), the rest is my own characters.

Warnings: 18+, heavy themes.

MPlumber_21

MPlumber_21

MPlumber_21

I couldn't stop thinking about it—Mark's username on a dating site. I wouldn’t forget it easily. It was like my brain had decided I would need it someday and made it impossible to delete. Two weeks later, I sat in front of my family’s computer, which was placed in a corner of the living room. I looked around carefully to make sure my sister or my parents weren’t nearby, then I typed the dating site’s address into the search bar. I was welcomed by the same pixelated pink cloud I had seen on Mark’s computer. My heart beat hard in my chest, but I didn’t hesitate when I clicked the “create an account” button.

Name?

What was a hot name? I looked at the CD shelf next to me. I had three shelves with CDs, and I scanned the names for inspiration.

Britney? Too obvious, just like Mariah. Beyoncé was even worse. Jessica, maybe? No, too much of a high school movie vibe.

Brandy. Brandy. I looked at the Full Moon CD in my hand and nodded to myself. She had that sweet but sexy aura I wanted. It was a really good name.

Name? Brandy.

Nickname? BrandyCandy_kiss

Age? 22.

I stared at everything I had written when I was done. I had answered questions about my favorite food and how many kids I wanted to have. I answered everything as if I were sexy Brandy. I googled “hot girl” and “pretty dancer” to find a picture of someone who could be the face of Brandy. I found a picture of an Australian actress who wasn’t known at all in America and uploaded it without any problem. It didn’t seem like anyone cared if it really was you in the picture, and I wasn’t nervous Mark would find out the girl was a random actress. How would he find that out?

It was fun to make the perfect page for the perfect Brandy, who now was me—or I was her. I almost forgot why I had created the account, but when I was done with my page, the nerves washed over me. It was time for me to search for Mark. MPlumber_21. There was a search bar on the right corner of the site. When I typed in his name, his page came up automatically. I had made my page baby blue with magenta text; his was completely black with khaki text that was hard to read against the dark background. When I got used to his darker theme, I looked at his profile picture.

There he was. He sat against a wall with his chin raised, probably to look tougher, and he wore just a white tank top. Around his neck hung a silver chain. His hair was messier than usual, and I could see what he wanted with the picture. He wanted to be sexy—and he was. Strong arms on display, full lips in focus, and his hair showing a wild side. He was so hot and looked so much older than the other guys in school. Without even thinking about it, I saved the picture in my folder with other hot men—mostly Johnny Depp and Jude Law. Mark even stood out among those Hollywood actors.

I looked at his other pictures. He had three more. One black-and-white that actually looked like a model shot, one of him skating, but the last one was of him without a shirt. He lay in bed, and it must have been taken with a digital camera by himself, because you could see his outstretched arm in the picture. He looked a bit sleepy, but in a sexy way, and was only dressed in black sweatpants. He looked straight into the camera, but even then your gaze drifted downward to his flat chest and defined abs. I didn’t know he looked like that. Fuck, he was hot.

×××

“What the fuck, man?!” Oliver screamed at Mark when he came closer to us. Mark zipped his jeans awkwardly and looked at Oliver.

“I understand how this looks—” he said, but Oliver punched him in the face before he could finish his sentence. Mark grabbed his cheek in pain but seemed to blink it away. Something told me he had been hit before—and that he had probably deserved it.

“Oh… okay…” he said, shocked. He didn’t have time to recover, though, because Oliver started shoving his chest.

“What the fuck did you do?” Oliver said angrily.

Now you might wonder what I did—well, the alcohol had caught up with me, and I stood with Javid, crying hysterically like I really was a victim. I thought I was, though—that we all were victims of Mark’s manipulation. In my fuzzy brain, I believed that was what Oliver was angry about, but he had put two and two together and believed Mark had done something much worse.

“What the fuck are you accusing me of, man? I would never—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up! I want you gone, okay? Just run away to your expensive car and leave us the fuck alone!”

Mark stared at Oliver, confused, but then scoffed. He gave me a quick look and shook his head before turning on his heel and walking away. There was nothing left for him there anyway. All the guys looked angry, and I was just crying. Still, I looked at his back with a sense of satisfaction. Mark was just a bully and always had been.

×××

I liked all of Mark’s pictures and hoped that would get me some attention, but I didn’t have time to sit and wait. It was too expensive to just sit and stare at the internet. I needed to disconnect, and when my dad shouted that I had been on for more than an hour, I knew it really was time. Otherwise, they’d take it out of my allowance.

I stared at Mark even more the next day at school, because I knew how he looked under his hoodie. He wore the gray hoodie again, and I smirked to myself when I thought about my bare chest having been pressed against the fabric.

Me, Hannah, and Denise sat on a bench, watching him make out with Savannah. Now I knew their relationship was fake; he was searching for other girls online.

“I only get to bring one person,” I answered when Denise pouted about not getting to go to the party. She rolled her eyes.

“Maybe I could’ve made out with Mark if you got to dance with Mason!” she said to Hannah. I turned to her with furrowed brows. He was mine.

“He has a girlfriend,” I said with an attitude, even though I had never given Savannah any respect before.

“Please! He just likes that she’s easy!”

I scoffed but thought to myself that I would have been easy too.

Hannah sat quietly while we continued discussing Mark a bit too heatedly—even though she was the one who had danced with one of the school’s richest kids, maybe the richest. She looked toward the brick wall where Mason stood. Their eyes met, and Mason smiled brightly. Hannah looked down, embarrassed, then up again with a shy smile for him. Me and Denise didn’t notice a thing because I was busy describing Mark’s home in detail for Denise. I didn’t mention anything about his room, though.

×××

I was the victim. We all were. Mark had manipulated us—at least that’s what I believed—but Jerry didn’t see it that way the next day. He had called me into his office and stared at me while I told my incoherent story. I could see the annoyance on his face and thought he would never take my side because he thought Mark was cool. He wanted to be his friend.

It was embarrassing to tell my boss I had actually made out with a client—even been prepared to sleep with him in his car. It was completely unprofessional, but if he thought Mark was cool, he must understand me… right?

“So you mean he was sober while manipulating you?”

“Yes!”

“Manipulating you to do what?”

“Do what he says!”

Jerry furrowed his brows in confusion. “You know we’re hired by him to do exactly that?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded, because I could also hear that it didn’t really add up.

“I mean, he wants us to trust him and—”

“Would he manipulate you, then, if he wants you to trust him?”

Jerry sighed deeply.

“It sounds like a joke to me. A sober person teasing drunk people.”

I felt a heavy annoyance and scoffed loudly.

“Or did something else happen? Did he try anything? In that case, you should file a police report.”

He looked at me, examining.

“What? No! No. He’s just… you don’t get it.”

“Or do you have a personal vendetta against him?”

My jaw dropped, then closed. I did that a couple of times because there wasn’t an easy answer.

“Mark deserves an apology, because I don’t want to lose him as a client over something like this. And I want you to clearly explain to the others that he didn’t do anything wrong—otherwise, I’ll have to do it.”

×××

I was in a hurry to get home. Mark had left school two hours earlier than me that day, so I had this naive thought that he would go home to his room with green curtains and striped sheets and sit down in front of his computer. He would see my likes—and maybe give me some back.

×××

It was awkwardly quiet at the table while we ate lunch. Stuttering, I explained what had actually happened between Mark and I. My cheeks heated when I told them “we hung out in his car” and how he had made a bad joke about manipulating us. I believed him and got upset. He never touched me—without permission. I could see the different ways the genders reacted. Zandra and Ida smirked, amused, and I could tell from their eyes they wanted to ask me where I had actually let Mark touch me. The guys started sighing and groaning loudly.

“What the fuck? Did you let us believe he fucking raped you? You can destroy a guy doing something like that!” Tom said, upset.

“Yeah, dudes have killed themselves over that kind of shit. It’s good that you didn’t get raped, but what you did to him is kind of like rape too!” Javid said, upsetting me—and Ida as well—with his comparison. She looked at him with furrowed brows.

“You fucking know what I mean! Being accused of rape can really destroy lives!”

I sighed, partly because it was annoying getting a lecture, but also because I could hear some truth in it. I looked at Oliver, who had been sitting quietly the whole time, staring down at the table. He must have noticed me looking at him because after just a few seconds, he stood up, left his seat and food behind, walking toward the exit. It had become too much for him, which was understandable, since he was the one who had hit Mark for something he hadn’t done. Maybe our relationship didn’t make it any easier either. I met Javid’s eyes, but he just gave me a tired look. I might have hurt two guys, and Javid probably believed I did it for attention.

×××

“Can I use the computer??” I almost screamed to my mom in the kitchen when I came through the door. She came out into the hallway wearing her Snoopy apron and looked at me, confused.

“Don’t scream like that. Is there a fire or something?”

“What? No. But can I use the computer?”

I hung up my things but dropped my backpack on the floor. My mom looked at it with raised brows, then back at me.

“If you take your bag to your room, you can use it until your dad gets home.”

I looked at the clock on the wall. 4:15—he’d be home in maybe 30–45 minutes. I thanked my mom and ran up to my room to drop off my backpack. She shook her head at me behind my back. I ran even faster down the stairs into the living room, where the computer was already on. I exhaled in relief because it would have taken ages to start.

You have 1 new message and 5 new likes.

I had five new likes on my profile picture—four from unknown guys in their 20s, and one from an eighteen-year-old pretending to be 21. Mark. I never thought it would be him who had also sent a message, but it was.

MPlumber_21: Ur cute. How r u?

I stared at the message. He thought I was cute! Or, he thought the Australian actress was cute—but it felt like he meant me. I needed to answer something good, something cool.

BrandyCandy_kiss: it’s cool ^^ jus chillin… how R u? :)

I checked his profile again. He wasn’t online, so I couldn’t expect a reply, but I could look at his profile. He wanted two kids, his favorite food was lasagna, and in his free time he hung out with friends and his little brother. It also said he worked as a plumber and owned his own company. It was obviously a lie—but my whole profile was a lie. It was strange how easy it was to be someone else online, but I liked it. Suddenly I could be a gorgeous woman in her twenties—a girl Mark would notice.

×××

“Oliver,” I whined behind him as he walked down the stairs from our floor toward the exit. He just walked faster and faster, muttering to himself. I pushed the door open forcefully and followed him outside, lagging behind so the door closed before I reached it.

“Oliver,” I whined again as I ran up to him. When I finally touched his back, he turned around so abruptly that I stumbled.

“What the fucking fuck, Leah!”

I stared at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“I hit him! I fucking hit a client! You made me think…” he sighed and dragged his hands over his face.

“I never said he had done anything like that!” I answered, annoyed, because I was once again being accused of lying.

“No, but you never denied it either!”

My annoyance turned into sympathy when I saw Oliver’s defeated expression.

“Is this about… us? Our relationship? Because, Oliver—”

“Ah, shit, Leah…!” He groaned loudly and threw his head back. “No, don’t make yourself more important than you are. I don’t care if you sleep with that snob. Do whatever you want—just leave me out of it.”

I couldn’t help feeling hurt, even if I didn’t have feelings for Oliver. Maybe that made me a bad person, but the thought that he liked me had always made me feel more confident. He didn’t care about my hurt expression, though. He just turned on his heel again and kept walking. I watched him for a moment before giving up and heading back to my workplace.

I didn’t see Oliver again that day, but the other men gave me accusatory looks. Clearly, I was their biggest enemy now. I tried to focus on my work, but I kept looking at Mark’s file over and over. I even thought about deleting it, since the chances of him coming back seemed small—but then I saw something red in the corner of my eye that made me look up.

It was a man dressed in a red hoodie and light jeans—a tall man with broad shoulders, laughing loudly. My male colleagues stood around him—Mark—and Tom clapped him on the back. When he stepped away, Javid did the same. 

If I was honest, I wasn’t happy to see him. Even if it meant he was back and the incident wouldn’t affect our work, it also meant I had to apologize. I still didn’t believe it was a joke, but now I had to pretend I did to stay on Jerry’s good side.

×××

MPlumber_22: R u 22?

Brandycandy_kiss: yeah u 21?

MPlumber_22: yeah… is it ok im younger?

Brandycandy_kiss: lol ofc ^^ it’s jus 1 yr

MPlumber_22: lol ok. what r u doin?

Brandycandy_kiss: im jus home from my dance lesson

MPlumber_22: dance? R u a dancer? is that ur work?

Brandycandy_kiss: yeah but it’s nothing special

MPlumber_22: ok but it’s sexy ;) I like that… I’m more of a gym guy haha gotta keep myself healthy

Brandycandy_22: yeah i saw ur pic haha

MPlumber_22: ;) i can show u more

×××

I didn’t dare leave my little workspace corner. It wasn’t even a real office, just an area with a glass wall facing the shared space, so I tried to look busy—like I hadn’t even noticed Mark in his bright red hoodie. I had never seen him dressed so casually since high school, but it suited him well. Just like everything else did. I stared at him so much that my gaze seemed frozen, and I didn’t even notice when he disappeared from view.

I jumped when someone knocked lightly on the glass wall. At first, I couldn’t tell where it came from, but then I saw the bright red color at the edge of the wall and swallowed hard.

“Hey, Leah, do you have some time for me?”

“Hey… yeah… yeah.”

“Maybe somewhere else? They’re watching us…” Mark smirked slightly and nodded toward the others. I didn’t look at them, but I believed him. Of course, this was entertaining for them—like a movie where I was the villain.

I stood up on wobbly legs, my hands shaking. I felt nauseous but followed him anyway. To my surprise, he walked into Jerry’s empty office.

“Oh… will Jerry join?” I asked, nervous, and Mark looked at me with amused eyes.

“No, I’ll just borrow his office.”

None of us who worked there would have dared to do something like that, but Mark walked in like he owned the place and threw himself onto the couch. I tried to think about something else, but for a moment my brain stopped, just registering how attractive his relaxed manner was.

“Come sit down. I won’t hurt you.” 

He said it like a joke, but it still felt accusatory. I looked down at the floor but sat in the far corner of the couch. I had always thought Jerry’s black, fluffy couch was comfortable, but not anymore. It felt too hard and too soft at the same time.

I didn’t dare look at him, and he didn’t say anything. I had hoped I could just sit quietly and nod along to whatever he said, but he remained silent. After a minute or so, I had to look up. He was watching me with wide eyes, studying me, and it made me look down again. Still, he didn’t speak, so I had to.

“You wanted to talk…?” I said, studying my nails. I could feel his stare when he scoffed.

“I thought—” He made an annoyed sound and gave a humorless laugh. It made me look up. Even though I saw him as manipulative, it felt strange sitting next to him while he expected an apology—an apology I needed to give to satisfy Jerry.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mark, for… what happened.” I glanced at him a few times but couldn’t hold eye contact. His eyes felt as threatening as an aggressive dog’s. He sighed while I kept staring at my nails.

“I guess it’s okay… then. It really was just a joke, and I… yeah, I don’t really understand why you were so quick to judge me.”

If he had recognized me, he would have understood that I hadn’t judged him quickly at all. I had seen his true colors up close.

“I’m sorry for that. It was the alcohol…”

“One more reason not to drink, then,” he said, joking—but he still sounded annoyed. His comments about sobriety irritated me, though. Like he never drank too much sometimes. He was even a stoner.

“You mean you never get drunk?” I asked, raising my brows. My irritation made it easier to look at him. He furrowed his brows.

“I don’t drink. At all.”

Now it was my turn to frown. I didn’t believe him at all.

“Why?”

“I think that’s a pretty private thing.”

At first, I gave him a pointed look, but after a few seconds I realized what I was doing. It had been 20 years. Maybe he actually was sober. Maybe he was an alcoholic.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mark sank deeper into the couch, his head resting against the back, his long legs stretched out. He looked up at the ceiling, his fingers laced together on his stomach.

“I don’t care if you like me. You don’t have to like me—but can we work together without drama?” He shifted his eyes toward me with barely any movement. I looked back at him, embarrassed—not just because of what he said, but because I could see Jerry’s annoyed face in my mind.

“Of course. Of course.”

×

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[b-afterhours]

Enter The Chronoheart

SYNOPSIS: Au!Bill | Timing is everything. Just before his big break, Bill met Paz, and with her in his life, everything seemed to fall into place. The timing felt right, until the weight of fame and notoriety became too much for Paz to handle, even from the sidelines. Despite their busy careers and distance, they always seemed to find each other through it all. Just when they decided to rekindle their relationship, and the timing felt right again. Paz disappears without a trace.

The aftermath of her disappearance sends Bill’s path spiraling off course. Then, on the third anniversary of her disappearance, he found himself drawn to the mystic shop where she was last seen. Sending him on an unexpected journey through time to find her. -part one here

Chapter Twenty Six

San Lucero

It was late at night when a knock interrupted the heated conversation in the hotel room. 

After taking the opportunity to explore the town and having an amazing, authentic Mexican dinner, Paz and Zedna turned in for bed after a long day of anxiously waiting around yet again.

While taking a sip of her tea, the handle of Paz’s mug slipped from her grip, causing it to spill onto her nightgown. She jumped up from her seat when the warm liquid seeped through the thin fabric. It immediately cooled, and now the gown clung to her like an icy sheet. 

“Fuck,” she groaned. 

“Are you okay?” Zedna asked, concerned, as she looked up from a leisurely read where she lay in her bed. 

“Mm,” Paz frowned, pulling the uncomfortably wet garment away from her skin. “Yeah… Do you have something I could borrow?” 

She packed lightly and didn’t have many alternatives for PJs. With Bill having to skip the trip, her sleeping arrangements changed, too. She and Zedna decided on sharing a double. Had it been different, she would have borrowed one of his shirts or just slept in her panties. 

“Try this,” Zedna said, after rummaging through her bag. 

She held up a patch dress, which, while not a nightgown, looked just as comfortable. 

“Thanks,” she said, rolling the hem of the dress to slip into it more easily, when she paused. 

Her lips pressed together, irritated. Sewn into the waist seam was a handmade label that read, PM. Petra Muñoz. She made this patch dress. It was her work, and the stitches were distinctly hers. 

“What the fuck, Zed?” Paz said angrily. “Were you ever going to tell me that you knew her?” 

“Who?” Zedna feigned ignorance, realizing her mistake.

“Petra Muñoz!” Her eyes narrowed. “Who was she to you?” 

