ext_49394 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
kiyala.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shannys_corner2008-08-25 12:01 am
kiyala.livejournal.com) wrote in shannys_corner2008-08-25 12:01 am
[fic] Losing Himself
Title: Losing Himself
Status: Complete
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiyala
Word Count: 1748
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Hollow Ichigo / Kurosaki Ichigo with a side of Kurosaki Ichigo / Ishida Uryuu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: boysex, rape, torture, general dark themes
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach
Notes: Oh shit this is dark. I... don't know why I wanted to write it and I feel kind of sick and twisted for it but... also happy? Because I got to use that strange style that happens when I use present tense again. Erm. Hooray.
Clearly, the best thing to do the night before an exam is write really dark fanfiction. :/
x-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ishi_ichi
The only reason he hasn’t lost his mind yet is because he keeps telling himself that they’re just dreams.
He’s had realistic dreams in the past. They are nothing compared to this. At night, he feels like he’s closing his eyes and sinking into another world. His subconscious, perhaps. Another part of the world inside him, but this one isn’t sideways. It’s black, except for what he wants him to see. He knows that lucid dreams should be under his control. He knows where he is, every single time. But some external force controls his limbs, keeps him from running, forces him to stare right into those bright, yellow eyes as he comes closer. Each step is slow, casual. As if he is being taunted. He can hear the other’s voice, taunting him. Telling him how unescapable this all is. The eyes come even closer. To the point where he goes cross-eyed staring into them. He can feel his breath on his face. Cold, putrid, pure agony to breathe. But the smell is everywhere. He tries to hold his breath, but in the end, it makes him take an even deeper breath and it feels like his lungs are catching on fire.
He hears the disgusting creature laughing. At him. He wants to tell him to fuck off. To leave him with whatever few shreds of sanity he still has. But it moves forward in a rough movement, pressing their lips together. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. He lets it, wanting to vomit. Wanting to get rid of the acidic feeling of self-loathing that seeps into his every bone. If it ends up all over him, it would be even better. But it stops, lingering in his throat, burning even more. He stands still, unresponsive as he is kissed, his entire body burning with shame, hatred and anger. Negative emotions, which only make him even stronger. Even more real. The kisses become harder, his lips are pushed apart and he feels the wet tongue inside his mouth. He shuts his eyes, not wanting to see, wishing he could force himself to become numb. He shuts them even tighter when he feels one of his hands pushing its way into his pants. His body is unresponsive at first, but the other persists. He is stroked in the same, mechanical rhythm until he can feel himself slowly becoming harder with each stroke. His body enjoys it, but his mind doesn't. He twitches in protest with each jolt of pleasure that runs through him, gritting his teeth, trying to keep his breathing even when he wants to pant instead.
He laughs at him again, telling him to give up. Telling him that he is lost in this world, that he can’t control this and that he should give in. Should, but won’t, the creature adds mockingly. After all, he tells him, who knows him better than himself?
He is hit by the powerful urge to cry. Not in shame, not in anger, but in grief. This is what he has become – the creature that is torturing his very soul. A beast, uncaring for anything, especially himself. Seeking to destroy everything bit by bit until the world falls down. He can see it in the yellow eyes and as much as he denies it out loud, he knows that this is a part of him. A part of him that is strong enough to become its own entity. He feels disgusted by himself at this truth. This is him. This is evil and this should be destroyed. He should be the one to destroy it and it still stands before him, defiling the only uncontaminated part of him not because he is too weak to destroy it, but because he is too selfish. He wants to live in agony. He wants to put everyone he loves in danger. Because he is afraid to die. In spite of all the times he has risked his life, death still scares him because he doesn’t know what awaits him once his heart ceases to beat. Does he still have a soul chain? He remembers seeing it consume itself and he doubts a new one has grown in its place. Perhaps he’ll split into the two entities standing in this empty world: the Hollow and weak, tortured soul. Perhaps his soul will be consumed by his own Hollow and the rest of him will destroy everything he’s fighting to protect.
