Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/484172.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Rose_Lalonde/Doc_Scratch
  Character:
      Rose_Lalonde, Doc_Scratch
  Additional Tags:
      Pedophilia
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-12 Words: 1090
****** You Broke Her ******
by MaK
Summary
     Rose Lalonde is a lovely student with so much potential and you are a
     monster.
Notes
     Wrote this on my phone so sorry for any errors.
Rose never talks much in your class. She's quiet and shy but when chosen to
speak she hides it all in a vail of confidence and wit. Soft, nearly white
blonde hair goes just below her ears and strong, light violet eyes hide from
your own. Freckles dot her cheeks and her arms but without the blemishes she's
almost as pale as you. She's short for her age but wise beyond her years and
she's so goddamn briliant it's almost quizzical.
You think yourself in love.
She thinks herself a physiologist.
»
Rose returns from spring break just as frail as she was before. Few kids in
your class boast about the places they've seen and the things they've done. She
tells you about the two notebooks she's filled front and back.
You love her voice; small and weak but with bits of wisedom and knowledge just
hanging on the tip of her tongue. She could be so much more if someone let her.
At the end of the day, she stays in your class until her mother arrives. “She
got a new schedule,” she explains.
“Where does she work?” You ask.
She suddenly becomes so much smaller than she actually is and tells you her
mother is self-employed.
Miss Lalonde rolls into the parking lot at ten to five and Rose leaves school
with a scowl on her face.
You're stuck between wanting to hug her and tell her everything is fine and
coming on her cute little stomach.
»
She stays after school for the next two weeks and only then does she begin
opening up to you. Never once do you get to look into her notebooks, but she
does tell you that she's confused about her sexuality. “Are you gay, Rose?”
You'd almost be disappointed if she said yes.
Her shoulders shrug and she crosses her arms, cheeks colored a bright red.
You observe what you believe to be her first kiss with another girl in your
class the next day.
You're jealous.
»
On a day her mother reports she simply can't pick up Rose, you offer to drive
her. She asks if she can spend the night at your home.
Your dick twitches below your belt with a rush of thoughts and possibilities.
“No,” you respond.
Rose is saddened but determinded. She hates her mom and she hates her home and
she's almost in tears as she begs to come home with you.
You say yes and hate yourself for it but she hugs you so lovingly that you
almost forget about the near chance you have. You wonder if she's realized part
of your attraction for her is sexual.
She sleeps in one of your shirts and you come twice before you fall asleep.
When you're showering the next morning, she slides on her school uniform in the
next room. She looks adorable in that skirt.
While making breakfast in the kitchen, dressed in a robe, her cheeks redden and
she mumbles a greeting. After a moment, she inquires, “I assume you're single,
Doctor?”
“Yes,” you hand her a piece of toast and two eggs.
The only thought you have is how close she is and how easy it would be to get
her to let you touch her and smooth your fingers over her warm skin.
You both arrive at school an hour early and she sleeps on a desk.
»
She graduates seventh grade and returns and inch taller than last year and her
hair styled in a new way. Her make up is heavier and lips painted black. Kids
call her a dyke but you call her beautiful. She still hasn't figured out her
sexuality but doesn't stop you when your fingers dip under her vest and lay on
her stomach. She still doesn't stop you when your hand palms her through her
bra but bites her lip when you go beneath. “I won't ever push you, Rose.”
She watches you jerk off and asks if the two of you can kiss.
You hate to destroy such a beautiful thing but the warmth of her mouth and
shyness of her tongue seem worth it.
Rose repeats the charade from last year with her mother never being quite sober
enough to drive and her being too bold to beg.
Except for you.
She starts spending nights at your home again.
»
“Doctor?”
You hum.
“Are we dating?”
You have both hands on her thighs you a trail of saliva on her throat. Big,
violet eyes look up at you desperately with fear and hope and a want to be
loved. “Only if you want us to be.”
You see her holdings with the same girl she kissed and you nearly break a
ruler.
You are a selfish man and you want Rose to belong to you and only you.
»
She cries to you that her girlfriend, a girl named Vriska, quit the
relationship for another boy. Your chest is damp and you pity her terribly but
you're glad she's yours again.
“Can we date, Doctor?”
You remind her that your fourty second birthday is two months away. She tells
you she knows.
Rose's lipstick taste like raspberry and she allows you to finger her to orgasm
and licks the cum that landed on your hand.
“Oh, Rose.” She is so dear to you.
»
On Halloween, she sleeps in the bed with you and helps jerk you off. It's the
greatest orgasm you've ever had and her lips taste like grape.
“Doctor,” she says during the night.
Your arms are wrapped around her frail form and your lips are at her adorable,
large ears while she's curled up with the small of her back at your groin.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
You remind her of your age and she turns to kiss you. “I still love you.”
Your chest aches because you know she's pegging admiration and desperation as
love and you know you've ruined her love life forever.
“You'd be a better author than a therapist, Rose.”
»
You get to fuck her in November and she sucks the head of your cock in false
appreciation. She chokes when you come in her mouth. Rose hides herself in your
chest in an embarrassment.
The whole scene brings you back a year when you had her on your teaching desk
and home between her knees. She was looking down at the floor; shy, embarassed,
and desperate, while you smelled her hair and traced circles on her thigh.
So far has she come.
So broken have you made her.
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