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Drabble: The Letterman Jacket


The first time he leaves his jacket at her house, it really is an accident.

He’s a little freaked out, ‘cause he kinda likes wearing that jacket and reminding people that Finn Hudson still plays football and is still totally cool. And he knows how when Rachel leaves stuff at his house, it kinda gets lost there forever and ever, ‘cause, like, how is he supposed to know that this yellow sweater with the velvet cat that she can’t find anywhere is under two dirty t-shirts, some history homework he didn’t do, and a bag of half-eaten saltines?

Anyway, he texts Rachel and asks her to bring the jacket to school. She replies that she would be more than happy to, that she had been planning to, in fact, and that she loves him. So it’s all good.

And then he sees her at school, walking down the hall with this bounce in her stop that she always seems to have, and it’s so, so, so much more than good.

She has on this pink dress with these little pink flowers and ruffles around the collar, and her hair is all soft and fluffy, her bangs falling into her face, and she’s wearing his letterman jacket. She has the sleeves rolled up a lot, and the jacket nearly falls to the edge of her dress, and she looks tinier than ever. She also looks like the hottest thing he has ever seen in his life.

She smiles and walks over to him. He might say something. He doesn’t remember. She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him and then starts to talk about chemistry class. After a few minutes, she slips off the jacket and hands it to him before she heads to class.

And he has a new life mission: Rachel in his letterman jacket as often as possible.


He leaves his jacket at her house again a few days later.

She wears the jacket to school again. And when he leaves the jacket in her bedroom yet again a week later, she walks into school in the jacket yet again. This time, though, when she starts to hand the coat over, he finally tells her she looks a little cold, so if she maybe wants to wear the jacket that day, that would be totally cool with him. She bites her lip and looks down and says she would like that very much.

He tries not to be too obvious. But he may or may not leave the jacket at her house on a pretty regular basis. ‘Cause, really, as much as he loves to wear his letterman jacket around the school, he loves to see her in that jacket a helluva lot more, just saying. He doesn’t know why. He has an idea, though. This random Wednesday he overhears this freshmen says that the crazy Glee chick looks really hot, and he’d like to see her in nothing but a letterman jacket.

Finn wants to have a talk with that kid.

But the dumbass has a dumbass friend, who tells him that a girl who wears a jacket like that is like a tree with a circle of piss around it: “somebody else’s territory, dude.” Finn knows Rachel wouldn’t like to hear that, but he grins into his pudding cup and assures Rachel when she sits down beside him that, yes, he really does love pudding so much.


She comes over to his house one afternoon, and she still has his jacket on, like she has all day. They climb the stairs together, and he sprawls across his bed as she settles at his desk and starts to unpack her backpack, and they don’t pause their conversation even a little.

But even as she goes on and on about how much Mr. Herring loves to give Darth Vador impressions in class, he stares at her in his jacket, sitting at the desk and flipping through a math textbook as she happily chatters, waving her hand a little in the air to emphasize some point.

“Hey,” he says, “c’mere.”

She glances up at him in surprise. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just c’mere.”

She stands and walks over to him. He rests his hands on her hips, and she rests her hands on his shoulders. “I really like when you wear my letterman jacket,” he admits.

She smiles, and she runs a hand over his hair. “I really like when I wear your letterman jacket, too,” she says softly, and then she giggles a little and he can’t help but kiss her. She leans closer to him, her mouth moving slowly under his, and his arms wrap around her. She breaks the kiss and nuzzles her nose against his. “I love being yours,” she whispers.

He tugs her into his lap, and she willingly straddles him. Her lips skate across his jaw, and then down his neck, nipping playfully, before she kisses her way back up and captures his lips once more. His hands curl around the material of his jacket, and he suddenly twists, laying her back onto the bed, and he finds himself between her thighs, her knees bent and her hands holding his face to hers. She never takes her lips from his.

