Glee Fic: empty bottles of your favorite perfume
Feelings, feelings, and more feelings. For ohdelighted, who gives me plenty of feelings on a daily basis with a lot of different things. Feeling things.
Why do I have this feelings. Let's not talk about the amount of Will/Rachel fic I just turned out, okay.
empty bottles of your favorite perfume
there is no such thing as a new you; this girl is a grown-up.
glee | jesse/rachel | future fic | 2,000 words, adult.
-
They agree on this much: Rachel comes to New York first, and a few years later, she’s working steadily through her last year of college with a strange chance at really making it. She keeps it simple: it’s all about doing this the right way, more than her way, but just with a little safety and practical planning. She knows that he hears about her through Shelby, who hears about her through the strangest combination of Mr. Schuester and Quinn, who runs into her in New York, a couple of times uptown.
The first party though? She doesn’t say a word.
She writes a song for her composition class, half-based in heavy guitars and the rest of it, low lyrics and all steady rhythm. When she sings it, she hates it, then she loves it, and then she hates it again. This is how she ends up in Brooklyn, at a house party thrown by a guy friend of one of her guy friends, who likes to tell her that he’s writing a play and it’s all about the women in his life.
This may or may not be the third or fourth time she sees Jesse, in the kitchen and perched on one of the counters. Her beer is sort of flat, the bottle neck sweating into her palm even as she presses it against the back of her neck. It’s hot and the music is just short of okay, and she can’t remember if she said she was going to leave early or she can just give herself enough time to sneak out.
“You know,” he drawls. “I think you’re avoiding me.”
She laughs. “Now why would I do that?”
He leans next to her at the counter, shoving his hands into his jeans. It’s Jesse, so there are jeans, there are plenty of jeans and thin t-shirts and she’s sure, if he could, he’d wear out his leather jacket in the summer heat.
It makes the fabric of her dress too much and every time she fidgets, she feels it run against her legs, her thighs, and she sort of eyes her legs with disdain. This makes him laughs and he takes the beer from her hand, handing him his. It’s much cooler when it brushes against her palm. She sighs happily and presses it against her throat now, ignoring the feel of the water sliding lazily against her breasts.
“Heard you dated a drummer,” he says.
“Lead singer,” she corrects. “You would’ve hated him.”
“I do, but it’s all about principles anyway.”
She laughs again, rolling her eyes. She shifts again and her dress pulls up, over her thighs just a little bit more.
“He was good,” she says. “Or still is. I think the band broke up because Dylan failed French and they’re pretty aware that they weren’t going to be the next Vampire Weekend or whatever.”
“Look at you,” he says. “And college, for that matter.”
Her lips quirk and she shakes her head. She could tell him that music’s always an open thing and that back in high school she was selective if only for survival, and if only, a little more than that, to stand out. She wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew anyway; it’s Jesse and Jesse was always two steps ahead when it came to knowing what she liked - that was the game, really.
He touches her knee then. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, and really, he could fill it with things like i fucking hate brooklyn or this really isn’t my thing and she would laugh and maybe, if she wasn’t feeling so generous, she’d just tell him no. But here’s the thing about her and Jesse, it’s just never been about the no.
Rachel licks her lips. She pulls herself off of the counter.
It takes an impromptu dinner to tell her that he’s producing, that he’s actually really good at it and likes it a lot. He looks happy, or, well, she thinks that he fakes happy really well. There’s still the way that he looks at her; Rachel can’t decide if she wants him to or not. She does let him sit too close and he lets her buy a couple of drinks that he likes, even though he complains about being a gentleman.
But he still starts walking her home after work, after she finally admits that she’s pulling in a steady income with a gig at a bar close to her apartment. She still does dance lessons and voice lessons, but she wants to be surrounded by different people, sounds and tastes. She thinks this is what New York’s done best for her. Plus, it’ll keep her on her feet when it’s time to go after auditions.
“Shelby thinks we’re having sex.”
She groans, rubbing her eyes. “It’s two in the morning, and while I appreciate you and your crazy need to see me home, I don’t want you, Jesse, throwing us together in a sentence with my mother and sex.”
“Aren’t you curious to what I said?”
She should call him an asshole or call Puck, who’s in Philadelphia, to tell him that she’s hanging around Jesse again and that she’s going to collect on that high school favor - or favors, but that’s another story for another day.
“You probably said yes,” she says, and he laughs. Her eyes roll. “You said yes and you want me to congratulate you on lording something over my mother who talks to me, or tries to talk to me, through my former Glee club teacher and the girl in high school who made my life a living hell. That takes effort, you know.”
