#getting handed the armband n then fucking off at the end of the season is very cheeky I must admit

[alexander-arnold66]

Seriously, I would not like Virg or Trent if they chose to leave this summer after chatting shit about how much it means to them to be made Captain and Vice-Captain.

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter One

Chapter One: Living Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader 

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of violence, enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (don’t worry, it’ll come sooner than you think).

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Here’s chapter one of my multi-chapter series for Reiner— chapter two is already ready!

A very special thank you to @present-mel​ , and @whats-her-quirk​ for encouraging me to take the plunge and create this monster (I’ve got a lot planned for this fic and I’m so excited for it) 💕

Masterlist | Next Chapter

           You were having that same dream again, the one where you felt like you were dying. Your shoulder ached with the memory of bursting pain, but there were warm hands there, holding you, pressing down to keep the bleeding at bay. You could never recognize the face, never identify the voice, your ears still ringing from the sound of a piercing gunshot. It was always the same; a delirious memory warped into a nightmare. Sometimes the dream ended in the hospital, other times with you staring at the inside of a coffin, or in a shallow grave.

           But this time, you were waking up, eyes flickering open to meet harsh fluorescent lights and clinking, cold handcuffs around your wrists.

          A white-hot sense of dread pooled over your body.

          You knew where you were. You knew how you got here. And suddenly, you wished you were dreaming again.

          You could still see it all, still hear the deafening blades of the helicopter whirring above you. None of your team had expected the Marleyans to be in the warehouse; they hadn’t been on the soil of Paradis in years. They’d caught you off guard and sent your escape plan into action sooner than expected. You’d tried to follow Mikasa and Armin, but Jean was in your way. The lines of your vertical movement gear had tangled with his as you both hurriedly attempted to ascend and meet Levi in the aircraft, sending you spiraling back into the window, back into enemy territory.

          Someone kicked you in the skull when you landed, you could still feel your head throbbing with the soreness. That must’ve been what did you in, what made you easy pickings to become a captive to the Marleyan government.

          You sat up, taking note of your surroundings: of course, they’d put you in a cell, one void of a bed but thankfully containing a fucking bucket. How considerate. Just outside the iron bars was a table scattered with broken pieces of your gear, undoubtedly torn apart to be studied and to keep you from using it to escape.

          Anger brewed inside your chest, a familiar feeling of betrayal returning that you hadn’t felt in years. There were faces here you didn’t want to see, enemies with broken facades that still haunted your thoughts at night. People you’d trusted, people you’d loved.

          You knew they would show themselves soon. If you were still alive, it’s because there were questions that Zeke Yeagar wanted answers to, tendrils of doubt and duplicity that he wanted to sink into your mind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          Reiner felt sick. He’d never wanted to see you again, yet he’d been the one to carry your unconscious body through the compound, to cuff you and leave you on the frigid concrete floor. He’d stood over your figure for a while, heart pounding his chest out of fear that you’d wake up and flash that scrutinizing gaze of yours toward him again. But you’d just laid there at his feet, small, vulnerable, like a lost memory washed back upon the shores of his life.

          And of course, now that you were awake, you weren’t talking, refusing to take Zeke’s bait.

          He watched the older man pace around the room, glasses glinting as he wrung his hands. Truly, Reiner had been surprised that Zeke didn’t kill you on the spot, instead opting to transport you all the way across the border to their headquarters, insistent that you be treated like precious cargo. Though, it had been hard to keep Porco from poking at your body in the floorboards of the armored truck. Reiner had tried to keep his gaze away from you, eyes glued to the dark horizon outside of the rain smeared window. Maybe if he had stopped looking at you, you would have disappeared.

          There was something pressing Zeke, something worrying him that he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the warriors. He thought you knew something, or perhaps that you could be valuable in some way.

          Reiner knew that if you were to live, you needed to speak, needed to give them a piece of information to work with. He placed his head in his hands at the table, palms rubbing at his eyes. He shouldn’t—he didn’t—care if you took your last breath here. You were the enemy, someone who’d once held a knife to his throat when his true intentions within the ranks of The Scouts were revealed. He almost wished you’d killed him then, that you’d ended all the years of misery and regret that still clung to his mind like a poisonous leech.

          “Maybe she’ll give in to someone she knows,” Zeke stopped his pacing, attention turning to Annie Leonhart who sat across from Reiner, “why don’t you give it a go?”

