new told lies
pairing: Joe Goldberg/Reader
reader's pronouns are they/them; race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used. (male reader version available here)
summary: Your sister’s husband is weird. Then again, he’s your sister’s husband, not yours—you suppose it doesn’t really matter if you don’t like the guy. …Right?
word count: 8.1k | ao3 version | joe goldberg playlist
author's notes: The reader is written to be androgynous and they wear masculine-leaning clothing. (Here's a version with a masculine reader. It should be open to both guests and AO3 users!)
Also, they have a sister, so… congrats, you now have a sister named Eve. Lol. She’s marrying Joe.
This is canon divergent/non-compliant. I haven’t watched the show aside from the first few episodes.
Warnings: canon-typical blood/violence/injury/murder. stalking, possessive behavior, abduction. also non-consensual kissing (more of a 'spur of the moment' gesture than forced, but still flagging it.)
When your sister Eve announces that she’s getting married to her boyfriend of two months, you’re suspicious. No one should get married that quickly. But she seems really happy about it, and you know it’s not quite your business to pry too much. You’ve already tried to tell her that she should wait a little bit instead of jumping into a long-term commitment, but she doesn’t listen—she never does. She’s always been the reckless one of the two of you—leaving you forced to play the role of responsible older sibling.
Somehow, it’s as if you’re the only one in the family concerned about the brevity of their relationship—and the speed with which Eve gets married to this guy. His name is Joe, she tells you. Joe Goldberg, age 32. He works as a manager at the local bookstore, and he loves literature. You try to find him on social media, but you can’t. That’s not a red flag or anything: it’s perfectly acceptable to avoid social media in this day and age. But the utter lack of information about him doesn’t exactly make you feel any better.
You’re not sure why you’re so concerned about this guy. Your sister can fend for herself, and is more than old enough to make her own decisions. You suppose you’re just wary—you don’t want to see her get hurt, like she has been in the past. But, as you’re quickly learning, it’s past the point of contention now. Eve and Joe have their wedding date set, so your focus shifts to supporting your sister. The two of you are supposed to meet for coffee soon, and you’re eager to hear how she’s doing with everything. It’ll be an interesting conversation for sure.
Truthfully, this is the most fun Joe’s had in years. And to think, it all started with a plan to kill your sister.
Well, not exactly. But sort of. Your sister Eve was a good friend of his recent girlfriend, Sophie. Sophie was perfect. Everything went well for a few months, until your sister appeared and began to plant doubts in Sophie’s head. She was getting too close to learning the truth. Eve was too skeptical of him, too suspicious. And this suspicion spread to Sophie too, until she was breaking up with him.
So, naturally, Joe adjusts his plans and proposes to your sister Eve. Two months later, he’s meeting the family—and seamlessly fitting in, as if he was always meant to be a part of it. He’s met Eve’s parents and made a great impression; the same goes for her aunt and uncle, her grandmother and grandfather. There’s only one person he hasn’t met yet: you, her older sibling.
Eve talks about you frequently, but Joe has never met or even seen you. Supposedly, you’re a bit more closed-off than the other family members he’s met so far. You don’t go to most of the family gatherings, and you tend to keep to yourself. You’re very important to Eve, though—which is why Joe finds himself sitting at this small table in the corner of a modest coffee shop, waiting for you. Eve is getting a bit nervous, evidently, as her fingers jitter on her leg. Joe reaches out and squeezes her hand reassuringly; she calms a little bit and glances down at her phone.
“They just parked,” she informs him. She’s practically fidgeting in anticipation. One thing is clear: Eve thinks you hang the moon. Which means Joe will have to begrudgingly get through this conversation with an overprotective sibling…
Ugh. He’s going to need something stronger than coffee.
The bell above the door sounds and Joe looks up from the table, watching another person enter the shop. He’s been watching for you for a few minutes now, despite having virtually no idea what to look for. Eve talks about you all the time, but she’s never shown him any pictures or described your appearance. Joe isn’t sure who he expects. Perhaps someone closer to Eve’s appearance: unassuming, modest, attractive in a friendly, “next door neighbor” kind of way.
Safe to say, when he sees a somewhat alternative person practically dripping in androgyny enter the room, he assumes them to be a stranger. Imagine his surprise, then, when Eve waves to this person and their lips quirk at the edges, their expression ever so slightly brightening and the tension slowly fading from their shoulders…
“Finally,” Eve says jokingly, placing a hand on his thigh briefly before getting up to greet her sibling. Joe watches her approach you, observing the interaction with interest. Despite your slightly intimidating appearance and blank expression, he can sense that you care about your sister. You embrace her and he watches you, scrutinizing your outfit. A muted green sweatshirt, jeans cuffed at the ankles, sneakers. There’s some sort of lanyard—probably attached to your keys—sneaking out of your pocket, a keychain of some character just barely noticeable.
Eve points back to their table and Joe watches with barely-restrained delight as you stiffen, annoyance and frustration warring across your face. You’re barely trying to hide it. You drag your gaze over to him and Joe’s heart honestly jumps as your eyes meet.
Well, well, well. You don’t like him. You don’t trust him.
Interesting.
