until death do us part - chapter 1
pairing: Bertholdt Hoover x Reader | Cottagecore!Bertholdt x former soldier!Reader
setting: Takes place in a distant land in Marley, around 853 / everyone in this is 18+
genre/tags/warnings: sfw, canonverse, friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/confort, mention of depression
world count: 3.6k
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Lulling in a sleeping daze, you could feel the sun gently stroking your skin, warming up your body, all wrapped up in the padded duvet. Your limbs felt numb from the night and you stretched out a bit in the creaky bed as you rolled onto your back. As you made your way to the other side of the bed, you felt the empty sheets beside you - the lack of contact with another familiar body made you realize you were all alone under the sheets.
You squinted toward the window of the small room. The sun must have been up for a while now and you wondered if you had overslept. In the distance, you could hear distant bursts of voices, and occasionally, a steady, thumping sound. You usually woke up all snuggled up in your best friend’s arms, but that morning, it was just you, the birds chirping in the massive trees surrounding the cottage and the late-morning sunlight dancing on your bare skin.
Lazily, you rubbed your eyes and sat up with a yawn, but the movement made you grind your teeth - discomfort and soreness slowly stirred in you, a manifestation that revived memories of the night before. Memories of him around your body drew a smile on your lips. The two of you were used to sleeping in each other's arms, ever since you had run away, yet last night had been the first time he had truly held you.
To the slight pain echoed the raw, vivid memory of pleasure that had unexpectedly crept in you while you surrendered to his warmth, to his body and to his lips. You couldn’t help but repress a slight embarrassment when you remembered how your burning desire had won over your supposedly sensible mind. Looking around you, you wondered why he was not here, softly snoring and contorted next to you as he usually was. Your gaze turned to the half-open door of the room.
You pushed aside the covers and balanced your weight on the edge of the bed. It took you a couple of seconds to get used to the discomfort of your limbs. Your back and shoulders were stiff- however your legs were shaky, an uncomfortable weakness pumping in your veins. You lowered your head, looking down at your thighs, and proceeded to carefully massage the side of them, expecting to get used to the feeling of raw nerves running under your skin. From your calves, you could feel muscles running up and down in your legs, sharp and twitchy in your thighs, all the way up to your lower back. Like a carving path in your body, you felt each throb as they reached your core, awakening a stirring flutter between your legs. Overwhelmed by the sensations, you took your head in your hands, allowing yourself a couple of seconds to gather your thoughts.
You shifted your weight on your legs and slowly raised up, bare feet padding against the floors, where discarded clothes had been picked up and neatly folded on the wooden chest. You spared a look at your crumpled shirt and skirt from the day before and deemed it better to toss them later in the laundry basket. Shaky fingers opened the drawer to retrieve fresh undergarments and a button up dress. Raising your arms above your head to put the nubby clothing on, you winced.
Your footsteps led you into the main room, deserted and silent. In the sunlight filtering through the windows, dust swirled around in the air, underlining the absence and caressing the empty space, dancing above the blackened fireplace. A ray of sunlight landed on the wooden table, enlightening a long-forgotten breakfast left on it. In a chipped plate, slices of bread had been cut neatly and next to it, the enameled porcelain teapot. You wondered how you hadn’t been woken up, sleeping in the next room while he got up, cleaned the room, made breakfast, boiled water, and left. You imagined him, getting all worked up after a sweet night of rest, already busying himself around the house and yet, as you sat down at the table, all you could notice was the prevailing solitude in the house.
Your mind quickly drifted away, and as questions flooded you, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to be alright. What if he had realized it was all a mistake and decided to leave - what if he hadn't known how to reject you and woke up this morning, full of regret and had seen fit to leave you there, alone, as if nothing had ever happened. Lost in thoughts, you grabbed the teapot and poured yourself a cup of tea. Amber liquid flowed into the stained cup and splashed on your finger. The lukewarm droplet slid down, running down the hollow of your wrist. You raised the cup to your lips and the bitter taste of your thoughts filled your mouth - he was your dearest friend, your only friend in fact, considering the current situation you both were in. Even when you had turned a blind eye on the conflicted feelings blossoming in you, you couldn't help but wonder - was it really fair of you to still call him a friend?
