#voicemail

PART 1

C's corner: This will be a three part fanfic, just because I couldn't get this idea out of my mind while working on Echoes.

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: 18+, explicit content, suggestive language, drunken confessions.

SUMMARY: You accidentally left a tipsy voicemail. John Walker made it his personal mission to one-up you.

It all started with Yelena declaring, "We deserve a night without testosterone and tactical gear," while dramatically waving her vodka martini like a battle flag. Ava had already downed her first drink and was halfway through a second before you could protest.

The mission had been long, the debrief longer, and John Walker's irritating smirk had lingered in your mind like a mosquito buzz you couldn't swat away.

So naturally, when Yelena said girls' night out, you said hell yes.

Cut to two hours later, the three of you squeezed into a tiny booth at a dimly lit bar, surrounded by too-loud music, glittering lights, and Yelena trying to convince the bartender to name a drink after her.

Ava, meanwhile, was showing off her ability to phase her drink hand in and out of the table for comedic effect. You were already on your third cocktail, cheeks warm, laughter flowing easier than oxygen.

The conversation had been harmless at first. Fashion. Mission gossip. Why Alexei's playlist was 90% Soviet marching anthems.

Then Yelena leaned in, grinning like she'd just found the detonator. "So…" she drawled, stretching the word like a warning siren, "are we going to talk about him or pretend we haven't noticed the way you look at Walker during sparring?"

You nearly choked on your drink. "Excuse me?"

Ava smirked. "Oh please. You practically shoot laser beams at him every time he takes his shirt off to 'cool down.' It's like watching a rom-com with combat boots."

"I do not," you protested, but your voice went an octave too high, and Yelena pounced.

"Oh, you do," she said, swirling her drink like an oracle about to deliver doom. "The way you glare at him when he smiles? That is not hate, that is… repressed something."

Ava snorted. "Sexual tension so thick it's its own field mission."

You groaned, sinking into your seat. "You guys are insane."

"Maybe," Yelena said, leaning closer. "But we're right."

Somewhere between your fourth and fifth drink, your internal filter went AWOL.

You slammed your glass down, nearly spilling it. "Okay. Fine."

Both Yelena and Ava perked up immediately.

"Yes, John Walker is… infuriating," you blurted out, waving your hand for emphasis. "He's cocky, he talks too loud, he thinks the world revolves around his stupid Captain America jawline..."

"But?" Ava teased.

You glared at her, or tried to. Your eyes crossed slightly. "But… he's also… so unfairly hot. Like... like God got bored one day and decided to make someone who's both annoying and absurdly attractive just to personally torment me."

Yelena burst into laughter so loud half the bar looked over. "I knew it! I knew the way you looked at him during training wasn't hatred, it was horny confusion!"

"Oh my god, stop," you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I hate that man."

Ava smirked. "You sure? Because it sounds a lot like you'd let him carry you out of a burning building."

"Yeah," Yelena added wickedly, "and maybe back into it again."

You swatted at both of them, half-laughing, half-dying inside. "You guys are the worst."

"Oh my God," Yelena wheezes, "you so have it bad."

"I do not!"

Ava snorts. "Call him."

"What? No."

"Call him," Yelena echoes, eyes gleaming. "Bet you won't."

"I definitely won't."

"Then you lose the bet," Ava teases.

You slam your empty glass down. "Fine! I'll call him! Happy?"

Ava immediately shoves your phone into your hand, already pulling up his contact. "Do it."

You squint at the glowing screen like it's a bomb. "This is such a bad idea."

"Best idea," Yelena corrects. "Go. Go before you sober up!"

You hit the call button.

The three of you huddle close, waiting. It rings once… twice… and then voicemail.

Yelena gasps dramatically. "Leave a message!"

"No!" you whisper-yell. "Absolutely not!"

"Do it!" Ava cheers. "He'll never let you live it down!"

The tone beeps.

You freeze for a second, then your drunk brain decides to take the wheel.

"Uh... hey, Walker," you start, your voice already too loud.

