(no subject)
Title: Four Times Rob Asked Kristen to Marry Him (And One Time He Didn't)
Rating: PG-13 (on the safe side)
Ship: Rob/Kristen.
“Yeah. I mean, I asked her to marry me four times. But it didn’t go anywhere.” - Robert Pattinson
one.
She's mostly settled into the little brownstone she's calling home until the wrap party this spring, just a sprinkling of boxes here and there. The night would probably be productive if she had any reason to put them away, but she's tired and just a bit cranky, and can't bring herself to give a damn.
Grabbing a beer (thank you, Kellan) from the refrigerator in her kitchen, she throws herself on the leather couch and starts mindlessly channel surfing. Pre-production was underway as of this morning, and from here on it would be a whirlwind of read-through’s and rehearsals and the makeup people pulling and prodding.
Kristen glances at her blackberry on the table, dark and silent. Michael should have called already.
Her channel flipping is halted by a sudden knock. She sets the bottle down on the table, and makes her way to the front hall. A quick glance through the peephole surprises her. She lets the door swing open.
There he is in all his scruffy glory, a cigarette between his lips and god awful shoes on his feet.
"Good evening," Robert grins around the smoke. "Fancy some company?"
She can't think of a good reason to say no, so she steps to the side and lets him in, locking the door on reflex behind him. It’s an L.A. thing.
"Nice place. They got me this little condo a couple blocks away." He looks around, appraising the furniture, and she can't help but think he looks more the part of a thief in the night than that of a manic-depressive vampire.
"When did you get in?" Kristen's purposely blunt.
"Last night. Jetlag and shit, I just woke up. Hey, can I use your shower?"
She's speechless.
"Krissy?"
Working her jaw, she tries to force out words. "Can't you- Does yours not work?"
Rob shrugs. "Dunno. Didn't try it out."
Who the hell is this guy?
Shaking her head, she scrubs her hands over her eyes. "You're nuts, you know that. Whatever. Upstairs, second door to the right. Don't go in my bedroom."
He grins, that giant smile that's full of little boy mischief combined with eyes full of bad and wicked plans. Something stirs in the back of her stomach, but she figures it was the beer. She hadn't had any dinner.
Rob hands her his cigarette and bounds up the stairs, boots pounding at the hardwood. Kristen cringes. At the top, he turns and gives her a look. "Taking care of me already. It's a fulltime gig. Should I marry you, then? You'd get some perks out of the deal."
She scowls, takes a drag, and turns away from him, his laughter following her to the kitchen.
two.
Kristen isn't sure how or when, but at some point, Rob acquired a key to her house. She was upset for about eight seconds, and then resigned herself to her fate.
She also ignored the fact that half his crap was strewn around from room to room, that his shampoo was in her shower, and that he'd claimed the second bedroom she'd planned to use for a gym as his own.
He didn't stay every night.
Nikki thought it was funny and Jackson liked to push the innuendo to the extreme, but honestly, it wasn't like that. She'd never even thought about it.
Maybe once or twice, in a moment of insanity. But this was Rob.
He was just a really annoying roommate. Irritating. Loud. A slob. Who always made sure there was milk. And rubbed her shoulders after a long day. Would run her a steaming hot bath after a day of being pulled through trees in the freezing rain.
Shit.
Kristen smacked her head against the wall, trying to knock those very dangerous thoughts from her brain, but it didn't help.
Of course, Rob walked into the room right then, in sweatpants and an open ugly-as-sin plaid button down. He had a spoon in his mouth and a carton of icecream in one hand. With the other, he reached over and grabbed her ponytail, leading her towards the living room without even looking at her. Like a dog.
She tried to kick him in the backs of the knees, but he had her at an awkward angle.
"Don't be a bitch. Come sit with me." he mumbled around the metal.
She did. But she wasn't happy about it.
She really had to get him to use his own freaking house.
He slouched on the sofa, putting his feet on her coffee table like he owned it, and started digging into the cold mess of dairy in his lap. With her own feet, she tried to pull his down to the floor, but he resisted, and somehow that started a warped game of footsie that ended with her pinned under him while he used the spoon to drip melted ice cream in her face.
