d ē e - ' k ā v '

Fic: Time Difference

Thu, 16 Oct 2008 03:30:09 GMT

"Time Difference"
Fandom: Twilight RPF - Robert Pattinson/Kristen Stewart
Rating: M
Summary: “Do you like Italy so far?” Rob and Kristen before filming.
Notes: 350 words. Written for the rpattz_kstew 350 Challenge.

He slid back into her. Warm, sated, he could taste the orange juice on her lips that was left half-drunk on the tray next to her bed.

“Kristen,” he barely breathed into her open mouth.

They were both half-awake, half-sober, half wet with each other.

She barely mustered a groan. Her legs slid up around his hips and flexed, every available ounce of energy she had gathered into wrapping her lithe legs around him, sinking him into her, locking him into place.

His hair was messy, it swept down into her eyes, so she tunneled her fingers through it, exposing his forehead and reached up to taste his mouth.

His head dipped down, his lips on the peak of her nipple. “Do you like Italy so far?”

The crinkle of the fresh hotel sheets rang out in her ears as she felt the arches of her feet push them down, down until there was nothing left on the bed but the two of them. His hips kept the steady thrust in her, pulling out of her, back in.

“Yes,” she managed. He always kept himself in her so far, so close. The lack of his relent was painfully wonderful.

They hadn’t left the airport but 12 hours ago.

He sped up slightly, dropping his forehead onto her chest. He came inside of her, catching his breath while his body calmed.

Her fingers idly stroked his shoulders, his back, his jaw line. He pulled out of her and she winced. He dropped onto his side and his mouth and fingers found her breasts again. Overly-sensitive, she let out a small whimper. He suckled on her, rubbed her, and his fingers slid down her center and worked into her.

She turned onto her side, hooked her leg up over him, and rolled her body in time with his fingers.

Her face rested against his, and she felt the distinct scratch of his facial hair each time her body pushed onto his.

“When are you going to shave?”

“Don’t have to ‘til tomorrow.”

She shuddered around him, finishing. “I like you like this.”

Fic: Come On, Get Higher

Tue, 23 Sep 2008 00:27:48 GMT

"Come On, Get Higher"
Fandom: Twilight RPF - Robert Pattinson/Kristen Stewart
Rating: NC-17-ish.
Summary: Then suddenly, he’s given up, and he’s swimming in her again. MTV '08 VMA aftermath.
Notes: Title from Matt Nathanson's song of the same name. Unbeta'd. Wrote this in like an hour. Hope you like!

They were sitting in the back of his limo.

Well, Rob was sitting. Kristen was sleeping with his suit jacket balled up under her head, lying on her back across the seat, her bare legs draped over Rob's lab.

Between long swigs of the free champagne, he would look over at her. His free hand rested on her knee, his thumb rubbing soft circles at the delicate bend.

"Kris..." he gently prodded, barely at any volume.

"Mmm," she mumbled, half-awake. "I'm cold."

"C'mere." He ran his hands up her arms, and helped her scooch onto his lap. He unwound his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck. When she exhaled in content, he could smell the champagne on her breath.

“I really missed you,” she breathed. He felt every particle sweep across his skin and he shivered.

His arm was still wrapped around her middle, under the jacket. Her fingers were idly toying with the buttons on his vest, his shirt, and he realized she wasn’t quite so asleep anymore. He looked down further and saw how the dress she was wearing, which was already perfectly, alluringly short, had hitched up nearly to the tops of her thighs.

“You looked lovely tonight,” he said, ducking his mouth so it was closer to hers.

“Looked?” she said jokingly.

“Mmm, lovely doesn’t begin to cover it now.”

“…I really missed you,” she repeats. He feels her head move, and suddenly he’s looking directly into her stare. Her hand catches his and starts dragging it down to her lap.

“I thought we were going to be good this time ‘round.”

“We said we’d try.” She dips her head and places a hot, warm kiss with her open mouth right below his ear.

“Kristen, you’re drunk.”

“You’re always drunk. And I‘m not that drunk. I‘m just…fuzzy. Tingly.” He doesn’t resist when she guides his hand under her dress and leaves it at the apex of her legs. He ghosts his fingertips over the center of her, attempting to exercise self-restraint, thinking maybe if he gets just a small taste, and they don’t completely fall into themselves again.

The pads of his fingers push lightly into her and she whimpers. Then suddenly, he’s given up, and he’s swimming in her again.