          “Absolutely not,” she rejected, long legs crossing at the ankles upon the table.

          “Bertholdt tells me that you two were quite the comrades during your reconnaissance mission.”

          “I wouldn’t say that. We just found each other tolerable. Bertie was always sweet on her, though.”

          Zeke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Bertholdt is kind to everyone, he’s as soft as they come.”

          Bertholdt, per usual, stayed quiet in the face of Zeke’s remarks.

          Porco Galliard chuckled at that statement, straightening his shoulders before he spoke.

          “Which is exactly why you should’ve sent me to Paradis instead, Chief. I could give her a go. You were being too easy on her, anyways. Once you start ripping off fingernails people really start to give in, you know.”

          Reiner’s gut twisted at the thought.

          “You’re not allowed anywhere near her, Gailliard,” Zeke crossed his arms as a smirk settled into the lines of his beard, “she’s far too pretty, you’d break down and grovel to her before it was all over.”

          Galliard huffed, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks as he shrunk down in his seat.

          “Reiner—”

          He had an inkling that it would come down to this. There would be no point in disputing it, he’d have to come face to face with his past, with sins he thought he left behind four years ago.

          He stood before Zeke could complete his thought, heavy knuckles rapping at the wood of the table.

          “Well, looks like we finally have a volunteer.”

           Every inch of Reiner’s skin bristled as he marched down the corridor to the prison cells. His footsteps were jarring, heavy, like he was determined to leave prints in the floor to mark a final walk of shame. Some part of him hoped you’d be gone when he opened the door, that you would have used your wits and crawled through some air duct and run away from this, from him.

          He almost didn’t turn the door handle. He felt invisible, burdensome hands pulling at his shoulders, calling at him to run. He’d always been a coward, especially when it came to you. He hated you, loathed you because he knew you pegged him as fraud from the beginning. You never threw a kind word in his direction, always looked at him like he was below you, like his pride meant nothing to you.

          Reiner just wished that you had meant nothing to him. Even when the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn’t even find the strength to kill you like his orders demanded. He wondered if you remembered it at all, if your memories had finally flooded back after all this time. Something inside his heart wouldn’t let him that night, some unknown, egregious feeling that by some means overshadowed his hatred. 

          That feeling returned when he entered the room and found you sitting with your back to the wall, your tightly bound hands in your lap.

          He took in a deep breath as he averted his gaze, teeth gritting at the sight of you awake. Zeke was right, four years had done you justice; time had only made you more beautiful than before, and he worried he might fall to his knees before you.

          “Reiner.”

          Sometimes, he just really wished people would stop saying his name.

━━━─── • ───━━━

          A strange relief settled into your stomach at the sight of him. Reiner was as hulking as ever, broad shoulders stretching the threads of his shirt to their limits. But he was different, older…demure, in some ways. He didn’t hold his head as high anymore, didn’t immediately cross his arms across his barreled chest to appear larger. He took tired, golden eyes less intense than you last remembered. His fingers rubbed at his lips, at the facial hair that adorned more pronounced cheekbones.

          You hated to admit that he appeared even more handsome than you remembered.

           There was a red armband tied around his bicep, an insignia emblazoned on it that you’d never seen before.

          “Do I make you nervous, Braun?”

          You caught his attention then, made his eyes look at you as you leaned your head back against the stone wall.

          “Tough question from the one behind bars.”

          His voice had changed, too. He sounded more stoic, more serious. There used to be a hint of glee under that tongue of his.

          “Why am I here?”

          “I’m supposed to be the one asking you things.”

          You shrugged, biting at your cheek as you wiggled your toes to try to make them feel again. Your limbs were starting to ache, your head too, body feeling like it was starting to cement to the floor. You didn’t want to be Zeke Yeagar’s plaything, but you knew that if you were alive, there was something they wanted. There was some leverage you held, but you weren’t sure what it was just yet. You had hoped they would send Bertholdt in to talk to you, you always could get under his skin.

          Reiner was a more difficult case for you. He always coated himself in arrogance, made it harder for you to chip away at his armor. He never let anyone in, just always grinned, acted like he had everything under control. But before you was a man with cracks, a man that time and guilt had eroded. You almost felt sorry for him, almost. A man like him deserved to bear the weight of his burdens.

          “Listen, if you don’t start talking—”

          “You’ll what? Kill me?”