He watches as Eve leads you back to their table. “Sorry,” she says to you as she returns to her seat, looking up at you. Eve didn’t tell you that Joe would be here, after all. Your reaction to him just now was entirely genuine and unfiltered. “This was the only way to get you to meet Joe.”
“Probably,” you relent shamelessly, considering them for a moment before taking a seat across from them. Joe watches you fidget restlessly for a moment, before you shove your hands in your pockets. Your gaze keeps flitting about the room. Your knee is bouncing, jittering in an unconscious twitch.
It seems like he’ll have to make the first move. “Hello,” he says with a polite smile, extending a hand. “Joe Goldberg; nice to meet you.”
“Hey,” you respond briefly, shaking his proffered hand quickly. You don’t even introduce yourself—although, Joe supposes that isn’t necessary, since he already knows who you are. Eve sends you a pointed look at your brief greeting; you just seem to ignore it. There’s an awkward silence for a few moments before your sister clears her throat.
“How are things with you?” she asks you nicely. “It’s been a while.” Joe looks over at you expectantly, curious to learn more about this person who has seemed to subvert all of his expectations. Despite how often Eve talks about you, he had an entirely different idea of you in his head. He’s curious to see just how far off he may have been.
“Everything’s good,” you say with a slight nod. You’re clearly not comfortable being honest in front of Joe. That makes him want to smile, for some reason. He decides to get up to fetch the drinks—leaving you and your sister alone at the table. He’s making it seem as if he’s giving you two some space. Of course, Joe can still eavesdrop on your conversation from here—it’s a small coffee shop, after all.
“So,” Eve says, cutting right to the chase, “what do you think?”
“Of Joe?” you ask. She nods. “He’s nice,” you say. Joe resists a laugh at how flat and apathetic the remark is.
“Yeah?” Eve huffs, clearly both amused and a bit irritated.
“Come on, Eve,” you sigh in exasperation. “I’m trying, I swear. You didn’t even warn me he was going to be here. And we just met two seconds ago.” All fair points.
Joe lets his eyes wander the menu as he continues to listen. “I know,” Eve responds, “but this is happening. He’s going to be a part of my life, which means he’ll probably be a part of yours, too.”
“I know,” you acknowledge, clearly sensing this is important to her. “It just seems sudden, okay? The last time we spoke, you really weren’t doing well. And now you’re getting married?” You’re good at wording it delicately, expressing your concern without being too skeptical or unsupportive.
“You’ll still be at the wedding, right?” Eve asks slowly. Joe thinks back to Eve’s admission late last night, her fear that you weren’t going to be there for her because you didn’t support their relationship. Joe had murmured and nodded at all the right times, his hand playing with her hair as he thought of other things.
“I— Yeah, of course,” you respond, staring at her in bewilderment and disbelief. Joe is quickly brought back to the present moment. “Did you really think I wouldn’t go?” you ask with a slight frown. Ah. You’re a good sibling above all, it seems. That may prove to be a problem later on.
Eve nods. “Okay,” your sister says, something like relief in her voice. “Good.”
Joe has stalled for long enough; he returns with the drinks, placing them on the table before taking his seat again. Eve had ordered for the three of you, since she knows what each of you like.
“Thanks,” you say after a moment, sliding your drink closer to you. Joe nods, watches you take a sip and look at your sister expectantly.
“Joe works at that bookstore, Mooney’s,” Eve starts. “He’s a literature enthusiast. Not unlike someone else at this table…”
Joe raises a brow, watches as you huff in amusement at your sister’s unsubtle remark. “You read?” he asks. You nod. “What genre?”
“Depends,” you answer. “Right now, I’m kind of oscillating between horror and gothic stuff… and classics. Poetry too, when I’m in the mood.”
“Nice,” he replies with a nod. Very nice. No sappy romances, troubling self-help guides, or autobiographical ego trips by famous people. He’s curious to know exactly what you’re reading. He adds Goodreads to the list of applications he’ll look for you on.
The ensuing conversation is a bit stilted, but Eve is clearly trying her best. You only really talk to Eve, scarcely acknowledging Joe unless absolutely necessary. It’s a bit irritating, but soon enough, Eve needs to step away to go to the bathroom—leaving Joe alone with you at the table. The two of you just sit there in tense silence for a bit, before you’re the one to break through it.
“This isn’t some protective, pseudo-incest bullshit,” you mutter, your finger tracing the spirals in the wooden surface of the table. You look back over at him. His next breath gets stuck in his chest. Your eyes wander past him as you take in the shop around you, unaware of the fervency of Joe’s quickly growing interest. “I just don’t really like you.”
Joe blinks in surprise. A laugh wrenches its way from his lips before he can stop it. He can’t remember the last time he felt such genuine amusement.
“Fair enough,” he acquiesces.
Joe catches himself quite literally leaning forward, as if trying to break the distance between you. When Eve returns, he has to remind himself to put an arm around her waist for the performance. But he can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s digesting every word you utter, drinking in the sight of you. You’re everything. Sarcastic and blunt, clever and utterly fascinating.
It’s a shame the outing has to come to an end. Truly. You’re the first one to get up, unsurprisingly. You seem seconds away from bolting out the door and disappearing forever. Unfortunately for you, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. You’re already in Joe’s sights now.