"You think you're so tough, don't you? All that bravado, that stupid perfect face, those arms... God, your arms are ridiculous. But you're not that tough. I could take you."

You hiccup

"I could… I could ride you into the ground, make you scream my name for hours. You're not even that hot. Okay, you are, but I hate you for it. So… yeah. Call me back. Or don't. Whatever."

Yelena is doubled over laughing, Ava clapping like it's a comedy show.

"I'm hanging up now," you announce, before whispering, "you infuriatingly attractive idiot," and hanging up.

Silence follows for half a second.

Then the table erupts.

You bury your face in your arms while Yelena and Ava cackle like hyenas.

"Oh my God," Yelena gasps. "You're doomed. He is going to tease you until you die."

You groan. "Please tell me I imagined that."

Ava pats your shoulder. "Nope. You left a whole essay."

Morning hit like a freight train. Sunlight stabbed through your curtains, and your head throbbed like someone was using it as a drum. Groaning, you dragged yourself to the kitchen, squinting against the harsh light of the tower's communal space. Coffee. You needed coffee.

As you fumbled with the machine, heavy footsteps echoed behind you. You didn't need to turn to know who it was, his presence was like a storm cloud, all heat and weight.

"Morning, sunshine," John drawled, leaning against the counter, his voice low and teasing. He was in his usual tactical gear, sleeves rolled up to show off those damn forearms, his blue eyes glinting with something unreadable.

You froze, a vague sense of dread curling in your gut. "Uh… morning," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as you poured coffee with shaking hands. Something nagged at you, a fuzzy memory of his name on your phone screen. "Did… did we talk last night?"

John raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, which only made his biceps look more infuriating. "Talk? Nah. I was out late on a mission debrief. Why? You miss me or something?" His smirk was pure arrogance, and it made your skin prickle.

"I just… I feel like I called you," you said, rubbing your temple, the headache pulsing harder. "Must've been a dream."

He chuckled, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "A dream, huh? Must've been a good one if you're this flustered."

You glared, heat creeping up your neck. "I'm not flustered. I'm hungover. Big difference."

"Sure," he said, clearly not buying it. He pushed off the counter, brushing past you close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne, woodsy, warm, and maddening. "If you did call me, though, I'd love to know what you said. Bet it was interesting."

You forced a laugh, heart racing as you prayed he hadn't checked his voicemail yet. "Yeah, well, keep dreaming, Walker."

He shot you one last grin before heading out, leaving you clutching your coffee mug, dread and desire warring in your chest.

The kitchen was barely quiet for a moment before Yelena and Ava strolled in, both looking far too chipper for people who'd matched you drink for drink last night.

Yelena's blonde bob was slightly mussed, but her smirk was sharp as ever, and Ava's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she plopped onto a stool, stealing a sip of your coffee.

"Well, well," Yelena drawled, her accent thick with amusement. "Look at you, barely upright. How's that hangover treating you, lover girl?"

You groaned, slumping over the counter, your forehead pressing against the cool granite. "Like I got hit by a quinjet. Why are you two so… functional?"

Ava grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Because we're not pining over John Walker like some lovesick puppy. Keeps the headaches at bay."

"I'm not pining," you snapped, though the words lacked conviction.

Then it hits you, one fragmented flash at a time. The sound of laughter echoing off the bar. Yelena daring you to do something stupid. Ava's cackling as you clutched your phone with the confidence only three margaritas could give you.

Your stomach flips.

You remember his name on your lips, John Walker, slurred into your voicemail at some ungodly hour, every word soaked in alcohol and poor judgment. You can almost hear your own voice now, playful and a little too honest: "You're… infuriatingly attractive, you know that?"

The color drains from your face as the puzzle pieces lock into place. Every half-remembered giggle, every clinking glass, it all crashes back in a mortifying flood.

Your stomach dropped like you'd just missed a step on the stairs. "Oh no," you whispered, eyes widening. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."

Yelena burst into laughter "Realization sets in."

Ava is beside her, clutching her sides "You do remember what you said, right?"

