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deathsrites · 2 years

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the mortal sun has risen and set a thousand thousand times, and hades is yet bound to the earthly realm, the reincarnation loop continues. this time their mortal coil has taken the shape of theo james, a human born on 28 january ,1988, an aquarious and named matthew ‘matty’ chase bennet.

PINTEREST || CONNECTIONS

trigger warnings: car accident, death, injury, coma

p.s please forgive me i haven’t done this in a minute & intro’s have never been my strong suit.

S T A T S.

full name: matthew chase bennet

nicknames: matty

deity: hades

age: 34

birthday: january 28th

zodiac: aquarious

sexuality: heterosexual & single

pets: douglas a newfoundland, & tempe a black dapple percheron

occupation: co-owner ranch hand at Trojan Horse Ranch

current residence: atlantis apartments

hometown: durango, colorado,usa

time on island: 3 months

abilities: has low communication with the dead through dreams and can find hidden treasures with ease.

full powers: would be to have full communication with the dead as well as big black dogs.

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R ( i will eventually write out a full bio, but for now pls have this)

TW:CAR ACCIDENT TW:DEATH His mother died when he was young due to a car accident leaving just him and his dad who rejoined the Air Force to cope with the loss while matthew swears he dreamt of her for months.

They moved all over before his father got a permanent position in Colorado when he was 16 where he graduated. However matthew would spend his vacation time with his mothers brother on magnetic island.

TW: INJURY. COMA He joined the military at 18 and was honorable discharged at 23 due to injury in the field. He spent 6 months in a coma during that time he spent asleep he would have mutiple dreams of the his mother, and friends he’s lost.

TW:PTSD During his time in the military was when his abilities really started to peak through whenever he lost someone they’d show up in his dreams so he suffers from some ptsd.

Had a falling out with his father because he didn’t want to go back to the military and cause his father wouldn’t believe him of his dreams again.

Matthew was vacationing with his uncle after his injury when he stumbled across some lost treasure rather easily. Giving it to a museum he decided to go back to school for his masters in archaeology.

Has been known to live a bachelor lifestyle especially after his accident and during his internships studying.

Spent the last three years traveling to dig sites and ruins while also treasure hunting on the side for private customers portfolios or museums.

TW: Death Has only come back to magnetic island because he’s inherited part of the Trojan horse ranch from his uncle who had recently passed. He doesn’t want many people to know so he works there as a ranch hand.

Since his uncles death his dreams are back to being haunted by small depictions of his uncle and he’s definitely trying his best to ignore it.

While he comes from very affluent families and is wealthy himself he doesn’t flaunt his wealth and lives rather frugal or tries to.

P E R S O N A L I T Y & H E A D C A N O N S

Matthew is a very devoted person whether it be to family or friends he’d very much go to the ends of the earth for his loved ones.

Can come off like a lowkey asshole unless his dog seems to like you or horses then he tends to be less ass-ish

Definite fool when he’s in love, but has a hard time falling. However when he does he falls hard.

Is the type to wake up at the crack of dawn so that he can go to the beach with a metal detector to look for stuff.

Restoring old things whether it be a car or a pocket watch calms him

Extremely hard headed and sometimes a sore-loser, but he will admit defeat.

Wears his heart on his sleeve

#eternal!intro #please forgive me i haven't done this in a minute #tw; car accident #tw; injury #tw; death #death tw #car accident tw #injury tw

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friendlystarfruit · 1 year

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Hi! can I request some comic art of 100 Gecs as it’s for a zombie apocalypse AU:

Preferably a small colored comic if you want:Laura & Dylan are sleeping in the same room (Laura on the floor Dylan on the bed 🛌) as they have just found an abandoned log cabin in the woods deciding to stay for how ever it takes after they had both lost everything near and dear involving Mason who is Laura’s fiancé as well as Dylan and his family plus gf as he also suffers from TW:PTSD/Night Terror’s and wakes up screaming as well as in a cold sweat which woke Laura up herself as she decided to comfort her best friend in the entire world for Dylan calmed down in an instant when he felt Laura hugging him as well as reassuring him that it’s okay and he was safe

sorry I dont do comics for requests

#ask #anon

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lesmisscraper · 7 days

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Valjean and Cosette running away from Javert. Volume 2, Book 5, Chapter 1.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

#Les miserables #les mis #My Post #Jean Valjean #Cosette #The Lark #Little Mlle. Lanoire #Father and daughter #Owl and Wren #Gorbeau House #On the Run #Tw:PTSD #It really shows how Abuse makes the Victim passive...#(Well. More complicated examples would come later chapters too.)#The Brick #Il cuore di Cosette #Les Mis Letters

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sillygecsstuff · 1 year

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Dead Magic-100 Gecs Zombie Apocalypse AU

This AU is purely fiction and yes I know that Laura is married to Mason but in this case he died trying to protect her as she escaped just in time from their apartment building that they lived in pre end of the world start but the undead were already beginning to attack the locals.

