Messages from No One
Summary: Rachel has a secret admirer. Adult One-shot. Please don't read if you're too young.
Warnings: Mostly dirty talk. Mild smut (kinda) Nothing explicit, but still don't read if you shouldn't.
Author's note: Hi all, I know I should have posted the next part of my other story by now. But I'm kinda stuck on one of the 'mini-sections'. I've rewritten it half-a-dozen times, and it just seems…bad. Oh well, hopefully Santa will give me some inspiration for Christmas. (Thanks for the AWESOME response by the way!)
This is my first smutty-type fic. I tried to do PWP, but I obviously can't. Sorry if the pacing is off. Otherwise, thanks for reading and I hope you like. Merry Christmas to all!
Rachel stared at the small, slightly crumple piece of paper in confusion. Individually, the words made perfect sense. Together and slipped through the cracks of her locker door...not so much.
Surreptitiously glancing up and down the crowded hallway, she tried to see if anyone was watching her; possibly even laughing at her as some childish practical joke.
But she saw no one.
She noticed Finn standing down the hall by his locker, but his focus was solely fixed on Quinn. Kurt's locker stood opposite her own but, besides being gay, he was deeply absorbed in this month's copy of Vogue. She turned to see Matt, Mike and Puck talking together as they walked down the hall, but they breezed past her without so much as a glance. Those were the only boys in the immediate area that she recognised, and no one else seemed to be paying her any more attention than they usually did. (Which was none.)
She decided it was obviously a mistake. Possibly a note meant for Shelley Beaumont, who occupied the locker next to Rachel's, from her latest boyfriend.
Gathering the rest of her books and shutting her locker door, she scrunched up the tiny message and headed to class, throwing the paper away as she passed the recycling bin.
[Love your sexy knee socks today.]
Another small slightly crumpled piece of paper. Another bout of confusion.
Except this time she couldn't pass if off as a simple case of 'mistaken locker identity'. She'd never seen Shelly Beaumont wear anything but ridiculously tall heels to school. In fact, Rachel was pretty sure she was the only girl at William McKinley who ever wore knee socks (maybe except for the girl's hockey team, but logic told her that they didn't have training until after school, like all extracurricular activities.)
Logic, however, couldn't account for the messy scrawl on this tiny piece of paper.
Yes, she herself liked her knee socks. Why else would she wear them if she didn't? They were practical in the chilly fall weather and matched her cashmere sweater nicely.
But she never expected anyone to think they were 'sexy'.
[You're sexy when you pout.]
She had spent the remainder of the previous day carefully studying every boy she passed in the halls, trying to gauge a reaction. Most of the male students just looked straight through her, and those that did meet her eye mostly gave her matching looks of confusion or disgust.
For one horrifying moment, she had thought maybe her 'secret admirer' was the ever-so-creepy Jacob Ben-Israel as he gave her a particularly lecherous leer when he walked into Spanish class. She had been mentally preparing a very forceful and disgusted lecture on how he needed to stop writing about her, to her, or anything to do with her, when Puck had walked up behind the wheezing Jew and forcefully threw his shoulder into him.
"Oops. Sorry Moe," he had apologized with evident sarcasm before laughing with his friends as Jacob had scrambled around for his belongings.
She released a sigh of relief when she could clearly see one of his open notebooks from her seat in the front row, and while extremely messy, his handwriting looked nothing like that of her mystery note.
By the end of Glee that afternoon she had sadly given up and went home.
The next morning, she found this new note waiting in her locker.
[Nice try sexy, but I could spot those legs a mile away.]
She honestly didn't know whether to feel flattered or infuriated.
For the past three days, she had spent every spare moment between classes and during lunch literally stalking the hallway in which her locker resided. She had tried covertly hiding behind magazines or in carefully concealed corners in an obviously vain attempt at catching a glimpse from whomever these messages were from.
But she had clearly been unsuccessful.
Just as she was about to slip the roughly torn paper into her pocket, she noticed writing on the other side.
[P.S. I love imagining those legs wrapped around my waist as I make you moan with pleasure.]
Her eyebrows shot up as she read and re-read the message.
She had decided on infuriated; but now she just felt like rushing to the girls bathroom for some alone time.
*You're extremely sexy when you're reading. The tip of your tongue poking out as you concentrate. You could totally pull off my Sexy Librarian fantasy.*
Rachel blushed at the message as her cell phone screen lit up. She glanced around the usually empty school library, searching for any sign of her inappropriate yet strangely arousing secret admirer, but there was no one around except Ms. Ratchet, the school librarian, and a few freshman girls crowded around one of the computers.
As usual, her enigmatic man was nowhere in sight.
She continued staring at her phone, until it suddenly struck her what to do. Quickly hitting the reply button, she impatiently waited for the screen to change while simultaneously deciding if she would encourage or discourage this behaviour (or more precisely: how exactly to encourage this behaviour).