“Of course it does,” he says. He shrugs too. “But worth it, you know.”
She’s too tired to listen to herself laugh, or call him soulless, but she does take his arm and he takes her bag to carry it home for her the rest of the way.
It’s not the first time he comes up.
The hottest day of the year happens too early in September, just when everybody is ready to pull out fall clothes and breathe into the school year with some kind of ease. Rachel stands in her apartment, staring at him as he argues with someone on the phone about work. There’s tension in the way that he holds himself, too tall and too proud, but she likes it, she thinks, all the same.
Friends think she’s dating him, and she hasn’t exactly gone out of her way to deny it; to her, in some part of her head, they’re Rachel and Jesse and that’s what they’ve always been anyway. It’s the thought that makes her press against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist and her mouth brushing against his shoulder.
He clears his throat, but she can pick out the layer of a laugh. His fingers stretch over her arms and they’re both sticky from the heat. She can’t bring herself to care, or want to care, and that’s really just the point about all of this anyway.
When he finishes, he brings one of her hands to his mouth. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
Her laughter is low, flushed over his skin. She bites lightly at his shoulder, over the fabric of his t-shirt, and then draws back, enough so that he can turn into her.
“What if you told my mother we were married?”
He smirks. “A little early though.”
“Well, it certainly wouldn’t surprise anyone, that’s for sure.” She leans in and brushes her mouth over his. She doesn’t kiss him, not just yet, but lingers and lets her teeth run over his lip. She tugs a little and then he’s grasping the hem of her dress, pulling it over her head and tossing it off to the side. “Just a suggestion,” she adds.
“I’ll take it into consideration,” he says.
His fingers curl around her jaw and she lets herself arch into his palm, her fingers curling around the waist of his jeans.
Rachel lets Jesse kiss her first.
He spreads her over the stairs, the lip of the bottom four curving into her back and ass. They lead upstairs to that tiny nook, the one that houses her bedroom.
“Jesus, your legs,” he breathes, and he’s guiding his dick inside of her, letting her push her hips forward so that he’s deep and they feel like they fit. She closes one of her legs over his hip and he jerks himself back, lifting her. His hands fit under her ass and he sort of twists himself into her, making her gasp.
She slides her fist into his hair, pulling his mouth over hers and sinking her teeth into his lip. She feels him start to slide in and out of her, just to the bring, his dick pulling just slightly out of her to thrust back into her again. Their skin is sticky and flushed and god, oh god she can feel him stretch her.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he tells her. “I just - jesus christ, you’re - you feel so good like this, baby.”
She whimpers into his mouth and they sort of twist, Jesse pushing her back onto the floor, by the stairs, just so that he can stretch over. His fingers dig into her thigh and she throws her head back, just as his teeth sink into her throat.
“Stop talking,” she moans.
All his weight keeps them belly to belly, but she’s scratching his nails down his back and it makes him moan over her throat. His thrust become heavier and heavier, and when his hips jerk hard, she’s clenching around his dick, throwing her head back and falling apart for him, then and there.
They sort of tumble back into the floor. Her hand throws itself back and hits the back of one of the steps. She hisses, just slightly, and when he makes a move to roll off of her, she tightens her leg around his hips.
“No,” she says. “Stay.”
He laughs. That sounds, she thinks, is something she likes to hear.
This is all leads up to her eating watermelon naked, licking her fingers as she watches him cut up the rest of the slices. Her legs dangle over her counter and he’s nothing but bare feet and blue jeans.
“So we’re having sex now,” she says, and when he turns, he smirks, stepping to her and between her legs. She lets her fingers brush over his mouth and he takes one of her fingers, sucking lightly at her skin.
“Great sex,” he says lazily.
“Mmm.”
She neither agrees nor disagrees, and that make him laugh. He pulls another chunk of the watermelon off of the plate he’s been using, feeding it to her. She takes it off of his fingers, letting her teeth graze the tips, swirling her tongue over her skin just before she swallows. His eyes darken.
“New York is a good look for you,” he says. He pulls his fingers away from her mouth, dropping them to her breasts and letting them drift against her skin.
She only smiles and bites into another piece of the watermelon. She’s deliberately messy, letting some of the juice roll over her skin. He bows over her, sliding his mouth over one of her nipples, just as he cups her breast. He licks at her skin and she throws herself into a half-moan, slipping a little towards the edge of the counter.
He moves his mouth to her stomach, and then her thigh, biting lightly at her skin and the curve as her legs spread. When his tongue rolls over her clit, she arches into his mouth, her head falling back against one of the cabinets.