This AU is set some long years after Dylan & Laura both retired from the music business,but they kept there wizard robes plus wide yellow hat.

Dylan suffers from TW:PTSD as well as night terrors,sometimes wakes up in a cold sweat or in tears whichever comes first as he also lives in a traveling camper van alone as well as located in the woods after he and Laura were reunited with one another after being separated for so long as well as sometimes sleeping walking.

They found a log cabin in the woods as they decided to live there once it was checked through for any unwanted visitors.

The apocalypse made it’s debut to LA making any travel outside the country of California impossible.

Laura is 35 while Dylan is 36.

They have their own rooms but since Dylan suffers from his nightly episodes of screaming into the dead of night,Laura begins to sleep inside his room just to make sure he’s okay as well as comforting him reassuring that he’s safe as well as sound.

Dylan also lost his family plus girlfriend when they were also protecting one another from the zombies that managed to break into their house,he also took to the roads ever since becoming a type of traveling nomad within his bought traveling camper van.

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6ahaha1amjustaperson9 · 1 year

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Hi! can I request some art of 100 Gecs as it’s for a zombie apocalypse AU:

I also guess you can call this hurt/comfort if I’m correct thx so much for doing my request ☺️ i look forward to the final result :)

I uh-- The concept is really nice, for real the idea is fucking crazy and I like it!But I don't think I can do this one...I'm deeply sorry. Idk how to draw real people (yet) and comics are still a far concept for me (I'm working on that). I must decline this offer. I'm very sorry!I hope I'm not upsetting you. This is my first time having soo many requests and I try to do all of them (As I think you saw in my page, I've never declined a request so far) but when I can't I can't. I'm sorry again 😓🙏

I'm really really sorry...I hope I didn't disappoint you.....I hope you find a better artist for this!The idea is so so cool!!

#lesleyleorequest

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salimanderwrites · 2 years

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Bear witness

Pairing--> Hawks x reader (Minors and ageless blogs DNI)

Warnings: ANGST, hurt-comfort, injury (reader is coping with a new lifelong injury), PTSD, non-graphic violence mentioned, everyone is suffering, but trying to cope. Please let me know if I missed anything.

word count: 2.3k (possibly a part one)

Synopsis: After the accident, you and Hawks try to make sense of your new reality. He would do anything to fix this. You don’t think he can.

_______________________________________________________________________

He reaches his hand out, waiting. Hawks does his best to smile, but it's the kind he uses at the office after stressful days, days full of death that hang on you like mud. It isn’t your smile. The one he greets you with in the morning or before he lets you give an interview. It’s the same one he gave you before you both split up during the fight. He said he trusted you, that he would be back in no time. The smile he failed to give you as they brought you into the hospital and rushed you into surgery.

You haven’t seen it since. He would bring you flowers every day. Staying longer and longer, bringing you meals and helping comb your hair. Talking when you don’t have the energy and giving you updates on the office, stopping when he sees how your eyes glaze over and mind wanders. Back to the incident that ruined it all. Your career, your body and your life.

What have you become and what waits for you when you’re released? You spend a few days wondering when your parents might visit and if they would take you back? That hope fizzes quickly. Every day, the door clicks open with a visitor and everyday Hawk’s strained smile faces you. No matter if you speak to him or ignore him. Cry to him and mumble it’s all your fault. He just takes it, pulls you closer, avoiding hurting you further. When you cry yourself to sleep, he stays watching over you. If you stir, he’ll run his hand through your hair. And then he’ll go home.

Until the nurse tells him you’re not sleeping. And you don’t want medicine. He takes your hand and asks what’s keeping you awake.

“Sometimes I have nightmares.” Kicking, screaming, scratching nightmares. Every. Single. Night. Tearing, shrieking, wheezing nightmares. All the time. All around you.

“Sometimes I have nightmares.” you tell him. He sighs. Tonight, he cannot bring himself to go home.

“I’m right here, Dove. I’m not going anywhere.”

When Hawks woke, you were already awake and looking out the window at the city so far away. Guilt sat heavy in the room, latching onto the walls like moving shadows. Maybe that was why the flowers died so quickly. You shouldn’t have blamed him. Thrown his trust and care back in his face because you’re in such pain.

