Lola in Slacks, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic

Title: Lola in Slacks

Author: Miss Selah

Summary: My car is limping Delores haze, and the last long lap is the hardest. And I shall be dumped were the weeds decay, and the rest is rust and stardust. (Naiminecentric) (Squickfic) (KHCoMcompliant)

Genre: Romance / Drama

Squicks: PWP, Pedophilia, Noncon, Underage, F/F, F/M

Pairings: Um, Namine x Organization 13?

Plea for reason: This is rated ‘M’ for a GOOD reason. If you don’t like the squicks, then don’t read it. I gave you fair warning. All flame mail will be immediately sent to the administration. This is a form of expression, and quite frankly I don’t care if you don’t like it, and I feel no need to justify my actions to anyone.

Lola in Slacks

She presses a crayon against a crisp white paper. The dip of it, the delicate curl of the paper against the pink, reminds him of the way her skin curls under him when he presses his fingers in to her side. The tip of her tongue darts out of her mouth, her pretty pink mouth that matches her pretty pink tongue, and Marluxia's own tongue takes the trip of three steps as he sounds out the delicate syllables, down to the palate at the tap, at three. Na. Min. E. She was a nobody, but she was a somebody to him, and that was all that really mattered. His angel in white. His pretty little girl between the bed sheets, where he lost his heart. His Namine. His Lolita.

She starts at her own name, the skittish little nymphet, and Marluxia takes a step forward, then another, until the only thing separating them is skin and stardust.

"I don't want this." She breaths against him as he pushes up that pretty pale dress to see what secrets it can hold.

"I don't want this." She repeats as she lying beneath him, his cock positioning softly against her.

"I DON'T WANT THIS!." She sobs against his shoulders as he pistons in to her, whispering sweet nothings that she cant hear and he probably doesn't mean. She beats him, but she is tiny and frail and pink and all his, except for all the times she isn't.

He dresses, walking easily despite the drying cum in his boxer, and leaves her crying in the moonlight.

"I don't. . ." not even nobody is around to hear her anyways.

Roxas is a comfort. Sweet, comfortable Roxas. He seems just as much out of place here as she does, which is great, because she's still too sore from the graceful assassin’s misuse of her body to have put up much of a fight anyways.

She lies on her belly on the bed, stripped down to her skin, and Roxas brushes a soothing touch over the bruised skin.

"If you didn't fight it so much, he wouldn't want to break you so badly."

"I know." The tears well in her eyes, but they don't fall out. Something about tears don't seem to work here anymore.

"If you just give up, he won't hurt you again."

She buries her head and wishes that it would just stop hurting. "I know."

Roxas is quiet for a moment, and she peeks at him through her long blonde lashes. He is blushing, staring at her exposed skin, gazing longingly at the curve of her calf, the dip of her spine, and everything that fell in between.

She rolls over and sits up, pulling his one, smooth hand to her breast, and he blushes, startled, but doesn't muster up the energy to pull away.

It isn't until he is panting against her chin, his pretty blue eyes half lidded and cloudy, that he manages to muster up that semblance of decency.

"Namine. . ." he pants.

She smiles and slips a shy hand beneath his robes, gripping him gently.

"I know."

Luxord, with his cool British smile, replaced the bashful Roxas with a quick grin. His hands were buried in his pocket and Namine, still a bit skittish and worn from her previous two encounters, so she wasn’t sure what to expect.

It certainly wasn’t for him to sit down at the end of her bed and pull out a deck of cards.

“You’re just a little girl.” He noted, bridging the deck without even glancing at it. “And little girls like games, don’t they?”

Namine, intrigued, leans forward, and Luxord caught just the barest peek of a pale breast from behind the slipping sheet.

“What kind of a game?” She whispered, entranced by his expert flick of the deck.

“Have you ever heard of strip poker, my dear?”

And he bet that sheet right off of her.

Lexaeus, in distinct contrast, sat opposite of her in the room, looking utterly silly on a little pink, plastic stool.

“That pink clashes with your hair.” Namine muttered with a smile as she drew him. The large, awkward giant. Orange and black. . . a walking Halloween!

She finished her picture and presented it to him with a bit of pride. “See?” She asked him.

Lexaeus stared long and hard at it, squinting at the details. “What’s that?”

