Homestuck (fics)

You Can't Complain (rosemary)

Type : F/F

Paring : Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, side Roxy Lalonde/Jane Crocker

AU : Humanstuck, No Sburb, also they're older I guess, and in college, but its not a college au.

Characters : Kanaya Maryam, Rose Lalonde, kinda Roxy Lalonde and Jane Crocker

Rating : PG (for kissing, underwear, and really tiny innuendo I couldn't resist [honestly I'm bad at this rating stuff but whatever])

Warnings : Mentions of alcoholism

Wordcount : 3578

Notes : okay, first fic, let's see how that goes. i feel like this is kinda ooc but i'm terrible at characterization sooooo. i guess. tell me what ya think.

The day you meet, you can't stop staring at her. She wears a pencil skirt and a button up shirt. Her hair is nearly white and her lips are black, and her eyes, God, they stare right through you, and a shade of magenta you can't tear your eyes away from. She's petite, slight in all senses of the word, but her presence radiates.

She notices, of course, she always notices or she wouldn't be Rose Lalonde. Her lips quirk up, and you stare at those too, before quickly turning away. You're usually composed exterior seems to make way for a blushing and slightly starstruck mess.

She strides up to you, her heels clicking against the tiled floor and extends her hand. You stare at it, her fingers are long and thin, before carefully wrapping yours around it. Her skin is even more pale in contrast to yours. You think you could get used to the sight.

She introduces herself, her voice is soft and smooth, and you respond easily in your sharp and eloquent accent. You've got heavy tomes lining your shelf that you wouldn't mind hearing her read, even the dullest words seem to come to life on her tongue.

She smiles at you, the left side of her mouth turning upwards in an infuriatingly mysterious manner. It almost seems like a smirk.

Her gaze pierces yours, and flitters across your features before moving the length of your body. When they come back up, you smile more confidently. You designed the dress yourself, you explain. You are positive it is beautiful. She seems to agree, as she asks you if you sell anything.

The answer is negative, you're still in school. But you can't help yourself when you offer to put something together for her someday. She intrigues you, to say the least, and the way she looks and moves sparks your muse.

The way her eyebrow raises the slightest bit is enough to make you feel more than pleased with yourself. She tells you that she'll hold you to that. You sincerely hope she does.

She calls you a week later, asks if you'd like to meet her for coffee. You say yes, of course. You hope you don't sound too eager.

When you walk into the shop, she sits waiting at a small table for two with a leather bound notebook and a pen between her lips. Her forehead in slightly wrinkled and she stares intently at the page. Her dress is black as her lips. You stare at her from the entrance as long as you can get away with before wandering over.

You introduce yourself with a small hello and settle into the seat opposed to hers, tucking your long limbs underneath the table. Your knees knock against hers, and you try not to dwell on it. When you shake hands, it lingers a little longer than necessary. You're not sure who's fault that is, so you try not to dwell on that either.