Zedna swallowed. “She’s my cousin. Through marriage, Osberto was my cousin.” 

“How do you remember that?” She questioned. 

“Meditation. It has been helping me recover the things your arrival erased.” 

Paz sighed. “So you sent me here—inserted me—into her life to what? Help you get your big break into acting? That was it all along, wasn’t it? Are you serious?”

Zedna looked away, ashamed and embarrassed. “It seems that’s what my old self did, yes. I must not have considered that my own memories could be erased by doing that. I wasn’t until Bill… Well, his arrival really shook the tree, huh? Without him, there wouldn’t be a possibility of you going home, would there?”

Paz shook her head. Annoyed that she couldn’t argue that. “Yeah. But after hearing our story on our way here, you don’t feel a little remorse?” 

Her lip twisted. “I am not a heartless bitch! I made a mistake, I’ll own up to that! I’ve been trying to fix what I’ve done for goddess sake!”

“Goddess sake,” Paz bitterly mocked. “Maybe for your sake, you can get what you want the right way next time. But fuck you for messing with my life! And Bill’s—he was god damn traumatized not knowing where I’ve been. And for nothing!? You delusional old, selfish ass—” 

They both jumped when a rap at the door burst the tension in the room. 

“It’s Santi—” 

“I fucking know,” Paz sharply said, already on her way to answer it. 

He bowed his head in greeting. “Señora, Doña Aracely is home.”

Next thing they knew, they were both on the back of a pack mule named Canela, which Santi guided back to the small ranch by the reins. Paz sat in front while Zedna wrapped her arms around her from behind. After arguing, the journey there felt like they were being punished, like two children being forced to wear a single large t-shirt together until they settled their differences. 

Once at the gate, the energy of the magical barricade was still very much present. It wasn’t until Santi whistled, indicating their arrival, that its force dissipated. A strong wind followed when they stepped onto the quiet grounds, save for a few clucking chickens in the coop. 

A feeling of peace draped over Paz. Comfort and safety that you could only find in the vicinity of a loving matriarch. It was the complete opposite for Zedna. Until now, she had put on a front. With no authority here, it threw her off balance, leaving her unsure and nervous. She wasn’t the head witch in charge, and she knew it.

Santi took their bags and then waved them on, towards the back of the house where an orange glow emanated. As they reached the back, Aracely was stoking a fire, where a cast-iron pot hung above the flame. 

She turned then, feeling the presence of her kin. “So you listened,” she smiled, holding her arms out. “I was worried you might have doubts. Come.” 

Paz was at a loss for words. She’d only seen her great-grandmother in photographs. Now she stood before her like a motion picture. As she approached, her feet felt light, so light she was convinced she actually floated right into Aracely’s arms as she wrapped her into a tight embrace. 

Aracely cupped her face, taking her in, catching all the familiar features that carried down through generations. She was as much in awe of Paz as she was of her. When she poked the beauty mark right below Paz’s left eye, she winked.

“Lourdes baby,” she said, tickled because Lourdes was still only a baby herself.

Paz nodded. 

“Sorry, I took too long… But you took too long, too, no?” Aracely said, with a pointed look, and Paz could only smile nervously. “Sit,” she pointed at the wooden chairs around the fire. “And you? Isabella?” 

“Zedna.” 

She pressed her lips together. “The trouble.” 

She took a shaky breath. “I’ve been trying to fix that.” 

“Good,” she said, impatiently motioning for her to take a seat as well. 

Aracely fixed them up with bean burritos and café de olla straight from the pot above the flames before settling down herself. She was born in 1882, 100 years before Paz was born. Currently, she was 74, but she didn’t stay idle and kept active. She didn’t live for 99 years for nothing. 

“Long few days,” she said after taking a sip from her barro mug. “Two babies, one father,” she rolled her eyes. “Half siblings and cousins.” 

Paz and Zedna’s jaws dropped with the new info. 

“Not the first time I’ve seen it either. So… I know what you’re looking for, mija. The cronocorazón.”

Paz nodded. “It’s the last thing we need for me and my fiancé to go home. Do you have it? Or know where I could get it?” 

“Is it with me? No. But yes, I know exactly where to get it. I sensed…” She glanced at Zedna as she took a sip from her mug. “Well, three, almost four years ago. I sensed a disturbance. A pain only a mother could feel,” she said, glancing at Paz’s midsection knowingly. “Lourdes lost her baby. Then, early this year. The same disturbance, the same ache, but this time, I realized you hadn’t been lost at all. You were here. So I looked, and I found you. The man too. Bill?” 

Paz nodded. 

“His arrival led me to look. And you are practicing now, too?” She asked. 

“Learning… trying, but yes.”

“It’s all learning all the time,” Aracely said with a reassuring smile. 

“That’s true,” Zedna said, blinking her heavy eyelids.

“More coffee?”

“Please,” Zedna said, eagerly holding her barro mug out.

“So do you know someone who can get the plant?” Paz asked, more impatient in tone than she intended. 

“I do. In Vigilia. I do work for them often; their baby boy has persistent ear infections,” she frowned sympathetically. “She’s Xochi. The time keepers.” 

When she took another glance at Zedna, Paz followed. She was slumped in her chair, the mug slowly slipping from her grip. 

“Finally,” Aracely said, taking the mug from her hand before it fell. “She fought it for longer than I thought she would.” 

Paz stared into her mug, horrified, as a star anise floated innocently atop. “What did you do?”

“She’s just asleep,” she winked, chuckling. “Don’t worry, mija, yours is fine. I just want to talk— you and me. Why didn’t Bill come? Does he want to go home?” 

“Absolutely. Zed,” Paz pointed at her as she lightly snored. “Sent him into a life where he’s married to Marcia Patton.” 

Her brows shot up. “La chiquita rubia,” she said, holding a flat hand out only a few feet from the ground.

“The only.”

“Wow.”  

“Her house—their house was broken into before our flight, and yeah, he had to deal with that… he wished he came though.” 

“Okay, okay, I wish I had met him just to make sure you know,” she winked. 

While it would have been a pleasure to meet him, she wanted to move to other matters. 

“She’s dying, you know?” She pointed at Zedna.

Paz looked at her worriedly, but even knocked out, she looked lively. “Zedna?” 

“In the year tu prometido Bill left—” 

“2024.” 

“Mhmm. I can smell it on her now. Not much time.” 

“Oh…” her hands wrung around her mug. “Will that affect anything?” 

Aracely shook her head. “What happened with your sister?” 

“Is something wrong with her?” She could feel her heart kick up against her chest. 

“Relax, mija. What happened when she was born?”  

“Oh. Um, Juliana… she was premature and was born with clubbed feet. She had a lot of surgeries and casts for it, which helped a lot. But I think going through that so young, she sometimes went mute. So she developed a stutter. Nothing stops her, though,” she quickly assured when seeing Aracely’s frown progressively deepen. “She talks too much and goes everywhere. She’s a lawyer, like our dad.” 

She put her hand to her heart, grateful. “And your accent,” she pointed out. “I can tell you weren’t born here?” 

Paz smiled sheepishly. “No, Chicago. My dad and mom moved there in the early ‘80s. They met in Mexico City in college.”

“And your brother just had a baby, no? Serafina?” 

Paz’s eyes widened. “Is that her name?” 

“Yes,” she smiled. “Qué bonito, eh?”

“Very,” Paz smiled. “Francisco is with Mia, they’ve been together… Wow, probably as long as Bill and me. They started dating just a few months before us. He’s a director. Before I came here, we had just made a movie together. His first one. Bill told me it did well.” 

“And what do you do?” 

“Producing. But I worked as the first AD with him on that film. Now, I’m a costume designer. So even if this isn’t the right life, I’m still in the same industry at least.” 

“At least!” She chuckled. “But you must go home, no?” 

Paz nodded. “I don’t belong. I noticed that people find me very hard to understand initially, because deep down, they know something is off. But I have to leave. I miss… everything.” 

“Something would be wrong if you didn’t. This isn’t your path. You can’t complete it here either. But… despite her deceit,” she nudged her head towards a snoring Zedna. “I’m glad to have met you. And I’m glad you listened and came to me. Sorry about the thorn, though. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…”

“Mm. Very nasty,” Paz said, honestly making Aracely chuckle, guiltily. “But it got my attention.”

“You’re cutting it close, no? The eclipse is almost here. You… have a problem with doubt.” 

Paz glanced away uncomfortably. She did. She’d second-guess too much. Doubt took so much from her. It fucked up things that were going fine. It was something she knew she had to let go before being sent through the kaleidoscopic tunnel of time. 

“I try not to. But…” 

“It’s okay,” Aracely assured. “A lot of people let their minds take over, but forget their hearts; others listen to their hearts too much without considering their logic. Both have to connect, but also here,” she said, pointing at the middle of her belly. “The gut. You need all three. One can not function without the other. It’s a balance. Just remember that and don’t fight it.” She said with a pointed look. “Well, it’s late,” she said nonchalantly after hitting Paz with a bomb of wisdom and not a second to process. “We should sleep, and then we will go meet my friend.” 

Paz nodded, and Aracely stood to hug her once again. 

“I have room for you two,” she said. “It’s not Palacio de la Luz, but—” 

“No, it’s better.” 

Aracely whistled into the dark, toward a small shed in the back of the property. “Do you ever whistle at night?” She asked, turning to Paz.

“No?” 

“Good, because you really shouldn’t.” 

Santi quickly appeared and, without prompting, swiftly took Zedna into his arms and led with her limp body to the house. 

A lot of the home's charm remained even after her uncle renovated it. Even the altar to the Virgen de Guadalupe was still in the same place. Really, he just updated the place, adding modern appliances, electrical, and indoor plumbing. Paz noticed the outhouse on the edge of the property and knew she’d hold her pee until daylight.

“Who is he?” Paz asked once Santi stepped into a room to lay Zedna down to sleep.

“He was a petty hustler living on the streets and didn't have any real education. He was beaten up when I found him. He was only 16 then. I offered him a place to stay if he took care of my animals.” They reached the end of the hall, and she motioned to the room right across from hers. “Yamileth's room,” she winked. “She only lives two barrios away with her family now. Pues, buenas noches, mija.”

Paz settled into her grandmother's old room. There wasn’t a lot of her personality there, except for a pink crochet rosary draped on the bedpost she assumed was hers. Other than that, it was just a cozy, tidy room. The last time she slept in this room, it belonged to her cousin, the walls were painted a light purple, and there were Rebelde posters taped to the wall. 

Although she felt safe and comfortable, it took Paz a long time to fall asleep. Across the hall, she could hear her great-grandmother muttering the rosary under her breath while she kneeled beside her bed. She had begun to drift to sleep when footsteps were heard leaving Zedna’s bedroom and coming to hers. She lay very still, her eyes like slits, peeking very carefully through her dark lashes, only to see Aracely splashing holy water in her direction. 

She had no clue how late it was when she finally found sleep, but it wasn’t long until the roosters began to crow at the crack of dawn. 

…

Los Angeles

Immediately after receiving Paz’s telegram that morning, Bill dressed to leave with just the clothes on his back. He would wait for her at home now.

Before, though, he made an effort to search for Marcia to at least say goodbye, but didn’t find her. It was rather quiet in the home in general. So feeling a semblance of privacy, he took the bundle of sage Paz gave him and smudged the upstairs quarters. 

By the time he saw the butler downstairs, he was extinguishing it in the sink of a half bath, where he quickly asked where Marcia had gone. She was at the beauty parlor, and Bill smiled at that, because of course, she was. There was no better place for her to be.

Darla appeared after eavesdropping on their brief conversation.

“Are you leaving, Mister Bill?” She asked quietly, holding her hands behind her back. 

“Hey, uh, yeah, I am.” 

“Like for good?” 

“Mm,” he hummed, hesitantly. 

She frowned. “It wasn’t anything I did?” 

His brows pulled together. “No… no, of course not. Things just… happen.” 

“Right,” she nodded, solemnly. “You’ll be missed.” 

“Same. But maybe you’ll still see me around. It’s been a pleasure, Darla, really, thank you.” 

She smiled as he slipped on his sunglasses and disappeared out into the bright light of morning.

Darla Johnson would quit after the holidays, having saved up enough for secretary school. She’d meet her husband, Raymond, the following year, and they would move to Sacramento. She’d retire there, and unlike some staff members who worked at the Bel Air property, she never publicly spoke about or profited from her time there. Though on occasion, when making her famous chocolate chip cookies for her grandchildren, she would beam, telling the story of how the man of the house enjoyed them once.

She would see Bill again in her elder age, but not in a way she’d ever remember him if she could. It wasn’t a way she enjoyed either. Darla really hated clowns. 

…

Before returning to Paz’s, he made a quick stop at the Western Union to respond to her telegram. 

He stood in line for his turn, and for a good while no one noticed him under his black cap. He was just a regular old anybody until a woman passed by and gasped obnoxiously in shock. He gave her a tight-lipped smile, silently pleading with his eyes for her to chill. 

“Oh, can we give the man a rest?” an older gentleman, behind them in a separate line, grumbled loud enough to shame anyone even thinking about bothering him. 

Everyone straightened up then and continued business as normal. The woman’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment over her behavior, but she gave him a simple nod and left. And though Bill didn’t mind all too much, he was a bit relieved he didn’t have to put on a friendly air with everyone in the moment because he had business to take care of. 

1966 OCTOBER 10 | AM 10:31

-P. VILLANUEVA

I AM AT YOUR HOUSE. CALL ME ASAP.

-B. 

He waited and waited after, but eventually he hated just sitting around. It didn’t feel right to. So, he began to pack Paz’s station wagon with the large totes they had planned to take to the storage facility. 

It was a facility they both knew existed in their time. They remembered the billboards that boasted their 75 years of operation and 24-hour access all over the city. However, the facility he arrived at was not the modern building they knew. The citrus orange garage door motif was still the same, though. 

“For the small unit, sir, it’ll be 2.25 a month,” the young girl with long ginger hair and freckles said, looking up at him.

“That’s the five by five?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“What’s the rate for a full year?” he asked, leaning on the tall counter with folded arms. 

“For that, we offer a month free with a protection plan for 24 dollars flat.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, adjusting his dark sunglasses and calculating in his head. 

2021 was 55 years from now, but just to be safe, he added on a few more years. 

“How much would you say for 70 years then?” 

“Seventy years,” she said, with a light laugh, but it faltered seeing that his expression remained serious. “Oh… uhm,” she swallowed. “One second, sir.” 

She quickly left her post and brought out her father, the owner of the storage facility. 

“Hello, Ed,” he introduced, shaking Bill’s hand. “My daughter tells me you’d like to—” 

"Yeah, I do,” he gently cut him off. He knew his request sounded ridiculous, but he didn’t care; he just needed them to agree. “I have the check ready, I just need a number.” 

“Seventy years, though? We have other long-term options we could offer.” 

“That’s great. But I’d really like to pay for the term I’m willing to right now. I’d really appreciate it, and well, it’s urgent.” 

The man placed his hand on his hips and huffed, in thought. What was so urgent about seventy years? He knew the man who stood before him was a movie star because his daughter quietly gushed in excitement in his office about him. While he didn’t think he should have special privileges for his status, he did like that his pockets ran deep. 

“Alright,” he began, typing on a printing calculator to see the math on paper and rounded up. “And you want to pay in full?” He glanced up at Bill, who nodded. “How about we do an even 27 grand, sound fair?” 

Bill quickly filled out the check. “Sure does,” he replied, though he thought the opposite. “Um, could you add another name to the account for me as well? Paz Villanueva.”

“Absolutely,” he said, motioning to his daughter to complete the transaction. “Thank you for having faith in us with caring for your things, sir,” he said. “Even if we’re not here, this will remain with the family like an heirloom should you need it,” he lightly chuckled. 

“I’d appreciate that,” he smiled, shaking his hand.

He returned home, and only a few hours later, Paz called to his relief. 

On the way back from Vigilia, something told her she should call him, and when Aracely glanced at her as if she read the pensive thoughts in her head, she really knew she should then. 

“Hello? Can you hear me, okay?” She said from the hotel front desk telephone, holding the telegram he sent.

Her voice sounded as if she were on the opposite end of a big, empty room speaking to him.  

“Uhh, yeah, better. What’s going on? Do you have it?” 

“Not yet. I will soon. I met someone this morning who can get it, now we’re just waiting on her.” 

“Fuck… holy shit. How soon?” He asked, pacing the study.

“She said by this afternoon. She wanted money, and yeah…” she said, brushing her hand through her hair nervously. “Did Marcia kick you out again, or did you sneak out?” 

He smirked. “No, we finally reached an agreement, I guess, so…” 

“Ah,” she said, understanding what that meant. “Hold on,” she said quickly. He could faintly, faintly hear someone else speaking to her in Spanish. “Shit. I have to get off the line. We’re only allotted so many minutes with the hotel phone. I miss you.” 

“Me too, baby. Are you okay?” 

“I am, baby. It’s all… well, it’s a lot to take in, but I can process that later,” she lightly laughed. 

“What’s your bisabuela like?” He quickly asked. 

“She wished you had come. She’s like a grandma out of a fucking weird fairy tale,” she laughed again. “She loves me a lot, like I could feel it instantly… but like yeah, of course she would, right? Anyway, it’s just like I said, a lot.”

“I have such bad fucking FOMO, right now,” he chuckled. 

He could only imagine what it’d be like to connect with an ancestor in the flesh. How strange it would be, and if the lore of their life would actually compare to the stories that had been passed down. And he wished he could experience it.

“As soon as I get it—” the faint voice cut Paz off again, reminding her she’d need to disconnect the call. “I have to—” 

“Yeah, okay,” he sighed, disappointed there wasn’t enough time to really hash out all the details. “As soon as you get it though—“

“I’m coming home.”

“Yes. I love you, but this isn’t a vacation, so hurry the fuck back.” He said, with obvious humor in his tone. 

“Aww, you’re so jealous,” she teased. “I love you.”

…

San Lucero

That same morning, Paz emerged from her room dressed for the day to find Aracely preparing breakfast in the kitchen. If Paz hardly slept, she could only guess Aracely slept for even less, but you’d never know it. 

