lulupen2023

[lulupen2023]

In the box (1/?)

Setting: Season 5, between episode 1 and before the ending of episode 4, it depends by the shot, they don't have a chronological order.

Pairing: Joe/Bronte

Hello everyone, I know I’ve already another story about those two going on (which is very controversial, no wonder it can't be everyone's cup of tea ^^' ), but this is another idea that hit me, also thanks to a challenge. By the way, the title of every one shot is the prompt of said challenge.

Plus, it’s sort of fun to be the only one who writes about those two XD

Warning: when it's about Joe’s fantasies things could become rather hot, you know the pervy he is, lol ;P

Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol

Uh, another thing: please, be kind, English is not my native language (actually I would need some beta reader’s help), sorry for possible mistakes.

Summary: A collection of one shots about Joe’s and Bronte’s fantasies and considerations before their story started for real. This story participates in the initiative '#Pride2025 of the group @Non solo Sherlock - FB multifandom events group

The radio squawked 

You said this morning you couldn’t come here to work. There was no need for me to follow you, because, contrary to many others girls before you, you told me the truth: there was another estate sale, this time for antique pieces and you would have liked to have a look. How did I know it was the truth?

Well, because this morning I’ve followed you, just until I was sure you were heading there… but that was not the point. This only proved how much I could trust you, Bronte, so I was not going to follow you the next time you would tell me you wanted to go to some place. Well….maybe. And when you got back, you were holding something, but it was covered, as if you didn’t want to show me what it was. Just when you decided you had found the perfect spot, aka a small round table in the center of the shop, you took away the shopping bag, revealing it. “Look at this jewel, Joe, isn't it just perfect? Vintage calls Vintage!” You chirped, as happy as a kid. In a word, cute. I inspected the item that towered over the table. It was one of those classical Vintage radios. Dark brown outside, light brown inside, rectangular, with two knobs at the side. It was a jewel, indeed. “You know, Bronte, I must admit it’s a perfect match for the casebound covers of the books on that shelf, they have almost the same colour.” I commented, rather pleased. “I know, right?” You beamed, so proud of yourself for your indisputable good taste. “Okay, very nice purchase. The radio can stay. Switch it on now, so we can hear some music.” You narrowed your eyes. “Wait, what? Do you even want to switch it on?” “Sure, why not? I bet that the customers will also appreciate some good music.” “Well, it could distract them from the reading.” You bit your lips in such an irresistible way. - No, please, don’t do it; it’s dangerous! - Was what I thought, agitated. “Well, it’s a bookstore, not a damn library. I expect the customers to buy the books here, not just read them and walk away!” Was what I replied, keeping my inner instinct at bay. “Well, it didn’t seem important to me, actually I didn’t ask the seller if it still works; I thought you would appreciate  it simply as a vintage piece of furniture.” You babbled, half nervous, half panic stricken. You don’t like letting me down. “Instead, guess what, Bronte? I don’t mind things that work!” Was I referring to us then? Maybe. “Okay, okay, let’s find out.” You gave in, turning the knobs, before switching the radio on. And the music filled the store, much to your relief. But it was temporary, just a few seconds after, it started squawking. “Well, save for this little noise here and there, it is not that bad.” You shrugged, acting with no chalance, something you are very good at. “Are you kidding? This is fucking cacophony!” I struck back, as I covered my ears with my hands, before switching the hellish thing off.

“I’m so sorry, Joe, I was sure I was doing something that would make you happy,” you murmured, upset. “Here, let me take it back to the seller, maybe I’ll get the money back…” You were about to lift it from the table, in order to put it back into the bag, but I grabbed it at the very same time, to prevent you from doing that. And our hands got in touch for a fraction of a second. Sparks of what could have turned into a devouring fire. However, I managed to snatch the radio from your hands. “No, please, Bronte, don’t. There’s no need to be so dramatic, maybe I can try to fix it.”

“But it’s not a ripped book.” You made me notice. Oh, your naivety is so pretty. “Well, maybe I'm a man full of resources.” I smirked, walking towards a closet where I took my DIY toolbox. I chose the most suitable screwdriver and opened the little lid that allowed me to inspect the transmitter. A book is always the answer; but since right then I couldn't have a physical instruction manual, I got content with a virtual one. “If this taught you how to open a padlock, it can teach me how to repair a radio!” I waved the ‘WikiHow’ page in front of you, making you laugh.

Oh god, you’re so beautiful when you laugh. Luckily for me, I’ve always been a fast and clever student, so it didn’t take long before I made that knowledge mine. I just had to figure out which was the transmitter antenna and the demodulator and work a bit on them both, trying to tighten or loosen them. I also cleaned them a bit, for good measures.

And I could feel your eyes on me, all time long, as I was engrossed in the fixing, with screwdriver, clamps and a magnifier. You did crave me, Bronte, didn't you?

“It seems funny, I want to try it too.” you said, out of the blue, and before I could realize it, your hand was grabbing the screwdriver, right above my hand. You were holding so tight. Then you raised your gaze and looked at me so eagerly, adding fuel to the fire that was already surging in me. I made you turn some random screws that wouldn’t have changed anything, just for the sake of it, and then I put the lid back on the rear of the radio, and we fastened it together. “The moment of truth.” You singsonged, switching the radio on and it rewarded us with a clear sound. As clear as your eyes made of sky that were still focusing on me. “Well, well, Joe Goldberg, do you have any other hidden talent, perhaps?” You asked me, the tip of your tongue so damn slowly caressing your upper lip, your eyes locked with mine so deep you could read my soul. It was such a delightful invitation, I couldn’t refuse it. One second later, I was crushing my lips on yours, our tongues battling fiercely, our mouths devouring each other. There was no need for delicacy with you, because you were burning with my same ravaging desire. As our savage kiss went on, your hands played with my hair, while, with much less poetry from me, I preferred grabbing your tonic ass though the fabric of your flappy, floreal miniskirt. Not that you were going to wear it for any longer. My bold third finger slipped under your panties, proving how much you were ready for me. “Oh, Joe, please, take me now!” You begged me, nibbling at my ear and not even very gently. Geez, if possible after that I have become even harder for you. And probably you figured it out on your own, after grabbing my crotch, through my jeans.

All it took was for us to look at each other to understand we wanted the very same thing. We were still standing still as you eagerly dealt with the belt of my jeans. I lowered both your skirt and panties, you kicked them out of your aknles and helped you get rid of my jeans. Our kissing never stopped. Once I was wearing only my dark blue shirt and black boxers and, you, your white tank top, I lifted you and your legs wrapped around my waist, as if they always belonged there.

Everything felt so scarily natural between us.

Oh, Bronte, I couldn’t wait to make you mine, to give you all I had to give. We both were gasping, panting, sweating and so eager for more. That was only the beginning. The flawless music had been our sexy background for all the time. The radio didn’t squeak anymore, but our mattress would, If I had got you into bed. For that time the carpet on the floor would do.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// I take a deep breath and relax a bit, walking around the private room of my bookstore, before sitting back at the desk and checking what I’ve typed so far. And since it ends with my right hand mucking around in my boxers, it means I did a rather good job. And this is what I got only for glancing at a window of an electronic second hand shop whileI was taking a walk with Kate, this afternoon. And she didn’t notice that, of course, she barely sees me in these last days, why should she ever care about what I pay attention to? And I did find something -or rather someone - worthy of all my attention. Oh, Bronte, what are you doing to me? As much as I’m really tempted, I can’t risk this much for you, there’s too much at stake. My son. My marriage. My reputation of a caring, good husband and father. But nothing prevents me from keeping you in the box, a safe place where no one will ever find us. So long and goodbye, till my next sexual fantasy about us.

And, please, next time wear one of those of your cardigans, you have no idea how much they turn me on.

--

THE END

Notes:

I hope you'll like it, if I don't ask you much, leave kudos or a tiny little comment , although I don't have great expectations, almost no one likes this pairing ^^' , but I'll go on with my battle, LOL

[lulupen2023]

Ezra and Ella (4/?)

Bronte and Joe have their confrontation.

Notes:

Before reading: I feel like I have to explain something, before you get the wrong message. I agree with the end of season 5. Joe is a bad person (although some victims are so much worse than him) who deserves to be in jail. But I also love the trope ‘Evil Wins’ and with this fic I’d like to see what could happen if: 1 Joe could be free again (and for that I need pretty irrealistic stuff to happen.. more or less like in the show, sometimes, LOL) 2 Bronte embraced the dark side. When I saw 5x8 (aka my fave episode ever!) for the very first time, where Bronte was tested by Joe with that misogyn guy in the cage, actually I expected something way much darker, such as Bronte hurt that guy or watched Joe torture him… I had a feeling she was very close to do something like that, but then she chose the good path, trying to fix Joe. Another thing that strikes me is in the end of episode 5x6, when Joe finds the camera hidden in the books and speaks to her, she knows he’s extremely mad at her and she’s scared; yet she can’t resist and goes to him. That’s what led me to believe that something like this could happen even in a post canon. Of course, some things are brought to their extreme, because it’s a fanfic. so, short recap: in RL killers suck and I hate them, but fictional Joe Goldberg is too entertaining not to try to write about ;)

Chapter IV: Find the key

Joe’s POV

I must say something, anything, I can’t be still and silent just like that, staring at you, like an idiot. I also need to prove to myself you are real. C’mon, Joe, you’re still able to speak, say some-fucking-thing. “Long time no see.” Shit. Did I really say that? On second thought, it was better to keep silent. You giggle. Well, projections in a deviant mind don’t giggle, do they?

