lulupen2023

[lulupen2023]

EZRA AND ELLA (6/?)

I’m sorry for the long wait, I don’t even know if someone still recalls this story… Okay, this chapter is very emotional and is not what I was supposed to write )which probably you’ll see in the next chapter), I just love when characters do the hell they want, LOL. My bad: until now, every time I wrote ‘we haven’t seen for one year’ I just counted the year of jail or a bit more, but I totally forgot about the process that must have been rather long, so it’s been more than two years since Joe has been arrested by the cops in the woods, I corrected it in my previous chapters only on AO3 (sorry, I'm lazy, LOL), sorry for the big mistake

Summary:

There are still some truths Bronte and Joe needs to get out of their chest

Chapter VI: Most wicked being

Joe’s POV  

“Am I allowed to look at my mobile again to see what time it is? Because I guess it’s pretty late.” You yawn, but there’s clear sarcasm in your tone. “Of course you can check on your phone anytime you please; what kind of obsessive control freak did you mistake me for?” Now it’s me using sarcasm.

You narrow your pretty eyes at me. “Trust me, Joe, we could discuss it until sunrise, but I really don’t have the strength right now.” You yawn again. I glance at my mobile and it’s almost one o’clock in the morning. You have every right to feel tired  after such an eventful day. I would like to pick you up; holding you in my arms, bride style, like a proper Prince Charming would do with his beloved Princess, and carry you to bed. But I can’t, thanks so much, stupid rebuild-trust rule.

I just watch you get up and follow you to the corridor, where there's a moment of awkwardness between us. “There’s only one bed.” I state, pretending I am not  giving a damn to that. “I swear that when I rented this house I had explicitly asked for two single beds, but probably the agency forgot about it and I spent the last days calling them and they promised me they would do it until this very last day, uselessly. Looks like we are being harassed by tropes!” You roll your eyes. “Among all the tropes, this is a very intriguing one.” I click my tongue. “Tomorrow I’m going to get two single beds, I would go even now, too bad the shops are closed…” You grow more and more nervous. “Don’t worry, we don’t live in fanfiction and I’m going to make things very easy for you,” I try to calm you down. “Do you mean that the bed is so large that we can easily avoid invading each other's space, we could even make a wall with some pillows and…” “Nope, Bronte. It’s been more than two years since I’ve slept with another person close to me, let alone a girl. Not to mention who was the last one. I don’t think it would be a good idea, not if I have to behave.” Because you want me to behave, don’t you? “Oh, yeah, you’re right, then what…” you look away, proving how awkward the situation is. “You can have the bedroom. I’m going to sleep on the sofa.” I rush to clarify.

“But… I find it unfair. I mean, after all these months in jail, I don’t even make you sleep in a real bed! I should take the sofa.” You suggest. Oh. So sweet from you, but I can't let you win this battle, Bronte. “Damn right. After all those back-breaking months in those awful cots, compared to that, the sofa is a royal bedroll, I’m going to sleep oh so well.” I assure you. “Okay, but… tomorrow I’m going to find you a bed!” You insist. “Tomorrow is another day.” I counter, solemnly in my tone. “Well, I guess I can’t compete with this. Goodnight, Mr. Big Quotes!” You smile, going to the bedroom and locking the door, for good measures; just like a wise and cautious Rossella O’Hara, running away from her Rhett Butler. The only difference is that frankly, my dear, I do give a damn! “Goodnight, my sweet saviour.” I murmur, too softly for you to hear me, as I place myself on the soft sofa.

I really feel comfy here. There’s no need for another bed, Bronte. Also because, if I play my cards well, maybe it won’t be long before we share the same bed. Laying down was the easy part, but I don’t think that I’ll manage to fall asleep, not so quickly at least. Just like twenty four hours ago I was sleeping in that goddamn cold and dirty jail, isolated from the whole world. I just was slightly aware that something could have changed, but I would have never expected something so life-changing. I thought I would rot in jail for the rest of my life, instead, look at me now. Look at us. Look at you. I still recall what I said to you when we were in the car that very fateful day. You astonish me more every day. And I wasn’t wrong. You were never a lost bet to me, Bronte; not even in our darkest moments. Speaking of, I guess I should be thankful to Kate for keeping me down for three long years, otherwise I wouldn’t be so out of training and my attempts of killing you would be sadly successful.

More than two years ago I chose to place my happiness in you. Now I know I chose well.  

------------------------------------- I can’t tell exactly when but at a certain point of the night my mind ceased all its ruminations, allowing me to have a good, restful sleep. And I woke up due to some noises. At the beginning I thought it was the guard bringing the lunch, but then I realized I’m not in jail anymore. I’m on a soft, comfy sofa, in a little but lovely house in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t a dream. Everything is real. Life is wonderful. I get up, following the directions of the noises and there you are, getting busy in the kitchen. “‘Morning. Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up! Oh, no, shit!” You muffle as you curse because you left the pan on the stove much longer than needed. “Shit!”

“Best awakening after so many months!” I smile at you, as I sit at the table. You reach me there few minutes later, serving some very scorched pancakes, some bacon that has the consistency of a chewing gum, the most harsh orange juice I’ve ever tasted in my life and a coffe… oh well, maybe the coffee is the only thing defendable.

“You’re amazing.” I murmur, taking a forkful of pancakes, not before covering them with a large amount of maple syrup. “Liar!” You playfully kick me under the table. “I amazingly suck! Let's just say cooking is not my biggest value.” “That’s not true.” I protest and then you challenge me, filling the glass of more orange juice, after I so laboriously emptied it. “Oh, really?” You sneer. “Okay… I can face everything but this quintessence of sourness!” I make you laugh.

“There you go. Finally some honesty!” You giggle. “I’ve read somewhere that orange juice is better with a small addition of lemon.” “I beg to differ on ‘small’!” I grimace. “Maybe I added too much of it.” You reckon, throwing the rest of the juice in the sink.  

Such a wise decision. “Let’s just say that maybe it’s better if I take care of the cooking. Or I could teach you some tricks.” “Sounds like a plan.” You smirk, stealing a pancake for my plate simply because it’s the less scorched one. “Hey!” I chuckle, although my plan was to sound more reproaching, but I just can’t. “Look at us, Bronte, having breakfast as we used to do, so playfully, in such perfect harmony, as if nothing had happened…” “I’ve dreamt of killing you.” You cut me off. Wait. What the fuck?  

Bronte’s POV

I know, Joe, this confession must be more bitter than my awful orange juice. “Oh, do you mean you dreamed about it tonight?” You venture to ask.

“Nope, I’ve slept wonderfully tonight, no one tried to force the door open and, look, my ankles work perfectly!” I strike back, rocking my legs back and forth. “I deserve it.” You reckon, quite calm. “I’m sorry. I  admit it wasn’t one of my finest moments.” And then, you pull the chair behind in order to stretch your left leg towards me. “What are you doing?” I stare at you, puzzled. “Well, I’m supposed to spend quite a long time hidden here, which brings me to not have all this necessity to walk. So, if it makes you feel any better, go on, twist my ankle.” What the fuck?! “Geez, nope, Joe, I’m not going to hurt you!” “C’mon, I don’t mind a little pain…” You insist. “But I did, back when you did that to me!” I yell at you, and yes, I’m still mad at you for that. You seem to understand it and you lower your leg. “I’m sorry.” You murmur. “For that and many other things.”

Such as shooting at me, trying to choke me, then drown me? We still have so damn much to work on. Speaking of… “Anyway, I was in the middle of something, before you interrupted me.” “You’re right. I’m sorry, please, go on.” Are you going to apologize all day long?

“I’ve dreamt, no okay, more like I daydreamed of killing you when we were leaving the town, in that car, when you stopped to admire the view. I had a gun hidden in my rucksack and that was reality as you later found out, but in the daydream I took it and as you were turning your back to me, I pulled the trigger, shot at you, good and proper, and you fell off the cliff.” I know it’s hard to hear this, but I had to get it off my chest. You’ve listened to me so silently, then you take your time to think about what I said, and you laugh. Wait a minute, you laugh?!

“Geez, stop it. Joe. There’s nothing fun about that.” “Believe me, there is. You could never fall into the OOC clichè. You could never be so vile, doing something so cowardly.” You counter. “When you shot me, you were looking at me directly in my eyes, which I appreciated. It does you credit. That’s the Bronte I know.” “And, tell me, did you even appreciate *where* I shot you?” Damn you, Bronte, will you ever learn the lesson ‘avoid inappropriate things to say’?

You just snort and I feel the huge need to change the topic.

“Anyway, I still don’t get it.” “What?” You frown at me. “All that bothering to save me from that ill intentioned guy, to keep me with you, right after you say in a world wide direct interview that I was your biggest regret.”

Quicker that I can acknowledge, you’re right behind me, holding my shoulders.

“Oh, god, Bronte, Louise… no. That was something I said in the heat of the moment, when I was extremely pissed off, thinking you had betrayed me, that it was all a charade, that you had played with my heart as it was a toy, so I wanted to hurt you.” “And it hurt much more than the twisted ankle or the gunshot!” I fight the urge not to cry. “So… does it mean that you never saw the ending of that interview?” I hear you asking me, because I can’t bring myself to turn and look at you. “Of course, not, the moment you said those things I was already buying a flight to go back to Ohio forever, not before sending you that text message… then it happened what happened.” “I guess we should thank that ill intentioned guy for what happened.” You smirk, because I turned and I can also see you’re fumbling through your mobile, searching for something. “There you go, I knew it was still recorded somewhere.” You give the phone to me. It’s a sub reddit page where someone stored the whole direct interview.

“Just go fast forward right after my breakdown…” You instruct me. Wait. Did you have a breakdown? I do as told, I reach the point where you ask the tiktoker to ask you again that question about me and… oooh.

Why are my eyes getting teary now?

I place the mobile on the table and look away, before you can notice. “So, you stayed although you were sure I didn’t love you.” You recap, walking towards me. “I can’t say I’m not impressed.”

“Actually, I stayed because i was fucking handcuffed to a bed with a not working leg!” “Bronte, c’mon, you can’t lie to me. I saw the way you smiled when you saw that point of the interview.” Shit!

“You’re glad I loved you back then. You are glad I still love you.” Okay. It’s truth time. “Yeah. Because I still love you, too.” I admit. Wait, when the hell did we get so close? Now that you bent over me, my face is just a breath away from yours, we’re just one step away from kissing, but I hold back. “But things are not easy anyway!” “I never said they were.” You strike back, with an almost irritating calm. “I guess that what we’re doing now, aka taking out all the shit, all the toxicity, is good for the path we chose to cross together.”  I try to reason with you and you nod, utter comprehension in your eyes. “I guess I just need some time to go back to what we had, how happy we’ve been together; just erasing the last part and replacing it with a big difference.” “Which one?” 

“Me accepting you.” “All of me?” You ask, making big puppy eyes.  

And I start caressing your face, as I bring my mouth closer to you once more. “Every inch of you.” I whisper, parting before the kiss can begin. I really adore teasing you. But then my brain processes better what I’ve just said. Shit!

