#Suicidal Thoughts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

warcats-cat · 1 day ago

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Feathers 💜🪶

Summary: So, you found yourself dating an ancient Greek god. Who had now been gone for almost a month. Who you hadn’t actually ever gotten around to talking about your mental health…. Or your previous relationships…

A/N: PLEASE READ ALL TAGS. THIS IS BASED ON SOME VENTING I DID A WHILE AGO. PLEASE BE CAREFUL AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.

Ok, this is the big one. Technically this is the first xReader I wrote before making this a "series", so it's going to be put at the top of the list here and on Ao3 but the fics can be read in any order. The reader in all of these is based on me, but I try to keep everything as gender neutral as possible for readability. I promise there is hurt/comfort and fluff in this, but its a but of a journey to get there. PLEASE if there are any tags you believe I missed, comment or message me and I will correct it if I can.

Of course, I have to give a HUGE thank-you to my beta reader @lickoutyourbrains (also on tumblr) for reading this one before I even thought of any of the others and encouraging me to keep going. The silly and sweet fics in this series would NOT exist without them <3 As always, thank you for reading and I do hope you enjoy this one. I hope it brings a little catharsis, like it did for me.

Read on Ao3 here!

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It had been a miserable week, to be perfectly honest. You laid in your little bed, the blankets haphazardly wrapped around you. Somehow, though the rest of your body was hot to the point of sweating, the blankets had managed to avoid covering your butt, and now said area was stinging cold under the breeze from the ceiling fan. You were still in your work uniform from yesterday.

Yeah, a pretty miserable week.

And you felt a little stupid, all things considered; you were miserable because your boyfriend had been gone almost a month. The Messenger of the gods was busy running errands because the egotistical bastards couldn't be bothered to have a meeting in the same damn room, but ‘something something treaties something something maintaining peace’ had pulled Hermes away from your side.

It was only supposed to have been one week, but that had turned into a text message saying two, which had turned into another text message saying three. Two more days and it would be four, and Hermes had been so busy he hadn’t been able to say anything to you since two days ago.

And unfortunately, you had a little secret from your lover.

See, you’d been dating only about six months; you’d met when this random weirdo came into your workplace and commented on the necklace you were wearing. A little silver feather with some weird scratches down the shaft. You’d found it in a one-dollar jewelry bag at the thrift store, tarnished to hell, and taken some time to really clean it and polish it. The poor thing just needed some TLC, and it was good as new!

And then some random weirdo wearing sunglasses indoors shows up at your workplace the next day asking about it.

“It’s just pretty, I guess,” you said, when he asked about the little feather. “Maybe it’ll bring me some good luck.” It was also fun to fidget with, just large enough to run your thumb across the delicately chiseled lines of the feather representing its fluff. Something you found yourself doing more and more throughout the day when customers began getting annoying or worse, abusive.

And the weirdo had seemed content to just sit there. And watch you, and occasionally chat. All day…

The day after, the weirdo returned, and sat there next to your counter watching you again; this time glaring at the customers who were rude to you, which was nice at least. He brought up your necklace again; this time saying he thought it looked like real silver; probably worth loads more than you had initially paid for it. You got a little giddy at the thought of some extra spending money, fiddling with the little charm and chatting some more with him. And yet. He seemed to know something about it, something important, more so than its value.

When he showed up for a third time and bugged you about it, you asked; and the man sighed and admitted his interest - it looked like one he had had a long time ago, right down to the scratches on the feather shaft. And in that moment, your heart felt a little heavy; something about the way he talked about it - maybe it had belonged to a family member or a close partner. You couldn’t see his eyes from the dumb sunglasses, but his voice sounded so wistful.

Your mind was made up right then and there; money be damned, you didn’t want to let someone be sad when you could do something about it. You’d carefully undone the clasp and slipped the necklace off, and held it out to him.

He hesitated at first; “And what do you want in return?” he asked. You shrugged.

