Chapter Text
Voicemail, 1:42 AM
“Hi. It’s me. Penelope. Obviously.”
A shaky laugh. Nervous. Already tipsy.
“I know I shouldn’t be calling. I shouldn’t say any of this. But I’m drunk. And I’ve been thinking about you again. And it’s getting pathetic.”
A pause.
“You’re in my head. All the time. You smile at me and it does something to me. My whole body goes tight, like I’ve been pulled too close to a fire. Like I want to stay there and burn.”
There’s a faint shuffle — fabric, maybe. A breath. Slower now.
“I think about your mouth more than I should. Your hands. What it would feel like to have them on me. Inside me.”
Another beat of silence.
Then—
“I shouldn’t be saying this. I know I shouldn’t. But I’m…”
A sound escapes — soft, near the mic. Breathless. Real.
“I’m touching myself.”
Silence.
Longer this time.
And then she keeps going — voice softer, lower, like she forgot she was recording anything at all.
“I keep thinking about you behind me. Pushing into me. Saying my name. Not sweet — rough. Like you need it. Like you need me.”
A little moan. Swallowed. A shift of breath that definitely isn’t innocent.
“I’m wet,” she whispers. “I get wet just thinking about your voice. About how it would sound right in my ear while you—”
Another pause. Her breathing stutters. Faster now. She’s losing track of her thoughts. Her sentences.
“I want you to tell me I’m yours,” she whispers. “I want you to grab my hips and—fuck—fuck—I’m close.”
A soft cry. Too quiet to be fake.
Then a shaky inhale.
Another rustle of movement.
Silence for four seconds.
And finally—
“I love you,” she whispers, voice ruined.
The voicemail cuts off.