Simple Pleasures: Annie Leonhart x Reader

Chapter 7: Ravenous

Author's Note:

Hello! It's been a while! Thank you to those of you that checked in on me, and that stuck around for the next parts of this story. I'm so sorry that it took so long! I just started university a few weeks ago, and it has been far more busy than I had anticipated. In addition to my undergraduate work, I am working a job on campus. Between these two commitments, writing for pleasure has unfortunately gone on the back burner. This is not to say that this story is ending though; far from it! I've had tons of time to brainstorm, and have drafts sitting around, just waiting to be polished and finished. I just wanted to give a fair warning, though, that updates may be a bit slower than before. I am hoping that school calms down now that the first few weeks are over, but I wanted to issue that warning regardless. Thank you all for your continued support so far; knowing that people are actually reading my work fills my heart with warmth, and I am truly so, so grateful. I'll continue to update you all on my life if anything crazy happens! But for now, enjoy this next chapter—maybe prepare a nice meal for yourself for even more immersion into the story ;) Until next time!

-LovebugBites

  After Annie's impressive swimming show, you are drained, emotionally and physically. You are not the only one; once your embrace with Annie ended, your parents were already half way up to the cabin. They joke that they get "stable urge," a term they coined after they went horseback riding. Apparently, horses can sense when they are close to their stables after a long ride, and begin speeding up so they can reach the stables quicker and quicker. When your parents explained it to you, you mentioned to Annie that she should tell Jean that he has stable urge whenever he gets antsy to do something. She did not find it as amusing as you did; maybe Eren would appreciate it more.

Following your parents not long after their return to the cabin, you change into some dry clothes. By now, the sun was starting to set, and the temperature began to drop with it. You throw on a baggy crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of shorts, and you loan Annie one of your flannel shirts.

She never admits it, but you suspect that she packs lightly on purpose so that she can wear your shirts. Knowing Annie, it is completely unlike her to even have a semblance of disorganization anywhere in her life, let alone for something like her first camping trip with you and your parents. You're not complaining, of course; you love giving Annie your clothes. Beside the fact that she looks great in oversized clothes, usually by the time she returns whatever article of clothing that she borrowed—which is usually not for a week, or a month, or even a year in the case of a tan hoodie that mysteriously went missing around your one year anniversary—her scent rubs off on it. She smells of the outside world. That is, she does not smell of a populated world of nightlife, electricity, or intensity. Rather, she smells of eucalyptus, subtle hints of blooming gardenia, and the unmistakable scent of freshly cut pine. You love this earthy smell; even the raw ingredients that individually comprise her scent cannot compare, because without her, they are nearly indistinguishable from the world around them. But with Annie, her very essence supplements these scents with a certain je ne sais quoi; she simply and wholly smells like Annie.

After a few hours of down time filled with books, naps, and games of Scrabble, you sit down for dinner. You are not sure what it is, but you insist that food tastes better up here. You told Annie about this phenomenon on the way up, and while she seemed open to the idea, you could tell that she was also not entirely convinced. You had a feeling she would discover that you were correct in only a few minutes.

Dinner smelled divine. Your mother is an excellent cook, and she loves comfort food in particular. Tonight, you were having a mushy meal of mashed potatoes, baked beans, carrots, and a side of salad. Your dad also barbecued up some steak—his "signature meal" that he insisted Annie had to try, since she has yet to taste his cooking. And, of course, for dessert you knew that there would be a delicious cake with a personalized message to Annie. You remind yourself that to Annie and your father, this cake was homemade by your mom.