My own way to call you

Notes:

On ao3 the whole thing barely reached 30 views (and yes, it hurts a lot) . Here, twice as more of people (oh wat, are you people or just bots? I just don't know.) read the first chapter... it's already something *O*

So, if you're real people around, thanks.

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 and 5x5 and 5x6

 

Written for the ‘Hey, sweetheart’ 2026 challenge, with the bonus prompt:
‘a bouquet of something’

II: Betrayed

Joe’s POV

I’ve spent half a night thinking if our chat on WhatsApp 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 smashing 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, people, 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 tinkling 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 panties 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 trashy 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 could never say or do anything wrong.

“Of course you didn’t, I just reminded 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.

You're such a bad girl. And 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 I did with you, Joe.
First in the bookstore, then in our bed where we took 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 seemed to frown.

"What's wrong, Joe?" I inquired.

"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 grimaced. "So yes, please, I'm the only one who gets to call you 'love'"

"Mn, nice, may I get to know how it would sound?" You pleaded, as the back of your hand caressed my face with so much reverence I could have cried.

"Sure, my love." I pleased you, proving how much I meant it with a kiss. And I meant it for real, there was no acting, not that time.

"As nice as I guessed it would be." You smiled against my lips. "I just hope you'll call me that again and again."

"And I will, love. But about you, 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 that 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 on the floor, watching me.
You tasered me and you even look 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.
Not like our first attempt of bondage, which has been an epic fail.
The way we make love this time has no equal: 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 hell 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 have liked 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.

TBC