“I’m sorry.” You try to smile and look at Hawks. “I’m so sorry.” He brushes the tears away and pulls you into his arms again. Always like he’s scared to let go again. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I don’t blame you. I don’t. I don’t.” You kept saying it like a prayer. Hawks soothes you, saying he knows you don’t mean it. You cry harder knowing you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s true.

“Your parents haven’t called?” He asks during breakfast. You butter your toast.

“Didn’t expect them to.” He nods, eyebrows scrunched and concern clear on his face. “Just say it, Hawks.”

“You’re being discharged soon. What’s your plan, Dove?”

“Don’t know yet. Hopefully, I get put on office detail and get back to helping people.” You say, taking a bite of your jelly toast.

“No.” He sounds like he’s been waiting for this moment. You pause.

“No?”

“You’re not going back to work. The doctors told you that your lungs… you need time to heal your body and mind.” His face is the same as when he gives out assignments or commands in the field.

“You know my body won’t ever heal.” You throw a bottle of water against the wall. It bounces off and rolls away. Your chest heaves. “I’m not… then please tell me how I’m going to survive.” Your voice shakes against your will. He looks down. “You said it yourself. My parents won’t take care of me. It doesn’t matter how hurt my body is, or how tired I am. I need to work.” Hawks gets up and goes to pick up your water. He comes back and offers it to you.

“I’m still here.” You take the water.” And as long as I’m here, you have someone. I’m telling you, you’re not going back to work because I care about you, Dove.”

“Then what do I do, Keigo?” You take a sip of water and Hawks says your name, softly stroking your hair again. You lean into it.

“Come home with me.” He says. “Let me take care of you.”

He reaches out his hand, waiting patiently. Giving you his attempt at a smile. You feel it then, a pain in your back and wheeze in your lungs. One you will live with for the rest of your life. You could see yourself struggling to go on a walk. To file papers or get coffee for the office. But what scared you was seeing Hawks disappointed in you. One day regretting keeping you around or making you his sidekick in the first place. Truly alone without your kind mentor.

At the same time, you didn’t have any options right now. You weren’t ready to tell him yet, but being on your own would hurt you like nothing else. Not only at the mercy of your dreams, but also your thoughts. Hawks had been here to talk to you or simply share the space. Finding time to read a book to you when you were too weak. What would happen without him? He was a crutch that you needed. For the moment, you tell yourself.

You take his hand. “I’ll get it arranged, baby.” He kisses your hand and leaves the room. You stare after him. A feeling of unease that he was only treating you this way because of his own guilt. He’s a hero and couldn’t protect you. But you hadn’t wanted his protection, you wanted to do the job he gave you. The one he gave you to fulfill on your own and you couldn’t. If you hadn’t been ready, then who's to say you would ever be.

He’s holding your hand when you enter his penthouse. Giant windows overseeing the city and an elegant stairway leading to the second floor. A living room with heated hardwood floors and an inviting couch set with a wide screen tv. You take off your shoes and step inside, walking around cautiously while Hawks watches with soft eyes. He couldn’t have been more relieved to have you in his space. You move slowly and occasionally turn towards him to which he nods. It breaks his heart that you were so unsure, so scared, but the doctor had warned him you needed time after everything. That eventually you would need someone to listen and comfort you when everything came out.

“I had them move your things into the guest bedroom upstairs.” He says walking toward the kitchen. He puts the medication and puts it in your weekly pill case and places the rest in the cabinet. You wander in after him.

“Thank you,” you say, making him look up at you. “For everything, Keigo. You didn’t need to do this.”

“Don’t talk like that.” He says quickly, turning to the refrigerator. “Are you hungry? I can make some soup if you want.”

“Yes, please.” You say, looking down. “Keigo I know this is tough-”

“Dove,” He interrupts and comes over to you. “Stop this. Stop thinking you’re a burden or that you’re troubling me.” He leads you out into the living room and you go sit on the couch. Keigo gets the remote and finds a sitcom for you to watch. You think he’ll go to the kitchen, but he goes to a nearby cabinet. Bringing over a pink bag with purple gift paper poking out.

“I know this isn’t easy. That’s why I don’t want you to give yourself more stress and instead focus on…” He trails off. Recovery isn’t right, but neither is acceptance. He gives you the bag and you quickly unwrap it. Inside is a big teddy bear that smells of strawberry. The bear stares at you, smiling. You tear up and hug the bear close to you. Keigo smiles down at you. He’s used to finding problems and being the solution, but those issues are usually temporary. A few minutes of fighting villains, rescuing hostages, saving people from falling buildings. But then it’s over and he goes back to the office and plans for the next crisis. He didn’t have a plan for this. Asking doctors and consulting books about trauma didn’t change that you were here in front of him with scars on your arms. He doesn’t know the right moves, but he’s brought you here. Given you something you can hold. Hopefully, it’s correct.