It had been six months now that Bertholdt and you had settled in this cottage, secluded from the village, hidden by the tall trees of the forest. It had been your idea to flee, to make the two of you deserters - you knew, even right at this moment, that they would never leave you alone. They were certainly determined to hunt you down until the very end, for the three remaining years of his life, over and over, to finally get their hands on the most destructive weapon in the Marley Empire -- perhaps, in the world.
The Colossal Titan was indeed the centerpiece of Marley's military, essential in the eyes of the Marleyan authorities to assert their domination over the world and reclaim their sovereignty over the people of the island of Paradise. Marley knew how to use the titans’ curse, breaking Eldians minds to do as they pleased. They knew how to corrupt both people and countries. Worldwide nations had learned to defend themselves from the curse of the subjects of Ymir so they adapted to the threat. At first, they erected walls, built fortresses but as time passed, titans came flying down from the sky to take the lives of their children and the lands of their ancestors in the name of the Marleyan Empire. Coalitions and alliances were formed and promptly, anti-titan weapons and technology were developed and implemented to existing infrastructures. Yet, as powerful as they were, these weapons could be thought of as toys facing the size and power of the Colossal Titan. Its very nature made it as much a deterrent as a destructive weapon.
You never had the chance - or the misfortune, you thought - to see the extent of the Colossal Titan powers with your own eyes. However, stories were plentiful, particularly among soldiers you had met during your years of training and service in the Marleyan military. Some of them spoke of a bomb so powerful, it could wipe out entire cities in the span of a few seconds, others of a demon made of fire, striking and burning down everything in its path.
Perhaps you had expected to see that the very first time you had met the Warriors. When they had appeared among officers and soldiers, you thought you were finally seeing these infamous heartless demons, deadly assets of the Empire. And yet, as you had laid your eyes on them, you were taken aback at the sight of him. He was the tallest of them, yet his head was hanging low, his eyes exhausted, his hands fidgeting. He was dressed in his military uniform, his red armband proving his status as honorary citizen and fellow Warrior. Despite all this, you didn’t even see a soldier. You had spent the meeting looking at him, listening to the few words he spoke and all you saw, all you heard was a broken boy hiding behind his stature and his war titles.
No matter how you looked at it, you couldn’t see any of what you were told he was. Everything you thought we knew about him was based on the blood running in his veins, and on the curse that controlled his whole life. You weren’t there when he first laid his hands on this power, on this burden, too heavy for a boy to carry by himself - you knew nothing.
Every single step of your relationship had been a long and intricate process. He was withdrawn and silent, leaving decisions and choices to the others. But when he had let his guard down for you, when he had let you in, you saw him, this little boy who had seen hell on earth, who had been dragged in something too big, too cruel for his own sanity.
You always liked to look at him, particularly when he was not paying attention, lost in his thoughts. It was better that way, avoiding unnecessary outpourings of embarrassment. As much as he was nice to look at, there were things that you could only perceive from the way he tilted his head when you talked, how he narrowed his eyes while disagreeing, or the way his lips would curve when you were being silly.
Yet, sometimes, when you looked at him, you couldn't help but imagine the deadly power contained within him, the raw, devastating strength concentrated in his long, slender fingers.
Humanity’s deadliest weapon, whose eyes were so melancholy that they sometimes filled with tears for no apparent reasons. Humanity’s deadliest weapon, who was crying in your arms after nightmares that would wake him up in the middle of the night, screaming and shaking, leaving him so miserable that he could not sleep for days. Sometimes, regret flushed over you for dragging him into this. All he had ever wanted was to rest, and he deserved peace more than any other soldier. However, you had forbidden him to die that day, you took his hand in yours and made him swear and ever since then, he was suffering his own life, because of you. Because you had asked him. Of course, he had followed you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was really what he had wanted - perhaps what you bargained with him may have been more appealing than death.
