Work Text:
“Turn your leg slightly to the right… yeah, just like that! Okay, perfect.”
Armin can’t help grinning at his partner, who is now his current model subject, positioned perfectly in front of his canvas. The naked subject sits posted atop a stool, exposed but for the damp, white sheet draped across her body, the thin fabric highlighting not only the curves of her hips but the mounds on her chest as well. Armin feels his gaze linger on the sun-kissed skin and the golden locks he’s meant to replicate onto this canvas in front of him before he catches himself staring and tears his gaze away to focus.
“As much as I love you staring at me,” Annie—his girlfriend and subject—says. “How long am I gonna be stuck in this position for?”
Armin shrugs. “Hopefully not too long. I’m just doing a sketch, so this shouldn’t take forever,” he replies.
Armin is mainly a photographer, and his career is based solely on photography, though he still likes to dabble in the traditional media of art every now and then. He likes to say it’s not about how he captures art, but about what story the art tells. He likes to be a bit cryptic like that at times, and although he’s definitely heard people call him pretentious every now and then, he eventually learned to dismiss their comments. He’s doing what he loves—who cares about what they think?
When drawing traditionally, he typically sketches people in front of him rather than a random reference photo he found on Pinterest. Not that there's anything wrong with that—he just likes to show his muse the piece he’s created for them.
He has drawn (and photographed) people before, obviously, including Eren, Mikasa, and a few other close friends—a few other strangers from his figure drawing class in college. It was always fun as much as it was frustrating, attempting to capture each and every feature he could with his camera or pencil. It was actually Eren, though, who suggested Armin used Annie as his muse.
‘ She’s your girlfriend, right? ’ The brunet had stated once. ‘ You guys have been dating for—what is it—almost three years now, yet you haven’t photographed her or anything? ’
It was definitely something to ponder over, though Armin didn’t want to put Annie in a position like that or anything without her complete consent. In spite of her feisty attitude, Annie is surprisingly lenient when it comes to Armin. It comes more as a shock than it should, though he guesses that her leniency around him acts as a reminder of how much he means to her.
She willingly deviates from the way she typically acts if it means she can please him, even for just a moment. And sure, it is a bit concerning, because she definitely has unintentionally gotten herself hurt with this mindset, but it’s undoubtedly adorable for Armin to observe as he notices Annie try to adjust to things like early morning cuddles and late-runs to the convenience store to get ice cream for him.
However, knowing this means that he has to be very careful with what he asks of her. So in spite of truly wanting to draw the love of his life, he halted each time the thought crossed his mind and bit his tongue whenever the question burned in his throat.
Of course, in the end, he asked her nonetheless and she agreed. Surprisingly, however, Annie wasn’t reluctant when she said yes. Armin has noticed, each time Annie obliges to do something in Armin’s favor, that she’d get weird and you’d be able to see obvious hesitation through her demeanor. But this time, she wasn’t awkward at all. Just compliant.
And so now they’re here, and now Armin is mapping out the guidelines with his pencil before he attempts to sketch her body.
Annie tries not to move and finds herself holding her breath at times to remain extra still. She knows how much this means to Armin—how much this line of work means to him—and wouldn’t dare try to fuck anything up by accidentally shifting from her position, even if it would be just to scratch at that annoying itch on her hairline.
It’s very difficult, she finds, keeping still. And also extremely boring. She tries to entertain herself with thoughts, though she’s never been a creative person so they only take her so far. Attempting again to entertain herself, she tries to focus her attention on something in the room to distract herself from how much she so desperately wants to move, though her view is limited, and all she can really look at are the windows, Armin’s desk, Armin himself, and her own reflection in a mirror adjacent to her.
Her gaze lingers on the latter for a bit longer than necessary, eyeing whatever she can see without turning her head. She almost doesn’t recognize herself, because her hair is down instead of pinned back into a lazy bun, and she is bare as opposed to fully clothed, as she typically would be.
It’s actually a bit… disconcerting, being this exposed.
Her wardrobe consists of mainly baggy and oversized clothing, almost as a way of hiding her figure. Her hoodies always fell past her thighs, and her jeans were always a bit on the baggy side, and at times she wears shoes half-a-size too large for her own feet.
It’s mainly because of her figure, though she’ll never openly admit to that. Who would believe her, anyway? The everlastingly stoic and indifferent Annie Leonhardt is actually slightly insecure about her body? People would probably believe something absurd before even considering that.