"Rob!"
"Lighten up, darling. We can't all keep the stick wedged so far up our asses."
"You're the ass."
"Sticks and stones."
"Don't start quoting Johnny Depp at me. You can't pull it off."
"Ow."
She managed to squirm out from under him, and in a moment of clarity, reaches under the couch and pulls out a Ziploc bag. He's watching her now with calculating eyes.
"Friends share."
"Friends don't trash other people's homes and get them all sticky."
He fucking giggled. "Good friends do." Rob wiggled his stupid eyebrows at her, and she got the joke.
"You're disgusting."
With that, she crossed her legs and bent over the coffee table, pulling out a tiny pair of scissors and a pile of rolling papers. After a minute, she felt a tight tugging on the ends of her hair that indicated he was playing with her ponytail, and then fingers dancing along the back of her neck. His hot breath trailed from her shoulder to her ear, and he was pressed right up against her.
"Please?"
Anyone else who acted like him she'd hate on principal. But this was Rob.
She liked making him beg.
Without a word, she handed him a thick joint, and his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug.
"You're the best, Krissy, the absolute shit. Marry me, we'll fly to Guam and sit on the beach for the rest of our days."
Kristen rolled her eyes and made her free hand into a fist, slamming it down as hard as she could on his big toe.
three.
"I hate paperwork."
"You're the one who wants to move here fulltime. Don't bitch."
"Yeah. Well. You're a... Bitch."
"Weak, Pattinson. Just weak."
"Shut up. And pass the whiskey."
"Drip a little on the forms there, stud. They should know they're letting a drunken lout into the country."
"I will give you ten American dollars to fill these out for me."
"Not a chance in hell. This is fun."
"Yes, I can tell. The popcorn is a bit much. Overemphasizes the scene. This is why you'll never be a director."
"Mmm. Salty."
"You're killing me. Twenty dollars."
"Sucker."
scuffling noises
"There's butter in my eye!"
"Serves you right. Mine."
"Hey! If you marry me, then they have to let me in, right? It's like, your law or something."
"Oh yes. That'll go over well. 'Michael, I want you to know you're being downgraded to secret mistress. I have to be Rob's wife in public. No, keep the Jimmy Choos at your place. To pull this off, I'm going to have to go hobo.'"
"See! We have a plan. Excellent."
"You realize we'd have to actually act husbandy and wifey in public and shit, right? I heard they quiz you about the other person to see if you're lying."
"Oh. Well, you know everything about me anyways. We could pull it off."
"Yeah. No."
silence
"Why are you laughing at me?"
"See here? You're not supposed to let any of your signature go outside the box. You have to start all over again!"
"... Fuck."
four.
They're on her bed, an increasingly common occurrence. He's piled all her pillows against her headboard, his head resting on the mountain, and her back is up against his chest. Her knees are bent up, supporting the thick black book.
"'Bella, would you please stop trying to take your clothes off?'" Rob sighs, playing the part of the exasperated stalker vampire.
"What a putz," she laughs, smirking when Rob prods her shoulder. She rolls her eyes, but says her line. "'Do you want to do that part?'"
"'Hell yeah. Come to daddy and give him some sugar,'" he drawls obnoxiously in her ear. Shaking laughter overtakes her, and she reaches behind her head to smack him.
He grins against her neck, flipping the book forward a few pages. "Christ, how are we going to make it through if they do the third one? It's all drivel." he throws his voice into a falsetto. "'Oh Edward, do me now!'" Deeper now. "'We musn't, my smoochinkins. Our virtue! Think of the virtue!'"
Tears make their way into the corners of her eyes as she clutches at her stomach. Her head leans forward until it hits her bent knees. "Shut up! I'm going to break something."
"I'd like to break something," he grumbles, and she swears she feels a kiss against the back of her neck. Her breath hitches.
Rob pretends not to notice, but secretly smiles to himself.
