That's what happens when you let characters do what they want
It was supposed to be Christmas fluff... how the bloody hell did I end up writing about light BDSM with blindfolds, handcuffs, whips and wax foreplay? ^^'
No matter what, I'll manage to turn this thing into fluff again... maybe.
The more i listen to the amazing MOTHXR album, the more I connect the songs to my ships:
'Centerfold' and 'Touch' are pure Goldery (Joe/Bronte from YOU season 5) and I already used them in my stories, lol
Not that I'm going to use them (but never say never) but:
'Impossible' , 'I can see you'll never make it out' and 'Easy' are sooooo Dair!! <3
While 'Underground', 'Vicitm' and 'Stranger' makes me think of Derena. <3
Do you associate these of other MOTHXR songs to other ships?
I'm just curious ^^
How can it be possible that no one loves this ship?
This is really something that drives me mad.
When I finished seeing season 5 for the very first time (bingewatching it in only two days aka late nights) , I rushed to ao3 with the absolute certainty I would have found dozen of fics about them.
Instead not only was there none, but on reddit I even figured out that people hated her, the cruelest ones also dared to call her ugly (WHAT?? Oh c'mon, Madeline is stunning!!) and her character stupid and meaningless.
Excuse me?!
From now, since this could be a spoiler for someone who still has to see season 5 I'll put my considerations under
(SPOILERS)
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Okay, I've loved her since the very first sentence she said in episode 5x1, but when we reached 5x6 where everything was explained, I was practically howling at the screen.
Bronte was stalking Joe and not the other way around.
She was a step ahead and when he checked her social networks they were the FAKE ones.
She made him think he had everything under his control.
Bronte played Joe's game, with the only difference that she played it a lot better.
But what I love the most about her?
She wanted to set Joe up, but fell in love with him in the process and she hadn't seen it coming.
The more her friends - a point I agree on with everyone, they are really unbearable! I hate them all, LOL - cheered because they were close to make Joe fall in their trap, the more she didn't want it to happen.
The end of 5x6 is a jewel because we see Bronte terrified when Joe finds the hidden camera and speaks to her, very pissed off... and yet she's so thrilled that in 5x7 she looks for him again and tells her friends off.
Another thing I love is how Louise figures out that she was sure she invented Bronte to lure Joe in, but it isn't a charade at all, she is EXACTLY the Bronte she pretended to be.
And season1/4! Joe probably would never forgive someone who lied to him and decived him so badly ... but not season 5! Joe, not after Bronte left such a mark on him (although he's supposed to be the vampire, LOL) , not after such a deep connection.
They were together in fantasies, in their pages and in those moments of real life.
They were bound on so many levels.
And I've never seen Joe so so so so so in love, probably only with Love in the early episodes on season 2, but Bronte was something more.
They were soulmates for real.
in 5x8 (my fave episode ever in the whole show) Bronte reached her delusional peak, thinking she had fixed Joe, althogh the scene in the cage is pure perfection, emotional peak, she really read him like no one else had ever done before and I was beyond love for this ship.
Then the authors decide to destroy what this ship could have been from the second part of 5x9 on... but in 5x10 after the tragic last phone call with Henry... even Penn in an interview said that in that moment Bronte/Louise still loved Joe, despite everything.. and it was so clear.
And even their very last scene together, when the policemen part them and take them away… the way they stare at each other…
It won’t ever be over between them, that’s why I’ll never forgive the authors for making Louise says in the epilogue ‘just some a**hole I dated.’, it’s totally OOC after the deeply emotional way she was invested in him.
And I haven't even babbled about the beautiful moments and speeches between them in episode 5x4 and 5x5.
And yeah, I know that Joe is a wicked character and blah blah blah, but:
- he’s fictional
-he’s ten thousands times better than book! Joe
-he killed some very ruthless people
That’s why I really wished something better for him, Bronte could have been his happy ending, at least she is in my fics.
And sure, I could do some fan service and write about Joe/Beck, Joe/Love, Joe/OC/reader and increase my views and popularity, but nope, thanks, those ships are not my cup of tea.
I must write about characters I love, even if this brings to have the most saddening stats ever.
Pairing: Joe/Bronte or Goldery as I love calling them <3
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol. Plus, there are some (small) original speeches from the episode 5x7,
Written for the @ficwip ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the bonus prompt: ‘a note hidden in a coat pocket'
Summary: It wasn’t intentional but that petname just escaped his lips. Joe (and Bronte) now must face the consequences.
Or: A roundup of the most important and iconic Goldery moments through all season 5, with some parts of the episode slightly changed and enhanced with utterly made up scenes…
Oh wait, isn’t this the main purpose of writing fics?
Written for the ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the some bonus prompts (see the notes of every chapter)
III: Beloved
Joe’s POV
Tonight I’ve dreamed of you, you know?
Nothing of this had happened.
We were together, carefree, happy, as the characters on our pages.
I can’t help why they can get a happy ending, but we can’t.
We never will.
It's time to use double standards.
I reach my Corona, sit down and start typing.
Ezra, my fellow. Until yesterday Ella was with him, slept with him, watched him hunting and she trusted him so much that she allowed him to bite her, without consequences.
Un-life couldn’t be sweeter than this, right?
Instead, guess what? Once you wake up, Ezra, Ella will be gone, without a note, an explanation.
And you’ll look for her, uselessly and will cry tears of blood, wondering why this happened to you.
At least you have a dead heart, mine is alive and suffers twice as yours.
I keep typing until I leave Ezra alone in his misery, wondering if it's time for him to get up at sunrise and see the sun, after centuries, for one, glorious, last, lethal time.
And I get up, as well, but only to take a walk outside.
I’d like to set fire to every newsstand my eyes meet, because they’re only selling lies.
I thought you understood me, Bronte.
If this has happened, it’s all your fault.
If I’m not free anymore to wander around without some dumbass trying to frame me in a picture, it’s all your fault.
But mostly, if I lose my son, it’s all your fault and I don’t think I'll be willing to forgive you.
****************** (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
You know what, Joe? Tonight I’ve dreamed of you, of us.
But this time I grabbed my courage by the hands and told you the whole truth, before the trap could start.
I dreaded your reaction of course, but after a slight anger and dismay, not only did you forgive me, but you thanked me for warning you in time.
And then we leave together, taking your son with us.
Just like a happy family.
If only things could have gone differently…
I would like to tell you about my dream, Joe, if only I found a decent way to start our chat.
And then my friends call me in the dining room.
“I know you’re grieving.”
Yes, Dom, I am, but not for whom you think.
But then I found out what they’re up to.