“Sorry… after what I did to you, ‘inch’ is not the best choice of words,” I babble, desolate. And then I see you chuckling. Geez, you are really keeping a positive attitude over it.

Joe’s POV

You still don’t know and I’m not going to tell you.. Yet. It’s going to be oh so pleasant when you find it out on your own, maybe with your hand slipping under my pants.  

But let’s just live the moment for now. You and I. Us. Let’s start to win each other back. I guess we’ve found the key. “What about watching a bit of TV?” You suggest turning the television on. “Maybe some update of yesterday’s news?”

“I highly doubt we’ll see the frogmen looking for a truck across the Bermuda Triangle.” I chuckle. “I was thinking more about declarations from people who must have heard the news,” you explain, as you are zapping through the channels. “Here there’s a special about you, perfect.”

Right now there’s just a short recap of my prison break. It’s always satisfying rewatching my ‘death’. Then the journalist says they collected some interviews from the people who knew me and it’s like when there was that fucking trend about me. They start with Ethan. // “I’m so sorry for what happened. Huh, wait, it’s not that I'm sorry for what he did, but for who he had been to me: a friend. Okay, more like my Boss. Although I prefer to think he was a friend. But probably I’ve never understood anything about him. He gave me good love advices about who has become my wife for almost five years… and since she was Beck’s friend, he could have killed her as well. I’m glad he didn’t. And now I know he won’t ever do that, for sure. “// Stupid, useless Ethan, as always. And also stupid Blythe. And if ever they had kids, they’re stupid, as well. “Sounds like you didn’t leave a good memory.” You can’t resist teasing me.

“He’s just giving the wrong idea; this makes me appear as if I had killed anyone who had any sort of connection with Beck!” I argue. Well, I actually did, but just on two occasions. It doesn’t make it a rule. “Anyway, he thought that your oh so precious Beck was awful during that short time I had hired her at Mooney’s… which she obviously was.”

What’s that glare now? Is it still too soon to face Beck's topic?

I understand if even after two years since when we talked about it and nine years since I killed her it’s still a fresh wound for you. As we talk, on the screen I see a very pleasant face. My sweet angel boy.

// “I understand he did very bad things, but I can’t forget how caring he was towards me and my mother, all his help in the most difficult times…” // His voice seems to break.

// "And now he’s dead!” // He burst out crying. “Ohh, poor dear, he was very attached to you!” You comment, touched. “My dear little Paco… probably he should know about my fake death, even before Henry. I know for sure he wouldn’t ever betray me.” “Maybe it’s not a bad idea, just not immediately…” You agree.

“You know, I’ve taught him so many things, he could easily become my successor.” Judging by the way you’re staring at me speechless, I guess I have to clarify a point.

“I mean at Mooney’s, if one day it will ever raise from its ashes. He loved books so much, even more than I did at his same young age and I bet he still does; once I also showed him how to fix a ruined book and he stared at me as if I was his personal god,” I smile at the memory. “Oh.” It’s all you manage to say.

“What kind of successor were you thinking of?” I inquire, already knowing your answer. “Huh, never mind!” You shrug. “Trust me, I’m not looking for any other kind of successor. Sure, Paco tried to kill his awful stepfather… but that’s not the point!” “He did… what?!” Your voice reaches its highest pitch. “You heard me. But I stopped him before it was too late and… fixed things.” “Does it mean that you… you killed his father?” You dare to ask.  

We already crossed so many barriers that I think it’s pretty pointless to try to hide the truth from you. “Yes, I did and I would do it again another ten thousand times. That son of a bitch beat Paco and his mom. And Paco couldn’t stand that situation any longer. But I couldn’t allow him to live with such a burden; so I did what had to be done.”

I startle when I feel you holding my hands. “That… that was very noble of you, Joe.”

A voice from the screen interrupts us. A voice I know sadly well.

My fucking ex wife - the still alive one-  is giving an interview. // “That sodding bastard had already faked his death once; I’m so relieved that at least this time is real. “//

If one like Kate Lockwood bought it, it means that you, my astonishing Bronte, have done a flawless job. // “My poor sweet child will surely grow up a lot better without him!”// The only reason why I don’t rush to smash the television on the floor is that you are holding me still. “Calm down, Joe, we both know how Kate is.” “That bitch! It’s *my* son, he’s hers only on fucking paper” I growl. “I know, I know, but you have to behave and go on. The deader you remain, the better. So, no plans of you kidnapping Henry, no plans of you getting your revenge on Kate!” You tame me. “At least, she could have worn a sleeveless dress; I would have had a look at her ugly burnt skin very willingly!” I sneer. “Which is your middle name, if you have one?” You ask me, out of the blue. “It’s Gabriel. Why?” I ask you, a little bit puzzled.

“Because I need emphasis," you answer, pausing for a dramatic effect. “Joseph Gabriel Goldberg, you’re a horrible, horrible person!” I don’t even have the time to strike back, because what the journalist says catches my whole attention. //”Instead, Mrs Goldberg asked for the utmost discretion about this issue and chose not to be interviewed by any networks.”// “Such a pity, I won’t have any chance to see how she looks now…” I murmur, more upset than I expected to be.

You almost slide out of your chair, shocked. “Does… does it mean that your mother never paid a visit to you, during the process and all these months in prison?” You ask me in disbelief. “Well, at least now I know she’s still alive.” I shrug, pretending that I don’t care. This time your chair falls on the floor, but only because you rushed towards me.  

One second later your arms are wrapping me in the most tender embrace I can recall. “I’m so sorry, Joe; not even the most wicked being ever to walk the Earth deserves this!” You hug me even tighter. “So are you saying I’m the most wicked being ever to walk the Earth?” I counter. It seems a tad exaggerated to me; what about Hitler? Stalin? Kate? “I’m just saying I’m sorry, you sneaky little shit!” “I guess this is the worst attempt to cheer someone up ever!” “Can you just stop being a dick for a second?” You retort, still trapped against the crook of my neck.

Then you pull away, just to stare at me deep in my eyes. “I’m serious, Joe. I know you have to get it all out, it will make you feel better. Let the wall fall down, be honest with me. How can it be that with all your skills, you never managed to find your mother in all those years?” Okay, Bronte, let’s the damn wall fall to pieces. “Well, you said you stalked me for years, but maybe you hadn’t searched deep enough.” “What do you mean?” You frown. “It’s true that my dear mom abandoned me in that group family when I was twelve years old, but you don’t know that I managed to track her down about one year later, I don’t remember exactly which day it was, but I remember every single moment of that scene.” My voice sounds harsher than I meant and you look scared. “Which… which scene?” “My dear mom, getting in a car with my young stepbrother, Jacob. Me, calling her, so happy we could still be together and she, telling me she wanted to start over, with this new kid, with her new family, but without me.” I’m trembling, but I'm not done yet. “She rejected me, Bronte, as if I was a dress of the wrong size, that didn’t fit her well, as if she could return it to the shop and get another one, a perfect one, flawless size. I’m the wrong dress, I’m everyone’s wrong dress!”

I’m rambling now and.. when the fuck did I start crying like a baby?

Bronte’s POV

I thought you were vulnerable that night in the cage, but now.. geez, is it what you were talking about? The breakdown you had during that tik tok interview?

Or maybe now it’s even deeper, more emotional. I just know it’s breaking my heart to see you like this.

I switch off the television which by now was only a far background, because I want to give you my full attention. “You are my perfect dress!” I scream and I mean it. At least you’ve stopped your rambling and now your teary eyes are studying me with diffidence.

“Am I?” “Well.. I mean, it does fit me well, but maybe too tight in some movements, it doesn't make me breathe… but I want to keep wearing it anyway, maybe with the help of a tailor, some cuts in the right spots…” Shit. Once again, awful choice of words. But you chuckle, which is a good sign, I guess. “Even the cutting? So wasn’t the shooting enough?” 

“I’m afraid I went too far with this metaphor… however, you were talking about the last day you saw your mother.” I urge you to go on.

“The coldness in her eyes as she asked me to leave her and stupid Jacob alone made me realize that I lost my mother the day she put me in the fucking house.” You grieve. “Sure, I’m extremely good at that and I could have found her any moment if I had really wanted that. But you don’t look anymore for someone who doesn’t want you and never will again.”  

“She made a huge mistake giving up loving you.” I caress your hair.”She had a last chance when you were in prison and threw it away.” “I bet she didn’t shed a tear over the news of my death.” You mutter. “And you shouldn’t shed a tear over the fact she didn’t. Such a cold-hearted woman doesn't deserve anything, it’s better to lose her.” “I already did, a long time ago. You know, maybe it’s for the better if I never looked for her anymore. Maybe I would have liked to get to know my little stepbrother better, but even more probably I would have ended up killing him due to jealousy and envy. He stole my mom’s love, it’s not something you easily forgive.” “Or maybe you would have known brotherly love.” I try to be more positive. “We’ll never know, since she decided to focus all her whole life just on him, forsaking the son who has just been … a failure. Maybe I’m the most wicked being ever to walk the Earth for real!” And your voice breaks again. No wonder why you are the way you are. Such a burden at such a tender age… all the things you had to go through. The way you associate cheating to abandon. The way that triggers you. It’s not that I’m justifying all the things you did - well, the ones I know so far- , but… I begin to understand you, for real, this time.

“That’s it, Joe, get it all out…” I hold you in my arms once more as you cry. “Now I see, the way you tried to find love in all those girls, including myself;  a different kind of love , more powerful, more healing…” “Yeah, I just wanted to be loved!” You’re crying your heart out. “ I’ve tried so hard all my life! Why am I so unlovable?” “Not to me!” I yell. “Really?” You sniff. “Why?” “Because you’re not the most wicked being ever to walk the Earth?” I make you smile. We stare at each other for an indefinite amount of time, without saying a word, letting our souls speak for us.

“What about some comfort sex now?” You break the silence in the worst way ever. I push you away, annoyed.

“Geez, Joe, nope! I can’t believe you said that! You’re impossible!” “Wasn’t I a horrible, horrible person?” You chuckle. “Of course, you are!” I stick my tongue at you. I perfectly know what you’re doing. You’re putting back your disguise of prim and proper attitude, because probably it makes things easier for you, it makes you feel less exposed. Go on, act like whatever you please. But I saw the real Joe, as I had already taken glimpses of him that night in the cage. I love that lonely boy in you. I swear there will be no more loneliness. For us both.  

TBC

Notes:

Bronte being an awful cook is my headcanon , lol, and it’s fun to write! About all the rest, I hope you liked it, I’d really like to know your opinion about it, if I’m not asking you too much. ngl I’m really proud of the dress metaphor ;P In the next days you’ll see me post so many more updates and new stuff about those two, I’m even plotting a whole Flufftober for next month. #sorrynotsorry I don’t care if almost everyone seems to hate this pairing, I love them and found them too inspiring for me to stop, whether I get some feedback or not ^^’

[lulupen2023]

In the Box (5/6)

Chapter 5: She never came back twice in the same dream

Summary:

Joe perfectly understood what he wants

Notes:

Setting: between end of episode 3 and the beginning of the 4th one. Prompts: the title of the chapter for the ‘PrideChallenge’, plus ‘Tied hands’ and ‘Are you one of those guys who likes these things?’ for the ‘JustForFunChallenge’ warning: hints of BDSM… oh well, nothing that Season5 hasn’t already showed us ;P

She never came back twice in the same dream

 

// “Tighten them a little more, please.” You ask me. “Are you sure? They seem already pretty tight to me.” You don’t look at me, simply because you can’t. I‘ve  blindfolded you. Because you’ve asked me to. “Maybe, but it’s not enough yet. I want it to feel real, Joe.” You plead. Have I ever disappointed a lady?