"Blah blah, oh my god, we're getting married, blah blah blah shiny ring. Oh, here we go. 'Now, I want to do this right. Please, please, keep in mind that you've already agreed to this, and don't ruin it for me.'"
Kristen clears her throat, but her voice still comes out shakier than she'd like. "'Oh, no.'"
"'Be nice,'" he mutters behind her, and she's not sure if it's Rob or Edward speaking in her ear. "'Isabella Swan? I promise to love you forever --- every single day of forever. Will you marry me?'"
She closes her eyes, ignoring her hammering pulse. "'Yes.'"
"'Thank-you.'" Gently, Rob picks up her left hand, bringing it over her own shoulder, and she feels a kiss against the empty skin on the knuckle of her ring finger. Arms wrap tight around her, and she lets her head loll against his chest.
"Rob-"
"I know, Krissy. It's okay. It's okay."
She shouldn't. She can't.
She does.
one.
She sleeps on her stomach. It's something simple, silly even, and he finds it ridiculously endearing. It's warm tonight, oddly, so she's kicked and squirmed until the sheets only cover up as far as the small of her back, her bare skin glowing in the moonlight. He reaches over and runs a hand up her spine, feeling each bump.
He wants her again. He can't ever see a time when he won't want her.
It's been two years since they met at Catherine's house.
She stirs then, turning her head where it's burrowed in her arms to look at him with sleepy eyes. "Don't watch me sleep. I hate that."
"I know." He grins, leans down, and runs his lips over the crown of her head. "Can't help it. You're such a pretty picture."
"Ass," she yawns, shifting herself a tad closer. One hand reaches out and her fingers wrap around two of his. "Love you."
A year later, that still brings a silly smile to his face. "You are my life now."
She snorts. "Cheesy Rob. Really."
Silence, and he wonders if she's fallen back asleep. He opens his mouth, a whisper in the night. "Krissy?"
Nothing for a moment, before a murmured 'hmm' comes from her direction.
He thinks of the little black box in his nightstand, but decides against it.
"Never mind, darling. Back to sleep."
For now.
Rating: PG-13 (on the safe side)
Ship: Rob/Kristen.
“Yeah. I mean, I asked her to marry me four times. But it didn’t go anywhere.” - Robert Pattinson
one.
She's mostly settled into the little brownstone she's calling home until the wrap party this spring, just a sprinkling of boxes here and there. The night would probably be productive if she had any reason to put them away, but she's tired and just a bit cranky, and can't bring herself to give a damn.
Grabbing a beer (thank you, Kellan) from the refrigerator in her kitchen, she throws herself on the leather couch and starts mindlessly channel surfing. Pre-production was underway as of this morning, and from here on it would be a whirlwind of read-through’s and rehearsals and the makeup people pulling and prodding.
Kristen glances at her blackberry on the table, dark and silent. Michael should have called already.
Her channel flipping is halted by a sudden knock. She sets the bottle down on the table, and makes her way to the front hall. A quick glance through the peephole surprises her. She lets the door swing open.
There he is in all his scruffy glory, a cigarette between his lips and god awful shoes on his feet.
"Good evening," Robert grins around the smoke. "Fancy some company?"
She can't think of a good reason to say no, so she steps to the side and lets him in, locking the door on reflex behind him. It’s an L.A. thing.
"Nice place. They got me this little condo a couple blocks away." He looks around, appraising the furniture, and she can't help but think he looks more the part of a thief in the night than that of a manic-depressive vampire.
"When did you get in?" Kristen's purposely blunt.
"Last night. Jetlag and shit, I just woke up. Hey, can I use your shower?"
She's speechless.
"Krissy?"
Working her jaw, she tries to force out words. "Can't you- Does yours not work?"
Rob shrugs. "Dunno. Didn't try it out."
Who the hell is this guy?
Shaking her head, she scrubs her hands over her eyes. "You're nuts, you know that. Whatever. Upstairs, second door to the right. Don't go in my bedroom."