He screams loudly, his body trembling. He realises he’s on his back. He is naked and in so much pain that he doesn’t understand why it has taken so long for him to realise it. He is above him, yellow eyes sparkling, smirk stretching from one ear to another. He is being fucked raw and the only lubricant is the steady trickle of his own blood as a consequence of this. He can see it, dark against his skin, even darker against the other’s. He sees the pale penis – exactly like his own except for the colour – sliding out of him, pushing its way back in. He feels the stab of pain that accompanies the action and feels that he’s burning from the inside out once again. His head falls back heavily against the ground. It is hard beneath him and it should hurt, but there are so many more prominent sources of pain that it feels like nothing. He resists the urge to slam his head against the floor again and shuts his eyes.
I’m raping myself, he thinks to himself. I’m sick and twisted. I’m no better than him. I should be in Hueco Mundo awaiting death just like the rest of them. I’m disgusting.
“You’re disgusting.”
His eyes snap open and it hurts so much more than anything else, to hear those words in that tone, in that voice.
Ishida.
“Uryuu,” he gasps, his voice barely audible even to himself. “No.”
The Quincy stands there, giving him a look of pure hatred. He tries to block out the pleasure from his traitorous body and blinks in an effort to clear his mind. There is no way in the world the Quincy can hate him more than he hates himself, but it hurts him far worse this way. He knows it, and that’s why Ishida is here. He can tell.
This is just a dream, he takes care to remind himself. He’s lost the urge to cry now that the other boy is here. He tries to fight against the Hollow, but his legs only wrap tighter around him, a small pleasured cry rising up his throat and escaping his mouth. Even his own voice betrays him.
“Look at yourself,” Ishida spits and suddenly, they’re in front of a mirror.
He cranes his neck against his own will. The blood is everywhere. His reflection clings to the Hollow needily, thrusting back, moaning, wanting every moment of this. He shuts his eyes and turns away. At least his head still obeys him. Ishida kneels by his head, naked. He looks up, to have the Quincy’s cock shoved in his mouth.
“Suck,” he is instructed and he doesn’t fight the command. He opens his mouth wider, sucking harder. He feels the slender hands in his hair but they grip it tightly, instead of stroking it in the soothing way they actually do. He removes one hand from his shoulder to pull Ishida’s hips closer. He shuts his eyes and lets his tongue play with the sensitive head, nibbling ever so gently. Ishida pants softly, head falling back. The Quincy groans a little and he finds it easy to block out the pain of what he is doing to himself to focus on pleasuring Ishida.
“Who do you want?” Ishida asks softly, looking down at him. “Me or him?”
You, he wants to say.
“Him,” his traitor voice says. And his conscience butts in to make him add, “Me.”
“Kill me,” Ishida mutters. “You’ll kill me first.”
“No!”
“Yesss, Kurosaki. You want to kill me first. You want to see my look of horror when you’re done raping me and want to destroy me entirely. You want to consume me, Kurosaki. Let me add to your insanity, let you lose control.”
“No. No, NO!”
“Yesss,” it’s him speaking now and Ishida is gone. The Hollow is in the Quincy’s place, grinning down at him. “You want it because I want it and we’re the same person.”
He’s crying now. Ishida is not there and the tears are streaming thick down his face. His voice cracks when he tries to use it and there’s just a pathetic sound before his head slams back onto the hard floor. This time, his heart hurts too much to feel the impact. He shuts his eyes, twitching, crying, moaning softly in agony. Perhaps this is what insanity feels like, he thinks to himself.
He places his pale fingers on his shoulder and grins, speaking into his ear.
“Let’s destroy him today, King.”
Ichigo wakes with a jolt. His covers are thrown everywhere and he is still crying. He wipes at his face, the dirty feeling lingering from his dream.
“Just a dream,” he mutters to himself, the same way he has every morning since it had started. He shuts his eyes and shudders, thinking of Ishida and wishing he knew where the Quincy was. Then he decides he’s better off not knowing. This way, he can’t…
He shakes his head hard and makes his way to the bathroom. He turns the tap on, putting his hands under the flowing water and splashing his face with it before cupping his hands for more water. He does this several times, checking his reflection. His eyes are still brown, which he decides is a good sign. He practices saying a few simple things, just to ensure his voice is doing what he wants it to. He thinks of the Hollow, glad for the fact that his penis remains flaccid. He thinks of Ishida, and what they did last time they were together. His cock hardens. Good sign.
Let’s destroy him, he remembers the other saying. He frowns and then shudders as he recalls what the Ishida in his dreams had said.
“No,” he whispers to himself, reaching for his toothbrush and shaking his head at his reflection. “No. I’m in control.”