“I paid fifty cents for it. I’ll take the quarters if you have them.” he made a confused, disbelieving face at that.

“I told you yesterday it was probably worth five-hundred. Or more.” he replied. You shrugged again.

“It means a lot to you, obviously. I don’t think you’re gonna just go and sell it. If it means that much to you, I want you to have it. Besides, I want a gumball.” you said simply. He chuckled at that, shaking his head and pulling two coins out of the bag at his side. Catching a glimpse, he had an awful lot of papers in there - why did guys just throw every scrap of paper into their bags instead of taking the extra ten seconds to put them in a folder or something --

Quarters in hand, you turned away from him to get back to work, and he left without you thinking any more of it, looking over his shoulder and saying “I’m Henry, by the way”.

But a week later he came back, saying he had changed his mind, he wanted you to have the charm. Maybe it was good luck after all. And then every day you started looking forward to his visits. And then he asked if you wanted to get pizza one night after work, his treat. And then a few days later he brought you lunch from your favorite fast-food place. And then, and then, and then…

You’d known each other about two months before he asked you out; sitting on a bench outside at the park by your apartment, close together under the shade of a large tree. He asked if you wanted to see a magic trick, but he needed to borrow your necklace again. You handed it over as easily as you had the last time, and he smirked as he looked it over. It was hard to see his eyes; he’d initially told you he was a little photosensitive, hence the sunglasses all the time, but even then it seemed you could never quite see his eyes in full. Something always blocked the view. Still, you watched as he carefully studied the charm. He ran his fingernail down the side of the feather shaft, and quietly spoke,

“It says Luckbringer. It’s Greek.” You leaned a little closer to look, but then smiled wryly.

“Is that your magic trick?” you asked, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. He smirked, and huffed a little chuckle,

“No. This is. Don’t freak out.” he warned, before taking the bottom of the feather’s shaft between his index finger and thumb, and sliding up towards the tip.

The feather did not remain silver.

You couldn’t help the startled gasp as what was once a silver feather charm fluffed out and grew into a long white real feather, from barely two inches long to at least six! He was watching you, no longer smirking, and your eyes flicked between the feather and his face a few times before you started giggling from shock.

“What?” you asked, nervously laughing.

He ran his index finger back down the feather, still bearing the now delicate-looking etches that formed a more easily seen word, even if you couldn’t technically read it. Wordlessly, he handed you the feather, and you held it carefully, not unlike you would have held an unexploded bomb.

“How familiar are you with the old Greek pantheon?” He asked, faux-casually. You started laughing again.

“If you start sparkling or something I’m gonna lose it.” you replied. That brought a big, impish grin to his face, and he finally pulled down the sunglasses, showing off almost totally white eyes, clear for you to see. You also noticed from the corner of your eye that his head had sprouted a little pair of wings…

So, you found yourself dating an ancient Greek god.

Who had now been gone for almost a month.

Who you hadn’t actually ever gotten around to talking about your mental health…. Or your previous relationships…or lack thereof…

You shuffled in bed, adjusting the blankets to at least be off your chest so you could breathe. You felt hollow, exhausted, but you couldn’t sleep. Insecurities and Questions digging tiny thorns in your soul every moment.

You’d never asked him why he’d asked you out. You weren’t really sure.

The old stories of the gods were all about lust and glory and sex, and you weren’t really into all that. You loved the romance; the cuddling and kissing and spending time together. Holding hands was possibly your favorite activity ever. And Hermes had never pushed you; he was surprisingly chaste compared to most of his (and his father’s and siblings’) mythology. He was gentle and sweet, and eager to make you laugh. He walked you home from work almost every day, watched movies with you and snuggled tight against you every Friday, texted you during his own working trips as often as he could.

But you were wondering when it would end. He’d seen the purple and gray button on your work backpack at least a hundred times, and you’d had that conversation at least twice; he knew he wasn’t going to get between your legs. You’d tried, once or twice, to get in the mood; but it just ended with awkward stammering and blushing scarlet red and a moderate amount of embarrassment. You didn’t want it. And he was a god.