“I’ll go make lunch.”

The first few days are not easy. You wake screaming at night and Keigo rushes in every time. Holding you while you clutch onto your bear. He asks you to take medicine, but you shake your head. Scared of waking in an unfamiliar place, dizzy from medicine. Terrified at the idea of being incapacitated by the sleeping pills.

The days have been about adjustment, as Keigo says. You don’t leave the penthouse. At first, you stay in bed and then spend time on the couch or even read on a chair. Today, you take out your knitting needles and yarn. Losing track of time as you watch the television and move the yarn on and off the needles, it’s meditative. Keigo has asked you to give him a list of things you want to do or learn for when he isn’t there all day. Meaning he will soon go back to work without you.

You cry. A lot. And it pains you to be so weak and that more often than not you can only calm down after Keigo pulls you into his embrace. He does it more often now. Holds you while you both watch tv or hugs you before bed. If you’ve been out of his sight for too long he rushes over, checks over you and asks how you’re feeling. At night, he has developed a sixth sense for when your nightmares wake you. He’s at the door seemingly moments after you start screaming. Asks you to name the route you take to work. Asks for the names of your classmates. You can’t, but he keeps asking. Tells you to name things in the room or smell your bear. Anything.

“I hate seeing you like this,” He breathes against your hair once you’ve stopped crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying I swear,” you say, breath speeding up again, new tears springing in your eyes.

“No baby, not you, never your fault.” He says quickly, shushing you. “I just think that maybe if you take some medicine, you can finally sleep again.” You shake your head.

“No, Keigo, please. I’m so scared that… if I take them.” You look off. A big breath and Keigo waits patiently, breath held in eager anticipation. Please tell him. “He could come, he could find me. And I wouldn’t be able to fight back and it will be just like before.” You say into the dark room. It feels wrong, as soon as you say it you want it back. To reach out and grab the words, suffocating them and laying them to rest.

“Who is he?” Keigo has been waiting since he found you chained up, left for dead. Thought of nothing, but revenge when they put you into surgery with a slim chance of surviving. Made plan after plan when the Doctor gave the news, you had permanent lung damage and your quirk robbed from you. And now, if you would give him one name, he would hunt down that monster until the end of the world. But instead, you shake your head and pull your teddy bear tighter to you. Keigo understands, he can lay aside his blood-lust for you, but doesn’t like that you still wake scared and momentarily without him. “Then what if you stayed with me?”

“In your room?”

“Yes, you would be closer to me and maybe you won’t wake up feeling completely disoriented.” You agreed, and he led you back to his room. He slipped into bed and waited for you to do the same.

“Can we put a pillow in the middle?” You ask, looking away sheepishly.

“Of course, Dove. Whatever you need.” He says, placing a couple pillows down the center. You get into bed then and mumble a good night. There had been an air of disappointment in Keigo’s voice. A silent beckoning for you to tell him everything that happened, or perhaps just a morsel of information. Something for him to begin investigating. He’s your hero, isn’t he? You jerk violently to shake off the grating sound in your mind. Metal claws scratching to break through, that charcoal voice that prowled through your brain. In your mind you scream “no.” Keep the memories at bay, lest it rot you from the inside, leaving an empty husk of a person.

Hawks says your name and leans over the pillow, hesitating to grasp you. At first you think the jerk stirred him, but your voice cracks on the word “no.” How long had you uttered the sound?

“Keigo, please,” Your voice breaks through your plea, “Make it stop. Make it stop.” Keigo rips away the pillow and looks at you. Helplessly, he grasps at the air, not knowing what to do. You sit up, momentarily sober. Because there's the other thing you wouldn’t admit. If he knew, then he would think he could help. Go slay the creature and return victorious. Come to you and say justice is served, but he’d really be saying that this is the end. Once he kills them, well, that’s all he can really do. What else could you want from him?

“I’m scared.” You tell him.

“I’m here. Please, tell me what I can do? How do I fix this?” He pleads beside you on his knees and hands stretched out to you.

He is lost. Searching for an answer. You hold the leash between you both. As long as you keep what happened from him, he doesn’t have a way to save the day. You need him. And this way, he needs you.

He can’t be your hero anymore.

