fic: self-destruction (ned/chuck; pushing daisies) rating: r
Title: Self-destruction; or The Love that Never Blooms if You Bury It
Author: Lily
Pairing: guilty&hungry!Ned/grieving&dark!Chuck
Rating: R
Spoilers: Set after 1.09
Summary: She remembers the wet feel of the slippery grass between her toes as she watched him fall and for a moment, she wants him to know what it’s like to lose the thing you love most.
So she left.
Word Count: 2,000
Author's Notes: written for pd_playtime's ficathon. prompt:"I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in"
(this is proof that my muse obviously hates me, because what's more porny than Daddy issues and death? FACEPALM)
The girl named Charlotte Charles was not blind to the world (unlike a certain Pie Maker, who seemed to be every time she walked into a room).
Her vision may have been obscured by a house with wooden shutters and circular windows all her life, but she could always see. So although she missed the place she once thought of as a cage, she wanted to feast her eyes on the wonders of the world, and in higher definition than a Seven Wonders of the World Pop-Up Book could provide.
But right now she felt bound by a connection deeper than affection to the simple Pie Maker, whose only ambition it seemed was for every thing to stay the same.
If the peace of the status quo were to be broken, Charlotte always assumed that it would be by her. So she was initially too shocked by his confession to get angry.
(Don’t worry, the anger came eventually)
She spent hours in the snow, melting it to puddles with her fury. The thoughts buzzed around in her head until she could remember if she were angry that she didn’t have to grow up an orphan; or angry that he hadn’t told her.
She remembers the wet feel of the slippery grass between her toes as she watched him fall and for a moment, she wanted him to know what it’s like to lose the thing you love most.
So she left.
She doesn’t see him again until he shows up at the cemetery, all floppy hair and chattering teeth behind a woolen scarf. The anger has been replaced by an empty hole that is sucking her deeper with each second she’s separated from her didn’t-have-to-be-dead-Daddy.
She needs it to stop; life, the pain and especially his incessant habit of breathing like that.
In the need for something, she decides that anger was better than this gaping loss and flashes him a wicked grin. She looks up at the pliable puppy that is ready to walk to the ends of the Earth for her. Punishments for his unnatural crime speed into her mind as she grabs his hand, pulling him down so he’s kneeling in the snow with her.
His gloved fingers begin to trace repentant circles over her knuckles and when she finds herself enjoying the reassuring touch, she yanks her hand away to slap him. He grabs his face and his eyes are suddenly big. Really big. For a second she thinks that she can’t handle this and wants to sink into his lap but with another frosty intake of breath, she sets her shoulders and returns to her original plan.
Looking around, she murmurs, "Not here," which is followed by a stronger command of "c’mon," directed towards him when he’s hesitant to move. Reluctantly he rises to her Cheshire cat smile that scares him a little.
They were walking across the snowy gravel of a playground when she stopped them, remembering the last time she had been to one with her Dad. As a kid, she had loved to hole up in the little wooden playhouse and play-act as a lookout while closed off from the noise and jarring light of the outside world. Her Dad had called her a Hermit-Pirate, Pirate-Hermit until she giggled because it was all okay. She was young and there was still plenty of time to discover the world with her Dad.
Until he stole it all away from her.
She combed her gloved hands through his hair and, after adjusting her scarf, leaned up to crush her covered cheek against his. He immediately stepped back with shock, a horrified expression on his face. "Chuck, do you know what could have just happened?"
Silly Puppy, she thought. He just didn't get it. She didn't care anymore.
Obviously she's have to confuse his sense enough for his logic to leave him if she was going to tempt him. She made him follow her up the stairs made of half-tires and managed a giggle when he finally managed to squeeze himself through the little door of the playhouse, slumping down beside her. Smiling, she leaned over again, arms clinging to his shoulders for balance and she blew her hot breath of honey and death across his collarbone. He stiffened, rigidly afraid of what she was going to do next.
She lay on her back, ready for him with her head gently resting against the wall. She brought his hand to slide from her neck to touch the hollow between her breasts and pushed his hand down to caress her stomach. She tried not to get aroused when she saw that his hand practically spanned the whole width of her waist. Urgently, she continued to push, this time until his fingers were paused at the top of her pants. He seemed resistant to continue but when she licked her lips and whispered his name, he was quickly unbuttoning her clothes for better access.
She couldn't know the effect her flushed skin and moans had on him, but it must have been enough because he was soon murmuring her name like a prayer as her lifted up her legs to slide the cold denim to her knees.