She was ordered to take a seat after being denied from helping, and was immediately given a cup of black coffee. Afterward, Aracely passed a burrito through the open kitchen window to Santi, who traded it for fresh eggs right back. They went straight from the coop and directly onto a hot pan in front of her. 

“Can I braid your hair?” she asked, running her fingers through Paz’s long locks as she ate her breakfast of mashed black beans, nopales, and fried eggs. 

She looked up at her great-grandmother, who looked at her adoringly, and nodded as she chewed.

“Finish eating,” she said before kissing the top of her head. 

Right then, Zedna appeared, bleary-eyed as she stretched her arms above her head, still wearing her PJs. Paz braced herself, ready for her to raise hell about being incapacitated, but instead she greeted everyone good morning with a genuine smile and took a seat at the table. 

“That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while,” she said, after taking a sip of her coffee. “Thank you for having us,” she said to Aracely, who just smiled. 

Paz glanced at her skeptically, but whatever Aracely had done to Zedna’s drink, she was none the wiser. It seemed to make her uncharacteristically agreeable, too. 

After breakfast, Zedna excused herself to get ready for the day. Meanwhile, Aracely brushed Paz’s hair smooth. On the table was a little woven basket with ribbons, hair ties, pomade, and a small glass container of oil. 

“Any time you braid someone's hair, you should only ever have good, loving thoughts,” Aracely said, as she began to split her hair into three parts. 

Paz sat silently as she began to braid down her back, but she could hear her whisper ever so faintly under her breath as she did so. At points, she would pause, reaching for the oil, dipping her fingers in, and gliding them through her thick hair, leaving it smelling rich of roses. 

Soon after, the women were all in Aracely’s late 1950s brown Chevy Sedan on their way to Vigilia. There, they met Metztona, who went by Toni. Aracely exited the car and announced herself first, trying to ease in the introduction of her great-granddaughter, but Toni glowered at Paz through the windshield with folded arms. 

“She’s scared of you,” Zedna whispered from the back seat. “To her, your existence has only been a fable told by her people.” 

Toni looked both displeased and unnerved with her presence, but whatever Aracely said, she finally nodded her head and eased up. 

“Come on,” Aracely waved at both Paz and Zedna to exit the car. 

They stepped into Toni’s small, dirt-floor home, and cedar smoke floated in the air, but the bundle in Toni’s hand smelled stale. It was kept for peace of mind only. 

After gently setting the smoldering bundle in a clay pot, she stepped up to Paz, eying her up and down with a sneer. She circled Paz, examining her as if she were an extraterrestrial rather than a human being.

“Let me see your palms,” she ordered, facing her now. 

“Can we just talk?” Aracely quickly cut in. “We don’t have to do all of this—” 

“Let me see,” Toni demanded now. 

Paz began to lift her hands, but Aracely put an arm out, stopping her. 

“Who do you think I am? You think I’d bring evil to your house?” She spat at the very notion. “I told you who she is, where she is from, and she must go home now.”

Toni’s hardened jaw relaxed, and she stepped back, crossing her arms again. 

“Well,” she turned her nose up. “What you need still isn’t free…” 

“How much?” Paz quickly said, before either of the women by her side could speak for her, to their chagrin.

Toni lightly laughed. “We trade. But if you’re offering—” 

“Okay, so money and what else do you want?” 

Zedna glanced at her worriedly, knowing the barter wouldn’t fare well with Paz. 

“Your hair.” 

“My—what?” She turned to her grandmother, horrified, who could only offer an apologetic look. “You knew?” 

“It’ll be fine,” she said, running her hand through her long braid for the last time. 

She had done the protective spiritual work that morning unbeknownst to Paz. Shielding the essence of her hair, locking it down so that no harm could come to her should it be used in nefarious ways.

“But not all of it,” Paz declared. She was willing to do what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean she needed a buzzcut to prove it.

Aracely smirked and shook her head. “If I may,” she said to Toni. “Could I cut it?” 

Toni thought for a moment, keeping up with her stubborn act a little longer, before nodding in agreement. She had deep, reverent respect for Aracely at heart. 

After paying Toni’s price with American dollars, the large stainless steel shears came out. Despite her racing heart, Paz kept a brave face. Aracely held her thick braid between two fingers at the nape of Paz’s neck and slipped down a little lower and then just an inch more, a little past her shoulders. When she felt the tension in her shoulder lessen, she didn’t let Paz have a moment to consider the length any further and closed the blades. Paz shut her eyes almost sorrowfully as she listened to the sharp blades gliding past each other.

Zedna caught Aracely discreetly tucking a lock in her dress pocket and hid a smile. It was exactly what she would have done. Whatever could happen with Paz’s hair, Aracely would be able to counteract should she need to. 

The rest of Paz’s hair unraveled and rested at her shoulders, and her hands immediately reached for it. It had never been cut higher than her bra strap. When her fingers ran through the length, she noticed how quickly they came to a stop. She was shocked to say the least. 

“It’s a nice length,” Zedna assured her.

Paz looked at her with a frown on her face that she couldn’t hide, no matter how hard she tried. “I did need a trim.” 

“We’ll even it out at home,” Aracely whispered, after handing the braid to Toni. 

Toni ran her hands through the strands with a smile. “I’ll have the cronocorazón by tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Paz gasped in disbelief. “You don’t have it right now?” 

“I have to meet with my elders.” 

“She’ll have it,” Aracely assured Paz. “Won’t you?” 

“Yes. Your offerings have been more than generous,” Toni said to Paz with a grateful bow of her head.

…

Bill could feel his eyes grow heavy as he neared the end of the book on remote viewing, which he had been chiseling through. It was an interesting read, he’d say. If he weren’t so tired, he’d probably try it just to find Paz and see what was currently going on. The waiting had been killing him.

After turning the lights off in the study, he began to walk toward the bedroom when there was a light knock on the door. He blinked tiredly. Deep down, he hoped it was some kind of magical miracle, and Paz had come home, but when he peered through the speakeasy, he was surprised to see Mavis there. 

“Hey?” Bill said, opening the door, but not before fixing his sweat pants on his hips. Before, they were sitting very low without a care. 

“Hi, may I come in?” She asked under her hood.

“It’s kinda late?” 

“Sorry—”

“Ah, it’s fine, come in.” 

“Thank you,” she said, following him to the living room. 

“Have a seat, uh, I’m going to make some coffee, would you like some?” He asked, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.  

“Tea would be nice. I’ve brought you something,” she said, producing a jar of red-tinged honey she had been rummaging through her boho bag for. “It’s from Sedona from bees who pollinate the prickly pears.” 

When Bill returned with their warm drinks, he took a seat on the recliner and crossed his knees, taking a sip of his black coffee. 

“I added the honey you brought to your drink.” 

“I thought you would,” she smiled appreciatively under her hood, while pulling the cuffs of her cloak. 

She looked as if she were getting settled, but she shrugged the cloak off her shoulders, and then, to his surprise, her hands pulled the hood away from her face. Her green eyes met his. 

He didn’t move and was conscious of keeping his face neutral, taking in her scarred face. He could relate, but only a fraction to the degree. Hers were very deep in some places, one pulling the corner of her lip farther than the other. Another split down the middle of her brow, going down, miraculously skipping her eye completely, and continued at the top of her cheek before taking a sharp left toward her ear. Puncture marks from the dog's teeth were speckled about. It was a shame she felt the need to hide under a hood; there was a beauty to them that he could greatly appreciate. Being in a profession where looks mattered so much meant a lot of his peers could look—though beautiful— quite boring. 

He gave her a small smile when he noticed her slightly demure in shame under his stare.

“So,” she began after setting her mug down after a sip. “Have you heard anything?” 

“I thought you might have had an update,” he lightly chuckled, resting his cheek on his fist. “But, um, yeah, sort of. Paz called earlier. She doesn’t have the chronoheart yet, but she said by tonight she might.” 

“Good. Just as I hoped.” 

“Yeah—As you hoped?” 

She ignored his probing question and rummaged through her bag again for a drawstring sack. “We can ask my charms in a bit,” she said, placing it on the coffee table. “You shouldn’t worry so much, though.”

“Why?” He tilted his head. He caught a weird vibe that only made him worry more. “Your charms have told you what will happen or something?” 

“They only solidify my notions.” 

“So then… You know, we're going home?” 

“Well, that I can’t see quite yet. I’m only here to observe—”

“Observe?”

Mavis nodded. “I find you trustworthy, but also, for some reason, I felt compelled to explain a little of this to you. Have you ever noticed that? People just can’t help but share things with you? Intimate things even?” 

She wasn’t entirely off. He knew he could make people nervous, whether it was because of who he was, his stature, or his big searching eyes; he didn’t know, but some people could only compete by filling the space he took with overhearing. Either way, it wasn’t a topic he cared to explore at the moment. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

She pressed her lips together, sensing his impatience. “Right, so—I’ve been assigned to watch Zedna in this realm. We know—” 

“Wait,” Bill sat up. “Who exactly is we? Are you Xochi or…?” He asked the light brown-haired, green-eyed woman before him carefully. 

“No, not by blood. I’ve mentioned my friend from Sedona—”

“You said he was like a brother to you.” 

“He is,” she smiled. “I was adopted at 8 by the tribe when my parents both passed from consumption. I learned the stories, the customs, the rituals, and the magic. We’ve kept it fairly contained, but you know, with the internet, trade secrets and rituals are just blabbed about on forums or TikTok as if they don’t hold actual weight. Like they’re only scary cautionary tales,” she rolled her eyes. “For a few decades now, we’ve been playing clean up. Zedna is, so far, our worst offender.” 

His eyes widened. Who was this lady? She looked about 45, but she seemed so much older, and yet so young and knowledgeable about things only he and Paz would know about.

“You’re a time keeper?” He guessed.

Mavis lightly laughed. “Oh no, I’m more like an agent? An overseer? Glorified babysitter?” 

“Right… but,” his forehead wrinkled, trying to grasp everything. “Shit… okay, so when Zedna sent me here, I don’t remember seeing someone like you around?” 

“You saw Tim, the bald guy mediating?”

He thought hard for a moment. There was a man sitting lotus style in the back room, but their encounter was so brief and insignificant that it never registered until now.

“Shit, you’re right…”

“He’s in charge of her there.” 

“But if he’s in charge, why the fuck is he allowing her to send people through the decades?” 

“Our job isn’t to interfere.”

Bill shook his head, annoyed by that answer. “Then what is the point?” 

“The point is that you go home.” 

“So then you do know we’re going home?” 

“No, I don’t,” she said firmly. “There hasn’t been a witch who has been successful in sending people back through the portal since the Time Keepers created this. It’s been centuries. Zedna isn’t even an Xochi descendant, and she has a grasp on it like no one else we’ve seen.” 

“So Paz and I are guinea pigs.” 

“No, you’re the catalyst of something great. You’re all very close.” 

Bill sat back in his seat, ruminating. “So you’ve known who Paz and I were the whole time? You’ve pretended—” 

“I haven’t been forthcoming, no. If she succeeds with you two, we can send the others back. Not all of them have fared as well as you two have.” 

A low incredulous chuckle left him. “Seriously? Fuck. How bad has it been for everyone else, then? How many people has she done this to?” 

“You, Paz… and five others.” 

His brows rose. “Seven fucking people?” 

“Now only four. The others… Well, they all chose to crossover.” 

“No kidding.”

“It’s terrible, they couldn’t adapt or accept what happened to them. And Zedna is unwell, so she didn’t always hit the mark like with you two. She is dying now. Not now but…” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, understanding.

It fell silent for a moment, and they both took a sip from their drinks. 

“Uh, how did everyone come to an understanding that any of this would work for us?” 

“Well, when Paz stepped into Luminar, Tim noticed her. He sensed her gifts, and while many people shopped at the store with a vibe, she was just different. He overheard the things she said to Zed in the backroom. She mentioned her brother, the director, something about their meeting being cut short, and she ran into a man named Dade,” she grimaced. “Terrible name by the way.” 

“It is,” he said, flatly. “But what do you mean?” 

“You switch a few letters around, you get ‘Dead’,” her lips twisted. 

“Hmm. You don’t sense that he’s dying, too, perhaps?” he snarkily muttered. 

Mavis cracked a smirk. “Long story short, she ticked every box in Zed’s criteria. Next thing Tim knew, she was sent through the time tunnel. We all felt the shift with her arrival then. Then, you came, and it was just what we needed. The push. Paz had the pieces, but she lost her ability to trust her gut.” 

He looked away, rubbing his knuckle along his jaw. “I noticed that when I got here. I finally found her, but she wasn’t… my Paz. She didn’t even talk the same for a while, and, honestly, it made me nervous. Still, I was willing to love this version of her regardless. Like without a doubt. But I worried things might not be the same between us. That I showed up and ruined this new little thing she had all to herself. But the more I saw her—the more we were able to just be—it’s like something finally clicked. Like she finally believed that I was real. Slowly, she became the, the woman she always was again, yeah,” he twisted a loose thread on the hem of his white tee with his finger for a moment, surprised he was oversharing now. 

Did Mavis pull a reverse psychology move on him? But he figured, if things went to plan, he’d never see this woman again, so he continued. 

“Um, but I know, she feels like this is all her fault,” he frowned. “I don’t, I don’t blame her in the slightest. I guess… I don’t know where I’m going with this, um… I’m not trying to be a fucking hero, or in this case, a damn wizard,” he said, making Mavis chuckle. “But I just knew I had to do something. I sensed shit was off, clearly, so I started there. It was not even about going back; I didn’t even think doing that would somehow lead me here. I was just trying to orient ourselves in a way to live our lives together, finally. To be again, even if it wasn’t home like we knew it.” 

“And that’s why you have to go home—to be. You can’t have a complete life here, living in the paths others have left.” 

“I actually have a question about that.” 

“Yes.” 

“Paz and I discussed these lives that were in being past lives… makes sense, but I really don’t like the thought of William being one of mine, frankly.” 

Mavis grinned. “Well, for Paz, yes. That’s something Zedna sensed that day. And while that is one way, it’s not the only way. William’s shocking death would be something old Zedna would remember even in her senility. Not to mention you two do bear a striking resemblance that would even trigger her shriveling synapses.” 

Bill almost choked on his coffee at that blunt remark. 

“So you’re saying he’s not then?” 

“No,” she laughed. “He just happened to be freshly dead in this plane of existence, for you to come through. Very lucky! And even if he was, it wouldn't matter; every soul's return is different. I wouldn’t make you like him, if that’s what you’re worried about, but you don’t have to.”

“Good to know, then,” he smirked into his mug. 

Mavis tilted her head. “There’s something else you want to ask, though.” 

“Yeah, you say we can’t complete our life here. What do you mean by that?” 

Mavis hesitated, which only piqued Bill’s interest even more. She shot him a look, realizing she may have said too much; it was hard to get things past him. He was very perceptive and quite astute.

“Hmm… well, it’s because, how should I put this,” she snorted nervously. “You don’t age.” 

“What the fuck? Like we’re immortal? For real?”

“Not exactly. It just happens very, very slowly. In maybe 25 years, you’d look like you’ve had state-of-the-art European facelifts just to look as you do now, which is something that did not exist in the 80s. You’re too public, people would notice immediately that something is up.”

“So Paz’s birthday is at the end of this month—“

“It’ll be her 4th birthday in this decade, technically, but you could say it’s like she’s celebrating her 4th week being here instead. You two do not move at the same frequency as everyone else here.”

“No shit…” he licked his lips, considering his next question, but he figured what the hell and went for it. “How old are you?” 

Her eyes widened. “You can’t ask a woman that.” 

“I won’t tell.”

Mavis exhaled loudly, charmed by his smirk. “Forty-four… plus sixty-nine.” 

“One hundred and thirteen!?” 

“Something like that,” she shrugged, indifferently. “So do you want to ask my charms anything this time?” she asked, shaking the bag and making the contents clink together.

“Sure. But one more thing. We’re in the wrong timeline—it’s because Zed’s senile, isn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

Bill clicked his tongue, shaking his head. 

“So what would you like to ask?” 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he smirked, scooting to the edge of his seat. 

“Does Paz have the cronocorazón?” She asked, before dumping the trinkets onto the coffee table. 

He looked at the scattered mess of coins, some were foreign, unpolished gems, friendship bracelet beads, a tiny brass key, a ying yang POG from the 90s, a 7UP bottle cap, a single magenta Barbie heel, a wooden clothespin, a medallion made from a slice of cactus bone, along with a leg bone from some tiny animal, and the face of a broken locket with a heart etched into it. 

He thought what the fuck would this even tell them, but he watched Mavis consider how and where things landed before her. She pointed at the Barbie heel that landed up right next to a purple gem and the key, and she turned to him with a smile. 

“She has it.” 

“Are they on their way back?” 

She scooped the trinkets back into the bag and cast them out again. She pointed at the animal bone, which crossed over the broken locket, and shook her head. “No, not at this moment, but,” she pointed at the POG and a clear glitter star bead above that, “they're making the moves too.”

Afterwards, Mavis collected her things, and he walked out with her to the porch. 

“Are you going to watch me again?” She cheekily said, looking up at him before pulling her hood on. 

Bill smirked. “Where do you go? You disappear.” 

She lightly laughed. “Well, it’s no fun if I tell you.”

When she stepped off the porch, Bill was right behind her. “I’m not following you, I’m just, I don’t know, taking a ride, I guess.” 

Mavis nodded. “Have a nice night.” 

“You too. Will you be here when they get back?” 

“Hmm, maybe later. I have to help sanctify and all that.” 

“So why can you interfere now?” He asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket as they walked down the pathway.

“Rules change when you get as close as you all are. The timekeepers are also curious. I know they seem nefarious, they’re quite peaceful spirits, but they are protective to a fault, maybe.” 

Bill nodded. “You sure you don’t want a ride?” He asked, testing her again when they stopped by Paz’s station wagon.

“Where I go, you don’t need roads,” she laughed, loosely quoting Doc Brown in Back To The Future.

He laughed. “Nice.”

Bill waved at her as he took off before she could reach the end of the road. He drove directionlessly. Just clearing his head, he supposed, but he was just too anxious to sleep now. He was processing what Mavis told him, but the more he thought, the more questions arose. Finally, as his mind filled beyond his comprehension, he pushed them away. It wasn’t worth it. Some things were just better left the way he came to understand it. 