Author’s note: If you made it this far, thank you so much. Also, if you enjoyed please let me know, because there may or may not be a couple more parts if people want it. It’s a new year and I am so excited to write more for this blog. Currently, I am working on a lofty ex-husband Nanami fic, which will hopefully come out next week. Again, thank you for reading.

#hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks angst #keigo x reader #keigo x you #tw:ptsd #Sali.Hawks

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sightoru · 3 years

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Summary: You meet Midoriya Izuku at a group therapy session for victims of villain attacks. Both of you wonder why your stories fit so well together, neither one of you wants to ask why.

genre: hurt/comfort

series warnings: ptsd symptoms (nightmares, flashbacks), insomnia, slightly agoraphobic reader, alcohol as a coping mechanism, survivors guilt, negative world views, and a whole lotta smut (i’ll add more as chapters come out)

Chapter One: We Were Born Sick

word count: 5.8k. Warnings: pstd, group therapy, death mentions, nightmares, mastubating, fantasizing, slightly agoraphobic reader.

Chapter Two: With Broken Wrists I Climb From These Walls

word count: 0.0k. Warnings:

Chapter Three: Before You Go (Please Don't Go), Turn The Big Light Off

word count: 0.0k Warnings:

Chapter Four: We Will Find New Ways To Sing

word count: 0.0k Warnings:

#izuku midoriya smut #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #deku smut #deku x you #deku x y/n #izuku midoriya x you #izuku midoriya x y/n #izuku midoriya imagine #deku imagine #tw:ptsd #tw:alcohol #scout scribbles

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 2 years

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The Grace in Syn

Chapter Two

Master List | Steve Rogers Master List | Series Master List

Previous Chapter on Tumblr (SFW version)

Keep Reading on AO3

I do not tag. For notifications on the story, please follow it on AO3. An account is required to access my work. For more information about how to obtain a FREE AO3 account, see this post. Please note, the Tumblr Version will be SFW while the full smut version will be available only on AO3 to avoid interaction with minors. Thanks.

Warnings: ptsd, Steve is a bit of an ass, disabled child, angst

Syn’s house was quaint, though it was easy for Steve to see the rental unit received more care than her own home.

As he made his way across the back lawn (that needed both mowing and the leaves raked) and up the stairs, which creaked, groaned, and protested his weight to the screened-in porch, he admired the one and a half story home. It could really be something with a bit of elbow grease and TLC.

The screen door screeched loudly when Steve pulled it open, announcing him just like Syn said it would. It caused a wry smile to pull at his lips.

There would be no sneaking up on anyone here.

One would think a porch would have a swing, but this held two wooden kitchen chairs. One was blue, and the other a light shade of purple. He eyed the oddly matched chairs and scattering of toys before approaching the interior door that stood open.

"Come in, Steve!" Syn called from inside, though Gracie met him at the door.

He smiled at her and signed Hello.

She waved and grinned and reached for his hand, far too trusting of a stranger.

His mind instantly went to all the ways someone could kidnap a child like her. Did she know nothing of Stranger Danger?

Still, Steve let her have his hand.

Better? she asked, touching the knuckles that had healed in the last thirty minutes.

He'd scrubbed a pound of gravel out of his leg and ankle, but sure. "Yes, all better."

She pulled him inside.

Steve glanced around. There was an awful lot of wood panelling, but he supposed it was a cottage. On his left, a big stone fireplace sat in the centre of the wall, flanked by windows. Hardwood that had seen better days stretched out in front of him, showing wear patterns in the high traffic areas. But a colourful rug anchored the comfortable-looking gray sofa where pillows of blue and purple continued the theme from the porch.

The small TV sitting on a stand next to the fireplace caused him to frown. He hadn't seen one so thick in a long time. The one in the guest house was newer than Syn's.

To the left of the sofa was a desk area overrun with papers and bills, while to the right, beneath the front window, was a bevy of toys. From the miniature kitchen to the dolls to the large-piece puzzle, Steve could tell what money she had Syn spent on Gracie.

Yours? He asked her.

She nodded.

Dinner make here? Steve pointed to her fake stove.

Gracie giggled and shook her head.

"Are you sure? I think you must have helped. It sure smells good," he spoke and signed when Syn appeared from the room beyond the dining table.

Gracie giggled again and pointed.

"Oh, your mom made dinner? I bet it's not as good as yours."

"Imaginary food always tastes amazing," Syn smiled.

Steve chuckled. "Thanks for this. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she insisted, setting a serving bowl onto a hot pad. "Ice tea or milk?"

"Milk would be great."