There was no hope of hot kisses and roaming hands to work up to this intimacy but she imagined what it would have felt like when his hot breath skimmed across her bare skin and she sucked on the inside of her cheek, pretending that it was the ear that her fingers were fondling.
Without warning, he yanked her panties down to join her jeans, exposing her bare ass to the wind. His fingers tiptoed around the inside of her thighs and with the added effort of raising her hips to keep her body from touching the wet ground she was barely coherent.
He drew circles that slowly approached closer to where she wanted his fingers to go until he said her name like a question that would have broken her heart if it hadn't already been left in a cemetery. She pulled on his hair, trying to bring his face closer to hers and she was only distracted from his mouth when he suddenly slipped two gloved fingers inside her.
It was hard and rough and desperate, like he was afraid he'd never get to see her against after this. He didn't stick to a rhythm for her to enjoy. It was like her first time, dry and painful where it should be slick and wet. Seeing her grimace, he took his fingers out and sucked on the gloved fingers so they glided in easier, making her writhe with the sensation. The only problem now was that he had a tendency to be too gentle with her. She squeezed her thighs to show her displeasure, wishing they could throw 'careful' out onto the wind.
"Kiss me, Ned."
Scared, he paused, evaluating how serious she was. "Chuck, we can't." Like it was a fact. Like it was impossible. Like it was as incontrovertible as death. But she had seen death be reversed, had witnessed the possible and facts were being disproved everyday she was alive.
She raised herself up with her elbows and hoped to meet his lips soon because her stomach wasn't used to sit-ups. "Chuck." He growled, disapprovingly.
"Then I guess you better stop me." She dared, raising her head higher and closing her eyes. They were jerked open again by the sudden feeling of his knew on her thigh, pinning her to the ground and with the rush that both hands were pulled up above her head, causing her to fall with a thump onto the sodden floor. Both her wrists were trapped, stretched above her by the grip of one of his palms.
She tried to free herself but he just pressed more of his weight on her chest so that he breaths became shallow.
"You want to self-destruct, is that it? You don't want to be here? Fine. I'll do whatever you want. But if you're going to break apart, let me do it in a way where I can pick up the pieces after."
His fingers gained speed and her hips bucked against his when he began to apply his thumb to the job, flicking and rubbing the nub above where his fingers were working. She moaned into her shoulder, biting her lip from the strain. She had never felt more safe, cocooned under his warm body but she wanted to snake her hands around his back, to unbutton his shirt and feel his heart beating beneath the pads of her fingers. She wanted to tease her own nipples since his hands were already occupied and it didn't feel fair that he could push her to the edge like this then hold her there, withholding the ecstasy of falling.
If she had opened her eyes then, she would have stared at his pained expression, so close to what he wanted and prohibited from enjoying the sweet taste of her. He had lowered his head to within inches of her face, as close as his mental barrier would allow him to get and his breath came is staccato pants that left beads of moisture on her cheeks that froze to her skin between exhales.
It was a strange experience to feel hot and cold flashing through her body. At random intervals, he'd push her naked thighs onto the wet wood, chilling her to her bones before then twisting his finger to send flames of heat licking at her toes.
She was so scared and every part of her felt waterlogged with too many memories and feelings until her brain slowed to a halt.
"It's okay, Chuck." She keened like a trapped cat, terrified of the corner it was backed into.
"I'm here. I'll help. It will all be alright." Her hands started struggling again until she could almost believe that she was feeling his pulse through two layers of cloth.
"Let go." She looked up at his concerned face, taking the words as a release more than a command.
She couldn't be angry or destructive anymore and when she came with a cry it turned into a sob that only slowed after he had pulled up her pants and adjusted her hat so that he could lie safely beside her. One arm tried to wrap around her shaking body while his sticky glove stroked her legs.
They adjusted and moved and pulled their coats up over them many times over the next hour as they stayed there, huddling for warmth or searching for each other's hands as they stayed cooped up in the playhouse, play-acting that the real world didn't exist outside. It wasn't contact, but it was his body against hers and she began to care again if she lived or died.
She slowed to soft sniffles before he said anything else. They mostly sat in silence, but when the moon began to rise, he tried to joke about the unusual reaction she'd had. A reaction, which he hoped didn't reflect badly upon his skills. However, she was too tired for jokes or hugs that were only ever to herself so she walked back with him to their apartment and a warm shower in silence.
When Ned said goodnight, his puppy eyes made him look like he had just seen an angel fall from heaven and he was still naively hoping it would get back up unharmed.