“A jack o latern. Like your hair.”

“And that?”

“A black cat. Like your robes.”

“And that?”

“A corn field. Like your power.”

She was standing too close, though she didn’t know it yet. He turned and cupped her tiny chin in his one huge palm.

“Thank you.”

She said you’re welcome with a kiss.

It's his turn to guard her. He fucking hates this job. He hates it like the way he hates the soft blonde of her hair, the white of her room, the pale of her dress. He hates it the same way he hates that she’s so pretty and pristine, and he's so much closer to the color of blood blood blood and death. He hates the way she sits there, in her pale little corner, seeming to make up all the light in the world that never was, and never would again, but mostly he fucking hates the way she makes him shudder.

"You don't want to."

"Shut up."

"You don't have to."

"Shut up."

"I wont make you."

"SHUT UP!" Axel cries out as he cums inside of her, shuddering. She wraps her pale pretty arms around him and holds him till he's done crying.

"You'resomebody."

He leaves her then, not bothering to straighten his clothes as he lurches from her room. He fucking hates that she can see right through him.

He fucking hatesthis job.

Demyx, though, Demyx loves this job. She knows it with the cocky sway of his hips, that bitch you cant do anything to stop me smile. She knows it with the remorseless way he tickles her to conniptions and she knows it with the gentle way he holds her.

Zexion, though, Zexion does his duty with mild distaste. Namine peeks at him from beneath her covers as he watches her, unblinking in the moonlight, and wonders why he's so much different than the rest of them.

"Zexion."

"Go to sleep girl."

He is a man of few words, so he saves them, playing his cards close to his chest. She wonders what she would have to do to take them away.

"Zexion?"

"Go. to. SLEEP." His tone is curt, and she pouts a pretty pale lip.

"Zex." She curls the syllable around her tongue as if she’s tasting a lollipop that was all his. He starts, and stares. Her bliss blue eyes stare right back, staring in to his soul, staring past Zexion and seeing all the way clear through to Lenzo.

Where did the pretty pale Namine go? Who was this thing left in her wake.

She takes great pride in stealing away the rest of his words.

He walks in to the room without so much as a glance at her, stripping off his shirt as he kicks away his boats in an almost erratic fashion.

Nothing about the sharp shooter was erratic.

Namine’s breathing, though, was. Her breath came out in hitched one–two–one–two–one–two–three–four–four–oh–god,as she stares, transfixed, at the wide expanse of chest that he keeps buried beneath his robes and stoicism.

“Xigbar?”

He is silent as he crawls on top of her, toppling over her little plastic desk, ignoring the crayon clutched in her fingers.

“Xigbar.” She whispers as he begins to work his way through her buttons, choosing to strip her down rather than flip her skirt and be done with it.

“Xigbar.”If he had come to her first, she probably would have split in two. As it was, she wasn’t sure whether or not Marluxia stole her virginity, only that he was the first person she could remember ever being inside of her body.

ButXigbar, Xiggy Xiggy played guitar, he was the first person she could ever remember that possessed her so fully.

He is quiet, until he comes with a scream, whispering sweet nothings that he doesn’t mean but it doesn’t matter because she had no way of holding him to them anyways.

Xemnas is the leader. The poor, put upon leader.

He stares at her with hungry eyes, and she finds it even more disconcering than if he was stripping her bare. That she could deal with. That she had grown accustomed to. But she wasn’t used tothis, this soul searching gaze that made her feel as though she had done something wrong.

“Please.”

She had only learned to twist her terrible situation to her advantage. Why be raped when you could be the one doing the raping? And just because the organization members were willing participants didn’t mean that what she was doing wasn’t rape. She wasn’t raping their bodies, oh no, she doubted she could ever do that. She was raping the tattered remains of their humanities, giving them the same long looks that Xemnas was giving her now.

“Please.”

She sat, huddled in a corner, clutching her paper and crayon to her chest as though it was some kind of magical armor, and it could make all of this go away.

“Please.”She begged, crumpling the paper in her tight grip.

“Pleasewhat?”

She wasn’t even sure what she was asking for. She thought she was, but. . .

Not anymore.