Her momentary triumph soon turned into disgruntled disbelief as she saw the new message that flashed in front of her eyes.
This message has been sent from a blocked number. Please enter a number and try again.
She let out a frustrated groan as she slammed her phone down.
"Shhh." Ms. Ratchet hissed disapprovingly as Rachel shot her an apologetic smile.
Her phone unexpectedly lit up again.
*I love it when I get you all hot and bothered.*
She whipped her head up as she swivelled in her seat, searching desperately for something. Anything.
For a moment, she thought she saw the flash of a red letterman jacket reflecting in one of the library windows, but quickly dismissed it when she noticed the red school banner flying prominently outside.
[I dreamt about you last night. Panting and writhing as you rode me into oblivion.]
She couldn't believe this was happening.
Not only had this person eluded her for three whole weeks, teasing her with his (or her; she'd looked over the previous messages and realised she couldn't exactly rule out the female population) excruciatingly tantalizing notes.
But also, said person was practically writing her soft porn.
In broad daylight.
If she wasn't always so turned-on, she might even consider feeling offended at the blatant disregard to school rules.
Also, she found herself actually feeling twinges of disappointment whenever she opened her locker and didn't find a small folded piece of paper waiting for her. There was just no discernable pattern to the arrival of her unconventional mail. Sometimes she would go days without anything, and then suddenly two or three in one day.
The most frustrating part of all was there was absolutely nothing she could do to ease her 'situation' except imagine a faceless stranger as she fingered herself to a climax.
[I liked the pink skirt you wore yesterday. But I love the black one more. I'd especially love it if my head was under it.]
She squirmed in her seat as she felt her latest note almost burn a hole in the pocket of her short black skirt. It had been waiting for her just as the warning bell had rung after lunch. She had even seriously considered skipping Spanish class to 'take care of things' before Brittany had come up to her and asked if she could copy her notes during class.
After class, she practically ran to the nearest bathroom, splashing water on herself in a futile attempt to calm down.
Just as she had finally collected herself and was preparing to head to Biology, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.
*Where'd you rush off to after class? Did I get you hot?*
Before she could even comprehend how he/she had known about her mad dash for privacy, her phone buzzed again.
*I'm hard just thinking about you. Inside the girls bathroom. Your hands between your legs. Girls chattering on the other side of the door. Flushed and breathless as your fingers send you over the edge.*
She locked herself in a stall after that, biting her lip as she tried to contain her moans.
That afternoon, when she left the bathroom and dropped off her books before heading home, she found yet another piece of paper waiting for her, causing her stomach to flip in excitement.
[I want you so bad. Wear this if you want me too.]
That morning, she had arrived at school to find an envelope in her locker. Inside was the customary note, along with a small flat golden star hanging from a thin golden chain. It was elegantly simple, and Rachel marvelled how a teenage boy who had such a deviously arousing mind could give such a charming gift.
She clasped it around her neck immediately, smiling and humming to herself as she shut her locker door before walking to class, eagerly anticipating the day to come.
By the time Glee rehearsal rolled around, Rachel found her anticipation waning. She truthfully didn't think she'd have to wait this long for her secret admirer to step forward.
She was the first to arrive, as usual, and she dutifully began setting up the room, as usual.
Her body tensed in excitement when she heard heavy footsteps enter and walk up, pausing directly behind her. She turned with a bright smile to find Puck smirking back at her. She felt her stomach do an unexpected yet exhilarated skip as she waited for him to speak.
Her smile almost faltered.
Too casual. Her hope oddly dashed once more.
"Good afternoon, Noah." She replied, using her best acting skills to conceal her disappointment.
It had all been for nought.
Just some idiot jerk who got a thrill out of toying with her feelings and hormones.
She had worn the necklace again that day. Waiting patiently for him to make his move.
But he never did.
She fingered the delicate chain as she studied her reflection while getting ready for bed.
When she saw her journal situated on her bedside table she felt overcome with anger and disappointment, knowing that all the little notes had been stupidly tucked into the pages. Like a silly school girl crush.
Rachel almost tore off the shining gold star, deciding it was ugly and disgusting, before thrusting it into the back of her jewellery box. She also grabbed her childish journal and threw the mockingly pink thing into the trash, causing a loud clunk as it hit the ground.
She sighed once more as she walked over to her bed, and prepared to climb in.
It was that moment that the doorbell chimed throughout the house.
Her parents were away for the weekend, so it might be her next door neighbour, Mrs. Clumpsky, checking up on her. She grabbed her dressing gown as the doorbell rang once more, and she quickly headed downstairs to answer.
She swung the door open, expecting to see the old and grumpy face of Mrs. Clumspky, but was instead met with the tail end of a very familiar Mohawk.
"Noah?" She asked, confused as he turned to face her; wide smile lighting up his features.
Author's note: So you might be thinking that I have a very similar format to my other story (except I went for third person in past-tense this time). I only realised after I finished. LOL. Oh well, I hope it was enjoyable all the same.