But, despite all of that, she secretly is .
Insecure, she means.
Not majorly, though.
It’s more like she hates being seen as small . Which is difficult to avoid, since that is what she looks like. She’s a 25-year-old that’s only 5’ tall—of course she’ll be seen as petite.
She’s often found herself in situations in which people underestimate her or treat her like a child simply because of her figure. Not so much as when she was younger, but as she got older and remained short, it seemed as though people had started to look down on her in more than literal terms.
Of course, people who truly know her are fully aware of the fact that she’s a force that isn’t to be challenged (unless you want to end up with your ass beat). As a kid, she hardly cared about the fact that she was a bit shorter than her classmates— it’s alright if I’m short now, I’ll just grow, whatever —though as she grew mentally but not so much physically, she slowly became more and more… embarrassed about herself.
It’s not as though she wants to be feared or anything, she just hates being looked down upon. So what if she’s short? ( Short , not small. Fuck you.) She still manages to intimidate people utilizing other (and more controllable) characteristics about herself anyway; her prominently strong glares, for example, typically make people, including creepy middle-aged men, shrink away from her.
There are also, of course, her physical skills that usually have people thinking twice before testing her patience—with the way she could flip someone onto their back if she wanted to.
And finally, her clothing; her apparel helps make her appear bigger, and even though at times her jeans slip from her hips in spite of her wearing a belt because they’re a bit big and during the summer it gets particularly difficult to keep her sweater on, she still does like to wear bulkier clothing whenever manageable. Her clothes are probably (undoubtedly) the feature she relies on the most to keep from recoiling.
But here… here, she doesn’t have her clothes.
And now that she thinks about it… it’s a bit more disconcerting than she had initially taken it to be.
She feels naked, and not in just literal terms.
It is almost as though a sense of vulnerability has forced itself into her heart. Torn from the thing she depends on the most to keep from feeling insecure about her slight figure, she suddenly feels (as much as she hates the word) small . Tiny. Defenseless.
Stop overreacting, she tells herself. It’s just Armin here, anyway. He’s seen me naked before. I need to calm the fuck down .
Yet it still feels difficult, trying to calm herself down. She can’t possibly remember the last time she felt this exposed, and because of this, she isn’t sure on how to manage her emotions. How does one calm themselves down from a panic that rages within? How does one silence the screaming that comes from their own head? How does one resurface when they were the one who drowned themself in the first place?
How do some people live like this?
Annie tries to block out the noise—tries to ignore the way it feels as though there is static in her brain. All of her thoughts come rushing to the forefront of her mind at once, millions of frenzied voices within her head layered atop each other, screaming to grab her attention. Nothing is clear anymore; there might be a faint ringing in her ears, and she thinks her eyesight might be failing her—but it is all distorted and warped, like she is underwater.
She just can’t
fucking
focus.
Nothing is clear. She understands nothing, except for the fact that she is vulnerable, and exposed, and small .
Small.
I am… small.
Annie feels almost as though she can’t find herself anymore, amongst her dizzying thoughts. Her nostrils sting and her sight goes blurry but—fuck— No no no, I am not about to cry over something stupid like this .
Because it truly is stupid .
Nobody cares about her being this vulnerable. Nobody, but her. And that’s what makes it stupid—her getting worked up over something that others wouldn’t notice.
Maybe I should tell Armin I’m uncomfortable, she thinks to herself. She slightly turns her head, not too much out of place, though when her eyes land on him, she bites her tongue.
But he looks so happy. Who am I to disturb him?
She inhales slowly, and then closes her eyes. This is fine. I can sit through this, she tells herself.
(But can she really ?)
By the time Armin finishes, Annie has lost all sense of reality.
“All done!” Armin says excitedly. He stands, then takes his canvas into his hands and holds it up, marveling at the work.
“Thank you so much,” he says, turning to Annie after he’s gazed at his finished work. “Even though all you did was sit still—it was still lovely.”
Annie tries not to grimace. “It was kinda boring, sitting in silence. But,” she shifts and finally stands, leg numb from sitting too long, “it was nice to see you happy.”
She feels as though she’s drifting, in a way. Her words don’t process when they leave her and she doesn’t hear her voice. She feels each reverberation of her vocal cords in her throat, but her sight swims in hazy darkness.
