Hi, can I have Annie Leonhart x reader where Annie goes to her favorite bakery and then falls in love with the baker's daughter and crushes on her for weeks before confessing?
Fragile Ice and the Scent of Peaches
Annie Leonheart (aot) x female reader
Word Count: 3258
Wall Sina had never felt like a defense to Annie Leonhart; it felt like a luxurious, ornate cage. Serving in the Military Police in the Stohess District was exactly as she had expected: the same corrupt officers, the same drunken patrols, the same endless, suffocating routine steeped in lies. For Annie, whose life since childhood had consisted of brutal training, pain, and blood, this world felt like a cardboard set. She had learned to wear her icy mask with flawless skill. No one knew what lay behind her cold, indifferent gaze and sarcastic retorts. No one, except herself.
Her only outlet in this hypocritical city was sweets. Sugar was that rare pleasure that helped dull the bitterness of her existence. And it was this very weakness that led her to you.
It happened on one of those damp, gray days when even a thick uniform jacket couldn't protect against the biting wind. Annie had broken away from the patrol, leaving the ever-chattering Marlo and the disgruntled Hitch somewhere in the main square. She just wanted silence. Turning into a narrow alley paved with old cobblestones, she caught a scent. It was incredible: a warm, enveloping aroma of cinnamon, vanilla, and something impossibly fresh and sweet.
She followed the smell, mesmerized, until she stood before a small, modest wooden sign: "Bakery."
Annie pushed the heavy oak door, and a copper bell chimed melodically above her head. The air inside was thick with the warmth of glowing ovens and the scent of fresh bread. This place was a world apart from the pretentious restaurants of Stohess. It was cozy.
And then she saw you.
You stood behind the counter, dusted in flour—it settled like white powder on your hair, the tip of your nose, and your coarse linen apron. You were intently arranging something in the display case, but hearing the bell, you looked up.
Your smile was like the sun suddenly peeking out from behind the clouds. There was no fawning, the way merchants usually looked at Military Police soldiers, nor was there any fear. Only pure, sincere joy.
"Welcome!" your voice was surprisingly bright and soft. "It’s a cold day, isn't it? Would you like something hot?"
Annie froze on the threshold. She was used to shouting, to orders, to groans. She was out of practice with people speaking to her so… simply. And so kindly.
She slowly approached the display, her gaze sliding over plump buns and neat pastries.
"Something sweet," her voice, as usual, sounded quiet and steady, devoid of emotion.
"Then you should definitely try this," you pointed to a small, perfectly round tart with a glossy fruit filling. "It’s a peach tart, my father’s recipe. The peaches were brought in just this morning from the southern farms. They are incredibly sweet, and the crust literally melts in your mouth." (Even if peaches are rare on the island, let's just imagine they are there).
Annie nodded silently. You carefully wrapped the pastry in parchment paper and handed it to her. When your fingers touched for a fraction of a second, Annie felt a contrast: her hands, accustomed to gripping sword hilts and breaking bones, were icy, while yours were incredibly warm, holding the heat of the bakery.
Stepping outside and taking a bite, Annie paused. It wasn't just delicious. It was the taste of a home she never had. The sweet, rich flavor of peach mixed with delicate cream made her close her eyes.
From that day on, there was no turning back for her.
The bakery became her secret sanctuary. Annie started coming every day. She built a strict schedule for herself: exactly at seven in the evening, when the flow of customers dried up and you began wiping down the displays before closing. The number seven became a sort of magical constant for her, an anchor she held onto in the turbulent sea of her deceptive life.
She would sit at the furthest corner table by the window. She ordered her usual peach tart and a cup of hot tea. And she watched.
Annie had always been an excellent observer—her mission demanded it. But now, she used her spy skills not to find an enemy's weaknesses, but to study you.
She moved through her life silently and gracefully, like a wild, wary panther, always ready to spring, always expecting a blade in the back. But here, sitting at the oak table, that inner predator grew quiet. She watched you sweep crumbs from the tables, tuck away stray locks of hair, and softly hum a simple tune while counting coins in the register.