While driving down Sunset Boulevard, he saw a large crowd outside The Whisky, the marquee outside displayed that The Mamas and the Papas were playing. He drove past, and soon he found himself at the Chateau Marmont. If everything went according to plan, he’d return by the end of the week. 

He walked up to the bar, ordering a drink that he’d hardly even sip, and looked around. There were people of note around mingling, some even greeting him like an old friend. Just like when he first arrived in 1966, and even just last week at the premiere he attended, or anywhere else in general, he knew half the people there were dead. It was a weird, maybe morbid, way to take in his last moments, but after setting the drink down, he was glad he wouldn’t be among the living dead anymore.

…

As the turbulent plane shook, Paz gripped the armrest of her seat until her knuckles went white. She was not a nervous flyer, but she heard too many stories about famous singers of the era crashing in old planes much like the one she was in now. Richie Valens came to mind especially. 

Not only did it start raining heavily once they reached just an hour outside of LA, but they were also in the midst of an electrical storm. When Paz saw lightning splintering the dark gray skies, she quickly pulled the window shade down. She didn’t want to risk witnessing a gremlin on the wing of the plane à la The Twilight Zone. There were enough little horrors to deal with. Because with the Time Keepers on their case, who’s to say they too wouldn’t take the plane down along with the last important ingredient they finally acquired? 

The lightning storm would alert Bill. She hadn’t called or sent a telegram to inform him of her arrival, but looking at the sudden downpour from the large living room windows, he supposed she didn’t have to. 

Paz breathed a sigh of relief when the wheels touched down. She found a payphone just outside the taxi pick-ups when Zedna shouted at her. 

“This one's empty, come on! I’m getting soaked!”

After Zedna was dropped off, she couldn’t have been happier to see her home again. The cat was there watching her as it stood on the railing, taking shelter. 

“I got it,” Paz said, taking her luggage from the driver, “thank you.” 

Bill saw her run through the yard doing her best to get out of the rain, and quickly rose to his feet to answer the door. It was hardly open when she pushed through, and her arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. A lot of his stress immediately melted with her in his arms again.

When his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, he blurted out, “What the fuck happened?” Totally in disbelief, as his hand smoothed down her short, damp locks.

Paz just sighed heavily without explanation. 

They both found themselves in the living room as the rain continued. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, blue glass bottle with a dropper. “This is it. It’s a tincture. Aracely checked it, it’s legit.”

Bill reached for it and could feel a cool energy right in his palm. He opened it, and the smell of the most offensive powdery floral scent you’d typically find on an elderly woman to mask the ongoing decay hit him, making his nose crinkle. The liquid inside the dropper was thin and the deepest shade of red that reminded him of his vandalized pool, which he mentioned to Paz. 

“Damn… but Marcia was okay?” She asked. 

He nodded, screwing the top back on. “Yeah, but she’s pissed that the pool has to get a new filtration system and all that.”

“Well, pool season is over anyway…” she said with a wry smile. “I should have swam in it more when I was there.” As if she hadn’t every day the week they spent there alone. 

He stared at her locks again, insisting on an explanation now. “What happened to your hair?” 

“I had to trade it… Do you like it?” she asked nervously, running her hands through it. “My hair grows fast, so—” 

His brows pulled together. “Trade it? That’s not good, right? You’re not supposed to do that?”

“Aracely prayed over it, and she stole a piece in case so… I should be okay.” 

He scratched his head skeptically, but he noticed how she ran her fingers through her hair, still unsure. 

“I do like it.” He pulled her close, kissing her with multiple little pecks before firmly pressing them against her lips.

Paz smiled, relieved. For her, it felt drastic, and in a way it was, but it really suited her. She just needed to get used to it. As for her lobbed off locks, she didn’t necessarily need to worry after all the protective spellwork was done, but also, all it would be used for was for homemade dolls that Toni’s older daughters would make anyway.

“Aracely has a neighbor who evened it out for me. She’s like the barrio baddie,” she giggled. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t go after all.” 

“If I did go, you might not have had to cut your hair,” he playfully retorted and then made a buzzing sound running an invisible clipper over his head. 

“You’d go bald?” 

“Balder than Bruce Willis,” he laughed. “So how was it saying goodbye to Aracely?” he asked as they took a seat on the couch.

“She was kinda sad but grateful for the opportunity, you know? Then she basically said that you and I needed to get our ass back home already. She threatened Zedna a little too.” 

Bill chuckled, turning the tincture bottle in his hand.

“I saw my mom,” she said, glancing at him. 

He quirked a brow. “You did?” 

While waiting on Toni to procure the tincture, Paz and Zedna were out by the coop where Aracely was naming all her chickens for them. Santi interrupted, informing her that someone had come needing help with a bad stomachache. Zedna and Paz then waited in Yamileth’s room while she assisted them.

“Are you still upset with me?” Zedna asked carefully. 

She cut her eyes at her. “Duh! But… what’s done is done, I guess.” 

“So then, your brother’s girlfriend? You didn’t finish from where we left off…” Zedna asked while lounging on the bed, wanting to continue the story of her life, which she found rather entertaining.

“What was I saying?” Paz asked, trying to remember. 

“She was a dancer—” 

“Oh! Yeah, he met her on a music video he was directing. She was one of the dancers, yeah. But it’s not like… well, it’s pretty provocative—”

“Like Elvis?” 

Paz laughed. “That’s nothing. They shake ass.” 

Zedna raised her brows, amused. “They can’t call it that?” 

“We call it twerking. But Mia also went to school for dance, and she was part of a collective from Philly for a while. My brother semi-retired her, though.” 

“Oh, so he’s stingy.” 

Paz laughed again. “Maybe he was afraid someone else would have gotten hypnotized by her ass like he did.”

“I imagine! But… you say he doesn’t agree with dating people in the industry?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, it’s a bit hypocritical, no? He met her at work. You met Bill at his home, that’s not the same.” 

Paz pressed her lips together. It was hypocritical, she knew that. Even Bill had brought it up with her only weeks before she disappeared. 

“Yeah… It’s not.” 

There was a shift in the air that caught their attention, and as they looked around the room, a disembodied, “Shhh!” was heard. 

They immediately quieted. 

While Aracely concocted a tummy-soothing remedy for her guest, Yamileth made an unexpected visit with her two youngest children. Paz’s 5-year-old uncle and her mother, Lourdes, who was barely three years old. 

From the room, they could hear Yamileth greet the ailing guest and then her mother. 

“Who else is here?” She asked, looking towards the hall. 

“Just us.” Aracely quickly replied with a strained smile. 

Yamileth didn’t look convinced, but she only came to drop off a few extra bundles of dried chiles she got for a good deal. She watched Aracely for a moment, registering the herbs she was grinding together. Her guest looked to have a bad bout of constipation. 

In the room, Paz and Zedna hadn’t even dared to move an inch, even when the door slowly opened. They held their breath, and then their gaze traveled down to see baby Lourdes there staring at them. 

Paz’s eyes were wide. She was never supposed to meet her mother like this, but here she was, chubby-cheeked and tiny. She was very awfully cute, and it warmed her heart. Still, she panicked. 

“Go,” she whispered. “Go back.” 

Lourdes pouted her lips stubbornly. “Mamá?” 

“Lulu, where are you?” Yamileth called from the kitchen. “We have to go, Amá,” she said, kissing Aracely’s cheek and stepping away to find her daughter. 

“Lulu,” Aracely called out, “do you want a paleta?” 

Lourdes turned her head and then quickly ran out, meeting her mother before she could reach the hall. Still, Yamileth saw the door to her old room shut silently, but decided not to make a thing of it. She had seen her share of the unexplainable to bother now. On the other side of the door, Paz breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then I heard my Grandma Yamileth get annoyed with Aracely about the candy,” Paz laughed with Bill.

“Aracely’s quick.”

“The stories about her are exaggerated, but not entirely. But, um, yeah… we didn't have any pushback when it was time to get the cronocorazón, fortunately. But Toni did bring some other Xochi to come look at me like a freak show attraction,” she rolled her eyes. “And then, we went back to Mexico City by night.” 

She remembered Aracely’s parting words once again as she did the sign of the cross on her. 

Holding back tears, she whispered, “When you go back, don’t waste any more time.”

…

Sunny days returned, but as the sun set, Zedna and Mavis convened at the house. Bill debated on whether to tell Paz about what he knew about Mavis and their predicament, but he refrained. He would tell her later. It didn’t need to be on her mind while everything else was going on. 

The more seasoned witches before them were making sure the ritual space was in order. Mostly, it was Zedna explaining each marking and such, while Mavis acted as if she were learning new information. Only Bill knew her ruse as she subtly gave corrections as recommendations.  

“I think you’ve got it all set, Zed,” she smiled from under her hood. 

“We’ll come closer to the eclipse. Keep it fresh and primed.” Zedna lit a clove, and then, referring to her copy of the ancient book, double-checking once more before smiling satisfied.

As always, Zedna saw herself out first, and Mavis lingered just a bit. 

“You’ve also done your part beautifully, Paz,” Mavis said before stepping out. “Your hair looks great, by the way. A fresh new start never hurts.”

….

Three days before the ritual.

Paz was in her closet room, putting on a casual outfit. She was going on her date with Layne. Her heart felt heavy, and she almost wanted to stand him up. She didn’t want to say goodbye. It really didn’t feel necessary, because he wouldn’t even remember her after everything was said and done. However, she was just prolonging the inevitable to save herself from the heartbreak. 

Thankfully, they already had their soft breakup when she visited him at his office. Still, this would really be it forever, and Layne had no clue. 

She’d disappear on another guy. That's the part she really hated to repeat.

Bill had come to check on her while she clipped half her hair in a barrette. With a new haircut, the styling came off as innocent and sweet. 

“He just pulled up,” Bill informed, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

“Ah, okay,” she sighed, leaving her vanity to grab a pair of Mary Janes to pair with her black Bardot top and matching mini skirt. “I feel fucking bad,” she muttered. 

Bill nodded and gave her a sympathetic look. He knew. “You’d feel worse if you left without saying anything.” 

His words hung in the air. Every day, it made her sick with guilt that she never got to say goodbye to him. Paz didn’t reply. Instead, after getting her shoes on, she walked into his arms for a much-needed hug. 

Bill went ahead of her as she grabbed her bag and keys and greeted Layne at the door. 

“We won’t be out late.” 

She overheard Layne say to Bill. 

“He’s not my dad, Laynie. He doesn't make my curfew,” she said, as she met them on the porch, where Bill grinned, amused. 

“I’m just saying,” Layne muttered. “Ready?” 

“Let’s go,” she said, taking his hand. 

“Your hair looks wonderful!” Layne complimented. “It’s fresh, I love it!” 

“See you, guys,” Bill waved. 

He wondered if he should have told Paz that her haircut looked fresh. 

It was still fucking weird to watch his fiancée walk away to go on a date with her boyfriend; he couldn’t ever get used to that. But he could only imagine what it would feel like if the girl you felt you had a sure thing with and even bought a home for, ditched you for a movie star. Actually, he was grateful he could only imagine that. 

“Am I overdressed?” Layne asked, glancing down at his suit as he drove.

Paz took charge of making plans, so he was in the dark. 

“Nope. You’re handsomely dressed the way I knew you’d be,” she smiled. “You should turn on the next right,” she pointed. “No Vita tonight, I want Lasso Burger.” 

When they pulled into a stall, Layne immediately shrugged off his suit jacket and took off his tie while Paz giggled. 

“They’re going to think I’m the new general manager, otherwise,” he said. “So what are you getting? The Bill Meal or the Marcia Meal?” 

They both began to laugh at that. 

“I think I’ll go for the Paz Meal. Cheeseburger, onion rings, and a cherry Coke.” 

“Fantastic!” 

Layne ordered the same, except he got fries with his. They took their meals to enjoy at the beach, instead of eating with exhaust fumes hazing the air. And they were just in time for sunset.

“Just imagine,” Paz said, “having recliners instead of uncomfortable seats in a whole movie theater. You could even have some locations that offer real food.”

“Hmm, but who wants to dress up as if they’re going to dinner just to sit in a dark movie theater?”

Paz just playfully rolled her eyes and bit into her sandwich.

“This is nice,” he said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his light blue dress shirt. “Dealing with these tight asses lately, I’ve been forgetting to relax a little.” 

Paz smiled. “And your studio stuff? Bill told me that you’ve got a legit investor on the line.” 

“I do. We’ve been looking at spaces.” 

“I’m so excited for you! I told you the right person would come along with time and money.” 

“It’s just too slow,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “So, I saw photographs of Bill and Marcia at a premiere over the weekend…” 

Paz stole one of his fries and chewed before answering. “Yeah… She wants to divorce after the holidays. So in the meantime—” 

“Ah,” he nodded. “I see. I just… I worry—I know, I know,” he said when Paz twisted her lip. “I can’t help it. But how will he introduce you? I don’t want people talking bad about you if you show up in the picture too soon.” 

“You really don’t have to worry about that. You mean well, thank you for always watching out and thinking so highly of me the way you do.” 

She felt her chest tighten. Only the rolling waves and the pesky seagulls cawing in the distance filled the silence that fell between them as they took a sip from their cherry Cokes. 

“I am happy for you, you know,” Layne began. “You don’t talk about him much, but I can understand losing your husband the way you did must have been hard. Understatement really. I always thought that’s the reason someone like you would settle with, well, with someone like me. Frankly, it felt like you forfeited love to shield your heart from ever feeling pain like that again.” 

Paz looked away, pressing her quivering lips together. While Layne's interpretation lay on the wrong man, the parallel was very close to reality. In many ways, she felt like her life had ended at 28. She lost the love of her life and everything she knew. She didn’t care to truly love again, because her heart would always know who it really belonged to.

“Honey, I-I’m sorry,” Layne said, regretfully, as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “I overstepped—” 

“No,” she sniffled, wiping her cheeks. “You’re not wrong… I did have a really hard time,” a soft whimper escaped her, and she tapped away the fresh tears that pooled under her eyes. “But you helped me see that I wanted to try again. I really thought I had nothing left,” she choked out. 

“Aw, Pea,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, and rubbed her back as she sobbed. “I love you.” 

She drew a deep breath to settle herself. She didn’t want to be a crying mess, but it was hard to hold in. 

“Oh my god,” she gasped, wiping her cheeks again. “I love you, too. Thank you, really, thank you.” 

He nodded appreciatively, getting a little misty-eyed himself. “You don’t have to thank me,” he chuckled. “You’re easy to love.” 

“Oh god,” Paz cried, throwing her hands up. It was sick how sweet he could be.

“It’s true. You’re just a little hard to keep,” he smirked. 

“This was supposed to be a fun date,” she laughed through her tears. 

“Who’s saying I’m not having fun?” 

Paz smiled. “I am so glad we met.” 

“Me too, honey. Always. Now, if you’re up for it, we can go to the pier?” 

They enjoyed the rest of their time together on a much lighter note. There were carnival games and lots of sweets. One thing Layne liked about her was that she had a sweet tooth, as he did. It was something he felt safe to enjoy in public with her because he feared that it would skew his masculinity. Though it wasn’t something he expressed, Paz picked up on it, so every dinner at Vita, she’d order the molten chocolate cake because once he said it looked good after seeing it being enjoyed by another table.

“Can I ask you something?” Layne said, just before tuning into her neighborhood. “You can say no.” 

“What?” She lay her head to the side. 

His hands wrung over the steering wheel. “I can’t believe I’m getting nervous right now, but one last kiss?”

Paz giggled, shaking her head. 

“I know, it’s impolite, but it’s a special occasion, I think,” he said with a charming smirk.

“A special occasion,” Paz echoed, as she considered it. “Okay, but keep your hands in your pockets.” 

He laughed, cutting the headlights before pulling into the driveway. After opening the door for her, they walked hand in hand to the porch. First, Paz hugged him tightly, soaking him in for good before dropping her head back and kissing him for the last time. Layne always thought she was a good kisser. Soft, plump lips that he’d grown to appreciate. He even wished it had lasted a little longer, but she only lingered a respectable amount.

“Good night, Pea,” he said as they pulled apart. 

“Good night, Laynie,” her chest tightened again. “I love you.” 

He put a hand to his chest and gave her a little theater bow. “Always, my dear.” 

As he stepped off the porch, Bill opened the front door. 

“Hey, just wanted to say goodnight, too. And thanks for bringing her home at a respectable time,” he winked. 

“Good night. Paz did invite me to stay for a drink, but I have to get up early,” he said, disappointed. “Maybe after dinner next week for her birthday?” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bill smiled, turning to her as she blinked her teary eyes. 

“I’d like that,” she managed to say evenly, with enthusiasm even. 

“Great, I’ll let Charlie know.”

Bill and Paz sat together on the bench seat and waved at Layne as he pulled out of the driveway and down the block before they spoke. 

“I saw that, by the way,” he said, giving her a cheeky sideways glance. 

“Special occasion.” 

“I suppose that flies,” he leaned back, putting an arm over her shoulder. “How was it?” 

“Fun. But god, it sucked!” She shook her head before ducking down to groan onto his chest. “Top five worst days of my life!” 

“Sorry,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It is tough, but I’m happy you did it, though.”

Paz sniffled, but she nodded in agreement. She was glad she did, too. “Can we share a cigarette?” 

Bill reached for his pack in his pocket and pulled two, one for her and one for him, because where her emotions were at, he had a feeling she’d hardly share at all. 

She blew out a stream of smoke and sighed in relief. “This week has been the longest week ever, and we haven’t even gotten to the important part yet.”

…

As fast as time could pass with age, suddenly it felt like it was crawling at glacier pace. 

There were two more days until the ritual.

Finally, Zedna and Mavis were over to do the sanctifying ritual. Bill and Paz watched while Zedna prepared the space in the study, once again referencing the ancient book, as she did so. Mavis didn’t so much as help but encourage, though this time she did ask leading questions. Her permission to interfere still had stipulations. 

“Was this necessary?” Zedna pointed at the bookshelves. 

A sheet of pattern paper was hung up, on which Bill had written their return date: February 19, 2021.

“You think I’d forget or something?” She said, rolling her eyes. 

Wisps from a few incense sticks twirled in the air, and after Zedna lit about a dozen candles, she clapped her hands. “Okay, I’m ready. And you two are not needed for this,” she glared at Paz and Bill. 