She’s still all cheek, her fingers threading through his hair. “You - ” she breathes, “you just like how I taste.”
This much is all true. Shelby will be the first to know.
Why do I have this feelings. Let's not talk about the amount of Will/Rachel fic I just turned out, okay.
empty bottles of your favorite perfume
there is no such thing as a new you; this girl is a grown-up.
glee | jesse/rachel | future fic | 2,000 words, adult.
-
They agree on this much: Rachel comes to New York first, and a few years later, she’s working steadily through her last year of college with a strange chance at really making it. She keeps it simple: it’s all about doing this the right way, more than her way, but just with a little safety and practical planning. She knows that he hears about her through Shelby, who hears about her through the strangest combination of Mr. Schuester and Quinn, who runs into her in New York, a couple of times uptown.
The first party though? She doesn’t say a word.
She writes a song for her composition class, half-based in heavy guitars and the rest of it, low lyrics and all steady rhythm. When she sings it, she hates it, then she loves it, and then she hates it again. This is how she ends up in Brooklyn, at a house party thrown by a guy friend of one of her guy friends, who likes to tell her that he’s writing a play and it’s all about the women in his life.
This may or may not be the third or fourth time she sees Jesse, in the kitchen and perched on one of the counters. Her beer is sort of flat, the bottle neck sweating into her palm even as she presses it against the back of her neck. It’s hot and the music is just short of okay, and she can’t remember if she said she was going to leave early or she can just give herself enough time to sneak out.
“You know,” he drawls. “I think you’re avoiding me.”
She laughs. “Now why would I do that?”
He leans next to her at the counter, shoving his hands into his jeans. It’s Jesse, so there are jeans, there are plenty of jeans and thin t-shirts and she’s sure, if he could, he’d wear out his leather jacket in the summer heat.
It makes the fabric of her dress too much and every time she fidgets, she feels it run against her legs, her thighs, and she sort of eyes her legs with disdain. This makes him laughs and he takes the beer from her hand, handing him his. It’s much cooler when it brushes against her palm. She sighs happily and presses it against her throat now, ignoring the feel of the water sliding lazily against her breasts.
“Heard you dated a drummer,” he says.
“Lead singer,” she corrects. “You would’ve hated him.”
“I do, but it’s all about principles anyway.”
She laughs again, rolling her eyes. She shifts again and her dress pulls up, over her thighs just a little bit more.
“He was good,” she says. “Or still is. I think the band broke up because Dylan failed French and they’re pretty aware that they weren’t going to be the next Vampire Weekend or whatever.”
“Look at you,” he says. “And college, for that matter.”
Her lips quirk and she shakes her head. She could tell him that music’s always an open thing and that back in high school she was selective if only for survival, and if only, a little more than that, to stand out. She wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew anyway; it’s Jesse and Jesse was always two steps ahead when it came to knowing what she liked - that was the game, really.
He touches her knee then. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, and really, he could fill it with things like i fucking hate brooklyn or this really isn’t my thing and she would laugh and maybe, if she wasn’t feeling so generous, she’d just tell him no. But here’s the thing about her and Jesse, it’s just never been about the no.
Rachel licks her lips. She pulls herself off of the counter.
It takes an impromptu dinner to tell her that he’s producing, that he’s actually really good at it and likes it a lot. He looks happy, or, well, she thinks that he fakes happy really well. There’s still the way that he looks at her; Rachel can’t decide if she wants him to or not. She does let him sit too close and he lets her buy a couple of drinks that he likes, even though he complains about being a gentleman.
But he still starts walking her home after work, after she finally admits that she’s pulling in a steady income with a gig at a bar close to her apartment. She still does dance lessons and voice lessons, but she wants to be surrounded by different people, sounds and tastes. She thinks this is what New York’s done best for her. Plus, it’ll keep her on her feet when it’s time to go after auditions.
“Shelby thinks we’re having sex.”
She groans, rubbing her eyes. “It’s two in the morning, and while I appreciate you and your crazy need to see me home, I don’t want you, Jesse, throwing us together in a sentence with my mother and sex.”
“Aren’t you curious to what I said?”
She should call him an asshole or call Puck, who’s in Philadelphia, to tell him that she’s hanging around Jesse again and that she’s going to collect on that high school favor - or favors, but that’s another story for another day.
“You probably said yes,” she says, and he laughs. Her eyes roll. “You said yes and you want me to congratulate you on lording something over my mother who talks to me, or tries to talk to me, through my former Glee club teacher and the girl in high school who made my life a living hell. That takes effort, you know.”
“Of course it does,” he says. He shrugs too. “But worth it, you know.”