She just rolled over to face the wall and dreamed of traveling around the world.
Author: Lily
Pairing: guilty&hungry!Ned/grieving&dark!Chuck
Rating: R
Spoilers: Set after 1.09
Summary: She remembers the wet feel of the slippery grass between her toes as she watched him fall and for a moment, she wants him to know what it’s like to lose the thing you love most.
So she left.
Word Count: 2,000
Author's Notes: written for pd_playtime's ficathon. prompt:"I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in"
(this is proof that my muse obviously hates me, because what's more porny than Daddy issues and death? FACEPALM)
The girl named Charlotte Charles was not blind to the world (unlike a certain Pie Maker, who seemed to be every time she walked into a room).
Her vision may have been obscured by a house with wooden shutters and circular windows all her life, but she could always see. So although she missed the place she once thought of as a cage, she wanted to feast her eyes on the wonders of the world, and in higher definition than a Seven Wonders of the World Pop-Up Book could provide.
But right now she felt bound by a connection deeper than affection to the simple Pie Maker, whose only ambition it seemed was for every thing to stay the same.
If the peace of the status quo were to be broken, Charlotte always assumed that it would be by her. So she was initially too shocked by his confession to get angry.
(Don’t worry, the anger came eventually)
She spent hours in the snow, melting it to puddles with her fury. The thoughts buzzed around in her head until she could remember if she were angry that she didn’t have to grow up an orphan; or angry that he hadn’t told her.
She remembers the wet feel of the slippery grass between her toes as she watched him fall and for a moment, she wanted him to know what it’s like to lose the thing you love most.
So she left.
She doesn’t see him again until he shows up at the cemetery, all floppy hair and chattering teeth behind a woolen scarf. The anger has been replaced by an empty hole that is sucking her deeper with each second she’s separated from her didn’t-have-to-be-dead-Daddy.
She needs it to stop; life, the pain and especially his incessant habit of breathing like that.
In the need for something, she decides that anger was better than this gaping loss and flashes him a wicked grin. She looks up at the pliable puppy that is ready to walk to the ends of the Earth for her. Punishments for his unnatural crime speed into her mind as she grabs his hand, pulling him down so he’s kneeling in the snow with her.
His gloved fingers begin to trace repentant circles over her knuckles and when she finds herself enjoying the reassuring touch, she yanks her hand away to slap him. He grabs his face and his eyes are suddenly big. Really big. For a second she thinks that she can’t handle this and wants to sink into his lap but with another frosty intake of breath, she sets her shoulders and returns to her original plan.
Looking around, she murmurs, "Not here," which is followed by a stronger command of "c’mon," directed towards him when he’s hesitant to move. Reluctantly he rises to her Cheshire cat smile that scares him a little.
They were walking across the snowy gravel of a playground when she stopped them, remembering the last time she had been to one with her Dad. As a kid, she had loved to hole up in the little wooden playhouse and play-act as a lookout while closed off from the noise and jarring light of the outside world. Her Dad had called her a Hermit-Pirate, Pirate-Hermit until she giggled because it was all okay. She was young and there was still plenty of time to discover the world with her Dad.
Until he stole it all away from her.
She combed her gloved hands through his hair and, after adjusting her scarf, leaned up to crush her covered cheek against his. He immediately stepped back with shock, a horrified expression on his face. "Chuck, do you know what could have just happened?"
Silly Puppy, she thought. He just didn't get it. She didn't care anymore.
Obviously she's have to confuse his sense enough for his logic to leave him if she was going to tempt him. She made him follow her up the stairs made of half-tires and managed a giggle when he finally managed to squeeze himself through the little door of the playhouse, slumping down beside her. Smiling, she leaned over again, arms clinging to his shoulders for balance and she blew her hot breath of honey and death across his collarbone. He stiffened, rigidly afraid of what she was going to do next.
She lay on her back, ready for him with her head gently resting against the wall. She brought his hand to slide from her neck to touch the hollow between her breasts and pushed his hand down to caress her stomach. She tried not to get aroused when she saw that his hand practically spanned the whole width of her waist. Urgently, she continued to push, this time until his fingers were paused at the top of her pants. He seemed resistant to continue but when she licked her lips and whispered his name, he was quickly unbuttoning her clothes for better access.
She couldn't know the effect her flushed skin and moans had on him, but it must have been enough because he was soon murmuring her name like a prayer as her lifted up her legs to slide the cold denim to her knees.