"Stuff... bad stuff," you blurted, your voice a frantic hiss, as bits and pieces come back to your fuzzy " Like, 'I could ride you into the ground' stuff. He can't hear it. He cannot hear it."

Yelena's cackle echoing through the kitchen.

"This isn't funny!" you hissed, your face burning as you scrambled to your feet, nearly knocking over your coffee. "He hasn't heard it yet, he said we didn't talk last night. But if he checks his voicemail..." You cut off, a wave of nausea hitting you, and not just from the hangover. "I have to find him. Now."

Ava wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling. "What's the plan? Tackle him and steal his phone? Because I'd pay to see that."

"Shut up," you muttered, already halfway out the kitchen, your socks sliding on the polished floor. "Just... cover for me if anyone asks where I am!"

Yelena called after you, "Tell him to save the voicemail! I want a copy!"

You ignored her, heart pounding as you sprinted toward the elevator. The tower was a maze of sleek corridors and high-tech labs, and John could be anywhere, training room, briefing room, or worse, already listening to your drunken confession.

Your mind raced with worst-case scenarios: John's smug grin as he played the voicemail on speaker, his teasing voice quoting your words back to you, those piercing blue eyes seeing right through your defenses.

You checked the training room first, peering through the glass door. Empty, except for a few agents sparring in the corner.

Next, the briefing room, also empty. Your phone was still in your room, but you didn't dare go back for it; every second was a ticking bomb. You rounded a corner toward the common area, nearly colliding with Bucky.

"Whoa, slow down!" Bucky grunted, steadying you. "What's got you running like you're chasing a Hydra agent?"

"Have you seen John?" you asked, breathless, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Walker? Yeah, he's in the tech lab, I think. Something about mission reports. You okay? You look like you're gonna puke."

"I'm fine," you lied, bolting past him.

The tech lab was on the next floor, and you mashed the elevator button like it owed you money. The ride up felt eternal, your palms sweaty as you imagined John pulling out his phone, that telltale smirk spreading as your voice spilled out.

The elevator dinged, and you sprinted down the hall, skidding to a stop outside the tech lab. Through the glass, you saw him, leaning against a table, scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable. Your heart lurched. Was he listening to it right now?

You burst through the door, panting. "John!"

He looked up, startled, his phone still in hand. "What the hell? You okay?"

"Don't check your voicemail," you blurted, then cringed at how desperate you sounded. "I mean... uh, can I borrow your phone for a sec?"

His brows furrowed, but that damn smirk was already creeping onto his face. "My phone? Why? You planning to confess something else?"

Your blood ran cold. "What do you mean, 'something else'?"

He stepped closer, his voice low, teasing. "You were pretty out of it last night. Said some interesting things in the kitchen just now, too. What's got you so spooked?"

You swallowed hard, heart hammering. He hadn't heard it yet. You still had a chance. "Nothing," you said, forcing a laugh. "Just… thought I left you a dumb message about a mission. Can I check? Please?"

John tilted his head, studying you like he could see every secret you were hiding.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, but he held out his phone anyway, his fingers brushing yours as you took it. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, and you hated how your body reacted.

You fumbled with the screen, praying you could delete the voicemail before he got curious. But as you opened the app, his hand closed over yours, stopping you.

"Hold on," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet tone. "If it's that important, maybe I should listen to it first."

You froze, staring up at him, his blue eyes locked on yours. You were so screwed.

John's grip tightened over your hand, his smirk growing as he tugged the phone back from your trembling fingers with infuriating ease. "Now I'm really curious." he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble that sent heat racing up your spine despite your panic.

"John, don't," you pleaded, lunging for the phone, but he held it out of reach, his height and reflexes making it impossible. Your heart was a jackhammer in your chest, each beat screaming disaster as he swiped through the screen, navigating to his voicemail with deliberate slowness, like he was savoring your desperation.

"Walker, I swear..." you started, but the words died as you launched yourself at him in a last-ditch effort.

You jumped onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, trying to wrestle the phone from his hand. He barely flinched, his broad frame solid as a wall, but you clung on, reaching desperately over his shoulder. "Give it back!"