The Hollow watches lazily from the back of his mind, already looking forward to the coming night.
x
I....'m sorry :/
Status: Complete
Author:
kiyalaWord Count: 1748
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Hollow Ichigo / Kurosaki Ichigo with a side of Kurosaki Ichigo / Ishida Uryuu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: boysex, rape, torture, general dark themes
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach
Notes: Oh shit this is dark. I... don't know why I wanted to write it and I feel kind of sick and twisted for it but... also happy? Because I got to use that strange style that happens when I use present tense again. Erm. Hooray.
Clearly, the best thing to do the night before an exam is write really dark fanfiction. :/
x-posted to
ishi_ichiThe only reason he hasn’t lost his mind yet is because he keeps telling himself that they’re just dreams.
He’s had realistic dreams in the past. They are nothing compared to this. At night, he feels like he’s closing his eyes and sinking into another world. His subconscious, perhaps. Another part of the world inside him, but this one isn’t sideways. It’s black, except for what he wants him to see. He knows that lucid dreams should be under his control. He knows where he is, every single time. But some external force controls his limbs, keeps him from running, forces him to stare right into those bright, yellow eyes as he comes closer. Each step is slow, casual. As if he is being taunted. He can hear the other’s voice, taunting him. Telling him how unescapable this all is. The eyes come even closer. To the point where he goes cross-eyed staring into them. He can feel his breath on his face. Cold, putrid, pure agony to breathe. But the smell is everywhere. He tries to hold his breath, but in the end, it makes him take an even deeper breath and it feels like his lungs are catching on fire.
He hears the disgusting creature laughing. At him. He wants to tell him to fuck off. To leave him with whatever few shreds of sanity he still has. But it moves forward in a rough movement, pressing their lips together. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. He lets it, wanting to vomit. Wanting to get rid of the acidic feeling of self-loathing that seeps into his every bone. If it ends up all over him, it would be even better. But it stops, lingering in his throat, burning even more. He stands still, unresponsive as he is kissed, his entire body burning with shame, hatred and anger. Negative emotions, which only make him even stronger. Even more real. The kisses become harder, his lips are pushed apart and he feels the wet tongue inside his mouth. He shuts his eyes, not wanting to see, wishing he could force himself to become numb. He shuts them even tighter when he feels one of his hands pushing its way into his pants. His body is unresponsive at first, but the other persists. He is stroked in the same, mechanical rhythm until he can feel himself slowly becoming harder with each stroke. His body enjoys it, but his mind doesn't. He twitches in protest with each jolt of pleasure that runs through him, gritting his teeth, trying to keep his breathing even when he wants to pant instead.
He laughs at him again, telling him to give up. Telling him that he is lost in this world, that he can’t control this and that he should give in. Should, but won’t, the creature adds mockingly. After all, he tells him, who knows him better than himself?
He is hit by the powerful urge to cry. Not in shame, not in anger, but in grief. This is what he has become – the creature that is torturing his very soul. A beast, uncaring for anything, especially himself. Seeking to destroy everything bit by bit until the world falls down. He can see it in the yellow eyes and as much as he denies it out loud, he knows that this is a part of him. A part of him that is strong enough to become its own entity. He feels disgusted by himself at this truth. This is him. This is evil and this should be destroyed. He should be the one to destroy it and it still stands before him, defiling the only uncontaminated part of him not because he is too weak to destroy it, but because he is too selfish. He wants to live in agony. He wants to put everyone he loves in danger. Because he is afraid to die. In spite of all the times he has risked his life, death still scares him because he doesn’t know what awaits him once his heart ceases to beat. Does he still have a soul chain? He remembers seeing it consume itself and he doubts a new one has grown in its place. Perhaps he’ll split into the two entities standing in this empty world: the Hollow and weak, tortured soul. Perhaps his soul will be consumed by his own Hollow and the rest of him will destroy everything he’s fighting to protect.
He screams loudly, his body trembling. He realises he’s on his back. He is naked and in so much pain that he doesn’t understand why it has taken so long for him to realise it. He is above him, yellow eyes sparkling, smirk stretching from one ear to another. He is being fucked raw and the only lubricant is the steady trickle of his own blood as a consequence of this. He can see it, dark against his skin, even darker against the other’s. He sees the pale penis – exactly like his own except for the colour – sliding out of him, pushing its way back in. He feels the stab of pain that accompanies the action and feels that he’s burning from the inside out once again. His head falls back heavily against the ground. It is hard beneath him and it should hurt, but there are so many more prominent sources of pain that it feels like nothing. He resists the urge to slam his head against the floor again and shuts his eyes.