And they want me to help them
Fuck, no, not this time.
I’ve already made this mistake once.
I refuse, even if this means to have a very violent confrontation with Dom.
I can clearly see the letdown in her eyes.
But I don’t care.
There’s a huge plot twist in my dark romance.
The Huntress chose to leave her people who tried to poison her against the Magician for years, with their lies, making her mind foggy.
She doesn’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore.
She just needs to find the Magician, telling him how sorry she is.
Maybe he can find the proper spell to heal her.
Maybe together they will start a new kingdom.
---------------------------------------
Joe’s POV
Thanks to the lovely trick your Scooby Gang played on me I’m trending for the worst possible reasons, just now that my lawyer advised me to keep a low profile if I want to get my soon back.
And to get out of this nightmare I have to stomp on my dignity, doing something I’ve never dreamed I would.
An Instagram direct.
Facing all questions about my private life.
Exposing myself at the utmost.
And where are you in all of this, Bronte?
Of course, I'm still mad at you.
The interviews starts pretty well.
I manage to answer all of her questions correctly, even Maddie is giving me some approval signs.
Then the issue moves to you and when the so called journalist asks me about my feelings about you, I have to be really harsh.
But it’s not enough.
They insist for me to show them the cage.
Then I have to talk briefly about my past and… something goes horribly wrong and I have the worst breakdown of my whole life.
There’s only a not irrelevant detail: every fucking one of this million people tuned here watched that.
Unlikable. Unlovable. Fucking damaged. Fucking ruined.
Maddie helps me get my shit together and just when i thought nothing can save me from this fucking situation, I see your text message.
You told the police I was protecting you.
You didn’t betray me.
You saved me.
I can feel the ice layer that has been covering my heart for days melt down.
Such a warmth.
To know there’s a slight chance that it wasn’t all a lie.
That you feel for me for real.
The way I fell for you.
Oh wait, I have to get out of this cage, I have to fix things.
It feels so good to feel loved by you again, sweetheart.
******************** (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
“Louise Flannery is the biggest regret of my entire life.”
It’s a miracle if I don’t drop the phone on the ground.
It hurts Joe, it hurts in a way you cannot begin to image.
There’s no more room for me here.
That’s why I bought a fucking flight back to Ohio, but not before letting you know the truth.
When I’m on my way to reach the airport, I met this weird guy and just when I figure out how ill his intentions are, everything goes black.
And when I open my eyes I’m not on the street anymore, I’m back to your apartment, with you.
If the price to have all of this is just a swollen ankle that’s been bothering the hell out of me, I’m fucking in.
I’m so happy I get the chance to explain to you how things went, but also to tell you that what happened between us… the biggest part of it was real.
We still can be what we used to be.
That’s why I’m beyond happy when, after all those draining and angsty confessions; you rush to me, giving me a kiss I missed for so long.
But this one tastes even better, because there’s not even the shadow of a lie.
No more acting.
No charade.
Just me and you, finding each other again.
To make it last this time.
“Tell me, Joe, tell me that word I miss for so long.”
“Welcome back, sweetheart.” You whisper, kissing me deeper.
However, it seems there are some obstacles before we can finally be together.
An obstacle in the shape of my aggressor who now lies down in the cage, thanks to you.
You, leaving me with him, while a camera observes every of my moves.
Easy peasy. No fucking pressure at all.
---------------------------------
Joe’s POV
I couldn’t be prouder of you, Bronte.
You’ve brilliantly passed the test.
The way you read inside my soul.
I’m still shivering, recalling those moments, when you assured me you are here with me to stay and we made love in the cage, in the deepest, most incredible way.
Sure, I would have preferred you to allow me to kill whoever hurts you; but looks like I got what I wanted anyway.
All I have to do is never let you know.
It’s just a white lie that can keep us forever.
More like red lies, for all the blood it’s soaked with.
Maybe one day, when I’m sure I can fully trust you about everything, I’ll let you know.
I’ll display the darkest side of me you're not still fully aware about.
Maybe one day I’ll let you know that it wasn’t that Dane guy to twist your ankle.
It was me.
Just consider it a tiny mark, just like the tiny bites Ezra leaves on Ella’s neck to let the whole world know she belongs to him.
It’s just a little drastic measure I had to take to keep you closer.
By the way, also Ezra found his Ella again, they made up, even more in love than before and now they just need an epic final.
And as I’m watching you sleeping beside me, I’m searching for the right extract to read to you from this book, then sending my ‘good morning sweetheart’ vocal message.
Bronte’s POV
It’s been days, more than a week, since we have made love in the cage.
And from that night on everything is going on awesomely.
Our life together is better than a movie.
We make love every day, in every corner of the house.
We read, we write, we watch movies.
We listen to music.
We cook.
Okay.
You cook.
I mainly do menial jobs, such as peeling and cutting the vegetables or washing the dishes.
I also do some chores.
Some days I wake up with one of your super romantic vocal messages.
Some other days it’s a beautiful text message.
Some other days you place on the table a heart shaped chocolate filled.
Well, this morning it seems you have nothing for me.
Just today that I’m resuming my job.
My ankle starts collaborating a little more, so it’s time to test how well it can work.
I’ve missed this job so much.
You’re away because you have to meet your lawyer again - I really hope you’ll come back home with good news -.
This place looks pretty crowded, I’ll have plenty of work all morning long.
I’m dusting a shelf and it makes me sneeze.
I put a hand inside the pocket of my coat to take a tissue … and there’s where I find it.
A folded note, but not typed, written with your beautiful handwriting.
A new way to treasure that petname I’m so fond of, along with the typed pages where Ezra calls Ella that same way; with the text messages and the vocal ones.
I guess I’ll never grow sick of hearing or seeing that.
Now I just have to read your note.
‘Good morning sweetheart,
Thank you for sneaking into my bookstore, that night some months ago.
Thank you for sneaking into my life, first, then into my heart.
To stay.
Thank you for all the troubles you created, but fixed as well.
Thank you for having challenged, seen and accepted the real me.
Thank you for making me feel truly beloved.
Thank you for letting me love you the way you deserve.
You’re really my sweetheart to all intents and purposes.
With endless and never ending love.
Forever yours.
Joe’
--
THE END
Notes:
Since I’ve already ‘eviscerated ‘ ‘Follie au deux’ (my fave episode EVER) in ‘You know before I did’ , this time I lingered less on it.
And of course, to my Goldery Heart everything ends on the first half of 5x9.