He laughed, a deep, infuriating sound that vibrated through you as you flailed. "What's got you so worked up, huh? This must be good." His thumb hovered over the play button, and before you could stop him, he tapped it, switching the phone to speaker.

Your blood turned to ice as your own voice, slurred, reckless, and unmistakably you, filled the tech lab.

"Hey, Walker… It's me. You think you're so tough, don't you? All that bravado, that stupid perfect face, those arms, God, your arms are ridiculous…"

You slid off his back, your feet hitting the floor with a thud as you whispered, "No, no, no, no," over and over, your face burning so hot you thought it might combust. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole, wished for a sudden alien invasion, anything to stop the mortifying playback.

"…But you're not that tough. I could take you. I could… I could ride you into the ground, make you scream my name for hours…"

John's eyebrows shot up, his smirk morphing into something darker, hungrier, as he turned to face you, the phone still held aloft. Your voice droned on, each word a fresh stab of humiliation, and you covered your face with your hands, unable to meet his gaze.

"…You're not even that hot. Okay, you are, but I hate you for it. So… yeah. Call me back. Or don't. Whatever."

The voicemail ended with a beep, and the silence that followed was deafening. You peeked through your fingers, expecting mockery, but John was just standing there, his blue eyes locked on you, an unreadable intensity in them that made your stomach flip. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't even smirking anymore.

"Well," he said finally, his voice low and rough, like he was holding something back. "That was… enlightening."

You groaned, stepping back until you bumped into a table, your hands still half-covering your face. "Just… kill me now. Please. I'll owe you one."

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you, his phone still in hand but forgotten as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Oh, I don't know. I kinda like you alive. Especially after that."

Your breath caught, your hands falling to your sides as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide, and the air between you crackled with something electric, something that made your skin prickle and your heart race for reasons beyond embarrassment.

"John, I was drunk," you said, your voice small, desperate to defuse whatever this was becoming. "I didn't mean..."

"Didn't mean it?" he interrupted, tilting his head, his tone challenging but soft, almost daring you to lie. "Sounded pretty convincing to me."

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He was too close, his presence overwhelming—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, that damn cologne that made your head spin. You wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, but the truth was there, raw and exposed in the echo of your own words.

He took another step, his voice dropping even lower. "So, what's it gonna be? You gonna take me down like you said? Or do I get to call you back… and see how long you last?"

Your mouth went dry, your headache forgotten, as the weight of his words settled over you. You were in so much trouble, and not just because of the voicemail.

The air between you and John was thick, charged with a tension that made your pulse race and your skin burn.

His words hung in the space like a dare, his blue eyes pinning you in place as he leaned closer, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

You opened your mouth, fumbling for a response, something to deflect, to deny, to survive this mortifying moment, but before you could get a word out, the tech lab door burst open with the force of a hurricane.

"Yo, lover girl!" Yelena's voice cut through the silence like a knife, dripping with glee. "Did you get the phone, or are you too busy making heart eyes at Captain Smug?"

Ava trailed behind her, already laughing, her dark hair bouncing as she leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, please tell me we're interrupting something juicy. The vibes in here are screaming unresolved tension."

You whipped around, your face flaming anew as you realized the scene they'd walked into: you, flushed and flustered, inches from John, who hadn't stepped back and was now looking at Yelena and Ava with a mix of amusement and irritation. The phone, still clutched in his hand, felt like a ticking time bomb.

"Nothing's happening!" you blurted, too quickly, your voice cracking. You pointed at John, desperate to redirect the chaos. "I was just... trying to get his phone! Because of the voicemail! Which he heard, thanks to you two not helping!"

John raised an eyebrow, holding up the phone like a trophy. "Oh, I heard it, alright. Pretty memorable stuff."

Yelena's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with delight. "You played it? On speaker? Oh, this is better than I hoped! Tell me, Walker, how's it feel to know she wants to... " she mimicked your slurred voice, "...ride you into the ground?"

Ava doubled over, cackling so hard she had to brace herself against the wall. "I'm dead. I'm actually dead. Please tell me you recorded her reaction when it played."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands again, wishing for a wormhole to another dimension. "I hate you both. So much."