“Well, since it’s been more than a year, I guess you’re allowed to say that.” You reply, as you stretch up, reaching my hair for a feeble caress.

“No more Mr Curly, eh? I’m going to miss that, but I also like this good guy look.” “I don’t think ‘good guy’ fits me.” I make my statement, in case you didn’t notice, I’m still wearing a prison jumpsuit.

“You have a point.” “I also have like a million questions running through my head, Bronte. What’s happening? Why are you here? How the hell did you manage to do such a thing? What’s the…” Here you are, tapping my mouth with your hand, but only because all the chains prevent me from stopping you. Not that I want to… I actually enjoy having you so close. “Hush, I promise I’ll tell you everything in the slightest details, but not now, especially not here, we gotta go!” You say, pushing me, although gently, until we reach a Jeep, I guess yours. “I really hope that the tinted windows will do their magic, because right now I’m afraid you’re a little too showy.” You add. We get in the car, you set the car in motion and we disappear from wherever we were.

“I can’t just help picturing what must have happened not so far ago,” you comment, never losing sight of the road, although it’s rather deserted. “Something like Attica Correction Facility people calling ADX Florence ones saying: ‘Everything went according to plans, the prisoner Goldberg is travelling and will reach your jail tomorrow.’ And ADX Florence people, totally dumbfounded, reply: ‘Are you kidding? We never asked anything like this!’ ” You conclude, laughing. “Just how…” are the only two words escaping my mouth. “Well, now that no one is intercepting their calls and hackering their phone lines, they can finally speak to each other for real!” 

Wait a minute. Intercepting. Hackering.

“Are you really hinting that you asked Will to…” I light up, smiling.

“Of course, I did. How was I supposed to do this on my own? I barely know how to turn my laptop on!” You make me laugh.

You and Will, coworking in order to help me. But mostly you, doing whatever you did, in order to see me again. Because you did miss me. I imagine you, laying in bed, as you long for me and your hand starts caressing your body, going lower and lower.

Just the thought could give me an orgasm.

I try to get more details about you and Will, but you are a sphynx.

Bronte’s POV I wonder if in that wood, among all the noises, you could also hear my heart pounding in my chest. You turned abruptly, but to me it felt like a slow motion, in which I saw every moment we spent together, both the best and the worst ones. How are our new moments gonna be? I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, wondering whatever could have happened, but now?  

And then we start talking, just a few sentences and everything seems natural again, despite the unnatural situation we are in.

You follow me to the car and you seem pretty docile. Of course, you are, you’re chained up from your shoulders to your feet, it’s not like you can exactly aggress me.

Dammit, I’m in a car with a serial killer, because I guess there’s no other way to define you, knight in a bloody armour, rather than a shining one. And yet I’m doing this crazy thing, I’m desperately clinging to the faint light that there’s still in you, among all the darkness. Somewhere deep inside you there’s still a lonely boy who just asks for love, for being loved.

And I can see that lonely boy in your warm smile, once I revealed to you that Will helped me in this challenging project. It’s not the smile of someone who’s glad because he’s free, ready to come back to his awful habits.

It’s the smile of someone who’s aware that there’s still people who care about him, who didn’t abandon him. That’s the Joe I meant to save.

As the ride goes on, I try to change the subject, also because you’re flooding me with questions about the plan, but I don’t want to reveal too much now. Plus, there’s still a big surprise, it’s just a matter of a couple of hours. “However, Joe, you shouldn’t sound so dumbfounded, I’ve tried to warn you that something big was going to happen.” “Of course you did, dear AnneLou, but you have been way too vague, there was no mention of a Machiavellian operation that would shame every crime movie!” You make me laugh. Also because you answered my indirect question: not only did you read that letter, but you also remember the fake name I used. “You know, this trip reminds me of when we went to that estate sale of used romance novels.” I try again to keep the conversation alive. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Bronte Loiuse Flannery, but I recall a way longer trip together: when you pretended to accept my proposal, to run away with me. When you broke my heart.” Your tone is so cold it sent shivers down my spine. And you also used my full name. Bad. Very bad sign. You must still be so pissed off.

C’mon, Bronte, act as if nothing happened. “Huh right, also that trip, yeah, but I was talking about the other one to add that even here in West Pittston there’s a good library and I could find something worthy of your appreciation.” “Oh, this is so sweet of you!” Now you used sarcasm. I guess it’s even worse. After that we keep silent for a while, and I wonder if it’s a worrying thing or not. As we get closer to the flat I rented, I wish more and more I had a user guide on how to deal with a sociopathic, stalker and killer who probably is still disturbingly mad at me. Probably I’ll write it after finding out the way and it will be my second best seller. Okay, no more time for jokes, we’ve arrived.

Joe’s POV

You park the car, so we must have arrived. It’s been a short ride, half an hour, maybe even less. As I walk, I take a look around: it's full of fields here and something that looks like an abandoned warehouse. If you were looking for discretion, you found it. Kudos to West Pittston, but not to you, not yet. I still have to figure out what you’re planning. “This is a house I rented and we’re going to stay here for a while, it’s a very isolated alley, no one should bother us, which is for the better.” You explain to me, as you open the door. “Sounds good to me. So, tell me, will I find a glass cage inside it, something to make you feel more at ease? To me it’s just going from a jail to another one…” I mutter, but I have to stop talking once we are inside.

No trace of cages. Actually it’s a lovely two-room flat, with pastel grey walls, woodlike floors, a bathroom with a shower large enough for us both, a bedroom with two windows and a kingsize bed that looks very soft, a small, but functional corner kitchen, with a minimal induction and a spacious work surface. And here I am, already picturing us like in those fluffy movies with soppy love songs in the background, as we cook together, teasing each other with the ingredients. I make you taste the sauce I’m preparing for the pasta you’re boiling, a drop taints the left corner of your mouth, I like it and then we kiss savagely and I fuck you on the counter multiple times.. is it marble?

“You were not listening, were you?” You take me back to reality.

“Huh, sorry, I was examining the house…” I babble.

“I was just saying that we could unlock a new trope: role reversal.” My eyes grow wide as I back off, as much as the chains allow me to.

“Like you’re the murder and I’m the victim?” I play cool, but I’m about to shit my pants. You burst out laughing. “Nope, you Drama Queen, I meant that, in case you’re still wondering how I managed to get everything done, find this home, the car and everything that still has to happen; now I’m the Wealthy Princess, taking care of you, the Poor Guy down on his luck… if you allow me to.” Oh. You don’t even give me time to say something, because I see you opening a drawer, where you take something. An extra set of pins. Just in case you needed more than one. “Do you remember the forbidden doors? I’ve become quite good and fast after that!” You smirk as you start bending one of the pins in a particular way and I figure everything out.

It’s the key to my padlocks. I try to step closer to you, maybe with too much impetuosity  and this is a mistake, because you startle and move away. “Ah-ah. Not this quickly. Let’s play a game, first.” “A game?” I repeat, as a wonder. “Yep. We ask each other a deep question for every padlock I unlock, setting you free more and more by all the chains.” Huh. I like it, Bronte.

It’s not just a matter of opening the locks. It’s about finding the key to reading each other. C’mon, Bronte. Find the key. Read me. Prove to me you’re the one. For real, this time?

“Are you still in this world?” You wave your hand in front of me. “I was just pondering. Are you really going to set me free here, all alone with me in a desert alley?” I ask you and, yeah, I meant to sound creepy, I meant to scare you, just a little bit. Truth must be said, Bronte, I still haven’t forgiven you , as I’m sure a part of you is still mad at me.

You hold the pin tighter, as if you were metaphorically holding your pride. “Yeah, Joe, I’m really going to, only if you accept to play this game.” “Okay, let’s do it. I’ll start first.” I agree, as you start opening the first padlock. You choose to start from the bottom. “Have you ever wanted to kill me?” “When I figured out what you did to Beck’s book, in the heat of the moment, yes, my plan was to kill you after I had made you correct every part of her book. But then, after the very last phone call with Henry, I was just too sad for you.” You pause and I remind myself how bad I miss my son. Even hearing his name hurts. “But I confess that, when you realized I was still inside the house and I saw you from the window running so fast towards me, I really wished you had a heart attack or something!” You add and you’re so sincere that I can’t help chuckling. “Have you ever wanted to kill me?” You mirror my question. “Well, after failing with the choking, I can’t deny that I’ve tried very hard with the drowning.” I admit, staring at you, deep into your endless eyes. “But, despite all the consequences, I’m glad I didn’t manage to. You’re the kill I would have regretted the most.” You keep silent, I do the same and the only thing breaking it it’s a thud on the floor. The first padlock getting opened. The first chain that falls, setting my feet free. “Why do I find it, in a very, very disturbing way, so romantic?” You murmur in awe. “Anyway, in case you’re wondering why the drowning didn’t work… champion of freediving competitions for two years running!” You indicate yourself, bragging a little.

“You’re so full of surprises.” I smirk. “But you could have never known, I carefully avoided posting about it on every sort of social media; do you think I’m stupid?” If only my hands were free, they would be holding yours right now.

“You’re anything but stupid, Bronte.” You stare at me, but then you look away. “Okay, let’s get to the second padlock.” You mutter, trying uselessly to hide how impressed you are.