So what the hell did he want with you?

Your coworkers, as wonderfully terrible as they were, had been weirdly eager to point this out; to tease you about the whole situation.

“Oh, he’s going on a work trip, I don’t know how long he’ll be gone.” you had explained one day when Leslie asked where your ‘hot guy’ had gone off to. She’d half-covered a smirk, and asked faux-gently,

“Are you sure he’s just on a ‘work trip’?” she asked, air-quotes and all. You had shrugged her off at the time; rolled your eyes and put your focus back to the counter. But as you stood there, fiddling with the feather charm, her question itched in the back of your thoughts, despite your best efforts.

This was your first relationship in a long time. You were pretty ordinary, all things considered. You didn’t think of yourself as ugly or anything so drastic, but you were pretty plain. Rounded cheeks and soft waist and comfortable tee shirts and all. Not someone likely to catch many people’s eye.

And to the outside world, even not knowing who he actually was, Hermes was athletic. Toned, thin, muscular. A little wiry, definitely a runner. Plus, the messy, semi-wavy hair, the mysterious sunglasses covering his eyes all the time, and the fact that he had expensive fashion tastes even when trying to look casual. His ‘mortal disguise’ had that aura of ‘rich enough to not care.’

Trying to explain that to him had been a nightmare, but whatever. You loved him enough to ignore the occasional Hermès track suit, which he wore with the pun fully intended.

So you wondered, just a little. You brushed off the questions as they popped up in your head, but they started to stick around, nagging in the back of your mind. What was he staying with you for? What did he want that he didn’t already have in abundance? You tried not to let other people make comments on your relationship, but most of the store had gotten used to seeing him around almost every day, and were now wondering where ‘Henry’ had gone. And you were starting to wonder too.

He hadn’t taken anything with him; he didn’t often sleep over at your apartment, usually having to run errands in the middle of the night or go meet with other gods or nymphs or whatever other magical creatures you couldn't begin to fathom. He had a handful of times, though, and had left a few miscellaneous things around - some of the afore-mentioned expensive clothes were clean and neatly folded in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Some trinkets he had given you were scattered around on different surfaces. At one point, he had apparently swiped one of Apollo’s lyres and hidden it in your closet. There were a handful of pictures of the pair of you that you had printed out on fancy paper and hung up on the fridge.

Lying in bed now, surrounded by the memories and beginning to drown in your self-loathing, your stomach churned. You hadn’t moved in at least 36 hours; you were probably dehydrated and you definitely hadn’t eaten anything. You would be alone when he left you; your parents long out of the picture as you had fended for yourself. You were an adult, and supposed to act like it, and they had decided they didn’t actually like the person you had grown into. Your friends were all work friends, and you didn’t spend a lot of time going out with people. Your life was a pattern of work and home and work again, unending.

You were going to be alone. The realization started swirling around you like Charybdis swallowing sailors, dragging you deeper and deeper into the dark thoughts you’d been fighting off for a week.

And who’s to say he wasn’t gone already? Cutting off text messages like a final cut to the cord - the things he left behind were meaningless to someone who could have literally anything they wanted at their fingertips. He knew you’d always been tight on cash and had rather too much pride, wanting to do and pay for things yourself; maybe all the expensive odds and ends were a last gift to help you along. Some of those clothes were worth over a thousand dollars.

Your whole life wasn’t even worth a thousand dollars.

You weren’t interesting to him anymore; he’d had his fun hanging out with a mortal, been denied the ultimate prize, and was now bored. He’d probably get a better time of it out of Leslie from work! You squirmed on the bed again, burying half of your face in the pillow, physically unable to cry. You’d have to go back to work tomorrow, the routine beginning again, and you knew you needed to do something at some point, but right now you just couldn’t move.

In and out of consciousness you floated a while, half-heartedly turning off an alarm reminding you to get dinner. You barely dreamed; trying desperately to think only about the good memories.