What? What is 5x10 episode? Lalalalalalalal, I can’t hear you XD
Pairing: Joe/Bronte or Goldery as I love calling them <3
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol. Plus, there are some (small) original speeches from the episode 5x4, 5x5 and 5x6
Written for the @ficwip ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the bonus prompt: ‘a bouquet of something’
Summary: It wasn’t intentional but that petname just escaped his lips. Joe (and Bronte) now must face the consequences.
Or: A roundup of the most important and iconic Goldery moments through all season 5, with some parts of the episode slightly changed and enhanced with utterly made up scenes… Oh wait, isn’t this the main purpose of writing fics? Written for the ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the some bonus prompts (see the notes of every chapter)
II: Betrayed
Joe’s POV
I’ve spent half a night thinking if our chat was a good idea.
I’ve spent half a night dreading you would have changed your mind and wouldn’t be at work today.
Not only are you here - and you unlocked a new sexy fantasy of rescuing you, not so long before - but we faced what happened -and almost happened- last night and now both of us feel less weird about it.
If only having you as one constant thought in my mind wasn’t weird.
“We are just work friends. Right?” You remind us, as you are swinging, hanging on the doorframe.
How cute.
And look at that. You’re putting yourself in the box for me.
“I didn’t mean to be weird. But I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
I’m such a liar.
The page where I’m with you right now, in my mind, could compete with the smuttiest and cheesiest porn ever written.
“Me too.” You nod, holding the doorframe as you maybe would like to hold me.
You’re about to leave, but then you change your mind and decide to stay.
“Uh! And I guess there’s nothing wrong if one of the work buds calls the other… in that special way, don’t you think so?” You wonder, biting your lip.
Please, don’t flip your hair, too or I’ll be doomed.
“Of course, sweetheart.” I smile at you and you seem to glow.
But when you also ask me if I wrote something lately because you miss your favorite serial killer, I have to lie and tell you I haven’t had the time.
Don’t think I haven’t noticed the slight disappointment in your look.
But this is also the perfect moment for something I planned.
“I also guess there’s nothing wrong if one of said buds has a little present for the other?”
“Uh?” You stare at me thrilled.
It’s my time to strike.
I open the drawer, where I hid my surprise
I knew the moment I saw it from the stationery store front that this would be the perfect gift for you.
And the light in your eyes is the last confirmation I needed.
“Oh my God, Joe, I’m speechless!” You grin, as you stare in awe at the five colourful pens, flowers-shaped inside a vase that is a penholder, too.
“It’s just a little thing…” I shrug.
“To begin with, I don’t even like flowers, I mean, real ones, as a gift. But these…”
You’re a never ending source of surprises, Bronte.
“So, if I had shown up with a bunch of real flowers…”
“Boo! Epic fail!” You make me laugh. “I mean, it’s kind of creepy to give someone something that’s already dying and could live much longer if it wasn’t taken away from their habitat.”
“Oh. I never thought about it that way.” I chuckle.
“Not to mention that real flowers get definitely out of the work buds zone. These ones are just perfect. Thank you so much!”You step closer, but then look at me, kind of doubtful.
“What’s wrong?” I tilt my head.
“Do you think a hug would still be in the work buds zone?”
I chuckle.
“Come here, sweetheart!”I stand up, opening my arms wide in invitation.
And you accept it, allowing my arms to wrap your petite figure, as you rest your head against my shoulder, squeezing yourself against my chest, your hands gently gripping my shoulders.
This warmth is almost intoxicating, in the best possible way.
Can we stay like this forever?
Apparently we can’t, since you part.
Uh! What’s this awkward silence now?
I have to break it.
“However, those flower pens serve another purpose: there’s nothing like writing with a pen on paper, in the least digital way possible, to restore your inspiration.” I wink at you, before leaving.
Sometimes I tend to forget that I have a prisoner in the basement to feed and keep alive.
But when I’m back I have a pleasant surprise.
You come towards me and you’re holding some sheets of paper.
“I promise that I’m going to try with the less digital way, too, but me and my trusted laptop happened to work pretty much last night… and I was hoping maybe you want to take a look.” You hand me the new pages and I take them as they were the most precious treasure ever.
Of course I will.
An access door to your oh so challenging imagination.
You even offer to get me some coffee and while you’re away I deal with Maddie, but once I’m done I dive into the world you create.
If we are work buds in real life for sure we aren’t in your pages.
I guess I know who this sudden nameless character is.
The way he challenges the protagonist.
The way she seems so conflicted, yet drawn to him, totally aware how wrong and unsafe it is.
What a gift, Bronte, thank you.
********************** (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
I must have lost my mind.
While I was away grabbing your coffee, I took one of the flower-pens with me, holding it and smiling like an idiot.
Not to mention that oh-so pleasant shiver I feel every time you call me ‘sweetheart’
That’s not what I’m supposed to do.
Just like I shouldn’t bask in your opinion about my pages.
It’s just part of the plan.
And what was all that flirting attitude from me when I was introducing you to the Chaotic Good characteristics?
I should just stick to the plan.
I should call my friends, informing them of how fast you’re falling for me, with the late night chats, the gift and everything else.
But I just want to enjoy all this stuff by myself, keep it something just ours.
Me and you, Joe.
The man I keep thinking I had the wrong idea about, day after day.
The man I feel the urge to save when the storm that is bearing down upon you.
Although for now my mission is to power that thunderstorm.
------------------------------------
I took advantage of the fact you’ve been away almost all morning to set everything ready for the inauguration tonight.
I allow myself a deserved little break, resting in your office.
I know I shouldn’t but I open your drawers, searching for something.
I mean, it’s not my fault if you don’t lock them, is it?
And just when I’m sure there’s nothing, under a copy of ‘The Power Broker’ there’s my goal.
Liar.
You did find the time to write.
But when I start reading those pages… oh my God!
I feel watched. But in a comforting way.
I feel seen.
And mostly I feel understood.
Something that had never happened before.
Dammit, where is all of this taking me?
Why do I feel like a boat adrift, pushed by the wind of temptation?
The temptation of quitting this charade.
I would love to stop fighting against my own feelings and take what I want: you.
If I still had any doubt yet, what I’ve just read proves to me how much you feel drawn to me.
The same way I am to you.
What scares me the most? At first I was just playing a role, now everything feels just too real that I can’t help wondering how it would be.
How it would be if, once you come back from the basement -whatever you are doing inside it- I pushed you against a shelf with the same intensity Maximus used with Calliope.
Oh, the role reversal trope sounds so intriguing!
However, all of this must only remain just a fantasy of mine; because I’m well aware of what must still happen.
But it doesn’t mean I still agree with that.
