(no subject)
Title: We Didn't Order This, Mr. Stork
Rating: PG-13. Swearing. And stuff.
Fandom: NONE. IT'S REAL PERSON FIC. AAAAH. Rob/Kristen.
Once she'd gotten past the horror and the shock and the abject humiliation of being pregnant with her co-stars kid, she'd kind of grown used to the idea. She didn't really like it, and if she could go back and change things, she'd have made him double up on the condoms... But at least she could almost guarantee he wouldn't up and walk out of her life. Probably.
Which, okay, fine, had been a constant nagging prickle in her spine from the first time they'd kissed as themselves to the moment the stick had turned blue and she'd hunted him down on location in Italy and thrown Catherine’s bullhorn at his head in the middle of him filming a scene.
The being sick every morning sucked, and she'd felt kind of bad that they'd had to push back production on film number three because at their planned start date she probably wouldn't be able to see her feet.
At least the sex was good.
Okay, the sex was great. Once Rob had mostly come to terms with the fact that his hobo-spawn was growing inside her.
The bullhorn had given him a goose-egg, right in the center of his forehead. She was pretty proud of that.
And when he'd woken up, he was possibly more terrified than she was, which was a bonus and a relief.
"I don't like kids." he'd told her, eyes blinking up into the sun, unfocused and dialated. She was kneeling beside him as crew rushed around and their on-set doctor ran towards them with his little black bag.
"Yeah, me neither."
And that was that.
She had to admit, considering who he was, who she knew him to be, he'd stepped up pretty well. For the most part. Brought her steak and pineapple at two in the morning, rubbed her feet, and had only thrown up twice at the idea that in a few short months, he was going to be someone's dad.
If you didn't count that time on their way to her first ultrasound.
But for all that, neither of them could say they were especially eager for the little bundle of screaming person that was on its way.
She was resigned, yes. Scared shitless, oh, you better believe it.
But totally not ready to be a mom.
Mom. Mother. Mommy.
God, she was barely nineteen, how was she going to raise another human being?
She looked down at the small protrusion in her abdomen, had a brief flash of the inane plot of the last book, and decided then and there Taylor wasn't going near her kid.
Just in case.
Rob came in just as she was pondering the list of things never coming into contact with the alien in her stomach (the TwiMoms being right up near the top, dear god, they'd eat it alive), hair sticking up every which way, that stupid beanie in his hand and bloodshot eyes.
Here she was, sitting in his condo, getting fatter by the second, contemplating pushing a watermelon out of her vagina, and he was out getting stoned.
She threw the remote at his head.
"The fuck, Krissy?" he scowled and scratched the side of his neck, kicking off his boots and coming to a stop beside her on the couch. She huffed and looked towards the television, not even comprehending what she was taking in, only hyper aware of him sitting beside her, and pulling her hand into his lap.
"You're a jackass."
"Well. Yeah."
As if that excused him.
She sighed. "I'm tired."
"Take a nap, love."
"No, Rob. I'm tired."
He was silent. "We don't have to--"
"Don't even go there."
This same argument again.
The point was, when they'd first started this thing back on the set in those early days, before the fame and glory and every preteen in the world knowing his face and shoe size and coffee preference--
This hadn't been what she'd signed up for.
He was eyeing her stomach now, with a look of apprehension and curiosity. Lightly, he placed his hand over her belly, pushing down with the edges of his fingers. It wasn’t his usual behavior. For the most part, when he could, he usually acted like it wasn't even there.
As if in response, there was a flutter and a pressure. They both went rod straight and dead still.
A minute later, it happened again.
He smiled. Not his cocky smirk, or the big grin she liked to think he reserved just for her, but it was a smile.
"Kris?"
"Hmm?"
"I still don't like kids."
"I know. I'm not really fond of them myself."
"This one might be okay."
"Maybe. It's half you, so we already know it's going to smell pretty bad."
He sneered, but quick as lightning, leaned over and pressed a kiss to her bellybutton. He looked down and spoke at it for the first time.
"If you have any sense of self preservation, duckling, you'll grow a dick."
She chuckled.