For minutes, all he can hear, can focus on are the sounds of their mouths moving over each other, small gasps she makes, the wet, sucking noises their mouths make all over each others’ lips, necks, faces. He couldn’t begin to remember when the back of her dress became unzipped, leaving the top half sagging dangerously low, barely covering the tips of her breasts. When his hand worked into her miniscule panties and his fingers became so wet with her he can see them glistening when the limo passes under a streetlight.

“Rob. Rob, I’m close. I’m…I’m going to come.” She has little keening noises that come from the back of her throat when she gets like this, and he loves it. She’s working herself on his hand, her bottom rocking back and forth in his lap. He can feel her hair sticking to his forehead, the sheen of sweat that’s dotting her hairline.

“You can come on me, Kris. Please.” He crooks his two fingers up into her at an angle, pushes his thumb onto her clit and rotates around it with a slow, hard drag, his mouth finally having found one of her plump, rosy, delicate nipples to latch onto and suck on, swipe at with his tongue. And like a gunshot, he can feel her coming on his hand. His dick starts twitching, throbbing uncontrollably in his slacks every time her muscles clamp down on his fingers.

She tightens her legs around his hand, his arm, involuntarily. Doing anything to keep him inside.

It goes on for 10, 15, 20 seconds. He can’t tell. Rhythmic, like a pulse. Then when she starts coming down, it’s a sporadic flinch every so often until her body has calmed completely. As her body relaxes, he draws his hand from her. Pushes her damp hair away from her face, following her hairline. He pushes it behind her ear, then drops his hand down to hers, intertwining their fingers. Her eyes are still closed.

He ducks his head down and softly kisses her mouth. “I missed you too.”

She looks up at him. Her pupils are blown out so far, her eyes are nearly black.

She moves in his lap so she’s straddling him. Her hand goes to the fasten of his pants. She looks at him questioningly, even if she knows the answer.

Their hands work together to unzip him, tug his pants and boxers down far enough to get him out. He is mesmerized by how she bites her lip, until her hand is around him, pushing the soft skin up and down in a perfect pressure around his hardness.

His fingertips are hanging on the sides of her panties, and he drags them down, her knees sticking to the leather of the seat as she lifts them, when he drops what’s now in his hands to the floor. Her heels have long since fallen off her toes, her dress is nothing but an oversized waistband at her middle. All of his layers have been splayed open by her hands.

There’s a moment where they hold each others’ gaze, as she slowly sits down onto him. He inches up inside her until she’s full, sitting flush in his lap.

The fingers on both their hands are intertwined, their heads both dropped into each others’ necks. She’s not sure if he’s the one thrusting, and he’s not sure if she’s the one pushing.

They work each other over until they’re both spent. She stays on him while he lazily works his fingers over her clit one last time. It’s not as strong as the first two, but a warm rush that helps calm her erratic heartbeat. He just wanted to feel her, one last time tonight, release on him. Any part of him.

The limo has been parked in front of the building of his loft for an amount of time neither of them could determine. He kisses any little bare part of her his mouth can get at while he helps pull her dress back up, as they find his jacket. His fingers seek the floor for her heels and he hooks them onto his fingers.

“You should come up.”

She gives him a little smile, nods. Lets his fingers keep the shoes. When she opens the limo door, she steps onto the sidewalk, standing barefoot, unkempt, her cheeks still pink and glowing under a streetlamp.

He can’t help the shit-eating grin that breaks onto his face. He follows suit, and is standing beside her. Wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her temple. She leans into him as they walk to the front door of his building.

They both really were going to try and be good this time.

Step away from the camera.

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 03:10:30 GMT

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Watch: Twilight is The Devil!!!

Fic: Leave You Muddled Up and Blind

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 22:52:03 GMT

"Leave You Muddled Up and Blind"
Fandom: Twilight RPF - Robert Pattinson/Kristen Stewart
Rating: NC-17-ish.
Summary: "This doesn't feel so much like rehearsal."
Notes: Mucho thankies to forceofmythirst, My Enabler, My Boo, My Partner in Crime. Title comes from Tina Dico - Let's Get Lost. Also, feedback is REALLY appreciated. I don't ever ever ever write fic (w00t fanart and icons) so I'm feeling a little apprehensive about posting this. :)

Their first night in Portland, Rob invites Kristen to "a show". She's not exactly sure what it is until she gets there. A small, dark club in the basement of some hotel in the center of downtown. She can tell he's already more than a little drunk, among other things. His breath smells like whiskey, and his eyes are red and glassy. He still holds his composure surprisingly well. He's just smiling a bit more than she remembers from one the time she's met him.