“It was nice to meet you,” Joe says to you, surprised by how authentic the remark is. He genuinely enjoyed your company, which is more than can be said for nearly everyone he meets. Eve gets to her feet and he begrudgingly does the same.
“You too,” you say with a stiff nod, turning to your sister. “Bye, Eve,” you respond, reaching out and giving her a hug.
“Where’s my hug?” Joe blurts out jokingly before he can help it.
You just scoff, shoving your hands in your pockets. Before Joe can laugh, Eve wraps an arm around his shoulders and another around yours, before tugging you together. “My two favorite people,” she grins. Joe watches as you get pulled closer to her—and him, by proxy. He catches the flicker of irritation that passes over your face, the tension written in the harsh line of your shoulders and the way you resolutely avoid looking at him or even acknowledging his existence.
You still hold the door open for him and Eve as they leave after you. Joe thanks you, watching you look away as if he hadn’t even spoken. He should be offended, but for some reason, he’s amused.
“Drive safe,” Joe adds. He’s having fun now.
“You too,” you say flatly. A slight smile. It’s not for him—he takes it anyway. “Eve’s a nightmare behind the wheel.”
“No, I’m not!” Eve huffs from his side, looking at you indignantly. Joe knows better than to get involved, even though you’re absolutely right. He just presses a kiss to Eve’s temple in a swift distraction. Soon enough they’re parting with you and heading to their car.
The question comes sooner than he expects—practically the moment their seatbelts are fastened. “So, what’d you think?” Eve asks him as she starts the car. It’s obvious what’s—or, more accurately, who—she’s inquiring about.
“They’re…” Joe breaks off. Witty, with a dry and occasionally dark sense of humor. Smart. And attractive. Very attractive. “...cool,” he finishes slowly, not trusting himself to say more.
“Yeah, they are,” Eve agrees, something like pride in her voice as she reverses and heads out onto the road. “Pretty career-driven. They were a really good student in school—made it hard for me to follow in their footsteps.”
Normally, Joe would be tuning her out. But he finds himself listening with rapt attention, desperate for any more information about you. “Career-driven?” he echoes, pretending to be confused about the meaning of the phrase. In reality, Joe just needs to know exactly how far that goes. Are you so focused on your career that you neglect other things? Like… romantic relationships, perhaps?
“Yeah,” Eve nods, unaware of the ugly anticipation twisting in Joe’s chest. “They’ve been working full-time since the moment they left college. They’re not really the social type, don’t hang out with friends too often. That’s why I was surprised when they agreed to meet.”
Damn it, so close.
“They’re worried about their little sister,” Joe says jokingly, placing a hand on Eve’s forearm. Eve looks amused.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she huffs. “I’m the reckless one, compared to them. Jumping into relationships, as they say.”
So you’re more careful. Joe files that to the back of his mind. Even as Eve drives them home and the day carries on, he can’t take his mind off of you.
As time passes, Joe is pleased to recognize that everything is going just as he planned. There’s only one problem. It’s a minor hiccup, really: he doesn’t feel anything for your sister.
Well, Joe doesn’t necessarily view that as the problem. This is a sham marriage, anyways. He’s just going through with it so that he can tear her apart—shatter Eve’s heart on the ground before watching the life leave her eyes.
The problem is that he’s finding himself actually developing feelings for someone else: you. The sibling of the woman he’s supposed to take down the aisle. The sibling of the woman he plans to kill.
This is unprecedented for Joe on several accounts. His schemes are never this messy; not to mention, he’s only had feelings for women in the past. But he can’t deny that strange jump in his chest whenever he sees you—the constant desire to be close to you, to have your unwavering attention.
Joe has looked in a mirror before: he knows he’s attractive. Many people consider him charming. But you? You’re not affected: you’re wary of him, you don’t like him. You almost seem to hate his guts. Somehow, in his twisted and nonexistent logic, this only makes you more attractive.
He finds himself replaying that conversation in the coffee shop in his head, turning over each and every response. Joe fixates on the slight smile on your face when you saw your sister… and the way it promptly dripped off your lips when you saw him. There’s something so fascinating about you. He can’t put a finger on it.
When Eve brings up the idea of a family dinner at your parents’ house, Joe almost starts to believe in miracles. The timing is just too perfect. This will be a great opportunity to learn more about you, assuming you attend. He can only hope you do.
When he arrives with Eve, he’s pleasantly surprised to find you in the corner of the room, engrossed in conversation with someone. Eventually, you must feel him staring—because you look over before looking away. The tension in your shoulders betrays you.
Joe doesn’t really get a chance to talk to you until he nearly crashes into you in the hall an hour later. When you run into him, you blink, startle. Joe reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, under the pretense of stopping himself from crashing into you.
“Easy there,” he says jokingly, something of a smile on his face. You just scowl, which only makes Joe more intrigued and entertained. “I’m surprised you’re here,” he admits.
“At my parents’ house?” you ask skeptically.
“Eve said you don’t typically go to these things,” he responds smoothly.
You just stare at him, not giving him a response. Joe scrambles to find something else to talk about, something to keep you in this tight hallway with him.
“How’s that new project going for you at work?” he asks.
If you were wary before, you’re outright suspicious now. “How do you know about that?” you frown.