“Y/N…”

Hermes’ arms wrapping around you, his hands brushing through your hair. His voice, saying your name.

“Y/N…”

His face lighting up when he used to walk in and see you at the counter, bringing sandwiches to share at the little corner lunch table in the break room. Thirty minutes just the two of you together. Going for your favorite hot drink after a hard day. His voice, saying your name over and over again.

“Y/N I swear on Styx I’m gonna call my brother if you don’t answer me!” his voice, panicked?

“Huh?” you replied eloquently, and oh he actually was there, one hand delicately wound through your hair and lifting your head, and the other pressing two fingers firmly on the pulse point of your neck. His sunglasses were off, and this close, you could see the barest hint of a silver ring that marked where his irises were. You’d asked him about them, once or twice; being the god of travelers meant it was usually hard for people to focus on his eyes - something about mortals not always knowing the people around them and not paying attention or something. Your brain was a little sluggish at the moment.

“Your eyes are my favorite,” you said, out loud; and his face turned up in a wry, almost fearful smile.

“Awesome! I’m calling Apollo.” he said, leaning in and kissing you on your forehead before beginning to move away.

Panic shot through your body; the sudden release of adrenaline making you tremble as you moved to grab him, almost shouting, “No!” Don’t leave, not yet. Please.

Quickly, but weakly, your fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he looked back at you, startled by the sudden outburst. He paused a moment, taking a deep breath of his own, and moved his wrist out of your grasp before taking your hand gently.

“You need help,” he said softly, “My brother is an ass, but he’s also a healer. Let me get my phone. See? You can still see me.” He spoke like one would to a startled child or pet, placating and gentle, and you wanted to agree, but you couldn’t help the new burst of tears slipping out of your eyes as his hand left yours. He was telling the truth, of course. He’d dropped his messenger bag by the door to your room, it was barely five feet away. He walked slowly to the bag and retrieved his phone before returning to the bed, never leaving your line of sight.

The next half hour(ish) was a little blurry.

At some point, he picked you up (one handed, of course he could) and brought you out to the couch, settling you carefully in his lap with your head resting on his shoulder. You shuddered, feeling ten times more filthy against his pristine clothes, but he held you there with a firm hand on your arm, like a little treasure that he was protecting. His bag was slumped by your feet, and he was talking to presumably Apollo on the phone in his other hand.

Against him, you began to relax; the adrenaline was wearing off, and your body and mind were both well past exhausted, giving in to the haze that led to unconsciousness. You only caught a few words of the conversation - ‘dehydrated’, ‘fever’, and ‘drugged’ being prominent. If you had been a little more aware, you would have protested the thought that you had taken anything, but as it was, you were just drifting in and out of sleep once more.

At some point, someone held a glass to your mouth, and carefully coaxed you into drinking some water. It was amazing, probably the best water you’d ever had; probably because you hadn’t had any in 36 hours. You wondered if thirst affected water’s taste, and you would argue to the death that yes, water had a taste, and where it came from affected that taste.

And then there were two new hands on your face.

You’d met Apollo a few times since beginning your relationship with Hermes; the messenger god loved to be a nuisance to his older brother (actually, he loved being a nuisance to most people, being the god of mischief and all,) but they stayed surprisingly close. The god of the sun ran fairly hot, as to be expected, and his hands were warm against your face as he inspected you.

Gold eyes looked intently into (e/c), and the other god murmured to himself. He laid the back of his hand on your forehead. You soaked in the touch and care from both men, slowly becoming more and more aware of the apartment around you. Hermes' arms were holding you just a touch too tight, your feet were cold hanging off the couch, but they’d removed the oppressive blankets that had wrapped around your body and there was another glass of water nearby.

You zeroed in on it, leaning back slightly to look up at your lover intending to ask him to loosen his hold. Both gods reacted to your movement.