He grins, that giant smile that's full of little boy mischief combined with eyes full of bad and wicked plans. Something stirs in the back of her stomach, but she figures it was the beer. She hadn't had any dinner.
Rob hands her his cigarette and bounds up the stairs, boots pounding at the hardwood. Kristen cringes. At the top, he turns and gives her a look. "Taking care of me already. It's a fulltime gig. Should I marry you, then? You'd get some perks out of the deal."
She scowls, takes a drag, and turns away from him, his laughter following her to the kitchen.
two.
Kristen isn't sure how or when, but at some point, Rob acquired a key to her house. She was upset for about eight seconds, and then resigned herself to her fate.
She also ignored the fact that half his crap was strewn around from room to room, that his shampoo was in her shower, and that he'd claimed the second bedroom she'd planned to use for a gym as his own.
He didn't stay every night.
Nikki thought it was funny and Jackson liked to push the innuendo to the extreme, but honestly, it wasn't like that. She'd never even thought about it.
Maybe once or twice, in a moment of insanity. But this was Rob.
He was just a really annoying roommate. Irritating. Loud. A slob. Who always made sure there was milk. And rubbed her shoulders after a long day. Would run her a steaming hot bath after a day of being pulled through trees in the freezing rain.
Shit.
Kristen smacked her head against the wall, trying to knock those very dangerous thoughts from her brain, but it didn't help.
Of course, Rob walked into the room right then, in sweatpants and an open ugly-as-sin plaid button down. He had a spoon in his mouth and a carton of icecream in one hand. With the other, he reached over and grabbed her ponytail, leading her towards the living room without even looking at her. Like a dog.
She tried to kick him in the backs of the knees, but he had her at an awkward angle.
"Don't be a bitch. Come sit with me." he mumbled around the metal.
She did. But she wasn't happy about it.
She really had to get him to use his own freaking house.
He slouched on the sofa, putting his feet on her coffee table like he owned it, and started digging into the cold mess of dairy in his lap. With her own feet, she tried to pull his down to the floor, but he resisted, and somehow that started a warped game of footsie that ended with her pinned under him while he used the spoon to drip melted ice cream in her face.
"Rob!"
"Lighten up, darling. We can't all keep the stick wedged so far up our asses."
"You're the ass."
"Sticks and stones."
"Don't start quoting Johnny Depp at me. You can't pull it off."
"Ow."
She managed to squirm out from under him, and in a moment of clarity, reaches under the couch and pulls out a Ziploc bag. He's watching her now with calculating eyes.
"Friends share."
"Friends don't trash other people's homes and get them all sticky."
He fucking giggled. "Good friends do." Rob wiggled his stupid eyebrows at her, and she got the joke.
"You're disgusting."
With that, she crossed her legs and bent over the coffee table, pulling out a tiny pair of scissors and a pile of rolling papers. After a minute, she felt a tight tugging on the ends of her hair that indicated he was playing with her ponytail, and then fingers dancing along the back of her neck. His hot breath trailed from her shoulder to her ear, and he was pressed right up against her.
"Please?"
Anyone else who acted like him she'd hate on principal. But this was Rob.
She liked making him beg.
Without a word, she handed him a thick joint, and his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug.
"You're the best, Krissy, the absolute shit. Marry me, we'll fly to Guam and sit on the beach for the rest of our days."
Kristen rolled her eyes and made her free hand into a fist, slamming it down as hard as she could on his big toe.
three.
"I hate paperwork."
"You're the one who wants to move here fulltime. Don't bitch."
"Yeah. Well. You're a... Bitch."
"Weak, Pattinson. Just weak."
"Shut up. And pass the whiskey."
"Drip a little on the forms there, stud. They should know they're letting a drunken lout into the country."
"I will give you ten American dollars to fill these out for me."
"Not a chance in hell. This is fun."
"Yes, I can tell. The popcorn is a bit much. Overemphasizes the scene. This is why you'll never be a director."
"Mmm. Salty."
"You're killing me. Twenty dollars."
"Sucker."
scuffling noises
"There's butter in my eye!"