“Eve was telling me,” Joe says, plastering a confused smile on his face. His heart is starting to race in his chest, especially as he realizes your suspicions are still thriving.
“I never told Eve,” you argue with complete certainty.
“You must’ve,” Joe suggests.
“I didn’t,” you maintain, still entirely sure of yourself despite his pressure.
Oh, you’re a tough customer.
Joe eventually gives up on arguing and just shrugs. Your eyes narrow; he decides to take advantage of your momentary silence. “Where’s your date?” he hums. The question jumps from his lips before he can contemplate the consequences.
Your eyebrows furrow. “What date?”
“Family dinner?” he continues. “Good time to bring the partner.” Joe’s waiting for you to explain yourself, deny the assumption, do anything. Instead, you just remain quiet, as if sensing exactly what he’s looking for and refusing to give it to him.
And then you brush past him.
Joe stands frozen in the hall for a while longer, completely reeling.
“Remind me why I’m here again?” you pipe up, your hands shoved in your pockets and that characteristic grumpy expression on your face. It’s cute. Joe wants to tell you that. Instead, he just looks over at Eve and raises an eyebrow, imploring her for an explanation as to why the three of them are now standing in the bridal shop. Isn’t it taboo for the groom to see the bride’s dress before the wedding?
Then again, since when did he care about taboos—or even the success of this wedding? Joe reminds himself of the thought. Planning this wedding has been stressful, even though he doesn’t even care about it. It’s kind of ironic.
“Because I need a second opinion,” Eve explains, breaking Joe out of his thoughts. She turns to him with a sympathetic smile, before looking at you with a playful smirk, “and Joe doesn’t have much fashion sense.”
Ouch.
You laugh slightly at your sister’s remark, before turning to look him up and down. “Yeah, I guess so,” you concede after a moment. That’s practically an insult, so why does it make Joe’s heart nearly stop? “Mom would be better for this, though,” you continue.
“You know she’d take hours,” Eve says, “and she’d be crying the whole time.”
“True,” you relent.
“Although, she would’ve dressed nicer,” Eve says, looking at your clothes critically.
“You get what you get,” you say with a shrug, entirely unbothered by the jab. Joe is a little surprised by the casual outfit you’re wearing: a long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. He wonders why you pull it off so well, why he keeps catching himself looking at you when he should be looking at his elegantly-dressed bride. “Besides, I’m not trying anything on.”
Eve shakes her head at you in disbelief, a smile on her lips. Then she walks away, leaving Joe and you waiting for her. You move to sit on one of the armchairs near the fitting area and Joe follows you.
“I thought the groom wasn’t supposed to be here for these things,” you realize aloud, looking over at him and blinking. Joe shrugs, unwilling to admit he was thinking the exact same thing. You seem to accept this nonexistent explanation.
Your sister emerges soon enough. Seeing her in any white dress, let alone a wedding one, should be enough to take his breath away. But Joe’s too distracted with you next to him, your lackadaisical sprawl burning into his peripheral vision.
“What do you think?” Eve asks you both self-consciously, staring at the dress in the mirror before looking back.
“Looks great,” Joe says, clearing his throat. Remembering the part he’s supposed to play.
You just flash a thumbs-up. Your sister looks at you imploringly.
“Come on, I brought you here to be honest,” she says. Joe follows her gaze to you, curious.
“Fine, fine,” you sigh. You study the dress for a moment, a slight frown on your face. “It looks like a tablecloth.”
The dress does look like a tablecloth, now that Joe thinks about it. It’s too frilly and lacy.
“And the sleeves are too short,” you continue. Correct again. “Also, it doesn’t even have any shape to it—”
“Okay, okay, got it,” Eve interjects. “Thanks; that’s what I needed.” She returns to the fitting room. You stare after her for all of two seconds, before pulling out your phone and scrolling. Joe watches as you pretend to have something to do, just to avoid conversation with him. You’re refreshing your email, checking your weather app. Joe hides a laugh, eventually deciding to take pity on you.
“So, how’s work?” Joe says smoothly, glancing over at you. Work is a safe topic.
You just raise an eyebrow, sensing how flimsy his attempt at conversation is. “Is that the best you can do?” you ask, seeming amused.
“Come on, I’m really trying here,” he sighs, putting a somewhat helpless inflection in his voice.
“Really?” you blink. “Because you don’t have to.”
Joe bites. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” you nod. You pay him a fleeting glance. Maybe one or two seconds, maximum. Honestly, you look at him like he’s a piece of furniture. It’s kind of annoying. He doesn’t ever have to put effort into getting someone’s attention and keeping it. Joe prides himself on being charming. Are you just immune or something? “We can just… coexist.”
No. Joe isn’t satisfied with that—he’ll never be satisfied with that. “We’re going to be family soon.” It sounds like a weak justification, even to him. And he’s the one who made it.
“So?” you ask.
“So,” he says pointedly, “we should at least get along.”
“We are getting along,” you point out.
“Hey, stop antagonizing Joe,” Eve interjects, appearing from the dressing room in a new dress. Joe is equally thankful for and annoyed by the interruption.
“I’m not antagonizing him,” you huff.
“Yes, you are,” Eve says, stepping up to the mirror to look at herself in the dress. She smooths it out, then frowns slightly. “You only get like this when Joe’s around.”