“Are you afraid of me?” I chose my second question.

“I had been. A lot. Probably I’m still am, a little bit, but the joy of having you here with me is bigger than any fear.” You raise your gaze to look at me and there’s no trace of doubt in your eyes.

“Are you afraid of me, Joe?” “Are you going to copy every one of my questions?” I giggle, making you do the same. “I’m afraid to trust you once more, Bronte, but you make it so easy every time…” “They say the third time’s the charm.” You wink at me, as another chain falls, this time is the one around my waist and hips. “Why should it be different this time?” I can’t help asking you.

You stop dealing with the pin and you unbutton your flowered shirt; I wonder why, but then I understand, when you show me the scar in the spot I shot you, around your left hip. Then you kneel down, aiming at my pants, but you change your mind. “Nope, I'm still not ready to see your poor maimed cock yet.” You grumble. My what?! I have to make a huge effort not to laugh. You confine yourself only to skim my crouch from above the pants. “You shot me. I shot you. We both survived. These scars mean more than any bitemarks bullshit between Ezra and Ella. We belong to each other, Joe. Nothing can change that.” You assert, as serious as never before, buttoning your shirt up again, but it’s like it’s not enough yet. “‘I’ve been after you for months, then I’ve been with you for weeks… and did I really allow the first lady painter who passes by to play mind games with me?”

So that’s what happened. Marianne turned you against me. And stupid me, for telling her I was even glad she was still alive… that manipulative bitch!

Bronte’s POV

I’m so relieved that I’ve told you this. I spent days, weeks, months wondering how things would go if I didn’t meet Marianne, if we hadn’t had that speech. I still would have rescued you from that fire, but this time I would have accepted your proposal with real delight. We would have run away and probably we would be happy, but just for a while, because there had been truths you would still try to hide from me. And I want you. All of you. I feel the need to tell you. “Despite it fucked up things between us, I don’t regret have meeting Marienne. I needed to know the whole you, before finally figuring out it doesn’t make me run away from you. Not anymore. I’ve loved just a lie before. Now I want you to give me a chance to learn how to love the real you.” You stand so still that even if you weren’t all chained up it wouldn’t make any difference. You’re staring at me in a way that strips my soul, no one has ever watched me like this before. It reminds me of the way you were looking at me that starry night, on the boat, but it’s even better, because this time there’s no charade between us. We both are playing it straight.  

I glance at my mobile. There's still time, more or less one hour before it happens. Then I remember it’s my turn to ask you a question.

“Do you think you deserved to go to prison?” You take your time before answering, I guess you’re collecting your thoughts. “Prison has been cathartic, somehow, it gave me lots of time to think. I can’t say I’m a good man. Good men don’t kill. And I did. So much more than once. And probably I still would. And, for the record. The guy you set free from the cage… I killed him.” I gasp and you notice that. “So there wasn’t any ‘She fixed him’ trope.” I accuse you. “Probably there can never be one. So, if you want to bring me back to that forest and let the police find me, I’ll understand…”

“I’m glad you killed that man.” I can’t even believe I’ve just said that, but what scares me the most is that I’m not lying.

“Probably it was a mistake to set him free, he hadn’t learned any lesson, he would attack some women again, probably he would do something worse.  And I’m relieved to know he can’t anymore and never will. Thanks to you.” I admit, setting you free from the third chain, this time the one that wrapped your left shoulder and right arm.

“So… are you really ready to accept me, all of me?” You’re almost hesitant to ask. “I guess we needed to get through all of this to make it happen.” I assure you. “Tell me, Bronte, what’s your biggest fear? About mine, you’ve just saved me from it. And, nope, I don’t mean the jail, but the loneliness.”

Again, flashes of that lonely boy. “My biggest fear is not to live my life to the fullest, as it was happening with Paul…” Oh shit, Bronte, you idiot, this is a huge misstep.

“Who the hell is Paul?” Your eyes light up with jealousy.  

“Nope, Joe, don’t even try. You’re not going to have any surname from me. No research. No stalking. No revenge.” “But…” “I guess I’ve already hurt him a lot.”

You stare at me puzzled and I get what you’re thinking.

“Figurative language, you, freak!” I make things clear. “Anyway, Paul is my former boyfriend, before I broke up with him, figuring out it wasn’t the life I wanted.”

“What made you change your mind?” You need to fill your ego. “The absence of you, you damn prophet!” I make you laugh. “However, it was my turn for the questions: what do you think it’s your greatest value?” “I’m caring, supportive, kind, sweet, romantic, watchful, protective…”

“I’ve said pick just one, you braggy narcissist!” I laugh, opening the padlock of the chains that trapped your legs.  

“What about you, which is your greatest value?” So now it’s you who mirrors my questions.

“My bravery. Or rather my recklessness.” I make you smile.

“What do you think is your greatest flaw?”

“Well, I guess I should say I'm a narcissist, since a certain someone just made me notice!” You retort, playfully punching me with your already free arm. I giggle, but then you turn serious. “Wait. Are we flirting? This is weird. We literally tried to kill each other and now we’re flirting like a pairing during their very first date? Could it really be a fresh start?” “Is it a question for the game?” “It’s a question for our lives together, Bronte!”

“Oh. I would say let’s not rule anything out.” Geez, you’re right, we are shamelessly flirting! “But I also say that we need to start from scratch. There’s a lot we have to work through, we need to rebuild our mutual trust. Let’s reset everything, can we?” You nod and I smile, holding out my hand. “Hi. My name is Louise Flannery, but I prefer Bronte. I love books, I used to catfish people, I’ve told many lies, but I’m still up for it if you want to know me better.” You smile back, doing the same. “Hi. My name is Joe Goldberg, although I made up many other fake ones. I love books. I happened to kill a lot of people. Life could be not easy with me, but I’m still up for it if you want to know me better.” We shake hands and all I can feel is electricity. I set you free from the very last chain and you can finally fully move. As you stretch and stir, checking if every of your joints still work, I take advantage to go pick something. I come back to you and you almost can’t believe what I’m giving to you. It’s a mobile. A new one. Yours. With the Wi-Fi password already installed and data connection. “Are you aware of what you’re giving to me, Bronte? There’s internet here…” you babble. “Of course I know, it’s another leap of faith. Feel free to do whatever you want with it.”

You start your research and I’m just curious to know what is the very first thing you are going to do with that. Probably searching for a name, but not Paul, c’mon, I didn’t even tell you where he lives, you just can’t. Probably you’re searching for newcasts, although it’s still too soon to find something really interesting. Or maybe you’re looking for a specific address, or…

A music, a soft, enveloping music, interrupts my pondering. “What did you do?” I wonder as the notes of ‘Dreams from Bunker Hill’ by Cigarettes after Sex fill the room. “Do you remember our first and last dance? We just missed the music and I guess this one is perfect.” You smile at me, stretching your hand towards me. “Shall we dance again, for real, this time?” My legs fell like jelly. I really can’t believe how sweet you are. You could have done anything with that mobile, and the very first thing that crossed your mind is… I simply hold your hand, letting you place the other behind my back, in order to lead me. I’m holding on tightly  to you and we start dancing, slowly, swaying. “How did you know this is one of my favourite songs?” I ask you, with my eyes closed. “I don’t know if you can believe a stalker, but I swear it’s pure coincidence!” You make me laugh, as we keep dancing. “Do you wanna make it forever? Do you wanna be my only one?” You start to sing along with the chorus.  

I open my eyes, staring into yours. “Cause now I really miss the way it was. When everything was beautiful with us.” You keep singing, right before the casque. And I let myself go, already knowing you won’t let me fall. This is another leap of faith. “Can’t you feel how much this song talks about us?” You murmur, lifting me up. I nod and we dance again. “Okay, Bronte, let’s do whatever you prefer. Every building trusts bullshit you’re up to… but..” “But?” I stare at you, enthralled.

“But I feel I’m gonna die if I don’t kiss you right here, right now!”

You don’t even give me the time to answer, you pull me closer to you, bend over me and our lips meet with such eagerness it almost scares me. It’s a passionate and desperate kiss at the same time, you even cry out of the blue and I can taste your tears.

I don’t even know how long it lasts, before we part.  

“Joe, do you remember that last night, on that boat, when you put me at the center of the universe?” “Probably the best moment in my whole life.” You nod. “Right after this kiss.” “I thought that was the peak of romanticism. Ever.” I keep talking.

“But?” You anticipate me, the same way I did with you, before. “But I guess we have a new winner!”

TBC

Notes:

I know, I know, probably lots of readers are gonna hate me for that, but I couldn’t resist. By the way, here’s a little Easter Egg: that’s the song that’s the real background in the ‘Last dance’ episode (another of my faves!), but actually they couldn’t hear that music at the Sandbox. And (disclaimer), the lyrics Joe sings are really the one from the chorus of that song. I guess that, between RL and stuff, I won’t be able to update before the end of the month. Feel free to tell me everything, but I also will understand if no one does. I’m aware of how controversial this fic can be, yet I like it ^^’

[lulupen2023]

Ezra and Ella (3/?)

Summary:

It's time for Bronte to set her plan in action, with some precious help... will it work?

Notes:

Hellooo, this time the chapter turned longer than I expected, hope you won't mind. I also apologize for typos and possible mistakes, i'll re read as soon as I can

Chapter III: Cut scene

Bronte’s POV

How do you do a bank transfer?