“Are you back with us?” Apollo’s rich, slightly deeper baritone voice cleared the last of the fog, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I think so…” you replied softly; all you had to do was turn towards the water glasses for Hermes to lean over and grab one, holding it up for you to drink once again. You were a little more embarrassed, this time, but Hermes was gentle in guiding you to drink the whole glass, and buried his nose in your greasy hair once you were finished.

“What were you thinking?” his muffled voice was hitched, still full of worry. The question was genuine, not condescending. He was well and truly upset; your stomach churned again. You looked up at Apollo, who shrugged; “I think he means, ‘what was on your mind?”, he supplied, also unsure. Your shoulders hunched a bit, as if you could curl up and hide in your own skin right there in Hermes’ lap. You felt helpless, trying to think of an answer.

“I just…I don't know…” you started, after a minute, but couldn’t find the words. Your eyes burned from crying, your head was pounding, your body trembling from low blood sugar. You really wanted a third glass of water, possibly a fourth.

After a long period of silence, Apollo coughed to break the tension, first passing a hand over your hair affectionately, and then ruffling his brother’s much more roughly, leading Hermes to swat at the offending hand. “Good news is, they're not sick and not dying,” he emphasized the last word, as if teasing Hermes about his panic. You smiled a little, and the sun god took it as a win. “Go slowly with the water, because if you drink too much you could actually get sick, and try to eat something like toast or crackers before you move back up to real food. No work tomorrow.”

He winked, and handed you a slip of paper with a (fake?) doctor’s note. Of course he could just summon those. He flashed a sunny (pun intended!) smile; and gestured for you to call him, assumedly if you needed anything, before walking out the door and leaving in a bright flash. You and Hermes sat in silence another long while.

You could have happily sat there for another six months, but his face was still buried in your unwashed hair, and his arms still wrapped around your sweat-soaked, presumably gross body, and you wanted to spare him at least a little of the nastiness of being with a mortal.

“Let me up,” you said softly, wiggling in his grip. Instead, his hold tightened, and you realized with cold shock that his hands were trembling now. “C’mon, I’m sticky,” you tried again, your tone gentler; this time hearing him take a deep, settling breath. His arms loosened, but his head only moved over your shoulder. You twisted, trying to look at him, and you were startled to see him crying.

“I thought you were dead.” he spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, and the admission sent a chill down your spine. “I wanted to surprise you coming home, but you didn't reply to my message to pick you up. I called half a dozen times and didn’t get an answer. I knocked and you didn’t hear me. I had to pick the lock on your door just to get in, and you were laying there totally unresponsive. I thought something had happened.”

In the time you had known him, Hermes hadn’t really cried. He teared up along with you at sappy movies, and he had tears in his eyes from laughing, but you hadn’t ever heard so much anguish in his voice until that moment. Your eyes became watery again, feeling so much of his emotion along with him; feeling the tiniest bit guilty, too, for making him worry, even if you hadn't meant to…

You distantly wondered just how many lovers he had lost whom he had wept for. How large a heart to break when a god mourned.

So, you came clean. You told him about your fears, the little horrible thoughts that came up in the night. You told him how you looked at yourself in the mirror and felt embarrassed for him, how you compared yourself to every other person around you. You cried and told him how you just felt like you had spiraled out of control so suddenly over the last week, worried he would never come back. You told him how you felt undeserving of him; how you felt that you couldn’t give him everything he desired, how your relationship looked fake or immature to others.

He held you tight as you cried anew, both of you breathing heavily in tandem. You felt his heartbeat matching yours. His warm hands ran up and down your arm, soothing, and he placed little pecks and kisses over your forehead and cheeks. It was probably another hour of gross sobbing and soft murmurs of reassurance.

Your body still felt dirty, but your soul felt clean. Minus the headache…

The pair of you dozed a bit after the outpour; at one point, he had gotten up and grabbed a few slices of toast and more water, but it was barely a flash of an instant before he was back and holding you again, feeding you little bites of toast and laughing at your half-joking attempts to bite his fingers. He called your manager at work and told them you were sick, and that was that.