Joe glances over at you curiously. Your reaction to that statement is telling. Your face tenses. Your fingers jitter against your leg. You frown at your sister, who is too busy looking in the mirror at her dress to notice.
“Yeah, give a guy a break,” Joe says playfully, if only to see your jaw clench in annoyance. This is kind of fun. He’s not used to playing the game like this—he’s used to being perceived as handsome or charismatic, not irritating. But that’s what makes this interesting.
You mutter something under your breath, a dark expression passing across your face before you’re pulling out your phone and finding a convenient excuse to avoid Joe’s eyes. You’re playing a Pokémon card game now. He stifles a laugh.
“It’s okay,” Eve says, shooting him a reassuring look. He raises an eyebrow at the mischievous smile on her face. “This one right here plays tough, but they cried when we watched Luca.”
“—Hey!” you exclaim, eyes snapping up from your phone to glare at your sister. “Rude and uncalled for.”
“You’re not denying it,” Joe realizes aloud. A grin twists his lips, closer to genuine than he’d like. “That animated Disney movie about the boys who were fish?”
“Shut up,” you huff. “And they were sea monsters, not fish.”
Joe actually laughs at that. You proceed to talk about the queer themes in the movie while Joe watches on in interest. Eve just rolls her eyes, accustomed to hearing your media analysis rants.
The rest of the try-on process is slightly more relaxed, but still a bit tense. You’re resolutely pretending that he doesn’t exist, while Joe is just openly staring at you. Eve keeps emerging in dress after dress after dress, and Joe doesn’t even care to provide fake compliments anymore.
It eventually gets to the point when Eve returns in her normal clothing. Finally, freedom from this torture. Joe suppresses a flinch as she moves to sit on the edge of the armchair next to him, practically in his lap.
“Ready for the wedding planner?” Eve asks, raising her eyebrows with an excited smile.
“I was born ready,” Joe responds smoothly. He swears he can see your face contort in revulsion out of the corner of his eye. He resists the urge to laugh.
“You coming?” Eve asks you.
“Uh… no,” you say with a frown, clearly confused as to why you’re even being asked at all. At your sister’s pout, you just double down. “Why would I?”
“Come on,” Eve says pleadingly.
“This is your wedding, not mine,” you frown. “I really don’t care what flavor the cake is, or what color the flowers are, or what shitty straight people music is played.” You huff, making a nonchalant hand motion before getting to your feet and shrugging your jacket on.
Joe’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. It’s not exactly easy to forget how straightforward you are, but times like this only serve to remind him of just how blunt you can be. It’s a weirdly attractive quality. Joe is so accustomed to pulling teeth, to people saying the opposite of what they mean. He’s grown complacent in his techniques, relying on the same lines to get a person’s attention and keep it on him. But you… you’re an antithesis to his tried and true methods. It unnerves him a bit, if he’s being honest.
“That’s exactly why I need you there,” your sister says, breaking Joe out of his thoughts. “I want it to be unique.”
“No wedding’s ever unique,” you scoff, shoving your hands in your pockets. “It’s an antiquated concept, why even bother? Extremely misogynistic too.” You roll your eyes. Joe feels an amused smile tugging at his lips, which he has to disguise with a pointed cough.
“We’re not getting into your anti-matrimony speech right now,” Eve remarks, evidently familiar with the turn this conversation has taken. “Besides, it’s too late for that.”
“Doesn’t matter; I have to go now, sorry,” you say.
“No, you don’t,” Joe utters the words before he can stop himself. Damn it. Fuck. Shit. He didn’t mean to say that aloud.
“Yes, I do,” you argue with a perplexed frown.
“No, you don’t,” Joe maintains. He’s seen your schedule. You have nothing to do for the rest of the day.
Your sister is glancing between the two of you, clearly sensing something’s off. “You can just say you don’t want to go,” Eve hums, ever the mediator.
“I thought I just implied it,” you say with a frown, confusion seeping into your voice. You blink, sending your sister a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I want to go home. Sorry.”
“Fine, fine,” Eve says, waving you off. “But I don’t want to hear your complaints if the decorations are an eyesore.”
You just raise your hands in mock surrender. Eve gives you a hug and you promptly head out the door, not even acknowledging Joe’s existence long enough to say goodbye. Eve watches you leave with a slight frown, before turning to him and grimacing.
“Sorry about them,” she sighs.
“It’s fine,” Joe says. And he really does mean it. Your behavior is only making things more interesting. “I can handle a little frostiness.”
“Lucky for you,” Eve starts, leaning into him more, “you’re marrying me.”
“Lucky me,” Joe repeats, struggling to imbue genuine emotion in his voice. The truth of the matter? He’d choose you over Eve in a heartbeat. Any day, every day. But that’s not something he can really speak on, so he stays quiet and lets Eve drape herself over him before they head off to the wedding planner.
When their wedding day finally arrives, Joe is preoccupied. Not with thoughts of his new fiancée, but with thoughts of you. As he’s putting on his suit, he’s not thinking about the beautiful white dress Eve will be wearing—he’s thinking of what you’ll wear, where you’ll sit, how you’ll act. He half expects you to sneak out of the ceremony itself, wandering the halls of the venue instead of sitting with everyone else.