----------------------------------------
The way you looked around at Mooney’s so full of people and lights and charm… and the way you looked at me, so full of gratitude, made me skip a heartbeat or two.
And the way we are managing to flirt with such common words as ‘work friend’ and ‘colleague’ are making them as dangerous as the ‘sweetheart’ you use on me.
Probably it would be a tad to showy if you did now, with so many customers around.
Not to mention that someone has already mistaken us for husband and wife.
Anyway, I miss that petname oh so much!
Oh no, Clayton arrived, despite I asked him not to… it’s time to keep playing my role in this story that I wish could have a crossroad ending.
------------------------------------------
Of course you saw everything, tried to defend me and I had to walk away.
To catch some fresh air.
To stay alone with my thoughts.
To try to suppress that voice inside my head that keep saying how wrong all of this is.
And the voice is so right.
There you go, morally grey knight, looking for his damsell in distress.
Of course you would find me.
And you act so concerned about me for the umpteenth time, but this time I won’t give in.
This time we need conflict.
And then it happens.
You confess you feel something for me.
One thing is reading it in your mesmerizing pages, another one is to hear it directly from you.
Your voice.
Your eyes.
Your smile.
Such a dangerous combo.
I have to go.
And when I do…
“Bronte please, wait. Please, wait! Sweeth…”
I turn abruptly and rush over you.
“No, Joe! Don’t you fucking dare sweetheart me!” I growl, poking your chest with my index, more violently than I meant to.
Then I calm down, taking some breath, backing slightly off from you.
“It makes no sense anymore.” I explain, without minding the tears wetting my face, without minding your eyes getting teary as you listen to me.
“Bronte, I…”
No, Joe, I won’t let you talk.
“We played. We enjoyed the dream. But now it’s time to face reality. And you know better than me what the reality is.” I manage to keep my voice whole, even if I’m broken inside.
And then I run away, not to be found.
Oh well, until the day after, I supposed.
I’m your employee and I have a bookstore to take care of, after all.
**************************** (In the meantime)
Joe’s POV
I have to resort to all my self control the moment that asshole dared to get his dirty hands on you.
Otherwise, things would have ended a tad differently, let’s just say with me crashing his head and bones against a shelf, blood splattering everywhere.
An inauguration to remember, for sure.
I would have beasted out, as you like saying.
if I have to, I need to get him in a place with much fewer people around.
But maybe one day I will.
For now I just have to reluctantly let him go.
And don’t think i didn’t notice the bruise he left on your left forearm.
That son of a gun!
You’re so devastated when I see you walk away.
I just have to look after you.
Yeah, even abandoning my bookstore at the mercy of everyone.
Steal every book, set the whole place on fire; I don’t care.
Not now that I have to find you.
And when I do, geez, we both can’t hide our feelings anymore.
And it hurts.
It hurts because it would be just too easy to pull you in my arms, smash my lips against yours and screw my whole life up.
But I can’t, because I’m a fucking coward.
The moment you remind me that I’m a married man, I don’t fight back.
I let you go.
Goodbye, my sweetheart.
I mean, of course I’ll get to see you at work tomorrow and every day after that… but it’s not going to be the same anymore.
You’re right.
No matter how wonderful the dream could be. We have to face reality.
So I focus on my job.
No, not selling books.
The other one. The most authentic one.
Can’t believe that Maddie did it.
Can’t believe she got in the character so much she fooled everyone, Kate involved.
Also can’t believe Kate reacted the way she did.
Instead of being happy, serene and thankful… she just stared at me as if I was the most repulsing thing ever.
So what’s the fucking point of fighting for a longtime broken marriage?
I’d better turn to someone who recognizes my value: you.
I’d better give up on what has turned into a nightmare and start living the dream.
I'd better stop being a coward.
I open the door, the tingling noise announcing my arrival.
It’s closing time for Mooney’s.
Here you are, but… what the fuck are you doing?
You can’t leave me, Bronte.
Not now that I've found the courage to fight for us.
I reach you, I stop you, I talk to you, I beg you to stay.
And maybe the desperation in my voice or the prayer in my eyes or something else I can't define does the magic.
The moment I see your eyes lingering one second more on my lips I know that it’s going to happen.
Not only you anymore. Not only me anymore.
Just us. Together.
The fire that devamps between us could raze the whole town to the ground.
Especially when I don’t waste any time and after some very demanding kisses I take off your slip from your always oh so short skirt.
You were born to tempt me; you, little she-devil.
My cock is already so hard for you that it’s just asking me to set it free.
I undo the belt of my pants and pull down the zipper.
You’re lying down the desk, eager to have me inside you.
And I please us both, pushing inside you, our eyes locked to each other.
Your warmth.
Your moans.
The chemistry I feel.
Is it Heaven?
You probably must have noticed the awe in my look.
“What’s going on?” You ask me, panting.
“Just checking if I was only typing this.”
You smile, as your arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer to you.
“I’ve typed that so many times, too. But, nope, Joe, this time is real. And beautiful.” You murmur, as we kiss until we need to fill our lungs with some air.
“Say it, Joe.” You urge me, as you welcome every one of my pushes.
I know what you wanna hear.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
That’s it.
The Dumbo’s feather you needed to take to the skies.
Even if between us I’m the one with the proboscis.
Fuck, nope, this is to cheesy even for my writing about Ezra and Ella.
I pull out of you, before it’s too late and you look at me puzzled.
“Did I do or say something wrong?”
Oh, sweetheart.
You can’t do anything wrong.
“Of course you didn’t, I just remind to myself that it’s pointless to have quick and kind of uncomfortable sex, when just upstairs we could take everything so slow, so delightfully slow.” I murmur in your ear as I dress again and you do the same.
You grin, as you grab your panties and don't even bother to wear them again.
Bad girl. I like it.
“Just like the famous question: ‘Your place or mine?’ With the only difference than in this case they are both.” You chuckle.
--------------------------------------------
Bronte’s POV
My heart was pounding so loudy that I was afraid you would hear it when you stepped inside the Mooney’s, that evening.
Because I knew what was about to happen.
And yet I wasn't ready to like it this much.
I’ve never felt more craved, cherished and worshipped the way you I did with you, Joe.
First in the bookstore, then in our bed where we take all the night to explore each other.
I don’t mean only physically, although I just feel so hot about those sensual memories.
Just right before crawling over me on the bed, you seem to frown.
"What's wrong, Joe?"
"Now I really need to call you ‘sweetheart’, because I can say: 'I love you' and meaning it, of course, but.. you know... What if in those sexy moments I called you ‘love’? Maybe you could think I'm thinking about my former wife..."
"I didn't until now..." I grimace. "So yes, please, just stick to ‘sweetheart."