John, infuriatingly calm, leaned back against the table, crossing his arms, which only made his biceps strain against his shirt in a way that was not helping your situation.

"You know, I was about to get an answer out of her before you two clowns showed up," he said, his tone teasing but with that same dark edge that made your stomach flip.

"An answer?" Yelena sauntered over, plucking a pen from the table and twirling it like a weapon. "What, like whether she's gonna follow through on her drunken promises? Because I'd bet money she's too chicken to try."

"I'm not chicken!" you snapped, then immediately regretted it as Yelena's grin widened and Ava's laughter hit a new pitch. "I mean... I didn't mean anything by it! It was tequila talking, not me!"

Ava wiped tears from her eyes, barely containing herself. "Sure, babe. Tequila's the one who's been staring at Walker's ass during every training session for the past month."

"I have not!" you lied, your voice hitting a pitch that could summon dogs. You turned to John, desperate to regain some semblance of control. "Can you just... delete the voicemail? Pretend it never happened? I'll owe you. I'll do your mission reports for a week."

John's smirk returned, slow and dangerous, as he stepped closer, his voice low enough that Yelena and Ava wouldn't catch it. "Delete it? Nah. I'm keeping that as a souvenir. Besides…" He leaned in, his breath brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'm curious how much of it was just the tequila."

Before you could respond, or combust, Yelena grabbed your arm, pulling you back with a dramatic flourish. "Okay, enough flirting! We're stealing her for damage control. You," she pointed at John, "don't get any ideas until she's sober enough to mean them."

Ava looped her arm through your other side, still giggling. "Come on, we're getting you coffee and a plan to survive this. Walker, don't listen to that voicemail again unless you're ready to deal with her wrath."

John chuckled, pocketing his phone as he watched you being dragged toward the door. "No promises," he called after you, his voice laced with a challenge that made your heart stutter.

As Yelena and Ava hauled you into the hallway, their teasing relentless, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was far from over. John Walker wasn't the type to let something like this go, and a part of you, buried deep under the embarrassment, wasn't sure you wanted him to.

The rest of the day was a blur of coffee, Advil, and dodging Yelena and Ava's relentless teasing. You'd holed up in your room at the tower, hoping to hide from the world, and John Walker, until the mortifying memory of that voicemail faded into obscurity.

By evening, you were sprawled on your bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, trying to distract yourself with memes and mission reports. The headache had dulled to a faint throb, but your pride was still in tatters.

Your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

John Walker.

Your heart stopped, your thumb hovering over the decline button as panic surged through you. Why was he calling? Hadn't you humiliated yourself enough for one day? But curiosity, or maybe something else, got the better of you, and you answered, your voice wary.

"Uh… hello? John, what's going on?"

His low chuckle came through the line, warm and infuriatingly confident, like he knew exactly how flustered you were.

"You told me to call you back," he said, his tone teasing but edged with that same intensity from earlier. "In that… memorable voicemail of yours. Figured I'd follow through."

You sat up, your stomach lurching as the memory of your drunken words slammed back into focus.

Call me back. Or don't. Whatever.

You'd said that, hadn't you? Right after ranting about his stupid perfect face and how you could... oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose, willing your voice to stay steady. "That was… I was drunk, John. It doesn't count."

"Doesn't count?" he repeated, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, could picture those piercing blue eyes glinting with amusement. "You sounded pretty damn sure of yourself. Something about making me scream your name? Gotta say, I'm intrigued."

Your face burned, and you paced your room, clutching the phone like a lifeline. "I'm begging you to forget that ever happened. I'll do anything. I'll... clean your gear, take your night shifts, whatever you want. Just delete it."

He laughed again, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine despite your best efforts to stay annoyed. "Tempting offer, but I'm not sure I'm ready to let it go. You put it out there, sweetheart. Can't just take it back now."

You groaned, flopping onto your bed, one hand covering your eyes as if that could block out the embarrassment. "You're the worst. Why are you even calling? To torture me?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that made your breath catch. "But mostly because I wanted to hear your voice. See if you're still as bold sober as you were last night."