You slept a while, deeply and dreamlessly. It was almost sunset by the time you actually woke up, and this time, the two of you were tangled in your tiny apartment bed. But you were still in your nasty clothes, and at the thought, you attempted (for like the fifth time) to wiggle free of Hermes’ arms.

They tightened, once again.

“Okay, let me up for real,” you said, pushing lightly on his chest.

“No.” he said simply, pretending to still be asleep.

“I’m really gross, babe, I need a shower,” you pressed, and he huffed, frowning and finally opening his eyes. He stared at you a while, taking in the dried tears and red splotches of your face. (At least when gods wept they didn't have to deal with mucus…) He brought a hand up to rub one thumb gently across your cheek.

“I love you.” he said softly, earnestly.

It wasn’t that you two hadn't said it before, but up to that point it felt like more of a crush; like the way two close friends said those words. This was honest. This was chase-away-your-nightmares and wipe-your-snotty-tears-clean. This was full stop, no room for doubt.

“I love you too,” you said, trying to convey the same genuine emotion. He sat up with you, leaning forward and giving you a kiss. “I’m sorry I scared you.” you said, looking into his eyes.

He sighed. “It isn’t your fault. I wish you’d told me some of this earlier, but it wasn’t all your fault.” he looked away from your face, thoughtful and sad.

“What do you mean?” you asked, now confused.

“I hear a lot more than people think I do. I mean, obviously; several of my senses are a little heightened. But I've also just…learned to be more aware of what's happening around me. What people are saying, or not saying in some cases. I've heard the rude things those girls say about you, and the filthy things they say about me, and I haven't done anything. I see you as so much better than them, so far above them; like what they say wouldn't even touch you because they mean nothing.

“I just wish I had known you felt that way. I love you. I don’t want you to feel that ever again.” he looked right into your eyes, right into your soul, and you knew that hearing everything you had said had pained him as much as it had you.

You started to apologize, but he quieted you with another kiss. “I’m upset with myself that I could let you think that. Yeah, our relationship is different from the ones I’ve had before, but I’m happy with you, okay? I’m happy when I spend time with you. I love just sitting together and watching movies and having dinner. I love going out and walking in the park or shopping at the craft thing you like.” you giggled a little, as he began to tease with his words and poke your ticklish spots with his nimble fingers. “I love that you're you. You’re kind and you have a big heart and you take care of everyone you can, regardless of whether they deserve it or if you even know them! You’re beautiful to me. And trust me, Aphrodite may keep up on human beauty standards but I really don’t care. You are enchanting to me.” he became serious, and tears came to your eyes again.

After a beat, he continued, “I want to show you how much I love you. Do you trust me?” he asked, and that pit of worry in your stomach churned just a little bit but you pushed it away and nodded. You trusted him not to cross your boundaries, whatever he was planning. He smiled, and got up from the bed to root through your closet for a moment.

From the bed, you could see the lyre still tucked into the back corner of the closet. You should probably give that back at some point. Maybe Apollo or Hermes would teach you to play it.

While you mused, Hermes had pulled out his prize - a bathing suit?

“Uh?” you asked eloquently. He smiled again, trying not to laugh.

“Just put it on. Trust me.”

After a minute of staring, waiting to hear the punchline of his joke and not getting one, you shooed him out of the bedroom and slipped out of your filthy clothes (considering just burning them instead of trying to wash them in the shitty washing machines in the complex’s basement) and into the colorful waterproof garment.

You carefully avoided the mirror (you could deal with that later), and walked back out into the living room area, finding Hermes in his own swimming trunks. (You did take a minute to appreciate his bare chest before affirming that you were ready to do whatever it was.)

Carefully, he picked you up, holding you once again like a treasure, and spoke low in your ear, “Hold on tight.”