“Slut.” Larxene whispered as she climbed around her chair, peeking over her shoulder as she drew pretty pictures of far away lands and things that she was making happening. It would be wonderful to see what sort of horrific realities she would create when she was broken. Yes, Larxene was rather looking forward to that.

“I’m not.” Namine tries her hardest to ignore her, to keep her attention on her page, on her drawing, on her world that never was and never could be. Larxene, though, trails a delicate gloved finger down the girl’s chest, laying it to rest on her hips.

Namine began to pant helplessly, cocking her small, childlike hips towards Larxene’s expert fingers, turning her head just so, so that Larxene’s breath was barely a whisper of a kiss away.

“Slut.” Larxene repeated as she flipped the hem of her pale white frock, and slipped a leather clad finger between the crevice of her legs, losing sight of them in her body.

Even as Namine moaned, even as Larxene’s fingers played deft music on her clit, she kept panting out the same mantra, as if it could save her.

“I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m. . . oh god!”

Namine came around her like a waterfall and Larxene removed her expert fingers. She stared at the strange white cum that coated them, and darted a deceitfully pretty tongue out to taste it. She looked so pretty to Namine then, so pretty. You would have never guessed how deeply that tongue could cut.

Larxene’s face drew up in distaste at the flavor and she frowned at the girl.

“Slut.”

Through her tears, Namine didn’t get a chance to tell her she was wrong before she was alone again.

She runs a brush through Vexen’s blonde hair, trying to not think about the similarities and how very wrong this role reversal had suddenly become. It had been weeks since she last saw Marluxia, whom visited her the most often, and she thought that maybe she could convice Vexen to tell her why he suddenly decided that he no longer wanted to see her anymore.

“Is he angry with me?”

Vexen was uncharecteristically quiet.

“Is he tired of me?”

Vexen allowed her to continue to brush his hair in silence.

“Is he sick?”

Vexen smiled, but he was turned away from her so she couldn’t see. She was too busy imagining all the horrible possible outcomes to pay much attention anyways.

“Is he dead?”

Vexen stole the rest of her questions with kisses and replaced them with hearty moans. He washed away the thought of Marluxia and replaced them with thoughts of him, and it isn’t until much, much time has passed since he left her that Namine began to realize that the organization wasn’t after her body after all.

They all wanted a piece of her comfort.

They lay naked, the two of them, her tiny pink and yellow body against his dark and dark and dark one.

She fiddled with the ends of his dreadlocks and muttered something unintelligeble.

“What?” He whispered gruffly in the dark, his eyes still fixed on the swatch of yellow at the vee of her thighs.

“I was just wondering how I would look in dreadlocks.” She repeated for his sake. “I never really liked my hair like this. It’s just. . . it seems like something somebody else would wear. Not me.”Not the me that I am becoming.

Xaldin dragged his attention to her hair, and grabbed a thin lock of it. He studied it carefully, his face fixed in a perpetual scowl.

“I like it like this.”

Namine frowned. “You think so?”

“It suits you.”

She took the lock from him, staring at it herself. “You think so. . .”

She watched Saix watch the empty space above them, his eyes reflecting the deep pool of the sky that wasn’t.

She knows that he’s looking for the moon.

“It’s never going to be there.” She whispered to him, crawling out of bed and towards him. “It’s never going to be here.”

Saix turned his face to her, and his pale blue eyes brightened just a bit. If she had looked closely enough, she would have saw her own pale image dancing in their depths.

“No, it’s not.” He agreed. “But. . . I think I can live with that.”

Namine lurched awake with a jolt, and for a moment she was uncertain as to where she was. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Marluxia coming towards her.

She almost smiled, but something was eating away at her subconcious. Marluxia, Roxas, Luxord, Lex, Axel, Demyx, Zexion, Xigar, Xemnas, Larxene, Xaldin, Saix. . .

“It’s supposed to be Vexen’s turn.” She wonders aloud as Marluxia’s slips beneath her blankets and spoons his body against hers.

She was expecting an onslaught on her senses, a deliberate claiming, but, nothing.

“Marluxia?”

“Go to sleep.” He whispered tiredly, already half asleep himself.

She frowns for a moment before settling against him. Something has changed. . .

For a moment, she thought she felt his heart beat against her back, but before she could be sure, she fell asleep in his arms.

Fin. You all know what happened from here on out. Plus, I'm L A Z Y.

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