“So we just wait in the other room?” Bill asked. 

“I feel like we can help with something?” Paz chimed in. 

“It’s Zedna who has to make the pact with the Time Keepers,” Mavis said. “She’ll need to do this on her own, I’m just… supervising.” 

Right then, Paz felt Bill’s hand on the small of her back, leading her out of the room. 

“Let them do what they need to do, baby,” he said softly. 

“And be silent, please,” Zedna called out. 

While waiting in the living room, it was quiet through the whole house until they heard a soft chant grow louder and louder. The words rapidly run into each other. They glanced at each other as the energy slowly built, even from outside the ritual space. Suddenly, Zedna’s chanting came to an abrupt stop. 

If only Bill and Paz could see the horror movie in the next room. Zedna’s body tensed wickedly, and her wide eyes had glazed over. She saw them. She saw the Time Keepers. Three giant spirits that stretched so tall you couldn’t crane your head back enough to see their faces. Everything that has happened and will happen existed as giant, colorful orbs in their chests where a heart would lie.

They had no language with which to speak, but their overwhelming presence projected the prompt.

Outsider. 

Must.

Bleed. 

From the living room, they could hear Zedna harshly gasp for air and choke. When her vision returned, Mavis was standing next to her with a small dagger lying across her open hands. 

Zedna took it without hesitation and pressed the blade into her palm, crying out.

“The fuck is happening?” Bill murmured. 

Blood poured from Zedna’s fist over the center of the ritual space before laying it flat against the wood floor, where it pooled. As soon as the Timekeepers were satisfied with her offering, there was a noticeable shift. A mysterious gust of wind rushed out of the study and fanned across Bill and Paz’s faces. 

Paz gasped, squeezing Bill’s hand. “She did it.”

…

13 Hours before the ritual. 

Bill was plating dinner. At first, they discussed what they'd like to eat on their last full day until they started to sound like death row inmates and decided to make a hodgepodge meal from what was left in the fridge and the pantry. 

There were roasted veggies, macaroni made with random pasta shapes, breakfast sausage, toasted bread, and a nice little side salad. 

“We should drink this,” Paz said, holding a bottle of wine she pulled from the rack. “It’s a 1959 red.” 

Bill raised his brows and took it to open and decant it into a lemonade pitcher. 

After dinner, they watched the nightly news, as if to reconfirm once again that the eclipse was happening tomorrow. A previously recorded segment aired again, featuring a young female reporter on location at Griffith Park, showcasing the booths and the Ferris wheel being erected for the festivities. 

Restless with nerves, they inspected the ritual space once more. A rust colored stain at the center of it all. Distracted, Paz walked up to her sewing machine, really Petra’s, but she learned all its quirks and was good at troubleshooting problems like it was second nature.

“You know there’s room for that at the storage unit,” Bill said, watching her glide her hand along it.

“Huh? Oh… I don’t know,” she said, indecisive. 

It was getting late, and she didn't want to create a hassle with such short notice. It was built into a table and was quite heavy. 

He approached, following the appliance cord to the wall and unplugging it before grabbing both corners of the table and pulling it away from the wall. 

“Are you serious?” She snorted. 

“Put your shoes on. We can take a drive after.” 

She was grateful he was so willing. She doubted she’d come across a machine as good in the future. Nothing was built to last the way things did in the past. 

They drove down Sunset Boulevard with the windows down, leaving caution to the wind, taking in the city in its iconic old style way. Paz leaned over and kissed along his jaw until he could take a chance to kiss her on the lips. 

He drove with one hand while his arm rested on her shoulders, pulling her in as she lay her head in the crook of his neck, the night breeze tousling their hair. A sort of romantic melancholy overtook them. 

Eventually, they turned onto a less busy road. At the upcoming corner, Bill pulled into a parking space by the curb. Paz looked at the building to their right. It was a stereotypical ice cream parlor. Like any second, a little boy with a propeller hat would step out with a dripping ice cream cone. 

“It looks like they’re closing,” Paz said, following Bill out from the driver's side. 

Inside, a server in a soda jerk hat was wiping down vacant tables, but a few youths were occupying a booth, taking their sweet time. 

“Ah, I’m Bill fucking Skarsgård, they’ll stay open,” he said, taking her hand as she giggled. 

And indeed they did. The employees rushed the youths out, but before they left, Bill signed their napkins, and one girl boldly asked if he could sign the hem of her skirt. The same girl even acknowledged Paz. 

“Are you friends with Marcia?”  

“Bestest friends. Your shoes are so cute,” she said, pointing the focus elsewhere. 

Soon, an order of fries and a giant shareable sundae were sitting on their table in the round booth they took. Bill quietly gave the two employees a nice tip to thank them for staying open, but also to signal to them to give them some privacy. 

Because it was after hours, the employees still had to cut the lights before disappearing to the back. The ambient light from the street lamps and the red neon framing the windows kept them from being in complete darkness. 

“Looks like a dive bar in here now.”

“The cleanest in history,” Paz muttered. 

“So, are you ready to go home?” he chuckled when she pursed her lips. 

“I’ve been ready for a long time.” 

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for some fries. 

“I’ve been here almost four years. You’ve been here, what? Nine months? You’re going back to 2021 like a fucking baby.” 

Bill laughed.

“Like a rebirth, wonder what that means,” she said, before digging her spoon into the sundae.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about the day you left, and all that came after… all the stuff you missed, really. I don’t know what we’re going back to exactly, but for at least three years, I’m basically psychic.” 

“That’ll be a nice side hustle if you play it right.” 

“Hmm, I’ll think about it.” 

“What if… I don’t want to speak it out loud, but what happens if we’re in the wrong year or the wrong—” 

“It’ll work out. Zedna is not nice, but she’s not evil. I can tell she really wants to fix all this shit.” 

“Wow!” She breathed. “She really grew on you.” 

“Her reasonings for time travel are ridiculously selfish and self-serving—I haven’t forgotten.” 

“Mhmm. You kind of seem so sure…” she questioned, because she didn’t know what he did.

“I just don’t want to entertain the alternative.”

Paz huffed.

“Fine,” Bill grumbled. “If this doesn’t work, then what?”

“I don’t know. If this doesn’t work, then… Well, what happens after the ritual—I just hope there’s no other side.” 

Bill closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. She was just adding to his stress, even if he somewhat felt the same. However, he wasn’t going to share that. 

“It’ll work out,” he reiterated. 

“It has to.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sorry, I don’t— I shouldn’t think that way, I know. I just can’t believe I’m going home. That we’re going home.” 

He nodded. “Honestly, this is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me, and I’ve done some weird shit,” he chuckled. “So I’m more than ready to go back, too. What are you excited to see again? Or what have you missed besides me?” he grinned.

She smiled. “Stupid little things. I’m going to be glad when I can heat things back up in a microwave instead of using the oven. I’ve eaten things cold before because I was too impatient,” she laughed. “Being able to cash my own check. Having a bank account, even,” she rolled her eyes. “Gel nail polish. My skin care. Hot Cheetos. Good sushi, too. It’s not really a thing here. I really miss our bed, it’s so, so comfy.” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I do miss our bed.”

She set her spoon down and sat up straight, staring right into his eyes. “Bill, when we go home. I want everything. I want to get married. I want to have kids with you. I don’t want to waste any more time.” 

A soft, dimpled smile appeared on his face, and he nodded. “I don’t want to either. We should settle back in once we get home, but I think I want to move back to Stockholm.” 

Paz raised her brows. 

“Not right away, but yeah. I was living there after you left, and I just realized I missed being home that way.” 

Paz pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss. “I’m ready to do everything and anything with you,” she whispered against his lips. 

Back home, their clothes came off without a single word. They made love, laying out everything that they had for each other out. Touching each other as if it could be the last time. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as she rode him, his eyes fluttering shut. His chest warmed, and a sense of déjà vu hit him. He’d felt this before. When they made love for the last time without knowing it. 

Immense love and clarity overcame him now as it did back then. It was just so intense, even looking into her glassy eyes, he knew she felt it too. It would only ever be them in every lifetime. Their souls restless without the other would always search. 

[b-afterhours]

Enter The Chronoheart

SYNOPSIS: Au!Bill | Timing is everything. Just before his big break, Bill met Paz, and with her in his life, everything seemed to fall into place. The timing felt right, until the weight of fame and notoriety became too much for Paz to handle, even from the sidelines. Despite their busy careers and distance, they always seemed to find each other through it all. Just when they decided to rekindle their relationship, and the timing felt right again. Paz disappears without a trace.

The aftermath of her disappearance sends Bill’s path spiraling off course. Then, on the third anniversary of her disappearance, he found himself drawn to the mystic shop where she was last seen. Sending him on an unexpected journey through time to find her. -part one here

Chapter Twenty Six

San Lucero

It was late at night when a knock interrupted the heated conversation in the hotel room. 

After taking the opportunity to explore the town and having an amazing, authentic Mexican dinner, Paz and Zedna turned in for bed after a long day of anxiously waiting around yet again.

While taking a sip of her tea, the handle of Paz’s mug slipped from her grip, causing it to spill onto her nightgown. She jumped up from her seat when the warm liquid seeped through the thin fabric. It immediately cooled, and now the gown clung to her like an icy sheet. 

“Fuck,” she groaned. 

“Are you okay?” Zedna asked, concerned, as she looked up from a leisurely read where she lay in her bed. 

“Mm,” Paz frowned, pulling the uncomfortably wet garment away from her skin. “Yeah… Do you have something I could borrow?” 

She packed lightly and didn’t have many alternatives for PJs. With Bill having to skip the trip, her sleeping arrangements changed, too. She and Zedna decided on sharing a double. Had it been different, she would have borrowed one of his shirts or just slept in her panties. 

“Try this,” Zedna said, after rummaging through her bag. 

She held up a patch dress, which, while not a nightgown, looked just as comfortable. 

“Thanks,” she said, rolling the hem of the dress to slip into it more easily, when she paused. 

Her lips pressed together, irritated. Sewn into the waist seam was a handmade label that read, PM. Petra Muñoz. She made this patch dress. It was her work, and the stitches were distinctly hers. 

“What the fuck, Zed?” Paz said angrily. “Were you ever going to tell me that you knew her?” 

“Who?” Zedna feigned ignorance, realizing her mistake.

“Petra Muñoz!” Her eyes narrowed. “Who was she to you?” 

Zedna swallowed. “She’s my cousin. Through marriage, Osberto was my cousin.” 

“How do you remember that?” She questioned. 

“Meditation. It has been helping me recover the things your arrival erased.” 

Paz sighed. “So you sent me here—inserted me—into her life to what? Help you get your big break into acting? That was it all along, wasn’t it? Are you serious?”

Zedna looked away, ashamed and embarrassed. “It seems that’s what my old self did, yes. I must not have considered that my own memories could be erased by doing that. I wasn’t until Bill… Well, his arrival really shook the tree, huh? Without him, there wouldn’t be a possibility of you going home, would there?”

Paz shook her head. Annoyed that she couldn’t argue that. “Yeah. But after hearing our story on our way here, you don’t feel a little remorse?” 

Her lip twisted. “I am not a heartless bitch! I made a mistake, I’ll own up to that! I’ve been trying to fix what I’ve done for goddess sake!”

“Goddess sake,” Paz bitterly mocked. “Maybe for your sake, you can get what you want the right way next time. But fuck you for messing with my life! And Bill’s—he was god damn traumatized not knowing where I’ve been. And for nothing!? You delusional old, selfish ass—” 

They both jumped when a rap at the door burst the tension in the room. 

“It’s Santi—” 

“I fucking know,” Paz sharply said, already on her way to answer it. 

He bowed his head in greeting. “Señora, Doña Aracely is home.”

Next thing they knew, they were both on the back of a pack mule named Canela, which Santi guided back to the small ranch by the reins. Paz sat in front while Zedna wrapped her arms around her from behind. After arguing, the journey there felt like they were being punished, like two children being forced to wear a single large t-shirt together until they settled their differences. 

Once at the gate, the energy of the magical barricade was still very much present. It wasn’t until Santi whistled, indicating their arrival, that its force dissipated. A strong wind followed when they stepped onto the quiet grounds, save for a few clucking chickens in the coop. 

A feeling of peace draped over Paz. Comfort and safety that you could only find in the vicinity of a loving matriarch. It was the complete opposite for Zedna. Until now, she had put on a front. With no authority here, it threw her off balance, leaving her unsure and nervous. She wasn’t the head witch in charge, and she knew it.

Santi took their bags and then waved them on, towards the back of the house where an orange glow emanated. As they reached the back, Aracely was stoking a fire, where a cast-iron pot hung above the flame. 

She turned then, feeling the presence of her kin. “So you listened,” she smiled, holding her arms out. “I was worried you might have doubts. Come.” 

Paz was at a loss for words. She’d only seen her great-grandmother in photographs. Now she stood before her like a motion picture. As she approached, her feet felt light, so light she was convinced she actually floated right into Aracely’s arms as she wrapped her into a tight embrace. 

Aracely cupped her face, taking her in, catching all the familiar features that carried down through generations. She was as much in awe of Paz as she was of her. When she poked the beauty mark right below Paz’s left eye, she winked.

“Lourdes baby,” she said, tickled because Lourdes was still only a baby herself.

Paz nodded. 

“Sorry, I took too long… But you took too long, too, no?” Aracely said, with a pointed look, and Paz could only smile nervously. “Sit,” she pointed at the wooden chairs around the fire. “And you? Isabella?” 

“Zedna.” 

She pressed her lips together. “The trouble.” 

She took a shaky breath. “I’ve been trying to fix that.” 

“Good,” she said, impatiently motioning for her to take a seat as well. 

Aracely fixed them up with bean burritos and café de olla straight from the pot above the flames before settling down herself. She was born in 1882, 100 years before Paz was born. Currently, she was 74, but she didn’t stay idle and kept active. She didn’t live for 99 years for nothing. 

“Long few days,” she said after taking a sip from her barro mug. “Two babies, one father,” she rolled her eyes. “Half siblings and cousins.” 

Paz and Zedna’s jaws dropped with the new info. 

“Not the first time I’ve seen it either. So… I know what you’re looking for, mija. The cronocorazón.”

Paz nodded. “It’s the last thing we need for me and my fiancé to go home. Do you have it? Or know where I could get it?” 

“Is it with me? No. But yes, I know exactly where to get it. I sensed…” She glanced at Zedna as she took a sip from her mug. “Well, three, almost four years ago. I sensed a disturbance. A pain only a mother could feel,” she said, glancing at Paz’s midsection knowingly. “Lourdes lost her baby. Then, early this year. The same disturbance, the same ache, but this time, I realized you hadn’t been lost at all. You were here. So I looked, and I found you. The man too. Bill?” 

Paz nodded. 

“His arrival led me to look. And you are practicing now, too?” She asked. 

“Learning… trying, but yes.”

“It’s all learning all the time,” Aracely said with a reassuring smile. 

“That’s true,” Zedna said, blinking her heavy eyelids.

“More coffee?”

“Please,” Zedna said, eagerly holding her barro mug out.

“So do you know someone who can get the plant?” Paz asked, more impatient in tone than she intended. 

“I do. In Vigilia. I do work for them often; their baby boy has persistent ear infections,” she frowned sympathetically. “She’s Xochi. The time keepers.” 

When she took another glance at Zedna, Paz followed. She was slumped in her chair, the mug slowly slipping from her grip. 

“Finally,” Aracely said, taking the mug from her hand before it fell. “She fought it for longer than I thought she would.” 

Paz stared into her mug, horrified, as a star anise floated innocently atop. “What did you do?”

“She’s just asleep,” she winked, chuckling. “Don’t worry, mija, yours is fine. I just want to talk— you and me. Why didn’t Bill come? Does he want to go home?” 

“Absolutely. Zed,” Paz pointed at her as she lightly snored. “Sent him into a life where he’s married to Marcia Patton.” 

Her brows shot up. “La chiquita rubia,” she said, holding a flat hand out only a few feet from the ground.

“The only.”

“Wow.”  

“Her house—their house was broken into before our flight, and yeah, he had to deal with that… he wished he came though.” 

“Okay, okay, I wish I had met him just to make sure you know,” she winked. 

While it would have been a pleasure to meet him, she wanted to move to other matters. 

“She’s dying, you know?” She pointed at Zedna.

Paz looked at her worriedly, but even knocked out, she looked lively. “Zedna?” 

“In the year tu prometido Bill left—” 

“2024.” 

“Mhmm. I can smell it on her now. Not much time.” 

“Oh…” her hands wrung around her mug. “Will that affect anything?” 

Aracely shook her head. “What happened with your sister?” 

“Is something wrong with her?” She could feel her heart kick up against her chest. 

“Relax, mija. What happened when she was born?”  

“Oh. Um, Juliana… she was premature and was born with clubbed feet. She had a lot of surgeries and casts for it, which helped a lot. But I think going through that so young, she sometimes went mute. So she developed a stutter. Nothing stops her, though,” she quickly assured when seeing Aracely’s frown progressively deepen. “She talks too much and goes everywhere. She’s a lawyer, like our dad.” 

She put her hand to her heart, grateful. “And your accent,” she pointed out. “I can tell you weren’t born here?” 

Paz smiled sheepishly. “No, Chicago. My dad and mom moved there in the early ‘80s. They met in Mexico City in college.”

“And your brother just had a baby, no? Serafina?” 

Paz’s eyes widened. “Is that her name?” 

“Yes,” she smiled. “Qué bonito, eh?”

“Very,” Paz smiled. “Francisco is with Mia, they’ve been together… Wow, probably as long as Bill and me. They started dating just a few months before us. He’s a director. Before I came here, we had just made a movie together. His first one. Bill told me it did well.” 

“And what do you do?” 

“Producing. But I worked as the first AD with him on that film. Now, I’m a costume designer. So even if this isn’t the right life, I’m still in the same industry at least.” 

“At least!” She chuckled. “But you must go home, no?” 

Paz nodded. “I don’t belong. I noticed that people find me very hard to understand initially, because deep down, they know something is off. But I have to leave. I miss… everything.” 

“Something would be wrong if you didn’t. This isn’t your path. You can’t complete it here either. But… despite her deceit,” she nudged her head towards a snoring Zedna. “I’m glad to have met you. And I’m glad you listened and came to me. Sorry about the thorn, though. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…”

“Mm. Very nasty,” Paz said, honestly making Aracely chuckle, guiltily. “But it got my attention.”