So here we go, I tighten the silk straps around your wrist and you gasp, excited, I can feel that. You’re so eager, because it is all so new to you. But to me, as well. With Beck it was just and only sex, sweet or raw, slowly or fast. And she also loved oral sex, both ways, a lot, but we’ve never tried anything like that. Also with Love sex was fantastic, she had a little more fantasy with that, when she tried swinging, probably aiming to an orgy. What about Marienne? I guess she gave her best with fire detectors. In London, Kate was more like ‘I take what I want, when I want’and I liked that. But back to New York, she makes me feel like I’m just something to do in her fucking schedule! But you… oh, you are so different, you show me so many sides of you, day by day.  

It started this morning, when I opened the bookstore.

You were already there, sitting at the register, engrossed reading a book, until you finished the chapter. Then you finally realized I had arrived, you stared at me, your face flushed. “What’s up? Something wrong?” I ventured to ask. “Huh? Nothing… it was that ..am I was just…” I have never seen you so agitated, then you fanned yourself with that book. “Hey, Joe, are you one of those guys who like… those kinds of things?” You asked me, half shy, half curious.

I’ve looked better at the book you were reading. You put a red cover on it, not to show what book it is. Intriguing, but not as your more than eloquent, horny gaze. One and one is two. It’s simple, like figuring out what you meant. One second after that question of yours, I was putting my rationality, my resolutions and my moral ideals in the same box I was supposed to keep you locked in. I’ve bent over you and kissed you on the register desk, with the same eagerness of a thirsty man wandering in a desert for weeks. My soon to be broken marriage is the oppressing desert, while you, Bronte, are the refreshing oasis that could bring me back to life.

Ten minutes after that question of yours I was whispering at you: “Fuck the customers, we’re closing today!” Twenty minutes after that question of yours, you were with me in our flat, in the bedroom, wearing only black panties and a matched bra. Twenty-one minutes after that question of yours, which means now, I’ve just finished tying you up. Now the fun can begin. “Are you still here, Joe?” You sound nervous, of course you are.

You can’t see and you can’t move, nor you can’t touch anything, because your hands are tied. You can just hear, smell, taste and mostly feel.

“Couldn’t be any closer than this.” I smirk, blowing softly on your bare abdomen.

I stare proudly at the goosebumps I gave you. “Then do something…” You urge me. So, I rub my face against yours and you sniff my after-shave lotion, finding it comforting.

“We’re not going anywhere until you don’t have a safeword to use.”

“Can’t I just say ‘stop’?” You counter. “In the book you were reading do the characters do stuff without a safeword?” “Fine!” You give in, snorting. How adorable. “By the way, which book were you reading before? Please don’t tell me it’s one of that ‘Fifty Shades of ’ shit…” “Eeewww! No! How dare you!” You protest, insulted. “Also because I don’t think you could bring such a sorry excuse for a book in my store without it going on fire the moment you cross the threshold!” I make you laugh.

“I don’t want any stupid Mr. Grey. I want you, Mr. Goldberg!” Oh, Bronte, this is music to my ears. “So, which book was it?” I insist, tracing your collarbone with my finger. “You’ll have to torture me to find out!” You tease me. “Oh, well, this is exactly my plan.” I sneer; not that you can see that, but you can easily imagine it. “Okay, let’s do this thing. If I want things to stop I’ll say… Prince Charming!” You make me laugh, even more because I know you mean it for real. And then our game starts, I grab your ankle and you startle, waiting for more.

I place light kisses all over it, going up this way to your knee. I mirror my actions to your other leg, then I part your thighs. I bend my head in their middle and you’re shivering under my hands. I know, Brontë. Anticipation is the sweetest kind of torture. That’s why I just confine myself to smelling your already aroused aroma, going up to kiss your navel, softly nibbling at your belly. “Harder…Please, bite me harder, leave marks…” You beg me, biting your lips. You’re such a vision, but I don’t want to end our game, I want to make it more interesting. “Did I ever tell you you were allowed to speak?” I try to sound as cold as possible and very authoritarian. You gasp and keep silent. Good girl.

“I decide what I want to do with you, you don’t get to ask me anything. Did you understand?” If I keep sounding harsh, it’s because we both know you can use the safeword whenever you please. We both have control. You rush to nod, still silent. We’re still inside our game. My hands grab your boobs, still trapped in the bra, lightly squeeze them, groping them. Another jolt from you. I grab your ribs firmly, scratching the skin a little, as I suck on your neck, at the juncture with your left shoulder, harder and harder. You wanted me to leave marks, didn’t you? You moan in ecstasy, as I move lower, in order to leave you another hickey, this time on your right thigh. Your moans increase and this is just so delightful. “Tell me what book it was.” I go back to my goal. “Pleeease…” You dare to ignore my question, raising your hips to push against my mouth.

“Tell me, if you want me to eat you up.” I insist, before licking your inner thigh.  

“ ‘Exit to Eden’, by Anne Rice!” You give in. I knew you had good taste, so I reward you, tasting you. And you enjoy every second of it, until you climax. I can’t wait any longer. I need more contact, skin against skin, so I straddle you, my hands still playing with your breasts, as I kiss you, slowly at first, then more passionately, fully welcomed by you.

I part from you, just for the time I need to get rid of my boxers, the only thing I still wore. I place my hand on your hips, as I lower your panties with my teeth. You’re trembling with desire, as I am.

“Bronte, tell me you like the things I do to you.”

“I do.” You groan. “Tell me you want me inside you.” I say, my throbbing full hard cock just a few inches from your hot, wet cunt. “I crave you inside me.” You urge me, tugging at the straps. Here I am, slowly entering you, inch after inch, treasuring this moment. “Tell me you belong to me, Bronte.” I order you as you move your hips in perfect synchrony with mine, panting harder and harder. “I belong to you, Joe, with every fiber of my being and soul. I love you!” // I startle awake, with the clear necessity of going to the bathroom. In the process to do so, in the gloom of the moonlight I can catch a glimpse of Kate, on the other side, wearing her fucking sleep mask. The ultimate detachment.

Back in London, I loved to wake up first and watch her sleeping; instead… look at  me and her now. It was just a dream, but it was so vivid that now I need to give myself some relief. Once I’m done, I clean myself and leave the bathroom. Since sleeping is not an option anymore, maybe I could go to Mooney’s and write this dream down. Also because Mooney’s is so close to where you are sleeping now. You don’t strike me for someone who wears a fucking sleep mask. You don’t wear any mask, at all. As I’m about to go downstairs, as silent as a cat, I glance at Henry’s bedroom. I walk closer to his bed, caressing his curly hair in such a delicate way I know he won’t wake up. I love my son so much. As I reach the car, I already picture myself when, one day, I’m going to talk about you to Henry, not only as the funny and pleasant shopgirl he met that day he was kicked off from school. I’m gonna tell him: “Daddy fell in love with her, because she never came back twice in the same dream.” And this is so true. With Beck, Love and all the others, it always felt like the same old stuff, they didn't tease my imagination so much as you do. I lost count of all the dreams you’ve visited me in, always so different and not necessarily just when I sleep. Oh, Bronte, if I told you about the biggest, kinkiest and most satisfying fantasy I have over you, over us, I’d scare you so much you would run away from me.

My most forbidden dream is to kill someone for you, in order to protect you, with you understanding this, even accepting this. Accepting all of me. The only thought makes me feel so dizzy that it’s a good thing I’m already parking outside the Mooney’s. And who knows, maybe not only to Henry, one fine day we’ll tell the story of how we met and fell in love to our kids, too, Bronte. Wouldn’t you like that?

I’d really want another baby, with you, this time. Actually I want everything with you. For now, I shall content myself with just… spending another day with you, in the bookstore. Morning, please, hurry up to come!

THE END

Notes:

I hope you'll like it and the characters sound IC, 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]

You knew before I did

Written for the Love is Love: Prompt Challenge June 2025 on r/Fanfiction Prompts 12"They called me confused, but I’ve never been more certain than who I am when I’m with you." 15"You knew before I did. That’s what scared me the most." Setting: episode 5x8 Pairing: Joe/Bronte Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol Also, there are at least ⅓ of all the original dialogues from episode 5x8. Please, be kind, English is not my native language (actually I would need some beta reader’s help), sorry for possible mistakes.

All I wished to see in the 5x8 episode ‘Follie au doix’. Rewritten from Bronte’s POV with a ‘little’ (not so little) twist. Warning: This is dark. There's violence, too. Bronte may sound OOC but to me she doesn’t. She had a latent darkness in her in some moments of the show, so what would happen if she was more keen on that? Plus, those prompts fitted this story to a T.

You knew before I did

Bronte’s POV How does an average person's morning start? Usually waking up. Let’s say my morning started like this, more or less, despite the fact that I didn't sleep very well, there was something in my body aching. Even my awakening can’t fall into the ‘average’ category: I’ve found out I’m handcuffed. And nope, I don’t mean any of that kinky -yet, in an innocent way- sexy games I used to do with my former boyfriend. Well, not that he was my boyfriend for real back in those days, more like a secret lover, a married man, but on his way to get divorce, so I guess it’s almost the same, right? Right. Anyway, my wrist is fucking handcuffed to a bed for real and I try to yank at it, as I’m taking a look around, finally realizing where I am. I do know this place. It’s my former flat, the one said former boyfriend offered to me. Does it mean that… And then it’s you, here again. The man I’ve stalked for years, the man I catfished, seduced, falling in love with him in the process. The man I’ve set up, without really wanting to do that. The man I’ve really, really pissed off, so bad that I had to run away. The man I couldn’t stay away from for too long, no matter what, so I’ve tried to get in contact with. And it seems it worked. The question is.. what version of this man I’m facing now? “Joe, why the fuck am I chained to the bed?” Geez, I didn't mean to sound so harsh… given that I still don’t know your mood. “Oh, here, I’ll, I’ll help you.” You walk closer. “Your ankle was swollen. I thought it might be sprained. So I didn’t want you to walk on it.” You explain as you set me free.

I still don’t know why I’m here, what you’re planning to do with me. I’m scared as hell and I know you can feel that. It’s like you’re keeping your distance, studying me. I try to leave the bed, but as soon as my foot connects with the floor I see stars and I curse. You rush to bring me some ice. Still a gentleman, despite everything. We talk about the guy with the van and his ill intentions, but it’s clearly not the main topic you want to face with me, Joe. You explain to me why you were there, ready to save me. “I saw the threats you were getting online. Some asshоlе with more followers than sense put a hit out on you.” I gasp, sensing there’s more to come.

