five times rosalie hale lost her mind
Rosalie/Jasper. Rosalie/Edward. Rosalie/Tanya. Rosalie/Bella. Rosalie/Leah.
written for twilight_t00bs of course. if you don't like the pairings, don't read it, okay?
1. five times rosalie hale lost her mind
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1019 Review this Chapter
The attraction was understandable, she decided later: two outcasts in a family of outcasts. His brooding fit her moods.
He gave her peace, calm, tranquility -- even if it was conjured. She gave him fire; it was real. Both had what the other wanted without needing to be told.
Emotions clashed in the air, fighting a battle mirrored in the war between their kisses.
Violence leads to submission.
One would win when the other relaxed, letting their guard down. She always lost. His hands knew places she didn't, and with a thought she was struggling against the temptation to fall limp in his arms.
Her body betrayed her.
One day his conscience decided it was time to make its entrance, and he stopped an inch away from her lips. His eyes said he would pull away. She had been waiting for this.
"One last time?" she asked quietly. He nodded, relaxing into her embrace. She laughed.
Alice never forgave her.
Something drew her to him, something strong that couldn't be ignored. She still hasn't figured out what it is.
Maybe it was his music. Edward at the piano was a different person, a different part of his mind taking over and creating something beautiful. Those long white fingers of his, stretching farther than she'd thought possible, playing so many notes at one time -- it was a wonder he could still think.
Although that might have been the point.
She ached for those hands to splay across the smooth skin of her stomach or the backs of her thighs, thoughts she didn't try to hide from him in the least. He pretended not to notice.
Everyone notices me, she'd thought angrily. A determined stride brought her to his side. She plunked herself down on his bench like ivory and glared at his profile. Her hands grabbed one of his and placed it between her breasts, as the melody drifted off to nothing.
"Look at me," she demanded. He obliged, face blank.
"You're not for me," he said simply, pulling his hand away. She leaned forward on impulse and kissed him -- longer than her brain warned was wise.
She didn't listen. He didn't react.
Temporary insanity, she pleaded within the confines of her mind, but she yearned still for those beautiful hands.
Tanya was the more beautiful, more confident, more experienced version of herself.
It was strangely attractive.
They could have hated each other. They could have become best friends. Fate, it seems, wasn't satisfied with either of those outcomes.
Tanya taught her how to feel in ways she'd never considered. (She wasn't her only student, or her first. Rosalie wasn't stupid.)
She thought she could see the jealousy in Edward's eyes, and she laughed at the irony.
They went north together, always searching, always moving. Denali wasn't cold enough to freeze their frozen bodies, snow falling on similarly-colored skin.
Wild animals kept their distance.
There was no hand holding, no heartfelt declarations or gentle kisses. Tanya's home, Tanya's rule.
Which was fine. But sometimes she craved to do more than just smile and wink in front of Edward, to really show him what he was missing.
The look on his face said that her thoughts showed quite enough.
Everyone, it seemed, was head-over-heels for this little fragile human. Was it so odd to want to see what the fuss was about?
A manicured nail trailed down the side of the girl's neck. A heart beat double time and she trembled in fright.
It made Rosalie sick.
"You're the lamb everyone wants to save."
Bella didn't say anything.
"Or perhaps you're a rabbit?"
Rosalie put her face up close to the girl's and frowned. "Say something. Anything. Stop being so goddamn scared all the time, it's not cute. 'Damsel in distress' went out of style last century. I can't believe Edward puts up with --"
Interrupted by warm lips on her own, hands behind her neck.
Bella taking the initiative.
It was so completely out of character that Rosalie didn't have a chance to gather her wits before the room was empty and she was staring into silence.
Well. Maybe she could see the appeal.
She never meant to fall in love with a werewolf. She never meant to fall in love at all.
The anger reflected in those dark eyes and the promises those pretty lips made were too much to resist.
They were breaking all the rules anyone had ever set down. Rosalie found out just how little she cared.
They snuck out at night -- escaping their prisons -- meeting in neutral territory. Neither of them used any transportation other than their own bodies.
Their bodies, it turns out, were good for other things too.
Leah eventually became more to her, though, than someone to screw. Miraculously she found herself talking to the werewolf, something she almost never did. They'd lay out, sans clothing, shadow-trees tickling their faces, and speak of anything that came to mind.
They related more than at first she'd thought they would.
Funny how she fell in love after the sex, after the anger and frustration. Because now their kisses were different: softer and sweeter, almost gentle.
She felt vulnerable, and safe.
It wasn't as though either of them were keeping a secret. They were long past those naive days. Both the pack and the coven read minds, disapproval and confusion on every one of their faces.
There were two notable exceptions: Jacob and Emmett. Jacob was full of pure loathing, venom in his words to rival the poison in her mouth. He acted like he had something to prove. But Emmett was clueless. They left him alone, no one wanting to shatter his clouded perception.
He alone had ever had faith in Rosalie, and in time he would find it misplaced.