You were a baker’s daughter. Your life was simple, understandable, and clean. There was no blood on your hands. Your biggest problem was that the dough sometimes wouldn't rise, not that tomorrow you might have to kill former comrades.
"You always come alone," you said one day, bringing her order and lingering at the table a bit longer than usual. "The Military Police usually come in noisy groups."
Annie raised her piercing sapphire gaze to you. Most people looked away, unable to withstand that cold pressure, but you only tilted your head to the side, waiting curiously for an answer.
"They are too noisy," Annie replied shortly. "I prefer the silence. And… your peaches."
You beamed. That tiny compliment, sparse and reluctant, made your cheeks flush pink.
"I’m glad. I choose the fruit at the market myself. I try to take only the best."
With each passing day, these short dialogues became a little longer. You told her about your father, who was currently ill and had left the bakery to you, and about how hard it was to find good vanilla in Stohess. And Annie… Annie just listened. For her, your voice became a drug. She absorbed your every word, your every intonation.
She began to notice details that frightened her. The funny way you crinkled your nose when concentrating on slicing fruit. The way you bit your lower lip when counting change. The way the setting sun tangled in your hair, turning it into liquid gold.
Exactly twenty-one days had passed since Annie first crossed the threshold of this bakery. Twenty-one days in which her perfect, impenetrable armor developed a deep crack.
That evening, she realized it with crystalline, terrifying clarity. You accidentally tripped while carrying a tray of heavy mugs. Annie was there with startling speed. Her warrior instincts kicked in faster than thought—she caught you by the waist with one hand and caught the falling tray with the other without spilling a drop.
You were impossibly close. You were breathing heavily, pressed against her chest, looking at her with wide eyes.
"Th-thank you," you whispered, and your breath burned Annie’s neck.
In that second, Leonhart’s heart beat so hard she felt it would break her ribs. For the first time in her life, she wanted not to push away, not to strike, but to hold someone close. To protect. To keep.
She pulled away sharply, set the tray on the table, and, dropping a muttered "Be careful," almost ran out of the bakery into the deepening twilight.
She had fallen in love. And it was a catastrophe.
The next few days turned into a true torture for Annie.
Her duty as a warrior, her mission, the promise to her father—all of it screamed that she had no right to feelings. She was a monster in human form. She was the Female Titan. Sooner or later, she would have to draw her blades, and then the city she now patrolled would drown in blood.
"You aren't human, Annie," she told herself at night, staring at the ceiling of her barracks. "You are a weapon. A weapon has no heart. And you won't dare stain her pure life with the filth of your sins."
She forbade herself from going to the bakery. She avoided that specific street, forcing herself to patrol the filthiest slums of Stohess just to avoid the teasing scent of baking.
Hitch noticed the change first.
"Annie, you look even gloomier than usual," her roommate drawled, applying lipstick in front of the mirror. "You look like a ghost. Did someone steal your favorite donuts?"
Annie ignored her, pulling the scratchy blanket over her head. But inside her, a furious, pining panther paced, clawing away at the remains of her self-control. She missed your warmth. She missed your voice.
On the fifth day of her self-imposed isolation, the sky over Stohess split open with a torrential rain. Water flooded the streets in cold streams, washing grime from the stones. Annie stood at her post by the western gate, chilled to the bone. Water streamed down her face, down the hood of her cloak, but she didn't even try to seek cover. It felt to her that this icy rain was a just punishment for her weakness.
The shift ended late in the evening. She walked through the dark, empty streets toward the barracks. But her feet, contrary to reason, carried her along the familiar route.
She only came to her senses when she saw the glowing window of your bakery through the veil of rain. You hadn't closed, even though it was nearing nine. The sign was still flipped to "Open."
Annie approached the window and looked inside. You were sitting behind the empty counter, chin resting on your hand, staring at the front door with an unconcealed, aching sadness. In the display case, in the most prominent spot, sat a single, carefully covered peach tart.
You were waiting for her. All these five days.
That thought pierced Annie through, shattering the last remnants of her icy tower. She couldn't fight it anymore. She pushed the door.