Joe finds you within moments of entering the venue. You’re sitting in a seat at the edge of the front row, one leg crossed over the other as you scroll on your phone with a bored expression on your face. You’re wearing a well-tailored dark grey suit and black dress shoes.
Joe stares for a while. He can’t take his eyes off of you.
The bridesmaids walk down the aisle. Two of them are whispering about him—the third valiantly pretending not to drool over him. Classic. The maid of honor proceeds after, barely sparing him a glance. He looks at you. You look so fucking bored. It’s amusing, honestly. As if a wedding is the worst possible situation you could find yourself in.
Well, maybe to you, it is. But you’re showing up for your sister, supporting her even though you clearly don’t like him. Just another of the many things I’m starting to like about you. You’re a good person, even though you don’t want to be. You paint that scowl on your face and pretend to be prickly, but I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you help people pick things up when they drop them; I’ve seen you stop to help wayward tourists with directions. I’ve seen you thank the barista at your favorite coffee shop every single time, without fail. I’ve seen you swallow your objections when you don’t get the food you ordered; constantly apologize for things that are never your fault.
You are a good person. And, somehow, that annoys you.
It’s almost cute, really. That you think you can push everyone away. Because, let’s be real, you can’t even commit to that, can you? You hate me, but you still greet me with that stiff nod when I enter the room. You still keep your true thoughts hidden behind lock and key, all for your sister.
In this contemplation, Joe nearly misses Eve walking down the aisle. Fuck. He’s supposed to be looking, he thinks. He turns to the side, manifests an expression of awe and adoration. It seems to fool the masses—although, the scowl on your face only looks deeper when he takes another look. Funny.
The wedding itself is a blur. And not because it’s particularly enjoyable or eventful. No. Joe just… tunes most of it out. Vows, rings, kiss, adoring smile, another kiss, walk back down the aisle, bright smile, sparkling eyes.
God. This game is exhausting.
He doesn’t really come back to himself until he’s at the venue of the reception. The second you walk through the doors, it’s like the world around him just… clarifies. Joe’s eyes rake across your form almost greedily, taking in the sharp lines of your suit and the reluctant smile on your face when someone approaches you. When they leave, Joe watches your eyes lock with your sister—watches as a genuine smile rises on your lips, and he thinks he actually forgets to breathe.
You’ve never given me anything remotely close to that kind of emotion.
He struggles not to show his irritation at the thought—it helps that you’re soon approaching your sister (and him, by proxy). Joe’s grip on your sister’s hand tightens; if she notices, she doesn’t comment, just squeezing his hand in a gesture that is supposed to be reassuring. It just makes his skin crawl.
“Congrats,” you say with an easy smile, eyes on your sister. Eve’s hand leaves Joe’s as she slips away to embrace you, giving you a tight hug.
“So,” Joe says casually, after the two of you have broken apart, “guess we’re siblings now.” He extends a hand. A truce.
You’re staring at his hand like it’s going to bite you. God, you’re not even trying to be funny, but you are. Whether you realize it or not.
You reluctantly return the handshake.
The reception is just as blurry (read: insignificant and mind-numbing) as the wedding itself. And of course, the groom’s role is one of the most important. He can barely step away from Eve for more than a moment, before they’re being accosted by a family member or friend. It’s frustrating. Joe is honestly grateful that this wedding is fake—a real one sounds like a complete nightmare. He’s exhausted enough already, and he’s only pretending to care.
Joe finally gets his chance for a breather when Eve gets up to go to the bathroom. He wastes no time in scanning the space, looking for a familiar scowling figure. You’re not on the dance floor—although, honestly, Joe would’ve been more surprised if you were. He eyes the balconies overlooking the space… and there you are. Almost hiding behind one of the pillars, scrolling on your phone.
Perfect.
Joe heads up the stairs, shoving his hands in his pockets and upping the whole “breathless groom” act a little bit. As he approaches, he’s both amused and annoyed to see that you aren’t even looking up from your phone. He has to actually clear his throat for you to even notice his presence. But then those tired eyes are on him, and everything falls into place.
“Hey,” Joe says with a nod.
“...Hey,” you respond after a moment.
“Taking a breather?” Joe hums.
“Yeah,” you say. A frown. “Why are you up here?”
“Same thing,” Joe responds.
“You’re supposed to be down there,” you say, nodding to the reception downstairs. Joe hums.
“I guess so,” he says. “It’s just all so… overwhelming.” He plasters an apprehensive, anxious expression on his face.
You just blink at him, almost seeming annoyed by his comment. “Right,” you stare at him skeptically. “It’s not like this is completely voluntary.” The sardonic remark should probably offend him, but it only makes Joe smile. He has to hide the gesture by taking a sip of his drink.
“I like your suit,” he blurts out.
You stare at him in bewilderment, before laughing slightly. Joe is suddenly entranced. You’re laughing at him. He knows it. And yet…
“Thanks,” you say skeptically.
“It was a genuine compliment,” Joe feels the need to clarify. You have no idea just how genuine it was—the breath he choked on when he saw you walk in with that characteristic annoyed look on your face, your hands shoved in your pockets… how he had to put genuine effort into looking at his wife, not you…
“Sure,” you just say, not seeming very convinced.