"Serves you right. Mine."
"Hey! If you marry me, then they have to let me in, right? It's like, your law or something."
"Oh yes. That'll go over well. 'Michael, I want you to know you're being downgraded to secret mistress. I have to be Rob's wife in public. No, keep the Jimmy Choos at your place. To pull this off, I'm going to have to go hobo.'"
"See! We have a plan. Excellent."
"You realize we'd have to actually act husbandy and wifey in public and shit, right? I heard they quiz you about the other person to see if you're lying."
"Oh. Well, you know everything about me anyways. We could pull it off."
"Yeah. No."
silence
"Why are you laughing at me?"
"See here? You're not supposed to let any of your signature go outside the box. You have to start all over again!"
"... Fuck."
four.
They're on her bed, an increasingly common occurrence. He's piled all her pillows against her headboard, his head resting on the mountain, and her back is up against his chest. Her knees are bent up, supporting the thick black book.
"'Bella, would you please stop trying to take your clothes off?'" Rob sighs, playing the part of the exasperated stalker vampire.
"What a putz," she laughs, smirking when Rob prods her shoulder. She rolls her eyes, but says her line. "'Do you want to do that part?'"
"'Hell yeah. Come to daddy and give him some sugar,'" he drawls obnoxiously in her ear. Shaking laughter overtakes her, and she reaches behind her head to smack him.
He grins against her neck, flipping the book forward a few pages. "Christ, how are we going to make it through if they do the third one? It's all drivel." he throws his voice into a falsetto. "'Oh Edward, do me now!'" Deeper now. "'We musn't, my smoochinkins. Our virtue! Think of the virtue!'"
Tears make their way into the corners of her eyes as she clutches at her stomach. Her head leans forward until it hits her bent knees. "Shut up! I'm going to break something."
"I'd like to break something," he grumbles, and she swears she feels a kiss against the back of her neck. Her breath hitches.
Rob pretends not to notice, but secretly smiles to himself.
"Blah blah, oh my god, we're getting married, blah blah blah shiny ring. Oh, here we go. 'Now, I want to do this right. Please, please, keep in mind that you've already agreed to this, and don't ruin it for me.'"
Kristen clears her throat, but her voice still comes out shakier than she'd like. "'Oh, no.'"
"'Be nice,'" he mutters behind her, and she's not sure if it's Rob or Edward speaking in her ear. "'Isabella Swan? I promise to love you forever --- every single day of forever. Will you marry me?'"
She closes her eyes, ignoring her hammering pulse. "'Yes.'"
"'Thank-you.'" Gently, Rob picks up her left hand, bringing it over her own shoulder, and she feels a kiss against the empty skin on the knuckle of her ring finger. Arms wrap tight around her, and she lets her head loll against his chest.
"Rob-"
"I know, Krissy. It's okay. It's okay."
She shouldn't. She can't.
She does.
one.
She sleeps on her stomach. It's something simple, silly even, and he finds it ridiculously endearing. It's warm tonight, oddly, so she's kicked and squirmed until the sheets only cover up as far as the small of her back, her bare skin glowing in the moonlight. He reaches over and runs a hand up her spine, feeling each bump.
He wants her again. He can't ever see a time when he won't want her.
It's been two years since they met at Catherine's house.
She stirs then, turning her head where it's burrowed in her arms to look at him with sleepy eyes. "Don't watch me sleep. I hate that."
"I know." He grins, leans down, and runs his lips over the crown of her head. "Can't help it. You're such a pretty picture."
"Ass," she yawns, shifting herself a tad closer. One hand reaches out and her fingers wrap around two of his. "Love you."
A year later, that still brings a silly smile to his face. "You are my life now."
She snorts. "Cheesy Rob. Really."
Silence, and he wonders if she's fallen back asleep. He opens his mouth, a whisper in the night. "Krissy?"
Nothing for a moment, before a murmured 'hmm' comes from her direction.
He thinks of the little black box in his nightstand, but decides against it.
"Never mind, darling. Back to sleep."
For now.