Innocence In Bloom
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the KH series, or its characters.
A/N: Another, very odd ficlet. RAPE-ficlet... I listened to 'Lacrymosa' while writng out this one, though, I don't see what that has to do with. I really do want to finish my previous one shot, "More Than One Way To Use A Sitar". I'll eventually get around to finishing it (hopefully). Anyway, enjoy and review. The only one flaming here will hopefully be Axel.
It's not the cold, monochrome room that Naminè is terrified of, oh no. It's the man who'll be entering through that door in about five minutes. Her eyes dart like bees, stinging every parameter of the area in a nervous reflex. The blonde's current 'bodyguard' lets go a heavy sigh, checking his watch to coax time's speed up, but no such thing happens. Though, when it does inevitably occur, he sadistically grins and tells his 'Jailbait' to behave like a good witch; to mind her P's and Q's, and that he'll be back the next day, next shift. She manages a lite nod and continues to sketch. Naminè can feel her blood run cold the instant Axel leaves the room.
Forgotten becomes the pad and crayons as they clatter to the ground. Her mind reels and she feels his aura nearing the entrance of the White Room. Desperation, anxiety, fear, cowardice: she experiences them all at once and her thoughts drown in the flood of false emotion. The witch breaths, though it is not needed. For the oddest of reasons, this foreign action helps to 'calm' her 'nerves'. Then that breath hitches and her giant, crystal blue eyes shoot wide open and the fear ensues its cruel effect.
Everything grows insanely silent; paranoia increasing with each second. Panic engulfs the pale girl, and she crosses her legs. A portal filled with a dark light manifests via the left of the doors. Wisps bleed from the figure appearing before the frightened girl and scatter like petals in the wind. Then, the stench of roses, lilies, and other unknown fragrances permeate the vicinity, clouding Naminè's senses. The man smiles and his with voice is laced with feigning care and gentleness. It disgusts the Nobody to hear such rubbish. Its when he notices her rise and back away from him that he finally nears her.
"My dear Naminè," the Lord of Castle Oblivion purrs. "Why, you look like you've seen a ghost..." He adds a 'light-hearted' chuckle.
Naminè isn't oblivious to his plans; she's too smart for tom-foolery. At the present, he's tranced by a challenge of sorts, one that doesn't involve the brunette saviour, or taking over Oblivion. It's one that will have the Graceful Assassin gloating for eons to come, if he gets his way. The memory witch won't let him, though.
The memories of the tales her Somebody had read still lingered through her mind. Stories that told of a greedy boy, and the girl her wanted to himself-
Before the blonde has time to decipher what was happening, a body presses hers to a wall. A gentle hand became quickly forceful, her vision connecting with pools of yearning azure. Leaning down ever-so-closely, Order XI's pastel pink lips just barely brush her ear, sending chills down her spine and she gasps. The hunter has indeed caught his prey, ready to serve her up to his liking.
-so that he could covet her, make her his. The boy was a gluttonous one. But, she was his anyway, or so the story said. The diamond in the rough he found and polished to perfection.
His words warm the side of her exposed neck; ardor driving Naminè to grow dizzy and frightened.
"You serve me well, witch. Though, I never think to stop and thank you for your convince." Lips caress creamy flesh and the girl gives what sounds like a stuttered 'Please no '. Removing the gloved hand from her chin, spidery finger travel to harshly caught her wrists, restraining movement. It all goes so fast, and she's flailing to get away.
"Don't fuss with me, Naminè." Her name is viciously hissed.
She is aware that Larxene hasn't been occupying his time as of late, so the recent weeks have been no less than 'lust-driven'. Naminè swears by her soul she won't let him take her. Rage roars through her blood and her face grows angry.
"No! Not now! Not with you! "
Her nightmares take shape, and his ferocity is expelled through a tongue lashing that can be best described as rash and violent. Naminè is ever-resistant, until a pain shoots into her lower lip and the flavors of copper and saliva dance on her receptors. Marluxia's hips grind heavily into her small torso, and she hopes to God that he hadn't heard her whimpers. One of his curious hands eases up the hem of her dress, fingers tracing the feather soft area of her inner thighs. Something warm, but silken dabs his skin and he knows it's out of instinct that her body craves, but he'll teach her to appreciate it. Surely, he himself has gone for quite a while without contact of any sort, and her never really cared for the blonde until this moment. The Graceful Assassin knows she'll unconsciously fall into his palms without hesitation, even if the first bit has to be forced.
In a slip of ecstasy, she moans from fleeting fantasies and his arms carry her to the bed. The crisp white sheets ripple like a droplet to a puddle and her eyes catch his again in horror and fascination. The belt of his uniform, then his zipper, then her unmentionables; they come undone in a cycle that twistedly bewitches her; strings of her conciousness telling her to fight, though her body is now limp and non-responsive. The blonde is nervous and she has no memory of her Somebody dealing with such a situation, but she can't help but do the single thing she does. Naminè cowers. The emotional memories of fear and pain drawn near once again and Marluxia's gloved hand grasps her hip (to which her lower half is now exposed like his; her sight is blurred by frustration, sorrow, and panic). Before he begins though, he mutters a statement:
"Remember, Naminè," his middle and index fingers circle about under her delicate jaw and down her throat. His visage creeps closer to her own and his petalish lips barely touch hers. She doesn't see how he hoists her up and supports her, but she looks to him at his height, legs encircling his narrow waist. "Every seed of my beautiful garden must bloom at some point in time. And, I am the man who cause them to do so, when I wish for it. You are, and have been, no exception."
Eyes widen, her screams echo down the halls and all the Order XII can do is laugh as he savors her resistance. She by far is the most prized flower in his garden of desire. He won't waste another second so as he can rip the tiny witch from her roots and bask in her broken innocence.
Erm, wow. Just...wow. I don't really know if that made any sense to you readers, but the idea hit me hard during my writer's block. Something in my mind was screaming at me to write it. When looking through Marlunè fan fictions, I notice a lot of them don't portray the angst or sorrow of their relationship (if you may call it one). Many people write that Marluxia loves Naminè, Naminè calls him her knight in shining armour, etc. I read the manga and played the game; in both I can safely say MARLUXIA HAS NO INTEREST IN THE GIRL (in a positive way, at least). For him to have more than just a sexual lust for her is kind of OCC (even said lust is weird, but I like it better than the rancid fluff). Lust, people, not love. Sorry for my ranting. MHM- Please remember to review, and I hope I can get 'More Than One Way To Use A Sitar'out there. Caio, for now.
P.S. I was in no way bashing the great authors of FF with that coment. Just the style of the focus.