Easy peasy. Go to your home banking, log in, select ‘bank transfers’, insert the addressee , dial the import…

Geez. That’s it. Okay, we girls are famous for enjoying frantic crazy shopping, but… two hundreds thousands bucks? Or even four ‘smaller’ bank transfers of fifty thousand dollars each?

Still a bit too showy. I need help with that. Oh Joe, you probably would know how to get away with that, but you’re not here to advise me. However, there’s someone else who can. I grab my mobile and dial a specific phone number, but said someone picks the call up at the first ring. “Don’t ask me why, but I had the feeling you would have called me, Bronte.” Will chirps. “Huh, really? Well, I know it’s been two days and you haven’t yet seen big numbers coming your way and, trust me, I really have the intention to pay you, but…” I am almost drawn in my own flood of words. “Hey, hey, relax, take a breath!” He chuckles. “I know what the problem is.” “Oh my, I’m so glad you understand, I just need to figure out a way to…” “What about buying a house?” He interrupts me. “What?! I don’t need any damn house to buy, I need to pay you and get unnoticed!” “That’s the bloody point!” Will strikes back. “You can’t pay a perfect stranger for who knows what; but you’re a rich writer who needs her special place to write alone, in the peaceful beauty of nature, immersed in the green. That would be a reasonable purchase, not questionable at all, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, but how?” “Just go to www.estates-for-all-tastes.com,” he instructs me. I obey, but I can’t help chuckling. “Sorry, but... it's a tongue twister!” “I know, but it’s just the first thing that popped into my head!”

Wait a minute. “Is it your creation?” I ask him for good measures. “And to think Joe used to picture you like a brilliant, smart girl!”

“Hey!” I snap, but I know I just had to shut up, he’s the brilliant one, here, for sure. “So, do you see anything of your interest? Maybe that house, composed of two floors, in Kansas City? Why don’t you pick that one and submit the earnest money, let’s say fifty thousand bucks?” I do as told and the first part of the debt I owe to him is paid. “You’re such a genius! In a few days I’ll pay the rest and I’ll become the owner of a perfect, idyllic villa… that doesn't exist!” I laugh with him. “Alright. And before you ask, I’m already working at the document you asked for, just three more days and I’ll be done. We’ll keep in touch!” He ends the conversation. Okay, let’s leave the clever Will to his job, I have one too. I did some research these last few days, along with a ‘little’ purchase. Just the time to wear a wig of long, blonde curls and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses with mirror lenses and I’m ready to go. ---------------------------------------------------------- “Please, guys, prove to me you're the most creative body shop in all New York!” I speak with two mechanics, trying to sound as hyper as I can.

“Well, it depends what you’re looking for,” one of them smiles at me. “Something that will make all the Pimp my Ride staff pale in comparison!” I cheer, as they grow more and more curious. “I have an old van and I need you to turn it into something like this!” Saying that, I hand them the pictures of a ADX Florence prisoner transport vehicle. It’s unbelievable the amount of things you can find on the web, especially if you know where to search.

“Whoa, it’s big stuff!” one of the mechanics comments, astonished.

“I know, I know, it’s going to be something epic!” I giggle, acting like the ultimate spoiled bimbo. “It’s for our friend, it’s for a bachelorette party. She’s such a fan of Crime TV series and movies, especially when they are about this prison  so just imagine the face she’ll make when we get there with this perfectly made up van, arresting her with fake handcuffs and stuff… This will drive her crazy!” I lean closer enough to glance at their name tags. “Please, please, please, Matt, Adam, tell me you can do this miracle!” “Well, yes, we can, but it won’t be that easy,  it won’t be cheap for sure, then we need time, we also have other priorities…” Adam tries to reason. “Is fifteen thousand dollars in cash enough to make you go any faster?” I lower my glasses just enough to wink at them who stare at me dumbfounded, their jaws open. “It’s Upper East Side bachelorette parties, baby! We go big or we don’t go!” I giggle again.  “So, do we have a deal now?” “We.. we can have it ready in two weeks, is it okay for you?” Matt asks me. “I knew I was turning to the best team in town!” I grin. “I’ll send a towing service to bring you the vehicle this afternoon.” I walk away much more relieved. Another problem solved. For you. ----------------------------------------- (Three days later) “So, what do you think?” Will questions me as I inspect the application for transfer he just texted me. His tone is eager, like a kid who’s proud ‘cos his parents came to see his baseball match. Well, the kid is an extremely good player!

“Oh, my god! Bravo! It seems that it comes directly from the Government, with all the compiled parts, the agreement of the state of Colorado, all the signatures, the proper seals… it’s just perfect!” I applaud him. “Please, please, send it to Attica Correctional Facility sooner than now!” “Easy, tiger!” Will chuckles. “I can do it, but we’d better add some detail, such as that Mr. GoldBerg must not be informed of this transfer until the very last day. It’s something he doesn’t have the right to decide.” He suggests. “You’re right. We can also add that although nothing worrisome happened so far, Mr. Goldberg is such a dangerous subject and he could try anything. Despite their remarkable job so far, the surveillance of Attica Correctional Facility is not enough, ADX Florence could invest so much more time and resources in that.” “Well, I found it flawless,” Will praises me. “See? We still need time to finalize everything. I’ll work on that again and show you when it’s ready.” “That’s fine for me, also because we need time to set everything ready. The body shop has been working on the van for two days, hopefully they’ll have the job done even before two weeks!” I explain to him. “That’s great. Anyway, Bronte, although you already explained to me what you’re planning to do, you still have to tell me how the hell you came up with such an idea!” Okay, I feel I can trust him. It’s time to let him know.

“Okay, so far I haven't revealed that to anybody. Promise you won’t laugh!” “I have no intentions to; I’m just curious.” “Well, I don’t expect you to have read it, but I published a crime novel. In the end the detectives manage to catch the criminal and he ends up in jail; but I had also planned a cut scene.”

“A cut scene?” Will echoes me. “Yep, a sort of open end, where the criminal manages to escape… thanks to a fake application for transfer! And I’ve done tons of research for that!” “Wow. Never underestimate a writer’s power!” He chuckles, but turns serious the second after. “Geez, Bronte, this is bad, it exposes you too much. If your editor saw this draft…” “That’s the best part. It’s something I actually never wrote, never showed to anyone, it remained only in my mind, because I wasn’t brave enough to even try to add that last part. And now I thank myself for that lack of courage!” I laugh with him. -------------------------------------------- (Five days later) I almost scream when I see the pic the body shop sent to me to show me their work in progress. The front part of the van has been turned into a security prison transfer one, with all the logos and details, a perfect copy of the pictures I gave them. The rear looks like just any commercial van, but there’s still time. Oh, oh, it looks like it’s not the only news I'll get today, since my mobile is ringing. “Please, please, Will, tell me something good!” “Extremely good. Attica has already started their inspections and I intercepted everything, from the calls to the secretariat to the whole interview with the warden!”He brags. “Oh my god, you’re the best!” I cheer. “Yeah, I know, but let’s not let our guard down too quickly, they will go through it. I’m already setting everything up for the Consent Verification Hearings. I know trusted men for this and they owe me a favor.”

“Will, I’m so glad you know those kinds of people, I wouldn’t have known what to do without you.” “Let’s not forget you’re the brilliant mind behind all this, Bronte.” He supports me. “Yep, and my brilliant mind also suggests to inform Attica that this must remain a secret procedure, for no reason Attica must divulge any information to the media. ADX Florence needs to prevent any sabotage attempt.” I highly recommend.

“Wait, did you mistake me for a fool? Of course I’ve already warned Attica about that. Oh, and I've just seen the pic of the van you sent to me, it’s astonishing. can’t wait for it to be fully done!” “Yep, I’m growing so impatient, I want it to work, I really need it.” I bite my nails, not that he can’t see it, anyway. “It will. We just must not transcurate any detail, even the smallest one. And we won’t, we’re such a great team, Bronte.” Will makes me feel better. “We’ve already found the guys who can pretend to be the ADX Florence guards, we’re half way to having the van completed, I’m taking good care of every type of verifications from Attica, I'm two steps ahead of them…” He recaps. It’s now or never. “About the van, I need a little more favour. Do you perhaps know a very good stuntman who doesn’t get too squeamish about law and police?” “Huh? Well, I could find someone, but.. why? Is there something else you have to tell me?” he grows curious.

“Will, I just think the cut scene is not enough. We need the king of all the cliffhangers!”

************* (In the meantime)

Joe’s POV

How long has it been since that letter from you? Days? Weeks? Months? I’m losing track of time here. As I’m losing any interest in reading all those letters that keep coming, if they’re not coming from you. Every day I glance at the pile, hoping there’s mail from, I don’t know, Fran Lyne Sieoul, Linsey Flo Reuan, Sarine Olunfley. Nothing at all. Of course, I still pretend I like reading the letters; the guards observe me a lot here, I don't want them to find my behaviour suspicious for any reason. But I keep wondering what’s going to happen. I spend every day longing, I don’t even know for what! Should I expect instructions on how to dig a tunnel with a spoon? Should I expect something funny happening during my yard time? Should I expect a sudden riot that works as a diversion? Should I expect someone I have never seen before asking to pay a visit to me? Highly unlikely if you’re in solitary confinement. Maybe I’ve seen too many crime movies. Or too few ones. I’d better give up expecting something. It looks like you had fooled me again, Bronte, filling me with hope for nothing. Can you really be so damn cruel? I can’t believe this is the real you. Someone should lock you in a cage and teach you some manners. Oh god, no. You, in a cage. Me, in a cage. With you. This evokes too many hot memories. Our confessions. Our tears. Our souls, stripped. Right before our entangled bodies. The panting, the sweat, the relentless craving we had for each other. Probably the best night of my life.