His super speed (what else could you possibly call it) wasn’t foreign to you, but it was an experience you would have preferred to skip out on at that moment. Moving at mach one tended to make your ears ring, and no matter how secure you felt in his arms, the one time he’d taken you speeding over the top of the ocean was the last time you would be willing to do so. At least you didn’t get motion sick from it…

You would accept the flying. Not necessarily the running…

You had no idea where he was taking you, but it was only moments before you arrived. It was a little house, in the middle of the woods. Not creepy at all!

He laughed when you said this to him, but walked up to the door with little care. “I’m borrowing this place from one of the lower gods for the night. Don’t worry, everything is clean and the servants aren’t staying. It’s just us.” he said. Several of these statements raised more questions, but oh well.

It was a cute little place, and you heard the afore-mentioned servants wandering around and prepping something. You tried to get down, but Hermes only hummed and held you fast in his arms. Damn divine strength. He carried you down the beautifully decorated hallways towards what looked like the master bedroom, and certain enough, there was a person finishing up something in the bathroom there. Whoever they were gave a polite nod to the pair of you and left almost silently.

Hermes paused in front of the bed, and asked again, almost as if he was nervous, “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t have to think about it this time; “Yes, I do.”

He smiled, and carried you into the bathroom. Inside was nothing short of opulent; it was a massive bathtub set mostly into the floor, with a bit of a lip to set things on, if the glasses of pink liquid and plate of cheese and grapes were anything to go by. Finally, he let you down, and gestured for you to get into the tub.

The water was perfectly warm, soft and sweet smelling on your skin, and even just being touched by the water made you feel cleaner from sweat and grime. You sighed, almost involuntarily, in relief or pleasure or something in between. You couldn’t see, but Hermes was grinning behind you, happy to know the surprise would go over well.

You looked up, expecting him to join you, but instead found him kneeling behind you. He must have seen the question on your face, because he smiled gently and gestured to another large pot of water and a cup.

“When I was very young, I leaned more mortal than divine. I was sick a handful of times, though not nearly as often as fully mortal children. But I remember my mother made a point after the worst had passed that we would take a bath, wash the memories of sickness away. It always made me feel better.” As he told the story, he took cupfulls of water from the pot and eased you down, wetting your hair thoroughly. His fingers ran gently through your hair, over and over, passing first water and then shampoo, and then water again. You were surrounded by the smells of fresh lavender and mint, and laying there with your head in his careful hands felt almost hypnotic.

At one point, he paused, and offered you a drink from the glass. You struggled not to spit it back out in shock - “Is this Gatorade??” you asked, a little hysterical.

He laughed, that devious grin you loved so much returning to his face, and he exaggeratedly waved his hand, “My brother said you needed electrolytes and stuff! I thought you liked this flavor!”

You snorted, and took another actual drink, “Yeah, but you had them set it out so fancy and I thought it was, like, champagne, or something!” Your laugh was hearty and genuine for the first time in a week. You supposed this was one of the hazards of dating the god of mischief.

The giggles mostly subsided, and he went back to his washing - when done with your hair, he began to simply rub the tension from your shoulders and arms, surprisingly knowledgeable in how he massaged your muscles. You took deep breaths, feeling calm and more than a little sleepy, and he murmured words of love and care in your ears. You were half-asleep by the time it was over, and he woke you with an upside-down kiss on your forehead.

A god just took the time to wash your hair. What universe was this?

He showed you how to drain the bathtub and helped you dry off with a fluffy towel, and then handed you a soft, new set of pajamas to change into; drying off himself and moving back into the bedroom to change into his own nightclothes which turned out to just be some loose cotton pants; allowing you plenty more time to enjoy the view.

The bedroom had music playing softly from some unseen speaker; a lullaby swirling around and cradling you in its sound. You shared the platter of crackers and cheese, and you playfully fed him the grapes, posing like renaissance paintings for an imaginary camera. Finally, he wrapped you again in his arms, warm and soft and safe, and you felt whole and content.

“I love you,” you whispered in the dark, cuddled up to him.

“I love you too,” he said with a last kiss, and you knew in your heart it was the truth.

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