Armin smiles at Annie, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Anything involving you makes me happy,” he says, pink bursting to life in his cheeks.
Annie wants to smile at him—she really does. But there’s a tight feeling in her chest, and she thinks that if she doesn’t leave now, she’ll suffocate.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she blurts before she is too lost in her mind. She grabs her robe by the door, and then leaves the studio to rush into the bathroom.
When inside, she sinks down to her knees and buries her face in her hands. She feels like she might sob, but not really.
I’m so exposed. She thinks. So vulnerable.
Bare to the world, for everyone to see. She felt as though her soul were being pierced. She was so naked— literally . Like her most private traits had been exposed to the masses without her permission and people were picking through each fragment of her, piece by piece. Determining her worth. Calling her small . She feels herself shrink and tucks her knees up closer to her chest, hugging her legs as a whimper rips from her throat.
Without her clothes—without her glares, she was stripped of her defenses.
I hate this feeling, she thinks, because she truly does. I hate feeling so scared. So weak. So useless. So naked. So-
She feels the door press up against her. A breath snags in her throat as she’s jostled over as the door slightly opens.
“Annie?” Armin’s soft voice comes from the other side. “Are you alright? I heard a weird noise.”
Annie worries her bottom lip. Shit .
“Are you on the floor?”
Fuck.
She scrambles off the ground, though nearly loses her balance and topples over. She catches herself on the doorknob, though that only causes the door to slam shut, and she hears Armin’s surprised yelp follow right after.
I fucked up.
“Annie?” Armin sounds more frantic now, just as Annie releases the doorknob. “Are you okay?”
I don’t want him to worry I don’t want him to worry I don’t want him to worry I don’t want him to worry I don’t-
“That’s it, I’m coming in.”
I fucked up, she thinks, again, as though blaming herself will do anything.
Her hands reach out to hold the door closed, but the doorknob rattles before her fingers can reach it and the door swings open, effectively smacking the blonde right in the face.
“Fuck,” she groans, her hand reaching up to touch the aching skin on her cheek.
“Annie? Oh my god, did I hit you?” Armin asks, walking over to her. His warm, delicate hand touches hers, removing it from her face to expose what part had been hit. “Christ, I’m so sorry,” he says.
Annie shakes her head. “No, it’s not your fault. Don’t apologize.” Her gaze lowers to the ground, and she tries to keep her tears at bay.
They stand in silence for a long moment before Armin sighs. “Look at me.”
Annie doesn’t even flinch.
“Babe, please , look at me. What’s the matter?”
Annie tries to stop the tears from forming in her eyes.
“Annie.”
Silence.
Armin sighs, and then his hand reaches up and cups her face, gently turning her head to face his. Annie holds her breath, expecting to be met with an irritated or angry look at her lack of compliance, but when the expression on the boy’s face shows nothing but concern, her breath catches in her throat again.
“I want you to tell me what the matter is.”
And as though these last words are her breaking point, Annie’s face scrunches up as the tears in her eyes spill over. Armin flinches, caught in shock by her sudden outburst, and Annie curses herself for cracking under his soft, careful words.
He wasn’t even pressuring me to tell him what was wrong, she thinks, in private misery. Why am I so weak when it comes to him? Why must he undo me so easily like this?
But her negative thoughts disperse when Armin pulls her in for a hug, and all she can do is bury herself in his chest and silently sob.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers to her, hand stroking her hair. “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable like this.”
Even as she trembles uncontrollably—even as she dismisses his concern and choses to bottle her feelings up—even as she self-destructs just to provide the most blissful joy to him—even as she ruins his damn near-perfect shirt she got him for his birthday with her snot and tears—he still holds her as though he would fall off the face of the earth if he doesn’t.
Her arms wrap around his back, fingers twisting and tightening into his shirt as her senses are overridden with heartache. She clings to him like never before, and she’s sure she’ll have to apologize for this sudden outburst later, but for now, she lets herself have him.
If only just for a moment .
Her tears mitigate, finally, but she doesn’t pull away just yet. As the sobs that had raked through her body slowly fade, she feels herself become familiar with a new, more comfortable feeling in her chest. Peace .
Armin holds her delicately, yet so, so strongly. His grip on her is tight, but not too tight. The way his fingers comb through the tangles in her hair is soft and rhythmic, just as he’d do when she’d fall asleep in his lap on their couch after they watched a shitty rom-com movie. He treats her like she is delicate. He treats her like she will break if he makes a wrong move. He treats her as though she were glass.