“It’s crazy how some people will just believe what strangers say about you on the internet. Isn’t it?” Ouch. I didn’t miss the dig, Joe. Your eyes are so accusing and your tone grew more bitter, but I deserve every bit of that. I nervously caress my hair, before speaking. “I guess we uhm… we should probably… talk about that.”  

You nod, pretending nonchalance at the same time. “Do you mean the catfish?” “Yes. Specifically about the catfish.” I fight to keep my tone hearable. Average couples have issues and they try to talk to each other to solve them. But maybe average people didn’t do something as horrible as what I did. Will you ever forgive me, Joe?

I just need to get it out of my chest.

I tell you about Beck and how I felt right after her death; I tell you how I ended up on reddit groups, cos it made me feel so alive having a purpose… right before figuring out how wrong it was.

“So, what happened between you and me…” You pause, but I already know what you’re about to ask. “Was that real?” And I know I must be utterly sincere with you. “Not at first. But it became real. Despite my best efforts to think of you as a monster, I just… I couldn’t.” I see relief in your eyes, but is there already room for forgiveness?

All I know is that a few minutes later we’re sitting at the table, eating the delicious breakfast you cooked. Just like average couples do. And we joke about the comments after your tiktok interview, and everything feels natural, serene and chill with us, like proper soulmates. But there it comes, a very tough request from you. You just asked me to confess something I would be embarrassed to say. Not typical of average breakfasts. What surprises me the most is that I don’t even have to think about the answer for long. “Let’s see. Um… Uh… I once crashed a stranger's funeral.” Take this, Joe, you didn’t expect it. “Okay. All right. Okay. For.. why?” You wonder, definitely puzzled. So cute. “Uh, I guess to… just to see if I’d cry. I didn’t cry at my mom’s.” You slightly nod, fully engrossed in listening to me. I need to tell you the truth, even at the risk of scaring you. “I guess actually the real confession is… I wanted my mom to die.” And that’s the worried -disgusted, maybe?- face of yours. Oh c’mon, I would understand. That’s something horrible, really horrible to say. And yet you’re still sitting, waiting for me to go on. “She was just… am. It was so dark. Seeing her like that for so long. I sometimes thought about just giving her some extra morphine, maybe she’d just fall asleep.” Huh? Still here? Not repulsed by me?

“In the end I didn’t have the guts, so… I wonder what was more cruel? Like, what I did for her… or what I didn’t do.” And then you reach for both of my hands, holding them tight, your eyes piercing mine. “One of the hardest situations anybody would ever have to face. There’s no… right answer.” Your soothing voice comforts me. However, Joe, this is an emotional game for two players. I wipe away tears and challenge you. “Okay. Your turn and, um… it better be good.” I see you’re pondering way too much, what is gnawing at you? “Say it. That confession that’s peeking behind your eyes. Just say it.” I urge you.

“I wanted to kill Clayton.” You admit, without even glancing away from me. I gasp and slightly startle, but I keep listening to your words. “I saw his hands on you and I knew right then that I would kill him. And I would do whatever I had to to protect you.” There’s so much devotion in your eyes, there’s so much sweetness in your voice, in stark contrast with the awfulness of the content of your speech, that I feel I’m melting. You almost chuckle, before going on. “And I looked at you. And I think part of you wanted me to.” Oh, God. Fuck. With all the things that happened in such a rush, I’ve never stopped, not even for a single second, and thought about how right you are. It really felt like you asked me permission and I allowed you with an unconscious, or, worse, a fully conscious nod. And when I saw you smashing his head against the marble of the fireplace, after the initial horror, God may forgive me, but I felt relief. Freedom. Even thankfulness.

“What do you think about that?” You bring me back to the present.

I chuckle nervously, tears in my eyes. “That scares me. But I… I find it comforting.”

You smile so sweetly at me. Your hands are still holding mine. “So you don’t want to leave?” “I’ve been asking myself why I haven’t just gone back to Ohio. It’s. It’s you.” I can’t help chuckling, for how it feels so easy to confess. “I don’t want to run. I want to be here with you.” You leave my hands, but only to get up and run to me.

I’m so eagerly waiting for the make-up kiss that follows. I’m so happy I wish this kiss could never end. It’s you and me once more. This means our blockhouse has not crumbled down, maybe it just lost some irrelevant bricks, but it withstood the storm. Caressing your face, feeling your breath so close to mine, I feel home again. And then you part and look at me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. This would make it hard for me to walk, not only for the aching ankle. “I have something for you.” You smile.  

That’s it. In average relationships it’s not unusual that one of the partners makes a present to the beloved one, to make them feel special. And that’s what you, my boyfriend, did, as you’re taking me down to the basement, holding me and covering my eyes as you walk me to a chair you  put in the middle of the room. And finally you allow me to see the surprise. Fuck. Okay, not so average detail: it’s not something you can wrap. My fucking boyfriend just gifted me with a fucking hostage. Probably you’re studying my reaction, but I’m too focused on the guy who’s lying unconscious in the cage to notice. I know this guy. Flashbacks of our troubled meeting recur.

You explain to me what that guy was supposed to do, then you kneel before me. “Bronte. I don’t want to hide who I am anymore. So think of this as a kind of offering. A life with me means no one would ever hurt you again.” As it wasn't scary enough already, you point at a sort of table where there are a knife, a syringe, some tapes and a hammer. “Whatever you want me to do to him, I’ll do it. Let him out. Never let him out.” Fuck. This makes me wonder… are you accustomed to these… sort of things?

How many times have you done something like this before?

How much of you do I still have to discover? And yet I don’t want to run away from you. “The choice is yours.” You smirk at me. I stare shocked at the cage. “Joe, this… This is crazy.” I try to reason with you. “You really trust me? How do you know I won’t call the cops?”

“Honestly, I don’t. You fooled me before, you could do it again. But… I think I have figured out who you are.”

I’m so curious now. “Have you?” “Well, you write about taking down abusers. You catfished someone you thought could be a serial killer, to avenge a friend.” I’m overwhelmed by your words and how true they are. “You didn’t create Bronte just for me. I think you decided who you want to be. Then you dared the world to see you. I saw you.”

And right after giving me the most motivational speech of my life… first you part to answer the phone, then you leave me alone with this guy!?

Seriously?

You search for something in your pockets and there you go, you even give me the key, just in case, putting it on the table. You put your hands over my shoulders, probably to decrease the pressure I feel all over me. “If you want to wash your hands of all this, go back to Ohio, be Louise, I will understand. But in my experience, finding who you are starts… with taking your power back.” You say, kissing my knuckles.  

You’re really giving me a choice. And since you’re gone, I guess I’ll try to follow your advice. When this Dane guy regains consciousness, I really try to establish a dialogue with him, but he’s really making it hard. He just keeps saying - should I say ‘growling’?- he wants to talk with you, instead of talking with me, diminishing my role as a female. Fucking misogynist! I try to investigate what he was planning to do with me, with the zip ties; but all I got is him screaming at me to let him out and insulting me, very aggressively. Laboriously, I get up and walk over to him, knocking at the glass with my index, with fake innocence, and then I figure it out: he’s afraid of me. He finally understood his fate is in my hands and he’s terrified. It’s like I am having a sort of influence on him. Is this the power you talked about before, Joe?

May I be damned, but I’m liking it. “Interesting.” I whisper, as calm as Dane is pissed off and this is probably driving him mad.

After a while Dane seems to calm down and we start talking for real, finding out we even have something in common. We both were caretakers. Well, he still is. The discussion is so emotional he bursts into tears and I explain to him it’s the effect of the cage. All over the time, I know you’re watching me, because I see the red light of the camera. I’m utterly aware you’re putting me to a test, Joe. And I won’t let you down. As I medicate my still swollen ankle I even reveal to Dane that he hasn’t anything to do with the whole situation. He even apologizes to me, saying I’m not so bad. He really seems to have learnt from his mistakes, from this not average experience, when he says something that really triggers me.

“I’m gonna be more careful next time.” “Next time?” I repeat, anger clear in my tone. “I just mean I’m only going to go after females that really deserve it.” Fucking misogynist, this experience taught you nothing! I try to retort, saying no one deserves it, ever, but he just goes back insulting me. The hell with apologizing to me! “God. Joe was right. You are a waste of time. God damn it.” And he sounds even amused. I swear I can’t stand this guy a minute more! “My friend, Beck, was murdered by an angry, fragile, little sheet heel, just like you!” I hiss. “Well… I hope she died screaming!” Dane has the guts to say, staring at me with a fucking satisfied smirk. My eyes are wide open in shock, I’m breathing faster than I should and all I see is red. “Okay, Dane, you probably know better than me that it’s useless to keep you here. You’re just an annoying asshole who’ll never learn.” He immediately changes his mood. “Wait. Are you really gonna let me go?” He tentatively asks, and there’s hope in his eyes. “Not so fast. First I have to be sure Joe can keep an eye on you and that you won’t leave town. So your documents will stay here for a while. And I’ll also need some passwords." I bargain with him. “Fine, bitch!” He grunts, taking the documents. As he’s busy doing that, I limp towards the table, taking the key and something else I hide under the sleeve of my cardigan. I open the cage and Dane stares at me with diffidence before, then he softens again. “Well, thank you. Hope to never see you again.” Oh, Dane, don’t be so sure. I’m afraid you’re still gonna be our not so welcome guest for a while. Just when he’s about to go upstairs I take the knife I was hiding and stab him in the hip, meaning it. The blade slides through the skin as it was made of butter, before I draw the knife back. Dane’s grey T-shirt starts getting stained as he falls on the ground, cursing, screaming, glaring at me and grabbing his hip in pain, before passing out in a puddle of blood that gets larger and larger. Oh, God, what have I just done?

I yelp, throwing the bleeding knife on the floor, staring scared at the scene, trying to calm down. It’s just that my impulse took over. Is this what you felt, Joe, before killing Clayton? Did you feel like this more than once? But I should focus on me, right now, not on you. I’ve just hurt a man. Okay, an evil asshole who deserves even worse, but that’s not the point. I‘ve fucking hurt someone. Why am I not even feeling guilty? All of a sudden, I recall what you told me at the Sandbox. You hold all the power. 

I think you're scared of how powerful you could become. Of who we could be together.

Is this what you meant?  About who we could be together? The things we could do? Track down the wicked people and teach them good lessons? Why, instead of revolting, do I find all this… so appealing? Everyone has a dark side. It’s all a matter of how deeply people are going to embrace it. And I guess I’ve just found it out. And you knew before I did. That’s what scares me the most. The truth is that I’m not just feeling scared. A part of me is thrilled. The same part of me who wanted to kill my mom. The same part of me who wanted you to kill Clayton. The same part of me who sent you that text message during your tiktok interview. I thank that part of me. Fuck my former friends when they kept saying it was too much form me, that I should go back to Ohio, getting my head on straight and be Louise again. They called me confused, but I’ve never been more certain than who I am when I’m with you. I’m Bronte. Your soulmate. We’re not average, Joe. We’re something special. Can’t wait for you to go back to me. There’s a reason why I didn’t stab Dane in the cage. You would have seen that from the camera. Instead this way you’ll think I let the guy go.