The bell chimed, and you instantly jumped to your feet. Seeing Annie—soaked to the skin, blonde strands of hair plastered to her forehead, pale-faced with dark circles under her eyes—you didn't even think about the fact that she was soaking your clean floor.
"Annie!" your name, spoken by you for the first time like that, without formalities, sounded like a prayer.
You ran from behind the counter, grabbed a clean terry towel, and rushed to her.
"You're freezing! My god, where have you been all these days? I… I thought something happened. Or that you stopped liking my baking…"
You draped the towel over her shoulders and began to carefully but energetically rub her cold hands.
Annie stood motionless, afraid even to breathe. You smelled of vanilla, home comfort, and anxiety. Your warm palms heated her frozen fingers.
"I…" Annie’s voice cracked, sounding hoarse. "I was on a mission."
It was a lie, but you didn't press for details. You pulled her to that same table by the window, sat her down, and ran to the kitchen. Five minutes later, a large mug of steaming herbal tea and that same peach tart sat before Annie.
You sat across from her, your eyes fixed on her.
"Please, eat. You need to get warm."
Annie took the mug with both hands. The steam warmed her face. She looked at you. In your eyes, there was nothing but sincere, deep care. And in that moment, Annie knew there was no turning back. She wouldn't give you up to anyone. Even if she had to burn this entire world to the ground for it.
After that rainy evening, the dynamics between you changed subtly. Annie no longer tried to hide behind her mask of cold indifference. At least, not with you.
She began spending more and more time at the bakery. Sometimes, if the patrol ended early, she would come an hour before closing and just sit at her table, watching you work. She began to notice that you sought her gaze too. You started smiling more often when she entered, and your cheeks invariably flushed whenever Annie held her sapphire gaze on you longer than usual.
One evening, when it was already dark outside and the bakery was empty, you were wiping the tables, humming to yourself. Annie sat finishing her tea.
"Your peaches," Annie said quietly, breaking the silence.
You turned around, blinking in surprise.
"What's wrong with them? Was one sour again?"
"No. They’re perfect," Annie looked down at her mug, her fingers nervously stroking the porcelain. This was so atypical for the composed and cold-blooded warrior. "It's just… I've never loved anything as much as these peach tarts. And… this place."
She looked up and stared directly at you. There was a double meaning hidden in her words, and you understood it. The air between you suddenly became heavy, electrified.
You set aside the rag and slowly walked to her table. Your heart drummed in your ears. You had only seen arrogant, cruel people in the Military Police. But this girl, with her sad, deep eyes and quiet voice, was entirely different. You felt she carried an incredible weight. And you desperately wanted to share that burden with her.
You sat on the chair across from her.
"I'm glad you like it here, Annie," you replied softly. Your hand, resting on the table, slowly moved forward until your fingers touched hers. It was a bold, almost daring move for a simple baker’s daughter toward a Military Police soldier.
Annie flinched at the touch but didn't pull away. On the contrary, she slowly turned her palm and allowed you to entwine your fingers. Her hand was tough, calloused from training swords and ODM gear, while yours was soft from flour and cream. And yet, they complemented each other perfectly.
"You shouldn't be so kind to me, [Y/N]," Annie whispered, looking at your joined hands as if it were some kind of miracle. "You don't know who I am. You don't know what I'm capable of. I'm… a bad person."
Her voice trembled. It was the most sincere confession she had ever made. She was physically terrified that you would push her away if you knew the truth.
But you only gently squeezed her fingers, moving closer.
"I don't believe rumors, Annie," you said firmly, looking straight into her frightened sapphire eyes. "I judge by what I see. And I see a girl who saved me from falling, who protects my city, and who loves peaches. I don't know your past. But I am here, in your present. And I’m not afraid."
Those words became a lifeline for Annie. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in many years, a single tear slid down her cheek. With your free hand, you carefully brushed it away, touching her cool skin.
They said nothing more to each other that evening. But parting at the bakery door, Annie held your hand in hers a little longer than necessary. Her icy armor had melted completely.
