It started with a fountain pen.

It totally did, and she regrets nothing.

It happened when he fell asleep on her lap, while she stayed awake for her movication (he was later to blame the compounding assignments his professors gave him when he was fixing the Treble set for the regionals) and she had been totally interested with The Lord of the Rings too, really. Legolas was hot. Riding an elephant? Super hot.

(She's totally going to tell him that when he wakes. No one can top Orlando Bloom's elephant-riding hotness.)

But there he was, head on her lap, snoring (they got into a fight once about his fantastically horrendous snores), one hand beneath the bend of her knee as though her kneecaps were the best pillows ever. (It tickles, but whatever.)

Of course, Beca (the little devil that she is) decides that this is the perfect, perfect time to harvest some blackmail material for future use. So she looks around his dorm, careful not to fidget too much. The closest thing to a writing material that she can find is his fountain pen. Ah, but it will do.


It started with a fountain pen.

His fountain pen, if he may add.

(Those things are messy as hell.)

And he figures that it was just a matter of time, anyway, before she starts inking on his skin, one way or another. (Because he knows, even before they had been dating, that she is a little monster.)

So he takes it with all the grace that his momma had blessed him with. (It was horrible, but to be fair, she had been giggling about it for weeks, and he loves the sound of her laugh.)

He'll get her back somehow.


"So, I wanna try something."

She takes his arm while he's on his laptop, finishing his... (damnit, the feel of Beca's fingers sends his coherence flying out the window... what kind of paper is this again? Argumentative? Persuasive? Is there a difference?)... as he keeps on typing. It takes a lot of focus. Like, a lot.

He feels her use a pen, or something, on his skin as she starts drawing, tracing meaningless lines. No big deal. He's a grown man, he can take the ticklish feel of his girlfriend's sudden artistic impulse. He doesn't even look to see what she's doing because he is focused on writing his paper, damnit. (he's got to reserve some of his dignity.)

But then, her nails are playfully riding up his arm. (Little monster.)

"You're distracting me." He doesn't turn away from the glow of his screen. Nope. (He does smirk, though. He knows where this is headed.)

"Oh, sorry. Are you distracted?" He hates that her voice gets that little twang of sarcasm just right to turn him on.

"Bec, I need to finish this."



Just like that, she gets up from her place on his bed and leaves (wait, no no no...), and Jesse near shits himself from the suddenness of it all, when he glances at her right before she closes his door. Thank god, she's not pissed.

But she is, if he can tell correctly (and he can), very... smoky. (It's his own personal adjective for her.)

He takes a look at his arm, craning his head:

Property of Beca Mitchell.

God, he loves this woman. But then, he sees her writing material: permanent marker.



She loves his arms.

No, seriously. She might even be in love with his arms.

She would totally date his arms.

Like when they're wrapped around her tiny waste (and in a public place, no less). He's not even turned to her; he's talking to Benji on, like, a totally away-facing angle, but his arms are snaked around her. Like he's afraid she just might run off to LA at a moment's notice. Like he's afraid to let go. Like, it's his way of telling the world that she's his. She loves it.

(She doesn't show it, though. Like hell.)

So when she's pressed flush against him, his arms locking her in place against the small of her back, the length of her ribs, his mouth hot against the skin of her neck, her skin burning like a million suns... or is it stars... she hasn't decided yet... she'll have to consult Jesse later about his word preferences.

(but his hands find their way to the most amazing places and whoops. There go her pants.)


He moves with the grace of a gazelle.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Because when he sees her, and oh, dear god, she is so gorgeous, he knows he's gotta bring his A-game. And no way will he be able to do that by rapping.

(He won't embarrass himself in front of her, thanks very much.)

So, he moves like a gazelle. And he knows, when her eyes turn straight to look at him, her smirk going on a whole new level of evil (like, no shit), he has to impress her.

Most of the time, he does. (That's him, being modest. More like, all the time.)

(His name screamed out in the middle of the night in the Treble house waking up half the squad with the totally wrong image is evidence of that.)


This is not right.

It's not fair.

She is not a screamer, goddamnit.

But she just hates cockroaches. And she will never forgive him for finding that out. Because her badassery levels lower every time she falls for the same, stupid, rubber cockroach he bought from Benji. (She will have to confiscate those.)