What, do you think you’re the only one who can make surprises? I’d better limp back to the chair, before you think I left as well. Can’t wait to see the face you’ll make when you see his bleeding, passed out figure. I’ve been a sort of nurse enough to claim the bastard is not risking death with that wound. Also because I’m going to let you finish the job… and I’ll enjoy every single moment of that.

Hurry up, Joe.

Notes:

I still don't know if it's enough like this or if I should put Joe's reaction in next chapter... I don't even know if someone is gonna like this wicked twist , so probably I'll keep that chapter to myself ^^'

[lulupen2023]

In the box (4/6)

Summary:

It's the alley scene, through Bronte's POV

Notes:

All the speeches are taken from 5x4 ‘My fair Maddie’ episode, and since I LOOOOOVE that scene it wasn’t a problem at all to rewatch it over and over again

 

At the end of that nameless street

I’m walking through the smoke coming from the storm drains, a typical New York night. I just wish I could disappear in this misty smoke, not to be found anymore, by anyone, especially you. I didn’t want my friends to come, I didn't want him to come. I had clearly told them not to, that I had changed my mind, that we could have set up that show any other night; but he didn’t listen to me and he ruined such a perfect evening. I had worked so much for that. This night was meant to honour your bookstore, to bring it back to full life. This night was for you, Joe, to thank you for all the things you did to me: first the job, then then flat, now even your precious opinion about the pages I wrote. About the pages you wrote, instead… I still feel dizzy thinking about it. Oh, Joe, as you would say, we’re a far cry from a simple crush, trope: Boss/Employee. This is not something you just write to impress someone. This is reading inside my soul. Deeply. I feel so exposed when I’m with you. And I’m afraid I’m not afraid of that anymore. But I’m afraid to face you, because I know you’re coming to me, you must have followed me from the bookstore. At the end of this nameless street I’m waiting for you, embracing myself, my arm still aching for that violent grip. Stupid Clayton. He wasn’t supposed to be this violent when we rehearsed that scene. I’m sure you’ve read in my eyes how scared I was by the situation. Feeling like you had to do something about it. And here you come. “Hey. You okay?” You’re always so caring. And I don’t deserve it. “Yeah. I said I was.” I don’t even look at you, trying to sound as cold as possible. But it’s such a challenge with all your warmness surrounding me, even from afar. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered. I certainly shouldn’t have put my hands on him. I really didn’t mean to scare you.” You murmur, as you walk closer. Oh Joe, you don’t scare me. I’m scared of myself, of the way I act around you. It was meant to be just a charade, I was meant to only play my role, without any real feeling, but now I’m afraid I’ve crossed that edge since longer than I think. “No you didn’t scare me, Joe.” I counter, feeling the need to move away from you. I even turn my back, but when you resume talking it’s impossible not to look at you again. Your sweet, endless eyes. Your lower lip, that is about to pout. “All right. But I can see that you’re upset, so I’m sorry.”

And then you start to approach me again and it’s getting harder to resist you. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to protect you. I just couldn’t…” That’s it, I have to face you, right here, right now. “No, you’re right. It’s not your place, Joe. I am not yours to protect.” No matter how … reassuring it is. I keep having flashbacks of you pushing Clayton against the shelf so hard, after he disrespected me for the umpteenth time. You really are a Prince Charming, Joe, but I can’t be your Princess. “I know.” You almost sigh. “No, listen. You don’t get to do romantic things like that when you have a wife and a child.” You’re looking so guilty now, but I’m not done yet. “I found the pages in your drawer.” You startle with realization… is it also a glimpse of amusement and self complacent I see? “Yeah, you also don’t get to write the most sensual, tender, complex, beautiful things that someone could ever want to read about themselves.” Wait a minute, why am I the one walking closer to you now?

“Those were the easiest pages I’ve ever written.” You almost whisper; your eyes, so big and so close to get teary, staring at me with so much sincerity and desperation. I feel devoured.

But I can’t give in. So I step back again. “God, you have no idea how confusing this is. I’m not supposed to feel this way about you!” And here I am, saying nothing but the truth. “I’m not supposed to feel this way about you, but I do.” You echo me. And then there’s that moment that feels like an eternity, when we deeply stare at each other and anything could happen. But I have to stop you, before it’s too late. “It doesn’t matter. You’re married.” I make you notice and you lower your gaze, upset. “And this.. this can never be anything. So… it doesn’t matter what we feel.” I try to reason with you, my voice trembling. I just have to go, before you see me crying my heart out. “Bronte, please, wait. Please, wait!” I feel like Ulysses and you’re one of the oh so charming Mermaids, trying to hypnotize me with your chant. I have to be strong.

It would be so easy to run back to you, throwing myself into your arms, without giving a damn about anything and anyone. But it wouldn’t be me. I’m not a home wrecker! If only you told me your marriage is not as solid as I suppose, if only you told me I can be the whole story, not only a trope. That’s why I have to keep ignoring you and walking as far as I can, with my tears making the path so blurry. At the end of that nameless street, for a moment, just and only for a moment, I wished you would kiss me, just like Maximus with his Calliope, even if you weren’t brushing a lock of my hair and I wasn’t biting my lips. I wouldn’t have even minded being smashed against the wall, already bruised arm or not. I wouldn’t have minded you undoing your trousers, rolling up my dress, in order to spread my legs and possessing me in that alley; both trying to muffle each other’s moans, not to be discovered, not to be found out by anyone. You would have let me out of the box, but I’m glad it didn’t happen, because things would get so much worse. If only everything could be easier. If only I was someone else. If only I had bumped into you by chance… and not for a purpose. A purpose I believe in less and less, every single day more I spend around you. At the end of that nameless street, I was contemplating telling you the truth, about me, about why I am here, about the plan I myself suggested to my friends.

Fuck the plan. Fuck my friends. Fuck me. And yet I know what I’m supposed to do, what my friends expect from me. Tomorrow I’ll let you catch me in time to see I’m packing my stuff. I’ll bring you to the point of no return, letting your walls crumble; making our love story start. Which means that you’ll be only a step closer to falling into the ultimate trap. Although the Huntress doesn’t want to hurt the Magician anymore.

She just wants to be loved for what she is, not for what she’s pretending to be. If only there was a giant pencil eraser to erase these real life chapters and start it all over with a brand new story; trope: you and me against the world.

I sit on a sidewalk, unseen by anyone and I allow myself to cry desperately. I have to go back to my friends and they can’t see me like this.

I need to calm down, wash my face and pretend with them that everything is still fine. But the truth is that I’ve never felt so confused in all my life about the right thing to do. At the end of that nameless street, tonight, I think I lost myself.

THE END

Notes:

Hope you liked it.

[lulupen2023]

Ezra and Ella (5/?)

Sorry for the late, but writing this chapter wasn’t easy at all. Not after on ao3 all I got for the previous chapter was just a very, VERY disheartening bot hate comment. So I was torn between just keeping this to myself and never update anymore and going on. I chose the second thing, just because I think that if there’s someone who loves this ship even half the way I do, maybe they would be happy to find something about this pairing, as I would be. By the way, thank youuuuu so much for the hearts and the comment on previous chapter, they mean a lot to me. Keep them coming, please, if you keep linking this story *O* And there could be even something new, coming sooner or later. So, bear with me, or just skip this fic if it’s not your cup of tea ;P Also sorry for the loooooong chapter

Summary:

Bronte's plan is fully revealed (in case you havent' figured out yet)

Chapter V: Still not ready

Joe’s POV

I’m going to push my luck.

I lean over you, ready to kiss you another, long, remarkable time, but all my lips meet is your hand, pushing me away, although gently.

“Nope, Joe, please.” You murmur, so soft I almost have some difficulty hearing you. “First it was just an exception; a beautiful, remarkable exception.” You smile at me, your voice gains more volume and, wait, did you just use my very same word, among tons of millions other ones?

We really are soulmates!

“But if we did it again now, I guess it would be a mistake. We can’t break the building trust rule again.” You explain, backing off for good measures. “Sexy physical contact between us should be not a starting point, but a reward.” “I promise I’m going to really work hard to reach such a reward.” I caress you, only with my gaze. “I know and I’ll do the same.” You nod. “For now, I suggest you take a shower, possibly cold, to fight some instincts!”

“Care to join me in the shower?” I smirk and raise my eyebrow in the sexiest way possible.

“What part of ‘not a starting point’ wasn’t clear?” You’re practically pushing me towards the bathroom in the least sexy way possible.

“You’ll thank me when you find some new clothes in the closet ,” you inform me. “You’re so skinny that it’s very easy to figure out your size.” “Let’s just say that prison didn’t help me to increase my muscle mass,” I babble, feeling  uncomfortable.

“I’m not saying this is a bad thing!” You wink at me, before walking away.

You’re back to your flirty mood and this gives me new hope. I take off this red jumpsuit that I hate and probably I’ll burn it later and enter the large shower, so comfy.

I turn on both the faucets until I get the perfect balance between hot and cold. The hell with the fast, icy showers I got in prison, this is life! I let the pleasant water wash away not only the dirt of the day, but also the loneliness, the apathy and the negative vibes of all these months. I’m a new man, I’ve been given a second chance and I feel changed. This new man is going to win you back, Bronte, but in an honest way. No cheating, no gaslighting, no manipulation, no threats. I don’t care if it happens in two days or in two years, I’m going to take all the time we need to make things right. To make each other happy. To live the life we deserve. Well, not that a wanted escapee who must hide from the whole world has much to offer to you, but still… As an improved, better version of me, I won’t fall back into old habits. I’m not gonna wank, thinking about you reaching me here, all naked and ready for me. I’m not gonna think about you bending down, parting your soft, warm lips and… Okay, I’m going to, but for a shorter time than usual. Like a proper improved man. Once I’m done and satisfied, I wash myself again, then I dry, ready to get dressed. I stare at the mirror wearing blue jeans and a black shirt and I do like what I see. What I like much less is when I catch a glimpse of you glancing at your mobile, hidden from me, or at least thinking you’re hiding. This brings me back to the times I was with Candace, our first fights; and then Beck, when she invented her Fox female friend, that fucking, shameless liar! That awful sensation when someone is keeping something from me, the oh so furtive acting, the lies, the cheating.

So… history repeating itself.

Maybe it’s that Paul -without-a-fucking-surname guy, maybe you changed your mind about him, or he wrote to you again and you… “Hey!” You tear me away from my paranoia, shaking my shoulder. “Are you already back to your old bad habits, when you go to Silentland and your mind floods you with all the bad pondering?”

It’s like you can read inside me, Bronte.

“I don’t wear a watch, in case you didn’t notice, and there is none hanging on the wall either. Believe me or not, but I was just checking what time it is.” You explain to me and you sound so sincere I just have to hate myself just for what i thought. “And why are you so worried about what time it is?” I can’t help inquiring.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, but since you have been in that shower for a lifetime, maybe now it’s time, let’s see…” You turn the TV on, gesturing to me to sit on the sofa, near you. “Hey! It’s not true I’ve spent a lifetime there; you have no idea how unpleasant showers in jail were and…” “I understand, don’t worry. And it’s nice to see you in a no-more-detainee outfit.” You smirk. Are you flirting again? Did you just pay me a compliment?