And I can’t even allow myself to enjoy some relief, because the fucking guards are watching. It’s like they’re staring at me more often these last few days. It’s like there is more going on through the hallways. Or maybe it’s just my imagination raving. Nothing is changing. Nothing ever will.

-------------------------- (Two weeks later) I hear someone banging at the bars and I barely have just the time to open my eyes. “Wake up, Goldberg, this is an epic day for you!” One of the guards says. Actually, there are three of them. Each one holding chains and padlocks. Lots of them. I jump up, but they are faster and hold me back. “Be quiet, Goldberg!” “What the fuck is going on? Let me go!” I growl at them, wriggling, but it’s useless, they are very strong.

“Calm down and no one will get hurt!” One of them warns me. “But I didn’t do anything!” 

Well, here, in all these months. “It looks like you won a one way ticket for Colorado!” Another one informs me. What? “That’s right, please, send a postcard from ADX Florence, once you’re there!” The third one laughs. “Have I been transferred?” I ask them, as I feel the cold steel crossing my body, loop after loop.

“Government orders.” the first one explains.

Dammit, I can’t be transferred, not now that I must remain here, waiting for something weird to happen… Oh. Could it really  be? Naah, you could never manage to do something like this on your own,  it must be a coincidence. Here I am, dragged around, barely able to move my legs, arms and feet, as chained up as I am.  

The hallway seems to never end, until I see the gate. An armored prisoner transport vehicle is waiting outside with three other guards. I feel like a relay baton, all passed around. “Hi, new fellows!” I try to sound friendly, but they don’t even reply as they put me on the vehicle.  

Well, that’s better, no social boundary to cross. Let’s just keep silent for the whole journey. That's weird. Inside this van is nothing like I expected it to be: no police stuff, no systems communication or monitoring, it almost looks like a commercial van. But that' s not the point, Joe, you're going straight to a new kind of Hell, the kind of transportation doesn't matter. We leave, going pretty fast, with lights and sirens to keep the road clear. “I promise that after asking this, I’ll shut up for the rest of the ride, which means a whole day, more or less: you know, in Attica I used to have some privileges, such as books to read, am I allowed to get them in ADX Florence, as well?” Silence again. I already miss the Attica chatty dudes.

“I also hope the letters will be transferred to ADX, even better if they can communicate the new address…” One of the guards glares at me, so I shrug, making a tingling noise and get ready to be quiet and silent for a long, long time. ---------------------- I have to admit I’m not checking the road, also because I can’t see anything from here, but at least I can check one of the guards’ watches, so I’m aware of the duration of the journey. That’s why I find it pretty odd that the vehicle stopped after only four hours of travel. Restroom break for all of us, maybe? “Quick, let’s go, let’s go!” One of the guards finally spoke, but they all seem to be very agitated. “What the hell is going o… hey!” I snap, when they throw me off the vehicle, not very gently, but, c’mon, I had much worse. Even weirdest is the fact that the guards run inside a car and disappear, while the prisoner transport vehicle drives away as fast as the driver can.

They abandoned me here, all alone. Where the fuck am I? As I laboriously try to get up, all I can see is grass, bushes, trees, lots of them, dirt, mud, and I can hear from afar a watery noise, maybe a river? Wait, the hell with that. Lost or not, I’m free. Again. I carefully move around, trying to find an exit from this wood, forest or whatever it is, when I hear footsteps behind me. Fuck. Some cops must be already here and the footsteps grow closer and closer. Running is not an option, these damn chains barely allow me to move. I hide behind a tree and close my eyes, waiting for my fate, probably even worse than what I had so far. “Hi, sneaky little shit!”

Oooooh, I know this voice. Correction. I love this voice. I never hoped I could hear it again one day.

I turn as fast as I can and there you are, Bronte, waving your hand, smiling at me. Your red hair, blown by the wind. Your blue eyes sparkling. Not to mention all the brightness you emanate.

You’re even more beautiful than I recalled.

Are you real, or just  a dream? Is this just happening only in my head?

--

TBC

Notes:

I spent almost a week dreading that for any reason the police could find my Google Chronology and send me to jail! The amount of research I did for this chapter is sick! XD Little reminder: this is fanfiction, anything can happen, so please, close an eye on some facts! XD Also, pleeeeeease, show Will some love, I’m really fond of that character! I hadn’t planned this BROTP between him and Bronte, but I like it a lot ^^’ I have the feeling many of you won’t like this decision, but, hey, imho season 5 had too much politically correct at the end, I needed this ;P anyway, feel free to tell me anything, good or bad stuff, I can take it and I promise I won’t send Joe after you, LOL

[lulupen2023]

Ezra and Ella (2/?)

Hellooo I've just updated this in ao3, I'll put chapter 3 here in the next days

Summary:

Bronte knows what to do and who she should ask for help.

Chapter II: Nothing irreparable

Bronte’s POV  

Truth must be said: Attica Correctional Facility totally deserves its reputation as a maximum security prison.

It’s not an easy place to reach, for sure. But I don’t even remotely regret getting on that train that from Penn Station only once a day can take people to Buffalo, with a comfortable travel that lasts eight hours. And then it takes only half an hour of cab to get here.

Standing only a few miles from those walls that surround you.

Oh, Joe, have you ever got the feeling that things happen for a reason? I have. All our escapades gave me the proper adrenaline to write a book that got published. And when I say that ‘On our way’, my book, is a best seller, I’m not talking bollocks.

When the Publishing House sent me the first check, I felt dizzy. Let’s just say that nowadays in my bank account there are five zeros, preceded by a number bigger than four. Not to mention that they are planning to translate my book in twelve languages, in order to spread it to the world, which means so much more money. Now I’m sickeningly rich, well, not as rich as the fucking Lockwoods, but still… And that couldn’t be more perfect, cos I need a lot of money for what I’m planning to do.

I keep staring at the gates, when they open sometimes, allowing a relative to visit a prisoner. Even if I managed somehow to pay a visit to you, I seriously doubt that our conversation would be private. That’s why I have to find another way to get in touch with you and I’m here to be sure if it can work. I just have to wait for half an hour more before getting my answers. I see the mail truck coming from afar. I try to get as close as I can, my hoodie hiding my way too showy red hair. And I also wear dark sunglasses. The more of me I hide, the better. My luck’s running even better than I hoped. The truck parked outside and two guards came out to take the mail. From my distance I can clearly see and hear them.

“Hi, Dan, Hi Scott.” Smiles the delivery guy, the daily routine must have turned them into friends, by then. 

“This is the general mail,” the guy says, handing them a very large sack. “And this is just for the Goldberg dude.” It’s a much smaller sack, of course, but it contains at least twenty letters. I mean, twenty fucking letters a day for you? “Geez, guys, what’s so special about this psycho killer? Why do all these dumb girls fawn over him?” The delivery guy wonders out loud. “I don’t know, Jack,” replies one of the guards. “You know what? I’m gonna try to kill someone and see if I get to be as successful as him!” All the three guys laugh. Maybe I don’t feel as cheerful as them, knowing that hundreds of bimbo bitches drool over you, but at least I got my answers. Not only is it possible to write to you, but you’re used to getting many letters. Now I know what to do. Along with other important things. Step by step.

--------------------------- 

When you took me to that breathtaking villa, my plans were very different, more like to make you confess you killed Beck and then kill you, once you were done correcting her book.

Of course, now I’m glad things went differently, but when my mind was set in that direction, I also had thought about the consequences.

Whether I killed a good or a bad person, it would be a kill, nonetheless. I would have to jump the bail, I would need a fake passport. One of the two you had prepared for us. As you were cooking, I was smart enough to check the call log of your mobile and get that last number. That was a call I had no need to make then, but I kept the number, just in case. And now it’s turning out to be very useful.

This is not the kind of conversation you can have in a crowded train, I had to get back to the hotel first and now it’s almost one o’ clock in the morning.

However, I got the feeling that people like him don’t go to sleep early. I just hope he’ll answer my call.

One ring, two rings, three rings, four rings… that’s it. “Hello?” He sounds astonished.

“Hi. You don’t know me, as I don’t know you, but we share an acquaintance: Joe.” Silence from the other side. Only for a few seconds. “Dammit, it’s you! The bitch who set Joe up, the one who ruined his life forever!” He barks at me. “Yep, that’s me, I can’t deny it; but let’s just say this bitch could try and fix things with a little help from you, super nerdy hacker Joe’s friend!”

“I have a name and that’s Will.” He grumbles. “Okay, Will. Correct me if I’m wrong, you’re a great forger…” “I’m not a great forger. I am the forger!” He brags.

“So I guess you could easily convey to Attica Correctional Facility an application for transfer to… ADX Florence... right?” I drop the bomb. “Whoa! What? Are you kidding? No wait, even worse, are you trying to fucking set me up, too?” He grows angry. “Calm down, Will. I’m not playing the Cop here, I’m not recording this call, you can trust me.” “Well, I don’t trust you, bitch!”  