"Fantastic, you made it! You get something to drink?"

She clears her throat and raises her eyebrows at him. "Not tonight! Just water for me."

"Oh, right right. Jailbait and all. Hey, I have a table up front for us. Have a seat and I'll be there in a few?"

She takes off her coat, drapes it over the back of the chair. She glances around the room and can't find him in the darkness for the life of her, but notices he has a guitar propped up against the vacant seat next to her.

She feels a warm hand on her shoulder, and without looking at her he picks up the guitar case by the handle and gets up on stage. His cheeks are impossibly red, his hair is falling in his eyes, and when he starts playing, she's sure she's never heard anything more beautiful.

Her reaction to him catches her so off guard that her heart begins to race. She takes the pitcher in front of her, pours herself a pint, and hopes that fake ID will buy her at least a good excuse. She's never really had to use it in LA.

He has his face down the whole time he plays, but her eyes never leave him.

- - - - - - - - - -

He's finished his set, and they're both outside at the back entrance. It could be midnight, one, two. It's chilly and she hugs her arms around body. He's smoking, and she's digging the four inch heel of her shoe into the ground watching him closely. He doesn't seem drunk anymore, but she's definitely, definitely more than a little buzzed.

"You were amazing. I had no idea you could sing...play like that."

"I'm out of shape, really. I want this time before we start filming to brush up. See if there are any other places in town that'll have me."

"Well, you sounded great."

Their glances catch each other and they both smile. Both run their hands through the front of their hair at exactly the same time.

"Nervous habit," they say simultaneously.

Their outburst of laughter is loud in the vacant alley, it creates a little echo in between the buildings, but they're the only ones who hear it.

The moment is palpable. He's more than tempted to close the small gap between them. Brush that shorter piece of hair out of her eyes and taste her. Maybe she's onto him, because she runs her tongue along her bottom lip and looks at him expectantly. His hand barely moves up an inch, and he's knows he's still fucked up enough from earlier that kissing her seems like a really good idea. Even though she's younger, even though they're working together, even though he has this non-committal thing going on with someone back home.

A black towncar pulls up behind them. She releases a breath she didn't know she was holding and gives him a small smile. Almost apologetic.

"Ride's here."

"We're still doing that reading tomorrow night?" He says it more like a statement; their managers had planned it a few weeks ago.

"Yeah, of course."

"Perfect. Tomorrow, then." He props his hand on the open door of the car and closes it when she gathers herself in. He taps the the hood twice, cursing the driver for such inconveniently perfect timing.

- - - - - - - - - -

It's nearly 8pm and she's spent all day in bed for no good reason. She rolls over, still not wanting to move when she hears a loud, incessant knock on her door. "Shit."

She gets out of bed, and pads quickly down the stairs of the townhouse. She knows it's him so she opens the door without looking through the peephole.

"Hey, sorry if you were waiting." Her voice is rough, still sleepy and unused.

He doesn't respond, just looks at her with a look of surpreme amusement on his face. She furrows her brow in confusion then looks down.

Ahh, right. Old band t-shirt that's nearly threadbare, a tiny pair of boxer shorts she's had since she was 12. Whatever, she's never prided herself on being high maintenance. A bra would have been nice, but his eyes are fixated at the top of her head.

His hand reaches out and plucks at her. "Spikey." She runs her hands through her hair to smooth it down and it's just now she notices how he's dressed.

Fitted black slacks, light grey blue-ish dress shirt, his hair looking like it would never dream of being sweaty and tousled like it was last night.

"You look..." she starts.

"Yeah, the whole character bit. Looks like you are too?"

"How method. Mine's totally unintentional, sadly."

They're still standing in the doorway, Kristen on the inside, Rob in the hallway.

"So, the script." She opens the door and makes an exaggerated gesture for him to step into the foyer.

"Yeah, I really should have read through that a bit more. A lot different than standing in front of a green screen for sixteen hours."

"I thought you said you'd been really into the whole character thing."

"Mmmhmm, didn't include much memorization though. I've been bumming around town a bit. Getting into his headspace and whatnot."

She notices how he never seems nervous. Maybe modest, maybe self-deprecating, but never nervous. But he just ran his hands through his hair like he didn't quite know what to do with them other than stuff them into his pockets. Kristen mimics him by running her fingers through the front of her hair too, like her hand is tethered to his by a very fine string.

He's still standing on the other side of the door with this dopey, bewildered look, as if he still wasn't quite sure what they were up to.