And a pleasant surprise. Most people offered him alcohol which he declined and then sent them scrambling for something else, but Steve couldn't see the point in drinking when it didn't do anything for him. It felt like a waste, and truthfully, he didn't care much for beer.

He glanced again at the back door, noted what must be Syn's bedroom through the open one down a bit of hallway and did a double-take. It wasn't the iron rail footboard or the white lace bedding that gave him pause. It was the glimpse through a third door at what had to be the most god-awful bathroom he had ever laid eyes on.

He only caught a glimpse, but the reflection off the mirror was that of a sea of pea green.

Steve wondered if it was possible for eyes to melt having to look at something so horrendous. Then he approached the dining room and got a glimpse into her kitchen.

He wouldn't say he recoiled in horror, but he sure took a step back.

"Holy Thor!" burst from Steve's lips before he could bite it back and caused Syn to wince and shoot him an embarrassed smile.

"I know. It's like the seventies threw up in there," she sighed and shook her head. "But it functions even in its ugliness."

"Doll, ugly is too tame a word," Steve muttered.

The wood cabinetry had a distinctly orange hue, but he couldn't tell if it was actually that colour or if it was reflecting the tone of the hideous wallpaper.

Vines stretched up the wall and - good lord - over the ceiling on a cream background that had darkened with age to a not-so-nice yellow. Large circles, he thought were meant to depict oranges, lemons, and limes, grew on the vines in varying sizes like a child had stamped them on with a cut sponge.

He'd seen such artwork when visiting elementary schools but didn't relay such to Syn.

The kitchen rounded out with a stainless steel sink and backsplash (all one piece), yellow gold countertops and matching fridge, and a linoleum floor - cream with parkay work in golden green.

"I think my eyes are bleeding," he muttered.

"Well, soldier, if I ever win the lottery, I'll make sure and call you for design tips!" she snapped, dropping a bowl with the green beans firmly on the table.

Steve flinched and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean to insult you. I've just never seen anything like that before."

"Well, I assure you it was the height of fashion in the seventies when my great aunt built this place."

"I'm sure it was," he murmured, glancing down when a small hand tugged at his wrist.

He pulled his hand from his pocket and gave it to Gracie, who led him to the chair at the head of the table and bid him sit. The metal and vinyl seat appeared flimsy but didn't even protest his weight as he settled gingerly into it.

Gracie immediately climbed up on his knee and reached for the bowl of cut pickles.

"Ah!" Syn tapped her fingers on the table to catch Gracie's attention. "Did you wash your hands?"

The girl ducked and shook her head.

"Off you go," Syn instructed, her hands flying.

Gracie gave a long-suffering sigh and stared at him with pleading eyes.

"Best do what mom says," he encouraged.

You?

Steve smiled and set her on her feet. "I washed mine before coming over."

Gracie pouted but ran off to the bathroom.

"She's never this way with strangers," Syn murmured, watching her go and relieving Steve's fear about child predators.

Her attention darted back to him. "You're very good with your ASL."

"One of the guys I work with is deaf without his hearing aids. I learned because he often turns them off to ignore us."

"You learned for a coworker? He must be some kind of guy. Most people wouldn't bother."

She swept back into the kitchen, and Steve admired the way her dress swirled around her legs and hips. It tied in the back with a thin string, while small buttons ran from her neckline to hem in the front. The floral pattern was small, carnations in a darker pink and leaves in muted greens Steve found pleasing to look at and focused there instead of on the disastrous wallpaper.

"I guess you could say he's a friend."

"Would you say he's a friend?"

Steve glanced up and frowned. "Yeah, he's a friend."

She scraped carrots from a cutting board into a wooden bowl. "Support staff for your unit?"

"How do you know I'm a soldier?"

She glanced at him, then looked pointedly at the fireplace behind him.

Steve turned around and froze. A folded American flag sat beside the picture of a young man in full army dress.

How the hell had he missed that?

"Syn, I'm so sorry," Steve said.

"My brother, Sawyer. It's been five years, and I still-" She turned away to grip the countertop. "You asked how I knew? You have the same look as him. The walk, the way you talk, even the duffel you carry."

"Observant," Steve murmured.

She busied herself with tossing the salad. "Afghanistan?"

"Among other places."

"How long have you been back?"

Steve found the fact she didn't seem to know who he was refreshing, but he still told her the truth. "I've been out for a couple of months, but they want me back. I'm… just not sure I can go back."