“Hey! I also have a name." I retort.

“I know, Bronte.”

I startle. That was unexpected. “How do you…” “Joe talked to me about you. A lot.” Cute. Okay, I have no time for sentimentalism now.

“I’m aware I’m asking a lot, but it’s because I plan something big. Something huge. I can’t have an active role in that, but I can finance every step of it… and it’s my ass on the line, too.”

Silence from the other side. Again. But I bet it’s the silence of someone pondering. “Are you fucking serious, Bronte? Are we really doing such a thing?”

Oh. I can feel exhilaration in his tone.

“Only if you’re up for this, too. And, of course, beyond your big loyalty to Joe, I can give you another two hundred thousand reasons to convince you.” “Whoa! Holy shit! Do you really mean…” “Bucks. Yeah. Guess what? This bitch now is a rich book author. Just give me your data and you’ll get the money in a few days, along with all the details. So, do we have a deal?”

“Hell yeah we do!” Will laughs. “I’ll text you my data later. can’t wait for you to explain to me better what you’re planning to do. Whatever it is, if it actually works, geez, Joe will be so happy, not just for the newfound freedom, but because it’s coming from you.” “Huh?” I can’t help babbling.

“Like I told you, Joe used to talk with me about you, a lot. And, okay, he kept saying you were the one and I have already heard him say this other five or six times before… but there was something in his words, in his tone… I could feel him as happy as ever before. When he told me about the ring, he was so thrilled he almost cried. You were, no, you are the one, for real!” He explains, before ending the call.

If I needed one more reason, now I’m even more reassured than before that I’m doing the right thing.

Now it’s just a matter of taking an envelope, a sheet of paper and writing to you.

The easiest step of my plan. The one I’m going to love the most.

------------------------------------------------ 

(Two days later)  

Joe’s POV Everyone outside there probably thinks I can know people’s secrets and attitude only using social media - Oh god, I’d kill to have a mobile!-.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Even letters can be clues. It has become my latest innocent, challenging game, just to prove myself I’m still good at that. Hey, I happen to spend a relevant amount of time alone, I need something to do. That’s why every day I crave the moment the mail comes to me and even today there’s a considerable pile ol letters awaiting. I tear the envelope to open the first one. Yeah, the guards used to control every single letter I get, but after more or less a year of countless delirium from hundreds of girls probably too unsatisfied by their lives, those poor guys grew so sick of that they just gave up and don’t even open them anymore.

Which is pointless: the people who really had a connection with me chose to avoid me, just like you, Bronte. But now it’s time to enjoy my hobby. I start with Sunny Sanders from Beverly Hills. Well Sunny, looks like your parents have no great fantasy with names, right? My eyes peer down at the words you bother to write to me.

Geez, you really abuse ellipsis. You must be underconfident and extremely anxious. Sometimes the stroke of the pen is so light I can barely read the words. It’s like you wanted to hide from the world. Well, dear Sunny, I’m afraid you’ll have to find another guy to protect you and make you feel special, I think I’ll be kinda busy for at least the next forty years!

And then it’s Eveline Jacobs ’s turn, from Kentucky.

This is a much shorter letter. Your sentences are short and terse. You must be pragmatic and minimalist, which is not bad, by the way. Although the letter is short, it almost filled the whole sheet, because you wrote very big letters. Almost as if you wanted to scream to the world: ‘Look at me’

Okay, what’s next? Hum, AnneLou Ryflise, from Wisconsin, yeah, I’m going to open this one. What will you want from me, AnneLou? Maybe you sent me a picture of your boobs, or you’ll ask for a private picture of mine, or…

Fuck. It’s like my heart stopped beating for a few seconds.

I’ve just unfolded the sheet and the very first words already got me like nothing else in the universe. “Hi, sneaky little shit,”  

There’s only a person who would call me that.

It’s you, Bronte. I’m dying to read the rest, but first I need to check something. I grab the envelope and study it better. AnneLou Ryflise. I just have to shuffle the letters with my mind and here you are: Louise Flannery. Anagram. So shrewd. It also makes me think I did something like that with our passports, too; well, the ones we don’t need anymore. I sigh, and resume reading. “Uhm, okay. Now that you probably figured out it’s me, will you still be reading or have you already ripped this sheet to shreds… like you wanted to do with me?”

I can’t help laughing. This is just so absurd.

“So, if you’re still reading, let’s face the facts: I’m alive. You’re alive. There’s nothing irreparable.”

Oh, right. Nothing irreparable, you say, I’m just stuck here for the rest of my life!

Now I got it: you only wrote to make fun of me, bitch. I should rip the paper to shreds for real, but the inner part of my instinct suggests to me I'd better go on.

“Joe, I have a plan and all I’m asking you is to trust me. I know it may sound ironic, since I already fooled you twice, and maybe I could even do it a third time, but what’s the worst that could happen to you? To us?” Am I really reading what I’m reading?

Do you still care for me, Bronte? Or is it the umpteenth charade?

It’s not that I have something else to lose, after all. “Here’s a list of all the possibilities: - My plan is successful, so you’re free again. Then you’ll decide if you want to spend your freedom with me (See? Between us it’s you, the possessive one, not me!)."”

You make me smile again. That’s your gift, Bronte, it has always been.

“- The guards figure out everything and follow all the tracks that lead to me. If I’m lucky I'll end up in your same correctional facility. We wont’ get to see each other anyway, but at least it would be something very romantic and poignant, Gabriel Garcia Marquez style!” I would have said more like Victor Hugo, but I also like the way you think.

“-They find out out everything even before my plan can be set in action and you’re the only one who pays the consequences, probably getting electrocution; but, hey, remember? You begged me to kill you!” Indeed, I am still thinking I really have nothing to lose. “Sure, I could even evaluate all the risks better and just stop here, where you and I exchange letters (by the way, are you allowed to answer to the letters you receive?) and go on like that, ‘till the end of our lives. Geez, no, I am not looking for an epistolar novel. Who the fuck are we supposed to be? Jonathan Harker and Mina Murray?” You make me laugh again, until I reach the very last part.

“No, Joe. You and I are dynamite.

I can’t tell you how, nor when, but just get ready, the fuse is going to be lit. ”

You caught me off guard, Bronte. I didn’t see it coming. Is this your way to apologize? Or do you need a bigger revenge?

I’m so confused I don’t even know what to think. I just know I’m weirdly caressing this paper as if it was your snowy skin. Slowly, lovingly, patiently. I miss that, I miss skimming every inch of you with my fingertips.

Especially when you were trying to write and used to call me a sneaky tempter devil. You asked me to stop, but truth is you just begged for more. And I always won, you closed your laptop and gave all your attention to me.

Sometimes I have the feeling I didn’t treasure enough all the moments we spent together. And apparently now there’s a dim chance we could get many more ones. There’s another important thing I can't help noticing.

This time is not like when you typed that fake goodbye. Not that I don't love a bit of vintage, but it’s something colder. Instead now this is just your handwriting, something I’ve never had the pleasure to find out. It’s like you want to open up to me a lot more, Bronte. Your calligraphy is elegant, tidy, but the pen stroke is bold, belonging to someone who clearly knows what she wants. Tell me, Bronte, have you finally decided what you want?

I read your letter twice more, only to impress every word in my mind and in my heart. Although the guards lucky for me stopped controlling the mail addressed to me, your letter is just too dangerous, too compromising, I can’t keep it around.

No one is watching me, it’s now or never. I rip it in four parts, crumple them, insert one at once in my mouth and gulp it down, helping me with some water. I do the same with the envelope, for good measures. I inserted a fucking key in my arm and opened the scar with my bare hands to draw it out. In comparison, this is a piece of cake… actually a piece of paper. Ah-ah. Not even jail can kill my peculiar sense of humor.

TBC

Notes:

I’m really glad that in the TV series they don’t mention the prison Joe ended in (I don’t know if it’s explained in the books, I still have to read them!), so I could pick the one I preferred XD So, now you’ll figure out why I needed Bronte to write a bestseller, I need her with money, LOL Hope you’re still liking it, but feel free to tell me everything

[lulupen2023]

awwwww this moment.. THIS SHIP!!!!!!!

Because with you, love has a price. This is where it was headed the whole time. Peak romance.

YOU | 5.10 "Finale"

[lulupen2023]

Ezra and Ella (1/?)

Post Finale ‘You 5’ (which means 'Spoilers!' , don't read if you didn't see season 5 yet) Pairing: Joe/Bronte Hello everyone, this is my first attempt in this fandom. I’ve never thought I’d write about it one day, but season 5 totally blew me away, and THAT ship, oh my, oh my!! Usually I'm not a lucky author, my stories are not much appreciated, I hardly get feedback, so I don’t expect anything different this time, I’m just thrilled to try and give my two favourite characters another chance! Warning: this could go in very dark places… but it’s a journey with Joe Goldberg, after all. Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol Uh, another thing: please, be kind, English is not my native language (actually I would need some beta reader’s help), sorry for possible mistakes. Summary:

What if Bronte had second thoughts about what she did to Joe in the final episode? What if she decided their story must have a better ending? What would Joe think about it? Is it really over between them?

Chapter I: You were supposed to shrink Bronte’s POV

Uhm, what’s the thing I used to say about myself just some months ago? Oh, right, that’s it.

I still have no idea who I want to be. But I can't wait to find out

Well actually I found out: I’m a writer. For real.