She makes a stuttered laugh through her nose, barely a breath, and looks at him expectantly.

"Script? Reading? Lines? Beer? Any of this making you want to come inside?"

"Right, right. Nice print." His eyebrows gesture towards the non-descript hotel lobby-ish painting on her wall as he finally walks through the threshold. The only thing that was actually hanging on the wall when she moved in.

"Yeah, I really need to go shopping." There are some suitcases that never quite made it upstairs to her room, a half-empty bottle of water on the counter, there might be an apple next to the beer in the fridge.

"There are some great little galleries around. This city is rather eclectic." He breaks the word down into separate syllables, she can hear each one clearly on his tongue.

"Mmm."

She walks past him and over to her carry-on bag. Her copy of the script is rolled up, weathered. She has handwritten little notes in the margins.

She plops down at the long table next to the kitchen, pulls out the chair next to her, and pats the seat.

"Where do you want to start?"

- - - - - - - - - -

"Shall we move on from the read-through and try to get some of this staging done?" He takes a long swig from the bottle, fingers loosely holding it by the neck. He finishes it off, sets it down on the table with a clank, and stretches his arms forward releasing some tension.

"Should we even start that without the director?"

"Well, sure. All of those bits in Bella's bedroom. We just lie there, looking tortured. Pick up where we left off those months ago."

The thought of the two of them lying in her unmade bed sends a flush through her body. Not a good idea. She stands up, clears a little space on the table. She hoists herself up to sit right next to his chair.

He stands up and scoots his chair in behind him. He moves the short distance over to her and stands between her legs which are dangling off the table.

"This is feeling quite familiar," he smirks.

"Not entirely. Last time, there was a bed involved. We were lying down. The body contact was a bit more substantial. And the director was about three inches to your left."

He chuckles, and looks down, she's not sure at what. "Right. So. I'm ready for my close up..." He works his mouth into that smile. A little too in character, but a hint of it really not. Like he has something planned, and she would be lucky if she ever got to find out what it was.

His fingers drift over her bare legs, and he works his eyebrows into a serious knot. The pads of his fingertips grip into her thighs, testing their feel, and the closer he moves, the more serious his face gets. His eyes drift down to the pulse in her neck, and she would swear she hears him inhale. Her mouth opens in anticipation, and she does her best to look at him with some sort of mix of trepidation and lust. He's obviously already fully in character, but she can't help but be taken aback. He makes her nervous, excited. Stupid.

She giggles, a short puff of air that she tried to keep in.

He pulls back, his fingers still running in small circles on her thighs.

"What?"

"Sorry, your face. It was just so...sorry. I'm sorry. You just looked so serious...and I...sorry." She clears her throat.

"I'm trying my very best not to kill you." He's so in character, it's almost embarassing. She prides herself on being more professonal than this.

"Just what every girl wants to hear when she has a handsome vampire in her virgin bed," she improvises.

"Bella..."

He lifts his hand to cradle her face in his palm. It's large, warm, his fingertips softly stroke her hairline at the temple.

"I want to try something..." He says barely above a whisper, but still deep in timbre.

She exhales and searches his face. He moves in, closer, closer until his lips barely brush over hers. He pulls back, seeking out her response. Before he can move back in, she does the job for him. Reaches her mouth up, barely sucks his bottom lip. A little moan betrays her by escaping the back of her throat.

He pulls away, his serious expression softened. His thumb brushes over the bridge of her nose, her cheek.

"You're blushing."

She looks down self-consciously and touches her fingertips to her cheeks.

"Yeah, I think the heater in here is whacked."

"No I, uh, I was improvising a bit. But it's very in character for you. Quite becoming. Is 'blush on command' on your resume?" He's trying to joke, but her embarrassment is growing by the second.

"I...it wasn't intentional." She could kick herself for letting that slip out.

"Kristen..." He looks down again, his hand now worrying over the day-old stubble along his jawline.

"I'm sorry. I made this totally weird. Let's take a break."

She starts to scoot off the table, but his hand catches her arm and stops her. He doesn't move, just looks her face over once, twice, his eyes lingering on her lips. He's trying to decide.

"Let's not."

His fingers gently dig into her hips as he exhales and moves back in, latching on to suckle at the soft spot under her ear. The slow motion routine disappears; the scripting, the direction, when he runs his right hand up underneath her t-shirt, guiding her body down to the table. Her legs wrap up around his hips as he lowers his torso flush to her chest, drags his open mouth from her neck to her lips and opens his mouth fully to her.