Your heart skipped, and you hated how his words sent a spark of heat through you. "I'm not... bold. I was drunk. There's a difference."

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly unconvinced. "So, you're telling me you don't think about it at all? Not even a little? Me, you, a couple hours to see who breaks first?"

You choked on air, your mind traitorously conjuring images of his broad shoulders, those forearms, the way he'd looked at you in the tech lab, close, intense, like he was daring you to make a move.

"John," you said, your voice firmer than you felt, "you're fishing. I'm not taking the bait."

"Fair enough," he said, but there was a challenge in his tone, like he was already planning his next move. "But you should know, I saved that voicemail. Might listen to it again later. You know, for… inspiration."

You bolted upright, your voice rising. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," he shot back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "Unless you wanna come over here and delete it yourself. My room's not far."

Your mouth went dry, your pulse hammering as the implication hung in the air. He was teasing, probably, but there was an edge to his words that made you wonder how much of it was a game. Before you could respond, you heard a muffled noise on his end, like someone knocking.

"Hold that thought," he said. "Got company. But don't think this is over. You started this, and I'm not letting you off that easy."

The call ended, leaving you staring at your phone, your heart racing and your mind a chaotic mess.

He'd called you because of the voicemail. He'd saved it. And now he was dangling it over your head like a weapon. Worse, a part of you, the reckless, stupid part, wasn't entirely mad about it.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed. You needed a plan. Maybe Yelena and Ava could help you break into his room and steal his phone. Or maybe you'd have to face him head-on and deal with whatever this was turning into.

Either way, John Walker was officially under your skin, and you had a sinking feeling he wasn't going anywhere.

The tower was cloaked in the stillness of late night, the kind of quiet that amplified every thought, every pulse of adrenaline. You were fast asleep, dead to the world after the emotional rollercoaster of the day, your phone silent on your nightstand, unaware of the storm brewing.

John Walker, meanwhile, was anything but asleep.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light from a single lamp carving sharp angles across his jaw and bare chest, he'd stripped down to a pair of sweats, restless and wired.

His phone was in his hand, your voicemail still saved, replayed so many times he could recite it by heart. Your voice, slurred and brazen, had wormed its way into his head, stoking a fire he hadn't expected.

The way you'd called him out, challenged him, then let slip those raw, unfiltered desires, it was messing with him in ways he couldn't ignore.

He'd called you earlier to tease, to push, but now, with the night stretching out and the memory of your flustered face in the tech lab burning in his mind, he wanted more.

He dialed your number again, knowing you wouldn't answer. When the voicemail beep sounded, he didn't hold back, his voice low, rough, and dripping with intent.

"Hey, sweetheart," he started, his tone dark and deliberate, like he was speaking directly into your ear. "You're probably out cold, but I can't stop thinking about that voicemail you left. That mouth of yours, running wild, talking about how you'd take me down, ride me for hours, make me scream your name. Fuck, that got me going."

He paused, letting the words hang, his breathing heavier as he leaned into the phone.

"I keep picturing you here, right now, trying to back up all that talk. You, pinned under me, all that fire in your eyes while I take my time with you. Or maybe you're on top, like you said, trying to make good on your promise, sweat on your skin, your nails digging into me, begging for more even when you're too wrecked to speak."

He shifted, his free hand gripping the edge of the bed, his voice dropping to a near-growl.

"You think you can handle me? I'm not so sure. I'd have you shaking, gasping my name, forgetting everything but the way I feel inside you. I'd make you lose that control you're so damn proud of, until you're nothing but a mess for me. And trust me, I'd take my time, hours, like you said, until you're screaming, until you can't think straight."

He chuckled, low and filthy. "So here's my offer: you come find me, and we'll see who breaks first. My door's open, and I'm not hard to find. But if you're too scared to face me, I'll keep this little message of yours… and I'll listen to it every damn night until you do."

He ended the call with a slow, deliberate breath, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tossed the phone onto the bed.