He looked down at his hands and rubbed his thumb over his palm. So much blood. So much pain. So much death followed him. Steve wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

The weight of her hand startled him when it landed on his shoulder. He looked up into eyes like liquid smoke. "Don't let them pressure you into anything. If you need time to figure out what you want, then take it."

Steve laid his hand on hers and felt the contact zip like a shock up his arm. "I'm certainly gonna try."

She smiled and patted his shoulder, heading to the stove where she dished the chicken into a pan. "And Steve?"

"Yeah?" he muttered, eyeing the butter biscuits not far from his plate.

She set the chicken down beside him. "Thank you for your service. I doubt you hear that enough."

He swallowed the choked feeling in his throat and nodded.

***

Syn watched the man across the table sign with her daughter. She'd never seen Gracie quite so enamoured before.

Her daughter was shy, standoffish even when it came to new people, but there was something about Steve, something in the air around him that made Syn feel safe. Even when he'd been angry and harsh, she hadn't been afraid of him.

She'd recognized that he was a soldier almost instantly, even scruffy and unkempt. He had the same look Sawyer did when he came home. A little hollow, a little lost, his eyes haunted by things no one should have to see.

In the end, Sawyer wasn't able to handle it. He'd left shortly before Syn found out she was pregnant, and the phone call that they found his body came two weeks before Gracie was born.

So intense was her despair over it; if she hadn't been pregnant if her great aunt hadn't left them this house, Syn knew she might have done the same as Sawyer.

That was how Gracie got her name. She was Syn's saving grace in a world gone mad. In this world where her fiance wanted nothing to do with their child and left her as suddenly and as devastatingly as her brother, she had Gracie.

Even when they told her Gracie would never hear and likely never see with any clarity, Syn hadn't cared. She felt like Gracie was Sawyer's way of looking in on her because every smile, every giggle, every cheeky grin was like looking at her brother when he was a boy.

Looking at Steve, all she could see was Sawyer before he walked out of her life and took his own.

She hated how poorly her country treated veterans. There was so little support for those who desperately needed it. So little care. So little understanding.

Steve needed all three.

Syn didn't know what God, angel, or deity placed him in her path, but she'd be damned if she let another soldier walk out of her life and lose his. She wasn't having it. Never again.

After Sawyer left, she'd spent hours pouring over books on PTSD and mental health; she'd taken online classes, determined when he came home to help him and was hoping to work her way to a Ph.D., but after Gracie, all her school funds went to medical bills, and she put those dreams out of her mind.

Steve was her chance to help a soldier like she couldn't help Sawyer.

Thor help her if she failed a second time.

A slight smirk twitched her lips. Steve had used Thor instead of God earlier. It made her wonder if - like so many soldiers - he, too, had a resurgence of Norse faith since the God of Thunder fell out of the sky or if it was just for amusement.

She hoped it gave him a little peace or a little joy, whatever the reason.

Syn rose to gather the dishes and the empty chicken platter. Steve didn't look like someone who'd missed many meals - yet - but he ate like it.

It was nice that someone appreciated her cooking. When he cleaned his plate the first time, then eyeballed the chicken, she slid the platter in front of him with a smile and a nod. Her leftovers disappeared down his throat, but she didn't complain.

As his praise was mostly grunts of appreciation mixed with murmurs of how good it all was, how it reminded him of his ma's cooking, Syn was plenty happy to watch him eat.

"Let me help."

She avoided jumping but just barely, amazed by how quiet he was when he moved. "It's fine. You're my guest."

"No, ma'am." He gave a firm shake of his head, sending shaggy hair flying. "My ma always said the cook doesn't need to clean, even when you're a guest. I've washed dishes before. I don't mind doing so again."

He took the pile of plates from her and walked into the kitchen, where he began to fill the sink with hot water. He crouched to get the dish soap from under the cabinet like he knew it would be there.

Syn couldn't help the flair of feminine appreciation his broad back, lean waist, and incredible ass gave her. The man was stacked, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

Instead, she busied her hands collecting and carting the rest of their dinner dishes to the sink. Then she picked up the dish towel and began to dry.

She bobbled the first cup and almost dropped it. The dishes were so hot they practically steamed.

"Steve! You'll burn yourself!"

Syn grabbed his wrist to pull his hand out of the water, but there was no redness at all when it appeared.

"It's fine," he murmured. "I'm tougher than I look."

She frowned but released him and added cold water to the sink. "You don't have anything to prove here."

He chuckled and shot her a look she couldn't read. "That would be a first."

Syn found the sarcasm interesting. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged. "Not much to say."

The next few cups weren't nearly so hot, and Syn dried them carefully before putting them away, letting the silence stretch. She had no right to push him into speaking, but she wished he would.