Maybe you were right about not underestimating my talent. Or maybe it’s just the beginner’s luck, but it looks like my first published book is a best seller. And I didn’t have to resort to anything related to you.

Brand new characters. Brand new countries. Brand new plot. Brand new scenario. A breath of fresh air.

I’ve come a long way from the tidal wave of cum. I’m in the middle of the third chapter of  the second book the Publishing House commissioned to me, when I hear the front door open.

Oh no, why so soon? “Sweetheart, I’m home.” cheers a very familiar voice. It’s Paul Brettfort, my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for like four months and… here I am, living in his house. This is funny and maybe a bit weird, too. Paul, just like Paul Brown, one of the fake identities you used. But that’s the only thing you and this Paul have in common. “Hi, honey!” I walk towards him, in order to give him a kiss. 

I'm a little bit reluctant, if I have to be honest with myself. I just had such a wave of inspiration and I would prefer to keep writing. “Why aren’t you already dressed up? We have that dinner with my friends tonight, don’t you remember?”

I nod, going upstairs. Geez. Not again. Not another fucking boring evening with Paul’s friends: an insurance agent, a broker and a notary. None of them is even remotely close to being an artist. And they wouldn't talk about literature even if they had a gun on their head. Oh wait, gunpoint, this evokes some memories… of that fateful night. Fuck, I’d better hurry up with the dressing and make up instead of racking my brains. --------------------------------------------------- The endless fucking dinner finally ended and Paul and I are home again, which can mean one thing only. Paul’s second name could be ‘Routine’. Here we go, having sex right before sleeping, just like every damn single day since I met him at that grocery store. The same, lame, stupid, banal sex. I hate myself impossibly much, because lately there’s only one way to reach the orgasm with him: thinking of you, replacing you with him, here by my side, right now. But no way, you would never do such boring stuff with me. You used to ignite me in so many ways, you challenged me, you worshipped me. Oh, wait, after what I did to you.. I guess you should find new ways to make me feel that good. Geez, it’s getting late and I’d better sleep just like Paul is already doing. I was so busy pretending that I didn’t even notice he was already satisfied. I guess this frames our ‘passionate’ sexual life. Like I said, I should try to close my eyes, but I already know I’ll spend this night sleepless, like all the other nights in these last months. What the hell is wrong with me? Now I have Paul. Thirty-three years. Beautiful. So athletic. He loves sports. He has a steady job in a bank. He's the kind of guy that when he says he’s going to a place, you can be sure he’s really going there.

No mystery. No bluff. No lies. No deception. And he loves me, so kindly, delicately… normally. I should feel like I hit the jackpot with him! Instead, your soothing, silky voice keeps echoing in my head. Those words you said to me that last night. They keep haunting me. ‘I think some part of you still needs me.’ Fuck, you were right and I’ve been so naive. You were supposed to shrink, instead day after day I miss you, more and more. Did I really do the right thing? For me. For you. Was it really the right ending for our story? I turn my head to Paul who’s still sleeping so serenely. I can see him in the soft moonlight of the window I like to keep open.

‘No one will ever love you like I do. Ever again. ‘ Once again, I’m afraid you were right. Or, even worse, I’ll never love anyone like I loved you. No, Louise, be true at least with yourself. Like I love you, Joe. Still. Despite everything. Despite you’re a serial killer. Despite you took so many lives. Despite you were about to take mine! However, I gave a lot of thoughts about the things you did. Let’s not fool ourselves. This world sucks. People suck. You always had a good reason. Yeah, Beck was a friend of mine, but.. did I really know her so well?

Instead, you did. So you must have seen something wrong in her. Something dark. Just like you saw it in many other people. Clayton. That selfish bastard! I twist and turn in the bed, my eyes still utterly open, my mind with no intention to give me some rest. You turned on me, just because I turned on you. And I stupidly did because I wasn’t able to see you then, the way I see you now. My chaotic good hero, just a little bit evil when it’s necessary.

‘You fixated on me because you couldn't stand being Louise Flannery any longer.’

Shit. This is so fucking true it scares me. Fuck Louise, I miss Bronte, I can still be her and I will.

Bronte was the only one who managed to stop you, Joe, so maybe she could be the only one who could…

This last thought scares the hell out of me, I can’t even bring myself to end it. No, no, no, no, Louise, don’t lose your mind. You can’t screw everything up, just like that. Your new perfect, flawless life. Your rightfulness. Then why am I already packing my things, as silent as I can? Just like a thief, maybe because I’m stealing a life which is not the one I crave.

My rucksack is ready with my laptop, money, some clothes and the basic stuff. I just sit at the dinner table, take a sheet of paper and start writing. ‘Dear Paul, When you wake up I’ll be gone. Yes, I’m leaving you and I chose the most coward way to do so, but I couldn’t stand the sight of your sad eyes. The problem is not you, who are utterly perfect. Perfect. But not for me. I can’t fool you, it wouldn't be fair. Maybe we rushed things too much, maybe if you think about it a little longer you’ll also figure out I’m not the proper girl for you. You deserve someone who can truly love you, to be happy with. And I’m sure you’ll find this girl sooner than you expect. Please, don’t look for me, ever. It’s way better to break up now, before things get too serious. Thank you for anything. I wish you the most wonderful life. Farewell.

Louise’

An hour and half later, I’m on a train, leaving Michigan, which has never truly been my place. New York, here I come! I’m coming home. I’m coming to you.

Joe’s POV What’s the point of waking up, if every day is fucking identical to the previous one and the one that still has to come? All these months and yet they don’t trust me enough, not even to give me a pen to write. They’re afraid I could kill myself with that. And they’re right. I would stab my heart with it, like vampires with wood. Probably I wouldn't explode into a pile of dust, but I would end this pathetical surrogacy of existence. The paradox would be such a book cherisher like me trying to slit his wrists with the page of a book - the papers of all the letters I receive are too soft, they can’t serve any purpose-. Actually I’ve tried once, but they noticed and stopped me before the bleeding could cause any serious damage. And it was with the very first book they allowed me to have, after I finished reading it. It was ‘The Executioner’s song’. Peak of irony. I’m laughing, thinking of that. Yeah, I'm laughing right here, right now. Alone. By now I’m used to doing everything alone. I keep laughing. I sound crazy. Maybe I am. Even more probably, I’ve always been.  

However, after that sad episode - sad because I didn’t manage to perform my ultimate killing: myself. -, the guards told me they wouldn’t give me books anymore, but I begged them not to do so, that it wouldn’t have happened anymore. It was only a moment of weakness and they’ve been merciful. I get three books a week, which is something I’m very grateful for. Otherwise, I would just sit here all alone, staring at the walls. The only thought would kill me… oh, wait, didn’t I wish to die? I’ve said I’m crazy, haven't I? Yes, okay. I’ve made some mistakes. I’ve done some despicable things. Horrible things. But always for a good reason. Do I really deserve all this? Did I really have to lose every fucking thing? My son, my money, Mooney, all my books, my freedom, my purest concept of love? Speaking of… Among all the books I receive, there was even your best seller, Bronte. I expected to find the Huntress and the Magician, instead… I chuckled. A crime novel? Actually, two detectives on the trail of a criminal, who end up falling in love in the process? As a man wounded in his ego, with a broken heart, I should say your book sucks and I hated every page of it; but as an unfazed book reviewer I can’t lie: that was good. A lot. Clean. Essential. Captivating. Such a mature work. I just can’t help wondering, are the righteous detectives me and you? Oh nope, Bronte, I can more easily picture us as the dangerous criminals.

You also used to say it, don’t you remember? Just like Bonnie and Clyde. Oh, it could have been, Bronte, that and so much more… but you preferred fuckin up my entire life… you, ungrateful bitch! And yet I keep thinking of you. Candace. Beck. Love. Marienne. Kate. I loved them all, deeply, intensely, sincerely…but they all faded away from my heart. But not you. Never you. Why? The only woman who managed to fool me twice… and probably could do it again. Oh, Bronte, what would I do if I had you here in front of me now? Strangle you? Kiss you? Both things at once? I don’t know, I really don’t know.

But I keep having so many fantasies about you. Like I did when you were supposed to just stay in the box. Before everything between us started. Before the fire devoured us. Literally. Oh no, wait, it’s just Kate the burnt one. Another chuckle. Oh please, that eager bitch hadn’t even the decency to die, at least let me have some little fun.  

In my fantasies, sometimes I kill you, sometimes you kill me. Sometimes we just make love, in the grass, under millions of stars.

If only you hadn’t run away. If only you could have accepted me. All of me. I lay down the cot and cover my lap with the newest book they gave me. Some guards could be around. My hand slowly goes down, crossing first the elastic band of my awful red trousers and then it slides inside my boxers. Yep, it might be just my hand but as I close my eyes and bite my lips it's you who’s doing that, knowing what pace I like, knowing everything about me. Or maybe not. I grin as I increase the pace. Fresh news, Bronte: you think you shot me there but your aim ain’t that good. You just hit my left groin. It hurt like hell, of course, but at least down there everything still perfectly works. And I’d be very glad to prove it to you. If only…

TBC

[lulupen2023]

Dom is almost sending a kiss to Matt, awwwwww #BellDom!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[lulupen2023]

I love everything of this

Muse: THE GAME [insp.]