His hands find his way under her shirt and he goes for her boobs, like always, and she lets him, because she long ago gave him complete access. The rest is off-limits until she says otherwise (and she promised him he would be the first person to know when otherwise happened), but he thinks he could live on make-out sessions and as much naked Rachel boobs as he wants for a long, long time. He might not even need food or water.

(Okay, he would need food, but he could totally give up water.)

Two hours later, some cuddles, some homework, and some Oreos later, she leaves. She took off the jacket when she was quizzing him about his Spanish vocab, because he continually tugged on it, running his hand up and down her side, and she claimed he wasn’t really paying attention. He was paying attention — just to her, not to her Spanish flashcards.

Her footsteps on the stairs have faded away when he sees the jacket neatly folded on his desk.

He races after her and catches her a few feet from her car. “You forgot the jacket,” he says, grinning as he holds it out to her. She smiles so widely his heart beats a little faster as she takes the jacket from him. And then she leans up to give him a quick kiss, and he whispers the words.

“I love that you’re mine, too,” he tells her, “almost as much as I love being yours.”

He doesn’t miss the pink in her cheeks as she clutches the jacket to her chest and disappears into her car.


She doesn’t look at him when she hands him his jacket.

He doesn’t look at her, either, or the jacket in his hands, until she has disappeared around the corner. He smells her, then, on his jacket, some fruity shampoo mixed with this flowery perfume for this perfect Rachel smell.

He has the overwhelming urge to cry, to punch Puck, and to race after Rachel all at once.

In the end, he doesn’t do anything at all.


He leaves his jacket at Quinn’s place one night.

He realizes halfway through the drive back to his house, and he nearly takes out a mailbox when he does a completely illegal u-turn. She looks confused and slightly annoyed when she answers the door, and she hisses that her mom will be home any minute. He explains that he left his jacket.

“That’s it?” she says. “I could have brought it to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I thought, you know, I could just drive back and grab it.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles sheepishly, and she only shrugs and then gets the jacket for him.

He makes sure never to leave the jacket at her house again. It isn’t hard to do—he hardly wears the coat anymore, anyway. It is spring, after all, so it’s warm and stuff.


He doesn’t know why he packs the jacket. But he does.


He wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a moment he feels that weird, crazy disoriented feeling he always gets when he wakes up in a bed that isn’t his. But then he realizes where he is, in a hotel in New York, where they came in fifth at Nationals. And then he remembers everything else that happened that night, and he smiles a little. He stretches his arm out. She isn’t there. And he starts to panic. Was last night a dream?

He sits up and turns on the light by his bed.

Puck isn’t there. His stuff isn’t either. He definitely did switch rooms with Rachel, then, right? And, yeah, Finn is naked, too. But Rachel is gone. His panic reaches a whole new level. It wasn’t a dream, but it was this total nightmare for her, and she never wants to see him again.

He starts to rehearse speeches in his head, about how he’ll get better and he’ll even do some research or stuff for her and — and the door to the room opens, and Rachel walks through, carrying two dozen vending machine snacks and wearing nothing but his letterman jacket.

“You’re awake!” she says brightly. “I bought out the vending machine. Everybody is sound asleep, as it is four in the morning, but I’m so hungry! Starving, even! I guess that’s what happens when you skip dinner and instead participate in vigorous exercise!” She walks over and dumps the food onto the bed and then climbs up and over to him, and he has this perfect view of her boobs through the gap in the jacket, and he loves her so much he doesn’t have the words.

He tries anyway. “I love you,” he says.

She smiles. “I know,” she replies softly. “And look — Sour Patch Kids!”

Here she is, this girl, naked under his letterman jacket, curled up beside him, and happily tearing open bags of candy, and he can’t believe this is his life. She belongs to him again. He can’t possible think of some way this could be more perfect.

He thinks of something: more sex. He kisses her, and she starts to shrug out of the jacket.

“Leave it,” he mutters, pulling her under him.


She takes his letterman jacket to college with her. She wants to, and what his girl wants, she gets.

(That’s kind of his motto.)

Plus, it’s really her jacket anyway.