His mouth is hot, wet, as it breaks through her slightly dry lips. He barely tests her first, a small peck, a slow swipe of his tongue, pulling away before she can really taste the bitterness of his mouth from the beer. The tease is almost painful, until he pulls back one last time and his eyes catch hers, seeking back and forth.

The tip of his tongue barely sweeps the inside of her lips before it brushes the tip of her tongue. She feels her whole body flood with heat, her hips involuntarily jerking up to meet where her center meets his. He pushes back into her, and a whimper finds its way from her throat. He swallows it, responding with a quiet moan.

"This doesn't feel so much like rehearsal." Her voice is husky and her eyes hold his in steady contact even if her insides are feeling awkwardness creeping in. Her legs are still wrapped up around his middle and her hands having slid down from being woven into the crown of his hair to rest at the soft nape of his neck.

"That's okay, right? This is good. Really good." He drops a wet, sucking kiss at the base of her throat.

"Yeah, really good."

They share a small smile, and his nose nuzzlss against hers back and forth, softly, a few times before his mouth finds hers again.

His hands move back under her shirt, cradling her bare back in his palms. He strokes her up and down from shoulder to the small of her back, hands running closer and closer to her sides, around to her front. She's aching for him to move to her breasts.

"Rob...Robert," she gasps, guiding his hands around to her front. His hands in hers, he cups both of her bare breasts in his palms and runs his thumbs over her nipples. It's not enough, not close enough for him.

"Can I?" he gestures, running his hands down to the hem of her t-shirt. He's working it off of her before she can finishing saying 'yes'.

Her shirt gets tossed to a nearby chair. He doesn't care where it landed, forgets about it the second he sees her bare in front of him. He's standing between her legs watching her lower herself onto her back. Her chest is heaving, her dark hair dishevled and splayed out around her on the oak table, her nipples are perfect, pink, hard and waiting. He takes his hands and runs them up her stomach, her torso, until they reach her breasts again. He cups them, squeezes them gently in his hands. She's waiting for him to make his next move.

He lowers himself to her again, closing his mouth over more than her nipple, the tip of his tongue snaking out to flick at her, suckle her. Her whimpering starts again, and he can feel the arch of her foot rubbing up and down his side.

His mouth works on her, switches from breast to breast. Her hips are gently but insistently rocking up into him. He looks up at her face, cheeks completely flushed now, one of her hands running fingers through her hair. Her mouth is open and he can't resist moving up to taste her again.

"Kristen, let me touch you."

She nods, her eyes still closed, her breasts glistening with the wetness from his mouth.

"C'mere." He takes her hands and pulls her back up to sitting. Their eyes are locked, no wavering now. He drags his fingertips slowly down her chest, until they stop at the small waistband of her boxers. They've ridden up so much they barely cover any part of her legs. He kisses her, so slow, much slower than they just were.

His fingers slide past the elastic band, his fingers long enough that he barely has to try before he touches her.

"Fuck." He gasps it so quietly he's not even sure he said it at all. He tests her, feels how impossibly wet she is for him. The tactile sensation alone is enough to make him hard, if he weren't painfully so already. When he pulls away from her kiss, his hand snug in her boxers, his fingers starting to work her over slowly, their lips are barely connected by the faintest string of their saliva, catching a high glint from the overhead light.

His tongue sweeps out to his lower lip, breaks it off. They both pause again, taking deep breaths, looking at each other in some muddled wreck of confusion and want. It's too close, they're too warm, she's too wet, his fingers don't stop moving. As his tongue slides back into his mouth, she rolls her hips up impatiently into his hand. His finger that's pressing and rubbing her, hard, slow, so slick with her, slips inside and she lets out an agonized whimper. She has to close her eyes when they water from pleasure, like she can't even help it. An errant tear runs down her cheek and disappears down her neck.

"More, I need more." She's pleading, practically begging. Her hips are pushing towards him of their own accord. Her hands have his shirt that likely cost more than her plane ticket gripped tightly in her fists, her modest fingernails pulling at the fabric.

He complies, gently dips his finger into her, pulls out. Again, again. He adds a second finger, curling his fingers deep as he strokes back. His thumb is worrying her clit, and the rest of his fingers are soaked. He dips down to catch her mouth intermittedly, and she tries to kiss him back but it's mostly her mouth open, gasping. He picks up speed, and too soon for his liking her whimpers turn into a continuous stream and she's clenching around his fingers, hard, tight spasms involuntarily trying to keep his fingers inside.