“Thank you. And, no matter what you wear, Bronte, you’re always beau…”

“Hush, maybe there’s already something!” You hiss, tuning on the news channel. “Oh, so are we gonna watch the news about my prison break? Cool.” I smile, eager to see. // “There’s an update about the breaking news of the serial killer Joe Goldberg, which happened this morning, thanks to a fake application for transfer…”// I cringe, hearing that ‘serial killer’ associated with my name. I'm still not used to being called that, although I can’t deny it’s what I am. More than twenty people killed on my list should be a good reason to define me like that.

“You surely don’t want to miss this!” You grin, turning the volume up, as the journalist goes on speaking. //”As soon as the ADX Florence, aka the new Correctional Facility where Goldberg was supposed to be headed to, gave the alarm, revealing it wasn’t true, the police took action. This made a real manhunt start, the fake prisoner transporter vehicle has been chased by several police squads, on land and by air. It was a helicopter that tracked down the indicted vehicle.”// “You’ve turned it into a real crime movie!” I chuckle, amused.

“Don’t miss the best part!” You wink at me and I pay attention to the news again. //”Latest news confirms that the escape ended in tragedy.” // Wait. What?! //”After  that wild chase by the police, the fake prisoner transport vehicle lost control and crashed into the guardrail and beyond, close to the 72th Bridge at Jersey Shore Route. The vehicle crashed into the sea and now it’s nowhere to be seen. Only the driver survived, jumping off the vehicle before it was too late and running away from the police, he’s nowhere to be found. However, there’s not the slightest possibility Goldberg and his complicits, the fake guards, survived that harsh impact.” // So, now am I dead to the whole world? Again? “You.” I turn to you, utter thankfulness in my eyes, while your blue oceans are sparkling with pride. “Brilliant genius!” I would like to hug and kiss you, and mostly make love to you but you made the rules. “I know, I know. Not to mention that there was a reason if I chose that exact point for the crash. It’s just a few miles from the Bermuda Triangle. No one will ever find that vehicle and who’s supposed to be inside.” You grin. “And look, they also have some images, probably the helicopter shot the scene.”

We stare together at the screen where we can clearly see the fake prisoner transporter vehicle dive into the Atlantic Ocean, right before the driver jumps out of it in a very athletic way. “He’s a professional stuntman.” You explain to me, anticipating my question. “Another of the guys I had to … motivate.” And saying that you make the gesture of money. You are amazing. And here we go with my second fake death. No need to say this one is a lot less painful. No chopped parts of my body, no creepy toe pies to bake, no goodbye-world letters to write. You’re still not ready to hear the real ending of my story with Love, in Madre Linda. Well, you already know what I did to Beck and yet you wanted me back in your life. Probably one day you’ll be ready for this truth, and for many others, as well.

Bronte’s POV

If only you could have seen your own face the moment you saw the news on the screen! You look so amazed, happy and relieved. And thanks to me… basically the main cause of your imprisonment. I’ve rescued someone who probably took more lives than acknowledged.

You have even admitted it, before, during the game, that you had every intention to kill me. If I was in my right mind, I’d run away and hide from you forever. Nope, in the first place, I would have left you rotting in jail. But the truth is that I’m not in my right mind anymore. I lost it that night in the cage with you. I thought I had got my rationality back after meeting Marianne, but it was only temporary. I was so afraid of you, Joe, you had scared the hell out of me. The memories of you, running from the woods haunted my nightmares. Then, bit by bit, the nightmares turned into something more like a dream. I sort of craved the moment you would haunt my dreams. And one unexpected night I’ve dreamed of that: you still ran towards me, but you were not angry anymore, you just wanted to save me, save me from my dull life with Paul. And you killed him. In front of me, with an evil sneer. And I thanked you for that. With a big smile, before walking towards you, I hugged and  kissed you and you laid me down on the wet grass, you slowly crawled over me, you stripped me down and... And then I woke up with a startle. Relieved, of course, because sleeping Paul was still alive, beside me, but I was creeped out by what my mind had just devised. It was sending me a clear message: there was something unresolved between us. That’s when I decided I had to do something about it. And now that you’re with me again, how far am I willing to go for you? Maybe one day I will tell you about this dream, but not now, I’m still not ready and I don’t want to galvanize you way too much. Especially after more than a year of abstinence from killing.

I jump off my train of thought just in time for the news to be done - lucky for me, they shot the downfall of the vehicle from every perspective and you didn’t miss any of them - and I can anticipate your question about the driver. “So, today it’s 8th June, we’ll have to remember this day.” I state. “Freedom Day?” You dare to guess. “More like happy Deathday!” “Oh no, please, don’t wish me happy Deathday next year, it sounds super cringy!” You laugh. “Okay,  tell me when it’s your birthday, then; so I’ll have something worthy to keep in mind.” “My birthday falls on the first of November.” You reveal. “So, you were born right after the scariest day of the year. Well, it fits you to a T.” I make little fun of you, only because I know you’re in the right mood.

“Did you prefer 31st October, just like Voldemort? That’ll be a little too clichè.” You laugh. “Well, you did cast more than one Avada Kedavra!” I make you laugh even more. “But let’s get to you, Muggle,” “Muggle!?” I echo you, disappointment evident in my tone. “Just kidding, my dear Ravenclaw.” Oh. “How did you know it’s my House?” You smirk enigmatically. “Who knows? Maybe I used Legilimens!” You click your tongue. “No, ok, pure intuition. So, when is it your birthday?” I can’t resist challenging you. “Find out on your own, your Slytherin stalker!” You laugh again and I have flashbacks of us, sharing a bed, while I read your stuff and teased you about tropes.

Then you pretended to sound insulted, right before starting a tickle fight… that brought us to make sweet, sweet love. I’m sure those times will be back, Joe. We are still not ready now, but we will be. “Oh, c’mon, not even a little cue?” You insist.  

“Let’s say that my sign stings just like yours, my dear Scorpio!” “Ooohh, you’re a Cancer!” You grin, happy for the discovery. “Okay, Summer girl, it means that I’ll wish you happy birthday from the very first day of your sign to the last one, I’m going to pick up the right one for sure.” Aww, sweet. “Oooh, I like this. And, tell me, can I also get a gift for every day you think it could be my birthday?” I tease you. “Not that right now I’m capable of going out and buying nice things for you, but you’d deserve a gift for every day of your life.” The way you look at me. Again. The things you’re capable of saying. And meaning them. Oh, Joe, you have no idea how dangerous you are. And I should hate myself, because this is turning me on so bad. “Oh shut up, you, smooth talker. We’re not heading back to Breaking-Rules-Land.” “Why not? It does sound like such a mesmerizing place. We could buy a one-way-ticket and…” You strike back, caressing me with your oh so intense gaze. But I’m not falling for it, no matter how easy and pleasant it would be. “Trust is the only money you can pay that ticket with, Joe.” “Mutual trust.” You correct me, your tone is a bit colder now. “Yeah, right. Mutual trust.” I start to get a little nervous and I wonder if you noticed that. C’mon, you always notice every fucking thing. You keep silent and I can’t help wondering what you’re thinking.

You’re impredictable… and the way you’re staring at me… geez, should I get worried?

Of course I should. You’re a ticking time bomb on legs and timing bombs should be left isolated, so when they explode they can’t hurt anyone. What I did, being with you know, the way it makes me feel… fuck, this is so wrong, then why does it feel so right?

“Bronte,” finally you speak again and what I feel is very close to relief. “Yeah?” “Do you… do you think  we would break the rules if… if I gave you a hug? Jus… just  to thank you, for all the things you did for me.” I just look at you, a bit puzzled. After all, you rarely stutter. “Believe me, it’s not that kind of sexy physical contact I’m aiming to,” you add with that crooked smile of yours that drives me crazy. “I just feel the urge to convey all my gratitude for your help. For giving me back freedom. For filling me with hope. For the second chance you wanna give me. For still believing in me.” Words. They are your real weapons. I agree with your request with a nod and a second later I’m in your arms. Your warmth, the tender way you’re holding me, the coziness of your chest, where my head used to rest so many times, as I’m doing now.

And, dammit,  it feels so right.

“Happy Birthday.” “Huh?” I raise my gaze, questioning you. “Well, it could be today, you know.” “Well, it’s not. Anyway, is the hug supposed to be the gift?” You chuckle. “Well, you know better than me that actually I’m not the richest guy in the world, but, nope. This is just something I needed to do.” “Well, I wouldn’t mind it as a gift, in case.” I confess, holding you tighter and losing track of time. “Thank you.” You murmur as we part, showing me the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen and I don’t even know if you’re thanking me for the things I did or for what I've just said or  for letting you hug me. “Is it tomorrow?” “What?” “Your birthday. Oh no, don’t tell me it was before today and I missed it.” Geez, Joe. You are really into obsession. “I swear that if I hear you saying that damn B word just once more,  I’ll make you swallow a padlock … and we have many of them around here!” You challenge me with your look. “Well, it sounds like a pretty lame threat to me. I’m rather accustomed to having steel inside my fucking body!” You retort, rolling up your sleeve , in order to show me the scars on your left arm. Sometimes I forget how crazy you can be. Are things gonna be always like this between us? An emotional roller coaster? I mean just a few minutes ago we were trapped into a sort of sloppy movie and now you feel the need to remind me of your very wild temper, like a tawdry psycho-thriller movie?

Well, I’ve said I don’t want a boring life, so count me in!

“Okay, I’m gonna tell you the date: 21th June, happy, now?” I find a way to calm you down. “Very happy. You share the day with Henry Taylor.” You grin. “Okay, it’s well known that you have an immense knowledge about books and authors, but… are you saying that you even remember their date of birth?! This is creepy.” I frown at you. “Well, it’s not, if you compare me to a teenager who knows everything about their favourite popstars! Let’s just say that they’re my One Direction, Justin Bieber, Hilary Duff and so on.” How can it be that you always find a way to make me smile? “Besides, it’s not that I know the date of birth of every author, just the meaningful ones. ‘The flying charge’. Remarkable. A bit disturbing, but beautiful.” You prove to me that you know the author for real. “Okay, it’s less creepy this way.” I agree. “Huh, I almost forgot. Check the address book on your new mobile. I’ve put something in the ‘B’ section.” “B as ‘Bronte’. Your phone number, I guess.” Wrong answer. “More like B as ‘Brother’. Someone you haven’t spoken with for more than one year.” “Oooh.” You smile, softened. “But maybe now it’s not the proper time to call him, it must be almost 4:00 a.m. in Manila!” But you’re already dialing the number. “Oh, trust me, it’s exactly the most suitable hour.”

Joe’s POV  

Will picks the call up right after the third ring. “I would answer this call at any time of the day or night. Hello, friend!” He anticipates me, and I haven’t even said a word yet. “I had already given him your new number and let’s just say he was a tad eager to hear from you.” You explain, as I turn the speaker on. “Bronte told me about all the things you did for me. You two are the only reason why I am here now, feeling again like a normal person. And I’m speechless. Thank you.” I feel your reassuring hand on my shoulder and I appreciate it a lot. It makes me feel understood, welcomed. I would dare to say ‘loved’ , but we’re still not ready to acknowledge that. “I guess you’ve been punished long enough, brother. You deserve a fresh start. Glad I’ve helped.” states Will. “Bad stuff happened and forced you to do evil things, but you’re not a bad man, Joe.”