And you did. So many, remarkable times.
But we explored each other even in a more spiritual way. The deep connection of our minds, I would dare to say of our souls, too.
We spent hours talking that night, our first official night together.
Well, as official as an affair can be.
We talked about our dreams, our fears, and some memories of the past.
Now it has been almost a week since it happened.
We made sweet love, not so long ago, now you’re relaxing against me, almost feeling sleepy -cute- as I’m reading your latest chapters.
I teased you about trying to kink-shame me if I want more from your character.
if I want more from you.
I would like you to let yourself go, totally.
There’s only a little problem.
I’m not being sincere with you.
I’m not being authentic.
I’m not saying that this is not me; but you still ignore the real reason who brought me to you.
And time is running out.
--------------------------------------------
Even now, at Mooney’s, as you’re talking with me, you heard my phone chiming.
And you think I’m hiding something to you.
Which is true.
But nope.
It’s not a guy I’m cheating on you with.
It’s Dom.
Letting me know they booked the house at the beach.
But I’m not so sure anymore if I want to bring you there.
-----------------------------------------
We made love even tonight and now you’re leaving, which makes me feel like a concubine.
But before going, you have a surprise for me that leaves me speechless.
You just proved to me how much you care about me.
And yeah, Joe, I’m going to write some pages, but only because it’s part of the plan.
A plan I hate more and more, day by day.
A plan that maybe I can still undermine.
I know what to do.
Joe’s POV
What the fuck happened?
Why weren’ t you at Mooney’s, waiting for me?
Why weren’t you at home?
Why is the home so empty now?
What the fuck does the sheet you typed mean?
Are you still my sweetheart?
I’m getting lost in my paranoia, but I need my answers.
And after the umpteenth fight with my apparently soon to be former wife, I’m ready to go looking for you.
The old way.
Fake e-mail addresses just to be sure that the coast is clear.
A bit of physical exercise I didn’t miss at all and finally I’m in the enemy den.
Where pictures of him and you are everywhere, making me so sick and furious.
And just when I dread that the bastard could have threatened you, my phone rings with an unknown number.
I wish it could be you and I’m right.
Hearing your voice is such a relief.
But you sound so scared… are you crying?
And when you abruptly hang up, I just have to find you and you made things painfully easy for me.
Painfully because not only now I know where you are, but mostly with whom.
Here I am in Atlantic Beach.
I even managed to find the Sandbox, but then I feel such an electric pain and everything goes black.
When I open my eyes again, you’re standing above me.
You tasered me and you even looked pissed off.
But when you reveal to me all your doubts and your paranoias, I’m more than glad to give you the most craved answer.
“I’m getting a divorce. Bronte… what if it was you. And only you.”
And in your endless blue eyes I can see our future, a future made of mutual trust.
First our dance together, just along the music that only our hearts were playing.
Then you, proving to me that you fully trust giving me the control.
The way we made love, without restraint, save for the satin ribbons you asked me to tie your wrists with.
And when I dress again, thinking that life couldn't be any better...
The noises.
The fight.
His fucking voice.
Clayton.
It’s really time for me to beast out, once for all … am I wrong or I even got your fleeting approval before smashing his head against the concrete?
Fuck. What the heel is happening?
Why are these fucking people here?
Why are they filming everything?
I don’t care, the most important thing now is to keep you safe, with me.
“Bronte, we need to leave right now.” I reach to you, but you’re glaring at me, holding the damn taser again.
But it couldn’t hurt me more than my heart already crushing in pieces.
It was all a lie.
A fucking charade.
You've never loved me.
You were just acting.
You betrayed me, Bronte
My sweetheart.
There ‘s no sweet anymore. And probably there’s never been a heart, either.
***************************** (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
You have no idea, Joe, of how much I would like to take that hand you were about to give me.
Instead I stood there, cold and still, waiting for the police to take you away.
And take me, too, as the main witness.
Glimpses of my dark romance flashes in my mind.
It would be so easy for the Huntress to give in and choose the Magician’s side, reveling in his dark magic.
But she can’t betray her people.
Even if this means to betray her heart.
The night at the police station is probably the longest and most draining one of my whole life.
But it’s also somehow liberatory to confess every single thing from the beginning to a perfect stranger.
A perfect stranger who can decide your fate.
What the fuck, Joe, how did we come to this?
You were supposed to stay in the fucking City, letting me go, letting me save you.
The ultimate act of love of Ella towards Ezra, to protect him from the lynch mob.
But no, you just had to be the fucking Sherlock Holmes following the tracks, collecting the clues, solving the mystery.
But maybe Doctor Watson here can still do something for you.
And not because I feel guilty over you, but because it’s the right, the fairest thing to do.
“Your friends say that Mr. Goldberg killed Clayton in a rage. Are you claiming it was self-defense?” The policewoman asks me.
It’s now or never.
“Yes. Clayton started the fight. What Joe did wasn’t murder. It was self-defense.”
-----------------------
After this never ending-night I’m at home again, trying to forget all this ugly adventure.
Trying to forget you.
And then my mobile chimes.
It’s a motion alert.
I painfully know from which camera.
You must be in what used to be our home.
And I see you, as you’re getting closer and closer to find the hidden camera.
Inside a book.
Perfect clichè.
Oh my God.
Now you’re staring at me.
More like glaring at me.
I gasp, but I can’t look away.
The hell with trying to forget you!
“Hi, sweetheart!”
I’m trembling.
I’d never thought it could be possible to instill so much hate inside such an endearing word.
Pairing: Joe/Bronte or Goldery as I love calling them <3
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol.
Plus, there are some (small) original speeches from the episode 5x2 and 5x3
If you’re not familiar with the fandom and mostly with this season, in the first two episodes and ¾ of the third one Joe refers to himself as ‘you’, meaning that he considers himself the most important person… Then once he falls in love with Bronte, he refers to her as ‘you’, so you’ll see his POV change, because it depends on the episode.
While in Bronte’s POV, she refers to Joe as ‘you’ from the very start.
Written for the @ficwip ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the bonus prompt:
‘late-night text message’
Summary: It wasn’t intentional but that petname just escaped his lips.
Joe (and Bronte) now must face the consequences.
Or:
A roundup of the most important and iconic Goldery moments through all season 5, with some parts of the episode slightly changed and enhanced with utterly made up scenes… Oh wait, isn’t this the main purpose of writing fics?
Written for the ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the some bonus prompts (see the notes of every chapter)
I: Beguiled
Joe’s POV
You can’t help staring at her, just a tad taller than the pile of books you entrusted her to.
