Simple Pleasures: Annie Leonhart x Reader

Chapter 3: To Be Human

By the time you, Annie, and your parents settled in and unpacked, it was mid day, and the sun was shining overhead. Being that the cabin was lacking air conditioning and you had only brought one small, portable fan, cooling off inside was difficult. However, luckily for you, Lake Opack was only a short trot down the trail.

"Hey, does anyone want to go down to the shore to cool off?" you ask.

"Great idea, Y/N! I'll grab the chairs," your dad responds, bustling off of the couch. He clambers down the stairs to the gravelly trail leading to the lake, where he had stashed four colorful beach chairs.

"Oh, let me help you, dear!" your mom adds, running after your dad, who is fumbling around trying to grab all the chairs at once. When one chair opens, another slips out from his arm, and when he goes to pick it up, another drops; it was a vicious cycle that you could not help but laugh at.

You glance at Annie, trying to get a read on her. To you, she seems... content. She was absorbed in a book that she brought with her to occupy any free time she might have. You do not recognize the title.

"Hey Doll, what are you reading?" you ask. You had decided to try and diversify your affectionate names for Annie, and had settled on "Doll," a reference to the Raggedy Ann Dolls. You're not sure if Annie is as amused by this nickname as you are, but being that you are not yet in a chokehold, you feel as if you are in the clear.

She looks up at you, and once again, you are transfixed in the moment, simply daydreaming about the girl in front of you. She looks peaceful, comfortable. She is propped up on the side of the couch, her legs outstretched and taking up the length of the couch. She had changed into shorts and a baggy, washed gray t-shirt to cope with the heat. Her hair was tied up in her signature bun, complete with a few stray strands dangling in front of her face. Your eyes sneak a peek at her legs. They were incredibly toned, so much so that you instinctually flexed your calves to try to compare. Though they were covered in a few bruises from her training, strangely, they looked soft to the touch.

"Hey, eyes are up here," she responded. Were you really that obvious in your ogling? You didn't think so, but not much gets by Annie.

You smile back at her. You are pretty observant yourself, and detected a twinge of sarcasm and playfulness in the inflection of her statement.

"Sorry, just busy admiring the details of a living, breathing piece of art," you say, reciprocating her energy. Though this line was not your best work, you like to think that you can be quick on your feet if you want to be.

Annie tilts her head down and shakes it, as if trying to shake off the slight smile that had snuck onto her face. She looks back up at you, and nods her head upward in a way that invites you to come closer. You happily oblige, and go sit down on a cushion by the edge of the couch opposite to where her body is resting, propping her legs onto your lap.

Not good enough. She sits up and grabs your arm, pulling you down to lay beside—and partly on top of—her. Though she doesn't show it often, Annie is a cuddler. She hates to show any aspect of being a "softie at heart," as you so lovingly called her before she unleashed an elbow on you, but when it is just you two, she gets her fix of physical affection. You drape your arms on top of her and plant a peck on her cheek. She smiles, and kisses your hand.

"So? What are you reading?" you repeat.

"It's a romance novel," she says, going back to the page she was reading.

"Oooo, how fitting," you tease, pulling her closer to you.

She chuckles and shakes her head. You cannot see all of her face since you are arranged mostly behind her in a spooning-but-not-quite-spooning position, but you are positive she rolled her eyes.

"Well? Shall we write... a novel of our own?" you say, unsure. Damn. You thought you were on a flirtatious roll.

"Dumbass," she responds.

You laugh, and take a deep breath in through your nose, breathing in the moment. Even if the couch is too small for the human pretzel of a position that you and Annie are in, you could not be more comfortable. You love feeling her skin on yours, even if it is just your inner bicep resting on her arm. You feel connected when you feel her warm, textured skin against your own. Her skin is not perfectly smooth, but it is by no means dry or scratchy. You think for a moment, trying to describe to yourself how it feels. You settle on weathered, worn in. She has lived in this skin; it is complete with scars, small, prickly hairs, and life. You instinctually plant your lips on her arm, giving it a kiss. Then another. And another. You move in a line, moving from her tricep, to her shoulder, down slightly to her collarbone, and finally land on her neck. You give it three quick smooches, and Annie lets out a contented sigh.

"Listen, I tried," you say groggily, remembering the differences in feeling of kissing each part of her. "Want to go down to the lake? It's cooler down there," you continue.

"Sure, I'll change."

"Sounds good," you chirp back.

You stand up, and watch as Annie walks back to the room that you are both sharing. It's a quaint room, as is fitting with the cabin, and is complete with one king sized bed, a chipped dresser and mirror, and oddly, a set of bunk beds. You joked with Annie that you wanted to sleep in the top bunk; she did not see the humor as you did.

Suddenly, she turns around at the foot of the door.

"Well? Aren't you going to change?" she asks, taking you out of your reflection and sounding almost annoyed.

"Oh, oh yeah. Yeah, no, I was going—yeah, I was going to go after you," you stammer, taken off guard by her change in tone.

Annie crosses her arms as she tilts her head and raises her eyebrows. She motions her head to gesture to the room, and turns back around to walk in. Taking the hint, you laugh to yourself and follow her into the bedroom, closing the door behind you.