When he had agreed to run away with you, you made a promise to yourself - you would protect him as long as he was alive. No one knew what would happen in the span of three years, his last three years. Three meaningless years of your life in exchange for the rest of his existence. That, you were more than willing to give to him. He could take all the time you offered him and use it as he wanted to, as they are entirely his.
In the bottom of the cup, tea leaves whirled in the cold liquid. You got up from the stool, shook off your dress sprinkled with crumbs and headed to the kitchen stove, empty cup and plate in hand, setting down the dishes. You made a mental note to heat up some water later to wash the dishes.
Near the window, the birds were singing again, and you let your gaze wander around the shady yard. From this side of the house, you could see the small stable sheltering the dapple-grey horse you two brought when you arrived.
You remembered fondly the welcoming farm, outside of the town where you got off the train. You had mentioned during the trip that it would be a two days' ride from the railway town to the village in which you spent some years of your childhood. The both of you had been lucky enough to meet a farmer willing to give up one of his horses in exchange for a few coins, the remains of the money Pieck had slipped into your pocket before watching you from the platform as the train left the station.
The mellow horse had grown more acclimated to you, as Bertholdt refused to ride her on most of the way. When you finally arrived, you knew he was exhausted, despite the usual breaks and the rare moments when he would accept to let you walk by the horse. You knew Bertholdt was a skilled horse rider, if not excellent, for you had had the chance to see him ride, back at the capital, during the military parades. Yet, from the gloaming expression on his face when he did, you could tell he was not fully appreciating the discipline, but you knew better to keep your mouth shut about it.
The uncomfortable absence of the sweet-tempered man was starting to weigh on you. Despite his silent nature, you liked having him close-by more than anything else in the world, the soft warmth of his body next to yours when you cooked in the small kitchen, his scent filling your senses when he fell asleep next to you, his hair and skin still damp from the hot bath he took before going to bed.
As if responding to birdsong, you heard the steady, thumping sound you had first perceived when you woke up. You decided to turn around, grabbed the woolen shawl lying on either side of the wooden chair by the fireplace, sending dust flying in the process, and headed to the door. The early autumn air blew in your face as you opened the door, your cheeks immediately warming up from sunray. You walked down the few steps of the porch, leaning on the railing as you felt your legs respond to your movement with giddiness. Near the small wooden steps, you noticed a neatly cut pile of wood.
As the realization hit, you went around the small wooden house, past the bedroom window, down the small dirt path. The steady sound of splitting wood echoed a little more in the high pines around you, and as you came around the corner of the cottage, you finally saw him. His tall figure loomed in the small, bright clearing, his back to you. You leaned against the house for a moment, finally relieved to know he was around. Taking advantage of his inattention, you let your eyes draw his beautiful figure.
His hair was a mess, sticking to the back of his neck, revealing the sweat on his skin. The white shirt was stuck to his back, rising at each breath he took. He had rolled up his sleeves above his elbows, revealing the thick lines of his muscles. You glared as his moves were calm and steady, mesmerized by the control he was expressing through his chopping movements.
He stood still, took a breath, swung the axe above his head, his broad shoulders flexing, balancing the weight of his body, suddenly cleaving neatly the log sitting on the chopping block in front of him. As if he was answering to a peculiar rhythm, he leaned down to grab another log, placed it on the block, stood, breathed, swung, and brought the axe down one more time. The log split in half, splinters and pieces of bark hovering a moment in the air around him. From where you were standing, you could almost smell the faint scent from the wood as it fell, drowning your scent, feeling the splinters sprinkled his forearms on your skin, his hands strong and tight around the shaft of the axe. You could swear the pulse in your chest was his, your body reacting to the quick pace of his heartbeat, exactly like you felt it when he held you as you two kissed for the first time the night before. You brought your fingers to your lips, eyes still stuck on him, on the frenetic rise and fall of his chest, on his parted lips, on his focused eyes.
His jaw tensed-up, his body jolted, suddenly facing you. For a second, he peered at you, eyes panicked but when he realized that the presence he felt was yours, his shoulders softened. A gentle smile appeared on his face, cheeks wearing a slight blush from his effort. Your breathing was shallow as vibrant thoughts besieged you. He gently placed down the axe on the ground, running a hand over his forehead to get rid of beads of sweat.
