Training- GermanyxMale!Reader

You had always been picked on.

Throughout high school, middle school, and elementary. (You even remembered vividly one time in preschool when a boy pushed you down into the sandbox and called you stupid for not giving him one of your Power Rangers)

Why? Well, maybe it was because you had always been friends with more girls than boys, because you had gotten glasses in the second grade and kids had kept calling you “nerd” even when you got contacts, because even after puberty, you never got any muscles.
Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter to you. What mattered was that every single day, Alfred F. Jones, the quarterback dunce, would slam you into the lockers and laugh when your books spilled across the floor.

“Nerd!” he stated with a confident smirk. “Can’t even hold your own damn book, can you? Weak!”

“Whatever, Alfred… Not like you could even read one…” you muttered, stooping down to pick up your math binder.

“What did you say, punk?!” the beefy football player shouted, pinning you against the wall, one fist raised threateningly up to your face. “Tell me again, Gaylord. To my face!”
You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for a broken nose, or maybe a black eye, but it never came. Instead, you heard the soft thud of rubber-soled shoes on the hard tile floor and a deep, resonating voice from behind Alfred.

“Let him go. It’s not his fault you’re as dumb as a brick wall.”

You opened your (e/c) eyes to see Ludwig Beilschmidt standing nearby, a scowl on his face, strong arms crossed.

Alfred quickly dropped you, backing away and smoothing down his letterman jacket. “I-I didn’t want to risk getting suspended for beating up such a loser anyways.” He stammered, tripping as he began to hurry down the hallway.

“Go pick on someone of your own intelligence!” you called, feeling a bit more confident now that you weren’t seconds away from a beating.

“Gay ass nerd!” was the only response.

You winced.

“Gay” was certainly not one of the better insults. “Pox ridden swine” would have been better. Even “weakling” or “coward” should’ve stung more. But there was always something about being called gay that made a chill run up your spine.

It was the truth of it that scared you.

Whenever Alfred sloppily slung a “Gaylord” or “faggot” your direction, you cringed inside because you thought that maybe- just maybe- he had found out your secret.

Ludwig patted you on the shoulder gently, “Don’t mind Alfred. He only says those things because he’s jealous.”

“J-Jealous?” you looked down at yourself, “Of what?”

“He wishes he could be half as smart as you are.” Ludwig laughed a deep, rumbling laugh,

“Anyway, you shouldn’t let him pick on you like that. You need to stand up for yourself!”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah… Like I would stand a chance. He’d squash me!”

“You just need some conditioning,” Ludwig smiled, “You know, I’d be happy to help. Meet me today after school today on the track; we’ll get you in shape in no time!”

Before you could say anything in objection, Ludwig was trotting off down the hall, book bag slung casually over his shoulder, bouncing along slightly with each one of the teen’s large steps.

You let out a deep breath and steadied yourself with a hand against the lockers, feeling weak at the knees.

Ludwig Beilschmidt had actually talked to you- had defended you against the school bully.
And he wanted to see you again!

You let out an excited little giggle, righting yourself and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. You didn’t even care that right now you were perfectly fitting the stupid gay stereotype; you were going to be spending time with Ludwig freaking Beilschmidt!

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That afternoon you raced out to the track, running from the library all the way across the school grounds, ducking into the gym and out the back door, hurdling over a stack of orange cones and skidding to a halt in front of a patiently waiting Ludwig.

He smiled at you, “That was pretty good,” he chuckled, “I especially liked it when you jumped over those cones- maybe you should get into hurdling.”

You beamed back at him, still breathing hard and feeling a bit dizzy- though you weren’t sure whether it was from your run or because of Ludwig’s tight white wife beater and nicely fitting black athletic shorts.

“Right… Let’s get started, then.” Ludwig checked his clipboard and snickered a bit.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “What? What’s so funny? Is my shirt on inside out or something?” You looked over your shoulder, repeatedly spinning in tight circles, trying to look at your shirt tag.

“No, no.” Ludwig’s bright blue eyes shimmered with mirth, “I just have you down for doing fifty pushups, one hundred sit-ups, and five laps around the track for today. You might want to get started… you’re a bit late.”

You groaned, fighting the urge to flop on the ground- this was going to be a long afternoon.