Yeah.
They'd figure it out.
Rating: PG-13. Swearing. And stuff.
Fandom: NONE. IT'S REAL PERSON FIC. AAAAH. Rob/Kristen.
Once she'd gotten past the horror and the shock and the abject humiliation of being pregnant with her co-stars kid, she'd kind of grown used to the idea. She didn't really like it, and if she could go back and change things, she'd have made him double up on the condoms... But at least she could almost guarantee he wouldn't up and walk out of her life. Probably.
Which, okay, fine, had been a constant nagging prickle in her spine from the first time they'd kissed as themselves to the moment the stick had turned blue and she'd hunted him down on location in Italy and thrown Catherine’s bullhorn at his head in the middle of him filming a scene.
The being sick every morning sucked, and she'd felt kind of bad that they'd had to push back production on film number three because at their planned start date she probably wouldn't be able to see her feet.
At least the sex was good.
Okay, the sex was great. Once Rob had mostly come to terms with the fact that his hobo-spawn was growing inside her.
The bullhorn had given him a goose-egg, right in the center of his forehead. She was pretty proud of that.
And when he'd woken up, he was possibly more terrified than she was, which was a bonus and a relief.
"I don't like kids." he'd told her, eyes blinking up into the sun, unfocused and dialated. She was kneeling beside him as crew rushed around and their on-set doctor ran towards them with his little black bag.
"Yeah, me neither."
And that was that.
She had to admit, considering who he was, who she knew him to be, he'd stepped up pretty well. For the most part. Brought her steak and pineapple at two in the morning, rubbed her feet, and had only thrown up twice at the idea that in a few short months, he was going to be someone's dad.
If you didn't count that time on their way to her first ultrasound.
But for all that, neither of them could say they were especially eager for the little bundle of screaming person that was on its way.
She was resigned, yes. Scared shitless, oh, you better believe it.
But totally not ready to be a mom.
Mom. Mother. Mommy.
God, she was barely nineteen, how was she going to raise another human being?
She looked down at the small protrusion in her abdomen, had a brief flash of the inane plot of the last book, and decided then and there Taylor wasn't going near her kid.
Just in case.
Rob came in just as she was pondering the list of things never coming into contact with the alien in her stomach (the TwiMoms being right up near the top, dear god, they'd eat it alive), hair sticking up every which way, that stupid beanie in his hand and bloodshot eyes.
Here she was, sitting in his condo, getting fatter by the second, contemplating pushing a watermelon out of her vagina, and he was out getting stoned.
She threw the remote at his head.
"The fuck, Krissy?" he scowled and scratched the side of his neck, kicking off his boots and coming to a stop beside her on the couch. She huffed and looked towards the television, not even comprehending what she was taking in, only hyper aware of him sitting beside her, and pulling her hand into his lap.
"You're a jackass."
"Well. Yeah."
As if that excused him.
She sighed. "I'm tired."
"Take a nap, love."
"No, Rob. I'm tired."
He was silent. "We don't have to--"
"Don't even go there."
This same argument again.
The point was, when they'd first started this thing back on the set in those early days, before the fame and glory and every preteen in the world knowing his face and shoe size and coffee preference--
This hadn't been what she'd signed up for.
He was eyeing her stomach now, with a look of apprehension and curiosity. Lightly, he placed his hand over her belly, pushing down with the edges of his fingers. It wasn’t his usual behavior. For the most part, when he could, he usually acted like it wasn't even there.
As if in response, there was a flutter and a pressure. They both went rod straight and dead still.
A minute later, it happened again.
He smiled. Not his cocky smirk, or the big grin she liked to think he reserved just for her, but it was a smile.
"Kris?"
"Hmm?"
"I still don't like kids."
"I know. I'm not really fond of them myself."
"This one might be okay."
"Maybe. It's half you, so we already know it's going to smell pretty bad."
He sneered, but quick as lightning, leaned over and pressed a kiss to her bellybutton. He looked down and spoke at it for the first time.
"If you have any sense of self preservation, duckling, you'll grow a dick."
She chuckled.
Yeah.
They'd figure it out.