“You’re cutting it close, no? The eclipse is almost here. You… have a problem with doubt.” 

Paz glanced away uncomfortably. She did. She’d second-guess too much. Doubt took so much from her. It fucked up things that were going fine. It was something she knew she had to let go before being sent through the kaleidoscopic tunnel of time. 

“I try not to. But…” 

“It’s okay,” Aracely assured. “A lot of people let their minds take over, but forget their hearts; others listen to their hearts too much without considering their logic. Both have to connect, but also here,” she said, pointing at the middle of her belly. “The gut. You need all three. One can not function without the other. It’s a balance. Just remember that and don’t fight it.” She said with a pointed look. “Well, it’s late,” she said nonchalantly after hitting Paz with a bomb of wisdom and not a second to process. “We should sleep, and then we will go meet my friend.” 

Paz nodded, and Aracely stood to hug her once again. 

“I have room for you two,” she said. “It’s not Palacio de la Luz, but—” 

“No, it’s better.” 

Aracely whistled into the dark, toward a small shed in the back of the property. “Do you ever whistle at night?” She asked, turning to Paz.

“No?” 

“Good, because you really shouldn’t.” 

Santi quickly appeared and, without prompting, swiftly took Zedna into his arms and led with her limp body to the house. 

A lot of the home's charm remained even after her uncle renovated it. Even the altar to the Virgen de Guadalupe was still in the same place. Really, he just updated the place, adding modern appliances, electrical, and indoor plumbing. Paz noticed the outhouse on the edge of the property and knew she’d hold her pee until daylight.

“Who is he?” Paz asked once Santi stepped into a room to lay Zedna down to sleep.

“He was a petty hustler living on the streets and didn't have any real education. He was beaten up when I found him. He was only 16 then. I offered him a place to stay if he took care of my animals.” They reached the end of the hall, and she motioned to the room right across from hers. “Yamileth's room,” she winked. “She only lives two barrios away with her family now. Pues, buenas noches, mija.”

Paz settled into her grandmother's old room. There wasn’t a lot of her personality there, except for a pink crochet rosary draped on the bedpost she assumed was hers. Other than that, it was just a cozy, tidy room. The last time she slept in this room, it belonged to her cousin, the walls were painted a light purple, and there were Rebelde posters taped to the wall. 

Although she felt safe and comfortable, it took Paz a long time to fall asleep. Across the hall, she could hear her great-grandmother muttering the rosary under her breath while she kneeled beside her bed. She had begun to drift to sleep when footsteps were heard leaving Zedna’s bedroom and coming to hers. She lay very still, her eyes like slits, peeking very carefully through her dark lashes, only to see Aracely splashing holy water in her direction. 

She had no clue how late it was when she finally found sleep, but it wasn’t long until the roosters began to crow at the crack of dawn. 

…

Los Angeles

Immediately after receiving Paz’s telegram that morning, Bill dressed to leave with just the clothes on his back. He would wait for her at home now.

Before, though, he made an effort to search for Marcia to at least say goodbye, but didn’t find her. It was rather quiet in the home in general. So feeling a semblance of privacy, he took the bundle of sage Paz gave him and smudged the upstairs quarters. 

By the time he saw the butler downstairs, he was extinguishing it in the sink of a half bath, where he quickly asked where Marcia had gone. She was at the beauty parlor, and Bill smiled at that, because of course, she was. There was no better place for her to be.

Darla appeared after eavesdropping on their brief conversation.

“Are you leaving, Mister Bill?” She asked quietly, holding her hands behind her back. 

“Hey, uh, yeah, I am.” 

“Like for good?” 

“Mm,” he hummed, hesitantly. 

She frowned. “It wasn’t anything I did?” 

His brows pulled together. “No… no, of course not. Things just… happen.” 

“Right,” she nodded, solemnly. “You’ll be missed.” 

“Same. But maybe you’ll still see me around. It’s been a pleasure, Darla, really, thank you.” 

She smiled as he slipped on his sunglasses and disappeared out into the bright light of morning.

Darla Johnson would quit after the holidays, having saved up enough for secretary school. She’d meet her husband, Raymond, the following year, and they would move to Sacramento. She’d retire there, and unlike some staff members who worked at the Bel Air property, she never publicly spoke about or profited from her time there. Though on occasion, when making her famous chocolate chip cookies for her grandchildren, she would beam, telling the story of how the man of the house enjoyed them once.

She would see Bill again in her elder age, but not in a way she’d ever remember him if she could. It wasn’t a way she enjoyed either. Darla really hated clowns. 

…

Before returning to Paz’s, he made a quick stop at the Western Union to respond to her telegram. 

He stood in line for his turn, and for a good while no one noticed him under his black cap. He was just a regular old anybody until a woman passed by and gasped obnoxiously in shock. He gave her a tight-lipped smile, silently pleading with his eyes for her to chill. 

“Oh, can we give the man a rest?” an older gentleman, behind them in a separate line, grumbled loud enough to shame anyone even thinking about bothering him. 

Everyone straightened up then and continued business as normal. The woman’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment over her behavior, but she gave him a simple nod and left. And though Bill didn’t mind all too much, he was a bit relieved he didn’t have to put on a friendly air with everyone in the moment because he had business to take care of. 

1966 OCTOBER 10 | AM 10:31 -P. VILLANUEVA I AM AT YOUR HOUSE. CALL ME ASAP. -B. 

He waited and waited after, but eventually he hated just sitting around. It didn’t feel right to. So, he began to pack Paz’s station wagon with the large totes they had planned to take to the storage facility. 

It was a facility they both knew existed in their time. They remembered the billboards that boasted their 75 years of operation and 24-hour access all over the city. However, the facility he arrived at was not the modern building they knew. The citrus orange garage door motif was still the same, though. 

“For the small unit, sir, it’ll be 2.25 a month,” the young girl with long ginger hair and freckles said, looking up at him.

“That’s the five by five?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“What’s the rate for a full year?” he asked, leaning on the tall counter with folded arms. 

“For that, we offer a month free with a protection plan for 24 dollars flat.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, adjusting his dark sunglasses and calculating in his head. 

2021 was 55 years from now, but just to be safe, he added on a few more years. 

“How much would you say for 70 years then?” 

“Seventy years,” she said, with a light laugh, but it faltered seeing that his expression remained serious. “Oh… uhm,” she swallowed. “One second, sir.” 

She quickly left her post and brought out her father, the owner of the storage facility. 

“Hello, Ed,” he introduced, shaking Bill’s hand. “My daughter tells me you’d like to—” 

"Yeah, I do,” he gently cut him off. He knew his request sounded ridiculous, but he didn’t care; he just needed them to agree. “I have the check ready, I just need a number.” 

“Seventy years, though? We have other long-term options we could offer.” 

“That’s great. But I’d really like to pay for the term I’m willing to right now. I’d really appreciate it, and well, it’s urgent.” 

The man placed his hand on his hips and huffed, in thought. What was so urgent about seventy years? He knew the man who stood before him was a movie star because his daughter quietly gushed in excitement in his office about him. While he didn’t think he should have special privileges for his status, he did like that his pockets ran deep. 

“Alright,” he began, typing on a printing calculator to see the math on paper and rounded up. “And you want to pay in full?” He glanced up at Bill, who nodded. “How about we do an even 27 grand, sound fair?” 

Bill quickly filled out the check. “Sure does,” he replied, though he thought the opposite. “Um, could you add another name to the account for me as well? Paz Villanueva.”

“Absolutely,” he said, motioning to his daughter to complete the transaction. “Thank you for having faith in us with caring for your things, sir,” he said. “Even if we’re not here, this will remain with the family like an heirloom should you need it,” he lightly chuckled. 

“I’d appreciate that,” he smiled, shaking his hand.

He returned home, and only a few hours later, Paz called to his relief. 

On the way back from Vigilia, something told her she should call him, and when Aracely glanced at her as if she read the pensive thoughts in her head, she really knew she should then. 

“Hello? Can you hear me, okay?” She said from the hotel front desk telephone, holding the telegram he sent.

Her voice sounded as if she were on the opposite end of a big, empty room speaking to him.  

“Uhh, yeah, better. What’s going on? Do you have it?” 

“Not yet. I will soon. I met someone this morning who can get it, now we’re just waiting on her.” 

“Fuck… holy shit. How soon?” He asked, pacing the study.

“She said by this afternoon. She wanted money, and yeah…” she said, brushing her hand through her hair nervously. “Did Marcia kick you out again, or did you sneak out?” 

He smirked. “No, we finally reached an agreement, I guess, so…” 

“Ah,” she said, understanding what that meant. “Hold on,” she said quickly. He could faintly, faintly hear someone else speaking to her in Spanish. “Shit. I have to get off the line. We’re only allotted so many minutes with the hotel phone. I miss you.” 

“Me too, baby. Are you okay?” 

“I am, baby. It’s all… well, it’s a lot to take in, but I can process that later,” she lightly laughed. 

“What’s your bisabuela like?” He quickly asked. 

“She wished you had come. She’s like a grandma out of a fucking weird fairy tale,” she laughed again. “She loves me a lot, like I could feel it instantly… but like yeah, of course she would, right? Anyway, it’s just like I said, a lot.”

“I have such bad fucking FOMO, right now,” he chuckled. 

He could only imagine what it’d be like to connect with an ancestor in the flesh. How strange it would be, and if the lore of their life would actually compare to the stories that had been passed down. And he wished he could experience it.

“As soon as I get it—” the faint voice cut Paz off again, reminding her she’d need to disconnect the call. “I have to—” 

“Yeah, okay,” he sighed, disappointed there wasn’t enough time to really hash out all the details. “As soon as you get it though—“

“I’m coming home.”

“Yes. I love you, but this isn’t a vacation, so hurry the fuck back.” He said, with obvious humor in his tone. 

“Aww, you’re so jealous,” she teased. “I love you.”

…

San Lucero

That same morning, Paz emerged from her room dressed for the day to find Aracely preparing breakfast in the kitchen. If Paz hardly slept, she could only guess Aracely slept for even less, but you’d never know it. 

She was ordered to take a seat after being denied from helping, and was immediately given a cup of black coffee. Afterward, Aracely passed a burrito through the open kitchen window to Santi, who traded it for fresh eggs right back. They went straight from the coop and directly onto a hot pan in front of her. 

“Can I braid your hair?” she asked, running her fingers through Paz’s long locks as she ate her breakfast of mashed black beans, nopales, and fried eggs. 

She looked up at her great-grandmother, who looked at her adoringly, and nodded as she chewed.

“Finish eating,” she said before kissing the top of her head. 

Right then, Zedna appeared, bleary-eyed as she stretched her arms above her head, still wearing her PJs. Paz braced herself, ready for her to raise hell about being incapacitated, but instead she greeted everyone good morning with a genuine smile and took a seat at the table. 

“That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while,” she said, after taking a sip of her coffee. “Thank you for having us,” she said to Aracely, who just smiled. 

Paz glanced at her skeptically, but whatever Aracely had done to Zedna’s drink, she was none the wiser. It seemed to make her uncharacteristically agreeable, too. 

After breakfast, Zedna excused herself to get ready for the day. Meanwhile, Aracely brushed Paz’s hair smooth. On the table was a little woven basket with ribbons, hair ties, pomade, and a small glass container of oil. 

“Any time you braid someone's hair, you should only ever have good, loving thoughts,” Aracely said, as she began to split her hair into three parts. 

Paz sat silently as she began to braid down her back, but she could hear her whisper ever so faintly under her breath as she did so. At points, she would pause, reaching for the oil, dipping her fingers in, and gliding them through her thick hair, leaving it smelling rich of roses. 

Soon after, the women were all in Aracely’s late 1950s brown Chevy Sedan on their way to Vigilia. There, they met Metztona, who went by Toni. Aracely exited the car and announced herself first, trying to ease in the introduction of her great-granddaughter, but Toni glowered at Paz through the windshield with folded arms. 

“She’s scared of you,” Zedna whispered from the back seat. “To her, your existence has only been a fable told by her people.” 

Toni looked both displeased and unnerved with her presence, but whatever Aracely said, she finally nodded her head and eased up. 

“Come on,” Aracely waved at both Paz and Zedna to exit the car. 

They stepped into Toni’s small, dirt-floor home, and cedar smoke floated in the air, but the bundle in Toni’s hand smelled stale. It was kept for peace of mind only. 

After gently setting the smoldering bundle in a clay pot, she stepped up to Paz, eying her up and down with a sneer. She circled Paz, examining her as if she were an extraterrestrial rather than a human being.

“Let me see your palms,” she ordered, facing her now. 

“Can we just talk?” Aracely quickly cut in. “We don’t have to do all of this—” 

“Let me see,” Toni demanded now. 

Paz began to lift her hands, but Aracely put an arm out, stopping her. 

“Who do you think I am? You think I’d bring evil to your house?” She spat at the very notion. “I told you who she is, where she is from, and she must go home now.”

Toni’s hardened jaw relaxed, and she stepped back, crossing her arms again. 

“Well,” she turned her nose up. “What you need still isn’t free…” 

“How much?” Paz quickly said, before either of the women by her side could speak for her, to their chagrin.

Toni lightly laughed. “We trade. But if you’re offering—” 

“Okay, so money and what else do you want?” 

Zedna glanced at her worriedly, knowing the barter wouldn’t fare well with Paz. 

“Your hair.” 

“My—what?” She turned to her grandmother, horrified, who could only offer an apologetic look. “You knew?” 

“It’ll be fine,” she said, running her hand through her long braid for the last time. 

She had done the protective spiritual work that morning unbeknownst to Paz. Shielding the essence of her hair, locking it down so that no harm could come to her should it be used in nefarious ways.

“But not all of it,” Paz declared. She was willing to do what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean she needed a buzzcut to prove it.

Aracely smirked and shook her head. “If I may,” she said to Toni. “Could I cut it?” 

Toni thought for a moment, keeping up with her stubborn act a little longer, before nodding in agreement. She had deep, reverent respect for Aracely at heart. 

After paying Toni’s price with American dollars, the large stainless steel shears came out. Despite her racing heart, Paz kept a brave face. Aracely held her thick braid between two fingers at the nape of Paz’s neck and slipped down a little lower and then just an inch more, a little past her shoulders. When she felt the tension in her shoulder lessen, she didn’t let Paz have a moment to consider the length any further and closed the blades. Paz shut her eyes almost sorrowfully as she listened to the sharp blades gliding past each other.

Zedna caught Aracely discreetly tucking a lock in her dress pocket and hid a smile. It was exactly what she would have done. Whatever could happen with Paz’s hair, Aracely would be able to counteract should she need to. 

The rest of Paz’s hair unraveled and rested at her shoulders, and her hands immediately reached for it. It had never been cut higher than her bra strap. When her fingers ran through the length, she noticed how quickly they came to a stop. She was shocked to say the least. 

“It’s a nice length,” Zedna assured her.

Paz looked at her with a frown on her face that she couldn’t hide, no matter how hard she tried. “I did need a trim.” 

“We’ll even it out at home,” Aracely whispered, after handing the braid to Toni. 

Toni ran her hands through the strands with a smile. “I’ll have the cronocorazón by tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Paz gasped in disbelief. “You don’t have it right now?” 

“I have to meet with my elders.” 

“She’ll have it,” Aracely assured Paz. “Won’t you?” 

“Yes. Your offerings have been more than generous,” Toni said to Paz with a grateful bow of her head.

…

Bill could feel his eyes grow heavy as he neared the end of the book on remote viewing, which he had been chiseling through. It was an interesting read, he’d say. If he weren’t so tired, he’d probably try it just to find Paz and see what was currently going on. The waiting had been killing him.

After turning the lights off in the study, he began to walk toward the bedroom when there was a light knock on the door. He blinked tiredly. Deep down, he hoped it was some kind of magical miracle, and Paz had come home, but when he peered through the speakeasy, he was surprised to see Mavis there. 

“Hey?” Bill said, opening the door, but not before fixing his sweat pants on his hips. Before, they were sitting very low without a care. 

“Hi, may I come in?” She asked under her hood.

“It’s kinda late?” 

“Sorry—”

“Ah, it’s fine, come in.” 

“Thank you,” she said, following him to the living room. 

“Have a seat, uh, I’m going to make some coffee, would you like some?” He asked, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.  

“Tea would be nice. I’ve brought you something,” she said, producing a jar of red-tinged honey she had been rummaging through her boho bag for. “It’s from Sedona from bees who pollinate the prickly pears.” 

When Bill returned with their warm drinks, he took a seat on the recliner and crossed his knees, taking a sip of his black coffee. 

“I added the honey you brought to your drink.” 

“I thought you would,” she smiled appreciatively under her hood, while pulling the cuffs of her cloak. 

She looked as if she were getting settled, but she shrugged the cloak off her shoulders, and then, to his surprise, her hands pulled the hood away from her face. Her green eyes met his. 

He didn’t move and was conscious of keeping his face neutral, taking in her scarred face. He could relate, but only a fraction to the degree. Hers were very deep in some places, one pulling the corner of her lip farther than the other. Another split down the middle of her brow, going down, miraculously skipping her eye completely, and continued at the top of her cheek before taking a sharp left toward her ear. Puncture marks from the dog's teeth were speckled about. It was a shame she felt the need to hide under a hood; there was a beauty to them that he could greatly appreciate. Being in a profession where looks mattered so much meant a lot of his peers could look—though beautiful— quite boring. 

He gave her a small smile when he noticed her slightly demure in shame under his stare.

“So,” she began after setting her mug down after a sip. “Have you heard anything?” 

“I thought you might have had an update,” he lightly chuckled, resting his cheek on his fist. “But, um, yeah, sort of. Paz called earlier. She doesn’t have the chronoheart yet, but she said by tonight she might.” 

“Good. Just as I hoped.” 

“Yeah—As you hoped?” 

She ignored his probing question and rummaged through her bag again for a drawstring sack. “We can ask my charms in a bit,” she said, placing it on the coffee table. “You shouldn’t worry so much, though.”

“Why?” He tilted his head. He caught a weird vibe that only made him worry more. “Your charms have told you what will happen or something?” 