Joe gives up on trying to persuade you. “Want to dance?” he offers instead, nodding down at the dance floor.
“You should be dancing with my sister,” you say, your arms crossed over your chest as if shielding yourself from him, “and no.”
“Shame,” Joe says with a hum. “I suppose you’re just going to lurk in this corner, looking miserable?”
“I suppose,” you respond noncommittally. Damn, you’re being particularly stubborn today. Usually, he can get a few words out of you. But you’re just repeating his own words like some kind of parrot. He finds himself uncharacteristically frustrated. It takes him a moment to reign in the negative emotions.
“Well, have fun with that,” Joe settles for saying, turning his back on you before returning downstairs to look for his fiancée. He finds Eve easily enough, and they dance. It isn’t awful. That’s all he has to say on the matter, really.
Truthfully, he does find his attention wandering far too frequently. He glances up at that balcony more times than he can count. You’re still alone. Always alone, aren’t you? And not in the typical, ‘nice people finish last’ kind of way. More the disinterested, ‘get away from me’ kind of way.
…Although, perhaps he spoke too soon. Because when Joe remembers to look back up at the balcony a few minutes later, you’re gone. He frowns and keeps spinning Eve across the dance floor, ignoring her irritating laughs and exploring the room. It’s kind of hard to see, but he knows you well enough to know you’re probably against one of the walls or in one of the corners.
Indeed, that is where he finds you: in the far corner, in conversation with some random guy in an ill-fitting suit. The man must know your family, Joe suspects. You’re listening to him intently, giving him your full attention.
Hell, you’re laughing.
Pure, unadulterated fury runs through him. Joe has never seen you smile at him, laugh with him. There’s no trace of that contempt in your eyes, that wariness that draws your shoulders tight and furrows your brows. And somehow, this guy, with his shitty suit and even shittier haircut, is getting your attention.
Within an hour, Joe is dragging the guy’s dead body into a nearby storage closet. Joe’s blood is thrumming beneath his skin, his hands almost shaking after the strength he exerted to strangle the man. It was satisfying, invigorating.
And it’s all too easy to lead you to the storage closet inadvertently. You’ll stumble upon the corpse, while Joe will be spinning your sister around the dance floor. It’s the perfect alibi, really.
He doesn’t intend to frame you, of course. That murder was a bit impulsive, even for Joe. All it took was one glimpse at the slight smile working its way onto your lips as you spoke with the man… and Joe snapped.
Ah well. He did everything smoothly. In twenty minutes or so, he’ll check on you. From there… well. He’ll see where things go.
“Are you all right?” Joe asks you, manifesting an air of concern. He’s not genuinely concerned, because he knows exactly what you’re distressed about. He planted the guy’s body perfectly, he has to admit. You stumbled upon it very quickly. Of course, Joe’s using your compassion for your sister to manipulate you here—you won’t report the body just yet, because you don’t want to ruin the wedding. That allows for this little encounter in the rather large gender-neutral restroom, with stalls from floor to ceiling and elegant marble counters.
You’re standing at one of the sinks, head bent and hands gripping the edge of the counter. At his remark, you glance up slightly. “Yeah, why?” you respond.
“You look distressed,” Joe remembers to say.
“It’s been a weird day,” you huff. It’s almost funny—if he didn’t have a hand in things… if he had no knowledge of what just occurred, Joe would probably believe that excuse. But, of course, he did kill the guy and practically dump his body on you. So, he presses you a bit harder.
“How so?” he hums innocently. Joe nearly smiles at the way your brows furrow in annoyance. Still, you’re persistent—and you just keep silent.
Joe feels weirdly restless. It’s clear he isn’t going to get any more details out of you—he’ll have to be the one to set things into motion. That’s something of a change for him. Usually, his victim—obsession, fixation, whatever—is a bit more oblivious. But not you.
He’s fine with taking the lead—if only to get things moving. “It’s a shame about that Brian fellow,” Joe drawls pointedly, staring at you in the mirror. Brian. Such a common name. Fit for a boring man. Joe watches as your eyes rise from the counter, squinting at him warily. “Such a brutal way to go.” He clicks his tongue in faux sympathy.
“Yeah,” you respond emptily. And Joe can see the exact moment it hits you, when comprehension dawns across your face while you try to hide it. (Because you’re supposed to be the only one who knows about the guy’s corpse. Yet here Joe is, casually commenting on it.) Your eyes widen ever so slightly, your shoulders tense. Your gaze explores the room quickly, frantically. Then, to Joe’s satisfaction, you look at him.
And you see.
Joe strikes.
You twist to the side, dodge and run.
You’re reaching for the door to the bathroom. Joe fists a hand in the back of your collar and yanks you back. You kick out at him, punch him; he punches you in response. For a moment, he thinks he may have underestimated you. Of course, Joe has several contingency plans. And while he hadn’t planned on threatening you too explicitly, it seems the situation requires it.
Besides, it’s exhilarating to watch your resistance bend and break as he presses a knife to your throat. You fall still. The air hums and buzzes.
