Insatiable {Yandere!Bertholdt x Reader}

Exhausted {Your POV}

You both had fallen under another's spell.

Your eyes had wandered the silent and eternally nervous Bertholdt Fubar and his, ironically, had fallen on the inherently douchey Jean Kirschtein. Neither of you had the heart to break the news to the other; you were stuck in a never-ending limbo of feigned affection. You both tried your best to push away from the other subtly whether it be refusing to sit beside one another in the mess hall or backhanded compliments with dark intentions. 

This game had been going on for some time now. You however, after the latest blow out, had been pushed over the edge. You were going to deal the final blow to Marco Bodt and his facade.. And Bertholdt, unbeknownst to him, would be your assistant.

The dim lights overhead threw shadows over the table that you occupied. Tension thick enough to choke the largest of Titans hung over the wooden table as you and Marco sat in silence. Your {e/c} orbs flickered over the crowd that had gathered around you solemnly, unamused by their attempts at small talk.

Marco looked at you with those big brown eyes that could captivate the heart of anyone.. Anyone except you. Those eyes held no power over you anymore, their magic drained by months of mindless arguing. You gave his features a quick once-over before turning your attention to Connie Springer.

Connie proceeded to tell you a half-assed joke, one that actually made you giggle. You could feel Marco's gaze burning a hole in the back of your head as his hand snaked to the inside of your thigh. The daggers that spilled from your glare could have severed his head right then and there.

What does he think he's doing? You thought to yourself, your {e/c} orbs flickering down at his hand.

You shrugged. He would figure out soon enough that you were done playing his game. You turned your head so that your gaze would fall on Bertholdt. You found that his emerald eyes were already set on you and you smiled.

"Bertholdt!" Marco's head snapped to the side as the other's name fell from your lips. You pushed his hand aside and stood carefully, a smug grin overtaking your features. You approached Bertholdt's table slowly and cautiously.

You slid into the seat directly in front of Bertholdt. "Bertl?" You noticed Bertholdt's hands begin to shake, his brow perspirate. You offered him your kindest smile in hopes that it would ease his nerves.

It didn't.

"I-I.." He began, his emerald gaze going right through you. The nervousness that radiated off of him in waves; you could practically hear his heart pounding. You could see his tongue fumbling dumbly inside of that handsome mouth of his and it made your heart skip a beat. He seemed to be under a trance; bewitched by your very presence. "Yes?" He finally managed, his eyes going everywhere but your face.

"I just wanted to check on you," You began, wringing your hands. "You looked kind of angry." Your fiery {e/c} irises fell to the wooden table underneath your elbows. Your eyelashes tickled the peaks of your cheekbones slightly.

Bertholdt didn't answer for several seconds. You couldn't help but sneak a glance at his handsome features before returning to your innocent facade.

"N-No!" He finally protested, his voice filled to the brim with enough nervousness to drown a nation. "What w-would make you think that?" He whispered kindly, his face lowering to meet yours.

"Are you sure?" You whispered, your head springing upward. "You're not mad at me?" Bertholdt jumped slightly at the sudden motion, but his suprise soon melted to a happy smile.

His eyes twinkled. "Of co-course not." Every fiber of your being yearned to reach across the table and kiss him; you knew, however, that interaction of that magnitude would only push him further into his shell.

"Good." You whispered, your {e/c} orbs flickering downward. "Marco and I got into a fight." You whispered softly, a lump rising in your throat. You swore that you wouldn't choke when the time came.. But here you were, struggling to force the last shreds of affection toward Marco into the trash.

From the corner of your eye you saw Bertholdt's large hand flatten onto the table. You, without hesitation, grabbed it and clung to it. Like a fly caught in a spider's web, he was trapped.