[lulupen2023]

this is sooo epic! #pwopahfish

Muse go fishing: a summary (x)

[lulupen2023]

Muse Inverview MTV EMA’s 2006 [x]

[lulupen2023]

LOL, I adore him!!

Dom’s nonexistent dancing skills

[lulupen2023]

Muse: Hullabaloo, part 1

[lulupen2023]

Matt on Instagram “Missing drummer”

[lulupen2023]

aweso-M(us)e-ness <3 <3 <3

[lulupen2023]

and from Dommeh's POV aaawww <3

no but this is actually the best gif of matt bellamy

HE’S SO FUCKING HAPPY I CAN’T

[lulupen2023]

This time we'll get it, get it right 1/2

And old story from my lj that I never posted here, I don't know why ^^ BEFORE READING: One day like many others the radio played a song, an AMAZING song (sorry, it’s an Italian one, but I translated the lyrics for you, if you want you can listen to it here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wU5ScW-02b4 ) that screamed ‘BELLDOM’ in my head since the very first time I heard it. Usually I don’t like Italian songs that much, but this one seems to be written for those two! Let’s say that this song practically summoned me to write this story. Let me warn you: this is NOT the kind of fanfics I use to write, there’s no fluff here (hard to believe, I know), it’s not a comedy, there’s not humour and it’s pretty nc17, too! I guess this is the most serious thing I’ve ever written, maybe because I strongly believe in that. Title: This time we’ll get it, get it right Setting: Summer/Autumn 2010 Pairing: BellDom (of, course!) Rating: NC 17 It’s a POV, but I’m not gonna tell you who is talking! ;P Disclaimer: I don’t know and own Matthew Bellamy and Dominic Howard, this has never happened (but it would be nice if it had). Plus, I don’t earn anything from it, just the personal satisfaction of writing it. The title is taken from ‘Exogenesis: Symphony Part 3 (Redemption)’ lyrics , by Muse… which is sooooo damn clearly a BellDom song! And it’s a songfic, with the background of ‘Son già solo’ (I’m already alone) lyrics by Modà. Feedback: Loves it like Matt loves bananas and Dom loves leo-printed stuff!

Summary: He takes me, he leaves me. He looks for me, he avoids me. He desires me, he rejects me. It’s time to make it all end… or start for real.

I: You'll be back(?)

To fall in love with a man, aka someone of your same gender, is extremely shocking.

To fall in love with a colleague is a disaster; there must be a reason why everyone says not to blend your private life with your working one!

To fall in love with your best friend is the worst thing ever that could happen to you… and the best thing  at the same time.

Guess what? I did those three things all at once.

Please, people, don’t tell me it’s wrong.

Not just now that he, this divine creature who impudently violated all three of those taboos, is on top of me with his hands in my pants and is bringing me to Heaven.

No one can do that like him!

“Faster!” I pant, already knowing that I can’t hold on much longer.

He pleases me and after awhile I throw my head back, breathe his name and explode with pleasure, as he takes all I have to give him.

After all, he has always done that.

When his expert mouth comes in to play, he sends me into Bliss once again.

This suite is illuminated just by a candle that is about to consume itself.

That’s better; he has always enjoyed doing this in the dark.

Troppa luce non ti piace

(You don’t like too much light)

Godi meglio a farlo al buio sottovoce

(You come better if we do it in the dark, in a low voice)

Graffiando la mia pelle

( Scratching my skin )

E mordendomi le labbra fino a farmi male, bene

(And biting my lips until it hurts, but in a good way)

Senza farmi mai capire

(Without never making me figure out)

Se per te è più sesso o amore

(If it’s more sex or love, for you)

He smiles, satisfied by his work, and kisses me, making me taste myself. Then the kiss turns more violent, he scrapes my lower lip with his teeth, as his nails scratch on my shoulders, my back, my arms, and because he is the one inflicting this pain on me, it becomes an indescribable pleasure.

“Turn.” he whispers to my ear.

I do so, but not before giving him another ardent kiss that seems to be a battle for supremacy.

I turn, with my stomach on the mattress, as he gets rid of the rest of my clothes and his own, too.

He straddles me and with a skill that can only progressively improve he prepares my body to welcome him inside.

For me it’s already enough; his hot breath on my nape gets me ready for him and when he slips inside me, when we become just one being, he fills me.

In every sense.

I enjoy these precious moments of pure happiness, moments that come at high price, because I’m going to pay for them with suffering that will last for weeks, maybe even months.

He pulls away from me, turns me onto my other side and drags me against him, as he pants heavily.

“I…”

He doesn’t end his sentence, he simply smashes his lips against mine.

For him does it seems it’s only sex what we’ve been doing for *years*?

But no, I don’t think so, it can’t be just sex!

He can lie to me as much as he pleases with his words, but his eyes, that are as changeable as his mood, can’t pretend, and I can clearly read love in his eyes; it’s the same love that there’s in my eyes. It’s a tough love, a torn love, a love that is constantly put to the test, a desperate love, but it’s love, nonetheless.

As he kisses me, I can’t help let a tear fall from my eyes and trace my face, because I already know what this kiss is the prelude of.

“I’d better go now.” he says and his tone is already colder.

Poi fuggi, ti vesti, mi confondi

(And then you run away, you dress up again, you puzzle me)

Non sai dirmi quando torni

(You can’t tell me when you will be back)

E piangi, non rispondi, sparisci

(And you cry, you don’t give any answer, you disappear)

E ogni quattro mesi torni

(And you come back every four months)

Sei pazzo di me, come io lo son di te

(You’re crazy for me as I’m crazy for you)

“Why?” I ask him as we both dress.

“You know why.” he answers as he puts his jacket on.

“Hell no, I don’t! I’ve been wondering that for years! Every fucking time I tell myself that it will be the last time, that I won’t let you get close to me again, but then I always fail, because I can’t resist you just like you can’t resist me, so why should we keep resisting each other?” I reply.

“Because it would be too complicated.” he murmurs so softly that I barely manage to hear him.

“Why? Isn’t it complicated this way?” I strike back as I feel my eyes become damp.

“I… I don’t wanna hurt you!” he shouts as he faces my gaze and I can see that he, too,  has tears in his eyes.

“But you’re already hurting me! What am I to you? Your favourite toy? Your personal amuse? A diversion to between all the groupies, between every girl you get laid by?” I scream at him, crying.

He stares at me with a hurt expression and assures me through his tears, “You’re nothing like that. And you do know that!”

He opens the door, and before disappearing from my sight, says, “I gotta go.”

Why does he leave? If only I knew it! It’s not due to the fear that someone could find out about us and make the news finish in every bloody tabloid.

No, he doesn’t give a fuck about public opinion; I’m the one who gets worried about that, but I know I could face it if he wanted that. The problem is that I have no idea what the bloody hell he wants.

I stand still, staring at that closed door. The heat of this night in Madrid, where we performed a few hours ago, is conflicting with the coldness that there’s now in my heart.

If I wanted to reach him, I would just have to cross the corridor and knock on his door.

It’s not a physical distance that separates us, it’s much worse, it’s a psychological one, an invisible wall that now we raise between us, once again.

When it happens, no matter all the days we meet each other due to the concerts, the interviews, the photo-shoots or any duty is on our agenda, we don’t let it show.

During those moments we’re bloody good at pretending we are inseparable best friends, as always.

Not even Chris has ever suspected something.

Once the charade is over, when we stop being Muse and simply become Matthew and Dominic again, there’s not a word, a smile, an understanding gesture between us.

Finally, one of us surrenders and then the walls cave in again.

Resisti, non mi stanchi

(You resist, you don’t tire me)

M conservi sempre dentro ai tuoi ri cordi

(You always keep me inside  your memories)

E poi brilli, non ti spegni

(And then you shine, you don’t fade)

Ci graffiamo per non far guarire i segni

(We scratch each other not to make the marks heal)

E sei pioggia fredda

(And you’re a cold rain)

Sei come un temporale di emozioni che poi quando passa

(You’re just like an emotional storm that when it’s over)

Lampo, tuono, è passato così poco e son già solo

(Flash, thunder, it’s been such a short time and I’m already alone)

It’s the story of my life.

I should hate him for what he does, for how he makes me feel, but I can’t.

Because those special moments we spend all alone, when there’s nothing else but us, when I find confirmation that my feelings are mutual, give me the strength to resist and keep waiting for him.

And for him it’s worth it, even if I had to wait my whole life.

He was already in my thoughts when I dated the first girls and then, when success knocked on our door, those thoughts turned into a passionate reality, a reality that has never stopped in the face of anything.

Not even when I stayed with Gaia and he with Jessica, the most important romantic relationships of our lives.

Not even that managed to keep us apart, especially on tour, when the temptation is just too strong.

I look in the mirror and I can still see his scratches, my swollen and livid lips, the same marks I left on him.

I don’t even have to care that someone can see me like that, since I have no one to come back to. Plus, tomorrow all the marks will have faded.

I know I’ll end up going insane if I go on like this, especially now that there’s not Gaia anymore.

I feel so alone in the months that seem to last like years

I hate feeling alone. I’m not sure that I can hold on until he comes back.

Because I know he’ll be back.  

Tornerai, tornerai

(You’ll be back, you’ll be back)

  Altroché se tornerai

  (Hell yeah, you’ll be back) (End I)  

Notes:

Hope you liked it. If I was an angst lover the story would end like that, but...

[lulupen2023]

LOL can't stop rewatching it in loop, he's soooo captivating *O*