Look how happy she looks as she carefully places them, one by one on the proper shelf.
She caresses their cover and gets sure there’s no wrinkled pages inside.
She’s practically worshipping them.
She seems to love and respect books the same way you do.
If there’s a thing that you can be sure of is that Bronte worked more in those two hours than how R.I.P. Beck did in all the few days you had hired her.
Now why did she stop stacking the books and is looking in your direction?
Did she notice you were staring at her?
“Joe! Watch out!” She points at a book that’s about to fall from the fourth shelf.
A tome of about five hundred pages that wouldn’t be pleasant to be hit on the head with, for the records.
But this way you manage not only to dodge it, but also to catch it in your hands, keeping it safe and sound.
She doesn’t react, but of course she must have heard you.
Quick. Fight this awkward silence. Add something. Anything.
“Someone who worked here before you didn’t do her or his job well. That book was not supposed to be there.”
“Of course. Such big books like that should be placed only on the lowest shelf, the second one at the utmost. Higher shelves are meant for the smallest and lightest book.” She approves.
Maybe she didn’t hear you or more probably she is pretending she didn’t.
Just keep along with the convenient way.
“See? There’s a reason why I hired you. You have such an overall view.” You pay her a compliment and smile to enhance that.
******************* (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
And now you decided to check if there are some tomes at the higher shelves, by mistake.
This is keeping you busy on a ladder, turning your back to me.
This gives me all the time to make my considerations… and also to glance at your butt, just because.
But mainly make my considerations.
What did you call me a few minutes ago?
I know I didn’t fool myself.
I heard what I heard.
And to be just the fourth day since I’ve met you and officially my very first day here at work, it’s a lot.
Not to mention that there was absolutely no reason for you to remain here, once you explained to me how the job is done… and yet you did.
You remained here all afternoon long, stacking part of the books I was supposed to do on my own.
You seem to enjoy my company.
You seem to enjoy…. me.
I thought I was maybe exaggerating a little when I told that to my friends.
But now, the way you called me, intentional or not, it proves my theory.
I just wonder why I was so thrilled when I heard you calling me that.
Of course, it was because I’m even more aware of the big role I’m playing in the mission.
If we had listened to Dom and followed her suggestion, we all still would be stuck in a deadlock -ironic, when you’re going after a potential murderer -; since the catering bullshit would never give us some tangible results.
Look how tangible they are now.
And, Joe, you can be all charming as you please, you can talk to me with that soothing voice of yours, you can display all of those adorable crooked smiles.
I won’t lose sight of my mission.
I won’t ever forget, not even for a second, that you are the enemy.
-------------------------------------
Joe’s POV
You have one of the worst family dinners ever.
You faced a tough discussion with your wife.
You’re so concerned about what’s happening to Henry, you’re dreading the worst.
Could things go any possible worse than this?
Then your phone chimes the answer.
There’s more than an alert from the camera in the basement.
Someone sneaked through.
You already know who it might be.
Someone you already told to stay away from.
Someone you trusted enough to introduce her to your son, and you were even happy when it happened.
Someone you trusted.
Period.
Past tense.
And there she is, hugging her legs, sitting scared inside the cage.
But you stare at her much colder than the 65 degrees with 40% of humidity that there’s inside there.
“I told you not to come in here.”
Even your tone is icy.
“Well, yeah, which is exactly how you make someone want to come here.” She strikes back and even if she’s terrified, she’s not showing you.
So bold and stubborn.
Somehow she reminds you of Henry when you clearly warns him he can’t do something and he wants to do that the moment after.
But you’re still too pissed off with her to smile at that.
And when you tell her why you keep a cage in the basement, she has the cockiness to strike back.
“Have you ever heard of a safe deposit box?”
Your reaction is immediate, as you approach the cage.
“Have you ever heard of following basic fucking instructions?” You almost growl at her.
She challenges you as it hasn’t happened in years, even when she really gets to you.
You’re about to open the fucking cage, but then something tells you you shouldn’t. Not yet.
That’s why you made her confess and you find out she’s nothing but a little thief who wanted to steal from you.
After all you did for her.
Not sweetheart at all.
And there she is, venting again about her debts and how rich you are.
That’s too much.
You open the door and let her out, not only from the cage, but from Mooney’s once for all.
You fire her.
And just when you think you wasted time for the umpteenth fucking time trying to help fucking people, she turns and says something you didn’t expect.
“I read your writing.”
And you listen to her as she says how much she liked it, but when she dares to say your anti-hero has no wounds, you just explode and rant about all you had to face.
And instead of being scared, she stares at you impressed.
“I’m sorry. But.. huh... it’s nice to meet the real you.”
And this is such a revelation for you. For your life. If now you know how to make things right you just have to thank her.
And you already know the perfect way.
You’ll keep her in the line for a while, let’s say a couple of days or a bit more.
Then you’ll ask her to come into the bookstore, with an excuse.
Her sleeping bag she left here definitely serves your purpose.
And that’s what you do and Bronte comes just as you’re in the middle of your writing, this time putting more of your real pain and struggle in the words you’re typing so frantically.
So inspired.
By her words. By her.
And if she already was beyond happy when you told her she could have her job back, when she follows you upstairs and you show her your apartment, saying she can have it… she’s just speechless, but her blue, sparkling eyes speak for her.
And you feel so proud for helping.
She’s your sweetheart again.
***************** (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
I already knew what was down there, long before I learned how to force a lock open.
I already knew how this fucking cage works, being opened only from the outside.
Then why the fuck am i feeling so trapped, lost and terrified since the moment the fucking door slammed close?
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The plan was for you to find me as I was taking the pictures of the book, in order to piss you off.
Letting you know I have found the cage.
But this damn thing should have remained open, for me to run away the moment you would pop here, maybe with you chasing after me, maybe with you beasting out about it.
But not this…
I even lost count of the hours I’ve spent here, all bewildered and cold.
And finally you arrive.
But, geez, the way you are glaring at me, and your tone.
I almost prefer it if you don’t open the cage, because I’m too scared to face your rage.
But somehow I manage to, as you finally set me free.
Then I say something that touches a live wire of yours and you do beast out, you’re growling out all your pain and misery.
Something I didn’t know about.
Something that touches me more deeply than it should.
Is this the real you, Joe?
Well, I like him; so much I have to tell you, before leaving.
Because you’ve fired me, of course you would have.
I spend the next days apologizing with my friends, because I made a shitty mistake and I fucked up everything, losing any chance to get in contact with you again, when my phones rings.
It’s you.
And you want me to come to you.
I do and when you get out of your office -were you writing?- there’s something different in your dark eyes.