Silence was Sawyer's answer to everything too.

She returned to his side and picked up a plate. "You don't owe me anything, and you're welcome to tell me to butt out, but… sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger."

"Is that what you do?" he snapped. "Talk to strangers?"

Syn didn't allow herself to flinch. She looked him in the eyes. "My fiance decided Gracie and I were too much trouble before she was ever born. He left me destitute and alone after cleaning out our bank accounts. I moved here because my great aunt was gracious enough to leave me this house after she died. Unfortunately, small towns aren't forgiving to unwed mothers. Having a disabled child just fans the flames of gossip."

Guilt coloured his cheeks and caused Steve to look away. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

She shrugged. "It's fine. We don't know each other, and I was pushing."

"Maybe." He sighed and handed her a plate. "A lot of people want me to talk. I'm feeling talked out."

"I understand."

And she did. After Sawyer, she'd talked to a therapist but never felt like it resolved anything. She still lived with the guilt over his death every day. Even though she knew there was nothing she could have done to stop him from walking out of her life, she still knew something was wrong. She just didn't know how to help him.

"It's just…." Steve trailed off and sighed.

Syn waited, drying and putting away dishes while he leaned over soapy water.

"What's the point? What's the point of fighting when it never ends? When it's like it doesn't matter? Nothing I do changes anything."

He stared down at the water, his eyes once more haunted.

Carefully, Syn reached out and touched his arm. "Can I hug you?"

He blinked, shock registering on his face.

"Why?" Steve sputtered.

Syn smiled. "There's nothing I can say to make you see what you've done is valid. You've likely saved more lives than you can ever know, but I don't want you to think you're just some nameless, faceless soldier. You're a person. You matter. A hug portrays that sentiment better than words because it's tangible. The contact is just for you. It shows that you mean something to someone else, even if we don't know each other that well."

He stared at her for a long time, emotions flashing across his face.

It took so long for him to decide; she thought he would say no. Then, he pulled his hands from the soapy water, used her offered towel to dry them, then tentatively held out his arms.

Syn stepped into them and hugged him around the waist. His arms closed loosely around her back.

It took a moment of her just holding on, her ear against his chest, listening to his heart beat slowly before he relaxed and his arms settled more comfortably around her. That was when she realized her mistake.

He was solid, warm, and smelled so good it caused her belly to twist and tingle in a most pleasant reaction. She fought the instant arousal, ignoring her body’s instinctive reaction and held on a few moments longer.

“I yelled at my best friend. I know he’s just trying to help, but… I can’t… of all people, he should understand, but it’s like… I can’t speak-”

He cut himself off and turned away from her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

She watched Steve thrust his hand through his hair, the other clenched against his hip. Syn wanted to reach out and lay her hand on his back, but she didn’t know him, not really. Still, she didn’t like leaving him so conflicted.

“Just because you don’t feel like he understands doesn’t mean he isn’t trying. Give it time. Maybe the reason you can speak the words is that you haven’t found them for yourself yet.”

Steve froze for a moment, then turned back to the sink and went back to washing dishes.

Disappointed, Syn went back to drying and put them away, occasionally checking on Gracie. It wasn’t until Steve pulled the plug on the sink that he spoke again.

“Thank you for dinner.”

She nodded, setting the last dish in the cupboard. When he lightly touched her shoulder, Syn looked up and found eyes of brilliant blue, sadness and confusion, making them brighter than before.

“It was my pleasure. Steve… I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she apologized, but he shook his head.

“No, what you said, it’s made more sense than anything anyone else has said so far. Given me something to think about anyway.”

“I’m glad,” she smiled. “And thank you for spending time with Gracie. She’s happier than I’ve seen in some time.”

“She’s a cute kid. It was nothing to spend time with her.”

Syn looked at Gracie playing with her dolls in the living room. “It means everything to her.”

Steve’s smile was full of softness when she looked back and found him watching Gracie. His attention shifted to her, and Syn fought the desire to blush.

He was a very handsome man.

Steve nodded. “Thanks again,” he murmured before heading toward the back door.

He signed his farewell to Gracie and headed outside.

The screen door slammed, but Syn watched until he closed the door to the rental house before she gave all her attention to Gracie, tugging on her hand. She smiled and picked Gracie up.

“Yes, I liked him too,” she murmured, glancing at Sawyer’s photo on the mantle.

She hoped Steve really would think about what she’d said.

Next Chapter

#The Grace in Syn #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x ofc #avengers au #steve is tired #tw:suicide #tw:ptsd

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