          “We’ll torture you.”

          He said the words with a weight that knocked you back a bit, stole the last breath of gusto you were holding onto. You expected as much, but hearing it said aloud made fear crawl up your spine, made the cuffs around your wrist feel even more strained against your skin.

          “What do you want to know? I could tell Yeagar was prodding for something tangible to use against Paradis.”

          “I just want to know what you know about us, if you know anything about what Marley has been doing in the last few years.”

          “You’ve been fighting a war, that much I know.”

          And he looked like he had been through battle, been through hell in trenches and gunfire. Your intelligence agents had reported that Braun had been promoted to be Vice Commander of the Warrior Unit, and the hardline of his frown told you he’d seen more horrors than you wanted to know about.

          “Tell me something you don’t know from news headlines.”

          Levi had trained all his scouts for this situation once upon a time ago. You could still hear his voice in your head, commanding you to give up as little as possible, learn what the enemy wanted and then give them something else to cling on to. You had a few things you knew you could feed to them, beneficial tidbits that would satiate their hunger and keep them from feasting upon your teammates. But relaying any kind of information was a death sentence within itself; give the dogs a treat and eventually they’ll want more.

          And you knew that Reiner, that Zeke Yeagar, was a very greedy host.

          You stood slowly, releasing the aching tension in your lower back. Reiner didn’t flinch away from his place beyond the rusting iron, instead eyeing you like you were some exotic thing in a cage.

          There was a nostalgia of being in his presence, even if the atmosphere around him was contrary to what you were used to perceiving. He still made your blood boil, still made your fighting instincts come alive in the back of your mind. You still felt small in his shadow, but there was still a lingering feeling, a fleeting memory, about how being around him once made you feel safe.

          Your bare feet moved toward him, toes stinging against the cold of the floor.

          One of your hands wrapped around a bar to your prison, the metal of your handcuffs clinking against the barrier.

          You could catch his scent from being this close, and at least that much stayed the same—he always smelled like cedarwood, earthy and sweet, like the spice of the forest floor after a fresh rain. It was almost funny how smell created memories more frequently than any other sense. 

          Suddenly, you felt like you were back home, like nothing had changed, as if his deceit had never been revealed. Your mind’s eye flashed images of your old training camp, of Reiner lifting Connie onto his shoulders after the small boy had successfully managed to triumph over Jean in his marksmanship practice. He’d used one of the tricks that Reiner had taught him. That once sweet memory turned sour as you remembered just why Reiner was always such a good shot.

          You tilted your chin up to look at him, to come face-to-face with the imposing penumbra you thought you’d warded off. He was a living ghost brought back to haunt you once again.

          “You seem pathetic, Braun, like you’ve lost all that bravado that made you so special.”

          He took your words, let them bounce off his chest like you hadn’t even spoken them.

          “Why did they send you in here? Did they really expect I’d crack under such pitiful pressure? You’re a deplorable, miserable—”

          His fist wrapped around your hand, crushing your fingers between his might and the metal bar you’d secured yourself to.

          You hissed at the pain, but…there was something you had missed in that touch of his; he felt warm, worn, like there were secrets being pressed into your skin.

          “Be. Quiet.”

          You expected his fingers to flex, waited for him to crack your fingers under his pressure. But he kept his strength at bay, electing to keep a steady, continuous tension against your knuckles.

          “Talk, or tomorrow will be your last day. You wouldn’t want to die at the hands of a pathetic, wretched man like me, would you? No, you’re too proud for that.”

          He took a step back, releasing his bruising grip before turning on his heels to leave.

          A string of panic began to uncoil inside you, snapping as his arm extended towards the exit.

           “Reiner,” you called, “tell me something. How much do you really know about Zeke Yeagar?”

           “I know enough.”

           “No, you don’t,” you were starting to sound worried, you could hear it, “there’s something I know that you don’t, and I’d be willing to give you information in return for you answering a question for me.”

           You could feel your heart beating in your chest, every pump within your ribs like the ticking of an oppressive clock. He was silent, steady, back still turned away from you. You noticed that his fists were clenched by his side, a vein starting to appear up the exposed length of his forearm.

           “I’ll consider it. Depends on what your question is.”

           He still didn’t turn to look at you.

           “Reiner…tell me what happened to Marco.”

           The door was slamming shut before the last syllable of the dead man’s name left your lips.