He'd just thrown down the gauntlet, raw and unfiltered, and the thought of you hearing it, your face flushing, your breath hitching, made his pulse race. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, knowing he'd just changed the game.

The next morning, you woke to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through your curtains, your body heavy but your head clearer than yesterday.

You reached for your phone, yawning, and froze when you saw the notification: 1 new voicemail. John's name stared back at you, timestamped at 12:47 a.m. Your stomach twisted, a mix of dread and something else, something hotter, more dangerous, curling in your gut.

"Oh, no," you muttered, your thumb hovering over the play button. Your heart pounded, a mix of dread and a traitorous curiosity twisting in your chest.

What could he possibly have said at nearly 1 a.m.? More teasing, probably, rubbing in your drunken voicemail like salt in a wound. But the memory of his voice earlier, low, challenging, laced with something dangerous, made you wonder if this was something else entirely.

You hit play, holding your breath as John's voice filled the room, rough and unfiltered, like he was right there beside you.

"Hey, sweetheart… You're probably out cold, but I can't stop thinking about that voicemail you left. That mouth of yours, running wild, talking about how you'd take me down, ride me for hours, make me scream your name. Fuck, that got me going…"

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your face as his words sank in.

He wasn't just teasing, he was escalating, painting vivid, explicit images that made your skin prickle.

His voice dropped lower, a gravelly edge to it, and as he described you pinned under him, sweat on your skin, nails digging into his back, your core tightened, a hot, needy pulse sparking to life.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to ignore it, but his words were relentless.

"…I'd have you shaking, gasping my name, forgetting everything but the way I feel inside you… until you're screaming, until you can't think straight…"

Your mouth went dry, your body betraying you as a flush spread from your chest downward.

You should've stopped the voicemail, deleted it, thrown your phone across the room, anything to stop the way his voice was unraveling you.

But you didn't.

You sat there, frozen, as he dared you to come find him, to see who'd break first. When the message ended with that low, filthy chuckle, you exhaled shakily, your fingers trembling as you stared at the screen.

You should've been mortified. You should've been furious. Instead, you were… something else.

Hot, restless, your body humming with a need you couldn't ignore. Your mind replayed his words, the way he'd said sweetheart like it was a promise, the way he'd described you losing control under him. It was too much, too vivid, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play again.

His voice washed over you a second time, slower now, each word sinking deeper.

"…trying to make good on your promise, sweat on your skin, your nails digging into me, begging for more…"

Your hand moved almost without thought, slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts, fingers brushing against your already slick skin.

You gasped softly, the contact sending a jolt through you as John's voice continued, describing exactly how he'd take you apart. Your fingers moved in time with his words, circling slowly, your breath hitching as you imagined his hands, his mouth, that infuriating smirk pressed against your skin.

You knew it was reckless, letting his voicemail push you to this point, but you couldn't stop.

The heat in your core was overwhelming, a desperate ache that grew with every syllable.

"…I'd make you lose that control you're so damn proud of, until you're nothing but a mess for me…"

Your hips rocked against your hand, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you chased the edge his words had driven you toward. Your other hand gripped the sheets, your body trembling as you pictured him, broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, the weight of him pinning you down.

The voicemail ended again, and you were panting, your fingers still moving, chasing the release that was so close.

You didn't replay it a third time, you didn't need to.

His voice was seared into your mind, looping as you tipped over the edge, a quiet moan spilling out as waves of pleasure crashed through you. You collapsed back against the pillows, chest heaving, your face burning with a mix of satisfaction and shame.

What the hell had you just done?

You'd let John Walker's voicemail, his smug, explicit, infuriating voicemail, get you off. And worse, you weren't sure you regretted it.

The thought of facing him now, knowing what he'd said, knowing how it had affected you, was both thrilling and terrifying. He'd dared you to come find him, to back up your drunken words. And now, with your body still humming from the aftershocks, you weren't sure you could avoid it.

You stared at your phone, the voicemail still saved, a dangerous temptation.

You could delete it, pretend this never happened, and go back to dodging him.

Or you could listen again… or worse, take him up on his challenge.