(But she is not glass.)
Suddenly uncomfortable, Annie jerks away from his chest, wiping the snot from her nose before he has the chance to notice the disgusting puddle she’s left on his shirt. Her gaze darts to the floor once again, not only scared this time, but embarrassed too.
Goddammit. Look, now you made him worry. You shouldn’t have cried. You should’ve buried it deep down to keep him happy. You’re much stronger than that.
(But is she, really?)
“Sorry,” she blurts, because it is the first thing that comes to her mind. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
Armin’s face doesn’t change. “You wanna talk about it?”
She tries to meet his gaze, but when she does, her chest goes tight and her thoughts become louder and her eyesight starts to blur with tears again and-
She looks away.
“There’s nothing to talk about, is there? I just freaked out over nothing, like usual. Typical Annie.”
His expression, again, doesn’t shift. The furrow in his brows deepen. “Did I do something wrong?”
Horrified at the thought of Armin thinking that he wronged her, she accidentally yells, “no!” Armin blinks, surprised by her sudden raise in volume, and Annie clears her throat and shakes her head. “No, you didn’t.”
He cocks a brow, and then steps closer. Annie flinches, but tries not to backpedal.
His hands find her arms, holding her at the elbows so softly, his touch featherlight. Annie nearly screams. Instead, she shies away from his touch.
“Can you… please not do that?”
His brow cocks higher. “Do… what?”
“Touch me.” It comes out more wrong than intended. Annie blushes at her own unintended innuendo, and then corrects herself; “I mean, you touch me so… delicately.”
“You want me to be rough with you?”
Annie holds her breath. Do I?
“I don’t want you to hurt me… just…” She looks up, forcing herself to meet his gaze even as her mind screams for her to leave. “Stop treating me like I’m small.”
Both of Armin’s brows raise. “Wha—”
“The way you hold me,” she butts in. “You hold me… delicately. You treat me like I’m this delicate little thing. But I’m not a little girl, Armin. I’m not—” Her voice cracks, and then she chokes around the word, “—small.”
“So… that’s what this is about? You think I view you as tiny?”
Annie holds her breath. “You treat me like glass, and I hate it.”
Armin goes silent for a moment. But then, without warning, he laughs. It is lighthearted and soft, like Armin’s mannerisms and voice, but Annie shrinks with embarrassment nonetheless.
He’s laughing at me, she figures. He finds my insecurities stupid. Of course he does. They always do .
“S-Sorry,” he manages. “I-I’m not laughing at you, it’s just…” His voice cuts off as he grins. “You’re not glass to me, Annie. You are so much more than that. I’m not sure what made you think that I view you as tiny, or as small, but—” His hands find hers, holding them in the space between them. “—I only view you as my girlfriend.”
Annie blinks. “You… huh?”
“You’re precious to me, that’s why I’m gentle with you. It’s not because you’re small, it’s because you’re important.” His grin fades as his expression hardens, and Annie braces herself for a scolding. But instead, he goes, “next time you feel like this, tell me. Communication is key.”
Annie’s eyes become glassy with tears. “Why do you… stay with me? Even after discovering all my insecurities, and my weird preferences—”
“I still haven’t gotten over the fact that you like mayonnaise in your burgers,” Armin blurts.
Annie blinks again. “What?”
“And I hate how you take showers for twenty minutes. Or how you don’t like listening to music above whisper level when driving. Or how much space you take up in the bed when you sleep. Or your tendency to leave empty cracker boxes in the pantry after you finish. Or how much you put off cleaning the bathroom when it’s your turn.” But then Armin’s face breaks into a grin. “But I still love you , and being with you means that I chose to be here through the good and the bad.”
Annie blushes at his words and lack of hesitation as he utters the words ‘I love you.’ She pulls him in for a hug again, holding her tightly as she tries not to sob.
“I love you too,” she utters, words muffled by his shirt. Wanting to be heard, she lifts her head and stares up into his oceanic eyes. “I love you so much,” she admits, tears rimming her eyes in spite of herself.
Armin smiles at her, and he is blushing too, by the looks of it. His hand cups her chin, tilting her face up by just an inch to place a kiss on her forehead.
“You are much more than just glass,” he whispers before, finally, kissing her on the lips.