Next Chapter

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #8

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: I did it, under 2.000 words, hooray! And not because that’s actually HALF of a chapter that I had to split due to way too many words. Sigh. As always, Katriona Cassiopeia belongs to my amazing friend @kc-needs-coffee, I love borrowing her so much <3

Warning: mild swearing

 Word Count: ~ 1.700

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 8: Rain & Thunder

Much to her dismay, Lizzie had been right.

Skye had decided to cope with her emotions by converting them into anger, most of it directed at her. Although completely unwarranted, they hadn’t exchanged any words above the bare minimum since the incident at the Quidditch stands. Lizzie had tried to talk sense into her at first, but after a few attempts she had given up.

If Skye was intent on making Lizzie her emotional punching bag, good riddance to her.

As the usual mediator between the girls, McNully had suggested to get Penny to reason with her, but the blond girl had downright refused.

“She is embarrassed because of me, I’m the last person she wants to see right now.”

So they had had no choice but to accept Skye’s stubbornness and leave her alone. It pained Lizzie to be shut out by her friend once again, but there was nothing she could do to set things right. She only hoped they would work things out in time for the match against Ravenclaw.

 *

Lizzie shivered as she fastened the buckles of her Quidditch gloves tighter. The air in the Hufflepuff changing room was freezing, the icy winds howling outside making her wish the match was already over and done with.

The cold had hit them earlier than usual this year. It had been raining ceaselessly for the last week and today was not an exception. Even over the sharp gusts of wind Lizzie could hear the rumble of the excited crowd that had gathered on the stands to watch the match Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw despite the horrific conditions.

It was almost time for the teams to enter the pitch. Lizzie could feel the familiar flutter in her stomach settling in. Even after all these years, she had to fight hard to keep her cool before every single match. Pacing up and down, brimming with anticipation, she glanced over to Orion. He was fastening his captain’s armband above his jersey, looking as deeply relaxed as ever; nothing seemed to be able to shake him out of his balanced state of mind.

Trying to distract herself, Lizzie’s mind wandered back to their last tutoring session in the greenhouse a few days earlier. They had talked about her strained relationship with Skye and discussed tactical options for the match ahead. Developing strategies for possible scenarios while trimming leaves or repotting plants had become somewhat of a habit for them.

Unfortunately, Rowan got left out of the conversation when she and Orion started discussing team matters; and while Lizzie did feel guilty about not exactly furthering her friend’s ambitions, somehow, she just couldn’t help herself. She had always found Orion easy to open up to, but since they had started sharing something besides Quidditch, Lizzie had discovered he was much more faceted than she had thought before.

Sensing her nerves, Orion casually strolled over to her and put his hand reassuringly upon her shoulder.

“Relax, we’ll be doing fine. Just remember our strategy. If the universe does not interfere, we will come out on top.”

A derisive snort behind them had them turn their heads. Skye, who was leaning against one of the poles supporting the huge tent, was shaking her head in disbelief.

“Our strategy is bollocks if you ask me. Ravenclaw’s Beaters are far too skilled for this nonsense you came up with. Cassiopeia almost never misses a target and I know personally what it does to you to take a Bludger from Rath.”

“This is not the time, Skye. We have agreed on a plan and we are sticking to it. Changing everything now will severely unbalance our team. More so than it is already,” Orion replied calmly, but Lizzie could make out an edge of tension to his voice.

“We wouldn’t have to change anything if the plan was decent. I could have come up with something better suited in a heartbeat,” Skye huffed.

Lizzie’s had heard enough. She was already on edge as it was, and Skye criticising Orion mere minutes before the beginning of the match was enough to make her snap. She abruptly turned around fully to face the other girl.

“Tell you what, Skye I’m so fucking great Parkin. Orion’s strategy is sound, Orion’s strategy is valid and Orion’s strategy will help us win this thing. If you have a problem with this, I suggest next time you don’t run off practise as soon as your feet hit the ground, just because you have a problem with your overinflated ego!”

Skye’s face turned red, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Who do you even think you are, you- “

“That is enough, I believe.” Orion firmly stepped between them, keeping them apart with his hands, their eyes shooting daggers at each other. For a moment, his calm eyes caught Lizzie’s, begging her wordlessly to back down before things got even worse.