Am I not?

“How can you say that?” “I knew the moment you opened my cage.” But there are many other cages I should have opened and I didn’t. Delilah, although I had every intention to do so. Marianne, although I wasn’t even in my right mind when I locked her inside it. “What does his cage mean? How the hell did you two meet?” You interrupt us. So, you still don’t know. “All of these weeks chatting together and you never faced that topic?” I wonder in disbelief. “I’d prefer you to tell her the story.” Answers Will.

“Did we really strike you as school buddies?” I glance at you. “With you it can never be the easy way, not even about friendship.” You roll your eyes. “Okay, I’ll give you the Reader’s digest version: stolen his identity in L.A., cos I needed it for a while. Locked him in the cage. Did a huge favor to him. Asked rather big favors to him. Set him free. And he didn’t abandon me after that.”

“I couldn’t have explained it better!” Will chuckles. “But let’s not talk about us, let’s talk about the brilliant things your girlfriend did for you.” “Well, actually, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. She is not my girlfriend yet.” I give him my confusing explanation. “Let’s say we’re more like two mates jumping on the Rebuild Mutual Trust train.” Is your more eloquent explanation. “Speakin of, I guess I’ll leave you guys on your own conversation.” I watch you walk towards the front door and go outside, probably to take a walk. “You were right, brother: she’ s the one. I’ve never seen someone so determined, well, after you.” Will makes me laugh. “I know. She sounded fucking determined even when she screw my life up!”

“Resentment is not healthy, Joe. I should ask Gigi if she can give you online yoga lessons, to help you expel all the negative vibes.” Will makes me laugh. “It was just a statement of the past. Trust me, I still love her. Even more than before, if it’s possible.” “And she still loves you. Look at all she went through for you.” “I still can’t believe this. And I wanna do things right this time.” “You will, my friend. You’re ready for a fresh new start. Literally. The passports should reach you in a few days. I just have to contact a trusted man.” “Oh. The passports? Do you still have them?” “Did you really think you would spend your life in that little house, trying to rebuild mutual trust?” Will strikes back. “Nope, I was sure I would spend my whole life rotting in jail. This is…as unexpected as beautiful. Thank you, my friend, for everything.” “Just take good care of you and her, Joe. And I’m always here for you, whatever you need.” “Actually, there’s something I need. And I promise I’m gonna send you the money as soon as I start earning some…”

“Don’t think about the money, just spit it out.” “Would you mind if with the passports you would also provide me something else? It will be Bronte’s birthday in a few weeks and I would like her to have a certain book.” “Consider it done. Just text me all the details. So glad we can still have these phone calls.”

“I’m glad, too. Bye, Will.” I hang up. Given that it’s the most deserted area ever, I reach you outside and I find you sitting on a tree stump. “It was nice to talk with Will again.” I say, sitting close to you who don’t move away. “Last time we did, things didn’t go exactly as I planned.” My voice sounds broken. I miss my son so much. “I know.” You murmur, as your hand gently pats my knee. “Do you remember when we dreamed about that castle in Ireland and you asked me if we could take Henry with us?” “Yeah?” No way you could suggest that we… “I’m sorry, Joe, it can’t happen. I really wish we could, but it’s too dangerous for you, who must remain dead for everyone, and too traumatic for him, he’s still not ready for such a thing, he’s so young and innocent.” “I just wonder how long he’ll stay innocent, in the clutches of that wicked witch!” I retort. “I know, Joe. I know. But I’m sure that deep inside Henry still keeps all the good memories he has of you, he knows you are a good father. But bad stuff brought you to do bad things. One day he'll understand this."

I let your comforting words rock me like a lullaby, as I lean my head on your shoulder and you start caressing my close-cropped hair.

"I love Henry so much. I always will! Not that in these months in jail I could see him, but at least he knew I was there. And now he must feel so abandoned! I just wish I could tell him that daddy is still here, that he's not alone..."

I'm crying now.

"You shouldn't rush things, not now, just let him mourn you. But also never say never. Maybe one fine day, when he's a little bit older, you'll show yourself to him, you'll have a chance to explain some things to him and he'll understand, he'll be happy and relieved to find out his father is still alive...."

"One day..." I repeat, closing my eyes.

The trees that surround us, the quiet, the sense of safety, the hope that maybe I haven't completely lost my son yet.

I'll just allow my eyes to rest a bit more…

Bronte’s POV  

I can’t believe you fell asleep, as I was trying to cheer you up. Actually, I can believe it very easily. It was such a full day for you, such a storm of different emotions. You must be exhausted.

As you rest, I take advantage to watch you. I’m already starting to like your shorter hair, although some changes will be needed. You have such a serene expression on your face, maybe for what I told you about Henry.

And it wasn’t bullshit, I really meant it. It would be wrong to shock such a still so young kid. But a teenager could face it better. Time to time. Since you mistook my shoulder for your personal pillow, it’s not that I can go anywhere else. I’ll let you sleep, but I’m not gonna follow your example. I’ll stand guard, because okay, this is one of the most isolated places, but you never can be too sure. By the time you wake up, it’s almost sunset. Slowly, you stir, open your eyes and realize what happened. “Oh no, sorry. I fell asleep, I didn’t mean to…” You part from me.

“Oh, c’mon, there’s no need to apologise, you deserved some rest.” I reply as we head back inside the house. “Now I guess I’ll have a shower, too. Do what you prefer, sleep a little more, watch TV, whatever… I’ll be back in a while.”

Just like you, I also need to wash off the tiredness - more mental for me - of the day. I can’t help recalling all the showers we had together, right after love, or before … sometimes we made love even in the shower. But now I’m still not ready for that kind of intimacy… and also to see that wounded part of yours! Maybe sex won’t ever be an option anymore… After all, that night, in the woods, the last time you put your hands on me, it was to kill me… and yet before, with the kiss and then the hug, I didn’t even stiffen… I guess it’s a good sign. Once I’m dry, I wrap myself in a comfy blue shirt, twice bigger than my size. Even before I reach the kitchen, a yummy smell welcomes me. You’re cooking. You made yourself at home, becoming familiar with the kitchen. I like that. Your back is turned, but as you hear me approaching, you turn. “Hello, you.” You smile at me, holding a wooden fork. “As you can see, I found something more productive than sleeping again. I wanted to do something nice for you and when I opened the fridge I got the answer.” “Ohhh, but you shouldn’t have, I could go buy some pizzas, or there was some Maccheroni and Cheese to put in the microwave, or…” “Naaaah, this night deserved a real dinner. And anyway, it’s just a small thing. Eggs and some vegetables, a recipe I’ve learned in London.” You explain, as you sautès the vegetables in the pan. “One day I’ll tell you about London. But not tonight.” “Why not?” I ask you, as you make me taste a diced potato with paprika and I moan in delight.  

“Because this evening is about happy stuff.” Oh, so London was bad? I don’t think so, you ended up being a billionaire there! “Can I help you with something?” I approach the induction cookers, but you gently push me away. “Ah-ah. Be my guest.” You invite me to sit at the table. “Well, I guess it’s way better than being your hostage!” Geez, sometimes I should bite my tongue.

You glare at me for a second, but you keep silent and resume cooking. It’s your way to let me know our armistice goes on.

I open the bottle of red wine and fill the glass for us both. I give you one glass and we have a toast.

“To second chances!” You chirp. “To start overs!” I add making our glass clash.

And once we eat the dinner you serve I remind myself once more the wonderful cook you are.

We talk a lot during the dinner, but not about the jail. You said this night is made for happy stuff. And yet out of the blue you lose your cheerful attitude, as there was some gnawing thought you need to get out. “C’mon, Joe. Feel free to tell me everything.” I urge you, my hand skimming yours. "I think I  know what freaked you out, when we were together.” You state, as you fidget with the now empty glass, without facing my gaze.

Waaah, This is such a tough topic for a night that was meant to be lighthearted. “Well, enlighten me.” Is my answer, as I fill it.

“Ezra shouldn’t have turned Ella.” Well, Joe. Bingo. Target hit and sunk. “Yeah, damn right. He should have asked her before. He had no right to make that decision for her.” “Probably he didn’t, because he was too afraid she would refuse and he didn’t want to lose her.” You counter, but at least this time you’re looking at me. ‘There was the risk. But maybe he wouldn’t lose her. They would have figured out together a way to make things work. Taking the risk, at least Ezra would have given Ella a voice and she would be forever grateful for that, no matter what.” I retort, staring at you.

“Is Ezra still in time to apologise to Ella and make things better?” You ask me, your eyes almost teary. I reach for your hand and hold it tight. “Well, I’m here Joe. Not going anywhere. You can rewrite the book.”

TBC

Notes:

About Joe’s birthday, there’s no mention of it in the series. I read somewhere it’s written in the books, but so far I’ve just started the second one and I haven't found it yet. And mostly , I prefer TV!Joe than book!Joe (although the books are amazing!) Plus, I’ve just borrowed the date just from the awesome Penn, because, c’mon Scorpio fits Joe to a T! Of course, Bronte’s birthday is totally made-up! It would be extra lovely to have your opinion about it, but I should stop being an optimistic, or maybe you didn’t even reach the end of this chapter, LOL If you follow that fic, too, next update will be ‘In the box’.

[lulupen2023]

In the box (3/6)

I apologize if someone was expecting an update of 'Ezra and Ella' , however, I'm working on that. Well, even about this fic, it's a lot disheartening to realize the only comments I got fro a03 are from an exchange reviews challenge... I really need the opinion from someone who's really in the fandom *sighs*, but probably this is the price I pay for loving so damn much a ship everyone hates :( Or maybe I'm a terrible writer, I don't know ^^' , but here' s another attempt, because I love those two way too much to stop, so I apologize for invading this fandom. Setting: a missing moment between end of episode 2 and the beginning of episode 3 Warning: explicit foreplay, smut, explicit language Summary: smutty muffins. Be warned!

And then that smell, as if it were yesterday

“Come in!” Your cheerful voice welcomes me behind the still closed door. “As long as you keep your eyes closed.” You add. Such a odd request. “May I ask why?” I inquire, as I obey and I hear the door opening.

“It’s a little surprise, and I want all your senses to lead you, every single one, save for the sight.” You explain. If you wanna play, Bronte, I’m surely in.

The first sense that I use is my favorite: the touch.