Either way, John Walker had just turned your world upside down, and you had a feeling this was only the beginning.

MDNI. 18+

!!aged up btw!!

•Having to work long shifts is not for the weak, you missed Izuku so much. You finally get a chance to look at your phone on your way home from work and you see a voice message from your boyfriend that he sent a few hours ago. Curiously, you decide to listen to it because he never usually sends you voice notes.

“Hey.” Izuku has been pent up for a while and he hasn’t even thought of masturbating since he’s been so busy being a teacher. “I really wish you were here right now..” He says calmly while gently pushing on the bulge in his pants to try to find some relief. His hips were bucking involuntarily into the pressure of his hand. A small whimper slipped out of his mouth. “Babe I miss you so much..” he says as he slowly takes his dick out of his sweatpants. Izukus dick was so hard it was hitting his stomach. It was shiny and slick with pre cum dripping all over him. Over the phone, he sounds slightly out of breath and whiny. “When are you going to come home?” he slowly pushes on his flushed tip as he lets out a soft moan. While imagining a picture of you in his head, his hand speeds up and he’s practically edging himself. “Ngh babe.. please hurry home! I can’t handle this anymore.” Izuku pants as his legs start shaking violently, pumping himself a few more times and that’s all it takes for him. He moans loudly as he came all over his phone. “Fuck. I miss you.”

Sent

Does no one else think it's genuinely worrying how if you even find a fictional character attractive, you're called a gooner, or a degenerate, or some other pejorative to indicate that being sexual in any way is gross and nasty and yucky? Why does art suddenly lack artistic value because it's sexual in nature? Why are we so obsessed with associating a core feature of the human condition with shame and guilt?

Even more concerning is that it isn't just some niche little group of people on the internet, it's rampant. Every nook and cranny of the internet has these people, ready and raring to call you names if you dare speak anything slightly not-safe-for-work.

Like the people on twitter openly calling trans women degenerates and freaks for having an incest/rape kink (I've seen this one A LOT), because how can you claim to be an ally, or lgbt-friendly, or a feminist, but get mad at a woman expressing her sexuality? Why does sexuality gross you out to the point you feel the need to demean people over it?

And where does it end? Are we going to start calling women who dress a little too revealing 'sluts' again? Are we going to ban sex scenes in movies? Start preaching abstinence, say sex outside of marriage is bad, that lust is immoral, and being gay is a sin?

I'm sure that a large part of the problem is that these people are generally children, and still in the "sex is gross" phase, but I know that's not the case with all of them. I'm just worried for the future, because all the people saying these things are just reinventing conservatism under the guise of progressivism, and are (intentionally or unintentionally, I'm not sure) causing more harm than good.

🎺The most intoxicating voicemail ever

▶️Watch the full Game Changer episode on @dropoutdottv:

She's such a needy freak, who needs self preservation when you've got an immortal roommate who can remember all your good bits when you kick it young?

... Either way, stop blowing up her phone girl!!

Chapter 6

“You know it’s okay that you don’t know?”

He shakes his head, still staring at the floor. “Is it, though? Am I not— Isn’t this unfair to everyone?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Simon…” she starts. “You— It’s not your job to fix everything for everyone.”

He shakes his head again. It’s been a lesson he’s been learning (or unlearning) most of his adult life. “I know that,” he mutters to the floor. “It’s just—” With a sigh, he lifts his head up. “It’s Wille. You know?”

Her smile is sad and knowing. “Oh. I know.”

Open Call Me: Leave your art text reading after the beep [greg.org]

Author: Some mood post that I came up with in thought. Hope you enjoy it, and if you want to check out more of my content, refer to the Masterlist page.

Y/N's POV

Jinsol and I have been together for at least five years. When we first met, it was all humble beginnings. She was trying to get into the Kpop industry while I was a college student.

Jinsol trained her body to the maximum of her capabilities; when she fell, I was there to catch her. That's what she always appreciated about me. I was there when she needed me.

In the early age of our relationship, it was all honeymoon and flowers. Jinsol always looked after me in return for my help; she'd always make time for us when she was not busy.