"You... asshole!"

She hits him as he is laughing his ass off. (ugh.)

"God... I'm sorry... Bec, but... you're face..."

His bursts of laughter are more than she can take. So when she starts to get seriously annoyed, he can tell, and his arms (stupid, stupid arms) mover over to her waist when she tries to get up.

So she can't. (it's not like she ever wanted to in the first place.)

And he's not laughing anymore.

(he's actually pressing his mouth against hers and looking for purchase on her skin and pushing her down on the bed and making her so, so upset that he can do all this and make her groan so effortlessly. But nobody needs to know that.)


Especially not Fat Amy.

Dear god, please not Fat Amy.

"That was an eight on the Richter scale. The chandelier was swinging."

They come down from the upstairs bedroom, and Fat Amy is in the dining, eating pizza.

(Why is she even here?)


He loves her stomach.

Like... wait, no.

He's not even going to wordify the sacredness that is his girlfriend's stomach.

She's a small, cold creature, and there is no pleasing her. He will not get a reaction from her by buying her flowers or stopping world hunger. There is simply no way.

Except, with her sexy stomach, apparently. (he learned this one afternoon.)

So when she's standing up and he's sitting down, and her tank top is a little too small for her (did they even make sizes smaller than her?), and she yawns or moves or whatever and her unbelievably seductive skin shows...

(He is so not distracted. Nope.)

But just like that (and he's not even sure how it happened), his mouth is on the skin of her stomach, hands demandingly grasping her waist, fingertips pressed hot against her pale skin... (and the sounds she makes... heaven help him.)


There are sounds that people will never hear from Beca. Ever.

Those are for Jesse's ears only.

(Not even her past boyfriends... did she just make that sound? Good lord, she did.)


It's the hitch in her breath, really.

It's also the darkening of his horribly huge eyes.

(Seriously. He must be part-Furby.)


She hates his eyes.

There is no other word for it.

(But she also finds herself endlessly fascinated by them. Another thing she will never admit to.)

Especially when they're glazed over with the shiny look of adoration that he usually reserves for her. And when they're directed to the inanimate object also known as the screen of his laptop...

(this is why she sometimes hates movication.)

"Can we do something else?"

He can feel her get fidgety, sitting on top of him, as they (he) watch Satine moan under the influence of Ewan McGregor's poetry. He shushes her.

(To annoy her. Because that's his MO.)

And when she sighs and tries to get off of him, he has to peel his eyes away from Nicole Kidman to briefly kiss the curve of her neck.

(Works all the time.)

But only for a moment. The next song is the best part.


"I hate you."

"I can't stand you."

They are both telling the truth. Because when they're great, they're unbelievably amazing. But when they're not, the foundations of the earth are shaken.

(The tension is coming off in waves, of course.)

So really.

They're both telling the truth.

She hates him. He can't stand her. She hates that he doesn't understand (how she will never find anyone else). He can't stand the sight of her (not being with him). There is too much anger in the room. It's going to explode.

And it does.

Again, neither one knows how it happened that they are now both a tangle of limbs. (Classic 'he says, she says', because like hell Beca is going to admit to jumping his bones right after a major fight.)


"Do you hate me?"

Her dark hair is spread across his chest, her body molded into his own. Her words are frighteningly close to raw. Her head is snug in the crook of his neck, her nose tickling his skin. Her heart in his hands as he unconsciously plays with her hair.

"I do," he says.

She snuggles closer.

(The warmth of her body is intoxicating.)

"I hate you too, nerd."

He presses a kiss to her forehead.

(Because those were complete and utter lies.)


So yeah.

It started with a fountain pen.

And ended with a kiss.

To a piece of Jesse's skin, where the name "Beca" will be forever inked.

(She will not let him get it removed.)


(Because he is forever inked on her heart, too. This seems only fair.)


Author's Note:

I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. I'm sorry.


It totally started out as being inspired by the amazing one-shot, i think about this girl all the time, by astins. So yeeah. Beautiful, unique work by the author, right here. Go read it. It's free.

(And if you've read any of my works, I do this thing wherein I fangirl about other works and authors. I'm sorry, okay.)

(ps. Thank you for reading. Like, seriously.)