Your soft hands, grabbing my arm as you make me walk into your flat. Actually, the flat I gave to you. My flat. I wish I could call it ‘our flat’, Bronte. Your shoulder brushes against my forearm, I can even feel your fluttering hair smashing it, like waves against the rocks. As we walk closer to… I still don’t know which room, I can hear something like a fan, it must be some electrodomestic you’re using. But it’s the third sense that gives me all the answer. There’s an incredible smell of something that’s baking in the oven. Something sweet. And out of the blue it’s yesterday, back when I worked at Anavrin, when I opened my closet every morning and I found a cupcake, a tart and every sort of baked dessert. This happened back to the golden times I loved Love - please, don’t mind at the pun -, when I thought she was as sweet as the delicacies she cooked. Long before I figured out she was bitter than 100% dark chocolate. But you’re nothing like Love. You could be something more special than her and maybe you will. There’s still a sense I have to use and you anticipate me. “That’s the second batch, but these ones are ready, have a taste!” You murmur, pushing something aromatic and soft against my lips. I would have preferred a kiss from you, but I bite into the muffin. Mm.. dark chocolate with hazelnuts and almonds with a sprinkle of cinnamon. “Mm, if you wanted to kill me with gluttony, mission accomplished!” I smile, with my eyes still closed; because I’m a good guy, Bronte, I play by the rules and I wait for your permission. “You can open your eyes now!” You say, immediately after, as if you had read my mind. And there you are, smiling at me, happy like a child. And this only because I gave you a place to stay. Oh, Bronte, there’s so many other things I wanna do for you, I’d set the world on fire for you. We sit at the table and now that I have my sight back there are three things I can't help noticing. The first thing: the empty sachet of the muffin mix in the sink. Another proof that you’re nothing like Love. Probably you left it there, because you wanted me to see it, because you don’t like hiding behind something you’re not. You’re genuine and I like that. No. Correction. I love that. If we were a couple, I’d do the cooking in our house, with a smile on my face as I watch you enjoy what I prepared, maybe with an irresistible moan of yours that would lead us to more interesting activities. The second thing: you topped the muffins with coloured smarties and they all form the letter ‘J’. Joe. Me. It may be a small gesture, but it is something that really melts my heart. You do care for me, Bronte. The third one: you decided to serve the muffins with some whipped cream, in a bowl at the centre of the table. This is giving me certain ideas, but I know I must behave. “Don’t you also think that simple things are the ones that really matter?” You say, as you dip a muffin into the whipped cream, with your sparkling eyes never leaving mine. Are we still talking about muffins? Nope, I don’t think so. Now I’m rich and famous, married to one of the most powerful women in the world. Basically I can have whatever I want, then why do I feel so incomplete? You get up and walk towards me, your hand still holding the muffin. “I’m a very simple thing, Joe,” you purr, sitting on my lap and smearing the whipped cream you gathered all over my mouth and chin. “Make me matter!” Whispering that, you start licking the whipped cream away in such an orgasmatic way that sends my rationality to Hell. I lift you up and place you on  the table, laying you down, fuck the muffins we pushed on the floor.

There’s the second batch, after all. I’m not kissing you yet, I wanna crave that moment. I dip two fingers inside the bowl of the whipped cream and bring them to your mouth. You open it, suck my fingers, your tongue wraps around them, your teeth gently nibble them, as I push them inside out, deeper with every push. An anticipation of what is going to happen later with another part of my body. You’re so eager for more, after all. I make this little torture end and you lean closer, trying to kiss him, but I back off and turns my head away. “Later, Bronte. I want to kiss you more than anything else, but there’s so much more we can do, first that will make our very first kiss even more special...” You sit on the table and smile to me, as you start such a slow striptease that my little previous torture pales, compared to that. Bit by bit, the sleeves of your green/blue cardigan go lower and lower, discovering inch by inch your snow-shite skin that is waiting for nothing else but my caresses, my kiss, my lips, my bites. I can’t wait to taste you, as your cardigan finally reaches the floor, like my black shirt I’ve already unbuttoned.

You take off even your white T-shirt and lay down again on the table, inviting me with your gaze

“I’m your blank canvas, Joe. Paint me.” You purr again. And just like a good painter, I get the brusher ready. I smear the whipped cream all over your neck, licking it off my way. I make one of the most delicious desserts ever, stuffing your navel with whipped cream and smarties I take from the top of one of the surviving muffins. Your lustful moans are the most perfect topping. I undo your bra and use some more smarties to place them on your left boob, making a small ‘B’, a temporary tattoo. I stare at it, pleased, before sucking it away and this pleases you. I give my attention to your other boob with no cream, no candies or other stuff, I just wanna taste your original flavour and it drives me mad. I suck and gently nibble your turgid nipple and when my hand goes down to your lap, still covered by your jeans, I figure out that this drives you crazy as well. Even more when my fingers go over the edge of the jeans, feeling the soft cotton of your panties, feeling how wet you are for me.

But it’s well known that the main course should be left for last. After all, I have another important goal. I take my hand away as I dip the other one in the bowl. I playfully smear your nose with the whipped cream. You giggle and then I bend down to kiss you. Slowly at first, exploring you, almost tentatively, with reverence. The more I kiss you, the more I know I can’t ever get enough. You’re really participating, too, nibbling my lower lip, tracing my teeth with your tongue, engaging in a battle with my tongue. A battle where we both are winners. Without me barely figuring it out, you  make me roll on the table and switch roles, now you’re on top of me and I would lie if I'd say I don’t like it. I love watching you take control, as I love that our wild kisses have been going on for a very long time. Moaning, you part from me, kissing my chin, my neck, my shoulders, my nipples, my chest and going down to my belly and further down. We both figure out that my trousers and boxers are no longer needed. And then you dip your hand in the bowl, covering my already hard and pulsating cock with whipped cream. Every touch from you sends oh so pleasant shivers down my spine.

Take me, Bronte. Take all of me. “It’s time for my banana split!” You sneer, right before your hot mouth reaches the tip of my cock.  

“Joe…” You call my name as you suck it. Wait a minute. How the hell can you talk if your mouth is… rather busy at the moment?

“Joe? hey, Joe!!”

And here I am, back to reality, when you - fully dressed, like me- are frowning at me.

“Joe, what’s wrong? You’ve been staring at me for a lifetime… Do I have something on my face?” You ask me, puzzled. Well, you had me. Just a few seconds ago. In my mind.

“Huh? Nothing, it’s just that I had the troublesome feeling I was forgetting something important… and all those muffins just reminded me there’s a birthday party of one of Henry’s friends this afternoon, I have to drive him there and I’m already late.” 

I’m a very skillful liar and that allows me to get up from the chair and walk towards the threshold, without making you suspicious. I turn towards you once last time and, ohhh, is it a pout what I saw?

“I promise we’ll eat your lovely ‘J’ muffins another time. Thanks for everything, Bronte.” “It’s me, the grateful one. Never forget it.” You smile, waving your hand at me, as I close the door.

It’s getting worse. Or better. I don’t know. However, it wasn’t enough having smutty fantasies about you when I’m alone. Now I sexually daydream even when you’re with me. It’s getting harder and harder to keep you in the box. The smell of bakery keeps me company even in the hall, but it’s no yesterday anymore. It’s now. And now I decided I need you in my life, you broke into my heart, the way you broke into my store. Maybe one day I’ll let you read about my fantasies about you. Maybe. Bye for now, my precious simple thing. Can’t wait to make you matter.

-- 

THE END

Notes:

p.s. I apologize if I don't call her 'Brontë' , I'm too lazy to paste and copy it everytime ^^'

[lulupen2023]

In the Box (2/?)

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

Summary of this one shot: Bronte’s stream of thoughts after her very first meeting with Joe.

First there was Joe's POV, now it's Bronte's turn ;) I'm super nervous about her, I hope she sounds IC *fingers crossed*

Sitting on the boundary between daylight and shadows

Here I am, sitting on the doorstep of a store that it’s closed at this time of the night. The most suitable time for any sort of criminals: pushers, robbers, killers, thieves. I’ve just pretended to be one of the fourth kind, but you could seriously be one of the third. I wouldn’t have been gone after you for all these years if I hadn't had this slight doubt.

My heart is still frantically pounding in my chest and I still have to remind myself how to breathe at regular intervals, because  I’ve just met you, a few minutes ago, in that marvelous bookstore you don’t seem to want to give a second life to. Such a pity, all those precious books, all that warm romanticism in such a cold, digital era! But let’s not focus on the place, let’s just focus on you. Beck’s temporary boyfriend, the one almost nobody talked about. Beck’s quiet boyfriend. Way too quiet. But I’m not gonna buy it. This could be the perfect alibi, in case you have killed her. Which leads me to think you also could have killed Benji, aka Beck’s former boyfriend and Peach, her closest friend. All this to have total free access to Beck. I’m getting  goosebumps just at the thought of such a terrifying scenario. This would make you a feral serial killer. But as long as I don’t have any certainties there will remain just a scary hypothesis, a way too compulsive attitude of mine to play the detective. I mean… serial killers are not supposed to be so… easy-going and kind, are they? Okay, you were about to knock me down with an Emily Dickinson’s bust; but, hey, you had every right. It’s your store and you see someone breaking into it late at night. I would have done just the same, but, most important, you didn’t. You confined yourself to staring at me with your big, deep, dark eyes… are they this big even in the pictures I saw? I don’t think so. And you politely waited for an explanation. Our little chat… me flooding you with my battle against Capitalism and you… just staring at me with those oh so curious eyes. I feel like I’ve impressed you. I can’t already bring myself to state that you like me, but something tells me you wouldn’t be so disappointed to see me again. Also because I have to return your book. Can’t wait to tell Dominique, Clayton and Phoenix about the big news, the hell with working for the Catering Company that is in charge of the same event the Lockwoods are invited to, only to glance at you at a safe distance.

This is the way to get to really know you and I’m not gonna stop, no matter if they won’t agree. I can already picture it in my mind: me, breaking into your bookstore once more, but this time showing you that I even sleep there, because I don’t have any other place to go. And you, a little puzzled and amazed at first, telling me that you could offer me a place to stay. Because you always feel the need to help and protect. What if you were just a man who is simply kind, with a huge heart?

What if I had a completely wrong idea about you?

What if Clayton, me and the others were about to make a huge, unforgivable mistake?

Here I am, sitting on the boundary between daylight and shadows, because I don’t know anymore if I want to see you again for the sake of the mission… or just because I really want to see you again.  

I mean, there must be a reason why they call you ‘Prince Charming’, now I’m beginning to figure it out. I’m feeling bewitched by you, I don’t even know if this scares the hell out of me or is going to make me more and more drawn by you, like a bee to honey.

Are your honey poisonous, Joe?

Will this bee end up stinging you?

And it’s well known that bees die after stinging.

Maybe this is my fate.

There’s a massive neon sign with the warning ‘CAUTION: very dangerous decision!’ in my brain and I’m deliberately ignoring it.

I’d just better gather all my conflicting thoughts, doubts and feelings, put them in a box in a corner of my mind and go ahead with this mission. I should also get up from here and reach my friends to inform them, without giving a damn to any wise and prudent advice they’re gonna give me. 

Whatever it’s going to happen, next time I see you I’ll have to study the quotes better.

It was ‘mind’, argh! Not ‘head’, stupid Louise!

Although it seems you felt a subtle pleasure in correcting me, after all you have the teacher attitude, you’ve even been a Literature Professor.

I wonder what else could make you feel much more than a subtle pleasure…

No, no, no, Louise, stop doing this! Geez, I’d better put in the box also my hormones in turmoil, the same as a teenage crush!

--

THE END

Notes:

Whether you like it or hate it, please, if I don't ask you too much, tell me something, even the tiniest comment ever would make my day, but thanks anyway for reading...

[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]