He slows the pace of his hand almost to a stop and lets her breathing slow. She has her forehead resting on his shoulder, and her breath is so hot he can feel it dampen his shirt. He pulls his hand out from her, and rests it softly in neutral territory at her waist.

Her eyes are still blissed out, hazy as she looks up at him. She kisses his throat, his jaw, rubbing her hands up and down his chest. Her mouth finally ends at his and he kisses her again.

"I want to...touch you, too..." she manages, inbetween their lazy, sloppy kisses. Her hands drop down to his waist and run over the hard bulge of him that's pushing achingly into the seam of his pants.

Their hands fumble together at his belt buckle. She grabs at the leather strap slipping it from its notch with his hand already working down the zipper. The front of his slacks are splayed open, and he gently guides her hand to his lower abdomen, following the trail of hair that starts at his belly button and runs down past the front of his boxers.

She worms her hand down inside where he's impossibly hot, and she works her palm, clammy and shaking, tentatively and painfully slow for him, down, down, until she reaches his base. She wraps her fingers around him and pulls up, again slowly. She glances up at him, and her heart constricts unexpectedly, strangely when she sees his eyes fixed so intensely on her. When she reaches the tip, she runs her pointer finger delicately around the head.

"Kristen, Jesus." He drops his head into the hollow of her neck and pants, leaving wet little kisses when he can manage a breath.

Her hand is full with the length of him, working him painfully slow but he doesn't seem to be complaining. When she starts working him faster, even slightly, he pants a low, hot whimper in the back of his throat. She wants to hear it again, so she goes slightly faster still, with each pull up his length, each stroke down. The tip has a bit of wetness, and she uses it to spread around with her fingers. She can tell he's close when both of his arms wrap up behind her, fingers tunneling through her hair, enclosing them both into an intimate space where everything is centered on how perfectly she's working him and how hot and close their breath mingles.

"Are you...?" she trails off.

"Yes, yes. You're perfect. You feel perfect."

She reaches her mouth back up to his and plunges her tongue into his pliant mouth, nips at his wet bottom lip. "I want you to come in my hand."

She can feel him nod his head, and he starts pumping into her grip. A few thrusts more and he tenses, and her palm is full, sticky, wet. She slowly strokes him a few times more, then pulls her hand away.

His hands are planted on the table now, on either side of her. His breathing is still heavy, pieces of his hair now unkempt, damp and hanging forward over his eyes. His mouth blindly seeks hers, opens and finds it, kissing her slow and sweet, his tongue just barely pushing into the inside of her lips.

When he finally breaks away, he ducks his head, a smile spreading across his face. "What a mess we've made." She gives him a small smile back, not knowing or caring if he means her hand and part of her stomach, the pages of script now in disarray on the table, their abandoned beer bottles, one having tipped on its side and dripping slowly onto the floor into a little puddle.

Her cell phone beeping from a new voicemail.

The on-again-off-again boyfriend that she's neglected to call since her plane landed the day before.

She suddenly realizes, sitting on this table, in between his legs, both of them damp and spent, that she knows next to nothing about his personal life. If he has anyone. If this is the kind of thing he does with people on set. Why he makes her stomach twist in this deliciously unexpected way.

When she looks up at him, his smile is mostly gone but she can still see it in his eyes. He looks...enamored. She wasn't expecting that.

"Yeah," she breathes. "What a mess."

O Cullen, My Cullen

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 17:40:57 GMT

Roses are red, so is my "steak"
Who would have thought that your pelvis would break?

- - - - - - - - - -

I moved to Forks because my life sucked.
I met a hot vampire now I want to get plucked

- - - - - - - - - -

It rains a lot so I can't see his glitter
He touched my boob! I updated to Twitter.

- - - - - - - - - -

He looks so hot in his black Gucci shirt
Do I look good in my long khaki skirt?

- - - - - - - - - -

Jacob is a hot wolf, his skin smells like clover
When he's a dog he tells me to bend over...?

- - - - - - - - - -

Bella wants to get laid, her girl parts are achin'
But Eddie messed up, now he runs to find bacon.

- - - - - - - - - -

Bella won't mind the chill of his seed
But Eddie still wants to do it sous vide!

- - - - - - - - - -

"Poor little Eddie, without a soul."
RPattz tossed down the script and lit up a bowl

- - - - - - - - - -

"I need a light" and he reached for a fag
J/K this is RPattz, it was a dime bag!

- - - - - - - - - -

The fangirls are near, his patience is waning
Here comes that stalker. "It's not fucking raining!"