A/N: Hi, this is my first time posting on here, so sorry if it's not the greatest. This little drabble is centered around my loves, Kristen Stewart & Robert Pattinson. Thanks for taking the time to read. I'd appreciate any feedback.
Her slender finger dips into the bottle of foundation, before coating her skin and the imperfections-taking extra care of covering the freckles splashed amongst her cheeks and nose. Sweeping the bronzer brush over her features, she presses harder...desperately hoping to add some color to her naturally pale complexion. Next, she focuses on her eyes, lining them with black and coating her lashes in dark mascara. Her lips are covered in a peachy gloss, making them appear plumper than usual. Once she's satisfied with her make-up, she fixes her hair...making sure each strand falls correctly into place. She then eyes her outfit, analyzing the way her dress shows off her legs and accentuates her normally petite chest.
She hears him struggling with the key, before entering their apartment. Taking one final look in the mirror, she sighs, dissatisfied with the result. She was hoping to look special for him on their night off from filming. Sure, he had loved her for 3 years, even when she was still an awkward seventeen-year-old...yet part of her was waiting for the day that he'd realize he could do better.
When he enters their bedroom, he sees her little body stuck right in front of the vanity where he left her. There she stands, criticizing the very thing he loves most in the world.
Turning her around he takes her face between his hands. 'Kris...I hate this...what you're doing.' His thumbs sweep across her cheeks, his eyebrows knitting together when he feels the thick make-up against his fingers. A tear escapes her emerald eye, a black trail following behind it, marking her skin. 'I just want to be beautiful for you,' she sighed. Shaking his head in anger, he picks her up by the back of her thighs, carrying her to the bathroom counter. He turns the faucet on beside her, taking a wash cloth and dipping it under the water. Tears fall more rapidly down her cheeks, ashamed of what she has come to. She once was just a teenage girl, self-assured and not willing to take shit from anyone. Now three years later, she can barely look at herself in the mirror-afraid to fall short of high expectations and constant scrutiny.
She's too skinny, she must starve herself. Why does she always look stoned? Are those bags underneath her eyes permanent? She should buy a fucking hairbrush. How could she have chosen that outfit? She looks so miserable. And the worst one...How could he ever want to be with her? She's not good enough for him.
She wasn't good enough for him. That fact alone made her want to shrink away from his loving touch. Closing her eyes, she allowes a shaky breath to escape from deep within her lungs, as he moves the wash cloth over her face. First he runs the towel over her eyes. Once nothing is left to hide their beauty, he presses a lingering kiss to the smooth skin abover her eyelashes. He re-wets the wash cloth before moving it across her cheeks and nose. He smiles when he sees her freckles come back into view and dips his mouth down to kiss each and every one amongst her porcelain skin. Finally, he rubs the cloth over her lips, wiping away the sticky intruder. With nothing left in the way, his lips meet hers...slowly...achingly...as he attempts once more to prove every ounce of love he has for her. When they are forced to part for a breath, he picks her back off of the counter and carries her to their bed. Sitting her down, he unzips the back of the skin-tight dress, letting it fall to the ground. Searching in the pile of dirty clothes scattered amongst their floor, he finds her favorite old t-shirt of his. He brings her arms up over her head, before letting the loose flannel material fall over her torso. Lying her back against the pillows, he crawls up over her body. His hands weave up in her hair before ruffling it with his fingertips...making it hang in its usual messy waves.
He gazes down at her with that crooked grin, before pressing his forehead against her own. 'This is beautiful,' he whispers. 'This is you.'