Lizzie was not nearly done with Skye; all the times she had been the target of her unwarranted anger were bubbling to the surface with force. But the steady look in Orion’s dark eyes cooled her fury enough to let her draw a deep, steadying breath. Without a word she spun around and stalked to the other end of the changing room.

As Orion called their team towards the huge blackboard at the far end of the changing room soon after, she tried to put her racing mind back to order. This was not the time for fights.

She sat down between Everett and Lucy, watching Orion prepare for their obligatory moment of vivification. Now he was all captain, entirely focused on the task ahead of them.

Listening to his enthusiastic speech, Lizzie felt herself relax. Her boiling rage subsided as her mind focused solely on what was to come. The tingling sensation in her stomach turned to burning excitement to finally get going. Even Skye seemed to be listening attentively.

“This match will set the tone for the rest of the season. Together, my friends, we will vanquish the challenge ahead of us. We will fight for one another as we will fight for the Quidditch Cup. We will fight and we will win, as one team,” Orion concluded his speech.

“One team!” they echoed, firing themselves up. Everybody grabbed their broomsticks and headed towards the exit of the tent when Orion called Lizzie and Skye back. Both girls eyed each other warily, neither saying a word. Orion sighed, his frustration palpable.

“My friends, I hope both of you take our motto to heart. We are one team. We need to be a union to succeed. Especially the three of us; we need to work together in harmony, or we will have a hard time against our formidable opponents.”

Lizzie said nothing, waiting for Skye’s response. She already felt sorry for having had a go at her, and just before the match at that. But she was adamant not yield to her this time. If Skye felt the need to fight, she could very well have that.

Skye’s expression was motionless, however. “I think we need to go. Madam Hooch blew her whistle twice already, won’t wait for us much longer.”

Without so much as another look at them, she turned around and jogged out of the tent, leaving Orion and Lizzie behind.

 *

Lizzie was breathing hard. They were one hour into the match and it was exactly as Orion had feared.

Ravenclaw was destroying them.

The other team was in the lead, the score standing at 70 to 30. Lizzie grit her teeth every time McNully announced another shot had made it past their Keeper.

The Hufflepuff offence was utterly teethless. Most of their passes got intercepted and Andre, playing as Keeper for Ravenclaw, managed to block most attempts at his goal posts. Where Lizzie usually felt connected to Orion and Skye, she could have been alone on the pitch for what it was worth today.

Their defence was in shambles as well, the gushing wind making it almost impossible for the Hufflepuff Beaters to accurately aim a Bludger at the attacking Chasers. In fact, one of Everett’s Bludgers had almost knocked Orion out earlier.

This was not a problem Ravenclaw’s Beaters seemed to have though. Rath had been tailing Skye for the whole match, while KC had been keeping a sharp eye on Lizzie. They were effectively cancelling them out of the action, the Ravenclaw Chasers taking care of stopping Orion.

Frustrated, Lizzie wiped the stinging rain out of her eyes and gripped the Quaffle harder when a flash of blue robes and fiery red hair shot past her.

“Cassiopeia is overtaking Jameson, what is she up to? We are about to find out!” McNully’s magically enhanced voice echoed over the pitch, drowning out the roar of the crowd and the thunder rolling in the distance.

“A Bludger has set its path into Cassiopeia’s direction, there is only one way she can stop Jameson from a shot at the Ravenclaw goal posts, a good old-fashioned Bludger Back-Beat!”

Lizzie had seen it as well. The Bludger was racing towards KC who, with a quick glance over her shoulder, swung her bat expertly behind her, redirecting the Bludger towards Lizzie with full force.

She quickly leaned to the side, as the iron sphere shot towards her, but the distance between her and KC had just been too short. The Bludger grazed her shoulder, knocking her off course, a dull pain spreading in waves from where it had hit her. Gripping at the handle of her broomstick, she had to let the Quaffle go. It was immediately retrieved by a Chaser in a blue robe.

Meanwhile, McNully was practically losing his mind up in the commentary box. “And she did it! Cassiopeia pulls the Bludger Back-Beat off like a true professional! Only 12,9 % of all Beaters are able to hit their target with this technique! Ladies and gentlemen, this girl truly is Ravenclaw’s Rising Star!”

Lizzie grunted in pain and tried to catch sight of the Chaser with the Quaffle through the curtains of sleet. She would need to have a word with McNully later on.

Listening to him almost gave the impression he wasn’t as partially impartial as he set himself up to be.