My Love (Armin Arlert x Reader)

Red Corduroy

Another month had passed. Since he wasn't stressing about work nor your wedding, Armin had been much more proactive in your household life, including finishing off your daughter's room. The room's newly-added white furniture was a perfect contrast to the ocean blue walls. You were now five months in, and finally starting to really show. Everything felt so real now, much realer than before. Though you couldn't physically see her, Ellie was for sure letting you know that she was growing. Still, mirrors were your enemy. Every time you looked at yourself, whilst you were happy about your growing baby, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as to how your body looked. You hadn't told Armin, though; you didn't want him to worry any more about you than he already did. But alas, your dysmorphia actualised itself in one way or another.

The warm lighting of your bathroom gives you a soft glow. It casts a shadow every which way, highlighting the curves of your changing body. You stare at yourself in the mirror, draped in a soft towel. Though you weren't completely exposed, the towel only covered the lower half of your breasts, highlighting the small stretch marks that were beginning to form on them. How long had those been there for? How hadn't you noticed? More importantly, had Armin noticed? You pout at yourself, running one hand along your exposed flesh. The marks had actualised themselves as soft divots. A pang of insecurity runs through your body. You had never felt a strong partiality to your appearance, but somehow, this made you feel worse. Your mirrored gaze moves from your chest to your eyes. You sigh. Though you were carrying life within you, you couldn't move from the thought that you no longer looked like the girl Armin fell in love with all those years ago. Inhaling deeply, you begin to dry yourself off, eventually making your way to the wardrobe in your nearby bedroom.

Standing at your closet, your enemy reappears: the mirror. Though, it was more easily concealed this time; you quickly strip off your towel and throw it over your naked reflection. You reach out your soft, manicured hand to open one of the many off-white drawers. You begin to sort through your pairs of pants, trying to correctly match your vibe for the day. Red corduroy. Black denim. Tan khakis. A godawful amount of Lululemon. As you near the end of your search, your hand is drawn back to the red corduroy pants you just disregarded. Yes, that was it. Quickly, you search for a top to match. You didn't go into your own drawer for this one, no, you raided Armin's. He had simple taste, but that didn't matter to you, all you wanted was to wear your husband's clothes. From his neatly-folded shirt drawer, you pick up the darkest shirt you can see. It's from the university the two of you had attended together: Paradis College. Clutching it in your hands, you bring the tee close to your face and inhale, in the least weird way possible. Though it was freshly washed, you could still smell his cologne. God, you loved it. It was his scent, with all its delicate notes of vanilla and cedar-wood. It was completely intoxicating for you. You quickly pull it over yourself, walking back to your closet where your pants lay.

You yank the towel down from its position on your mirror. You were now covered, and much more comfortable with yourself. Besides, Armin's shirt hung down to your mid-thigh; you were perfectly concealed when shrouded in his clothing. You sit down on the carpeted floor before your mirror. At this point, it was much too risky to attempt to put on pants upright. Five months in and you still weren't used to carrying this extra weight. You pull one foot into the corduroy, then the other. You contort your body so as to be on your knees; you couldn't fully slip into your pants any way else. The corduroy moves along your soft skin, albeit slowly. It caresses your lower, middle and upper leg. However, it is quickly stopped at your hips. You tug; why were these pants ceasing to fit now? You pull some more, to no avail. The realisation sets in: you were officially too pregnant to fit in these pants any longer.

The happiness that your daughter is growing is quickly overshadowed by your anxieties. Hastily, you stand up, stripping your pants off in the process. You lift your shirt to expose your abdomen, swollen with child. Not only would your pants not fit, your waist was now covered in red stripes. Their domain spanned from just above your mons to your hips. You had had your fair share of experience with stretch marks before, but something about this felt different. It felt as though your body had been ripped away from you. The mirror doesn't cut you any slack as far as appearances go. Your vision becomes foggy, as you begin to sob. You cover your face in Armin's shirt, soaking up your tears.

Hasty footsteps quickly become more prominent in your ears as Armin races up the stairs. He bursts into the bedroom, panicked. As soon as he spots you, he rushes over to you, kneeling down next to you and placing his hand on your back.

'Y/n! What's wrong, beautiful?' Armin asks.

Him calling you beautiful just made you more distraught. How could you feel beautiful in such a state? Your sobbing intensifies. Armin frowns, pulling you into a hug as he sits down beside you. He strokes your back, his motions soft and slow. His breath is hot on your neck as you cry into his shoulder. Armin hugs you tighter, and kisses the top of your head. His compression of your body seems to aid slightly in calming you down. Your breath steadies, as you angle your head upwards to look at Armin.

'Everything is pulling and stretching and I've put on a bunch of weight and I look disgusting and I don't know how you still love me even when I look like this,' you say, exasperated. 'I'm sorry, Armin.'

He cups your face with one hand, angling your head up more towards him. He brings his lips to yours briefly. As he pulls away, he traces your jawline with the index finger of the same hand. Through misty eyes, you look at him with a sad expression. Armin looks back at you, with just as much sadness in his face as you, but with a glimmer of hope.

'Y/n, you've got nothing to be sorry for-' he begins.

Your intense hormones prompt you to interrupt him. 'I can't even fit into my pants...I'm not even that far along,' you mope. 'You didn't marry me just so I could look like this.'

'Y/n. Look at me. I didn't marry you because of your looks. That came out wrong...you're gorgeous, but I didn't just marry you for that! You're so kind and smart and loving...nobody's ever really made me feel the way that you do. I love you, and that's never going to change.'

Your crying begins to slow down as Armin's monologue continues. His passion for loving you amazed you every day; he was so committed. What did you do to deserve a man like this? Your blubbering slowly quietens, as you look at him with big, doe eyes. He smiles back at you.

'You don't look disgusting at all. If anything...you're more beautiful than you were the day I met you. The love of my life is carrying my child, and looking great while doing so, what more could I ask for? Your body's working so hard for this, y/n, please, try to be a little kinder to yourself. For me,' Armin says lovingly, placing a hand around your waist. 'For Ellie, too.'

You let yourself sink deeper into Armin's embrace. He accepts it, but suddenly, he looks down and pulls back. He stares at the shirt you're wearing.

'That's...not your shirt,' he says, confused.

You giggle. 'I know, but it smells like you,' you admit.

Armin colours. 'Whatever, it looks better on you anyway.'

'Yeah, right,' you say as you get up to leave, your emotional episode finally concluding.

Armin turns to you as you walk through the doorway. Just as you leave the bedroom you shared, he calls out to you.

'Y/n,' he says.

You poke your head through the door, still not wearing pants. 'Hm?' You hum.

'I love you. So much. Please don't ever forget that.'

'I love you so much more, Armin.'