“You waited to pull that out,” you realize aloud, something like disbelief in your voice. Your clothing is rumpled from the fight; you’re both breathing hard. There’s finally a hint of emotion in your eyes: fear. It’s entrancing. Joe wants to see it more. He wants to see other emotions play across your face too—confusion, irritation, helplessness. Perhaps even grief. Adoration.
…He’s getting sidetracked.
“Why are you doing this?” you murmur.
Why indeed. Because I want to. Because this feeling in my chest won’t go away. Because I want your eyes on me. Because…
Joe watches the line of your throat as you swallow, then presses the blade to it tightly. You tilt your neck up slightly, trying to evade his grasp. There’s blood dripping from your nose, slipping down to your lips. Joe watches it in mute fascination, resisting the strangely compelling urge to touch it, let it stain his fingers.
The bathroom door swings open. You look to the doorway, clearly hoping for some intervention. But Joe is faster, subtly pressing his knife to the small of your back and grabbing a paper towel in his other hand.
“Look down a bit,” he says to you, pretending as if the two of you entered the bathroom to handle your unrelated bloody nose. Joe presses the towel to your nose and guides your head down slightly, pressing the blade to your spine as a reminder.
You’re glaring at him furiously, even as you tilt your head.
Joe suddenly wants to kiss you. Very, very badly.
The stranger walks past, heads into a stall. Time seems to drag on for far too long, leaving Joe trapped in this damn bathroom. Finally, they’re gone and the two of you are alone again.
There’s still some blood on your lips. Your shirt is stained slightly.
Even as the adrenaline finally begins to wear off, Joe feels privileged to see you this vulnerable—and proud of himself for causing it. He’s moving before he can convince himself otherwise. Joe loops an arm around you, pressing the knife to the nape of your neck and tugging you into him.
In that luxurious bathroom, you expect Joe Goldberg to flay you, to bury that knife between your ribs and yank. You don’t expect him to use it to drag you closer, into a kiss. And the irony of it all… is that once you break apart, breathless, he’s just regarding you calmly. As if you’re the crazy one.
“Now,” Joe says, his voice calm. “I have a present for you.”
“I don’t want it,” you say quickly, still struggling to comprehend what’s going on. He just kissed you. And killed someone. Somehow, the former is more shocking.
“I know,” Joe responds with amusement, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit and extracting a Ziploc bag of pills. Shit. Fuck. Shit. You’re really screwed now. “Here,” he says, leaving it on the sink counter. Joe’s looking at you expectantly. Does he really think you’re going to take these mysterious drugs—and from him of all people?
You shake your head. You have a bad feeling about those pills.
“Take them,” Joe urges you impatiently. He jabs at your ribs lightly with the knife, just hard enough for you to remember he’s armed. You take a slow breath before placing the pills in your mouth and swallowing them. It’s difficult to keep them down without water, but you manage. “They’re not roofies, don’t worry.”
“Right,” you scoff. You’re not sure if you can even take those words at face value. Besides, they don’t have to be roofies to knock you unconscious. And you suspect that’s exactly what Joe intends to do. As for what happens after that, you can only guess. “So, we’re just going to stand here?” you huff, trying to find some bravado despite the powerless position you’re in. You have a bad feeling you’re going to die tonight.
“Yes,” Joe responds calmly. “They’ll kick in soon.”
And that just makes your heart drop to your stomach. A shiver runs up your spine at the patient expression on his face. You’re standing there at the counter, trying to manifest some sense of resistance despite the inevitability of it all. The world is starting to swirl and spin around you, and you don’t think you can put that down to your imagination. The drugs are beginning to kick in already, just as Joe said. You want to be sick.
A hysterical, broken laugh crawls up your throat. “I knew I didn’t like you for a reason,” you murmur. Your words slur together a bit as your vision blurs. Joe laughs, a piercing sound that reverberates in your ears. He places a hand on your shoulder. You want to shove him away, but your body isn’t cooperating. It’s taking all of your strength to keep yourself standing.
“Fuck—” you choke out, tripping over your words as your balance tilts, “—you.” The lights are flickering around you. Except… wait. No, that’s just your vision. Your eyes are burning from fatigue and it’s growing difficult to fight off the exhaustion. Your knees give out and you fall to the ground, half-hoping to just crack your head open on the marble counter and escape the situation. But Joe’s there to catch you, lowering you to the ground gently. He’s hovering over you, eyes glittering with an emotion you don’t want to name. And you’re desperately trying to push him away, bringing a hand to his chest and summoning even a single ounce of strength—
But there’s no force behind the gesture, as your eyes slip shut and your hand promptly falls to your side. From there, you get glimpses and traces of sensations as you slip into an inescapable void. Hands under your legs. You’re a tangle of limbs being taken… somewhere. A thumb across your cheek, almost reverent. A stickiness on your lips—probably blood. A persistent ache in your bones. Nausea climbing up your dry throat.
You wake to find yourself on a makeshift futon with a blanket thrown over you, surrounded by glass walls on all sides. Your head aches, your dry eyes burn. The memories come back in an ungraceful assault, robbing you of your breath. The wedding, the corpse, that encounter in the bathroom. It dawns on you
You were right about Joe Goldberg.
And, for maybe the first time in your life, you wish your intuition was wrong instead.
endnotes: FINALLY got this out of my drafts, holy shit. i'm happy with it, tho.
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