Something sweeter. Along with your words.
“I owe you an apology.”
What the hell for? You’re guilty of nothing, I’m the fucking mess here.
“Oh, so do I.” I start with my list of things I have to apologize for - but only the planned ones, not the fact that I’m fooling you again and you have no idea. - and then I let you speak.
And the things you say.
Oh, Joe.
But when you ask me to follow you… what the fuck?
Are you really offering me a place to stay? Yours?
For free.
Or not.
You locked the door and it’s just me and you here.
You could want something in return.
And if I have to be honest at least with myself, I wouldn’t be so unwilling to give you what you ask.
But it’s not what I dreaded. Or… hoped?
You look at me, with so much empathy.
You try to put me at ease.
You really are doing all of this without getting anything in return.
Such a chevalier of yesteryear.
But I have no time for sentimentalism.
I just have to stick to the plan and tell you about the stupid book about the cage.
And just when I’m about to flee, you open to me about your previous wife, about the way she used you.
“Do you have any idea of how it feels to know that the person you trusted the most used your childhood trauma to harm other people?”
I wasn’t expecting this.
Your vulnerability. Your wounded heart.
And now I’m feeling guilty, because I’m supposed to hurt it even more.
And I’m starting to wonder if you really deserve it.
I’m starting to doubt about all this fucking plan.
But I can’t pull out, not now that I’m so damn close.
That’s why I close the door and come back to you.
Apologizing.
Accepting your oh so gentle offer.
And you even ask me if I’d like to read more of your writing.
I’m dying to, Joe.
And not to report it to my friends, but only for myself.
For how good I feel every time you’re around me.
You’re living these last days in an inverse proportion: the further Kate pushes you, the closer you grow to Bronte.
Do you want the latest example? Just think about the vocal message you sent Kate not so long before.
Do you remember when you used to do that to give her the goodnight or the goodmorning, whether you were in different countries or just in the same room, telling her the sweetest things ever or quoting the most romantic poets or novelists?
Where did those times go?
But mostly… What if those moments could start again… with the girl you’re waiting outside this book's estate sale?
Deny it as much as you want, but you can’t get your mind stuck from that little sexy trick she played to you before, where you were so close to kiss her.
You can’t help wondering if she really purrs and if you would growl for her.
There she is, walking as she brings a box probably too heavy for her tiny arms.
Arms you’d like to caress, slowly, from her shoulders to her delicate wrists and then do the loop backwards.
No, no, no, she’s approaching, fucking quit these dangerous fantasies!
“Okay, that’s the last of them.” She says, placing the box in the trunk, without even asking for your help.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Fuck.
You did it again.
And this time there’s no possible way she didn’t hear you.
“Huh. You’re welcome?” She replies, clearly embarrassed.
You, idiot.
“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
“Do you mean ‘Why did I say that again?” She corrects you. “Yeah. That day… at Mooney’s, when I rescued you for that tome that was falling… I’ve heard you.”
Dammit. Deep inside you knew she had.
“Well, then I'm sorry twice.” You make her chuckle.
“I don't think you should apologize.” She amazes you with her answer.
“Huh?”
“I mean, it’s not that you called me ‘bitch’ or something!” She makes you laugh.
“Wait. Is it your very contorted way to tell me that… you liked it?” You feel the urge to know.
“Well… who knows? I might, Boss.” She’s playing the coquette, before closing the trunk.
“It’s not that I’m used to calling this everyone, let alone at work. I mean, I’ve never called Ethan that!” You try to get out of this awkward situation with a witty remark.
And it works.
“That would have worried me a lot!” She laughs.
You smirk.
Mission accomplished: the harmony between you and her has been restored.
“You can, uh, like, GPS yourself back to Mooney's, right?” She asks you, sort of nervously.
Wait. What?
You frown at her.
“You want me to leave you here?”
“Yeah.”
“See? You feel insulted after the sweetheart issue!”
“No, of course I’m not.” She insists.
“Then I’m afraid you’re sending out mixed signals.” You grumble.
“You’re right. I know that this reaction might sound confusing, but it’s absolutely not related to what you said. “ She explains. “I mean, you’re free to call me ‘sweetheart’ whenever you please, but now you should leave me here on my own, because I have that thing. It’s only ten blocks from here.”
Which thing?
*************************** (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
According to plans, you grew interested in my life after work.
According to plans, you followed me to the dirtbag literary salon.
If I still had some doubt about you feeling something for me, that’sweetheart’ you address me to is the sweetest confirmation ever.
It’s something only ours, something that I didn’t expect.
According to plans, you proved you’re definitely not Clayton’s biggest fans.
According to plans, you have witnessed the charade of my public, literary social destruction.
According to plans, you watched me go away, desperate, but didn’t follow me; because you must have felt fooled, used, filled with doubts about me.
That’s why I was sure I would face you tomorrow, at Mooney’s, maybe in your office; not now in your apartment you gave to me.
Because, of course, when I hear knocking at the door I know it can only be you.
And your voice, calling me out a few seconds later, escapes any doubt.
It’s just that I don’t know if I’m ready to see you now, and mostly make you see my tears, my utter vulnerability.
Because okay, it was an act among Clayton, Dom and me… but the humiliation was real, everyone tonight in that fucking salon saw what they saw, heard what they heard.
However, it’s not that I have much choice to avoid this confrontation, since you’re getting in without even me saying a word.
It’s your house, after all.
First, I owe you all the explanations you need, but when I get to the point where I start calling myself a liar I begin to wonder if I’m only playing a role or there’s more.
Something definitely not according to plans.
That same something that brings me to ask you about you at home and if you’re devoured there.
Oh my God, the way you lean closer and closer to me, as I start mirroring you, until…
“I should go.”
So I walk you to the door, but for some reason, I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“I’m a mess. And I don’t think I can handle an affair, as much as I would enjoy myself.”
How the hell did this come out of my mouth?
Of course you had to go.
I go back in the apartment and lock the door, but the number of times that could allow you to open it with your keys, if you ever came back.
Not that you’re going to come back, but..
I try to go to bed, but the truth is that I can’t sleep.
My mind keeps re-running all the things we said here before.
I guess that a book will help take my mind off.
Maybe not the one you gave to me…
For at least one hour and half I’m engrossed in the reading, until my phone chimes and when I look at the display I just smile.
Because it’s you.
‘Are you still up?’
*************************** (In the meantime)
Joe’s POV
The simple fact that I can see from my display that you’re typing something is already an answer.
I don’t know if I ‘m doing the right thing, I just know that I want to do it.