There was no hope of hot kisses and roaming hands to work up to this intimacy but she imagined what it would have felt like when his hot breath skimmed across her bare skin and she sucked on the inside of her cheek, pretending that it was the ear that her fingers were fondling.
Without warning, he yanked her panties down to join her jeans, exposing her bare ass to the wind. His fingers tiptoed around the inside of her thighs and with the added effort of raising her hips to keep her body from touching the wet ground she was barely coherent.
He drew circles that slowly approached closer to where she wanted his fingers to go until he said her name like a question that would have broken her heart if it hadn't already been left in a cemetery. She pulled on his hair, trying to bring his face closer to hers and she was only distracted from his mouth when he suddenly slipped two gloved fingers inside her.
It was hard and rough and desperate, like he was afraid he'd never get to see her against after this. He didn't stick to a rhythm for her to enjoy. It was like her first time, dry and painful where it should be slick and wet. Seeing her grimace, he took his fingers out and sucked on the gloved fingers so they glided in easier, making her writhe with the sensation. The only problem now was that he had a tendency to be too gentle with her. She squeezed her thighs to show her displeasure, wishing they could throw 'careful' out onto the wind.
"Kiss me, Ned."
Scared, he paused, evaluating how serious she was. "Chuck, we can't." Like it was a fact. Like it was impossible. Like it was as incontrovertible as death. But she had seen death be reversed, had witnessed the possible and facts were being disproved everyday she was alive.
She raised herself up with her elbows and hoped to meet his lips soon because her stomach wasn't used to sit-ups. "Chuck." He growled, disapprovingly.
"Then I guess you better stop me." She dared, raising her head higher and closing her eyes. They were jerked open again by the sudden feeling of his knew on her thigh, pinning her to the ground and with the rush that both hands were pulled up above her head, causing her to fall with a thump onto the sodden floor. Both her wrists were trapped, stretched above her by the grip of one of his palms.
She tried to free herself but he just pressed more of his weight on her chest so that he breaths became shallow.
"You want to self-destruct, is that it? You don't want to be here? Fine. I'll do whatever you want. But if you're going to break apart, let me do it in a way where I can pick up the pieces after."
His fingers gained speed and her hips bucked against his when he began to apply his thumb to the job, flicking and rubbing the nub above where his fingers were working. She moaned into her shoulder, biting her lip from the strain. She had never felt more safe, cocooned under his warm body but she wanted to snake her hands around his back, to unbutton his shirt and feel his heart beating beneath the pads of her fingers. She wanted to tease her own nipples since his hands were already occupied and it didn't feel fair that he could push her to the edge like this then hold her there, withholding the ecstasy of falling.
If she had opened her eyes then, she would have stared at his pained expression, so close to what he wanted and prohibited from enjoying the sweet taste of her. He had lowered his head to within inches of her face, as close as his mental barrier would allow him to get and his breath came is staccato pants that left beads of moisture on her cheeks that froze to her skin between exhales.
It was a strange experience to feel hot and cold flashing through her body. At random intervals, he'd push her naked thighs onto the wet wood, chilling her to her bones before then twisting his finger to send flames of heat licking at her toes.
She was so scared and every part of her felt waterlogged with too many memories and feelings until her brain slowed to a halt.
"It's okay, Chuck." She keened like a trapped cat, terrified of the corner it was backed into.
"I'm here. I'll help. It will all be alright." Her hands started struggling again until she could almost believe that she was feeling his pulse through two layers of cloth.
"Let go." She looked up at his concerned face, taking the words as a release more than a command.
She couldn't be angry or destructive anymore and when she came with a cry it turned into a sob that only slowed after he had pulled up her pants and adjusted her hat so that he could lie safely beside her. One arm tried to wrap around her shaking body while his sticky glove stroked her legs.
They adjusted and moved and pulled their coats up over them many times over the next hour as they stayed there, huddling for warmth or searching for each other's hands as they stayed cooped up in the playhouse, play-acting that the real world didn't exist outside. It wasn't contact, but it was his body against hers and she began to care again if she lived or died.
She slowed to soft sniffles before he said anything else. They mostly sat in silence, but when the moon began to rise, he tried to joke about the unusual reaction she'd had. A reaction, which he hoped didn't reflect badly upon his skills. However, she was too tired for jokes or hugs that were only ever to herself so she walked back with him to their apartment and a warm shower in silence.
When Ned said goodnight, his puppy eyes made him look like he had just seen an angel fall from heaven and he was still naively hoping it would get back up unharmed.
She just rolled over to face the wall and dreamed of traveling around the world.