#toldchronicles

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor - kit, since narcissus is a bit picky about living space. unless it was a quick fuck.

forgets to run the dish washer - kit.

pumps gas for the car - narcissus

drives when they’re going somewhere - both of them take turns. but cissus prefers driving so kit is free to chatter in the front seat.

rearranges the furniture - kit, since he’s impulsive.

falls asleep with the TV on - the both of them at the same time, after netflix and chill.

gets to use the bathroom first - kit. i feel he takes longer to get ready.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater - both of them fight for it. cissus likes really cold temps.

sets up holiday decorations - neither. they only start it after two years of being married once they’re comfortable the other won’t leave.

leaves the lights on - cissus. he likes light.

uses the bathroom with the door open - both. to tempt the other one into the shower.

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He holds his hand up towards the girl and smile, even though she can’t see his face. “Would you like to dance with me, miss?” He says, voice smooth and gentle even though the music is loud.

nsfw prompts!

He’s sitting on the couch, with a cup of tea in his hands as he watches the fae walk around her house in what seems to be a rush. The sun god doesn’t know exactly what’s going on and what’s making Lina feel so anxious, but he wants to help somehow… His eyes sparkle when he has an idea, and a small smile spreads on his lips. 

When she’s passing by the living room again, Apollo smiles brightly and calls her name. With curious eyes, Lina looks at him and smiles as well, stopping everything she’s doing to walk up to him and ask if he needs anything. He chuckles and reaches over to grab her by her dress, gentle and delicately though, not to ruin it. 

“Come here,” he says when he pulls her down to sit on his lap, his arms immediately making their way around her waist to keep her closer to him. His smile is warm and sweet now, as he leans in to press a kiss on her cheek and eventually her neck. His sounds smooth when he whispers, “You look stressed, my sweet. Take a little break, hm?”

steer place a hand under their chin to make them look up.

she refuses to look at him.

typical behavior from the witch. he never allows his gaze to catch on her either– not in public. not when they play at cold and feign disinterest while the court mills around them. felix turns his back to her voice. humors a foreign duke in an attempt to curry favors, his eyes focused on the man’s mouth and hands but he’s all too aware of the click of sarah’s heels, that familiar staccato rhythm as she moves– a little too eager and much too spirited. the curl of a smile is audible in the lilt of her words, the way they pitch slightly higher in enthusiasm.

he hears her talk to ambrose– and felix doesn’t wait to hear what they’re saying before he leaves the room.

felix doesn’t expect her to follow. but ah– there it is again. that familiar click, snap of her heels and he turns into an abandoned alcove with a floor to ceiling window, opening out to the rose garden. and when she turns he’s waiting to catch her by that slender waist, and to grip her chin so now, finally, she’s not allowed to look anywhere else but him.

she doesn’t fight felix. her breath quickens– chest rising, falling, the cut of her dress scandalously low. but she doesn’t fight.

bed rest gently push them back down when they try getting out of bed.

the man had fallen from the stars.

puck finds him in the forest, abandoned to the earth, cast from the sky. there’s twigs and clovers in inky black hair, and the tall grass cradles and hides the man from view. puck should know better than to approach– but he is young and too inquisitive for his own good. so he flutters close and the fireflies follow.

the man seems to be asleep. his face is smooth, white, like the porcelain dolls the human children play with. and glancing up he can see where the man had fallen from– broken branches opening a clear path to the night sky and a moon that was unusually full, curiously red. he feels a cold thrum down his spine as if he’s being watched.

he tells no one. he steals the man away into an abandoned, human cabin close to seelie territory and snaps his fingers to ignite a dry lamp. it’s fairy light. too yellow, too bright and garish but now that he can get a better look–

the man’s eyes snap open and puck darts to the open window.

they watch each other– and the strange creature attempts to sit up. clearly weak, limbs still wavering and puck is emboldened by that frailty and approaches.

“stay,“ he orders. he flattens a palm to the stranger’s chest and pins him to the bed. where they touch– puck feels the faint flickers of a light brighter than fairies, almost as bright as the sun, trapped within a frothing squirm of shadows that he can only catch glimpses of it.

despite his better judgement– puck is unafraid.

he makes the tea too hot, the broth too cold. he steals thick comforters and thin sheets from the humans and piles them on the stranger. he’s unaccustomed to taking care of anyone but himself and it shows. but he’s trying– and that shows too.

days later, when the stranger is ready to leave– “i’m puck.”

he doesn’t get a name that night. or their next meeting. but eventually, when puck has come up with all sorts of odd nicknames and alternatives he’s finally offered–

»»————-　　————-««

the first time he sees her he thinks she’s dead.

at eleven– rufio’s seen his share of bodies. on the pirate ship, among the boys, all terrible to look at as he drags the pads of his fingers over their faces, over paper thin lids to shut their eyes. he doesn’t like being watched by the dead. but this girl– cold on the forest floor and surrounded by moss and clovers, is the prettiest body he’s ever seen. her hair fans dark, and her pale face is like a doll’s– bow mouth and thick lashes.

rufio regrets letting tink talk him into killing her.

peter is furious until the blue bird opens her eyes. they flutter, like butterfly wings. a delicate rise to wakefulness and rufio’s breath catches. he doesn’t stop staring. not when he’s forced to apologize, and not when they walk back to their hideout.

that night he leaves her an ivory comb by her pillow. and in the morning he watches her drag it through her hair, and doesn’t admit to it when she asks who’d left her the gift.

»»————-　　————-««

he makes it up to her in other ways. his own way.

rufio’s good with his hands. he’s learned from hook and tink how to build things, and he fills wendy’s home with wicker chairs and tables that wobbled, one leg too short. gifts that were useful, because he grows spoiled on wendy’s stories, and indulged on the way she touches him, soft and gentle like he imagines a mother would. he rests his head on her lap like a cat, and grows his hair long so she has to take her time running her fingers through them.

he hopes, if he makes neverland more like home? she’ll stay.

»»————-　　————-««

wendy leaves.