He took a step toward you, but he stopped abruptly. From afar, you watched him looking back at you, frowning as you unfolded your arms. He turned quickly on his heels, his broad back now facing you and he pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing some of his lower back as he wiped his face with it, before straightening up, smoothing his cloth, and turning back to you.
“Good morning,” he greeted you, a smile in his voice when he finally got closer, his dark green eyes sounding yours, “how did you sleep?”
“Great, thank you”, you answered, lowering your eyes on the ground between you. Stupid as it was, you didn’t know what to add, as it was usually a one-way question, which you were not used to ask back. It was not unusual for him to lie in the bed next to you, as the sun rose, his eyes staring at the ceiling, dark circles under his eyes betraying a sleepless night. As weeks went by, you had learnt to watch your greetings and your words around him, as you understood the direct impact of your words on his moods. Yet, at this exact moment, after everything that had happened, and how it somehow managed to take over all your thoughts, even greetings felt awkward. You let a sigh escape from your lips.
You regretted that almost immediately, looking up at him, but it was too late, and all you could see was the twitch in his jaw, his eyes already down.
“Thank you for the breakfast,” you heard yourself say, quickly, words louder than you would have liked. He nodded, slightly shrugging at your words.
That was beyond stupid, you were the one who was always trying to encourage communication, addressing things, however insignificant they might be. And yet the two of you were there, standing in front of each other, uncomfortable and embarrassed like teenagers, unable to address whatever had happened - and was still happening.
So, bluntly, you said “I thought you were gone”.
His eyes went up to yours, frowning, visibly confused. “I- Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
You tilted your head to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. His breath was now buzzing in your ears. Quietly, he said, “You were sound asleep, and I was having a hard time going back to sleep, you know how it gets, I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” you lied, hiding it with a chuckle, reaching for his arm to dust splinters on his shirt, “I thought you ran away because of what happened last ni-”
“No!” He said loudly, grabbing your hand. “I mean- no,” his voice was softer now, taken aback by the sound of his own voice, “that’s not it.”
Your joined hands fell between your bodies, and you cautiously looked at him, probing his eyes. The blush on his cheeks was getting darker and darker.
You gave him a moment to find his words, never rushing him. It was easier now than it had been when you met him, as he had gone days without saying a word. But since you had been living together, he had slowly learned to use his words. When he was upset about something, you could tell right away by the way he withdrew into himself, looking grim.
However, as unpleasant as this discussion was going to be, it was inevitable. You couldn't pretend nothing had happened- it would have destroyed all trust between you. You were ready to hear him say that it would not happen again, and to accept it too, as painful it would be. You preferred things to be clear.
You heard your name slip from his lips, and he gently squeezed your fingers in his hands, pulling you into him.
“What happened… I don’t regret it. I mean, do you… regret it?”
You watched him for a moment, processing his words. His gaze was restless, waiting for your answer. And yet, all you could think of was how beautiful he looked in the sunlight, his cheeks rosy, tired eyes looking back at you, a worried pout on his lips. For a second, you recalled his lips on yours, on your skin, and, stuck by your thought, you remembered that none of this was new. You had wanted him for so long, slave to your own desires, unable to ever express them. You wanted him again, you wanted him so much it hurt. You wanted to wipe the tears from his cheeks, to kiss the palms of his hands, and to stroke his hair for him to sleep tight. All you had ever wanted was to love him unconditionally, and he finally seemed to let you.
“If you knew how much I’ve wanted it. Give me permission, and I'll do it every day.”
A laugh escaped his mouth, his eyes suddenly shy. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, visibly embarrassed. You filled the space between the two of you, placing your hand on his cheek, tiptoeing. He met you halfway in the movement, your noses touching, and in a silent permission, your lips took his, tenderly, as his hand slid to your waist.
“I won’t go”, he breathed against your lips.
You thumbed through his hair, humming at his words, your heart fluttering.
“Until death do us part then, Bertholdt.”