She’s too tired to listen to herself laugh, or call him soulless, but she does take his arm and he takes her bag to carry it home for her the rest of the way.
It’s not the first time he comes up.
The hottest day of the year happens too early in September, just when everybody is ready to pull out fall clothes and breathe into the school year with some kind of ease. Rachel stands in her apartment, staring at him as he argues with someone on the phone about work. There’s tension in the way that he holds himself, too tall and too proud, but she likes it, she thinks, all the same.
Friends think she’s dating him, and she hasn’t exactly gone out of her way to deny it; to her, in some part of her head, they’re Rachel and Jesse and that’s what they’ve always been anyway. It’s the thought that makes her press against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist and her mouth brushing against his shoulder.
He clears his throat, but she can pick out the layer of a laugh. His fingers stretch over her arms and they’re both sticky from the heat. She can’t bring herself to care, or want to care, and that’s really just the point about all of this anyway.
When he finishes, he brings one of her hands to his mouth. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
Her laughter is low, flushed over his skin. She bites lightly at his shoulder, over the fabric of his t-shirt, and then draws back, enough so that he can turn into her.
“What if you told my mother we were married?”
He smirks. “A little early though.”
“Well, it certainly wouldn’t surprise anyone, that’s for sure.” She leans in and brushes her mouth over his. She doesn’t kiss him, not just yet, but lingers and lets her teeth run over his lip. She tugs a little and then he’s grasping the hem of her dress, pulling it over her head and tossing it off to the side. “Just a suggestion,” she adds.
“I’ll take it into consideration,” he says.
His fingers curl around her jaw and she lets herself arch into his palm, her fingers curling around the waist of his jeans.
Rachel lets Jesse kiss her first.
He spreads her over the stairs, the lip of the bottom four curving into her back and ass. They lead upstairs to that tiny nook, the one that houses her bedroom.
“Jesus, your legs,” he breathes, and he’s guiding his dick inside of her, letting her push her hips forward so that he’s deep and they feel like they fit. She closes one of her legs over his hip and he jerks himself back, lifting her. His hands fit under her ass and he sort of twists himself into her, making her gasp.
She slides her fist into his hair, pulling his mouth over hers and sinking her teeth into his lip. She feels him start to slide in and out of her, just to the bring, his dick pulling just slightly out of her to thrust back into her again. Their skin is sticky and flushed and god, oh god she can feel him stretch her.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he tells her. “I just - jesus christ, you’re - you feel so good like this, baby.”
She whimpers into his mouth and they sort of twist, Jesse pushing her back onto the floor, by the stairs, just so that he can stretch over. His fingers dig into her thigh and she throws her head back, just as his teeth sink into her throat.
“Stop talking,” she moans.
All his weight keeps them belly to belly, but she’s scratching his nails down his back and it makes him moan over her throat. His thrust become heavier and heavier, and when his hips jerk hard, she’s clenching around his dick, throwing her head back and falling apart for him, then and there.
They sort of tumble back into the floor. Her hand throws itself back and hits the back of one of the steps. She hisses, just slightly, and when he makes a move to roll off of her, she tightens her leg around his hips.
“No,” she says. “Stay.”
He laughs. That sounds, she thinks, is something she likes to hear.
This is all leads up to her eating watermelon naked, licking her fingers as she watches him cut up the rest of the slices. Her legs dangle over her counter and he’s nothing but bare feet and blue jeans.
“So we’re having sex now,” she says, and when he turns, he smirks, stepping to her and between her legs. She lets her fingers brush over his mouth and he takes one of her fingers, sucking lightly at her skin.
“Great sex,” he says lazily.
“Mmm.”
She neither agrees nor disagrees, and that make him laugh. He pulls another chunk of the watermelon off of the plate he’s been using, feeding it to her. She takes it off of his fingers, letting her teeth graze the tips, swirling her tongue over her skin just before she swallows. His eyes darken.
“New York is a good look for you,” he says. He pulls his fingers away from her mouth, dropping them to her breasts and letting them drift against her skin.
She only smiles and bites into another piece of the watermelon. She’s deliberately messy, letting some of the juice roll over her skin. He bows over her, sliding his mouth over one of her nipples, just as he cups her breast. He licks at her skin and she throws herself into a half-moan, slipping a little towards the edge of the counter.
He moves his mouth to her stomach, and then her thigh, biting lightly at her skin and the curve as her legs spread. When his tongue rolls over her clit, she arches into his mouth, her head falling back against one of the cabinets.
She’s still all cheek, her fingers threading through his hair. “You - ” she breathes, “you just like how I taste.”
This much is all true. Shelby will be the first to know.