“They only solidify my notions.” 

“So then… You know, we're going home?” 

“Well, that I can’t see quite yet. I’m only here to observe—”

“Observe?”

Mavis nodded. “I find you trustworthy, but also, for some reason, I felt compelled to explain a little of this to you. Have you ever noticed that? People just can’t help but share things with you? Intimate things even?” 

She wasn’t entirely off. He knew he could make people nervous, whether it was because of who he was, his stature, or his big searching eyes; he didn’t know, but some people could only compete by filling the space he took with overhearing. Either way, it wasn’t a topic he cared to explore at the moment. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

She pressed her lips together, sensing his impatience. “Right, so—I’ve been assigned to watch Zedna in this realm. We know—” 

“Wait,” Bill sat up. “Who exactly is we? Are you Xochi or…?” He asked the light brown-haired, green-eyed woman before him carefully. 

“No, not by blood. I’ve mentioned my friend from Sedona—”

“You said he was like a brother to you.” 

“He is,” she smiled. “I was adopted at 8 by the tribe when my parents both passed from consumption. I learned the stories, the customs, the rituals, and the magic. We’ve kept it fairly contained, but you know, with the internet, trade secrets and rituals are just blabbed about on forums or TikTok as if they don’t hold actual weight. Like they’re only scary cautionary tales,” she rolled her eyes. “For a few decades now, we’ve been playing clean up. Zedna is, so far, our worst offender.” 

His eyes widened. Who was this lady? She looked about 45, but she seemed so much older, and yet so young and knowledgeable about things only he and Paz would know about.

“You’re a time keeper?” He guessed.

Mavis lightly laughed. “Oh no, I’m more like an agent? An overseer? Glorified babysitter?” 

“Right… but,” his forehead wrinkled, trying to grasp everything. “Shit… okay, so when Zedna sent me here, I don’t remember seeing someone like you around?” 

“You saw Tim, the bald guy mediating?”

He thought hard for a moment. There was a man sitting lotus style in the back room, but their encounter was so brief and insignificant that it never registered until now.

“Shit, you’re right…”

“He’s in charge of her there.” 

“But if he’s in charge, why the fuck is he allowing her to send people through the decades?” 

“Our job isn’t to interfere.”

Bill shook his head, annoyed by that answer. “Then what is the point?” 

“The point is that you go home.” 

“So then you do know we’re going home?” 

“No, I don’t,” she said firmly. “There hasn’t been a witch who has been successful in sending people back through the portal since the Time Keepers created this. It’s been centuries. Zedna isn’t even an Xochi descendant, and she has a grasp on it like no one else we’ve seen.” 

“So Paz and I are guinea pigs.” 

“No, you’re the catalyst of something great. You’re all very close.” 

Bill sat back in his seat, ruminating. “So you’ve known who Paz and I were the whole time? You’ve pretended—” 

“I haven’t been forthcoming, no. If she succeeds with you two, we can send the others back. Not all of them have fared as well as you two have.” 

A low incredulous chuckle left him. “Seriously? Fuck. How bad has it been for everyone else, then? How many people has she done this to?” 

“You, Paz… and five others.” 

His brows rose. “Seven fucking people?” 

“Now only four. The others… Well, they all chose to crossover.” 

“No kidding.”

“It’s terrible, they couldn’t adapt or accept what happened to them. And Zedna is unwell, so she didn’t always hit the mark like with you two. She is dying now. Not now but…” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, understanding.

It fell silent for a moment, and they both took a sip from their drinks. 

“Uh, how did everyone come to an understanding that any of this would work for us?” 

“Well, when Paz stepped into Luminar, Tim noticed her. He sensed her gifts, and while many people shopped at the store with a vibe, she was just different. He overheard the things she said to Zed in the backroom. She mentioned her brother, the director, something about their meeting being cut short, and she ran into a man named Dade,” she grimaced. “Terrible name by the way.” 

“It is,” he said, flatly. “But what do you mean?” 

“You switch a few letters around, you get ‘Dead’,” her lips twisted. 

“Hmm. You don’t sense that he’s dying, too, perhaps?” he snarkily muttered. 

Mavis cracked a smirk. “Long story short, she ticked every box in Zed’s criteria. Next thing Tim knew, she was sent through the time tunnel. We all felt the shift with her arrival then. Then, you came, and it was just what we needed. The push. Paz had the pieces, but she lost her ability to trust her gut.” 

He looked away, rubbing his knuckle along his jaw. “I noticed that when I got here. I finally found her, but she wasn’t… my Paz. She didn’t even talk the same for a while, and, honestly, it made me nervous. Still, I was willing to love this version of her regardless. Like without a doubt. But I worried things might not be the same between us. That I showed up and ruined this new little thing she had all to herself. But the more I saw her—the more we were able to just be—it’s like something finally clicked. Like she finally believed that I was real. Slowly, she became the, the woman she always was again, yeah,” he twisted a loose thread on the hem of his white tee with his finger for a moment, surprised he was oversharing now. 

Did Mavis pull a reverse psychology move on him? But he figured, if things went to plan, he’d never see this woman again, so he continued. 

“Um, but I know, she feels like this is all her fault,” he frowned. “I don’t, I don’t blame her in the slightest. I guess… I don’t know where I’m going with this, um… I’m not trying to be a fucking hero, or in this case, a damn wizard,” he said, making Mavis chuckle. “But I just knew I had to do something. I sensed shit was off, clearly, so I started there. It was not even about going back; I didn’t even think doing that would somehow lead me here. I was just trying to orient ourselves in a way to live our lives together, finally. To be again, even if it wasn’t home like we knew it.” 

“And that’s why you have to go home—to be. You can’t have a complete life here, living in the paths others have left.” 

“I actually have a question about that.” 

“Yes.” 

“Paz and I discussed these lives that were in being past lives… makes sense, but I really don’t like the thought of William being one of mine, frankly.” 

Mavis grinned. “Well, for Paz, yes. That’s something Zedna sensed that day. And while that is one way, it’s not the only way. William’s shocking death would be something old Zedna would remember even in her senility. Not to mention you two do bear a striking resemblance that would even trigger her shriveling synapses.” 

Bill almost choked on his coffee at that blunt remark. 

“So you’re saying he’s not then?” 

“No,” she laughed. “He just happened to be freshly dead in this plane of existence, for you to come through. Very lucky! And even if he was, it wouldn't matter; every soul's return is different. I wouldn’t make you like him, if that’s what you’re worried about, but you don’t have to.”

“Good to know, then,” he smirked into his mug. 

Mavis tilted her head. “There’s something else you want to ask, though.” 

“Yeah, you say we can’t complete our life here. What do you mean by that?” 

Mavis hesitated, which only piqued Bill’s interest even more. She shot him a look, realizing she may have said too much; it was hard to get things past him. He was very perceptive and quite astute.

“Hmm… well, it’s because, how should I put this,” she snorted nervously. “You don’t age.” 

“What the fuck? Like we’re immortal? For real?”

“Not exactly. It just happens very, very slowly. In maybe 25 years, you’d look like you’ve had state-of-the-art European facelifts just to look as you do now, which is something that did not exist in the 80s. You’re too public, people would notice immediately that something is up.”

“So Paz’s birthday is at the end of this month—“

“It’ll be her 4th birthday in this decade, technically, but you could say it’s like she’s celebrating her 4th week being here instead. You two do not move at the same frequency as everyone else here.”

“No shit…” he licked his lips, considering his next question, but he figured what the hell and went for it. “How old are you?” 

Her eyes widened. “You can’t ask a woman that.” 

“I won’t tell.”

Mavis exhaled loudly, charmed by his smirk. “Forty-four… plus sixty-nine.” 

“One hundred and thirteen!?” 

“Something like that,” she shrugged, indifferently. “So do you want to ask my charms anything this time?” she asked, shaking the bag and making the contents clink together.

“Sure. But one more thing. We’re in the wrong timeline—it’s because Zed’s senile, isn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

Bill clicked his tongue, shaking his head. 

“So what would you like to ask?” 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he smirked, scooting to the edge of his seat. 

“Does Paz have the cronocorazón?” She asked, before dumping the trinkets onto the coffee table. 

He looked at the scattered mess of coins, some were foreign, unpolished gems, friendship bracelet beads, a tiny brass key, a ying yang POG from the 90s, a 7UP bottle cap, a single magenta Barbie heel, a wooden clothespin, a medallion made from a slice of cactus bone, along with a leg bone from some tiny animal, and the face of a broken locket with a heart etched into it. 

He thought what the fuck would this even tell them, but he watched Mavis consider how and where things landed before her. She pointed at the Barbie heel that landed up right next to a purple gem and the key, and she turned to him with a smile. 

“She has it.” 

“Are they on their way back?” 

She scooped the trinkets back into the bag and cast them out again. She pointed at the animal bone, which crossed over the broken locket, and shook her head. “No, not at this moment, but,” she pointed at the POG and a clear glitter star bead above that, “they're making the moves too.”

Afterwards, Mavis collected her things, and he walked out with her to the porch. 

“Are you going to watch me again?” She cheekily said, looking up at him before pulling her hood on. 

Bill smirked. “Where do you go? You disappear.” 

She lightly laughed. “Well, it’s no fun if I tell you.”

When she stepped off the porch, Bill was right behind her. “I’m not following you, I’m just, I don’t know, taking a ride, I guess.” 

Mavis nodded. “Have a nice night.” 

“You too. Will you be here when they get back?” 

“Hmm, maybe later. I have to help sanctify and all that.” 

“So why can you interfere now?” He asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket as they walked down the pathway.

“Rules change when you get as close as you all are. The timekeepers are also curious. I know they seem nefarious, they’re quite peaceful spirits, but they are protective to a fault, maybe.” 

Bill nodded. “You sure you don’t want a ride?” He asked, testing her again when they stopped by Paz’s station wagon.

“Where I go, you don’t need roads,” she laughed, loosely quoting Doc Brown in Back To The Future.

He laughed. “Nice.”

Bill waved at her as he took off before she could reach the end of the road. He drove directionlessly. Just clearing his head, he supposed, but he was just too anxious to sleep now. He was processing what Mavis told him, but the more he thought, the more questions arose. Finally, as his mind filled beyond his comprehension, he pushed them away. It wasn’t worth it. Some things were just better left the way he came to understand it. 

While driving down Sunset Boulevard, he saw a large crowd outside The Whisky, the marquee outside displayed that The Mamas and the Papas were playing. He drove past, and soon he found himself at the Chateau Marmont. If everything went according to plan, he’d return by the end of the week. 

He walked up to the bar, ordering a drink that he’d hardly even sip, and looked around. There were people of note around mingling, some even greeting him like an old friend. Just like when he first arrived in 1966, and even just last week at the premiere he attended, or anywhere else in general, he knew half the people there were dead. It was a weird, maybe morbid, way to take in his last moments, but after setting the drink down, he was glad he wouldn’t be among the living dead anymore.

…

As the turbulent plane shook, Paz gripped the armrest of her seat until her knuckles went white. She was not a nervous flyer, but she heard too many stories about famous singers of the era crashing in old planes much like the one she was in now. Richie Valens came to mind especially. 

Not only did it start raining heavily once they reached just an hour outside of LA, but they were also in the midst of an electrical storm. When Paz saw lightning splintering the dark gray skies, she quickly pulled the window shade down. She didn’t want to risk witnessing a gremlin on the wing of the plane à la The Twilight Zone. There were enough little horrors to deal with. Because with the Time Keepers on their case, who’s to say they too wouldn’t take the plane down along with the last important ingredient they finally acquired? 

The lightning storm would alert Bill. She hadn’t called or sent a telegram to inform him of her arrival, but looking at the sudden downpour from the large living room windows, he supposed she didn’t have to. 

Paz breathed a sigh of relief when the wheels touched down. She found a payphone just outside the taxi pick-ups when Zedna shouted at her. 

“This one's empty, come on! I’m getting soaked!”

After Zedna was dropped off, she couldn’t have been happier to see her home again. The cat was there watching her as it stood on the railing, taking shelter. 

“I got it,” Paz said, taking her luggage from the driver, “thank you.” 

Bill saw her run through the yard doing her best to get out of the rain, and quickly rose to his feet to answer the door. It was hardly open when she pushed through, and her arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. A lot of his stress immediately melted with her in his arms again.

When his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, he blurted out, “What the fuck happened?” Totally in disbelief, as his hand smoothed down her short, damp locks.

Paz just sighed heavily without explanation. 

They both found themselves in the living room as the rain continued. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, blue glass bottle with a dropper. “This is it. It’s a tincture. Aracely checked it, it’s legit.”

Bill reached for it and could feel a cool energy right in his palm. He opened it, and the smell of the most offensive powdery floral scent you’d typically find on an elderly woman to mask the ongoing decay hit him, making his nose crinkle. The liquid inside the dropper was thin and the deepest shade of red that reminded him of his vandalized pool, which he mentioned to Paz. 

“Damn… but Marcia was okay?” She asked. 

He nodded, screwing the top back on. “Yeah, but she’s pissed that the pool has to get a new filtration system and all that.”

“Well, pool season is over anyway…” she said with a wry smile. “I should have swam in it more when I was there.” As if she hadn’t every day the week they spent there alone. 

He stared at her locks again, insisting on an explanation now. “What happened to your hair?” 

“I had to trade it… Do you like it?” she asked nervously, running her hands through it. “My hair grows fast, so—” 

His brows pulled together. “Trade it? That’s not good, right? You’re not supposed to do that?”

“Aracely prayed over it, and she stole a piece in case so… I should be okay.” 

He scratched his head skeptically, but he noticed how she ran her fingers through her hair, still unsure. 

“I do like it.” He pulled her close, kissing her with multiple little pecks before firmly pressing them against her lips.

Paz smiled, relieved. For her, it felt drastic, and in a way it was, but it really suited her. She just needed to get used to it. As for her lobbed off locks, she didn’t necessarily need to worry after all the protective spellwork was done, but also, all it would be used for was for homemade dolls that Toni’s older daughters would make anyway.

“Aracely has a neighbor who evened it out for me. She’s like the barrio baddie,” she giggled. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t go after all.” 

“If I did go, you might not have had to cut your hair,” he playfully retorted and then made a buzzing sound running an invisible clipper over his head. 

“You’d go bald?” 

“Balder than Bruce Willis,” he laughed. “So how was it saying goodbye to Aracely?” he asked as they took a seat on the couch.

“She was kinda sad but grateful for the opportunity, you know? Then she basically said that you and I needed to get our ass back home already. She threatened Zedna a little too.” 

Bill chuckled, turning the tincture bottle in his hand.

“I saw my mom,” she said, glancing at him. 

He quirked a brow. “You did?” 

While waiting on Toni to procure the tincture, Paz and Zedna were out by the coop where Aracely was naming all her chickens for them. Santi interrupted, informing her that someone had come needing help with a bad stomachache. Zedna and Paz then waited in Yamileth’s room while she assisted them.

“Are you still upset with me?” Zedna asked carefully. 

She cut her eyes at her. “Duh! But… what’s done is done, I guess.” 

“So then, your brother’s girlfriend? You didn’t finish from where we left off…” Zedna asked while lounging on the bed, wanting to continue the story of her life, which she found rather entertaining.

“What was I saying?” Paz asked, trying to remember. 

“She was a dancer—” 

“Oh! Yeah, he met her on a music video he was directing. She was one of the dancers, yeah. But it’s not like… well, it’s pretty provocative—”

“Like Elvis?” 

Paz laughed. “That’s nothing. They shake ass.” 

Zedna raised her brows, amused. “They can’t call it that?” 

“We call it twerking. But Mia also went to school for dance, and she was part of a collective from Philly for a while. My brother semi-retired her, though.” 

“Oh, so he’s stingy.” 

Paz laughed again. “Maybe he was afraid someone else would have gotten hypnotized by her ass like he did.”

“I imagine! But… you say he doesn’t agree with dating people in the industry?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, it’s a bit hypocritical, no? He met her at work. You met Bill at his home, that’s not the same.” 

Paz pressed her lips together. It was hypocritical, she knew that. Even Bill had brought it up with her only weeks before she disappeared. 

“Yeah… It’s not.” 

There was a shift in the air that caught their attention, and as they looked around the room, a disembodied, “Shhh!” was heard. 

They immediately quieted. 

While Aracely concocted a tummy-soothing remedy for her guest, Yamileth made an unexpected visit with her two youngest children. Paz’s 5-year-old uncle and her mother, Lourdes, who was barely three years old. 

From the room, they could hear Yamileth greet the ailing guest and then her mother. 

“Who else is here?” She asked, looking towards the hall. 

“Just us.” Aracely quickly replied with a strained smile. 

Yamileth didn’t look convinced, but she only came to drop off a few extra bundles of dried chiles she got for a good deal. She watched Aracely for a moment, registering the herbs she was grinding together. Her guest looked to have a bad bout of constipation. 

In the room, Paz and Zedna hadn’t even dared to move an inch, even when the door slowly opened. They held their breath, and then their gaze traveled down to see baby Lourdes there staring at them. 

Paz’s eyes were wide. She was never supposed to meet her mother like this, but here she was, chubby-cheeked and tiny. She was very awfully cute, and it warmed her heart. Still, she panicked. 

“Go,” she whispered. “Go back.” 

Lourdes pouted her lips stubbornly. “Mamá?” 

“Lulu, where are you?” Yamileth called from the kitchen. “We have to go, Amá,” she said, kissing Aracely’s cheek and stepping away to find her daughter. 

“Lulu,” Aracely called out, “do you want a paleta?” 

Lourdes turned her head and then quickly ran out, meeting her mother before she could reach the hall. Still, Yamileth saw the door to her old room shut silently, but decided not to make a thing of it. She had seen her share of the unexplainable to bother now. On the other side of the door, Paz breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then I heard my Grandma Yamileth get annoyed with Aracely about the candy,” Paz laughed with Bill.

“Aracely’s quick.”

“The stories about her are exaggerated, but not entirely. But, um, yeah… we didn't have any pushback when it was time to get the cronocorazón, fortunately. But Toni did bring some other Xochi to come look at me like a freak show attraction,” she rolled her eyes. “And then, we went back to Mexico City by night.” 

She remembered Aracely’s parting words once again as she did the sign of the cross on her. 