Weeks turned into months. Tension in the city was rising. The Scout Regiment was planning a new expedition beyond the walls, the Military Police were rampant, and Annie was running out of time. She knew her mission was about to enter its active phase. Soon she would have to do what she was sent to Paradis for.
And that thought was tearing her apart. She would have to leave you. And perhaps—if everything went according to the worst-case scenario—her actions might put your life at risk.
The decision came suddenly, crystal clear and painful. She had to tell you everything. Not about her mission, not about the titans—that would be a death sentence for you. But she had to tell you about her feelings. She couldn't step into the darkness without letting you know that you were the light of her life.
It was late evening. The streets of Stohess were already empty. Annie waited until you flipped the sign on the door to "Closed" and slid the heavy bolt.
You turned around and saw her. Annie stood in the middle of the room. She wasn't wearing her Military Police jacket, just a simple white shirt. She looked tense, her fists clenched at her sides.
"Annie?" you frowned slightly, sensing her strange state. "What’s wrong? Was the patrol canceled?"
"I didn't come as a soldier," her voice was low, almost guttural. She took a step toward you. Then another. Until she was so close you had to look each other right in the eye.
"[Y/N]," she began, swallowing hard. All her former confidence had vanished. The great warrior, who did not fear death, was now afraid of a simple girl’s words. "I… I don't know how to speak beautifully. My father only taught me how to fight. He taught me how to break joints, cause pain, and survive. I never learned how… how to care for someone. How to feel anything besides anger and duty."
She paused, drawing in a jagged breath that smelled of vanilla and you.
"But then I found this bakery. I found you."
You stood with bated breath. Your heart was pounding in your throat. You saw how hard these words were for her, how much her hands were shaking. And you did what you always did—you offered her warmth. You raised your hands and carefully, gently placed them on her shoulders.
Annie flinched, her sapphire eyes widening as she looked at you.
"You made me feel like a human, [Y/N]," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I wake up every morning thinking that I’ll see your smile again in the evening. I don’t want to be a weapon anymore. I want to be with you. I… I love you. More than life, more than duty, more than this whole cursed world beyond the walls."
The words hung in the air, a heavy, ringing truth. Annie squeezed her eyes shut, as if expecting a blow. She expected you to push her away. Girls weren't supposed to say things like that to each other. Military Police and bakers were from different worlds. She was prepared for anything.
But not for you to pull her toward you.
You wrapped your arms around her neck, burying your fingers in her blonde hair. Your breath mingled with hers.
"You’re such a fool, Leonhart," you whispered, smiling through sudden tears. "It took you this long to say it? I fell in love with you the day you first walked in here, looking so cold and grumpy."
Annie snapped her eyes open, not believing what she was hearing.
"You… you too?"
In response, you simply leaned forward and covered her lips with yours.
It was the first kiss for both of you. There was no practiced passion, but there was such an overwhelming, desperate tenderness that Annie’s knees buckled. She wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you so tightly it was as if she feared you would dissolve into thin air like a sweet illusion.
The kiss tasted like powdered sugar from your lips, like the sweetness of ripe peaches, and like the salty bitterness of the tears Annie could no longer hold back. All her pain, all the loneliness accumulated over the years, poured into this moment of absolute union.
She kissed you greedily, desperately, responding to your inexpert, trembling caresses. Your hands slid down her back, stroking her shoulder blades, calming the wild panther within her.
When you finally pulled away from each other to catch your breath, Annie leaned her forehead against yours. Her face was wet with tears, but for the first time in years, she was truly, dazzlingly smiling.
"I can't promise you a peaceful future," she said quietly but firmly, looking into your eyes. "This world is cruel. And perhaps we will have to face things more terrifying than you can imagine. But I swear to you… I will protect you until my last breath. I will come back to you, no matter what happens."
You ran your thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away the last tear.
"And I will always be waiting for you here, Annie. With your favorite peach tart."
That night, among the sacks of flour and cooling ovens, Annie Leonhart’s icy armor melted forever. She knew that trials, betrayals, and blood lay ahead. But now she had a purpose. She had you. And to keep your smile, she was ready to challenge the titans themselves.