I’m raping myself, he thinks to himself. I’m sick and twisted. I’m no better than him. I should be in Hueco Mundo awaiting death just like the rest of them. I’m disgusting.
“You’re disgusting.”
His eyes snap open and it hurts so much more than anything else, to hear those words in that tone, in that voice.
Ishida.
“Uryuu,” he gasps, his voice barely audible even to himself. “No.”
The Quincy stands there, giving him a look of pure hatred. He tries to block out the pleasure from his traitorous body and blinks in an effort to clear his mind. There is no way in the world the Quincy can hate him more than he hates himself, but it hurts him far worse this way. He knows it, and that’s why Ishida is here. He can tell.
This is just a dream, he takes care to remind himself. He’s lost the urge to cry now that the other boy is here. He tries to fight against the Hollow, but his legs only wrap tighter around him, a small pleasured cry rising up his throat and escaping his mouth. Even his own voice betrays him.
“Look at yourself,” Ishida spits and suddenly, they’re in front of a mirror.
He cranes his neck against his own will. The blood is everywhere. His reflection clings to the Hollow needily, thrusting back, moaning, wanting every moment of this. He shuts his eyes and turns away. At least his head still obeys him. Ishida kneels by his head, naked. He looks up, to have the Quincy’s cock shoved in his mouth.
“Suck,” he is instructed and he doesn’t fight the command. He opens his mouth wider, sucking harder. He feels the slender hands in his hair but they grip it tightly, instead of stroking it in the soothing way they actually do. He removes one hand from his shoulder to pull Ishida’s hips closer. He shuts his eyes and lets his tongue play with the sensitive head, nibbling ever so gently. Ishida pants softly, head falling back. The Quincy groans a little and he finds it easy to block out the pain of what he is doing to himself to focus on pleasuring Ishida.
“Who do you want?” Ishida asks softly, looking down at him. “Me or him?”
You, he wants to say.
“Him,” his traitor voice says. And his conscience butts in to make him add, “Me.”
“Kill me,” Ishida mutters. “You’ll kill me first.”
“No!”
“Yesss, Kurosaki. You want to kill me first. You want to see my look of horror when you’re done raping me and want to destroy me entirely. You want to consume me, Kurosaki. Let me add to your insanity, let you lose control.”
“No. No, NO!”
“Yesss,” it’s him speaking now and Ishida is gone. The Hollow is in the Quincy’s place, grinning down at him. “You want it because I want it and we’re the same person.”
He’s crying now. Ishida is not there and the tears are streaming thick down his face. His voice cracks when he tries to use it and there’s just a pathetic sound before his head slams back onto the hard floor. This time, his heart hurts too much to feel the impact. He shuts his eyes, twitching, crying, moaning softly in agony. Perhaps this is what insanity feels like, he thinks to himself.
He places his pale fingers on his shoulder and grins, speaking into his ear.
“Let’s destroy him today, King.”
Ichigo wakes with a jolt. His covers are thrown everywhere and he is still crying. He wipes at his face, the dirty feeling lingering from his dream.
“Just a dream,” he mutters to himself, the same way he has every morning since it had started. He shuts his eyes and shudders, thinking of Ishida and wishing he knew where the Quincy was. Then he decides he’s better off not knowing. This way, he can’t…
He shakes his head hard and makes his way to the bathroom. He turns the tap on, putting his hands under the flowing water and splashing his face with it before cupping his hands for more water. He does this several times, checking his reflection. His eyes are still brown, which he decides is a good sign. He practices saying a few simple things, just to ensure his voice is doing what he wants it to. He thinks of the Hollow, glad for the fact that his penis remains flaccid. He thinks of Ishida, and what they did last time they were together. His cock hardens. Good sign.
Let’s destroy him, he remembers the other saying. He frowns and then shudders as he recalls what the Ishida in his dreams had said.
“No,” he whispers to himself, reaching for his toothbrush and shaking his head at his reflection. “No. I’m in control.”
The Hollow watches lazily from the back of his mind, already looking forward to the coming night.
I....'m sorry :/