Holding back tears, she whispered, “When you go back, don’t waste any more time.”

…

Sunny days returned, but as the sun set, Zedna and Mavis convened at the house. Bill debated on whether to tell Paz about what he knew about Mavis and their predicament, but he refrained. He would tell her later. It didn’t need to be on her mind while everything else was going on. 

The more seasoned witches before them were making sure the ritual space was in order. Mostly, it was Zedna explaining each marking and such, while Mavis acted as if she were learning new information. Only Bill knew her ruse as she subtly gave corrections as recommendations.  

“I think you’ve got it all set, Zed,” she smiled from under her hood. 

“We’ll come closer to the eclipse. Keep it fresh and primed.” Zedna lit a clove, and then, referring to her copy of the ancient book, double-checking once more before smiling satisfied.

As always, Zedna saw herself out first, and Mavis lingered just a bit. 

“You’ve also done your part beautifully, Paz,” Mavis said before stepping out. “Your hair looks great, by the way. A fresh new start never hurts.”

….

Three days before the ritual.

Paz was in her closet room, putting on a casual outfit. She was going on her date with Layne. Her heart felt heavy, and she almost wanted to stand him up. She didn’t want to say goodbye. It really didn’t feel necessary, because he wouldn’t even remember her after everything was said and done. However, she was just prolonging the inevitable to save herself from the heartbreak. 

Thankfully, they already had their soft breakup when she visited him at his office. Still, this would really be it forever, and Layne had no clue. 

She’d disappear on another guy. That's the part she really hated to repeat.

Bill had come to check on her while she clipped half her hair in a barrette. With a new haircut, the styling came off as innocent and sweet. 

“He just pulled up,” Bill informed, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

“Ah, okay,” she sighed, leaving her vanity to grab a pair of Mary Janes to pair with her black Bardot top and matching mini skirt. “I feel fucking bad,” she muttered. 

Bill nodded and gave her a sympathetic look. He knew. “You’d feel worse if you left without saying anything.” 

His words hung in the air. Every day, it made her sick with guilt that she never got to say goodbye to him. Paz didn’t reply. Instead, after getting her shoes on, she walked into his arms for a much-needed hug. 

Bill went ahead of her as she grabbed her bag and keys and greeted Layne at the door. 

“We won’t be out late.” 

She overheard Layne say to Bill. 

“He’s not my dad, Laynie. He doesn't make my curfew,” she said, as she met them on the porch, where Bill grinned, amused. 

“I’m just saying,” Layne muttered. “Ready?” 

“Let’s go,” she said, taking his hand. 

“Your hair looks wonderful!” Layne complimented. “It’s fresh, I love it!” 

“See you, guys,” Bill waved. 

He wondered if he should have told Paz that her haircut looked fresh. 

It was still fucking weird to watch his fiancée walk away to go on a date with her boyfriend; he couldn’t ever get used to that. But he could only imagine what it would feel like if the girl you felt you had a sure thing with and even bought a home for, ditched you for a movie star. Actually, he was grateful he could only imagine that. 

“Am I overdressed?” Layne asked, glancing down at his suit as he drove.

Paz took charge of making plans, so he was in the dark. 

“Nope. You’re handsomely dressed the way I knew you’d be,” she smiled. “You should turn on the next right,” she pointed. “No Vita tonight, I want Lasso Burger.” 

When they pulled into a stall, Layne immediately shrugged off his suit jacket and took off his tie while Paz giggled. 

“They’re going to think I’m the new general manager, otherwise,” he said. “So what are you getting? The Bill Meal or the Marcia Meal?” 

They both began to laugh at that. 

“I think I’ll go for the Paz Meal. Cheeseburger, onion rings, and a cherry Coke.” 

“Fantastic!” 

Layne ordered the same, except he got fries with his. They took their meals to enjoy at the beach, instead of eating with exhaust fumes hazing the air. And they were just in time for sunset.

“Just imagine,” Paz said, “having recliners instead of uncomfortable seats in a whole movie theater. You could even have some locations that offer real food.”

“Hmm, but who wants to dress up as if they’re going to dinner just to sit in a dark movie theater?”

Paz just playfully rolled her eyes and bit into her sandwich.

“This is nice,” he said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his light blue dress shirt. “Dealing with these tight asses lately, I’ve been forgetting to relax a little.” 

Paz smiled. “And your studio stuff? Bill told me that you’ve got a legit investor on the line.” 

“I do. We’ve been looking at spaces.” 

“I’m so excited for you! I told you the right person would come along with time and money.” 

“It’s just too slow,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “So, I saw photographs of Bill and Marcia at a premiere over the weekend…” 

Paz stole one of his fries and chewed before answering. “Yeah… She wants to divorce after the holidays. So in the meantime—” 

“Ah,” he nodded. “I see. I just… I worry—I know, I know,” he said when Paz twisted her lip. “I can’t help it. But how will he introduce you? I don’t want people talking bad about you if you show up in the picture too soon.” 

“You really don’t have to worry about that. You mean well, thank you for always watching out and thinking so highly of me the way you do.” 

She felt her chest tighten. Only the rolling waves and the pesky seagulls cawing in the distance filled the silence that fell between them as they took a sip from their cherry Cokes. 

“I am happy for you, you know,” Layne began. “You don’t talk about him much, but I can understand losing your husband the way you did must have been hard. Understatement really. I always thought that’s the reason someone like you would settle with, well, with someone like me. Frankly, it felt like you forfeited love to shield your heart from ever feeling pain like that again.” 

Paz looked away, pressing her quivering lips together. While Layne's interpretation lay on the wrong man, the parallel was very close to reality. In many ways, she felt like her life had ended at 28. She lost the love of her life and everything she knew. She didn’t care to truly love again, because her heart would always know who it really belonged to.

“Honey, I-I’m sorry,” Layne said, regretfully, as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “I overstepped—” 

“No,” she sniffled, wiping her cheeks. “You’re not wrong… I did have a really hard time,” a soft whimper escaped her, and she tapped away the fresh tears that pooled under her eyes. “But you helped me see that I wanted to try again. I really thought I had nothing left,” she choked out. 

“Aw, Pea,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, and rubbed her back as she sobbed. “I love you.” 

She drew a deep breath to settle herself. She didn’t want to be a crying mess, but it was hard to hold in. 

“Oh my god,” she gasped, wiping her cheeks again. “I love you, too. Thank you, really, thank you.” 

He nodded appreciatively, getting a little misty-eyed himself. “You don’t have to thank me,” he chuckled. “You’re easy to love.” 

“Oh god,” Paz cried, throwing her hands up. It was sick how sweet he could be.

“It’s true. You’re just a little hard to keep,” he smirked. 

“This was supposed to be a fun date,” she laughed through her tears. 

“Who’s saying I’m not having fun?” 

Paz smiled. “I am so glad we met.” 

“Me too, honey. Always. Now, if you’re up for it, we can go to the pier?” 

They enjoyed the rest of their time together on a much lighter note. There were carnival games and lots of sweets. One thing Layne liked about her was that she had a sweet tooth, as he did. It was something he felt safe to enjoy in public with her because he feared that it would skew his masculinity. Though it wasn’t something he expressed, Paz picked up on it, so every dinner at Vita, she’d order the molten chocolate cake because once he said it looked good after seeing it being enjoyed by another table.

“Can I ask you something?” Layne said, just before tuning into her neighborhood. “You can say no.” 

“What?” She lay her head to the side. 

His hands wrung over the steering wheel. “I can’t believe I’m getting nervous right now, but one last kiss?”

Paz giggled, shaking her head. 

“I know, it’s impolite, but it’s a special occasion, I think,” he said with a charming smirk.

“A special occasion,” Paz echoed, as she considered it. “Okay, but keep your hands in your pockets.” 

He laughed, cutting the headlights before pulling into the driveway. After opening the door for her, they walked hand in hand to the porch. First, Paz hugged him tightly, soaking him in for good before dropping her head back and kissing him for the last time. Layne always thought she was a good kisser. Soft, plump lips that he’d grown to appreciate. He even wished it had lasted a little longer, but she only lingered a respectable amount.

“Good night, Pea,” he said as they pulled apart. 

“Good night, Laynie,” her chest tightened again. “I love you.” 

He put a hand to his chest and gave her a little theater bow. “Always, my dear.” 

As he stepped off the porch, Bill opened the front door. 

“Hey, just wanted to say goodnight, too. And thanks for bringing her home at a respectable time,” he winked. 

“Good night. Paz did invite me to stay for a drink, but I have to get up early,” he said, disappointed. “Maybe after dinner next week for her birthday?” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bill smiled, turning to her as she blinked her teary eyes. 

“I’d like that,” she managed to say evenly, with enthusiasm even. 

“Great, I’ll let Charlie know.”

Bill and Paz sat together on the bench seat and waved at Layne as he pulled out of the driveway and down the block before they spoke. 

“I saw that, by the way,” he said, giving her a cheeky sideways glance. 

“Special occasion.” 

“I suppose that flies,” he leaned back, putting an arm over her shoulder. “How was it?” 

“Fun. But god, it sucked!” She shook her head before ducking down to groan onto his chest. “Top five worst days of my life!” 

“Sorry,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It is tough, but I’m happy you did it, though.”

Paz sniffled, but she nodded in agreement. She was glad she did, too. “Can we share a cigarette?” 

Bill reached for his pack in his pocket and pulled two, one for her and one for him, because where her emotions were at, he had a feeling she’d hardly share at all. 

She blew out a stream of smoke and sighed in relief. “This week has been the longest week ever, and we haven’t even gotten to the important part yet.”

…

As fast as time could pass with age, suddenly it felt like it was crawling at glacier pace. 

There were two more days until the ritual.

Finally, Zedna and Mavis were over to do the sanctifying ritual. Bill and Paz watched while Zedna prepared the space in the study, once again referencing the ancient book, as she did so. Mavis didn’t so much as help but encourage, though this time she did ask leading questions. Her permission to interfere still had stipulations. 

“Was this necessary?” Zedna pointed at the bookshelves. 

A sheet of pattern paper was hung up, on which Bill had written their return date: February 19, 2021.

“You think I’d forget or something?” She said, rolling her eyes. 

Wisps from a few incense sticks twirled in the air, and after Zedna lit about a dozen candles, she clapped her hands. “Okay, I’m ready. And you two are not needed for this,” she glared at Paz and Bill. 

“So we just wait in the other room?” Bill asked. 

“I feel like we can help with something?” Paz chimed in. 

“It’s Zedna who has to make the pact with the Time Keepers,” Mavis said. “She’ll need to do this on her own, I’m just… supervising.” 

Right then, Paz felt Bill’s hand on the small of her back, leading her out of the room. 

“Let them do what they need to do, baby,” he said softly. 

“And be silent, please,” Zedna called out. 

While waiting in the living room, it was quiet through the whole house until they heard a soft chant grow louder and louder. The words rapidly run into each other. They glanced at each other as the energy slowly built, even from outside the ritual space. Suddenly, Zedna’s chanting came to an abrupt stop. 

If only Bill and Paz could see the horror movie in the next room. Zedna’s body tensed wickedly, and her wide eyes had glazed over. She saw them. She saw the Time Keepers. Three giant spirits that stretched so tall you couldn’t crane your head back enough to see their faces. Everything that has happened and will happen existed as giant, colorful orbs in their chests where a heart would lie.

They had no language with which to speak, but their overwhelming presence projected the prompt.

Outsider. 

Must.

Bleed. 

From the living room, they could hear Zedna harshly gasp for air and choke. When her vision returned, Mavis was standing next to her with a small dagger lying across her open hands. 

Zedna took it without hesitation and pressed the blade into her palm, crying out.

“The fuck is happening?” Bill murmured. 

Blood poured from Zedna’s fist over the center of the ritual space before laying it flat against the wood floor, where it pooled. As soon as the Timekeepers were satisfied with her offering, there was a noticeable shift. A mysterious gust of wind rushed out of the study and fanned across Bill and Paz’s faces. 

Paz gasped, squeezing Bill’s hand. “She did it.”

…

13 Hours before the ritual. 

Bill was plating dinner. At first, they discussed what they'd like to eat on their last full day until they started to sound like death row inmates and decided to make a hodgepodge meal from what was left in the fridge and the pantry. 

There were roasted veggies, macaroni made with random pasta shapes, breakfast sausage, toasted bread, and a nice little side salad. 

“We should drink this,” Paz said, holding a bottle of wine she pulled from the rack. “It’s a 1959 red.” 

Bill raised his brows and took it to open and decant it into a lemonade pitcher. 

After dinner, they watched the nightly news, as if to reconfirm once again that the eclipse was happening tomorrow. A previously recorded segment aired again, featuring a young female reporter on location at Griffith Park, showcasing the booths and the Ferris wheel being erected for the festivities. 

Restless with nerves, they inspected the ritual space once more. A rust colored stain at the center of it all. Distracted, Paz walked up to her sewing machine, really Petra’s, but she learned all its quirks and was good at troubleshooting problems like it was second nature.

“You know there’s room for that at the storage unit,” Bill said, watching her glide her hand along it.

“Huh? Oh… I don’t know,” she said, indecisive. 

It was getting late, and she didn't want to create a hassle with such short notice. It was built into a table and was quite heavy. 

He approached, following the appliance cord to the wall and unplugging it before grabbing both corners of the table and pulling it away from the wall. 

“Are you serious?” She snorted. 

“Put your shoes on. We can take a drive after.” 

She was grateful he was so willing. She doubted she’d come across a machine as good in the future. Nothing was built to last the way things did in the past. 

They drove down Sunset Boulevard with the windows down, leaving caution to the wind, taking in the city in its iconic old style way. Paz leaned over and kissed along his jaw until he could take a chance to kiss her on the lips. 

He drove with one hand while his arm rested on her shoulders, pulling her in as she lay her head in the crook of his neck, the night breeze tousling their hair. A sort of romantic melancholy overtook them. 

Eventually, they turned onto a less busy road. At the upcoming corner, Bill pulled into a parking space by the curb. Paz looked at the building to their right. It was a stereotypical ice cream parlor. Like any second, a little boy with a propeller hat would step out with a dripping ice cream cone. 

“It looks like they’re closing,” Paz said, following Bill out from the driver's side. 

Inside, a server in a soda jerk hat was wiping down vacant tables, but a few youths were occupying a booth, taking their sweet time. 

“Ah, I’m Bill fucking Skarsgård, they’ll stay open,” he said, taking her hand as she giggled. 

And indeed they did. The employees rushed the youths out, but before they left, Bill signed their napkins, and one girl boldly asked if he could sign the hem of her skirt. The same girl even acknowledged Paz. 

“Are you friends with Marcia?”  

“Bestest friends. Your shoes are so cute,” she said, pointing the focus elsewhere. 

Soon, an order of fries and a giant shareable sundae were sitting on their table in the round booth they took. Bill quietly gave the two employees a nice tip to thank them for staying open, but also to signal to them to give them some privacy. 

Because it was after hours, the employees still had to cut the lights before disappearing to the back. The ambient light from the street lamps and the red neon framing the windows kept them from being in complete darkness. 

“Looks like a dive bar in here now.”

“The cleanest in history,” Paz muttered. 

“So, are you ready to go home?” he chuckled when she pursed her lips. 

“I’ve been ready for a long time.” 

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for some fries. 

“I’ve been here almost four years. You’ve been here, what? Nine months? You’re going back to 2021 like a fucking baby.” 

Bill laughed.

“Like a rebirth, wonder what that means,” she said, before digging her spoon into the sundae.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about the day you left, and all that came after… all the stuff you missed, really. I don’t know what we’re going back to exactly, but for at least three years, I’m basically psychic.” 

“That’ll be a nice side hustle if you play it right.” 

“Hmm, I’ll think about it.” 

“What if… I don’t want to speak it out loud, but what happens if we’re in the wrong year or the wrong—” 

“It’ll work out. Zedna is not nice, but she’s not evil. I can tell she really wants to fix all this shit.” 

“Wow!” She breathed. “She really grew on you.” 

“Her reasonings for time travel are ridiculously selfish and self-serving—I haven’t forgotten.” 

“Mhmm. You kind of seem so sure…” she questioned, because she didn’t know what he did.

“I just don’t want to entertain the alternative.”

Paz huffed.

“Fine,” Bill grumbled. “If this doesn’t work, then what?”

“I don’t know. If this doesn’t work, then… Well, what happens after the ritual—I just hope there’s no other side.” 

Bill closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. She was just adding to his stress, even if he somewhat felt the same. However, he wasn’t going to share that. 

“It’ll work out,” he reiterated. 

“It has to.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sorry, I don’t— I shouldn’t think that way, I know. I just can’t believe I’m going home. That we’re going home.” 

He nodded. “Honestly, this is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me, and I’ve done some weird shit,” he chuckled. “So I’m more than ready to go back, too. What are you excited to see again? Or what have you missed besides me?” he grinned.

She smiled. “Stupid little things. I’m going to be glad when I can heat things back up in a microwave instead of using the oven. I’ve eaten things cold before because I was too impatient,” she laughed. “Being able to cash my own check. Having a bank account, even,” she rolled her eyes. “Gel nail polish. My skin care. Hot Cheetos. Good sushi, too. It’s not really a thing here. I really miss our bed, it’s so, so comfy.” 

He smiled. “Yeah, I do miss our bed.”

She set her spoon down and sat up straight, staring right into his eyes. “Bill, when we go home. I want everything. I want to get married. I want to have kids with you. I don’t want to waste any more time.” 

A soft, dimpled smile appeared on his face, and he nodded. “I don’t want to either. We should settle back in once we get home, but I think I want to move back to Stockholm.” 

Paz raised her brows. 

“Not right away, but yeah. I was living there after you left, and I just realized I missed being home that way.” 

Paz pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss. “I’m ready to do everything and anything with you,” she whispered against his lips. 

Back home, their clothes came off without a single word. They made love, laying out everything that they had for each other out. Touching each other as if it could be the last time. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as she rode him, his eyes fluttering shut. His chest warmed, and a sense of déjà vu hit him. He’d felt this before. When they made love for the last time without knowing it. 

Immense love and clarity overcame him now as it did back then. It was just so intense, even looking into her glassy eyes, he knew she felt it too. It would only ever be them in every lifetime. Their souls restless without the other would always search.