Tonight has been just too eventful, among the umpteenth harsh confrontation with my wife, my flash of genius about Maddie -thanks again, soon-to-be-dead Reagan! - and mostly the fact that I’ve finally opened my eyes and I see you Bronte, I figured out you’re the one I’ve always looked for… and yet I can’t risk everything to get you.
I just can have you on my pages and… texting to you shouldn’t be that dangerous, right?
And here’s your answer.
‘Yeah… Let’s just say that after what we talked about, sleeping has become very hard. Especially after what I said.’
I type as fast as I can.
‘We’ll face this matter tomorrow.’
‘Huh, okay.’
‘I was just thinking about a particular thing you said before. You’re not sure anymore if you’re a playwright. Of course you are. Please, promise me you won’t give up.’
Now it’s you who type as fast as possible.
‘I promise I won’t. And I appreciate your request a lot.’
‘I’m glad to know that.’
‘Now it’s my turn to make a little request.’
Oh Bronte, ask me the moon and I’ll go catch it for you.
‘Could you call me again in that special way?’
Aww. Are you perhaps made of sugar?
‘Of course, sweetheart.’
‘I feel better now. Thanks. I hope my speech didn’t unsettle you much.’
Why d’you think so? Just because I spent half an hour writing self inserted smut fantasies about us, jerking me off all time long?
Okay, I’d better answer something and it’s better if it’s not this.
‘Like I said, Bronte, we’ll talk about it tomorrow… or should I say in a few hours? Goodnight, sweetheart.’
************************* (In the meantime)
Bronte’s POV
I can’t help staring at the last whatsapp you sent to me.
‘Sweetheart’.
It looks so cute even reading it on a screen.
But these are not the emotions it should arouse in me.
I should feel repulsed.
And yet I can’t.
Not after the way you talked about Beck.
With such sweetness, such fondness, such concern.
A supposed killer wouldn’t talk about his victim that way, wouldn’t wish he could have saved her.
What if my friends’ and my allegations about you were totally wrong?
Every day, every hour, every minute I get to spend with you makes me picture you as, yes a person with his troubled and dark past, but kind and good-hearted, nonetheless.
A person I could easily fall for.
Probably I already have and I can’t even pick the exact moment when this damn thing happened.
I think about your last visit here, your confessions, the way you got closer to me, from standing against the doorframe, to sitting on the cabinet to reaching me on the bed.
And your big dark, piercing eyes staring at me so intently.
I might drown in your eyes.
Geez, this is something that should be written, not that fucking tidal wave of cum bullshit!
And that’s what I’m doing, taking my trusted laptop and turning it on.
Because I’m turned on as well.
Those memories are still so fresh and I need to give vent to, at least on the page.
It’s time for the Huntress to fall head over heels for the still nameless character that maybe is not as evil and wicked as she thought he was at the beginning; he's just chaotic good.
Can’t wait to make you read my pages tomorrow - or, like you said before, in a few hours-, once we clear the air about the affair issue.
TBC
Notes:
Fun fact: in my headcanon (aka in some of my other stories) Joe already calls Bronte ‘sweetheart’ sometimes; so when I saw the post of the challenge it immediately triggered me ;)
Okay, this time I’m not going to stress out as I do with any other of my WIPs.
If you’re liking this and want to give me a sign, any, good.
If you won’t, well, it’s good anyway, I’m really glad for having the chance to write this and I thank this cool challenge that gives me the idea.
See ya (or don’t see ya) tomorrow.
Hopefully, it should be done by the end of the weekend...
I really, really, REALLY love those two, and the super CANON fact that they're both writers sends me over the Moon *O*
*
You chuckle among the few tears you’re already wiping.
Just with one hand, the other is still holding mine.
“Thank you, Bronte. I feel a lot better now.” You smile that crooked smile of yours that really gives me trouble reminding myself that we shouldn’t have any sort of sexy contact.
“If I knew that seeing a bunch of rare books would have this effect on you I would have never done that…. maybe it was better a stock of King’s latest books you could have used outside as skeet shooting.”
Now you’re laughing, right before you pull me closer and kiss my temple.
This is not a sexy contact. It’s a tender one.
Not only is it allowed, I love it.
“Oh, Bronte, what would I do without you?”
“Said the one who tried to kill me three times!” I part from you, coming back to my bed.
“Well, thank you for being so resistant and resilient!” You make me smile.
I still can’t believe the ease and naturalness with which we manage to joke about a very-close-to-death experience.
It’s something I love about us.
It probably also helps that it happened more than two years ago.
“Okay, now it’s writing time. If you don’t feel like doing the same you’re not forced, of course; but please let me do my job. I have a pending schedule.” I say, opening my laptop.
“I promise I’m going to write as well, but first I’d like to hear more about you.” You say, reaching me on the bed, but you politely sit on the corner, not invading my space. “What are you working at?”
“‘That’s not for you’.” I reply and I might sound harsher than I meant.
“Oh, okay, there’s no need to be so rude. How can you be so judgemental to know it’s a genre I don’t like even before talking about it?”
I chuckle.
“No, Joe, you misunderstood. ‘That’s not for you’ is the title of my new romance.”
“Oh.” You remain with your mouth open for a while. “So, what’s about?”
I close my laptop and put it aside to give you all my attention.
“Okay, there’s this girl, Gabrielle, who used to have a boyfriend, Jim, but things didn’t go well between them. After a couple of years they casually met, Jim confesses to her he never forgot her and would like to have a second chance with her; he swears to her he’s changed.”
“Changed how? What was wrong with him before?” You start asking the good questions.
“They had such a toxic relationship. He was so jealous, he controlled every single step of her, he was hyper possessive and extremely manipulative.”
You scoff.
“What a horrible guy!”
“I know, right? And yet Gabrielle is so naive that she tells him she’ll think about it.”
“I don’t think Gabrielle is naive, she’s just hopelessly romantic; trying to find a glimmer of light even in the darkest kind of love.” You state.
I must have something in common with Gabrielle, although it’s another character I identify more with.
*
LISTEN I love that you love Joe and Bronte- their relationship was so angsty and messy and UGH!
aaww thanks a lot. Those two bewithced me in a way I can't even explain...I wished better for them, I didn't want this super politically correct ending, LOL (although I understand the author's decision, not to mention how much Penn hates Joe, LOL!)
So once I finished the season 5 I rushed to ao3 and stuff, absolutely sure that I would find tons of fics about them ... and there was none anywhere :'((
A fangirl must do what a fangirl can do, ahahah.
And it's so rare to find someone who likes (or at least don't hate) this pairing as well, so, thank youuuu!!! :)
